The Knight's Tale, Part One, ll. 1-496 (The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer)

From The Canterbury Tales:
The Knight's Tale

Heere bigynneth the Knyghtes Tale

	Whilom, as olde stories tellen us,
	Ther was a duc that highte Theseus;
	Of Atthenes he was lord and governour,
	And in his tyme swich a conquerour,
5	That gretter was ther noon under the sonne.
	Ful many a riche contree hadde he wonne,
	What with his wysdom and his chivalrie;
	He conquered al the regne of Femenye,
	That whilom was ycleped Scithia,
10	And weddede the queene Ypolita,
	And broghte hir hoom with hym in his contree,
	With muchel glorie and greet solempnytee,
	And eek hir yonge suster Emelye.
	And thus with victorie and with melodye
15	Lete I this noble duc to Atthenes ryde,
	And al his hoost, in armes hym bisyde.

	And certes, if it nere to long to heere,
	I wolde have toold yow fully the manere
	How wonnen was the regne of Femenye
20	By Theseus, and by his chivalrye,
	And of the grete bataille for the nones
	Bitwixen Atthenes and Amazones,
	And how asseged was Ypolita
	The faire hardy queene of Scithia,
25	And of the feste that was at hir weddynge,
	And of the tempest at hir hoom-comynge;
	But al the thyng I moot as now forbere,
	I have, God woot, a large feeld to ere,
	And wayke been the oxen in my plough,
30	The remenant of the tale is long ynough.
	I wol nat letten eek noon of this route,
	Lat every felawe telle his tale aboute,
	And lat se now who shal the soper wynne;-
	And ther I lefte, I wol ayeyn bigynne.

35	This duc of whom I make mencioun,
	Whan he was come almoost unto the toun,
	In al his wele and in his mooste pride,
	He was war, as he caste his eye aside,
	Where that ther kneled in the hye weye
40	A compaignye of ladyes, tweye and tweye,
	Ech after oother, clad in clothes blake;
	But swich a cry and swich a wo they make,
	That in this world nys creature lyvynge
	That herde swich another waymentynge;
45	And of this cry they nolde nevere stenten,
	Til they the reynes of his brydel henten.

	"What folk been ye, that at myn hom-comynge
	Perturben so my feste with criynge?"
	Quod Theseus. "Have ye so greet envye
50	Of myn honour, that thus compleyne and crye?
	Or who hath yow mysboden or offended?
	And telleth me if it may been amended,
	And why that ye been clothed thus in blak?"

	The eldeste lady of hem alle spak-
55	Whan she hadde swowned with a deedly cheere,
	That it was routhe for to seen and heere-
	And seyde, "Lord, to whom Fortune hath yiven
	Victorie, and as a conqueror to lyven,
	Nat greveth us youre glorie and youre honour,
60	But we biseken mercy and socour.
	Have mercy on oure wo and oure distresse,
	Som drope of pitee thurgh thy gentillesse
	Upon us wrecched wommen lat thou falle;
	For certes, lord, ther is noon of us alle,
65	That she ne hath been a duchesse or a queene.
	Now be we caytyves, as it is wel seene,
	Thanked be Fortune, and hir false wheel,
	That noon estaat assureth to be weel.
	And certes, lord, to abyden youre presence,
70	Heere in the temple of the goddesse Clemence
	We han ben waitynge al this fourtenyght;
	Now help us, lord, sith it is in thy myght!

	I wrecche, which that wepe and waille thus,
	Was whilom wyf to kyng Cappaneus,
75	That starf at Thebes -cursed be that day!-
	And alle we that been in this array
	And maken al this lamentacioun,
	We losten alle oure housbondes at that toun,
	Whil that the seege theraboute lay.
80	And yet now the olde Creon, weylaway!
	That lord is now of Thebes the Citee,
	Fulfild of ire and of iniquitee,
	He, for despit and for his tirannye,
	To do the dede bodyes vileynye,
85	Of alle oure lordes, whiche that been slawe,
	Hath alle the bodyes on an heep ydrawe,
	And wol nat suffren hem, by noon assent,
	Neither to been yburyed nor ybrent,
	But maketh houndes ete hem in despit."

90	And with that word, withouten moore respit,
	They fillen gruf, and criden pitously,
	"Have on us wrecched wommen som mercy
	And lat oure sorwe synken in thyn herte."

