The Works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 12. John Dryden
besy torment, and hir fire
Be queinte, or torned in another place.
And if so be thou wolt not do me grace,
Or if my destinee be shapen so,
That I shal nedes have on of hem two,
As sende me him that most desireth me.
Beholde, goddesse of clene chastite,
The bitter teres that on my chekes fall,
Sin thou art a mayde, and keper of us all,
My maydenhede thou kepe, and well conserve,
And while I live a mayde I wol thee serve.
The fires brenne upon the auter clere,
While Emelie was thus in hire praiere,
But sodenly she saw a sighte queinte;
For right anon on of the fires queinte
And quiked again, and after that, anon
That other fire was queinte, and all agon;
And as it queinte, it made a whisteling,
As don these brondes wet in hir brenning;
And at the brondes ende outran anon,
As it were blody dropes many on;
For which, so sore agast was Emelie,
That she was well neigh mad, and gan to crie;
For she ne wiste what it signified,
But only for the fere thus she cried,
And wept, that it was pitee for to here.
And therewithall Diane gan appere
With bow in hond, right as an hunteresse,
And sayde, Doughter, stint thin hevinesse.
Among the goddes highe it is affermed,
And by eterne word written and confermed,
Thou shalt be wedded unto on of tho
That han for thee so mochel care and wo,
But unto which of hem I may not tell.
Farewel! for here I may no longer dwell:
The fires, which that on min auter brenne,
Shal thee declaren, er that thou go henne,
Thin aventure of love as in this case.
And, with that word, the arwes in the case
Of the goddesse clatteren fast and ring,
And forth she went, and made a vanishing;
For which this Emelie astonied was,
And sayde, What amounteth this, alas!
I put me in thy protection,
Diane, and under thy disposition.
And home she goth anon the nexte way.
This is the effecte; there n'is no more to say.
The next houre of Mars folwing this,
Arcite unto the temple walked is
Of fierce Mars to don his sacrifise,
With all the rites of his payen wise:
With pitous herte and high devotion,
Right thus to Mars he sayde his orison:
O stronge God, that in the regnes cold
Of Trace honoured art, and lord yhold,
And hast in every regne, and every lond
Of armes, all the bridel in thin hond,
And hem fortunest as thee list devise,
Accept of me my pitous sacrifise!
It so be that my youthe may deserve,
And that my might be worthy for to serve
Thy godhed, that I may ben on of thine;
Than praie I thee to rewe upon my pine;
For thilke peine, and thilke hot fire,
In which thou whilom brendest for desire,
Whanne that thou usedest the beautee
Of fayre yonge Venus fresshe and free,
And haddest hire in armes at thy wille;
Although thee ones on a time misfille,
Whan Vulcanus had caught thee in his las,
And fond thee ligging by his wif, alas!
For thilke sorwe that was tho in thin herte,
Have reuthe as wel upon my peines smerte.
I am yonge and unkonning as thou wost,
And, as I trow, with love offended most,
That ever was ony lives creature;
For she that doth me all this wo endure
Ne recceth never whether I sinke or flete;
And wel I wote, or she me mercy hete,
I moste with strengthe win hire in the place:
And wel I wote, withouten helpe or grace
Of thee, ne may my strengthe not availle:
Than help me, Lord, to-morwe in my bataille,
For thilke fire that whilom brenned thee,
As wel as that this fire now brenneth me,
And do, that I to-morwe may han victorie;
Min be the travaille, and thin be the glorie.
Thy soveraine temple wol I most honouren
Of ony place, and alway most labouren
In thy plesance, and in thy craftes strong,
And in thy temple I wol my baner hong,
And all the armes of my compagnie,
And evermore, until that day I die,
Eterne fire I wol beforne thee find;
And eke to this avow I wol me bind.
My berd, my here, that hangeth long adoun,
That never yet felt non offensioun,
Of rasour ne of shere, I wol thee yeve,
And ben thy trewe servant while I live.
Now, Lord, have reuth upon my sorwes sore,
Yeve me the victorie, I axe thee no more.
The praier stint of Arcita the stronge,
The ringes on the temple dore that honge,
And eke the dores, clattereden ful fast,
Of which Arcita somwhat him agast.
The fires brent upon the auter bright,
That it gan all the temple for to light,
A swete smel anon the ground up yaf,
And Arcita anon his hond up haf,
And more enscense into the fire he cast,
With other rites mo; and, at the last,
The statue of Mars began his hauberke ring,
And with that soun he herd a murmuring
Ful low and dim, that said thus, Victory;
For which he yaf to Mars honour and glorie.
And thus with joye, and hope wel to fare,
Arcite anon unto his inne is fare,
As fayn as foul is of the brighte sonne;
And right anon swiche strif ther is begonne,
For thilke granting in the heven above,
Betwixen Venus, the goddesse of Love,
And Mars, the sterne god armipotent,
That Jupiter was besy it to stent,
Til