130 THE KNIGHTES TALE.
Gon at his large, and wher him lust may turne. But I moot ben in prisoun thurgh Saturne, And eek thurgh Juno, jalous and eek wood, That hath destruyed wel nygh al the blood Of Thebes, with his waste walles wyde. And Venus sleeth me on that other syde For jelousye, and fere of him Arcyte.'
Now wol I stynte of Palamon a lite, And lete him in his prisoun stille dwelle, And of Arcita forth I wol you telle. The somer passeth, and the nightes longe Encrescen double wise the peynes stronge Bo the of the lovere and the prisoner. I noot which hath the wofullere myster. Tor schortly for to seyn, this Palainoun Perpetually is dampned to prisoun, In cheynes and in fettres to be deed j And Arcite is exiled upon his heed For evere mo as out of that contre, Ne nevere mo he schal his lady see. Kow loveres axe I now this questioun, Who hath the worse, Arcite or Palamoun ? That on may se his lady day by day, But in prisoun he moste dwelle alway. That other wher him lust may ryde or go, But seen his lady schal he nevere mo. Now deemeth as j'ou luste, ye that can. For I wol telle forth as I began.
Whan that Arcite to Thebes comen was, Ful ofte a day he swelte and seye alas, For seen his lady schal he never n\o. And schortly to concluden al his wo, So moche sorwe hadde nevere creature, That is or schal whil that the world may dure, His sleep, his mete, his diynk is him byraft, That lene he wex, and drye as is a schaft. His eyen holwe, and grisly to biholde;