John Dryden - The Works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 12

Who may ben a fool, but if he love?
Behold, for Goddes sake, that sitteth above,
Se how they blede! be they not wel araied?
Thus hath hir lord, the god of Love, hem paied
Hir wages and hir fees for hir service,
And yet they wenen for to be ful wise
That serven Love, for ought that may befalle.
And yet is this the beste game of alle,
That she, for whom they have this jolite,
Con hem therfore as mochel thank as me.
She wot no more of alle this hote fare,
By God, than wot a cuckow or an hare.
But alle mote ben assaied hote or cold;
A man mot ben a fool, other yonge or old;
I wot it by myself ful yore agon;
For in my time a servant was I on:
And therefore sith I know of loves peine,
And wote how sore it can a man destreine;
As he that oft hath been caught in his las,
I you foryeve all holly this trespas,
At request of the quene, that kneleth here,
And eke of Emelie, my suster dere,
And ye shul both anon unto me swere
That never mo ye shul my contree dere,
Ne maken werre upon me night ne day,
But ben my frendes in alle that ye may.
I you foryeve this trespas every del.
And they him sware his axing fayr and wel;
And him of lordship and of mercie praid,
And he hem granted grace, and thus he said:
To speke of real linage and richesse,
Though that she were a quene or a princesse,
Eche of you bothe is worthy, douteles,
To wedden whan time is, but natheles
I speke as for my suster Emelie,
For whom ye have this strif and jalousie,
Ye wot yourself, she may not wedden two
At ones, though ye fighten evermo;
But on of you, al be him loth or lefe,
He mot gon pipen in an ivy lefe;
This is to say, she may not have you bothe,
Al be ye never so jalous, ne so wrothe:
And forthy I you put in this degree,
That eche of you shall have his destinee
As him is shape, and herkneth in what wise;
Lo here your ende, of that I shal devise.
My will is this, for plat conclusion,
Withouten any replication:
If that you liketh, take it for the beste,
That everich of you shal gon wher him lest,
Freely, withouten raunson or dangere;
And this day fifty wekes, ferre ne nere,
Everich of you shal bring an hundred knightes,
Armed for the listes up at all rightes,
Alle redy to darrein hire by bataille.
And this behete I you withouten faille,
Upon my trouth, and as I am a knight,
That whether of you bothe hath that might,
This is to sayn, that whether he or thou
May with his hundred, as I spake of now,
Sle his contrary, or out of listes drive,
Him shall I yeven Emelie to wive,
To whom that fortune yeveth so fayr a grace.
The listes shal I maken in this place;
And God so wisly on my soule rewe,
As I shal even juge ben, and trewe.
Ye shal non other ende with me maken,
That on of you ne shall be ded or taken;
And if you thinketh this is wel ysaid,
Saith your avis, and holdeth you apaid.
This is your ende, and your conclusion.
Who loketh lightly now but Palamon?
Who springeth up for joye but Arcite?
Who coud it tell, or who coud it endite,
The joye that is maked in the place,
Whan Theseus hath don so fayre a grace?
But doun on knees went every manere wight,
And thanked him with all hir hertes might,
And namely these Thebanes often sith.
And thus with good hope and with herte blith
They taken hir leve, and homeward gan they ride
To Thebes with his olde walles wide.
I trowe men wolde deme it negligence
If I foryete to tellen the dispence
Of Theseus, that goth so besily
To maken up the listes really,
That swiche a noble theatre as it was
I dare wel sayn in alle this world ther n'as.
The circuite a mile was aboute,
Walled of stone, and diched all withoute;
Round was the shape, in manere of a compas,
Ful of degrees, the hight of sixty pas,
That, whan a man was set on o degree,
He letted not his felaw for to see.
Estward ther stood a gate of marbel white,
Westward right swiche another in the opposite;
And shortly to concluden, swiche a place
Was never in erth, in so litel a space:
For in the lond ther n'as no craftes man
That geometrie or arsemetrike can,
Ne portreiour, ne kerver of images,
That Theseus ne yaf him mete and wages,
The theatre for to maken and devise.
And for to don his rite and sacrifice,
He estward hath upon the gate above,
In worship of Venus, goddesse of Love,
Don make an auter, and an oratorie;
And westward, in the minde and in memorie
Of Mars, he maked hath right swich another,
That coste largely of gold a fother:
And northward, in a touret on the wall,
Of alabastre white, and red corall,
An oratorie, riche for to see,
In worship of Diane of chastitee,
Hath Theseus don wrought in noble wise.
