The Canterbury Tales

By Geoffrey Chaucer.

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The Prologue

When that Aprilis, with his showers swoot,1
The drought of March hath pierced to the root,
And bathed every vein in such licóur,
Of which virtúe engender’d is the flower;
When Zephyrus eke with his swootë breath
Inspired hath in every holt2 and heath
The tender croppës,3 and the youngë sun
Hath in the Ram4 his halfë course y-run,
And smallë fowlës makë melody,
That sleepen all the night with open eye,
(So pricketh them natúre in their coráges5);
Then longë folk to go on pilgrimages,
And palmers6 for to seekë strangë strands,
To fernë hallows couth7 in sundry lands;
And specially, from every shirë’s end
Of Engleland, to Canterbury they wend,
The holy blissful Martyr for to seek,
That them hath holpen, when that they were sick.

Befell that, in that season on a day,
In Southwark at the Tabard8 as I lay,
Ready to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with devout coráge,
At night was come into that hostelry
Well nine and twenty in a company
Of sundry folk, by áventure y-fall
In fellowship,9 and pilgrims were they all,
That toward Canterbury wouldë ride.
The chamber, and the stables werë wide,
And well we weren eased at the best.10
And shortly, when the sunnë was to rest,
So had I spoken with them every one,
That I was of their fellowship anon,
And madë forword11 early for to rise,
To take our way there as I you devise.12

But natheless, while I have time and space,
Ere that I farther in this talë pace,
Me thinketh it accordant to reasón,
To tell you allë the condition
Of each of them, so as it seemed me,
And which they weren, and of what degree;
And eke in what array that they were in:
And at a Knight then will I first begin.

A Knight there was, and that a worthy man,
That from the timë that he first began
To riden out, he loved chivalry,
Truth and honoúr, freedom and courtesy.
Full worthy was he in his Lordë’s war,
And thereto had he ridden, no man farre,13
As well in Christendom as in Heatheness,
And ever honour’d for his worthiness.
At Alisandre14 he was when it was won.
Full often time he had the board begun
Above allë natións in Prusse.15
In Lettowe had he reysed,16 and in Russe,
No Christian man so oft of his degree.
In Grenade at the siege eke had he be
Of Algesir,17 and ridden in Belmarie.18
At Leyës was he, and at Satalie,
When they were won; and in the Greatë Sea19
At many a noble army had he be.
At mortal battles had he been fifteen,
And foughten for our faith at Tramissene.20
In listës thriës, and aye slain his foe.
This ilkë21 worthy knight had been also
Some timë with the lord of Palatie,22
Against another heathen in Turkie:
And evermore he had a sovereign price.23
And though that he was worthy he was wise,
And of his port as meek as is a maid.
He never yet no villainy24 ne said
In all his life, unto no manner wight.
He was a very perfect gentle knight.
But for to tellë you of his array,
His horse was good, but yet he was not gay.
Of fustian he weared a gipon,
Allë besmotter’d with his habergeon,25
For he was late y-come from his voyáge,
And wentë for to do his pilgrimage.

With him there was his son, a youngë Squire,
A lover, and a lusty bacheler,
With lockës crulle26 as they were laid in press.
Of twenty year of age he was I guess.
Of his statúre he was of even length,
And wonderly deliver,27 and great of strength.
And he had been some time in chevachie,28
In Flanders, in Artois, and Picardie,
And borne him well, as of so little space,29
In hope to standen in his lady’s grace.
Embroider’d was he, as it were a mead
All full of freshë flowers, white and red.
Singing he was, or fluting all the day;
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Short was his gown, with sleevës long and wide.
Well could he sit on horse, and fairë ride.
He couldë songës make, and well indite,
Joust, and eke dance, and well pourtray and write.
So hot he loved, that by nightertale30
He slept no more than doth the nightingale.
Courteous he was, lowly, and serviceable,
And carv’d before his father at the table.31

A Yeoman had he, and servánts no mo’
At that timë, for him list ridë so;32
And he was clad in coat and hood of green.
A sheaf of peacock arrows33 bright and keen
Under his belt he bare full thriftily.
Well could he dress his tackle yeomanly:
His arrows drooped not with feathers low;
And in his hand he bare a mighty bow.
A nut-head34 had he, with a brown viságe:
Of wood-craft coud35 he well all the uságe:
Upon his arm he bare a gay bracér,36
And by his side a sword and a bucklér,
And on that other side a gay daggere,
Harnessed well, and sharp as point of spear:
A Christopher37 on his breast of silver sheen.
An horn he bare, the baldric was of green:
A forester38 was he soothly39 as I guess.

There was also a Nun, a Prioress,
That of her smiling was full simple and coy;
Her greatest oathë was but by Saint Loy;40
And she was cleped41 Madame Eglentine.
Full well she sang the servicë divine,
Entuned in her nose full seemëly;42
And French she spake full fair and fetisly43
After the school of Stratford attë Bow,
For French of Paris was to her unknow.
At meatë was she well y-taught withal;
She let no morsel from her lippës fall,
Nor wet her fingers in her saucë deep.
Well could she carry a morsel, and well keep,
That no droppë ne fell upon her breast.
In courtesy was set full much her lest.44
Her over-lippë wiped she so clean,
That in her cup there was no farthing45 seen
Of greasë, when she drunken had her draught;
Full seemëly after her meat she raught:46
And sickerly she was of great disport,47
And full pleasánt, and amiable of port,
And pained her to counterfeitë cheer
Of court,48 and be estately of mannére,
And to be holden digne49 of reverence.

But for to speaken of her consciénce,
She was so charitable and so pitous,50
She wouldë weep if that she saw a mouse
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled.
Of smallë houndës had she, that she fed
With roasted flesh, and milk, and wastel bread.51
But sore she wept if one of them were dead,
Or if men smote it with a yardë52 smart:
And all was conscience and tender heart.
Full seemly her wimple y-pinched was;
Her nose tretis;53 her eyen gray as glass;54
Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red;
But sickerly she had a fair forehéad.
It was almost a spannë broad I trow;
For hardily she was not undergrow.55
Full fetis56 was her cloak, as I was ware.
Of small corál about her arm she bare
A pair of beadës, gauded all with green;57
And thereon hung a brooch of gold full sheen,
On which was first y-written a crown’d A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.
Another Nun also with her had she,
[That was her chapelléine, and Priestës three.]

A Monk there was, a fair for the mast’ry,58
An outrider, that loved venery;59
A manly man, to be an abbot able.
Full many a dainty horse had he in stable:
And when he rode, men might his bridle hear
Jingeling60 in a whistling wind as clear,
And eke as loud, as doth the chapel bell,
There as this lord was keeper of the cell.
The rule of Saint Maur and of Saint Benet,61
Because that it was old and somedeal62 strait,
This ilkë63 monk let oldë thingës pace,
And held after the newë world the trace.
He gave not of the text a pulled hen,64
That saith, that hunters be not holy men;
Ne that a monk, when he is cloisterless;
Is like to a fish that is waterless;
This is to say, a monk out of his cloister.
This ilkë text held he not worth an oyster;
And I say his opinion was good.
Why should he study, and make himselfë wood,65
Upon a book in cloister always pore,
Or swinken66 with his handës, and laboúr,
As Austin bit?67 how shall the world be served?
Let Austin have his swink to him reserved.
Therefore he was a prickasour aright:68
Greyhounds he had as swift as fowl of flight:
Of pricking69 and of hunting for the hare
Was all his lust,70 for no cost would he spare.
I saw his sleevës purfil’d at the hand
With gris,71 and that the finest of the land.
And for to fasten his hood under his chin,
He had of gold y-wrought a curious pin:
A love-knot in the greater end there was.
His head was bald, and shone as any glass,
And eke his face, as it had been anoint;
He was a lord full fat and in good point;
His eyen steep,72 and rolling in his head,
That steamed as a furnace of a lead.
His bootës supple, his horse in great estate,
Now certainly he was a fair preláte;
He was not pale as a forpined73 ghost;
A fat swan lov’d he best of any roast.
His palfrey was as brown as is a berry.

A Friar there was, a wanton and a merry,
A limitour,74 a full solemnë man.
In all the orders four is none that can75
So much of dalliance and fair languáge.
He had y-made full many a marriáge
Of youngë women, at his owen cost.
Unto his order he was a noble post;
Full well belov’d, and familiár was he
With franklins over all76 in his countrý,
And eke with worthy women of the town:
For he had power of confessión,
As said himselfë, more than a curáte,
For of his order he was licentiate.
Full sweetëly heard he confession,
And pleasant was his absolution.
He was an easy man to give penánce,
There as he wist to have a good pittánce:77
For unto a poor order for to give
Is signë that a man is well y-shrive.78
For if he gave, he durstë make avant,79
He wistë that the man was repentant.
For many a man so hard is of his heart,
He may not weep although him sorë smart.
Therefore instead of weeping and prayéres,
Men must give silver to the poorë freres.

His tippet was aye farsed80 full of knives,
And pinnës, for to give to fairë wives;
And certainly he had a merry note:
Well could he sing and playen on a rote;81
Of yeddings82 he bare utterly the prize.
His neck was white as is the fleur-de-lis.
Thereto he strong was as a champion,
And knew well the tavérns in every town.
And every hosteler and gay tapstére,
Better than a lazar83 or a beggére,
For unto such a worthy man as he
Accordeth not, as by his faculty,
To havë with such lazars acquaintánce.
It is not honest, it may not advance,
As for to dealë with no such pouraille,84
But all with rich, and sellers of vitaille.
And ov’r all there as85 profit should arise,
Courteous he was, and lowly of servíce;
There n’as no man nowhere86 so virtuous.
He was the bestë beggar in all his house:
And gave a certain farmë87 for the grant,
None of his bretheren came in his haunt.
For though a widow haddë but one shoe,
So pleasant was his In principio,88
Yet would he have a farthing ere he went;
His purchase was well better than his rent.
And rage he could and play as any whelp,
In lovëdays;89 there could he muchel help.90
For there was he not like a cloisterer,
With threadbare cope, as is a poor scholer,
But he was like a master or a pope.
Of double worsted was his semicope,91
That rounded was as a bell out of press.
Somewhat he lisped for his wantonness,
To make his English sweet upon his tongue;
And in his harping, when that he had sung,
His eyen twinkled in his head aright,
As do the starrës in a frosty night.
This worthy limitour was call’d Hubérd.

A Merchant was there with a forked beard,
In motley, and high on his horse he sat,
Upon his head a Flandrish beaver hat.
His bootës clasped fair and fetisly.92
His reasons aye spake he full solemnly,
Sounding alway th’ increase of his winning.
He would the sea were kept93 for any thing
Betwixtë Middleburg and Orëwell.94
Well could he in exchangë shieldës95 sell.
This worthy man full well his wit beset;96
There wistë no wight that he was in debt,
So estately was he of governance97
With his bargáins, and with his chevisance.98
For sooth he was a worthy man withal,
But sooth to say, I n’ot99 how men him call.

A Clerk there was of Oxenford100 also,
That unto logic haddë long y-go.101
As leanë was his horse as is a rake,
And he was not right fat, I undertake;
But looked hollow,102 and thereto soberly.103
Full threadbare was his overest courtepy,104
For he had gotten him yet no benefice,
Ne was not worldly, to have an office.
For him was lever105 have at his bed’s head
Twenty bookës, clothed in black or red,
Of Aristotle, and his philosophy,
Than robës rich, or fiddle, or psalt’ry.
But all be that he was a philosópher,
Yet haddë he but little gold in coffer,
But all that he might of his friendës hent,106
On bookës and on learning he it spent,
And busily gan for the soulës pray
Of them that gave him wherewith to scholay.107
Of study took he mostë care and heed.
Not one word spake he morë than was need;
And that was said in form and reverence,
And short and quick, and full of high senténce.
Sounding in moral virtue was his speech,
And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach.

A Sergeant of the Law, wary and wise,
That often had y-been at the Parvis,108
There was also, full rich of excellence.
Discreet he was, and of great reverence:
He seemed such, his wordës were so wise,
Justice he was full often in assize,
By patent, and by plein109 commission;
For his sciénce, and for his high renown,
Of fees and robës had he many one.
So great a purchaser was nowhere none.
All was fee simple to him, in effect
His purchasing might not be in suspect.110
Nowhere so busy a man as he there was,
And yet he seemed busier than he was.
In termës had he case’ and doomës111 all,
That from the time of King Will. werë fall.
Thereto he could indite, and make a thing,
There couldë no wight pinch at his writing.112
And every statute coud113 he plain by rote.
He rode but homely in a medley114 coat,
Girt with a seint115 of silk, with barrës small;
Of his array tell I no longer tale.

A Frankëlin116 was in this company;
White was his beard, as is the daïsy.
Of his complexión he was sanguíne.
Well lov’d he in the morn a sop in wine.
To liven in delight was ever his won,117
For he was Epicurus’ owen son,
That held opinion, that plein118 delight
Was verily felicity perfíte.
An householder, and that a great, was he;
Saint Julian119 he was in his countrý.
His bread, his ale, was alway after one;120
A better envined121 man was nowhere none;
Withouten bake-meat never was his house,
Of fish and flesh, and that so plentëous,
It snowed in his house of meat and drink,
Of allë dainties that men couldë think.
After the sundry seasons of the year,
So changed he his meat and his soupére.
Full many a fat partridge had he in mew,122
And many a bream, and many a luce in stew.123
Woe was his cook, but if124 his saucë were
Poignant and sharp, and ready all his gear.
His table dormant125 in his hall alway
Stood ready cover’d all the longë day.
At sessions there was he lord and sire.
Full often time he was knight of the shire.
An anlace, and a gipciere126 all of silk,
Hung at his girdle, white as morning milk.
A sheriff had he been, and a countour.127
Was nowhere such a worthy vavasour.128

An Haberdasher, and a Carpenter,
A Webbe,129 a Dyer, and a Tapiser,130
Were with us eke, cloth’d in one livery,
Of a solémn and great fraternity.
Full fresh and new their gear y-picked131 was.
Their knivës were y-chaped132 not with brass,
But all with silver wrought full clean and well,
Their girdles and their pouches every deal.133
Well seemed each of them a fair burgéss,
To sitten in a guild-hall, on the dais.134
Evereach, for the wisdom that he can,135
Was shapely136 for to be an alderman.
For chattels haddë they enough and rent,
And eke their wivës would it well assent:
And ellës certain they had been to blame.
It is full fair to be y-clep’d madáme,
And for to go to vigils all before,
And have a mantle royally y-bore.137

A Cook they haddë with them for the nones,138
To boil the chickens and the marrow bones,
And powder merchant tart and galingale.139
Well could he know a draught of London ale.
He couldë roast, and seethe, and broil, and fry,
Makë mortrewës,140 and well bake a pie.
But great harm was it, as it thoughtë me,
That, on his shin a mormal141 haddë he.
For blanc manger,142 that made he with the best.

