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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395596" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Anelida and Arcite</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou ferse god of armes, Mars the rede,<br>That in the frosty contre called Trace,<br>Within thy grisly temple ful of drede<br>Honoured art as patroun of that place;<br>With thy Bellona, Pallas, ful of grace,<br>Be present and my song contynue and guye;<br>At my begynnyng thus to the I crye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For hit ful depe is sonken in my mynde,<br>With pitous hert in Englyssh to endyte<br>This olde storie, in Latyn which I fynde,<br>Of quene Anelida and fals Arcite,<br>That elde, which that al can frete and bite,<br>As hit hath freten mony a noble storie,<br>Hath nygh devoured out of oure memorie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Be favorable eke, thou Polymya,<br>On Parnaso that with thy sustres glade,<br>By Elycon, not fer from Cirrea,<br>Singest with vois memorial in the shade,<br>Under the laurer which that may not fade,<br>And do that I my ship to haven wynne.<br>First folowe I Stace, and after him Corynne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The Story.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Iamque domos patrias Cithice post aspera gentis<br>Prelia laurigero subeunte Thesea curru<br>Letifici plausus missusque ad sidera vulgi</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Theseus with werres longe and grete<br>The aspre folk of Cithe had overcome,<br>With laurer corouned, in his char gold-bete,<br>Hom to his contre-houses is he come,<br>For which the peple, blisful al and somme,<br>So cry{:e}den that to the sterres hit wente,<br>And him to honouren dide al her entente.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beforn this duk, in signe of victorie,<br>The trompes come, and in his baner large<br>The ymage of Mars, and in tokenyng of glorie<br>Men myghte sen of tresour many a charge,<br>Many a bright helm, and many a spere and targe,<br>Many a fresh knyght, and many a blysful route,<br>On hors, on fote, in al the feld aboute.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ipolita his wif, the hardy quene<br>Of Cithia, that he conquered hadde,<br>With Emelye her yonge suster shene,<br>Faire in a char of gold he with him ladde,<br>That al the ground about her char she spradde<br>With brightnesse of the beaute in her face,<br>Fulfilled of largesse and of alle grace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With his tryumphe and laurer-corouned thus,<br>In al the flour of Fortunes yevynge,<br>Let I this noble prince Theseus<br>Toward Athenes in his wey rydinge,<br>And founde I wol in shortly for to bringe<br>The slye wey of that I gan to write,<br>Of quene Anelida and fals Arcite.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mars, which that through his furious cours of ire,<br>The olde wrathe of Juno to fulfille,<br>Hath set the peples hertes bothe on fire<br>Of Thebes and Grece, everich other to kille<br>With blody speres, ne rested never stille,<br>But throng now her, now ther, among hem bothe,<br>That everych other slough, so were they wrothe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For when Amphiorax and Tydeus,<br>Ipomedon, Parthonope also<br>Were ded, and slayn proude Campaneus,<br>And when the wrecched Thebans, bretheren two,<br>Were slayn, and kyng Adrastus hom ago,<br>So desolat stod Thebes and so bare<br>That no wight coude remedie of his fare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when the olde Creon gan espye<br>How that the blood roial was broght a-doun,<br>He held the cite by his tyrannye<br>And dyde the gentils of that regioun<br>To ben his frendes and wonnen in the toun.<br>So, what for love of him and what for awe,<br>The noble folk were to the toun idrawe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Among al these Anelida, the quene<br>Of Ermony, was in that toun dwellynge,<br>That fairer was then is the sonne shene.<br>Thurghout the world so gan her name springe<br>That her to seen had every wyght likynge,<br>For, as of trouthe, is ther noon her lyche<br>Of al the women in this worlde riche.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yong was this quene, of twenty yer of elde,<br>Of mydel stature, and of such fairenesse<br>That Nature had a joye her to behelde;<br>And for to speken of her stidfastnesse,<br>She passed hath Penelope and Lucresse;<br>And shortly, yf she shal be comprehended,<br>In her ne myghte no thing been amended.