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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [1602]

By Root 19303 0
a lette;

And such a Statut thanne he sette, 360

And in this wise his lawe he taxeth,

That what man that his doghter axeth,

Bot if he couthe his question

Assoile upon suggestion

Of certein thinges that befelle,

The whiche he wolde unto him telle,

He scholde in certein lese his hed.

And thus ther weren manye ded,

Here hevedes stondende on the gate,

Till ate laste longe and late, 370

For lacke of ansuere in the wise,

The remenant that weren wise

Eschuieden to make assay.

Til it befell upon a day

Appolinus the Prince of Tyr,

Which hath to love a gret desir,

As he which in his hihe mod

Was likende of his hote blod,

A yong, a freissh, a lusti knyht,

As he lai musende on a nyht 380

Of the tidinges whiche he herde,

He thoghte assaie hou that it ferde.

He was with worthi compainie

Arraied, and with good navie

To schipe he goth, the wynd him dryveth,

And seileth, til that he arryveth:

Sauf in the port of Antioche

He londeth, and goth to aproche

The kinges Court and his presence.

Of every naturel science, 390

Which eny clerk him couthe teche,

He couthe ynowh, and in his speche

Of wordes he was eloquent;

And whanne he sih the king present,

He preith he moste his dowhter have.

The king ayein began to crave,

And tolde him the condicion,

Hou ferst unto his question

He mote ansuere and faile noght,

Or with his heved it schal be boght: 400

And he him axeth what it was.

The king declareth him the cas

With sturne lok and sturdi chiere,

To him and seide in this manere:

"With felonie I am upbore,

I ete and have it noght forbore

Mi modres fleissh, whos housebonde

Mi fader forto seche I fonde,

Which is the Sone ek of my wif.

Hierof I am inquisitif; 410

And who that can mi tale save,

Al quyt he schal my doghter have;

Of his ansuere and if he faile,

He schal be ded withoute faile.

Forthi my Sone," quod the king,

"Be wel avised of this thing,

Which hath thi lif in jeupartie."

Appolinus for his partie,

Whan he this question hath herd,

Unto the king he hath ansuerd 420

And hath rehersed on and on

The pointz, and seide therupon:

"The question which thou hast spoke,

If thou wolt that it be unloke,

It toucheth al the privete

Betwen thin oghne child and thee,

And stant al hol upon you tuo."

The king was wonder sory tho,

And thoghte, if that he seide it oute,

Than were he schamed al aboute. 430

With slihe wordes and with felle

He seith, "Mi Sone, I schal thee telle,

Though that thou be of litel wit,

It is no gret merveile as yit,

Thin age mai it noght suffise:

Bot loke wel thou noght despise

Thin oghne lif, for of my grace

Of thretty daies fulle a space

I grante thee, to ben avised."

And thus with leve and time assised 440

This yonge Prince forth he wente,

And understod wel what it mente,

Withinne his herte as he was lered,

That forto maken him afered

The king his time hath so deslaied.

Wherof he dradde and was esmaied,

Of treson that he deie scholde,

For he the king his sothe tolde;

And sodeinly the nyhtes tyde,

That more wolde he noght abide, 450

Al prively his barge he hente

And hom ayein to Tyr he wente:

And in his oghne wit he seide

For drede, if he the king bewreide,

He knew so wel the kinges herte,

That deth ne scholde he noght asterte,

The king him wolde so poursuie.

Bot he, that wolde his deth eschuie,

And knew al this tofor the hond,

Forsake he thoghte his oghne lond, 460

That there wolde he noght abyde;

For wel he knew that on som syde

This tirant of his felonie

Be som manere of tricherie

To grieve his bodi wol noght leve.

Forthi withoute take leve,

Als priveliche as evere he myhte,

He goth him to the See be nyhte

In Schipes that be whete laden:

Here takel redy tho thei maden 470

And hale up Seil and forth thei fare.

Bot forto tellen of the care

That thei of Tyr begonne tho,

Whan that thei wiste he was ago,

It is a Pite forto hiere.

They losten lust, they losten chiere,

Thei toke upon hem such penaunce,

Ther was no song, ther was no daunce,

Bot every merthe and melodie

To hem was thanne a maladie; 480

For unlust of that aventure

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