A Shipman was there, wonned far by West:143
For ought I wot, be was of Dartëmouth.
He rode upon a rouncy, as he couth,144
All in a gown of falding145 to the knee.
A dagger hanging by a lace had he
About his neck under his arm adown;
The hot summer had made his hue all brown;
And certainly he was a good felláw.
Full many a draught of wine he had y-draw
From Bourdeaux-ward, while that the chapmen sleep;
Of nicë consciénce took he no keep.
If that he fought, and had the higher hand,
By water he sent them home to every land.
But of his craft to reckon well his tides,
His streamës and his strandës him besides,
His herberow,146 his moon, and lodemanage,147
There was none such, from Hull unto Carthage.
Hardy he was, and wise, I undertake:
With many a tempest had his beard been shake.
He knew well all the havens, as they were,
From Scotland to the Cape of Finisterre,
And every creek in Bretagne and in Spain:
His barge y-cleped was the Magdelain.

With us there was a Doctor of Physic;
In all this worldë was there none him like
To speak of physic, and of surgery:
For he was grounded in astronomy.
He kept his patiént a full great deal
In hourës by his magic natural.
Well could he fortunë148 the áscendent
Of his imáges for his patiént.
He knew the cause of every malady,
Were it of cold, or hot, or moist, or dry,
And where engender’d, and of what humoúr.
He was a very perfect practisour
The cause y-know,149 and of his harm the root,
Anon he gave to the sick man his boot.150
Full ready had he his apothecaries,
To send his druggës and his lectuaries,
For each of them made other for to win:
Their friendship was not newë to begin.
Well knew he the old Esculapius,
And Dioscorides, and eke Rufus;
Old Hippocras, Hali, and Gallien;
Serapion, Rasis, and Avicen;
Averrois, Damascene, and Constantin;
Bernard, and Gatisden, and Gilbertin.151
Of his diet measúrable was he,
For it was of no superfluity,
But of great nourishing, and digestible.
His study was but little on the Bible.
In sanguine and in perse152 he clad was, all
Lined with taffeta, and with sendall.153
And yet he was but easy of dispence:
He kept that he won in the pestilence.154
For gold in physic is a cordial;
Therefore he loved gold in special.

A good Wife was there of besidë Bath,
But she was somedeal deaf, and that was scath.155
Of cloth-making she haddë such an haunt,156
She passed them of Ypres, and of Gaunt.
In all the parish wifë was there none,
That to the off’ring157 before her should gon,
And if there did, certain so wroth was she,
That she was out of allë charity.
Her coverchiefs158 werë full fine of ground;
I durstë swear, they weighedë ten pound
That on the Sunday were upon her head.
Her hosen weren of fine scarlet red,
Full strait y-tied, and shoes full moist159 and new.
Bold was her face, and fair and red of hue.
She was a worthy woman all her live,
Husbands at the church door had she had five,
Withouten other company in youth;
But thereof needeth not to speak as nouth.160
And thrice had she been at Jerusalem;
She haddë passed many a strangë stream;
At Rome she had been, and at Bologne,161
In Galice at Saint James,162 and at Cologne;
She coudë163 much of wand’ring by the way.
Gat-toothed164 was she, soothly for to say.
Upon an ambler easily she sat,
Y-wimpled well, and on her head an hat
As broad as is a buckler or a targe.
A foot-mantle about her hippës large,
And on her feet a pair of spurrës sharp.
In fellowship well could she laugh and carp.165
Of remedies of love she knew perchance,
For of that art she coud166 the oldë dance.

A good man there was of religión,
That was a poorë Parson of a town:
But rich he was of holy thought and werk:167
He was also a learned man, a clerk,
That Christë’s gospel truly wouldë preach.
His parishens devoutly would he teach.
Benign he was, and wonder diligent,
And in adversity full patient:
And such he was y-proved often sithes.168
Full loth were him to cursë for his tithes,
But rather would he given out of doubt,
Unto his poorë parishens about,
Of his off’ring, and eke of his substánce.
He could in little thing have suffisance.169
Wide was his parish, and houses far asunder,
But he ne left not, for no rain nor thunder,
In sickness and in mischief to visit
The farthest in his parish, much and lit,170
Upon his feet, and in his hand a staff.
This noble ensample to his sheep he gaf,171
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.
Out of the gospel he the wordës caught,
And this figúre he added yet thereto,
That if gold rustë, what should iron do?
For if a priest be foul, on whom we trust,
No wonder is a lewëd172 man to rust:
And shame it is, if that a priest take keep,
To see a shitten shepherd and clean sheep:
Well ought a priest ensample for to give,
By his own cleanness, how his sheep should live.

He settë not his benefice to hire,
And left his sheep eucumber’d in the mire,
And ran unto London, unto Saint Poul’s,
To seekë him a chantery173 for souls,
Or with a brotherhood to be withold:174
But dwelt at home, and keptë well his fold,
So that the wolf ne made it not miscarry.
He was a shepherd, and no mercenary.
And though he holy were, and virtuous,
He was to sinful men not dispitous175
Nor of his speechë dangerous nor dign,176
But in his teaching díscreet and benign.
To drawen folk to heaven, with fairness,
By good ensample, was his business:
But it were177 any person obstinate,
What so he were of high or low estate,
Him would he snibbë178 sharply for the nonës.179
A better priest I trow that nowhere none is.
He waited after no pomp nor reverence,
Nor maked him a spiced consciénce,180
But Christë’s lore, and his apostles’ twelve,
He taught, and first he follow’d it himselve.

With him there was a Ploughman, was his brother,
That had y-laid of dung full many a fother.181
A true swinker182 and a good was he,
Living in peace and perfect charity.
God loved he bestë with all his heart
At allë timës, were it gain or smart,183
And then his neighëbour right as himselve.
He wouldë thresh, and thereto dike,184 and delve,
For Christë’s sake, for every poorë wight,
Withouten hire, if it lay in his might.
His tithës payed he full fair and well,
Both of his proper swink, and his chattel.185
In a tabard186 he rode upon a mare.

There was also a Reeve, and a Millere,
A Sompnour, and a Pardoner also,
A Manciple, and myself, there were no mo’.

The Miller was a stout carle for the nones,
Full big he was of brawn, and eke of bones;
That proved well, for ov’r all where187 he came,
At wrestling he would bear away the ram.188
He was short-shouldered, broad, a thickë gnarr,189
There was no door, that he n’old heave off bar,
Or break it at a running with his head.
His beard as any sow or fox was red,
And thereto broad, as though it were a spade.
Upon the cop190 right of his nose he had
A wart, and thereon stood a tuft of hairs
Red as the bristles of a sowë’s ears.
His nosë-thirlës191 blackë were and wide.
A sword and buckler bare he by his side.
His mouth as widë was as a furnáce.
He was a jangler, and a goliardais,192
And that was most of sin and harlotries.
Well could he stealë corn, and tollë thrice.
And yet he had a thumb of gold, pardie.193
A white coat and a blue hood weared he.
A baggëpipe well could he blow and soun’,
And therewithal he brought us out of town.

A gentle Manciple194 was there of a temple,
Of which achatours195 mightë take ensample
For to be wise in buying of vitaille.
For whether that he paid, or took by taile,196
Algate197 he waited so in his achate,198
That he was aye before in good estate.
Now is not that of God a full fair grace
That such a lewëd mannë’s wit shall pace199
The wisdom of an heap of learned men?
Of masters had he more than thriës ten,
That were of law expert and curious:
Of which there was a dozen in that house,
Worthy to be stewárds of rent and land
Of any lord that is in Engleland,
To makë him live by his proper good,
In honour debtless, but if he were wood,200
Or live as scarcely as him list desire;
And able for to helpen all a shire
In any case that mightë fall or hap;
And yet this Manciple set their allër cap.201

The Reevë202 was a slender choleric man,
His beard was shav’d as nigh as ever he can.
His hair was by his earës round y-shorn;
His top was docked like a priest beforn.
Full longë were his leggës, and full lean,
Y-like a staff, there was no calf y-seen.
Well could he keep a garner and a bin:203
There was no auditor204 could on him win.
Well wist he by the drought, and by the rain,
The yielding of his seed and of his grain.
His lordë’s sheep, his neat,205 and his dairy.
His swine, his horse, his store, and his poultrý,
Were wholly in this Reevë’s governing,
And by his cov’nant gave he reckoning,
Since that his lord was twenty year of age;
There could no man bring him in arrearáge.
There was no bailiff, herd, nor other hine,206
That he ne knew his sleight and his covine:207
They were adrad208 of him, as of the death.
His wonning209 was full fair upon an heath,
With greenë trees y-shadow’d was his place.
He couldë better than his lord purchase.
Full rich he was y-stored privily.
His lord well could he pleasë subtilly,
To give and lend him of his owen good,
And have a thank, and yet210 a coat and hood.
In youth he learned had a good mistére.211
He was a well good wright, a carpentére
This Reevë sate upon a right good stot,212
That was all pomely213 gray, and hightë214 Scot.
A long surcoat of perse215 upon he had,
And by his side he bare a rusty blade.
Of Norfolk was this Reeve, of which I tell,
Beside a town men clepen Baldeswell.
Tucked he was, as is a friar, about,
And ever rode the hinderest of the rout.216

A Sompnour217 was there with us in that place,
That had a fire-red cherubinnës face,
For sausëfleme218 he was, with eyen narrow.
As hot he was and lecherous as a sparrow,
With scalled browës black, and pilled219 beard:
Of his viságe children were sore afeard.
There n’as quicksilver, litharge, nor brimstone,
Boras, ceruse, nor oil of tartar none,
Nor ointëment that wouldë cleanse or bite,
That him might helpen of his whelkës220 white,
Nor of the knobbës221 sitting on his cheeks.
Well lov’d he garlic, onións, and leeks,
And for to drink strong wine as red as blood.
Then would he speak, and cry as he were wood;
And when that he well drunken had the wine,
Then would he speakë no word but Latin.
A fewë termës knew he, two or three,
That he had learned out of some decree;
No wonder is, he heard it all the day.
And eke ye knowen well, how that a jay
Can clepen222 “Wat,” as well as can the Pope.
But whoso would in other thing him grope,223
Then had he spent all his philosophy,
Aye, Questio quid juris,224 would he cry.

He was a gentle harlot225 and a kind;
A better fellów should a man not find.
He wouldë suffer, for a quart of wine,
A good fellow to have his concubine
A twelvemonth, and excuse him at the full.
Full privily a finch eke could he pull.226
And if he found owhere227 a good felláw,
He wouldë teachë him to have none awe
In such a case of the archdeacon’s curse;
But if228 a mannë’s soul were in his purse;
For in his purse he should y-punished be.
“Purse is the archëdeacon’s hell,” said he.
But well I wot, he lied right indeed:
Of cursing ought each guilty man to dread,
For curse will slay right as assoiling229 saveth;
And also ’ware him of a significavit.230

In danger had he at his owen guise231
The youngë girlës of the diocese,
And knew their counsel, and was of their rede.232
A garland had he set upon his head,
As great as it were for an alëstake:233
A buckler had he made him of a cake.

With him there rode a gentle Pardonere234
Of Ronceval, his friend and his compere,
That straight was comen from the court of Romë.
Full loud he sang, “Come hither, lovë, tó me.”
This Sompnour bare to him a stiff burdoun,235
Was never trump of half so great a soun’.
This Pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,
But smooth it hung, as doth a strike236 of flax:
By ounces hung his lockës that he had,
And therewith he his shoulders oversprad.
Full thin it lay, by culpons237 one and one,
But hood for jollity, he weared none,
For it was trussed up in his wallét.
Him thought he rode all of the newë get,238
Dishevel, save his cap, he rode all bare.
Such glaring eyen had he, as an hare.
A vernicle239 had he sew’d upon his cap.
His wallët lay before him in his lap,
Bretful240 of pardon come from Rome all hot.
A voice he had as small as hath a goat.
No beard had he, nor ever one should have.
As smooth it was as it were new y-shave;
I trow he were a gelding or a mare.
But of his craft, from Berwick unto Ware,
Ne was there such another pardonere.
For in his mail241 he had a pillowbere,242
Which, as he saidë, was our Lady’s veil:
He said, he had a gobbet243 of the sail
That Saintë Peter had, when that he went
Upon the sea, till Jesus Christ him hent.244
He had a cross of latoun245 full of stones,
And in a glass he haddë piggë’s bones.
But with these relics, whennë that he fond
A poorë parson dwelling upon lond,
Upon a day he got him more money
Than that the parson got in moneths tway;
And thus with feigned flattering and japes,246
He made the parson and the people his apes.
But truëly to tellen at the last,
He was in church a noble ecclesiast.
Well could he read a lesson or a story,
But alderbest247 he sang an offertóry:248
For well he wistë, when that song was sung,
He mustë preach, and well afile his tongue,249
To winnë silver, as he right well could:
Therefore he sang full merrily and loud.

Now have I told you shortly in a clause
Th’ estate, th’ array, the number, and eke the cause
Why that assembled was this company
In Southwark at this gentle hostelry,
That hightë the Tabard, fast by the Bell.250
But now is timë to you for to tell
How that we baren us that ilkë night,251
When we were in that hostelry alight.
And after will I tell of our voyáge,
And all the remnant of our pilgrimage.

But first I pray you of your courtesy,
That ye arette it not my villainy,252
Though that I plainly speak in this mattére.
To tellen you their wordës and their cheer;
Not though I speak their wordës properly.
For this ye knowen all so well as I,
Whoso shall tell a tale after a man,
He must rehearse, as nigh as ever he can,
Every word, if it be in his charge,
All speak he253 ne’er so rudely and so large;
Or ellës he must tell his tale untrue,
Or feignë things, or findë wordës new.
He may not spare, although he were his brother;
He must as well say one word as another.
Christ spake Himself full broad in Holy Writ,
And well ye wot no villainy is it.
Eke Plato saith, whoso that can him read,
The wordës must be cousin to the deed.
Also I pray you to forgive it me,
All have I254 not set folk in their degree,
Here in this tale, as that they shoulden stand:
My wit is short, ye may well understand.

Great cheerë made our Host us every one,
And to the supper set he us anon:
And served us with victual of the best.
Strong was the wine, and well to drink us lest.255
A seemly man Our Hostë was withal
For to have been a marshal in an hall.
A largë man he was with eyen steep,256
A fairer burgess is there none in Cheap:257
Bold of his speech, and wise and well y-taught,
And of manhoodë lacked him right naught.
Eke thereto was he right a merry man,
And after supper playen he began,
And spake of mirth amongës other things,
When that we haddë made our reckonings;
And saidë thus; “Now, lordingës, truly
Ye be to me welcome right heartily:
For by my troth, if that I shall not lie,
I saw not this year such a company
At once in this herberow,258 as is now.
Fain would I do you mirth, an259 I wist how.
And of a mirth I am right now bethought.
To do you ease,260 and it shall costë nought.
Ye go to Canterbury; God you speed,
The blissful Martyr quitë you your meed;
And well I wot, as ye go by the way,
Ye shapen you261 to talken and to play:
For truëly comfórt nor mirth is none
To ridë by the way as dumb as stone:
And therefore would I makë you disport,
As I said erst, and do you some comfórt.
And if you liketh all262 by one assent
Now for to standen at my judgëment,
And for to worken as I shall you say
To-morrow, when ye riden on the way,
Now by my father’s soulë that is dead,
But ye be merry, smiteth off263 mine head.
Hold up your hands withoutë morë speech.”

