OF QUENE ANELYDA AND FALSE
HOU ferse God of armes, Mars the rede,
That in thy frosty contré called Trace,
Within thy grisly temples ful of drede.
Honoured art as patroun of that place!
With thee, Bellona, Pallas, ful of grace!
Be presente, and my songe contynew and guye;
At my begynnyng thus I to the crye.
For hit ful depe is sonken in my mynde,
With pitous hert, in Englyssh to endyte
This olde storie, in Latyn which I fynde,
Of quene Analida and fals Arcite,
That elde, which al can frete and bite,
(As hit hath freten mony a noble storie)
Hath nygh devoured out of oure memorie.
'Be favorable eke thou Polymnya
On Parnaso that hathe thy sustres glade,
By Elycon, not fer from Cirrea,
Syngest with vois memorial in the shade,
Under the laurer, which that may not fade,
And do that I my shippe to haven wynne,
First folow I Stace, and after him Corynne.
Jamque domos patrias Cithiee post aspera gentis,
Prelia laurigero subeuntem Thesea curru,
Letifici plausus missusque ad sidera vulgi, &c.
When Theseus, with werres longe and grete,
The
aspre folke of Cithe had overcome,
Tho, laurer crouned, in his chare, gold bete,
Home to his contré houses is he come;
For whiche the peple blisful al and somme,
So criden, that to the sterres hit wente,
And him to honouren dide al her entente.
Beforne this duke, in signe of victorie,
The trompes come, and in his baner large,
The ymage of Mars; and in token of glorie,
Men myghte sene of tresoure mony a charge,
Mony a bright helme, and mony a spere
and targe,
Mony a fresh knyght, and mony a blysful route,
On hors, on fote, in al the felde aboute.
'Ipolita his wife, the hardy quene
Of Cithea, that he conquered hadde,
With Emelye her yonge suster shene,
Faire in a chare of golde he with hym ladde,
That al the grounde about her char she spradde
With brightnesse of beauté in her face,
Fulfilled of largesse and of alle grace.
With his tryumphe, and laurer crouned thus,
In al the floure of fortunes yevyng,
Let I this noble prince, this Theseus,
Towarde Athenes in his wey ryding,
And founde I wol inne shortly to bringe,
The sleye wey of that I gan to write,
Of quene Anelida and fals Arcite.
Mars, whiche that thro his furiouse course of ire, The olde wrethe of Juno to fulfille,
Hath set the peples hertis bothe on fire
Of Thebes and Grece, and everiche other to kille With blody speres, restede never stille,
But throng now her, now ther, amonge hem bothe, That everyche other slough, so were they wrothe.
For when Amphiorax and Tydeus,
Ipomedon and Prothonolope also
Wer ded, and slayn proude Campaneus,
And when the wrecches Thebans bretheren two Were slayn, and kyng Adrastus home ago,
So desolat stode Thebes and so bare,
That no wight coude remedie of his care.
And when the olde Creon gan espye,
How that the blood roial was broght adoun,
He helde the cité by his tyrannye,
And dyde the gentils of that regioun
To ben his frendes, and duellen in the toune.
So what for love of him, and what for awe,
The noble folke wer to the toune idrawe.
Among alle these, Anelida the quene
Of Ermony was in that toune duellyng,
That fairer was then is the sunne shene,
Thoroghout the worlde so gan her name springe,
That her to seen had every wyght likynge;
For, as of trouthe, is ther noon her ilyche,
Of al the wymen in this worlde riche.
Yonge was this quene, of twenty yer of elde,
Of mydil stature, and of suche fairenesse,
That Nature had a joy hir to behelde,
And for to speken of her stidfastnesse,
She passede bothe Penelope and Lucresse,
And shortly, yf she shal be comprehended,
In her myghte nothing been amended.
This Theban knyght eke, for sothe to seyne,
Was yonge, therto withal a lusty knyght,
But he was double in love, and nothing pleyne, 90
And subtil in that crafte, overe eny wyght,
And with his kunnyng whan this lady bryght:
For so ferforthe he can her trouthe assure,
That she him trusted over eny creature.
What shuld I seyn? she loveth Arcite so
That when that he was absent eny throw,
Anoon her thoght her herte brast atwo?
For in her sight to her be bare hym low,
So that she wende have al his hert yknowe;
But he was fals, hit nas but feyned chere,
As nedeth not to men suche craft to lere.
But nevertheles ful mykel besynesse
Had he, er that he myght his lady wynne,
And swor he wolde dyen for distresse,
Or from his wit he seyde he wolde twynne.
Alas the while! for hit was routhe and synne,
That she upon his sorowes wolde rewe,
But nothing thinketh the fals as doth the trewe.
Her fredom fonde Arcite in suche maner,
That al was his that she hath, both moche and lyte ;
Ne to no creatur ne made she chere,
Ferther then it lykede to Arcite;
Ther was no lak with whiche he myght hir wite,
She was so ferforth yevin hym to plese,
That al that lyked him hit dyd her herte ese.
Ther nas to her no maner lettre isente
That touched love, from eny maner wyght,
That she ne shewed hit him er hit was brent;
So pleyn she was, and did her fulle myght,
That she nyl hiden nothing from her knyght,
Lest he of eny untrouthe her upbreyde;
Withoute bode his herte she obeyde.
And eke he made him jelouse over her,
That what that eny man hadde to her seyde,
Anoon he wolde preyen her to swere
What was that worde, or make hym evel apaide;
Then wende she out of her wyt have breyd,
But alle was but sleght and flaterie ;
Withoute love he feynede jelousye.
And alle this toke she so debonerly,
That al his wil, her thoght hit skilful thing;
And ever the lenger she loved him tendirly,
And did him honour as he wer a kyng.
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