The canterbury tales by chaucer pdf

Beginning with a survey of recentdebates about the social meaning of Chaucer's work, the volume then discusses each of the Canterbury pilgrims in turn. The book should be of interest to all scholars and students of medieval culture whether they are specialists in literature or history.

By assembling extracts from essays, reviews, and articles, the columbia critical guides provide students with ready access to the most important secondary writings on one or more texts by a given writer. The General Prologue to the canterbury tales has long been central to the English literary canon.

The great tower, that was so thick and strong, That of the castle was the chief dungeon, In which the knights were imprisoned, Of which I told, and will tell you all, Was closely bonded to the garden wall Near which this Emily did her walking.

Why did you cry out? Who gives offence? Fortune has sent us this adversity. Some weak aspect or disposition Of Saturn, in some configuration, Has yielded this, however we have sworn; So stood the heavens when that we were born.

We must endure; that is the short and plain. This gaol was not the reason for my cry, But I was wounded now, through the eye To the heart, it will be the death of me. The beauty of that lady that I see Yonder in the garden roaming to and fro Is the cause of all my crying and my woe.

And if my destiny is already shaped By eternal word to die in prison, On our lineage have some compassion, That is brought so low by tyranny. God help me so, I have no wish to play. This was your oath and mine also, I say, I know in truth you dare not it gainsay.

So are you my confidant, beyond doubt. Now indeed, false Arcita, you shall not so! I loved her first, and told you of my woe As my confidant, and my brother sworn To further me, as I have said before. By which you are bound as a true knight To help me, if it lies within your might, Or else you will prove false, I dare maintain!

And you are false, I tell you that outright; For par amour I loved her first, not you. What did you say? You scarcely knew Whether she was a woman or a goddess? Your is affection born of holiness, And mine is love as for the creature, And that is why I told you at a venture, Being my cousin and my brother sworn. And therefore social laws and such decrees Are broken each day for love, by all degrees. A man must love, despite himself, give heed; He may not flee it though he die, indeed, Be she a maid, a widow, or a wife.

And then you are little likely, in this life, To stand in grace with her; no more shall I. You know too well, yourself, and no lie, That you and I are condemned to prison Perpetually; and granted no ransom We strive as the hounds did for the bone; They fought all day and neither did it own. Love if you wish; I love, and ever shall. And truly believe, brother, this is all: Here in this prison must we endure; And each of us our own chance assure. But to the point: it happened on a day, To explain it as briefly as I may, A worthy Duke, named Pirithous, Who had been friends with Duke Theseus Since the days when they were children, Had come to Athens, visiting his friend, And to amuse himself as he would do; For in this world he loved no man so, And he was loved as tenderly again.

So well they loved, as the old books say, That when the one was dead, true to tell, His friend went and sought him down in Hell. But that is not the story I write here. Duke Pirithous truly loved Arcita, And knew him well at Thebes many a year, And finally, at the request and prayer Of Pirithous, without any ransom, Duke Theseus let him out of prison, To go free, wherever he might choose, In such a guise as I shall tell to you.

This was the pledge, let me plainly write, Between Theseus and Arcita, this I cite, That if so be it Arcita was found, Ever in life, by day or night, on ground That in any way belonged to Theseus, And he were caught, it was agreed thus: That with a sword he should lose his head. Let him beware; his pledge is now his neck. How great a sorrow Arcita reveals! The stroke of death in his heart he feels.

He weeps, he wails, he cries piteously; He waits to slay himself secretly. Now is my prison worse than before; Now am I doomed eternally to dwell Not in Purgatory, but in Hell. Alas that ever I knew Perithous! Else I had dwelt with Theseus Fettered in his prison, evermore so; Then had I been in bliss, and not in woe. Only the sight of she whom I serve, Though that I never her grace may deserve, Would have sufficed right enough for me.

Full blissfully in prison you endure — In prison? No, for sure, in Paradise. Well for you has Fortune cast the dice, You have sight of her, and I the absence. But I that am exiled, destitute again Of all grace, and in such great despair That neither earth nor water, fire nor air, Nor creature that of them compounded is, May help me or comfort me in this, Now I must die in sadness and distress.