Our counsel was not longë for to seech:264
Us thought it was not worth to make it wise,265
And granted him withoutë more avise,266
And bade him say his verdict, as him lest.

“Lordings (quoth he), now hearken for the best;
But take it not, I pray you, in disdain;
This is the point, to speak it plat267 and plain.
That each of you, to shorten with your way
In this voyáge, shall tellen talës tway,
To Canterbury-ward, I mean it so,
And homeward he shall tellen other two,
Of aventúres that whilom have befall.
And which of you that bear’th him best of all,
That is to say, that telleth in this case
Talës of best senténce and most solace,
Shall have a supper at your allër cost268
Here in this placë, sitting by this post,
When that ye come again from Canterbury.
And for to makë you the morë merry,
I will myselfë gladly with you ride,
Right at mine owen cost, and be your guide.
And whoso will my judgëment withsay,
Shall pay for all we spenden by the way.
And if ye vouchësafe that it be so,
Tell me anon withoutë wordës mo’,269
And I will early shapë me therefore.”

This thing was granted, and our oath we swore
With full glad heart, and prayed him also,
That he would vouchësafe for to do so,
And that he wouldë be our governour,
And of our talës judge and reportour,
And set a supper at a certain price;
And we will ruled be at his device,
In high and low: and thus by one assent,
We be accorded to his judgëment.
And thereupon the wine was fet270 anon.
We drunken, and to restë went each one,
Withouten any longer tarrying

A-morrow, when the day began to spring,
Up rose our host, and was our allër cock,271
And gather’d us together in a flock,
And forth we ridden all a little space,
Unto the watering of Saint Thomas:272
And there our host began his horse arrest,
And saidë; “Lordës, hearken if you lest.
Ye weet your forword,273 and I it record.
If evensong and morning-song accord,
Let see now who shall tellë the first tale.
As ever may I drinkë wine or ale,
Whoso is rebel to my judgëment,
Shall pay for all that by the way is spent.
Now draw ye cuts, ere that ye farther twin.274
He which that hath the shortest shall begin.”

“Sir Knight (quoth he), my master and my lord,
Now draw the cut, for that is mine accord.
Come near (quoth he), my Lady Prioress,
And ye, Sir Clerk, let be your shamefastness,
Nor study not: lay hand to, every man.”

Anon to drawen every wight began,
And shortly for to tellen as it was,
Were it by áventure, or sort, or cas,275
The sooth is this, the cut fell to the Knight,
Of which full blithe and glad was every wight;
And tell he must his tale as was reasón,
By forword, and by composition,
As ye have heard; what needeth wordës mo’?
And when this good man saw that it was so,
As he that wise was and obediént
To keep his forword by his free assent,
He said; “Sithen276 I shall begin this game,
Why, welcome be the cut in Goddë’s name.
Now let us ride, and hearken what I say.”

And with that word we ridden forth our way;
And he began with right a merry cheer
His tale anon, and said as ye shall hear.

The Knight’s Tale277

Whilom,278 as oldë stories tellen us,
There was a duke that hightë279 Theseus.
Of Athens he was lord and governor,
And in his timë such a conqueror
That greater was there none under the sun.
Full many a richë country had he won.
What with his wisdom and his chivalry,
He conquer’d all the regne of Feminie,280
That whilom was y-cleped Scythia;
And weddedë the Queen Hippolyta,
And brought her home with him to his country
With muchel281 glory and great solemnity,
And eke her youngë sister Emily,
And thus with vict’ry and with melody
Let I this worthy Duke to Athens ride,
And all his host, in armës him beside.

And certes, if it n’ere282 too long to hear,
I would have told you fully the mannére,
How wonnen283 was the regne of Feminie,
By Theseus, and by his chivalry;
And of the greatë battle for the nonce
Betwixt Athenës and the Amazons;
And how assieged was Hippolyta,
The fairë hardy queen of Scythia;
And of the feast that was at her wedding,
And of the tempest at her homecoming.
But all these things I must as now forbear.
I have, God wot, a largë field to ear;284
And weakë be the oxen in my plough;
The remnant of my tale is long enow.
I will not letten eke none of this rout.285
Let every fellow tell his tale about,
And let see now who shall the supper win.
There as I left,286 I will again begin.

This Duke, of whom I makë mentioún,
When he was come almost unto the town,
In all his weal287 and in his mostë pride,
He was ware, as he cast his eye aside,
Where that there kneeled in the highë way
A company of ladies, tway and tway,
Each after other, clad in clothës black:
But such a cry and such a woe they make,
That in this world n’is creatúre living,
That heardë such another waimenting.288
And of this crying would they never stenten,289
Till they the reinës of his bridle henten.290
“What folk be ye that at mine homecoming
Perturben so my feastë with crying?”
Quoth Theseus; “Have ye so great envý
Of mine honoúr, that thus complain and cry?
Or who hath you misboden,291 or offended?
Do tellë me, if it may be amended;
And why that ye be clad thus all in black?”

The oldest lady of them all then spake,
When she had swooned, with a deadly cheer,292
That it was ruthë293 for to see or hear.
She saidë; “Lord, to whom fortúne hath given
Vict’ry, and as a conqueror to liven,
Nought grieveth us your glory and your honoúr;
But we beseechen mercy and succóur.
Have mercy on our woe and our distress;
Some drop of pity, through thy gentleness,
Upon us wretched women let now fall.
For certës, lord, there is none of us all
That hath not been a duchess or a queen;
Now be we caitives,294 as it is well seen:
Thanked be Fortune, and her falsë wheel,
That none estate ensureth to be wele.295
And certes, lord, t’ abiden your presénce
Here in this temple of the goddess Clemence
We have been waiting all this fortënight:
Now help us, lord, since it lies in thy might.

“I, wretched wight, that weep and wailë thus,
Was whilom wife to king Capaneus,
That starf296 at Thebes, cursed be that day:
And allë we that be in this array,
And maken all this lamentatioún,
We losten all our husbands at that town,
While that the siegë thereabouten lay.
And yet the oldë Creon, well-away!
That lord is now of Thebes the city,
Fulfilled of ire and of iniquity,
He for despite, and for his tyranny,
To do the deadë bodies villainy,297
Of all our lordës, which that been y-slaw,298
Hath all the bodies on an heap y-draw,
And will not suffer them by none assent
Neither to be y-buried, nor y-brent,299
But maketh houndës eat them in despite.”
And with that word, withoutë more respite
They fallen groff,300 and cryden piteously;
“Have on us wretched women some mercy,
And let our sorrow sinken in thine heart.”

This gentle Duke down from his courser start
With heartë piteous, when he heard them speak.
Him thoughtë that his heart would all to-break,
When he saw them so piteous and so mate,301
That whilom weren of so great estate.
And in his armës he them all up hent,302
And them comfórted in full good intent,
And swore his oath, as he was truë knight,
He wouldë do so farforthly his might303
Upon the tyrant Creon them to wreak,304
That all the people of Greecë shouldë speak,
How Creon was of Theseus y-served,
As he that had his death full well deserved.
And right anon withoutë more abode305
His banner he display’d, and forth he rode
To Thebes-ward, and all his host beside:
No ner306 Athenës would he go nor ride,
Nor take his easë fully half a day,
But onward on his way that night he lay:
And sent anon Hippolyta the queen,
And Emily her youngë sister sheen307
Unto the town of Athens for to dwell:
And forth he rit;308 there is no more to tell.

The red statúe of Mars with spear and targe
So shineth in his whitë banner large,
That all the fieldës glitter up and down:
And by his banner borne is his pennon
Of gold full rich, in which there was y-beat309
The Minotaur310 which that he slew in Crete.
Thus rit this Duke, thus rit this conquerour,
And in his host of chivalry the flower,
Till that he came to Thebes, and alight
Fair in a field, there as he thought to fight.
But shortly for to speaken of this thing,
With Creon, which that was of Thebes king,
He fought, and slew him manly as a knight
In plain batáille, and put his folk to flight:
And by assault he won the city after,
And rent adown both wall, and spar, and rafter;
And to the ladies he restored again
The bodies of their husbands that were slain,
To do obséquies, as was then the guise.311

But it were all too long for to devise312
The greatë clamour, and the waimenting,313
Which that the ladies made at the brenning314
Of the bodiës, and the great honour
That Theseus the noble conqueror
Did to the ladies, when they from him went:
But shortly for to tell is mine intent.

When that this worthy Duke, this Theseus,
Had Creon slain, and wonnen Thebés thus,
Still in the field he took all night his rest,
And did with all the country as him lest.315
To ransack in the tas316 of bodies dead,
Them for to strip of harness and of weed,317
The pillers318 did their business and cure,
After the battle and discomfiture.
And so befell, that in the tas they found,
Through girt with many a grievous bloody wound,
Two youngë knightës ligging by and by319
Both in one armës,320 wrought full richëly:
Of whichë two, Arcita hight that one,
And he that other hightë Palamon.
Not fully quick, nor fully dead they were,
But by their coat-armoúr, and by their gear,
The heralds knew them well in speciál,
As those that weren of the blood royál
Of Thebes, and of sistren two y-born.321
Out of the tas the pillers have them torn,
And have them carried soft unto the tent
Of Theseus, and he full soon them sent
To Athens, for to dwellen in prisón
Perpetually, he n’oldë no ranson.322
And when this worthy Duke had thus y-done,
He took his host, and home he rit anon
With laurel crowned as a conquerour;
And there he lived in joy and in honour
Term of his life;323 what needeth wordës mo’?
And in a tower, in anguish and in woe,
Dwellen this Palamon, and eke Arcite,
For evermore, there may no gold them quite.324

Thus passed year by year, and day by day,
Till it fell onës in a morn of May
That Emily, that fairer was to seen
Than is the lily upon his stalkë green,
And fresher than the May with flowers new
(For with the rosë colour strove her hue;
I n’ot325 which was the finer of them two),
Ere it was day, as she was wont to do,
She was arisen, and all ready dight,326
For May will have no sluggardy a-night;
The season pricketh every gentle heart,
And maketh him out of his sleep to start,
And saith, “Arise, and do thine óbservance.”

This maketh Emily have rémembrance
To do honoúr to May, and for to rise.
Y-clothed was she fresh for to devise;
Her yellow hair was braided in a tress,
Behind her back, a yardë long I guess.
And in the garden at the sun uprist327
She walketh up and down where as her list.
She gathereth flowers, party328 white and red,
To make a sotel329 garland for her head,
And as an angel heavenly she sung.
The greatë tower, that was so thick and strong,
Which of the castle was the chief dungeón330
(Where as these knightës weren in prisón,
Of which I toldë you, and tellë shall),
Was even joinant331 to the garden wall,
There as this Emily had her playing.

Bright was the sun, and clear that morrowning,
And Palamon, this woful prisoner,
As was his wont, by leave of his gaoler,
Was ris’n, and roamed in a chamber on high,
In which he all the noble city sigh,332
And eke the garden, full of branches green,
There as this fresh Emelia the sheen
Was in her walk, and roamed up and down.
This sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon
Went in his chamber roaming to and fro,
And to himself complaining of his woe:
That he was born, full oft he said, Alas!
And so befell, by áventure or cas,333
That through a window thick of many a bar
Of iron great, and square as any spar,
He cast his eyes upon Emelia,
And therewithal he blent334 and cried, Ah!
As though he stungen were unto the heart.
And with that cry Arcite anon up start,
And saidë, “Cousin mine, what aileth thee,
That art so pale and deadly for to see?
Why cried’st thou? who hath thee done offence?
For Goddë’s love, take all in patience
Our prison,335 for it may none other be.
Fortune hath giv’n us this adversity’.
Some wick’336 aspéct or dispositión
Of Saturn, by some constellatión,
Hath giv’n us this, although we had it sworn,
So stood the heaven when that we were born,
We must endure; this is the short and plain.”

This Palamon answér’d, and said again:
“Cousin, forsooth of this opinión
Thou hast a vain imaginatión.
This prison caused me not for to cry;
But I was hurt right now thorough mine eye
Into mine heart; that will my banë337 be.
The fairness of the lady that I see
Yond in the garden roaming to and fro,
Is cause of all my crying and my woe.
I n’ot whe’r338 she be woman or goddéss.
But Venus is it, soothly339 as I guess.”
And therewithal on knees adown he fill,
And saidë: “Venus, if it be your will
You in this garden thus to transfigúre,
Before me sorrowful wretched creatúre,
Out of this prison help that we may scape.
And if so be our destiny be shape
By etern word to dien in prisón,
Of our lineage have some compassión,
That is so low y-brought by tyranny.”

And with that word Arcita gan espy340
Where as this lady roamed to and fro.
And with that sight her beauty hurt him so,
That if that Palamon was wounded sore,
Arcite is hurt as much as he, or more.
And with a sigh he saidë piteously:
“The freshë beauty slay’th me suddenly
Of her that roameth yonder in the place.
And but341 I have her mercy and her grace,
That I may see her at the leastë way,
I am but dead; there is no more to say.”
This Palamon, when he these wordës heard,
Dispiteously342 he looked, and answér’d:
“Whether say’st thou this in earnest or in play?”
“Nay,” quoth Arcite, “in earnest, by my fay.343
God help me so, me lust full ill to play.”344
This Palamon gan knit his browës tway.
“It were,” quoth he, “to thee no great honoúr
For to be false, nor for to be traitoúr
To me, that am thy cousin and thy brother
Y-sworn full deep, and each of us to other,
That never for to dien in the pain,345
Till that the death departen shall us twain,
Neither of us in love to hinder other,
Nor in none other case, my levë346 brother;
But that thou shouldest truly farther me
In every case, as I should farther thee.
This was thine oath, and mine also certáin;
I wot it well, thou dar’st it not withsayn.347
Thus art thou of my counsel out of doubt.
And now thou wouldest falsely be about
To love my lady, whom I love and serve,
And ever shall, until mine heartë sterve.348
Now certes, false Arcite, thou shalt not so.
I lov’d her first, and toldë thee my woe
As to my counsel, and my brother sworn
To farther me, as I have told beforn.
For which thou art y-bounden as a knight
To helpë me, if it lie in thy might,
Or ellës art thou false, I dare well sayn,”

This Arcita full proudly spake again:
“Thou shalt,” quoth he, “be rather349 false than I,
And thou art false, I tell thee utterly;
For par amour I lov’d her first ere thou.
What wilt thou say? thou wist it not right now350
Whether she be a woman or goddéss.
Thine is affectión of holiness,
And mine is love, as to a creature:
For which I toldë thee mine áventure
As to my cousin, and my brother sworn.
I posë,351 that thou loved’st her beforn:
Wost352 thou not well the oldë clerkë’s saw,353
That who shall give a lover any law?
Love is a greater lawë, by my pan,354
Than may be giv’n to any earthly man:
Therefore positive law, and such decree,
Is broke alway for love in each degree
A man must needës love, maugré his head.355
He may not flee it, though he should be dead,
All be she356 maid, or widow, or else wife.
And eke it is not likely all thy life
To standen in her grace, no more than I:
For well thou wost thyselfë verily,
That thou and I be damned to prisón
Perpetual, us gaineth no ranson.
We strive, as did the houndës for the bone;
They fought all day, and yet their part was none.
There came a kite, while that they were so wroth,
And bare away the bone betwixt them both.
And therefore at the kingë’s court, my brother,
Each man for himselfë, there is no other.
Love if thee list; for I love and aye shall:
And soothly, levë brother, this is all.
Here in this prison musten we endure,
And each of us takë his áventúre.”

