Chapter 4

That with his wisdam and his chivalrie,He conquered al the regne of Femynye,kingdom, AmazonsThat whilom was i-cleped Cithea;once, calledAnd wedded the fresshe quene Ipolita,[76]freshAnd brought her hoom with him to his contre,countryWith mochel glorie and gret solempnite;much, solemnityAnd eek hire yonge suster Emelye.also, sisterAnd thus with victorie and with melodyemusicLete I this noble duk to Athenes ryde,dukeAnd al his ost, in armes him biside.armsWhat with his wisdom and his chivalryThe kingdom of the Amazons won he,That was of old time naméd Scythia,And wedded the fresh Queen Ipolita,And brought her to his own land sumptuously,With pomp and glory, and great festivity;And also her young sister Emelye.And thus with victory and with melodieLet I this noble duke to Athens ride,And all his glittering hosts on either side.

And, certainly, if it were not too long to listen to, I would have told you fully how the kingdom of the Amazons was won by Theseus and his host. And of the great battle there was for the time between Athens and the Amazons; and how Ipolita—the fair, hardy queen of Scythia—was besieged; and about the feast that was held at the wedding of Theseus and Ipolita, and about the tempest at their home-coming. But all this I must cut short.

I have, God wot, a large feeld to ere;ploughAnd wayke ben the oxen in my plough.weakI have, God knows, a full wide field to sow,And feeble be the oxen in my plough.

I will not hinder anybody in the company. Let every one tell his story in turn, and let us see now who shall win the supper!

I will describe to you what happened as Theseus was bringing home his bride to Athens.

This duk, of whom I make mencioun,Whan he was comen almost unto the toun,comeIn al his wele and in his moste pryde,prosperityHe was war, as he cast his eyghe aside,awareWher that ther knelede in the hye weyekneeledA compagnye of ladies, tweye and tweye,twoEch after other, clad in clothes blake;each, blackBut such a cry and such a woo they make,woeThat in this world nys creature lyvynge,That herde such another weymentynge,And of that cry ne wolde they never stenten,ceaseTil they the reynes of his bridel henten.caughtWhat folk be ye that at myn hom comyngePertourben so my feste[77]with cryinge?perturbQuod Theseus; Have ye so gret envyeOf myn honour, that thus compleyne and crie?Or who hath yow misboden or offendid?injuredAnd telleth me, if it may ben amendid;And why that ye ben clad thus al in blak?blackThe oldest lady of hem alle spak....themThis duke aforesaid, of deserved renown,When he had almost come into the townIn all his splendour and in all his pride,Perceivéd, as he cast his eyes aside,A company of ladies, in a row,Were kneeling in the highway—two by two,Each behind each, clad all in black array;But such an outcry of lament made they,That in this world there is no living thingThat e’er heard such another outcrying;Nor would they cease to wail and to complainTill they had caught him by his bridle-rein.“What folk are ye who at my home-comingPerturb my festival with murmuring,”Quoth Theseus. “Or do you envy meMine honour that ye wail so woefully?Or who hath injured you, or who offended?Tell me, if haply it may be amended,And why are all of you in black arrayed?”The oldest lady of them all then said—

“Lord, to whom fortune has given victory, and to live ever as a conqueror, we do not grudge your glory[78]and honour, but we have come to implore your pity and help. Have mercy on us in our grief. There is not one of us that has not been a queen or duchess; now we are beggars, and you can help us if you will.

“I was wife to King Capaneus, who died at Thebes[79]: and all of us who kneel and weep have lost our husbands there during a siege; and now Creon, who is king of Thebes, has piled together these dead bodies, and will not suffer them to be either burned or buried.”

And with these words all the ladies wept more piteously than ever, and prayed Theseus to have compassion on their great sorrow.

The kind duke descended from his horse, full of commiseration for the poor ladies. He thought his heart would break with pity when he saw them so sorrowful and dejected, who had been lately of so noble a rank.

