Читать книгу The Works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 12 - John Dryden - Страница 2

Whilom, as old stories tellen us,

There was a duk that highte Theseus;

Of Athenes he was lord and governour,

And in his time swiche a conquerour,

That greter was ther non under the sonne;

Ful many a riche contree had he wonne.

What with his wisdom and his chevalrie,

He conquerd all the regne of Feminie,

That whilom was ycleped Scythia,

And wedded the fresshe Quene Ipolita,

And brought hire home with him to his contree

With mochel glorie and solempnitee,

And eke hire yonge suster Emelie.

And thus with victorie and with melodie

Let I this worthy duk to Athenes ride,

And all his host in armes him beside.

And certes, if it n'ere to long to here,

I wolde have told you fully the manere

How wonnen was the regne of Feminie

By Theseus, and by his chevalrie:

And of the grete bataille for the nones

Betwix Athenes and Amasones:

And how asseged was Ipolita,

The faire hardie quene of Scythia;

And of the feste, that was at hire wedding,

And of the temple at hire home coming:

But all this thing I moste as now forbere;

I have, God wot, a large feld to ere,

And weke ben the oxen in my plowe:

The remenent of my tale is long ynow.

I wil not letten eke non of this route;

Let every felaw telle his tale aboute,

And let se now who shal the souper winne,

There as I left, I will agen beginne.

This duk, of whom I made mentioun,

Whan he was comen almost to the toun,

In all his wele and his moste pride,

He was ware, as he cast his eye aside,

Wher that ther kneled in the highe wey

A compagnie of ladies, twey and twey,

Eche after other, clad in clothes blake;

But swiche a crie and swiche a wo they make,

That in this world n'is creature living

That ever heard swiche another waimenting;

And of this crie ne wolde never stenten,

Till they the reines of his bridel henten.

What folk be ye that at min home coming

Perturben so my feste with crying?

Quod Theseus; have ye so grete envie

Of min honour, that thus complaine and crie?

Or who hath you misboden, or offended?

Do telle me, if that it may be amended,

And why ye be thus clothed all in blake?

The oldest lady of hem all than spake,

Whan she had swouned with a dedly chere,

That it was reuthe for to seen and here.

She sayde, Lord, to whom Fortune hath yeven

Victorie, and as a conqueror to liven,

Nought greveth us your glorie and your honour,

But we beseke you of mercie and socour:

Have mercie on our wo and our distresse:

Some drope of pitee thrugh thy gentillesse

Upon us wretched wimmen let now fall;

For certes, lord, there n'is non of us alle

That she n'hath ben a duchesse or a quene;

Now be we caitives, as it is wel sene:

Thanked be Fortune, and hire false whele,

That non estat ensureth to be wele.

And certes, lord, to abiden your presence,

Here in this temple of the goddesse Clemence,

We han ben waiting all this fourtenight:

Now help us, lord, sin it lieth in thy might.

I wretched wight, that wepe and waile thus,

Was whilom wif to King Capaneus,

That starfe at Thebes, cursed be that day,

And alle we that ben in this aray,

And maken all this lamentation,

We losten all our husbondes at that toun,

While that the siege therabouten lay:

And yet now the old Creon, wala wa!

That lord is now of Thebes the citee,

Fulfilled of ire and of iniquittee,

He for despit, and for his tyrannie,

To don the ded bodies a vilanie,

Of alle our lordes, which that ben yslawe,

Hath alle the bodies on an hepe ydrawe,

And will not suffren hem by non assent

Neyther to ben yberied, ne ybrent,

But maketh houndes ete hem in despite.

And with that word, withouten more respite,

They fallen groff, and crien pitously,

Have on us wretched wimmen som mercy,

And let our sorwe sinken in thin herte.

This gentil duk doun from his courser sterte,

With herte piteous, whan he herd hem speke.

Him thoughte that his herte wold all to-breke

When he saw hem so pitous and so mate

That whilom weren of so gret estate,

And in his armes, he hem all up hente,

And hem comforted in ful good entente,

And swore his oth, as he was trewe knight,

He wolde don so ferforthly his might

Upon the tyrant Creon hem to wreke,

That all the peple of Grece shulde speke

How Creon was of Theseus yserved;

As he that hath his deth ful wel deserved.

And right anon, withouten more abode,

His banner he displaide, and forth he rode

To Thebes ward, and all his host beside:

No ner Athenes n'olde he go ne ride,

Ne take his ese fully half a day,

But onward on his way that night he lay,

And sent anon Ipolita the quene

And Emeli hire yonge sister shene,

Unto the toun of Athenes for to dwell;

And forth he rit; ther n'is no more to tell.

The red statue of Mars, with spere and targe,

So shineth in his white banner large,

That all the feldes gliteren up and doun;

And by his banner borne is his penoun,

Of golde ful riche, in which ther was ybete

The Minotaure, which that he slew in Crete.

Thus rit this duk, thus rit this conquerour,

And in his host of chevalrie the flour,

Til that he came to Thebes, and alight

Fayre in a felde, ther as he thought to fight:

But shortly for to speken of this thing,

With Creon, which that was of Thebes king,

He fought and slew him manly as a knight

In plaine bataille, and put his folk to flight;

And by assaut he wan the citee after,

And rent adoun bothe wall, and sparre, and rafter;

And to the ladies he restored again

The bodies of hir housbondes that were slain,

To don the obsequies, as was tho the gise.

But it were all to long for to devise

The grete clamour and the waimenting

Whiche that the ladies made at the brenning

Of the bodies, and the gret honour

That Theseus, the noble conquerour,

Doth to the ladies whan they from him wente;

But shortly for to telle is min entente.

Whan that this worthy duk, this Theseus,

Hath Creon slain, and wonnen Thebes thus,

Still in the feld he toke all night his reste,

And did with all the countree as hem leste;

To ransake in the tas of bodies dede,

Hem for to stripe of harneis and of wede,

The pillours dide hir businesse and cure,

After the bataille and discomfiture;

And so befell, that, in the tas, they found,

Thurgh girt with many a grevous blody wound,

Two yonge knightes ligging by and by,

Bothe in on armes, wrought ful richely;

Of whiche two, Arcite highte that on.

And he that other highte Palamon.

Not fully quik, ne fully ded they were,

But by hir cote armure, and by hir gere,

The heraudes knew hem wel in special,

As tho that weren of the blod real

Of Thebes, and of sustren two yborne:

Out of the tas the pillours han hem torne,

And han hem carried soft unto the tente

Of Theseus, and he ful sone hem sente

To Athenes, for to dwellen in prison

Perpetuel, he n'olde no raunson.

And whan this worthy duk had thus ydon,

He toke his host, and home he rit anon,

With laurel crouned as a conquerour;

And ther he liveth in joye and in honour,

Terme of his lif; what nedeth wordes mo?

And in a tour, in anguish and in wo,

Dwellen this Palamon, and eke Arcite,

For evermo, ther may no gold hem quite.

Thus passeth yere by yere, and day by day,

Till it fell ones, in a morwe of May,

That Emilie, that fayrer was to sene

Than is the lilie upon the stalke grene,

And fressher than the May with floures new,

(For with the rose colour strof hire hewe,

I n'ot which was the finer of hem two,)

Er it was day, as she was wont to do,

She was arisen, and all redy dight;

For May wol have no slogardie a-night:

The season priketh every gentil herte,

And maketh him out of his slepe to sterte,

And sayth, Arise, and do thin observance.

This maketh Emelie han remembraunce

To don honour to May, and for to rise;

Yclothed was she fresshe for to devise;

Hire yelwe here was broided in a tresse

Behind hire back, a yerde long I gesse;

And in the gardin at sonne uprist,

She walketh up and doun wher as hire list;

She gathereth floures, partie white and red,

To make a sotel garland for hire hed;

And as an angel hevenlich she song:

The grete tour that was so thikke and strong,

Which, of the castel, was the chef dongeon

(Wher as these knightes weren in prison,

Of which I tolde you, and tellen shal,)

Was even joinant to the gardin wall,

Ther as this Emelie had hire playing.

Bright was the sonne, and clere that morwening,

And Palamon, this woful prisoner,

As was his wone, by leve of his gayler,

Was risen, and romed in a chambre on high,

In which he all the noble citee seigh,

And eke the gardin ful of brandies grene,

Ther as this fresshe Emelie the shene

Was in hire walk, and romed up and doun.

This sorweful prisoner, this Palamon,

Goth in his chambre roming to and fro,

And to himselfe complaining of his wo:

That he was borne, ful oft he sayd, Alas!

And so befel, by aventure, or cas,

That thrugh a window thikke of many a barre

Of yren gret, and square as any sparre,

He cast his eyen upon Emilia,

And therwithal he blent, and cried, A!

As though he stongen were unto the herte.

And with that crie Arcite anon up sterte,

And saide, Cosin min, what eyleth thee,

That art so pale and dedly for to see?

Why cridest thou? who hath thee don offence?

For Goddes love, take all in patience

Our prison, for it may non other be,

Fortune hath yeven us this adversite:

Som wikke aspect or disposition

Of Saturne, by som constellation,

Hath yeven us this, although we had it sworn:

So stood the heven, when that we were born;

We moste endure; this is the short and plain.

This Palamon answerde, and sayde again,

Cosin, forsoth of this opinion

Thou hast a vaine imagination;

This prison caused me not to crie,

But I was hurt right now thurghout min eye

Into min herte, that wol my bane be.

The fayrenesse of a lady that I se

Yond in the gardin, roming to and fro,

Is cause of all my crying and wo:

I n'ot whe'r she be woman or goddesse,

But Venus is it, sothly, as I gesse.

And therwithall on knees adoun he fill,

And sayde, Venus, if it be your will

You in this gardin thus to transfigure,

Beforn me sorweful wretched creature,

Out of this prison helpe that we may scape,

And if so be our destine be shape

By eterne word, to dien in prison,

Of our lignage have som compassion,

That is so low ybrought by tyrannie.

And with that word Arcita gan espie

Wher as this lady romed to and fro,

And with that sight hire beaute hurt him so,

That if that Palamon was wounded sore,

Arcite is hurt as moche as he, or more:

And with a sigh he sayde pitously,

The fresshe bentee sleth me sodenly,

Of hire that rometh in yonder place.

And but I have hire mercie and hire grace,

That I may seen hire at the leste way,

I n'am but ded, there n'is no more to say.

This Palamon, whan he these wordes herd,

Dispitously he loked, and answerd,

Whether sayest thou this in ernest or in play?

Nay, quod Arcite, in ernest be my fay;

God helpe me so, me lust full yvel play.

This Palamon gan knit his browes twey:

It were, quod he, to thee no gret honour

For to be false, ne for to be traytour

To me, that am thy cosin and thy brother:

Ysworne ful depe, and eche of us to other,

That neuer for to dien in the peine,

Till that the deth departen shal us tweine,

Neyther of us in love to hindre other,

Ne in non other cas, my leve brother;

But that thou shuldest trewely forther me

In evry cas, as I shuld forther thee.

