Arcite, Who Heard His Tale, And Knew The Man, His Sword Unsheath'D, And Fiercely Thus Began: Now By The Gods Who Govern Heaven Above, Wert Thou Not Weak With Hunger, Mad With Love, That Word Had Been Thy Last, Or In This Grove This Hand Should Force Thee To Renounce Thy Love. The Surety Which I Gave Thee, I Defy: Fool, Not To Know That Love Endures No Tie, And Jove But Laughs At Lovers' Perjury. Know I Will Serve The Fair In Thy Despite; But Since Thou Art My Kinsman, And A Knight, Here, Have My Faith, To-Morrow In This Grove Our Arms Shall Plead The Titles Of Our Love: And Heaven So Help My Right, As I Alone Will Come, And Keep The Cause And Quarrel Both Unknown; With Arms Of Proof Both For Myself And Thee; Choose Thou The Best, And Leave The Worst To Me. And, That At Better Ease Thou May'St Abide, Bedding And Clothes I Will This Night Provide, And Needful Sustenance, That Thou May'St Be A Conquest Better Won, And Worthy Me. His Promise Palamon Accepts; But Pray'D To Keep It Better Than The First He Made. Thus Fair They Parted Till The Morrow'S Dawn, For Each Had Laid His Plighted Faith To Pawn. Oh, Love! Thou Sternly Dost Thy Power Maintain, And Wilt Not Bear A Rival In Thy Reign; Tyrants And Thou All Fellowship Disdain! This Was In Arcite Proved, And Palamon, Both In Despair, Yet Each Would Love Alone. Arcite Return'D, And, As In Honour Tied, His Foe With Bedding, And With Food Supplied; Then, Ere The Day, Two Suits Of Armour Sought, Which, Borne Before Him On His Steed, He Brought: Both Were Of Shining Steel, And Wrought So Pure, As Might The Strokes Of Two Such Arms Endure. Now, At The Time, And In The Appointed Place, The Challenger And Challenged, Face To Face, Approach; Each Other From Afar They Knew, And From Afar Their Hatred Changed Their Hue. So Stands The Thracian Herdsman With His Spear, Pull In The Gap, And Hopes The Hunted Bear, And Hears Him Rustling In The Wood, And Sees His Course At Distance By The Bending Trees; And Thinks, Here Comes My Mortal Enemy, And Either He Must Fall In Fight, Or I: This While He Thinks, He Lifts Aloft His Dart; A Generous Chilness Seizes Every Part: The Veins Pour Back The Blood, And Fortify The Heart. Thus Pale They Meet; Their Eyes With Fury Burn; None Greets; For None The Greeting Will Return: But In Dumb Surliness, Each Arm'D With Care His Foe Profess'D, As Brother Of The War: Then Both, No Moment Lost, At Once Advance Against Each Other, Arm'D With Sword And Lance: They Lash, They Foin, They Pass, They Strive To Bore Their Corslets And The Thinnest Parts Explore. Thus Two Long Hours In Equal Arms They Stood, And Wounded, Wound, Till Both Were Bathed In Blood; And Not A Foot Of Ground Had Either Got, As If The World Depended On The Spot. Fell Arcite Like An Angry Tiger Fared, And Like A Lion Palamon Appear'D: Or, As Two Boars, Whom Love To Battle Draws, With Rising Bristles, And With Frothy Jaws, Their Adverse Breasts With Tusks Oblique They Wound; With Grunts And Groans The Forest Rings Around. So Fought The Knights, And Fighting Must Abide, Till Fate An Umpire Sends Their Difference To Decide. The Power That Ministers To God'S Decrees, And Executes On Earth What Heaven Foresees, Call'D Providence, Or Chance, Or Fatal Sway, Comes With Resistless Force, And Finds Or Makes Her Way. Nor Kings, Nor Nations, Nor United Power, One Moment Can Retard The Appointed Hour; And Some One Day, Some Wondrous Chance Appears, Which Happen'D Not In Centuries Of Years: For Sure, Whate'Er We Mortals Hate, Or Love, Or Hope, Or Fear, Depends On Powers Above; They Move Our Appetites To Good Or Ill, And By Foresight Necessitate The Will. In Theseus This Appears; Whose Youthful Joy Was Beasts Of Chase In Forests To Destroy: This Gentle Knight, Inspired By Jolly May, Forsook His Easy Couch At Early Day, And To The Wood And Wilds Pursued His Way. Beside Him Rode Hippolita The Queen, And Emily Attired In Lively Green, With Horns, And Hounds, And All The Tuneful Cry, To Hunt A Royal Hart Within The Covert Nigh: And As He Follow'D Mars Before, So Now He Serves The Goddess Of The Silver Bow. The Way That Theseus Took Was To The Wood Where The Two Knights In Cruel Battle Stood: The Lawn On Which They Fought, The Appointed Place In Which The Uncoupled Hounds Began The Chase. Thither Forth-Right He Rode To Rouse The Prey, That, Shaded By The Fern, In Harbour Lay; And Thence Dislodged, Was Wont To Leave The Wood For Open Fields, And Cross The Crystal Flood. Approach'D, And Looking Underneath The Sun, He Saw Proud Arcite, And Fierce Palamon, In Mortal Battle Doubling Blow On Blow, Like Lightning Flamed Their Falchions To And Fro, And Shot A Dreadful Gleam; So Strong They Strook, There Seem'D Less Force Required To Fell An Oak: He Gazed With Wonder On Their Equal Might, Look'D Eager On, But Knew Not Either Knight: Resolved To Learn, He Spurr'D His Fiery Steed With Goring Rowels To Provoke His Speed. The Minute Ended That Began The Race, So Soon He Was Betwixt Them On The Place; And, With His Sword Unsheath'D, On Pain Of Life Commands Both Combatants To Cease Their Strife: Then With Imperious Tone Pursues His Threat: What Are You? Why In Arms Together Met? How Dares Your Pride Presume Against My Laws, As In A Listed Field To Fight Your Cause? Unask'D The Royal Grant; No Marshal By, As Knightly Rites Require; Nor Judge To Try? Then Palamon, With Scarce Recover'D Breath, Thus Hasty Spoke: We Both Deserve The Death, And Both Would Die; For Look The World Around, A Pair So Wretched Is Not To Be Found; Our Life'S A Load; Encumber'D With The Charge, We Long To Set The Imprison'D Soul At Large. Now, As Thou Art A Sovereign Judge, Decree The Rightful Doom Of Death To Him And Me; Let Neither Find Thy Grace, For Grace Is Cruelty. Me First, Oh, Kill Me First, And Cure My Woe; Then Sheath The Sword Of Justice On My Foe: Or Kill Him First; For When His Name Is Heard, He Foremost Will Receive His Due Reward. Arcite Of Thebes Is He; Thy Mortal Foe: On Whom Thy Grace Did Liberty Bestow, But First Contracted, That If Ever Found By Day Or Night Upon The Athenian Ground, His Head Should Pay The Forfeit; See Return'D The Perjured Knight, His Oath And Honour Scorn'D. For This Is He, Who, With A Borrow'D Name And Proffer'D Service, To Thy Palace Came, Now Call'D Philostratus: Retain'D By Thee, A Traitor Trusted, And In High Degree, Aspiring To The Bed Of Beauteous Emily. My Part Remains; From Thebes My Birth I Own, And Call Myself The Unhappy Palamon. Think Me Not Like That Man; Since No Disgrace Can Force Me To Renounce The Honour Of My Race. Know Me For What I Am: I Broke My Chain, Nor Promised I Thy Prisoner To Remain: The Love Of Liberty With Life Is Given, And Life Itself The Inferior Gift Of Heaven. Thus Without Crime I Fled; But Further Know, I, With This Arcite, Am Thy Mortal Foe: Then Give Me Death, Since I Thy Life Pursue; For Safeguard Of Thyself, Death Is My Due. More Would'St Thou Know? I Love Bright Emily, And, For Her Sake, And In Her Sight Will Die: But Kill My Rival Too; For He No Less Deserves; And I Thy Righteous Doom Will Bless, Assured That What I Lose, He Never Shall Possess. To This Replied The Stern Athenian Prince, And Sourly Smiled: In Owning Your Offence You Judge Yourself; And I But Keep Record In Place Of Law, While You Pronounce The Word. Take Your Desert, The Death You Have Decreed; I Seal Your Doom, And Ratify The Deed: By Mars, The Patron Of My Arms, You Die! He Said; Dumb Sorrow Seized The Standers-By. The Queen Above The Rest, By Nature Good, (The Pattern Form'D Of Perfect Womanhood) For Tender Pity Wept: When She Began, Through The Bright Quire The Infectious Virtue Ran. All Dropt Their Tears, Even The Contended Maid; And Thus Among Themselves They Softly Said: What Eyes Can Suffer This Unworthy Sight! Two Youths Of Royal Blood, Renown'D In Fight, The Mastership Of Heaven In Face And Mind, And Lovers, Far Beyond Their Faithless Kind: See Their Wide Streaming Wounds; They Neither Came For Pride Of Empire, Nor Desire Of Fame: Kings Fight For Kingdoms, Madmen For Applause; But Love For Love Alone; That Crowns The Lover'S Cause. This Thought, Which Ever Bribes The Beauteous Kind, Such Pity Wrought In Every Lady'S Mind, They Left Their Steeds, And, Prostrate On The Place, From The Fierce King Implored The Offenders' Grace. He Paused A While, Stood Silent In His Mood (For Yet His Rage Was Boiling In His Blood); But Soon His Tender Mind The Impression Felt, (As Softest Metals Are Not Slow To Melt, And Pity Soonest Runs In Softest Minds): Then Reasons With Himself; And First He Finds His Passion Cast A Mist Before His Sense, And Either Made, Or Magnified The Offence. Offence! Of What? To Whom? Who Judged The Cause? The Prisoner Freed Himself By Nature'S Laws: Born Free, He Sought His Right: The Man He Freed Was Perjured, But His Love Excused The Deed. Thus Pondering, He Look'D Under With His Eyes, And Saw The Women'S Tears, And Heard Their Cries; Which Moved Compassion More; He Shook His Head, And, Softly Sighing, To Himself He Said: Curse On The Unpardoning Prince, Whom Tears Can Draw To No Remorse; Who Rules By Lions' Law; And Deaf To Prayers, By No Submission Bow'D, Rends All Alike; The Penitent, And Proud! At This, With Look Serene, He Raised His Head; Reason Resumed Her Place, And Passion Fled: Then Thus Aloud He Spoke: The Power Of Love, In Earth, And Seas, And Air, And Heaven Above, Rules, Unresisted, With An Awful Nod; By Daily Miracles Declared A God: He Blinds The Wise, Gives Eyesight To The Blind; And Moulds And Stamps Anew The Lover'S Mind. Behold That Arcite, And This Palamon, Freed From My Fetters, And In Safety Gone, What Hinder'D Either In Their Native Soil At Ease To Reap The Harvest Of Their Toil? But Love, Their Lord, Did Otherwise Ordain, And Brought Them In Their Own Despite Again, To Suffer Death Deserved; For Well They Know, 'Tis In My Power, And I Their Deadly Foe. The Proverb Holds, That To Be Wise And Love, Is Hardly Granted To The Gods Above. See How The Madmen Bleed! Behold The Gains With Which Their Master, Love, Rewards Their Pains! For Seven Long Years, On Duty Every Day, Lo, Their Obedience, And Their Monarch'S Pay: Yet, As In Duty Bound, They Serve Him On; And, Ask The Fools, They Think It Wisely Done; Nor Ease, Nor Wealth, Nor Life Itself Regard, For 'Tis Their Maxim, Love Is Love'S Reward. This Is Not All; The Fair, For Whom They Strove, Nor Knew Before, Nor Could Suspect Their Love; Nor Thought, When She Beheld The Sight From Far, Her Beauty Was The Occasion Of The War. But Sure A General Doom On Man Is Past, And All Are Fools And Lovers, First Or Last: This Both By Others And Myself I Know, For I Have Served Their Sovereign Long Ago; Oft Have Been Caught Within The Winding Train Of Female Snares, And Felt The Lover'S Pain, And Learn'D How Far The God Can Human Hearts Constrain. To This Remembrance, And The Prayers Of Those Who For The Offending Warriors Interpose, I Give Their Forfeit Lives; On This Accord, To Do Me Homage As Their Sovereign Lord; And, As My Vassals, To Their Utmost Might, Assist My Person, And Assert My Right. This Freely Sworn, The Knights Their Grace Obtain'D; Then Thus The King His Secret Thoughts Explain'D: If Wealth, Or Honour, Or A Royal Race, Or Each, Or All, May Win A Lady'S Grace, Then Either Of You Knights May Well Deserve A Princess Born; And Such Is She You Serve: For Emily Is Sister To The Crown, And But Too Well To Both Her Beauty Known: But Should You Combat Till You Both Were Dead, Two Lovers Cannot Share A Single Bed: As, Therefore, Both Are Equal In Degree, The Lot Of Both Be Left To Destiny. Now Hear The Award, And Happy May It Prove To Her, And Him Who Best Deserves Her Love. Depart From Hence In Peace, And, Free As Air, Search The Wide World, And Where You Please Repair; But On The Day When This Returning Sun To The Same Point Through Every Sign Has Run, Then Each Of You His Hundred Knights Shall Bring, In Royal Lists, To Fight Before The King; And Then The Knight, Whom Fate Or Happy Chance Shall With His Friends To Victory Advance, And Grace His Arms So Far In Equal Fight, From Out The Bars To Force His Opposite, Or Kill, Or Make Him Recreant On The Plain, The Prize Of Valour And Of Love Shall Gain; The Vanquish'D Party Shall Their Claim Release, And The Long Jars Conclude In Lasting Peace. The Charge Be Mine To Adorn The Chosen Ground, The Theatre Of War, For Champions So Renown'D; And Take The Patron'S Place Of Either Knight, With Eyes Impartial To Behold The Fight; And Heaven Of Me So Judge As I Shall Judge Aright. If Both Are Satisfied With This Accord, Swear By The Laws Of Knighthood On My Sword. Who Now But Palamon Exults With Joy? And Ravish'D Arcite Seems To Touch The Sky: The Whole Assembled Troop Was Pleased As Well, Extol The Award, And On Their Knees They Fell To Bless The Gracious King. The Knights, With Leave, Departing From The Place, His Last Commands Receive; On Emily With Equal Ardour Look, And From Her Eyes Their Inspiration Took. From Thence To Thebes' Old Walls Pursue Their Way, Each To Provide His Champions For The Day. It Might Be Deem'D, On Our Historian'S Part, Or Too Much Negligence, Or Want Of Art, If He Forgot The Vast Magnificence Of Royal Theseus, And His Large Expense, He First Enclosed For Lists A Level Ground, The Whole Circumference A Mile Around; The Form Was Circular; And All Without A Trench Was Sunk, To Moat The Place About. Within An Amphitheatre Appear'D, Raised In Degrees; To Sixty Paces Rear'D: That When A Man Was Placed In One Degree, Height Was Allow'D For Him Above To See. Eastward Was Built A Gate Of Marble White; The Like Adorn'D The Western Opposite. A Nobler Object Than This Fabric Was, Rome Never Saw; Nor Of So Vast A Space. For Rich With Spoils Of Many A Conquer'D Land, All Arts And Artists Theseus Could Command; Who Sold For Hire, Or Wrought For Better Fame; The Master-Painters, And The Carvers Came. So Rose Within The Compass Of The Year An Age'S Work, A Glorious Theatre. Then O'Er Its Eastern Gate Was Raised Above A Temple, Sacred To The Queen Of Love; An Altar Stood Below: On Either Hand A Priest With Roses Crown'D, Who Held A Myrtle Wand. The Dome Of Mars Was On The Gate Opposed, And On The North A Turret Was Enclosed, Within The Wall, Of Alabaster White, And Crimson Coral, For The Queen Of Night, Who Takes In Sylvan Sports Her Chaste Delight. Within These Oratories Might You See Rich Carvings, Portraitures, And Imagery: Where Every Figure To The Life Express'D The Godhead'S Power To Whom It Was Address'D. In Venus' Temple On The Sides Were Seen The Broken Slumbers Of Enamour'D Men; Prayers That Even Spoke, And Pity Seem'D To Call, And Issuing Sighs That Smoked Along The Wall; Complaints, And Hot Desires, The Lover'S Hell, And Scalding Tears That Wore A Channel Where They Fell: And All Around Were Nuptial Bonds, The Ties, Of Love'S Assurance, And A Train Of Lies, That, Made In Lust, Conclude In Perjuries. Beauty, And Youth, And Wealth, And Luxury, And Spritely Hope, And Short-Enduring Joy; And Sorceries To Raise The Infernal Powers, And Sigils Framed In Planetary Hours: Expense, And After-Thought, And Idle Care, And Doubts Of Motley Hue, And Dark Despair; Suspicious, And Fantastical Surmise, And Jealousy Suffused, With Jaundice In Her Eyes, Discolouring All She View'D, In Tawny Dress'D, Down-Look'D, And With A Cuckoo On Her Fist. Opposed To Her, On The Other Side Advance The Costly Feast, The Carol, And The Dance, Minstrels And Music, Poetry And Play, And Balls By Night, And Tournaments By Day. All These Were Painted On The Wall, And More; With Acts And Monuments Of Times Before: And Others Added By Prophetic Doom, And Lovers Yet Unborn, And Loves To Come: For There The Idalian Mount, And Citheron, The Court Of Venus, Was In Colours Drawn: Before The Palace-Gate, In Careless Dress, And Loose Array, Sat Portress Idleness: There, By The Fount, Narcissus Pined Alone; There Samson Was; With Wiser Solomon, And All The Mighty Names By Love Undone. Medea'S Charms Were There, Circean Feasts, With Bowls That Turn'D Enamour'D Youths To Beasts: Here Might Be Seen, That Beauty, Wealth, And Wit, And Prowess, To The Power Of Love Submit: The Spreading Snare For All Mankind Is Laid; And Lovers All Betray, And Are Betray'D. The Goddess Self Some Noble Hand Had Wrought; Smiling She Seem'D, And Full Of Pleasing Thought: From Ocean As She First Began To Rise, And Smooth'D The Ruffled Seas And Clear'D The Skies; She Trode The Brine, All Bare Below The Breast, And The Green Waves But Ill Conceal'D The Rest; A Lute She Held; And On Her Head Was Seen A Wreath Of Roses Red, And Myrtles Green; Her Turtles Fann'D The Buxom Air Above; And, By His Mother, Stood An Infant Love, With Wings Unfledged; His Eyes Were Banded O'Er; His Hands A Bow, His Back A Quiver Bore, Supplied With Arrows Bright And Keen, A Deadly Store. But In The Dome Of Mighty Mars The Red With Different Figures All The Sides Were Spread; This Temple, Less In Form, With Equal Grace, Was Imitative Of The First In Thrace: For That Cold Region Was The Loved Abode And Sovereign Mansion Of The Warrior God. The Landscape Was A Forest Wide And Bare; Where Neither Beast, Nor Human Kind Repair; The Fowl, That Scent Afar, The Borders Fly, And Shun The Bitter Blast, And Wheel About The Sky. A Cake Of Scurf Lies Baking On The Ground, And Prickly Stubs, Instead Of Trees, Are Found; Or Woods, With Knots And Knares, Deform'D And Old; Headless The Most, And Hideous To Behold: A Rattling Tempest Through The Branches Went, That Stripp'D Them Bare, And One Sole Way They Bent. Heaven Froze Above, Severe, The Clouds Congeal, And Through The Crystal Vault Appear'D The Standing Hail. Such Was The Face Without; A Mountain Stood Threatening From High, And Overlook'D The Wood: Beneath The Lowering Brow, And On A Bent, The Temple Stood Of Mars Armipotent: The Frame Of Burnish'D Steel, That Cast A Glare From Far, And Seem'D To Thaw The Freezing Air. A Strait Long Entry To The Temple Led, Blind With High Walls; And Horror Over Head: Thence Issued Such A Blast, And Hollow Roar, As Threaten'D From The Hinge To Heave The Door: In Through That Door, A Northern Light There Shone; 'Twas All It Had, For Windows There Were None. The Gate Was Adamant; Eternal Frame! Which, Hew'D By Mars Himself, From Indian Quarries Came, The Labour Of A God; And All Along Tough Iron Plates Were Clench'D To Make It Strong. A Tun About Was Every Pillar There; A Polish'D Mirror Shone Not Half So Clear. There Saw I How The Secret Felon Wrought, And Treason Labouring In The Traitor'S Thought; And Midwife Time The Ripen'D Plot To Murder Brought. There The Red Anger Dared The Pallid Fear; Next Stood Hypocrisy, With Holy Leer, Soft Smiling, And Demurely Looking Down, But Hid The Dagger Underneath The Gown: The Assassinating Wife, The Household Fiend; And Far The Blackest There, The Traitor-Friend. On The Other Side, There Stood Destruction Bare; Unpunish'D Rapine, And A Waste Of War. Contest, With Sharpen'D Knives, In Cloisters Drawn, And All With Blood Bespread The Holy Lawn. Loud Menaces Were Heard, And Foul Disgrace, And Bawling Infamy, In Language Base; Till Sense Was Lost In Sound, And Silence Fled The Place. The Slayer Of Himself Yet Saw I There, The Gore Congeal'D Was Clotted In His Hair; With Eyes Half Closed, And Gaping Mouth He Lay, And Grim, As When He Breathed His Sullen Soul Away. In Midst Of All The Dome, Misfortune Sate, And Gloomy Discontent, And Fell Debate, And Madness Laughing In His Ireful Mood; And Arm'D Complaint On Theft; And Cries Of Blood. There Was The Murder'D Corpse In Covert Laid, And Violent Death In Thousand Shapes Display'D: The City To The Soldiers Rage Resigned: Successless Wars, And Poverty Behind: Ships Burnt In Fight, Or Forced On Rocky Shores, And The Rash Hunter Strangled By The Boars: The New-Born Babe By Nurses Overlaid; And The Cook Caught Within The Raging Fire He Made. All Ills Of Mars His Nature, Flame And Steel; The Gasping Charioteer, Beneath The Wheel Of His Own Car; The Ruin'D House That Falls And Intercepts Her Lord Betwixt The Walls: The Whole Division That To Mars Pertains, All Trades Of Death That Deal In Steel For Gains, Were There: The Butcher, Armourer, And Smith, Whose Forges Sharpen'D Falchions, Or The Scythe. The Scarlet Conquest On A Tower Was Placed, With Shouts, And Soldiers' Acclamations Graced: A Pointed Sword Hung Threatening O'Er His Head, Sustain'D But By A Slender Twine Of Thread. There Saw I Mars His Ides, The Capitol, The Seer In Vain Foretelling C?Sar'S Fall; The Last Triumvirs, And The Wars They Move, And Antony, Who Lost The World For Love. These, And A Thousand More, The Fane Adorn; Their Fates Were Painted Ere The Men Were Born, All Copied From The Heavens, And Ruling Force Of The Red Star, In His Revolving Course. The Form Of Mars High On A Chariot Stood, All Sheath'D In Arms, And Gruffly Look'D The God: Two Geomantic Figures Were Display'D Above His Head, A Warrior And A Maid, One When Direct, And One When Retrograde. Tired With Deformities Of Death, I Haste To The Third Temple Of Diana Chaste. A Sylvan Scene With Various Greens Was Drawn, Shades On The Sides, And In The Midst A Lawn: The Silver Cynthia, With Her Nymphs Around, Pursued The Flying Deer, The Woods With Horns Resound: Calisto There Stood Manifest Of Shame, And, Turn'D A Bear, The Northern Star Became: Her Son Was Next, And, By Peculiar Grace, In The Cold Circle Held The Second Place: The Stag Acteon In The Stream Had Spied The Naked Huntress, And, For Seeing, Died: His Hounds, Unknowing Of His Change Pursue The Chase, And Their Mistaken Master Slew. Peneian Daphne Too Was There To See, Apollo'S Love Before, And Now His Tree: The Adjoining Fane The Assembled Greeks Express'D, And Hunting Of The Caledonian Beast. Oenides' Valour, And His Envied Prize; The Fatal Power Of Atalanta'S Eyes; Diana'S Vengeance On The Victor Shown, The Murderess Mother; And Consuming Son; The Volscian Queen Extended On The Plain; The Treason Punish'D, And The Traitor Slain. The Rest Were Various Huntings, Well Design'D, And Savage Beasts Destroy'D, Of Every Kind. The Graceful Goddess Was Array'D In Green; About Her Feet Were Little Beagles Seen, That Watch'D With Upward Eyes The Motions Of Their Queen. Her Legs Were Buskin'D, And The Left Before, In Act To Shoot; A Silver Bow She Bore, And At Her Back A Painted Quiver Wore. She Trod A Waxing Moon, That Soon Would Wane, And, Drinking Borrow'D Light, Be Fill'D Again: With Downcast Eyes, As Seeming To Survey The Dark Dominions, Her Alternate Sway. Before Her Stood A Women In Her Throes, And Call'D Lucina'S Aid, Her Burden To Disclose. All These The Painter Drew With Such Command, That Nature Snatch'D The Pencil From His Hand, Ashamed And Angry That His Art Could Feign And Mend The Tortures Of A Mother'S Pain. Theseus Beheld The Fanes Of Every God, And Thought His Mighty Cost Was Well Bestow'D. So Princes Now Their Poets Should Regard; But Few Can Write, And Fewer Can Reward. The Theatre Thus Raised, The Lists Enclosed, And All With Vast Magnificence Disposed, We Leave The Monarch Pleased, And Haste To Bring The Knights To Combat, And Their Arms To Sing. Book Iii. The Day Approach'D When Fortune Should Decide The Important Enterprise, And Give The Bride; For Now, The Rivals Round The World Had Sought, And Each His Number, Well Appointed, Brought. The Nations, Far And Near, Contend In Choice, And Send The Flower Of War By Public Voice; That After, Or Before, Were Never Known Such Chiefs, As Each An Army Seem'D Alone: Beside The Champions, All Of High Degree, Who Knighthood Loved, And Deeds Of Chivalry, Throng'D To The Lists, And Envied To Behold The Names Of Others, Not Their Own, Enroll'D. Nor Seems It Strange; For Every Noble Knight Who Loves The Fair, And Is Endued With Might, In Such A Quarrel Would Be Proud To Fight. There Breathes Not Scarce A Man On British Ground (An Isle For Love And Arms Of Old Renown'D) But Would Have Sold His Life To Purchase Fame, To Palamon Or Arcite Sent His Name: And Had The Land Selected Of The Best, Half Had Come Hence, And Let The World Provide The Rest. A Hundred Knights With Palamon There Came, Approved In Fight, And Men Of Mighty Name; Their Arms Were Several, As Their Nations Were, But Furnish'D All Alike With Sword And Spear. Some Wore Coat-Armour, Imitating Scale; And Next Their Skins Were Stubborn Shirts Of Mail. Some Wore A Breastplate And A Light Jupon, Their Horses Clothed With Rich Caparison: Some For Defence Would Leathern Bucklers Use, Of Folded Hides; And Others Shields Of Pruce. One Hung A Pole-Axe At His Saddle-Bow, And One A Heavy Mace To Stun The Foe; One For His Legs And Knees Provided Well, With Jambeaux Arm'D, And Double Plates Of Steel: This On His Helmet Wore A Lady'S Glove, And That A Sleeve Embroider'D By His Love. With Palamon Above The Rest In Place, Lycurgus Came, The Surly King Of Thrace; Black Was His Beard, And Manly Was His Face; The Balls Of His Broad Eyes Roll'D In His Head, And Glared Betwixt A Yellow And A Red: He Look'D A Lion With A Gloomy Stare, And O'Er His Eyebrows Hung His Matted Hair: Big-Boned, And Large Of Limbs, With Sinews Strong, Broad-Shoulder'D, And His Arms Were Round And Long. Four Milk-White Bulls (The Thracian Use Of Old) Were Yoked To Draw His Car Of Burnish'D Gold. Upright He Stood, And Bore Aloft His Shield, Conspicuous From Afar, And Overlook'D The Field. His Surcoat Was A Bear-Skin On His Back; His Hair Hung Long Behind, And Glossy Raven Black. His Ample Forehead Bore A Coronet, With Sparkling Diamonds And With Rubies Set: Ten Brace, And More, Of Greyhounds, Snowy Fair, And Tall As Stags, Ran Loose, And Coursed Around His Chair, A Match For Pards In Flight, In Grappling For The Bear: With Golden Muzzles All Their Mouths Were Bound, And Collars Of The Same Their Necks Surround. Thus Through The Fields Lycurgus Took His Way; His Hundred Knights Attend In Pomp And Proud Array. To Match This Monarch, With Strong Arcite Came Emetrius, King Of Ind, A Mighty Name; On A Bay Courser, Goodly To Behold, The Trappings Of His Horse Adorn'D With Barbarous Gold. Not Mars Bestrod A Steed With Greater Grace; His Surcoat O'Er His Arms Was Cloth Of Thrace, Adorn'D With Pearls, All Orient, Round, And Great; His Saddle Was Of Gold, With Emeralds Set, His Shoulders Large A Mantle Did Attire, With Rubies Thick, And Sparkling As The Fire: His Amber-Colour'D Locks In Ringlets Run, With Graceful Negligence, And Shone Against The Sun. His Nose Was Aquiline, His Eyes Were Blue; Ruddy His Lips, And Fresh And Fair His Hue: Some Sprinkled Freckles On His Face Were Seen, Whose Dusk Set Off The Whiteness Of The Skill: His Awful Presence Did The Crowd Surprise, Nor Durst The Rash Spectator Meet His Eyes; Eyes That Confess'D Him Born For Kingly Sway, So Fierce, They Flash'D Intolerable Day. His Age In Nature'S Youthful Prime Appear'D, And Just Began To Bloom His Yellow Beard. Whene'Er He Spoke, His Voice Was Heard Around, Loud As A Trumpet, With A Silver Sound; A Laurel Wreathed His Temples, Fresh And Green; And Myrtle Sprigs, The Marks Of Love, Were Mix'D Between. Upon His Fist He Bore, For His Delight, An Eagle Well Reclaim'D, And Lily White. His Hundred Knights Attend Him To The War, All Arm'D For Battle; Save Their Heads Were Bare. Words And Devices Blazed On Every Shield, And Pleasing Was The Terror Of The Field. For Kings, And Dukes, And Barons, You Might See, Like Sparkling Stars, Though Different In Degree, All For The Increase Of Arms, And Love Of Chivalry. Before The King Tame Leopards Led The Way, And Troops Of Lions Innocently Play. So Bacchus Through The Conquer'D Indies Rode, And Beasts In Gambols Frisk'D Before Their Honest God. In This Array, The War Of Either Side Through Athens Pass'D With Military Pride. At Prime, They Enter'D On The Sunday Morn; Rich Tapestry Spread The Streets, And Flowers The Posts Adorn. The Town Was All A Jubilee Of Feasts; So Theseus Will'D, In Honour Of His Guests; Himself With Open Arms The Kings Embraced, Then All The Rest In Their Degrees Were Graced. No Harbinger Was Needful For The Night, For Every House Was Proud To Lodge A Knight. I Pass The Royal Treat, Nor Must Relate The Gifts Bestow'D, Nor How The Champions Sate: Who First, Who Last, Or How The Knights Address'D Their Vows, Or Who Was Fairest At The Feast; Whose Voice, Whose Graceful Dance Did Most Surprise; Soft Amorous Sighs, And Silent Love Of Eyes. The Rivals Call My Muse Another Way, To Sing Their Vigils For The Ensuing Day. 