Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  With chaplets on their heads of daffodillies,

  With cherry lips and cheeks of damask roses,

  And all we’ll dance an antic fore the Duke 75

  And beg his pardon.’ Then she talked of you, sir —

  That you must lose your head tomorrow morning,

  And she must gather flowers to bury you,

  And see the house made handsome. Then she sung

  Nothing but ‘willow, willow, willow’, and between 80

  Ever was ‘Palamon, fair Palamon’,

  And ‘Palamon was a tall young man’. The place

  Was knee-deep where she sat; her careless tresses

  A wreath of bull-rush rounded; about her stuck

  Thousand freshwater flowers of several colours — 85

  That she appeared, methought, like the fair nymph

  That feeds the lake with waters, or as Iris

  Newly dropped down from heaven. Rings she made

  Of rushes that grew by, and to ’em spoke

  The prettiest posies— ‘Thus our true love’s tied’, 90

  ‘This you may lose, not me’, and many a one.

  And then she wept, and sung again, and sighed —

  And with the same breath smiled and kissed her hand.

  Sec. Fri. Alas, what pity it is!

  Woo. I made in to her:

  She saw me and straight sought the flood — I saved her, 95

  And set her safe to land, when presently

  She slipped away and to the city made,

  With such a cry and swiftness that, believe me,

  She left me far behind her. Three or four

  I saw from far off cross her — one of ’em 100

  I knew to be your brother, where she stayed

  And fell, scarce to be got away. I left them with her,

  Enter the Jailer’s Brother, the Jailer’s Daughter and others

  And hither came to tell you — here they are.

  Jai. Dau. (sings)

  ‘May you never more enjoy the light...’ —

  Is not this a fine song?

  Jai. Bro. O, a very fine one. 105

  Jai. Dau. I can sing twenty more.

  Jai.’s Bro. I think you can.

  Jai. Dau. Yes, truly can I — I can sing ‘The Broom’

  And ‘Bonny Robin’ — are not you a tailor?

  Jai. Bro. Yes.

  Jai. Dau. Where’s my wedding gown?

  Jai. Bro. I’ll bring it tomorrow.

  Jai. Dau. Do, very rarely — I must be abroad else, 110

  To call the maids and pay the minstrels,

  For I must lose my maidenhead by cockfight,

  ‘Twill never thrive else. (Sings)’ O fair, O sweet...’

  Jai. Bro. Tfo the Jailerl

  You must e’en take it patiently.

  Jai. ’Tis true.

  Jai. Dau. Good ev’n, good men. Pray, did you ever hear 115

  Of one young Palamon?

  Jai. Yes, wench, we know him.

  Jai. Dau. Is’t not a fine young gentleman?

  Jai. ’Tis, love.

  Jai. Bro. By no mean cross her, she is then distempered

  Far worse than now she shows.

  Fir. Fri. (to the Jailer’s Daughter)

  Yes, he’s a fine man.

  Jai. Dau. O, is he so? You have a sister.

  Fir. Fri. Yes. 120

  Jai. Dau. But she shall never have him, tell her so,

  For a trick that I know. You’d best look to her,

  For if she see him once, she’s gone — she’s done

  And undone in an hour. All the young maids

  Of our town are in love with him, but I laugh at ’em 125

  And let’ em all alone. Is’t not a wise course?

  Fir. Fri. Yes.

  Jai. Dau. There is at least two hundred now with child by him,

  There must be four; yet I keep close for all this,

  Close as a cockle; and all these must be boys —

  He has the trick on’t — and at ten years old 130

  They must be all gelt for musicians

  And sing the wars of Theseus.

  Sec. Fri. This is strange.

  Jai. Bro. As ever you heard, but say nothing.

  Fir. Fri. No.

  Jai. Dau. They come from all parts of the dukedom to him.

  I’ll warrant ye, he had not so few last night 135

  As twenty to dispatch. He’ll tickle’t up

  In two hours, if his hand be in.

  Jai. She’s lost

  Past all cure.

  Jai. Bro. Heaven forbid, man!

