Preferr'D Her Chaste Request: Oh, Goddess, Haunter Of The Woodland Green, To Whom Both Heaven And Earth And Seas Are Seen; Queen Of The Nether Skies, Where Half The Year Thy Silver Beams Descend, And Light The Gloomy Sphere! Goddess Of Maids, And Conscious Of Our Hearts, So Keep Me From The Vengeance Of Thy Darts, Which Niobe'S Devoted Issue Felt, When Hissing Through The Skies The Feather'D Deaths Were Dealt; As I Desire To Live A Virgin Life, Nor Know The Name Of Mother Or Of Wife. Thy Votress From My Tender Years I Am, And Love, Like Thee, The Woods And Sylvan Game. Like Death, Thou Know'St, I Loathe The Nuptial State, And Man, The Tyrant Of Our Sex, I Hate, A Lowly Servant, But A Lofty Mate: Where Love Is Duty On The Female Side; On Theirs, Mere Sensual Gust, And Sought With Surly Pride. Now By Thy Triple Shape, As Thou Art Seen In Heaven, Earth, Hell, And Everywhere A Queen, Grant This My First Desire; Let Discord Cease, And Make Betwixt The Rivals Lasting Peace: Quench Their Hot Fire, Or Far From Me Remove The Flame, And Turn It On Some Other Love; Or, If My Frowning Stars Have So Decreed, That One Must Be Rejected, One Succeed, Make Him My Lord, Within Whose Faithful Breast Is Fix'D My Image, And Who Loves Me Best. But, Oh! Even That Avert! I Choose It Not, But Take It As The Least Unhappy Lot. A Maid I Am, And Of Thy Virgin Train; Oh, Let Me Still That Spotless Name Retain! Frequent The Forests, Thy Chaste Will Obey, And Only Make The Beasts Of Chase My Prey! The Flames Ascend On Either Altar Clear, While Thus The Blameless Maid Address'D Her Prayer. When, Lo! The Burning Fire That Shone So Bright, Flew Off All Sudden, With Extinguish'D Light, And Left One Altar Dark, A Little Space; Which Turn'D Self-Kindled, And Renew'D The Blaze: The Other Victor-Flame A Moment Stood, Then Fell, And Lifeless Left The Extinguish'D Wood; For Ever Lost, The Irrevocable Light Forsook The Blackening Coals, And Sunk To Night: At Either End It Whistled As It Flew, And As The Brands Were Green, So Dropp'D The Dew; Infected As It Fell With Sweat Of Sanguine Hue. The Maid From That Ill Omen Turn'D Her Eyes, And With Loud Shrieks And Clamours Rent The Skies, Nor Knew What Signified The Boding Sign, But Found The Powers Displeased, And Fear'D The Wrath Divine. Then Shook The Sacred Shrine, And Sudden Light Sprung Through The Vaulted Roof, And Made The Temple Bright. The Power, Behold! The Power In Glory Shone, By Her Bent Bow, And Her Keen Arrows Known; The Rest, A Huntress Issuing From The Wood, Reclining On Her Cornel Spear She Stood. Then Gracious Thus Began: Dismiss Thy Fear, And Heaven'S Unchanged Decrees Attentive Hear: More Powerful Gods Have Torn Thee From My Side, Unwilling To Resign, And Doom'D A Bride: The Two Contending Knights Are Weigh'D Above; One Mars Protects, And One The Queen Of Love: But Which The Man, Is In The Thunderer'S Breast; This He Pronounced, 'Tis He Who Loves Thee Best. The Fire That, Once Extinct, Revived Again, Foreshows The Love Allotted To Remain: Farewell! She Said, And Vanish'D From The Place; The Sheaf Of Arrows Shook, And Rattled In The Case. Aghast At This, The Royal Virgin Stood, Disclaim'D, And Now No More A Sister Of The Wood: But To The Parting Goddess Thus She Pray'D: Propitious Still Be Present To My Aid, Nor Quite Abandon Your Once Favour'D Maid. Then Sighing She Return'D; But Smiled Betwixt, With Hopes And Fears, And Joys With Sorrows Mix'D. The Next Returning Planetary Hour Of Mars, Who Shared The Heptarchy Of Power, His Steps Bold Arcite To The Temple Bent, To Adore With Pagan Rites The Power Armipotent: Then Prostrate, Low Before His Altar Lay, And Raised His Manly Voice, And Thus Began To Pray: Strong God Of Arms, Whose Iron Sceptre Sways The Freezing North, And Hyperborean Seas, And Scythian Colds, And Thracia'S Wintry Coast, Where Stand Thy Steeds, And Thou Art Honour'D Most! There Most; But Everywhere Thy Power Is Known, The Fortune Of The Fight Is All Thy Own: Terror Is Thine, And Wild Amazement, Flung From Out Thy Chariot, Withers Even The Strong: And Disarray And Shameful Rout Ensue, And Force Is Added To The Fainting Crew. Acknowledged As Thou Art, Accept My Prayer, If Aught I Have Achieved Deserve Thy Care: If To My Utmost Power, With Sword And Shield, I Dared The Death, Unknowing How To Yield, And Falling In My Rank, Still Kept The Field: Then Let My Arms Prevail, By Thee Sustain'D, That Emily By Conquest May Be Gain'D. Have Pity On My Pains; Nor Those Unknown To Mars, Which, When A Lover, Were His Own. Venus, The Public Care Of All Above, Thy Stubborn Heart Has Soften'D Into Love: Now, By Her Blandishments And Powerful Charms, When Yielded She Lay Curling In Thy Arms, Even By Thy Shame, If Shame It May Be Call'D, When Vulcan Had Thee In His Net Enthrall'D; (Oh, Envied Ignominy, Sweet Disgrace, When Every God That Saw Thee Wish'D Thy Place!) By Those Dear Pleasures, Aid My Arms In Fight, And Make Me Conquer In My Patron'S Right: For I Am Young, A Novice In The Trade, The Fool Of Love, Unpractised To Persuade: And Want The Soothing Arts That Catch The Fair, But, Caught Myself, Lie Struggling In The Snare: And She I Love, Or Laughs At All My Pain, Or Knows Her Worth Too Well; And Pays Me With Disdain. For Sure I Am, Unless I Win In Arms, To Stand Excluded From Emilia'S Charms: Nor Can My Strength Avail, Unless By Thee Endued With Force, I Gain The Victory! Then For The Fire Which Warm'D Thy Generous Heart, Pity Thy Subject'S Pains, And Equal Smart. So Be The Morrow'S Sweat And Labour Mine, The Palm And Honour Of The Conquest Thine: Then Shall The War, And Stern Debate, And Strife Immortal, Be The Business Of My Life; And In Thy Fane, The Dusty Spoils Among, High On The Burnish'D Roof, My Banner Shall Be Hung: Rank'D With My Champions' Bucklers, And Below, With Arms Reversed, The Achievements Of My Foe: And While These Limbs The Vital Spirit Feeds, While Day To Night, And Night To Day Succeeds, Thy Smoking Altar Shall Be Fat With Food Of Incense, And The Grateful Steam Of Blood; Burnt-Offerings Morn And Evening Shall Be Thine; And Fires Eternal In Thy Temple Shine. The Bush Of Yellow Beard, This Length Of Hair, Which From My Birth Inviolate I Bear, Guiltless Of Steel, And From The Razor Free, Shall Fall A Plenteous Crop, Reserved For Thee. So May My Arms With Victory Be Blest, I Ask No More; Let Fate Dispose The Rest. The Champion Ceased; There Follow'D In The Close A Hollow Groan: A Murmuring Wind Arose; The Rings Of Iron, That On The Doors Were Hung, Sent Out A Jarring Sound, And Harshly Rung: The Bolted Gates Flew Open At The Blast, The Storm Rush'D In, And Arcite Stood Aghast: The Flames Were Blown Aside, Yet Shone They Bright, Fann'D By The Wind, And Gave A Ruffled Light. Then From The Ground A Scent Began To Rise, Sweet Smelling, As Accepted Sacrifice: This Omen Pleased, And As The Flames Aspire With Odorous Incense Arcite Heaps The Fire: Nor Wanted Hymns To Mars, Or Heathen Charms: At Length The Nodding Statue Clash'D His Arms, And With A Sullen Sound And Feeble Cry, Half Sunk, And Half Pronounced The Word Of Victory. For This, With Soul Devout, He Thank'D The God, And, Of Success Secure, Return'D To His Abode. These Vows Thus Granted, Raised A Strife Above, Betwixt The God Of War And Queen Of Love. She, Granting First, Had Right Of Time To Plead; But He Had Granted Too, Nor Would Recede. Jove Was For Venus; But He Fear'D His Wife, And Seem'D Unwilling To Decide The Strife; Till Saturn From His Leaden Throne Arose, And Found A Way The Difference To Compose: Though Sparing Of His Grace, To Mischief Bent, He Seldom Does A Good With Good Intent. Wayward, But Wise; By Long Experience Taught, To Please Both Parties, For Ill Ends, He Sought: For This Advantage Age From Youth Has Won, As Not To Be Outridden, Though Outrun. By Fortune He Was Now To Venus Trined, And With Stern Mars In Capricorn Was Join'D: Of Him Disposing In His Own Abode, He Soothed The Goddess, While He Gull'D The God: Cease, Daughter, To Complain, And Stint The Strife; Thy Palamon Shall Have His Promised Wife: And Mars, The Lord Of Conquest, In The Fight With Palm And Laurel Shall Adorn His Knight. Wide Is My Course, Nor Turn