Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

John Dryden (1631–1700). The Poems of John Dryden. 1913.

Fables Ancient and Modern

Theodore and Honoria

OF all the Cities in Romanian Lands,

The chief, and most renown’d Ravenna stands:

Adorn’d in ancient Times with Arms and Arts,

And rich Inhabitants, with generous Hearts.

But Theodore the Brave, above the rest,

With Gifts of Fortune, and of Nature bless’d,

The foremost Place, for Wealth and Honour held,

And all in Feats of Chivalry excell’d.

This noble Youth to Madness lov’d a Dame,

Of high Degree, Honoria was her Name;

Fair as the Fairest, but of haughty Mind,

And fiercer than became so soft a kind;

Proud of her Birth; (for equal she had none;)

The rest she scorn’d; but hated him alone.

His Gifts, his constant Courtship, nothing gain’d;

For she, the more he lov’d, the more disdain’d:

He liv’d with all the Pomp he cou’d devise,

At Tilts and Turnaments obtain’d the Prize,

But found no favour in his Ladies Eyes:

Relentless as a Rock, the lofty Maid

Turn’d all to Poyson that he did, or said:

Nor Pray’rs, nor Tears, nor offer’d Vows could move;

The Work went backward; and the more he strove

T’ advance his Sute, the farther from her Love.

Weary’d at length, and wanting Remedy,

He doubted oft, and oft resolv’d to die.

But Pride stood ready to prevent the Blow,

For who would die to gratify a Foe?

His generous Mind disdain’d so mean a Fate;

That pass’d, his next Endeavour was to Hate.

But vainer that Relief than all the rest;

The less he hop’d, with more Desire possessed;

Love stood the Siege, and would not yield his Breast.

Change was the next, but change deceiv’d his Care,

He sought a Fairer, but found none so Fair.

He would have worn her out by slow degrees,

As Men by Fasting starve th’ untam’d Disease:

But present Love requir’d a present Ease.

Looking he feeds alone his famish’d Eyes,

Feeds lingring Death, but, looking not, he dies.

Yet still he chose the longest way to Fate,

Wasting at once his Life, and his Estate.

His Friends beheld, and pity’d him in vain,

For what Advice can ease a Lover’s Pain!

Absence, the best Expedient they could find

Might save the Fortune, if not cure the Mind:

This Means they long propos’d, but little gain’d,

Yet after much pursuit, at length obtain’d.

Hard, you may think it was, to give consent,

But, struggling with his own Desires, he went;

With large Expence, and with a pompous Train,

Provided, as to visit France or Spain,

Or for some distant Voyage o’er the Main.

But Love had clipp’d his Wings, and cut him short,

Confin’d within the purlieus of his Court:

Three Miles he went, nor farther could retreat;

His Travels ended at his Country-Seat:

To Chassis pleasing Plains he took his way,

There pitch’d his Tents, and there resolv’d to stay.

The Spring was in the Prime; the neighb’ring Grove

Supply’d with Birds, the Choristers of Love:

Musick unbought, that minister’d Delight

To Morning-walks, and lull’d his Cares by Night:

There he discharg’d his Friends; but not th’ Expence

Of frequent Treats, and proud Magnificence.

He liv’d as Kings retire, though more at large,

From publick Business, yet with equal Charge;

With House, and Heart still open to receive;

As well content, as Love would give him leave:

He would have liv’d more free; but many a Guest,

Who could forsake the Friend, pursu’d the Feast.

It happ’d one Morning, as his Fancy led,

Before his usual Hour, he left his Bed;

To walk within a lonely Lawn, that stood

On ev’ry side surrounded by the Wood:

Alone he walk’d, to please his pensive Mind,

And sought the deepest Solitude to find:

’Twas in a Grove of spreading Pines he stray’d,

The Winds, within the quiv’ring Branches plaid,

And Dancing-Trees a mournful Musick made.

The Place it self was suiting to his Care,

Uncouth and Salvage as the cruel Fair.

He wander’d on, unknowing where he went,

Lost in the Wood, and all on Love intent:

The Day already half his Race had run,

And summon’d him to due Repast at Noon,

But Love could feel no Hunger but his own.

