University of Virginia Library

Juge infernal, Mynos, of Crete kyng,
Now cometh thy lot, now comestow on the ryng.
Nat for thy sake oonly write I this storye,
But for to clepe ageyn unto memorye
Of Theseus the grete untrouthe of love;
For which the goddes of the heven above
Ben wrothe, and wreche han take for thy synne.
Be red for shame! Now I thy lyf begynne.

Mynos, that was the myghty kyng of Crete,
That hadde an hundred citees stronge and grete
To scole hath sent hys sone Androgeus,
To Athenes; of the which hyt happed thus,
That he was slayn, lernynge philosophie,
Ryght in that citee, nat but for envye.
The grete Mynos, of the which I speke,
Hys sones deth ys come for to wreke.
Alcathoe he besegeth harde and longe;
But natheles, the walles be so stronge,
And Nysus, that was kyng of that citee,
So chevalrous, that lytel dredeth he;
Of Mynos or hys ost tok he no cure,
Til on a day befel an aventure,
That Nysus doughter stod upon the wal,
And of the sege saw the maner al.
So happed it that at a scarmishyng
She caste hire herte upon Mynos the kyng,
For his beaute and for his chyvalrye,
So sore that she wende for to dye.
And, shortly of this proces for to pace,
She made Mynos wynnen thilke place,
So that the cite was al at his wille,
To saven whom hym leste or elles spille.
But wikkedly he quitte hire kyndenesse,
And let hire drenche in sorwe and distresse,
Here that the goddes hadde of hire pite;
But that tale were to long as now for me.
Athenes wan thys kyng Mynos also,
As Alcathoe, and other tounes mo.
And this th'effect, that Mynos hath so driven
Hem of Athenes that they mote hym yiven
From yer to yer hire owene children dere
For to be slayne right as ye shal here.

This Mynos hadde a monstre, a wiked best,
That was so crewel that, withoute arest,
Whan that a man was brought in his presence,
He wolde hym ete; ther helpeth no defence.
And every thridde yeer, withouten doute,
They caste lot, and as it com aboute
On riche, on pore, he moste his sone take,
And of his child he moste present make
Unto Minos, to save hym or to spylle,
Or lete his best devoure hym at his wille.
And this hath Mynos don, ryght in dispit;
To wreke his sone was set al his delyt,
And maken hem of Athenes his thral
From yer to yer, whil that he liven shal;
And hom he sayleth whan this toun is wonne.
This wiked custom is so longe yronne,
Til that of Athenes kyng Egeus
Mot senden his owene sone, Theseus,
Sith that the lot is fallen hym upon,
To ben devoured, for grace is there non.
And forth is lad this woful yonge knyght
Unto the court of kyng Mynos ful ryght,
And into a prysoun, fetered, cast is he
Tyl thilke tyme he sholde freten be.