He raised them all, and comforted them, and swore an oath that as he was a true knight, he would avenge them on the tyrant king of Thebes in such a fashion that all the people of Greece should be able to tell how Theseus served Creon!

The duke sent his royal bride and her young sister Emelye on to the town of Athens, whilst hedisplayed his banner, marshalled his men, and rode forth towards Thebes. For himself, till he had accomplished this duty, he would not enter Athens, nor take his ease for one half-day therein.

The duke’s white banner bore the red statue of Mars upon it; and by his banner waved his pennon, which had the monster Minotaur (slain by Theseus in Greece) beaten into it in gold. Thus rode this duke—thus rode this conqueror and all his host—the flower of chivalry—till he came to Thebes.

To make matters short, Theseus fought with the King of Thebes, and slew him manly as a knight in fair battle, and routed his whole army. Then he destroyed the city, and gave up to the sorrowful ladies the bones of their husbands, to burn honourably after their fashion.

When the worthy duke had slain Creon and taken the city, he remained all night in the field. During the pillage which followed, it happened that two young knights were found still alive, lying in their rich armour, though grievously wounded. By their coat-armour[80]the heralds knew they were of the blood-royal of Thebes; two cousins, the sons of two sisters. Their names were Palamon and Arcite.

These two knights were carried as captives to Theseus’ tent, and he sent them off to Athens, where they were to be imprisoned for life; no ransom would he take.

Then the duke went back to Athens crowned with laurel, where he lived in joy and in honour all his days, while Palamon and Arcite were shut up in a strong tower full of anguish and misery, beyond all reach of help.

Thus several years passed.

This passeth yeer by yeer, and day by day,Till it fel oones in a morwe of MaymorningThat Emelye, that fairer was to seeneseeThan is the lilie on hire stalkes grene,And fresscher than the May with floures newe—flowersFor with the rose colour strof hire hewe,strove, hueI n’ot which was the fayrere of hem two—Er it were day as sche was wont to do,Sche was arisen, and al redy dight;dressedFor May wole han no sloggardye a nyght.slothThe sesoun priketh every gentil herte,And maketh him out of his sleepe sterte,And seith, Arys, and do thin observaunce.[81]arise, thineThis maked Emelye han remembraunceTo don honour to May, and for to ryse.doI-clothed was sche fressh for to devyse.[82]clothedHire yolwe heer was browdid in a tresse,yellowByhynde hire bak, a yerde long I gesse.And in the gardyn at the sonne upristeSche walketh up and doun wher as hire liste.pleasedSche gadereth floures, party whyte and reede,To make a sotil gerland[83]for hire heede,And as an aungel hevenly sche song.Thus passeth year by year, and day by day,Till it fell once upon a morn of MayThat Emelye—more beauteous to be seenThan is the lily on his stalk of green,And fresher than the May with flowers new(For with the rose’s colour strove her hueI know not which was fairer of the two)Early she rose as she was wont to do,All ready robed before the day was bright;For May time will not suffer sloth at night;The season pricketh every gentle heart,And maketh him out of his sleep to start,And saith, Rise up, salute the birth of spring!And therefore Emelye, rememberingTo pay respect to May, rose speedily:Attired she was all fresh and carefully,Her yellow hair was braided in a tressBehind her back, a full yard long, I guess,And in the garden as the sun uproseShe wandered up and down where as she chose.She gathereth flowers, partly white and red,To make a cunning garland for her head,And as an angel heavenly she sang.

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FAIR EMELYE GATHERING FLOWERS.

‘The fairnesse of the lady that I seeYonde in the gardyn romynge to and fro.’

The great tower, so thick and strong, in which these two knights were imprisoned, was close-joined to the wall of the garden.

Bright was the sun, and clear, that morning, as Palamon, by leave of his jailor, had risen, and was roaming about in an upper chamber, from which he could see the whole noble city of Athens, and also the garden, full of green boughs, just where fresh Emelye was walking.

This sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon, kept pacing to and fro in this chamber, wishing he had never been born; and it happened by chance that through the window, square and barred with iron, he cast his eyes on Emelye.

He started and cried out aloud, “Ah!” as though he were stricken to the heart.

And with that cry Arcite sprang up, saying, “Dear cousin, what ails you? You are quite pale and deathly. Why did you cry out? For God’s love be patient with this prison life since it cannot be altered. What is Heaven’s will we must endure.”

Palamon answered, “Cousin, it is not that—not this dungeon made me cry out—but I was smitten right now through the eye into my heart. The fairness of a lady that I see yonder in the garden, roaming to and fro, made me cry out. I know not whether she be woman or goddess: but I think it is Venus herself!”

And he fell down on his knees and cried, “Venus, if it be thy will thus to transfigure thyself in the garden, help us to escape out of the tower.”

Then Arcite looked forth and saw this lady roaming to and fro, and her beauty touched him so deeply that he said, sighing, “The fresh beauty of her will slay me. And if I cannot gain her mercy, I am but dead, and there is an end.”

But Palamon turned furiously on him, and said, “Do you say that in earnest or in play?”

“Nay,” cried Arcite, “in earnest by my faith—God help me, I am in no mood for play.”

“It were no great honour to thee,” cried Palamon, “to be false and a traitor to me, who am thy cousin and thy brother, sworn as we are both, to help and not hinder one another, in all things till death part us. And now you would falsely try to take my lady from me, whom I love and serve, and ever shall till my heart break. Now, certainly, false Arcite, you shall not do it. I loved her first, and told thee, and thou art bound as a knight to help me, or thou art false!”

But Arcite answered proudly, “Thou shalt be rather false than I—and thouartfalse, I tell thee,utterly! For I loved her with real love before you did. You did not know whether she were woman or goddess. Yours is a religious feeling, and mine is love as to a mortal; which I told you as my cousin, and my sworn brother. And even if youhadloved her first, what matters it? A man loves because he can’t help it, not because he wishes. Besides, you will never gain her grace more than I, for both of us are life-long captives. It is like the dogs who fought all day over a bone; and while they were fighting over it, a kite came and carried it off.”

Long the two knights quarrelled and disputed about the lady who was out of their reach. But you shall see what came to pass.

There was a duke called Perithous, who had been fellow and brother in arms[84]of Duke Theseus since both were children, and he came to Athens to visit Theseus. These two dukes were very great friends: so much so that they loved no one so much as each other.

Now, Duke Perithous had known Arcite at Thebes, years before, and liked him, and he begged Theseus to let Arcite out of prison.

Theseus consented, but only on the condition that Arcite should quit Athens; and that he should lose his head, were he ever found there again.

So Arcite became a free man, but he was banished the kingdom.

How unhappy then Arcite was! He felt that he was worse off than ever. “Oh, how I wish I had never known Perithous!” cried he. “Far rather would I be back in Theseus’ prison, forthenI could see the beautiful lady I love.”

O dere cosyn Palamon, quod he,Thyn is the victorie of this aventure,thine, chanceFul blisfully in prisoun maistow dure;may’st thou endureIn prisoun? certes nay, but in paradys!Wel hath fortune y-torned the the dys.thee“O my dear cousin, Palamon,” cried he,“In this ill hap the gain is on thy side.Thou blissful in thy prison may’st abide!In prison? truly nay—but in paradise!Kindly toward thee hath fortune turn’d the dice.”

So Arcite mourned ever, because he was far away from Athens where the beautiful lady dwelt, and was always thinking that perhaps Palamon would get pardoned, and marry the lady, while he would never see her any more.

But Palamon, on the other hand, was so unhappy when his companion was taken away, that he wept till the great tower resounded, and his very fetters were wet with his tears.

