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

no more, for it is don.
I wol be true juge, and not partie.
Arcite of Thebes shal have Emelie,
That by his fortune hath hire fayre ywonne.
Anon ther is a noise of peple begonne
For joye of this, so loud and high withall
It seemed that the listes shulden fall.
What can now fayre Venus don above?
What saith she now? What doth this quene of Love?
But wepeth so, for wanting of hire will,
Til that hire teres in the listes fill:
She sayde, I am ashamed doutelees.
Saturnus sayde, Daughter, hold thy pees:
Mars hath his will, his knight hath all his bone,
And, by min hed, thou shall ben esed sone.
The trompoures, with the loud minstralcie,
The heraudes, that so loude yell and crie,
Ben in hir joye for wele of Dan Arcite.
But herkeneth me, and stenteth noise a lite,
Whiche a miracle ther befell anon.
This fierce Arcite hath of his helme ydon,
And on a courser for to shew his face
He priketh endlong the large place,
Loking upward upon this Emelie,
And she again him cast a frendlich eye,
(For women, as to speken in commune,
They folwen all the favour of Fortune,)
And was all his in chere as his in herte.
Out of the ground a fury infernal sterte,
From Pluto sent, at requeste of Saturne,
For which his hors for fere gan to turne,
And lepte aside, and foundred as he lepe;
And er that Arcite may take any kepe,
He pight him on the pomel of his hed,
That in the place he lay as he were ded,
His breste to-brosten with his sadel bow;
As blake he lay as any cole or crow,
So was the blood yronnen in his face.
Anon he was yborne out of the place,
With herte sore, to Theseus paleis:
Tho was he corven out of his harneis,
And in a bed ybrought ful fayre and blive,
For he was yet in memorie and live,
And alway crying after Emelie.
Duk Theseus, with all his compagnie,
Is comen hom to Athens, his citee,
With alle blisse and gret solempnite.
Al be it that this aventure was falle
He n'olde not discomforten hem alle.
Men sayden eke that Arcite shal not die,
He shal ben heled of his maladie.
And of another thing they were as fayn,
That of hem alle was ther non yslain,
Al were they sore yhurt, and namely on,
That with a spere was thirled his brest bone.
To other woundes, and to broken armes,
Som hadden salves, and some hadden charmes;
And fermacies of herbes, and eke save
They dronken, for they wold hir lives have:
For which this noble duk, as he wel can,
Comforteth and honoureth every man,
And made revel all the longe night
Unto the strange lordes, as was right.
Ne ther n'as holden no discomforting
But as at justes, or a tourneying;
For sothly ther n'as no discomfiture,
For falling n'is not but an aventure:
Ne to be lad by force unto a stake
Unyolden, and with twenty knightes take,
O person all alone, withouten mo,
And haried forth by armes, foot, and too,
And eke his stede driven forth with staves,
With footmen, bothe yemen and eke knaves,
It was aretted him no villanie;
Ther may no man clepen it cowardie.
For which anon Duk Theseus let crie,
To stenten alle rancour and envie,
The gree as wel of o side as of other,
And eyther side ylike, as others brother;
And yave hem giftes after hir degree,
And helde a feste fully dayes three;
And conveyed the kinges worthily
Out of his toun a journee largely;
And home went every man the righte way;
Ther n'as no more but farewel, have good day.
Of this bataille I wol no more endite,
But speke of Palamon and of Arcite.
Swelleth the brest of Arcite, and the sore
Encreseth at his herte more and more.
The clotered blood for any leche-craft
Corrumpeth, and is in his bouke ylaft,
That neyther vine-blood ne ventousing,
Ne drinke of herbes, may ben his helping.
The vertue expulsif, or animal,
Forthilke vertue cleped natural,
Ne may the venime voiden ne expell;
The pipes of his longes gan to swell,
And every lacerte in his brest adoun
Is shent with venime and corruptioun.
Him gaineth neyther for to get his lif
Vomit upward ne dounward laxatif:
All is to brosten thilke region;
Nature hath now no domination:
And certainly ther nature wol not werche.
Farewel physike; go bere the man to cherche.
This is all and som, that Arcite moste die;
For which he sendeth after Emelie,
And Palamon, that was his cosin dere;
Than sayd he thus, as ye shuln after here:
Nought may the woful spirit in myn herte
Declare o point of all my sorwes smerte
To you, my lady, that I love most;
But I bequethe the service of my gost
To you aboven every creature,
Sin that my lif ne may no lenger dure.
