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POEMS

OF

JOHN DRYDEN.

TALES FROM CHAUCER.

ΤΟ

Thus, after length of ages, she returns,

HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF ORMOND, Restor'd in you, and the same place adorns;

WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM OF PALAMON AND ARCITE.

MADAM,

THE bard, who first adorn'd our native tongue,
Tun'd to his British lyre this ancient song:
Which Homer might without a blush rehearse,
And leaves a doubtful palm in Virgil's verse:
He match'd their beauties, where they most excel;
Of love sung better, and of arms as well.

[own.

Vouchsafe, illustrious Ormond, to behold What power the charms of beauty had of old; Nor wonder if such deeds of arms were done, Inspir'd by two fair eyes, that sparkled like your If Chaucer by the best idea wrought, And poets can divine each other's thought, The fairest nymph before his eyes he set; And then the fairest was Plantagenet; Who three contending princes made their prize, And rul'd the rival nations with her eyes: Who left immortal trophies of her fame, And to the noblest order gave the name. Like her, of equal kindred to the throne, You keep her conquests, and extend your own: As when the stars, in their etherial race, At length have roll'd around the liquid space, At certain periods they resume their place, From the same point of Heaven their course ad

vance,

And move in measures of their former dance;

Or you perform her office in the sphere,

Born of her blood; and make a new platonic year.

O true Plantagenet, O race divine,

(For beauty still is fatal to the line)

Had Chaucer liv'd, that angel-face to view,
Sure he had drawn his Emily from you;
Or had you liv'd to judge the doubtful right,
Your noble Palamon had been the knight;
And conquering Theseus from his side had sent
Your generous lord, to guide the Theban govern-
Time shall accomplish that; and I shall see [ment.
A Palamon in him, in you an Emily.
Already have the Fates your path prepar'd,
And sure presage your future sway declar'd:
When westward, like the Sun, you took yourway
And from benighted Britain bore the day,
Blue Triton gave the signal from the shore,
The ready Nereids heard, and swam before
To smooth the seas; a soft Etesian gale
But just inspir'd, and gently swell'd the sail;
Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand
Heav'd up his lighten'd keel, and sunk the sand,
And steer'd the sacred vessel safe to land.
The land, if not restrain'd, had met your way,
Projected out a neck, and jutted to the sea.
Hibernia, prostrate at your feet, ador'd
In you, the pledge of her expected lord;
Due to her isle; a venerable name;
His father and his grandsire known to fame ;
Aw'd by that house, accustom❜d to command,
The sturdy Kerns in due subjection stand;
Nor bear the reins in any foreign hand.

!

At your approach, they crowded to the port;
And, scarcely landed, you create a court:
As Ormond's harbinger, to you they run;
For Venus is the promise of the Sun.

The waste of civil wars, their towns destroy'd,
Pales unhonour'd, Ceres unemploy'd,
Were all forgot; and one triumphant day.
Wip'd all the tears of three campaigns away.
Blood, rapines, massacres, were cheaply bought,
So mighty recompense your beauty brought.
As when the dove, returning, bore the mark
Of earth restor'd to the long labouring ark,
The relics of mankind, secure of rest,
Ope'd every window to receive the guest,
And the fair bearer of the message bless'd;
So, when you came, with loud repeated cries,
The nation took an omen from your eyes,
And God advanc'd his rainbow in the skies,
To sign inviolable peace restor'd; [accord.
The saints with solemn shouts proclaim'd the new
When, at your second coming, you appear,
(For I foretel that millenary year)

The sharpen'd share shall vex the soil no more,
But Earth unbidden shall produce her store;
The Land shall laugh, the circling Ocean smile,
And Heaven's indulgence bless the holy isle.
Heaven from all ages has reserv'd for you
That happy clime, which venom never knew;
Or if it had been there, your eyes alone
Have power to chase all poison, but their own.
Now in this interval, which Fate has cast
Betwixt your future glories and your past,
This pause of power, 'tis Ireland's hour to

mourn;

While England celebrates your safe return,
By which you seem the seasons to command,
And bring our summers back to their forsaken
land.

