Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle.

  Right as the Friday, soothly for to telle,

  Now it shyneth, now it reyneth faste,

  Right so can gery Venus overcaste

  The hertes of hir folk; right as hir day

  Is gerful, right so chaungeth she array.

  Selde is the Friday al the wyke y-lyke.

  Whan that Arcite had songe, he gan to syke,

  And sette him doun with-outen any more:

  “Alas” quod he, “that day that I was bore!

  How longe, Juno, thurgh thy crueltee,

  Woltow werreyen Thebes the citee?

  Alias! y-broght is to confusioun

  The blood royal of Cadme and Amphioun;

  Of Cadmus, which that was the firste man

  And loud he sang to the sun bright:

  ”May, with all your flowers and your green,

  Welcome be you, fair fresh May,

  In hope that I something green may get.“7

  And from his courser, with a lusty heart,

  Full hastily into the grove he leapt,

  And in a path he roamed up and down,

  Where, by chance, this Palamon

  Was in the brush, that no man might him see,

  For sore afraid of his death was he.

  Nor knew he that it was Arcita;

  God knows he would have believed it full little.

  But truly it has been said, for many years,

  That ”field has eyes and the wood has ears.”

  It is desirable for a man to carry himself on guard,

  For every day you meet men at moments unexpected.

  Full little knew Arcita of his fellow,

  Who was near enough to hear all he said,

  For in the brush he sat now full still.

  When Arcita had roamed all his fill,

  And lustily sung his song,

  Into a pensive mood he suddenly fell,

  As do these lovers with their changing moods,

  Now in the treetops, now in the briars,

  Now up, now down, as a bucket in a well.

  Right like Friday, truly for to tell,

  Now it’s sunshine, now it rains hard,

  So can variable Venus overcast

  The hearts of her folk, just as her day

  Is changeable, just so she changes her arrangements.

  Seldom is Friday like the week’s other days.8

  After Arcita had sung, he began to sigh,

  And sat him down without further delay.

  “Alas!” said he, “the day that I was born!

  How long, Juno, through your cruelty,

  Will you make war on Thebes city?

  Alas! brought is to confusion

  The blood royal of Cadmus and Amphion—

  Of Cadmus, who was the first man

  That Thebes bulte, or first the toun bigan,

  And of the citee first was crouned king,

  Of his linage am I, and his of-spring

  By verray ligne, as of the stok royal:

  And now I am so caitif and so thral,

  That he, that is my mortal enemy,

  I serve him as his squyer povrely.

  And yet doth Juno me wel more shame,

  For I dar noght biknowe myn owne name;

  But ther-as I was wont to highte Arcite,

  Now highte I Philostrate, noght worth a myte.

  Allas! thou felle Mars, alias! Juno,

  Thus hath your ire our kindrede all fordo,

  Save only me, and wrecched Palamoun,

  That Theseus martyreth in prisoun.

  And over al this, to sleen me utterly,

  Love hath his fyry dart so brenningly

  Y-stiked thurgh my trewe careful herte,

  That shapen was my deeth erst than my sherte.

  Ye sleen me with your eyen, Emelye;

  Ye been the cause wherfor that I dye.

  Of al the remenant of myn other care

  Ne sette I nat the mountaunce of a tare,

  So that I coude don aught to your plesaunce!”

  And with that word he fil doun in a traunce

  A long tyme; and after he up-sterte.

  This Palamoun, that thoughte that thurgh his herte

  He felt a cold swerd sodeynliche glyde,

  For ire he quook, no lenger wolde he byde.

  And whan that he had herd Arcites tale,

  As he were wood, with face deed and pale,

  He sterte him up out of the buskes thikke,

  And seyde: “Arcite, false traitour wikke,

  Now artow 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-biforn,

  And hast by-japed here duk Theseus,

  And falsly chaunged hast thy name thus;

  To build at Thebes, or first the town began,

  And of the city was first crowned king.

  Of his lineage am I, and of his offspring

  By direct descent, as of the stock royal;

  And now I am so wretched and enslaved

  That he who is my mortal enemy,

  I serve him as his squire lowly,

  And yet Juno does me more shame,

  For I dare not make known my own name;

  But though I was once called Arcita,

  Now I’m Philostrate, not worth a mite.

  Alas, you cruel, deadly Mars! alas Juno!

  Thus has your ire our lineage all destroyed,

  Save only me and wretched Palamon,

  Whom Theseus martyred in prison.

  And over all this, to slay me utterly,

  Love has his fiery dart so burningly

  Stabbed through my woeful heart,

  That my fate was woven before my first shirt.

  You slay me with your eyes, Emily!

  You be the cause wherefore that I die.

  On all the remnants of my other woes

  I would not set the worth of a single weed,

  If I could do anything for your pleasure!”

  And with that word he fell down in a trance

  A long time; and after he up started.

