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Whan that Arcite had romed al his fille, And songen al the roundel lustily, In-to a studie he fil sodeynly, As doon thise loveres in hir queynte geres, Now in the croppe, now doun in the breres, Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle. Right as the Friday, soothly for to telle, Now it shyneth, now it reyneth faste, Right so can gery Venus overcaste The hertes of hir folk; right as hir day Is gerful, right so chaungeth she array. Selde is the Friday al the wyke y-lyke. Whan that Arcite had romed al his fille, And songen al the roundel lustily, In-to a studie he fil sodeynly, As doon thise loveres in hir queynte geres, Now in the croppe, now doun in the breres, Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle. Right as the Friday, soothly for to telle, Now it shyneth, now it reyneth faste, Right so can gery Venus overcaste The hertes of hir folk; right as hir day Is gerful, right so chaungeth she array. Selde is the Friday al the wyke y-lyke.
Whan that Arcite had songe, he gan to syke, And sette him doun with-outen any more: ‘Alas!’ quod he, ‘that day that I was bore! How longe, Iuno, thurgh thy crueltee, Woltow werreyen Thebes the citee? Allas! y-broght is to confusioun The blood royal of Cadme and Amphioun; Of Cadmus, which that was the firste man That Thebes bulte, or first the toun bigan, And of the citee first was crouned king, Of his linage am I, and his of-spring By verray ligne, as of the stok royal: And now I am so caitif and so thral, That he, that is my mortal enemy, I serve him as his squyer povrely. And yet doth Iuno me wel more shame, For I dar noght biknowe myn owne name; But ther-as I was wont to highte Arcite, Now highte I Philostrate, noght worth a myte. Allas! thou felle Mars, allas! Iuno, Thus hath your ire our kinrede al fordo, Save only me, and wrecched Palamoun, That Theseus martyreth in prisoun. And over al this, to sleen me utterly, Love hath his fyry dart so brenningly Y-stiked thurgh my trewe careful herte, That shapen was my deeth erst than my sherte. Ye sleen me with your eyen, Emelye; Ye been the cause wherfor that I dye. Of al the remenant of myn other care Ne sette I nat the mountaunce of a tare, So that I coude don aught to your plesaunce!’ And with that word he fil doun in a traunce A longe tyme; and after he up-sterte. Whan that Arcite had songe, he gan to syke, And sette him doun with-outen any more: ‘Alas!’ quod he, ‘that day that I was bore! How longe, Iuno, thurgh thy crueltee, Woltow werreyen Thebes the citee? Allas! y-broght is to confusioun The blood royal of Cadme and Amphioun; Of Cadmus, which that was the firste man That Thebes bulte, or first the toun bigan, And of the citee first was crouned king, Of his linage am I, and his of-spring By verray ligne, as of the stok royal: And now I am so caitif and so thral, That he, that is my mortal enemy, I serve him as his squyer povrely. And yet doth Iuno me wel more shame, For I dar noght biknowe myn owne name; But ther-as I was wont to highte Arcite, Now highte I Philostrate, noght worth a myte. Allas! thou felle Mars, allas! Iuno, Thus hath your ire our kinrede al fordo, Save only me, and wrecched Palamoun, That Theseus martyreth in prisoun. And over al this, to sleen me utterly, Love hath his fyry dart so brenningly Y-stiked thurgh my trewe careful herte, That shapen was my deeth erst than my sherte. Ye sleen me with your eyen, Emelye; Ye been the cause wherfor that I dye. Of al the remenant of myn other care Ne sette I nat the mountaunce of a tare, So that I coude don aught to your plesaunce!’ And with that word he fil doun in a traunce A longe tyme; and after he up-sterte.

Original Text

Modern Text

Whan that Arcite had romed al his fille, And songen al the roundel lustily, In-to a studie he fil sodeynly, As doon thise loveres in hir queynte geres, Now in the croppe, now doun in the breres, Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle. Right as the Friday, soothly for to telle, Now it shyneth, now it reyneth faste, Right so can gery Venus overcaste The hertes of hir folk; right as hir day Is gerful, right so chaungeth she array. Selde is the Friday al the wyke y-lyke. Whan that Arcite had romed al his fille, And songen al the roundel lustily, In-to a studie he fil sodeynly, As doon thise loveres in hir queynte geres, Now in the croppe, now doun in the breres, Now up, now doun, as boket in a welle. Right as the Friday, soothly for to telle, Now it shyneth, now it reyneth faste, Right so can gery Venus overcaste The hertes of hir folk; right as hir day Is gerful, right so chaungeth she array. Selde is the Friday al the wyke y-lyke.
Whan that Arcite had songe, he gan to syke, And sette him doun with-outen any more: ‘Alas!’ quod he, ‘that day that I was bore! How longe, Iuno, thurgh thy crueltee, Woltow werreyen Thebes the citee? Allas! y-broght is to confusioun The blood royal of Cadme and Amphioun; Of Cadmus, which that was the firste man That Thebes bulte, or first the toun bigan, And of the citee first was crouned king, Of his linage am I, and his of-spring By verray ligne, as of the stok royal: And now I am so caitif and so thral, That he, that is my mortal enemy, I serve him as his squyer povrely. And yet doth Iuno me wel more shame, For I dar noght biknowe myn owne name; But ther-as I was wont to highte Arcite, Now highte I Philostrate, noght worth a myte. Allas! thou felle Mars, allas! Iuno, Thus hath your ire our kinrede al fordo, Save only me, and wrecched Palamoun, That Theseus martyreth in prisoun. And over al this, to sleen me utterly, Love hath his fyry dart so brenningly Y-stiked thurgh my trewe careful herte, That shapen was my deeth erst than my sherte. Ye sleen me with your eyen, Emelye; Ye been the cause wherfor that I dye. Of al the remenant of myn other care Ne sette I nat the mountaunce of a tare, So that I coude don aught to your plesaunce!’ And with that word he fil doun in a traunce A longe tyme; and after he up-sterte. Whan that Arcite had songe, he gan to syke, And sette him doun with-outen any more: ‘Alas!’ quod he, ‘that day that I was bore! How longe, Iuno, thurgh thy crueltee, Woltow werreyen Thebes the citee? Allas! y-broght is to confusioun The blood royal of Cadme and Amphioun; Of Cadmus, which that was the firste man That Thebes bulte, or first the toun bigan, And of the citee first was crouned king, Of his linage am I, and his of-spring By verray ligne, as of the stok royal: And now I am so caitif and so thral, That he, that is my mortal enemy, I serve him as his squyer povrely. And yet doth Iuno me wel more shame, For I dar noght biknowe myn owne name; But ther-as I was wont to highte Arcite, Now highte I Philostrate, noght worth a myte. Allas! thou felle Mars, allas! Iuno, Thus hath your ire our kinrede al fordo, Save only me, and wrecched Palamoun, That Theseus martyreth in prisoun. And over al this, to sleen me utterly, Love hath his fyry dart so brenningly Y-stiked thurgh my trewe careful herte, That shapen was my deeth erst than my sherte. Ye sleen me with your eyen, Emelye; Ye been the cause wherfor that I dye. Of al the remenant of myn other care Ne sette I nat the mountaunce of a tare, So that I coude don aught to your plesaunce!’ And with that word he fil doun in a traunce A longe tyme; and after he up-sterte.