No Fear Literature: The Canterbury Tales: The Knight’s Tale, Part Four Page 12

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Original Text	Modern Text
Infinite been the sorwes and the teres Of olde folk, and folk of tendre yeres, In al the toun, for deeth of this Theban; For him ther wepeth bothe child and man; So greet a weping was ther noon, certayn, Whan Ector was y-broght, al fresh y-slayn, To Troye; allas! the pitee that was ther, Cracching of chekes, rending eek of heer. ‘Why woldestow be deed,’ thise wommen crye, ‘And haddest gold y-nough, and Emelye?’ No man mighte gladen Theseus, Savinge his olde fader Egeus, That knew this worldes transmutacioun, As he had seyn it chaungen up and doun, Ioye after wo, and wo after gladnesse: And shewed hem ensamples and lyknesse.	Infinite been the sorwes and the teres Of olde folk, and folk of tendre yeres, In al the toun, for deeth of this Theban; For him ther wepeth bothe child and man; So greet a weping was ther noon, certayn, Whan Ector was y-broght, al fresh y-slayn, To Troye; allas! the pitee that was ther, Cracching of chekes, rending eek of heer. ‘Why woldestow be deed,’ thise wommen crye, ‘And haddest gold y-nough, and Emelye?’ No man mighte gladen Theseus, Savinge his olde fader Egeus, That knew this worldes transmutacioun, As he had seyn it chaungen up and doun, Ioye after wo, and wo after gladnesse: And shewed hem ensamples and lyknesse.
‘Right as ther deyed never man,’ quod he, ‘That he ne livede in erthe in som degree, Right so ther livede never man,’ he seyde, ‘In al this world, that som tyme he ne deyde. This world nis but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we ben pilgrimes, passinge to and fro; Deeth is an ende of every worldly sore.’ And over al this yet seyde he muchel more To this effect, ful wysly to enhorte The peple, that they sholde hem reconforte.	‘Right as ther deyed never man,’ quod he, ‘That he ne livede in erthe in som degree, Right so ther livede never man,’ he seyde, ‘In al this world, that som tyme he ne deyde. This world nis but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we ben pilgrimes, passinge to and fro; Deeth is an ende of every worldly sore.’ And over al this yet seyde he muchel more To this effect, ful wysly to enhorte The peple, that they sholde hem reconforte.

Original Text	Modern Text
Infinite been the sorwes and the teres Of olde folk, and folk of tendre yeres, In al the toun, for deeth of this Theban; For him ther wepeth bothe child and man; So greet a weping was ther noon, certayn, Whan Ector was y-broght, al fresh y-slayn, To Troye; allas! the pitee that was ther, Cracching of chekes, rending eek of heer. ‘Why woldestow be deed,’ thise wommen crye, ‘And haddest gold y-nough, and Emelye?’ No man mighte gladen Theseus, Savinge his olde fader Egeus, That knew this worldes transmutacioun, As he had seyn it chaungen up and doun, Ioye after wo, and wo after gladnesse: And shewed hem ensamples and lyknesse.	Infinite been the sorwes and the teres Of olde folk, and folk of tendre yeres, In al the toun, for deeth of this Theban; For him ther wepeth bothe child and man; So greet a weping was ther noon, certayn, Whan Ector was y-broght, al fresh y-slayn, To Troye; allas! the pitee that was ther, Cracching of chekes, rending eek of heer. ‘Why woldestow be deed,’ thise wommen crye, ‘And haddest gold y-nough, and Emelye?’ No man mighte gladen Theseus, Savinge his olde fader Egeus, That knew this worldes transmutacioun, As he had seyn it chaungen up and doun, Ioye after wo, and wo after gladnesse: And shewed hem ensamples and lyknesse.
‘Right as ther deyed never man,’ quod he, ‘That he ne livede in erthe in som degree, Right so ther livede never man,’ he seyde, ‘In al this world, that som tyme he ne deyde. This world nis but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we ben pilgrimes, passinge to and fro; Deeth is an ende of every worldly sore.’ And over al this yet seyde he muchel more To this effect, ful wysly to enhorte The peple, that they sholde hem reconforte.	‘Right as ther deyed never man,’ quod he, ‘That he ne livede in erthe in som degree, Right so ther livede never man,’ he seyde, ‘In al this world, that som tyme he ne deyde. This world nis but a thurghfare ful of wo, And we ben pilgrimes, passinge to and fro; Deeth is an ende of every worldly sore.’ And over al this yet seyde he muchel more To this effect, ful wysly to enhorte The peple, that they sholde hem reconforte.