The vanquish'd isle our leisure must attend,
Till the fair blessing we vouchsafe to send; [lend.
Nor can we spare you long, though often we may
The dove was twice employ'd abroad, before
The world was dry'd, and she return'd no more.
Nor dare we trust so soft a messenger,
New from her sickness, to that northern air:
Rest here a while your iustre to restore,
That they may see you, as you shone before;
For yet, th' eclipse not wholly past, you wade
Through some remains, and dimness of a shade.

A subject in his prince may claim a right, Nor suffer him with strength impair'd to fight; Till force returns, his ardour we restrain, And curb his warlike wish to cross the main. Now past the danger, let the learn'd begin Th' inquiry, where disease could enter in; How those malignant atoms forc'd their way, What in the faultless frame they found to make their prey?

[tell

Where every element was weigh'd so well,
That Heaven alone, who mix'd the mass, could
Which of the four ingredients could rebel;
And where, imprison'd in so sweet a cage,
A sou! might well be pleas'd to pass an age.

And yet the fine materials made it weak:
Porcelain, by being pure, is apt to break:
Ev'n to your breast the sickness durst aspire;
And, fore'd from that fair temple to retire,
Profanely set the holy place on fire.

In vain your lord like young Vespasian mourn'd, When the fierce flames the sanctuary burn'd:

And I prepar'd to pay, in verses rude,
A most detested act of gratitude:

Ev'n this had been your elegy, which now
Is offer'd for your health, the table of my vow.
Your angel sure our Morley's mind inspir'd,
To find the remedy your ill requir'd;

As once the Macedon, by Jove's decree,
Was taught to dream an herb for Ptolomee:
Or Heaven, which had such over-cost bestow'd,
As scarce it could afford to flesh and blood,
So lik'd the frame, he would not work anew,
To save the charges of another you.

Or by his middle science did he steer,
And saw some great contingent good appear
Well worth a miracle to keep you here:
And for that end, preserv'd the precious mould,
Which all the future Ormonds was to hold;
And meditated, in his better mind,
[kind.
An heir from you, which may redeem the failing
Blest be the power, which has at once restor'd
The hopes of lost succession to your lord,
Joy to the first and last of each degree,
Virtue to courts, and, what I long'd to see,
To you the Graces, and the Muse to me.
O daughter of the Rose, whose cheeks unite
The differing titles of the red and white;
Who Heaven's alternate beauty well display,
The blush of morning and the milky way;
Whose face is Paradise, but fenc'd from sin :
For God in either eye has plac'd a cherubin.

All is your lord's alone; ev'n absent, he
Employs the care of chaste Penelope.
For him you waste in tears your widow'd hours,
For him your curious needle paints the flowers;
Such works of old imperial dames were taught;
Such, for Ascanius, fair Elisa wrought.
The soft recesses of your hours improve
The three fair pledges of your happy love:
All other parts of pious duty done,
You owe your Ormond nothing but a son,
To fill in future times his father's place,
And wear the garter of his mother's race.

PALAMON AND ARCITE : OR THE KNIGHT'S TALE.

BOOK I.

IN days of old, there liv'd, of mighty fame,
A valiant prince, and Theseus was his name:
A chief, who more in feats of arms excell'd,
The rising nor the setting Sun bebeld.
Of Athens he was lord; much land he won,
And added foreign countries to his crown.
In Scythia with the warrior queen he strove,
Whom first by force he conquered, then by love;
He brought in triumph back the beauteous dame,
With whom her sister, fair Emilia, came.
With honour to his home let Theseus ride,
With Love to friend, and Fortune for his guide,
And his victorious army at his side.

I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array,
Their shouts, their songs, their welcome on the

way:

But, were it not too long, I would recite

The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight

Betwixt the hardy queen and hero knight;

The town besieg'd, and how much blood it cost
The female army and th' Athenian host;
The spousals of Hippolita, the queen;
What tilts and turneys at the feast were seen;
The storm at their return, the ladies' fear:
But these, and other things, I must forbear.
The field is spacious I design to sow,
With oxen far unfit to draw the plow:
The remnant of my tale is of a length

To tire your patience, and to waste my strength;
And trivial accidents shall be forborn,
That others may have time to take their turn;
As was at first enjoin'd us by mine host,
That he whose tale is best, and pleases most,
Should win his supper at our common cost.

And therefore where I left, I will pursue
This ancient story, whether false or true,
In hope it may be mended with a new.
The prince I mentioned, full of high renown,
In this array drew near th' Athenian town;
When, in his pomp and utmost of his pride,
Marching, he chanc'd to cast his eye aside,
And saw a choir of mourning dames, who lay
By two and two across the common way:
At his approach they rais'd a rueful cry, [high,
And beat their breasts, and held their hands on
Creeping and crying, till they seiz'd at last
His courser's bridle, and his feet embrac'd.
"Tell me," said Theseus, "what and whence

you are,

And why this funeral pageant you prepare? Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds, To meet my triumph in ill-omen'd weeds? Or envy you my praise, and would destroy With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy? Or are you injur'd, and demand relief? Name your request, and I will ease your grief." The most in years of all the mourning train Began (but swooned first away for pain); Then scarce recover'd spoke: "Nor envy we Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory; 'Tis thine, O king, th' afflicted to redress, And Fame has fill'd the world with thy success: We, wretched women, sue for that alone, Which of thy goodness is refus'd to none; Let fall some drops of pity on our grief, If what we beg be just, and we deserve relief: For none of us, who now thy grace implore, But held the rank of sovereign queen before; Till, thanks to giddy Chance, which never bears, That mortal bliss should last for length of years, She cast us headlong from our high estate, And here in hope of thy return we wait: And long have waited in the temple nigh, Built to the gracious goddess Clemency. But reverence thou the power whose name it Relieve th' oppress'd, and wipe the widow's tears. I, wretched I, have other fortune seen, The wife of Capaneus, and once a queen : At Thebes he fell, curst be the fatal day! And all the rest thou seest in this array

[bears,

To make their moan, their lords in battle lost Before that town, besieg'd by our confederate host:

But Creon, old and impious, who commands
The Theban city, and usurps the lands,
Denies the rites of funeral fires to those
Whose breathless bodies yet he calls his foes.
Unburn'd, unbury'd, on a heap they lie;
Such is their fate, and such his tyranny;

No friend has leave to bear away the dead,
But with their lifeless limbs his hounds are fed."
At this she shriek'd aloud; the mournful train
Echo'd her grief, and, groveling on the plain,
With groans, and hands upheld, to move his mind,
Besought his pity to their helpless kind!

The prince was touch'd, his tears began to flow,
And, as his tender heart would break in two,
He sigh'd, and could not but their fate deplore,
So wretched now, so fortunate before.
Then lightly from his lofty steed he flew,
And raising, one by one, the suppliant crew,
To comfort each, full solemnly he swore,
That by the faith which knights to knighthood
And whate'er else to chivalry belongs, [bore,
He would not cease, till he reveng'd their wrongs:
That Greece should see perform'd what he de-
And cruel Creon find his just reward. [clar'd;
He said no more, but, shunning all delay,
Rode on; nor enter'd Athens on his way:
But left his sister and his queen behind,
And way'd his royal banner in the wind:
Where in an argent field the god of war
Was drawn triumphant on his iron car;
Red was his sword, and shield, and whole attire,
And all the godhead seem'd to glow with fire;
Ev'n the ground glitter'd where the standard flew,
And the green grass was dy'd to sauguine hue.
High on his pointed lance his pennon bore
His Cretan fight, the conquer'd Minotaur :
The soldiers shout around with generous rage,
And in that victory their own presage.
He prais'd their ardour; inly pleas'd to see
His host the flower of Grecian chivalry.
All day he march'd; and all th' ensuing night;
And saw the city with returning light.
The process of the war I need not tell,
How Theseus conquer'd, and how Creon fell?
Or after, how by storm the walls were won,
Or how the victor sack'd and burn'd the town:
How to the ladies he restor'd again