Great was the strife and long betwixt them tway,
If that I haddë leisure for to say;
But to the effect: it happen’d on a day
(To tell it you as shortly as I may),
A worthy duke that hight Perithous,
That fellow was to the Duke Theseus357
Since thilkë358 day that they were children lite,359
Was come to Athéns, his fellow to visite,
And for to play, as he was wont to do;
For in this world he loved no man so;
And he lov’d him as tenderly again.
So well they lov’d, as oldë bookës sayn,
That when that one was dead, soothly to tell,
His fellow went and sought him down in hell:
But of that story list me not to write.
Duke Perithous loved well Arcite,
And had him known at Thebes year by year:
And finally at réquest and prayére
Of Perithous, withoutë ransón
Duke Theseus him let out of prisón,
Freely to go, where him list over all,
In such a guise, as I you tellen shall
This was the forword,360 plainly to indite,
Betwixtë Theseus and him Arcite:
That if so were, that Arcite were y-found
Ever in his life, by day or night, one stound361
In any country of this Theseus,
And he were caught, it was accorded thus,
That with a sword he shouldë lose his head;
There was none other remedy nor rede.362
But took his leave, and homeward he him sped;
Let him beware, his neckë lieth to wed.363

How great a sorrow suff’reth now Arcite!
The death he feeleth through his heartë smite;
He weepeth, waileth, crieth piteously;
To slay himself he waiteth privily.
He said; “Alas the day that I was born!
Now is my prison worsë than beforn:
Now is me shape364 eternally to dwell
Not in purgatory, but right in hell.
Alas! that ever I knew Perithous.
For ellës had I dwelt with Theseus
Y-fettered in his prison evermo’.
Then had I been in bliss, and not in woe.
Only the sight of her, whom that I serve,
Though that I never may her grace deserve,
Would have sufficed right enough for me.
O dearë cousin Palamon,” quoth he,
“Thine is the vict’ry of this áventúre,
Full blissfully in prison to endure:
In prison? nay certes, in paradise.
Well hath fortúne y-turned thee the dice,
That hast the sight of her, and I th’ absénce.
For possible is, since thou hast her presénce,
And art a knight, a worthy and an able,
That by some cas,365 since fortune is changeáble,
Thou may’st to thy desire sometime attain.
But I that am exiled, and barrén
Of allë grace, and in so great despair,
That there n’is earthë, water, fire, nor air,
Nor creature, that of them maked is,
That may me helpë nor comfort in this,
Well ought I sterve in wanhope366 and distress.
Farewell my life, my lust,367 and my gladnéss.
Alas, why plainen men so in commúne
Of purveyance of God,368 or of Fortúne,
That giveth them full oft in many a guise
Well better than they can themselves devise?
Some man desireth for to have richess,
That cause is of his murder or great sickness.
And some man would out of his prison fain,
That in his house is of his meinie369 slain.
Infinite harmës be in this mattére.
We wot never what thing we pray for here.
We fare as he that drunk is as a mouse.
A drunken man wot well he hath an house,
But he wot not which is the right way thither,
And to a drunken man the way is slither.370
And certes in this world so farë we.
We seekë fast after felicity,
But we go wrong full often truëly.
Thus we may sayen all, and namely371 I,
That ween’d,372 and had a great opinión,
That if I might escapë from prisón
Then had I been in joy and perfect heal,
Where now I am exiled from my weal.
Since that I may not see you, Emily,
I am but dead; there is no remedy.”

Upon that other sidë, Palamon,
When that he wist Arcita was agone,
Much sorrow maketh, that the greatë tower
Resounded of his yelling and clamoúr.
The purë fetters373 on his shinnës great
Were of his bitter saltë tearës wet.

“Alas!” quoth he, “Arcita, cousin mine,
Of all our strife, God wot, the fruit is thine.
Thou walkest now in Thebes at thy large,
And of my woe thou givest little charge.374
Thou mayst, since thou hast wisdom and manhead,375
Assemble all the folk of our kindréd,
And make a war so sharp on this countrý,
That by some áventure, or some treatý,
Thou mayst have her to lady and to wife,
For whom that I must needës lose my life.
For as by way of possibility,
Since thou art at thy large, of prison free,
And art a lord, great is thine ávantage,
More than is mine, that sterve376 here in a cage.
For I must weep and wail, while that I live,
With all the woe that prison may me give,
And eke with pain that love me gives also,
That doubles all my torment and my woe.”

Therewith the fire of jealousy upstart
Within his breast, and hent him by the heart
So woodly,377 that he like was to behold
The box-tree, or the ashes dead and cold.
Then said; “O cruel goddess, that govérn
This world with binding of your word etern,378
And writen in the table of adamant
Your parlement379 and your eternal grant,
What is mankind more unto you y-hold380
Than is the sheep, that rouketh381 in the fold!
For slain is man, right as another beast,
And dwelleth eke in prison and arrest,
And hath sicknéss, and great adversity,
And oftentimës guiltëless, pardie.382
What governance is in your prescience,
That guiltëless tormenteth innocence?
And yet increaseth this all my penance,
That man is bounden to his observance
For Goddë’s sake to letten of his will,383
Whereas a beast may all his lust384 fulfil.
And when a beast is dead, he hath no pain;
But man after his death must weep and plain,
Though in this worldë he have care and woe:
Withoutë doubt it mayë standen so.

“The answer of this leave I to divinës,
But well I wot, that in this world great pine385 is:
Alas! I see a serpent or a thief
That many a truë man hath done mischief,
Go at his large, and where him list may turn.
But I must be in prison through Saturn,
And eke through Juno, jealous and eke wood,386
That hath well nigh destroyed all the blood
Of Thebes, with his wastë wallës wide.
And Venus slay’th me on that other side
For jealousy, and fear of him, Arcite.”

Now will I stent387 of Palamon a lite,388
And let him in his prison stillë dwell,
And of Arcita forth I will you tell.
The summer passeth, and the nightës long
Increasë double-wise the painës strong
Both of the lover and the prisonére.
I n’ot389 which hath the wofuller mistére.390
For, shortly for to say, this Palamon
Perpetually is damned to prisón,
In chainës and in fetters to be dead;
And Arcite is exiled on his head391
For evermore as out of that country,
Nor never more he shall his lady see.
You lovers ask I now this question,392
Who lieth the worse, Arcite or Palamon?
The one may see his lady day by day,
But in prison he dwellë must alway.
The other where him list may ride or go,
But see his lady shall he never mo’.
Now deem all as you listë, ye that can,
For I will tell you forth as I began.

When that Arcite to Thebes comen was,
Full oft a day he swelt,393 and said, “Alas!”
For see this lady he shall never mo’.
And shortly to concluden all his woe,
So much sorrow had never creatúre
That is or shall be while the world may dure.
His sleep, his meat, his drink is him byraft,394
That lean he wex,395 and dry as any shaft.396
His eyen hollow, grisly to behold,
His hue fallow,397 and pale as ashes cold,
And solitary he was, ever alone,
And wailing all the night, making his moan.
And if he heardë song or instrument,
Then would he weepen, he might not be stent.398
So feeble were his spirits, and so low,
And changed so, that no man couldë know
His speech, neither his voice, though men it heard.
And in his gear399 for all the world he far’d
Not only like the lovers’ malady
Of Eros, but rather y-like maníe,400
Engender’d of humoúrs meláncholic,
Before his head in his cell fántastic.401
And shortly turned was all upside down,
Both habit and eke dispositioún,
Of him, this woful lover Dan402 Arcite.
Why should I all day of his woe indite?
When he endured had a year or two
This cruel torment, and this pain and woe,
At Thebes, in his country, as I said,
Upon a night in sleep as he him laid,
Him thought how that the winged god Mercúry
Before him stood, and bade him to be merry.
His sleepy yard403 in hand he bare upright;
A hat he wore upon his hairës bright.
Arrayed was this god (as he took keep)404
As he was when that Argus405 took his sleep;
And said him thus: “To Athens shalt thou wend;406
There is thee shapen407 of thy woe an end.”
And with that word Arcite woke and start.
“Now truëly how sore that e’er me smart,”
Quoth he, “to Athens right now will I fare.
Nor for no dread of death shall I not spare
To see my lady that I love and serve;
In her presénce I reckë not to sterve.”408
And with that word he caught a great mirrór,
And saw that changed was all his colór,
And saw his visage all in other kind.
And right anon it ran him ill his mind,
That since his facë was so disfigúr’d
Of malady the which he had endúr’d,
He mightë well, if that he bare him low,409
Live in Athenës evermore unknow,
And see his lady well-nigh day by day.
And right anon he changed his array,
And clad him as a poorë labourer.
And all alone, save only a squiér,
That knew his privity410 and all his cas,411
Which was disguised poorly as he was,
To Athens is he gone the nextë412 way.
And to the court he went upon a day,
And at the gate he proffer’d his service,
To drudge and draw, what so men would devise.413
And, shortly of this matter for to sayn,
He fell in office with a chamberlain,
The which that dwelling was with Emily.
For he was wise, and couldë soon espy
Of every servant which that served her.
Well could he hewë wood, and water bear,
For he was young and mighty for the nones,414
And thereto he was strong and big of bones
To do that any wight can him devise.

A year or two he was in this servíce,
Page of the chamber of Emily the bright;
And Philostrate he saidë that he hight.
But half so well belov’d a man as he
Ne was there never in court of his degree.
He was so gentle of conditioún,
That throughout all the court was his renown.
They saidë that it were a charity
That Theseus would énhance his degree,415
And put him in some worshipful servíce,
There as he might his virtue exercise.
And thus within a while his namë sprung
Both of his deedës, and of his good tongue,
That Theseus hath taken him so near,
That of his chamber he hath made him squire,
And gave him gold to máintain his degree;
And eke men brought him out of his country
From year to year full privily his rent.
But honestly and slyly416 he it spent,
That no man wonder’d how that he it had.
And three year in this wise his life be lad,417
And bare him so in peace and eke in werre,418
There was no man that Theseus had so derre.419
And in this blissë leave I now Arcite,
And speak I will of Palamon a lite.420

In darkness horrible, and strong prisón,
This seven year hath sitten Palamon,
Forpined,421 what for love, and for distress.
Who feeleth double sorrow and heaviness
But Palamon? that love distraineth422 so,
That wood423 out of his wits he went for woe,
And eke thereto he is a prisonére
Perpetual, not only for a year.
Who couldë rhyme in English properly
His martyrdom? forsooth, it is not I;424
Therefore I pass as lightly as I may.
It fell that in the seventh year, in May
The thirdë night (as oldë bookës sayn,
That all this story tellen morë plain),
Were it by áventure or destiny
(As, when a thing is shapen425 it shall be),
That, soon after the midnight, Palamon
By helping of a friend brake his prisón,
And fled the city fast as he might go,
For he had given drink his gaoler so
Of a clary,426 made of a certain wine,
With narcotise and opie427 of Thebes fine,
That all the night, though that men would him shake,
The gaoler slept, he mightë not awake:
And thus he fled as fast as ever he may.
The night was short, and fastë by the day
That needës cast he must428 himself to hide.
And to a grovë fastë there beside
With dreadful foot then stalked Palamon.
For shortly this was his opinión,
That in the grove he would him hide all day,
And in the night then would he take his way
To Thebes-ward, his friendës for to pray
On Theseus to help him to warray.429
And shortly either he would lose his life,
Or winnen Emily unto his wife.
This is th’ effect, and his intention plain.

Now will I turn to Arcita again,
That little wist how nighë was his care,
Till that Fortúne had brought him in the snare.
The busy lark, the messenger of day,
Saluteth in her song the morning gray;
And fiery Phoebus riseth up so bright,
That all the orient laugheth at the sight,
And with his streamës430 drieth in the greves431
The silver droppës, hanging on the leaves;
And Arcite, that is in the court royál
With Theseus, his squier principal,
Is ris’n, and looketh on the merry day.
And for to do his óbservance to May,
Remembering the point432 of his desire,
He on his courser, starting as the fire,
Is ridden to the fieldës him to play,
Out of the court, were it a mile or tway.
And to the grove, of which I have you told,
By áventure his way began to hold,
To makë him a garland of the greves,433
Were it of woodbine, or of hawthorn leaves,
And loud he sang against the sun so sheen.434
“O May, with all thy flowers and thy green,
Right welcome be thou, fairë freshë May,
I hope that I some green here getten may.”
And from his courser, with a lusty heart,
Into the grove full hastily he start,
And in a path he roamed up and down,
There as by áventure this Palamon
Was in a bush, that no man might him see,
For sore afeard of his death was he.
Nothing ne knew he that it was Arcite;
God wot he would have trowed it full lite.435
But sooth is said, gone since full many years,436
The field hath eyen, and the wood hath ears.
It is full fair a man to bear him even,437
For all day meeten men at unset steven.438
Full little wot Arcite of his felláw,
That was so nigh to hearken of his saw,439
For in the bush he sitteth now full still.
When that Arcite had roamed all his fill,
And sungen all the roundel440 lustily,
Into a study he fell suddenly,
As do those lovers in their quaintë gears,441
Now in the crop, and now down in the breres,442
Now up, now down, as bucket in a well.
Right as the Friday, soothly for to tell,
Now shineth it, and now it raineth fast,
Right so can geary443 Venus overcast
The heartës of her folk, right as her day
Is gearful,444 right so changeth she array.
Seldom is Friday all the weekë like.
When Arcite had y-sung, he gan to sike,445
And sat him down withouten any more:
“Alas!” quoth he, “the day that I was bore!
How longë, Juno, through thy cruelty
Wilt thou warrayen446 Thebes the city?
Alas! y-brought is to confusion
The blood royál of Cadm’ and Amphion:
Of Cadmus, which that was the firstë man,
That Thebes built, or first the town began,
And of the city first was crowned king.
Of his lineáge am I, and his offspring
By very line, as of the stock royál;
And now I am so caitiff and so thrall,447
That he that is my mortal enemy,
I serve him as his squiër poorëly.
And yet doth Juno me well morë shame,
For I dare not beknow448 mine owen name,
But there as I was wont to hight Arcite,
Now hight I Philostrate, not worth a mite.
Alas! thou fell Mars, and alas! Juno,
Thus hath your ire our lineage all fordo’.449
Save only me, and wretched Palamon,
That Theseus martýreth in prisón.
And over all this, to slay me utterly,
Love hath his fiery dart so brenningly450
Y-sticked through my truë careful heart,
That shapen was my death erst than my shert.451
Ye slay me with your eyen, Emily;
Ye be the causë wherefore that I die.
Of all the remnant of mine other care
Ne set I not the mountance of a tare,452
So that I could do aught to your pleasance.”