I To My Place, Till Length Of Time, And Move With Tardy Pace. Man Feels Me, When I Press The Ethereal Plains, My Hand Is Heavy, And The Wound Remains. Mine Is The Shipwreck, In A Watery Sign; And In An Earthy, The Dark Dungeon Mine. Cold Shivering Agues, Melancholy Care, And Bitter Blasting Winds, And Poison'D Air, Are Mine, And Wilful Death, Resulting From Despair. The Throttling Quinsey 'Tis My Star Appoints, And Rheumatisms Ascend To Rack The Joints: When Churls Rebel Against Their Native Prince, I Arm Their Hands, And Furnish The Pretence; And Housing In The Lion'S Hateful Sign, Bought Senates, And Deserting Troops Are Mine. Mine Is The Privy Poisoning; I Command Unkindly Seasons, And Ungrateful Land. By Me Kings' Palaces Are Push'D To Ground. And Miners Crush'D Beneath Their Mines Are Found. 'Twas I Slew Samson, When The Pillar'D Hall Fell Down, And Crush'D The Many With The Fall. My Looking Is The Sire Of Pestilence, That Sweeps At Once The People And The Prince. Now Weep No More, But Trust Thy Grandsire'S Art, Mars Shall Be Pleased, And Thou Perform Thy Part. 'Tis Ill, Though Different Your Complexions Are, The Family Of Heaven For Men Should War. The Expedient Pleased, Where Neither Lost His Right; Mars Had The Day, And Venus Had The Night. The Management They Left To Chronos' Care; Now Turn We To The Effect, And Sing The War. In Athens All Was Pleasure, Mirth, And Play, All Proper To The Spring, And Spritely May: Which Every Soul Inspired With Such Delight, 'Twas Jesting All The Day, And Love At Night. Heaven Smiled, And Gladded Was The Heart Of Man; And Venus Had The World As When It First Began. At Length In Sleep Their Bodies They Compose, And Dreamt The Future Fight, And Early Rose. Now Scarce The Dawning Day Began To Spring, As At A Signal Given, The Streets With Clamours Ring: At Once The Crowd Arose; Confused And High, Even From The Heaven, Was Heard A Shouting Cry; For Mars Was Early Up, And Roused The Sky. The Gods Came Downward To Behold The Wars, Sharpening Their Sights, And Leaning From Their Stars. The Neighing Of The Generous Horse Was Heard, For Battle By The Busy Groom Prepared: Rustling Of Harness, Rattling Of The Shield, Clattering Of Armour, Furbish'D For The Field. Crowds To The Castle Mounted Up The Street, Battering The Pavement With Their Coursers' Feet: The Greedy Sight Might There Devour The Gold Of Glittering Arms, Too Dazzling To Behold: And Polish'D Steel, That Cast The View Aside, And Crested Morions, With Their Plumy Pride. Knights, With A Long Retinue Of Their Squires, In Gaudy Liveries March, And Quaint Attires. One Laced The Helm, Another Held The Lance: A Third The Shining Buckler Did Advance. The Courser Paw'D The Ground With Restless Feet, And Snorting Foam'D, And Champ'D The Golden Bit. The Smiths And Armourers On Palfreys Ride, Files In Their Hands, And Hammers At Their Side, And Nails For Loosen'D Spears, And Thongs For Shields Provide. The Yeomen Guard The Streets, In Seemly Bands; And Clowns Come Crowding On, With Cudgels In Their Hands. The Trumpets, Next The Gate, In Order Placed, Attend The Sign To Sound The Martial Blast; The Palace-Yard Is Fill'D With Floating Tides, And The Last Comers Bear The Former To The Sides. The Throng Is In The Midst: The Common Crew Shut Out, The Hall Admits The Better Few; In Knots They Stand, Or In A Rank They Walk, Serious In Aspect, Earnest In Their Talk; Factious, And Favouring This Or The Other Side, As Their Strong Fancy Or Weak Reason Guide: Their Wagers Back Their Wishes; Numbers Hold With The Fair Freckled King, And Beard Of Gold: So Vigorous Are His Eyes, Such Rays They Cast, So Prominent His Eagle'S Beak Is Placed. But Most Their Looks On The Black Monarch Bend, His Rising Muscles, And His Brawn Commend; His Double-Biting Axe, And Beamy Spear, Each Asking A Gigantic Force To Rear. All Spoke As Partial Favour Moved The Mind; And, Safe Themselves, At Others' Cost Divined. Waked By The Cries, The Athenian Chief Arose, The Knightly Forms Of Combat To Dispose; And Passing Through The Obsequious Guards, He Sate Conspicuous On A