The bodies of their lords in battle slain :
And with what ancient rites they were interr'd;
All these to fitter times shall be deferr'd:
I spare the widows tears, their woeful cries,
And howling at their husband's obsequies;
How Theseus at these funerals did assist,
And with what gifts the mourning dames dismiss'd.
Thus when the victor chief had Creon slain,
And conquer'd Thebes, he pitch'd upon the plain
His mighty camp, and, when the day return'd,
The country wasted, and the hamlets burn'd,
And left the pillagers, to rapine bred,
Without control to strip and spoil the dead.
There, in a heap of slain, among the rest
Two youthful knights they found beneath a load
oppress'd

Of slaughter'd foes, whom first to death they sent,
The trophies of their strength, a bloody mo-

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The wandering breath was on the wing to part,
Weak was the pulse, and hardly heav'd the heart.
These two were sisters' sons; and Arcite one,
Much fam'd in fields, with valiant Palamon.
From these their costly arms the spoilers rent,
And softly both convey'd to Theseus' tent:
Whom, known of Creon's line, and cur'd with

care,

He to his city sent as prisoners of the war,
Hopeless of ransom, and condemn'd to lie
In durance, doom'd a lingering death to die.
This done, he march'd away with warlike sound,
And to his Athens turn'd with laurels crown'd,
Where happy long he liv'd, much lov'd, and
more renown'd.

But in a tower, and never to be loos'd,
The woeful captive kinsmen are enclos'd.

Thus year by year they pass, and day by day,
Till once, 'twas on the morn of cheerful May,
The young Emilia, fairer to be seen
Than the fair lity on the flowery green,
More fresh than May herself in blossoms new,
For with the rosy colour strove her hue,
Wak'd, as her custom was, before the day,
To do th' observance due to sprightly May:
For sprightly May commands our youth to keep
The vigils of her night, and breaks their sluggard
sleep;

Each gentle breast with kindly warmth she moves;
Inspires new flames, revives extinguish'd loves.
In this remembrance Emily, ere day,
Arose, and dress'd herself in rich array;
Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair;
Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair:
A ribband did the braided tresses bind,
The rest was loose, and wanton'd in the wind:
Aurora had but newly chas'd the night,
And purpled o'er the sky with blushing light,
When to the garden walk she took her way,
To sport and trip along in cool of day,
And offer maiden vows in honour of the May.
At every turn, she made a little stand,
And thrust among the thorns her lily hand
To draw the rose; and every rose she drew,
She shook the stalk, and brush'd away the dew:
Then party-colour'd flowers of white and red
She wove, to make a garland for her head:
This done, she sung and carol'd out so clear,
That men and angels might rejoice to hear:
Ev'n wondering Philomel forgot to sing,
And learn'd from her to welcome-in the Spring.
The tower, of which before was mention made,
Within whose keep the captive knights were laid,
Built of a large extent, and strong withal,
Was one partition of the palace wall:
The garden was enclos'd within the square,
Where young Emilia took the morning air.

It happen'd Palamon, the prisoner knight,
Restless for woe, arose before the light,
And with his jailor's leave desir'd to breathe
An air more wholesome than the damps beneath :
This granted, to the tower he took his way,
Chear'd with the promise of a glorious day:
Then cast a languishing regard around,
And saw with hateful eyes the temples crown'd
With golden spires, and all the hostile ground.
He sigh'd, and turn'd his eyes, because he knew
'Twas but a larger gaol he had in view:
Then look'd below, and, from the castle's height,
Beheld a nearer and more pleasing sight,

The garden, which before he had not seen,
In Spring's new livery clad of white and green,
Fresh flowers in wide parterres, and shady walks
between.

This view'd, but not enjoy'd, with arms across
He stood, reflecting on his country's loss;
Himself an object of the public scorn,
And often wish'd he never had been born.
At last, for so his destiny requir'd,
With walking giddy, and with thinking tir'd,
He through a little window cast his sight,
Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty light:
But ev❜n that glimmering serv'd him to descry
Th' inevitable charms of Emily.
[smart,

Scarce had he seen, but, seiz'd with sudden
Stung to the quick, he felt it at his heart;
Struck blind with over-powering light he stood,
Then started back amaz'd, and cry'd aloud.

