Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

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Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 392

by Giovanni Boccaccio


  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.

  THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN by William Shakespeare and John Fletcher

  Attributed to John Fletcher and Shakespeare, this play derives its plot from The Knight’s Tale in Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales. Written in 1613-14, the authorship of the play remained in doubt for many years and only in recent times have most critics agreed that Shakespeare and Fletcher collaborated on the play.

  The Two Noble Kinsmen begins with three queens pleading with Theseus and Hippolyta, rulers of Athens, to avenge the deaths of their husbands at the hands of the tyrant Creon of Thebes. Creon has killed the three kings and refuses to allow them proper burial. Theseus agrees to wage war on Creon. In Thebes, Palamon and Arcite, cousins and close friends, are bound by duty to fight for Creon, though they are appalled by his tyranny. In a hard-fought battle Palamon and Arcite enact prodigies of courage, but the Thebans are defeated by Theseus. Palamon and Arcite are imprisoned, but philosophically resign themselves to their fate. Their stoicism is instantly destroyed when from their prison window they see the Athenian princess Emilia. Both fall in love with her, and their friendship turns to bitter rivalry. Arcite is released after a relative intercedes on his behalf. He is banished from Athens, but he disguises himself, wins a local wrestling match, and is appointed as Emilia’s attendant.

  John Fletcher, who, after Shakespeare’s retirement, became one of the most successful London playwrights of his time

  The 1634 Quarto title page

  CONTENTS

  Dramatis Personæ

  Prologue

  Act I. Scene I.

  Act I. Scene II.

  Act I. Scene III.

  Act I. Scene IV.

  Act I. Scene V.

  Act II. Scene I.

  Act II. Scene II.

  Act II. Scene III.

  Act II. Scene IV.

  Act II. Scene V.

  Act II. Scene VI.

  Act III. Scene I.


  Act III. Scene II.

  Act III. Scene III.

  Act III. Scene IV.

  Act III. Scene V.

  Act III. Scene VI.

  Act IV. Scene I.

  Act IV. Scene II.

  Act IV. Scene III.

  Act V. Scene I.

  Act V. Scene II.

  Act V. Scene III.

  Act V. Scene IV.

  Act V. Scene V.

  Act V. Scene VI.

  Epilogue

  A scene from a production of the play at Shakespeare’s Globe theatre in 2000. Emilia stands between the two noble kinsmen.

  Dramatis Personæ

  HYMEN

  THESEUS

  HIPPOLITA, BRIDE TO THESEUS

  EMILIA, SISTER TO THESEUS

  EMILIA’S WOMAN

  NYMPHS

  THREE QUEENS

  THREE VALIANT KNIGHTS

  The Two Noble Kinsmen:

  PALAMON

  ARCITE

  VALERIUS

  PERITHOUS

  A HERALD

  A GENTLEMAN

  A MESSENGER

  A SERVANT

  WOOER

  KEEPER

  JAILER

  HIS DAUGHTER, IN LOVE WITH PALAMON

  HIS BROTHER

  A DOCTOR

  4 COUNTREYMEN

  2 FRIENDS OF THE JAILER

  3 KNIGHTS

  NEL, AND OTHER

  WENCHES

  A TABORER

  GERROLD, A SCHOOLMASTER

  Prologue

  Flourish. Enter Prologue

  Prologue. New plays and maidenheads are near akin:

  Much followed both, for both much money giv’n

  If they stand sound and well. And a good play,

  Whose modest scenes blush on his marriage day

  And shake to lose his honour, is like her 5

  That after holy tie and first night’s stir

  Yet still is modesty, and still retains

  More of the maid to sight than husband’s pains.

  We pray our play may be so, for I am sure

  It has a noble breeder and a pure, 10

  A learnèd, and a poet never went

  More famous yet ‘twixt Po and silver Trent.

  Chaucer, of all admired, the story gives:

  There constant to eternity it lives.

  If we let fall the nobleness of this 15

  And the first sound this child hear be a hiss,

  How will it shake the bones of that good man,

  And make him cry from under ground,’ O fan

  From me the witless chaff of such a writer,

  That blasts my bays and my famed works makes lighter 20

  Than Robin Hood’? This is the fear we bring,

  For to say truth, it were an endless thing

  And too ambitious to aspire to him,

  Weak as we are, and almost breathless swim

  In this deep water. Do but you hold out 25

  Your helping hands and we shall tack about

  And something do to save us. You shall hear

  Scenes, though below his art, may yet appear

  Worth two hours’ travail. To his bones, sweet sleep;

  Content to you. If this play do not keep 30

  A little dull time from us, we perceive

  Our losses fall so thick we must needs leave.

  Flourish. Exit

  Act I. Scene I.

  MUSIC. ENTER HYMEN with a torch burning, a Boy in a white robe before, singing and throwing flowers. Then a nymph with flowing tresses, bearing a wheaten garland. Then Theseus between two other nymphs with wheaten chaplets on their heads. Then Hippolyta, the bride, led by Pirithous and another holding a garland over her head, her tresses likewise hanging and followed by Emilia holding up her train. Then Artesius and some other attendants

  Boy (sings during procession)

  Roses, their sharp spines being gone,

  Not royal in their smells alone,

  But in their hue;

  Maiden pinks, of odour faint,

  Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, 5

  And sweet thyme true;

  Primrose, first-born child of Ver,

  Merry springtime’s harbinger,

  With harebells dim;

  Oxlips, in their cradles growing, 10

  Marigolds, on deathbeds blowing,

  Lark’s-heels trim;

  All dear nature’s children sweet,

  Lie fore bride and bridegroom’s feet,

  [He strews flowers]

  Blessing their sense. 15

  Not an angel of the air,

  Bird melodious, or bird fair,

  Is absent hence.

