580 |
After the deeth of Tholomee the king,
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|
That al Egipte hadde in his governing,
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|
Regned his quene Cleopataras;
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|
Til on a tyme befel ther swiche a cas,
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|
That out of Rome was sent a senatour,
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|
For to conqueren regnes and honour
|
|
Unto the toun of Rome, as was usaunce,
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|
To have the world unto her obeisaunce;
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|
And, sooth to seye, Antonius was his name.
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|
So fil hit, as Fortune him oghte a shame
|
590 |
Whan he was fallen in prosperitee,
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|
Rebel unto the toun of Rome is he.
|
|
And over al this, the suster of Cesar,
|
|
He lafte hir falsly, er that she was war,
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|
And wolde algates han another wyf;
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|
For whiche he took with Rome and Cesar stryf.
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|
|
Natheles, for-sooth, this ilke senatour
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|
Was a ful worthy gentil werreyour,
|
|
And of his deeth hit was ful greet damage.
|
|
But love had broght this man in swiche a rage,
|
600 |
And him so narwe bounden in his las,
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|
Al for the love of Cleopataras,
|
|
That al the world he sette at no value.
|
|
Him thoughte, nas to him no thing so due
|
|
As Cleopatras for to love and serve;
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|
Him roghte nat in armes for to sterve
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|
In the defence of hir, and of hir right.
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|
|
This noble quene eek lovede so this knight,
|
|
Through his desert, and for his chivalrye;
|
|
As certeinly, but-if that bokes lye,
|
610 |
He was, of persone and of gentilesse,
|
|
And of discrecioun and hardinesse,
|
|
Worthy to any wight that liven may.
|
|
And she was fair as is the rose in May.
|
|
And, for to maken shortly is the beste,
|
|
She wex his wyf, and hadde him as hir leste.
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|
|
The wedding and the feste to devyse,
|
|
To me, that have y-take swiche empryse
|
|
Of so many a storie for to make,
|
|
Hit were to long, lest that I sholde slake
|
620 |
Of thing that bereth more effect and charge;
|
|
For men may overlade a ship or barge;
|
|
And forthy to theffect than wol I skippe,
|
|
And al the remenant, I wol lete hit slippe.
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|
|
Octovian, that wood was of this dede,
|
|
Shoop him an ost on Antony to lede
|
|
Al-outerly for his destruccioun,
|
|
With stoute Romains, cruel as leoun;
|
|
To ship they wente, and thus I let hem saile.
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|
|
Antonius was war, and wol nat faile
|
630 |
To meten with thise Romains, if he may;
|
|
Took eek his reed, and bothe, upon a day,
|
|
His wyf and he, and al his ost, forth wente
|
|
To shippe anoon, no lenger they ne stente;
|
|
And in the see hit happed hem to mete --
|
|
Up goth the trompe -- and for to shoute and shete,
|
|
And peynen hem to sette on with the sonne.
|
|
With grisly soun out goth the grete gonne,
|
|
And heterly they hurtlen al at ones,
|
|
And fro the top doun cometh the grete stones.
|
640 |
In goth the grapnel so ful of crokes
|
|
Among the ropes, and the shering-hokes.
|
|
In with the polax presseth he and he;
|
|
Behind the mast beginneth he to flee,
|
|
And out agayn, and dryveth him over-borde;
|
|
He stingeth him upon his speres orde;
|
|
He rent the sail with hokes lyke a sythe;
|
|
He bringeth the cuppe, and biddeth hem be blythe;
|
|
He poureth pesen upon the hacches slider;
|
|
With pottes ful of lym they goon to-gider;
|
650 |
And thus the longe day in fight they spende
|
|
Til, at the laste, as every thing hath ende,
|
|
Anthony is shent, and put him to the flighte,
|
|
And al his folk to-go, that best go mighte.
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|
|
Fleeth eek the queen, with al her purpre sail,
|
|
For strokes, which that wente as thikke as hail;
|
|
No wonder was, she mighte hit nat endure.
|
|
And what that Anthony saw that aventure,
|
|
"Allas!" quod he, "the day that I was born!
|
|
My worshipe in this day thus have I lorn!"
|
660 |
And for dispeyr out of his witte he sterte,
|
|
And roof him-self anoon through-out the herte
|
|
Er that he ferther wente out of the place.
|
|
His wyf, that coude of Cesar have no grace,
|
|
To Egipte is fled, for drede and for distresse;
|
|
But herkneth, ye that speke of kindenesse.
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|
|
Ye men, that falsly sweren many an ooth
|
|
That ye wol dye, if that your love be wrooth,
|
|
Heer may ye seen of women whiche a trouthe!
|
|
This woful Cleopatre hath mad swich routhe
|
670 |
That ther nis tonge noon that may hit telle.
|
|
But on the morwe she wol no lenger dwelle,
|
|
But made hir subtil werkmen make a shryne
|
|
Of alle the rubies and the stones fyne
|
|
In al Egipte that she coude espye;
|
|
And putte ful the shryne of spycerye,
|
|
And leet the cors embaume; and forth she fette
|
|
This dede cors, and in the shryne hit shette.
|
|
And next the shryne a pit than doth she grave;
|
|
And alle the serpents that she mighte have,
|
680 |
She putte hem in that grave, and thus she seyde:
|
|
"Now, love, to whom my sorweful herte obeyde
|
|
So ferforthly that, fro that blisful houre
|
|
That I yow swor to been al frely youre,
|
|
I mene yow, Antonius my knight!
|
|
That never waking, in the day or night,
|
|
Ye nere out of myn hertes remembraunce
|
|
For wele or wo, for carole or for daunce;
|
|
And in my-self this covenant made I tho,
|
|
That, right swich as ye felten, wele or wo,
|
690 |
As ferforth as hit in my power lay,
|
|
Unreprovable unto my wyfhood ay,
|
|
The same wolde I felen, lyf or deeth.
|
|
And thilke covenant, whyl me lasteth breeth,
|
|
I wol fulfille, and that shal wel be sene;
|
|
Was never unto hir love a trewer quene."
|
|
And with that word, naked, with ful good herte,
|
|
Among the serpents in the pit she sterte,
|
|
And ther she chees to han hir buryinge.
|
|
Anoon the neddres gonne hir for to stinge,
|
700 |
And she hir deeth receyveth, with good chere,
|
|
For love of Antony, that was hir so dere: --
|
|
And this is storial sooth, hit is no fable.
|
|
|
Now, er I finde a man thus trewe and stable,
|
|
And wol for love his deeth so freely take,
|
|
I pray god lat our hedes never ake!
|
|
|
Explicit Legenda Cleopatrie, Martiris.
|