PAGE.

The Twelfth Book of Ovid's Metamorphoses,

The Speeches of Ajax and Ulysses,

Acis, Polyphemus and Galatea,

Of the Pythagorean Philosophy,

TRANSLATIONS FROM OVID'S ART OF LOVE.

Preface on Translation, prefixed to Dryden's Second

Miscellany,

The Epithalamium of Helen and Menelaus,

The Despairing Lover,

The Third Ode of the First Book of Horace,
The Ninth Ode of the First Book,

The Twenty-ninth Ode of the First Book,

The Second Epode of Horace,

. 351

TRANSLATIONS FROM HOMER.

The First Book of Homer's Iliad,

APPENDIX

ΤΟ

THE FABLES.

VOL. XII.

a

r

This Appendix contains the Original Tales of Chaucer, which Dryden has modernized. The Novels of Boccacio are subjoined to the several Poetical English Versions.

THE

KNIGHTES TALE,

BY

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

WHILOM, as old stories tellen us,
There was a duk that highte Theseus;
Of Athenes he was lord and governour,
And in his time swiche a conquerour,
That greter was ther non under the sonne;
Ful many a riche contree had he wonne.
What with his wisdom and his chevalrie,
He conquerd all the regne of Feminie,
That whilom was ycleped Scythia,
And wedded the fresshe Quene Ipolita,
And brought hire home with him to his contree
With mochel glorie and solempnitee,

And eke hire yonge suster Emelie.

And thus with victorie and with melodie
Let I this worthy duk to Athenes ride,
And all his host in armes him beside.

And certes, if it n'ere to long to here,
I wolde have told you fully the manere

How wonnen was the regne of Feminie
By Theseus, and by his chevalrie:
And of the grete bataile for the nones
Betwix Athenes and Amasones:
And how asseged was Ipolita,

The faire hardie quene of Scythia;
And of the feste, that was at hire wedding,
And of the temple at hire home coming:
But all this thing I moste as now forbere;
I have, God wot, a large feld to ere,
And weke ben the oxen in my plowe:
The remenent of my tale is long ynow.
I wil not letten eke non of this route;
Let every felaw telle his tale aboute,
And let se now who shal the souper winne,
There as I left, I will agen beginne.

This duk, of whom I made mentioun,
Whan he was comen almost to the toun,
In all his wele and his moste pride,
He was ware, as he cast his eye aside,
Wher that ther kneled in the highe wey
A compagnie of ladies, twey and twey,
Eche after other, clad in clothes blake;
But swiche a crie and swiche a wo they make,
That in this world n'is creature living
That ever heard swiche another waimenting;
And of this crie ne wolde never stenten,
Till they the reines of his bridel henten.

What folk be ye that at mine home coming Perturben so my feste with crying? Quod Theseus; have ye so grete envie Of min honour, that thus complaine and crie? Or who hath you misboden, or offended? Do telle me, if that it may be amended, And why ye be thus clothed all in blake?

The oldest lady of hem all than spake, Whan she had swouned with a dedly chere, That it was reuthe for to seen and here. She sayde, Lord, to whom Fortune hath yeven Victorie, and as a conqueror to liven, Nought greveth us your glorie and your honour, But we beseke you of mercie and socour: Have mercie on our wo and our distresse : Some drope of pitee thrugh thy gentillesse Upon us wretched wimmen let now fall; For certes, lord, there n'is non of us alle