Analysis of Theodore And Honoria. From Boccace



Of all the cities in Romanian lands,
The chief and most renowned Ravenna stands;
Adorned in ancient times with arms and arts,
And rich inhabitants with generous hearts.
But Theodore the brave, above the rest,
With gifts of fortune and of nature blessed,
The foremost place for wealth and honour held,
And all in feats of chivalry excelled.

This noble youth to madness loved a dame
Of high degree, Honoria was her name;
Fair as the fairest, but of haughty mind,
And fiercer than became so soft a kind;
Proud of her birth (for equal she had none),
The rest she scorned, but hated him alone;
His gifts, his constant courtship, nothing gained;
For she, the more he loved, the more disdained,
He lived with all the pomp he could devise,
At tilts and turnaments obtained the prize,
But found no favour in his lady's eyes:
Relentless as a rock, the lofty maid
Turned all to poison that he did or said:
Nor prayers nor tears nor offered vows could move;
The work went backward; and the more he strove
To advance his suit, the farther from her love.

Wearied at length, and wanting remedy,
He doubted oft, and oft resolved to die.
But pride stood ready to prevent the blow,
For who would die to gratify a foe?
His generous mind disdained so mean a fate;
That passed, his next endeavour was to hate.
But vainer that relief than all the rest;
The less he hoped, with more desire possessed;
Love stood the siege, and would not yield his breast.

Change was the next, but change deceived his care;
He sought a fairer, but found none so fair.
He would have worn her out by slow degrees,
As men by fasting starve the untamed disease;
But present love required a present ease.
Looking, he feeds alone his famished eyes,
Feeds lingering death, but, looking not, he dies.
Yet still he chose the longest way to fate,
Wasting at once his life and his estate.

His friends beheld, and pitied him in vain.
For what advice can ease a lover's pain?
Absence, the best expedient they could find,
Might svae the fortune, if not cure the mind:
This means they long proposed, but little gained,
Yet after much pursuit at length obtained.

Hard you may think it was to give consent,
But struggling with his own desires he went;
With large expense, and with a pompous train,
Provided as to visit Fraunce or Spain,
Or for some distant voyage o'er the main.
But Love had clipped his wings, and cut him short,
Confined within the purlieus of his court.
Three miles he went, nor farther could retreat;
His travels ended at his country seat:
To Chassi's pleasing plains he took his way,
There pitched his tents, and there resolved to stay.

The spring was in the prime, the neighbouring grove
Supplied with birds, the choristers of love;
Music unbought, that ministered delight
To morning walks, and lulled his cares by night:
There he discharged his friends, but not the expense
Of frequent treats and proud magnificence.
He lived as kings retire, though more at large
From public business, yet with equal charge;
With house and heart still open to receive;
As well content as love would give him leave:
He would have lived more free; but many a guest,
Who could forsake the friend, pursued the feast.

It happed one morning, as his fancy led,
Before his usual hour he left his bed,
To walk within a lonely lawn, that stood
On every side surrounded by the wood:
Alone he walked, to please his pensive mind,
And sought the deepest solitude to find;
'Twas in a grove of spreading pines he strayed;
The winds within the quivering branches played,
And dancing trees a mournful music made;
The place it self was suiting to his care,
Uncouth and savage as the cruel fair.
He wandered on, unknowing where he went,
Lost in the wood, and all on love intent:
The day already half his race had run,
And summoned him to due repast at noon,
But Love could feel no hunger but his own.

While listening to the murmuring leaves he stood,
More than a mile immersed within the wood,
At once the wind was laid; the whispering sound
Was dumb; a rising earthquake rocked the ground;
With deeper brown the grove was overspread,
A sudden horror seized his giddy head,
And his ears tinkled, and his colour fled.
Nature was in alarm; some danger nigh
Seemed threatened, though unseen to mortal eye.
Unused to fear, he summoned all his soul,
And stood collected in him self -- and whole;
Not long: for soon a whirlwind rose around,
And from afar he heard a screaming sound,
As of a dame distressed, who cried for aid,<


Scheme AABBCCDD EEFFGHIIJJJKLXMN XOPPQQCCC RRSSSJJQQ TTFFII UUTTTVVWWXX MNYYXAZZ1 1 CX LL2 2 FFKKKRRUUGXH 2 2 3 3 CLLOO4 4 3 3 K
Poetic Form
Metre 11010001001 0101010101 0101011101 01010011001 110010101 1111001101 01111011 0101110001 1101110101 11010100101 1101011101 0101011101 1101110111 0111110101 111101101 1101110101 1111011101 11010101 111101101 0101010101 1111011111 1111110111 0111000111 10111010101 1011010100 1101010111 1111010101 111111001 11001011101 1111010111 111011101 01111101001 1101011111 1101110111 1101011111 1111011101 1111010101 11010100101 1011011101 11001110111 1111010111 1011110101 11101101 1101110101 10010100111 1101011101 1111011101 1101011101 1111111101 110011101011 1101010101 0101110111 11110101001 1111110111 010101111 1111110101 1101011101 111011111 1111010111 011001011 01110111 1011101 1101011111 11011111001 1101011 1111011111 1101011101 1101110101 1110111111 11111111001 1101010101 1111011101 011100101111 1101010111 11001010101 0111111101 010101011 1001110111 01010100101 0101010101 0111110111 1101010101 1101010111 1001011101 0101011111 010111111 1111110111 110010100111 1101010101 11011101001 110101101 11010111 0101011101 011100111 1010011101 1101011101 0111110111 0101001101 111101101 0101110101 1101011111
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 4,352
Words 805
Sentences 24
Stanzas 9
Stanza Lengths 8, 16, 9, 9, 6, 11, 12, 16, 14
Lines Amount 101
Letters per line (avg) 35
Words per line (avg) 8
Letters per stanza (avg) 388
Words per stanza (avg) 89
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

4:02 min read
109

John Dryden

John Dryden was an English poet, literary critic, translator, and playwright who was made Poet Laureate in 1668. more…

All John Dryden poems | John Dryden Books

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