Consideryng the best on every syde,
That fro his lust yet were him lever abyde,
Than doon so heigh a cherlissch wrecchednesse
Agayns fraunchise of allë gentilesse;
For which in fewë wordës sayde he thus.
'Madame, saith to your lord Arveragus,
That sith I se his gretë gentilesse
To you, and eek I se wel your distresse,
That him were lever han schame (and that were routhe) Than ye to me schulde brekë thus your trouthe, I have wel lever ever to suffre woo, Than I departe the love bytwix yow two. I yow relesse, madame, into your hond Quyt every seurement and every bond That ye han maad to me as herebiforn, Sith thilke tyme which that ye were born. My trouthe I plighte, I schal yow never repreve Of no byhest, and heer I take my leve, As of the trewest and the beste wif
yit I knew in al my lyf.
But every wyf be war of hir byheste, On Dorigen remembreth attë leste. squyer doon a gentil dede
can a knyght, withouten drede.'
Sche thanketh him upon hir knees al bare,
And hoom unto hir housbond is sche fare,
And told him al, as ye han herd me sayd;
And, be ye siker, he was so wel apayd®,
That it were impossible me to write.
What schuld I lenger of this cas endite?
Arveragus and Dorigen his wyf
In sovereyn blissë leden forth her lyf,
ne was ther anger hem bytwene;
He cherisscheth hir as though sche were a quenc,
was to him trewe for evermore;
Of these two folk ye gete of me nomore.
[Palamon and Arcite first see Emelye from the prison window.]
This passeth yeer by yeer, and day by day,
Til it fel oonës, in a morwe of May,
That Emelie, that fairer was to seene
Than is the lilie on hir stalkë grene,
And fresscher than the May with flourës newe-
For with the rose colour strof hire hewe,
I not which was the fayrere of hem two-
Er it were day, as was hire wone2 to do,
Sche was arisen, and al redy dight;
For May wol han no sloggardye anight.
The sesoun priketh every gentil herte,
And maketh him out of his sleep to sterte,
And seith, Arys, and do thyn observaunce.'
This makede Emelye han remembraunce
To don honour to May, and for to ryse.
I-clothed was sche fresshe for to devyse.
Hir yelwe heer was browded in a tresse,
Byhynde hir bak, a yerde long, I gesse.
And in the gardyn at the sonne upriste
Sche walketh up and doun, and as hir liste
Sche gadereth flourës, party whyte and reede,
To make a sotil gerland for hire heede,
And as an aungel hevenlyche sche song.
The gretë tour, that was so thikke and strong,
Which of the castel was the cheef dongeoun,
(Ther as the knightës werën in prisoun,
Of which I toldë yow, and tellen schal)
Was even joynant to the gardyn-wal,
Ther as this Emelye hadde hire pleyynge.
Bright was the sonne, and cleer that morwenynge,
And Palamon, this woful prisoner,
As was his wone 2, by leve of his gayler,
Was risen, and romede in a chambre on heigh,
In which he al the noble cité seigh,
And eek the gardyn, ful of braunches grene,
Ther as this fresshë Emely the scheene
Was in hir walk, and romede up and doun.
This sorweful prisoner, this Palamon,
Gooth in the chambre, romyng to and fro,
And to himself compleynyng of his woo;
That he was born, ful ofte he seyde, alas!
And so byfel, by aventure or cas1,
That thurgh a wyndow thikke, of many a barre
Of iren greet, and squar as eny sparre',
He caste his eyen upon Emelya,
And therwithal he bleynte and cryede, a!
As though he stongen were unto the herte.
And with that crye Arcite anon up-sterte,
And seyde, Cosyn myn, what eyleth the,
That art so pale and deedly on to see?
Why crydestow? who hath the doon offence?
For Goddes love, tak al in pacience
Our prisoun, for it may non other be;
Fortune hath yeven us this adversité.
Som wikke aspect or disposicioun
Of Saturne, by som constellacioun,
Hath yeven us this, although we hadde it sworn ;
So stood the heven whan that we were born;
We mote endure it: this is the schort and pleyn.'
This Palamon answerde, and seyde ageyn,
'Cosyn, for sothe of this opynyoun
Thou hast a veyn ymaginacioun.
This prisoun caused me not for to crye.
But I was hurt right now thurghout myn eye
Into myn herte, that wol my banë be.
The fairnesse of that lady that I see
Yond in the gardyn romë to and fro,
Is cause of al my crying and my wo.
I not whether sche be womman or goddesse ;
But Venus is it, sothly as I gesse.'
And therwithal on knees adoun he fil,
And seyde: 'Venus, if it be thy wil
Yow in this gardyn thus to transfigure,
Biforn me sorweful wrecchë creature,
Out of this prisoun help that we may scape.
And if so be my destiné be schape
By eterne word to deyen in prisoun,
Of our lynage have sum compassioun,
That is so lowe y-brought by tyrannye.'
And with that word Arcite gan espye
Wher as this lady romede to and fro.
And with that sighte hir beauté hurte him so,
That if that Palamon was wounded sore,
Arcite is hurt as moche as he, or more.
And with a sigh he seyde pitously:
"The fressche beauté sleeth me sodeynly
Of hir that rometh in the yonder place;
And but I have hir mercy and hir grace,
That I may seen hir attë lestë weye,
I nam but deed; ther nys no more to seye.'
[Arcite has been released from prison, and Palamon has escaped. They meet in a wood near Athens.]
And with that word he fel doun in a traunce
A long tyme; and after he upsterte 2
This Palamon, that thoughte that thurgh his herte
He felte a cold swerd sodeynlichë glyde;
For ire he quook3, no lenger nolde he byde.
And whan that he hadde herd Arcitës tale,
As he were wood, with facë deed and pale,
He sterte him up out of the bussches thikke,
And seyde: 'Arcytë, falsë traitour wikke,
Now art thou hent, that lovest my lady so,
For whom that I have al this peyne and wo,
And art my blood, and to my counseil sworn,
As I ful ofte have told thee heer byforn,
And hast byjapëd1 heer duk Theseus,
And falsly chaungëd hast thy name thus ;
I wol be deed, or ellës thou schalt dye.
Thou schalt not love my lady Emelye,
But I wil love hir oonly and no mo;
For I am Palamon, thy mortal fo.
And though that I no wepne have in this place,
But out of prisoun am astert by grace,
I dredë not that outher thou schalt dye,
Or thou ne schalt not loven Emelye.
Ches which thou wilt, for thou schalt not asterte3
This Arcitë, with ful despitous herte,
Whan he him knew, and hadde his tale herd,
As fers as lyoun pullede out a swerd,
And seidë thus: 'By God that sit above,
Nere it that thou art sik and wood for love,
And eek that thou no wepne hast in this place,
Thou schuldest nevere out of this grove pace,
That thou ne schuldest deyen of myn hond.
For I defye the seurté and the bond
Which that thou seyst that I have maad to the.
What, verray fool, think wel that love is fre!
And I wol love hir mawgre al thy might.
But, for as muche thou art a worthy knight,
And wilnest to derreyne hir by batayle,
Have heer my trouthe, to-morwe I nyl not fayle,
Withouten wityng" of any other wight,
That heer I wol be founden as a knight,
And bryngen harneys right inough for the;
And ches the beste, and leve the worste for me.
And mete and drynkë this night wil I brynge
Inough for the, and clothes for thy beddynge.
And if so be that thou my lady wynne,
And sle me in this woode ther I am inne,
Thou maist wel han thy lady as for me.'
This Palamon answerde: 'I graunte it the.'
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