“Alas, my dear cousin,” he sighed, “the fruit of all our strife is thine!—You walk free in Thebes, and think little enough of my woe, I daresay. You will perhaps gather a great army and make war on this country, and get the beautiful lady to wife whom I love so much! while I die by inches in my cage.”

And with that his jealousy started up like a fire within him, so that he was nigh mad, and pale as ashes. “O cruel gods!” he cried, “that govern the world with your eternal laws, how is man better than a sheep lying in the fold? For, like any other beast, man dies, or lives in prison, or is sick, or unfortunate, and often is quite guiltless all the while. And when a beast is dead, it has no pain further; but man may suffer after death, as well as in this world.”

Now I will leave Palamon, and tell you more of Arcite.

Arcite, in Thebes, fell into such excessive sorrow for the loss of the beautiful lady that there never was a creature so sad before or since. He ceased to eat and drink, and sleep, and grew as thin and dry as an arrow. His eyes were hollow and dreadful to behold, and he lived always alone, mourning and lamenting night and day. He was so changed that no one could recognize his voice nor his look. Altogether he was the saddest picture of a man that ever was seen—except Palamon.

One night he had a dream. He dreamed that the winged god Mercury stood before him, bidding him be merry; and commanded him to go to Athens, where all his misery should end.

Arcite sprang up, and said, “I will go straight to Athens. Nor will I spare to see my lady through fear of death—in her presence I am ready even to die!”

He caught up a looking-glass, and saw how altered his face was, so that no one would know him. And lie suddenly bethought him that now he was so disfigured with his grief, he might go and dwell in Athens without being recognized, and see his lady nearly every day.

He dressed himself as a poor labourer, and accompanied only by a humble squire, who knew all he had suffered, he hastened to Athens.

He went to the court of Theseus, and offered his services at the gate to drudge and draw, or do any menial work that could be given him. Well could he hew wood and carry water, for he was young and very strong. Now, it happened that the chamberlain of fair Emelye’s house took Arcite into his service.

Thus Arcite became page of the chamber of Emelye the bright, and he called himself Philostrate.

Never was man so well thought of!—he was so gentle of condition that he became known throughout the court. People said it would be but right if Theseus promoted this Philostrate, and placed him in a rank which would better display his talents and virtues.

At last Theseus raised him to be squire of his chamber, and gave him plenty of gold to keep up his degree. Moreover, his own private rent was secretly brought to him from Thebes year by year. But he spent it so cunningly that no one suspected him. In this crafty way Arcite lived a long time very happily, and bore himself so nobly both in peace and war that there was no man in the land dearer to Theseus.

Now we will go back to Palamon.

Poor Palamon had been for seven years in his terrible prison, and was quite wasted away with misery. There was not the slightest chance of getting out; and his great love made him frantic. At last, however, one May night some pitying friend helped him to give his jailor a drink which sent him into a deep sleep: so that Palamon made his escape from the tower. He fled from the city as fast as ever he could go, and hid himself in a grove; meaning afterwards to go by night secretly to Thebes, and beg all his friends to aid him to make war on Theseus. And then he would soon either die or get Emelye to wife.