	This gentil duc doun from his courser sterte
95	With herte pitous, whan he herde hem speke;
	Hym thoughte that his herte wolde breke,
	Whan he saugh hem so pitous and so maat,
	That whilom weren of so greet estaat.
	And in his armes he hem alle up hente,
100	And hem conforteth in ful good entente,
	And swoor his ooth, as he was trewe knyght,
	He wolde doon so ferforthly his myght
	Upon the tiraunt Creon hem to wreke,
	That all the peple of Grece sholde speke
105	How Creon was of Theseus yserved,
	As he that hadde his deeth ful wel deserved.
	And right anoon, withouten moore abood,
	His baner he desplayeth, and forth rood
	To Thebes-ward, and al his hoost biside,
110	No neer Atthenes wolde he go ne ride,
	Ne take his ese fully half a day,
	But onward on his wey that nyght he lay,
	And sente anon Ypolita the queene,
	And Emelye, hir yonge suster sheene,
115	Unto the toun of Atthenes to dwelle,
	And forth he rit; ther is namoore to telle.

	The rede statue of Mars, with spere and targe,
	So shyneth, in his white baner large,
	That alle the feeldes gliteren up and doun,
120	And by his baner gorn is his penoun
	Of gold ful riche, in which ther was ybete
	The Mynotaur which that he slough in Crete.
	Thus rit this duc, thus rit this conquerour,
	And in his hoost of chivalrie the flour,
125	Til that he cam to Thebes, and alighte
	Faire in a feeld, ther as he thoughte to fighte.
	But shortly for to speken of this thyng,
	With Creon, which that was of Thebes kyng,
	He faught, and slough hym manly as a knyght
130	In pleyn bataille, and putte the folk to flyght;
	And by assaut he wan the citee after,
	And rente adoun bothe wall, and sparre, and rafter.
	And to the ladyes he sestored agayn
	The bones of hir freendes that weren slayn,
135	To doon obsequies as was tho the gyse.
	But it were al to longe for to devyse
	The grete clamour and the waymentynge
	That the ladyes made at the brennynge
	Of the bodies, and the grete honour
140	That Theseus, the noble conquerour,
	Dooth to the ladyes, whan they from hym wente;
	But shortly for to telle is myn entente.

	Whan that his worthy duc, this Theseus,
	Hath Creon slayn, and wonne Thebes thus,
145	Stille in that feeld he took al nyght his reste,
	And dide with al the contree as hym leste.

	To ransake in the taas of bodyes dede,
	Hem for to strepe of harneys and of wede,
	The pilours diden bisynesse and cure,
150	After the bataille and disconfiture;
	And so bifel, that in the taas they founde
	Thurgh-girt with many a grevous blody wounde,
	Two yonge knyghtes liggynge by and by,
	Bothe in oon armes, wroght ful richely,
155	Of whiche two Arcita highte that oon,
	And that oother knyght highte Palamon.
	Nat fully quyke, ne fully dede they were,
	But by here cote-armures and by hir gere,
	The heraudes knewe hem best in special
160	As they that weren of the blood roial
	Of Thebes, and of sustren two yborn.
	Out of the taas the pilours han hem torn,
	And had hem caried softe unto the tente
	Of Theseus, and he ful soone hem sente
165	To Atthenes to dwellen in prisoun
	Perpetuelly, he nolde no raunsoun.
	And whan this worthy duc hath thus ydon,
	He took his hoost, and hoom he rit anon,
	With laurer crowned, as a conquerour;
170	And ther he lyveth in joye and in honour
	Terme of his lyve; what nedeth wordes mo?
	And in a tour, in angwissh and in wo,
	Dwellen this Palamon and eek Arcite
	For evermoore, ther may no gold hem quite.