Farewell my life, my joy, and my gladness! Some man is so desirous of riches, They cause his murder, or a great sickness. Another man that would his freedom gain, Is freed, then by his own household slain. Infinite harm is hidden in this matter; We know not what it is we pray for here. And that is how for sure in this world we Go searching hard to find felicity, But we go wrong so often, tell no lie. Thus may we all say, and so will I, That had gone and formed the grand opinion That if I might escape from prison, Then I would be in joy and perfect health, Where instead I am exiled from my wealth, Since that I may not see you, Emily.

I am but dead; there is no remedy. The very fetters on his shins yet Were with his bitter salt tears wet. You walk now in Thebes at your large, And with my woe you are little charged. For, as regards the possibility, Since you are now at large, of prison free, And are a lord, great is your advantage, More than mine who starve here in a cage. For I must weep and wail while I live, With all the woe that prison life may give, And with the pain that love grants also, That doubles my torment and my woe.

For man is slain as easily as any beast, And dwells alike in prison, and is seized, And suffers sickness, great adversity, And often he is guiltless, indeed. What justice is there in your prescience That torments guiltless innocence?

And when a beast is dead it feels no pain, But man after death must weep again, Though in this world he had care and woe; Without a doubt, things may happen so. The answer to this I leave to the divines; But well I know that in this world man pines.

The summer passes, and the nights long Increase in double wise the pains strong, Both of the lover and the prisoner.

I know not which of them is the sadder: For briefly for to tell, this Palamon Is damned perpetually to prison, In chains and fetters to his final breath; Arcita is banished, on pain of death, Exiled for evermore from that country, And nevermore his lady shall he see.

You lovers, now I ask of you this question: Who suffers worst, Arcita or Palamon? The one may see his lady day by day, But in prison he must dwell always; The other where he wishes ride or go, But he shall see his lady nevermore.

Judge as it pleases you, who know and can, For I will finish that which I began. And briefly to conclude all his woe, So much sorrow had never a creature That is or shall be while the world endures. And solitary he was and ever alone, And wailing all the night, making his moan. And if he heard a song or instrument, Then he would weep, to infinite extent. So feeble were his spirits and so low, And changed so that no man might know His speech, nor his voice, that they heard.

And briefly, was so turned upside-down In body and disposition, foot to crown, Of this woeful lover, Sir Arcita Why write all day about his discomposure? When he had endured two years or so Of this cruel torment, this pain and woe, At Thebes, in his own country, as I said, Upon a night, asleep, and in his bed, He thought he saw the winged god Mercury Standing before him, bidding him be merry.

His wand of sleep he bore in hand upright; A cap he wore upon his hair bright. And right away it came into his mind That, since his face was so disfigured From the sickness that he had endured, He might well if he kept a humble tone Live in Athens evermore unknown, And see his lady well nigh every day.

And so at once he changed his array, And clad himself as does a labourer; And all alone, save only for a squire That knew his secrets and his cause, And was disguised as humbly as he was, To Athens is he gone the quickest way. And to the court he went upon a day, And at the gate offered his services, To drudge and draw, whatever men thought best.

And briefly of this matter to explain, He started work for a chamberlain, The which was dwelling there with Emily, For he was wise and swiftly could espy The worth of every servant caught his eye. Arcita could hew wood well and water bear, For young and strong, appropriately grown, He was tall too, and mighty in the bone Fit for whatever any could devise.

A year or two he laboured in this wise, Page of the chamber of Emily the bright, And Philostrate he named himself aright. And half so well-beloved a man as he There never was at court, of his degree. He was so noble in his low condition That throughout the court ran his renown. And thus in a while his name had sprung To every lip, for deeds and courteous tongue, So that Theseus advanced him higher And of his chamber made him a squire, And gave him gold to maintain his degree.

And men too brought him from his own country Year by year, and secretly, his rent. And secretly and honestly was it spent, That no man wondered at what he had. And three years in this wise this life he led, And bore him so in peace and in war, There was no man Theseus liked more. In that dark and horribly strong prison, This seven-year has lived our Palamon, Pining away in sorrow and distress.

