Collected Works of Giovanni Boccaccio

by Giovanni Boccaccio

  Jai. I was once, sir, in great hope she had fixed her liking on this gentleman, my friend.

  Woo. I did think so too, and would account I had a great penn’orth on’t to give half my state that both she and I, at this present, stood unfeignedly on the same terms. 65

  Doc. That intemperate surfeit of her eye hath dis- tempered the other senses. They may return and settle again to execute their preordained faculties, but they are now in a most extravagant vagary. This you must do: confine her to a place where the light may rather seem to steal in than be permitted; take upon you, young sir her friend, the name of Palamon; say you come to eat with her and to commune of love. This will catch her attention, for this her mind beats upon — other objects that are inserted ‘tween her mind and eye become the pranks and friskins of her madness. Sing to her such green songs of love as she says Palamon hath sung in prison; come to her stuck in as sweet flowers as the season is mistress of, and thereto make an addition of some other compounded odours which are grateful to the sense. All this shall become Palamon, for Palamon can sing, and Palamon is sweet and every good thing. Desire to eat with her, carve her, drink to her, and still among intermingle your petition of grace and acceptance into her favour. Learn what maids have been her companions and playferes, and let them repair to her, with Palamon in their mouths, and appear with tokens as if they suggested for him. It is a falsehood she is in, which is with falsehoods to be combated. This may bring her to eat, to sleep, and reduce what’s now out of square in her into their former law and regiment. I have seen it approved, how many times I know not, but to make the number more I have great hope in this. I will 95 between the passages of this project come in with my appliance. Let us put it in execution, and hasten the success, which doubt not will bring forth comfort.

  Exeunt

  Act V. Scene I.

  [An altar. Flourish. Enter Theseus,

  Pirithous, Hippolyta, attendants

  The. Now let ’em enter and before the gods

  Tender their holy prayers. Let the temples

  Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars

  In hallowed clouds commend their swelling incense

  To those above us. Let no due be wanting. 5

  Flourish of cornetts

  They have a noble work in hand, will honour

  The very powers that love’ em.

  Enter Palamon with his three Knights, and Arcite with his three Knights

  Pir. Sir, they enter.

  The. You valiant and strong-hearted enemies,

  You royal german foes that this day come

  To blow that nearness out that flames between ye, 10

  Lay by your anger for an hour and, dove-like,

  Before the holy altars of your helpers,

  The all-feared gods, bow down your stubborn bodies.

  Your ire is more than mortal — so your help be;

  And as the gods regard ye, fight with justice. 15

  I’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye

  I part my wishes.

  Pir. Honour crown the worthiest.

  Exit Theseus and his train

  Pal. (to Arcite)

  The glass is running now that cannot finish

  Till one of us expire. Think you but thus,

  That were there aught in me which strove to show 20

  Mine enemy in this business, were’t one eye

  Against another, arm oppressed by arm,

  I would destroy th’offender — coz, I would,

  Though parcel of myself. Then from this gather

  How I should tender you.

  Arc. I am in labour 25

  To push your name, your ancient love, our kindred,

  Out of my memory, and i’th’ selfsame place

  To seat something I would confound. So hoist we

  The sails that must these vessels port even where

  The heavenly limiter pleases.

  Pal. YOU speak well. 30

  Before I turn, let me embrace thee, cousin —

  This I shall never do again.

  Arc. One farewell.

  Pal. Why, let it be so — farewell, coz.

  Arc. Farewell, sir.

  Exeunt Palamon and his three Knights

  Knights, kinsmen, lovers — yea, my sacrifices,

  True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you 35

  Expels the seeds of fear and th’apprehension

  Which still is father of it, go with me

  Before the god of our profession. There

  Require of him the hearts of lions and

  The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too, 40

  Yea, the speed also — to go on, I mean,

  Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize

  Must be dragged out of blood — force and great feat

  Must put my garland on me, where she sticks,

  The queen of flowers. Our intercession, then, 45

  Must be to him that makes the camp a cistern

  Brimmed with the blood of men — give me your aid,

  And bend your spirits towards him.

  They kneel before the altar

  (Praying to Mars) Thou mighty one,

  That with thy power hast turned green Neptune into purple;

  Whose havoc in vast field comets prewarn, 50

  Unearthèd skulls proclaim; whose breath blows down

  The teeming Ceres’ foison; who dost pluck

  With hand armipotent from forth blue clouds

  The masoned turrets, that both mak’st and break’st

  The stony girths of cities; me thy pupil, 55

  Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this day

  With military skill, that to thy laud

  I may advance my streamer, and by thee

  Be styled the lord o’th’ day. Give me, great Mars,

  Some token of thy pleasure. 60

  Here they fall on their faces, as formerly, and there is heard clanging of armour, with a short thunder, as the burst of a battle, whereupon they all rise and bow to the altar

  O great corrector of enormous times,

  Shaker of o’er-rank states, thou grand decider

  Of dusty and old titles, that heal’st with blood

  The earth when it is sick, and cur’st the world

  O’th’ plurisy of people, I do take 65

  Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name,

  To my design, march boldly. (To his Knights) Let us go.