While list’ning to the murm’ring Leaves he stood,

More than a Mile immers’d within the Wood,

At once the Wind was laid; the whisp’ring sound

Was dumb; a rising Earthquake rock’d the Ground:

With deeper Brown the Grove was overspred,

A sudden Horror seiz’d his giddy Head,

And his Ears tinckled, and his Colour fled.

Nature was in alarm; some Danger nigh

Seem’d threaten’d, though unseen to mortal Eye:

Unus’d to fear, he summon’d all his Soul,

And stood collected in himself, and whole:

Not long: For soon a Whirlwind rose around,

And from afar he heard a screaming sound,

As of a Dame distress’d, who, cry’d for Aid,

And fill’d with loud Laments the secret Shade.

A Thicket close beside the Grove there stood,

With Breers and Brambles choak’d, and dwarfish Wood:

From thence the Noise: Which now approaching near

With more distinguish’d Notes invades his Ear:

He rais’d his Head, and saw a beauteous Maid,

With Hair dishevell’d issuing through the Shade;

Stripp’d of her Cloaths, and e’en those Parts reveal’d

Which modest Nature keeps from Sight conceal’d

Her Face, her Hands, her naked Limbs were torn,

With passing through the Brakes, and prickly Thorn:

Two Mastiffs gaunt and grim, her Flight pursu’d,

And oft their fasten’d Fangs in Blood embru’d:

Oft they came up, and pinch’d her tender Side,

Mercy, O Mercy, Heav’n, she ran, and cry’d;

When Heav’n was nam’d, they loos’d their Hold again

Then sprung she forth, they follow’d her amain.

Not far behind, a Knight of swarthy Face,

High on a Coal-black Steed pursu’d the Chace;

With flashing Flames his ardent Eyes were fill’d,

And in his Hands a naked Sword he held:

He chear’d the Dogs to follow her who fled,

And vow’d Revenge on her devoted Head.

As Theodore was born of noble Kind,

The Brutal Action rowz’d his manly Mind:

Mov’d with unworthy Usage of the Maid,

He, though unarm’d, resolv’d to give her Aid.

A Saplin Pine he wrench’d from out the Ground,

The readiest Weapon that his Fury found.

Thus, furnish’d for Offence, he cross’d the way

Betwixt the graceless Villain, and his Prey.

The Knight came thund’ring on, but from afar

Thus in imperious Tone forbad the War:

Cease, Theodore, to proffer vain Relief,

Nor stop the vengeance of so just a Grief;

But give me leave to seize my destin’d Prey,

And let eternal Justice take the way:

I but revenge my Fate; disdain’d, betray’d,

And suff’ring Death for this ungrateful Maid.

He say’d, at once dismounting from the Steed;

For now the Hell-hounds with superiour Speed

Had reach’d the Dame, and fast’ning on her Side,

The Ground with issuing Streams of Purple dy’d.

Stood Theodore Surpriz’d in deadly Fright,

With chatt’ring Teeth, and bristling Hair upright;

Yet arm’d with inborn Worth, What e’er said he,

Thou art, who know’st me better than I thee;

Or prove thy rightful Cause, or be defy’d.

The Spectre, fiercely staring, thus reply’d.

Know, Theodore, thy Ancestry I claim,

And Guido Cavalcanti was my Name.

One common Sire our Fathers did beget,

My Name and Story some remember yet:

Thee, then a Boy, within my Arms I laid,

When for my Sins I lov’d this haughty Maid;

Not less ador’d in Life, nor serv’d by Me,

Than proud Honoria now is lov’d by Thee.

What did I not her stubborn Heart to gain?

But all my Vows were answer’d with Disdain;

She scorn’d my Sorrows, and despis’d my Pain.

Long time I dragg’d my Days in fruitless Care,

Then loathing Life, and plung’d in deep Despair,

To finish my unhappy Life, I fell

On this sharp Sword, and now am damn’d in Hell.