Who feels a double grief and heaviness But Palamon whom love tortures so That he is almost maddened by his woe? And moreover he is a prisoner Perpetually, and not just for a year. Who could rhyme in English properly His martyrdom?

Truly, it is not I! Therefore I pass on lightly as I may. It fell that in the seventh year, of May The third night as the old books say That tell this story in a fuller way , Whether by chance or by destiny — As when a thing happens it must be — That soon after midnight, Palamon Helped by a friend, broke from the prison, And fled the city as fast as he could go.

Thus Palamon flees as fast as ever he may. The night was short and it was near to day, So of necessity he must him hide. And into a grove there close beside With fearful foot stalked our Palamon. For, briefly, it was his opinion That in the grove he might hide all day, And then in the night be on his way Towards Thebes, his friends there to pray To arm themselves and Theseus to assail.

And, briefly, either he would lose his life, Or win Emily to be his wife. This is the gist and his intention plain. Now will I turn to Arcita again, Who little knew how soon he must prepare For fate, till Fortune caught him in her snare. The busy lark, the messenger of day, Salutes, with song, the morning grey, And fiery Phoebus rises up so bright That all the Orient laughs with light, And with his rays falling on the trees Dries the silver droplets on the leaves.

And Arcita, that in the court so royal Of Theseus is a squire, the principal, Has risen, and regards the cheerful day, And to offer his observances to May, Remembering the object of his desire, He on a courser, quivering like fire, Rides out into the fields in play, Our of the court, a mile or two away; And towards the grove of which I told By chance his intention did unfold To make a garland such as one weaves Either of hawthorn or of woodbine leaves.

He had no way to know it was Arcita; God knows he would have thought it any other! Little, Arcita knew of his friend in hiding So near to him he could hear him singing, For among the bushes he sat, perfectly still.

When of roaming Arcita has had his fill, And has sung all his roundel gaily, Into a reverie he falls suddenly, As these lovers do, with their strange desires — Now in the tree-tops, now among the briars, Now up, now down, like a bucket in a well; Just like a Friday, if truth be to tell, Shining one moment, and then raining fast.

Seldom are Friday and other days alike. When Arcita had sung, he began to sigh, And sat himself down as if forlorn. Of his lineage am I, and his offspring, By true line, and of the blood royal.

And now I am so slavish and in thrall That he that is my mortal enemy I serve him as his squire, all humbly. Alas, you cruel Mars, alas Juno! Thus has your anger shorn our lineage so, Save only me and wretched Palamon, Whom Theseus martyrs in his prison.

After all this, to slay me utterly, Love has his fiery dart so burningly Thrust through my true sorrowful heart, That my death was shaped from the start. Emily, you have slain me with your eye!

You are the reason that I have to die. Now Palamon, who thought that through his heart He felt a cold sword suddenly glide, Shook with anger; no longer would he hide. You will be killed, or else kill me; You shall not have my lady Emily, I alone will love her, no other so. For I am Palamon, your, mortal foe, And though I have no weapon in this place, But out of prison am escaped by grace, I doubt not you will be slain by me, Or else forgo the love of Emily.

Choose as you will, you shall not depart! For I defy the pledge, and the bond Which you say I have made with thee. Fool that you are, bethink you, love is free, And I will love her, despite all your might!

But inasmuch as you are a noble knight, And willing to lay claim to her in battle, Hear my word: tomorrow I will not fail, For, without telling any man this night, Here then I will be found, a true knight, And I will bring armour enough for thee, Choose you the best, and leave the worst for me. And meat and drink this night will bring, Enough for you, and clothes for bedding.

And if so happen that you my lady win And slay me in this wood that I am in, Then is the lady yours, if so it be. O Cupid, lacking in all charity! O power that will share no sovereignty! Truly is it said that love and lordship Will not willingly brook fellowship; Well known to Arcita and Palemon.

Arcita rode away towards the town; And on the morrow, in the dawning light, Two suits of armour readied for the fight, Both sufficient and fitting to maintain The battle in the field between the twain.