But yet had I foryetten to devise
The noble kerving, and the portreitures,
The shape, the contenance, of the figures
That weren in these oratories three.
First, in the temple of Venus, maist thou see,
Wrought on the wall, ful pitous to beholde,
The broken slepes, and the sikes cold,
The sacred teres, and the waimentinges,
The firy strokes of the desiringes,
That Loves servantes in this lif enduren,
The othes that hir covenants assuren.
Plesance and Hope, Desire, Foolhardinesse,
Beaute and Youth, Baudrie and Richesse,
Charmes and Force, Lesinges and Flaterie,
Dispence, Besinesse, and Jalousie,
That wered of yelwe goldes a gerlond,
And hadde a cuckow sitting on hire hond;
Festes, instruments, and caroles, and dances,
Lust and array, and all the circumstances
Of Love, which that I reken, and reken shall,
By ordre weren peinted on the wall,
And mo than I can make of mention:
For sothly all the mount of Citheron,
Ther Venus hath hire principal dwelling,
Was shewed on the wall in purtreying,
With all the gardin, and the lustinesse:
Nought was foryetten the porter Idlenesse,
Ne Narcissus the fayrr, of yore agone,
Ne yet the folie of King Salomon,
Ne yet the grete strengthe of Hercules.
The enchantment of Medea and Circes,
Ne of Turnus the hardy fiers corage,
The riche Cresus, caitif in servage.
Thus may ye seen, that wisdom ne richesse,
Beaute ne sleighte, strengthe ne hardinesse,
Ne may with Venus holden champartie;
For as hire liste, the world may she gie.
Lo, all these folk so caught were in hire las,
Til they for wo ful often said, Alas!
Sufficeth here ensamples on or two,
And yet I coud reken a thousand mo.
The statue of Venus, glorious for to see,
Was naked fleting in the large see,
And, fro the navel doun, all covered was
With wawes grene, and bright as any glas:
A citole in hire right hand hadde she,
And on hire hed, ful semely for to see,
A rose gerlond fresh, and wel smelling;
Above hire hed, hire doves fleckering;
Before hire stood hire sone Cupido;
Upon his shoulders winges had he two,
And blind he was, as it is often sene;
A bow he bare, and arwes bright and kene.
Why shuld I not as wel eke tell you all
The purtreiture that was upon the wall,
Within the temple of mighty Mars the rede?
All peinted was the wall in length and brede,
Like to the estres of the grisly place
That highte the gret temple of Mars in Trace:
In thilke colde and frosty region,
Ther as Mars hath his sovereine mansion.
First, on the wall was peinted a forest,
In which ther wonneth nyther man ne best,
With knotty knarry barrien trees old,
Of stubbes sharpe, and hidous to behold.
In which ther ran a romble and a swough,
As though a storme shuld bresten every bough;
And dounward from an hill, under a bent,
Ther stood the temple of Mars armipotent,
Wrought all of burned stele, of which the entree
Was longe and streite, and ghastly for to see;
And thereout came a rage and swiche a vise,
That it made all the gates for to rise.
The northern light in at the dore shone,
For window on the wall ne was ther none,
Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne.
The dore was all of athamant eterne,
Yclenched overthwart and endelong,
With yren tough, and for to make it strong,
Every piler, the temple to sustene,
Was tonne-gret, of yren bright and shene.
Ther saw I first the derk imagining
Of Felonie, and alle the compassing;
The cruel Ire, red as any glede;
The Pikepurse, and eke the pale Drede;
The Smiler, with the knife under the cloke;
The shepen brenning with the blake smoke;
The Treson of the mordring in the bedde;
The open Werre, with woundes all bebledde,
Conteke with blody knife Sharp menace;
All of chirking was that sorry place.
The sleer of himself yet saw I there,
His herte blood hath bathed all his here:
The naile ydriven in the shode on hight;
The cold Deth, with mouth gaping upright.
