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

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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 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

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