Now wol I torn unto Arcite agayn,turnThat litel wiste how nyh that was his care,know, nearTil that fortune hadde brought him in the snare.The busy larke, messager of day,Salueth in hire song the morwe gray;salutethAnd fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte,That al the orient laugheth of the lighte,And with his stremes dryeth in the grevesrays, grovesThe silver dropes, hongyng on the leeves.leavesAnd Arcite, that is in the court ryalroyal[85]With Theseus, his squyer principal,squireIs risen, and loketh on the merye day.And for to doon his observaunce to May,do, ceremonyRemembryng on the poynt of his desir,He on his courser, stertyng as the fir,starting, fireIs riden into the feeldes him to pleyefields, playOut of the court, were it a myle or tweye.And to the grove of which that I yow tolde,youBy aventure his wey he gan to holde,chance, beganTo maken him a garland of the greves,makeWere it of woodebynde or hawethorn leves,leavesAnd lowde he song ayens the sonne scheene:sang, againstO May,[86]with al thy floures and thy greene,Welcome be thou, wel faire freissche May!I hope that I som grene gete may.some, may getAnd fro his courser, with a lusty herte,heartInto the grove ful hastily he sterte,startedAnd in a pathe he romed up and doun,roamedTher as by aventure this Palamounwhere, chanceWas in a busche, that no man might him see,For sore afered of his deth was he.afraid, deathNothing ne knew he that it was Arcite:God wot he wolde han trowed it ful lite.knows, guessed, littleFor soth is seyd, goon sithen many yeres,truly, gone, sinceThat feld hath eyen, and the woode hath eeres.eyes, earsNow will I tell you of Arcite again,Who little guess’d how nigh him was his careUntil his fortune brought him in the snare.The busy lark, the messenger of day,Saluteth in her song the morning grey;And fiery Phœbus riseth up so bright,That all the orient laugheth for the light;And in the woods he drieth with his raysThe silvery drops that hang along the sprays.Arcite—unknown, yet ever waxing higherIn Theseus’ royal court, now chiefest squire—Is risen, and looketh on the merry day:And, fain to offer homage unto May,He, mindful of the point of his desire,Upon his courser leapeth, swift as fire,And rideth to keep joyous holidayOut in the fields, a mile or two away.And, as it chanced, he made towards the grove,All thick with leaves, whereof I spake above,Eager to weave a garland with a sprayOf woodbine, or the blossoms of the may.And loud against the sunshine sweet he sings,“O May, with all thy flowers and thy green things,Right welcome be thou, fairest, freshest May!Yield me of all thy tender green to-day!”Then from his courser merrily he sprang,And plunged into the thicket as he sang;Till in a path he chanced to make his wayNigh to where Palamon in secret lay.Sore frighted for his life was Palamon:But Arcite pass’d, unknowing and unknown;And neither guess’d his brother was hard by;But Arcite knew not any man was nigh.So was it said of old, how faithfully,‘The woods have ears, the empty field can see.’

A man should be prudent, even when he fancies himself safest: for oftentimes come unlooked-for meetings. And little enough thought Arcite that his sworn brother from the tower was at hand, sitting as still as a mouse while he sang.

Whan that Arcite hadde romed al his fill,And songen al the roundel lustily,Into a studie he fel sodeynly,reverieAs don thes loveres in here queynte geeres,curious fashionsNow in the croppe,[87]now doun in the breres,briarsNow up, now doun, as boket in a welle.Now when Arcite long time had roam’d his fill,And sung all through the rondel lustily,He fell into dejection suddenly,As lovers in their strange way often do,Now in the clouds and now in abject wo,Now up, now down, as bucket in a well.

He sat down and began to make a kind of song of lamentation. “Alas,” he cried, “the day that I was born! How long, O Juno, wilt thou oppress Thebes? All her royal blood is brought to confusion. I myself am of royal lineage, and yet now I am so wretched and brought so low, that I have become slave and squire to my mortal foe. Even my own proud name of Arcite I dare not bear, but pass by the worthless one of Philostrate! Ah, Mars and Juno, save me, and wretched Palamon, martyred by Theseus in prison! For all my pains are for my love’s sake, and Emelye, whom I will serve all my days.”

Ye slen me with youre eyen, Emelye;Ye ben the cause wherfore that I dye:beOf al the remenant of myn other careremnantNe sette I nought the mountaunce of a tare,amountSo that I couthe don aught to youre pleasaunce!were able to“You slay me with your eyes, O Emelye!You are the cause wherefore I daily die.For, ah, the worth of all my other woesIs not as e’en the poorest weed that grows,So that I might do aught to pleasure you!”

