Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50)

by Homer

  “Why wouldest thou be dead?” these women cry,

  “And haddest gold enough, and Emily.”

  No manner man might gladden Theseus,

  Saving his olde father Egeus,

  That knew this worlde’s transmutatioun,

  As he had seen it changen up and down,

  Joy after woe, and woe after gladness;

  And shewed him example and likeness.

  “Right as there died never man,” quoth he,

  “That he ne liv’d in earth in some degree1, 1rank, condition

  Right so there lived never man,” he said,

  “In all this world, that sometime be not died.

  This world is but a throughfare full of woe,

  And we be pilgrims, passing to and fro:

  Death is an end of every worldly sore.”

  And over all this said he yet much more

  To this effect, full wisely to exhort

  The people, that they should them recomfort.

  Duke Theseus, with all his busy cure1, 1care

  1Casteth about1, where that the sepulture 1deliberates1

  Of good Arcite may best y-maked be,

  And eke most honourable in his degree.

  And at the last he took conclusion,

  That there as first Arcite and Palamon

  Hadde for love the battle them between,

  That in that selve1 grove, sweet and green, 1self-same

  There as he had his amorous desires,

  His complaint, and for love his hote fires,

  He woulde make a fire1, in which th’ office 1funeral pyre

  Of funeral he might all accomplice;

  And 1let anon command1 to hack and hew 1immediately gave orders1

  The oakes old, and lay them 1on a rew1 1in a row1

  In culpons1, well arrayed for to brenne2. 1logs 2burn

  His officers with swifte feet they renne1 1run

  And ride anon at his commandement.

  And after this, Duke Theseus hath sent

  After a bier, and it all oversprad

  With cloth of gold, the richest that he had;

  And of the same suit he clad Arcite.

  Upon his handes were his gloves white,

  Eke on his head a crown of laurel green,

  And in his hand a sword full bright and keen.

  He laid him 1bare the visage1 on the bier, 1with face uncovered1

  Therewith he wept, that pity was to hear.

  And, for the people shoulde see him all,

  When it was day he brought them to the hall,

  That roareth of the crying and the soun’.

  Then came this woful Theban, Palamon,

  With sluttery beard, and ruggy ashy hairs,

  In clothes black, y-dropped all with tears,

  And (passing over weeping Emily)

  The ruefullest of all the company.

  And 1inasmuch as1 the service should be 1in order that1

  The more noble and rich in its degree,

  Duke Theseus let forth three steedes bring,

  That trapped were in steel all glittering.

  And covered with the arms of Dan Arcite.

  Upon these steedes, that were great and white,

  There satte folk, of whom one bare his shield,

  Another his spear in his handes held;

  The thirde bare with him his bow Turkeis1, 1Turkish.

  Of brent1 gold was the case2 and the harness: 1burnished 2quiver

  And ride forth 1a pace1 with sorrowful cheer2 1at a foot pace1

  Toward the grove, as ye shall after hear. 2expression

  The noblest of the Greekes that there were

  Upon their shoulders carried the bier,

  With slacke pace, and eyen red and wet,

  Throughout the city, by the master1 street, 1main

  That spread was all with black, and wondrous high

  Right of the same is all the street y-wrie.1 1covered

  Upon the right hand went old Egeus,

  And on the other side Duke Theseus,

  With vessels in their hand of gold full fine,

  All full of honey, milk, and blood, and wine;

  Eke Palamon, with a great company;

  And after that came woful Emily,

  With fire in hand, as was that time the guise1, 1custom

  To do th’ office of funeral service.

  High labour, and full great appareling1 1preparation

  Was at the service, and the pyre-making,

  That with its greene top the heaven raught1, 1reached

  And twenty fathom broad its armes straught1: 1stretched

  This is to say, the boughes were so broad.

  Of straw first there was laid many a load.

  But how the pyre was maked up on height,

  And eke the names how the trees hight1, 1were called

  As oak, fir, birch, asp1, alder, holm, poplere, 1aspen

  Willow, elm, plane, ash, box, chestnut, lind1, laurere, 1linden, lime

  Maple, thorn, beech, hazel, yew, whipul tree,

  How they were fell’d, shall not be told for me;

  Nor how the goddes1 rannen up and down 1the forest deities

  Disinherited of their habitatioun,

  In which they wonned1 had in rest and peace, 1dwelt

  Nymphes, Faunes, and Hamadryades;

  Nor how the beastes and the birdes all

  Fledden for feare, when the wood gan fall;

  Nor how the ground aghast1 was of the light, 1terrified

  That was not wont to see the sunne bright;

  Nor how the fire was couched1 first with stre2, 1laid 2straw

  And then with dry stickes cloven in three,

  And then with greene wood and spicery1, 1spices

  And then with cloth of gold and with pierrie1, 1precious stones

  And garlands hanging with full many a flower,

  The myrrh, the incense with so sweet odour;

  Nor how Arcita lay among all this,

  Nor what richess about his body is;

  Nor how that Emily, as was the guise1, 1custom

  1Put in the fire1 of funeral service; 1appplied the torch1

  Nor how she swooned when she made the fire,

  Nor what she spake, nor what was her desire;

