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THE KNIGHTES TALE.

35

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 dien 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
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 Whether she were a woman or a goddesse. Thin is affection of holinesse, And min is love, as to a creature: For which I tolde thee min aventure

As to my cosin, and my brother sworne.
I pose, that thou 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,

And for to play, as he was wont to do,
For in this world he loved no man so:
And he loved him as tendrely again.
So wel they loved, as olde bokes sain,
That whan that on was ded, sothly to tell
His felaw wente and sought him doun in 1
But of that storie list me not to write.

Duk Perithous loved wel Arcite,
And had him knowe at Thebes yere by ye
And finally at request and praiere
Of Perithous, withouten any raunson
Duk Theseus him let out of prison,
Frely to gon, wher that him list over all,
In swiche a gise, as I you tellen shall.

This was the forword, plainly for to end Betwixen Theseus and him Arcite: That if so were, that Arcite were yfound Ever in his lif, by day or night, o stound In any contree of this Theseus, And he were caught, it was accorded thus, That with a swerd he shulde lese his hed; Ther was non other remedie ne rede. But taketh his leve, and homeward he him spe Let him beware, his nekke lieth to wedde.

How gret a sorwe suffereth now Arcite? The deth he feleth thurgh his herte smite; He wepeth, waileth, crieth pitously; To sleen himself he waiteth prively. He said; Alas the day that I was borne! Now is my prison werse than beforne: Now is me shape eternally to dwelle Not only in purgatorie, but in helle. Alas! that ever I knew Perithous. For elles had I dwelt with Theseus

Yfetered in his prison evermo.
Than had I ben in blisse, and not in wo.
Only the sight of hire, whom that I serve,
Though that I never hire grace may deserve,
Wold have sufficed right ynough for me.

O dere cosin Palamon, quod he,
Thin is the victorie of this aventure.
Ful blisful in prison maiest thou endure:
In prison? certes nay, but in paradise.
Wel hath fortune yturned thee the dise,
That hast the sight of hire, and I th'absence.
For possible is, sin thou hast hire presence,
And art a knight, a worthy and an able,
That by som cas, sin fortune is changeable,
Thou maiest to thy desir somtime atteine.
But I that am exiled, and barreine
Of alle grace, and in so gret despaire,
That ther n'is erthe, water, fire, ne aire,
Ne creature, that of hem naked is,
That may me hele, or don comfort in this,
Wel ought I sterve in wanhope and distresse.
Farewel my lif, my lust, and my gladnesse.

Alas, why plainen men so in commune
Of purveyance of God, or of fortune,
That yeveth hem ful oft in many a gise
Wel better than they can hemself devise?
Som man desireth for to have richesse,
That cause is of his murdre or gret siknesse.
And som man wold out of his prison fayn,
That in his house is of his meinie slain.
Infinite harmes ben in this matere.

We wote not what thing that we praien here.
We faren as he that dronke is as a mous.
A dronken man wot wel he hath an hous,