Throne, Sublime In State; There, For The Two Contending Knights He Sent; Arm'D Cap-A-Pie, With Reverence Low They Bent; He Smiled On Both, And With Superior Look Alike Their Offer'D Adoration Took. The People Press On Every Side To See Their Awful Prince, And Hear His High Decree. Then Signing To Their Heralds With His Hand, They Gave His Orders From Their Lofty Stand. Silence Is Thrice Enjoin'D; Then Thus Aloud The King-At-Arms Bespeaks The Knights And Listening Crowd: Our Sovereign Lord Has Ponder'D In His Mind The Means To Spare The Blood Of Gentle Kind; And Of His Grace, And Inborn Clemency, He Modifies His First Severe Decree! The Keener Edge Of Battle To Rebate, The Troops For Honour Fighting, Not For Hate: He Wills, Not Death Should Terminate Their Strife, And Wounds, If Wounds Ensue, Be Short Of Life: But Issues, Ere The Fight, His Dread Command, That Slings Afar, And Poniards Hand To Hand, Be Banish'D From The Field; That None Shall Dare With Shorten'D Sword To Stab In Closer War; But In Fair Combat Fight With Manly Strength, Nor Push With Biting Point, But Strike At Length; The Tourney Is Allow'D But One Career, Of The Tough Ash, With The Sharp-Grinded Spear; But Knights Unhorsed May Rise From Off The Plain, And Fight On Foot Their Honour To Regain; Nor, If At Mischief Taken, On The Ground Be Slain, But Prisoners To The Pillar Bound, At Either Barrier Placed; Nor (Captives Made), Be Freed, Or Arm'D Anew The Fight Invade. The Chief Of Either Side, Bereft Of Life, Or Yielded To His Foe, Concludes The Strife. Thus Dooms The Lord: Now, Valiant Knights And Young, Fight Each His Fill With Swords And Maces Long. The Herald Ends: The Vaulted Firmament With Loud Acclaims And Vast Applause Is Rent: Heaven Guard A Prince So Gracious And So Good, So Just, And Yet So Provident Of Blood! This Was The General Cry. The Trumpets Sound, And Warlike Symphony Is Heard Around. The Marching Troops Through Athens Take Their Way, The Great Earl-Marshal Orders Their Array. The Fair From High The Passing Pomp Behold; A Rain Of Flowers Is From The Windows Roll'D. The Casements Are With Golden Tissue Spread, And Horses' Hoofs, For Earth, On Silken Tapestry Tread. The King Goes Midmost, And The Rivals Ride In Equal Rank, And Close His Either Side. Next After These, There Rode The Royal Wife, With Emily, The Cause, And The Reward Of Strife. The Following Cavalcade, By Three And Three, Proceed By Titles Marshall'D In Degree. Thus Through The Southern Gate They Take Their Way, And At The List Arrived Ere Prime Of Day. There, Parting From The King, The Chiefs Divide, And Wheeling East And West, Before Their Many Ride. The Athenian Monarch Mounts His Throne On High, And After Him The Queen And Emily: Next These, The Kindred Of The Crown Are Graced With Nearer Seats, And Lords By Ladies Placed. Scarce Were They Seated, When With Clamours Loud In Rush'D At Once A Rude Promiscuous Crowd; The Guards, And Then Each Other Overbear, And In A Moment Throng The Spacious Theatre. Now Changed The Jarring Noise To Whispers Low, As Winds Forsaking Seas More Softly Blow; When At The Western Gate, On Which The Car Is Placed Aloft, That Bears The God Of War, Proud Arcite Entering Arm'D Before His Train, Stops At The Barrier, And Divides The Plain. Red Was His Banner, And Display'D Abroad The Bloody Colours Of His Patron God. At That Self Moment Enters Palamon The Gate Of Venus, And The Rising Sun; Waved By The Wanton Winds, His Banner Flies, All Maiden White, And Shares The People'S Eyes. From East To West, Look All The World Around, Two Troops So Match'D Were Never To Be Found; Such Bodies Built For Strength, Of Equal Age, In Stature Sized; So Proud In Equipage: The Nicest Eye Could No Distinction Make, Where Lay The Advantage, Or What Side To Take. Thus Ranged, The Herald For The Last Proclaims A Silence, While They Answer'D To Their Names: For So The King Decreed, To Shun The Care, The Fraud Of Musters False, The Common Bane Of War. The Tale Was Just, And Then The Gates Were Closed; And Chief To Chief, And Troop To Troop Opposed. The Heralds Last Retired, And