And with that word he fell down in a trance
A longë time; and afterward upstart
This Palamon, that thought thorough his heart
He felt a cold sword suddenly to glide:
For ire he quoke,453 no longer would he hide.
And when that he had heard Arcite’s tale,
As he were wood,454 with facë dead and pale,
He start him up out of the bushes thick,
And said: “False Arcita, false traitor wick’,455
Now art thou hent,456 that lov’st my lady so,
For whom that I have all this pain and woe,
And art my blood, and to my counsel sworn,
As I full oft have told thee herebeforn,
And hast bejaped457 here Duke Theseus,
And falsely changed hast thy namë thus;
I will be dead, or ellës thou shalt die.
Thou shalt not love my lady Emily,
But I will love her only and no mo’;
For I am Palamon thy mortal foe.
And though I have no weapon in this place,
But out of prison am astart458 by grace,
I dreadë459 not that either thou shalt die,
Or else thou shalt not loven Emily.
Choose which thou wilt, for thou shalt not astart.”

This Arcite then, with full dispiteous460 heart,
When he him knew, and had his talë heard,
As fierce as lion pulled out a swerd,
And saidë thus; “By God that sitt’th above,
N’ere it461 that thou art sick, and wood for love,
And eke that thou no weap’n hast in this place,
Thou should’st never out of this grovë pace,
That thou ne shouldest dien of mine hand.
For I defy the surety and the band,
Which that thou sayest I have made to thee.
What? very fool, think well that love is free;
And I will love her maugré462 all thy might.
But, for thou art a worthy gentle knight,
And wilnest to darraine her by bataille,463
Have here my troth, to-morrow I will not fail,
Without weeting464 of any other wight,
That here I will be founden as a knight,
And bringë harness465 right enough for thee;
And choose the best, and leave the worst for me.
And meat and drinkë this night will I bring
Enough for thee, and clothes for thy beddíng.
And if so be that thou my lady win,
And slay me in this wood that I am in,
Thou may’st well have thy lady as for me.”
This Palamon answér’d, “I grant it thee.”
And thus they be departed till the morrow,
When each of them hath laid his faith to borrow.466

O Cupid, out of allë charity!
O Regne467 that wilt no fellow have with thee!
Full sooth is said, that love nor lordëship
Will not, his thanks,468 have any fellowship.
Well finden that Arcite and Palamon.
Arcite is ridd anon unto the town,
And on the morrow, ere it were daylight,
Full privily two harness hath he dight,469
Both suffisant and meetë to darraine470
The battle in the field betwixt them twain.
And on his horse, alone as he was born,
He carrieth all this harness him beforn;
And in the grove, at time and place y-set,
This Arcite and this Palamon be met.
Then changë gan the colour of their face;
Right as the hunter in the regne471 of Thrace
That standeth at a gappë472 with a spear
When hunted is the lion or the bear,
And heareth him come rushing in the greves,473
And breaking both the boughës and the leaves,
Thinketh, “Here comes my mortal enemy,
Withoutë fail, he must be dead or I;
For either I must slay him at the gap;
Or he must slay me, if that me mishap:”
So fared they, in changing of their hue
As far as either of them other knew.474
There was no good day, and no saluting,
But straight, withoutë wordës rehearsing,
Evereach of them holp to arm the other,
As friendly, as he were his owen brother.
And after that, with sharpë spearës strong
They foined475 each at other wonder long.
Thou mightest weenë,476 that this Palamon
In his fighting were as a wood477 lion,
And as a cruel tiger was Arcite:
As wildë boars gan they together smite,
That froth as white as foam, for irë wood.478
Up to the ancle fought they in their blood.
And in this wise I let them fighting dwell,
And forth I will of Theseus you tell.

The Destiny, minister general,
That executeth in the world o’er all
The purveyánce,479 that God hath seen beforn;
So strong it is, that though the world had sworn
The contrary of a thing by yea or nay,
Yet some time it shall fallën on a day
That falleth not eft480 in a thousand year.
For certainly our appetitës here,
Be it of war, or peace, or hate, or love,
All is this ruled by the sight481 above.
This mean I now by mighty Theseus,
That for to hunten is so desiroús⁠—
And namëly482 the greatë hart in May⁠—
That in his bed there dawneth him no day
That he n’is clad, and ready for to ride
With hunt and horn, and houndës him beside.
For in his hunting hath he such delight,
That it is all his joy and appetite
To be himself the greatë hartë’s bane;483
For after Mars he serveth now Diane.
Clear was the day, as I have told ere this,
And Theseus, with allë joy and bliss,
With his Hippolyta, the fairë queen,
And Emily, y-clothed all in green,
On hunting be they ridden royally.
And to the grove, that stood there fastë by,
In which there was an hart, as men him told,
Duke Theseus the straightë way doth hold,
And to the laund484 he rideth him full right,
There was the hart y-wont to have his flight,
And over a brook, and so forth on his way.
This Duke will have a course at him or tway
With houndës, such as him lust485 to command.
And when this Duke was comë to the laund,
Under the sun he looked, and anon
He was ware of Arcite and Palamon,
That foughtë breme,486 as it were bullës two.
The brightë swordës wentë to and fro
So hideously, that with the leastë stroke
It seemed that it wouldë fell an oak,
But what they werë, nothing yet he wote.
This Duke his courser with his spurrës smote,
And at a start487 he was betwixt them two,
And pulled out a sword and cried, “Ho!
No more, on pain of losing of your head.
By mighty Mars, he shall anon be dead
That smiteth any stroke, that I may see!
But tell to me what mister488 men ye be,
That be so hardy for to fightë here
Withoutë judge or other officer,
As though it were in listës489 royally.”

This Palamon answered hastily,
And saidë: “Sir, what needeth wordës mo’?
We have the death deserved bothë two,
Two woful wretches be we, and caitíves,
That be accumbered490 of our own lives,
And as thou art a rightful lord and judge,
So give us neither mercy nor refuge.
And slay me first, for saintë charity,
But slay my fellow eke as well as me.
Or slay him first; for, though thou know it lite,491
This is thy mortal foe, this is Arcite,
That from thy land is banisht on his head,
For which he hath deserved to be dead.
For this is he that came unto thy gate
And saidë, that he hightë Philostrate.
Thus hath he japed492 thee full many year,
And thou hast made of him thy chief esquiér;
And this is he, that loveth Emily.
For since the day is come that I shall die
I makë pleinly493 my confessión,
That I am thilkë494 woful Palamon,
That hath thy prison broken wickedly.
I am thy mortal foe, and it am I
That so hot loveth Emily the bright,
That I would die here present in her sight.
Therefore I askë death and my jewise.495
But slay my fellow eke in the same wise,
For both we have deserved to be slain.”

This worthy Duke answér’d anon again,
And said, “This is a short conclusión.
Your own mouth, by your own confessión
Hath damned you, and I will it record;
It needeth not to pain you with the cord;
Ye shall be dead, by mighty Mars the Red.”496

The queen anon for very womanhead
Began to weep, and so did Emily,
And all the ladies in the company.
Great pity was it as it thought them all,
That ever such a chancë should befall,
For gentle men they were, of great estate,
And nothing but for love was this debate;
They saw their bloody woundës wide and sore,
And cried all at once, both less and more,
“Have mercy, Lord, upon us women all.”
And on their barë knees adown they fall,
And would have kiss’d his feet there as he stood,
Till at the last aslaked was his mood497
(For pity runneth soon in gentle heart);
And though at first for ire he quoke and start,
He hath consider’d shortly in a clause
The trespass of them both, and eke the cause:
And although that his ire their guilt accused,
Yet in his reason he them both excused;
As thus; he thoughtë well that every man
Will help himself in love if that he can,
And eke deliver himself out of prison.
And eke his heartë had compassión
Of women, for they wepten ever-in-one:498
And in his gentle heart he thought anon,
And soft unto himself he saidë: “Fie
Upon a lord that will have no mercy,
But be a lion both in word and deed,
To them that be in répentance and dread,
As well as to a proud dispiteous499 man
That will maintainë what he first began.
That lord hath little of discretión,
That in such case can no división:500
But weigheth pride and humbless after one.”501
And shortly, when his ire is thus agone,
He gan to look on them with eyen light,502
And spake these samë wordës all on height.503

“The god of love, ah! benedicite,504
How mighty and how great a lord is he!
Against his might there gainë505 none obstácles,
He may be call’d a god for his mirácles.
For he can maken at his owen guise
Of every heart, as that him list devise.
Lo here this Arcite, and this Palamon,
That quietly were out of my prisón,
And might have lived in Thebes royally,
And weet506 I am their mortal enemy,
And that their death li’th in my might also,
And yet hath love, maugré their eyen two,507
Y-brought them hither bothë for to die.
Now look ye, is not this an high folly?
Who may not be a fool, if but he love?
Behold, for Goddë’s sake that sits above,
See how they bleed! be they not well array’d?
Thus hath their lord, the god of love, them paid
Their wages and their fees for their servíce;
And yet they weenë for to be full wise,
That servë love, for aught that may befall.
But this is yet the bestë game508 of all,
That she, for whom they have this jealousy,
Can them therefor as muchel thank as me.
She wot no more of all this hotë fare,509
By God, than wot a cuckoo or an hare.
But all must be assayed hot or cold;
A man must be a fool, or young or old;
I wot it by myself full yore agone:510
For in my time a servant was I one.
And therefore since I know of lovë’s pain,
And wot how sore it can a man distrain,511
As he that oft hath been caught in his las,512
I you forgivë wholly this trespáss,
At réquest of the queen that kneeleth here,
And eke of Emily, my sister dear.
And ye shall both anon unto me swear,
That never more ye shall my country dere,513
Nor makë war upon me night nor day,
But be my friends in allë that ye may.
I you forgive this trespass every deal.”514
And they him sware his asking515 fair and well,
And him of lordship and of mercy pray’d,
And he them granted grace, and thus he said:

“To speak of royal lineage and richéss,
Though that she were a queen or a princess,
Each of you both is worthy doubtëless
To weddë when time is; but natheless
I speak as for my sister Emily,
For whom ye have this strife and jealousy,
Ye wot yourselves, she may not wed the two
At once, although ye fight for evermo’:
But one of you, all be him loth or lief,516
He must go pipe into an ivy leaf:517
This is to say, she may not have you both,
All be ye never so jealous, nor so wroth.
And therefore I you put in this degree,
That each of you shall have his destiny
As him is shape;518 and hearken in what wise;
Lo hear your end of that I shall devise.
My will is this, for plain conclusión
Withouten any replicatión,519
If that you liketh, take it for the best,
That evereach of you shall go where him lest,520
Freely withoutë ransom or dangér;
And this day fifty weekës, farre ne nerre,521
Evereach of you shall bring an hundred knights,
Armed for listës up at allë rights
All ready to darraine522 her by bataille,
And this behete523 I you withoutë fail
Upon my troth, and as I am a knight,
That whether of you bothë that hath might,
That is to say, that whether he or thou
May with his hundred, as I spake of now,
Slay his contráry, or out of listës drive,
Him shall I given Emily to wive,
To whom that fortune gives so fair a grace.
The listës shall I make here in this place.
And God so wisly on my soulë rue,524
As I shall even judgë be and true.
Ye shall none other endë with me maken
Than one of you shallë be dead or taken.
And if you thinketh this is well y-said,
Say your advice,525 and hold yourselves apaid.526
This is your end, and your conclusión.”
Who looketh lightly now but Palamon?
Who springeth up for joyë but Arcite?
Who could it tell, or who could it indite,
The joyë that is maked in the place
When Theseus hath done so fair a grace?
But down on knees went every manner527 wight,
And thanked him with all their heartës’ might,
And namëly528 these Thebans oftë sithe.529
And thus with good hope and with heartë blithe
They take their leave, and homeward gan they ride
To Thebes-ward, with his old wallës wide.

I trow men wouldë deem it negligence,
If I forgot to tellë the dispence530
Of Theseus, that went so busily
To maken up the listës royally,
That such a noble theatre as it was,
I dare well say, in all this world there n’as.531
The circuít a milë was about,
Walled of stone, and ditched all without.
Round was the shape, in manner of compáss,
Full of degrees,532 the height of sixty pas,533
That when a man was set on one degree
He letted534 not his fellow for to see.
Eastward there stood a gate of marble white,
Westward right such another opposite.
And, shortly to concludë, such a place
Was never on earth made in so little space,
For in the land there was no craftës-man,
That geometry or arsmetrikë can,535
Nor pourtrayor,536 nor carver of imáges,
That Theseus ne gave him meat and wages
The theatre to make and to devise.
And for to do his rite and sacrifice
He eastward hath upon the gate above,
In worship of Venus, goddess of love,
Done537 make an altar and an oratory;
And westward, in the mind and in memory
Of Mars, he maked hath right such another,
That costë largëly of gold a fother.538
And northward, in a turret on the wall,
Of alabaster white and red corál
An oratory richë for to see,
In worship of Diane of chastity,
Hath Theseus done539 work in noble wise.
But yet had I forgotten to devise540
The noble carving, and the portraitures,
The shape, the countenance of the figúres
That weren in there oratories three.

First in the temple of Venus may’st thou see
Wrought on the wall, full piteous to behold,
The broken sleepës, and the sikës541 cold,
The sacred tearës, and the waimentings,542
The fiery strokës of the desirings,
That Lovë’s servants in this life endure;
The oathës, that their covenants assure.
Pleasance and Hope, Desire, Foolhardiness,
Beauty and Youth, and Bawdry and Richéss,
Charms and Sorc’ry, Leasings543 and Flattery,
Dispencë, Business, and Jealousy,
That wore of yellow goldës544 a garland,
And had a cuckoo sitting on her hand,
Feasts, instruments, and carolës and dances,
Lust and array, and all the circumstánces
Of Love, which I reckon’d and reckon shall
In order, werë painted on the wall,
And more than I can make of mentión.
For soothly all the mount of Citheron,545
Where Venus hath her principal dwelling,
Was showed on the wall in pourtraying,
With all the garden, and the lustiness.546
Nor was forgot the porter Idleness,
Nor Narcissus the fair of yore agone,547
Nor yet the folly of King Solomon,
Nor yet the greatë strength of Hercules,
Th’ enchantments of Medea and Circés,
Nor of Turnus the hardy fierce couráge,
The richë Croesus caitif in serváge.548
Thus may ye see, that wisdom nor richéss,
Beauty, nor sleight, nor strength, nor hardiness,
Ne may with Venus holdë champartie,549
For as her listë the world may she gie.550
Lo, all these folk so caught were in her las551
Till they for woe full often said, Alas!
Sufficë these ensamples one or two,
Although I could reckon a thousand mo’.

