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John Dryden - Palamon And Arcite; Or, The Knight`s Tale. From Chaucer. In Three Books. Book III.
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  To feed the flames: the trees were unctuous fir, 
  And mountain-ash, the mother of the spear; 
  The mourner-yew and builder-oak were there, 
  The beech, the swimming alder, and the plane, 
  Hard box, and linden of a softer grain, 
  And laurels, which the gods for conquering chiefs ordain. 
  How they were ranked shall rest untold by me, 
  With nameless Nymphs that lived in every tree; 
  Nor how the Dryads and the woodland train, 
  Disherited, ran howling o`er the plain: 
  Nor how the birds to foreign seats repaired, 
  Or beasts that bolted out and saw the forests bared: 
  Nor how the ground now cleared with ghastly fright 
  Beheld the sudden sun, a stranger to the light.

  The straw, as first I said, was laid below: 
  Of chips and sere-wood was the second row; 
  The third of greens, and timber newly felled; 
  The fourth high stage the fragrant odours held, 
  And pearls, and precious stones, and rich array; 
  In midst of which, embalmed, the body lay. 
  The service sung, the maid with mourning eyes 
  The stubble fired; the smouldering flames arise: 
  This office done, she sunk upon the ground; 
  But what she spoke, recovered from her swound, 
  I want the wit in moving words to dress; 
  But by themselves the tender sex may guess. 
  While the devouring fire was burning fast, 
  Rich jewels in the flame the wealthy cast; 
  And some their shields, and some their lances threw, 
  And gave the warrior`s ghost a warrior`s due. 
  Full bowls of wine, of honey, milk and blood 
  Were poured upon the pile of burning wood, 
  And hissing flames receive, and hungry lick the food. 
  Then thrice the mounted squadrons ride around 
  The fire, and Arcite`s name they thrice resound: 
  “Hail and farewell!” they shouted thrice amain, 
  Thrice facing to the left, and thrice they turned again: 
  Still, as they turned, they beat their clattering shields; 
  The women mix their cries, and clamour fills the fields. 
  The warlike wakes continued all the night, 
  And funeral games were played at new returning light: 
  Who naked wrestled best, besmeared with oil, 
  Or who with gauntlets gave or took the foil, 
  I will not tell you, nor would you attend; 
  But briefly haste to my long story`s end.

  I pass the rest; the year was fully mourned, 
  And Palamon long since to Thebes returned: 
  When, by the Grecians` general consent, 
  At Athens Theseus held his parliament; 
  Among the laws that passed, it was decreed, 
  That conquered Thebes from bondage should be freed; 
  Reserving homage to the Athenian throne, 
  To which the sovereign summoned Palamon. 
  Unknowing of the cause, he took his way, 
  Mournful in mind, and still in black array.

  The monarch mounts the throne, and, placed on high, 
  Commands into the court the beauteous Emily. 
  So called, she came; the senate rose, and paid 
  Becoming reverence to the royal maid. 
  And first, soft whispers through the assembly went; 
  With silent wonder then they watched the event; 
  All hushed, the King arose with awful grace; 
  Deep thought was in his breast, and counsel in his face: 
  At length he sighed, and having first prepared 
  The attentive audience, thus his will declared:

  “The Cause and Spring of motion from above 
  Hung down on earth the golden chain of Love; 
  Great was the effect, and high was his intent, 
  When peace among the jarring seeds he sent; 
  Fire, flood, and earth and air by this were bound, 
  And Love, the common link, the new creation crowned. 
  The chain still holds; for though the forms decay, 
  Eternal matter never wears away: 
  The same first mover certain bounds has placed, 
  How long those perishable forms shall last; 
  Nor can they last beyond the time assigned 
  By that all-seeing and all-making Mind: 
  Shorten their hours they may, for will is free, 
  But never pass the appointed destiny. 
  So men oppressed, when weary of their breath, 
  Throw off the burden, and suborn their death. 
  Then, since those forms begin, and have their end, 
  On some unaltered cause they sure depend: 
  Parts of the whole are we, but God the whole, 
  Who gives us life, and animating soul. 
  For Nature cannot from a part derive 
  “That being which the whole can only give: 
  He perfect, stable; but imperfect we, 
  Subject to change, and different in degree; 
  Plants, beasts, and man; and, as our organs are, 
  We more or less of his perfection share. 
  But, by a long descent, the etherial fire 
  Corrupts; and forms, the mortal part, expire. 
  As he withdraws his virtue, so they pass, 
  And the same matter makes another mass: 
  This law the omniscient Power was pleased to give, 
  That every kind should by succession live; 
  That individuals die, his will ordains; 
  The propagated species still remains. 
  The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, 
  Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees; 
  Three centuries he grows, and three he stays, 
  Supreme in state, and in three more decays: 
  So wears the paving pebble in the street, 
  And towns and towers their fatal periods meet: 
  So rivers, rapid once, now naked lie, 
  Forsaken of their springs, and leave their channels dry. 
  So man, at first a drop, dilates with heat, 
  Then, formed, the little heart begins to beat; 
  Secret he feeds, unknowing, in the cell; 
  At length, for hatching ripe, he breaks the shell, 
  And struggles into breath, and cries for aid; 
  Then helpless in his mother`s lap is laid. 
  He creeps, he walks, and, issuing into man, 
  Grudges their life from whence his own began; 
  Reckless of laws, affects to rule alone, 
  Anxious to reign, and restless on the throne; 
  First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last; 
  Rich of three souls, and lives all three to waste. 
  Some thus; but thousands more in flower of age, 
  For few arrive to run the latter stage. 
  Sunk in the first, in battle some are slain, 
  And others whelmed beneath the stormy main. 
  What makes all this, but Jupiter the king, 
  At whose command we perish, and we spring? 
  Then `tis our best, since thus ordained to die, 
  To make a virtue of necessity; 
  Take what he gives, since to rebel is vain; 
  The bad grows better, which we well sustain; 
  And could we choose the time, and choose aright, 
  `Tis best to die, our honour at the height. 
  When we have done our ancestors no shame, 
  But served our friends, and well secured our fame; 
  Then should we wish our happy life to close, 
  And leave no more for fortune to dispose; 
  So should we make our death a glad relief 
  From future shame, from sickness, and from grief; 
  Enjoying while we live the present hour, 
  And dying in our excellence and flower. 
  Then round our death-bed every friend should run, 
  And joy us of our conquest early won; 
  While the malicious world, with envious tears, 
  Should grudge our happy end, and wish it theirs. 
  Since then our Arcite is with honour dead, 
  Why should we mourn, that he so soon is freed, 
  Or call untimely what the gods decreed? 
  With grief as just a friend may be deplored, 
  From a foul prison to free air restored. 
  Ought he to thank his kinsman or his wife, 
  Could tears recall him into wretched life? 
  Their sorrow hurts themselves; on him is lost, 
  And worse than both, offends his happy ghost. 
  What then remains, but after past annoy 
  To take the good vicissitude of joy; 
  To thank the gracious gods for what they give, 
  Possess our souls, and, while we live, to live? 
  Ordain we then two sorrows to combine, 
  And in one point the extremes of grief to join; 
  That thence resulting joy may be renewed, 
  As jarring notes in harmony conclude. 
  Then I propose that Palamon shall be 
  In marriage joined with beauteous Emily; 
  For which already I have gained the assent 
  Of my free people in full parliament. 
  Long love to her has borne the faithful knight, 
  And well deserved, had Fortune done him right: 
  `Tis time to mend her fault, since Emily 
  By Arcite`s death from former vows is free; 
  If you, fair sister, ratify the accord, 
  And take him for your husband and your lord, 
  `Tis no dishonour to confer your grace 
  On one descended from a royal race; 
  And were he less, yet years of service past 
  From grateful souls exact reward at last. 
  Pity is Heaven`s and yours; nor can she find 
  A throne so soft as in a woman`s mind.”

  He said; she blushed; and as o`erawed by might, 
  Seemed to give Theseus what she gave the knight. 
  Then, turning to the Theban, thus he said:

  “Small arguments are needful to persuade 
  Your temper to comply with my command:”

  And speaking thus, he gave Emilia`s hand. 
  Smiled Venus, to behold her own true knight. 
  Obtain the conquest, though he lost the fight; 
  And blessed with nuptial bliss the sweet laborious night. 
  Eros and Anteros on either side, 
  One fired the bridegroom, and one warmed the bride; 
  And long-attending Hymen from above

  Showered on the bed the whole Idalian grove. 
  All of a tenor was their after-life, 
  No day discoloured with domestic strife; 
  No jealousy, but mutual truth believed, 
  Secure repose, and kindness undeceived. 
  Thus Heaven, beyond the compass of his thought, 
  Sent him the blessing he so dearly bought.

  So may the Queen of Love long duty bless, 
  And all true lovers find the same success.
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