University of Virginia Library

After the deth of Tholome the kyng,
That al Egipt hadde in his governyng,
Regned his queene Cleopataras;
Tyl on a tyme befel there swich a cas
That out of Rome was sent a senatour
For to conqueren regnes and honour
Unto the toun of Rome, as was usaunce,
To han the world at hire obesaunce,
And soth to seyne, Antonius was his name.
So fil it, as Fortune hym oughte a shame,
Whan he was fallen in prosperite
Rebel unto the toun of Rome is he.
And over al this, the suster of Cesar,
He lafte hire falsly, or that she was war,
And wolde algates han another wyf,
For which he tok with Rome and Cesar stryf.
Natheles, for sothe, this ilke senatour
Was a ful worthy gentil werreyour,
And of his deth it was ful gret damage.
But love hadde brought this man in swich a rage
And hym so narwe bounden in his las,
Al for the love of Cleopataras,
That al the world he sette at no value.
Hym thoughte there nas nothyng to hym so due
As Cleopatras for to love and serve;
Hym roughte nat in armes for to sterve
In the defence of hyre and of hire ryght.
This noble queene ek lovede so this knyght,
Thourgth his desert, and for his chyvalrye;
As certeynly, but if that bokes lye,
He was, of persone and of gentillesse,
And of discrecioun and hardynesse,
Worthi to any wyght that liven may;
And she was fayr as is the rose in May.
And, for to make shortly is the beste,
Thourgh his desert, and for his chyvalrye;
She wax his wif, and hadde hym as hire leste.

The weddynge and the feste to devyse,
To me, that have ytake swich empryse
Of so many a story for to make,
It were to longe, lest that I shulde slake
Of thyng that bereth more effect and charge;
For men may overlade a ship or barge.
And forthy to th'effect thanne wol I skyppe,
And al the remenaunt, I wol lete it slippe.

Octovyan, that wod was of this dede,
Shop hym an ost on Antony to lede
Al uterly for his destruccioun,
With stoute Romeyns, crewel as lyoun;
To ship they wente, and thus I lat hem sayle.
Antonius was war, and wol nat fayle
To meten with these Romeyns, if he may;
Tok ek his red, and bothe, upon a day,
His wif and he, and al his ost, forth wente
To shipe anon, no lengere they ne stente;
And in the se it happede hem to mete.
Up goth the trompe, and for to shoute and shete,
And peynen hem to sette on with the sunne.
With grysely soun out goth the grete gonne,
And heterly they hurtelen al atones,
And from the top doun come the grete stones.
In goth the grapenel, so ful of crokes;
Among the ropes renne the sherynge-hokes.
In with the polax preseth he and he;
Byhynde the mast begynnyth he to fle,
And out ageyn, and dryveth hym overbord;
He styngeth hym upon his speres ord;
He rent the seyl with hokes lyke a sithe;
He bryngeth the cuppe and biddeth hem be blythe;
He poureth pesen upon the haches slidere;
With pottes ful of lyme they gon togidere;
And thus the longe day in fyght they spende,
Tyl at the laste, as every thyng hath ende,
Antony is schent and put hym to the flyghte,
And al his folk to-go that best go myghte.

Fleth ek the queen, with al hire purpre sayl,
For strokes, whiche that wente as thikke as hayl;
No wonder was she myghte it nat endure.
And whan that Antony saw that aventure,
"Allas," quod he, "the day that I was born!
My worshipe in this day thus have I lorn."
And for dispeyr out of his wit he sterte
And rof hymself anon thourghout the herte
Or that he ferther wente out of the place.
His wif, that coude of Cesar have no grace,
To Egipt is fled for drede and for destresse.
But herkeneth, ye that speken of kyndenesse,
Ye men that falsly sweren many an oth
That ye wol deye if that youre love be wroth,
Here may ye sen of wemen which a trouthe!
This woful Cleopatre hath mad swich routhe
That ther is tonge non that may it telle.
But on the morwe she wolde no lengere dwelle,
But made hire subtyl werkmen make a shryne
Of alle the rubyes and the stones fyne
In al Egypte that she coude espie,
And putte ful the shryne of spicerye,
And let the cors enbaume, and forth she fette
This dede cors, and in the shryne it shette.
And next the shryne a pit thanne doth she grave,
And alle the serpentes that she myghte have,
She putte hem in that grave, and thus she seyde:
"Now, love, to whom my sorweful herte obeyde
So ferforthly that from that blisful houre
That I yow swor to ben al frely youre —
I mene yow, Antonius, my knyght —
That nevere wakynge, in the day or nyght,
Ye nere out of myn hertes remembraunce,
For wel or wo, for carole or for daunce;
And in myself this covenaunt made I tho,
That ryght swich as ye felten, wel or wo,
As fer forth as it in my power lay,
Unreprovable unto my wyfhod ay,
The same wolde I fele, lyf or deth —
And thilke covenant whil me lasteth breth
I wol fulfille; and that shal ben wel sene,
Was nevere unto hire love a trewer quene."
And with that word, naked, with ful good herte,
Among the serpents in the pit she sterte,
And there she ches to have hire buryinge.
Anon the nadderes gonne hire for to stynge,
And she hire deth receyveth with good cheere
For love of Antony that was hire so dere.
And this is storyal soth, it is no fable.
Now, or I fynde a man thus trewe and stable,
And wol for love his deth so frely take,
I preye God let oure hedes nevere ake! Amen.