rn this book on or before the 
 5t Date stamped below. 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
 FE3 o62not 
 
PRYDEN'S FABLES 
 
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CAIj VIM B tiAPTC [ r A E D , 
 
FABLES 
 
 7ROM 
 
 BOCCACCIO AND CHAUCER. 
 
 JOHN drydp:n. 
 
 WITH 
 
 A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
less 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE LIFE AND WE.TIK08 
 
 Here let me bend, great Dryden, at thy shrine, 
 Thoii dearest name to all the tuneful Nine! 
 With strong invention, noblest vigour fraught, 
 Tbought still springs up, and rises out oi° thought 
 Numbers ennobling numbers in their course, 
 In varied sweetness flow, in varied force; 
 The powers of genius and of judgment join. 
 Ana the whole art of poetry is thine. 
 
 To jirdge rightly of an author, we must transport 
 Ourselves to his time, and examine what were the 
 wants of his contemporaries, and what were the 
 means of supplying them*. The life of Dryden com- 
 prehends a history of the literature of England, and 
 its changes, during nearly half a century. Our au- 
 thor may be considered as the father of English 
 criticism, as the writer who first taught us to deter- 
 mine upon principles the merit of composition. As 
 he wrote from necessity, he was obliged to pay a 
 
 OF 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 • Johnson's Life of Drydeii. 
 
Ti 
 
 MEMOIRS cur THE 
 
 certain deference to the public opiri-ion ; " for he 
 whose bread depends upon the success of his volume, 
 (says Sir Walter Scott,) is compelled to study popu- 
 larity." Educated in a pedantic taste, Dry den wa« 
 destined, if not to give laws to the stage of England, 
 at least to defend its liberties ; to improve burlesque 
 into satire ; to free translation from the fetters o£ 
 verbal metaphrase, and to exclude it from the license 
 of paraphrase ; to teach ]Tosterity the powerful and 
 varied poetical harmony oi which their language was 
 capable ; to give an example of the lyric Ode of un- 
 approached excellence ; and to leave to English 
 literature a name second only to those of Milton and 
 of Shakspeare*. 
 
 From the time cf the Restonation Will his death, the 
 poet produced yearly some new performance, allowed 
 to be most excellent in the particular style which was 
 fashionable for the time ; therefore, if we would know 
 the gradual changes which took place in English 
 poetry, we must consult the writings of our author. 
 
 John Dryden was born at the parsonage-house of 
 Oldwinkle, near Oundle, in Northamptonshire, on or 
 about the 9th of August, 1631. His father was the 
 third son of Sir Erasmus Driden, bart. of Canons 
 Ashby, in the same county. Our poet appears to 
 have received his education at Westminster, under 
 the celebrated Dr. Busby, with whom he made rapid 
 progress in classical learning. As a task he translated 
 the third satire of Persius, and wrote many pveces as 
 exercises. In 1650, Dryden was admitted in Trinity 
 * Scott Life of DrycJeu. 
 
LIFE AND TTRITINGS OF DRYDEN. fl. 
 
 College, Cambridge, where his conduct was uniformly 
 regular, and in 1653, he took the degree of Bachelor of 
 Arts. His studies, however, were interrupted by the 
 death of his father, in 1654 ; and he left the university 
 to take possession of an estate in Northamptonshire, 
 worth about 60l, per annum; but he subsequently re- 
 turned, and remained in the college until 1657. After 
 i leaving the university, the poet was patronized by Sir 
 I Gilbert Pickering *, who was a stanch refoT<ner, and 
 j assisted Cromwell in his privy-council. Sir Gilbert, 
 however, was not the only relative of Dryden in the 
 court of Ciomwell, as the elder brother of the poet's 
 father held a lucrative situation under the Protector. 
 
 The first theme worthy notice of Dryden's muse, was 
 the death of Cromwell ; and the topics of praise are, 
 generally speaking, such as Cromwell's worst enemies 
 could not have denied him ; but as the poet spared 
 the exiled monarch in his panegyric on the Protector, 
 so, after the Restoration, in his numerous writings 
 on the side of royalty, there is no instance of his re- 
 calling his former praise of Cromwell. With the 
 1 return of the king, the fall of Dryden's patrons was 
 necessarily involved ; therefore, as the poet was then 
 left to his own exertions, he testified his acquiescence 
 i in the Restoration, first by publishin g.4s^?'ea Redux f, 
 j and next, by some verses entitled A Panegyric to his 
 [ Sacred Majesty, and for these poems he was rewarded 
 I oy a handsome gratuity J. 
 
 ' * Sir G. Pickering was cousin-girman to the poet. 
 
 ^ t A poem On the Happy Restoration of his Sacred Majesty, 
 King Charles II. 
 
 t The%e gratuities were accoriling to the fa&hion of the timee. 
 TbuH we find the corporation of Hull hacking a poliu addrsM 
 
viil 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE 
 
 The poet having no settled means of support, (with 
 the exception of his small estate,) he took lodgings of a 
 bookselkr ; and though we are informed that he wrote 
 prefaces and occasional pieces for his landlord, few 
 traces are to be found of the means by which he se- 
 cured his place in society ; the poet, however, M'as 
 much attached to experimental philosophy ; and, as one 
 proof of the respect in which he was held by learned 
 men, he \^*as chosen a member of the Royal Society. 
 Dryden now became fully sensible that it was ne- 
 cessary he should apply his talents in some line, in 
 which he might derive a more steady and certain 
 recompense, than by being a literary labourer to a 
 bookseller. Accordingly, his next poem was of greater 
 length and importance ; this was Annus MirabiliSy 
 (the Year of Wonders). In this piece he excelled 
 his contemporaries in powers of composition ; the 
 lines and the versification were highly polished, and 
 the expression was carefully corrected. *' The Annus 
 Mirabilis (says Johnson) may be esteemed as one of 
 Pryden's elaborate pieces." 
 
 Compelled, undoubtedly, by necessity, (for he does 
 not appear to have ever been much pleased with his 
 dramas,) he commenced writing for the stage ; '* and 
 when he once invaded the stage (says Johnson) he 
 kept possession of it for many years, not indeed with- 
 out the competition of rivals, who sometimes prevailed, 
 or the ceiisure of critics, which was often poignant and 
 just ; but with such a degree of reputation, as made 
 him secure of being heard, whatever might be the final 
 
 to the Dul<e of r ionmouth, their governor, with a present of 
 fix broad pieces. 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF DRYDEN. ll 
 
 determination of the public. I wisli (continues the 
 Doctor) that tnere were no necessity of following the 
 progress of his theatrical fame, or of tracing the 
 meanders of his mind through the series of his dra- 
 matic performances ; it will be fit, however, to enu- 
 merate them, and to take especial notice of those 
 which are distinguished by any peculiarity; for the 
 composition and fate of twenty-eight dramas include 
 too much of a poetical life to be oaiitted." 
 
 His first piece was the comedy of The Wild Gallant, 
 which was acted in 1662-3 without success; but the 
 beautiful Duchess of Cleveland extended her protec- 
 tion to the unfortunate performance, and caused it to 
 be played more than once before Charles II.* 
 
 The Rival Ladies, a play in rhyme, was our author's 
 next dramatic essay ; it was acted in l663, and pub- 
 lished in the year following, with a dedication to the 
 Earl of Orrery. This tragi-comedy was well received, 
 and probably of some advantage to the author. In 
 1663-4, he assisted Sir Robert Hovvard in the campo- 
 sition of a rhyming play, called The Indian Queen, 
 which was acted with great applause f. — In 1660, The 
 Indian Emperor was produced, which drew upon the 
 author the attention of the public in an eminent 
 degree. It ia a tragedy in rhyme, and was dedicated 
 to the Duchess of Monmouth, who had it in her power 
 
 * This piece furnished matter foT a lively scene in The Re- 
 hearsal, of whicti mention will presently be made. 
 
 + Our author's friendship with Sir R. Hovvard, introduced 
 him 10 the family of the Earl of Berkshire, and the poet seon 
 gained the atfrctioiisofthe^earl 's eldest d-aug;hter ; the matth, 
 however, was not altogether agreeable to the lady's family, 
 nor was mutuiil hippiness found bj the parties who had 
 lormed the en(j;agem ::ui. 
 
