Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  Til that he cam to Thebes, and alighte

  Faire in a feeld, ther as he thoghte fighte.

  But shortly for to speken of this thing,

  With Creon, which that was of Thebes king,

  He faught, and slough him manly as a knight

  In pleyn bataille, and putte the folk to flight;

  And by assaut he wan the citee after,

  And rente adoun bothe wal, and sparre, and rafter;

  And to the ladyes he restored agayn

  The bones of hir housbondes that were slayn,

  To doon obsequies, as was tho the gyse.

  But it were al to long for to devyse

  The grete clamour and the waymentinge

  That the ladyes made at the brenninge

  Of the bodyes, and the grete honour

  That Theseus, the noble conquerour,

  Doth to the ladyes, whan they from him wente;

  But shortly for to telle is myn entente.

  Whan that this worthy duk, this Theseus,

  Hath Creon slayn, and wonne Thebes thus,

  Stille in that feeld he took al night his reste,

  And right anon, without more delay,

  His banner he displayed, and forth rode

  Thebesward, and all his host of men beside.

  No nearer Athens would he walk nor ride,

  Nor take his ease even half a day,

  But onward on his way that night he lay,

  And sent anon Hyppolyta the queen

  And Emily, her young sister fair,

  Unto the town of Athens to dwell;

  And forth he rode, there is no more to tell.

  The red statue of Mars, with spear and shield,

  So shines in his white banner large

  That all the fields glitter up and down;

  And by his banner borne is his pennant

  Of gold full rich, and embroidered in it

  The Minotaur,3 that he slew in Crete.

  Thus rode this duke, thus rode this conqueror

  And in his host rode knighthood’s flower,

  Till that he came to Thebes, and alighted

  In a field, where he thought to fight.

  But to make a long story short

  With Creon, who was Thebes’ king,

  He fought, and slew him manly, boldly as a knight

  In open battle, and put the rest to flight;

  And by assault he won the city after,

  And tore down wall and beam and rafter;

  And to the ladies he restored again

  The bones of their husbands who were slain,

  To do obsequies, as then was the custom.

  But it would take too long to relate

  The great clamor and the lamentation

  That the ladies made at the burning

  Of the bodies, and the great honor

  That Theseus, the noble conqueror,

  Did to the ladies, when they from him went;

  But to make it short is my intent.

  When that this worthy duke, this Theseus,

  Had Creon slain and won Thebes thus,

  Still in that field he took all night his rest,

  And dide with al the contree as him leste.

  To ransake in the tas of bodyes dede,

  Hem for to strepe of harneys and of wede,

  The pilours diden bisinesse and cure,

  After the bataille and disconfiture.

  And so bifel, that in the tas they founde,

  Thurgh-girt with many a grevous blody wounde,

  Two yonge knightes ligging by and by,

  Bothe in oon armes, wroght ful richely,

  Of whiche two, Arcita hight that oon,

  And that other knight hight Palamon.

  Nat fully quike, ne fully dede they were,

  But by hir cote-armures, and by hir gere,

  The heraudes knewe hem best in special,

  As they that weren of the blood royal

  Of Thebes, and of sustren two y-born.

  Out of the tas the pilours han hem torn,

  And han hem caried softe un-to the tente

  Of Theseus, and he ful sone hem sente

  To Athenës, to dwellen in prisoun

  Perpetuelly, he nolde no raunsoun.

  And whan this worthy duk hath thus y-don,

  He took his host, and hoom he rood anon

  With laurer crowned as a conquerour;

  And there he liveth, in joye and in honour,

  Terme of his lyf; what nedeth wordes mo?

  And in a tour, in angwish and in wo,

  Dwellen this Palamoun and eek Arcite,

  For evermore, ther may no gold hem quyte.

  This passeth yeer by yeer, and day by day,

  Til it fil ones, in a morwe of May,

  That Emelye, that fairer was to sene

  Than is the lile upon his stalke grene,

  And fressher than the May with floures newe

  For with the rose colour stroof hir hewe,

  I noot which was the fairer of hem two—

  Er it were day, as was hir wone to do,

  She was arisen, and al redy dight;

  For May wol have no slogardye a-night.

  And did with all the country as he wished.

  To go through the mound of bodies dead,

  Them to strip of armor and clothes,

  The pillagers worked fast and well

  After the battle and defeat.

  And so befell, that in that mound they found,

  Pierced through with many a grievous bloody wound,

  Two young knights lying side by side,

  Both with the same coat of arms, wrought full richly,

  Of which two, one was named Arcita,

  And the other knight was called Palamon.

  Not fully alive nor fully dead they were,

  But by their emblems and their gear,

  The heralds knew especially well

  That they were of the blood royal

  Of Thebes, and of two sisters born.

  Out of the mound the pillagers tore them

  And carried them gently into the tent

  Of Theseus, and he full soon them sent

  To Athens, to dwell in prison

  Perpetually: taking no ransom.

  And when this worthy duke had thus done,

  He took his men, and home he rode anon

  With laurel crowned as a conqueror;

  And there he lived in joy and honor

  The rest of his life; who need say more?