  Nor what jewels men in the fire then cast

  When that the fire was great and burned fast;

  Nor how some cast their shield, and some their spear,

  And of their vestiments, which that they wear,

  And cuppes full of wine, and milk, and blood,

  Into the fire, that burnt as it were wood1; 1mad

  Nor how the Greekes with a huge rout1 1procession

  Three times riden all the fire about

  Upon the left hand, with a loud shouting,

  And thries with their speares clattering;

  And thries how the ladies gan to cry;

  Nor how that led was homeward Emily;

  Nor how Arcite is burnt to ashes cold;

  Nor how the lyke-wake1 was y-hold 1wake

  All thilke1 night, nor how the Greekes play 1that

  The wake-plays1, ne keep2 I not to say: 1funeral games 2care

  Who wrestled best naked, with oil anoint,

  Nor who that bare him best 1in no disjoint1. 1in any contest1

  I will not tell eke how they all are gone

  Home to Athenes when the play is done;

  But shortly to the point now will I wend1, 1come

  And maken of my longe tale an end.

  By process and by length of certain years

  All stinted1 is the mourning and the tears 1ended

  Of Greekes, by one general assent.

  Then seemed me there was a parlement

  At Athens, upon certain points and cas1: 1cases

  Amonge the which points y-spoken was

  To have with certain countries alliance,

  And have of Thebans full obeisance.

  For which this no
ble Theseus anon

  Let1 send after the gentle Palamon, 1caused

  Unwist1 of him what was the cause and why: 1unknown

  But in his blacke clothes sorrowfully

  He came at his commandment 1on hie1; 1in haste1

  Then sente Theseus for Emily.

  When they were set1, and hush’d was all the place 1seated

  And Theseus abided1 had a space 1waited

  Ere any word came from his wise breast

  1His eyen set he there as was his lest1, 1he cast his eyes

  And with a sad visage he sighed still, wherever he pleased1

  And after that right thus he said his will.

  “The firste mover of the cause above

  When he first made the faire chain of love,

  Great was th’ effect, and high was his intent;

  Well wist he why, and what thereof he meant:

  For with that faire chain of love he bond1 1bound

  The fire, the air, the water, and the lond

  In certain bondes, that they may not flee:

  That same prince and mover eke,” quoth he,

  “Hath stablish’d, in this wretched world adown,

  Certain of dayes and duration

  To all that are engender’d in this place,

  Over the whiche day they may not pace1, 1pass

  All may they yet their dayes well abridge.

  There needeth no authority to allege

  For it is proved by experience;

  But that me list declare my sentence1. 1opinion

  Then may men by this order well discern,

  That thilke1 mover stable is and etern. 1the same

  Well may men know, but that it be a fool,

  That every part deriveth from its whole.

  For nature hath not ta’en its beginning

  Of no 1partie nor cantle1 of a thing, 1part or piece1

  But of a thing that perfect is and stable,

  Descending so, till it be corruptable.

  And therefore of His wise purveyance1 1providence

  He hath so well beset1 his ordinance,

  That species of things and progressions

  Shallen endure by successions,

  And not etern, withouten any lie:

  This mayst thou understand and see at eye.

  Lo th’ oak, that hath so long a nourishing

  From the time that it ‘ginneth first to spring,

  And hath so long a life, as ye may see,

  Yet at the last y-wasted is the tree.

  Consider eke, how that the harde stone

  Under our feet, on which we tread and gon1, 1walk

  Yet wasteth, as it lieth by the way.

  The broade river some time waxeth drey1. 1dry

  The greate townes see we wane and wend1. 1go, disappear

  Then may ye see that all things have an end.

  Of man and woman see we well also, —

  That needes in one of the termes two, —

  That is to say, in youth or else in age,-

  He must be dead, the king as shall a page;

  Some in his bed, some in the deepe sea,

  Some in the large field, as ye may see:

  There helpeth nought, all go that ilke1 way: 1same

  Then may I say that alle thing must die.

  What maketh this but Jupiter the king?

  The which is prince, and cause of alle thing,

  Converting all unto his proper will,

  From which it is derived, sooth to tell

  And hereagainst no creature alive,

  Of no degree, availeth for to strive.

  Then is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,

  To make a virtue of necessity,

  And take it well, that we may not eschew1, 1escape

  And namely what to us all is due.

  And whoso grudgeth1 ought, he doth folly, 1murmurs at

  And rebel is to him that all may gie1. 1direct, guide

  And certainly a man hath most honour

  To dien in his excellence and flower,

  When he is sicker1 of his goode name. 1certain

  Then hath he done his friend, nor him1, no shame 1himself

  And gladder ought his friend be of his death,

  When with honour is yielded up his breath,

  Than when his name 1appalled is for age1; 1decayed by old age1

  For all forgotten is his vassalage1. 1valour, service

  Then is it best, as for a worthy fame,

  To dien when a man is best of name.

  The contrary of all this is wilfulness.

