Whilom, as oldë stories tellen us, There was a duke that hightë Theseus. Of Athens he was lord and governor, And in his timë such a conqueror That greater was there none under the sun. Full many a richë country had he won. What with his wisdom and his chivalry, He conquer’d all the regne of Feminie, That whilom was y-cleped Scythia; And weddedë the Queen Hippolyta, And brought her home with him to his country With muchel glory and great solemnity, And eke her youngë sister Emily, And thus with vict’ry and with melody Let I this worthy Duke to Athens ride, And all his host, in armës him beside.
And certes, if it n’ere too long to hear, I would have told you fully the mannére, How wonnen was the regne of Feminie, By Theseus, and by his chivalry; And of the greatë battle for the nonce Betwixt Athenës and the Amazons; And how assieged was Hippolyta, The fairë hardy queen of Scythia; And of the feast that was at her wedding, And of the tempest at her homecoming. But all these things I must as now forbear. I have, God wot, a largë field to ear; And weakë be the oxen in my plough; The remnant of my tale is long enow. I will not letten eke none of this rout. Let every fellow tell his tale about, And let see now who shall the supper win. There as I left, I will again begin.
This Duke, of whom I makë mentioún, When he was come almost unto the town, In all his weal and in his mostë pride, He was ware, as he cast his eye aside, Where that there kneeled in the highë way A company of ladies, tway and tway, Each after other, clad in clothës black: But such a cry and such a woe they make, That in this world n’is creatúre living, That heardë such another waimenting. And of this crying would they never stenten, Till they the reinës of his bridle henten. “What folk be ye that at mine homecoming Perturben so my feastë with crying?” Quoth