I care not whether it may better be
To have victory of them, or they of me,
So that I have my lady in myne armes.
For though so be that Mars is god of armes,
Your vertu is so greet in hevene above,
That, if yow list, I shal wel have my love.
Thy temple wol I worshipe evermo,
And on thyn auter, wher I ryde or go,
I wol don sacrifice, and fyres bete.
And if ye wol nat so, my lady swete,
Than preye I thee, to-morwe with a spere
That Arcita me thurgh the herte bere.
Thanne rekke I noght, whan I have lost my lyf,
Though that Arcita winne hir to his wyf.
This is th‘effect and ende of my preyere,
Yif me my love, thou blisful lady dere.”
Whan th‘orisoun was doon of Palamon,
His sacrifice he dide, and that anon
Ful pitously, with alle circumstaunces,
Al telle I noght as now his observaunces.
But atte laste the statue of Venus shook,
And made a signe, wher-by that he took
That his preyere accepted was that day.
For thogh the signe shewed a delay,
Yet wiste he wel that graunted was his bone;
And with glad herte he wente him hoom ful sone.
The thridde houre inequal that Palamon
Bigan to Venus temple for to goon,
Up roos the sonne, and up roos Emelye,
And to the temple of Diane gan hye.
Hir maydens, that she thider with hir ladde,
Ful redily with hem the fyr they hadde,
Th‘encens, the clothes, and the remenant al
That to the sacrifyce longen shal;
The hornes fulle of meth, as was the gyse;
Ther lakked noght to doon hir sacrifyse.
Smoking the temple, ful of clothes faire,
This Emelye, with herte debonaire,
Hir body wessh with water of a welle;
But how she dide hir ryte I dar not telle,
But it be any thing in general;
So that I have my lady in my arms.
For though Mars is god of arms,
Your virtue is so great in heaven above,
That if you will, I shall well have my love.
Your temple will I worship evermore,
And on your altar. Whether I walk or ride,
I will do sacrifice and fires light.
And if you will it not so, my lady sweet,
Then pray I you, tomorrow with a spear
That Arcita through my heart pierce.
Then care I not, when I have lost my life,
Though that Arcita wins her to his wife.
This is the essence and end of my prayer:
Give me my love, you blissful lady dear.”
When the prayer was done by Palamon,
His sacrifice he did, and that anon
Full humbly, in every detail complete,
Although I tell not now his observances.
But at last the statue of Venus shook,
And made a sign, whereby he understood
That his prayer accepted was that day.
For though the sign showed a delay
Yet knew he well that granted was his wish
And with glad heart he went home anon.
Three hours after Palamon
Began to Venus’ temple for to go,
Up rose the sun, and up rose Emily,
And to the temple of Diana hurried.
Her maidens, that she there with her led,
Full readily the fire with them they had,
The incense, the vestments and tapestries
That to the sacrifice should belong;
The horns full of mead, as was the fashion;
There lacked nothing to do her sacrifice.
Incensing the temples, full of tapestries fair,
This Emily, with heart humble and gracious,
Her body washed with water of a spring;
But how she did her rite I dare not tell,
At least not in detail;
And yet it were a game to heren al;
To him that meneth wel, it were no charge:
But it is good a man ben at his large.
Hir brighte heer was kempt, untressed al;
A coroune of a grene ook cerial
Up-on hir heed was set ful fair and mete.
Two fyres on the auter gan she bete,
And dide hir thinges, as men may biholde
In Stace of Thebes, and thise bokes olde.
Whan kindled was the fyr, with pitous chere
Un-to Diane she spak, as ye may here.
“O chaste goddesse of the wodes grene,
To whom bothe heven and erthe and see is sene,
Quene of the regne of Pluto derk and lowe,
Goddesse of maydens, that myn herte hast knowe
Ful many a yeer, and woost what I desire,
As keep me fro thy vengeaunce and thyn ire,
That Attheon aboughte cruelly.
Chaste goddesse, wel wostow that I
Desire to been a mayden al my lyf,
Ne never wol I be no love ne wyf.
I am, thou woost, yet of thy companye
A mayde, and love hunting and venerye,
And for to walken in the wodes wilde,
And noght to been a wyf, and be with childe.
Noght wol I knowe companye of man.
Now help me, lady, sith ye may and can,
For tho thre formes that thou hast in thee.
And Palamon, that hath swich love to me,
And eek Arcite, that loveth me so sore,
This grace I preye thee with-oute more,
As sende love and pees bitwixe hem two;
And fro me turne awey hir hertes so,
That al hir hote love, and hir desyr,
And al hir bisy torment, and hir fyr
Be queynt, or turned in another place;
And if so be thou wolt not do me grace,
Or if my destinee be shapen so,
That I shal nedes have oon of hem two,
And yet it would be a pleasure to hear all,
For him for whom it be not too much;
For it is good for a man be free to speak or keep silence.
