Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  He was aware of Arcita and Palamon,

  Who fought furiously as if they were boars two.

  The bright swords went to and fro

  So hideously that with the least stroke

  It seemed as if it would fell an oak;

  But who they were, he did not know.

  This duk his courser with his spores smoot,

  And at a stert he was bitwix hem two,

  And pulled out a swerd and cryed, “ho!

  Namore, up peyne of lesing of your heed.

  By mighty Mars, he shal anon be deed,

  That smyteth any strook, that I may seen!

  But telleth me what mister men ye been,

  That been so hardy for to fighten here

  With-outen juge or other officere,

  As it were in a listes royally?”

  This Palamon answerde hastily

  And seyde: “sire, what nedeth wordes mo?

  We have the deeth deserved bothe two.

  Two woful wrecches been we, two caytyves,

  That been encombred of our owne lyves;

  And as thou art a rightful lord and juge,

  Ne yeve us neither mercy ne refuge,

  But slee me first, for seynte charitee;

  But slee my felawe eek as wel as me.

  Or slee him first; for, though thou knowe it lyte,

  This is thy mortal fo, this is Arcite,

  That fro thy lond is banished on his heed,

  For which he hath deserved to be deed.

  For this is he that cam un-to thy gate,

  And seyde, that he highte Philostrate.

  Thus hath he japed thee ful many a yeer,

  And thou has maked him thy chief squyer:

  And this is he that loveth Emelye.

  For sith the day is come that I shal dye,

  I make pleynly my confessioun,

  That I am thilke woful Palamoun,

  That hath thy prison broken wikkedly.

  I am thy mortal fo, and it am I

  That loveth so hote Emelye the brighte,

  That I wol dye present in hir sighte.

  Therfore I axe deeth and my juwyse;

  But slee my felawe in the same wyse,

  For bothe han we deserved to be slayn.”

  This worthy duk answerde anon agayn,

  This duke his horse with his spurs struck,

  And in a moment he was between the two,

  And pulled out a sword and cried, “Halt!

  No more, upon pain of losing your head!

  By mighty Mars, he shall anon be dead

  Who strikes any stroke that I may see.

  But tell me what kind of men you be,

  Who have been so bold to fight here

  Without judge or other officer,

  As if in the lists of a tournament royal?”

  This Palamon answered hastily,

  And said: “Sire, who needs words more?

  We have the death deserved both two.

  Two woeful wretches be we, two captives,

  Who have been weary of our own lives;

  And as you are a rightful lord and judge,

  Give us neither mercy nor refuge,

  But slay me first, for holy charity.

  But slay my companion as well as me,

  Or slay him first: for though you know it little,

  This is your mortal foe, this is Arcita,

  Who from your land is banished or lose his head,

  For which he has deserved to be dead.

  For this is he who came up to your gate

  And said that he was called Philostrate.

  Thus has he tricked you full many a year,

  And you have made him your chief squire;

  And this is he who loves Emily.

  For since the day is come that I shall die,

  I make plainly my confession

  That I am that woeful Palamon

  Who has from your prison broken.

  I am your mortal foe, and it is I

  Who loves with such passion Emily the bright

  That I will die now in her sight.

  Wherefore I ask death and my justice,

  But slay my companion in the same way,

  For both have we deserved to be slain.”

  This worthy duke answered anon again,

  And seyde, “This is a short conclusioun:

  Youre owne mouth, by your confessioun,

  Hath dampned you, and I wol it recorde,

  It nedeth noght to pyne yow with the corde

  Ye shul be deed, by mighty Mars the rede!”

  The quene anon, for verray wommanhede,

  Gan for to wepe, and so dide Emelye,

  And alle the ladies in the compayne.

  Gret pitee was it, as it thoughte hem alle,

  That ever swich a chaunce sholde falle;

  For gentil men they were, of greet estat,

  And no-thing but for love was this debat;

  And sawe hir blody woundes wyde and sore;

  And alle cryden, bothe lasse and more,

  “Have mercy, lord, up-on us wommen alle!”

  And on hir bare knees adoun they falle,

  And wolde have kist his feet ther-as he stood,

  Til at the laste aslaked was his mood;

  For pitee renneth sone in gentil herte.

  And though he first for ire quook and sterte,

  He hath considered shortly, in a clause,

  The trespas of hem bothe, and eek the cause:

  And al-though that his ire hir gilt accused

  Yet in his reson he hem bothe excused;

  As thus: he thoghte wel, that every man

  Wol helpe him-self in love, if that he can,

  And eek delivere him-self out of prisoun;

  And eek his herte had compassioun

  Of wommen, for they wepen ever in oon;

  And in his gentil herte he thoghte anoon,

  And softe un-to himself he seyde: “fy

  Up-on a lord that wol have no mercy,

  But been a leoun, bothe in word and dede,

  To hem that been in repentaunce and drede

  As wel as to a proud despitous man

  That wol maynteyne that he first bigan!