Wel maystow wepe, O woful Theseus,
That art a kynges sone, and dampned thus.
Me thynketh this, that thow were depe yholde
To whom that savede thee from cares colde!
And if now any woman helpe the,
Wel oughtestow hire servaunt for to be,
And ben hire trewe lovere yer be yere!
But now to come ageyn to my matere.
The tour there as this Theseus is throwe
Doun in the botom derk and wonder lowe,
Was joynynge in the wal to a foreyne;
And it was longynge to the doughtren tweyne
Of Mynos, that in hire chaumbers grete
Dwellten above, toward the mayster-strete
Of Athenes, in joye and in solas.
Noot I not how, it happede par cas,
As Theseus compleynede hym by nyghte,
The kynges doughter, Adryane that highte,
And ek hire syster Phedra, herden al
His compleynynge as they stode on the wal
And lokeden upon the bryghte mone.
Hem leste nat to go to bedde so sone;
And of his wo they hadde compassioun.
A kynges sone to ben in swich prysoun,
And ben devoured, thoughte hem gret pite.
This Adryane spak to hire syster fre,
And seyde, "Phedra, leve syster dere,
This woful lordes sone may ye nat here,
How pitously compleyneth he his kyn,
And ek his povre estat that he is in,
And gilteles? Now, certes, it is routhe!
And if ye wol assenten, by my trouthe,
He shal ben holpen, how so that we do."
Phedra answerde, "Ywis, me is as wo
For hym as evere I was for any man;
And, to his help, the beste red I can
Is that we do the gayler prively
To come and speke with us hastily,
And don this woful man with hym to come.
For if he may this monstre overcome,
Thanne were he quyt; ther is non other bote.
Lat us wel taste hym at his herte-rote
That if so be that he a wepen have,
Wher that he dar, his lyf to kepe and save,
Fyghten with the fend, and hym defende.
For in the prysoun ther he shal descende,
Ye wote wel that the beste is in a place
That nys nat derk, and hath roum eek and space
To welde an ax, or swerd, or staf, or knyf;
So that, me thynketh, he shulde save his lyf.
If that he be a man, he shal do so.
And we shul make hym balles ek also
Of wex and tow, that whan he gapeth faste,
Into the bestes throte he shal hem caste
To slake his hunger and encombre his teth;
And right anon, whan that Theseus seth
The beste achoked, he shal on hym lepe
To slen hym or they comen more to-hepe.
This wepen shal the gayler, or that tyde,
Ful prively withinne the prysoun hyde;
And for the hous is krynkeled to and fro,
And hath so queynte weyes for to go —
For it is shapen as the mase is wrought —
Therto have I a remedye in my thought,
That, by a clewe of twyn, as he hath gon,
The same weye he may returne anon,
Folwynge alwey the thred as he hath come.
And whan that he this beste hath overcome,
Thanne may he flen awey out of this drede,
And ek the gayler may he with hym lede,
And hym avaunce at hom in his cuntre,
Syn that so gret a lordes sone is he.
This is my red, if that he dar it take."
What sholde I lenger sarmoun of it make?
This gayler cometh, and with hym Theseus.
Whan these thynges ben acorded thus,
Adoun sit Theseus upon his kne —
"The ryghte lady of my lyf," quod he,
"I, sorweful man, ydampned to the deth,
Fro yow, whil that me lasteth lyf or breth,
I wol nat twynne, after this aventure,
But in youre servise thus I wol endure,
That, as a wreche unknowe, I wol yow serve
For everemo, til that myn herte sterve.
Forsake I wol at hom myn herytage,
And, as I seyde, ben of youre court a page,
If that ye vouche-sauf that in this place
Ye graunte me to han so gret a grace
That I may han nat but my mete and drynke.
And for my sustenaunce yit wol I swynke,
Ryght as yow leste, that Mynos ne no wight —
Syn that he saw me nevere with eyen syght —
Ne no man elles, shal me conne espye;
So slyly and so wel I shal me gye,
And me so wel disfigure and so lowe,
That in this world ther shal no man me knowe,
To han my lyf, and for to han presence
Of yow, that don to me this excellence.
And to my fader shal I sende here
This worthy man that is now youre gaylere,
And hym so gwerdone that he shal wel be
Oon of the gretteste men of my cuntre.
And if I durste seyn, my lady bryght,
I am a kynges sone and ek a knyght.
As wolde God, if that it myghte he
Ye weren in my cuntre, alle thre,
And I with yow to bere yow compaignye,
Thanne shulde ye se if that I therof lye.
And if I profre yow in low manere
To ben youre page and serven yow ryght here,
But I yow serve as lowly in that place,
I preye to Mars to yeve me swich a grace
That shames deth on me ther mote falle,
And deth and poverte to my frendes alle;
And that my spirit by nyghte mote go,
After my deth, and walke to and fro,
That I mote of traytour have a name,
For which my spirit go, to do me shame!
And if I evere cleyme other degre,
But if ye vouche-sauf to yeve it me,
As I have seyd, of shames deth I deye!
And mercy, lady! I can nat elles seye."

A semely knyght was Theseus to se,
And yong, but of a twenty yer and thre.
But whoso hadde seyn his contenaunce,
He wolde have wept for routhe of his penaunce;
For which this Adryane in this manere
Answerde hym to his profre and to his chere:
"A kynges sone, and ek a knyght," quod she,
"To ben my servaunt in so low degre,
God shilde it, for the shame of wemen alle,
And lene me nevere swich a cas befalle!
But sende yow grace of herte and sleyghte also,
Yow to defende and knyghtly slen youre fo,
And leve hereafter that I may yow fynde
To me and to my syster here so kynde,
That I repente nat to yeve yow lyf!
Yit were it betere that I were youre wyf,
Syn that ye ben as gentil horn as I,
And have a reaume, nat but faste by,
Than that I suffered, gilteles, yow sterve,
Or that I let yow as a page serve.
It nys no profre as unto youre kynrede;
But what is that that man nyl don for drede?
And to my syster, syn that it is so
That she mot gon with me, if that I go,
Or elles suffre deth as wel as I,
That ye unto youre sone as trewely
Don hire hen wedded at youre hom-comyng.
This is the final ende of al this thyng;
Ye swere it here, upon al that may be sworn."

"Ye, lady myn," quod he, "or ellis torn
Mote I be with the Mynotaur to-morwe!
And haveth hereof myn herte blod to borwe,
If that ye wole; if I hadde knyf or spere,
I wolde it laten out, and theron swere,
For thanne at erst I wot ye wole me leve.
By Mars, that is the chef of my beleve,
So that I myghte liven and nat fayle
To-morwe for t'acheve my batayle,
I wolde nevere from this place fle,
Til that ye shulde the verray preve se.
For now, if that the sothe I shal yow say,
I have yloved yow ful many a day,
Thogh ye ne wiste it nat, in my cuntre,
And aldermost desired yow to se
Of any erthly livynge creature.
Upon my trouthe I swere and yow assure,
This sevene yer I have youre servaunt be.
Now have I yow, and also have ye me,
My dere herte, of Athenes duchesse!"