Her bright hair was combed, unbraided all;
A garland of evergreen oak
Upon her head was set full fair and fitting.
Two fires on the altar began she to light,
And did her rites, as men may behold
In Statius of Thebes and those books old.
When kindled was the fire, with piteous mien
Unto Diana she spoke as you may hear:
“O chaste goddess of the woods green,
To whom both heaven and earth and sea is seen,
Queen of the realm of Pluto dark and low,
Goddess of maidens, whom my heart has known
Full many a year, and knowing what I desire,
Keep me from your vengeance and your ire,
That Actaeon suffered for cruelly.
Chaste goddess, well know you that I
Desire to be a maiden for all my life
And never wish to be a lover nor a wife.
I am, you know, yet of your company,
A maid, and love hunting and the chase,
And to walk in the woods wild,
And not to be a wife and be with child.
Not will I know company of man.
Now help me lady, if you may and can,
As Diana, Luna, and Persephone.
And Palamon, who has such love for me,
And Arcita, who loves me so sore,
This grace I pray you without more:
Send love and peace between them two,
And from me turn away their hearts so
That all their hot love and their desire,
And all their sharp tor
ment and their fire,
Be quenched or turned toward another place.
Or if so be your will to not do me grace,
Or if my destiny be determined so,
That I must have one of the two,
As sende me him that most desireth me.
Bihold, goddesse of clene chastitee,
The bittre teres that on my chekes falle.
Sin thou are mayde, and keper of us alle,
My maydenhede thou kepe and wel conserve,
And whyl I live a mayde, I wol thee serve.”
The fyres brenne up-on the auter clere,
Whyl Emelye was thus in hir preyere;
But sodeinly she saugh a sighte queynte,
For right anon oon of the fyres queynte,
And quiked agayn, and after that anon
That other fyr was queynt, and al agon;
And as it queynte, it made a whistelinge,
As doon thise wete brondes in hir brenninge,
And at the brondes ende out-ran anoon
As it were blody dropes many oon;
For which so sore agast was Emelye,
That she was wel ny mad, and gan to crye,
For she ne wiste what it signifyed;
But only for the fere thus hath she cryed,
And weep, that it was pitee for to here.
And ther-with-al Diane gan appere,
With bowe in hond, right as an hunteresse,
And seyde: “Doghter, stint thyn hevinesse
Among the goddes hye it is affermed,
And by eterne word write and confermed,
Thou shalt ben wedded un-to oon of tho
That han for thee so muchel care and wo;
But un-to which of hem I may nat telle.
Farwel, for I ne may no lenger dwelle.
The fyres which that on myn auter brenne
Shul thee declaren, er that thou go henne,
Thyn aventure of love, as in this cas.”
And with that word, the arwes in the cas
Of the goddesse clateren faste and ringe,
And forth she wente, and made a vanisshinge;
For which this Emelye astoned was,
And seyde, “What amounteth this, alias!
I putte me in thy proteccioun,
Send me he who most desires me.
Behold, goddess of clean chastity,
The bitter tears that on my cheeks fall.
Since you are a virgin and guardian of us all,
My maidenhood you keep and well conserve,
And while I live a maid, I will you serve.”
The fires burned upon the altar brightly,
While Emily was thus in her prayer.
But suddenly she saw a strange sight,
For right anon one of the fires died,
And flamed again, and after that anon
The other fire died, all gone;
And as it died, it made a whistling,
As do those wet firebrands burning,
And at the firebrand ends out ran anon
What looked like many bloody drops;
For which so sore aghast was Emily
That she was well nigh distraught, and began to cry,
For she knew not what it signified;
But only for the fear thus had she cried,
And wept, that it was pity for to hear.
And therewithal Diana began to appear,
With bow in hand, right as a huntress,
And said, “Daughter, stop your sorrow.
Among the gods high it is affirmed,
And by eternal word written and confirmed,
You shall be wedded unto one of those
Who have for you so much care and woe;
But unto which of them I may not tell.
Farewell, for I may here no longer dwell.
The fires that on my altar burn
Shall you tell, before you go hence,
Your fate in love, as in this case.”
And with that word, the arrows in the case
Of the goddess clattered fast and rang,
And forth she went, and made a vanishing;
For which this Emily astonished was,
And said, “What means this, alas!
I put me in your protection,
Diane, and in thy disposicioun.”
And hoom she gooth anon the nexte weye.
This is th‘effect, ther is namore to seye.
The nexte houre of Mars folwinge this,
Arcite un-to the temple walked is
Of fierse Mars, to doon his sacrifyse,
With alle the rytes of his payen wyse.
