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Now wol I torne unto Arcite ageyn, That litel wiste how ny that was his care, Til that Fortune had broght him in the snare. Now wol I torne unto Arcite ageyn, That litel wiste how ny that was his care, Til that Fortune had broght him in the snare.
The bisy larke, messager of day, Saluëth in hir song the morwe gray; And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte, That al the orient laugheth of the lighte, And with his stremes dryeth in the greves The silver dropes, hanging on the leves. And Arcite, that is in the court royal With Theseus, his squyer principal, Is risen, and loketh on the myrie day. And, for to doon his observaunce to May, Remembring on the poynt of his desyr, He on a courser, sterting as the fyr, Is riden in-to the feeldes, him to pleye, Out of the court, were it a myle or tweye; And to the grove, of which that I yow tolde, By aventure, his wey he gan to holde, To maken him a gerland of the greves, Were it of wodebinde or hawethorn-leves, And loude he song ageyn the sonne shene: ‘May, with alle thy floures and thy grene, Wel-come be thou, faire fresshe May, I hope that I som grene gete may.’ And from his courser, with a lusty herte, In-to the grove ful hastily he sterte, And in a path he rometh up and doun, Ther-as, by aventure, this Palamoun Was in a bush, that no man mighte him see, For sore afered of his deeth was he. No-thing ne knew he that it was Arcite: God wot he wolde have trowed it ful lyte. But sooth is seyd, gon sithen many yeres, That ‘feeld hath eyen, and the wode hath eres.’ It is ful fair a man to bere him evene, For al-day meteth men at unset stevene. Ful litel woot Arcite of his felawe, That was so ny to herknen al his sawe, For in the bush he sitteth now ful stille. The bisy larke, messager of day, Saluëth in hir song the morwe gray; And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte, That al the orient laugheth of the lighte, And with his stremes dryeth in the greves The silver dropes, hanging on the leves. And Arcite, that is in the court royal With Theseus, his squyer principal, Is risen, and loketh on the myrie day. And, for to doon his observaunce to May, Remembring on the poynt of his desyr, He on a courser, sterting as the fyr, Is riden in-to the feeldes, him to pleye, Out of the court, were it a myle or tweye; And to the grove, of which that I yow tolde, By aventure, his wey he gan to holde, To maken him a gerland of the greves, Were it of wodebinde or hawethorn-leves, And loude he song ageyn the sonne shene: ‘May, with alle thy floures and thy grene, Wel-come be thou, faire fresshe May, I hope that I som grene gete may.’ And from his courser, with a lusty herte, In-to the grove ful hastily he sterte, And in a path he rometh up and doun, Ther-as, by aventure, this Palamoun Was in a bush, that no man mighte him see, For sore afered of his deeth was he. No-thing ne knew he that it was Arcite: God wot he wolde have trowed it ful lyte. But sooth is seyd, gon sithen many yeres, That ‘feeld hath eyen, and the wode hath eres.’ It is ful fair a man to bere him evene, For al-day meteth men at unset stevene. Ful litel woot Arcite of his felawe, That was so ny to herknen al his sawe, For in the bush he sitteth now ful stille.

Original Text

Modern Text

Now wol I torne unto Arcite ageyn, That litel wiste how ny that was his care, Til that Fortune had broght him in the snare. Now wol I torne unto Arcite ageyn, That litel wiste how ny that was his care, Til that Fortune had broght him in the snare.
The bisy larke, messager of day, Saluëth in hir song the morwe gray; And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte, That al the orient laugheth of the lighte, And with his stremes dryeth in the greves The silver dropes, hanging on the leves. And Arcite, that is in the court royal With Theseus, his squyer principal, Is risen, and loketh on the myrie day. And, for to doon his observaunce to May, Remembring on the poynt of his desyr, He on a courser, sterting as the fyr, Is riden in-to the feeldes, him to pleye, Out of the court, were it a myle or tweye; And to the grove, of which that I yow tolde, By aventure, his wey he gan to holde, To maken him a gerland of the greves, Were it of wodebinde or hawethorn-leves, And loude he song ageyn the sonne shene: ‘May, with alle thy floures and thy grene, Wel-come be thou, faire fresshe May, I hope that I som grene gete may.’ And from his courser, with a lusty herte, In-to the grove ful hastily he sterte, And in a path he rometh up and doun, Ther-as, by aventure, this Palamoun Was in a bush, that no man mighte him see, For sore afered of his deeth was he. No-thing ne knew he that it was Arcite: God wot he wolde have trowed it ful lyte. But sooth is seyd, gon sithen many yeres, That ‘feeld hath eyen, and the wode hath eres.’ It is ful fair a man to bere him evene, For al-day meteth men at unset stevene. Ful litel woot Arcite of his felawe, That was so ny to herknen al his sawe, For in the bush he sitteth now ful stille. The bisy larke, messager of day, Saluëth in hir song the morwe gray; And fyry Phebus ryseth up so brighte, That al the orient laugheth of the lighte, And with his stremes dryeth in the greves The silver dropes, hanging on the leves. And Arcite, that is in the court royal With Theseus, his squyer principal, Is risen, and loketh on the myrie day. And, for to doon his observaunce to May, Remembring on the poynt of his desyr, He on a courser, sterting as the fyr, Is riden in-to the feeldes, him to pleye, Out of the court, were it a myle or tweye; And to the grove, of which that I yow tolde, By aventure, his wey he gan to holde, To maken him a gerland of the greves, Were it of wodebinde or hawethorn-leves, And loude he song ageyn the sonne shene: ‘May, with alle thy floures and thy grene, Wel-come be thou, faire fresshe May, I hope that I som grene gete may.’ And from his courser, with a lusty herte, In-to the grove ful hastily he sterte, And in a path he rometh up and doun, Ther-as, by aventure, this Palamoun Was in a bush, that no man mighte him see, For sore afered of his deeth was he. No-thing ne knew he that it was Arcite: God wot he wolde have trowed it ful lyte. But sooth is seyd, gon sithen many yeres, That ‘feeld hath eyen, and the wode hath eres.’ It is ful fair a man to bere him evene, For al-day meteth men at unset stevene. Ful litel woot Arcite of his felawe, That was so ny to herknen al his sawe, For in the bush he sitteth now ful stille.