  And in a tower, in anguish and in woe,

  Dwelt Palamon and Arcita

  For evermore, held without ransom.

  This went on year by year and day by day,

  Till it so happened, one morning in May,

  That Emily, who fairer was to see

  Than is the lily upon its stalk of green,

  And fresher than May with its flowers new—

  For with the rose’s color strove her complexion’s hue,

  I know not which was the fairer of the two—

  Before daylight, as was her wont to do,

  She was arisen and promptly dressed,

  For May at night will have no laziness.

  The sesoun priketh every gentil herte,

  And maketh him out of his sleep to sterte,

  And seith, “Arys, and do thyn observaunce.”

  This maked Emelye have remembraunce

  To doon honour to May, and for to ryse.

  Y clothed was she fresh, for to devyse;

  Hir yelow heer was broyded in a tresse,

  Bihinde hir bak, a yerde long, I gesse.

  And in the gardin, at the sonne up-riste,

  She walketh up and doun, and as hir liste

  She gadereth floures, party whyte and rede,

  To make a sotil gerland for hir hede,

  And as an aungel hevenly she song.

  The grete tour, that was so thikke and strong,

  Which of the castel was t
he chief dongeoun,

  (Ther-as the knightes weren in prisoun,

  Of whiche I tolde yow, and tellen shal)

  Was evene joynant to the gardin-wal,

  Ther as this Emelye hadde hir pleyinge.

  Bright was the sonne, and cleer that morweninge,

  And Palamon, this woful prisoner,

  As was his wone, by leve of his gayler,

  Was risen, and romed in a chambre on heigh,

  In which he al the noble citee seigh,

  And eek the gardin, ful of braunches grene,

  Ther-as this fresshe Emelye the shene

  Was in hir walk, and romed up and doun.

  This sorweful prisoner, this Palamoun,

  Goth in the chambre, roming to and fro,

  And to him-self compleyning of his wo;

  That he was born, ful ofte he seyde, “alas!”

  And so bifel, by aventure or cas,

  That thurgh a window, thikke of many a barre

  Of yren greet, and square as any sparre,

  He caste his eye upon Emelye,

  And ther-with-al he bleynte, and cryde “a!”

  As though he stongen were un-to the herte.

  And with that cry Arcite anon up-sterte,

  And seyde, “Cosin myn, what eyleth thee,

  The season pricks every gentle heart,

  And makes each out of sleep to start

  And says, ”Arise, and do your observance.“

  This made Emily have remembrance

  To do honor to May, and to arise.

  Clothed was she fresh, as I may tell:

  Her yellow hair was braided in a tress

  Behind her back, a yard long, I guess.

  And in a garden, just at sunrise

  She walked up and down, as she pleased

  She gathered flowers, white and red,

  To deftly weave a garland for her head

  And as an angel heavenly she sang.

  The great tower, that was so thick and strong,

  Which of the castle was the chief dungeon

  (There the knights were in prison,

  Of whom I told you and shall tell)

  Was just beside the garden wall

  There where Emily had her garden walk.

  Bright was the sun and clear that morning,

  And Palamon, this woeful prisoner,

  As was his wont, by leave of his jailer,

  Was risen and roamed in a chamber on high,

  In which he all the noble city saw,

  And also the garden, full of branches green,

  Where this fresh Emily the fair

  Was in her walk, and roamed up and down.

  This sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon,

  Goes in the chamber roaming to and fro,

  And to himself complaining of his woe.

  That he was born, full oft he said, “Alas!”

  And so it happened, by accident or chance

  That through a window, thickset with many a bar

  Of iron great and round as any spar,

  He cast his eye upon Emily,

  And therewith he flinched and cried “Ah!”

  As though he were stung into the heart.

  And with that cry Arcita anon upstarted

  And said, “Cousin mine, what ails you,

  That art so pale and deedly on to see?

  Why crydestow? who hath thee doon offence?

  For Goddes love, tak al in pacience

  Our prisoun, for it may non other be;

  Fortune hath yeven us this adversitee.

  Som wikke aspect or disposicioun

  Of Saturne, by sum constellacioun,

  Hath yeven us this, al-though we hadde it sworn;

  So stood the heven whan that we were born;

  We moste endure it: this is the short and pleyn.”

  This Palamon answerde, and seyde ageyn,

  “Cosyn, for sothe, of this opinioun

  Thou hast a veyn imaginacioun.

  This prison caused me nat for to crye.

  But I was hurt right now thurgh-out myn ye

  In-to myn herte, that wol my bane be.

  The fairnesse of that lady that I see

  Yond in the gardin romen to and fro,

  Is cause of al my crying and my wo.

  I noot wher she be womman or goddesse;

  But Venus is it, soothly, as I gesse.”

  And ther-with-al on knees doun he fil,

  And seyde: “Venus, if it be thy wil

  Yow in this gardin thus to transfigure

  Bifore me, sorweful wrecche creature,

  Out of this prisoun help that we may scapen.