X MEMOIRS OK THE 
 
 ti/ serve Dryden witk some effect. — In the same 
 year, he published his celebrated Essay on Dramatic 
 Poetry ; an elegant and an instructive composition, 
 which he carefully revised in 1684, and then dedi- 
 cated it to Lord Bwickhurst. Dryden 's fame as an 
 author was droubtless exalted by his Essay on Dra- 
 matic Poesy, which showed tliat he could not only 
 write plays, but defend them when written : and it 
 was probably after the Essay appeared, that our 
 author entered into a contract with the King's Com- 
 pany of players, to produce three plays in the course 
 of the vear*. — In 1667, The IMaiden Queen, a tragi- 
 comedy, was represented ; and the credit of the piece 
 was redeemed by the comic part, which is a light and 
 an airy representation of the fashionable and licentious 
 manners of the times in which the piece was written. 
 This drama was followed by The Tempest, an altera- 
 tion of the play by Shakspeare, in which Dryden as- 
 sisted Sir William Davenant ; and The Tempest 
 .seems to have succeeded to the utmost wish of the 
 authors f. — Sir Martin Mar-all was our author's next 
 production, which was attended with complete suc- 
 cess, as it was played four times at court, and above 
 thirty times at the theatre J. I'he Evening's Love, 
 or the Mock Astrologer, was also produced in I668; 
 
 * In consideration of this enirapcment, Dryilen was admitted 
 to hold a share in the profiisof the theatre ; but thepoet niver 
 produced more than half the quantity contracted for. Dr. 
 Johnson says, the agreement was for four plays in each year. 
 
 t As a counterpart of Shakspeare's pJot, the authors iiitr«»- 
 diied a man who had never seen a women, and also furui»li«i^ 
 Caliban with^a monster sister. • 
 
 t This play was produced in 1668 ; but it did cot •pv^U 
 with Dryden's name until 1697. 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF DBTDEN, 
 
 and in the preface to this piece, he justified hirasell 
 from the charge of plagiarism. — The poet was bow ?o 
 much distinguished, that in 1668, he succeeded S-ii W. 
 Davenant, as poet-laureat*. — Tyrannic Love, or the 
 Royal I\Iartyr, was acted in 1069, a heroic tragedy, 
 and had a large share of applause. He next pro- 
 duced (in I67O-I) those two singular plays, The Con- 
 quest of Granada, "written (says Johnson) with a 
 determination to glut the public with dramatic won* 
 ders but both these plays were received with en- 
 thusiastic applause. 
 
 ! Dryden, however, was now to experience the incon- 
 veniences of elevation, and to sustain an attack upoa 
 the style of wdting which he had practised. The 
 witty farce of The Rehearsal was produced by the 
 joint efforts of the Duke of Buckingham, Butler, the 
 author of Hudibras, Sprat, afterwards Bishop of Ro- 
 chester, and Martin Clifford, afterwards Master of the 
 Charter-house ; and that the public might be at no 
 loss to assign the character of Bayes to the laureat, 
 all Dryden' s best plays were parodied, his peculiarities 
 of language were .strictly copied, and the actor wore a 
 dress exactly resembling the poet's usual habit f. 
 The play met with a stormy reception, on the first 
 night of representation ; but finally the audience w-aa 
 
 • The office of rovtal historiographer became vacant in 166fi, 
 and the situation of' poet-laureat in 166S. These two offices, 
 with a salary of 200Z., and an annual butt of Canary, were con- 
 ferred upon Dryden, " for bis learning, and eminent abilities, 
 and his great skill and elegant style, both in verse and prose." 
 Jaiwes II. subsequently added lOOi. per year to the poet's 
 
 ■f About the same period, there were several pamphlets and 
 fuRit-!-'? pieces published against Dryden. He was also severely 
 beai«u by hired tuffiaus as he was passing through a street in 
 Covent-|;ardea. 
 
MEM OIKS OP THA 
 
 drawn in its favour, and then the success of The 
 Rehearsal was unbounded. The ridicule cast uport 
 heroic p!ays, however, did not prevent their being still 
 exhibited ; but Dryden did not trust to his powers of 
 numbers in his Marriage A-la-Mode, a tragi- comedy, 
 a piece eminently successful, which he dedicated 
 vo the Earl of Rochester, and the compliment was 
 handsomely acknowledged. The Assignation was als9 
 brought forward in 16/2, and driven olT the stage, 
 ** against the opinion (says the writer) of many of the 
 best judges." — Amboyna, a tragedy, a temporary per- 
 formance in the time of the Dutch war, (l673,) was 
 suddenly dismissed. — Our poet's pen was next en- 
 gaged (1674) on a dramatic poem, called the State of 
 Innocence*; *' a tragedy (says Johnson) in rhyme, 
 but <yf which the personages are such as cannot 
 decently be exhibited on the stage." — Dryden's next 
 tragedy Aureng-Zebe appeared in 1675, and was 
 acted with general applause. — In l677> he produced 
 All for Lovet ; in which " he has recommended, as 
 laudable and worthy of imitation, that conduct that 
 through all ages, the good have censured as vicious, 
 and the bad despised as foolish J ;" but the play was 
 nevertheless received with universal approbation. In 
 1678, the comedy of Limberham was acted, which, 
 after the third night, was prohibited, as too indecent 
 for the stage. In conjunction with Lee, the tragedy 
 of CEdipus was produced in 1678-9, Avith some'^favour. 
 Dryden altered Shakspeare'a Troilus and Cressida, 
 
 • This was no other than thatofnew mudcHiiif the ParadiN 
 l^st of Milton, 
 f An alteration of Shakspcare's Ai. ony and Cleopatra. 
 t Jobnsou*« Life of Drydej, 
 
LIFE AND WRiTINGS OF DRYDEN. xiil 
 
 whick the author left in a state of strange imperfec- 
 tion, resembling more a chronicle than a dramatic 
 piece. The altered play was first acted in 16/9, and 
 the last scene of the third act is considered to be a 
 master--piece. Dryden prefixed to this drama his ex- 
 cellant remarks on The Grounds of Criticism in 
 Tragedy. — Our author's most euccessful tragi -comedy 
 The Spanish Friar, w<i3 acted in 1681, and is eminent 
 for the happy coincidence and coalition of two plots. 
 It is an interesting play, and was deservedly a fa- 
 Tourifee with the public. 
 
 In 1681, our author became conspicuous by uniting 
 politics with poetry in the memorable satire (in two 
 parts) of Absalom and Achitophel *, in which personal 
 satire was applied in support of public principles. 
 The poem is written in the style of a scriptural allusion, 
 and its sale was rapid beyond example f. In the 
 same year Dryden published Tlie Medal, of which the 
 subject is a medal struck on Lord Shaftesbury's es- 
 cape from a prosecution ; but in the satire, his lord- 
 ship's licentious course of life is exposed to contempt 
 and reprobation. The Medal was answered by the 
 same weak authors who replied to the previous satire. 
 But the reiterated attacks of Shadwell merited a se- 
 vere castigation ; and for that purpose, in l682, our 
 poet composed the satire of Mac Flecknoe, in which 
 the vices and the follies of Shadwell are not concealed. 
 This piece was followed by the poem of Religio 
 Laid, which has a political tendency, though writtea 
 to defend the church of England against the sectaries* 
 
 • From Achi, my brother, and tophel, a fool. 
 
 f The Mcond part of t lis p«em was published in 16S2. 
 
xir 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE 
 
 And here it may be sufficient to state that the modelt 
 of satire afforded by Drydcn, are superior to all that 
 had ever preceeded them. 
 
 After a loner and an expensive warfare, the twa 
 theatrical companies united their forces, and by the 
 united company The Duke of Guise (the joint pro- 
 duction of Drj^den and Lee) was performed in l682 t 
 this tragedy was succeeaea in 1085 by tne musical 
 drama of Aloion and Albanius ; but the news of the 
 Duke of Monmouth's invasion, which was receWpd 
 while the piece was being performed for the sixth 
 time, was the d.-rath-blow to this drama. 
 
 Dryden's political and polemic discussions, natu- 
 rally interfered with his general poetical studies i for 
 between the accession of James and the Revolution, 
 he only produced his first Ode to St. Cecilia, for the 
 festival in 168/. But when he was removed from his 
 situation of laureat, &c. (at the time of the accession 
 of William and Marv.) the theatre again became hia 
 immediate resource ; and in 169O, he introduced his 
 beautiful tragedy of Don Sebastian, v^th great the- 
 atrical pomp ; and the play maintained a high degre* 
 of public favour for many years, and deserved to 
 maintain that favour for ever. In the same year, 
 his comedy of Amphitryon was acted with great ap» 
 plause. In I69I, he produced the opera of King 
 Arthur, whicb eminently successful ; but its suc- 
 cessor, (in 1692) the tragedy of Cleoraenes was very 
 coolly received. We will now close his dramatic 
 career by mentioning that his last play, Love Tri- 
 umphant was acted in I694, with very bad success; 
 though the writer declares *' that the chax»acter3 in 
 
LIKE AND WRITINGS OF DRYDEN. XT 
 
 the drama are truly drawn, the fable not injudiciously 
 contrived, and the catastrophe happily introduced." 
 
 It appears Drydcn never made by a single play 
 more than 100^., even by the accumulated gain of the 
 third night, the dedication, and the copy. His pro- 
 R)gues, however, were so much esteemed, that when 
 Southerne requested a prologue from our poet, the 
 usual compliment of two guineas was offered ; but the 
 laureat demurred, and insisted upon three guineas ; and 
 added, " the players have had my goods too cheap 1'* 
 
 We must now consider Dryd-en as unconnected 
 with the stage. 
 
 As the accession of James II. excited new hopes ia 
 all orders of men, and all hastened in "sugared ad- 
 dresses" to lament the sun which had set, and to hail 
 the beams of that which had arisen ; in his Threno" 
 dia Augustalis, Dryden at once paid a tribute to the 
 memory of the deceased monarch, and decently soli- 
 cited the attention of his successor. But *' little was 
 the IMuses' hire, and light their gain;" and the 
 ** pension of a prince's praise" is stated to hare 
 been all their encouragement. 
 