This was thin oth, and min also certain,

I wot it wel thou darst it not withsain:

Thus art thou of my conseil out of doute,

And now thou woldest falsly ben aboute

To love my lady, whom I love and serve,

And ever shal, til that min herte sterve.

Now certes, false Arcite, thou shalt not so;

I loved hire firste, and tolde thee my wo,

As to my conseil, and to my brother sworne

To forther me, as I have tolde beforne,

For which thou art ybounden as a knight

To helpen me, if it lie in thy might;

Or elles art thou false, I dare wel sain.

This Arcita full proudly spake again:

Thou shalt, quod he, be rather false than I,

And thou art false, I tell thee utterly.

For par amour I loved hire first, or thou.

What wolt thou sayn, thou wistest nat right now

Whether she were a woman or a goddesse:

Thin is affection of holinesse,

And min is love as to a creature,

For which I tolde thee min aventure,

As to my cosin, and my brother sworne.

I pose, that thou lovedst hire beforne:

Wost thou not wel the olde clerkes sawe,

That who shall give a lover any lawe?

Love is a greter lawe, by my pan,

Than may be yeven of any erthly man;

And therfore positif lawe, and swiche decree

Is broken all day for love in eche degree.

A man moste nedes love, maugre his hed;

He may nat fleen it though he shuld be ded,

All be she maid, or widewe, or elles wif.

And eke it is not likely all thy lif

To stonden in hire grace, no more shal I;

For well thou wost thyselven veraily,

That thou and I be damned to prison

Perpetuel, us gaineth no raunson.

We strive, as did the houndes for the bone,

They fought all day, and yet hir part was none:

Ther came a kyte, while that they were so wrothe,

And bare away the bone betwix hem bothe:

And, therfore, at kinges court, my brother,

Eche man for himself, ther is non other.

Love if thee lust, for I love, and ay shal;

And sothly, leve brother, this is al.

Here in this prison mosten we endure,

And everich of us take his aventure.

Great was the strif, and long, betwix hem twey,

If that I hadde leiser for to sey;

But to the effect. It happed on a day,

(To tell it you as shortly as I may,)

A worthy duk that highte Perithous,

That felaw was to this duk Theseus

Sin thilke day that they were children lite,

Was come to Athenes, his felaw to visite,

And for to play, as he was wont to do,

For in this world he loved no man so;

And he loved him as tenderly again:

So well they loved, as old bokes sain,

That whan that on was ded, sothly to tell,

His felaw wente and sought him doun in hell;

But of that storie list me not to write.

Duk Perithous loved wel Arcite,

And had him knowe at Thebes yere by yere,

And finally, at request and praiere

Of Perithous, withouten any raunson,

Duk Theseus let him out of prison,

Frely to gon wher that him list over all,

In swiche a gise as I you tellen shall.

This was the forword, plainly for to endite,

Betwixen Theseus and him Arcite:

That if so were, that Arcite were yfound

Ever in his lif, by day or night, o stound

In any countree of this Theseus,

And he were caught, it was accorded thus,

That with a swerd he shulde lese his hed;

Ther was non other remedie, ne rede.

But taketh his leve, and homeward he him speede:

Let him beware, his nekke lieth to wedde.

How great a sorwe suffereth now Arcite?

The deth he feleth thurgh his herte smite:

He wepeth, waileth, crieth pitously,

To sleen himself he waiteth prively.

He said, Alas the day that I was borne!

Now is my prison werse than beforne;

Now is me shape eternally to dwelle

Not only in purgatorie, but in helle.

Alas! that ever I knew Perithous,

For elles had I dwelt with Theseus,

Yfetered in his prison evermo,

Than had I ben in blisse, and not in wo:

Only the sight of hire, whom that I serve,

Though that I never hire grace may deserve,

Wold have sufficed right ynough for me.

O dere cosin Palamon, quod he,

Thin is the victorie of this aventure;

Ful blisful in prison maiest thou endure:

In prison! certes nay, but in paradise.

Wel hath Fortune yturned thee the dise,

That hast the sight of hire, and I the absence.

For possible is, sin thou hast hire presence,

And art a knight, a worthy and an able,

That by some cas, sin Fortune is changeable,

Thou maiest to thy desir somtime atteine:

But I that am exiled, and barreine

Of alle grace, and in so gret despaire,

That ther n'is erthe, water, fire, ne aire,

Ne creature, that of hem maked is,

That may me hele or don comfort in this,

Wel ought I sterve in wanhope and distresse.

Farewel my lif, my lust, and my gladnesse.

Alas! why plainen men so in commune

Of purveiance of God, or of Fortune,

That yeveth hem ful oft in many a gise,

Wel better than they can hemself devise;

Som man desireth for to have richesse,

That cause is of his murdre or gret siknesse;

And som man wold out of his prison fayne,

That in his house is of his meinie slain.

Infinite harmes ben in this matere,

We wote not what thing that we praien here.

We saren as he that dronke is as a mous:

A dronken man wot wel he hath an hous,

But he ne wot which the right way thider,

And to a dronken man the way is slider.

And certes in this world so faren we;

We seken fast after felicite,

But we go wrong ful often trewely.

Thus we may sayen alle, and namely I,

That wende, and had a gret opinion,

That if I might escapen fro prison,

Than I had ben in joye and parfite hele,

Ther now I am exiled fro my wele.

Sin that I may not seen you, Emelie,

I n'am but ded; there n'is no remedie.

Upon that other side Palamon,

Whan that he wist Arcita was agon,

Swiche sorwe he maketh, that the grete tour

Resouned of his yelling and clamour.

The pure fetters on his shinnes grete

Were of his bitter salte teres wete.

Alas! quod he, Arcita, cosin min,

Of all our strif, God wot, the frute is thin.

Thou walkest now in Thebes at thy large,

And of my wo, thou yevest litel charge.

Thou maist, sith thou hast wisdom and manhede,

Assemblen all the folk of our kinrede,

And make werre so sharpe in this contree,

That by som aventure, or som tretee,

Thou maist have hire to lady and to wif,

For whom that I must nedes lese my lif.

For, as by way of possibilitee,

Sith thou art at thy large of prison free,

And art a lord, gret is thine avantage,

More than is min, that sterve her in a cage;

For I may wepe and waile, while that I live,

With all the wo that prison may me yeve,

And eke with peine that love me yeveth also,

That doubleth all my tourment and my wo.

Therwith the fire of jalousie up sterte

Within his brest, and hent him by the herte

So woodly, that he like was to behold

The boxe-tree, or the ashen, ded and cold.

Than said he: O cruel goddes, that governe

This world with binding of your word eterne,

And writen in the table of athamant,

Your parlement, and your eterne grant,

What is mankind more unto yhold

Than is the shepe, that rouketh in the fold?

For slain is man, right as another beest,

And dwelleth eke in prison, and arrest,

And hath siknesse, and gret adversite,

And often times gilteles parde.

What governance is in this prescience,

That gilteless turmenteth innocence?

And yet encreseth this all my penance,

That man is bounden to his observance,

For Goddes sake to leten of his will,

Ther as a beest may all his lust fulfill:

And when a beest is ded, he hath no peine;

But man, after his deth, mote wepe and pleine,

Though in this world he have care and wo,

Withouten doute it maye stonden so.

The answer of this lete I to divines,

But wel I wote, that in this world gret pine is.

Alas! I see a serpent or a thefe,

That many a trewe man hath do meschefe,

Gon at his large, and wher him lust may turn.

But I moste ben in prison thurgh Saturn,

And eke thurgh Juno, jalous and eke wood,

That hath wel neye destruied all the blood

Of Thebes, with his waste walles wide;

And Venus sleeth me on that other side,

For jalousie, and fere of him, Arcite.

Now wol I stent of Palamon a lite,

And leten him in his prison still dwelle,

And of Arcita forth I wol you telle.

The sommer passeth, and the nightes long,

Encresen double wise the peines strong

Both of the lover and of the prisoner;

I n'ot which hath the wofuller mistere:

For, shortly for to say, this Palamon

Perpetuelly is damned to prison,

In chaines and in fetters to ben ded;

And Arcite is exiled on his hed

For evermore, as out of that contree,

Ne never more he shal his lady see.

You lovers, axe I now this question,

Who hath the werse, Arcite, or Palamon?

That on may se his lady day by day,

But in prison moste he dwellen alway:

That other wher him lust may ride or go,

But sen his lady shal he never mo.

Now demeth as you liste, ye that can,

For I wil tell you forth, as I began.

When that Arcite to Thebes comen was,

Ful oft a day he swelt, and said, Alas!

For sen his lady shal he neuer mo.

And, shortly, to concluden all his wo,

So mochel sorwe hadde never creature

That is or shal be while the world may dure.

His slepe, his mete, his drinke, is him byraft,

That lene he wex, and drie as is a shaft.

His eyen holwe, and grisly to behold,

His hewe salowe, and pale as ashen cold;

And solitary he was, and ever alone,

And wailing all the night, making mone;

And if he herde song or instrument,

Than would he wepe, he mighte not be stent:

So feble were his spirites, and so low,

And changed so, that no man coude know

His speche ne his vois, though men it herd.

And in his gere, for all the world he ferd,

Nought only like the lovers maladie,

Of Ereos, but rather ylike manie,

Engendred of humours melancolike,

Beforne his hed in his celle fantastike.

And shortly turned was all up so doun

Both habit and eke dispositioun

Of him, this woful lover Dan Arcite.

What shuld I all day of his wo endite?

Whan he endured had a yere or two

This cruel torment, and this peine and wo,

At Thebes, in his contree, as I said,

Upon a night in slepe as he him laid,

Him thought how that the winged god Mercury

Beforne him stood, and bad him be mery.

His slepy yerde in hond he bare upright;

An hat he wered upon his heres bright:

Arraied was this god, (as he toke kepe,)

As he was whan that Argus toke his slepe,

And said him thus: To Athenes shall thou wende,

Ther is thee shapen of thy wo an ende.

And with that word Arcite awoke and stert.

Now trewely how sore that ever me smert,

Quod he, to Athenes right now wol I fare;

Ne for no drede of deth shall I not spare

To se my lady, that I love and serve;

In hire presence I rekke not to sterve.

And with that word he caught a gret mirrour,

And saw that changed was all his colour,

And saw his visage all in another kind;

And right anon it ran him in his mind,

That sith his face was so disfigured

Of maladie, the which he had endured,

He might wel, if that he bare him lowe,

Live in Athenes evermore unknowe,

And sen his lady wel nigh day by day.

And right anon he changed his aray,

And clad him as a poure labourer;

And all alone (save only a squier,

That knew his privitie and all his cas,

Which was disguised pourely as he was,)

To Athenes is he gone the nexte way.

And to the court he went upon a day,

And at the gate he proffered his service,

To drugge and draw what so men wold devise.