And on his horse, alone, as he was born, He bore the weight of armour in the dawn. And in the grove, at time and place as set, This Arcita and Palamon were met. Without fail he must die, or death for me; For either I must slay him in this gap, Or he slays me if I should meet mishap. Like two wild boars that fiercely smite, Frothing white with foam in angry mood; Up to the ankles they fought in blood. And in this guise I leaving them fighting well, And once again of Theseus I will tell.

Destiny, that Minister-General, Who executes on earth, over all, The Providence that God saw long before, Has such power that though all men swore The contrary of a thing by yea or nay, Yet there will come to pass upon a day What will not happen in a thousand years.

Clear was the day, as I have told ere this, And Theseus, full of joy and bliss With his Hippolyta, the fair queen, And Emily, clothed all in green, Off to the hunt went riding royally. And to the grove that stood close nearby, In which there was a stag, so it was told, Duke Theseus the nearest way he rode, And to the clearing made his way outright, For thither the stag would take his flight, And over a brook, and so forth on his way.

And when the Duke reached the open land, Under the sun he gazed, and at once Was aware of Arcita and Palamon, Fighting like a pair of bulls, they go. The bright swords flickered to and fro, So hideously, that the slightest stroke Seemed powerful enough to fell an oak. But who they were, he could not know. No more, punishment be on your heads! By mighty Mars, he shall soon be dead That smites one stroke that I shall see. But tell me what kind of men you be, Who are so bold to combat here Without a judge or other officer, As if you were in the lists, royally.

Death we have deserved, both we two. Two woeful wretches we, two captives, That are burdened by our lives; And as you are our rightful lord and judge, Then show us neither mercy nor refuge; But slay me first, for holy charity! Then slay my fellow too, as well as me — Or slay him first; though you do not know This is Arcita, this your mortal foe, Banished from your land, be it on his head, For which alone he deserves to be dead.

For this is he who came to your gate, And said that he was named Philostrate. So has he deceived you many a year, Yet you have made him your chief squire. For since my death-day is come to me, I make fully my confession That I am that woeful Palamon That broke from your prison wickedly.

I am your mortal foe, and it is I Who love with passion Emily the bright, That I would die this instant in her sight. Therefore I ask for judgement and to die.

But slay my fellow in the same wise, For we have both deserved to be slain. Your own mouth, by your own confession, Has condemned you, so I shall record. There is no need for torture with the cord! You shall die, by mighty Mars the red! That lord has little true discretion That twixt cases makes no distinction, But weighs pride and humility as one. How mighty and how great a lord, I say! Against his might there stand no obstacles. He may be called a god by his miracles, For he can make, as seems good in his eyes, Of every heart whatever he might devise.

Lo, here is this Arcita, this Palamon, That had their freedom from my prison, And might have lived in Thebes royally, And know I am their mortal enemy, And that their death lies in my power too, And yet has Love, despite their eyes two, Brought them both hither for to die!

Be they not well arrayed? Thus has their lord, the God of Love, repaid With such fees, their service that he buys! But here is yet the best game of all, That she for whom they play this lunacy, Has no more cause to thank them than me!

She knows no more of all this hot affair, By God, than does a cuckoo or a hare! But all must be attempted, hot or cold; A man must play the fool, young or old. I know it of myself, in years now gone, For in my time a servant I made one. And you at once shall both to me swear Never to harm my country, nor to war Against me, whether by night or day, But being friends to me, in all you may, I forgive you this trespass that befell.

That one of you, regardless of joy or grief, Must go play tunes upon an ivy-leaf. That is to say, she cannot now have both, However jealous you be, or wrath. My will is this, to bring all to conclusion, Without any kind of protestation — If you agree, accept it for the best: Each of you go where fate suggests, Freely without ransom or danger, And this day fifty weeks, no later, Each of you shall bring a hundred knights, Armed for the lists, prepared to fight, Ready to lay claim to her in battle.