175	This passeth yeer by yeer, and day by day,
	Till it fil ones, in a morwe of May,
	That Emelye, that fairer was to sene
	Than is the lylie upon his stalke grene,
	And fressher than the May with floures newe-
180	For with the rose colour stroof hir hewe,
	I noot which was the fairer of hem two-
	Er it were day, as was hir wone to do,
	She was arisen, and al redy dight-
	For May wole have no slogardie a-nyght;
185	The sesoun priketh every gentil herte,
	And maketh hym out of his slepe to sterte,
	And seith, "Arys and do thyn observaunce."
	This maked Emelye have remembraunce
	To doon honour to May, and for to ryse.
190	Yclothed was she fressh, for to devyse,
	Hir yelow heer was broyded in a tresse,
	Bihynde hir bak, a yerde long, I gesse,
	And in the gardyn, at the sonne upriste,
	She walketh up and doun, and as hir liste
195	She gadereth floures, party white and rede,
	To make a subtil gerland for hir hede,
	And as an aungel hevenysshly she soong.
	The grete tour, that was so thikke and stroong,
	Which of the castel was the chief dongeoun,
200	(Ther as the knyghtes weren in prisoun,
	Of whiche I tolde yow, and tellen shal)
	Was evene joynant to the gardyn wal
	Ther as this Emelye hadde hir pleyynge.
	Bright was the sonne, and cleer that morwenynge,
205	And Palamoun, this woful prisoner,
	As was his wone, by leve of his gayler,
	Was risen, and romed in a chambre on heigh,
	In which he al the noble citee seigh,
	And eek the gardyn, ful of braunches grene,
210	Ther as this fresshe Emelye the shene
	Was in hire walk, and romed up and doun.
	This sorweful prisoner, this Palamoun,
	Goth in the chambre romynge to and fro,
	And to hym-self compleynynge of his wo.
215	That he was born, ful ofte he seyde, "allas!"
	And so bifel, by aventure or cas,
	That thurgh a wyndow, thikke of many a barre
	Of iren greet, and square as any sparre,
	He cast his eye upon Emelya,
220	And therwithal he bleynte, and cryede "A!"
	As though he stongen were unto the herte.
	And with that cry Arcite anon up sterte
	And seyde, "Cosyn myn, what eyleth thee,
	That art so pale and deedly on to see?
225	Why cridestow? who hath thee doon offence?
	For Goddess love, taak al in pacience
	Oure prisoun, for it may noon oother be;
	Fortune hath yeven us this adversitee.
	Som wikke aspect or disposicioun
230	Of Saturne, by sum constellacioun
	Hath yeven us this, al though we hadde it sworn;
	So stood the hevene, whan that we were born.
	We moste endure it, this the short and playn."

	This Palamon answerde and seyde agayn:
235	"Cosyn, for sothe, of this opinioun
	Thow hast a veyn ymaginacioun.
	This prison caused me nat for to crye,
	But I was hurt right now thurgh-out myn ye
	Into myn herte, that wol my bane be.
240	The fairnesse of that lady, that I see
	Yond in the gardyn romen to and fro,
	Is cause of al my criyng and my wo.
	I noot wher she be womman or goddesse,
	But Venus is it, soothly as I gesse."
245	And therwithal, on knees doun he fil,
	And seyde, "Venus, if it be thy wil,
	Yow in this gardyn thus to transfigure
	Bifore me, sorweful wrecched creature,
	Out of this prisoun helpe that we may scapen!
250	And if so be my destynee be shapen
	By eterne word to dyen in prisoun,
	Of oure lynage have som compassioun,
	That is so lowe ybroght by tirannye."
	And with that word Arcite gan espye
255	Wher-as this lady romed to and fro,
	And with that sighte hir beautee hurte hym so,
	That, if that Palamon was wounded sore,
	Arcite is hurt as moche as he, or moore.
	And with a sigh he seyde pitously:
260	"The fresshe beautee sleeth me sodeynly
	Of hire, that rometh in the yonder place,
	And but I have hir mercy and hir grace
	That I may seen hir atte leeste weye,
	I nam but deed, ther is namoore to seye."

265	This Palamon, whan he tho wordes herde,
	Dispitously he looked and answerde,
	"Wheither seistow this in ernest or in pley?"

	"Nay," quod Arcite, "in ernest by my fey,
	God helpe me so, me list ful yvele pleye."
270	This Palamon gan knytte his browes tweye;
	"It nere," quod he, "to thee no greet honour
	For to be fals, ne for to be traitour
	To me, that am thy cosyn and thy brother,
	Ysworn ful depe, and ech of us til oother,
275	That nevere for to dyen in the peyne,
	Til that the deeth departe shal us tweyne,
	Neither of us in love to hyndre other,
	Ne in noon oother cas, my leeve brother,
	But that thou sholdest trewely forthren me
280	In every cas, as I shal forthren thee, -
	This was thyn ooth, and myn also certeyn,
	I woot right wel thou darst it nat withseyn.
	Thus artow of my conseil, out of doute;
	And now thou woldest falsly been aboute
285	To love my lady, whom I love and serve
	And evere shal, til that myn herte sterve.
	Nay, certes, false Arcite, thow shalt nat so!
	I loved hire first, and tolde thee my wo
	As to my conseil, and to my brother sworn,
290	To forthre me as I have toold biforn,
	For which thou art ybounden as a knyght
	To helpen me, if it lay in thy myght,
	Or elles artow fals, I dar wel seyn."

