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

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      That all this storie tellen more plain,)

      Were it by aventure or destinee,

      (As when a thing is shapen, it shal be)

      That sone after the midnight Palamon,

      By helping of a frend, brake his prison,

      And fleeth the cite faste as he may go,

      For he had yeven drinke his gayler so,

      Of a clarre, made of a certain wine,

      With narcotikes and opie of Thebes fine,

      That all the night, though that men wold him shake,

      The gailer slept, he mighte not awake;

      And thus he fleeth as faste as ever he may.

      The night was short, and faste by the day,

      That nedes cost he moste himselven hide,

      And to a grove faste ther beside,

      With dredful foot then stalketh Palamon,

      For shortly this was his opinion,

      That in that grove he wold him hide all day,

      And in the night than wold he take his way

      To Thebes ward, his frendes for to preie

      On Theseus to helpen him werreie:

      And shortly, eyther he wold lese his lif,

      Or winnen Emelie unto his wif.

      This is the effect, and his entente plein.

      Now wol I turnen to Arcite agein,

      That litel wist how neighe was his care,

      Till that Fortune had brought him in the snare.

      The besy larke, the messager of day,

      Salewith in hire song the morwe gray,

      And firy Phebus riseth up so bright,

      That all the orient laugheth of the sight;

      And with his stremes drieth in the greves

      The silver dropes hanging in the leves.

      And Arcite, that is in the court real

      With Theseus the squier principal,

      Is risen, and loketh on the mery day;

      And for to don his observance to May,

      Remembring on the point of his desire,

      He on his courser, sterting as the fire,

      Is ridden to the feldes him to pley,

      Out of the court, were it a mile or twey,

      And to the grove, of which that I you told,

      By aventure, his way he gan to hold,

      To maken him a gerlond of the greves,

      Were it of woodbind or of hauthorn leves,

      And loud he song agen the sonne shene.

      O Maye, with all thy floures and thy grene,

      Right welcome be thou, faire fresshe May,

      I hope that I some grene here getten may.

      And from his courser, with a lusty herte,

      Into the grove ful hastily he sterte,

      And in a path he romed up and doun.

      Ther, as by aventure this Palamon

      Was in a bush, that no man might him se,

      For sore afered of his deth was he:

      Nothing ne knew he that it was Arcite,

      God wot he wold have trowed it ful lite.

      But soth is said, gon sithen are many yeres,

      That feld hath eyen, and wood hath eres,

      It is ful faire a man to bere him even,

      For al day meten men at unset steven.

      Ful litel wote Arcite of his felaw,

      That was so neigh to herken of his saw;

      For in the bush he sitteth now ful still.

      Whan that Arcite had romed all his fill,

      And songen all the roundel lustily,

      Into a studie he fell sodenly,

      As don these lovers in hir queinte geres,

      Now in the crop, and now down in the breres;

      Now up, now doun, as boket in a well.

      Right as the Friday, sothly for to tell,

      Now shineth it, and now it raineth fast;

      Right so can gery Venus overcast

      The hertes of hire folk, right as hire day

      Is gerfull, right so changeth she aray;

      Selde is the Friday all the weke ylike.

      Whan Arcite hadde ysonge, he gan to sike,

      And set him doun withouten any more:

      Alas! quod he, the day that I was bore!

      How longe, Juno, thurgh thy crueltee,

      Wilt thou werreien Thebes the citee?

      Alas! ybrought is to confusion

      The blood real of Cadme and Amphion:

      Of Cadmus, which that was the firste man

      That Thebes built, or firste the toun began.

      And of the citee firste was crouned king.

      Of his linage am I, and his ofspring

      By veray line, as of the stok real:

      And now I am so caitif and so thral,

      That he that is my mortal enemy

      I serve him as his squier pourely.

      And yet doth Juno me wel more shame;

      For I dare not beknowe min owen name,

      But ther, as I was wont to highte Arcite,

      Now highte I Philostrat not worth a mite:

      Alas! thou fell Mars; alas! thou Juno,

      Thus hath your ire our linage all fordo,

      Save only me, and wretched Palamon,

      That Theseus martireth in prison;

      And over all this, to slen me utterly,

      Love hath his firy dart so brenningly

      Ysticked thurgh my trewe careful hert,

      That shapen was my deth erst than my shert.

      Ye slen me with your eyen, Emelie;

      Ye ben the cause wherfore that I die.

      Of all the remenant of min other care

      Ne set I not the mountance of a tare,

      So that I coud don ought to your plesance.

      And with that word he fell doun in a trance

      A longe time, and afterward up sterte.

      This Palamon that thought thurghout his herte

      He felt a colde swerd sodenly glide,

      For ire he quoke, no lenger wolde he hide:

      And whan that he had herd Arcites tale,

      As he were wood, with face ded and pale,

      He sterte him up out of the bushes thikke,

      And sayde, False Arcite, false traitour wicke,

      Now art thou hent, that lovest my lady so;

      For whom that I have all this peine and wo,

      And art my blood, and to my conseil sworn,

      As I ful oft have told thee herebeforn:

      And hast bejaped here Duk Theseus,

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