Young Arcite heard; and up he ran with haste,
To help his friend, and in his arms embrac'd;
And ask'd him why he look'd so deadly wan,
And whence and how his change of cheer began,
Or who had done th' offence?" But if," said be,
"Your grief along is hard captivity,
For love of Heaven with patience undergo
A cureless ill, since Fate will have it so:
So stood our horoscope in chains to lie,
And Saturn in the dungeon of the sky,
Orother baleful aspect, rul'd our birth,
When all the friendly stars were under Earth:
Whate'er betides, by Destiny 'tis done; [shun."
And better bear like men, than vainly seek to
"Nor of my bonds," said Palamon again,
Nor of unhappy planets I complain;
But when my mortal anguish caus'd me cry,
That moment I was hurt through either eye;
Pierc'd with a random shaft, I faint away,
And perish with insensible decay:

A glance of some new goddess gave the wound,
Whom, like Acteon, unaware I found.
Look how she walks along yon shady space,
Not Juno moves with more majestic grace;
And all the Cyprian queen is in her face.
If thou art Venus (for thy charms confess
That face was form'd in Heaven, nor art thou less;
Disguis'd in habit, undisguis'd in shape)

O help us captives from our chains t' escape;
But if our doom be past, in bonds to lie
For life, and in a loathsome dungeon die,
Then be thy wrath appeas'd with our disgrace,
And show compassion to the Theban race,
Oppress'd by tyrant power!" While yet he
Arcite on Emily had fix'd his look; [spoke,
The fatal dart a ready passage found,
And deep within his heart infix'd the wound:
So that if Palamon were wounded sore,
Arcite was hurt as much as he, or more:
Then from his inmost soul he sigh'd, and said,
"The beauty I behold has struck me dead:
Unknowingly she strikes, and kills by chance;
Poison is in her eyes, and death in every glance.
O, I must ask, nor ask alone, but move
Her mind to mercy, or must die for love."
Thus Arcite and thus Palamon replies,
(Eager his tone, and ardent were his eyes.)
Speak'st thou in earnest, or in jesting vein ?"
Jesting," said Arcite, “suits but ill with pain."
"It suits far worse" (said Palamon again, [weigh,
And bent his brows) "with men who honour
Their faith to break, their friendship to betray;

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But worst with thee, of noble lineage horn,
My kinsman, and in arms my brother sworn.
Have we not plighted each our holy oath,
That one should be the common good of both;
One soul should both inspire, and neither prove
His fellow's hindrance in pursuit of love?
To this before the Gods we gave our hands,
And nothing but our death can break the bands.
This binds thee, then, to further my design :
As I am bound by vow to further thing:
Nor canst, nor dar'st thou, traitor, on the plain,
Appeach my honour, or thine own maintain,
Since thou art of my council, and the friend
Whose faith I trust, and on whose care depend:
And would'st thou court my lady's love, which I
Much rather than release would choose to die?.
But thou, false Arcite, never shalt obtain
Thy bad pretence; I told thee first my pain:
For first my love began ere thine was born;
Thou, as my council, and my brother sworn,
Art bound t' assist my eldership of right,
Or justly to be deem'd a perjur'd knight."

Thus Palamon: but Arcite, with disdain,
In haughty language, thus reply'd again:
"Forsworn thyself: the traitor's odious name
I first return, and then disprove thy claim.
If love be passion, and that passion nurst
With strong desires, I lov'd the lady first.
Canst thou pretend desire, whom zeal inflam'd
To worship, and a power celestial nam'd?
Thine was devotion to the blest above,
I saw the woman, and desir'd her love;
First own'd my passion, and to thee commend
Th' important secret, as my chosen friend.
Suppose (which yet I grant not) thy desire
A moment elder than my rival fire;
Can chance of seeing first thy title prove?
And know'st thou not, no law is made for love;
Law is to things, which to free choice relate;
Love is not in our choice, but in our fate;
Laws are but positive; love's power, we see,
Is Nature's sanction, and her first decree.
Each day we break the bond of human laws
For love, and vindicate the common cause.
Laws for defence of civil rights are plac'd,
Love throws the fences down, and makes a general

waste:

Maids, widows, wives, without distinction fall;
The sweeping deluge, love, comes on, and covers
If then the laws of friendship I transgress,
I keep the greater, while I break the less;
And both are mad alike, since neither can

possess.