  This Palamon, who thought that through his heart

  He felt a cold sword suddenly glide,

  For anger he shook, no longer would he bide.

  And when he had heard Arcita’s tale,

  As if he were insane, with face deathly and pale,

  He started up out of the brush thick,

  And said, “Arcita, false traitor wicked,

  Now are you caught, who loves my lady so,

  For whom I have all this pain and woe,

  And you are my blood, and to my secrets sworn,

  As I full often have told you before,

  And you have tricked her duke Theseus,

  And falsely changed your name thus!

  I wol be deed, or elles thou shalt dye.

  Thou shalt nat love my lady Emelye,

  But I wol love hir only, and namo;

  For I am Palamoun, thy mortal fo.

  And though that I no wepne have in this place,

  But out of prison am astert by grace,

  I drede noght that outher thou shalt dye,

  Or thou ne shalt nat loven Emelye.

  Chees which thou wilt, for thou shalt nat asterte.”

  This Arcite, with ful despitous herte,

  Whan he him knew, and hadde his tale herd,

  As fiers as leoun, pulled out a swerd,

  And seyde 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 sholdest never out of this grove pace,

  That thou ne sholdest dyen of myn hond.

  For I defye the seurtee and the bond

  Which that thou seyst that I have maad to thee.

  What, verray fool, think wel th
at love is free,

  And I wol love hir, maugre al thy might!

  But, for as muche thou art a worthy knight,

  And wilnest to darreyne hir by batayle,

  Have heer my trouthe, to-morwe I wol nat fayl

  With-outen witing of any other wight,

  That here I wol be founden as a knight,

  And bringen harneys right y-nough for thee;

  And chees the beste, and leve the worste for me

  And mete and drinke this night wol I bringe

  Y-nough for thee, and clothes for thy beddinge.

  And, if so be that thou my lady winne,

  And slee me in this wode ther I am inne,

  Thou mayst wel have thy lady, as for me.”

  This Palamon answerde: “I graunte it thee.”

  And thus they been departed til a-morwe,

  When ech of hem had leyd his feith to borwe.

  O Cupide, out of alle charitee!

  O regne, that wolt no felawe have with thee!

  Ful sooth is seyd, that love ne lordshipe

  I will be dead, or else you shall die.

  You shall not love my lady Emily,

  But I will love her only, and no one else;

  For I am Palamon, your mortal foe.

  And though I no weapon have in this place,

  But out of prison am escaped by grace,

  I doubt not that either you shall die

  Or you shall not love Emily.

  Choose which you would, for you shall not escape.”

  This Arcita, with full scornful heart,

  When he him knew, and had his tale heard,

  As fierce as a lion pulled out his sword

  And said: “By God who sits above,

  Were it not that you are sick and mad with love,

  And that you no weapon have in this place,

  You would never leave this grove alive,

  You would never my hand survive.

  For I scorn the pledge and the bond

  That you say I have made to you.

  Why, you true fool, know well that love is free,

  And I will love her despite all your might!

  But, inasmuch as you are a worthy knight,

  And want to decide who claims her by battle,

  Have here my vow: tomorrow I will not fail,

  Without telling any other person,

  Here I will be armed as a knight,

  And bring armor right enough for you;

  And you may choose the best, and leave the worst for me.

  And food and drink this night I will bring

  Enough for you, and clothes for your bedding.

  And if so be it that you my lady win,

  And slay me in this wood where I am in,

  You may well have the lady, so far as concerns me.”

  This Palamon answered, “I grant it to you.”

  And thus they were departed until morning tomorrow,

  When each of them had laid his faith as a pledge.

  Oh Cupid, devoid of unselfish love!

  Oh sovereign rule, who does not want to share!

  Full truly it’s said that neither love nor lordship

  Wol noght, his thankes, have no felaweshipe;

  Wel finden that Arcite and Palamoun.

  Arcite is riden anon un-to the toun,

  And on the morwe, er it were dayes light,

  Ful prively two harneys hath he dight,

  Bothe suffisaunt and mete to darreyne

  The bataille in the feeld bitwix hem tweyne.

  And on his hors, allone as he was born,

  He carieth al this harneys him biforn;

  And in the grove, at tyme and place y-set,

  This Arcite and this Palamon ben met.

  Tho chaungen gan the color in hir face;

  Right as the hunter in the regne of Trace,

  That stondeth at the gappe with a spere,

  Whan hunted is the leoun or the bere,

  And hereth him come russhing in the greves,

  And breketh bothe bowes and the leves,

  And thinketh, “heer cometh my mortel enemy,

  With-oute faile, he moot be deed, or I;

  For outher I mot sleen him at the gappe,

  Or he mot sleen me, if that me mishappe:”

  So ferden they, in chaunging of hir hewe,

  As fer as everich of hem other knewe.

  Ther nas no good day, ne no saluing;

  But streight, with-outen word or rehersing,

  Everich of hem halp for to armen other,

  As freendly as he were his owne brother;

  And after that, with sharpe speres stronge

  They foynen ech at other wonder longe.

