Old Egeus only could revive his son, Who various changes of the world had known, And strange vicissitudes of human fate, Still altering, never in a steady state: Good after ill, and, after pain, delight, Alternate, like the scenes of day and night. Since every man, who lives, is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy, nor grieve too much, for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims, to the appointed place we tend; The world's an inn, and death the journey's end. Even kings but play; and, when their part is done, Some other, worse or better, mount the throne. With words like these the crowd was satisfied, And so they would have been had Theseus died. But he, their king, was labouring in his mind, } A fitting place for funeral pomps to find, } Which were in honour of the dead designed. } And, after long debate, at last he found (As love itself had marked the spot of ground) That grove, for ever green, that conscious lawnd,[174] Where he with Palamon fought hand to hand; That, where he fed his amorous desires With soft complaints, and felt his hottest fires, There other flames might waste his earthly part, And burn his limbs, where love had burned his heart. This once resolved, the peasants were enjoined, Sere-wood, and firs, and doddered oaks to find. With sounding axes to the grove they go, Fell, split, and lay the fuel on a row; Vulcanian food: a bier is next prepared, On which the lifeless body should be reared, Covered with cloth of gold; on which was laid The corpse of Arcite, in like robes arrayed. White gloves were on his hands, and on his head A wreath of laurel, mixed with myrtle, spread. A sword, keen-edged, within his right he held, The warlike emblem of the conquered field. Bare was his manly visage on the bier; Menaced his countenance, even in death severe. Then to the palace-hall they bore the knight, To lie in solemn state, a public sight: Groans, cries, and howlings, fill the crowded place, And unaffected sorrow sat on every face. Sad Palamon above the rest appears, In sable garments, dewed with gushing tears; His auburn locks on either shoulder flowed, Which to the funeral of his friend he vowed: But Emily, as chief, was next his side, A virgin-widow, and a mourning bride. And, that the princely obsequies might be Performed according to his high degree, The steed, that bore him living to the fight, } Was trapped with polished steel, all shining bright, } And covered with the achievements of the knight. } The riders rode abreast; and one his shield, His lance of cornel-wood another held; The third his bow; and, glorious to behold, The costly quiver, all of burnished gold. The noblest of the Grecians next appear, And, weeping, on their shoulders bore the bier; With sober pace they marched, and often staid,