The Knight’s Tale (2 of 3)
This Arcite then, with full dispiteous heart,When he him knew, and had his tale heard,As fierce as lion pulled out a swerd,And saide thus; “By God that sitt’th above,N’ere it that thou art sick, and wood for love,And eke that thou no weap’n hast in this place,Thou should’st never out of this grove pace,That thou ne shouldest dien of mine hand.For I defy the surety and the band,Which that thou sayest I have made to thee.What? very fool, think well that love is free;And I will love her maugre all thy might.But, for thou art a worthy gentle knight,And wilnest to darraine her by bataille,Have here my troth, to-morrow I will not fail,Without weeting of any other wight,That here I will be founden as a knight,And bringe harness right enough for thee;And choose the best, and leave the worst for me.And meat and drinke this night will I bringEnough for thee, and clothes for thy bedding.And if so be that thou my lady win,And slay me in this wood that I am in,Thou may’st well have thy lady as for me.”This Palamon answer’d, “I grant it thee.”And thus they be departed till the morrow,When each of them hath laid his faith to borrow.
O Cupid, out of alle charity!O Regne that wilt no fellow have with thee!Full sooth is said, that love nor lordeshipWill not, his thanks, have any fellowship.Well finden that Arcite and Palamon.Arcite is ridd anon unto the town,And on the morrow, ere it were daylight,Full privily two harness hath he dight,Both suffisant and meete to darraineThe battle in the field betwixt them twain.And on his horse, alone as he was born,He carrieth all this harness him beforn;And in the grove, at time and place y-set,This Arcite and this Palamon be met.Then change gan the colour of their face;Right as the hunter in the regne of ThraceThat standeth at a gappe with a spearWhen hunted is the lion or the bear,And heareth him come rushing in the greves,And breaking both the boughes and the leaves,Thinketh, “Here comes my mortal enemy,Withoute fail, he must be dead or I;For either I must slay him at the gap;Or he must slay me, if that me mishap:”So fared they, in changing of their hueAs far as either of them other knew.There was no good day, and no saluting,But straight, withoute wordes rehearsing,Evereach of them holp to arm the other,As friendly, as he were his owen brother.And after that, with sharpe speares strongThey foined each at other wonder long.Thou mightest weene, that this PalamonIn fighting were as a wood lion,And as a cruel tiger was Arcite:As wilde boars gan they together smite,That froth as white as foam, for ire wood.Up to the ancle fought they in their blood.And in this wise I let them fighting dwell,And forth I will of Theseus you tell.
The Destiny, minister general,That executeth in the world o’er allThe purveyance, that God hath seen beforn;So strong it is, that though the world had swornThe contrary of a thing by yea or nay,Yet some time it shall fallen on a dayThat falleth not eft in a thousand year.For certainly our appetites here,Be it of war, or peace, or hate, or love,All is this ruled by the sight above.This mean I now by mighty Theseus,That for to hunten is so desirous —And namely the greate hart in May —That in his bed there dawneth him no dayThat he n’is clad, and ready for to rideWith hunt and horn, and houndes him beside.For in his hunting hath he such delight,That it is all his joy and appetiteTo be himself the greate harte’s baneFor after Mars he serveth now Diane.Clear was the day, as I have told ere this,And Theseus, with alle joy and bliss,With his Hippolyta, the faire queen,And Emily, y-clothed all in green,On hunting be they ridden royally.And to the grove, that stood there faste by,In which