  And if so be my destinee be shapen

  By eterne word to dyen in prisoun,

  Of our linage have som compassioun,

  That is so lowe y-broght by tirannye.”

  And with that word Arcite gan espye

  Wher-as this lady romed to and fro.

  And with that sighte hir beautee hurte him so,

  That, if that Palamon was wounded sore,

  Arcite is hurt as muche as he, or more.

  And with a sigh he seyde pitously:

  “The fresshe beautee sleeth me sodeynly

  Of hir that rometh in the yonder place;

  And, but I have hir mercy and hir grace,

  That you’re such a pale and deathly hue?

  Why did you cry? Who has offended you?

  For God’s love, take all in patience

  Our prison, for it may not otherwise be;

  Fortune has given us this adversity.

  Some wicked aspect or disposition

  Of Saturn, by some constellation,4

  Has given us this, there’s nothing we could have done.

  So stood the stars when we were born.

  We must endure it; this is the short and plain.”

  This Palamon answered and said again,

  “Cousin, forsooth, in this opinion

  You have a mistaken imagination.

  This prison caused me not to cry,

  But I was so hurt right now through my eye

  Into my heart, that it will me destroy.

  The fairness of that lady that I see

  Yonder in that garden roaming to and fro

  Is cause of all my crying and my woe.

  I don’t know if she is a woman or a goddess,

  But Venus is she truly, as I guess.”

  And therewithal on his knees down he fell,

  And said: “Venus, if it be your will

  Yourself in the garden thus to transfigure

  Before me, sorrowful wretched creature,

  Out of this prison help that we may escape.

  And if so be my destiny shaped

  By eternal word to die in prison,

  Of our lineage have some compassion,

  That is so low brought by tyranny.”

  And with that word Arcita did espy

  Where this lady roamed to and fro;

  And with that sight her beauty hurt him so,

  That, if Palamon was wounded sore,

  Arcita was hurt as much as he, or more.

  And with a sigh he said piteously:

  “The fresh beauty slays me suddenly

  Of her who roams in yonder place;

  And, unless I have her mercy and her grace,

  That I may seen hir atte leeste weye,

  I nam but deed; ther nis namore to seye.”

  This Palamon, whan he tho wordes herde,

  Dispitously he loked, and answerde:

  “Whether seistow this in ernest or in pley?”

  “Nay,” quod Arcite, “in ernest, by my fey!

  God help me so, me list ful yvele pleye.”

  This Palamon gan knitte his browes tweye:

  “It nere,” quod he, “to thee no greet honour

  For to be fals, ne for to be traytour

  To me, that am thy cosin and thy brother

  Y-sworn ful depe, and each of us til other,<
br />
  That never, for to dyen in the peyne,

  Til that the deeth departe shal us tweyne,

  Neither of us in love to hindren other,

  Ne in non other cas, my leve brother;

  But that thou sholdest trewely forthren me

  In every cas, and I shal forthren thee.

  This was thyn ooth, and myn also, certeyn;

  I wot right wel, thou darst it nat withseyn.

  Thus artow of my counseil, out of doute.

  And now thou woldest falsly been aboute

  To love my lady, whom I love and serve,

  And ever shal, til that myn herte sterve.

  Now certes, fals Arcite, thou shalt nat so.

  I loved hir first, and tolde thee my wo

  As to my counseil, and my brother sworn

  To forthre me, as I have told biforn.

  For which thou are y-bounden as a knight

  To helpen me, if it lay in thy might,

  Or elles artow fals, I dar wel seyn.”

  This Arcite ful proudly spak ageyn,

  “Thou shalt,” quod he, “be rather fals than I;

  But thou art fals, I telle thee utterly;

  For par amour I loved ir first er thow.

  What wiltow seyn? thou wistest nat yet now

  Whether she be a womman or goddesse!

  Thyn is affeccioun of holinesse,

  And myn is love, as to a creature;

  That I may see her at least,

  I am good as dead; there is no more to say.”

  Then Palamon, when he those words heard,

  Angrily he looked and answered:

  “Are you saying this in earnest or in jest?”

  “No,” said Arcita, “in earnest, by my faith!

  God help me so, I have no desire to joke with you.”

  Then Palamon knitted his brows two:

  And said he, “It is not to you any great honor

  To be false, nor to be traitor

  To me, your own cousin and brother

  Sworn in blood, and each of us to the other,

  That never, not even under torture’s pain,

  To the death shall we two part,

  Nor in love shall we hinder the other,

  Nor in any other way, my dear brother;

  But that you should stand by me truly

  In every way, as I shall you.

  This was your oath, and mine also, for sure;

  I know right well, you dare not it deny.

  Thus you know my secrets, without doubt,

  And now you would falsely set out

  To love my lady, whom I love and serve,

  And ever shall, till my heart quits.

  Now surely, false Arcita, you won’t do it.

  I loved her first, and told you my woe

  As my confidant and my brother sworn

  To stand by me, as I have said before.

  For which you’re bound as a knight

  To help me, if it lies in your might,

  Or else you’re false, I dare well say.”

  This Arcita full proudly spoke again: