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

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