  That lord hath litel of discrecioun,

  That in swich cas can no divisioun,

  But weyeth pryde and hum blesse after oon.”

  And said, “This is quickly decided.

  Your own mouth, by your confession,

  Has damned you, and I will make it my verdict;

  It needs not to torture you with the cord.

  You shall be dead, by mighty Mars the red!”

  The queen soon, for true womanhood,

  Began to weep, and so did Emily,

  And all the ladies in the company.

  Great pity was it, as they thought all,

  That ever such a chance should befall;

  For gentlemen they were of great estate,

  And nothing but for love was this debate;

  And saw their bloody wounds wide and sore,

  And all cried, both the lesser and greater in estate,

  “Have mercy, lord, upon us women all!”

  And on their bare knees down they fell,

  And would have kissed his feet there as he stood,

  Until at last quenched was his anger,

  For pity runs soon in a gentle heart.

  And though he first for anger shook and started,

  He had considered quickly, in a short while,

  The trespass of them both, and also the cause,

  And although his anger their guilt blamed,

  Yet in his reason he both them excused

  As thus: he thought well that every man

  Will help himself in love, if he can,

  And deliver himself out of prison.

  And also his heart had compassion

  For the women, for they went on weeping every one.

  And in his gentle heart he thought an
on,

  And soft unto himself he said: “Fie

  Upon a lord who would have no mercy,

  But be a lion, both in word and deed,

  To those repentant and in fear and need

  As well as to a proud and scornful man

  Who would persevere in what he first began!

  That lord has little of discernment

  Who in such case sees no difference

  But weighs pride and humbleness as one.”

  And shortly, whan his ire is thus agoon,

  He gan to loken up with eyen lighte,

  And spak thise same wordes al on highte:—

  “The god of love, a! benedicite,

  How mighty and how greet a lord is he!

  Ayeins his might ther gayneth none obstacles,

  He may be cleped a god for his miracles;

  For he can maken at his owne gyse

  Of everich herte, as that him list devyse.

  Lo heer, this Arcite and this Palamoun,

  That quitly weren out of my prisoun,

  And mighte han lived in Thebes royally,

  And witen I am hir mortal enemy,

  And that hir deeth lyth in my might also;

  And yet hath love, maugree hir eyen two,

  Y-broght hem hider bothe for to dye!

  Now loketh, is nat that an heigh folye?

  Who may been a fool, but-if he love?

  Bihold, for Goddes sake that sit above,

  Se how they blede! be they noght wel arrayed?

  Thus hath hir lord, the god of love, y-payed

  Hir wages and hir fees for hir servyse!

  And yet they wenen for to been ful wyse

  That serven love, for aught that may bifalle!

  But this is yet the beste game of alle,

  That she, for whom they han this jolitee,

  Can hem ther-for as muche thank as me:

  She woot namore of al this hote fare,

  By God, than woot a cokkow or an hare!

  But al mot been assayed, hoot and cold;

  A man mot been a fool, or yong or old;

  I woot it by my-self ful yore agoon:

  For in my tyme a servant was I oon.

  And therfore, sin I knowe of loves peyne,

  And woot how sore it can a man distreyne,

  As he that hath ben caught ofte in his las,

  I yow foryeve al hoolly this trespas,

  At requeste of the quene that kneleth here,

  And eek of Emelye, my suster dere.

  And shortly, when his ire was thus gone,

  He began to look up with eyes cheerful,

  And spoke these same words aloud:

  ”The god of love—ah, benedicite10—

  How mighty and great a lord is he!

  Against his might there prevail no obstacles.

  He may be called a god for his miracles,

  For he can make as he chooses

  Of every heart whatever he decides.

  Look here, this Arcita and Palamon,

  Who were well gone out of my prison,

  And might have lived in Thebes royally,

  And know I am their mortal enemy

  And that their death lies in my might also;

  And yet has love, despite their eyes open wide,

  Brought them here both to die!

  Now look, is not that a great folly?

  Are we not all but fools for love?

  Behold, for God’s sake who sits above,

  See how they bleed! be they not so well-decorated?

  Thus has their lord, the god of love, paid

  Their wages and their fees for their service!

  And yet they think themselves to be full wise

  Who serve love, no matter what occurs.

  But this is yet the best jest of all:

  That she, for whom they have this passion,

  Has no more to thank them for than I do;

  She knows no more of this madness,

  By God, than does a hare or a cuckoo!

  But all must be tried, hot and cold,

  A man must be a fool, either young or old;

  I know that of myself in time long gone,

  For in my time as love’s servant was I one.

  And therefore, since I know of love’s pain,

  And know how sore it can a man torment,

  And as one who has been caught often in its net,

  I forgive you all wholly this trespass,

  At request of the queen who kneels here,

  And of Emily, my sister dear.

  And ye shul bothe anon un-to me swere,

  That never-mo ye shul my contree dere,

  Ne make werre up-on me night ne day,

  But been my freendes in al that ye may;

  I yow foryeve this trespas every del.”