Loudly Cried-- The Fortune Of The Field Be Fairly Tried! At This, The Challenger With Fierce Defy His Trumpet Sounds; The Challenged Makes Reply; With Clangour Rings The Field, Resounds The Vaulted Sky. Their Vizors Closed, Their Lances In The Rest, Or At The Helmet Pointed, Or The Crest, They Vanish From The Barrier, Speed The Race, And Spurring See Decrease The Middle Space. A Cloud Of Smoke Envelops Either Host, And All At Once The Combatants Are Lost: Darkling They Join Adverse, And Shock Unseen, Coursers With Coursers Jostling, Men With Men: As Labouring In Eclipse, A While They Stay, Till The Next Blast Of Wind Restores The Day. They Look Anew: The Beauteous Form Of Fight Is Changed, And War Appears A Grisly Sight. Two Troops In Fair Array One Moment Show'D, The Next, A Field With Fallen Bodies Strow'D: Not Half The Number In Their Seats Are Found; But Men And Steeds Lie Grovelling On The Ground. The Points Of Spears Are Stuck Within The Shield, The Steeds Without Their Riders Scour The Field. The Knights, Unhorsed, On Foot Renew The Fight; The Glittering Falchions Cast A Gleaming Light: Hauberks And Helms Are Hew'D With Many A Wound, Out Spins The Streaming Blood And Dyes The Ground. The Mighty Maces With Such Haste Descend, They Break The Bones, And Make The Solid Armour Bend. This Thrusts Amid The Throng With Furious Force; Down Goes, At Once, The Horseman And The Horse: That Courser Stumbles On The Fallen Steed, And Floundering Throws The Rider O'Er His Head. One Rolls Along, A Foot-Ball To His Foes; One With A Broken Truncheon Deals His Blows. This Halting, This Disabled With His Wound, In Triumph Led, Is To The Pillar Bound, Where By The King'S Award He Must Abide: There Goes A Captive Led On The Other Side. By Fits They Cease; And Leaning On The Lance, Take Breath A While, And To New Fight Advance. Full Oft The Rivals Met, And Neither Spared His Utmost Force, And Each Forgot To Ward. The Head Of This Was To The Saddle Bent, The Other Backward To The Crupper Sent: Both Were By Turns Unhorsed; The Jealous Blows Fall Thick And Heavy, When On Foot They Close. So Deep Their Falchions Bite, That Every Stroke Pierced To The Quick; And Equal Wounds They Gave And Took. Borne Far Asunder By The Tides Of Men, Like Adamant And Steel They Meet Again. So When A Tiger Sucks The Bullock'S Blood, A Famish'D Lion Issuing From The Wood Roars Lordly Fierce, And Challenges The Food: Each Claims Possession, Neither Will Obey, But Both Their Paws Are Fasten'D On The Prey; They Bite, They Tear; And While In Vain They Strive, The Swains Come Arm'D Between, And Both To Distance Drive. At Length, As Fate Foredoom'D, And All Things Tend By Course Of Time To Their Appointed End; So When The Sun To West Was Far Declined, And Both Afresh In Mortal Battle Join'D, The Strong Emetrius Came In Arcite'S Aid, And Palamon With Odds Was Overlaid: For Turning Short, He Struck With All His Might Full On The Helmet Of The Unwary Knight. Deep Was The Wound; He Stagger'D With The Blow, And Turn'D Him To His Unexpected Foe; Whom With Such Force He Struck, He Fell'D Him Down, And Cleft The Circle Of His Golden Crown. But Arcite'S Men, Who Now Prevail'D In Fight, Twice Ten At Once Surround The Single Knight: O'Erpower'D, At Length, They Force Him To The Ground, Unyielded As He Was, And To The Pillar Bound; And King Lycurgus, While He Fought In Vain His Friend To Free, Was Tumbled On The Plain. Who Now Laments But Palamon, Compell'D No More To Try The Fortune Of The Field! And, Worse Than Death, To View With Hateful Eyes His Rival'S Conquest, And Renounce The Prize! The Royal Judge, On His Tribunal Placed, Who Had Beheld The Fight From First To Last, Bade Cease The War; Pronouncing From On High, Arcite Of Thebes Had Won The Beauteous Emily. The Sound Of Trumpets To The Voice Replied, And Round The Royal Lists The Heralds Cried, Arcite Of Thebes Has Won The Beauteous Bride! The People Rend The Skies With Vast Applause; All Own The Chief, When Fortune Owns The Cause. Arcite Is Own'D Even By The Gods Above, And Conquering Mars Insults The Queen Of Love. So