Joy to the first and last of each degree,
Virtue to courts, and, what I longed to see,
To you the Graces, and the Muse to me.

O daughter of the Rose, whose cheeks unite
The differing titles of the Red and White;
Who heaven's alternate beauty well display,
The blush of morning and the milky way;
Whose face is Paradise, but fenced from sin;
For God in either eye has placed a cherubin.

All is your lord's alone; even absent, he
Employs the care of chaste Penelope.
For him you waste in tears your widowed hours,
For him your curious needle paints the flowers;
Such works of old imperial dames were taught,
Such for Ascanius fair Elisa wrought.
The soft recesses of your hours improve
The three fair pledges of your happy love:
All other parts of pious duty done,
You owe your Ormond nothing but a son,
To fill in future times his father's place,
And wear the garter of his mother's race.

PALAMON AND ARCITE;
OR, THE KNIGHT'S TALE.

FROM CHAUCER.

BOOK I.