there was an hart, as men him told,Duke Theseus the straighte way doth hold,And to the laund he rideth him full right,There was the hart y-wont to have his flight,And over a brook, and so forth on his way.This Duke will have a course at him or twayWith houndes, such as him lust to command.And when this Duke was come to the laund,Under the sun he looked, and anonHe was ware of Arcite and Palamon,That foughte breme, as it were bulles two.The brighte swordes wente to and froSo hideously, that with the leaste strokeIt seemed that it woulde fell an oak,But what they were, nothing yet he wote.This Duke his courser with his spurres smote,And at a start he was betwixt them two,And pulled out a sword and cried, “Ho!No more, on pain of losing of your head.By mighty Mars, he shall anon be deadThat smiteth any stroke, that I may see!But tell to me what mister men ye be,That be so hardy for to fighte hereWithoute judge or other officer,As though it were in listes royally.This Palamon answered hastily,And saide: “Sir, what needeth wordes mo’?We have the death deserved bothe two,Two woful wretches be we, and caitives,That be accumbered of our own lives,And as thou art a rightful lord and judge,So give us neither mercy nor refuge.And slay me first, for sainte charity,But slay my fellow eke as well as me.Or slay him first; for, though thou know it lite,This is thy mortal foe, this is ArciteThat from thy land is banisht on his head,For which he hath deserved to be dead.For this is he that came unto thy gateAnd saide, that he highte Philostrate.Thus hath he japed thee full many year,And thou hast made of him thy chief esquier;And this is he, that loveth Emily.For since the day is come that I shall dieI make pleinly my confession,That I am thilke woful Palamon,That hath thy prison broken wickedly.I am thy mortal foe, and it am IThat so hot loveth Emily the bright,That I would die here present in her sight.Therefore I aske death and my jewise.But slay my fellow eke in the same wise,For both we have deserved to be slain.”
This worthy Duke answer’d anon again,And said, “This is a short conclusion.Your own mouth, by your own confessionHath damned you, and I will it record;It needeth not to pain you with the cord;Ye shall be dead, by mighty Mars the Red.
The queen anon for very womanheadBegan to weep, and so did Emily,And all the ladies in the company.Great pity was it as it thought them all,That ever such a chance should befall,For gentle men they were, of great estate,And nothing but for love was this debateThey saw their bloody woundes wide and sore,And cried all at once, both less and more,“Have mercy, Lord, upon us women all.”And on their bare knees adown they fallAnd would have kissed his feet there as he stood,Till at the last aslaked was his mood(For pity runneth soon in gentle heart);And though at first for ire he quoke and startHe hath consider’d shortly in a clauseThe trespass of them both, and eke the cause:And although that his ire their guilt accusedYet in his reason he them both excused;As thus; he thoughte well that every manWill help himself in love if that he can,And eke deliver himself out of prison.Of women, for they wepten ever-in-one:And eke his hearte had compassionAnd in his gentle heart he thought anon,And soft unto himself he saide: “FieUpon a lord that will have no mercy,But be a lion both in word and deed,To them that be in repentance and dread,As well as-to a proud dispiteous manThat will maintaine what he first began.That lord hath little of discretion,That in such case can no division:But weigheth pride and humbless after one.”And shortly, when his ire is thus agone,He gan to look on them with eyen light,And spake these same wordes all on height.