Short was her Joy; for soon th’ insulting Maid

By Heav’n’s Decree in the cold Grave was laid,

And as in unrepenting Sin she dy’d,

Doom’d to the same bad Place, is punish’d for her Pride;

Because she deem’d I well deserv’d to die,

And made a Merit of her Cruelty.

There, then, we met; both try’d, and both were cast,

And this irrevocable Sentence pass’d;

That she whom I so long pursu’d in vain,

Should suffer from my Hands a lingring Pain:

Renew’d to Life, that she might daily die,

I daily doom’d to follow, she to fly;

No more a Lover but a mortal Foe,

I seek her Life (for Love is none below:)

As often as my Dogs with better speed

Arrest her Flight, is she to Death decreed:

Then with this fatal Sword on which I dy’d,

I pierce her open’d Back or tender Side,

And tear that harden’d Heart from out her Breast,

Which, with her Entrails, makes my hungry Hounds a Feast.

Nor lies she long, but as her Fates ordain,

Springs up to Life, and fresh to second Pain,

Is sav’d to Day, to Morrow to be slain.

This, vers’d in Death, th’ infernal Knight relates,

And then for Proof fulfill’d their common Fates;

Her Heart and Bowels through her Back he drew,

And fed the Hounds that help’d him to pursue.

Stern look’d the Fiend, as frustrate of his Will,

Not half suffic’d, and greedy yet to kill.

And now the Soul expiring through the Wound,

Had left the Body breathless on the Ground,

When thus the grisly Spectre spoke again:

Behold the Fruit of ill-rewarded Pain:

As many Months as I sustain’d her Hate,

So many Years is she condemn’d by Fate

To daily Death; and ev’ry several Place,

Conscious of her Disdain, and my Disgrace,

Must witness her just Punishment; and be

A Scene of Triumph and Revenge to me.

As in this Grove I took my last Farewel,

As on this very spot of Earth I fell,

As Friday saw me die, so she my Prey

Becomes ev’n here, on this revolving Day.

Thus while he spoke, the Virgin from the Ground

Upstarted fresh, already clos’d the Wound,

And unconcern’d for all she felt before,

Precipitates her Flight along the Shore:

The Hell-hounds, as ungorg’d with Flesh and Blood

Pursue their Prey, and seek their wonted Food:

The Fiend remounts his Courser; mends his Pace,

And all the Vision vanish’d from the Place.

Long stood the noble Youth oppress’d with Awe

And stupid at the wond’rous Things he saw

Surpassing common Faith; transgressing Nature’s Law.

He would have been asleep, and wish’d to wake.

But Dreams, he knew, no long Impression make,

Though strong at first: If Vision, to what end,

But such as must his future State portend?

His Love the Damsel, and himself the Fiend.

But yet reflecting that it could not be

From Heav’n, which cannot impious Acts decree,

Resolv’d within him self to shun the Snare

Which hell for his Distruction did prepare;

And as his better Genius should direct

From an ill Cause to draw a good effect.

Inspir’d from Heav’n he homeward took his way,

Nor pall’d his new Design with long delay;

But of his Train a trusty Servant sent,

To call his Friends together at his Tent.

They came, and usual Salutations paid,

With Words premeditated thus he said:

What you have often counsell’d, to remove

My vain pursuit of unregarded Love;

By Thrift my sinking Fortune to repair,

Tho’ late, yet is at last become my Care:

My Heart shall be my own; my vast Expence

Reduc’d to bounds, by timely Providence:

This only I require; invite for me

Honoria, with her Father’s Family,

Her Friends, and mine; the Cause I shall display,

On Friday next, for that’s th’ appointed Day.

Well pleas’d were all his Friends, the Task was light;

The Father, Mother, Daughter they invite

Hardly the Dame was drawn to this repast;

But yet resolv’d, because it was the last.

The Day was come; the Guests invited came,

And, with the rest, th’ inexorable Dame:

A Feast prepar’d with riotous Expence,

Much Cost, more Care, and most Magnificence.

The Place ordain’d was in that haunted Grove

Where the revenging Ghost pursu’d his Love:

The Tables in a proud Pavilion spread,

With Flow’rs below, and Tissue overhead:

The rest in rank; Honoria chief in place

Was artfully contriv’d to set her Face

To front the Thicket and behold the Chace.

The Feast was serv’d; the time so well forecast,

That just when the Dessert, and Fruits were plac’d,

The Fiend’s Alarm began; the hollow sound

Sung in the Leaves, the Forest shook around,

Air blacken’d; rowl’d the Thunder; groan’d the ground.

Nor long before the loud Laments arise,

Of one distress’d, and Mastiffs mingled Cries;

And first the Dame came rushing through the Wood,

And next the famish’d Hounds that sought their Food

And grip’d her Flanks, and oft essay’d their Jaws in Blood.

Last came the Fellon on the Sable Steed,

Arm’d with his naked Sword, and urg’d his Dogs to speed:

She ran, and cry’d; her Flight directly bent,

(A Guest unbidden) to the fatal Tent,

The Scene of Death, and Place ordain’d for Punishment.

Loud was the Noise, aghast was every Guest,

The Women shriek’d, the Men forsook the Feast;

The Hounds at nearer distance hoarsely bay’d;

The Hunter close pursu’d the visionary Maid,

She rent the Heav’n with loud Laments, imploring Aid.

The Gallants, to protect the Ladies right,

Their Fauchions brandish’d at the grisly Spright;

High on his Stirups, he provok’d the Fight.

Then on the Crowd he cast a furious Look,

And wither’d all their Strength before he strook:

Back on your Lives; let be, said he, my Prey,

And let my Vengeance take the destin’d way.

Vain are your Arms, and vainer your Defence,

Against th’ eternal Doom of Providence:

Mine is th’ ungrateful Maid by Heav’n design’d:

Mercy she would not give, nor Mercy shall she find.

At this the former Tale again he told

With thund’ring Tone, and dreadful to behold:

Sunk were their Hearts with Horror of the Crime,

Nor needed to be warn’d a second time,

But bore each other back; some knew the Face,

And all had heard the much lamented Case

Of him who fell for Love, and this the fatal Place.

And now th’ infernal Minister advanc’d,

Seiz’d the due Victim, and with Fury lanch’d

Her Back, and piercing through her inmost Heart,

Drew backward, as before, th’ offending part.

The reeking Entrails next he tore away,

And to his meagre Mastiffs made a Prey:

The pale Assistants on each other star’d,

With gaping Mouths for issuing Words prepar’d;

The still-born sounds upon the Palate hung,

And dy’d imperfect on the faltring Tongue.

The Fright was general; but the Female Band

(A helpless Train) in more Confusion stand;

With horror shuddring, on a heap they run,

Sick at the sight of hateful Justice done;

For Conscience rung th’ Alarm, and made the Case their own.

So spread upon a Lake, with upward Eye,

A plump of Fowl behold their Foe on high;

They close their trembling Troop; and all attend

On whom the sowsing Eagle will descend.

But most the proud Honoria fear’d th’ Event,

And thought to her alone the Vision sent.

Her Guilt presents to her distracted Mind

Heav’n’s Justice, Theodore’s revengeful Kind,

And the same Fate to the same Sin assign’d;

Already sees her self the Monster’s Prey,

And feels her Heart, and Entrails torn away.

’Twas a mute Scene of Sorrow, mix’d with fear;

Still on the Table lay th’ unfinished Cheer;

The Knight, and hungry Mastiffs stood around,

The mangled Dame lay breathless on the Ground;

When on a suddain reinspired with Breath,

Again she rose, again to suffer Death;

Nor stay’d the Hell-hounds, nor the Hunter stay’d,

But follow’d, as before, the flying Maid:

Th’ Avenger took from Earth th’ avenging Sword,

And mounting light as Air, his Sable Steed he spurr’d:

The Clouds dispell’d, the Sky resum’d her Light,

And Nature stood recover’d of her Fright.

But Fear, the last of Ills, remain’d behind,

And Horror heavy sat on ev’ry Mind.