  Exeunt

  Act V. Scene II.

  ENTER PALAMON AND his Knights with the former observance

  Pal. (to his Knights)

  Our stars must glister with new fire, or be

  Today extinct. Our argument is love,

  Which if the goddess of it grant, she gives

  Victory too. Then blend your spirits with mine,

  You whose free nobleness do make my cause 5

  Your personal hazard. To the goddess Venus

  Commend we our proceeding, and implore

  Her power unto our party.

  Here they kneel before the altar.

  (Praying to Venus) Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast power

  To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage 10

  And weep unto a girl; that hast the might,

  Even with an eye-glance, to choke Mars’s drum

  And turn th’alarum to whispers; that canst make

  A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him

  Before Apollo; that mayst force the king 15

  To be his subject’s vassal, and induce

  Stale gravity to dance; the polled bachelor

  Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires,

  Have skipped thy flame, at seventy thou canst catch

  And make him to the scorn of his hoarse throat 20

  Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power

  “Hast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou

  Add’st flames hotter than his — the heavenly fires


  Did scorch his mortal son, thine him. The huntress,

  All moist and cold, some say, began to throw 25

  Her bow away and sigh. Take to thy grace

  Me, thy vowed soldier, who do bear thy yoke

  As ‘twere a wreath of roses, yet is heavier

  Than lead itself, stings more than nettles.

  I have never been foul-mouthed against thy law; 30

  Ne’er revealed secret, for I knew none; would not,

  Had f kenned all that were. I never practised

  Upon man’s wife, nor would the libels read

  Of liberal wits. I never at great feasts

  Sought to betray a beauty, but have blushed 35

  At simp’ring sirs that did. I have been harsh

  To large confessors, and have hotly asked them

  If they had mothers — I had one, a woman,

  And women ‘twere they wronged. I knew a man

  Of eighty winters, this I told them, who 40

  A lass of fourteen brided— ’twas thy power

  To put life into dust. The agèd cramp

  Had screwed his square foot round,

  The gout had knit his fingers into knots,

  Torturing convulsions from his globy eyes 45

  Had almost drawn their spheres, that what was life

  In him seemed torture. This anatomy

  Had by his young fair fere a boy, and I

  Believed it was his, for she swore it was,

  And who would not believe her? Brief — I am 50

  To those that prate and have done, no companion;

  To those that boast and have not, a defier;

  To those that would and cannot, a rejoicer.

  Yea, him I do not love that tells close offices

  The foulest way, nor names concealments in 55

  The boldest language. Such a one I am,

  And vow that lover never yet made sigh

  Truer than I. O, then, most soft sweet goddess,

  Give me the victory of this question, which

  Is true love’s merit, and bless me with a sign 60

  Of thy great pleasure.

  Here music is heard, doves are seen to flutter. They fall again upon their faces, then on their knees

  O — thou that from eleven to ninety reign’st

  In mortal bosoms, whose chase is this world

  And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks

  For this fair token, which, being laid unto 65

  Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance

  My body to this business. (To his Knights) Let us rise

  And bow before the goddess.

  They rise and bow

  Time comes on. Exeunt

  Act V. Scene III.

  STILL MUSIC OF recorders. Enter Emilia in white, her hair about her shoulders, with a wheaten wreath; one in white holding up her train, her hair stuck with flowers; one before her carrying a silver hind in which is conveyed incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the altar, her maids standing apart, she sets fire to it. Then they curtsy and kneel

  Emi. (praying to Diana)

  O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen,

  Abandoner of revels, mute contemplative,

  Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure

  As wind-fanned snow, who to thy female knights

  Allow’st no more blood than will make a blush, 5

  Which is their order’s robe: I here, thy priest,

  Am humbled fore thine altar. O, vouchsafe

  With that thy rare green eye, which never yet

  Beheld thing maculate, look on thy virgin;

  And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear — 10

  Which ne’er heard scurril term, into whose port

  Ne’er entered wanton sound — to my petition,

  Seasoned with holy fear. This is my last

  Of vestal office. I am bride-habited,

  But maiden-hearted. A husband I have ‘pointed, 15

  But do not know him. Out of two, I should

  Choose one and pray for his success, but I

  Am guiltless of election. Of mine eyes

  Were I to lose one, they are equal precious —

  I could doom neither: that which perished should 20

  Go to’t unsentenced. Therefore, most modest queen,

  He of the two pretenders that best loves me

  And has the truest title in’t, let him

  Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant

  The file and quality I hold I may 25

  Continue in thy band.