“The god of love, ah! benedicite,How mighty and how great a lord is he!Against his might there gaine none obstacles,He may be called a god for his miraclesFor he can maken at his owen guiseOf every heart, as that him list devise.Lo here this Arcite, and this Palamon,That quietly were out of my prison,And might have lived in Thebes royally,And weet I am their mortal enemy,And that their death li’th in my might also,And yet hath love, maugre their eyen two,Y-brought them hither bothe for to die.Now look ye, is not this an high folly?Who may not be a fool, if but he love?Behold, for Godde’s sake that sits above,See how they bleed! be they not well array’d?Thus hath their lord, the god of love, them paidTheir wages and their fees for their service;And yet they weene for to be full wise,That serve love, for aught that may befall.But this is yet the beste game of all,That she, for whom they have this jealousy,Can them therefor as muchel thank as me.She wot no more of all this hote fare,By God, than wot a cuckoo or an hare.But all must be assayed hot or cold;A man must be a fool, or young or old;I wot it by myself full yore agone:For in my time a servant was I one.And therefore since I know of love’s pain,And wot how sore it can a man distrain,As he that oft hath been caught in his last,I you forgive wholly this trespass,At request of the queen that kneeleth here,And eke of Emily, my sister dear.And ye shall both anon unto me swear,That never more ye shall my country dereNor make war upon me night nor day,But be my friends in alle that ye may.I you forgive this trespass every deal.And they him sware his asking fair and well,And him of lordship and of mercy pray’d,And he them granted grace, and thus he said:
“To speak of royal lineage and richess,Though that she were a queen or a princess,Each of you both is worthy doubtelessTo wedde when time is; but nathelessI speak as for my sister Emily,For whom ye have this strife and jealousy,Ye wot yourselves, she may not wed the twoAt once, although ye fight for evermo:But one of you, all be him loth or lief,He must go pipe into an ivy leaf:This is to say, she may not have you both,All be ye never so jealous, nor so wroth.And therefore I you put in this degree,That each of you shall have his destinyAs him is shape; and hearken in what wiseLo hear your end of that I shall devise.My will is this, for plain conclusionWithouten any replication,If that you liketh, take it for the best,That evereach of you shall go where him lest,Freely without ransom or danger;And this day fifty weekes, farre ne nerre,Evereach of you shall bring an hundred knights,Armed for listes up at alle rightsAll ready to darraine her by bataille,And this behete I you withoute failUpon my troth, and as I am a knight,That whether of you bothe that hath might,That is to say, that whether he or thouMay with his hundred, as I spake of now,Slay his contrary, or out of listes drive,Him shall I given Emily to wive,To whom that fortune gives so fair a grace.The listes shall I make here in this place.And God so wisly on my soule rue,As I shall even judge be and true.Ye shall none other ende with me makenThan one of you shalle be dead or taken.And if you thinketh this is well y-said,Say your advice, and hold yourselves apaid.This is your end, and your conclusion.”Who looketh lightly now but Palamon?Who springeth up for joye but Arcite?Who could it tell, or who could it indite,The joye that is maked in the placeWhen Theseus hath done so fair a grace?But down on knees went every manner wight,And thanked him with all their heartes’ might,And namely these Thebans ofte sithe.And thus with good hope and with hearte blitheThey take their leave, and homeward gan they rideTo Thebes-ward, with his old walles wide.
I trow men woulde deem it negligence,If I forgot to telle the dispenceOf Theseus, that went so busilyTo maken up the listes royally,That such a noble theatre as it was,I dare well say, in all this world there n’as.The circuit a mile was about,Walled of stone, and ditched all without.Round was the shape, in manner of compass,Full of degrees, the height of sixty pasThat when a man was set on one degreeHe letted not his fellow for to see.Eastward there stood a gate of marble white,Westward right such another opposite.And, shortly to conclude, such a placeWas never on earth made in so little space,For in the land there was no craftes-man,That geometry or arsmetrike can,Nor pourtrayor, nor carver of images,That Theseus ne gave him meat and wagesThe theatre to make and to devise.And for to do his rite and sacrificeHe eastward hath upon the gate above,In worship of Venus, goddess of love,Done make an altar and an oratory;And westward, in the mind and in memoryOf Mars, he maked hath right such another,That coste largely of gold a fother.And northward, in a turret on the wall,Of alabaster white and red coralAn oratory riche for to see,In worship of Diane of chastity,Hath Theseus done work in noble wise.But yet had I forgotten to deviseThe noble carving, and the portraitures,The shape, the countenance of the figuresThat weren in there oratories three.