  Jai. Dau. (to the Jailer)

  Come hither — you are a wise man.

  Fir. Fri. Does she know him?

  Sec. Fri.

  No — would she did.

  Jai. Dau. YOU are master of a ship? 140

  Jai. Yes.

  Jai. Dau. Where’s your compass?

  Jai. Here.

  Jai. Dau. Set it to th’ north.

  And now direct your course to th’ wood where Palamon

  Lies longing for me. For the tackling,

  Let me alone. Come, weigh, my hearts, cheerly all. 145

  Uff, uff, uff! ’Tis up. The wind’s fair. Top the bowline.

  Out with the mainsail. Where’s your whistle, master?

  Jai. Bro. Let’s get her in.

  Jai. Up to the top, boy!

  Jai. Bro. Where’s the pilot?

  Fir. Fri. Here.

  Jai. S DAUGHTER

  What kenn’st thou?

  Sec. Fri. A fair wood.

  Jai. Dau. Bear for it, master.

  Tack about! 150

  (Sings) ‘When Cynthia with her borrowed light...’

  Exeunt

  Act IV. Scene II.

  [ENTER EMILIA, WITH two pictures]

  Emi. Yet I may bind those wounds up that must open

  And bleed to death for my sake else — I’ll choose,

  And end their strife. Two such young handsome men

  Shall never fall for me; their weeping mothers

  Following the dead cold ashes of their sons, 5

  Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven,

  What a sweet face has Arcite! If wise nature,

  With all her best endowments, all those beauties

  She sows into the births of noble bodies,

  Were here a mortal woman and had in her 10

  The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless

  She would run mad for this man. What an eye,

  Of what a fiery sparkle and quick sweetness

  Has this young prince! Here love himself sits smiling!

  Just such another wanton Ganymede 15

  Set Jove afire once, and enforced the god

  Snatch up the goodly boy and set him by him,

  A shining constellation. What a brow,

  Of what a spacious majesty, he carries!

  Arched like the great-eyed Juno’s, but far sweeter, 20

  Smoother than Pelops’ shoulder! Fame and honour,

  Methinks, from hence, as from a promontory

  Pointed in heaven, should clap their wings and sing

  To all the under world the loves and fights

  Of gods, and such men near ’em. Palamon 25

  Is but his foil; to him a mere dull shadow;

  He’s swart and meagre, of an eye as heavy

  As if he had lost his mother; a still temper,

  No stirring in him, no alacrity,

  Of all this sprightly sharpness, not a smile. 30

  Yet these that we count errors may become him:

  Narcissus was a sad boy, but a heavenly.

  O, who can find the bent of woman’s fancy?

  I am a fool, my reason is lost in me,

  I have no choice, and I have lied so lewdly 35

  That women ought to beat me. On my knees

  I ask thy pardon, Palamon, thou art alone

  And only beautiful, and these the eyes,


  These the bright lamps of beauty, that command

  And threaten love — and what young maid dare cross ’em? 40

  What a bold gravity, and yet inviting,

  Has this brown manly face? O, love, this only

  From this hour is complexion. Lie there, Arcite,

  Thou art a changeling to him, a mere gypsy,

  And this the noble body. I am sotted, 45

  Utterly lost — my virgin’s faith has fled me.

  For if my brother, but even now, had asked me

  Whether I loved, I had run mad for Arcite;

  Now if my sister, more for Palamon.

  Stand both together. Now come ask me, brother — 50

  Alas, I know not; ask me now, sweet sister —

  I may go look. What a mere child is fancy,

  That having two fair gauds of equal sweetness,

  Cannot distinguish, but must cry for both!

  [Enter a Gentleman]

  How now, sir?

  Gen. From the noble Duke your brother, 55

  Madam, I bring you news. The knights are come.

  Emi. To end the quarrel?

  Gen. Yes.

  Emi. Would I might end first!

  What sins have I committed, chaste Diana,

  That my unspotted youth must now be soiled

  With blood of princes, and my chastity 60

  Be made the altar where the lives of lovers —

  Two greater and two better never yet

  Made mothers joy — must be the sacrifice

  To my unhappy beauty?

  Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, and attendants

  The. Bring ’em in

  Quickly, by any means, I long to see’ em. 65

  Exit one or more

  (To Emilia) Your two contending lovers are returned,

  And with them their fair knights. Now, my fair sister,

  You must love one of them.

  Emi. I had rather both,

  So neither for my sake should fall untimely.

  Enter a Messenger

  The. Who saw ’em?

  Pir. I a while.

  Gen. And I. 70

  The. (to the Messenger)

  From whence come you, sir?

  Mes. From the knights.

  The. Pray speak,

  You that have seen them, what they are.

  Mes. I Will, Sir,

  And truly what I think. Six braver spirits

  Than these they have brought, if we judge by the outside,

  I never saw nor read of. He that stands 75

  In the first place with Arcite, by his seeming,

  Should be a stout man; by his face, a prince.

  His very looks so say him: his complexion,

  Nearer a brown than black, stern and yet noble,

  Which shows him hardy, fearless, proud of dangers. 80

  The circles of his eyes show fire within him,

  And, as a heated lion, so he looks.

  His hair hangs long behind him, black and shining,

  Like ravens’ wings. His shoulders, broad and strong;

  Armed long and round; and on his thigh a sword 85

  Hung by a curious baldric, when he frowns

  To seal his will with. Better, o’ my conscience,

  Was never soldier’s friend.

  The. Thou hast well described him.

  Pir. Yet a great deal short, 90

  Methinks, of him that’s first with Palamon.

  The. Pray speak him, friend.

  Pir. I guess he is a prince too,

  And, if it may be, greater — for his show

  Has all the ornament of honour in’t.

  He’s somewhat bigger than the knight he spoke of, 95

  But of a face far sweeter. His complexion

  Is as a ripe grape, ruddy. He has felt,

  Without doubt, what he fights for, and so apter

  To make this cause his own. In’s face appears

  All the fair hopes of what he undertakes, 100

  And when he’s angry, then a settled valour,

  Not tainted with extremes, runs through his body

  And guides his arm to brave things. Fear he cannot —

  He shows no such soft temper. His head’s yellow,

  Hard-haired and curled, thick twined: like ivy tods,

  Not to undo with thunder. In his face 106

  The livery of the warlike maid appears,

  Pure red and white — for yet no beard has blessed him —

  And in his rolling eyes sits victory,

  As if she ever meant to court his valour. 110

  His nose stands high, a character of honour;

  His red lips, after fights, are fit for ladies.

  Emi. Must these men die too? piRiTHOus When he speaks, his tongue

  Sounds like a trumpet. All his lineaments

  Are as a man would wish ’em — strong and clean. 115

  He wears a well-steeled axe, the staff of gold.

  His age, some five-and-twenty.

  Mes. There’s another —

  A little man, but of a tough soul, seeming

  As great as any. Fairer promises

  In such a body yet I never looked on. 120

  Pir. O, he that’s freckle-faced?

  Mes. The same, my lord.

  Are they not sweet ones?

  Pir. Yes, they are well.

  Mes. Methinks,

  Being so few and well disposed, they show

  Great and fine art in nature. He’s white-haired —

  Not wanton white, but such a manly colour 125

  Next to an auburn, tough and nimble set,

  Which shows an active soul. His arms are brawny,

  Lined with strong sinews — to the shoulder piece

  Gently they swell, like women new-conceived,

  Which speaks him prone to labour, never fainting 130

  Under the weight of arms; stout-hearted, still,

  But when he stirs, a tiger. He’s grey-eyed,

  Which yields compassion where he conquers; sharp

  To spy advantages, and where he finds ’em,

  He’s swift to make ’em his. He does no wrongs, 135

  Nor takes none. He’s round-faced, and when he smiles

  He shows a lover; when he frowns, a soldier.

  About his head he wears the winner’s oak,

  And in it stuck the favour of his lady.