And this I promise you, without fail, Upon my truth, and as I am a knight, That whichever of you both has might — That is to say whether him or thou — May with his hundred, that I spoke of now, Slay his foe, or from the lists him drive, Then shall he have Emily to wife To whom Fortune gave so fair a grace. The tourney I will hold in this place; And God have mercy on my soul too If I am not a fair judge and true!

No other agreement shall we make then But that one of you be dead or taken. And if you think this all well said, Be you content, and bow your head. This is your end and your conclusion. Who leaps up for joy but Arcita? Who could tell or who could write here, The joy that is revealed in that place, Where Theseus has shown so fair a grace? But down on their knees fell all in sight, And thanked him with all their heart and might, And especially the Thebans time on time.

Part Three I know men would deem it negligence If I forgot to tell of the expense To Theseus, who goes so busily To construct the lists royally, That such a noble theatre it was, I dare well say, as this world has.

The circuit a mile was about, Walled with stone and ditched without. Its shape was round, in manner of a compass, Tier on tier, the height of sixty paces, So that when a man was in his seat The fellow sat above him still could see. Eastward there stood a gate of marble white; Westward another opposite upright. And briefly to conclude, such a place Was never on earth in so small a space. For in the land was never a craftsman No geometer, or arithmetician, No painter or carver of images, That Theseus gave not meat and wages To create his theatre and devise, And to observe his rite and sacrifice, Eastward he had upon the gate above, To worship Venus, Goddess of love, Made an altar and an oratory; And on the westward gate in memory Of Mars, had made such another, That cost a heap of gold, moreover.

For in truth, all the Mount of Cithaeron, Where Venus has her principal dwelling, Was shown on the wall in the painting, With all her garden and its joyfulness. The statue of Venus glorious to see, Was naked, floating in the open sea, And from the navel down all covered was With waves green and bright as any glass. A cithern in her right hand held she, And on her head, full seemly for to see, A rose garland, fresh and sweet smelling; Above her head her doves flickering.

Before her stood her son Cupid too, Upon his shoulders wings had he two, And blind he was, as is often seen; A bow he held and arrows bright and keen. Why should I not as well tell you all The portraiture appearing on the wall Within the temple of mighty Mars the red? All painted was the wall in length and breadth, Like the recesses of that grisly place They call the great temple of Mars in Thrace, In that cold and frosty region Where Mars has his sovereign mansion.

First on the wall was painted a forest, In which there dwells nor man nor beast, With knotty gnarled barren trees old, Jagged stumps, and hideous to behold, Through which there ran a roaring and a sigh As if bough-breaking winds were passing by. And down beneath a hilly grassed descent, There stood the temple of Mars omnipotent In war, wrought all of burnished steel, the gate Was ghastly for to see, and long and straight.

And from it came a blast of wind, a quake That made all the portal seem to shake. The door was all of adamant eterne, Riveted crosswise and along With iron tough, and to make it strong, Every pillar, to sustain the shrine Thick as a barrel, of iron bright and fine.

There saw I first the dark imagining Of felony, and all its deep conspiring; Cruel Anger, glowing fierce and red, The pick-purse, and after him pale Dread; The smiler with the knife under his cloak; The cattle-shed burning in black smoke; Treason, and the murdering in bed; Open war with wounds that sadly bled; Contest with bloody knife and sharp Menace; All filled with creaking was that sorry place. In the midst of the temple sat Mischance, With comfortless and sorry countenance.

The corpse in the bushes, with cut throat; A thousand slain, and not by plague I note; The tyrant with his prey by force bereft; The town destroyed — there was nothing left. Yet saw I burnt the dancing ships, and there The hunter choked to death by wild bears; The sow gnawing the child in the cradle; The cook all scalded spite of his long ladle.

And all above, depicted on a tower, Saw I Conquest, seated in great honour, With the sharp sword above his head Hanging by a fine and subtle thread. Depicted was the slaughter of Julius, Of Nero and Marcus Antonius; Though in those days they were still unborn, Yet was their death depicted long before, By menacing Mars in stars yet to configure.

So was it shown there in that portraiture, As is revealed in the heavens above, Who shall be slain, or else die of love. Let one example do from stories old; I cannot reckon all that might be told.