Alas! the wo, alas! the peines strong,
That I for you have suffered, and so long;
Alas! the deth; alas! mine Emelie;
Alas! departing of our compagnie;
Alas! min hertes quene; alas! my wif;
Min hertes ladie! ender of my lif!
What is this world? what axen men to have?
Now with his love, now in his colde grave
Alone withouten any compagnie.
Farewel, my swete! farewel, min Emelie!
And softe take me in your armes twey,
For love of God, and herkeneth what I sey.
I have here with my cosin Palamon
Had strif and rancour many a day agon
For love of you, and for my jalousie;
And Jupiter so wis my soule gie,
To speken of a servant properly,
With alle circumstances trewely,
That is to sayn, trouth, honour, and knighthede,
Wisdom, humblesse, estat, and high kinrede,
Freedom, and all that longeth to that art,
So Jupiter have of my soule part,
As in this world right now ne know I non
So worthy to be loved as Palamon,
That serveth you, and wol don all his lif;
And if that ever ye shal ben a wif,
Foryete not Palamon, the gentil man.
And with that word his speche faille began;
For from his feet up to his brest wos come
The cold of deth, that had him overnome;
And yet moreover in his armes two
The vital strength is lost and all ago;
Only the intellect, withouten more,
That dwelled in his herte sike and sore,
Gan faillen whan the herte felt deth;
Dusked his eyen two, and failled his breth:
But on his ladie yet cast he his eye;
His laste word was, Mercy, Emelie!
His spirit changed hous, and wente ther
As I cam never I cannot tellen wher;
Therefore I stent, I am no divinistre;
Of soules find I not in this registre:
Ne me lust not the opinions to telle
Of hem, though that they written wher they dwelle.
Arcite is cold, ther Mars his soule gie.
Now wol I speken forth of Emelie.
Shright Emelie, and houleth Palamon,
And Theseus his sister toke anon
Swouning, and bare her from the corps away.
What helpeth it to tarien forth the day,
To tellen how she wepe both even and morwe?
For in swiche cas wimmen have swiche sorwe,
Whan that hir hosbonds ben fro hem ago,
That for the more part they sorwen so,
Or elles fallen in swiche maladie,
That atte last certainly they die.
Infinite ben the sorwes and the teres
Of olde folk, and folk of tendre yeres,
In all the toun, for deth of this Theban;
For him ther wepeth bothe child and man:
So gret weping was ther non certain,
Whan Hector was ybrought, all fresh yslain,
To Troie: Alas! the pitee that was there;
Cratching of chekes, rending eke of here.
Why woldest thou be ded, thise women crie,
And haddest gold ynough, and Emelie?
No man might gladen this Duk Theseus,
Saving his olde fader Egeus,
That knew this worldes transmutation,
As he had seen it chaungen up and doun,
Joye after wo, and wo after gladnesse,
And shewed him ensample and likenesse.
Right as ther died never man, (quod he,)
That he ne lived in erth in som degree,
Right so ther lived never man, (he seyd,)
In all this world, that somtime he ne deyd:
This world n'is but a thurghfare, ful of wo,
And we ben pilgrimes, passing to and fro:
Deth is an end of every worldes sore
And over all this yet said he mochel more,
To this effect, ful wisely to enhort
The peple, that they shuld hem recomfort.
Duk Theseus, with all his besy cure,
He casteth now, wher that the sepulture
Of good Arcite may best ymaked be,
And eke most honourable in his degree;
And at the last he toke conclusion,
That ther as first Arcite and Palamon
Hadden for love the bataille hem betwene,
That in that selve grove, sote and grene,
Ther as he hadde his amorous desires,
His complaint, and for love his hote fires;
He wold make a fire, in which the office
Of funeral he might all accomplise;
And let anon commande to hack and hewe
The okes old, and lay hem on a rew
In culpons, wel arraied for to brenne.
His officers with swifte feet they renne
And ride anon at his commandement.
And after this, this Theseus hath sent
After a bere, and it all overspradde
With cloth of gold, the richest that he hadde;
And of the same suit he cladde Arcite.
Upon his hondes were his gloves white,
Eke on his hed a croune of laurer grene,
And in his hond a swerd ful bright and kene.
He laid him bare the visage on the bere,
Therwith he wept that pitee was to here;
And for the peple shulde seen him alle,
Whan it was day, he brought him to the halle,
That roreth of the crying, and the soun.