Amiddes of the temple sate Mischance,
With discomfort and sory countenaunce;
Yet saw I Woodnesse laughing in his rage,
Armed Complaint, Outhees, and fiers Outrage;
The carraine in the bush, with throte ycorven;
A thousand slain, and not of qualme ystorven;
The tirant with the prey by force yraft;
The toun destroied, ther was nothing laft;
Yet saw I brent the shippes hoppesteres;
The hunte ystrangled with the wilde beres;
The sow freting the child right in the cradel;
The coke yscalded for all his long ladel:
Nought was foryete by the infortune of Marte,
The carter overridden with his carte,
Under the wheel ful low he lay a doun.
Ther were also of Martes division,
The armerer, and the bowyer, and the smith,
That forgeth sharp swerdes on the stith;
And all above, depeinted in a tour,
Saw I a Conquest, sitting in great honour,
With thilke sharp swerd over his hed
Yhanging by a subtil twined thred.
Depeinted was the slaughter of Julius,
Of gret Nero, and of Antonius:
All be that thilke time they were unborne,
Yet was hir deth depeinted ther beforne;
By menacing of Mars, right by figure,
So was it shewed in that portreiture,
As is depeinted in the cercles above,
Who shal be slaine, or elles ded for love.
Sufficeth on ensample in stories olde;
I may not reken hem alle though I wolde.
The statue of Mars upon a carte stood,
Armed, and loked grim, as he were wood;
And over his hed ther shinen two figures
Of sterres that ben cleped in scriptures,
That on Puella, that other Rubeus.
This god of Armes was araied thus:
A wolf ther stood beforne him at his fete,
With eyen red, and of a man he ete.
With subtil pensill peinted was this storie,
In redouting of Mars and of his glorie.
Now to the temple of Diane the chaste,
As shortly as I can, I wol me haste,
To tellen you of the descriptioun,
Depeinted by the walles up and doun,
Of hunting and of shamefast chastitee.
Ther saw I how woful Calistope,
Whan that Diane agreved was with here,
Was turned from a woman til a bere,
And after was she made the lodesterre.
Thus was it peinted, I can say no ferre;
Hire sone is eke a sterre, as men may see.
There saw I Danè yturned til a tree;
I mene not hire the goddesse Diane,
But Peneus daughter, which that highte Danè.
Ther saw I Atteon, an hart ymaked,
For vengeance that he saw Diane all naked:
I saw how that his houndes have him caught,
And freten him, for that they knew him naught.
Yet peinted was a litel forthermore,
How Athalante hunted the wilde bore;
And Meleagre, and many another mo,
For which Diane wrought hem care and wo.
Ther saw I many another wonder storie,
The which me liste not drawen to memorie.
This goddesse on an hart ful heye sete,
With smale houndes all about hire fete,
And undernethe hire fete she hadde a mone,
Wexing it was, and shuld wanen sone.
In gaudy grene hire statue clothed was,
With bow in hond, and arwes in a cas;
Hire eyen cast she ful low adoun,
Ther Pluto hath his derke regioun.
A woman travailling was hire beforne,
But for hire child so longe was unborne,
Full pitously Lucina gan she call,
And sayed; Helpe, for thou mayest beste of all.
Wel coude he peinten lifly that it wrought,
With many a florein he the hewes bought.
Now ben these listes made, and Theseus,
That at his gret cost arraied thus
The temples, and the theatre everidel,
Whan it was don, him liked wonder wel.
But stint I wol of Theseus a lite,
And speke of Palamon and of Arcite.
The day approcheth of hir returning,
That everich shuld an hundred knightes bring
The bataille to darreine, as I you told;
And til Athenes hir covenant for to hold,
Hath everich of hem brought an hundred knightes
Wel armed for the werre at alle rightes;
And sikerly ther trowed many a man
That never sithen that the world began,
As for to speke of knighthood of hir hond,
As fer as God hath maked see and lond;
N'as of so fewe so noble a compagnie.
For every wight that loved chivalrie,
And wold his thankes han a passant name,
Hath praied that he might ben of that game,
And wel was him that therto chosen was,
For if ther fell to morwe such a cas,
Ye knowen wel that every lusty knight
That loveth par amour , and hath his might,
Were it in Englelond or elleswher,
They wold hir thankes willen to be ther.
To fight for a lady, a benedicite ,
It were a lusty sight for to se.
And right so ferden they with Palamon,
With him there wenten knightes many on;
Som wol ben armed in an habergeon,
And in a brest-plate, and in a gipon;
And som wol have a pair of plates large,
And som wol have a Pruce sheld or a targe;
Som wol ben armed on his legges wele,
And have an axe, and some a mace of stele:
Ther n'is no newe guise, that it n'as old;
Armed they weren, as I have you told,
Everich after his opinion.
