Lo the oke that hath so long a norishing
Fro the time that it ginneth first to spring,
And hath so long a lif, as ye may see,
Yet at the laste wasted is the tree.
Considereth eke, how that the harde stone
Under our feet, on which we trede and gon,
It wasteth as it lieth by the way;
The brode river some time waxeth dry;
The grete tounes see we wane and wende;
Then may ye see that all things hath an end.
Of man and woman see we wel also,
That nedes in on of the termes two,
That is to sayn, in youth or elles age,
He mote be ded, the king as shall a page;
Som on his bed, some on the depe see,
Som in the large field, as ye may see;
Ther helpeth nought, all goth that ilke wey;
Than may I say that alle things mote dey.
What maketh this but Jupiter the king?
The which is prince, and cause of alle thing,
Converting alle unto his propre will,
From which it is derived, soth to telle.
And here againes no creature on live
Of no degree availeth for to strive.
Then is it wisdom, as it thinketh me,
To maken virtue of necessite,
And take it wel, that we may not eschewe,
And namely that to us all is dewe.
And who so grutcheth ought, he doth folie,
And rebel is to him that all may gie.
And certainly a man hath most honour
To dien in his excellence and flour,
Whan he is siker of his goode name.
Than hath he don his friend, ne him, no shame;
And glader ought his friend been of his deth
Whan with honour is yelden up his breath,
Than whan his name appalled is for age;
For all foryetten is his vassalage
Than is it best, as for a worthy fame,
To dien when a man is best of name.
The contrary of all this is wilfulnesse.
Why grutchen we? Why have we heavinesse,
That good Arcite, of chivalry the flour,
Departed is, with dutee and honour,
Out of this foule prison of this lif?
Why grutchen here his cosin and his wif
Of his welfare, that loven him so wel?
Can he hem thank? Nay, God wot, never a del,
That both his soule, and eke himself offend,
And yet they mow hir lustres not amend.
What may I conclude of this longe serie,
But after sorwe I rede us to be merie,
And thanken Jupiter of all his grace,
And er that we departen from this place,
I rede that we make of sorwes two
O parfit joye lasting evermo;
And loketh now wher most sorwe is herein,
Ther wol I firste amenden and begin.
Sister (quod he) this is my full assent,
With all the avis here of my parlement,
That gentil Palamon, your owen knight,
That serveth you with will, and herte and might,
And ever hath done, sin ye first him knew,
That ye shall of your grace upon him vew,
And taken him for husbond and for lord:
Lene me your hand, for this is oure accord.
Let see now of your womanly pitee.
He is a kinge's brother's sone pardee,
And though he were a poure bachelere,
Sin he hath served you so many a yere,
And had for you so gret adversitie,
It moste ben considered, leveth me.
For gentil mercy oweth to passen right.
Then sayd he thus to Palamon the knight:
I trow ther nedeth little sermoning
To maken you assenten to this thing.
Cometh ner, and take your lady by the hond.
Betwixen hem was maked anon the bond,
That highte matrimoine or mariage,
By all the conseil of the baronage.
And thus with alle blisse and melodie
Hath Palamon ywedded Emilie.
And God, that all this wide world hath wrought,
Send him his love, that hath it dere ybought.
For now is Palamon in alle wele,
Living in blisse, in richisse, and in hele,
And Emelie him loveth so tendrely,
And he hire serveth all so gentilly,
That never was ther no word hem betwene
Of jalousie, ne of non other tene.
Thus endeth Palamon and Emilie
And God save all this fayre compagnie.
The whole oration is rendered by Dryden with zealous diligence in
bringing out the sense into further effect, and with a magnificent sweep
of composition. If there is in the fine original any thing felt as a
little too stiffly formal, this impression is wholly obliterated or lost
in the streaming poetry of the translator. Dryden may not, on his own
score, have been much of a philosopher; but he handles a philosophical
thought in verse with a dexterity that is entirely his own. The
sharpness and swiftness of intellectual power concurring in him, join so
much ease with so much brevity, that the poetical vein flows on
unhindered, even when involved with metaphysical notions and with
scholastic recollections. The comparison of the following noble strain
with the original now quoted, decisively and successfully shows the
character of an embellishing transformation, which we have all along
attributed to Dryden's treatment of Chaucer. The full thought of the
original is often but as the seed of thought to the version, or at least
the ungrown plant of the one throws out the luxuriance and majesty of
leaves, blossoms, and branches in the other. The growth and decay of the
oak in the two, and still more of the human being, are marked instances.
Dryden does not himself acknowledge the bold license which he has used
in regenerating; he does himself less than justice. The worth of his
work is not the giving to modern England her ancient poet, without the
trouble of acquiring his language, or of learning to sympathize with his
manner. It would almost seem as if that were an enterprise which there
is no accomplishing. Rightly to speak, it was not Dryden's. He really
undertook, from a great old poem lying before him, to write a great
modern poem, which he has done; and in the new Knight's Tale, we see
Dryden, the great poet--we do not see Chaucer, the greater poet. But we
see in it presumptive proof that the old poem worked from was great and
interesting; and we must be lazy and unprofitable students if we do not,
from the proud and splendid modernization, derive a yearning and a
craving towards the unknown simple antique. Unknown to us, in our first
studies, as we read upward from our own day into the past glories of our
vernacular literature; but which, when, with gradually mounting courage,
endeavour, and acquirement, we have made our way up so far, we find
"Worthy to have not remain'd so long unknown."
So, Dryden has done honour and rendered service to his mighty
predecessor--truer honour and better service--not by superseding, but by
guiding and impelling towards the knowledge of the old Knight's Tale.