The statue of Mars upon a chariot stood, Armed and grim, as he were mad enough, And over his head there shone two figures Of Geomancy, named in sundry scriptures The one Puella, the other Rubeus. This god of weapons was arrayed thus: A wolf there stood before him at his feet, With red eyes, and of a man he ate. With subtle pencil was drawn all the story In reverence to Mars and his glory. Now to the temple of Diana chaste As swiftly as I can I will make haste, To give you all of the description.

Painted were the walls, up and down, With hunting and shame-faced chastity. There saw I how sad Callisto came to be, When Diana was aggrieved with her, Transformed from a woman to a bear, And after turned into the polar stars.

Thus was it painted; I can tell no more. There I saw Actaeon a stag created, In punishment for seeing Diane naked. I saw how his hounds Actaeon caught, And devoured him when they knew him not. Yet painted further on, a little more, How Atalanta hunted the wild boar, And Meleager, and many a man also, For which Diana wrought him care and woe. There saw I many a wondrous story, Which I care not to recall to memory.

This goddess high on a stag did sit, With slender hounds all about her feet, And underneath her feet there was a moon; Waxing it was and would be waning soon. In yellow-green her statue clothed was, With bow in hand, and arrows in a case, Her eyes, as she rode, she cast down, To where Pluto has his dark region. Now the lists were made, and Theseus Who at his great cost had created thus The temples and the theatre, as I tell, When it was done, liked it wondrous well.

And assuredly it seemed to many a man That never, since the world itself began, In respect of fighting hand to hand, As wide as God had made the sea and land, Never so few made such true company.

For every fellow that loved chivalry, And wished for more than a passing name, Prayed he also might be of the game, And fortunate for him that chosen was. For if today there befell such a case, You well know that every splendid knight That loves his paramour, and is fit to fight, Were it in England or indeed elsewhere, He would be glad and eager to be there. To fight for a lady, Benedicite! And so indeed it fared with Palamon. With him went there knights many a one: Some chose to be armed in coats of mail, Worn with a breastplate and a surcoat frail, While some their suits of plate armour filled, And some chose bucklers or a Prussian shield, Some wanted armour on their legs as well Wielding an axe, and some a mace of steel.

There is no fashion new that is not old! Armed they were indeed as I have told, Every man after his own opinion. There might you have seen with Palamon, Lycurgus himself, the great King of Thrace. Black was his beard and manly was his face. The circles of the eyes set in his head, Glowed between a yellow and a red, And like a griffon he gazed round about, With shaggy hair on his bushy brows. And as the custom was in his country High on a chariot of gold stood he, With four white bulls in the traces.

Instead of coat-armour over his harness, Yellow with nails and bright as any gold, He had a bear-skin, old and black as coal. A wreath of gold, thick, and of great weight, Upon his head sat, full of stones bright, Of fine rubies and of diamonds. About his chariot ran snow-white hounds, Twenty or more, as big as any steer, To chase after lions or the deer, And followed him with muzzles tightly bound, Collared in gold, with leash-rings around.

A hundred lords had he in his rout, Fully armed, with hearts both stern and stout. With Arcita, in story as men find, The great Emetrius, the King of Inde, On a bay steed, with trappings of steel, And cloth of golden weave, haunch to heel, Came Mars, like the god of weaponry His surcoat was of cloth of Tartary, Adorned with pearls, white, round and bold. His saddle of pure freshly-beaten gold, A short mantle on his shoulder hanging, Dense with rubies red, like fire sparkling.

His crisp hair in clustered ringlets done, And that was yellow, glittering like the sun. Aquiline nose, his ochreous eyes glowing, His lips were full, his colour was sanguine. Some scattered freckles on his face, too Betwixt black and yellow in their hue, And like a lion he cast his gaze around. His beard had made a good beginning; His voice was like a trumpet thundering.

Upon his head he wore, of laurel green, A garland fresh and pleasant to be seen. Upon his hand he bore for his delight An eagle tame, as any lily white. A hundred lords he had with him there, Armoured, save their heads, in all their gear, Full richly in every manner of things. For be assured, that dukes, earls, kings, Were gathered in that noble company, For love and in support of chivalry.