Palamon, hearing this, felt as though a cold sword glided through his heart. He was so angry that he flung himself forth like a madman upon Arcite:—

And seyde: False[88]Arcyte—false traitour wikke,wickedNow 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,counselAs I ful ofte have told the heere byforn,before nowAnd hast byjaped here duke Theseus,trickedAnd falsly chaunged hast thy name thus;I wol be deed, or elles thou schalt dye.dead, elseThou schalt not love my lady Emelye,But I wil love hire oonly and no mo;moreFor I am Palamon, thy mortal fo.foeAnd though that I no wepne have in this place,weaponBut out of prisoun am astert by grace,escapedI drede not, that outher thou schalt dye,fearOr thou ne schalt not loven Emelye.Ches which thou wilt, for thou schalt not asterte.escapeThis Arcite, with ful dispitous herte,thereWhan he him knew, and hadde his tale herde,As fers as a lyoun, pulleth out a swerde,fierceAnd seide thus: By God that sitteth above,Nere it that thou art sike and wood for love,were it notAnd eek that thou no wepne hast in this place,alsoThou schuldest nevere out of this grove pace,stepThat thou ne schuldest deyen of myn hond.dieFor I defye the seurté and the bonddefyWhich that thou seyst that I have maad to the;sayestWhat, verray fool, thenk wel that love is fre!And I wol love hire mawgré al thy might.In spite ofBut, for thou art a gentil perfight knight,becauseAnd wilnest to dereyne hire by batayle,art willingHave heere my trouthe, to morwe I nyl not fayle,pledgeWithouten wityng of eny other wight,without knowledgeThat heer I wol be founden as a knight,will, foundAnd bryngen harneys[89]right inough for the;And ches the best, and lef the worst for me.And mete and drynke this night wil I bryngeInough for the, and clothes for thy beddynge.And if so be that thou my lady wynne,winAnd sle me in this wode, ther I am inne,woodThou maist wel have thy lady as for me.This Palamon answerde, I graunt it the.Crying, “False, wicked traitor! false Arcite!Now art thou caught, that lov’st my lady so,For whom I suffer all this pain and wo!Yet art my blood—bound to me by thy vow,As I have told thee oftentimes ere now—And hast so long befool’d Duke TheseusAnd falsely hid thy name and nurture thus!For all this falseness thou or I must die.Thou shalt not love my lady Emelye—But I will love her and no man but I,For I am Palamon, thine enemy!And tho’ I am unarmed, being but nowEscap’d from out my dungeon, care not thou,For nought I dread—for either thou shalt dieNow—or thou shalt not love my Emelye.Choose as thou wilt—thou shalt not else depart.”But Arcite, with all fury in his heart,Now that he knew him and his story heard,Fierce as a lion, snatch’d he forth his sword,Saying these words: “By Him who rules above,Were’t not that thou art sick and mad for love,And hast no weapon—never should’st thou move,Living or like to live, from out this grove,But thou shouldest perish by my hand! on oathI cast thee back the bond and surety, both,Which thou pretendest I have made to thee.What? very fool! remember love is free,And I will love her maugré all thy might!But since thou art a worthy, noble knight,And willing to contest her in fair fight,Have here my troth, to-morrow, at daylight,Unknown to all, I will not fail nor fearTo meet thee as a knight in combat here,And I will bring full arms for me and thee;And choose the best, and leave the worst for me!And I will bring thee meat and drink to-night,Enough for thee, and bedding as is right:And if the victory fall unto thine hand,To slay me in this forest where I stand,Thou may’st attain thy lady-love, for me!”Then Palamon replied—“I grant it thee.”

Then these, who had once been friends, parted till the morrow.