First in the temple of Venus may’st thou seeWrought on the wall, full piteous to behold,The broken sleepes, and the sikes cold,The sacred teares, and the waimentings,The fiery strokes of the desirings,That Love’s servants in this life endure;The oathes, that their covenants assure.Pleasance and Hope, Desire, Foolhardiness,Beauty and Youth, and Bawdry and Richess,Charms and Sorc’ry, Leasings and Flattery,Dispence, Business, and Jealousy,That wore of yellow goldes a garland,And had a cuckoo sitting on her hand,Feasts, instruments, and caroles and dances,Lust and array, and all the circumstancesOf Love, which I reckon’d and reckon shallIn order, were painted on the wall,And more than I can make of mention.For soothly all the mount of Citheron,Where Venus hath her principal dwelling,Was showed on the wall in pourtraying,With all the garden, and the lustiness.Nor was forgot the porter Idleness,Nor Narcissus the fair of yore agone,Nor yet the folly of King Solomon,Nor yet the greate strength of Hercules,Th’ enchantments of Medea and Circes,Nor of Turnus the hardy fierce courage,The rich Croesus caitif in servage.Thus may ye see, that wisdom nor richess,Beauty, nor sleight, nor strength, nor hardinessNe may with Venus holde champartie,For as her liste the world may she gie.Lo, all these folk so caught were in her lasTill they for woe full often said, Alas!Suffice these ensamples one or two,Although I could reckon a thousand mo’.
The statue of Venus, glorious to seeWas naked floating in the large sea,And from the navel down all cover’d wasWith waves green, and bright as any glass.A citole in her right hand hadde she,And on her head, full seemly for to see,A rose garland fresh, and well smelling,Above her head her doves flickeringBefore her stood her sone Cupido,Upon his shoulders winges had he two;And blind he was, as it is often seen;A bow he bare, and arrows bright and keen.
Why should I not as well eke tell you allThe portraiture, that was upon the wallWithin the temple of mighty Mars the Red?All painted was the wall in length and bredeLike to the estres of the grisly placeThat hight the great temple of Mars in Thrace,In thilke cold and frosty region,There as Mars hath his sovereign mansion.In which there dwelled neither man nor beast,With knotty gnarry barren trees oldOf stubbes sharp and hideous to behold;In which there ran a rumble and a sough,As though a storm should bursten every bough:And downward from an hill under a bentThere stood the temple of Mars Armipotent,Wrought all of burnish’d steel, of which th’ entryWas long and strait, and ghastly for to see.And thereout came a rage and such a vise,That it made all the gates for to rise.The northern light in at the doore shone,For window on the walle was there noneThrough which men mighten any light discern.The doors were all of adamant etern,Y-clenched overthwart and ende-longWith iron tough, and, for to make it strong,Every pillar the temple to sustainWas tunne-great, of iron bright and sheen.There saw I first the dark imaginingOf felony, and all the compassing;The cruel ire, as red as any glede,The picke-purse, and eke the pale dread;The smiler with the knife under the cloak,The shepen burning with the blacke smokeThe treason of the murd’ring in the bed,The open war, with woundes all be-bled;Conteke with bloody knife, and sharp menace.All full of chirking was that sorry place.The slayer of himself eke saw I there,His hearte-blood had bathed all his hair:The nail y-driven in the shode at night,The colde death, with mouth gaping upright.Amiddes of the temple sat Mischance,With discomfort and sorry countenance;Eke saw I Woodness laughing in his rage,Armed Complaint, Outhees, and fierce Outrage;The carrain in the bush, with throat y-corve,A thousand slain, and not of qualm y-storve;The tyrant, with the prey by force y-reft;The town destroy’d, that there was nothing left.Yet saw I brent the shippes hoppesteres,The hunter strangled with the wilde bears:The sow freting the child right in the cradle;The cook scalded, for all his longe ladle.Nor was forgot, by th’infortune of MartThe carter overridden with his cart;Under the wheel full low he lay adown.There were also of Mars’ division,The armourer, the bowyer, and the smith,That forgeth sharp swordes on his stith.And all above depainted in a towerSaw I Conquest, sitting in great honour,With thilke sharpe sword over his headHanging by a subtle y-twined thread.Painted the slaughter was of Julius,Of cruel Nero, and Antonius:Although at that time they were yet unborn,Yet was their death depainted there beforn,By menacing of Mars, right by figure,So was it showed in that portraiture,As is depainted in the stars above,Who shall be slain, or elles dead for love.Sufficeth one ensample in stories old,I may not reckon them all, though I wo’ld.