Ther maist thou se coming with Palamon,
Licurge himself, the gret King of Trace;
Black was his berd, and manly was his face;
The cercles of his eyen in his hed
They gloweden betwixen yelwe and red;
And like a griffon loked he about,
With kemped heres on his browes stout;
His limmes gret, his braunes hard and stronge,
His shouldres brode, his armes round and longe:
And as the guise was in his contree,
Ful highe upon a char of gold stood he,
With foure white bolles in the trais.
Instede of a cote armure, on his harneis,
With nayles yelwe, and bright as any gold,
He hadde a bere's skin, cole-blake for old.
His longe here was kempt behind his bak,
As any ravnes fether it shone for blake.
A wreth of gold arm-gret, of huge weight,
Upon his hed, sate full of stones bright,
Of fine rubins and of diamans.
About his char ther wenten white alauns,
Twenty and mo, as gret as any stere
To hunten at the leon, or the dere,
And folwed him, with mosel fast ybound
Colered of gold, and torettes filed round:
An hundred lordes had he in his route,
Armed full wel, with hertes sterne and stoute.
With Arcita, in stories as men finde,
The gret Emetrius, the King of Inde,
Upon a stede bay, trapped in stele,
Covered with cloth of gold, diapred wele,
Came riding like the god of armes, Mars:
His cote armure was of a cloth of Tars,
Couched with perles white, round, and gret;
His sadel was of brent golde new ybete;
A mantelet, upon his shoulders hanging,
Bret-ful of rubies red, as fire sparkling,
His crispe here like ringes was yronne,
And that was yelwe, and glitered as the sonne;
His nose was high, his eyen bright citrin,
His lippes round, his colour was sanguin,
A fewe fraknes in his face yspreint,
Betwixen yelwe and blake somdel ymeint;
And as a leon he his loking caste,
Of five-and-twenty yere his age I caste;
His berd was wel begonnen for to spring,
His vois was as a trompe thondering;
Upon his hed he wered, of laurer grene,
A gerlonde fresshe, and lusty for to sene;
Upon his honde he bare, for his deduit,
An egle tame, as any lily whit;
An hundred lordes had he with him there,
All armed save hir hedes in all hir gere,
Ful richely in alle manere thinges;
For trusteth wel, that erles, dukes, kinges,
Were gathered in this noble compagnie,
For love, and for encrese of chevalrie.
About this king ther ran, on every part,
Ful many a tame leon and leopart.
And in this wise, these lords all and some,
Ben on the Sonday to the citee come
Abouten prime, and in the toun alight.
This Theseus, this duk, this worthy knight,
Whan he had brought hem into his citee,
And inned hem, everich at his degree,
He festeth hem, and doth so gret labour
To easen hem, and don hem all honour,
That yet men wenen that no mannes wit
Of non estat ne coud amenden it.
The minstralcie, the service at the feste
The grete yeftes to the most and leste,
The riche array of Theseus paleis,
Ne who sate first, ne last, upon the deis,
What ladies fayrest ben, or best dauncing,
Or which of hem can carole best or sing,
Ne who most felingly speketh of love,
What haukes sitten on perche above,
What houndes liggen on the floor adoun,
Of all this now I make no mentioun.
But of the effect, that thinketh me the beste,
Now cometh the point, and herkeneth if you lest.
The Sonday nighte, or day began to spring,
Whan Palamon the larke herde sing,
Although it n'ere not day by houres two,
Yet sang the larke, and Palamon right tho
With holy herte, and with an high corage,
He rose, to wenden on his pilgrimage
Unto the blissful Citherea benigne,
I mene Venus, honourable and digne.
And in hire houre he walketh forth a pas
Unto the listes, ther hire temple was,
And doun he kneleth, and with humble chere
And herte sore he sayde, as ye shul here:
Fayrest of fayre! O lady min Venus,
Daughter of Jove, and spouse to Vulcanus,
Thou glader of the mount of Citheron!
For thilke love thou haddest to Adon,
Have pitee on my bitter teres smerte,
And take myn humble prair at thin herte.