Laugh'D He, When The Rightful Titan Fail'D, And Jove'S Usurping Arms In Heaven Prevail'D. Laugh'D All The Powers Who Favour Tyranny; And All The Standing Army Of The Sky. But Venus With Dejected Eyes Appears, And, Weeping On The Lists, Distill'D Her Tears; Her Will Refused, Which Grieves A Woman Most, And, In Her Champion Foil'D, The Cause Of Love Is Lost. Till Saturn Said, Fair Daughter, Now Be Still, The Blustering Fool Has Satisfied His Will; His Boon Is Given; His Knight Has Gain'D The Day, But Lost The Prize; The Arrears Are Yet To Pay; Thy Hour Is Come, And Mine The Care Shall Be To Please Thy Knight, And Set Thy Promise Free. Now While The Heralds Run The Lists Around, And Arcite! Arcite! Heaven And Earth Resound; A Miracle (Nor Less It Could Be Call'D) Their Joy With Unexpected Sorrow Pall'D. The Victor Knight Had Laid His Helm Aside, Part For His Ease, The Greater Part For Pride; Bare-Headed, Popularly Low He Bow'D, And Paid The Salutations Of The Crowd. Then Spurring At Full Speed, Ran Endlong On Where Theseus Sate On His Imperial Throne; Furious He Drove, And Upward Cast His Eye, Where, Next The Queen, Was Placed His Emily; Then Passing, To The Saddle-Bow He Bent: A Sweet Regard The Gracious Virgin Lent; (For Women, To The Brave An Easy Prey, Still Follow Fortune Where She Leads The Way): Just Then, From Earth Sprung Out A Flashing Fire, By Pluto Sent, At Saturn'S Bad Desire: The Startling Steed Was Seized With Sudden Fright, And, Bounding, O'Er The Pommel Cast The Knight: Forward He Flew, And Pitching On His Head, He Quiver'D With His Feet, And Lay For Dead. Black Was His Countenance In A Little Space, For All The Blood Was Gather'D In His Face. Help Was At Hand: They Rear'D Him From The Ground, And From His Cumbrous Arms His Limbs Unbound; Then Lanced A Vein, And Watch'D Returning Breath; It Came, But Clogg'D With Symptoms Of His Death. The Saddle-Bow The Noble Parts Had Press'D, All Bruised And Mortified His Manly Breast. Him Still Entranced, And In A Litter Laid, They Bore From Field, And To His Bed Convey'D. At Length He Waked, And With A Feeble Cry, The Word He First Pronounced Was "Emily." Mean Time The King, Though Inwardly He Mourn'D, In Pomp Triumphant To The Town Return'D, Attended By The Chiefs, Who Fought The Field; (Now Friendly Mix'D, And In One Troop Compell'D.) Composed His Looks To Counterfeited Cheer, And Bade Them Not For Arcite'S Life To Fear. But That Which Gladded All The Warrior Train, Though Most Were Sorely Wounded, None Were Slain. The Surgeons Soon Despoil'D Them Of Their Arms, And Some With Salves They Cure, And Some With Charms; Foment The Bruises, And The Pains Assuage, And Heal Their Inward Hurts With Sovereign Draughts Of Sage. The King In Person Visits All Around, Comforts The Sick, Congratulates The Sound; Honours The Princely Chiefs, Rewards The Rest, And Holds For Thrice Three Days A Royal Feast. None Was Disgraced; For Falling Is No Shame; And Cowardice Alone Is Loss Of Fame. The Venturous Knight Is From The Saddle Thrown; But 'Tis The Fault Of Fortune, Not His Own, If Crowds And Palms The Conquering Side Adorn, The Victor Under Better Stars Was Born: The Brave Man Seeks Not Popular Applause, Nor, Overpower'D With Arms, Deserts His Cause; Unshamed, Though Foil'D, He Does The Best He Can; Force Is Of Brutes, But Honour Is Of Man. Thus Theseus Smiled On All With Equal Grace, And Each Was Set According To His Place; With Ease Were Reconciled The Differing Parts, For Envy Never Dwells In Noble Hearts. At Length They Took Their Leave, The Time Expired, Well Pleased, And To Their Several Homes Retired. Mean While The Health Of Arcite Still Impairs; From Bad Proceeds To Worse, And Mocks The Leech'S Cares Swoln Is His Breast; His Inward Pains Increase, All Means Are Used, And All Without Success. The Clotted Blood Lies Heavy On His Heart, Corrupts, And There Remains, In Spite Of Art: Nor Breathing Veins, Nor Cupping Will Prevail; All Outward Remedies And Inward Fail: The Mould Of Nature'S Fabric Is Destroy'D, Her Vessels Discomposed, Her Virtue Void; The Bellows Of His Lungs Begin