The statue of Venus, glorious to see
Was naked floating in the largë sea,
And from the navel down all cover’d was
With wavës green, and bright as any glass.
A citole552 in her right hand haddë she,
And on her head, full seemly for to see,
A rosë garland fresh, and well smelling,
Above her head her dovës flickering.
Before her stood her sonë Cupido,
Upon his shoulders wingës had he two;
And blind he was, as it is often seen;
A bow he bare, and arrows bright and keen.

Why should I not as well eke tell you all
The portraiture, that was upon the wall
Within the temple of mighty Mars the Red?
All painted was the wall in length and brede553
Like to the estres554 of the grisly place
That hight the great temple of Mars in Thrace,
In thilkë555 cold and frosty región,
There as Mars hath his sovereign mansión.
First on the wall was painted a forést,
In which there dwelled neither man nor beast,
With knotty gnarry556 barren treës old
Of stubbës sharp and hideous to behold;
In which there ran a rumble and a sough,557
As though a storm should bursten every bough:
And downward from an hill under a bent,558
There stood the temple of Mars Armipotent,
Wrought all of burnish’d steel, of which th’ entry
Was long and strait, and ghastly for to see.
And thereout came a rage and such a vise,559
That it made all the gatës for to rise.
The northern light in at the doorë shone,
For window on the wallë was there none
Through which men mighten any light discern.
The doors were all of adamant etern,
Y-clenched overthwart and endëlong560
With iron tough, and, for to make it strong,
Every pillar the temple to sustain
Was tunnë-great,561 of iron bright and sheen.
There saw I first the dark imagining
Of felony, and all the compassing;
The cruel ire, as red as any glede,562
The pickëpurse,563 and eke the palë dread;
The smiler with the knife under the cloak,
The shepen564 burning with the blackë smoke;
The treason of the murd’ring in the bed,
The open war, with woundës all be-bled;
Conteke565 with bloody knife, and sharp menace.
All full of chirking566 was that sorry place.
The slayer of himself eke saw I there,
His heartë-blood had bathed all his hair:
The nail y-driven in the shode567 at night,
The coldë death, with mouth gaping upright.
Amiddës of the temple sat Mischance,
With discomfórt and sorry countenance;
Eke saw I Woodness568 laughing in his rage,
Armed Complaint, Outhees,569 and fierce Outrage;
The carrain570 in the bush, with throat y-corve,571
A thousand slain, and not of qualm y-storve;572
The tyrant, with the prey by force y-reft;
The town destroy’d, that there was nothing left.
Yet saw I brent the shippës hoppësteres,573
The hunter strangled with the wildë bears:
The sow freting574 the child right in the cradle;
The cook scalded, for all his longë ladle.
Nor was forgot, by th’ infortune of Mart575
The carter overridden with his cart;
Under the wheel full low he lay adown.
There were also of Mars’ division,
The armourer, the bowyer,576 and the smith,
That forgeth sharpë swordës on his stith.577
And all above depainted in a tower
Saw I Conquest, sitting in great honoúr,
With thilkë578 sharpë sword over his head
Hanging by a subtle y-twined thread.
Painted the slaughter was of Julius,579
Of cruel Nero, and Antonius:
Although at that time they were yet unborn,
Yet was their death depainted there beforn,
By menacing of Mars, right by figúre,
So was it showed in that portraitúre,
As is depainted in the stars above,
Who shall be slain, or ellës dead for love.
Sufficeth one ensample in stories old,
I may not reckon them all, though I wo’ld.

The statue of Mars upon a cartë580 stood
Armed, and looked grim as he were wood,581
And over his head there shonë two figúres
Of starrës, that be cleped in scriptures,
That one Puella, that other Rubeus.582
This god of armës was arrayed thus:
A wolf there stood before him at his feet
With eyen red, and of a man he eat:
With subtle pencil painted was this story,
In redouting583 of Mars and of his glory.

Now to the temple of Dian the chaste
As shortly as I can I will me haste,
To tellë you all the descriptioun.
Depainted be the wallës up and down
Of hunting and of shamefast chastity.
There saw I how woful Calistope,584
When that Dian aggrieved was with her,
Was turned from a woman till a bear,
And after was she made the lodëstar:585
Thus was it painted, I can say no far;586
Her son is eke a star as men may see.
There saw I Danë587 turn’d into a tree,
I meanë not the goddess Dianë,
But Peneus’ daughter, which that hight Danë.
There saw I Actaeon an hart y-maked,588
For vengeance that he saw Dian all naked:
I saw how that his houndës have him caught,
And freten589 him, for that they knew him not.
Yet painted was, a little farthermore
How Atalanta hunted the wild boar,
And Meleager, and many other mo’,
For which Diana wrought them care and woe.
There saw I many another wondrous story,
The which me list not drawen to memóry.
This goddess on an hart full high was set,590
With smallë houndës all about her feet,
And underneath her feet she had a moon,
Waxing it was, and shouldë wanë soon.
In gaudy green her statue clothed was,
With bow in hand, and arrows in a case.591
Her eyen castë she full low adown,
Where Pluto hath his darkë regioun.
A woman travailing was her beforn,
But, for her child so longë was unborn,
Full piteously Lucina592 gan she call,
And saidë; “Help, for thou may’st best of all.”
Well could he paintë lifelike that it wrought;
With many a florin he the hues had bought.
Now be these listës made, and Theseus,
That at his greatë cost arrayed thus
The temples, and the theatre every deal,593
When it was done, him liked wonder well.
But stint594 I will of Theseus a lite,595
And speak of Palamon and of Arcite.

The day approacheth of their returning,
That evereach an hundred knights should bring,
The battle to darraine596 as I you told;
And to Athens, their covenant to hold,
Hath ev’reach of them brought an hundred knights,
Well armed for the war at allë rights.
And sickerly597 there trowed598 many a man,
That never, sithen599 that the world began,
For to speaken of knighthood of their hand,
As far as God hath maked sea and land,
Was, of so few, so noble a company.600
For every wight that loved chivalry,
And would, his thankës,601 have a passant602 name,
Had prayed, that he might be of that game,
And well was him, that thereto chosen was.
For if there fell to-morrow such a case,
Ye knowë well, that every lusty knight,
That loveth par amour, and hath his might,
Were it in Engleland, or ellëswhere,
They would, their thankës, willen to be there,
T’ fight for a lady; benedicite,
It were a lusty603 sightë for to see.
And right so fared they with Palamon;
With him there wentë knightës many one.
Some will be armed in an habergeon,
And in a breastplate, and in a gipon;604
And some will have a pair of platës605 large;
And some will have a Prussë606 shield, or targe;
Some will be armed on their leggës weel;607
Some have an axe, and some a mace of steel.
There is no newë guise,608 but it was old.
Armed they weren, as I have you told,
Evereach after his opinión.

There may’st thou see coming with Palamon
Licurgus himself, the great king of Thrace:
Black was his beard, and manly was his face.
The circles of his eyen in his head
They glowed betwixtë yellow and red,
And like a griffin looked he about,
With kemped609 hairës on his browës stout;
His limbs were great, his brawns were hard and strong,
His shoulders broad, his armës round and long.
And as the guisë610 was in his country,
Full high upon a car of gold stood he,
With fourë whitë bullës in the trace.
Instead of coat-armour on his harness,
With yellow nails, and bright as any gold,
He had a bearë’s skin, coal-black for old.611
His long hair was y-kempt behind his back,
As any raven’s feather it shone for black.
A wreath of gold arm-great,612 of hugë weight,
Upon his head sate, full of stonës bright,
Of finë rubies and clear diamánts.
About his car there wentë white alauns,613
Twenty and more, as great as any steer,
To hunt the lion or the wildë bear,
And follow’d him, with muzzle fast y-bound,
Collars of gold, and torettes614 filed round.
An hundred lordës had he in his rout,615
Armed full well, with heartës stern and stout.

With Arcita, in stories as men find,
The great Emetrius the king of Ind,
Upon a steedë bay,616 trapped in steel,
Cover’d with cloth of gold diápred617 well,
Came riding like the god of armës, Mars.
His coat-armoúr was of a cloth of Tars,618
Couched619 with pearlës white and round and great.
His saddle was of burnish’d gold new beat;
A mantëlet on his shoulders hanging
Bretful620 of rubies red, as fire sparkling.
His crispë hair like ringës was y-run,621
And that was yellow, glittering as the sun.
His nose was high, his eyen bright citrine,622
His lips were round, his colour was sanguine,
A fewë fracknes in his face y-sprent,623
Betwixt yellow and black somedeal y-ment,624
And as a lion he his looking cast.625
Of five and twenty year his age I cast.626
His beard was well begunnen for to spring;
His voice was as a trumpet thundering.
Upon his head he wore of laurel green
A garland fresh and lusty to be seen;
Upon his hand he bare, for his delight,
An eagle tame, as any lily white.
An hundred lordës had he with him there,
All armed, save their heads, in all their gear,
Full richëly in allë manner things.
For trust ye well, that earlës, dukes, and kings
Were gather’d in this noble company,
For love, and for increase of chivalry.
About this king there ran on every part
Full many a tame lión and leopart.
And in this wise these lordës all and some627
Be on the Sunday to the city come
Aboutë prime,628 and in the town alight.

This Theseus, this Duke, this worthy knight,
When he had brought them into his citý,
And inned629 them, ev’reach at his degree,
He feasteth them, and doth so great laboúr
To easen them,630 and do them all honoúr,
That yet men weenë631 that no mannë’s wit
Of none estatë could amenden632 it.
The minstrelsy, the service at the feast,
The greatë giftës to the most and least,
The rich array of Theseus’ paláce,
Nor who sate first or last upon the dais,633
What ladies fairest be, or best dancing,
Or which of them can carol best or sing,
Or who most feelingly speaketh of love;
What hawkës sitten on the perch above,
What houndës liggen634 on the floor adown,
Of all this now make I no mentioun;
But of th’ effect; that thinketh me the best;
Now comes the point, and hearken if you lest.635

The Sunday night, ere day began to spring,
When Palamon the larkë heardë sing,
Although it were not day by hourës two,
Yet sang the lark, and Palamon right tho636
With holy heart, and with an high couráge,
Arose, to wenden637 on his pilgrimage
Unto the blissful Cithera benign,
I meanë Venus, honourable and digne.638
And in her hour639 he walketh forth a pace
Unto the listës, where her temple was,
And down he kneeleth, and with humble cheer640
And heartë sore, he said as ye shall hear.

“Fairest of fair, O lady mine Venus,
Daughter to Jove, and spouse of Vulcanus,
Thou gladder of the mount of Citheron!641
For thilkë642 love thou haddest to Adon643
Have pity on my bitter tearës’ smart,
And take mine humble prayer to thine heart.
Alas! I havë no languáge to tell
Th’ effectë, nor the torment of mine hell;
Mine heartë may mine harmës not betray;
I am so cónfused, that I cannot say.
But mercy, lady bright, that knowest well
My thought, and seest what harm that I feel.
Consider all this, and rue upon644 my sore,
As wisly645 as I shall for evermore
Enforce my might, thy true servant to be,
And holdë war alway with chastity:
That make I mine avow,646 so ye me help.
I keepë not of armës for to yelp,647
Nor ask I not to-morrow to have victóry,
Nor rénown in this case, nor vainë glory
Of prize of armës,648 blowing up and down,
But I would have fully possessioun
Of Emily, and die in her service;
Find thou the manner how, and in what wise.
I reckë not but649 it may better be
To have vict’ry of them, or they of me,
So that I have my lady in mine arms.
For though so be that Mars is god of arms,
Your virtue is so great in heaven above,
That, if you list, I shall well have my love.
Thy temple will I worship evermo’,
And on thine altar, where I ride or go,
I will do sacrifice, and firës bete.650
And if ye will not so, my lady sweet,
Then pray I you, to-morrow with a spear
That Arcita me through the heartë bear.
Then reck I not, when I have lost my life,
Though that Arcita win her to his wife.
This is th’ effect and end of my prayére⁠—
Give me my love, thou blissful lady dear.”
When th’ orison was done of Palamon,
His sacrifice he did, and that anon,
Full piteously, with allë circumstances,
All tell I not as now651 his observánces.
But at the last the statue of Venus shook,
And made a signë, whereby that he took652
That his prayér accepted was that day.
For though the signë shewed a delay,653
Yet wist he well that granted was his boon;
And with glad heart he went him home full soon.

The third hour unequál654 that Palamon
Began to Venus’ temple for to gon,
Up rose the sun, and up rose Emily,
And to the temple of Dian gan hie.
Her maidens, that she thither with her lad,655
Full readily with them the fire they had,
Th’ incense, the clothës, and the remnant all
That to the sacrifice belongë shall,
The hornës full of mead, as was the guise;
There lacked nought to do her sacrifice.
Smoking656 the temple full of clothës fair,
This Emily with heartë debonnair657
Her body wash’d with water of a well.
But how she did her rite I dare not tell;
But658 it be any thing in general;
And yet it were a game659 to hearen all;
To him that meaneth well it were no charge:
But it is good a man to be at large.660
Her bright hair combed was, untressed all.
A coronet of green oak cerrial661
Upon her head was set full fair and meet.
Two firës on the altar gan she bete,
And did her thingës, as men may behold
In Stace662 of Thebes, and these bookës old.
When kindled was the fire, with piteous cheer
Unto Dian she spake as ye may hear.

“O chastë goddess of the woodës green,
To whom both heav’n and earth and sea is seen,
Queen of the realm of Pluto dark and low,
Goddess of maidens, that mine heart hast know
Full many a year, and wost663 what I desire,
To keep me from the vengeance of thine ire,
That Actaeon aboughtë664 cruelly:
Chastë goddéss, well wottest thou that I
Desire to be a maiden all my life,
Nor never will I be no love nor wife.
I am, thou wost,665 yet of thy company,
A maid, and love hunting and venery,666
And for to walken in the woodës wild,
And not to be a wife, and be with child.
Nought will I know the company of man.
Now help me, lady, since ye may and can,
For those three formës667 that thou hast in thee.
And Palamon, that hath such love to me,
And eke Arcite, that loveth me so sore,
This grace I prayë thee withoutë more,
As sendë love and peace betwixt them two:
And from me turn away their heartës so,
That all their hotë love, and their desire,
And all their busy torment, and their fire,
Be queint,668 or turn’d into another place.
And if so be thou wilt do me no grace,
Or if my destiny be shapen so
That I shall needës have one of them two,
So send me him that most desireth me.
Behold, goddess of cleanë chastity,
The bitter tears that on my cheekës fall.
Since thou art maid, and keeper of us all,
My maidenhead thou keep and well conserve,
And, while I live, a maid I will thee serve.”