Nor Theodore incourag’d more his Feast,

But sternly look’d, as hatching in his Breast

Some deep Design, which when Honoria view’d

The fresh Impulse her former Fright renew’d:

She thought her self the trembling Dame who fled,

And him the grisly Ghost that spurr’d th’ infernal Steed:

The more dismay’d, for when the Guests withdrew,

Their courteous Host saluting all the Crew

Regardless passed her o’er; nor grac’d with kind adieu.

That sting infix’d within her haughty Mind,

The downfal of her Empire she divin’d;

And her proud Heart with secret Sorrow pin’d.

Home as they went, the sad Discourse renew’d

Of the relentless Dame to Death pursu’d,

And of the Sight obscene so lately view’d;

None durst arraign the righteous Doom she bore,

Ev’n they who pity’d most yet blam’d her more:

The Parallel they needed not to name,

But in the Dead they damn’d the living Dame.

At ev’ry little Noise she look’d behind,

For still the Knight was present to her Mind:

And anxious oft she started on the way,

And thought the Horseman-Ghost came thundring for his Prey.

Return’d, she took her Bed with little Rest,

But in short Slumbers dreamt the Funeral Feast:

Awak’d, she turned her Side; and slept again,

The same black Vapors mounted in her Brain,

And the same Dreams return’d with double Pain.

Now forc’d to wake because afraid to sleep

Her Blood all Fever’d, with a furious Leap

She sprung from Bed, distracted in her Mind,

And fear’d, at ev’ry Step, a twitching Spright behind.

Darkling and desp’rate, with a stagg’ring pace,

Of Death afraid, and conscious of Disgrace;

Fear, Pride, Remorse, at once her Heart assail’d,

Pride put Remorse to flight, but Fear prevail’d,

Friday, the fatal Day, when next it came,

Her Soul forethought the Fiend would change his Game,

And her pursue, or Theodore be slain,

And two Ghosts join their Packs to hunt her o’er the Plain.

This dreadful Image so possess’d her Mind,

That, desp’rate any Succour else to find,

She ceas’d all farther Hope; and now began

To make reflection on th’ unhappy Man.

Rich, Brave, and Young, who past expression lov’d,

Proof to Disdain; and not to be remov’d:

Of all the Men respected, and admir’d,

Of all the Dames, except her self, desir’d:

Why not of her? Preferr’d above the rest

By him with Knightly Deeds, and open Love profess’d?

So had another been; where he his Vows address’d.

This quell’d her Pride, yet other Doubts remain’d,

That once disdaining she might be disdain’d:

The Fear was just, but greater Fear prevail’d,

Fear of her Life by hellish Hounds assail’d:

He took a low’ring leave; but who can tell

What outward Hate might inward Love conceal?

Her Sexes Arts she knew, and why not then

Might deep dissembling have a place in Men?

Here Hope began to dawn; resolv’d to try,

She fix’d on this her utmost Remedy;

Death was behind, but hard it was to die.

’Twas time enough at last on Death to call;

The Precipice in sight, a Shrub was all,

That kindly stood betwixt to break the fatal fall.

One Maid she had, belov’d above the rest:

Secure of her, the Secret she confess’d:

And now the chearful Light her Fears dispell’d,

She with no winding turns the Truth conceal’d,

But put the Woman off, and stood reveal’d:

With Faults confess’d commission’d her to go,

If Pity yet had place, and reconcile her Foe.

The welcom Message made, was soon receiv’d;

’Twas what he wish’d, and hop’d, but scarce believ’d;

Fate seem’d a fair occasion to present,

He knew the Sex, and fear’d she might repent,

Should he delay the moment of Consent.

There yet remain’d to gain her Friends (a Care

The modesty of Maidens well might spare;)

But she with such a Zeal the Cause embrac’d,

(As Women where they will, are all in hast,)

That Father, Mother, and the Kin beside,

Were overborn by Fury of the Tide:

With full consent of all, she chang’d her State,

Resistless in her Love, as in her Hate.

By her Example warn’d, the rest beware;

More Easy, less Imperious, were the Fair;

And that one Hunting which the Devil design’d,

For one fair Female, lost him half the Kind.