About this king there ran on every side Many a lion and leopard in their pride. For though it be that Mars is god of arms, Your power is so great in heaven above, That if you wish it, I shall have my love.

At your temple I will worship evermore so, And on your altars, wherever I ride or go, I will make sacrifice, light fires at their feet. And if you will not so, my lady sweet, Then pray I that tomorrow with a spear This Arcita may through my heart pierce. Then care I not, when I have lost my life, That Arcita may win her as his wife. This is the aim and end of my prayer: Give me my love, you blessed lady dear!

Yet at the last the statue of Venus shook And gave a sign, from which event he took Heart that his prayer accepted was that day. For though the sign revealed some delay, Yet well he knew that granted was his boon, And with glad heart he went him home full soon. The maidens that she thither with her led, Were all prepared for fires to be fed, Took incense, hangings, and the rest, all That to sacrificial rites may fall, Horns full of mead, as was the custom wise; They lacked naught to make their sacrifice, The temple incense-filled, the hangings fair.

If a man means well who then should care; Rather it is good to wander everywhere. Her bright hair was combed, un-plaited all; Of Turkey-oak a green coronal Upon her head was placed, fair and fit. Two fires on the altar-hearth she set, And made her rite, as men are told By Statius, of Thebes, and books of old. Chaste goddess, well you know of me That I wish to live a maid all my life, Never will I be lover fond, or wife.

I am, you know, still of your company, A maid, and love hunting and archery, And to wander in the woodland wild, Not to be made a wife and be with child. Nor would I know the company of man. Now help me lady, since you may and can, By those three forms of you that in you be, And Palamon, who has such love of me, And Arcita too, who loves me sore.

And if so be you will not grant me grace, Or if my destiny be shaped, and you, Rule I must yet have one of the two, Then send me him that most desires me. Behold, goddess of sacred chastity, The bitter tears that down my cheeks fall!

Since you are maid and leader of us all, My maidenhood protect and well conserve And while I live, as maid I will you serve. For all at once one of the fires died, And quickened again, and then anon The other fire quenched and was gone.

Seeing this Emily was so terrified That she, well nigh mad, began to cry; For she knew not what it signified, But only out of fear had she cried, And wept so it was pitiful to hear. Among the gods on high it is affirmed, And by eternal writ it is confirmed, You shall be wedded to one of those That suffer for you such pain and woe; But unto which of them I may not tell.

I can remain no longer, fare you well. I place myself under your protection Diana, and I yield to your direction. This the conclusion: and no more to say. The next hour of Mars following this, Arcita to the temple paid a visit, To fiery Mars, to make his sacrifice, With all the rites meet to pagan eyes.

If it be victory my youth deserve, And if my strength be worthy to serve Your godhead, and I be one of thine, Then I pray you, pity this pain of mine, For this suffering and this hot fire In which you once burned with desire, When you once enjoyed the beauty Of fair young Venus fresh and free, And took her in your arms at will — Though once upon a time it brought you ill, When Vulcan caught you in his snare And found you lying with his wife there, By all the sorrow that was in your heart, Have pity now on my pain and smart.

And well I know, before her love I win, I must gain her by strength in this place; And well I know, without help or grace Of yours my strength nothing will avail. Then help me, lord, let my arm not fail, Because of the fire that once burnt thee, As fiercely as this fire that now burns me, And let me tomorrow win the victory.

Mine let the effort be, and yours the glory! Your sovereign temple will I honour Above all places, and evermore labour In your might arts, and at your pleasure. And in your temple I will hang my banner, And all the emblems of my company; And till the day I die, continually Eternal fire before you I will mind.

Now, lord, have pity on my sorrows sore; Give me the victory! I ask no more! The rings on the temple door ere long, And then the doors, rattled too at last, At all of which Arcita stood aghast. The fires burned on the altar bright, So that all the temple they did light.