The statue of Mars upon a carte stoodArmed, and looked grim as he were wood,And over his head there shone two figuresOf starres, that be cleped in scriptures,That one Puella, that other Rubeus.This god of armes was arrayed thus:A wolf there stood before him at his feetWith eyen red, and of a man he eat:With subtle pencil painted was this story,In redouting of Mars and of his glory.
Now to the temple of Dian the chasteAs shortly as I can I will me haste,To telle you all the descriptioun.Depainted be the walles up and downOf hunting and of shamefast chastity.There saw I how woful Calistope,When that Dian aggrieved was with her,Was turned from a woman to a bear,And after was she made the lodestar:Thus was it painted, I can say no far;Her son is eke a star as men may see.There saw I Dane turn’d into a tree,I meane not the goddess Diane,But Peneus’ daughter, which that hight Dane.There saw I Actaeon an hart y-maked,For vengeance that he saw Dian all naked:I saw how that his houndes have him caught,And freten him, for that they knew him not.Yet painted was, a little farthermoreHow Atalanta hunted the wild boar;And Meleager, and many other mo’,For which Diana wrought them care and woe.There saw I many another wondrous story,The which me list not drawen to memory.This goddess on an hart full high was set,With smalle houndes all about her feet,And underneath her feet she had a moon,Waxing it was, and shoulde wane soon.In gaudy green her statue clothed was,With bow in hand, and arrows in a case.Her eyen caste she full low adown,Where Pluto hath his darke regioun.A woman travailing was her beforn,But, for her child so longe was unborn,Full piteously Lucina gan she call,And saide; “Help, for thou may’st best of all.”Well could he painte lifelike that it wrought;With many a florin he the hues had bought.Now be these listes made, and Theseus,That at his greate cost arrayed thusThe temples, and the theatre every deal,When it was done, him liked wonder well.
But stint I will of Theseus a lite,And speak of Palamon and of Arcite.The day approacheth of their returning,That evereach an hundred knights should bring,The battle to darraine as I you told;And to Athens, their covenant to hold,Hath ev’reach of them brought an hundred knights,Well-armed for the war at alle rights.And sickerly there trowed many a man,That never, sithen that the world began,For to speaken of knighthood of their hand,As far as God hath maked sea and land,Was, of so few, so noble a company.For every wight that loved chivalry,And would, his thankes, have a passant name,Had prayed, that he might be of that game,And well was him, that thereto chosen was.For if there fell to-morrow such a case,Ye knowe well, that every lusty knight,That loveth par amour, and hath his mightWere it in Engleland, or elleswhere,They would, their thankes, willen to be there,T’ fight for a lady; Benedicite,It were a lusty sighte for to see.And right so fared they with Palamon;With him there wente knightes many one.Some will be armed in an habergeon,And in a breast-plate, and in a gipon;And some will have a pair of plates large;And some will have a Prusse shield, or targe;Some will be armed on their legges weel;Some have an axe, and some a mace of steel.There is no newe guise, but it was old.Armed they weren, as I have you told,Evereach after his opinion.There may’st thou see coming with PalamonLicurgus himself, the great king of Thrace:Black was his beard, and manly was his face.The circles of his eyen in his headThey glowed betwixte yellow and red,And like a griffin looked he about,With kemped haires on his browes stout;His limbs were great, his brawns were hard and strong,His shoulders broad, his armes round and long.And as the guise was in his country,Full high upon a car of gold stood he,With foure white bulles in the trace.Instead of coat-armour on his harness,With yellow nails, and bright as any gold,He had a beare’s skin, coal-black for old.His long hair was y-kempt behind his back,As any raven’s feather it shone for black.A wreath of gold arm-great, of huge weight,Upon his head sate, full of stones bright,Of fine rubies and clear diamants.About his car there wente white alauns,Twenty and more, as great as any steer,To hunt the lion or the wilde bear,And follow’d him, with muzzle fast y-bound,Collars of gold, and torettes filed round.An hundred lordes had he in his routArmed full well, with heartes stern and stout.
