Patricia Routledge & St John the Evangelist

 

William Butler Yeats & Kathleen Raine

 

Shakespeare Shakespeare Shakespeare

Forever and Ever

 

Unknown Poet (S XIV) : "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight"

. . .

Spelling my troubles, except just this:

Tomorrow I'm going to the green man and his axe,

Tomorrow without fail, as God guides me."

And the best of Arthur's knights came to him,

Iwain, and Eric, and many more, 

Sir Dodinel de Sauvage, the Duke of Clarence,

Lancelot, and Lionel, and Lucan the Good,

Sir Bors, and Sir Bedivere ---strong men, both---

And other proud knights, with Mador de la Port.

They came to the king, all of them, to counsel

Gawain, but their hearts were heavy. In secret

Thoughts, that day, Arthur's hall

Rang with silent lament, sorrow

For so good a man as Gawain, on so hard

                                                       A quest.

                 But Gawain only smiled:

                 "Should I waste my time

                 With fear? Wether pleasant or wild,

                 Fate [Love] must be put to the test."

So he rested that day, then rose the next morning

And at dawn called for his armor. It was brought,

But first a rich red rug was spread

On the floor: gold armor gleamed where it lay.

Then Gawain stepped forward, took steel in his

    hands,

And over a doublet of Tharsia silk

Fastened a hood, tied at the neck

And lined inside with thick fur. Then hammered 

Steel shoes were set on his feet, and his legs 

Wrapped all around with well-hinged metal,

With armored knee-plates, polished bright

And fastened tight by golden cords;

Thigh-plates, elegant and thick, closed

Around his strong muscles, and were laced

In place. And then his mail-shirt, metal,

Woven like silk, hung shimmering on his chest,

And polished arm-pieces, and beautifully bent

Elbow joints, and steel gloves,

And all the equipment he needed, and owned,

                                                       For that ride,

                Draped with heraldic designs---

                And gold spurs on his feet,

                And his good sword at his side,

                And a sash belted neat.

And  Gawain's gear shone rich, the smallest

Laces and loops glowing with gold.

Ready in armor, he stood at the altar 

For mass to be chanted, then came to the king

And the assembled knights of Arthur's court,

And took courteous leave of lords and ladies,

Who kissed him, commended him to Christ, then

    walked him

There where Gringolet stood ready, his saddle 

Of gleaming leather, hung with gold,

Studded with new nails, and a stripped bridle,

Trimmed and tied with gold. And Gringolet's

Breast-plates, and shining saddle-skirts,

And tail-armor, and the cloth on his back, matched

His saddle-bows, all set on a background

Of rich gold nails that glittered like the sun.

Then Gawain lifted his lined helmet,

Sewn like steel, and quickly kissed it;

It sat high on his head, clasped behind,

With delicate embroidered silk on the neckband,

Decorated with jewels along its length

And with birds stitched on the seams, parrots

Perched among painted purple flowers,

And turtle doves, and lovers' knots

So thick that ladies could have sewn them for seven

                                                         Winters.

                   And around the top

                   Of his helmet were a crop

                   Of diamonds, brown and white, sprinkled

                   In a magic knot.

Then they carried in his shield, striped with bright

    red;

A pentangle star, painted pure gold,

Shone at its center. He swings it by the belt,

Then tosses it across his neck. And the sign 

Of that star, its perfect points, fitted

That prince, and I'll tell you how, though it hold up

This tale. Solomon shaped that star---

Triangles blended in triangles---as a symbol

Of truth, for each of its angles enfold

The other, and fastens the other, five

In all and everywhere endless (and everywhere 

In England called the infinite knot).

And Gawain wears it by right, on his bright 

Armor, faithful five ways and each way

Five times, a noble knight, as pure

As gold, as good as any knight in any gleaming

                                                      Castle

                 And worthy of that star,

                 The noblest of men in asking

                 And telling, the hardest

                 For words to baffle.

His five senses were free of sin;

His five fingers never failed him;

And all his earthly hope was in Christ's

Five wounds on the cross, as our creed tells us;

And whenever he stood in battle his mind

Was fixed, above all things, on the five

Joys which Mary had of Jesus,

From which all his courage came---and was why

This fair knight had her face painted

Inside his shield, to stare at Heaven's

Queen and keep his courage high.

And the fifth of his five was love and friendship

For other men, and freedom from sin,

And courtesy that never failed, and pity,

Greatest of knightly virtues---and these noble

Five were the firmest of all in his soul.

And all these fives met in one man,

Joined to each other, each without end, 

Set in five perfect points

Wholly distinct, yet part of one whole

And that whole seamless,  each angle open

And closed, wherever it end or begin.

And so the pentangle glowed on his shield,

Bright red gold across bright red stripes,

The Holy pentangle, as careful scholars 

                                                        Call it.

                  And Gawain was ready,

                  And his lance steady

From  Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

Translation by Burton Raffel, Signet Classics

Signet & Mentor Books 1948: "Good Reading for the Millions"

Katherine of Aragon : Letter to her Daughter Mary - 1574

"Daughter, 

I heard such tidings today that I do perceive (if it be true) the time is very near when Almighty God will prove you; and I am very glad of it for I doth trust he doth handle you with a good love. I beseech you, agree of His pleasure with a merry heart; and be sure that, without fail, He will not suffer you to perish if you beware to offend Him. I pray you, good daughter, to offer yourself to Him....... And if this lady [Shelton] do come to you as is spoken, if she do bring you a letter from the King, I am sure in the self same letter you shall be commanded what you shall do. Answer with few words, obeying the King, your father, in everything, save only that you will not offend God and lose your own soul; and go no further with learning and disputation in the matter. And wheresoever, and in whatsoever, company you shall come, observe the King's commandments.

But one thing I especially desire you, for the love that you do owe unto God and unto me, to keep your heart with a chaste mind, and your body from all ill and wanton company [not] thinking or desiring any husband for Christ's passion; neither determine yourself to any manner of living till this troublesome time be past. For I dare make sure that you shall see a very good end, and better than you can desire....... And now you shall begin, and by likelihood I shall follow. I set not a rush by it; for when they have done the uttermost they can, then I am sure of the amendment....... we never come to the kingdom of Heaven but by troubles. Daughter wheresoever you come, take no pain to send unto me, for if I may, I will send to you,

Your loving mother,

Katherine the Queen"

The Freelance History Writer  January 12, 2018

Susan Abernethy

...

 

Image (before edit): WIKIPEDIA

Thomas Carew (1595 - 1640) : "A Song : Ask me no more"

 

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,

When June is past, the fading rose;

For in your beauty's orient deep

These flowers as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither doth stray

The golden atoms of the day;

For in pure love heaven did prepare

Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste

The nightingale when May is past;

For in your sweet dividing throat

She winters and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars light

That downwards fall in dead of night;

For in your eyes they sit, and there,

Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west

The phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom dies.

The Poetry Foundation