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This Theban knyght [Arcite] eke, soth to seyn,<br>Was yong and therwithal a lusty knyght,<br>But he was double in love and no thing pleyn,<br>And subtil in that craft over any wyght,<br>And with his kunnyng wan this lady bryght;<br>For so ferforth he gan her trouthe assure<br>That she him trusted over any creature.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What shuld I seyn? She loved Arcite so<br>That when that he was absent any throwe,<br>Anon her thoghte her herte brast a-two;<br>For in her sight to her he bar hym lowe,<br>So that she wende have al his hert yknowe;<br>But he was fals; hit nas but feyned chere<br>As nedeth not to men such craft to lere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But nevertheles ful mykel besynesse<br>Had he er that he myghte his lady wynne,<br>And swor he wolde dyen for distresse<br>Or from his wit he seyde he wolde twynne.<br>Alas, the while! For hit was routhe and synne<br>That she upon his sorowes wolde rewe;<br>But nothing thinketh the fals as doth the trewe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her fredom fond Arcite in such manere<br>That al was his that she hath, moche or lyte;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ne to no creature made she chere<br>Ferther then that hit lyked to Arcite.<br>Ther nas no lak with which he myghte her wite;<br>She was so ferforth yeven hym to plese<br>That al that lyked hym hit dyde her ese.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ther nas to her no maner lettre sent<br>That touched love, from any maner wyght,<br>That she ne shewed hit him er hit was brent;<br>So pleyn she was and dide her fulle myght<br>That she nyl hiden nothing from her knyght,<br>Lest he of any untrouthe her upbreyde.<br>Withoute bode his heste she obeyde.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And eke he made him jelous over here,<br>That what that any man had to her seyd<br>Anoon he wolde preyen her to swere<br>What was that word or make him evel apaid.<br>Then wende she out of her wyt have breyd;<br>But al this nas but sleght and flaterie;<br>Withoute love he feyned jelousye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And al this tok she so debonerly<br>That al his wil her thoghte hit skilful thing,<br>And ever the lenger she loved him tendirly<br>And dide him honour as he were a kyng.<br>Her herte was to him wedded with a ring;<br>So ferforth upon trouthe is her entente<br>That wher he gooth her herte with him wente.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When she shal ete, on him is so her thoght<br>That wel unnethe of mete tok she kep;<br>And when that she was to her reste broght,<br>On him she thoghte alwey til that she slep;<br>When he was absent, prevely she wep:<br>Thus lyveth feire Anelida the quene<br>For fals Arcite, that dide her al this tene.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This fals Arcite, of his newfanglenesse,<br>For she to him so lowly was and trewe,<br>Tok lesse deynte of her stidfastnesse<br>And saw another lady, proud and newe,<br>And ryght anon he cladde him in her hewe--<br>Wot I not whethir in white, rede, or grene--<br>And falsed fair Anelida the quene.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But neverthelesse, gret wonder was hit noon<br>Thogh he were fals, for hit is kynde of man<br>Sith Lamek was, that is so longe agoon,<br>To ben in love as fals as evere he can;<br>He was the firste fader that began<br>To loven two, and was in bigamye,<br>And he found tentes first, but yf men lye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This fals Arcite, sumwhat moste he feyne,<br>When he wex fals, to covere his traitorie,<br>Ryght as an hors that can both bite and pleyne,<br>For he bar her on honde of trecherie,<br>And swor he coude her doublenesse espie,<br>And al was falsnes that she to him mente.<br>Thus swor this thef, and forth his way he wente.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas, what herte myght enduren hit,<br>For routhe and wo, her sorwe for to telle?<br>Or what man hath the cunnyng or the wit?<br>Or what man mighte within the chambre dwelle,<br>Yf I to him rehersen sholde the helle<br>That suffreth fair Anelida the quene<br>For fals Arcite, that dide her al this tene.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She wepith, waileth, swowneth pitously;<br>To grounde ded she falleth as a ston;<br>Craumpyssheth her lymes crokedly;<br>She speketh as her wit were al agon;<br>Other colour then asshen hath she noon;<br>Non other word speketh she, moche or lyte,<br>But 'Merci, cruel herte myn, Arcite!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thus endureth til that she was so mat<br>That she ne hath foot on which she may sustene,<br>But forth languisshing evere in this estat,<br>Of which Arcite hath nouther routhe ne tene.