Alas! I ne have no langage to tell
The effecte, ne the torment of min hell;
Min herte may min harmes not bewrey;
I am so confuse that I cannot say:
But mercy, lady bright! that knowest wele
My thought, and seest what harmes that I fele:
Consider all this, and rue upon my sore,
As wisly as I shal for evermore
Emforth my might thy trewe servant be,
And holden werre alway with chastite;
That make I min avow, so ye me helpe,
I kepe nought of armes for to yelpe,
Ne axe I nat to-morwe to have victorie,
Ne renoun in this cas, ne vaine glorie
Of pris of armes, blowen up and doun,
But I wold have fully possessioun
Of Emelie, and die in her servise:
Finde thou the manere how, and in what wise.
I rekke not but it may better be
To have victory of hem, or they of me,
So that I have my lady in min armes;
For though so be that Mars is god of armes,
Your vertue is so grete in heven above,
That, if you liste, I shal wel have my love.
Thy temple wol I worship evermo,
And on thin auter, wher I ride or go
I wol don sacrifice, and fires bete.
And if ye wol not so, my lady swete!
Than pray I you to-morwe with a spere,
That Arcita me thurgh the herte bere;
Than rekke I not when I have lost my lif
Though that Arcita win hire to his wif.
This is the effecte and ende of my praiere,
Yeve me my love, thou blissful lady dere!
When the orison was don of Palamon,
His sacrifice he did, and that anon.
Ful pitously, with alle circumstances,
All tell I not as now his observances.
But at the last the statue of Venus shoke,
And made a signe, whereby that he toke,
That his praiere accepted was that day;
For though the signe shewed a delay,
Yet wist he wel, that granted was his bone,
And with glad herte he went him home ful sone.
The thirdde hour inequal that Palamon
Began to Venus temple for to gon,
Up rose the sonne, and up rose Emelie,
And to the temple of Diane gan hie.
Hire maydens, that she thider with hire ladde
Ful redily with hem the fire they hadde,
The encense, the clothes, and the remenant all,
That to the sacrifice longen shall.
The hornes full of mede, as was the gise,
Ther lakked nought to don hire sacrifise.
Smoking the temple, full of clothes fayre,
This Emelie, with herte debonaire
Hire body wesshe with water of a well,
But how she did hire rite I dare not tell;
But it be any thing in generall,
And yet it were a game to heren all;
To him that meneth wel it n'ere no charge,
But it is good a man to ben at large.
Hire bright here kembed was, untressed all;
A coroune of a grene oke ceriall
Upon hire hed was set ful fayre and mete;
Two fires on the auter gan she bete,
And did hire thinges, as men may behold
In Stace of Thebes, and these bokes old.
Whan kendled was the fire, with pitous chere,
Unto Diane she spake, as ye may here:
O chaste goddesse of the wodes grene,
To whom both heven, and erth, and see, is sene,
Quene of the regne of Pluto, derke and lowe,
Goddesse of maidens that myn herte hast knowe
Ful many a yere, and wost what I desire,
As kepe me fro thy vengeance and thin ire,
That Atteon aboughte cruelly!
Chast goddesse! wel wotest thou that I
Desire to ben a mayden all my lif,
Ne never wol I be no love ne wif:
I am (thou wost) yet of thy compagnie,
A mayde, and love hunting and venerie,
And for to walken in the wodes wilde,
And not to ben a wife, and be with childe:
Nought wol I knowen compagnie of man;
Now helpe me, lady, sith you may and can;
For tho three formes that thou hast in thee:
And Palamon, that hath swiche love to me,
And eke Arcite, that loveth me so sore,
This grace I praie thee, withouten more,
As sende love and pees betwix hem two,
And fro me turne away hir hertes so,
That all hir hot love and hir desire,
And all hir besy torment, and hir fire
Be queinte, or torned in another place.
And if so be thou wolt not do me grace,
Or if my destinee be shapen so,
That I shal nedes have on of hem two,
As sende me him that most desireth me.
Beholde, goddesse of clene chastite,
The bitter teres that on my chekes fall,
Sin thou art a mayde, and keper of us all,
My maydenhede thou kepe, and well conserve,
And while I live a mayde I wol thee serve.