  His age, some six-and-thirty. In his hand 140

  He bears a charging staff embossed with silver.

  The. Are they all thus?

  Pir. They are all the sons of honour.

  The. Now as I have a soul, I long to see ’em.

  (To Hippolyta) Lady, you shall see men fight now.

  Hipp. I wish it,

  But not the cause, my lord. They would show 145

  Bravely about the titles of two kingdoms —

  ’Tis pity love should be so tyrannous.

  (To Emilia) O my soft-hearted sister, what think you?

  Weep not till they weep blood. Wench, it must be.

  The. (to Emilia)

  You have steeled’ em with your beauty.

  (To Pirithous) Honoured friend,

  To you I give the field: pray order it 151

  Fitting the persons that must use it.

  Pir. Yes, sir.

  The. Come, I’ll go visit ’em — I cannot stay,

  Their fame has fired me so. Till they appear,

  Good friend, be royal.

  Pir. There shall want no bravery.

  Emi. [aside]

  Poor wench, go weep — for whosoever wins 156

  Loses a noble cousin for thy sins. Exeunt

  Act IV. Scene III.

  ENTER THE JAILER, the Wooer, and the Doctor

  Doc. Her distraction is more at some time of the moon than at other some, is it not?

  Jai. She is continually in a harmless distemper: sleeps little; altogether without appetite, save often drinking; dreamin
g of another world, and a better; and what broken piece of matter soe’er she’s about, the name

  ‘Palamon’ lards it, that she farces every business 10

  Enter the Jailer’s Daughter withal, fits it to every question. Look where she comes — you shall perceive her behaviour.

  They stand apart

  Jai. Dau. I have forgot it quite — the burden on’t was ‘Down-a, down-a’, and penned by no worse man than Giraldo, Emilia’s schoolmaster. He’s as fantastical, too, as ever he may go upon’s legs — for in the next world will Dido see Palamon, and then will she be out of love with Aeneas. 15

  Doc. What stuff’s here? Poor soul.

  Jai. E’en thus all day long.

  Jai. Dau. Now for this charm that I told you of — you must bring a piece of silver on the tip of your tongue, or no ferry: then, if it be your chance to come where the blessed spirits are — there’s a sight now! We maids that have our livers perished, cracked to pieces with love, we shall come there and do nothing all day long but pick flowers with Proserpine. Then will I make

  Palamon a nosegay, then let him mark me, then —

  Doc. How prettily she’s amissl Note her a little further.

  Jai. Dau. Faith, I’ll tell you: sometime we go to barley-break, we of the blessed. Alas, ’tis a sore life they have i’th’ other place — such burning, frying, boiling, hissing, howling, chattering, cursing — O they have shrewd measure — take heed! If one be mad or hang or drown themselves, thither they go, Jupiter bless us, and there shall we be put in a cauldron of lead and usurers’ grease, amongst a whole million of cutpurses, and there boil like a gammon of bacon that will never be enough. 36

  Doc. How her brain coins!

  Jai. Dau. Lords and courtiers that have got maids with child — they are in this place. They shall stand in fire up to the navel and in ice up to th’ heart, and there th’offending part burns, and the deceiving part freezes — in truth a very grievous punishment as one would think for such a trifle. Believe me, one would marry a leprous witch to be rid on’t, I’ll assure you.

  Doc. How she continues this fancy! ’Tis not an engrafted madness, but a most thick and profound melancholy. 47

  Jai. Dau. To hear there a proud lady and a proud city wife howl together! I were a beast an I’d call it good sport. One cries, ‘O this smoke!’, th’other,

  ‘This fire!’; one cries, ‘O that ever I did it behind the arras!’, and then howls — th’other curses a suing fellow and her garden-house.

  (Sings) ‘I will be true, my stars, my fate...’

  Exit Daughter

  Jai. (to the Doctor) What think you of her, sir? 55

  Doc. I think she has a perturbed mind, which I cannot minister to.

  Jai. Alas, what then?

  Doc. Understand you she ever affected any man ere she beheld Palamon? 60