 But perhaps the most remarkable incident in the 
 poet's life, was his conversion to the Catholic faith, 
 which took place soon after the accession of James ; 
 and in spite of all that has been urged by his enemies 
 to the contrary, we have sufficient evidence in the 
 present day to prove, that his conve»sion was effected 
 by sincere conviction ; although it is true "he was a 
 servant of the court, and zealously attached to the 
 person of James," We conceive his religious prin- 
 
xvi 
 
 IIEMOIRS OF THE 
 
 ciples may be found in the poet's o\ni lines, in The 
 Hind and the Panther, where he says : — 
 
 My tlioiightless youth was \ring:'d with vain desiret ; 
 My inaiihoo<l lonpr mislt-d by wandering fires ; 
 Follow'd false lights ; and wht<t\ their glimpse wai gone, 
 My pride struck out new sparkles of her own." 
 
 Drj'den never was a steady believer in the protestant 
 doctrines ; but his disposition to believe in Christi- 
 anity wa-s obvious. His conversion was not of that 
 sordid kind, which is the consequence of a strong 
 temporal interest. He applied the arguments of 
 Chillingworth to himself, *'th<it there must be some- 
 where an infallible judge, and the church of Rome is 
 the only Christian society which either does or can 
 pretend to that character." But we are enarbled to 
 judge of Dryden's sincerity in his new faith, by the 
 determined firmness with which he retained it. After 
 the Revolution, his religion disqualified him from re- 
 maining as poet-laureat ; though had he followed the 
 game course as many others, there is no question he 
 would have been left in quiet possession ; " but, (says 
 Dryden,) I can never go an inch beyond my own 
 conscience and my honour. If the court will con- 
 sider me as a man who has done his best to improve 
 the language, and especially the poetry of his coun- 
 try, and will be content with my acquiescence to the 
 government, and forbearing satiie on it, that I can 
 promise ; but I can neither take the oaths, nor for- 
 sake my religion, because I know not what church to 
 go to if I leave the Catholic." 
 
 It may, nevertheless, easily be imagined, that our 
 author was not long suffered to remain idle in the 
 
tlFE AND WRITINGS OF DRYDKN. XTl. 
 
 cause which he had adopted. He was enlisted to de- 
 Tend the conrersion of the Duchess of York to the 
 Catholic faith, and likewise the controversial papers 
 found in a strong box of the late Charles II., against 
 the attacks^of Stillingfleet, Burnet, and others. When 
 Stillingfieet returned to the charge, he was no way 
 sparinif of invective ; Dryden, however, took his re- 
 venge on his adversaries generally, in his polemical 
 poem of The Hind and the Panther * ; and perhaps 
 none of his productions contain finer lines than th^se 
 in which he takes credit for the painful exertion of 
 Christian forbearance, when called by injured feeling 
 to resent personal accusation. He 5ays : — 
 
 *• If joys hereafter must be purchased here 
 With loss of all that mortals hold so dear, 
 Then welcome infamj- and public shame, 
 And last, a long farewell to worldly fame \ " 
 
 The Hind and the Panther, of course, was assailed by 
 the usual crowd of inferior satirists and pamphleteers, 
 each of whom considered himself worthy of very dis- 
 tinguished and weighty recompense for his labour f; 
 yet in the midst of this weak opposition, two or three 
 editions of the poem were rapidly disposed of. 
 
 Our poet was employed by the court in translating 
 Varilla's History of Heresies, a work held in consider- 
 able estimation by Catholic divines, a task for some 
 reason which he ultimately abandoned. He next was 
 
 * *• A poem in which the church of Rome, figured by the 
 milk-white Hind, defen<ls her tenets against the church o*" 
 England, represented by the Panther, a beast beautiful ba 
 •potted."— Jo /in5on. 
 
 t Prior, who assisted in the production or a piece '.ermcd 
 The City iVloase, was disb-Jtisfied with his share otpreferui«Dt* 
 b 
 
MEMOIRS OF TBB 
 
 engaged to translate the life of St. Francis Xa\'ier, a 
 work from which much curious information may be 
 obtained relative to the state of India and Japan at tlia 
 time of Xavier's mission, as well as of the intern*! 
 regulations adopted by the socrety, of which the trans- 
 lator was a member. 
 
 Yet whatever pecu.niary or other hopes Dryden 
 might have formed, concerning his works favourable 
 to the cause of James and the Cathol'c religion, they 
 were suddenly and for ever blighted by the Kcvolu* 
 lion, thi^ugh it docs not appear that his critical em- 
 pire was in the least interrupted. His supremacy 
 w-as so well Citablished at Will's coffee-house*, that 
 a pinch out of LVyden's snuff-box was equal to taking; 
 a degree in that academy of wit. 
 
 In 1692, our author, with the assistance of his two 
 sons, Congreve, Tate, and others, was enabled to 
 publish a complete version of the Satires of Juvenal 
 and of Persius. Dryden . also made translations from 
 Lucretius, Theocritus, fhe Odes of Horace, and other 
 classical welters ; and from the success of these mis- 
 cellaneous pieces^ the poet tun>ed his thoughts to the 
 translation of Virgil, the most laborious and difficult 
 of all his works. In 1697, about three years after the 
 work had been undertaken, the translation was pre- 
 sented to the public ; *' the most noble and spirited 
 (said Pope) which I know in any language." So 
 eager was the general expectation, that the first 
 
 • The resort of Conpreve, Souther*e, Dennis the critic, 
 and alHiost all the distiivgiiished persons of the time. The 
 coU'ee-lvouse Mas situated at the eud of Uow<f;reet| CoTrat- 
 tardea. 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF LRYDEN. XiX 
 
 edition was disposed of in a few months, and a 
 second published in the following year*. *' This 
 work (says Johnson) satisfied his friends, and for the 
 most part silenced his enemies f." Tonson, the book- 
 seller, was anxious that Dryden should inscribe this 
 work to king "William ; but the poet held fast to his 
 integrity, and no prospect of personal advantage could 
 induce him to take a step inconsistent with his reli- 
 gious and political sentiments. Upon Virgil and 
 other translations. Garth observes : *' As a translator, 
 Dryden was just ; as an inventor, he was rich ; and 
 his versions give him a fair pretence to that compli- 
 ment which was made to a celebrated Frenchman, 
 * It is uncertain who have the greatest obligation to 
 him, the dead or the living.' " 
 
 While Dryden was engaged with his great trans- 
 lation, he found leisure to prepare a prose version of 
 Fresnoy's Art of Painting, in which he drew a parallel 
 between painting and poetry ; and Virgil was scarcely 
 finished, before he again distinguished himself by the 
 immortal Cde to Saint Cecilia. The task was under- 
 taken at ehe earnest solicitation of the St. Cecilian 
 Society ; and even in the author's time, that sublime 
 production was received with all the appl&^ise which 
 its unrivalled excellence demanded J. *' A nobler Ode 
 never was produced, nor never will be produced !" 
 
 * There were two sets o.r subscribers to Vir°:il, fir. 101 at five 
 guineas each, and 25U at two guineas each Jt is presumed the 
 poet derived about ],300i. by this work. 
 
 t Swift must be reckoned among the exceptions. See Tale 
 •J a Tub. — The wit of Swift was also levelled aftrtinst the poet 
 for his triple -dedication of the Pastorals, Georgics, and £neid, 
 lo three several patrons, Clifford, Chesterfield and Mulgrave. 
 
 t Drj'den said in • letter to Toii«on, I am glad lo bear 
 
SX MEMOiaS OF THE 
 
 It is afftcting to relate, that the state of the poet*a 
 circumstances rervdered constant literary labour ne- 
 cessary for the support of his family, although the 
 exertion and the confinement considerably impaired 
 his health. But the last work which engaged our 
 author's attention, was his Fables ; and we find that 
 early in I699, he put into Tonson's hands '* 7,500 
 verses, more or less, being a delivery in part of 10,000 
 verses, which he agreed to furnish for two hundred 
 and fifty guineas, to be made up three hundred 
 pounds in the event of a second edition." The 
 Fables of Dryden are the best examples of his talents 
 as a narrative poet. The Knight's Tale possesses a 
 degree of regularity which might satisfy the severest 
 critic ; indeed, in each of the Fables, the poet has dis- 
 played the superiority of his genius, by ornamenting 
 those passages most susceptible of poetical descrip- 
 tion. The account of the fairy chivalry in the Flower 
 and the Leaf, the powerful description of the battle, 
 and of the champions who assisted at the tou»na- 
 ments, in the Knight's Tale, are splendid specimens 
 of poetry. " The Knight's Tale is a story which ex- 
 Hausts in its conclusion all the interest that it has excited 
 in its progress, and which, when terminated, leaves 
 no question to be asked, no personage undisposed of, 
 and no curiosity unsatisfied, is, abstractedly consi- 
 dered, more gratifjing than the history of a few weeks 
 of a ten years' war, commencing long after the siege 
 had begun, and ending long before the city was 
 
 from all bands that my Ode is esteemed the best of all my 
 
 Soetry." The poet was paid 4Ui. for bii Ode by the Cecilian 
 OL-iety. 
 
LIFE AXD WRITINGS OV :5aYDEN, XXl 
 
 taken The Fables were published early iii 1/00 ; 
 and in the beautiful dedication the poet alluded to his 
 long and honourable connexion with the Ormond 
 family. He says, *' I have been esteemed and pa- 
 tronized by the grandfather, the father, and the son, 
 iiescended from one of the most conspicuous and most 
 deserving families in Europe f." 
 
