No Fear Literature: The Canterbury Tales: The Knight’s Tale, Part Four Page 2

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Original Text	Modern Text
The grete Theseus, that of his sleep awaked With minstralcye and noyse that was maked, Held yet the chambre of his paleys riche, Til that the Thebane knightes, bothe y-liche Honoured, were into the paleys fet. Duk Theseus was at a window set, Arrayed right as he were a god in trone. The peple preesseth thider-ward ful sone Him for to seen, and doon heigh reverence, And eek to herkne his hest and his sentence.	The grete Theseus, that of his sleep awaked With minstralcye and noyse that was maked, Held yet the chambre of his paleys riche, Til that the Thebane knightes, bothe y-liche Honoured, were into the paleys fet. Duk Theseus was at a window set, Arrayed right as he were a god in trone. The peple preesseth thider-ward ful sone Him for to seen, and doon heigh reverence, And eek to herkne his hest and his sentence.
An heraud on a scaffold made an ho, Til al the noyse of the peple was y-do; And whan he saugh the peple of noyse al stille, Tho showed he the mighty dukes wille.	An heraud on a scaffold made an ho, Til al the noyse of the peple was y-do; And whan he saugh the peple of noyse al stille, Tho showed he the mighty dukes wille.
‘The lord hath of his heigh discrecioun Considered, that it were destruccioun To gentil blood, to fighten in the gyse Of mortal bataille now in this empryse; Wherfore, to shapen that they shul not dye, He wol his firste purpos modifye. No man therfor, up peyne of los of lyf, No maner shot, ne pollax, ne short knyf Into the listes sende, or thider bringe; Ne short swerd for to stoke, with poynt bytinge, No man ne drawe, ne bere it by his syde. Ne no man shal unto his felawe ryde But o cours, with a sharp y-grounde spere; Foyne, if him list, on fote, him-self to were. And he that is at meschief, shal be take, And noght slayn, but be broght unto the stake That shal ben ordeyned on either syde; But thider he shal by force, and ther abyde. And if so falle, the chieftayn be take On either syde, or elles slee his make, No lenger shal the turneyinge laste. God spede yow; goth forth, and ley on faste. With long swerd and with maces fight your fille. Goth now your wey; this is the lordes wille.’	‘The lord hath of his heigh discrecioun Considered, that it were destruccioun To gentil blood, to fighten in the gyse Of mortal bataille now in this empryse; Wherfore, to shapen that they shul not dye, He wol his firste purpos modifye. No man therfor, up peyne of los of lyf, No maner shot, ne pollax, ne short knyf Into the listes sende, or thider bringe; Ne short swerd for to stoke, with poynt bytinge, No man ne drawe, ne bere it by his syde. Ne no man shal unto his felawe ryde But o cours, with a sharp y-grounde spere; Foyne, if him list, on fote, him-self to were. And he that is at meschief, shal be take, And noght slayn, but be broght unto the stake That shal ben ordeyned on either syde; But thider he shal by force, and ther abyde. And if so falle, the chieftayn be take On either syde, or elles slee his make, No lenger shal the turneyinge laste. God spede yow; goth forth, and ley on faste. With long swerd and with maces fight your fille. Goth now your wey; this is the lordes wille.’

Original Text	Modern Text
The grete Theseus, that of his sleep awaked With minstralcye and noyse that was maked, Held yet the chambre of his paleys riche, Til that the Thebane knightes, bothe y-liche Honoured, were into the paleys fet. Duk Theseus was at a window set, Arrayed right as he were a god in trone. The peple preesseth thider-ward ful sone Him for to seen, and doon heigh reverence, And eek to herkne his hest and his sentence.	The grete Theseus, that of his sleep awaked With minstralcye and noyse that was maked, Held yet the chambre of his paleys riche, Til that the Thebane knightes, bothe y-liche Honoured, were into the paleys fet. Duk Theseus was at a window set, Arrayed right as he were a god in trone. The peple preesseth thider-ward ful sone Him for to seen, and doon heigh reverence, And eek to herkne his hest and his sentence.
An heraud on a scaffold made an ho, Til al the noyse of the peple was y-do; And whan he saugh the peple of noyse al stille, Tho showed he the mighty dukes wille.	An heraud on a scaffold made an ho, Til al the noyse of the peple was y-do; And whan he saugh the peple of noyse al stille, Tho showed he the mighty dukes wille.
‘The lord hath of his heigh discrecioun Considered, that it were destruccioun To gentil blood, to fighten in the gyse Of mortal bataille now in this empryse; Wherfore, to shapen that they shul not dye, He wol his firste purpos modifye. No man therfor, up peyne of los of lyf, No maner shot, ne pollax, ne short knyf Into the listes sende, or thider bringe; Ne short swerd for to stoke, with poynt bytinge, No man ne drawe, ne bere it by his syde. Ne no man shal unto his felawe ryde But o cours, with a sharp y-grounde spere; Foyne, if him list, on fote, him-self to were. And he that is at meschief, shal be take, And noght slayn, but be broght unto the stake That shal ben ordeyned on either syde; But thider he shal by force, and ther abyde. And if so falle, the chieftayn be take On either syde, or elles slee his make, No lenger shal the turneyinge laste. God spede yow; goth forth, and ley on faste. With long swerd and with maces fight your fille. Goth now your wey; this is the lordes wille.’	‘The lord hath of his heigh discrecioun Considered, that it were destruccioun To gentil blood, to fighten in the gyse Of mortal bataille now in this empryse; Wherfore, to shapen that they shul not dye, He wol his firste purpos modifye. No man therfor, up peyne of los of lyf, No maner shot, ne pollax, ne short knyf Into the listes sende, or thider bringe; Ne short swerd for to stoke, with poynt bytinge, No man ne drawe, ne bere it by his syde. Ne no man shal unto his felawe ryde But o cours, with a sharp y-grounde spere; Foyne, if him list, on fote, him-self to were. And he that is at meschief, shal be take, And noght slayn, but be broght unto the stake That shal ben ordeyned on either syde; But thider he shal by force, and ther abyde. And if so falle, the chieftayn be take On either syde, or elles slee his make, No lenger shal the turneyinge laste. God spede yow; goth forth, and ley on faste. With long swerd and with maces fight your fille. Goth now your wey; this is the lordes wille.’