I noot wher she be womman or goddesse;
But Venus is it, soothly, as I gesse.”
And ther-with-al on knees doun he fil,
And seyde: “Venus, if it be thy wil
Yow in this gardin thus to transfigure
Bifore me, sorweful wrecche creature,
Out of this prisoun help that we may scapen.
And if so be my destinee be shapen
By eterne word to dyen in prisoun,
Of our linage have som compassioun,
That is so lowe y-broght by tirannye.”
And with that word Arcite gan espye
Wher-as this lady romed to and fro.
And with that sighte hir beautee hurte him so,
That, if that Palamon was wounded sore,
Arcite is hurt as muche as he, or more.
And with a sigh he seyde pitously:
“The fresshe beautee sleeth me sodeynly
Of hir that rometh in the yonder place;
And, but I have hir mercy and hir grace,
That you’re such a pale and deathly hue?
Why did you cry? Who has offended you?
For God’s love, take all in patience
Our prison, for it may not otherwise be;
Fortune has given us this adversity.
Some wicked aspect or disposition
Of Saturn, by some constellation,4
Has given us this, there’s nothing we could have done.
So stood the stars when we were born.
We must endure it; this is the short and plain.”

This Palamon answered and said again,
“Cousin, forsooth, in this opinion
You have a mistaken imagination.
This prison caused me not to cry,
But I was so hurt right now through my eye
Into my heart, that it will me destroy.
The fairness of that lady that I see
Yonder in that garden roaming to and fro
Is cause of all my crying and my woe.
I don’t know if she is a woman or a goddess,
But Venus is she truly, as I guess.”
And therewithal on his knees down he fell,
And said: “Venus, if it be your will
Yourself in the garden thus to transfigure
Before me, sorrowful wretched creature,
Out of this prison help that we may escape.
And if so be my destiny shaped
By eternal word to die in prison,
Of our lineage have some compassion,
That is so low brought by tyranny.”
And with that word Arcita did espy
Where this lady roamed to and fro;
And with that sight her beauty hurt him so,
That, if Palamon was wounded sore,
Arcita was hurt as much as he, or more.
And with a sigh he said piteously:
“The fresh beauty slays me suddenly
Of her who roams in yonder place;
And, unless I have her mercy and her grace,
That I may seen hir atte leeste weye,
I nam but deed; ther nis namore to seye.”

This Palamon, whan he tho wordes herde,
Dispitously he loked, and answerde:
“Whether seistow this in ernest or in pley?”

“Nay,” quod Arcite, “in ernest, by my fey!
God help me so, me list ful yvele pleye.”

This Palamon gan knitte his browes tweye:
“It nere,” quod he, “to thee no greet honour
For to be fals, ne for to be traytour
To me, that am thy cosin and thy brother
Y-sworn ful depe, and each of us til other,
That never, for to dyen in the peyne,
Til that the deeth departe shal us tweyne,
Neither of us in love to hindren other,
Ne in non other cas, my leve brother;
But that thou sholdest trewely forthren me
In every cas, and I shal forthren thee.
This was thyn ooth, and myn also, certeyn;
I wot right wel, thou darst it nat withseyn.
Thus artow of my counseil, out of doute.
And now thou woldest falsly been aboute
To love my lady, whom I love and serve,
And ever shal, til that myn herte sterve.
Now certes, fals Arcite, thou shalt nat so.
I loved hir first, and tolde thee my wo
As to my counseil, and my brother sworn
To forthre me, as I have told biforn.
For which thou are y-bounden as a knight
To helpen me, if it lay in thy might,
Or elles artow fals, I dar wel seyn.”

This Arcite ful proudly spak ageyn,
“Thou shalt,” quod he, “be rather fals than I;
But thou art fals, I telle thee utterly;
For par amour I loved ir first er thow.
What wiltow seyn? thou wistest nat yet now
Whether she be a womman or goddesse!
Thyn is affeccioun of holinesse,
And myn is love, as to a creature;
That I may see her at least,
I am good as dead; there is no more to say.”

Then Palamon, when he those words heard,
Angrily he looked and answered:
“Are you saying this in earnest or in jest?”

“No,” said Arcita, “in earnest, by my faith!
God help me so, I have no desire to joke with you.”

Then Palamon knitted his brows two:
And said he, “It is not to you any great honor
To be false, nor to be traitor
To me, your own cousin and brother
Sworn in blood, and each of us to the other,
That never, not even under torture’s pain,
To the death shall we two part,
Nor in love shall we hinder the other,
Nor in any other way, my dear brother;
But that you should stand by me truly
In every way, as I shall you.
This was your oath, and mine also, for sure;
I know right well, you dare not it deny.
Thus you know my secrets, without doubt,
And now you would falsely set out
To love my lady, whom I love and serve,
And ever shall, till my heart quits.
Now surely, false Arcita, you won’t do it.
I loved her first, and told you my woe
As my confidant and my brother sworn
To stand by me, as I have said before.
For which you’re bound as a knight
To help me, if it lies in your might,
Or else you’re false, I dare well say.”

This Arcita full proudly spoke again:
“You shall,” said he, “be sooner false than I;
But you are false, I tell you straight;
For as flesh and blood I loved her before you.
What would you say? You don’t yet know
Whether she’s a woman or a goddess!
Yours is affection spiritual,
And mine is love, as to a creature,
For which I tolde thee myn aventure
As to my cosin, and my brother sworn.
I pose, that thou lovedest hir biforn;
Wostow nat wel the olde clerkes sawe,
That ‘who shal yeve a lover any lawe?’
Love is a gretter lawe, by my pan,
Than may be yeve to any erthly man.
And therefore positif lawe and swich decree
Is broke 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 widwe, or elles wyf.
And eek it is nat lykly, al thy lyf,
To stonden in hir grace; namore shal I;
For wel thou woost thy-selven, verraily,
That thou and I be dampned to prisoun
Perpetuelly; us gayneth no raunsoun.