 The end of Dryden's labours was now fast approach- 
 ing. The poet had Ion g suffered both by the gout and 
 the gravel, and more lately, erysipelas seized one of his 
 legs ; and a slight inflammation in one of his toes be 
 came from neglect, a gangrene J. After a short interval 
 Dry den died at his residence in Gerrard- street, 
 the 1st of May, 1^00. He was sensible till nearly hi« 
 last moments ; and he died in the Roman Catholic 
 faith, with entire resignation to the Divine Will ; 
 *' taking of his friends so tender and obliging a fare- 
 well, as none but he himself could have expressed,** 
 
 His family prepared to bury him with a decency 
 becoming their limited circumstances, when several 
 men of quality made a subscription for a public fune- 
 ral. The body was embalmed, and laid in state in the 
 Physicians' Colleg'.. On the 13th of May, Dr. Garth 
 pronounced a LatiL oration over the remains of his 
 departed friend, which were then preceded by a nu- 
 
 • Life of Dryden by Scott. 
 
 * It is supposetl the Duchess of Ortnond presented the pcet 
 w.th 5()0i. when he placed in the hands of her grace a ropy of 
 his Fables. 
 
 1 To prevent mortification, an eminent surgevr proposed tc 
 amputate the limb ; to which Uryden replied: **ThatMiewat 
 an old man, and ha<t not long to live by course of nature, an«^ 
 therefore did not care to part wi throne limb at such an age^ t6 
 pmcrve an uncomfortable life ttt rest." 
 
zxii 
 
 MEMOIRS OF THE 
 
 merous procession of carriages, and deposited in , 
 Westminster Abbey, where a simple monument* 
 distinguishes the place of the poet's interment. The ; 
 story of the interruption of the funeral by L-ord Jef- 
 feries, has been shown by Mr. Malone to be destitute ; 
 of foundation ; but the malice of Dryden's contem- ' 
 poraries, which he had experienced through life, at- 
 tempted to turn into burlesque even his funeral 
 honours f. 
 
 Dryden is represented as most amiable in disposition 
 and moral in character. ** Indeed (says Mr. CoRgreve) 
 he had personal qualities to challenge both love and 
 esteem from all who were truly acquainted with him. 
 He was of a nature exceedingly humane and compas- 
 sionate ; easily forgiving injuries, and capable of a 
 prompt and sincere reconciliation." His reading 
 was extensive, his memory peculiarly retentive, com- 
 municative of his knowledge, ready and gentle in kis 
 correction of the errors of any writer who thought fit 
 to consult him, and quite as ready and patient to ad- 
 mit of the reprehension of others, in respect of his 
 own oversight or mistakes. " He was .'continues 
 Congreve) of all the men I ever knew, one of the most 
 modest, and the most easily to be discountenanced in • 
 his approaches, either to his superiors or his equals.** 
 His conduct as a father, husband, and master of a 
 
 ♦ Erected by the Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 + At the time of Dryden's tieath, his I'amily consisted of his 
 M'ife and three sons, who were but slenderly provided for. 
 I wo of the sons held situations in Rome ; and the patrimonial 
 estate and the liberality of the fri°«ids of the poet formed an 
 ncomeof ab^iit )OQl a year for thl^nlaintel>l^lce vf his widowr 
 sad bit eldest %»a> 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS OF DRYDEN. XXU 
 
 family, was affectionate and faithful, and liberal and 
 benevolent as far as his circumstances admitted. He 
 was esteemed, admired, and courted by all the great 
 men of the age in which he flourished. In the change 
 of his cpinions, both religious and political, Dryden 
 must have acted from conviction ; since, if personal 
 interest liad been his ruling motive, it certainly would 
 have operated at the time of the Revolution. 
 
 For about forty years, however, Dryden 's literary 
 and personal character w-as the object of assault by 
 every subaltern scribbler. The poet himself has said, 
 " My morals have been sufficiently aspersed; that 
 only sort of reputation which ought to be dear to every 
 honest man, and is to me." Bishop Burnet said of 
 Dryden " He was the greatest master of dramatic 
 poesy, and a monster of immodesty and impurity.** 
 This clumsy censure called forth an animated reply 
 from Lord Lansdovvn, who observed, " That all who 
 knew the poet could testify that such was not his 
 character. Dryden was so much a stranger to im- 
 modesty, that modesty in too great a degree was his 
 failing : he hurt his fortune by it, complained of it, 
 but never could overcome it. If, however, I may 
 have leave to say it, Dryden's poems will last as long 
 as the Bishop's sermoi* a, supposing them to be equally 
 excellent in tkeir kind." 
 
 The license of our author's comedy, certainly had 
 the apology of universal example ; for it must be re- 
 collected he wrote in the hey-day of the merry mo^ 
 march's reign. Dr. Johnson has likewise censured in 
 severe terms the extreme flattery of Dryden's dedi- 
 cations ; but th« form of address to superiors must 
 
XXIY 
 
 MEMOIRS OF TITE 
 
 also be judged of by the manners of the times : per- 
 haps the adulation contained in dedications was then 
 as much a matter of course, as the submissive words 
 which still precede the subscription of an ordinary 
 letter ; yet the writer might plead the excuse, that 
 *' having enemies, he made himself friends by panegy- 
 rics.'* In after life, Dryden had the magnanimity to 
 say : I plead guilty to all thoughts and expressions 
 of mine, which can be truly argued of obscenity, pro- 
 faneness, or immorality, and retrant them. It be- 
 comes me not to draw my pen in the defence of a bad 
 cause, when I have so often drawn it for a good one !" 
 
 To conclude : — The name of Dryden was first in 
 English literature, nor was his fame confined to 
 Britain. *' To him we owe the improvement, perhaps 
 the completion, of our metre ; the refinement of our 
 language, and much of the correctness of our seHti« 
 ments. What was said of Rome adorned by Augus- 
 tus, may be applied by an easy mataphor to English 
 poetry embellished by Dryden — He fouxib if 
 
 BKICK, AND HB LEFT IT MARULB." 
 
TO HER GKACE 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF ORMOND: 
 
 -WITH TUK POBM OF 
 
 PA.LAMON AND ARCITK. 
 
 Madam, 
 
 The bard who first adorn'd our native tongue 
 Tuned to his British lyre this ancient song ; 
 Which Homer might without a blush rehearse, 
 And leaves a doubtful palm in Virgil's verse : 
 He match' d their beauties where they most excd, 
 Of^ove sung better, and of arms as well. 
 
 Vouchsafe, illustrious Orraond, to behold 
 What power the charms of beauty had of old ; 
 Nor wonder if such deeds of arms were done, 
 Inapired by two fair eyes that sparkled like your own* 
 
 If Chaucer by the best idea wrought. 
 And poets can divine each other's thought, 
 The fairest nymph before his eyes he set ; 
 And then the fairest was — Plantagenet ! 
 
2 
 
 TO THE 
 
 Who three contending prvnces made her prize, 
 And ruled the rlvcil nations with her eyes ; 
 Who left immortal trophies of her fame, 
 Aud to the noblest order gave the name. 
 
 Like her, of equal kindred to the throne, 
 You keep her conquests, and extend your own : 
 As when the stars, in their ethereal race, 
 At length have roll'd around the liquid space, 
 At certain periods they resume their place, 
 From the same point of heaven their course advance, 
 And move in measures of their former dance ; 
 Thus, after length of ages, she returns. 
 Restored in you, and the same place adorns ; 
 Or you perform her office in the sphere, 
 Born of her blood, and make a ne-w platonic year. 
 
 O true PlantagenLt ! O race divine I 
 (For beauty still is fatal to the line), 
 Had Chaucer lived that angel-face to vie\r 
 Sure he had drawn his Emily from you : 
 Or had you lived, to judge the doubtful r)-gnt, 
 Your noble Palamon had been the knight : 
 And conquering Theseus from his side had sent 
 Your generous lord, to guide the Theban govern* 
 ment. 
 
 Time shall accomplish that ; and I shall sec 
 A Palamon in him, in you an Emily. 
 
 Already have the Fates your path prepared, 
 Aud sure presage your f Vure sway declared j ^ 
 
DUCHESS OF ORMOND. 
 
 8 
 
 When westward, like the sun, you took your wajr, 
 And from benighted Britain bore the day, 
 Blue Triton gave the signal frona the shore, 
 The ready Nereids heard, and gwam before 
 To smooth the seas ; a soft Etesian gale 
 But just inspired, and gently swell'd the sail ; 
 Portunus took his turn, whose ample hand 
 Heaved up his lighten' d keel, and sunk the sand. 
 And steer'd the sacred vessel safe to land. 
 The land, if not restrained, had met your way, 
 Projected out a neck, and jutted to the sea. 
 Hibernia, prostrate at your feet, adored, 
 In you, the pledge of her expected lord ; 
 Due to her isle ; a venerable name ; 
 His father and his grandsire known to fame : 
 Awed by that house, accustom' d to command, 
 The sturdy kerns in due subjection stand ; 
 Nor bear the reins in any foreign land. 
 
 At your approach, they crowded to the port ; 
 And, scarcely landed, you create a court : 
 As Ormond's harbinger, to you they run ; 
 For Venus is the pnrO-iuise of the Sun. 
 
 The waste of civil wars, their towns destroy'd. 
 Pales unhonour'd, C^res unemploy'd, 
 Were all forgot ; and &ae triumphant day 
 Wiped all the tears of three campaigns away s 
 Blood, rapines, massacres were cheaply bought | 
 So mighty recompense your beauty brought. 
 