And shortly of this matere for to sayn,

He fell in office with a chamberlain,

The which that dwelling was with Emelie;

For he was wise, and coude sone espie

Of every servent which that served hire:

Wel coud he hewen wood, and water bere,

For he was yonge and mighty for the nones,

And thereto he was strong and big of bones

To done that any wight can him devise.

A yere or two he was in this service,

Page of the chambre of Emelie the bright,

And Philostrate he sayde that he hight.

But half so wel beloved man as he

Ne was ther never in court of his degre.

He was so gentil of conditioun,

That thurghout all the court was his renoun.

They sayden that it were a charite

That Theseus wold enhaunse his degre,

And putten him in a worshipful service,

Ther as he might his vertues exercise.

And thus, within a while, his name is spronge,

Both of his dedes, and of his good tonge,

That Theseus had taken him so ner,

That of his chambre he made him squier,

And gave him gold to mainteine his degre;

And eke men brought him out of his contre

Fro yere to yere ful prively his rent;

But honestly and sleighly he it spent,

That no man wondred how that he it hadde.

And thre yere in this wise his lif he ladde,

And bare him so in pees and eke in werre,

Ther n'as no man that Theseus hath derre.

And in this blisse let I now Arcite,

And speke I wol of Palamon a lite.

In derkenesse and horrible and strong prison

This seven yere hath sitten Palamon,

Forpined, what for love and for distresse.

Who feleth double sorwe and hevinesse

But Palamon? that love distraineth so,

That wood out of his wit he goth for wo,

And eke therto he is a prisonere

Perpetuell, not only for a yere.

Who coude rime in English proprely

His martirdom? forsoth it am not I;

Therfore I passe as lightly as I may.

It fel that in the seventh yere, in May,

The thridde night, (as olde bokes sayn,

That all this storie tellen more plain,)

Were it by aventure or destinee,

(As when a thing is shapen, it shal be)

That sone after the midnight Palamon,

By helping of a frend, brake his prison,

And fleeth the cite faste as he may go,

For he had yeven drinke his gayler so,

Of a clarre, made of a certain wine,

With narcotikes and opie of Thebes fine,

That all the night, though that men wold him shake,

The gailer slept, he mighte not awake;

And thus he fleeth as faste as ever he may.

The night was short, and faste by the day,

That nedes cost he moste himselven hide,

And to a grove faste ther beside,

With dredful foot then stalketh Palamon,

For shortly this was his opinion,

That in that grove he wold him hide all day,

And in the night than wold he take his way

To Thebes ward, his frendes for to preie

On Theseus to helpen him werreie:

And shortly, eyther he wold lese his lif,

Or winnen Emelie unto his wif.

This is the effect, and his entente plein.

Now wol I turnen to Arcite agein,

That litel wist how neighe was his care,

Till that Fortune had brought him in the snare.

The besy larke, the messager of day,

Salewith in hire song the morwe gray,

And firy Phebus riseth up so bright,

That all the orient laugheth of the sight;

And with his stremes drieth in the greves

The silver dropes hanging in the leves.

And Arcite, that is in the court real

With Theseus the squier principal,

Is risen, and loketh on the mery day;

And for to don his observance to May,

Remembring on the point of his desire,

He on his courser, sterting as the fire,

Is ridden to the feldes him to pley,

Out of the court, were it a mile or twey,

And to the grove, of which that I you told,

By aventure, his way he gan to hold,

To maken him a gerlond of the greves,

Were it of woodbind or of hauthorn leves,

And loud he song agen the sonne shene.

O Maye, with all thy floures and thy grene,

Right welcome be thou, faire fresshe May,

I hope that I some grene here getten may.

And from his courser, with a lusty herte,

Into the grove ful hastily he sterte,

And in a path he romed up and doun.

Ther, as by aventure this Palamon

Was in a bush, that no man might him se,

For sore afered of his deth was he:

Nothing ne knew he that it was Arcite,

God wot he wold have trowed it ful lite.

But soth is said, gon sithen are many yeres,

That feld hath eyen, and wood hath eres,

It is ful faire a man to bere him even,

For al day meten men at unset steven.

Ful litel wote Arcite of his felaw,

That was so neigh to herken of his saw;

For in the bush he sitteth now ful still.

Whan that Arcite had romed all his fill,

And songen all the roundel lustily,

Into a studie he fell sodenly,

As don these lovers in hir queinte geres,

Now in the crop, and now down in the breres;

Now up, now doun, as boket in a well.

Right as the Friday, sothly for to tell,

Now shineth it, and now it raineth fast;

Right so can gery Venus overcast

The hertes of hire folk, right as hire day

Is gerfull, right so changeth she aray;

Selde is the Friday all the weke ylike.

Whan Arcite hadde ysonge, he gan to sike,

And set him doun withouten any more:

Alas! quod he, the day that I was bore!

How longe, Juno, thurgh thy crueltee,

Wilt thou werreien Thebes the citee?

Alas! ybrought is to confusion

The blood real of Cadme and Amphion:

Of Cadmus, which that was the firste man

That Thebes built, or firste the toun began.

And of the citee firste was crouned king.

Of his linage am I, and his ofspring

By veray line, as of the stok real:

And now I am so caitif and so thral,

That he that is my mortal enemy

I serve him as his squier pourely.

And yet doth Juno me wel more shame;

For I dare not beknowe min owen name,

But ther, as I was wont to highte Arcite,

Now highte I Philostrat not worth a mite:

Alas! thou fell Mars; alas! thou Juno,

Thus hath your ire our linage all fordo,

Save only me, and wretched Palamon,

That Theseus martireth in prison;

And over all this, to slen me utterly,

Love hath his firy dart so brenningly

Ysticked thurgh my trewe careful hert,

That shapen was my deth erst than my shert.

Ye slen me with your eyen, Emelie;

Ye ben the cause wherfore that I die.

Of all the remenant of min other care

Ne set I not the mountance of a tare,

So that I coud don ought to your plesance.

And with that word he fell doun in a trance

A longe time, and afterward up sterte.

This Palamon that thought thurghout his herte

He felt a colde swerd sodenly glide,

For ire he quoke, no lenger wolde he hide:

And whan that he had herd Arcites tale,

As he were wood, with face ded and pale,

He sterte him up out of the bushes thikke,

And sayde, False Arcite, false traitour wicke,

Now art thou hent, that lovest my lady so;

For whom that I have all this peine and wo,

And art my blood, and to my conseil sworn,

As I ful oft have told thee herebeforn:

And hast bejaped here Duk Theseus,

And falsely changed hast thy name thus;

I wol be ded, or elles thou shalt die:

Thou shalt not love my lady Emelie,

But I wol love hire only and no mo,

For I am Palamon, thy mortal fo.

And though that I no wepen have in this place,

But out of prison am astert by grace,

I drede nought that eyther thou shalt die,

Or thou ne shalt nat loven Emelie:

Chese which thou wilt, for thou shalt not asterte.

This Arcite tho, with ful dispitous herte,

Whan he him knew, and had his tale herd,

As fers as a leon, pulled out a swerd,

And sayde thus; By God, that sitteth above,

N'ere it that thou art sicke, and wood for love,

And eke that thou no wepen hast in this place,

Thou shuldest never out this grove pace,

That thou ne shuldest dien of min hond;

For I defie the suretee and the bond

Which that thou saist that I have made to thee.

What! veray fool, thinke wel that love is free

And I wol love her maugre all thy might:

But for thou art a worthy gentil knight,

And wilnest to darraine hire by bataille,

Have here my trouth, to morwe I will not faille,

Withouten weting of any other wight,

That here I wol be founden as a knight,

And bringen harneis right ynough for thee,

And chese the beste, and leve the werste for me:

And mete and drinke this night wol I bring

Ynough for thee, and cloathes for thy bedding;

And if so be that thou my lady win,

And sle me in this wode ther I am in,

Thou maist well have thy lady as for me.

This Palamon answered, I grant it thee.

And thus they ben departed till a morwe,

When eche of hem hath laid his faith to borwe.

O Cupide, out of alle charitee!

O regne, that wolt no felaw have with thee!

Ful soth is sayde, that love ne lordship

Wol nat, his thankes, have no felawship.

Wel finden that Arcite and Palamon.

Arcite is ridden anone unto the toun,

And on the morwe or it were day light,

Ful prively two harneis hath he dight,

Both suffisant and mete to darreine

The bataille in the field betwix hem tweine;

And on his hors, alone as he was borne,

He carieth all this harneis him beforne;

And the grove, at time and place ysette,

That Arcite and this Palamon ben mette.

Tho changen gan the colour in hir face,

Right as the hunter in the regne of Trace,

That stondeth at a gappe, with a spere,

Whan hunted is the lion or the bere,

And hereth him come rushing in the greves,

And breking bothe the boughes and the leves,

And thinketh, here cometh my mortal enemy,

Withouten faile he must be ded or I:

For eyther I mote slain him at the gappe,

Or he mote slen me, if that me mishappe.

So ferden they, in changing of hir hewe,

As fer as eyther of hem other knewe.

Ther n'as no good day, ne no saluing

But streit withouten wordes rehersing

Everich of hem halpe to armen other

As frendly as he were his owen brother;

And, after that, with sharpe speres strong

They foineden eche at other wonder long.

Thou mightest wenen, that this Palamon

In his fighting were a wood leon,

And as a cruel tigre was Arcite:

As wild bores gan they togeder smite,

That frothen white as fome for ire wood;

Up to the ancle fought they in hir blood;

And in this wise I let hem fighting dwelle,

As forth I wol of Theseus you telle.

The Destinee, ministre general,

That executeth in the world over al

The purveiance that God hath sen beforne,

So strong it is, that though the world hath sworne

The contrary of thing by ya or nay,

Yet sometime it shall fallen on a day

That falleth nat efte in a thousand yere:

For certainly our appetites here,

Be it of werre, or pees, or hate, or love,

All is this ruled by the sight above.

This mene I now by mighty Theseus,

That for to hunten is so desirous,

And namely at the gret hart in May,

That in his bed ther daweth him no day,

That he n'is clad, and redy for to ride

With hunte and horne, and houndes him beside:

For in his hunting hath he swiche delite,

That it is all his joye and appetite,

To ben himself the grete harts bane;

For after Mars he serveth now Diane.

Clere was the day, as I have told or this,

And Theseus, with alle joye and blis,

With his Ipolitia, the fayre quene,

And Emelie, yclothed all in grene,

On hunting ben thy ridden really,

And to the grove, that stood ther faste by,

In which ther was an hart, as men him told,

Duk Theseus the streite way hath hold,

And to the launde he rideth him ful right,

Ther was the hart ywont to have his flight,

And over a brooke, and so forth on his wey.

This duk wol have a cours at him or twey,

With houndes, swiche as him lust to commaunde.

And when this duk was comen to the launde,

Under the sonne he loked, and anon

He was ware of Arcite and Palamon,

That foughten breme, as it were bolles two;

The brighte swerdes wenten to and fro

So hidously, that with the leste stroke

It semed that it wold felle an oke:

But what they weren nothing he ne wote.

