And Palamon made answer hastily, And said--“O Sire, why should we waste more breath? For both of us deserve to die the death. Two wretched creatures are we, glad to die Tired of our lives, tired of our misery-- And as thou art a rightful lord and judge So give us neither mercy nor refùge! And slay me first, for holy charity-- But slay my fellow too as well as me! --Or slay him first, for though thou little know, This is Arcite--this is thy mortal foe, Who from thy land was banished on his head, For which he richly merits to be dead! Yea, this is he who came unto thy gate, And told thee that his name was Philostrate-- Thus year by year hath he defied thine ire-- And thou appointest him thy chiefest squire --And this is he who loveth Emelye! “For since the day is come when I shall die, Thus plain I make confession, and I own I am that miserable Palamon Who have thy prison broken wilfully! I am thy mortal foe,--and it is I Who love so madly Emelye the bright, That I would die this moment in her sight! Therefore I ask death and my doom to-day-- But slay my fellow in the selfsame way:-- For we have both deservëd to be slain.” And angrily the duke replied again, “There is no need to judge you any more, Your own mouth, by confession, o’er and o’er Condemns you, and I will the words record. There is no need to pain you with the cord. Ye both shall die, by mighty Mars the red!” Then the queen, ‘for verray wommanhede,’ began to weep, and so did Emelye, and all the ladies present. It seemed pitiful that two brave men, both of high lineage, should come to such an end, and only for loving a lady so faithfully. All the ladies prayed Theseus to have mercy on them, and pardon the knights for their sakes. They knelt at his feet, weeping and entreating him-- And wold have kist his feet ther as he stood, Till atte laste aslaked was his mood; For pite renneth sone in gentil herte, runneth And though he first for ire quok and sterte, shook He hath considerd shortly in a clause The trespas of hem bothe, and eek the cause: And although that his ire hire gylt accusede, their Yet in his resoun he hem bothe excusede. them And would have kissed his feet there as he stood, Until at last appeasëd was his mood, For pity springeth soon in gentle heart. And though he first for rage did quake and start, He hath considered briefly in the pause The greatness of their crime, and, too, its cause; And while his passion had their guilt accused, Yet now his calmer reason both excused. Everybody had sympathy for those who were in love;[96] and Theseus’ heart ‘had compassion of women, for they wept ever in on’ (continually). So the kindly duke softened, and said to all the crowd good-humouredly, “What a mighty and great lord is the god of love!”