Him thought how that the winged god Mercúry
Before him stood, and bade him to be merry.
His sleepy yard403 in hand he bare upright;
A hat he wore upon his hairës bright.
Arrayed was this god (as he took keep)404
As he was when that Argus405 took his sleep;
And said him thus: “To Athens shalt thou wend;406
There is thee shapen407 of thy woe an end.”
And with that word Arcite woke and start.
“Now truëly how sore that e’er me smart,”
Quoth he, “to Athens right now will I fare.
Nor for no dread of death shall I not spare
To see my lady that I love and serve;
In her presénce I reckë not to sterve.”408
And with that word he caught a great mirrór,
And saw that changed was all his colór,
And saw his visage all in other kind.
And right anon it ran him ill his mind,
That since his facë was so disfigúr’d
Of malady the which he had endúr’d,
He mightë well, if that he bare him low,409
Live in Athenës evermore unknow,
And see his lady well-nigh day by day.
And right anon he changed his array,
And clad him as a poorë labourer.
And all alone, save only a squiér,
That knew his privity410 and all his cas,411
Which was disguised poorly as he was,
To Athens is he gone the nextë412 way.
And to the court he went upon a day,
And at the gate he proffer’d his service,
To drudge and draw, what so men would devise.413
And, shortly of this matter for to sayn,
He fell in office with a chamberlain,
The which that dwelling was with Emily.
For he was wise, and couldë soon espy
Of every servant which that served her.
Well could he hewë wood, and water bear,
For he was young and mighty for the nones,414
And thereto he was strong and big of bones
To do that any wight can him devise.
A year or two he was in this servíce,
Page of the chamber of Emily the bright;
And Philostrate he saidë that he hight.
But half so well belov’d a man as he
Ne was there never in court of his degree.
He was so gentle of conditioún,
That throughout all the court was his renown.
They saidë that it were a charity
That Theseus would énhance his degree,415
And put him in some worshipful servíce,
There as he might his virtue exercise.
And thus within a while his namë sprung
Both of his deedës, and of his good tongue,
That Theseus hath taken him so near,
That of his chamber he hath made him squire,
And gave him gold to máintain his degree;
And eke men brought him out of his country
From year to year full privily his rent.
But honestly and slyly416 he it spent,
That no man wonder’d how that he it had.
And three year in this wise his life be lad,417
And bare him so in peace and eke in werre,418
There was no man that Theseus had so derre.419
And in this blissë leave I now Arcite,
And speak I will of Palamon a lite.420
In darkness horrible, and strong prisón,
This seven year hath sitten Palamon,
Forpined,421 what for love, and for distress.
Who feeleth double sorrow and heaviness
But Palamon? that love distraineth422 so,
That wood423 out of his wits he went for woe,
And eke thereto he is a prisonére
Perpetual, not only for a year.
Who couldë rhyme in English properly
His martyrdom? forsooth, it is not I;424
Therefore I pass as lightly as I may.
It fell that in the seventh year, in May
The thirdë night (as oldë bookës sayn,
That all this story tellen morë plain),
Were it by áventure or destiny
(As, when a thing is shapen425 it shall be),
That, soon after the midnight, Palamon
By helping of a friend brake his prisón,
And fled the city fast as he might go,
For he had given drink his gaoler so
Of a clary,426 made of a certain wine,
With narcotise and opie427 of Thebes fine,
That all the night, though that men would him shake,
The gaoler slept, he mightë not awake:
And thus he fled as fast as ever he may.
The night was short, and fastë by the day
That needës cast he must428 himself to hide.
And to a grovë fastë there beside
With dreadful foot then stalked Palamon.
For shortly this was his opinión,
That in the grove he would him hide all day,
And in the night then would he take his way
To Thebes-ward, his friendës for to pray
On Theseus to help him to warray.429
And shortly either he would lose his life,
Or winnen Emily unto his wife.
This is th’ effect, and his intention plain.
Now will I turn to Arcita again,
That little wist how nighë was his care,
Till that Fortúne had brought him in the snare.
The busy lark, the messenger of day,
Saluteth in her song the morning gray;
And fiery Phoebus riseth up so bright,
That all the orient laugheth at the sight,
And with his streamës430 drieth in the greves431
The silver droppës, hanging on the leaves;
And Arcite, that is in the court royál
With Theseus, his squier principal,
Is ris’n, and looketh on the merry day.
And for to do his óbservance to May,
Remembering the point432 of his desire,
He on his courser, starting as the fire,
Is ridden to the fieldës him to play,
Out of the court, were it a mile or tway.
And to the grove, of which I have you told,
By áventure his way began to hold,
To makë him a garland of the greves,433
Were it of woodbine, or of hawthorn leaves,
And loud he sang against the sun so sheen.434
“O May, with all thy flowers and thy green,
Right welcome be thou, fairë freshë May,
I hope that I some green here getten may.”
And from his courser, with a lusty heart,
Into the grove full hastily he start,
And in a path he roamed up and down,
There as