<br>His herte was elleswhere, newe and grene,<br>That on her wo ne deyneth him not to thinke;<br>Him rekketh never wher she flete or synke.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His newe lady holdeth him so narowe<br>Up by the bridil, at the staves ende,<br>That every word he dredeth as an arowe;<br>Her daunger made him bothe bowe and bende,<br>And as her liste, made him turne or wende,<br>For she ne graunted him in her lyvynge<br>No grace whi that he hath lust to singe,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But drof hym forth. Unnethe liste her knowe<br>That he was servaunt unto her ladishippe;<br>But lest that he were proud, she held him lowe.<br>Thus serveth he withoute fee or shipe;<br>She sent him now to londe, now to shippe;<br>And for she yaf him daunger al his fille,<br>Therfor she hadde him at her owne wille.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ensample of this, ye thrifty wymmen alle,<br>Take her of Anelida and Arcite,<br>That for her liste him 'dere herte' calle<br>And was so meke, therfor he loved her lyte.<br>The kynde of mannes herte is to delyte<br>In thing that straunge is, also God me save!<br>For what he may not gete, that wolde he have.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now turne we to Anelida ageyn,<br>That pyneth day be day in langwisshinge,<br>But when she saw that her ne gat no geyn,<br>Upon a day, ful sorowfully wepinge,<br>She caste her for to make a compleynynge,<br>And of her owne hond she gan hit write,<br>And sente hit to her Theban knyght, Arcite.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The compleynt of Anelida the quene upon fals Arcite.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Proem</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>So thirleth with the poynt of remembraunce<br>The swerd of sorowe, ywhet with fals plesaunce,<br>Myn herte, bare of blis and blak of hewe,<br>That turned is in quakyng al my daunce,<br>My surete in awhaped countenaunce,<br>Sith hit availeth not for to ben trewe;<br>For whoso trewest is, hit shal hir rewe<br>That serveth love and doth her observaunce<br>Alwey til oon, and chaungeth for no newe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Strophe</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I wot myself as wel as any wight,<br>For I loved oon with al myn herte and myght,<br>More then myself an hundred thousand sithe,<br>And called him myn hertes lif, my knyght,<br>And was al his, as fer as hit was ryght;<br>And when that he was glad, then was I blithe,<br>And his disese was my deth as swithe;<br>And he ayein his trouthe hath me plyght<br>For evermore, his lady me to kythe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now is he fals, alas, and causeles,<br>And of my wo he is so routheles<br>That with a word him list not ones deyne<br>To bringe ayen my sorowful herte in pes,<br>For he is caught up in another les.<br>Ryght as him list, he laugheth at my peyne,<br>And I ne can myn herte not restreyne<br>For to love him alwey neveretheles;<br>And of al this I not to whom me pleyne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And shal I pleyne--alas, the harde stounde!--<br>Unto my foo that yaf myn herte a wounde<br>And yet desireth that myn harm be more?<br>Nay, certis, ferther wol I never founde<br>Non other helpe, my sores for to sounde.<br>My destinee hath shapen hit so ful yore;<br>I wil non other medecyne ne lore;<br>I wil ben ay ther I was ones bounde.<br>That I have seid, be seid for evermore!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas! Wher is become your gentilesse,<br>Youre wordes ful of plesaunce and humblesse,<br>Youre observaunces in so low manere,<br>And your awayting and your besynesse<br>Upon me, that ye calden your maistresse,<br>Your sovereyne lady in this world here?<br>Alas! Is ther now nother word ne chere<br>Ye vouchen sauf upon myn hevynesse?<br>Alas! Youre love, I bye hit al to dere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now, certis, swete, thogh that ye<br>Thus causeles the cause be<br>Of my dedly adversyte,<br>Your manly resoun oghte hit to respite<br>To slen your frend, and namely me,<br>That never yet in no degre<br>Offended yow, as wisly He<br>That al wot, out of wo my soule quyte!<br>But for I shewed yow, Arcite,<br>Al that men wolde to me write,<br>And was so besy yow to delyte--<br>Myn honor save--meke,kynde,and fre,<br>Therfor ye put on me this wite,<br>And of me rekke not a myte,<br>Thogh that the swerd of sorwe byte<br>My woful herte through your cruelte.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My swete foo, why do ye so, for shame?