O Cupide, out of alle charite!allO regne that wolt no felaw have with the!kingdomFul soth is seyd, that love ne lordschipetruly, norWol not, thonkes, have no felaschipe.willingly, fellowshipWel fynden that Arcite and Palamoun.findArcite is riden anon unto the tounAnd on the morwe, or it were dayes light,beforeFul prively two harneys hath he dight,preparedBothe suffisaunt and mete to darreynesufficientThe batayl in the feeld betwix hem tweyne.field, them, twoAnd on his hors alone as he was born,carriedHe caryed al this harneys him byforn;beforeAnd in the grove, at tyme and place i-sette,This Arcite and this Palamon ben mette.beTho chaungen gan here colour in here face,then, theirRight as the honter in the regne of TracekingdomThat stondeth in the gappe with a spere,Whan honted is the lyoun or the bere,And hereth him come ruschyng in the greves,grovesAnd breketh bothe the bowes and the leves,breakingAnd thenketh, Here cometh my mortel enemy,Withoute faile, he mot be deed or I;withoutFor eyther I mot slen him at the gappe,Or he moot slee me, if it me myshappe:So ferden they, in chaungyng of here hew,their hueAs fer as eyther of hem other knewe.far, themTher nas no good day, ne no saluyng;was not, salutingBut streyt withouten wordes rehersyng,Everich of hem helpeth to armen other,each, helpedAs frendly, as he were his owen brother;ownAnd thanne with here scharpe speres strongeThey foyneden ech at other wonder longe,foinedTho it semede that this Palamonthen, seemedIn his fightyng were as a wood lyoun,madAnd as a cruel tygre was Arcite:[90]As wilde boores gonne they to smyte,beganThat frothen white as fome, for ire wood,their madnessUp to the ancle faught they in here blood.[91]theirAnd in this wise I lete hem fightyng dwelle;And forth I wol of Theseus yow telle.youO god of love, that hast no charity!O realm, that wilt not bear a rival nigh!Truly ’tis said, that love and lordship ne’erWill be contented only with a share.Arcite and Palamon have found it so.Arcite is ridden soon the town unto:And, on the morrow, ere the sun was high,Two harness hath he brought forth privily,Meet and sufficing for the lonely fightOut in the battle-field mid daisies white.And riding onward solitarilyAll this good armour on his horse bore he:And at the time and place which they had setEre long Arcite and Palamon are met.To change began the colour of each face—Ev’n as the hunter’s, in the land of Thrace,When at a gap he standeth with a spear,In the wild hunt of lion or of bear,And heareth him come rushing through the wood,Crashing the branches in his madden’d mood,And think’th, “Here com’th my mortal enemy,Now without fail or he or I must die;For either I must slay him at the gap,Or he must slay me if there be mishap.”So fared the knights so far as either knew,When, seeing each, each deepen’d in his hue.There was no greeting—there was no ‘Good day,’But mute, without a single word, straightwayEach one in arming turn’d to help the other,As like a friend as though he were his brother.And after that, with lances sharp and strong,They dash’d upon each other—lief and long.You might have fancied that this Palamon,Fighting so blindly, were a mad liòn,And like a cruel tiger was Arcite.As two wild boars did they together smite,That froth as white as foam for rage—they stoodAnd fought until their feet were red with blood.Thus far awhile I leave them to their fight.And now what Theseus did I will recite.

Then something happened that neither of them expected.

It was a bright clear day, and Theseus, hunting with his fair queen Ipolita, and Emelye, clothed all in green, came riding by after the hart, with all the dogs around them; and as they followed the hart, suddenly Theseus looked out of the dazzle of the sun, and saw Arcite and Palamon in sharp fight, like two bulls for fury. The bright swords flashed to and fro so hideously that it seemed as though their smallest blows would fell an oak. But the duke knew not who they were that fought.[92]

Theseus smote his spurs into his horse, and galloped in between the knights, and, drawing his sword,cried, “Ho![93]No more, on pain of death! By mighty Mars, he dies who strikes a blow in my presence!” Then Theseus asked them what manner of men they were, who dared to fight there, without judge or witness, as though it were in royal lists?[94]

You may imagine the two men turning on Theseus, breathless and bloody with fight, weary with anger, and their vengeance still unslaked.