  And they him swore his axing fayre and wel,

  And him of lordshipe and of mercy preyde,

  And he hem graunteth grace, and thus he seyde:

  “To speke of royal linage and richesse,

  Though that she were a quene or a princesse,

  Ech of yow bothe is worthy, doutelees,

  To wedden whan tyme is, but nathelees

  I speke as for my suster Emelye,

  For whom ye have this stryf and jelousye;

  Ye woot your-self, she may not wedden two

  At ones, though ye fighten ever-mo:

  That oon of yow, al be him looth or leef,

  He moot go pypen in an ivy-leef;

  This is to seyn, she may nat now han bothe,

  Al be ye never so jelous, ne so wrothe.

  And for-thy I yow putte in this degree,

  That ech of yow shal have his destinee

  As him is shape; and herkneth in what wyse;

  Lo, heer your ende of that I shal devyse.

  My wil is this, for plat conclusioun,

  With-outen any replicacioun,

  If that yow lyketh, tak it for the beste,

  That everich of yow shal gon wher him leste

  Frely, with-outen raunson or daunger;

  And this day fifty wykes, fer ne ner,

  Everich of yow shal bringe an hundred knightes,

  Armed for listes up at alle rightes,

  Al redy to darreyne hir by bataille.

  And this bihote I yow, with-outen faille,

  Up-on my trouthe, and as I am a knight,

  That whether of yow bothe that hath might,

  This is to seyn, that whether he or thou

  May with his hundred, as I spak of now,

  Sleen his contrarie, or out of listes dryve,

  And you shall both anon unto me swear

  That nevermore you shall my country harm,

  Nor make war upon me night or day,

  But be my friends in all that you may.

  I forgive you this trespass in every way.”

  And they him swore his request fair and well,

  And for his protection and his mercy as their lord prayed,

  And he them granted grace, and thus he said—

  “To speak of royal lineage and riches,

  Though that she were a queen or a princess,

  Each of you both is worthy, doubtless,

  To wed when the time comes, but nevertheless—

  I speak as for my sister Emily,

  For whom you have this strife and jealousy—

  You know yourself she may not wed two

  At once, though you fight evermore:

  That one of you, like it or not

  Must go whistle in an ivy leaf;

  That is to say, she may not now have both,

  Though you be ever so jealous or so wroth.

  And therefore I will arrange matters so

  That each of you shall have your destiny

  As it is meant to be, and listen now in what way;

  Hear how your fate’s unfolding I shall devise.

  My will is this, to put it plainly,

  And unconditionally—
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  So if you agree, take it for the best:

  That each of you shall go where you will

  Freely, without ransom or control;

  And this day fifty weeks, not sooner or later,

  Each of you shall bring a hundred knights

  Armed for tournament in every way,

  And ready to decide your claim to her in battle.

  And this I promise you without fail,

  Upon my troth, and as I am a knight,

  That whichever of you has the might—

  This is to say, that whether he or you

  May with his hundred, as I spoke of now,

  Slay his opponent or from the battleground drive—

  Him shal I yeve Emelya to wyve,

  To whom that fortune yeveth so fair a grace.

  The listes shal I maken in this place,

  And God so wisly on my soule rewe,

  As I shal even juge been and trewe.

  Ye shul non other ende with me maken,

  That oon of yow ne shal be deed or taken.

  And if yow thinketh this is wel y-sayd,

  Seyeth your avys, and holdeth yow apayd.

  This is your ende and your conclusioun.”

  Who loketh lightly now but Palamoun?

  Who springeth up for joye but Arcite?

  Who couthe telle, or who couthe it endyte,

  The joye that is maked in the place

  Whan Theseus hath doon so fair a grace?

  But doun on knees wente every maner wight,

  And thanked him with al her herte and might,

  And namely the Thebans ofte sythe.

  And thus with good hope and with herte blythe

  They take hir leve, and hom-ward gonne they ryde

  To Thebes, with his olde walles wyde.

  Part Three

  I trowe men wolde deme it necligence,

  If I foryete to tellen the dispence

  Of Theseus, that goth so bisily

  To maken up the listes royally;

  That swich a noble theatre as it was,

  I dar wel seyn that in this world ther nas.

  The circuit a myle was aboute,

  Walled of stoon, and diched al with-oute.

  Round was the shap, in maner of compas,

  Ful of degrees, the heighte of sixty pas,

  That, whan a man was set on o degree,

  He letted nat his felawe for to see.

  Est-ward ther stood a gate of marbel whyt,

  West-ward, right swich another in the opposit.

  And shortly to concluden, swich a place

  Was noon in erthe, as in so litel space;

  Then shall I give Emily to wife

  To whom Fortune gives so fair a grace.

  The battleground shall I make in this place,

  And God so surely on my soul have pity

  As I shall be impartial judge and true.

  You shall no other compact with me make,

  Unless one of you shall be dead or captive taken.