 As when the dove, returning, bore the mark 
 Of earth restored to the long-labou»ng ark, 
 a 2 
 
4 
 
 TO THE 
 
 The relics of mankind, secure of rest, 
 Oped every window to receive the guest, 
 And the fair bearer of the message bless' d ; 
 So, when you came, with loud repeated cries, 
 The nation took an omen from your eyes, 
 And God advanced his rainbow in the skies. 
 To sign inviolable peace rest<^red ; 
 The saints with solemn shouts proclaim' d the new 
 accord. 
 
 When at yc*ir second coming you appear 
 (For I foretell that millenary yesr), 
 The sharpen'd share shall vex the soil no more. 
 But earth unbidden shall produce her store : 
 The land shall laugh, the circling ocean smile, 
 And Heaven's indulgence bless the holy isle. 
 
 Heaven from all ages has reserved for you 
 That happy clime which venom never knew ; 
 Or if it had been there, your eyes aloise 
 Have power to chase all poison but their own. 
 
 Now in this interval, which fate has cast 
 Betwixt your future glories and your past ; 
 This pause of power 'tis Ireland's hour to mourn ; 
 "While England celebrates your safe return. 
 By which you seem the seasons to command, 
 And bring our summers back to their forsaken land. 
 
 The vanquish' d isle our leisure must attena, 
 Till the fair blessing wc vouchsafe to send ; 
 Kor can we sj are vou long, though ofteu we may 
 lend. 
 
DUCHESS OF ORMOKD. 
 
 6 
 
 The dove was twice employ'd abroad, before 
 The world was dried ; and she leturn'd no more. 
 
 Nor dare we trust so soft a messenger, 
 New from her sickness, to that northern air ; 
 Rest here a while your lustre to restore, 
 That they may sec you, as you shone before ; 
 For yet, th' eclipse not wholly pass'd, you wade 
 Through some remains and dimness of a sliade. 
 
 A subject in his prince may claim a rig-ht, 
 Nor suffer him with strength impair'd to fight ; 
 Till force returns, his ardour we restrain, 
 And curb >iis warlike wish to cross the main. 
 Now pass'd the danger, let the learn'd begin 
 Th' inquiry, where disease could enter in ; 
 How those malignant atoms forced their way ; 
 What in the faultless frame they found to make thekt 
 prey ? 
 
 Where every element was weighed so well, 
 
 Tliat Heaven alone, who mix'd the mass, could tell 
 
 Which of the four ingredients could rebel ; 
 
 And where, imprison' d in so sweet a cage, 
 
 A soul might well be pleased to pass an age. 
 
 And yet the fine materials made it weak ; 
 Porcelain, by being pure, is apt to break : 
 E'en to your breast the sickness durst aspire ; 
 And, forced from that fair temple to retire, 
 Profanely set the holy place on fire. 
 In vain your lord like young Vespasian mourn'd. 
 When the fierce flames the sanctuary burn'd ; 
 
t 
 
 TO THE 
 
 And I ))repare(l to pay in verses rude 
 
 A most detested act of gratitude : 
 
 E'en this had been your elegy, v\hich no\r 
 
 Is offer' d for your health, the table of my vow. 
 
 Your angel sure our Morley's* mind inspired. 
 To find the remedy your ill required ; 
 As o.nce the Macedon, by Jove's decree. 
 Was tatiglit to dream a herb for Ptolemy : 
 Or Heaven, which had such ovcrcost bestow'4 
 As scarce it could afford to flesh and blood. 
 So liked the frame, he would not work anew, 
 To save the charges of another you. 
 Or by his middle science did he steer, 
 And saw some gre.it contingent good appear, 
 Well worth a miracle to keep you here : 
 And, for that end, preserved the precious mould, 
 Whrch all the future Ormonds was to hold ; 
 And meditated in his better mind 
 An heir from you, which may redeem the failing kind* 
 
 Bless 'd be the power which has at once restored 
 
 The hopes of lest succession to your lord, 
 Joy to the first and last of each degree. 
 Virtue to courts, and, what I long'd to see. 
 To you the Graces, and the Muse to me. 
 
 O daughter of the Rose, whose checks unite 
 The differing titles of the red and white j ; 
 
 * Christopher Love Morley, M. D. 
 
 t AUutlinff to her descent from the Plante^encH, ai daughter 
 •nieury, Duke of lieauforc. 
 
DUCHESS OF ORMOND. 
 
 "Who Heaven's alternate beauty well display, 
 The blush of morning, and the milky way ; 
 Whose face is paradise, but fenced from sin : 
 For God in either eye has placed a cherubin. 
 
 All is your lord's alcne ; e'en absent, he 
 Employs the care of chaste Penelope. 
 For bira you waste in tears your widow'd hours, 
 For him yoiu- curious needle paints the flowers ; 
 Such works ol old imperial dames were taught ; 
 Such, for Ascanius, fair Elisa wrought. 
 
 The soft recesses of your hours improve 
 The three fair pledges of your happy love : 
 All other parts of pious duty done, 
 You owe your Ormond nothing but a son ; 
 To fill in future times his father's place, 
 Aad wear the garter of hi« mother's race^ 
 
FABLES 
 
 BOCCACCIO AND CHAUCEa, 
 
 PALAMON AND ARCITE ; 
 
 OK 
 
 THE KNIGHT'S TALE. 
 
 BOOK I, 
 
 In days of old there lived of mighty fame, 
 
 A valiant prince ; and Theseus was his name : 
 
 A chief who more in feats of arms exceU'd 
 
 The rising nor the setting sun beheld : 
 
 Of Athens he was lord ; much land he won, 
 
 And added foreign countries to his crown : 
 
 In Scythia with the warrior-queen he strove. 
 
 Whom first by force he conquer'd, then by love; 
 
 He brought in triumph back the beauteous dame. 
 
 With whom her sister, fair Emilia, came. 
 
10 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 With hofiour to this home let Theseus ride, 
 
 With Love to friend, and Fortune for his guide, 
 
 Aiid his victorious army at his side. 
 
 I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array, , 
 
 Their shouts, their songs, their welcome on the waj j ' 
 
 But were it not too long, I would recite 
 
 The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight ^ 
 
 Betwixt the hardy queen and hero knight ; ' 
 
 The town besieged, and how much blood it cost ' 
 
 The female army and th' Athenian host ; 
 
 The spousals of Hippolita, the queen ; 
 
 What tilts and tourneys at the feast were seon ; 
 
 The storm, at their return, the ladies' fear > — 
 
 But these, and other things, I must forbear. 
 
 Tlie field is spacious I design to sow. 
 
 With oxen, far unfit to draw the plough : 
 
 The remnant of my tale is of a length 
 
 To tire your patience, and to waste my strength ; 
 
 And trivial accidents shall be forborne, 
 
 That others may ha /e time to take their turn ; 
 
 As was at fint enjoin' d us by mine host : 
 
 That he, whose tale is best and pleases m»et, 
 
 Should win his supper at our common cost. 
 
 And therefore, where I left I will pursue 
 This ancient story, whether false or true, 
 In hope it may be mended with a new. 
 The prince I mention'd, full of high renown, 
 In this array drew near th' Athenian town ; 
 When in his pomp, and utmost of his pride. 
 Marching, he chanced to cast his eye aside. 
 And saw a choir of mourning dames, who lay 
 By two and two across the common way , 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 At his approach they raised a rueful cry, 
 
 And beat their breasts, and held their hands on high, 
 
 Orefiping, and crying, till they seized at last 
 
 His courser's bridle, and his feet embraced. 
 
 * Tell me,' said Theseus, ' what and whence you arCj 
 And why this funeral pageant you prepare ? 
 Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds, 
 To meet my triumph in ill omen'd weeds ? 
 Or envy you my praise, and would destroy 
 With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy ? 
 Or arc you injured, and demand relief? 
 Name your request, and I will ease your grief.* 
 
 The most in years of all the mourning train 
 Began (but swooned first away for pain) ; 
 Then, scarce recover'd, spoke : ' Nor envy we 
 Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory ; 
 *Tis thine, O king ! the afflicted to redress, 
 And fame has fiU'd the world with thy success : 
 We, wretched women, sue for that alone 
 Which of thy goodness is refused to none : 
 Let fall some drops of pity on our grief. 
 If what we beg be just, and we deserve relief j 
 For none of us, who now thy grace implore, 
 But held the rank of sovereign-queen before ; 
 Till, thanks to giddy chance, which never bears 
 Tliat mortal bliss should last for length of years. 
 She cast us headlong from our high estate, 
 And here in hope of thy return we wait ; 
 And long have waited in the temple nigh. 
 Built to the gracious goddess Ctemency. 
 But ceverence thou the power whose name it bears. 
 Relieve th* oppress 'd, and wipe the widow's tears ; 
 
13 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 I, wretched I, have other fortune seen, 
 
 The wife of Capaneus, and once a queen : 
 
 At Thebes he fell ; cursed be the fatal day ! 
 
 And all the rest thou seest in this array, 
 
 To make their moan, their lords in battle lost 
 
 Before that town besieged by our confederate host I 
 
 But Creon, old and impious, who commands 
 
 The Theban city, and usurps the lands, 
 
 Denies the rites of funeral fires to those 
 
 Whose breathless bodies yet he calls his foes. 
 