This duk his courser with his sporres smote,

And at a stert he was betwix hem two,

And pulled out a swerde, and cried, Ho!

No more, up peine of lesing of your hed;

By mighty Mars, he shall anon be ded

That smiteth any stroke that I may sen!

But telleth me what mistere men ye ben,

That ben so hardy for to fighten here

Withouten any juge or other officere,

As though it were in listes really?

This Palamon answered hastily,

And saide; Sire, what nedeth wordes mo?

We have the death deserved bothe two;

Two woful wretches ben we, two caitives,

That ben accombred of our owen lives;

And, as thou art a rightful lord and juge,

Ne yeve us neyther mercie ne refuge;

But sle me first for seinte charitee,

But sle my felaw eke as wel as me:

Or sle him first, for though thou know it lite,

This is thy mortal fo, this is Arcite,

That fro thy lond is banished on his hed,

For which he hath deserved to be ded;

For this is he that came unto thy gate,

And sayde that he highte Philostrate.

Thus hath he japed thee full many a yere,

And thou hast maked him thy chief squiere:

And this is he that loveth Emelie.

For sith the day is come that I shal die,

I make plainly my confession;

That I am thilke woful Palamon,

That hath thy prison broken wilfully;

I am thy mortal fo, and it am I

That loveth so hot Emelie the bright,

That I wold dien present in hire sight;

Therfore I axe deth and my jewise,

But sle my felaw in the same wise,

For both we have deserved to be slain.

This worthy duk answred anon again,

And sayd, This is a short conclusion,

Your owen mouth, by your confession,

Hath damned you, and I wol it recorde.

It nedeth not to pine you with the corde:

Ye shul be ded, by mighty Mars the rede.

The quene anon for veray womanhede

Gan for to wepe, and so did Emelie,

And all the ladies in the compagnie.

Gret pite was, it, as it thought hem alle,

That ever swiche a chance shulde befalle,

For gentil men they were of gret estat,

And nothing but for love was this debat;

And sawe hir blody woundes wide and sore,

And alle criden bothe lesse and more,

Have mercie, lord, upon us wimmen alle,

And on hir bare knees adoun they falle,

And wold have kist his feet ther as he stood,

Till at the last, aslaked was his mood,

(For pitee renneth sone in gentil herte,)

And though he first for ire quoke and sterte,

He hath considered shortly in a clause,

The trespas of hem both, and eke the cause;

And although that his ire hir gilt accused,

Yet in his reson he hem both excused:

As thus; he thought wel that every man

Wol helpe himself in love, if that he can,

And eke deliver himself out of prison;

And eke his herte had compassion

Of wimmen, for they wepten ever in on,

And in his gentil herte he thoughte anon,

And soft unto himself he sayed, Fie

Upon a lord that wol have no mercie,

But be a leon both in word and dede,

To hem that ben in repentance and drede,

As wel as to a proud dispitous man,

That wol mainteinen that he first began.

That lord hath litel of discretion,

That in swiche cas can no division,

But weigheth pride and humblesse after on.

And shortly, when his ire is thus agon,

He gan to loken up with eyen light,

And spake these same wordes all on hight:

The god of Love, a benedicite!

How mighty, and how gret a lord is he!

Again his might ther gainen non obstacles,

He may be cleped a god for his miracles:

For he can maken at his owen gise

Of everich herte, as that him list devise.

Lo! here this Arcite, and this Palamon,

That quitely weren out of my prison,

And might have lived in Thebes really,

And weten I am hir mortal enemy,

And that hir deth lith in my might also,

And yet hath love maugre hir eyen two,

Ybrought hem hither bothe for to die.

Who may ben a fool, but if he love?

Behold, for Goddes sake, that sitteth above,

Se how they blede! be they not wel araied?

Thus hath hir lord, the god of Love, hem paied

Hir wages and hir fees for hir service,

And yet they wenen for to be ful wise

That serven Love, for ought that may befalle.

And yet is this the beste game of alle,

That she, for whom they have this jolite,

Con hem therfore as mochel thank as me.

She wot no more of alle this hote fare,

By God, than wot a cuckow or an hare.

But alle mote ben assaied hote or cold;

A man mot ben a fool, other yonge or old;

I wot it by myself ful yore agon;

For in my time a servant was I on:

And therefore sith I know of loves peine,

And wote how sore it can a man destreine;

As he that oft hath been caught in his las,

I you foryeve all holly this trespas,

At request of the quene, that kneleth here,

And eke of Emelie, my suster dere,

And ye shul both anon unto me swere

That never mo ye shul my contree dere,

Ne maken werre upon me night ne day,

But ben my frendes in alle that ye may.

I you foryeve this trespas every del.

And they him sware his axing fayr and wel;

And him of lordship and of mercie praid,

And he hem granted grace, and thus he said:

To speke of real linage and richesse,

Though that she were a quene or a princesse,

Eche of you bothe is worthy, douteles,

To wedden whan time is, but natheles

I speke as for my suster Emelie,

For whom ye have this strif and jalousie,

Ye wot yourself, she may not wedden two

At ones, though ye fighten evermo;

But on of you, al be him loth or lefe,

He mot gon pipen in an ivy lefe;

This is to say, she may not have you bothe,

Al be ye never so jalous, ne so wrothe:

And forthy I you put in this degree,

That eche of you shall have his destinee

As him is shape, and herkneth in what wise;

Lo here your ende, of that I shal devise.

My will is this, for plat conclusion,

Withouten any replication:

If that you liketh, take it for the beste,

That everich of you shal gon wher him lest,

Freely, withouten raunson or dangere;

And this day fifty wekes, ferre ne nere,

Everich of you shal bring an hundred knightes,

Armed for the listes up at all rightes,

Alle redy to darrein hire by bataille.

And this behete I you withouten faille,

Upon my trouth, and as I am a knight,

That whether of you bothe hath that might,

This is to sayn, that whether he or thou

May with his hundred, as I spake of now,

Sle his contrary, or out of listes drive,

Him shall I yeven Emelie to wive,

To whom that fortune yeveth so fayr a grace.

The listes shal I maken in this place;

And God so wisly on my soule rewe,

As I shal even juge ben, and trewe.

Ye shal non other ende with me maken,

That on of you ne shall be ded or taken;

And if you thinketh this is wel ysaid,

Saith your avis, and holdeth you apaid.

This is your ende, and your conclusion.

Who loketh lightly now but Palamon?

Who springeth up for joye but Arcite?

Who coud it tell, or who coud it endite,

The joye that is maked in the place,

Whan Theseus hath don so fayre a grace?

But doun on knees went every manere wight,

And thanked him with all hir hertes might,

And namely these Thebanes often sith.

And thus with good hope and with herte blith

They taken hir leve, and homeward gan they ride

To Thebes with his olde walles wide.

I trowe men wolde deme it negligence

If I foryete to tellen the dispence

Of Theseus, that goth so besily

To maken up the listes really,

That swiche a noble theatre as it was

I dare wel sayn in alle this world ther n'as.

The circuite a mile was aboute,

Walled of stone, and diched all withoute;

Round was the shape, in manere of a compas,

Ful of degrees, the hight of sixty pas,

That, whan a man was set on o degree,

He letted not his felaw for to see.

Estward ther stood a gate of marbel white,

Westward right swiche another in the opposite;

And shortly to concluden, swiche a place

Was never in erth, in so litel a space:

For in the lond ther n'as no craftes man

That geometrie or arsemetrike can,

Ne portreiour, ne kerver of images,

That Theseus ne yaf him mete and wages,

The theatre for to maken and devise.

And for to don his rite and sacrifice,

He estward hath upon the gate above,

In worship of Venus, goddesse of Love,

Don make an auter, and an oratorie;

And westward, in the minde and in memorie

Of Mars, he maked hath right swich another,

That coste largely of gold a fother:

And northward, in a touret on the wall,

Of alabastre white, and red corall,

An oratorie, riche for to see,

In worship of Diane of chastitee,

Hath Theseus don wrought in noble wise.

But yet had I foryetten to devise

The noble kerving, and the portreitures,

The shape, the contenance, of the figures

That weren in these oratories three.

First, in the temple of Venus, maist thou see,

Wrought on the wall, ful pitous to beholde,

The broken slepes, and the sikes cold,

The sacred teres, and the waimentinges,

The firy strokes of the desiringes,

That Loves servantes in this lif enduren,

The othes that hir covenants assuren.

Plesance and Hope, Desire, Foolhardinesse,

Beaute and Youth, Baudrie and Richesse,

Charmes and Force, Lesinges and Flaterie,

Dispence, Besinesse, and Jalousie,

That wered of yelwe goldes a gerlond,

And hadde a cuckow sitting on hire hond;

Festes, instruments, and caroles, and dances,

Lust and array, and all the circumstances

Of Love, which that I reken, and reken shall,

By ordre weren peinted on the wall,

And mo than I can make of mention:

For sothly all the mount of Citheron,

Ther Venus hath hire principal dwelling,

Was shewed on the wall in purtreying,

With all the gardin, and the lustinesse:

Nought was foryetten the porter Idlenesse,

Ne Narcissus the fayrr, of yore agone,

Ne yet the folie of King Salomon,

Ne yet the grete strengthe of Hercules.

The enchantment of Medea and Circes,

Ne of Turnus the hardy fiers corage,

The riche Cresus, caitif in servage.

Thus may ye seen, that wisdom ne richesse,

Beaute ne sleighte, strengthe ne hardinesse,

Ne may with Venus holden champartie;

For as hire liste, the world may she gie.

Lo, all these folk so caught were in hire las,

Til they for wo ful often said, Alas!

Sufficeth here ensamples on or two,

And yet I coud reken a thousand mo.

The statue of Venus, glorious for to see,

Was naked fleting in the large see,

And, fro the navel doun, all covered was

With wawes grene, and bright as any glas:

A citole in hire right hand hadde she,

And on hire hed, ful semely for to see,

A rose gerlond fresh, and wel smelling;

Above hire hed, hire doves fleckering;

Before hire stood hire sone Cupido;

Upon his shoulders winges had he two,

And blind he was, as it is often sene;

A bow he bare, and arwes bright and kene.

Why shuld I not as wel eke tell you all

The purtreiture that was upon the wall,

Within the temple of mighty Mars the rede?

All peinted was the wall in length and brede,

Like to the estres of the grisly place

That highte the gret temple of Mars in Trace:

In thilke colde and frosty region,

Ther as Mars hath his sovereine mansion.

First, on the wall was peinted a forest,

In which ther wonneth nyther man ne best,

With knotty knarry barrien trees old,

Of stubbes sharpe, and hidous to behold.

In which ther ran a romble and a swough,

As though a storme shuld bresten every bough;

And dounward from an hill, under a bent,

Ther stood the temple of Mars armipotent,

Wrought all of burned stele, of which the entree

Was longe and streite, and ghastly for to see;

And thereout came a rage and swiche a vise,

That it made all the gates for to rise.