The fires brenne upon the auter clere,
While Emelie was thus in hire praiere,
But sodenly she saw a sighte queinte;
For right anon on of the fires queinte
And quiked again, and after that, anon
That other fire was queinte, and all agon;
And as it queinte, it made a whisteling,
As don these brondes wet in hir brenning;
And at the brondes ende outran anon,
As it were blody dropes many on;
For which, so sore agast was Emelie,
That she was well neigh mad, and gan to crie;
For she ne wiste what it signified,
But only for the fere thus she cried,
And wept, that it was pitee for to here.
And therewithall Diane gan appere
With bow in hond, right as an hunteresse,
And sayde, Doughter, stint thin hevinesse.
Among the goddes highe it is affermed,
And by eterne word written and confermed,
Thou shalt be wedded unto on of tho
That han for thee so mochel care and wo,
But unto which of hem I may not tell.
Farewel! for here I may no longer dwell:
The fires, which that on min auter brenne,
Shal thee declaren, er that thou go henne,
Thin aventure of love as in this case.
And, with that word, the arwes in the case
Of the goddesse clatteren fast and ring,
And forth she went, and made a vanishing;
For which this Emelie astonied was,
And sayde, What amounteth this, alas!
I put me in thy protection,
Diane, and under thy disposition.
And home she goth anon the nexte way.
This is the effecte; there n'is no more to say.
The next houre of Mars folwing this,
Arcite unto the temple walked is
Of fierce Mars to don his sacrifise,
With all the rites of his payen wise:
With pitous herte and high devotion,
Right thus to Mars he sayde his orison:
O stronge God, that in the regnes cold
Of Trace honoured art, and lord yhold,
And hast in every regne, and every lond
Of armes, all the bridel in thin hond,
And hem fortunest as thee list devise,
Accept of me my pitous sacrifise!
It so be that my youthe may deserve,
And that my might be worthy for to serve
Thy godhed, that I may ben on of thine;
Than praie I thee to rewe upon my pine;
For thilke peine, and thilke hot fire,
In which thou whilom brendest for desire,
Whanne that thou usedest the beautee
Of fayre yonge Venus fresshe and free,
And haddest hire in armes at thy wille;
Although thee ones on a time misfille,
Whan Vulcanus had caught thee in his las,
And fond thee ligging by his wif, alas!
For thilke sorwe that was tho in thin herte,
Have reuthe as wel upon my peines smerte.
I am yonge and unkonning as thou wost,
And, as I trow, with love offended most,
That ever was ony lives creature;
For she that doth me all this wo endure
Ne recceth never whether I sinke or flete;
And wel I wote, or she me mercy hete,
I moste with strengthe win hire in the place:
And wel I wote, withouten helpe or grace
Of thee, ne may my strengthe not availle:
Than help me, Lord, to-morwe in my bataille,
For thilke fire that whilom brenned thee,
As wel as that this fire now brenneth me,
And do, that I to-morwe may han victorie;
Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Thy soveraine temple wol I most honouren
Of ony place, and alway most labouren
In thy plesance, and in thy craftes strong,
And in thy temple I wol my baner hong,
And all the armes of my compagnie,
And evermore, until that day I die,
Eterne fire I wol beforne thee find;
And eke to this avow I wol me bind.
My berd, my here, that hangeth long adoun,
That never yet felt non offensioun,
Of rasour ne of shere, I wol thee yeve,
And ben thy trewe servant while I live.
Now, Lord, have reuth upon my sorwes sore,
Yeve me the victorie, I axe thee no more.
The praier stint of Arcita the stronge,
The ringes on the temple dore that honge,
And eke the dores, clattereden ful fast,
Of which Arcita somwhat him agast.
The fires brent upon the auter bright,
That it gan all the temple for to light,
A swete smel anon the ground up yaf,
And Arcita anon his hond up haf,
And more enscense into the fire he cast,
With other rites mo; and, at the last,
The statue of Mars began his hauberke ring,
And with that soun he herd a murmuring
Ful low and dim, that said thus, Victory;
For which he yaf to Mars honour and glorie.
And thus with joye, and hope wel to fare,
Arcite anon unto his inne is fare,
As fayn as foul is of the brighte sonne;
And right anon swiche strif ther is begonne,
For thilke granting in the heven above,
Betwixen Venus, the goddesse of Love,
And Mars, the sterne god armipotent,
That Jupiter was besy it to stent,
Til that the pale Saturnus the Colde,
That knew so many of aventures olde,
Fond in his olde experience and art,
That he ful sone hath plesed every part.
