Of the tough ash, with the sharp-grinded spear;
  But knights unhorsed may rise from off the plain,
  And fight on foot their honour to regain;
  Nor, if at mischief taken, on the ground
  Be slain, but prisoners to the pillar bound,
  At either barrier placed; nor (captives made),
  Be freed, or arm’d anew the fight invade. 
  The chief of either side, bereft of life, 520
  Or yielded to his foe, concludes the strife. 
  Thus dooms the lord:  now, valiant knights and young,
  Fight each his fill with swords and maces long.

    The herald ends:  the vaulted firmament
  With loud acclaims and vast applause is rent: 
  Heaven guard a prince so gracious and so good,
  So just, and yet so provident of blood! 
  This was the general cry.  The trumpets sound,
  And warlike symphony is heard around. 
  The marching troops through Athens take their way, 530
  The great earl-marshal orders their array. 
  The fair from high the passing pomp behold;
  A rain of flowers is from the windows roll’d. 
  The casements are with golden tissue spread,
  And horses’ hoofs, for earth, on silken tapestry tread. 
  The king goes midmost, and the rivals ride
  In equal rank, and close his either side. 
  Next after these, there rode the royal wife,
  With Emily, the cause, and the reward of strife. 
  The following cavalcade, by three and three, 540
  Proceed by titles marshall’d in degree. 
  Thus through the southern gate they take their way,
  And at the list arrived ere prime of day. 
  There, parting from the king, the chiefs divide,
  And wheeling east and west, before their many ride. 
  The Athenian monarch mounts his throne on high,
  And after him the queen and Emily: 
  Next these, the kindred of the crown are graced
  With nearer seats, and lords by ladies placed. 
  Scarce were they seated, when with clamours loud 550
  In rush’d at once a rude promiscuous crowd;
  The guards, and then each other overbear,
  And in a moment throng the spacious theatre. 
  Now changed the jarring noise to whispers low,
  As winds forsaking seas more softly blow;
  When at the western gate, on which the car
  Is placed aloft, that bears the god of war,
  Proud Arcite entering arm’d before his train,
  Stops at the barrier, and divides the plain. 
  Red was his banner, and display’d abroad 560
  The bloody colours of his patron god.

    At that self moment enters Palamon
  The gate of Venus, and the rising Sun;
  Waved by the wanton winds, his banner flies,
  All maiden white, and shares the people’s eyes. 
  From east to west, look all the world around,
  Two troops so match’d were never to be found;
  Such bodies built for strength, of equal age,
  In stature sized; so proud in equipage: 
  The nicest eye could no distinction make, 570
  Where lay the advantage, or what side to take.