To Swell: All Out Of Frame Is Every Secret Cell, Nor Can The Good Receive, Nor Bad Expel. Those Breathing Organs Thus Within Oppress'D, With Venom Soon Distend The Sinews Of His Breast. Nought Profits Him To Save Abandon'D Life, Nor Vomit'S Upward Aid, Nor Downward Laxative. The Midmost Region Batter'D And Destroy'D, When Nature Cannot Work, The Effect Of Art Is Void. For Physic Can But Mend Our Crazy State, Patch An Old Building, Not A New Create. Arcite Is Doom'D To Die In All His Pride, Must Leave His Youth, And Yield His Beauteous Bride, Gain'D Hardly, Against Right, And Unenjoy'D. When 'Twas Declared All Hope Of Life Was Past, Conscience (That Of All Physic Works The Last) Caused Him To Send For Emily In Haste. With Her, At His Desire, Came Palamon; Then On His Pillow Raised, He Thus Begun: No Language Can Express The Smallest Part Of What I Feel, And Suffer In My Heart For You, Whom Best I Love And Value Most; But To Your Service I Bequeath My Ghost; Which From This Mortal Body When Untied, Unseen, Unheard, Shall Hover At Your Side; Nor Fright You Waking, Nor Your Sleep Offend, But Wait Officious, And Your Steps Attend: How I Have Loved, Excuse My Faltering Tongue, My Spirit'S Feeble, And My Pains Are Strong: This I May Say, I Only Grieve To Die, Because I Lose My Charming Emily: To Die, When Heaven Had Put You In My Power, Fate Could Not Choose A More Malicious Hour! What Greater Curse Could Envious Fortune Give, Than Just To Die, When I Began To Live? Vain Men! How Vanishing A Bliss We Crave, Now Warm In Love, Now Withering In The Grave! Never, Oh Never More To See The Sun! Still Dark, In A Damp Vault, And Still Alone! This Fate Is Common; But I Lose My Breath; Near Bliss, And Yet Not Bless'D Before My Death. Farewell; But Take Me Dying In Your Arms, 'Tis All I Can Enjoy Of All Your Charms: This Hand I Cannot But In Death Resign; Ah! Could I Live! But While I Live 'Tis Mine. I Feel My End Approach, And Thus Embraced, Am Pleased To Die; But Hear Me Speak My Last: Ah! My Sweet Foe, For You, And You Alone, I Broke My Faith With Injured Palamon. But Love The Sense Of Right And Wrong Confounds, Strong Love And Proud Ambition Have No Bounds. And Much I Doubt, Should Heaven My Life Prolong, I Should Return To Justify My Wrong: For While My Former Flames Remain Within, Repentance Is But Want Of Power To Sin. With Mortal Hatred I Pursued His Life, Nor He, Nor You, Were Guilty Of The Strife; Nor I, But As I Loved; Yet All Combined, Your Beauty, And My Impotence Of Mind; And His Concurrent Flame That Blew My Fire; For Still Our Kindred Souls Had One Desire. He Had A Moment'S Right In Point Of Time; Had I Seen First, Then His Had Been The Crime. Fate Made It Mine, And Justified His Right; Nor Holds This Earth A More Deserving Knight, For Virtue, Valour, And For Noble Blood, Truth, Honour, All That Is Comprised In Good; So Help Me Heaven, In All The World Is None So Worthy To Be Loved As Palamon. He Loves You Too, With Such An Holy Fire, As Will Not, Cannot, But With Life Expire: Our Vow'D Affections Both Have Often Tried, Nor Any Love But Yours Could Ours Divide. Then, By My Love'S Inviolable Band, By My Long Suffering, And My Short Command, If E'Er You Plight Your Vows When I Am Gone, Have Pity On The Faithful Palamon. This Was His Last; For Death Came On Amain, And Exercised Below His Iron Reign; Then Upward To The Seat Of Life He Goes: Sense Fled Before Him, What He Touch'D He Froze: Yet Could He Not His Closing Eyes Withdraw, Though Less And Less Of Emily He Saw; So, Speechless, For A Little Space He Lay; Then Grasp'D The Hand He Held, And Sigh'D His Soul Away. But Whither Went His Soul, Let Such Relate Who Search The Secrets Of The Future State: Divines Can Say But What Themselves Believe; Strong Proofs They Have, But Not Demonstrative: For, Were All Plain, Then All Sides Must Agree, And Faith Itself Be Lost In Certainty. To Live Uprightly, Then, Is Sure The Best, To Save Ourselves, And Not To Damn The Rest. The Soul Of Arcite Went Where Heathens Go, Who Better Live Than We, Though Less They Know. In Palamon A Manly Grief Appears; Silent, He Wept, Ashamed To Show His Tears: Emilia Shriek'D But Once, And Then, Oppress'D With Sorrow, Sunk Upon Her Lover'S Breast: Till Theseus In His Arms Convey'D With Care, Far From So Sad A Sight, The Swooning Fair. 