  Thou mighest wene that this Palamoun

  In his fighting were a wood leoun,

  And as a cruel tygre was Arcite:

  As wilde bores gonne they to smyte,

  That frothen whyte as foom for ire wood.

  Up to the ancle foghte they in hir blood.

  And in this wyse I lete hem fighting dwelle;

  And forth I wol of Theseus yow telle.

  The destinee, ministre general,

  That executeth in the world over-al

  Will willingly share their domain;

  And so found that true, both Arcita and Palamon.

  Arcita then returned to the town,

  And on the morrow, before daylight

  Full secretly two armor suits did he prepare,

  Both sufficient and suitable to decide

  The battle in the field between the two.

  And on his horse, alone as he was born,

  He carried with him all this armor;

  And in the grove, at the time and place set,

  This Arcita and Palamon did meet.

  The color in their faces began to change,

  Just as the hunters in the Kingdom of Thrace,

  Who stood in the clearing with a spear,9

  When hunted was the lion or the bear,

  And heard him come rushing in the bushes

  And breaking both branches and the leaves,

  And thought, “Here comes my mortal enemy!

  Without fail, he must be dead or I;

  For either I slay him at the clearing,

  Or he must slay me, if it goes ill for me,”—

  So behaved they in changing of their raiment.

  Although they knew each other well,

  There was no “good day,” nor greetings,

  But straight without word or their pact restating,

  Each of them helped to arm the other

  As friendly as if he were his own brother;

  And after that, with sharp spears strong

  They thrust at each other wondrous long.

  You may be sure that this Palamon

  In his fighting was an enraged lion,

  And as a cruel tiger was Arcita;

  They proceeded to smite like wild boars

  That froth white with foam in wild anger.

  Up to the ankle fought they in their blood.

  And in this state I leave them still fighting;

  And forth I will of Theseus you tell.

  Destiny, the minister general

  Who executes in the world everywhere

  The purveyaunce, that God hath seyn biforn,

  So strong it is, that, though the world had sworn

  The contrarie of a thing, by ye or nay,

  Yet somtyme it shal fallen on a day

  That falleth nat eft with-inne a thousand yere.

  For certeinly, our appetytes here,

  Be it of werre, or pees, or hate, or love,

  Al is this reuled by the sighte above.

  This mene I now by mighty Theseus,

  That for to honten is so desirous,

  And namely at the grete hert in May,

  That in his bed ther daweth him no day,

  That he nis clad, and redy for to ryde

  With hunte and horn, and hound
es him bisyde.

  For in his hunting hath he swich delyt,

  That it is al his joye and appetyt

  To been him-self the grete hertes bane:

  For after Mars he serveth now Diane.

  Cleer was the day, as I have told er this,

  And Theseus, with alle joye and blis,

  With his Ipolita, the fayre quene,

  And Emelye, clothed al in grene,

  On hunting be they riden royally.

  And to the grove, that stood ful faste by,

  In which ther was an hert, as men him tolde,

  Duk Theseus the streighte wey hath holde.

  And to the launde he rydeth him ful right,

  For thider was the hert wont have his flight,

  And over a brook, and so forth on his weye.

  This duk wol han a cours at him, or tweye,

  With houndes, swiche as that him list comaunde.

  And whan this duk was come un-to the launde,

  Under the sonne he loketh, and anon

  He was war of Arcite and Palamon,

  That foughten breme, as it were bores two;

  The brighte swerdes wenten to and fro

  So hidously, that with the leeste strook

  It seemed as it wold feele an ook;

  But what they were, no-thing he ne woot.

  The providential plan that God has foreseen,

  Is so strong that, though the world had sworn

  The contrary of a thing by yes or no,

  Yet at some time it will happen on a day

  And will happen not again in a thousand years.

  For certainly, our appetites here,

  Be it of war, or peace, or hate, or love,

  All is ruled by the foresight above.

  This mean I now as it relates to mighty Theseus,

  Who to hunt is so desirous,

  And especially for the great hart in May,

  That before the dawn of every day

  He is clad and ready to ride

  With huntsmen and horn and hounds him beside.

  For in his hunting has he such delight

  That it is all his joy and appetite

  To be himself the great hart’s slayer;

  For after Mars he served Diana.

  Clear was the day, as I have said before this,

  And Theseus, with all joy and bliss,

  With his Hyppolyta, the fair queen,

  And Emily, clothed all in green,

  To the hunt did they royally ride.

  And to the grove that stood full fast by,

  In which there was a hart, as men him told,

  Duke Theseus the straight course did hold.

  And to the clearing he rode straight,

  For there was the hart wont to have his flight,

  And over a brook and so forth on his way.

  This duke will have a chase at him or two,

  With hounds such as it pleases him to command.

  And when this duke was come into the clearing,

  Into the sunlight he looked, and anon