The firës burn upon the altar clear,
While Emily was thus in her prayére:
But suddenly she saw a sightë quaint.669
For right anon one of the firës queint
And quick’d670 again, and after that anon
That other fire was queint, and all agone:
And as it queint, it made a whisteling,
As doth a brandë wet in its burning.
And at the brandës end outran anon
As it were bloody droppës many one:
For which so sore aghast was Emily,
That she was well-nigh mad, and gan to cry,
For she ne wistë what it signified;
But onëly for fearë thus she cried,
And wept, that it was pity for to hear.
And therewithal Diana gan appear
With bow in hand, right as an hunteress,
And saidë; “Daughter, stint671 thine heaviness.
Among the goddës high it is affirm’d,
And by eternal word writ and confirm’d,
Thou shalt be wedded unto one of tho672
That have for thee so muchë care and woe:
But unto which of them I may not tell.
Farewell, for here I may no longer dwell.
The firës which that on mine altar brenn,673
Shall thee declaren, ere that thou go henne,674
Thine áventure of love, as in this case.”
And with that word, the arrows in the case675
Of the goddess did clatter fast and ring,
And forth she went, and made a vanishing,
For which this Emily astonied was,
And saidë; “What amounteth this,676 alas!
I put me under thy protectión,
Diane, and in thy dispositión.”
And home she went anon the nextë677 way.
This is th’ effect, there is no more to say.

The nextë hour of Mars follówing this
Arcite to the temple walked is
Of fiercë Mars, to do his sacrifice
With all the ritës of his pagan guise.
With piteous678 heart and high devotión.
Right thus to Mars he said his orison.
“O strongë god, that in the regnës679 cold
Of Thracë honoured art, and lord y-hold,680
And hast in every regne, and every land
Of armës all the bridle in thine hand,
And them fortúnest as thee list devise,681
Accept of me my piteous sacrifice.
If so be that my youthë may deserve,
And that my might be worthy for to serve
Thy godhead, that I may be one of thine,
Then pray I thee to rue upon my pine,682
For thilkë683 pain, and thilkë hotë fire,
In which thou whilom burned’st for desire
Whennë that thou usedest684 the beauty
Of fairë youngë Venus, fresh and free,
And haddest her in armës at thy will:
And though thee onës on a time misfill,685
When Vulcanus had caught thee in his las,686
And found thee ligging687 by his wife, alas!
For thilkë sorrow that was in thine heart,
Have ruth688 as well upon my painë’s smart.
I am young and unconning,689 as thou know’st,
And, as I trow,690 with love offended most,
That e’er was any living creature:
For she, that doth691 me all this woe endure,
Ne recketh ne’er whether I sink or fleet.692
And well I wot, ere she me mercy hete,693
I must with strengthë win her in the place:
And well I wot, withoutë help or grace
Of thee, ne may my strengthë not avail:
Then help me, lord, to-morr’w in my bataille,
For thilkë fire that whilom burned thee,
As well as this fire that now burneth me;
And do694 that I to-morr’w may have victóry.
Mine be the travail, all thine be the glory.
Thy sovereign temple will I most honoúr
Of any place, and alway most laboúr
In thy pleasance and in thy craftës strong.
And in thy temple I will my banner hong,695
And all the armës of my company,
And evermore, until that day I die,
Eternal fire I will before thee find.
And eke to this my vow I will me bind:
My beard, my hair that hangeth long adown,
That never yet hath felt offensión696
Of razor nor of shears, I will thee give,
And be thy truë servant while I live.
Now, lord, have ruth upon my sorrows sore,
Give me the victory, I ask no more.”

The prayer stint697 of Arcita the strong,
The ringës on the temple door that hong,
And eke the doorës, clattered full fast,
Of which Arcita somewhat was aghast.
The firës burn’d upon the altar bright,
That it gan all the temple for to light;
A sweetë smell anon the ground up gaf,698
And Arcita anon his hand up haf,699
And more incénse into the fire he cast,
With other ritës more and at the last
The statue of Mars began his hauberk ring;
And with that sound he heard a murmuring
Full low and dim, that saidë thus, “Victóry.”
For which he gave to Mars honour and glory.
And thus with joy, and hopë well to fare,
Arcite anon unto his inn doth fare.
As fain700 as fowl is of the brightë sun.

And right anon such strife there is begun
For thilkë granting,701 in the heav’n above,
Betwixtë Venus the goddéss of love,
And Mars the sternë god armipotent,
That Jupiter was busy it to stent:702
Till that the palë Saturnus the cold,703
That knew so many of adventures old,
Found in his old experience such an art,
That he full soon hath pleased every part.
As sooth is said, eld704 hath great advantage,
In eld is bothë wisdom and uságe:705
Men may the old out-run, but not out-rede.706
Saturn anon, to stint the strife and drede,
Albeit that it is against his kind,
Of all this strife gan a remédy find.

“My dearë daughter Venus,” quoth Saturn,
“My course,707 that hath so widë for to turn,
Hath morë power than wot any man.
Mine is the drowning in the sea so wan;
Mine is the prison in the darkë cote,708
Mine the strangling and hanging by the throat,
The murmur, and the churlish rebelling,
The groyning,709 and the privy poisoning.
I do vengeance and plein710 correctión,
I dwell in the sign of the lión.
Mine is the ruin of the highë halls,
The falling of the towers and the walls
Upon the miner or the carpenter:
I slew Samson in shaking the pillar:
Mine also be the maladiës cold,
The darkë treasons, and the castës711 old:
My looking is the father of pestilence.
Now weep no more, I shall do diligence
That Palamon, that is thine owen knight,
Shall have his lady, as thou hast him hight.712
Though Mars shall help his knight, yet natheless
Betwixtë you there must sometime be peace:
All be ye not of one complexión,
That each day causeth such división,
I am thine ayel,713 ready at thy will;
Weep now no more, I shall thy lust714 fulfil.”
Now will I stenten715 of the gods above,
Of Mars, and of Venus, goddess of love,
And tellë you as plainly as I can
The great effect, for which that I began.

Great was the feast in Athens thilkë716 day;
And eke the lusty season of that May
Made every wight to be in such pleasance,
That all that Monday jousten they and dance,
And spenden it in Venus’ high servíce.
But by the causë that they shouldë rise
Early a-morrow for to see that fight,
Unto their restë wentë they at night.
And on the morrow, when the day gan spring,
Of horse and harness717 noise and clattering
There was in the hostelries all about:
And to the palace rode there many a rout718
Of lordës, upon steedës and palfreys.
There mayst thou see devising of harness
So uncouth719 and so rich, and wrought so weel
Of goldsmithry, of brouding,720 and of steel;
The shieldës bright, the testers,721 and trappures;722
Gold-hewen helmets, hauberks, coat-armures;
Lordës in parements723 on their coursérs,
Knightës of retinue, and eke squiérs,
Nailing the spears, and helmës buckëling,
Gniding724 of shieldës, with lainers725 lacing;
There as need is, they werë nothing idle:
The foamy steeds upon the golden bridle
Gnawing, and fast the armourers also
With file and hammer pricking to and fro;
Yeomen on foot, and knavës726 many one
With shortë stavës, thick as they may gon;727
Pipës, trumpets, nakéres,728 and clariouns,
That in the battle blowë bloody souns;
The palace full of people up and down,
There three, there ten, holding their questioun,729
Divining730 of these Theban knightës two.
Some saiden thus, some said it shall he so;
Some helden with him with the blackë beard,
Some with the ballëd,731 some with the thick-hair’d;
Some said he lookëd grim, and wouldë fight:
He had a sparth732 of twenty pound of weight.
Thus was the hallë full of divining733
Long after that the sunnë gan up spring.
The great Theseus that of his sleep is waked
With minstrelsy, and noisë that was maked,
Held yet the chamber of his palace rich,
Till that the Theban knightës both y-lich734
Honoúred were, and to the palace fet.735

Duke Theseus is at a window set,
Array’d right as he were a god in throne:
The people presseth thitherward full soon
Him for to see, and do him reverence,
And eke to hearken his hest736 and his sentence.737
An herald on a scaffold made an O,738
Till the noise of the people was y-do:739
And when he saw the people of noise all still,
Thus shewed he the mighty Dukë’s will.

“The lord hath of his high discretión
Considered that it were destructión
To gentle blood, to fighten in the guise
Of mortal battle now in this emprise:
Wherefore to shapë740 that they shall not die,
He will his firstë purpose modify.
No man therefore, on pain of loss of life,
No manner741 shot, nor poleaxe, nor short knife
Into the lists shall send, or thither bring.
Nor short sword for to stick with point biting
No man shall draw, nor bear it by his side.
And no man shall unto his fellow ride
But one course, with a sharp y-grounden spear:
Foin742 if him list on foot, himself to wear.743
And he that is at mischief744 shall be take,
And not slain, but be brought unto the stake,
That shall be ordained on either side;
Thither he shall by force, and there abide.
And if so fall745 the chiefëtain be take
On either side, or ellës slay his make,746
No longer then the tourneying shall last.
God speedë you; go forth and lay on fast.
With long sword and with macë fight your fill.
Go now your way; this is the lordës will.”
The voice of the people touched the heaven,
So loudë criëd they with merry steven:747
“God savë such a lord that is so good,
He willeth no destructión of blood.”

Up go the trumpets and the melody,
And to the listës rode the company
By ordinance,748 throughout the city large,
Hanged with cloth of gold, and not with sarge.749
Full like a lord this noble Duke gan ride,
And these two Thebans upon either side:
And after rode the queen and Emily,
And after them another company
Of one and other, after their degree.
And thus they passed thorough that city,
And to the listës camë they by time:
It was not of the day yet fully prime.750

When set was Theseus full rich and high,
Hippolyta the queen, and Emily,
And other ladies in their degrees about,
Unto the seatës presseth all the rout.
And westward, through the gatës under Mart,
Arcite, and eke the hundred of his part,
With banner red, is enter’d right anon;
And in the selvë751 moment Palamon
Is, under Venus, eastward in the place,
With banner white, and hardy cheer752 and face.
In all the world, to seeken up and down
So even753 without variatioún
There were such companiës never tway.
For there was none so wise that couldë say
That any had of other ávantáge
Of worthiness, nor of estate, nor age,
So even were they chosen for to guess.
And in two ranges fairë they them dress.754
When that their namës read were every one,
That in their number guilë755 were there none,
Then were the gatës shut, and cried was loud;
“Do now your dévoir, youngë knights proud!”

The heralds left their pricking756 up and down.
Now ring the trumpet loud and clarioun.
There is no more to say, but east and west
In go the spearës sadly757 in the rest;
In go the sharpë spurs into the side.
There see me who can joust, and who can ride.
There shiver shaftës upon shieldës thick;
He feeleth through the heartë-spoon758 the prick.
Up spring the spearës twenty foot on height;
Out go the swordës as the silver bright.
The helmës they to-hewen, and to-shred;759
Out burst the blood, with sternë streamës red.
With mighty maces the bones they to-brest.760
He through the thickest of the throng gan threst.761
There stumble steedës strong, and down go all.
He rolleth under foot as doth a ball.
He foineth762 on his foe with a trunchoun,
And he him hurtleth with his horse adown.
He through the body hurt is, and sith take,763
Maugré his head, and brought unto the stake,
As forword764 was, right there he must abide.
Another led is on that other side.
And sometime doth765 them Theseus to rest,
Them to refresh, and drinken if them lest.766

Full oft a day have thilkë767 Thebans two
Together met, and wrought each other woe:
Unhorsed hath each other of them tway.768
There is no tiger in the vale of Galaphay,769
When that her whelp is stole, when it is lite,770
So cruel on the hunter, as Arcite
For jealous heart upon this Palamon:
Nor in Belmarie771 there is no fell lión,
That hunted is, or for his hunger wood,772
Or for his prey desireth so the blood,
As Palamon to slay his foe Arcite.
The jealous strokes upon their helmets bite;
Out runneth blood on both their sidës red,
Sometime an end there is of every deed.
For ere the sun unto the restë went,
The strongë king Emetrius gan hent773
This Palamon, as he fought with Arcite,
And made his sword deep in his flesh to bite,
And by the force of twenty is he take,
Unyielding, and is drawn unto the stake.
And in the rescue of this Palamon
The strongë king Licurgus is borne down:
And king Emetrius for all his strength
Is borne out of his saddle a sword’s length,
So hit him Palamon ere he were take:
But all for nought; he was brought to the stake:
His hardy heartë might him helpë naught,
He must abidë, when that he was caught,
By force, and eke by compositión.774
Who sorroweth now but woful Palamon
That must no morë go again to fight?
And when that Theseus had seen that sight,
Unto the folk that foughtë thus each one,
He cried, “Ho! no more, for it is done!
I will be truë judge, and not party.
Arcite of Thebes shall have Emily,
That by his fortune hath her fairly won.”
Anon there is a noise of people gone,
For joy of this, so loud and high withal,
It seemed that the listës shouldë fall.

What can now fairë Venus do above?
What saith she now? what doth this queen of love?
But weepeth so, for wanting of her will,
Till that her tearës in the listës fill:775
She said: “I am ashamed doubtëless.”
Saturnus saidë: “Daughter, hold thy peace.
Mars hath his will, his knight hath all his boon,
And by mine head thou shalt be eased776 soon.”

The trumpeters with the loud minstrelsy,
The heralds, that full loudë yell and cry,
Be in their joy for weal of Dan777 Arcite.
But hearken me, and stintë noise a lite,778
What a mirácle there befell anon.
This fierce Arcite hath off his helm y-done,
And on a courser for to shew his face
He pricketh endëlong779 the largë place,
Looking upward upon this Emily;
And she again him cast a friendly eye
(For women, as to speaken in commúne,780
They follow all the favour of fortúne),
And was all his in cheer,781 as his in heart.
Out of the ground a fire infernal start,
From Pluto sent, at réquest of Saturn,
For which his horse for fear began to turn,
And leap aside, and founder782 as he leap:
And ere that Arcite may take any keep,783
He pight him on the pummel784 of his head,
That in the place he lay as he were dead,
His breast to-bursten with his saddle-bow.
As black he lay as any coal or crow,
So was the blood y-run into his face.
Anon he was y-borne out of the place
With heartë sore, to Theseus’ palace.
Then was he carven785 out of his harnéss.
And in a bed y-brought full fair and blive,786
For he was yet in mem’ry and alive,
And always crying after Emily.