	This Arcite ful proudly spak ageyn,
295	"Thow shalt," quod he, "be rather fals than I.
	But thou art fals, I telle thee outrely,
	For paramour I loved hir first er thow.
	What, wiltow seyn thou wistest nat yet now
	Wheither she be a womman or goddesse?
300	Thyn is affeccioun of hoolynesse,
	And myn is love, as to a creature;
	For which I tolde thee myn aventure
	As to my cosyn and my brother sworn.
	I pose, that thow lovedest hir biforn;
305	Wostow nat wel the olde clerkes sawe
	That `who shal yeve a lovere any lawe?'
	Love is a gretter lawe, by my pan,
	Than may be yeve of any erthely man.
	And therfore positif lawe and swich decree
310	Is broken al day for love in ech degree.
	A man moot nedes love, maugree his heed,
	He may nat fleen it, thogh he sholde be deed,
	Al be she mayde, or wydwe, or elles wyf.
	And eek it is nat likly, al thy lyf,
315	To stonden in hir grace, namoore shal I,
	For wel thou woost thyselven, verraily,
	That thou and I be dampned to prisoun
	Perpetuelly, us gayneth no raunsoun.
	We stryven as dide the houndes for the boon,
320	They foughte al day, and yet hir part was noon.
	Ther cam a kyte, whil they weren so wrothe,
	And baar awey the boon bitwixe hem bothe.
	And therfore at the kynges court, my brother,
	Ech man for hymself, ther is noon oother.
325	Love if thee list, for I love, and ay shal;
	And soothly, leeve brother, this is al.
	Heere in this prisoun moote we endure,
	And everich of us take his aventure."

	Greet was the strif and long bitwix hem tweye,
330	If that I hadde leyser for to seye.
	But to th'effect; it happed on a day,
	To telle it yow as shortly as I may,
	A worthy duc, that highte Perotheus,
	That felawe was unto duc Theseus
335	Syn thilke day that they were children lite,
	Was come to Atthenes his felawe to visite,
	And for to pleye as he was wont to do-
	For in this world he loved no man so,
	And he loved hym als tendrely agayn.
340	So wel they lovede, as olde bookes sayn,
	That whan that oon was deed, soothly to telle,
	His felawe wente and soughte hym doun in helle.
	But of that storie list me nat to write;
	Duc Perotheus loved wel Arcite,
345	And hadde hym knowe at Thebes yeer by yere,
	And finally, at requeste and preyere
	Of Perotheus, withouten any raunsoun,
	Duc Theseus hym leet out of prisoun
	Frely to goon, wher that hym liste overal,
350	In swich a gyse as I you tellen shal.

	This was the forward, pleynly for t'endite,
	Bitwixen Theseus and hym Arcite,
	That if so were that Arcite were yfounde
	Evere in his lif, by day or nyght or stounde,
355	In any contree of this Theseus,
	And he were caught, it was acorded thus,
	That with a swerd he sholde lese his heed;
	Ther nas noon oother remedie ne reed,
	But taketh his leve and homward he him spedde;
360	Lat hym be war! His nekke lith to wedde!

	How greet a sorwe suffreth now Arcite!
	The deeth he feeleth thurgh his herte smyte,
	He wepeth, wayleth, crieth pitously,
	To sleen hymself he waiteth prively.
365	He seyde, "Allas, that day that he was born!
	Now is my prisoun worse than biforn;
	Now is me shape eternally to dwelle
	Nat in purgatorie, but in helle.
	Allas, that evere knew I Perotheus!
370	For elles hadde I dwelled with Theseus,
	Yfetered in his prisoun evermo;
	Thanne hadde I been in blisse, and nat in wo.
	Oonly the sighte of hire whom that I serve,
	Though that I nevere hir grace may deserve,
375	Wolde han suffised right ynough for me.
	O deere cosyn Palamon," quod he,
	"Thyn is the victorie of this aventure.
	Ful blisfully in prison maistow dure.-
	In prisoun? certes, nay, but in paradys!
380	Wel hath Fortune yturned thee the dys,
	That hast the sighte of hir, and I th'absence;
	For possible is, syn thou hast hir presence,
	And art a knyght, a worthy and an able,
	That by som cas, syn Fortune is chaungeable,
385	Thow maist to thy desir som tyme atteyne.
	But I, that am exiled and bareyne
	Of alle grace, and in so greet dispeir
	That ther nys erthe, water, fir, ne eir,
	Ne creature, that of hem maked is,
390	That may me helpe or doon confort in this,
	Wel oughte I sterve in wanhope and distresse,
	Farwel, my lif, my lust, and my gladnesse!