The northern light in at the dore shone,

For window on the wall ne was ther none,

Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne.

The dore was all of athamant eterne,

Yclenched overthwart and endelong,

With yren tough, and for to make it strong,

Every piler, the temple to sustene,

Was tonne-gret, of yren bright and shene.

Ther saw I first the derk imagining

Of Felonie, and alle the compassing;

The cruel Ire, red as any glede;

The Pikepurse, and eke the pale Drede;

The Smiler, with the knife under the cloke;

The shepen brenning with the blake smoke;

The Treson of the mordring in the bedde;

The open Werre, with woundes all bebledde,

Conteke with blody knife Sharp menace;

All of chirking was that sorry place.

The sleer of himself yet saw I there,

His herte blood hath bathed all his here:

The naile ydriven in the shode on hight;

The cold Deth, with mouth gaping upright.

Amiddes of the temple sate Mischance,

With discomfort and sory countenaunce;

Yet saw I Woodnesse laughing in his rage,

Armed Complaint, Outhees, and fiers Outrage;

The carraine in the bush, with throte ycorven;

A thousand slain, and not of qualme ystorven;

The tirant with the prey by force yraft;

The toun destroied, ther was nothing laft;

Yet saw I brent the shippes hoppesteres;

The hunte ystrangled with the wilde beres;

The sow freting the child right in the cradel;

The coke yscalded for all his long ladel:

Nought was foryete by the infortune of Marte,

The carter overridden with his carte,

Under the wheel ful low he lay a doun.

Ther were also of Martes division,

The armerer, and the bowyer, and the smith,

That forgeth sharp swerdes on the stith;

And all above, depeinted in a tour,

Saw I a Conquest, sitting in great honour,

With thilke sharp swerd over his hed

Yhanging by a subtil twined thred.

Depeinted was the slaughter of Julius,

Of gret Nero, and of Antonius:

All be that thilke time they were unborne,

Yet was hir deth depeinted ther beforne;

By menacing of Mars, right by figure,

So was it shewed in that portreiture,

As is depeinted in the cercles above,

Who shal be slaine, or elles ded for love.

Sufficeth on ensample in stories olde;

I may not reken hem alle though I wolde.

The statue of Mars upon a carte stood,

Armed, and loked grim, as he were wood;

And over his hed ther shinen two figures

Of sterres that ben cleped in scriptures,

That on Puella, that other Rubeus.

This god of Armes was araied thus:

A wolf ther stood beforne him at his fete,

With eyen red, and of a man he ete.

With subtil pensill peinted was this storie,

In redouting of Mars and of his glorie.

Now to the temple of Diane the chaste,

As shortly as I can, I wol me haste,

To tellen you of the descriptioun,

Depeinted by the walles up and doun,

Of hunting and of shamefast chastitee.

Ther saw I how woful Calistope,

Whan that Diane agreved was with here,

Was turned from a woman til a bere,

And after was she made the lodesterre.

Thus was it peinted, I can say no ferre;

Hire sone is eke a sterre, as men may see.

There saw I Danè yturned til a tree;

I mene not hire the goddesse Diane,

But Peneus daughter, which that highte Danè.

Ther saw I Atteon, an hart ymaked,

For vengeance that he saw Diane all naked:

I saw how that his houndes have him caught,

And freten him, for that they knew him naught.

Yet peinted was a litel forthermore,

How Athalante hunted the wilde bore;

And Meleagre, and many another mo,

For which Diane wrought hem care and wo.

Ther saw I many another wonder storie,

The which me liste not drawen to memorie.

This goddesse on an hart ful heye sete,

With smale houndes all about hire fete,

And undernethe hire fete she hadde a mone,

Wexing it was, and shuld wanen sone.

In gaudy grene hire statue clothed was,

With bow in hond, and arwes in a cas;

Hire eyen cast she ful low adoun,

Ther Pluto hath his derke regioun.

A woman travailling was hire beforne,

But for hire child so longe was unborne,

Full pitously Lucina gan she call,

And sayed; Helpe, for thou mayest beste of all.

Wel coude he peinten lifly that it wrought,

With many a florein he the hewes bought.

Now ben these listes made, and Theseus,

That at his gret cost arraied thus

The temples, and the theatre everidel,

Whan it was don, him liked wonder wel.

But stint I wol of Theseus a lite,

And speke of Palamon and of Arcite.

The day approcheth of hir returning,

That everich shuld an hundred knightes bring

The bataille to darreine, as I you told;

And til Athenes hir covenant for to hold,

Hath everich of hem brought an hundred knightes

Wel armed for the werre at alle rightes;

And sikerly ther trowed many a man

That never sithen that the world began,

As for to speke of knighthood of hir hond,

As fer as God hath maked see and lond;

N'as of so fewe so noble a compagnie.

For every wight that loved chivalrie,

And wold his thankes han a passant name,

Hath praied that he might ben of that game,

And wel was him that therto chosen was,

For if ther fell to morwe such a cas,

Ye knowen wel that every lusty knight

That loveth par amour, and hath his might,

Were it in Englelond or elleswher,

They wold hir thankes willen to be ther.

To fight for a lady, a benedicite,

It were a lusty sight for to se.

And right so ferden they with Palamon,

With him there wenten knightes many on;

Som wol ben armed in an habergeon,

And in a brest-plate, and in a gipon;

And som wol have a pair of plates large,

And som wol have a Pruce sheld or a targe;

Som wol ben armed on his legges wele,

And have an axe, and some a mace of stele:

Ther n'is no newe guise, that it n'as old;

Armed they weren, as I have you told,

Everich after his opinion.

Ther maist thou se coming with Palamon,

Licurge himself, the gret King of Trace;

Black was his berd, and manly was his face;

The cercles of his eyen in his hed

They gloweden betwixen yelwe and red;

And like a griffon loked he about,

With kemped heres on his browes stout;

His limmes gret, his braunes hard and stronge,

His shouldres brode, his armes round and longe:

And as the guise was in his contree,

Ful highe upon a char of gold stood he,

With foure white bolles in the trais.

Instede of a cote armure, on his harneis,

With nayles yelwe, and bright as any gold,

He hadde a bere's skin, cole-blake for old.

His longe here was kempt behind his bak,

As any ravnes fether it shone for blake.

A wreth of gold arm-gret, of huge weight,

Upon his hed, sate full of stones bright,

Of fine rubins and of diamans.

About his char ther wenten white alauns,

Twenty and mo, as gret as any stere

To hunten at the leon, or the dere,

And folwed him, with mosel fast ybound

Colered of gold, and torettes filed round:

An hundred lordes had he in his route,

Armed full wel, with hertes sterne and stoute.

With Arcita, in stories as men finde,

The gret Emetrius, the King of Inde,

Upon a stede bay, trapped in stele,

Covered with cloth of gold, diapred wele,

Came riding like the god of armes, Mars:

His cote armure was of a cloth of Tars,

Couched with perles white, round, and gret;

His sadel was of brent golde new ybete;

A mantelet, upon his shoulders hanging,

Bret-ful of rubies red, as fire sparkling,

His crispe here like ringes was yronne,

And that was yelwe, and glitered as the sonne;

His nose was high, his eyen bright citrin,

His lippes round, his colour was sanguin,

A fewe fraknes in his face yspreint,

Betwixen yelwe and blake somdel ymeint;

And as a leon he his loking caste,

Of five-and-twenty yere his age I caste;

His berd was wel begonnen for to spring,

His vois was as a trompe thondering;

Upon his hed he wered, of laurer grene,

A gerlonde fresshe, and lusty for to sene;

Upon his honde he bare, for his deduit,

An egle tame, as any lily whit;

An hundred lordes had he with him there,

All armed save hir hedes in all hir gere,

Ful richely in alle manere thinges;

For trusteth wel, that erles, dukes, kinges,

Were gathered in this noble compagnie,

For love, and for encrese of chevalrie.

About this king ther ran, on every part,

Ful many a tame leon and leopart.

And in this wise, these lords all and some,

Ben on the Sonday to the citee come

Abouten prime, and in the toun alight.

This Theseus, this duk, this worthy knight,

Whan he had brought hem into his citee,

And inned hem, everich at his degree,

He festeth hem, and doth so gret labour

To easen hem, and don hem all honour,

That yet men wenen that no mannes wit

Of non estat ne coud amenden it.

The minstralcie, the service at the feste

The grete yeftes to the most and leste,

The riche array of Theseus paleis,

Ne who sate first, ne last, upon the deis,

What ladies fayrest ben, or best dauncing,

Or which of hem can carole best or sing,

Ne who most felingly speketh of love,

What haukes sitten on perche above,

What houndes liggen on the floor adoun,

Of all this now I make no mentioun.

But of the effect, that thinketh me the beste,

Now cometh the point, and herkeneth if you lest.

The Sonday nighte, or day began to spring,

Whan Palamon the larke herde sing,

Although it n'ere not day by houres two,

Yet sang the larke, and Palamon right tho

With holy herte, and with an high corage,

He rose, to wenden on his pilgrimage

Unto the blissful Citherea benigne,

I mene Venus, honourable and digne.

And in hire houre he walketh forth a pas

Unto the listes, ther hire temple was,

And doun he kneleth, and with humble chere

And herte sore he sayde, as ye shul here:

Fayrest of fayre! O lady min Venus,

Daughter of Jove, and spouse to Vulcanus,

Thou glader of the mount of Citheron!

For thilke love thou haddest to Adon,

Have pitee on my bitter teres smerte,

And take myn humble prair at thin herte.

Alas! I ne have no langage to tell

The effecte, ne the torment of min hell;

Min herte may min harmes not bewrey;

I am so confuse that I cannot say:

But mercy, lady bright! that knowest wele

My thought, and seest what harmes that I fele:

Consider all this, and rue upon my sore,

As wisly as I shal for evermore

Emforth my might thy trewe servant be,

And holden werre alway with chastite;

That make I min avow, so ye me helpe,

I kepe nought of armes for to yelpe,

Ne axe I nat to-morwe to have victorie,

Ne renoun in this cas, ne vaine glorie

Of pris of armes, blowen up and doun,

But I wold have fully possessioun

Of Emelie, and die in her servise:

Finde thou the manere how, and in what wise.

I rekke not but it may better be

To have victory of hem, or they of me,

So that I have my lady in min armes;

For though so be that Mars is god of armes,

Your vertue is so grete in heven above,

That, if you liste, I shal wel have my love.

Thy temple wol I worship evermo,

And on thin auter, wher I ride or go

I wol don sacrifice, and fires bete.

And if ye wol not so, my lady swete!

Than pray I you to-morwe with a spere,

That Arcita me thurgh the herte bere;

Than rekke I not when I have lost my lif

Though that Arcita win hire to his wif.

This is the effecte and ende of my praiere,

Yeve me my love, thou blissful lady dere!

When the orison was don of Palamon,

His sacrifice he did, and that anon.