 Unburn'd, unburicd, on a heap they lie ; 
 
 iSuch is their fate, and such his tyranny ; 
 
 No friend has leave to bear away the dead, 
 
 But with their lifeless limbs his hounds are fed.' 
 
 At this she shriek' d aloud ; the mournful train 
 
 Echo'd her grief, and, grovelling on the plain. 
 
 With groans, and hands upheld, to move his mind, 
 
 Besought his pity to their helpless kind ! 
 
 The prince was touch'd, his tears began to flow. 
 And, as his tender heart would break in two, 
 He sigh'd ; and could not but their fate de^jlore. 
 So wretched now, so fortunate before. 
 Then lightly from his lofty steed he flew. 
 And raising one by one the suppliant crew. 
 To comfort each, full solemnly he swore, 
 That by the faith which knights to knighthood bore, 
 And whate'er else to chivalry belongs. 
 He would not cease, till he revenged their wrongs. 
 That Greece should seeperform'd what he declared ; 
 And cruel Creon find his just reward. 
 He said no more, but, shunning all delay, 
 Eode on ; nor enter' d Athens on his way ; 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITK. 
 
 IS 
 
 But left his sister and iiis queen behind ; 
 And waved his royal banner in the wind ; 
 Where in an argent field the god of war 
 Was drawn triumphant on his iron car ; 
 Red was his sword, and shield, and whole attire, 
 And all the godhead seem'd to glow with fire ; 
 E'en the ground glitter'd where the standard Hew, 
 And the green grass was dyed to sanguine hue. 
 High on his pointed lance his pennon bore 
 His Cretan fight, the conquerM Minotaur : 
 The soldiers shout around with generous rage, 
 And in that victory their own presage. 
 He praised their ardour : inly pleased to see 
 His host, the flower of Grecian chivairy. 
 All day he march'd, and all th' ensuing night, 
 And saw the city with returning light. 
 The process of the war I need not tell, — 
 How Theseus conquer'd, and how Creon fell : 
 Or alter, how by storm the walls were won, 
 Or how the victor sack'd and burn'd the town : 
 How to the ladies he restored again 
 The bodies of their lords in battle slain, 
 And with what ancient rites they were interr'd : 
 All these to fitter time shall be deferr'd. 
 I spare the widows' tears, their woful cries, 
 And howling at their husbands' obsequies ; 
 I How Theseus at these funerals did assist, 
 
 And with what gifts the mourning dames dismiss'd« 
 
 Thus when the victor- chi^ef had Creon slain, 
 And conquer'd Thebes, he pitch'd upon the plain 
 His mighty camp, and when the day return'o, 
 The country wasted, and the hamlets burn'd ; 
 
14 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 And left the pillagers, to rapine bred, 
 Without controul to strip and spoil the dead. 
 
 There, in a heap of slain, among the rest 
 Two youthfu'i knights they found beneath a load op» 
 prcss'd 
 
 Of slaughter' d foes, whom first to death they sent, 
 The trophies of their strength, a bloody monument, 
 Both fair, and both of royal blood they seem'd. 
 Whom kinsmen to the crown the heralds deem'd ; 
 That day in equal arms they fought for fame ; 
 Their swords, their shields, their surcoats were th« 
 same. 
 
 Close by each other laid they prcss'd the ground, 
 Their manly bosoms pierced with many a grisly 
 wound ; 
 
 Nor well alive nor wholly dead they were. 
 But some faint signs of feeble life appear : 
 The wandering breath was on the wing to part, 
 Weak was the pulse, and hardly heaved the heart. 
 These two were sisters' sons ; and Arcite one, 
 Bluch famed in fields, with valiant Palamon. 
 PVom these their costly arms the spoilers rent, 
 And softly both convey' d to Theseus' tent ; 
 Whom known of Creon's line, and cured ^ith 
 care, 
 
 He to his city sent, as prisoners of the war. 
 Hopeless of ransom, and condemn'd to lie 
 In durance, doom'd a lingering death to die. 
 
 This done, he march' d away with warlike sound. 
 And to his Athens tuKi'd'with laurels crowix'd, 
 "Where happy long he lived, much loved, and mofe 
 rcno-Jin'd. 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 15 
 
 But in a tower, and never to be loosed, 
 The wofiil captive kinsmen are enclosed. 
 
 Thus year by year they pass, and day by daj 
 Till once ('twas on the morn of cheerful Ma}') 
 The young Emilia, fairer to be seen 
 Than the fair lily on the flowery green, 
 More fresh than May herself in blossoms new 
 (For with the rosy colour strove her hue). 
 Waked, as her custom was, before the daj''. 
 To do th' observance due to spri«ghtly INIay ; 
 For sprightly May commands our youth to keep 
 The vigils of her night, and break their sluggard 
 sleep. 
 
 Each gentle breast with kindly warmth she moves, 
 Inspires new flames, revives extinguish' d loves ; 
 In this remembrance Emily ere day 
 Arose, and dress 'd herself in rich array ; 
 Fresh as the month, and as the morning fair: 
 Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair t 
 A riband did the braided tresses bind ; 
 The rest was loose, and wanton'd in the wind. 
 Aurora had but newly chased the night, 
 And purpled o'er the sky with blushing light, 
 When to the garden-walk she took her way, 
 To sport and trip along in cool of day, 
 And off'er maiden vows in honour of the May. 
 At every turn she made a little stand, 
 I And thrust among the thorns her lily hand 
 ! To draw the rose, and every rose she drew 
 ! She shook the stalk, and brush'd away the dew 
 
 Then party-colour' d flowers of white and red 
 ! She wove, to make a garland for her bead : 
 
FABLES. 
 
 This done, she sung and earol'd out so clew, 
 
 That men and angels might rejoice to hear. 
 
 E'en wondering Philomel forgot to sing ; 
 
 And learn'd from her to welcome in thfl Spring. 
 
 The tower, of which before was mention made, 
 
 Within whose keep the captive knights were lali-, 
 
 Built of a large extent, and strong withal, 
 
 Was one partition of the palace wall : 
 
 The garden was enclosed within the square, 
 
 Where young Emilia took the morning air. 
 
 It happen'd, Palamon, the prisoner knight, 
 Restless for woe, arose before the light, 
 And, wii:;h his jailor's leave, desired to breathe 
 An air more wholesome than the damps beneath « 
 This granted, to the tower he took his way. 
 Cheer' d with a promise of a glorious day : 
 Then cast a languishing regard around, 
 And saw with hateful eyes the temples crown 'd 
 With golden spires, and all the hostile ground. 
 He sigh'd, and turn'd his eyes, because he knew 
 *Twas but a larger jail he had in view ; 
 Then look'd below, and from the castle's height 
 Beheld a nearer and more pleasing sight : 
 The garden, which before he had not seen, 
 In spring's new livery clad of white and green. 
 Fresh flowers in v ide parterres, and shady walks be* 
 twecn. 
 
 This view'd, but not enjoy 'd, with arms across 
 He stood, reflecting on his country's loss ; 
 Himself an object of the public scorn, 
 And often wish'd he never had been born. 
 
I'ALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 17 
 
 At last (for so his destiny required) 
 With walking giddy, and with thinking tired. 
 He through a little window cast his sight, 
 Though thick of bars, that gave a scanty light : 
 But even that glimmering served him to descry 
 Th' inevitable charms of Emily. 
 
 Scarce had he seen, but, seized with sudden smart, 
 Stung to the quick, he felt it at his heart ; 
 Struck blind with overpowering light he stood, 
 Then started back amazed, and cried aloud ! 
 
 Young Arcite heard ; and up he ran with haste 
 To help his friend, and in his arms embraced ; 
 And ask'd him why he look'd so deadly wan, 
 And whence, and how his change of cheer began ? 
 Or who had done th* oflence ? ' But if,* said he, - 
 
 * Your grief alone is hard captivity ; 
 
 For love of Heaven, with patience undergo 
 
 A cureless ill, since Fate will have it so : 
 
 So stood our horoscope in chains to lie, 
 
 And Saturn, in the dungeon of the sky, 
 
 Or other baleful aspect, ruled our birth. 
 
 When all the friendly stars were under earth : 
 
 Whate'er betides, by destiny 'tis done. 
 
 And better bear like men, than vainly seek to shim** 
 
 * Nor of my bonds,' said Palamon wgain, 
 
 * Nor of unhappy planets I complain ; 
 
 But when my mortal anguish caused my cry, 
 That moment I was hurt through either eye; 
 Pierced with a random shaft, I faint away. 
 And perish with insensible decay : 
 A glance of some new goddess gave the wound. 
 Whom, like Actaon, unaware I found. 
 
18 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Look how bhe walks along yon shady space, 
 
 Not Juno moves with more majestic grace ; 
 
 And all the Cyprian Queen is in her face. 
 
 If thou art Venus (for thy charms confess 
 
 That face was form'd in heaven), nor art thou letw, 
 
 Pisguised in habit, undisguised in shape ; 
 
 O, help us captives from our chains to 'scape ! 
 