Tho came this woful Theban, Palamon,
With flotery berd, and ruggy ashy heres,
In clothes blake, ydropped all with teres,
And (passing over of weping Emelie)
The reufullest of all the compagnie.
And in as much as the service shuld be
The more noble, and riche in his degree,
Duk Theseus let forth three stedes bring,
That trapped were in stele all glittering,
And covered with the armes of Dan Arcite;
And eke upon these stedes, gret and white,
Ther saten folk, of which on bare his sheld,
Another his spere up in his hondes held;
The thridde bare with him his bow Turkeis,
Of brent gold was the cas and the harneis;
And riden forth a pas with sorweful chere
Toward the groue, as ye shal after here.
The noblest of the Grekes that ther were
Upon hir shuldres carrieden the bere,
With slacke pas, and eyen red and wete,
Thurghout the citee, by the maister strete,
That sprad was al with black, and wonder hie,
Right of the same is all the strete ywrie.
Upon the right hand went olde Egeus,
And on the other side, Duk Theseus,
With vessels in hir hond of gold ful fine,
All ful of hony, milk, and blood, and wine;
Eke Palamon, with ful gret compagnie,
And after that came woful Emelie,
With fire in hond, as was that time the gise,
To don the office of funeral service.
High labour and ful gret apparailling
Was at the service of that fire making,
That with his grene top the heaven raught,
And twenty fadom of bred the armes straught;
This is to sain, the boughes were so brode,
Of stre first ther was laied many a lode.
But how the fire was maked up on highte,
And eke the names how the trees highte,
As oke, fir, birch, aspe, alder, holm, poplere,
Wilow, elm, plane, ash, box, chestein, lind, laurere,
Maple, thorn, beche, hasel, ew, whipultre,
How they were feld, shal not be told for me;
Ne how the goddes rannen up and doun,
Disherited of hir habitatioun;
In which they woneden in rest and pees,
Nimphes, Faunes, and Amidriades;
Ne how the bestes, and the birddes alle
Fledden for fere whan the wood gan falle;
Ne how the ground agast was of the light,
That was not wont to see the sonne bright;
Ne how the fire was couched first with stre,
And than with drie stickes cloven a-thre,
And than with grene wood and spicerie,
And than with cloth of gold and with perrie,
And garlonds hanging with ful many a flour,
The mirre, the encense also, with swete odour;
Ne how Arcita lay among all this,
Ne what richesse about his body is;
Ne how that Emelie, as was the gise,
Put in the fire of funeral service;
Ne how she swouned, whan she made the fire,
Ne what she spake, ne what was hire desire;
Ne what jewelles men in the fire caste,
Whan that the fire was gret, and brente fast;
Ne how som cast hir sheld, and som hir spere,
And of hir vestimentes, which they were,
And cuppes full of wine, and milk, and blood,
Into the fire, that brent as it were wood;
Ne how the Grekes, with a huge route,
Three times riden all the fire aboute
Upon the left hond, with a loud shouting,
And thries with hir speres clatering;
And thries how the ladies gan to crie;
Ne how that led was homeward Emelie;
Ne how Arcite is brent to ashen cold;
Ne how the liche-wake was yhold
All thilke night; ne how the Grekes play;
The wake-plaies ne kepe I not to say;
Who wrestled best naked, with oile enoint,
Ne who that bare him best in no disjoint:
I woll not tellen eke how they all gon
Home till Athenes, whan the play is don.
But shortly to the point now wol I wende,
And maken of my longe tale an ende.
By processe, and by lengths of certain yeres,
All stenten is the mourning and the teres
Of Grekes, by on general assent:
Than semeth me ther was a parlement
At Athenes, upon certain points and cas;
Amonges the which points yspoken was
To have with certain contrees alliance,
And have of Thebanes fully obeisance;
For which this noble Theseus anon
Let senden after gentil Palamon.
Unwist of him what was the cause, and why:
But in his blacke clothes sorwefully
He came at his commandment on hie;
Tho sente Theseus for Emelie.
Whan they were set, and husht was al the place,
And Theseus abiden hath a space,
Or any word came from his wise brest,
His eyen set he ther as was his lest,
And with a sad visage he siked still,
And after that right thus he sayd his will.