'Twas Ebbing Darkness, Past The Noon Of Night: And Phosphor, On The Confines Of The Light, Promised The Sun; Ere Day Began To Spring, The Tuneful Lark Already Stretch'D Her Wing, And Flickering On Her Nest, Made Short Essays To Sing. When Wakeful Palamon, Preventing Day, Took To The Royal Lists His Early Way, To Venus At Her Fane, In Her Own House, To Pray. There, Falling On His Knees Before Her Shrine, He Thus Implored With Prayers Her Power Divine: Creator Venus, Genial Power Of Love, The Bliss Of Men Below, And Gods Above! Beneath The Sliding Sun Thou Runn'St Thy Race, Dost Fairest Shine, And Best Become Thy Place. For Thee The Winds Their Eastern Blasts Forbear, Thy Month Reveals The Spring, And Opens All The Year. Thee, Goddess! Thee The Storms Of Winter Fly, Earth Smiles With Flowers Renewing, Laughs The Sky, And Birds To Lays Of Love Their Tuneful Notes Apply. For Thee The Lion Loathes The Taste Of Blood, And, Roaring, Hunts His Female Through The Wood: For Thee The Bulls Rebellow Through The Groves, And Tempt The Stream, And Snuff Their Absent Loves. 'Tis Thine, Whate'Er Is Pleasant, Good, Or Fair: All Nature Is Thy Province, Life Thy Care: Thou Madest The World, And Dost The World Repair. Thou Gladder Of The Mount Of Cytheron, Increase Of Jove, Companion Of The Sun! If E'Er Adonis Touch'D Thy Tender Heart, Have Pity, Goddess, For Thou Know'St The Smart! Alas! I Have Not Words To Tell My Grief; To Vent My Sorrow Would Be Some Relief; Light Sufferings Give Us Leisure To Complain; We Groan, But Cannot Speak, In Greater Pain. O Goddess! Tell Thyself What I Would Say, Thou Know'St It, And I Feel Too Much To Pray. So Grant My Suit, As I Enforce My Might, In Love To Be Thy Champion, And Thy Knight; A Servant To Thy Sex, A Slave To Thee, A Foe Profess'D To Barren Chastity. Nor Ask I Fame Or Honour Of The Field, Nor Choose I More To Vanquish Than To Yield: In My Divine Emilia Make Me Blest; Let Fate, Or Partial Chance, Dispose The Rest: Find Thou The Manner, And The Means Prepare; Possession, More Than Conquest, Is My Care. Mars Is The Warrior'S God; In Him It Lies, On Whom He Favours To Confer The Prize; With Smiling Aspect You Serenely Move In Your Fifth Orb, And Rule The Realm Of Love. The Fates But Only Spin The Coarser Clue, The Finest Of The Wool Is Left For You; Spare Me But One Small Portion Of The Twine, And Let The Sisters Cut Below Your Line: The Rest Among The Rubbish May They Sweep, Or Add It To The Yarn Of Some Old Miser'S Heap. But, If You This Ambitious Prayer Deny, (A Wish, I Grant, Beyond Mortality,) Then Let Me Sink Beneath Proud Arcite'S Arms, And I Once Dead, Let Him Possess Her Charms. Thus Ended He; Then With Observance Due The Sacred Incense On Her Altar Threw: The Curling Smoke Mounts Heavy From The Fires; At Length It Catches Flame, And In A Blaze Expires; At Once The Gracious Goddess Gave The Sign, Her Statue Shook, And Trembled All The Shrine: Pleased Palamon The Tardy Omen Took: For, Since The Flames Pursued The Trailing Smoke, He Knew His Boon Was Granted; But The Day To Distance Driven, And Joy Adjourn'D With Long Delay. Now Morn With Rosy Light Had Streak'D The Sky, Up Rose The Sun, And Up Rose Emily; Address'D Her Early Steps To Cynthia'S Fane, In State Attended By Her Maiden Train, Who Bore The Vests That Holy Rites Require, Incense, And Odorous Gums, And Cover'D Fire. The Plenteous Horns With Pleasant Mead They Crown, Nor Wanted Aught Besides In Honour Of The Moon. Now While The Temple Smoked With Hallow'D Steam, They Wash The Virgin In A Living Stream; The Secret Ceremonies I Conceal, Uncouth, Perhaps Unlawful, To Reveal: But Such They Were As Pagan Use Required, Perform'D By Women When The Men Retired, Whose Eyes Profane Their Chaste Mysterious Rites Might Turn To Scandal, Or Obscene Delights. Well-Meaners Think No Harm; But For The Rest, Things Sacred They Pervert, And Silence Is The Best. Her Shining Hair, Uncomb'D, Was Loosely Spread, A Crown Of Mastless Oak Adorn'D Her Head: When To The Shrine Approach'D, The Spotless Maid Had Kindling Fires On Either Altar Laid: (The Rites Were Such As Were Observed Of Old, By Statius In His Theban Story Told.) Then Kneeling With Her Hands Across Her Breast, Thus Lowly She