With Arcita, in stories as men find,The great Emetrius the king of Ind,Upon a steede bay trapped in steel,Cover’d with cloth of gold diapred well,Came riding like the god of armes, Mars.His coat-armour was of a cloth of Tars,Couched with pearls white and round and greatHis saddle was of burnish’d gold new beat;A mantelet on his shoulders hanging,Bretful of rubies red, as fire sparkling.His crispe hair like ringes was y-run,And that was yellow, glittering as the sun.His nose was high, his eyen bright citrine,His lips were round, his colour was sanguine,A fewe fracknes in his face y-sprent,Betwixte yellow and black somedeal y-mentAnd as a lion he his looking castOf five and twenty year his age I castHis beard was well begunnen for to spring;His voice was as a trumpet thundering.Upon his head he wore of laurel greenA garland fresh and lusty to be seen;Upon his hand he bare, for his delight,An eagle tame, as any lily white.An hundred lordes had he with him there,All armed, save their heads, in all their gear,Full richely in alle manner things.For trust ye well, that earles, dukes, and kingsWere gather’d in this noble company,For love, and for increase of chivalry.About this king there ran on every partFull many a tame lion and leopart.And in this wise these lordes all and someBe on the Sunday to the city comeAboute prime, and in the town alight.
This Theseus, this Duke, this worthy knightWhen he had brought them into his city,And inned them, ev’reach at his degree,He feasteth them, and doth so great labourTo easen them, and do them all honour,That yet men weene that no mannes witOf none estate could amenden it.The minstrelsy, the service at the feast,The greate giftes to the most and least,The rich array of Theseus’ palace,Nor who sate first or last upon the dais.What ladies fairest be, or best dancingOr which of them can carol best or sing,Or who most feelingly speaketh of love;What hawkes sitten on the perch above,What houndes liggen on the floor adown,Of all this now make I no mentiounBut of th’effect; that thinketh me the bestNow comes the point, and hearken if you lest.
The Sunday night, ere day began to spring,When Palamon the larke hearde sing,Although it were not day by houres two,Yet sang the lark, and Palamon right thoWith holy heart, and with an high courage,Arose, to wenden on his pilgrimageUnto the blissful Cithera benign,I meane Venus, honourable and digne.And in her hour he walketh forth a paceUnto the listes, where her temple was,And down he kneeleth, and with humble cheerAnd hearte sore, he said as ye shall hear.
“Fairest of fair, O lady mine Venus,Daughter to Jove, and spouse of Vulcanus,Thou gladder of the mount of Citheron!For thilke love thou haddest to AdonHave pity on my bitter teares smart,And take mine humble prayer to thine heart.Alas! I have no language to tellTh’effecte, nor the torment of mine hell;Mine hearte may mine harmes not betray;I am so confused, that I cannot say.But mercy, lady bright, that knowest wellMy thought, and seest what harm that I feel.Consider all this, and rue upon my sore,As wisly as I shall for evermoreEnforce my might, thy true servant to be,And holde war alway with chastity:That make I mine avow, so ye me help.I keepe not of armes for to yelp,Nor ask I not to-morrow to have victory,Nor renown in this case, nor vaine gloryOf prize of armes, blowing up and down,But I would have fully possessiounOf Emily, and die in her service;Find thou the manner how, and in what wise.I recke not but it may better beTo have vict’ry of them, or they of me,So that I have my lady in mine arms.For though so be that Mars is god of arms,Your virtue is so great in heaven above,That, if you list, I shall well have my love.Thy temple will I worship evermo’,And on thine altar, where I ride or go,I will do sacrifice, and fires bete.And if ye will not so, my lady sweet,Then pray I you, to-morrow with a spearThat Arcita me through the hearte bearThen reck I not, when I have lost my life,Though that Arcita win her to his wife.This is th’ effect and end of my prayere, —Give me my love, thou blissful lady dear.”When th’ orison was done of Palamon,His sacrifice he did, and that anon,Full piteously, with alle circumstances,All tell I not as now his observances.But at the last the statue of Venus shook,And made a signe, whereby that he tookThat his prayer accepted was that day.For though the signe shewed a delay,Yet wist he well that granted was his boon;And with glad heart he went him home full soon.
