Each claims poffeffion, neither will obey,
But both their paws are faften'd on the prey;
They bite, they tear; and while in vain they strive, The fwains come arm'd between, and both to distance
At length, as fate foredoom'd, and all things tend By courfe of time to their appointed end;
So when the fun to Weft was far declin'd,
And both afresh in mortal battle join'd,
The ftrong Emetrius came in Arcite's aid,
And Palamon with odds was overlaid:
For, turning short, he ftruck with all his might
Full on the helmet of th' unwary knight.
Deep was the wound; he stagger'd with the blow,
And turn'd him to his unexpected foe;
Whom with fuch force he ftruck, he fell'd him down,
And cleft the circle of his golden crown.
But Arcite's men, who now prevail'd in fight,
Twice ten at once furround the fingle knight:
O'erpower'd, at length, they force him to the ground,
Unyielded as he was, and to the pillar bound ;
And king Lycurgus, while he fought in vain
His friend to free, was tumbled on the plain.
Who now laments but Palamon, compell'd'
No more to try the fortune of the field!
And, worse than death, to view with hateful eyes.
His rival's conqueft, and renounce the prize!
The royal judge on his tribunal plac'd,
Who had beheld the fight from first,to last,
Bad cease the war; pronouncing from on high,
Arcite of Thebes had won the the beauteous Emily.
The found of trumpets to the voice reply'd,
And round the royal lifts the heralds cry'd,
Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous bride.
The people rend the skies with vast applause;
All own the chief, when fortune owns the cause.
Arcite is own'd ev'n by the Gods above,
And conquering Mars infults the Queen of Love.
So laugh'd he, when the rightful Titan fail'd,
And Jove's ufurping arms in heaven prevail'd.
Laugh'd all the powers who favour tyranny;
And all the standing army of the sky.
But Venus with dejected eyes appears,
And weeping on the lifts diftill'd her tears;
Her will refus'd, which grieves a woman most,
And, in her champion foil'd, the caufe of Love is loft. Till Saturn faid, Fair daughter, now be still,
The bluftering fool has fatisfy'd his will;
His boon is given; his knight has gain'd the day,
But loft the prize, th' arrears are yet to pay.
Thy hour is come, and mine the care shall be
To please thy knight, and fet thy promise free.
Now while the heralds run the lifts around,
And Arcite, Arcite, heaven and earth refound;
A miracle (nor less it could be call'd)
Their joy with unexpected forrow pall'd.
The victor knight had laid his helm afide,
Part for his eafe, the greater part for pride:
Bare-headed, popularly low he bow'd,
And paid the falutations of the crow'd.
Then fpurring at full speed, ran endlong on
Where Thefeus fate on his imperial throne;
Furious he drove, and upward caft his eye,
Where next the queen was plac'd his Emily;
Then paffing to the faddle-bow he bent:
A fweet regard the gracious virgin lent
(For women, to the brave an easy prey,
Still follow Fortune where the leads the way):
Juft then, from earth fprung out a flashing fire,
By Pluto fent, at Saturn's bad defire:
The startling fteed was feiz'd with fudden fright,
And, bounding, o'er the pommel caft the knight:
Forward he flew, and, pitching on his head,
He quiver'd with his feet, and lay for dead.
Black was his countenance in a little face,
For all the blood was gather'd in his face.
Help was at hand: they rear'd him from the ground,
And from his cumbrous arms his limbs unbound;
Then lanc'd a vein, and watch'd returning breath;,
It came, but clogg'd with fymptoms of his death.
The faddle-bow the noble parts had preft,
All bruis'd and mortify'd his manly breast.
Him ftill entranc'd, and in a litter laid,
They bore from field, and to his bed convey'd.
At length he wak'd, and, with a feeble cry,
The word he firft pronounc'd was Emily.
Mean time the king, though inwardly he mourn'd, In 'pomp triumphant to the town return'd.
Attended by the chiefs who fought the field
(Now friendly mix'd, and in one troop compell'd).
Compos'd his looks to counterfeited cheer,
And bade them not for Arcite's life to fear.
But that which gladded all the warrior-train,
Though most were forely wounded, none were flain.
The furgeons foon defpoil'd them of their arms,
And fome with falves they cure, and fome with charms;
Foment the bruifes, and the pains affuage,
And heal their inward hurts with fovereign draughts of
The king in perfon vifits all around,
Comforts the fick, congratulates the found;
Honours the princely chiefs, rewards the reft,
And holds for thrice three days a royal feast.
None was difgrac'd; for falling is no shame;
And cowardice alone is lofs of fame.
The venturous knight is from the faddle thrown;
But 'tis the fault of fortune, not his own,
If crowds and palins the conquering fide adorn.
The victor under better ftars was born:
The brave man feeks not popular applaufe,
Nor overpower'd with arms deferts his cause;
Unfham'd, though foil'd, he does the beft he can ;
Force is of brutes, but honour is of man.
Thus Thefeus fmil'd on all with equal grace;
And each was fet according to his place.
With eafe were reconcil'd the differing parts,
For envy never dwells in noble hearts.
At length they took their leave, the time expir'd;
Well pleas'd, and to their several homes retir'd.
Mean while the health of Arcite still impairs ;
From bad proceeds to worse, and mocks the leeches cares;
Swoln is his breaft; his inward pains increase,
All means are us'd, and all without fuccefs.
The clotted blood lies heavy on his heart,
Corrupts, and there remains in spite of art:
Nor breathing veins, nor cupping, will prevail;
All outward remedies and inward fail:
The mold of nature's fabric is destroy'd,
Her veffels difcompos'd, her virtue void:
The bellows of his lungs begin to swell :
All out of frame is every fecret cell,
Nor can the good receive, nor bad expel.
Those breathing organs thus within oppreft,
With venom foon diftend the finews of his breast.
Nought profits him to fave abandon'd life,
Nor vomit's upward aid, nor downward laxative.
The midmoft region batter'd and destroy'd,
When nature cannot work, th' effect of art is void.
For physic can but mend our crazy ftate,
Patch an old building, not a new create.
Arcite is doom'd to die in all his pride,
Muft leave his youth, and yield his beauteous bride,
Gain'd hardly, against right, and unenjoy'd.
When 'twas declar'd all hope of life was past,
Confcience (that of all phyfic works the last)
Caus'd him to fend for Emily in hafte.
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