It is the day of Martelmas;
Cups of ale should freely pass.
What though winter has begun
To push down the summer sun?
To our fire we can betake,
And enjoy the crackling brake,
Never heeding winter's face
On the day of Martelmas.
Some do the city now frequent, Where costly shows and merriment Do wear the vapourish evening out With interlude and revelling rout, Such as did pleasure England's queen, When here her royal grace was seen; Yet will they not this day let pass, The merry day of Martelmas.
When the daily sports be done,
Round the market-cross they run,
Prentice lads and gallant blades
Dancing with their gamesome maids;
Till the beadle, stout and sour,
Shakes his bell, and calls the hour;
Then farewell lad and farewell lass
To the merry night of Martelmas.
Martelmas shall come again,
Spite of wind and snow and rain;
But many a strange thing must be done,
Many a cause be lost and won,
Martini rediit sacrum: fluentes
Tempus cervisiae dari culullos.
Qvid si pergat hiems ab arce caeli
Semper deciduum movere solem?
Nobis ante focos erit sedendum;
Nos flammis crepitantibus fruemur
Securi niviumqve flaminumqve,
Martini redeunte luce festa.
Est qvi nunc mediam freqventat urbem,
Qva pompae et celebres ubiqve ludi
Fallunt desidis Hesperi vapores
Mimis, saltubus, omnibus cachinnis:
Qvae, regina, tibi fuere cordi,
Qvom nostris modo lusubus favebas.
At non immemor hic boni diei,
Martinus sibi qvem sacrum dicavit.
Post ludos, abeunte sole, circum
Cursantes titubant crucem forensem
Cum saltantibus ebrii puellis
Bibones operaeqve feriati :
Qveis seram gravis impigerqve custos
Campanam monitor qvatit: iubentqve
Iam sese puer invicem et puella
Martiniqve hilarem valere noctem.
Martiniqve iterum dies redibit,
Qvamvis flabra furant nivesqve et imbres. Sed fient memoranda multa, multi
Stabunt iudicibus cadentqve coram,
Many a tool must leave his pelf,
Many a worldling cheat himself,
And many a marvel come to pass,
Before return of Martelmas.
The Faithless Knight.
To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath:
Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue,
Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me!
Authority forgets a dying king,
Laid widowed of the power in his eye
That bowed the will. I see thee what thou art.
For thou the latest left of all my knights,
In whom should meet the offices of all,
Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt;
Either from lust of gold, or like a girl
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.
Yet for a man may fail in duty twice,
And the third time may prosper, get thee hence:
But if thou spare to fling Excalibur,
I will arise and slay thee with my hands.
Immer zerreisset den Kranz des Homer, und zåhlet die Våter
Des vollendeten ewigen Werks;
Hat es doch Eine Mutter nur, und die Züge der Mutter,
Deine unsterblichen Züge, Natur.
Multus divitias relinqvet Harpax,
Multus se veterator ipse fallet,
Multa vulgus hians stupescet, ante
Martinus sua festa qvam reducet.
Πρὸς ὃν δι ̓ ὀργῆς πικρὸς ἀντηύδησ ̓ ἄναξ·
Ὦ σχέτλιο κὠμόθυμε σύ, ψευδὴς λόγοις
ἔργοισι δ' αἰσχρὸς προδοσίᾳ δὲ δοὺς κέαρ.
φεῦ φεῦ· θανουμένου γὰρ ἡ πειθαρχία
ἄνακτος ἴσχει λῆστιν ὀμμάτων ἀκμῆς
τῆς πρόσθε χηρωθέντος, ἡ φρονήματα
ἔκαμπτεν ἀνδρῶν. οἶδά σ ̓ ὅστις εἶ, σὺ γὰρ
λειφθεὶς φίλων μοι λοίσθιος μόνῳ μόνος,
ἐν ᾧ τὰ πάντων χρῆν λατρεύμαθ ̓ ἁρμόσαι,
σύ μ ̓ ἂν προδοίης χρυσέας κώπης πόθῳ,
κέρδους ἐρασθεὶς ἢ προτιμώσης δίκην
κούρης ματαίαν ὀμμάτων φιληδίαν.
ἀλλ ̓ ἔστι γὰρ δὶς μὴ ποιεῖν ἃ χρὴ ποιεῖν
τρίταις δὲ πείραις εὐτυχεῖν, ἄφερπε σύ
εἰ δ ̓ αὖθις ὀκνεῖς τοῦτ ̓ ἀπορρίψαι ξίφος,
εὐθύς σ ̓ ἀναστὰς αὐτόχειρ ἀποκτενῶ.
Pergite Maeonidae pulcram lacerare coronam, Diviniqve patres enumerare libri :
Unius est matris certe; inmortalia vultus,
O Natura, tui fert documenta liber.
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whisper'd word;
And gentle winds and waters near
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met,
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue,
And in the heaven that clear obscure,
So softly dark and darkly pure,
Which follows the decline of day,
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.
The Man who had Nought.
There was a man, and he had nought,
And robbers came to rob him;
He got up the chimney-top,
And then they thought they had him.
He got down on th' other side,
And then they could not find him; He ran fourteen miles in fifteen days, And never looked behind him.
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