But he ne wot which is the right way thider,
And to a dronken man the way is slider.
And certes in this world so faren we.

We seken fast after felicite,
But we go wrong ful often trewely.
Thus we may sayen alle, and namely I,
That wende, and had a gret opinion,
That if I might escapen fro prison
Than had I ben in joye and parfite hele,
Ther now I am exiled fro my wele.
Sin that I may not seen you, Emelie,
I n'am but ded; ther n'is no remedie.
Upon that other side Palamon,
Whan that he wist Arcita was agon,
Swiche sorwe he maketh, that the grete tour
Resouned of his yelling and clamour.
The pure fetters on his shinnes grete
Were of his bitter salte teres wete,

Alas! quod he, Arcita cosin min,
Of all our strif, God wot, the frute is thin.
Thou walkest now in Thebes at thy large,
And of my wo thou yevest litel charge.
Thou maist, sith thou hast wisdom and manhede,
Assemblen all the folk of our kinrede,
And make a werre so sharpe on this contree,
That by som aventure, or som tretee,
Thou maist have hire to lady and to wif,
For whom that I must nedes lese my lif.
For as by way of possibilitee,
Sith thou art at thy large of prison free,
And art a lord, gret is thin avantage,
More than is min, that sterve here in a cage.
For I may wepe and waile, while that I live,
With all the wo that prison may me yeve,

And eke with peine that love me yeveth also, That doubleth all my tourment and my wo. Therwith the fire of jalousie up sterte Within his brest, and hent him by the herte So woodly, that he like was to behold The box-tree, or the ashen ded and cold. Than said he; O cruel goddes, that governe This world with binding of your word eterne, And writen in the table of athamant Your parlement and your eterne grant, What is mankind more unto you yhold Than is the shepe, that rouketh in the fold? For slain is man, right as another beest, And dwelleth eke in prison, and arrest, And hath siknesse, and gret adversite, And oftentimes gilteles parde.

What governance is in this prescience, That gilteles turmenteth innocence? And yet encreseth this all my penance, That man is bounden to his observance For Goddes sake to leten of his will, Ther as a beest may all his lust fulfill. And whan a beest is ded, he hath no peine; But man after his deth mote wepe and pleine, Though in this world he have care and wo: Withouten doute it maye stonden so.

The answer of this lete I to divines, But wel I wote, that in this world gret pine is. Alas! I see a serpent or a thefe, That many a trewe man hath do meschefe, Gon at his large, and wher him lust may turn. But I moste ben in prison thurgh Saturn, And eke thurgh Juno, jalous and eke wood, That hath wel neye destruied all the blood

Of Thebes, with his waste walles wide.
And Venus sleeth me on that other side
For jalousie, and fere of him Arcite.

Now wol I stent of Palamon a lite,
And leten him in his prison still dwelle,
And of Arcita forth I wol you telle.

The sommer passeth, and the nightes long
Encresen double wise the peines strong
Both of the lover, and of the prisoner.
I n'ot which hath the wofuller mistere.
For shortly for to say, this Palamon
Perpetuelly is damned to prison,
In chaines and in fetters to ben ded;
And Arcite is exiled on his hed
For evermore as out of that contree,
Ne never more he shal his lady see.

You lovers axe I now this question,
Who hath the werse, Arcite or Palamon?
That on may se his lady day by day,
But in prison moste he dwellen alway.
That other wher him lust may ride or go,
But sen his lady shal he never mo.
Now demeth as you liste, ye that can,
For I wol tell you forth as I began.

Whan that Arcite to Thebes comen was,
Ful oft a day he swelt and said alas,
For sen his lady shal he never mo.
And shortly to concluden all his wo,
So mochel sorwe hadde never creature,
That is or shal be, while the world may dure.
His slepe, his mete, his drinke is him byraft,
That lene he wex, and drie as is a shaft.
Hiş eyen holwe, and grisly to behold,
His hewe falwe, and pale as ashen cold,

And solitary he was, and ever alone,
And wailing all the night, making his mone.
And if he herde song or instrument,
Than wold he wepe, he mighte not be stent.
So feble were his spirites, and so low,
And changed so, that no man coude know
His speche ne his vois, though men it herd.
And in his gere, for all the world he ferd
Nought only like the lovers maladię
Of Ereos, but rather ylike manie,
Engendred of humours melancolike,
Beforne his hed in his celle fantastike.
And shortly turned was all up so doun
Both habit and eke dispositioun
Of him, this woful lover dan Arcite.
What shuld I all day of his wo endite?

Whan he endured had a yere or two This cruel torment, and this peine and wo, At Thebes, in his contree, as I said, Upon a night in slepe as he him laid, Him thought how that the winged god Mercury Beforne him stood, and bad him to be mery. His slepy yerde in hond he bare upright; An hat he wered upon his heres bright. Arraied was this god (as he toke kepe) As he was whan that Argus toke his slepe; And said him thus: To Athenes shalt thou wende; Ther is thee shapen of thy wo an ende.

And with that word Arcite awoke and stert. Now trewely how sore that ever me smert, Quod he, to Athenes right now wol I fare. Ne for no drede of deth shal I not spare To se my lady, that I love and serve; In hire presence I rekke not to sterve.

And with that word he caught a gret mirr
And saw that changed was all his colour,
And saw his visage all in another kind.
And right anon it ran him in his mind,
That sith his face was so disfigured
Of maladie the which he had endured,
He mighte wel, if that he bare him lowe,
Live in Athenes evermore unknowe,
And sen his lady wel nigh day by day.
And right anon he changed his aray,
And clad him as a poure labourer.
And all alone, save only a squier,
That knew his privitee and all his cas,
Which was disguised pourely as he was,
To Athenes is he gon the nexte way.
And to the court he went upon a day,
And at the gate he proffered his service,
To drugge and draw, what so men wold de
And shortly of this matere for to sayn,
He fell in office with a chamberlain,
The which that dwelling was with Emelie.
For he was wise, and coude sone espie
Of every servant, which that served hire.
Wel coude he hewen wood, and water bere
For he was yonge and mighty for the nones
And therto he was strong and big of bones
To don that any wight can him devise.

A yere or two he was in this service,
Page of the chambre of Emelie the bright;
And Philostrate he sayde that he hight.
But half so wel beloved a man as he,
Ne was ther never in court of his degre.
He was so gentil of conditioun,
That thurghout all the court was his renoun