 But if our doom be pass'd, in bonds to lie 
 
 For life, and in a loathsome dungeon die, 
 
 Then be thy wrath appeased with our disgrace, 
 
 And show compassion to the Theban race, 
 
 Oppress'd by tyrant power !' While yet he spoke, 
 
 Arcite on Emily had fix'd his look ; 
 
 The fatal dart a ready passage found, 
 
 An^ deep within his heart infix'd the wound : 
 
 So that if Palamon were wounded sore, 
 
 Arcite was hurt as much as he, or more : 
 
 Then from his inmost soul he sigh'd, and said, 
 
 * The beauty I behold has struck me dead : 
 Unknowingly she strikes, and kills by chance ; 
 Poison is in her eyes, and death in every glance. 
 O ! I must ask ; nor ask alone, but move 
 
 Her mind to mercy, or must die for low !* 
 Thus Arcite : and thus Palamon replies, 
 (Eager his tone, and ardent were his eyes :) 
 
 * Speak'st thou in earnest, or in jesting vein ?' 
 
 ' Jesting,' said Arcite, * suits but ill with pain,' 
 
 * It suits far worse,' said Palamon again. 
 
 And bent his biows, ' with men who honour weigh. 
 Their faith to break, their friendship to betray ; 
 But worst with thee, of noble lineage born. 
 My kinsman, and in arms my brother sworn. 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 Have we not plighted each our holy oath, 
 That one should be t]^ common good of both? 
 One soul should both inspire, and neither prove 
 His fellow's hinderance in pursuit of love ? 
 To this before the gods we gave our hands, 
 And nothing but our death can break the bands. 
 This binds thee, then, to further my design ; 
 As I am bound by vow to further thine : 
 Nor oanst, nor darest thou, traitor, on the plain 
 Appeach my honour, or thine own maintain ; 
 Since thou art of my counsel, And the friend 
 Whose faith I trust, and on whose care depend 
 And wouldst thou court my lady's love, which I 
 Much rather than release, would ch.)ose to die ? 
 But thou, false Arcite, never shalt obtain 
 Thy bad pretence ; I told thee first my pain : 
 For first my love be-gan ere thine was born ; 
 Thou, as my counsel, and my brother sworn. 
 Art bound t' assist my eldership of right. 
 Or justly to be deem'd a perjured knight.* 
 
 Thus Palamon. But Arcite, with disdain, 
 In haughty language thus replied again : 
 * Forsworn thyself : the traitor's odious name 
 I first return, and then disprove thy claim. 
 If love be passion, and that passion nursed 
 With strong desires, I loved the lady first. 
 Canst thou pretend desire, whom zeal inf amed 
 To worship, and a power celestial named ? 
 Thine was devotion to the bless* d above, 
 I saw the woman, and desired her love ; 
 First own'd my passion, and to thee commend 
 Th' important secret as my chosen frif-nd. 
 
 C 2 
 
so 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Suppose (which ye& grant not), thy desire 
 A moment elder than my rivalxfire ; 
 Can chance of seeing first thy title prove ? 
 And know'st thou not, no law is made for love ? 
 Law is to things which to free choice relate ; 
 Love is not in our choice, but in our fate ; 
 Laws are hut positive : Love's power, we see, 
 Is Nature's sanction, and her first decree. 
 Each day we break the bond of human laws 
 For love, and vindicate the common cause. 
 Laws for defence of civil righta are placed, 
 Love throws the fences down, and makes a general 
 waste : 
 
 Maids, widows, wives, without distinction fall ; 
 
 The sweeping deluge, Love, comes on and covers all. 
 
 If then the laws of friendship I transgress, 
 
 I keep the greater, while I break the less ; 
 
 And hoth are mad alike, since neither can possess. 
 
 Both hopeless to be ransom'd, never more 
 
 To see the sun, but as he passes o'er.' 
 
 Like iEsop's hounds contending for the bone. 
 Each pleaded right, and would be lord alone : 
 The fruitless fight continued all the day ; 
 A cur came by, and snatch'd the prize away. 
 * As courtiers therefore justle for a grant, [want. 
 And, when they break their friendship, plead their 
 So thou, if fortune will thy suit advance. 
 Love o-n ; nor envy me my equal chance : 
 For I must love, and am resolved to try 
 My fate, or failing in th' adventure, die !* 
 
 Great was their strife, which hourly wa^ renew' 3, 
 Till each with mortal hate his rival view'd : 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 SI 
 
 Now friends no more, nor walking hand in hand 
 But when they met, they made a surly stand ; 
 And glared like angry lions as they pass'd, 
 And wish'd that every look might be their last. 
 
 It chanced at length, Pirithous came, t' attend 
 This worthy Theseus, his familiar friend ; 
 Their love in early infancy began, 
 And rose as childhood ripen'd into man# 
 Companions of the war ; and loved so well, 
 That when one died, as ancient stories tell, 
 His fellow, to redeem him, went to hell. 
 
 But to pursue my tale ; to welcome home 
 His warlike brother is Pirithous come : 
 Arcite of Thebes was known in arms long since, 
 And honour' d by this young Theasalian prince. 
 Theseus, to gratify his friend and guest, 
 Who made our Arcite's freedom his request, 
 Restored to liberty the captive knight, 
 But on these hard conditions I recite : 
 That if hereafter Arcite should be found 
 Within the compass of Athenian ground, 
 I By day or night, or on whatever pretence, 
 i His head should pay the forfeit of th' offence, 
 i To this, Pirithous, for his friend, agreed, 
 ( And on his promise was the prisoner freed. 
 I Unpleased and pensive, hence he takes his way, 
 1 At his own peril ; for his life must pay. 
 [ Who now but Arcite mourns his bitter fate, 
 I Finds his dear purchase, and repents too late ? 
 ' • What have I gain'd,' he said, * in prison pent, 
 i If I but change my bonds for banishment 7 
 
22 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 And banish' d from her sight, I sufler more 
 In freedom, than I felt in bondo before ; 
 Forced from her presence, and condemn'd to lire; 
 Unwelcome freedom, and unthank'd reprieve ; 
 Heaven is not but where Emily abides, 
 And where she's absent, all is hell besides. 
 Next to my day of birth, was that accursed, 
 Which boi^d my friendship to Pirithous first i 
 Had I not known that prince, I still had oeca 
 In bondage, and had still Emilia seen : 
 For though I never can her grace deserve, 
 'Tis recompense enough to see and serve. 
 
 0 Palarnon, my kinsman and my friend, 
 How much more happy fates thy love attend I 
 Thine is th' adventure ; thine the victory : 
 Well has thy fortune turn'd the dice for thee : 
 Thou on that angel's face mayst feed thy eyes, 
 In prison, no ; but blissful paradise ! 
 
 Thou daily seest that sun of beauty shine. 
 And lovest at least in love's extreraest line. 
 
 1 mourn in absence, love's eternal night : 
 And who can tell but since thou hast her sight, 
 And art a comely, young, and valiant knight. 
 Fortune (a various power) may cease to frown, 
 And by some ways unknown thy wishes crown ? 
 But I, the most forlorn of humankind. 
 
 Nor help can hope, nor remedy can find ; 
 But doom'd to drag my loathsome life in care, 
 For my reward, must end it in despair. 
 Fire, water, air, and earth, and force of fates 
 That governs all, and Heaven that all creates. 
 
PALAMON AND AKCITE. 
 
 23 
 
 Nor art, nor nature's hand can ease my grief ; 
 Nothing but death, the wretch's last relief : 
 Then farewell youth, and all the joys that dwell 
 With youth and life, and life itself, farewell ! 
 
 * But %vhy, alas ! do mortal men in vain 
 Of fortune, fate, or Providence complain ? 
 God gives us what he knows our wants require, 
 And better things than those which we desire : 
 Some pray for riches ; riches they obtain ; 
 But, watch'd by robbers, for their wealth are slain } 
 Some pray from prison to be freed ; and come, 
 When guilty of their vows, to fall at home ; 
 Wurder'd by those they trusted with their life, 
 A favour' d servant, or a bosom wife. 
 Such dear-bought blessings happen every day. 
 Because we know not for what things to pray j 
 Like drunken sots about the streets we roam : 
 Well knows the sot he has a certain home, 
 Yet knows not how to find th' uncertain place, 
 And blunders on, and staggers every pace. 
 Thus all seek happiness ; but few can find, 
 For far the greater part of men are blind. 
 This is my case, who thought our utmost good 
 Was in one word of freedom understood : 
 The fatal blessing came : from y)rison free, 
 I starve abroad, and lose the sight of Emily !* 
 
 Thus Arcite ; but if Arcite thus deplore 
 His sufferings, Palamon yet suffers more. 
 For when he knew his rival freed and gone. 
 He swells vfith wrath ; he makes outrageous moan j 
 He frets, he fumes, he stares, he stamps the grouad| 
 The hollow tower with clamours rings around ; 
 
94 
 
 With briny tears he bathed his fetter'd feet, 
 And dropp'd all o*er with agony of sweat, 
 * Alas !* he cried, * I wretch in prison pine, 
 Too happy rival, while the fruit is thine : 
 Thou livest at large, thou draw'st thy native air, 
 Pleased with thy freedom, proud of my despair : 
 Thou mayst, since thou hast youth and courage 
 A sweet behaviour, and a solid mmd, [join*d. 
 Assemble ours, and all the Theban race, 
 To vindicate on Athens thy disgrace : 
 And after (by some treaty made) possess 
 Fair Emily, the pledge of lasting peace : 
 So thine shall be the beauteous prize ; while I 
 Must languish in despair, in prison die- 
 Thus all th' advantage ct the strife is thine, , 
 Thy portion double joys, and double sorrows mine.* 
 
