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

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      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

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