The Canterbury Tales | The Knight’s Tale
The Knight’s Tale
ONCE ON A TIME, as old tales tell to us,There was a duke whose name was Theseus;
Of Athens he was lord and governor,
And in his time was such a conqueror
That greater was there not beneath the sun.(5)
Full many a rich country had he won;
What with his wisdom and his chivalry
He gained the realm of Femininity,
That was of old time known as Scythia.
There wedded he the queen, Hippolyta,(10)
And brought her home with him to his country.
In glory great and with great pageantry,
And, too, her younger sister, Emily.
And thus, in victory and with melody,
Let I this noble duke to Athens ride.(15)
With all his armed host marching at his side.
This duke of whom I speak, of great renown,
When he had drawn almost unto the town,
In all well-being and in utmost pride,
He grew aware, casting his eyes aside,(20)
That right upon the road, as suppliants do,
A company of ladies, two by two,
Knelt, all in black, before his cavalcade;
But such a clamorous cry of woe they made
That in the whole world living man had heard(25)
No such a lamentation, on my word;
Nor would they cease lamenting till at last
They’d clutched his bridle reins and held them fast.
“What folk are you that at my home-coming
Disturb my triumph with this dolorous thing?”(30)
Cried Theseus. “Do you so much envy
My honour that you thus complain and cry?
Or who has wronged you now, or who offended?
Come, tell me whether it may be amended;
And tell me, why are you clothed thus in black?”(35)
The eldest lady of them answered back,
After she’d swooned, with cheek so deathly drear
That it was pitiful to see and hear,
And said: “Lord, to whom Fortune has but given
Victory, and to conquer where you’ve striven,(40)
Your glory and your honour grieve not us;
But we beseech your aid and pity thus.
Have mercy on our woe and our distress.
Some drop of pity, of your gentleness,
Upon us wretched women, oh, let fall!(45)
For see, lord, there is no one of us all
That has not been a duchess or a queen;
Now we are captives, as may well be seen:
Thanks be to Fortune and her treacherous wheel,
There’s none can rest assured of constant weal.(50)
And truly, lord, expecting your return,
In Pity’s temple, where the fires yet burn.
We have been waiting through a long fortnight;
Now help us, lord, since it is in your might.”
“I, wretched woman, who am weeping thus,(55)
Was once the wife of King Capaneus,
Who died at Thebes, oh, cursed be the day!
And all we that you see in this array,
And make this lamentation to be known,
All we have lost our husbands at that town(60)
During the siege that round about it lay.
And now the old Creon, ah welaway!
The lord and governor of Thebes city,
Full of his wrath and all iniquity,
He, in despite and out of tyranny,(65)
To do all shame and hurt to the bodies
Of our lord husbands, lying slain awhile,
Has drawn them all together in a pile,
And will not suffer them, nor give consent,
To buried be, or burned, nor will relent,(70)
But sets his dogs to eat them, out of spite.”
And on that word, at once, without respite,
They all fell prone and cried out piteously:
“Have on us wretched women some mercy,
And let our sorrows sink into your heart!(75)
This gentle duke down from his horse did start
With heart of pity, when he’d heard them speak.
It seemed to him his heart must surely break,
And in his arms he took them tenderly,
Giving them comfort understandingly:(80)
And swore his oath, that as he was true knight,
He would put forth so thoroughly his might
Against the tyrant Creon as to wreak
Vengeance so great that all of Greece should speak
And say how Creon was by Theseus served,(85)
As one that had his death full well deserved.
This sworn and done, he no more there abode;
His banner he displayed and forth he rode
Toward Thebes, and all his host marched on beside.
Thus rode this duke, thus rode this conqueror,(90)
And in his host of chivalry the flower,
Until he came to Thebes and did alight
Full in the field where he’d intent to fight.
But to be brief in telling of this thing,
With Creon, who was Thebes’ dread lord and king,(95)
He fought and slew him, manfully, like knight,
In open war, and put his host to flight;
And by assault he took the city then,
Levelling wall and rafter with his men;
And to the ladies he restored again(100)
The bones of their poor husbands who were slain,
To do for them the last rites of that day.
In searching through the heap of enemy dead,
Stripping them of their gear from heel to head,
The busy pillagers could pick and choose,(105)
After the battle, what they best could use;
And so befell that in a heap they found,
Pierced through with many a grievous, bloody wound,
Two young knights lying together, side by side,
And of those two Arcita was the one,(110)
The other knight was known as Palamon.
Not fully quick, nor fully dead they were,
But by their coats of arms and by their gear
The heralds readily could tell, withal,
That they were of the Theban blood royal,(115)
And that they had been of two sisters born.
Out of the heap the spoilers had them torn
And carried gently over to the tent
Of Theseus; who shortly had thern sent
To Athens, there in prison cell to lie(120)
For ever, without ransom till they die.
And when this worthy duke had all this done,
He gathered host and home he rode anon,
With laurel crowned again as conqueror;
There lived he in all joy and all honour(125)
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