The firste Mover of the cause above,
Whan he firste made the fayre chaine of love,
Gret was the effect, and high was his entent;
Well wist he why, and what therof he ment:
For with that fayre chaine of love he bond
The fire, the air, the watre, and the lond,
In certain bondes, that they may not flee:
That same prince and mover eke, quod he,
Hath stablisht, in this wretched world adoun,
Certain of dayes and duration,
To all that are engendred in this place,
Over the which day they ne mow not pace,
Al mow they yet the dayes well abrege.
Ther nedeth non autoritee allege,
For it is preved by experience,
But that me lust declaren my sentence.
Than may men by this ordre well discerne,
That thilke Mover stable is and eterne;
Wel may men knowen, but it be a fool,
That every part deriveth from his hool;
For Nature hath not taken his beginning
Of no partie ne cantel of a thing,
But of a thing that parfit is and stable,
Descending so til it be corrumpable;
And therefore of his wise purveyance
He hath so wel beset his ordinance,
That speces of thinges and progressions
Shullen enduren by successions,
And not eterne, withouten any lie;
This maist thou understand, and seen at eye.
Lo the oke, that hath so long a norishing
Fro the time that it ginneth first to spring,
And hath so long a lif, as ye may see,
Yet at the laste wasted is the tree.
Considereth eke how that the harde stone
Under our feet, on which we trede and gone,
It wasteth, as it lieth by the wey;
The brode river sometime wexeth drey;
The grete tounes see we wane and wende;
Than may ye see that all thing hathe an ende.
Of man and woman see we wel also,
That nedes in on of the termes two,
That is to sayn, in youthe, or elles age,
He mote be ded, the king as shall a page;
Som in his bed, som in the depe see,
Som in the large feld, as ye may see:
Ther helpeth nought, all goth that ilke wey;
Than may I sayn, that alle thing mote dey.
What maketh this but Jupiter the King,
The which is prince and cause of alle thing,
Converting alle unto his propre wille,
From which it is derived, soth to telle?
And here-againes no creature on live
Of no degree availleth for to strive.
Than is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,
To maken vertue of necessite,
And take it wel that we may not eschewe,
And namely that to us all is dewe;
And whoso, grutcheth ought he doth folie,
And rebel is to him that all may gie.
And certainly a man hath most honour
To dien in his excellence and flour,
Whan he is siker of his goode name;
Than hath he don his frend ne him no shame;
And glader ought his frend ben of his deth,
Whan with honour is yolden up his breth,
Than whan his name appalled is for age,
For all foryetten is his vassalage:
Than is it best as for a worthy fame,
To dein whan a man is best of name.
The contrary of all this is wilfulnesse.
Why grutchen we? why have we hevinesse,
That good Arcite, of chivalry the flour,
Departed is, with dutee and honour,
Out of this foule prison of this lif?
Why grutchen here his cosin and his wif
Of his welfare, that loven him so wel?
Can he hem thank? nay, God wot, never a del,
That both his soule and eke himself offend,
And yet they mow her lustres not amend.
What may I conclude of this longe serie,
But after sorwe I rede us to be merie,
And thanken Jupiter of all his grace;
And er that we departen from this place,
I rede that we make of sorwes two
O parfit joye lasting evermo:
And loketh now wher most sorwe is herein,
Ther wol I firste amenden and begin.
Sister, (quod he) this is my full assent,
With all the avis here of my parlement,
That gentil Palamon, your owen knight,
That serveth you with will, and herte, and might,
And ever hath don sin you first him knew,
That ye shall of your grace upon him rew,
And taken him for husbond and for lord:
Lene me your hand, for this is oure accord.
Let see now of your womanly pitee:
He is a kinges brothers sone pardee;
And though he were a poure bachelere,
Sin he hath served you so many a yere,
And had for you so gret adversite,
It moste ben considered, leveth me,
For gentil mercy oweth to passen right.
Than sayed he thus to Palamon the knight;
I trow their nedeth litel sermoning
To maken you assenten to this thing.
Cometh ner, and take your lady by the hond.
Betwixen hem was maked anon the bond
That highte matrimoine or mariage,
By all the conseil of the baronage;
And thus with alle blisse and melodie
Hath Palamon ywedded Emelie;
And God, that all this wide world hath wrought,
Send him his love that hath it dere ybought.
For now is Palamon in alle wele,
Living in blisse, in richesse, and in hele,
And Emilie him loveth so tendrely,
And he hire serveth all so gentilly,
That never was ther no word hem betwene
Of jalousie, ne of non other tene.
Thus endeth Palamon and Emelie;
And God save all this fayre compagnie.
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