The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 12Dryden, John
General
The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 12
Dryden, John
English literature
Wrought all of burned stele, of which the entree
Was longe and streite, and ghastly for to see;
And thereout came a rage and swiche a vise,
That it made all the gates for to rise.
The northern light in at the dore shone,
For window on the wall ne was ther none,
Thurgh which men mighten any light discerne.
The dore was all of athamant eterne,
Yclenched overthwart and endelong,
With yren tough, and for to make it strong,
Every piler, the temple to sustene,
Was tonne-gret, of yren bright and shene.
Ther saw I first the derk imagining
Of Felonie, and alle the compassing;
The cruel Ire, red as any glede;
The Pikepurse, and eke the pale Drede;
The Smiler, with the knife under the cloke;
The shepen brenning with the blake smoke;
The Treson of the mordring in the bedde;
The open Werre, with woundes all bebledde,
Conteke with blody knife Sharp menace;
All of chirking was that sorry place.
The sleer of himself yet saw I there,
His herte blood hath bathed all his here:
The naile ydriven in the shode on hight;
The cold Deth, with mouth gaping upright.
Amiddes of the temple sate Mischance,
With discomfort and sory countenaunce;
Yet saw I Woodnesse laughing in his rage,
Armed Complaint, Outhees, and fiers Outrage;
The carraine in the bush, with throte ycorven;
A thousand slain, and not of qualme ystorven;
The tirant with the prey by force yraft;
The toun destroied, ther was nothing laft;
Yet saw I brent the shippes hoppesteres;
The hunte ystrangled with the wilde beres;
The sow freting the child right in the cradel;
The coke yscalded for all his long ladel:
Nought was foryete by the infortune of Marte,
The carter overridden with his carte,
Under the wheel ful low he lay a doun.
Ther were also of Martes division,
The armerer, and the bowyer, and the smith,
That forgeth sharp swerdes on the stith;
And all above, depeinted in a tour,
Saw I a Conquest, sitting in great honour,
With thilke sharp swerd over his hed
Yhanging by a subtil twined thred.
Depeinted was the slaughter of Julius,
Of gret Nero, and of Antonius:
All be that thilke time they were unborne,
Yet was hir deth depeinted ther beforne;
By menacing of Mars, right by figure,
So was it shewed in that portreiture,
As is depeinted in the cercles above,
Who shal be slaine, or elles ded for love.
Sufficeth on ensample in stories olde;
I may not reken hem alle though I wolde.
The statue of Mars upon a carte stood,
Armed, and loked grim, as he were wood;
And over his hed ther shinen two figures
Of sterres that ben cleped in scriptures,
That on Puella, that other Rubeus.
This god of Armes was araied thus:
A wolf ther stood beforne him at his fete,
With eyen red, and of a man he ete.
With subtil pensill peinted was this storie,
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