<br>And thenke ye that furthered be your name<br>To love a newe, and ben untrewe? Nay!<br>And putte yow in sclaunder now and blame,<br>And do to me adversite and grame,<br>That love yow most--God, wel thou wost--alway?<br>Yet come ayein, and yet be pleyn som day,<br>And than shal this, that now is mys, be game,<br>And al foryive, while that I lyve may.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Antistrophe</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo, herte myn, al this is for to seyne<br>As whether shal I preve or elles pleyne?<br>Which is the wey to doon yow to be trewe?<br>For either mot I have yow in my cheyne<br>Or with the deth ye mote departe us tweyne;<br>Ther ben non other mene weyes newe.<br>For God so wisly upon my soule rewe,<br>As verrayly ye sleen me with the peyne;<br>That may ye se unfeyned of myn hewe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For thus ferforth have I my detb [y-]soght?<br>Myself I mordre with my privy thoght;<br>For sorowe and routhe of your unkyndenesse<br>I wepe, I wake, I faste; al helpeth noght;<br>I weyve joye that is to speke of oght,<br>I voyde companye, I fle gladnesse.<br>Who may avaunte her beter of hevynesse<br>Then I? And to this plyte have ye me broght,<br>Withoute gilt--me nedeth no witnesse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And shal I preye, and weyve womanhede?--<br>Nay! Rather deth then do so foul a dede!--<br>And axe merci, gilteles--what nede?<br>And yf I pleyne what lyf that I lede,<br>Yow rekketh not; that knowe I, out of drede;<br>And if that I to yow myne othes bede<br>For myn excuse, a skorn shal be my mede.<br>Your chere floureth, but it wol not sede;<br>Ful longe agoon I oghte have taken hede.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For thogh I hadde yow to-morowe ageyn,<br>I myghte as wel holde Aperill fro reyn<br>As holde yow, to make yow be stidfast.<br>Almyghty God, of trouthe sovereyn,<br>Wher is the trouthe of man? Who hath hit slayn?<br>Who that hem loveth, she shal hem fynde as fast<br>As in a tempest is a roten mast.<br>Is that a tame best that is ay feyn<br>To fleen away when he is lest agast?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now merci, swete, yf I mysseye!<br>Have I seyd oght amys, I preye?<br>I noot; my wit is al aweye.<br>I fare as doth the song of Chaunte-pleure<br>For now I pleyne, and now I pleye;<br>I am so mased that I deye;<br>Arcite hath born awey the keye<br>Of al my world, and my good aventure.<br>For in this world nis creature<br>Wakynge in more discomfiture<br>Then I, ne more sorowe endure.<br>And yf I slepe a furlong wey or tweye,<br>Then thynketh me that your figure<br>Before me stont, clad in asure,<br>To profren eft and newe assure<br>For to be trewe, and merci me to preye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The longe nyght this wonder sight I drye,<br>And on the day for thilke afray I dye,<br>And of al this ryght noght, iwis, ye reche.<br>Ne nevere mo myn yen two be drie,<br>And to your routhe, and to your trouthe, I crie.<br>But welawey! To fer be they to feche;<br>Thus holdeth me my destinee a wreche.<br>But me to rede out of this drede, or guye,<br>Ne may my wit, so weyk is hit, not streche.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Conclusion.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then ende I thus, sith I may do no more.<br>I yeve hit up for now and evermore,<br>For I shal never eft putten in balaunce<br>My sekernes, ne lerne of love the lore.<br>But as the swan, I have herd seyd ful yore,<br>Ayeins his deth shal singen his penaunce,<br>So singe I here my destinee or chaunce,<br>How that Arcite Anelida so sore<br>Hath thirled with the poynt of remembraunce.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The Story continued</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When that Anelida, this woful quene,<br>Hath of her hand ywriten in this wise,<br>With face ded, betwixe pale and grene,<br>She fel a-swowe; and sith she gan to rise,<br>And unto Mars avoweth sacrifise<br>Withinne the temple, with a sorowful chere,<br>That shapen was as ye shal after here.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Geoffrey+Chaucer">Geoffrey Chaucer</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395596" data-title="Anelida and Arcite de Geoffrey Chaucer" data-description="Thou ferse god of armes, Mars the rede,
That in the frosty contre called Trace,
Within thy grisly temple ful of drede
Honoured art as patroun of that place;
With thy Bellona, Pallas, ful of grace,
Be present and my song contynue and guye;
At my be..."></div>
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