  Why grudge we, why have we heaviness,

  That good Arcite, of chivalry the flower,

  Departed is, with duty and honour,

  Out of this foule prison of this life?

  Why grudge here his cousin and his wife

  Of his welfare, that loved him so well?

  Can he them thank? nay, God wot, neverdeal1, — 1not a jot

  That both his soul and eke themselves offend1, 1hurt

  And yet they may their lustes1 not amend2. 1desires 2control

  What may I conclude of this longe serie1, 1string of remarks

  But after sorrow I rede1 us to be merry, 1counsel

  And thanke Jupiter for all his grace?

  And ere that we departe from this place,

  I rede that we make of sorrows two

  One perfect joye lasting evermo’:

  And look now where most sorrow is herein,

  There will I first amenden and begin.

  “Sister,” quoth he, “this is my full assent,

  With all th’ advice here of my parlement,

  That gentle Palamon, your owen knight,

  That serveth you with will, and heart, and might,

  And ever hath, since first time ye him knew,

  That ye shall of your grace upon him rue1, 1take pity

  And take him for your husband and your lord:

  Lend me your hand, for this is our accord.

  1Let see1 now of your womanly pity. 1make display1

  He is a kinge’s brother’s son, pardie1. 1by God

  And though he were a poore bachelere,

  Since he hath served you so many a year,

  And had for you so great adversity,

  It muste be considered, 1’lieveth me1. 1believe me1

  For gentle mercy 1oweth to passen right1.” 1ought to be rightly

  Then said he thus to Palamon the knight; directed1

  “I trow there needeth little sermoning

  To make you assente to this thing.

  Come near, and take your lady by the hand.”

  Betwixte them was made anon the band,

  That hight matrimony or marriage,

  By all the counsel of the baronage.

  And thus with alle bliss and melody

  Hath Palamon y-wedded Emily.

  And God, that all this wide world hath wrought,

  Send him his love, that hath it dearly bought.

  For now is Palamon in all his weal,

  Living in bliss, in riches, and in heal1. 1health

  And Emily him loves so tenderly,

  And he her serveth all so gentilly,

  That never was there worde them between

  Of jealousy, nor of none other teen1. 1cause of anger

  Thus endeth Palamon and Emily

  And God save all this faire company.

  List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

  List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

  The Miller’s Tale

  Geoffrey Chaucer (1340–1400)

  THE PROLOGUE.

  When that the Knight had thus his tale told

  In all the rout was neither young nor old,

  That he not said it was a noble story,

  And worthy to be 1drawen to memory1; 1recorded1

  And 1namely the gentles1 every one. 1especially the gentlefolk1

  Our Host then laugh’d and swore, “So may I gon,1 1prosper

  Th
is goes aright; 1unbuckled is the mail;1 1the budget is opened1

  Let see now who shall tell another tale:

  For truely this game is well begun.

  Now telleth ye, Sir Monk, if that ye conne1, 1know

  Somewhat, to quiten1 with the Knighte’s tale.” 1match

  The Miller that fordrunken was all pale,

  So that unnethes1 upon his horse he sat, 1with difficulty

  He would avalen1 neither hood nor hat, 1uncover

  Nor abide1 no man for his courtesy, 1give way to

  But in Pilate’s voice he gan to cry,

  And swore by armes, and by blood, and bones,

  “I can a noble tale for the nones1 1occasion,

  With which I will now quite1 the Knighte’s tale.” 1match

  Our Host saw well how drunk he was of ale,

  And said; “Robin, abide, my leve1 brother, 1dear

  Some better man shall tell us first another:

  Abide, and let us worke thriftily.”

  By Godde’s soul,” quoth he, “that will not I,

  For I will speak, or elles go my way!”

  Our Host answer’d; “1Tell on a devil way1; 1devil take you!1

  Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome.”

  “Now hearken,” quoth the Miller, “all and some:

  But first I make a protestatioun.

  That I am drunk, I know it by my soun’:

  And therefore if that I misspeak or say,

  1Wite it1 the ale of Southwark, I you pray: 1blame it on1

  For I will tell a legend and a life

  Both of a carpenter and of his wife,

  How that a clerk hath 1set the wrighte’s cap1.” 1fooled the carpenter1

  The Reeve answer’d and saide, “1Stint thy clap1, 1hold your tongue1

  Let be thy lewed drunken harlotry.

  It is a sin, and eke a great folly

  To apeiren1 any man, or him defame, 1injure

  And eke to bringe wives in evil name.

  Thou may’st enough of other thinges sayn.”

  This drunken Miller spake full soon again,

  And saide, “Leve brother Osewold,

  Who hath no wife, he is no cuckold.

  But I say not therefore that thou art one;

  There be full goode wives many one.

  Why art thou angry with my tale now?

  I have a wife, pardie, as well as thou,

  Yet 1n’old I1, for the oxen in my plough, 1I would not1

  Taken upon me more than enough,

  To deemen1 of myself that I am one; 1judge

  I will believe well that I am none.

  An husband should not be inquisitive

  Of Godde’s privity, nor of his wife.

  So he may finde Godde’s foison1 there, 1treasure