As sooth is sayd, elde hath gret avantage;
In elde is both wisdom and usage:
Men may the old out-renne, but not out-rede.
Saturne anon, to stenten strif and drede,
Albeit that it is again his kind,
Of all this strif he gan a remedy find.
My dere doughter Venus, quod Saturne,
My cours, that hath so wide for to turne,
Hath more power than wot any man.
Min is the drenching in the see so wan,
Min is the prison in the derke cote,
Min is the strangel and hanging by the throte,
The murmure, and the cherles rebelling,
The groyning, and the privy enpoysoning.
I do vengeaunce and pleine correction
While I dwelt in the signe of the Leon.
Min is the ruine of the highe halles,
The falling of the toures and of the walles
Upon the minour, or the carpenter;
I slew Samson in shaking the piler.
Min ben also the maladies colde,
The derke tresons and the castes olde:
My loking is the fader of pestilence.
Now wepe no more; I shal do diligence
That Palamon, that is thin owen knight,
Shal have his lady as thou hast him hight.
Thogh Mars shal help his knight yet natheles,
Betwixen you ther mot sometime be pees:
All be ye not of o complexion,
That causeth all day swiche division.
I am thine ayel, redy at thy will;
Wepe now no more, I shall thy lust fulfill.
Now wol I stenten of the goddes above,
Of Mars and of Venus, goddesse of Love,
And tellen you as plainly as I can
The gret effect for which that I began.
Gret was the feste in Athenes thilke day,
And eke the lusty seson of that May,
Made every wight to ben in swiche plesance,
That all that Monday justen they and dance,
And spenden it in Venus highe servise;
But by the cause that they shulden rise
Erly a-morwe, for to seen the sight,
Unto hir reste wenten they at night.
And on the morwe, whan the day gan spring,
Of hors and harneis, noise and clattering,
Ther was in the hostelries all aboute;
And to the paleis rode ther many a route
Of lordes upon stedes and palfreis.
There mayest thou see devising of harneis,
So uncouth, and so riche, and wrought so wele,
Of goldsmithry, of brouding, and of stele;
The sheldes brighte, testeres and trappures,
Gold-hewen helmes, hauberkes, cote armures,
Lordes in parementes, on hir courseres,
Knightes of retenue, and eke squires,
Nailing the speres, and helmes bokeling,
Guiding of sheldes, with lainers lacing;
Ther, as nede is, they weren nothing idel;
The fomy stedes on the golden bridel
Gnawing, and fast the armurers also
With file and hammer priking to and fro;
Yemen on foot, and communes many on
With shorte staves, thicke as they may gon;
Pipes, trompes, nakeres, and clariounes,
That in the battaille blowen blody sounes;
The paleis full of peple up and doun,
Here three, ther ten, holding hir questioun,
Devining of these Theban knightes two.
Som sayden thus, som sayde it shall be so;
Som helden with him with the blacke berd,
Som with the balled, som with the thick herd;
Some saide he loked grim, and wolde fighte,
He hath a sparth of twenty pound of wighte.
Thus was the halle full of divining,
Long after that the sonne gan up spring.
The gret Theseus that of his slepe is waked
With minstralcie and noise that was maked,
Held yet the chambre of his paleis riche,
Til that the Theban knightes bothe yliche
Honoured were, and to the paleis fette.
Duk Theseus is at the window sette,
Araied right as he were a god in trone;
The peple preset thiderward ful sone,
Him for to seen, and don high reverence,
And eke to herken his heste and his sentence.
An heraud on a scaffold made an o,
Til that the noise of the peple was ydo,
And whan he saw the peple of noise al still,
Thus shewed he the mighty dukes will.
The lord hath of his high discretion
Considered that it were destruction
To gentil blood to fighten in the gise
Of mortal bataille now in this emprise;
Wherefore to shapen that they shul not die,
He wol his firste purpos modifie.
No man therefore, up peine of losse of lif,
No maner shot, ne pollax, ne short knif,
Into the listes send, or thider bring,
Ne short swerd to stike with point biting,
No man ne draw, ne bere it by his side,
Ne no man shal unto his felaw ride
But o cours, with a sharpe ygrounden spere;
Foin if him list on foot, himself to were;
And he that is at meschief shal be take,
And not slaine, but be brought unto the stake
That shal ben ordeined on eyther side;
Thider he shal by force, and ther abide;
And if so fall the chevetain be take
On eyther side, or elles sleth his make,
No longer shal the tourneying ylast.