Saturn soon, to quell the strife a bit, Although it is against his nature mind, For all this strife sought remedy to find. Mine is the drenching in the sea so wan; Mine is the dark cell deep as is the moat; Mine the strangling, hanging by the throat, The murmurings, and the serfs rebelling, The muttering, and secret poisoning. I do vengeance and exact correction While I am in the sign of the Lion. Mine is the ruin of the lofty hall, The falling of the tower and the wall Upon the miner or the carpenter.

Now weep no more; by my diligence This Palamon, who is your own knight, Shall have his lady as you swore he might. Though Mars shall help his knight, nonetheless Betwixt you two there must in time be peace, Though you be not of one disposition; Which causes every day this division.

I am your grandfather, ready to do your will. Weep now no more; I will your wish fulfil. And because they needed all to arise At an early hour to view the great fight, Unto their rest they went that night. And in the dawn, when day began to spring, Of horse and harness noise and rattling There was in all the hostelries around. And to the palace rode there, with the sound, Hosts of lords, mounted on steeds and palfreys. Where work was needed, no man was idle.

The foaming steeds at golden bridle Gnawing, and armourers swift also With file and hammer pricking to and fro. Yeomen on foot, commoners in a throng, With short staves, all crowding there along; Pipes, trumpets, kettle-drums, clarions, That in the battle blow warlike songs; The palace full of people up and down, Here three, there ten, throwing it around, The matter of these Theban knights two.

Thus was the hall filled with speculating, Long after the sun had begun to spring. The great Theseus, from sleep awaking With the minstrelsy and noise they were making, Was yet in the chamber of his palace rich, Till the Theban knights, honoured each The same, were into the palace led.

Duke Theseus was at a window set, Arrayed as a god seated on a throne. The people pressed thither and right soon To see him, and do him high reverence, And then to hear both his command and sentence.

Wherefore to guarantee that none shall die, He will his former purpose modify. No man, therefore, on pain of his life, No kind of missile, pole-axe or short knife, Shall to the lists send or thither bring, No short sword, with point for biting, Shall any man draw, or bear at his side.

Nor shall a man with his opponent ride More than one course with sharp ground spear; But fence, if he wish, on foot himself to spare. And he that is defeated they shall take, Not slain, but brought to the upright stake That shall be set up by either side. And taken there by force, shall there abide.

God speed you; go forth, lay on fast. With long sword and maces fight your fill! When Theseus had taken his high seat, With Hippolyta the Queen, and Emily, And other ladies in their ranks around, Towards the seats pressed the crowd, And westward through the gates under Mars, Arcita and his hundred men of war, With banner red has entered at once, And at the selfsame moment Palamon Beneath Venus eastward, to that place, With banner white and bold of face. And in two fair ranks they began to mass.

There men see who can joust and who can ride; There shafts shiver on the shields thick; One through his midriff feels the prick. Up spring the spears twenty feet on high; Out sweep the swords, as silver bright. The helms they hew to pieces, cut to shreds; Out bursts the blood in stern streams red. With mighty maces the bones they smash; One through the thickest of the throng has passed.

One through the body is hurt, him they take, Despite his struggles, drag him to the stake; As was agreed, and there he must abide. Another is laid there on the other side.

And sometimes Theseus decrees a rest To drink if they wish, and be refreshed. Often this day have those Thebans two Met together, and hurt their enemy too; Each of the twain has unhorsed the other. On their helmets bite the jealous strokes; Out runs the blood, both their sides bleed.

Sometime an end there is of every deed; For ere the sun had gone unto his rest, The strong King Emetrius did arrest Palamon as with Arcita he did fight, And made his sword deep in his flesh to bite, And twenty men with all their strength take Him without surrendering, to the stake. But all for naught; he was dragged to the stake. Who sorrows now but woeful Palamon, Who can no more go in again and fight?

No more, for it is done! I will be true judge, no partisan Theban Arcita shall have his Emily, Whom, by his fate, he has fairly won. A knyght ther was, and that a worthy man,. Agayn another hethen in turkye. Page With hym ther was his sone, a yong squier,. A yeman hadde he and servantz namo.

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