Ful pitously, with alle circumstances,

All tell I not as now his observances.

But at the last the statue of Venus shoke,

And made a signe, whereby that he toke,

That his praiere accepted was that day;

For though the signe shewed a delay,

Yet wist he wel, that granted was his bone,

And with glad herte he went him home ful sone.

The thirdde hour inequal that Palamon

Began to Venus temple for to gon,

Up rose the sonne, and up rose Emelie,

And to the temple of Diane gan hie.

Hire maydens, that she thider with hire ladde

Ful redily with hem the fire they hadde,

The encense, the clothes, and the remenant all,

That to the sacrifice longen shall.

The hornes full of mede, as was the gise,

Ther lakked nought to don hire sacrifise.

Smoking the temple, full of clothes fayre,

This Emelie, with herte debonaire

Hire body wesshe with water of a well,

But how she did hire rite I dare not tell;

But it be any thing in generall,

And yet it were a game to heren all;

To him that meneth wel it n'ere no charge,

But it is good a man to ben at large.

Hire bright here kembed was, untressed all;

A coroune of a grene oke ceriall

Upon hire hed was set ful fayre and mete;

Two fires on the auter gan she bete,

And did hire thinges, as men may behold

In Stace of Thebes, and these bokes old.

Whan kendled was the fire, with pitous chere,

Unto Diane she spake, as ye may here:

O chaste goddesse of the wodes grene,

To whom both heven, and erth, and see, is sene,

Quene of the regne of Pluto, derke and lowe,

Goddesse of maidens that myn herte hast knowe

Ful many a yere, and wost what I desire,

As kepe me fro thy vengeance and thin ire,

That Atteon aboughte cruelly!

Chast goddesse! wel wotest thou that I

Desire to ben a mayden all my lif,

Ne never wol I be no love ne wif:

I am (thou wost) yet of thy compagnie,

A mayde, and love hunting and venerie,

And for to walken in the wodes wilde,

And not to ben a wife, and be with childe:

Nought wol I knowen compagnie of man;

Now helpe me, lady, sith you may and can;

For tho three formes that thou hast in thee:

And Palamon, that hath swiche love to me,

And eke Arcite, that loveth me so sore,

This grace I praie thee, withouten more,

As sende love and pees betwix hem two,

And fro me turne away hir hertes so,

That all hir hot love and hir desire,

And all hir besy torment, and hir fire

Be queinte, or torned in another place.

And if so be thou wolt not do me grace,

Or if my destinee be shapen so,

That I shal nedes have on of hem two,

As sende me him that most desireth me.

Beholde, goddesse of clene chastite,

The bitter teres that on my chekes fall,

Sin thou art a mayde, and keper of us all,

My maydenhede thou kepe, and well conserve,

And while I live a mayde I wol thee serve.

The fires brenne upon the auter clere,

While Emelie was thus in hire praiere,

But sodenly she saw a sighte queinte;

For right anon on of the fires queinte

And quiked again, and after that, anon

That other fire was queinte, and all agon;

And as it queinte, it made a whisteling,

As don these brondes wet in hir brenning;

And at the brondes ende outran anon,

As it were blody dropes many on;

For which, so sore agast was Emelie,

That she was well neigh mad, and gan to crie;

For she ne wiste what it signified,

But only for the fere thus she cried,

And wept, that it was pitee for to here.

And therewithall Diane gan appere

With bow in hond, right as an hunteresse,

And sayde, Doughter, stint thin hevinesse.

Among the goddes highe it is affermed,

And by eterne word written and confermed,

Thou shalt be wedded unto on of tho

That han for thee so mochel care and wo,

But unto which of hem I may not tell.

Farewel! for here I may no longer dwell:

The fires, which that on min auter brenne,

Shal thee declaren, er that thou go henne,

Thin aventure of love as in this case.

And, with that word, the arwes in the case

Of the goddesse clatteren fast and ring,

And forth she went, and made a vanishing;

For which this Emelie astonied was,

And sayde, What amounteth this, alas!

I put me in thy protection,

Diane, and under thy disposition.

And home she goth anon the nexte way.

This is the effecte; there n'is no more to say.

The next houre of Mars folwing this,

Arcite unto the temple walked is

Of fierce Mars to don his sacrifise,

With all the rites of his payen wise:

With pitous herte and high devotion,

Right thus to Mars he sayde his orison:

O stronge God, that in the regnes cold

Of Trace honoured art, and lord yhold,

And hast in every regne, and every lond

Of armes, all the bridel in thin hond,

And hem fortunest as thee list devise,

Accept of me my pitous sacrifise!

It so be that my youthe may deserve,

And that my might be worthy for to serve

Thy godhed, that I may ben on of thine;

Than praie I thee to rewe upon my pine;

For thilke peine, and thilke hot fire,

In which thou whilom brendest for desire,

Whanne that thou usedest the beautee

Of fayre yonge Venus fresshe and free,

And haddest hire in armes at thy wille;

Although thee ones on a time misfille,

Whan Vulcanus had caught thee in his las,

And fond thee ligging by his wif, alas!

For thilke sorwe that was tho in thin herte,

Have reuthe as wel upon my peines smerte.

I am yonge and unkonning as thou wost,

And, as I trow, with love offended most,

That ever was ony lives creature;

For she that doth me all this wo endure

Ne recceth never whether I sinke or flete;

And wel I wote, or she me mercy hete,

I moste with strengthe win hire in the place:

And wel I wote, withouten helpe or grace

Of thee, ne may my strengthe not availle:

Than help me, Lord, to-morwe in my bataille,

For thilke fire that whilom brenned thee,

As wel as that this fire now brenneth me,

And do, that I to-morwe may han victorie;

Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.

Thy soveraine temple wol I most honouren

Of ony place, and alway most labouren

In thy plesance, and in thy craftes strong,

And in thy temple I wol my baner hong,

And all the armes of my compagnie,

And evermore, until that day I die,

Eterne fire I wol beforne thee find;

And eke to this avow I wol me bind.

My berd, my here, that hangeth long adoun,

That never yet felt non offensioun,

Of rasour ne of shere, I wol thee yeve,

And ben thy trewe servant while I live.

Now, Lord, have reuth upon my sorwes sore,

Yeve me the victorie, I axe thee no more.

The praier stint of Arcita the stronge,

The ringes on the temple dore that honge,

And eke the dores, clattereden ful fast,

Of which Arcita somwhat him agast.

The fires brent upon the auter bright,

That it gan all the temple for to light,

A swete smel anon the ground up yaf,

And Arcita anon his hond up haf,

And more enscense into the fire he cast,

With other rites mo; and, at the last,

The statue of Mars began his hauberke ring,

And with that soun he herd a murmuring

Ful low and dim, that said thus, Victory;

For which he yaf to Mars honour and glorie.

And thus with joye, and hope wel to fare,

Arcite anon unto his inne is fare,

As fayn as foul is of the brighte sonne;

And right anon swiche strif ther is begonne,

For thilke granting in the heven above,

Betwixen Venus, the goddesse of Love,

And Mars, the sterne god armipotent,

That Jupiter was besy it to stent,

Til that the pale Saturnus the Colde,

That knew so many of aventures olde,

Fond in his olde experience and art,

That he ful sone hath plesed every part.

As sooth is sayd, elde hath gret avantage;

In elde is both wisdom and usage:

Men may the old out-renne, but not out-rede.

Saturne anon, to stenten strif and drede,

Albeit that it is again his kind,

Of all this strif he gan a remedy find.

My dere doughter Venus, quod Saturne,

My cours, that hath so wide for to turne,

Hath more power than wot any man.

Min is the drenching in the see so wan,

Min is the prison in the derke cote,

Min is the strangel and hanging by the throte,

The murmure, and the cherles rebelling,

The groyning, and the privy enpoysoning.

I do vengeaunce and pleine correction

While I dwelt in the signe of the Leon.

Min is the ruine of the highe halles,

The falling of the toures and of the walles

Upon the minour, or the carpenter;

I slew Samson in shaking the piler.

Min ben also the maladies colde,

The derke tresons and the castes olde:

My loking is the fader of pestilence.

Now wepe no more; I shal do diligence

That Palamon, that is thin owen knight,

Shal have his lady as thou hast him hight.

Thogh Mars shal help his knight yet natheles,

Betwixen you ther mot sometime be pees:

All be ye not of o complexion,

That causeth all day swiche division.

I am thine ayel, redy at thy will;

Wepe now no more, I shall thy lust fulfill.

Now wol I stenten of the goddes above,

Of Mars and of Venus, goddesse of Love,

And tellen you as plainly as I can

The gret effect for which that I began.

Gret was the feste in Athenes thilke day,

And eke the lusty seson of that May,

Made every wight to ben in swiche plesance,

That all that Monday justen they and dance,

And spenden it in Venus highe servise;

But by the cause that they shulden rise

Erly a-morwe, for to seen the sight,

Unto hir reste wenten they at night.

And on the morwe, whan the day gan spring,

Of hors and harneis, noise and clattering,

Ther was in the hostelries all aboute;

And to the paleis rode ther many a route

Of lordes upon stedes and palfreis.

There mayest thou see devising of harneis,

So uncouth, and so riche, and wrought so wele,

Of goldsmithry, of brouding, and of stele;

The sheldes brighte, testeres and trappures,

Gold-hewen helmes, hauberkes, cote armures,

Lordes in parementes, on hir courseres,

Knightes of retenue, and eke squires,

Nailing the speres, and helmes bokeling,

Guiding of sheldes, with lainers lacing;

Ther, as nede is, they weren nothing idel;

The fomy stedes on the golden bridel

Gnawing, and fast the armurers also

With file and hammer priking to and fro;

Yemen on foot, and communes many on

With shorte staves, thicke as they may gon;

Pipes, trompes, nakeres, and clariounes,

That in the battaille blowen blody sounes;

The paleis full of peple up and doun,

Here three, ther ten, holding hir questioun,

Devining of these Theban knightes two.

Som sayden thus, som sayde it shall be so;

Som helden with him with the blacke berd,

Som with the balled, som with the thick herd;

Some saide he loked grim, and wolde fighte,

He hath a sparth of twenty pound of wighte.

Thus was the halle full of divining,

Long after that the sonne gan up spring.

The gret Theseus that of his slepe is waked

With minstralcie and noise that was maked,

Held yet the chambre of his paleis riche,

Til that the Theban knightes bothe yliche

Honoured were, and to the paleis fette.

Duk Theseus is at the window sette,

Araied right as he were a god in trone;

The peple preset thiderward ful sone,

Him for to seen, and don high reverence,

And eke to herken his heste and his sentence.

An heraud on a scaffold made an o,

Til that the noise of the peple was ydo,

And whan he saw the peple of noise al still,

Thus shewed he the mighty dukes will.

The lord hath of his high discretion

Considered that it were destruction

To gentil blood to fighten in the gise

Of mortal bataille now in this emprise;

Wherefore to shapen that they shul not die,

He wol his firste purpos modifie.