Both hopeless to be ransom'd, never more To see the Sun, but as he passes o'er."

[all.

Like Esop's hounds contending for the bone, Each pleaded right, and would be lord alone: The fruitless fight continued all the day; A cur came by, and snatch'd the prize away. "As courtiers therefore justle for a grant, [want, And, when they break their friendship, plead their So thou, if Fortune will thy suit advance, Love on, nor envy me my equal chance: For 1 must love, and am resolv'd to try My fate, or, failing in th' adventure, die."

Great was their strife, which hourly was renew'd,

Till each with mortal hate his rival view'd:
Now friends no more, nor walking hand in hand;
But when they met, they made a surly stand;

And glar'd like angry lions as they pass'd,
And wish'd that every look might be their last.
It chanc'd at length, Pirithous came t' attend
This worthy Theseus, his familiar friend;
Their love in early infancy began,
And rose as childhood ripen'd into man ;
Companions of the war, and lov'd so well,
That when one dy'd, as ancient stories tell,
His fellow to redeem him went to Hell.

But to pursue my tale: to welcome home His warlike brother is Pirithous come: Arcite of Thebes was known in arms long since, And honour'd by this young Thessalian prince. Theseus, to gratify his friend and guest, Who made our Arcite's freedom his request, Restor'd to liberty the captive knight, But on these hard conditions I recite: That if hereafter Arcite should be found Within the compass of Athenian ground, By day or night, or on whate'er pretence, His head should pay the forfeit of th' offence. Tothis Pirithous for his friend agreed, And on his promise was the prisoner freed. Unpleas'd and pensive hence he takes his way, At his own peril; for his life must pay. Who now but Arcite mourns his bitter fate, Finds his dear purchase, and repents too late? "What have I gain'd," he said, " in prison pent, If I but change my bonds for banishment? And banish'd from her sight, 1 suffer more In freedom, than I felt in bonds before; Fore'd from her presence, and condemn'd to live: Unwelcome freedom, and unthank'd reprieve: Heaven is not, but where Emily abides; And where she's absent, all is Hell besides. Next to my day of birth, was that accurst, Which bound my friendship to Pirithous first: Had I not known that prince, I still had been In bondage, and had still Emilia seen: For, though I never can her grace deserve, 'Tis recompense enough to see and serve. O Palamon, my kinsman and my friend, How much more happy fates thy love attend! Thine is th' adventure; thine the victory: Well has thy fortune turn'd the dice for thee: Thou on that angel's face may'st feed thine eyes, In prison, no; but blissful Paradise! Thou daily seest that sun of beauty shine, And lov'st at least in love's extremest line. I mourn in absence, love's eternal night; And who can tell but since thou hast her sight, And art a comely, young, and valiant knight, Fortune (a various power) may cease to frown, And by some ways unknown thy wishes crown? But I, the most forlorn of human kind, Nor help can hope, nor remedy can find; But, doom'd to drag my loathsome life in care, For my reward, must end it in despair. Fire, water, air, and earth, and force of fates That governs all, and Heaven that all creates, Nor art, nor Nature's hand can ease my grief; Nothing but death, the wretch's last relief: Then farewel youth, and all the joys that dwell, With youth and life, and life itself farewel.

But why, alas! do mortal men in vain Of Fortune, Fate, or Providence complain? God gives us what he knows our wants require, And better things than those which we desire: Some pray for riches; riches they obtain; But, watch'd by robbers, for their wealth are slain;

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