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:
With-outen doute it may stonden so.
Th’ answere of this I lete to divynis,
But wel I woot, that in this world gret pyne is.
Allas! I see a serpent or a theef,
That many a trewe man hath doon mescheef,
Goon at his large, and wher him list may turne.
But I mot been in prison thurgh Saturne,
And eek thurgh Juno, jalous and eek wood,
That hath destroyed wel ny al the blood
Of Thebes, with his waste walles wyde.
And Venus sleeth me on that other syde
For jelousye, and fere of him Arcite.”

Now wol I stinte of Palamon a lyte,
And lete him in his prison stille dwelle,
And of Arcita forth I wol yow telle.

The somer passeth, and the nightes longe
Encresen double wyse the peynes stronge.
Bothe of the lovere and the prisoner.
I noot which hath the wofullere mester.
For shortly for to seyn, this Palamoun
Perpetuelly is dampned to prisoun,
In cheynes and in fettres to ben deed;
And Arcite is exyled upon his heed
For ever-mo as out of that contree,
Ne never-mo he shal his lady see.

Yow loveres axe I now this questioun,
Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamoun?
That oon may seen his lady day by day,
But in prison he moot dwelle alway.
That other wher him list may ryde or go,
But seen his lady shal he never-mo.
Now demeth as yow liste, ye that can,
For I wol telle forth as I bigan.
That man is bound to the obligation,
For God’s sake, to restrain his will,
While a beast may all his desire fulfill.
And when a beast is dead, he has no pain;
But man after his death must weep and complain,
Though in this world he have care and woe.
Without doubt it may stand so.
The answer to this I leave to divines,
But well I know, that in this world great pain is.
Alas! I see a serpent or a thief,
That to many a true man has done mischief,
Go freely, wherever he wishes to turn.
But I must be in prison through Saturn,
And through Juno, jealous, angry and wild,6
Who have destroyed nearly all the blood
Of Thebes, with its wasted walls wide.
And Venus slays me on the other side
For jealousy, and fear of Arcita.”

Now will I let go of Palamon a little
And let him in his prison still dwell,
And of Arcita more I will you tell.

The summer passed, and the nights long
Increased doubly the pains strong of
Both the lover and the prisoner.
I do not know who had the woefuller place.
For, to make it brief, this Palamon
Perpetually is condemned to prison,
In chains and fetters until his death;
And Arcita is exiled upon pain of beheading
Forevermore out of that country,
Nor evermore shall his lady see.

Of you lovers I now ask this question:
Who had the worse, Arcita or Palamon?
That one may see his lady day by day
But in prison he must dwell always.
The other where he wishes may ride or go,
But see his lady shall he nevermore.
Now judge as you will, you who understand,
For I will continue as I began.

Part Two

Whan that Arcite to Thebes comen was,
Ful ofte a day he swelte and seyde “allas,”
For seen his lady shal he never-mo.
And shortly to concluden al his wo,
So muche sorwe had never creature
That is, or shal, whyl that the world may dure.
His sleep, his mete, his drink is him biraft,
That lene he wex, and drye as is a shaft.
His eyen holwe, and grisly to biholde;
His hewe falwe, and pale as asshen colde,
And solitarie he was, and ever allone,
And wailling al the night, making his mone.
And if he herde song or instrument,
Then wolde he wepe, he mighte nat be stent;
So feble eek were his spirits, and so lowe,
And chaunged so, that no man coude knowe
His speche nor his vois, though men it herde.
And in his gere, for al the world he ferde
Nat oonly lyk the loveres maladye
Of Hereos, but rather lyk manye
Engendered of humour malencolyk,
Biforen, in his celle fantastyk.
And shortly, turned was al up-so doun
Bothe habit and eek disposicioun
Of him, this woful lovere daun Arcite.

What sholde I al-day of his wo endyte?
Whan he endured hadde a yeer or two
This cruel torment, and this peyne and wo,
At Thebes, in his contree, as I seyde,
Up-on a night, in sleep as he him leyde,
Him thoughte how that the winged god Mercurie
Biforn him stood, and bad him to be murye.
His slepy yerde in hond he bar uprighte;
An hat he werede up-on his heres brighte.
Arrayed was this god (as he took keep)
As he was whan that Argus took his sleep;
And seyde him thus: “T’ Athénës shaltou wende;

Part Two

When Arcita was come to Thebes,
Full often a day he sighed and said “alas,”
For his lady shall he see nevermore.
And to sum up briefly all his woe,
So much sorrow had never a creature
That is or will be so long as the world endures.