Duke Theseus, with all his company,
Is comë home to Athens his city,
With allë bliss and great solemnity.
Albeit that this áventure was fall,787
He wouldë not discómfortë788 them all.
Men said eke, that Arcite should not die,
He should be healed of his malady.
And of another thing they were as fain,789
That of them allë was there no one slain,
All790 were they sorely hurt, and namely791 one,
That with a spear was thirled792 his breast-bone.
To other woundës, and to broken arms,
Some hadden salvës, and some hadden charms:
And pharmacies of herbs, and ekë save793
They dranken, for they would their livës have.
For which this noble Duke, as he well can,
Comfórteth and honoúreth every man,
And madë revel all the longë night,
Unto the strangë lordës, as was right.
Nor there was holden no discomforting,
But as at jousts or at a tourneying;
For soothly there was no discomfiture,
For falling is not but an áventure.794
Nor to be led by force unto a stake
Unyielding, and with twenty knights y-take
One person all alone, withouten mo’,
And harried795 forth by armës, foot, and toe,
And eke his steedë driven forth with staves,
With footmen, bothë yeomen and eke knaves,796
It was aretted797 him no villainy:
There may no man clepen it cowardy.798
For which anon Duke Theseus let cry⁠—799
To stenten800 allë rancour and envy⁠—
The gree801 as well on one side as the other,
And either side alike as other’s brother:
And gave them giftës after their degree,
And held a feastë fully dayës three:
And conveyed the kingës worthily
Out of his town a journée802 largëly.
And home went every man the rightë way,
There was no more but “Farewell, Have good day.”
Of this batáille I will no more indite,
But speak of Palamon and of Arcite.

Swelleth the breast of Arcite and the sore
Increaseth at his heartë more and more.
The clotted blood, for any leachë-craft,803
Corrupteth and is in his bouk y-laft,804
That neither veinë-blood nor ventousing,805
Nor drink of herbës may be his helping.
The virtue expulsive or animal,
From thilkë virtue called natural,
Nor may the venom voidë, nor expel.
The pipës of his lungs began to swell,
And every lacert806 in his breast adown
Is shent807 with venom and corruptioún.
Him gaineth808 neither, for to get his life,
Vomit upwárd, nor downward laxative;
All is to-bursten thilkë región;
Nature hath now no dominatión.
And certainly where nature will not wirch,809
Farewell physíc: go bear the man to chirch.810
This all and some is, Arcite must die.
For which he sendeth after Emily,
And Palamon, that was his cousin dear.
Then said he thus, as ye shall after hear.

“Nought may the woful spirit in mine heart
Declare one point of all my sorrows’ smart
To you, my lady, that I love the most;
But I bequeath the service of my ghost811
To you aboven every creature,
Since that my life ne may no longer dure.
Alas the woe! alas, the painës strong
That I for you have suffered, and so long!
Alas the death! alas, mine Emily!
Alas departing812 of our company!
Alas, mine heartë’s queen! alas, my wife!
Mine heartë’s lady, ender of my life!
What is this world? what askë men to have?
Now with his love, now in his coldë grave
Alone, withouten any company.
Farewell, my sweet, farewell, mine Emily,
And softly take me in your armës tway,
For love of God, and hearken what I say.
I have here with my cousin Palamon
Had strife and rancour many a day agone,
For love of you, and for my jealousy.
And Jupiter so wis my soulë gie,813
To speaken of a servant properly,
With allë circumstances truëly,
That is to say, truth, honour, and knighthead,
Wisdom, humbless,814 estate, and high kindred,
Freedom, and all that longeth to that art,
So Jupiter have of my soulë part,
As in this world right now I know not one,
So worthy to be lov’d as Palamon,
That serveth you, and will do all his life.
And if that you shall ever be a wife,
Forget not Palamon, the gentle man.”

And with that word his speech to fail began.
For from his feet up to his breast was come
The cold of death, that had him overnome.815
And yet moreover in his armës two
The vital strength is lost, and all ago.816
Only the intellect, withoutë more,
That dwelled in his heartë sick and sore,
Gan failë, when the heartë feltë death;
Dusked817 his eyen two, and fail’d his breath.
But on his lady yet he cast his eye;
His lastë word was; “Mercy, Emily!”
His spirit changed house, and wentë there,
As I came never I cannot tell where.818
Therefore I stent,819 I am no diviníster;820
Of soulës find I nought in this regíster.
Ne me list not th’ opinions to tell
Of them, though that they writen where they dwell;
Arcite is cold, there Mars his soulë gie.821
Now will I speakë forth of Emily.

Shriek’d Emily, and howled Palamon,
And Theseus his sister took anon
Swooning, and bare her from the corpse away.
What helpeth it to tarry forth the day,
To tellë how she wept both eve and morrow?
For in such cases women have such sorrow,
When that their husbands be from them y-go,822
That for the morë part they sorrow so,
Or ellës fall into such malady,
That at the lastë certainly they die.
Infinite be the sorrows and the tears
Of oldë folk, and folk of tender years,
In all the town, for death of this Theban:
For him there weepeth bothë child and man.
So great a weeping was there none certáin,
When Hector was y-brought, all fresh y-slain,
To Troy: alas! the pity that was there,
Scratching of cheeks, and rending eke of hair.
“Why wouldest thou be dead?” these women cry,
“And haddest gold enough, and Emily.”

No manner man might gladden Theseus,
Saving his oldë father Egeus,
That knew this worldë’s transmutatioun,
As he had seen it changen up and down,
Joy after woe, and woe after gladness;
And shewed him example and likeness.
“Right as there diëd never man,” quoth he,
“That he ne liv’d in earth in some degree,823
Right so there lived never man,” he said,
“In all this world, that sometime be not died.
This world is but a throughfare full of woe,
And we be pilgrims, passing to and fro:
Death is an end of every worldly sore.”
And over all this said he yet much more
To this effect, full wisely to exhort
The people, that they should them recomfórt.

Duke Theseus, with all his busy cure,824
Casteth about,825 where that the sepulture
Of good Arcite may best y-maked be,
And eke most honourable in his degree.
And at the last he took conclusión,
That there as first Arcite and Palamon
Haddë for love the battle them between,
That in that selvë826 grovë, sweet and green,
There as he had his amorous desires,
His cómplaint, and for love his hotë fires,
He wouldë make a fire,827 in which th’ offíce
Of funeral he might all áccomplice;
And let anon command828 to hack and hew
The oakës old, and lay them on a rew829
In culpons,830 well arrayed for to brenne.831
His officers with swiftë feet they renne832
And ride anon at his commandëment.
And after this, Duke Theseus hath sent
After a bier, and it all oversprad
With cloth of gold, the richest that he had;
And of the samë suit he clad Arcite.
Upon his handës were his glovës white,
Eke on his head a crown of laurel green,
And in his hand a sword full bright and keen.
He laid him bare the visage833 on the bier,
Therewith he wept, that pity was to hear.
And, for the people shouldë see him all,
When it was day he brought them to the hall,
That roareth of the crying and the soun’.834
Then came this woful Theban, Palamon,
With sluttery beard, and ruggy ashy hairs,835
In clothës black, y-dropped all with tears,
And (passing over weeping Emily)
The ruefullest of all the company.
And inasmuch as836 the servíce should be
The more noble and rich in its degree,
Duke Theseus let forth three steedës bring,
That trapped were in steel all glittering.
And covered with the arms of Dan Arcite.
Upon these steedës, that were great and white,
There sattë folk, of whom one bare his shield,
Another his spear in his handës held;
The thirdë bare with him his bow Turkeis,837
Of brent838 gold was the case839 and the harness:
And ridë forth a pace with sorrowful cheer840
Toward the grove, as ye shall after hear.

The noblest of the Greekës that there were
Upon their shoulders carried the bier,
With slackë pace, and eyen red and wet,
Throughout the city, by the master street,841
That spread was all with black, and wondrous high
Right of the same is all the street y-wrie.842
Upon the right hand went old Egeus,
And on the other side Duke Theseus,
With vessels in their hand of gold full fine,
All full of honey, milk, and blood, and wine;
Eke Palamon, with a great company;
And after that came woful Emily,
With fire in hand, as was that time the guise,843
To do th’ office of funeral servíce.

High labour, and full great appareling844
Was at the service, and the pyre-making,
That with its greenë top the heaven raught,845
And twenty fathom broad its armës straught:846
This is to say, the boughës were so broad.
Of straw first there was laid many a load.
But how the pyre was maked up on height,
And eke the namës how the treës hight,847
As oak, fir, birch, asp,848 alder, holm, poplére,
Will’w, elm, plane, ash, box, chestnut, lind,849 laurére,
Maple, thorn, beech, hazel, yew, whipul tree,
How they were fell’d, shall not be told for me;
Nor how the goddës850 rannen up and down
Disinherited of their habitatioún,
In which they wonned851 had in rest and peace,
Nymphës, Faunës, and Hamadryadës;
Nor how the beastës and the birdës all
Fledden for fearë, when the wood gan fall;
Nor how the ground aghast852 was of the light,
That was not wont to see the sunnë bright;
Nor how the fire was couched853 first with stre,854
And then with dry stickës cloven in three,
And then with greenë wood and spicery,855
And then with cloth of gold and with pierrie,856
And garlands hanging with full many a flower,
The myrrh, the incense with so sweet odoúr;
Nor how Arcita lay among all this,
Nor what richéss about his body is;
Nor how that Emily, as was the guise,
Put in857 the fire of funeral servíce;
Nor how she swooned when she made the fire,
Nor what she spake, nor what was her desire;
Nor what jewels men in the fire then cast
When that the fire was great and burned fast;
Nor how some cast their shield, and some their spear,
And of their vestiments, which that they wear,
And cuppës full of wine, and milk, and blood,
Into the fire, that burnt as it were wood;858
Nor how the Greekës with a hugë rout859
Three timës riden all the fire about
Upon the left hand, with a loud shouting,
And thriës with their spearës clattering;
And thriës how the ladies gan to cry;
Nor how that led was homeward Emily;
Nor how Arcite is burnt to ashes cold;
Nor how the lykë-wakë860 was y-hold
All thilkë861 night, nor how the Greekës play
The wakë-plays,862 ne keep863 I not to say:
Who wrestled best naked, with oil anoint,
Nor who that bare him best in no disjoint.864
I will not tell eke how they all are gone
Home to Athenës when the play is done;
But shortly to the point now will I wend,865
And maken of my longë tale an end.

By process and by length of certain years
All stinted866 is the mourning and the tears
Of Greekës, by one general assent.
Then seemed me there was a parlement867
At Athens, upon certain points and cas:868
Amongës the which points y-spoken was
To have with certain countries álliánce,
And have of Thebans full obeisánce.
For which this noble Theseus anon
Let869 send after the gentle Palamon,
Unwist870 of him what was the cause and why:
But in his blackë clothes sorrowfully
He came at his commandment on hie;871
Then sentë Theseus for Emily.

When they were set,872 and hush’d was all the place
And Theseus abided873 had a space
Ere any word came from his wisë breast
His eyen set he there as was his lest,874
And with a sad viságe he sighed still,
And after that right thus he said his will.
“The firstë mover of the cause above
When he first made the fairë chain of love,
Great was th’ effect, and high was his intent;
Well wist he why, and what thereof he meant:
For with that fairë chain of love he bond875
The fire, the air, the water, and the lond
In certain bondës, that they may not flee:876
That samë prince and mover eke,” quoth he,
“Hath stablish’d, in this wretched world adown,
Certain of dayës and duratión
To all that are engender’d in this place,
Over the whichë day they may not pace,877
All878 may they yet their dayës well abridge.
There needeth no authority to allëge
For it is proved by experience;
But that me list declarë my senténce.879
Then may men by this order well discern,
That thilkë880 mover stable is and etern.
Well may men know, but that it be a fool,
That every part deriveth from its whole.
For nature hath not ta’en its beginning
Of no partie nor cantle881 of a thing,
But of a thing that perfect is and stable,
Descending so, till it be corruptáble.
And therefore of his wisë purveyance882
He hath so well beset883 his ordinance,
That species of things and progressións
Shallen endurë by successións,
And not etern, withouten any lie:
This mayst thou understand and see at eye.
Lo th’ oak, that hath so long a nourishing
From the time that it ’ginneth first to spring,
And hath so long a life, as ye may see,
Yet at the last y-wasted is the tree.
Consider eke, how that the hardë stone
Under our feet, on which we tread and gon,884
Yet wasteth, as it lieth by the way.
The broadë river some time waxeth drey.885
The greatë townës see we wane and wend.886
Then may ye see that all things have an end.
Of man and woman see we well also,
That needës in one of the termës two⁠—
That is to say, in youth or else in age⁠—
He must be dead, the king as shall a page;
Some in his bed, some in the deepë sea,
Some in the largë field, as ye may see:
There helpeth nought, all go that ilkë887 way:
Then may I say that allë thing must die.
What maketh this but Jupiter the king?
The which is prince, and cause of allë thing,
Converting all unto his proper will,
From which it is derived, sooth to tell
And hereagainst no creature alive,
Of no degree, availeth for to strive.
Then is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,
To make a virtue of necessity,
And take it well, that we may not eschew,888
And namëly what to us all is due.
And whoso grudgeth889 ought, he doth folly,
And rebel is to him that all may gie.890
And certainly a man hath most honoúr
To dien in his excellence and flower,
When he is sicker891 of his goodë name.
Then hath he done his friend, nor him,892 no shame
And gladder ought his friend be of his death,
When with honoúr is yielded up his breath,
Than when his name appalled is for age;893
For all forgotten is his vassalage.894
Then is it best, as for a worthy fame,
To dien when a man is best of name.
The contrary of all this is wilfulness.
Why grudgú we, why have we heaviness,
That good Arcite, of chivalry the flower,
Departed is, with duty and honoúr,
Out of this foulë prison of this life?
Why grudgë here his cousin and his wife
Of his welfare, that loved him so well?
Can he them thank?⁠—nay, God wot, never a deal⁠—895
That both his soul and eke themselves offend,896
And yet they may their lustës not amend.897
What may I cónclude of this longë série,898
But after sorrow I rede899 us to be merry,
And thankë Jupiter for all his grace?
And ere that we departë from this place,
I redë that we make of sorrows two
One perfect joyë lasting evermo’:
And look now where most sorrow is herein,
There will I first amenden and begin.
“Sister,” quoth he, “this is my full assent,
With all th’ advice here of my parlement,
That gentle Palamon, your owen knight,
That serveth you with will, and heart, and might,
And ever hath, since first time ye him knew,
That ye shall of your grace upon him rue,900
And take him for your husband and your lord:
Lend me your hand, for this is our accord.
Let see901 now of your womanly pity.
He is a kingë’s brother’s son, pardie.902
And though he were a poorë bachelére,
Since he hath served you so many a year,
And had for you so great adversity,
It mustë be considered, ’lieveth me.903
For gentle mercy oweth to passen right.”904
Then said he thus to Palamon the knight;
“I trow there needeth little sermoning
To makë you assentë to this thing.
Come near, and take your lady by the hand.”

Betwixtë them was made anon the band,
That hight matrimony or marriáge,
By all the counsel of the baronage.
And thus with allë bliss and melody
Hath Palamon y-wedded Emily.
And God, that all this widë world hath wrought,
Send him his love, that hath it dearly bought.
For now is Palamon in all his weal,
Living in bliss, in riches, and in heal;905
And Emily him loves so tenderly,
And he her serveth all so gentilly,
That never was there wordë them between
Of jealousy, nor of none other teen.906

Thus endeth Palamon and Emily
And God save all this fairë company.

The Miller’s Tale