  Here the hind vanishes under the altar and in the place ascends a rose tree having one rose upon it

  (To her women) See what our general of ebbs and flows

  Out from the bowels of her holy altar,

  With sacred act, advances — but one rosel

  If well inspired, this battle shall confound 30

  Both these brave knights, and I a virgin flower

  Must grow alone, unplucked.

  Here is heard a sudden twang of instruments and the rose falls from the tree

  The flower is fall’n, the tree descends. (To Diana) O mistress,

  Thou here dischargest me — I shall be gathered.

  I think so, but I know not thine own will. 35

  Unclasp thy mystery. [To her attending women] hope she’s pleased;

  Her signs were gracious.

  They curtsy and exeunt

  Act V. Scene IV.

  ENTER THE DOCTOR, the Jailer, and the Wooer in the habit of Palamon

  Doc. Has this advice I told you done any good upon her?

  Woo. O, very much. The maids that kept her company have half persuaded her that I am Palamon. Within this half-hour she came smiling to me, and asked me what I would eat, and when I would kiss her. 6

  I told her presently, and kissed her twice.

  Doc.

  ’Twas well done — twenty times had been far better,

  For there the cure lies mainly.

  Woo. Then she told me

  She would watch with me tonight, for well she knew

  What hour my fit would take me.

  Doc. 10

  Let her do so,

  And when your fit comes, fit her home,

  And presently.

  Woo. She would have me sing.

  Doc.

  You did so?

  Woo. No.

  Doc. ‘ Twas very ill done, then.

  You should observe her every way.

  Woo. Alas, 15

  I have no voice, sir, to confirm her that way.

  Doc.

  That’s all one, if ye make a noise.

  If she entreat again, do anything —

  Lie with her if she ask you.

  Jai. Ho there, Doctor.

  Doc.

  Yes, in the way of cure.

  Jai. But first, by your leave, 20

  I’th’ way of honesty.

  Doc. That’s but a niceness —

  Ne’er cast your child away for honesty.

  Cure her first this way, then if she will be honest,

  She has the path before her.

  Jai. Thank ye, Doctor.

  Doc.

  Pray bring her in and let’s see how she is. 25

  Jai. I will, and tell her her Palamon stays for her.

  But, Doctor, methinks you are i’th’ wrong still.

  Exit Jailer

  Doc.

  Go, go. You fathers are fine fools — her honesty?

  An we should give her physic till we find that —

  Woo. Why, do you think she is not honest, sir? 30

  Doc.

  How old is she?

  Woo. She’s eighteen.

  Doc. She may be —

  But that’s all one. ’Tis nothing to our purpose.

  Whate’er her father says, if you perceive

  Her mood inclining that way that I spoke of,

  Videlicet, the way of flesh — you have me? 35


  Woo. Yes, very well, sir.

  Doc. Please her appetite,

  And do it home — it cures her, ipso facto,

  The melancholy humour that infects her.

  Woo. I am of your mind, Doctor.

  Enter the Jailer and his Daughter, [nmd 1

  Doc.

  You’ll find it so — she comes: pray humour her. 40

  Jai. (to his Daughter)

  Come, your love Palamon stays for you, child,

  And has done this long hour, to visit you.

  Jai. Dau. I thank him for his gentle patience.

  He’s a kind gentleman, and I am much bound to him.

  Did you ne’er see the horse he gave me?

  Jai. Yes. 45

  Jai. Dau. How do you like him?

  Jai. He’s a very fair one.

  Jai. Dau. You never saw him dance?

  Jai. No.

  Jai. Dau. I have, often.

  He dances very finely, very comely,

  And, for a jig, come cut and long-tail to him,

  He turns ye like a top.

  Jai. That’s fine, indeed. 50

  Jai. Dau. He’ll dance the morris twenty mile an hour,

  And that will founder the best hobbyhorse,

  If I have any skill, in all the parish —

  And gallops to the tune of ‘Light o’ love’.

  What think you of this horse?

  Jai. Having these virtues 55

  I think he might be brought to play at tennis.

  Jai. Dau. Alas, that’s nothing.

  Jai. Can he write and read too?

  Jai. Dau. A very fair hand, and casts himself th’accounts

  Of all his hay and provender. That ostler

  Must rise betime that cozens him. You know 60

  The chestnut mare the Duke has?

  Jai. Very well.

  Jai. Dau. She is horribly in love with him, poor beast,

  But he is like his master — coy and scornful.

  Jai. What dowry has she?

  Jai. Dau. Some two hundred bottles

  And twenty strike of oats, but he’ll ne’er have her. 65

  He lisps in’s neighing, able to entice

  A miller’s mare. He’ll be the death of her.

  Doc. What stuff she uttersl

  Jai. Make curtsy — here your love comes.

  Woo. (coming forward) Pretty soul, 70

  How do ye?

  She curtsies

  That’s a fine maid, there’s a curtsy.

  Jai. Dau. Yours to command, i’th’ way of honesty —

  How far is’t now to th’ end o’th’ world, my masters?

  Doc. Why, a day’s journey, wench.