No man therefore, up peine of losse of lif,

No maner shot, ne pollax, ne short knif,

Into the listes send, or thider bring,

Ne short swerd to stike with point biting,

No man ne draw, ne bere it by his side,

Ne no man shal unto his felaw ride

But o cours, with a sharpe ygrounden spere;

Foin if him list on foot, himself to were;

And he that is at meschief shal be take,

And not slaine, but be brought unto the stake

That shal ben ordeined on eyther side;

Thider he shal by force, and ther abide;

And if so fall the chevetain be take

On eyther side, or elles sleth his make,

No longer shal the tourneying ylast.

God spede you; goth forth and lay on fast:

With longe swerd and with mase fighteth your fill.

Goth now your way; this is the lordes will.

The vois of the peple touched to the heven,

So loude crieden they with mery steven,

God save swiche a lorde that is so good,

He wilneth no destruction of blood.

Up gon the trompes and the melodie,

And to the listes rit the compagnie

By ordinance, thurghout the cite large,

Hanged with cloth of gold, and not with sarge.

Ful like a lord this noble duk gan ride,

And these two Thebans upon eyther side,

And after rode the Quene and Emelie,

And after that another compagnie,

Of on and other after hir degree;

And thus they passen thurghout the citee,

And to the listes comen they be time;

It n'as not of the day yet fully prime.

Whan set was Theseus ful riche and hie,

Ipolita the quene, and Emelie,

And other ladies in degrees aboute,

Unto the setes preseth all the route.

And westward, thurgh the gates under Mart,

Arcite, and eke the hundred of his part,

With baner red, is entred right anon;

And in the selve moment Palamon

Is, under Venus, estward in the place,

With baner white, and hardy chere and face:

And in al the world, to seken up and doun,

So even without variation

Ther n'ere swiche compagnies never twey;

For ther was non so wise that coude sey,

That any hadde of other avantage

Of worthinesse, ne of estat, ne age;

So even were they chosen for to gesse:

And in two renges fayre they hem dresse.

Whan that hir names red were everich on,

That in her nombre gile were ther non,

Tho were the gates shette, and cried was loude,

Do now your devoir, yonge knightes proude.

The heraudes left hir priking up and doun.

Now ringin trompes loude, and clarioun.

Ther is no more to say, but este and west

In goth the speres sadly in the rest;

In goth the sharpe spore into the side;

Ther see men who can juste and who can ride

Ther shiveren shaftes upon sheldes thicke;

He feleth thurgh the herte-spone the pricke:

Up springen speres, twenty foot on highte;

Out gon the swerdes as the silver brighte:

The helmes they to-hewen and to-shrede;

Out brest the blod with sterne stremes rede:

With mighty maces, the bones they to-breste;

He thurgh the thickest of the throng gan threste:

There stomblen stedes strong, and doun goth all;

He rolleth under foot as doth a ball:

He foineth on his foo with a tronchoun,

And he him hurtleth with his hors adoun:

He thurgh the body is hurt, and sith ytake

Maugre his hed, and brought unto the stake,

As forword was, right ther he must abide;

Another lad is on that other side:

And somtime doth hem Theseus to reste,

Hem to refresh, and drinken if hem lest.

Ful oft a day han thilke Thebanes two

Togeder met and wrought eche other wo:

Unhorsed hath eche other of hem twey.

Ther n'as no tigre in the vale of Galaphey,

Whan that hire whelpe is stole whan it is lite,

So cruel on the hunt as is Arcite

For jalous herte upon this Palamon:

Ne in Belmarie ther n'is so fell leon

That hunted is, or for his hunger wood,

Ne of his prey desireth so the blood,

As Palamon to sleen his foo Arcite:

The jalous strokes on hir helmes bite;

Out renneth blood on both hir sides rede.

Somtime an end there is of every dede;

For, er the sonne unto the reste went,

The strong King Emetrius gan hent

This Palamon, as he fought with Arcite,

And made his swerd depe in his flesh to bite;

And by the force of twenty is he take

Unyolden, and ydrawen to the stake:

And in the rescous of this Palamon

The stronge King Licurge is borne adoun;

And King Emetrius, for all his strengthe,

Is borne out of his sadel a swerdes lengthe,

So hitte him Palamon or he were take:

But all for nought, he was brought to the stake:

His hardy herte might him helpen naught;

He moste abiden whan that he was caught,

By force, and eke by composition.

Who sorweth now but woful Palamon,

That moste no more gon again to fight?

And whan that Theseus had seen that sight,

Unto the folk that foughten thus ech on,

He cried, Ho!1 no more, for it is don.

I wol be true juge, and not partie.

Arcite of Thebes shal have Emelie,

That by his fortune hath hire fayre ywonne.

Anon ther is a noise of peple begonne

For joye of this, so loud and high withall

It seemed that the listes shulden fall.

What can now fayre Venus don above?

What saith she now? What doth this quene of Love?

But wepeth so, for wanting of hire will,

Til that hire teres in the listes fill:

She sayde, I am ashamed doutelees.

Saturnus sayde, Daughter, hold thy pees:

Mars hath his will, his knight hath all his bone,

And, by min hed, thou shall ben esed sone.

The trompoures, with the loud minstralcie,

The heraudes, that so loude yell and crie,

Ben in hir joye for wele of Dan Arcite.

But herkeneth me, and stenteth noise a lite,

Whiche a miracle ther befell anon.

This fierce Arcite hath of his helme ydon,

And on a courser for to shew his face

He priketh endlong the large place,

Loking upward upon this Emelie,

And she again him cast a frendlich eye,

(For women, as to speken in commune,

They folwen all the favour of Fortune,)

And was all his in chere as his in herte.

Out of the ground a fury infernal sterte,

From Pluto sent, at requeste of Saturne,

For which his hors for fere gan to turne,

And lepte aside, and foundred as he lepe;

And er that Arcite may take any kepe,

He pight him on the pomel of his hed,

That in the place he lay as he were ded,

His breste to-brosten with his sadel bow;

As blake he lay as any cole or crow,

So was the blood yronnen in his face.

Anon he was yborne out of the place,

With herte sore, to Theseus paleis:

Tho was he corven out of his harneis,

And in a bed ybrought ful fayre and blive,

For he was yet in memorie and live,

And alway crying after Emelie.

Duk Theseus, with all his compagnie,

Is comen hom to Athens, his citee,

With alle blisse and gret solempnite.

Al be it that this aventure was falle

He n'olde not discomforten hem alle.

Men sayden eke that Arcite shal not die,

He shal ben heled of his maladie.

And of another thing they were as fayn,

That of hem alle was ther non yslain,

Al were they sore yhurt, and namely on,

That with a spere was thirled his brest bone.

To other woundes, and to broken armes,

Som hadden salves, and some hadden charmes;

And fermacies of herbes, and eke save

They dronken, for they wold hir lives have:

For which this noble duk, as he wel can,

Comforteth and honoureth every man,

And made revel all the longe night

Unto the strange lordes, as was right.

Ne ther n'as holden no discomforting

But as at justes, or a tourneying;

For sothly ther n'as no discomfiture,

For falling n'is not but an aventure:

Ne to be lad by force unto a stake

Unyolden, and with twenty knightes take,

O person all alone, withouten mo,

And haried forth by armes, foot, and too,

And eke his stede driven forth with staves,

With footmen, bothe yemen and eke knaves,

It was aretted him no villanie;

Ther may no man clepen it cowardie.

For which anon Duk Theseus let crie,

To stenten alle rancour and envie,

The gree as wel of o side as of other,

And eyther side ylike, as others brother;

And yave hem giftes after hir degree,

And helde a feste fully dayes three;

And conveyed the kinges worthily

Out of his toun a journee largely;

And home went every man the righte way;

Ther n'as no more but farewel, have good day.

Of this bataille I wol no more endite,

But speke of Palamon and of Arcite.

Swelleth the brest of Arcite, and the sore

Encreseth at his herte more and more.

The clotered blood for any leche-craft

Corrumpeth, and is in his bouke ylaft,

That neyther vine-blood ne ventousing,

Ne drinke of herbes, may ben his helping.

The vertue expulsif, or animal,

Forthilke vertue cleped natural,

Ne may the venime voiden ne expell;

The pipes of his longes gan to swell,

And every lacerte in his brest adoun

Is shent with venime and corruptioun.

Him gaineth neyther for to get his lif

Vomit upward ne dounward laxatif:

All is to brosten thilke region;

Nature hath now no domination:

And certainly ther nature wol not werche.

Farewel physike; go bere the man to cherche.

This is all and som, that Arcite moste die;

For which he sendeth after Emelie,

And Palamon, that was his cosin dere;

Than sayd he thus, as ye shuln after here:

Nought may the woful spirit in myn herte

Declare o point of all my sorwes smerte

To you, my lady, that I love most;

But I bequethe the service of my gost

To you aboven every creature,

Sin that my lif ne may no lenger dure.

Alas! the wo, alas! the peines strong,

That I for you have suffered, and so long;

Alas! the deth; alas! mine Emelie;

Alas! departing of our compagnie;

Alas! min hertes quene; alas! my wif;

Min hertes ladie! ender of my lif!

What is this world? what axen men to have?

Now with his love, now in his colde grave

Alone withouten any compagnie.

Farewel, my swete! farewel, min Emelie!

And softe take me in your armes twey,

For love of God, and herkeneth what I sey.

I have here with my cosin Palamon

Had strif and rancour many a day agon

For love of you, and for my jalousie;

And Jupiter so wis my soule gie,

To speken of a servant properly,

With alle circumstances trewely,

That is to sayn, trouth, honour, and knighthede,

Wisdom, humblesse, estat, and high kinrede,

Freedom, and all that longeth to that art,

So Jupiter have of my soule part,

As in this world right now ne know I non

So worthy to be loved as Palamon,

That serveth you, and wol don all his lif;

And if that ever ye shal ben a wif,

Foryete not Palamon, the gentil man.

And with that word his speche faille began;

For from his feet up to his brest wos come

The cold of deth, that had him overnome;

And yet moreover in his armes two

The vital strength is lost and all ago;

Only the intellect, withouten more,

That dwelled in his herte sike and sore,

Gan faillen whan the herte felt deth;

Dusked his eyen two, and failled his breth:

But on his ladie yet cast he his eye;

His laste word was, Mercy, Emelie!

His spirit changed hous, and wente ther

As I cam never I cannot tellen wher;

Therefore I stent, I am no divinistre;

Of soules find I not in this registre:

Ne me lust not the opinions to telle

Of hem, though that they written wher they dwelle.

Arcite is cold, ther Mars his soule gie.

Now wol I speken forth of Emelie.

Shright Emelie, and houleth Palamon,

And Theseus his sister toke anon

Swouning, and bare her from the corps away.

What helpeth it to tarien forth the day,

To tellen how she wepe both even and morwe?

