But in his blackë clothes sorrowfully
He came at his commandment on hie;871
Then sentë Theseus for Emily.
When they were set,872 and hush’d was all the place
And Theseus abided873 had a space
Ere any word came from his wisë breast
His eyen set he there as was his lest,874
And with a sad viságe he sighed still,
And after that right thus he said his will.
“The firstë mover of the cause above
When he first made the fairë chain of love,
Great was th’ effect, and high was his intent;
Well wist he why, and what thereof he meant:
For with that fairë chain of love he bond875
The fire, the air, the water, and the lond
In certain bondës, that they may not flee:876
That samë prince and mover eke,” quoth he,
“Hath stablish’d, in this wretched world adown,
Certain of dayës and duratión
To all that are engender’d in this place,
Over the whichë day they may not pace,877
All878 may they yet their dayës well abridge.
There needeth no authority to allëge
For it is proved by experience;
But that me list declarë my senténce.879
Then may men by this order well discern,
That thilkë880 mover stable is and etern.
Well may men know, but that it be a fool,
That every part deriveth from its whole.
For nature hath not ta’en its beginning
Of no partie nor cantle881 of a thing,
But of a thing that perfect is and stable,
Descending so, till it be corruptáble.
And therefore of his wisë purveyance882
He hath so well beset883 his ordinance,
That species of things and progressións
Shallen endurë by successións,
And not etern, withouten any lie:
This mayst thou understand and see at eye.
Lo th’ oak, that hath so long a nourishing
From the time that it ’ginneth first to spring,
And hath so long a life, as ye may see,
Yet at the last y-wasted is the tree.
Consider eke, how that the hardë stone
Under our feet, on which we tread and gon,884
Yet wasteth, as it lieth by the way.
The broadë river some time waxeth drey.885
The greatë townës see we wane and wend.886
Then may ye see that all things have an end.
Of man and woman see we well also,
That needës in one of the termës two—
That is to say, in youth or else in age—
He must be dead, the king as shall a page;
Some in his bed, some in the deepë sea,
Some in the largë field, as ye may see:
There helpeth nought, all go that ilkë887 way:
Then may I say that allë thing must die.
What maketh this but Jupiter the king?
The which is prince, and cause of allë thing,
Converting all unto his proper will,
From which it is derived, sooth to tell
And hereagainst no creature alive,
Of no degree, availeth for to strive.
Then is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,
To make a virtue of necessity,
And take it well, that we may not eschew,888
And namëly what to us all is due.
And whoso grudgeth889 ought, he doth folly,
And rebel is to him that all may gie.890
And certainly a man hath most honoúr
To dien in his excellence and flower,
When he is sicker891 of his goodë name.
Then hath he done his friend, nor him,892 no shame
And gladder ought his friend be of his death,
When with honoúr is yielded up his breath,
Than when his name appalled is for age;893
For all forgotten is his vassalage.894
Then is it best, as for a worthy fame,
To dien when a man is best of name.
The contrary of all this is wilfulness.
Why grudgú we, why have we heaviness,
That good Arcite, of chivalry the flower,
Departed is, with duty and honoúr,
Out of this foulë prison of this life?
Why grudgë here his cousin and his wife
Of his welfare, that loved him so well?
Can he them thank?—nay, God wot, never a deal—895
That both his soul and eke themselves offend,896
And yet they may their lustës not amend.897
What may I cónclude of this longë série,898
But after sorrow I rede899 us to be merry,
And thankë Jupiter for all his grace?
And ere that we departë from this place,
I redë that we make of sorrows two
One perfect joyë lasting evermo’:
And look now where most sorrow is herein,
There will I first amenden and begin.
“Sister,” quoth he, “this is my full assent,
With all th’ advice here of my parlement,
That gentle Palamon, your owen knight,
That serveth you with will, and heart, and might,
And ever hath, since first time ye him knew,
That ye shall of your grace upon him rue,900
And take him for your husband and your lord:
Lend me your hand, for this is our accord.
Let see901 now of your womanly pity.
He is a kingë’s brother’s son, pardie.902
And though he were a poorë bachelére,
Since he hath served you so many a year,
And had for you so great adversity,
It mustë be considered, ’lieveth me.903
For gentle mercy oweth to passen right.”904
Then said he thus to Palamon the knight;
“I trow there needeth little sermoning
To makë you assentë to this thing.
Come near, and take your lady by the hand.”
Betwixtë them was made anon the band,
That hight matrimony or marriáge,
By all the counsel of the baronage.
And thus with allë bliss and melody
Hath Palamon y-wedded Emily.
And God, that all this widë world hath wrought,
Send him his love, that hath it dearly bought.
For now is Palamon in all his weal,
Living in bliss, in riches, and in heal;905
And Emily him loves so tenderly,
And he her serveth all so gentilly,
That never was there wordë them between
Of jealousy, nor of none other teen.906
Thus endeth Palamon and Emily
And God save all this fairë company.
The Miller’s Tale
The Prologue
When that the
