And whan this worthy duk had thus ydon,
He toke his host, and home he rit anon
With laurer crouned as a conquerour;
And ther he liveth in joye and in honour
Terme of his lif; what nedeth wordes mo?
And in a tour, in anguish and in wo,
Dwellen this Palamon and eke Arcite,
For evermo, ther may no gold hem quite.
Thus passeth yere by yere, and day by day,
Till it felle ones in a morwe of May
That Emelie, that fayrer was to sene
Than is the lilie upon his stalke grene,
And fressher than the May with floures newe,
(For with the rose colour strof hire hewe;
I n'ot which was the finer of hem two)
Er it was day, as she was wont to do,
She was arisen, and all redy dight.
For May wol have no slogardie a-night.
The seson priketh every gentil herte,
And maketh him out of his slepe to sterte,
And sayth, arise, and do thin observance.
This maketh Emelie han remembrance
To don honour to May, and for to rise.
Yclothed was she fresshe for to devise.
Hire yelwe here was broided in a tresse,
Behind hire back, a yerde long I gesse.
And in the gardin at the sonne uprist
She walketh up and doun wher as hire list.
She gathereth floures, partie white and red,
To make a sotel gerlond for hire hed,
And as an angel hevenlich she song.
The grete tour, that was so thikke and strong,
Which of the castel was the chef dongeon,
(Wher as these knightes weren in prison,
Of which I tolde you, and tellen shal)
Was even joinant to the gardin wall,
Ther as this Emelie had hire playing.
Bright was the sonne, and clere that morwening, And Palamon, this woful prisoner,
As was his wone, by leve of his gayler
Was risen, and romed in a chambre on high,
In which he all the noble citee sigh,
And eke the gardin, ful of branches grene,
Ther as this fresshe Emelia the shene
Was in hire walk, and romed up and doun.
This sorweful prisoner, this Palamon
Goth in his chambre roming to and fro,
And to himselfe complaining of his wo:
That he was borne, ful oft he sayd, alas!
And so befell, by aventure or cas,
That thurgh a window thikke of many a barre
Of
yren gret, and square as any sparre,
He cast his eyen upon Emelia,
And therwithal he blent and cried, a!
As though he strongen were unto the herte.
And with that crie Arcite anon up sterte,
And saide, cosin min, what eyleth thee,
That art so pale and dedly for to see?
Why cridest thou? who hath thee don offence?
For goddes love, take all in patience
Our prison, for it may non other be.
Fortune hath yeven us this adversite.
Som wikke aspect or disposition
Of Saturne, by som constellation,
Hath yeven us this, although we had it sworn, So stood the heven whan that we were born, We moste endure: this is the short and plain. This Palamon answerde, and sayde again;
Cosin, forsoth of this opinion
Thou hast a vaine imagination.
This prison caused me not for to crie.
But I was hurt right now thurghout min eye
Into min herte, that wol my bane be.
The fayrnesse of a lady that I se
Yond in the gardin roming to and fro,
Is cause of all my crying and my wo.
I n'ot whe'r she be woman or goddesse.
But Venus is it, sothly, as I gesse.
And therwithall on knees adoun he fill,
And sayde: Venus, if it be your will
You in this gardin thus to transfigure,
Beforn me sorweful wretched creature,
Out of this prison helpe that we may scape.
And if so be our destinee be shape
By eterne word to dien in prison,
Of our lignage have som compassion,
That is so low ybrought by tyrannie.
And with that word Arcita gan espie
Wher as this lady romed to and fro.
And with that sight hire beautee hurt him so,
That if that Palamon were wounded sore,
Arcite is hurt as moche as he, or more.
And with a sigh he sayde pitously:
The fresshe beautee sleth me sodenly
Of hire that rometh in the yonder place.
And but I have hire mercie and hire grace,
That I may seen hire at the leste way,
I n'am but ded; ther n'is no more to say.
This Palamon, whan he these wordes herd, Dispitously he loked, and answerd:
Whether sayest thou this in ernest or in play? Nay, quod Arcite, in ernest by my fay.
God helpe me so, me lust full yvel pley.
This Palamon gan knit his browes twey.
It were, quod he, to thee no gret honour
For to be false, ne for to be traytour
To me, that am thy cosin and thy brother
Ysworne ful depe, and eche of us to other,
That never for to dieǹ in the peine,
Til that the deth departen shal us tweine,
Neyther of us in love to hindre other,
Ne in non other cas, my leve brother;
But that thou shuldest trewely forther me
In every cas, as I shuld forther thee.
This was thin oth, and min also certain;
I wot it wel, thou darst it not withsain.
Thus art thou of my conseil out of doute.
And now thou woldest falsly ben aboute
To love my lady, whom I love and serve,
And ever shal, til that min herte sterve.
Now certes, false Arcite, thou shalt not so.
I loved hire firste, and tolde thee my wo
As to my conseil, and my
brother sworne
To forther me, as I have told beforne.
For which thou art ybounden as a knight
To helpen me, if it lie in thy might,
Or elles art thou false, I dare wel sain.
This Arcita full proudly spake again.
Thou shalt, quod he, be rather false than I.
And thou art false, I tell thee utterly.
For par amour I loved hire first or thou.
What wolt thou sayn? thou wisted nat right now
Whether she were a woman or a goddesse.
Thin is affection of holinesse,
And min is love, as to a creature:
For which I tolde thee min aventure
I pose, that thou lovedest hire beforne: Wost thou not wel the olde clerkes sawe, That who shall give a lover any lawe? Love is a greter lawe by my pan, Then may be yeven of any erthly man: And therfore positif lawe, and swiche decree Is broken all day for love in eche degree. A man moste nedes love maugre his hed. He may not fleen it, though he shuld be ded, All be she maid, or widewe, or elles wif. And eke it is not likely all thy lif To stonden in hire grace, no more shal I: For wel thou wost thyselven veraily, That thou and I be damned to prison Perpetuel, us gaineth no raunson.
We strive, as did the houndes for the bone, They fought all day, and yet hir part was none. Ther came a kyte, while that they were so wrothe, And bare away the bone betwix hem bothe. And therfore at the kinges court, my brother, Eche man for himself, ther is non other. Love if thee lust; for I love and ay shal: And sothly, leve brother, this is al. Here in this prison mosten we endure, And everich of us take his aventure.
Gret was the strif, and long betwix hem twey, If that I hadde leiser for to sey:
But to th' effect. It happed on a day,
(To tell it you as shortly as I may)
A worthy duk that highte Perithous,
That felaw was to this duk Theseus
Sin thilke day that they were children lite,
Was come to Athenes, his felaw to visite,
|