	Allas, why pleynen folk so in commune
	On purveiaunce of God or of Fortune,
395	That yeveth hem ful ofte in many a gyse
	Wel bettre than they kan hemself devyse?
	Som man desireth for to han richesse,
	That cause is of his mordre of greet siknesse.
	And som man wolde out of his prisoun fayn,
400	That in his hous is of his meynee slayn.
	Infinite harmes been in this mateere,
	We witen nat what thing we preyen heere.
	We faren as he that dronke is as a mous;
	A dronke man woot wel he hath an hous,
405	But he noot which the righte wey is thider,
	And to a dronke man the wey is slider.
	And certes, in this world so faren we;
	We seken faste after felicitee,
	But we goon wrong ful often trewely.
410	Thus may we seyen alle, and namely I,
	That wende and hadde a greet opinioun
	That if I myghte escapen from prisoun,
	Thanne hadde I been in joye and perfit heele,
	Ther now I am exiled fro my wele.
415	Syn that I may nat seen you, Emelye,
	I nam but deed, ther nys no remedye."

	Upon that oother syde, Palamon,
	Whan that he wiste Arcite was agon,
	Swich sorwe he maketh that the grete tour
420	Resouneth of his youlyng and clamour.
	The pure fettres on his shynes grete
	Weren of his bittre salte teeres wete.
	"Allas," quod he, "Arcite, cosyn myn!
	Of al oure strif, God woot, the fruyt is thyn.
425	Thow walkest now in Thebes at thy large,
	And of my wo thow yevest litel charge.
	Thou mayst, syn thou hast wysdom and manhede,
	Assemblen alle the folk of oure kynrede,
	And make a werre so sharp on this citee,
430	That by som aventure, or som tretee,
	Thow mayst have hir to lady and to wyf,
	For whom that I moste nedes lese my lyf.
	For as by wey of possibilitee,
	Sith thou art at thy large, of prisoun free,
435	And art a lord, greet is thyn avauntage
	Moore than is myn, that sterve here in a cage.
	For I moot wepe and wayle, whil I lyve,
	With al the wo that prison may me yeve,
	And eek with peyne that love me yeveth also,
440	That doubleth al my torment and my wo."
	Therwith the fyr of jalousie up-sterte
	Withinne his brest, and hente him by the herte
	So woodly, that he lyk was to biholde
	The boxtree, or the asshen dede and colde.

445	Thanne seyde he, "O cruel Goddes, that governe
	This world with byndyng of youre word eterne,
	And writen in the table of atthamaunt
	Youre parlement and youre eterne graunt,
	What is mankynde moore unto you holde
450	Than is the sheep that rouketh in the folde?
	For slayn is man right as another beest,
	And dwelleth eek in prison and arreest,
	And hath siknesse, and greet adversitee,
	And ofte tymes giltelees, pardee.

455	What governance is in this prescience
	That giltelees tormenteth innocence?
	And yet encresseth this al my penaunce,
	That man is bounden to his observaunce,
	For Goddes sake, to letten of his wille,
460	Ther as a beest may al his lust fulfille.
	And whan a beest is deed, he hath no peyne,
	But man after his deeth moot wepe and pleyne,
	Though in this world he have care and wo.
	Withouten doute it may stonden so.
465	The answere of this lete I to dyvynys,
	But well I woot, that in this world greet pyne ys.
	Allas, I se a serpent or a theef,
	That many a trewe man hath doon mescheef,
	Goon at his large, and where hym list may turne!
470	But I moot been in prisoun thurgh Saturne,
	And eek thurgh Juno, jalous and eek wood,
	That hath destroyed wel ny al the blood
	Of Thebes with hise waste walles wyde.
	And Venus sleeth me on that oother syde
475	For jalousie and fere of hym Arcite."
	Now wol I stynte of Palamon a lite,
	And lete hym in his prisoun stille dwelle,
	And of Arcita forth I wol yow telle.

	The somer passeth, and the nyghtes longe
480	Encressen double wise the peynes stronge
	Bothe of the lovere and the prisoner;
	I noot which hath the wofuller mester.
	For shortly for to seyn, this Palamoun
	Perpetuelly is dampned to prisoun
485	In cheynes and in fettres to been deed,
	And Arcite is exiled upon his heed
	For evere mo as out of that contree,
	Ne nevere mo he shal his lady see.

	Yow loveres axe I now this questioun,
490	Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamoun?
	That oon may seen his lady day by day,
	But in prison he moot dwelle alway;
	That oother wher hym list may ride or go,
	But seen his lady shal he nevere mo.
495	Now demeth as yow liste ye that kan,
	For I wol telle forth, as I bigan.