  The crow, the sland’rous cuckoo, nor

  The boding raven, nor chough hoar, 20

  Nor chatt’ring pie,

  May on our bridehouse perch or sing,

  Or with them any discord bring,

  But from it fly.

  Enter three Queens in black, wearing stained veils and crowns. The First Queen falls down at the foot of Theseus; the Second falls down at the foot of Hippolyta; the Third, before Emilia

  Fir. Que.. (to Theseus) For pity’s sake and true gentility’s, 25

  Hear and respect me.

  Sec. Que.. (to Hippolyta) For your mother’s sake,

  And as you wish your womb may thrive with fair ones,

  Hear and respect me.

  Thi. Que.. (to Emilia)

  Now for the love of him whom Jove hath marked

  The honour of your bed, and for the sake 30

  Of clear virginity, be advocate

  For us and our distresses. This good deed

  Shall raze you out o’th’ Book of Trespasses

  All you are set down there.

  The. (to First Queen) Sad lady, rise.

  Hipp. (to Second Queen) Stand up.

  Emi. (to Third Queen) No knees to me.

  What woman I may stead that is distressed 36

  Does bind me to her.

  The. (to First Queen) What’s your request? Deliver you for all.

  Fir. Que.. [kneeling still]

  We are three queens whose sovereigns fell before

  The wrath of cruel Creon; who endured 40

  The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites,

  And pecks of crows in the foul fields of Thebes.

  He will not suffer us to burn their bones,

  To urn their ashes, nor to take th’offence

  Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye 45

  Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds

  With stench of our slain lords. O pity, Duke!

  Thou purger of the earth, draw thy feared sword

  That does good turns to’ th’ world; give us the bones

  Of our dead kings that we may chapel them; 50

  And of thy boundless goodness take some note

  That for our crownèd heads we have no roof,

  Save this, which is the lion’s and the bear’s,

  And vault to everything.

  The. Pray you, kneel not:

  I was transported with your speech, and suffered 55

  Your knees to wrong themselves. I have heard the fortunes

  Of your dead lords, which gives me such lamenting

  As wakes my vengeance and revenge for ’em.

  King Capaneus was your lord: the day

  That he should marry you — at such a season 60

  As now it is with me — I met your groom

  By Mars’s altar. You were that time fair,

  Not Juno’s mantle fairer than your tresses,

  Nor in more bounty spread her. Your wheaten wreath

  Was then nor threshed nor blasted; fortune at you 65

  Dimpled her cheek with smiles; Hercules our kinsman —

  Then weaker than your eyes — laid by his club.

  He tumbled down upon his Nemean hide

  And swore his sinews thawed. O grief and time,

  Fearfu
l consumers, you will all devour. 70

  Fir. Que.. [kneeling stilll O, I hope some god,

  Some god hath put his mercy in your manhood,

  Whereto he’ll infuse power and press you forth

  Our undertaker.

  The. O no knees, none, widow:

  [The First Queen rises]

  Unto the helmeted Bellona use them 75

  And pray for me, your soldier. Troubled I am.

  He turns away

  Sec. Que.. Honoured Hippolyta,

  Most dreaded Amazonian, that hast slain

  The scythe-tusked boar, that with thy arm, as strong

  As it is white, wast near to make the male 80

  To thy sex captive, but that this, thy lord —

  Born to uphold creation in that honour

  First nature styled it in — shrunk thee into

  The bound thou wast o’erflowing, at once subduing

  Thy force and thy affection; soldieress, 85

  That equally canst poise sternness with pity,

  Whom now I know hast much more power on him

  Than ever he had on thee, who ow’st his strength,

  And his love too, who is a servant for

  The tenor of thy speech; dear glass of ladies, 90

  Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scorch,

  Under the shadow of his sword may cool us.

  Require him he advance it o’er our heads.

  Speak’t in a woman’s key, like such a woman

  As any of us three. Weep ere you fail. 95

  Lend us a knee:

  But touch the ground for us no longer time

  Than a dove’s motion when the head’s plucked off.

  Tell him, if he i’th’ blood-sized field lay swoll’n,

  Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon, 100

  What you would do.

  Hipp. Poor lady, say no more.

  I had as lief trace this good action with you

  As that whereto I am going, and never yet

  Went I so willing way. My lord is taken

  Heart-deep with your distress. Let him consider. 105

  I’ll speak anon.

  [The Second Queen rises]

  Thi. Que.. (kneeling to Emilia)

  O, my petition was

  Set down in ice, which by hot grief uncandied

  Melts into drops; so sorrow, wanting form,

  Is pressed with deeper matter.

  Emi. Pray stand up:

  Your grief is written in your cheek.

  Thi. Que.. O woe, 110

  You cannot read it there; there, through my tears,

 

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