The third hour unequal that PalamonBegan to Venus’ temple for to gon,Up rose the sun, and up rose Emily,And to the temple of Dian gan hie.Her maidens, that she thither with her lad,Th’ incense, the clothes, and the remnant allThat to the sacrifice belonge shall,The hornes full of mead, as was the guise;There lacked nought to do her sacrifice.Smoking the temple full of clothes fair,This Emily with hearte debonnairHer body wash’d with water of a well.But how she did her rite I dare not tell;But it be any thing in general;And yet it were a game to hearen allTo him that meaneth well it were no charge:But it is good a man to be at large.Her bright hair combed was, untressed all.A coronet of green oak cerriallUpon her head was set full fair and meet.Two fires on the altar gan she bete,And did her thinges, as men may beholdIn Stace of Thebes, and these bookes old.When kindled was the fire, with piteous cheerUnto Dian she spake as ye may hear.
“O chaste goddess of the woodes green,To whom both heav’n and earth and sea is seen,Queen of the realm of Pluto dark and low,Goddess of maidens, that mine heart hast knowFull many a year, and wost what I desire,To keep me from the vengeance of thine ire,That Actaeon aboughte cruelly:Chaste goddess, well wottest thou that IDesire to be a maiden all my life,Nor never will I be no love nor wife.I am, thou wost, yet of thy company,A maid, and love hunting and venery,And for to walken in the woodes wild,And not to be a wife, and be with child.Nought will I know the company of man.Now help me, lady, since ye may and can,For those three formes that thou hast in thee.And Palamon, that hath such love to me,And eke Arcite, that loveth me so sore,This grace I pray thee withoute more,As sende love and peace betwixt them two:And from me turn away their heartes so,That all their hote love, and their desire,And all their busy torment, and their fire,Be queint, or turn’d into another place.And if so be thou wilt do me no grace,Or if my destiny be shapen soThat I shall needes have one of them two,So send me him that most desireth me.Behold, goddess of cleane chastity,The bitter tears that on my cheekes fall.Since thou art maid, and keeper of us all,My maidenhead thou keep and well conserve,And, while I live, a maid I will thee serve.
The fires burn upon the altar clear,While Emily was thus in her prayere:But suddenly she saw a sighte quaint.For right anon one of the fire’s queintAnd quick’d again, and after that anonThat other fire was queint, and all agone:And as it queint, it made a whisteling,As doth a brande wet in its burning.And at the brandes end outran anonAs it were bloody droppes many one:For which so sore aghast was Emily,That she was well-nigh mad, and gan to cry,For she ne wiste what it signified;But onely for feare thus she cried,And wept, that it was pity for to hear.And therewithal Diana gan appearWith bow in hand, right as an hunteress,And saide; “Daughter, stint thine heaviness.Among the goddes high it is affirm’d,And by eternal word writ and confirm’d,Thou shalt be wedded unto one of thoThat have for thee so muche care and woe:But unto which of them I may not tell.Farewell, for here I may no longer dwell.The fires which that on mine altar brenn,Shall thee declaren, ere that thou go henne,Thine aventure of love, as in this case.”And with that word, the arrows in the caseOf the goddess did clatter fast and ring,And forth she went, and made a vanishing,For which this Emily astonied was,And saide; “What amounteth this, alas!I put me under thy protection,Diane, and in thy disposition.”And home she went anon the nexte way.This is th’ effect, there is no more to say.