With pitous herte and heigh devocioun,
Right thus to Mars he seyde his orisoun:
“O stronge god, that in the regnes colde
Of Trace honoured art, and lord y-holde,
And hast in every regne and every lond
Of armes al the brydel in thyn hond,
And hem fortunest as thee list devyse,
Accept of me my pitous sacrifyse.
If so be that my youthe may deserve,
And that my might be worthy for to serve
Thy godhede, that I may been oon of thyne,
Than preye I thee to rewe up-on my pyne.
For thilke peyne, and thilke hote fyr,
In which thou whylom brendest for desyr,
Whan that thou usedest the grete beautee
Of fayre yonge fresshe Venus free,
And haddest hir in armes at thy wille,
Al-though thee ones on a tyme misfille
Whan Vulcanus had caught thee in his las,
And fond thee ligging by his wyf, alias!
For thilke sorwe that was in thyn herte,
Have routhe as wel up-on my peynes smerte.
I am yong and unkonning, as thou wost,
And, as I trowe, with love offended most,
That ever was any lyves creature;
For she, that dooth me al this wo endure,
Ne reccheth never wher I sinke or flete.
And wel I woot, er she me mercy hete,
I moot with strengthe winne hir in the place;
And wel I woot, withouten help or grace
Of thee, ne may my strengthe noght availle.
Than help me, lord, to-morwe in my bataille,
Diana, and at your disposing.”
And home she went anon the quickest way.
This is the result, there is no more to say.
The next hour of Mars following this,
Arcita unto the temple walked
Of fierce Mars, to do his sacrifice,
With all the customs of his pagan rites.
With piteous heart and with high devotion,
Right thus to Mars he said his prayer:
“O strong god, who in the realms cold
Of Thrace honored are and lordship held,
And has in every realm and every land
Of arms all the bridle reins in your hand,
And dispenses fortune as you decide,
Accept of me my piteous sacrifice.
If my youth may deserve,
And my might be worthy to serve
Your godhead, that I may be one of yours,
Then I pray you to take pity upon my pain.
For that same pain and that hot fire
In which you once burned for desire,
When you enjoyed the beauty
Of fair, generous, young fresh Venus,
And had her in arms at your will—
Although you one time went wrong
When Vulcan caught you in his net,23
And found you lying by his wife, alas!—
For such sorrow that was in your heart,
Have pity as well upon my pains sharp.
I am young and ignorant, as you know,
And, I believe, by love assailed more
Than ever was any living creature;
For she who makes me all this woe endure,
Cares
not whether I sink or float.
And well I know, before she mercy promises,
I must with strength win her in the arena;
And well I know, without help or grace
Of you, no way may my strength avail.
Then help me, lord, tomorrow in my battle,
For thilke fyr that whylom brente thee,
As wel as thilke fyr now brenneth me,
And do that I to-morwe have victorie.
Myn be the travaille, and thyn be the glorie!
Thy soverein temple wol I most honouren
Of any place, and alwey most labouren
In thy plesaunce and in thy craftes stronge,
And in thy temple I wol my baner honge,
And alle the armes of my companye;
And evere-mo, un-to that day I dye,
Eterne fyr I wol biforn thee finde.
And eek to this avow I wol me binde:
My berd, myn heer that hongeth long adoun,
That never yet ne felte offensioun
Of rasour nor of shere, I wol thee yive,
And been thy trewe servant whyl I live.
Now lord, have routhe up-on my sorwes sore,
Yif me victorie, I aske thee namore.”
The preyere stint of Arcita the stronge,
The ringes on the temple-dore that honge,
And eek the dores, clatereden ful faste,
Of which Arcita som-what him agaste.
The fyres brende up-on the auter brighte,
That it gan al the temple for to lighte;
And swete smel the ground anon up-yaf,
And Arcita anon his hand up-haf,
And more encens in-to the fyr he caste,
With othere rytes mo; and atte laste
The statue of Mars bigan his hauberk ringe.
And with that soun he herde a murmuringe
Ful lowe and dim, that sayde thus, “Victorie”:
For which he yaf to Mars honour and glorie.
And thus with joye, and hope wel to fare,
Arcite anon un-to his inne is fare,
As fayn as fowel is of the brighte sonne.
And right anon swich stryf ther is bigonne
For thilke graunting, in the hevene above,
Bitwixe Venus, the goddesse of love,
And Mars, the sterne god armipotente,
For that fire that once burned you,
As well as that fire that now burns me;
And make it so tomorrow I have victory.
Mine be the labor, and yours be the glory!
Your sovereign temple will I most honor
Of any place, and always most labor
For your pleasure and in your arts strong,
And in your temple I will my banner hang,
And all the arms of my company;
And evermore, unto that day I die,
Eternal fire I will before you provide.
And also to this vow I will me bind:
My beard, my hair, that hangs long down
That has never yet felt damage
Of razor nor of shears, I will you give,
Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 18