God spede you; goth forth and lay on fast:
With longe swerd and with mase fighteth your fill.
Goth now your way; this is the lordes will.
The vois of the peple touched to the heven,
So loude crieden they with mery steven,
God save swiche a lorde that is so good,
He wilneth no destruction of blood.
Up gon the trompes and the melodie,
And to the listes rit the compagnie
By ordinance, thurghout the cite large,
Hanged with cloth of gold, and not with sarge.
Ful like a lord this noble duk gan ride,
And these two Thebans upon eyther side,
And after rode the Quene and Emelie,
And after that another compagnie,
Of on and other after hir degree;
And thus they passen thurghout the citee,
And to the listes comen they be time;
It n'as not of the day yet fully prime.
Whan set was Theseus ful riche and hie,
Ipolita the quene, and Emelie,
And other ladies in degrees aboute,
Unto the setes preseth all the route.
And westward, thurgh the gates under Mart,
Arcite, and eke the hundred of his part,
With baner red, is entred right anon;
And in the selve moment Palamon
Is, under Venus, estward in the place,
With baner white, and hardy chere and face:
And in al the world, to seken up and doun,
So even without variation
Ther n'ere swiche compagnies never twey;
For ther was non so wise that coude sey,
That any hadde of other avantage
Of worthinesse, ne of estat, ne age;
So even were they chosen for to gesse:
And in two renges fayre they hem dresse.
Whan that hir names red were everich on,
That in her nombre gile were ther non,
Tho were the gates shette, and cried was loude,
Do now your devoir, yonge knightes proude.
The heraudes left hir priking up and doun.
Now ringin trompes loude, and clarioun.
Ther is no more to say, but este and west
In goth the speres sadly in the rest;
In goth the sharpe spore into the side;
Ther see men who can juste and who can ride
Ther shiveren shaftes upon sheldes thicke;
He feleth thurgh the herte-spone the pricke:
Up springen speres, twenty foot on highte;
Out gon the swerdes as the silver brighte:
The helmes they to-hewen and to-shrede;
Out brest the blod with sterne stremes rede:
With mighty maces, the bones they to-breste;
He thurgh the thickest of the throng gan threste:
There stomblen stedes strong, and doun goth all;
He rolleth under foot as doth a ball:
He foineth on his foo with a tronchoun,
And he him hurtleth with his hors adoun:
He thurgh the body is hurt, and sith ytake
Maugre his hed, and brought unto the stake,
As forword was, right ther he must abide;
Another lad is on that other side:
And somtime doth hem Theseus to reste,
Hem to refresh, and drinken if hem lest.
Ful oft a day han thilke Thebanes two
Togeder met and wrought eche other wo:
Unhorsed hath eche other of hem twey.
Ther n'as no tigre in the vale of Galaphey,
Whan that hire whelpe is stole whan it is lite,
So cruel on the hunt as is Arcite
For jalous herte upon this Palamon:
Ne in Belmarie ther n'is so fell leon
That hunted is, or for his hunger wood,
Ne of his prey desireth so the blood,
As Palamon to sleen his foo Arcite:
The jalous strokes on hir helmes bite;
Out renneth blood on both hir sides rede.
Somtime an end there is of every dede;
For, er the sonne unto the reste went,
The strong King Emetrius gan hent
This Palamon, as he fought with Arcite,
And made his swerd depe in his flesh to bite;
And by the force of twenty is he take
Unyolden, and ydrawen to the stake:
And in the rescous of this Palamon
The stronge King Licurge is borne adoun;
And King Emetrius, for all his strengthe,
Is borne out of his sadel a swerdes lengthe,
So hitte him Palamon or he were take:
But all for nought, he was brought to the stake:
His hardy herte might him helpen naught;
He moste abiden whan that he was caught,
By force, and eke by composition.
Who sorweth now but woful Palamon,
That moste no more gon again to fight?
And whan that Theseus had seen that sight,
Unto the folk that foughten thus ech on,
He cried, Ho! 1 1 "If the King's Majesty say but Ho! or give any other signal, then they who are within the lists, with the constable and marshal, throwing their lances between the appellant and defendant, so part them." — The Ancient Method of Duels before the King.