For in swiche cas wimmen have swiche sorwe,

Whan that hir hosbonds ben fro hem ago,

That for the more part they sorwen so,

Or elles fallen in swiche maladie,

That atte last certainly they die.

Infinite ben the sorwes and the teres

Of olde folk, and folk of tendre yeres,

In all the toun, for deth of this Theban;

For him ther wepeth bothe child and man:

So gret weping was ther non certain,

Whan Hector was ybrought, all fresh yslain,

To Troie: Alas! the pitee that was there;

Cratching of chekes, rending eke of here.

Why woldest thou be ded, thise women crie,

And haddest gold ynough, and Emelie?

No man might gladen this Duk Theseus,

Saving his olde fader Egeus,

That knew this worldes transmutation,

As he had seen it chaungen up and doun,

Joye after wo, and wo after gladnesse,

And shewed him ensample and likenesse.

Right as ther died never man, (quod he,)

That he ne lived in erth in som degree,

Right so ther lived never man, (he seyd,)

In all this world, that somtime he ne deyd:

This world n'is but a thurghfare, ful of wo,

And we ben pilgrimes, passing to and fro:

Deth is an end of every worldes sore

And over all this yet said he mochel more,

To this effect, ful wisely to enhort

The peple, that they shuld hem recomfort.

Duk Theseus, with all his besy cure,

He casteth now, wher that the sepulture

Of good Arcite may best ymaked be,

And eke most honourable in his degree;

And at the last he toke conclusion,

That ther as first Arcite and Palamon

Hadden for love the bataille hem betwene,

That in that selve grove, sote and grene,

Ther as he hadde his amorous desires,

His complaint, and for love his hote fires;

He wold make a fire, in which the office

Of funeral he might all accomplise;

And let anon commande to hack and hewe

The okes old, and lay hem on a rew

In culpons, wel arraied for to brenne.

His officers with swifte feet they renne

And ride anon at his commandement.

And after this, this Theseus hath sent

After a bere, and it all overspradde

With cloth of gold, the richest that he hadde;

And of the same suit he cladde Arcite.

Upon his hondes were his gloves white,

Eke on his hed a croune of laurer grene,

And in his hond a swerd ful bright and kene.

He laid him bare the visage on the bere,

Therwith he wept that pitee was to here;

And for the peple shulde seen him alle,

Whan it was day, he brought him to the halle,

That roreth of the crying, and the soun.

Tho came this woful Theban, Palamon,

With flotery berd, and ruggy ashy heres,

In clothes blake, ydropped all with teres,

And (passing over of weping Emelie)

The reufullest of all the compagnie.

And in as much as the service shuld be

The more noble, and riche in his degree,

Duk Theseus let forth three stedes bring,

That trapped were in stele all glittering,

And covered with the armes of Dan Arcite;

And eke upon these stedes, gret and white,

Ther saten folk, of which on bare his sheld,

Another his spere up in his hondes held;

The thridde bare with him his bow Turkeis,

Of brent gold was the cas and the harneis;

And riden forth a pas with sorweful chere

Toward the groue, as ye shal after here.

The noblest of the Grekes that ther were

Upon hir shuldres carrieden the bere,

With slacke pas, and eyen red and wete,

Thurghout the citee, by the maister strete,

That sprad was al with black, and wonder hie,

Right of the same is all the strete ywrie.

Upon the right hand went olde Egeus,

And on the other side, Duk Theseus,

With vessels in hir hond of gold ful fine,

All ful of hony, milk, and blood, and wine;

Eke Palamon, with ful gret compagnie,

And after that came woful Emelie,

With fire in hond, as was that time the gise,

To don the office of funeral service.

High labour and ful gret apparailling

Was at the service of that fire making,

That with his grene top the heaven raught,

And twenty fadom of bred the armes straught;

This is to sain, the boughes were so brode,

Of stre first ther was laied many a lode.

But how the fire was maked up on highte,

And eke the names how the trees highte,

As oke, fir, birch, aspe, alder, holm, poplere,

Wilow, elm, plane, ash, box, chestein, lind, laurere,

Maple, thorn, beche, hasel, ew, whipultre,

How they were feld, shal not be told for me;

Ne how the goddes rannen up and doun,

Disherited of hir habitatioun;

In which they woneden in rest and pees,

Nimphes, Faunes, and Amidriades;

Ne how the bestes, and the birddes alle

Fledden for fere whan the wood gan falle;

Ne how the ground agast was of the light,

That was not wont to see the sonne bright;

Ne how the fire was couched first with stre,

And than with drie stickes cloven a-thre,

And than with grene wood and spicerie,

And than with cloth of gold and with perrie,

And garlonds hanging with ful many a flour,

The mirre, the encense also, with swete odour;

Ne how Arcita lay among all this,

Ne what richesse about his body is;

Ne how that Emelie, as was the gise,

Put in the fire of funeral service;

Ne how she swouned, whan she made the fire,

Ne what she spake, ne what was hire desire;

Ne what jewelles men in the fire caste,

Whan that the fire was gret, and brente fast;

Ne how som cast hir sheld, and som hir spere,

And of hir vestimentes, which they were,

And cuppes full of wine, and milk, and blood,

Into the fire, that brent as it were wood;

Ne how the Grekes, with a huge route,

Three times riden all the fire aboute

Upon the left hond, with a loud shouting,

And thries with hir speres clatering;

And thries how the ladies gan to crie;

Ne how that led was homeward Emelie;

Ne how Arcite is brent to ashen cold;

Ne how the liche-wake was yhold

All thilke night; ne how the Grekes play;

The wake-plaies ne kepe I not to say;

Who wrestled best naked, with oile enoint,

Ne who that bare him best in no disjoint:

I woll not tellen eke how they all gon

Home till Athenes, whan the play is don.

But shortly to the point now wol I wende,

And maken of my longe tale an ende.

By processe, and by lengths of certain yeres,

All stenten is the mourning and the teres

Of Grekes, by on general assent:

Than semeth me ther was a parlement

At Athenes, upon certain points and cas;

Amonges the which points yspoken was

To have with certain contrees alliance,

And have of Thebanes fully obeisance;

For which this noble Theseus anon

Let senden after gentil Palamon.

Unwist of him what was the cause, and why:

But in his blacke clothes sorwefully

He came at his commandment on hie;

Tho sente Theseus for Emelie.

Whan they were set, and husht was al the place,

And Theseus abiden hath a space,

Or any word came from his wise brest,

His eyen set he ther as was his lest,

And with a sad visage he siked still,

And after that right thus he sayd his will.

The firste Mover of the cause above,

Whan he firste made the fayre chaine of love,

Gret was the effect, and high was his entent;

Well wist he why, and what therof he ment:

For with that fayre chaine of love he bond

The fire, the air, the watre, and the lond,

In certain bondes, that they may not flee:

That same prince and mover eke, quod he,

Hath stablisht, in this wretched world adoun,

Certain of dayes and duration,

To all that are engendred in this place,

Over the which day they ne mow not pace,

Al mow they yet the dayes well abrege.

Ther nedeth non autoritee allege,

For it is preved by experience,

But that me lust declaren my sentence.

Than may men by this ordre well discerne,

That thilke Mover stable is and eterne;

Wel may men knowen, but it be a fool,

That every part deriveth from his hool;

For Nature hath not taken his beginning

Of no partie ne cantel of a thing,

But of a thing that parfit is and stable,

Descending so til it be corrumpable;

And therefore of his wise purveyance

He hath so wel beset his ordinance,

That speces of thinges and progressions

Shullen enduren by successions,

And not eterne, withouten any lie;

This maist thou understand, and seen at eye.

Lo the oke, that hath so long a norishing

Fro the time that it ginneth first to spring,

And hath so long a lif, as ye may see,

Yet at the laste wasted is the tree.

Considereth eke how that the harde stone

Under our feet, on which we trede and gone,

It wasteth, as it lieth by the wey;

The brode river sometime wexeth drey;

The grete tounes see we wane and wende;

Than may ye see that all thing hathe an ende.

Of man and woman see we wel also,

That nedes in on of the termes two,

That is to sayn, in youthe, or elles age,

He mote be ded, the king as shall a page;

Som in his bed, som in the depe see,

Som in the large feld, as ye may see:

Ther helpeth nought, all goth that ilke wey;

Than may I sayn, that alle thing mote dey.

What maketh this but Jupiter the King,

The which is prince and cause of alle thing,

Converting alle unto his propre wille,

From which it is derived, soth to telle?

And here-againes no creature on live

Of no degree availleth for to strive.

Than is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,

To maken vertue of necessite,

And take it wel that we may not eschewe,

And namely that to us all is dewe;

And whoso, grutcheth ought he doth folie,

And rebel is to him that all may gie.

And certainly a man hath most honour

To dien in his excellence and flour,

Whan he is siker of his goode name;

Than hath he don his frend ne him no shame;

And glader ought his frend ben of his deth,

Whan with honour is yolden up his breth,

Than whan his name appalled is for age,

For all foryetten is his vassalage:

Than is it best as for a worthy fame,

To dein whan a man is best of name.

The contrary of all this is wilfulnesse.

Why grutchen we? why have we hevinesse,

That good Arcite, of chivalry the flour,

Departed is, with dutee and honour,

Out of this foule prison of this lif?

Why grutchen here his cosin and his wif

Of his welfare, that loven him so wel?

Can he hem thank? nay, God wot, never a del,

That both his soule and eke himself offend,

And yet they mow her lustres not amend.

What may I conclude of this longe serie,

But after sorwe I rede us to be merie,

And thanken Jupiter of all his grace;

And er that we departen from this place,

I rede that we make of sorwes two

O parfit joye lasting evermo:

And loketh now wher most sorwe is herein,

Ther wol I firste amenden and begin.

Sister, (quod he) this is my full assent,

With all the avis here of my parlement,

That gentil Palamon, your owen knight,

That serveth you with will, and herte, and might,

And ever hath don sin you first him knew,

That ye shall of your grace upon him rew,

And taken him for husbond and for lord:

Lene me your hand, for this is oure accord.

Let see now of your womanly pitee:

He is a kinges brothers sone pardee;

And though he were a poure bachelere,

Sin he hath served you so many a yere,

And had for you so gret adversite,

It moste ben considered, leveth me,

For gentil mercy oweth to passen right.

Than sayed he thus to Palamon the knight;

I trow their nedeth litel sermoning

To maken you assenten to this thing.

Cometh ner, and take your lady by the hond.

Betwixen hem was maked anon the bond

That highte matrimoine or mariage,

By all the conseil of the baronage;

And thus with alle blisse and melodie

Hath Palamon ywedded Emelie;

And God, that all this wide world hath wrought,

Send him his love that hath it dere ybought.

For now is Palamon in alle wele,

Living in blisse, in richesse, and in hele,

And Emilie him loveth so tendrely,

And he hire serveth all so gentilly,

That never was ther no word hem betwene

Of jalousie, ne of non other tene.

Thus endeth Palamon and Emelie;

And God save all this fayre compagnie.