'Twere Loss Of Time Her Sorrow To Relate; Ill Bears The Sex A Youthful Lover'S Fate, When Just Approaching To The Nuptial State. But Like A Low-Hung Cloud, It Rains So Fast, That All At Once It Falls, And Cannot Last. The Face Of Things Is Changed, And Athens Now, That Laugh'D So Late, Becomes The Scene Of Woe: Matrons And Maids, Both Sexes, Every State, With Tears Lament The Knight'S Untimely Fate. Nor Greater Grief In Falling Troy Was Seen For Hector'S Death; But Hector Was Not Then, Old Men With Dust Deform'D Their Hoary Hair, The Women Beat Their Breasts, Their Cheeks They Tear. Why Wouldst Thou Go, With One Consent They Cry, When Thou Hadst Gold Enough, And Emily? Theseus Himself, Who Should Have Cheer'D The Grief Of Others, Wanted Now The Same Relief; Old Egeus Only Could Revive His Son, Who Various Changes Of The World Had Known, And Strange Vicissitudes Of Human Fate, Still Altering, Never In A Steady State; Good After Ill, And, After Pain, Delight, Alternate Like The Scenes Of Day And Night: Since Every Man Who Lives, Is Born To Die, And None Can Boast Sincere Felicity, With Equal Mind, What Happens, Let Us Bear, Nor Joy, Nor Grieve Too Much For Things Beyond Our Care. Like Pilgrims To The Appointed Place We Tend; The World'S An Inn, And Death The Journey'S End. Even Kings But Play; And When Their Part Is Done, Some Other, Worse Or Better, Mount The Throne. With Words Like These The Crowd Was Satisfied, And So They Would Have Been, Had Theseus Died. But He, Their King, Was Labouring In His Mind, A Fitting Place For Funeral Pomps To Find, Which Were In Honour Of The Dead Design'D. And After Long Debate, At Last He Found (As Love Itself Had Mark'D The Spot Of Ground) That Grove For Ever Green, That Conscious Laund, Where He With Palamon Fought Hand To Hand: That Where He Fed His Amorous Desires With Soft Complaints, And Felt His Hottest Fires; There Other Flames Might Waste His Earthly Part, And Burn His Limbs, Where Love Had Burn'D His Heart. This Once Resolved, The Peasants Were Enjoin'D Sere-Wood, And Firs, And Dodder'D Oaks To Find. With Sounding Axes To The Grove They Go, Fell, Split, And Lay The Fuel On A Row, Vulcanian Food: A Bier Is Next Prepared, On Which The Lifeless Body Should Be Rear'D, Cover'D With Cloth Of Gold, On Which Was Laid The Corpse Of Arcite, In Like Robes Array'D. White Gloves Were On His Hands, And On His Head A Wreath Of Laurel, Mix'D With Myrtle Spread. A Sword Keen-Edged Within His Right He Held, The Warlike Emblem Of The Conquer'D Field: Bare Was His Manly Visage On The Bier: Menaced His Countenance; Even In Death Severe. Then To The Palace-Hall They Bore The Knight, To Lie In Solemn State, A Public Sight. Groans, Cries, And Howlings Fill The Crowded Place, And Unaffected Sorrow Sate On Every Face. Sad Palamon Above The Rest Appears, In Sable Garments, Dew'D With Gushing Tears: His Auburn Locks On Either Shoulder Flow'D, Which To The Funeral Of His Friend He Vow'D: But Emily, As Chief, Was Next His Side, A Virgin-Widow, And A Mourning Bride. And That The Princely Obsequies Might Be Perform'D According To His High Degree, The Steed, That Bore Him Living To The Fight, Was Trapp'D With Polish'D Steel, All Shining Bright, And Cover'D With The Achievements Of The Knight. The Riders Rode Abreast, And One His Shield, His Lance Of Cornel-Wood Another Held; The Third His Bow, And, Glorious To Behold, The Costly Quiver, All Of Burnish'D Gold. The Noblest Of The Grecians Next Appear, And, Weeping, On Their Shoulders Bore The Bier; With Sober Pace They March'D, And Often Stay'D, And Through The Master-Street The Corpse Convey'D. The Houses To Their Tops With Black Were Spread, And Even The Pavements Were With Mourning Hid. The Right Side Of The Pall Old Egeus Kept, And On The Left The Royal Theseus Wept; Each Bore A Golden Bowl, Of Work Divine, With Honey Fill'