This Palamon answerde hastily,And seyde: Sire, what nedeth wordes mo?needWe han the deth deserved bothe tuo.twoTuo woful wrecches ben we, tuo kaytyveswretches, captivesThat ben encombred of oure owne lyves,encumbered byAnd as thou art a rightful lord and jugeNe yeve us neyther mercy ne refuge.give us notAnd sle me first, for seynte charite;holyBut sle my felaw eek as wel as me.alsoOr sle him first; for, though thou know him lyte,littleThis is thy mortal fo, this is Arcite,That fro thy lond is banyscht on his heedFor which he hath i-served to be deed.deservedFor this is he that come to thi gateAnd seyde, that he highte Philostrate.was namedThus hath he japed the ful many a yer,befooledAnd thou hast maad of him thy cheef squyer.madeAnd this is he that loveth Emelye.For sith the day is come that I schal dye,I make pleynly my confessioun,That I am thilke woful Palamoun,thatThat hath thy prisoun broke wikkedly.wickedlyI am thy mortal foo, and it am IThat loveth so hoote Emelye the brighte,That I wol dye present in hire sighte.Therfore I aske deeth and my juwyse;sentenceBut slee my felaw in the same wyse,slayFor bothe we have served to be slayn.This worthy duk answerde anon agayn,And seyde: This is a schort conclusioun:Your owne mouth, by your confessioun,ownHath dampned you bothe, and I wil it recorde.condemnedIt needeth nought to pyne yow with the corde.[95]Ye schul be deed by mighty Mars the reede!deadAnd Palamon made answer hastily,And said—“O Sire, why should we waste more breath?For both of us deserve to die the death.Two wretched creatures are we, glad to dieTired of our lives, tired of our misery—And as thou art a rightful lord and judgeSo give us neither mercy nor refùge!And slay me first, for holy charity—But slay my fellow too as well as me!—Or slay him first, for though thou little know,This is Arcite—this is thy mortal foe,Who from thy land was banished on his head,For which he richly merits to be dead!Yea, this is he who came unto thy gate,And told thee that his name was Philostrate—Thus year by year hath he defied thine ire—And thou appointest him thy chiefest squire—And this is he who loveth Emelye!“For since the day is come when I shall die,Thus plain I make confession, and I ownI am that miserable PalamonWho have thy prison broken wilfully!I am thy mortal foe,—and it is IWho love so madly Emelye the bright,That I would die this moment in her sight!Therefore I ask death and my doom to-day—But slay my fellow in the selfsame way:—For we have both deservëd to be slain.”And angrily the duke replied again,“There is no need to judge you any more,Your own mouth, by confession, o’er and o’erCondemns you, and I will the words record.There is no need to pain you with the cord.Ye both shall die, by mighty Mars the red!”

Then the queen, ‘for verray wommanhede,’ began to weep, and so did Emelye, and all the ladies present. It seemed pitiful that two brave men, both of high lineage, should come to such an end, and only for loving a lady so faithfully. All the ladies prayed Theseus to have mercy on them, and pardon the knights for their sakes. They knelt at his feet, weeping and entreating him—

And wold have kist his feet ther as he stood,Till atte laste aslaked was his mood;For pite renneth sone in gentil herte,runnethAnd though he first for ire quok and sterte,shookHe hath considerd shortly in a clauseThe trespas of hem bothe, and eek the cause:And although that his ire hire gylt accusede,theirYet in his resoun he hem bothe excusede.themAnd would have kissed his feet there as he stood,Until at last appeasëd was his mood,For pity springeth soon in gentle heart.And though he first for rage did quake and start,He hath considered briefly in the pauseThe greatness of their crime, and, too, its cause;And while his passion had their guilt accused,Yet now his calmer reason both excused.

Everybody had sympathy for those who were in love;[96]and Theseus’ heart ‘had compassion of women, for they wept ever in on’ (continually).

So the kindly duke softened, and said to all the crowd good-humouredly, “What a mighty and great lord is the god of love!”

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