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

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