This lady smyleth at his stedefastnesse,
And at his hertely wordes and his chere,
And to hyre sister seyde in this manere,
Al softely: "Now, syster myn," quod she,
"Now be we duchesses, bothe I and ye,
And sekered to the regals of Athenes,
And bothe hereafter likly to ben quenes;
And saved from his deth a kynges sone,
As evere of gentil women is the wone
To save a gentyl man, emforth hire myght,
In honest cause, and namely in his ryght.
Me thynketh no wight oughte us herof blame,
Ne beren us therfore an evil name."
And shortly of this mater for to make,
This Theseus of hire hath leve take,
And every poynt was performed in dede
As ye han in this covenaunt herd me rede.
His wepne, his clewe, his thyng, that I have sayd,
Was by the gayler in the hous yleyd,
Ther as the Mynotaur hath his dwellynge,
Ryght faste by the dore, at his entrynge.
And Theseus is lad unto his deth,
And forth unto this Mynotaur he geth,
And by the techynge of this Adryane
He overcom this beste and was his bane;
And out he cometh by the clewe agayn
Ful prively, whan he this beste hath slayn;
And by the gayler geten hath a barge,
And of his wyves tresor gan it charge,
And tok his wif, and ek hire sister fre,
And ek the gayler, and with hem alle thre
Is stole awey out of the lond by nyghte,
And to the contre of Ennopye hym dyghte
There as he hadde a frend of his knowynge.
There feste they, there daunce they and synge;
And in his armes hath this Adryane,
That of the beste hath kept hym from his bane;
And gat hym there a newe barge anon,
And of his contre-folk a ful gret won,
And taketh his leve, and homward sayleth he.
And in an yle amyd the wilde se,
Ther as there dwelled creature non
Save wilde bestes, and that ful many oon,
He made his ship a-londe for to sette;
And in that yle half a day he lette,
And seyde that on the lond he moste hym reste.
His maryners han don ryght as hym leste;
And, for to tellen shortly in this cas,
Whan Adryane his wif aslepe was,
For that hire syster fayrer was than she,
He taketh hire in his hond and forth goth he
To shipe, and as a traytour stal his wey,
Whil that this Adryane aslepe lay,
And to his contre-ward he sayleth blyve —
A twenty devel-wey the wynd hym dryve! —
And fond his fader drenched in the se.

Me lest no more to speke of hym, parde.
These false lovers, poysoun be here bane!
But I wol turne ageyn to Adryane,
That is with slep for werynesse atake.
Ful sorwefully hire herte may awake.
Allas, for thee myn herte hath now pite!
Ryght in the dawenyng awaketh she,
And gropeth in the bed, and fond ryght nought.
"Allas," quod she, "that evere I was wrought!
I am betrayed!" and hire her torente,
And to the stronde barefot faste she wente,
And cryed, "Theseus, myn herte swete!
Where be ye, that I may nat with yow mete,
And myghte thus with bestes ben yslayn?"
The holwe rokkes answerde hire agayn.
No man she saw, and yit shyned the mone,
And hye upon a rokke she wente sone,
And saw his barge saylynge in the se.
Cold wex hire herte, and ryght thus seyde she:
"Meker than ye fynde I the bestes wilde!"
Hadde he nat synne that hire thus begylde?
She cryed, "O turn ageyn, for routhe and synne!
Thy barge hath nat al his meyne inne!"
Hire coverchef on a pole up steked she,
Ascaunce that he shulde it wel yse,
And hym remembre that she was behynde,
And turne ageyn, and on the stronde hire fynde.
But al for nought; his wey he is ygon.
Adoun she fyl aswoune upon a ston;
And up she rist, and kyssed, in al hire care,
The steppes of his fet ther he hath fare,
And to hire bed ryght thus she speketh tho:
"Thow bed," quod she, "that hast receyved two,
Thow shalt answere of two, and nat of oon!
Where is thy gretter part awey ygon?
Allas! Where shal I, wreche wight, become?
For thogh so be that ship or boot here come,
Hom to my contre dar I nat for drede.
I can myselven in this cas nat rede."
What shulde I more telle hire compleynyng?
It is so long, it were an hevy thyng.
In hire Epistel Naso telleth al;
But shortly to the ende I telle shal.
The goddes han hire holpen for pite,
And in the signe of Taurus men may se
The stones of hire corone shyne clere.
I wol no more speke of this mateere;
But thus this false lovere can begyle
His trewe love, the devel quyte hym his while!