 The rage of jealousy then fired his soul, 
 And his face kindled like a burning coal : 
 Now colti despair, succeeding in her stead, 
 To livid paleness turns the glowing red. 
 His blood, scarce liquid, creeps within his veins, 
 Like water which the freezing wind constrains. 
 Then thus he said : — * Eternal deities ! 
 Who rule the world with absolute decrees, 
 And write, whatever time shall bring to pass, 
 With pens of adamant on plates of brass ; 
 What, is the race of humankind your care, 
 Beyond what all his fellow-creatures are ? 
 He, with the rest, is liable to pain ; 
 And, like the sheep, his brother beast, is slaifi. 
 Cold, hunger, prisons, ills without a cure. 
 All these he must, and guiltless oft, endure ( 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 Si 
 
 Or does your justice, power, or prescience fail ; 
 When the good suffer, and the bad prevail ? 
 What worse to wretched virtue could befall, 
 If fate or giddy fortune govern' d all ? 
 Nay, worse than other beasts is our estate ; 
 Them, to pursue their pleasures, you create : 
 We, bound by harder laws, must curb our will. 
 And your commands, not our desires, fulfil : 
 Then, when the creature is unjustly slain. 
 Yet, after death at least, he feeh no pain ; 
 But man, in life surcharged with woe before, 
 Not freed, when de&i, is doom'd to suffer more. 
 A serpent shoots his sting at unaware ; 
 An ambush'd thief forelays a traveller; 
 The man lies murder'd, while the thief and snake. 
 One gains the thickets, and one thrids the brake. 
 This, let divines decide ; but well I know, 
 Just, or uiijust, I have my share of woe. 
 Through Saturn, seated in a luckless place, 
 And Juno's wrath, that persecutes my race ; 
 Or IMars and Venus in a quartile move 
 My pangs of jealousy for Arcite's love !' 
 
 Let Palamon, oppress* d in bondage, mouro^ 
 While to his exiled rival we return. 
 By this the sun, declining from his height. 
 The day had shorten'd to prolong the night: 
 The lengthen'd night gave length of misery 
 Both to the captive lover and the free. 
 For Palamon in endless prison mourns. 
 And Arcite forfeits life if he returns. 
 The banish' d never hopes his love to see. 
 Nor hopes the captive 'ord his liberty. 
 
26 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 'Tis hard to say, who suiTers greater pains : 
 One sees his love, but cannot break his chains ; 
 One free, and all his motions uncontroul'd, 
 Beholds whate'er he would, but what he would I 
 hold. 
 
 Judge as you please, for I will haste to tell 
 What fortune to the banish'd knight befell. — 
 When Arcite was to Thebes return' d again, 
 The loss of her he loved renew *d his pain ; 
 What could be worse than never more to see 
 His life, his soul, his charming Emily ? 
 He raved with all the madness of despair. 
 He roar'd, he beat his breast, he tore his hair. 
 Dry sorrow in his stupid eyes appears, 
 For wanting nourishment, he wanted tears : 
 His eyeballs in their hollow sockets sink, 
 Bereft of sleep, he loathes his meat :»nd drink. 
 He withers at his heart, and looks as wan 
 As the pale spectre of a murder' d man ; 
 That pale turns jellow, and his face receives 
 The faded hue of sapless boxen leaves : 
 In solitary groves he makes his moan. 
 Walks early out, and ever is alone. 
 Nor mix'd in mirth, in youthful pleasure shares, 
 But sighs when songs and instruments he hears : 
 His spirits are so low, his voice is drown' d, 
 He hears as from afar, or in a swoon. 
 Like the deaf murmurs of a distant sound : 
 Uncomb'd his locks, and squalid his attire. 
 Unlike the trim of love and gay desire ; 
 But full of museful mopings, which presage 
 The loss of reason, and conclude in rage. 
 
PALAMOW AKD ARCITK. 
 
 27 
 
 This, when he had endured a year or more, 
 Now wholly changed from what he was before. 
 It happened once that, slumbering as he lay, 
 He dream' d (his dream began at break of day) 
 That Hermes o'er his head in air appear'd. 
 And with soft words his drooping spirits cheer'd : 
 His hat, adorn'd with wings, disclosed the god, 
 And in his hand he bore the sleep-compelling rod: 
 Such as he seem'''., when at his sire's command 
 On Argus' head he laid the snaky wand. 
 
 * Arise !' he said ; * to conquering Athens go ; 
 There fate appoints an end of all thy woe !' 
 The fright awaken'd Arcite with a start, 
 -Against his bosom bounced his heaving heart ; 
 But soon he said, with scarce recover'd breath, 
 
 * And thither will I go, to meet my death. 
 Sure to be slain ; but death is my desire, 
 Since in Emilia's sight I shall expire !' 
 
 By chance he spied a mirror while he spoke, 
 And, gazing there, beheld his alter' d look : 
 Wondering, he saw his features and his hue 
 So much wers changed that scarce himself he knew. 
 A sudden thought then starting in his mind ; 
 
 * Since I in Arcite cannot Ancite find, 
 
 The world may search in vain with all their eyes, 
 But never penetrate through this disguise. 
 Thanks to the change which grief and sicknes^i give, 
 In low estate I may securely live. 
 And see., unknown, my mistress day by day.* 
 He said ; and clothed himself in coarse array : 
 A labouring hind in show ; then forth he went, 
 And to th' Athenian towers his journey bent: 
 
28 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 One squire attended, in the same disguise, 
 3\Iade conscious of his master's enterprise. 
 Arrived at Athens, soon he came to court, 
 Unknown, unquestion'd in that thick resort; 
 Proffering for hire his service at the gate. 
 To drudge, draw water, and to run or wait. 
 
 So fair befell him, that for little gain 
 He served at first Emilia's chamberlain ; 
 And watchful all advantages to spy, 
 Was still at hand, and in his master's eye j 
 And as his bones were big, and sinews strong, 
 Refused no toil that could to slaves belong : 
 But from deep wells with engines water drew. 
 And used his noble hands the wood to hew. 
 He pass'd a year at least, attending thus 
 Oh Emily, and call'd Philostratus. 
 But never was there man of his degree 
 So muclj esteem'd, so well beloved as he. 
 So gentle of condition was he known. 
 That through the court his courtesy was blown ; 
 All think him worthy of a greater place. 
 And recommend him to the royal grace ; 
 That, exercised within a higher sphere, 
 His virtues more conspicuous might appear. 
 Thus, by the general voice, was Arcite praised. 
 And by great Theseus to high favour raised ; 
 Among his menial servants first enroll'd, 
 And largely entertain* d with sums of gold : 
 Besides what secretly from Thebes was sent. 
 Of his own income, and his annual rent ; 
 This well employ'd, he purchased friends and famfl^ 
 But cautiously conceal' d from whence it came. 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 Thus, for three years, he lived with large increase, 
 In arms, of honour ; and esteem, in peace ; 
 To Theseus' person he was ever near, 
 And Theseus for his virtues, held lam dear. 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE 
 
 BOOK n. 
 
 While Arcite lives in bliss, the story turns 
 Where hopeless Palamon in prison mourns. 
 For six long years immured, the captive knight 
 Had dragg'd his chains, and scarcely seen the light t 
 Lost liberty and love at once he bore ; 
 His prison pain'd him much, his passion more : 
 Nor dares he hope his fetters to remove, 
 Xor ever wishes to be free from love. 
 
 But when the sixth revolving year was run, 
 And ]\ray, within the Twins, received the sun ; 
 Were it by chance, or forceful destiny, 
 Which forms in causes first whate'er shall be, 
 Assisted by a friend, one moonless night. 
 This P3,lamon from prison took his flight : 
 A pleasant beverage he prepared before, 
 Of wine and honey mix'd, with added store 
 Of opium ; to his keeper this he brought, 
 Who swallow 'd, unaware, the sleepy draught, 
 And snored secure till morn ; his senses bound 
 In slumber, and in long oblivion crown' d. 
 
FABLES. 
 
 Short was the night, and careful Palamon 
 
 Sought the next covert ere the rising sun. 
 
 A thick-spread forest near the city lay, 
 
 To this, with lengthened strides, he took his way 
 
 (For far he could not fly, and fear'd the day), 
 
 Safe from pursuit, he meant to shun the light, 
 
 Till the brown shadows of the friendly night 
 
 To Thebes might favour his intended flight. 
 
 When to his country come, his next design 
 
 Was all the Theban race in arms to join. 
 
 And war on Theseus, till he lost his life. 
 
 Or won the beauteous Emily to wife. 
 
 Thus, while his thoughts the lingering day be^ilO) 
 
 To gentle Arcite let us turn our style ; 
 
 Who little dream'd how nigh he was to care. 
 
 Till treacherous fortune caught him in the snare. 
 
 The morning lark, the messenger of day. 
 
 Saluted in her song the morning gray ; 
 
 And soon the sun arose, with beams so bright 
 
 That all th' horizon laugh' d to see the joyous sight 
 
 He, with his tepid rays, the rose renews. 
 
 And licks the drooping leaves, and dries the dews ; 
 
 When Arcite left his bed, resolved to pay 
 
 Observance to the month of merry IVIay ; 
 
 Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode. 
 
 That scarcely prints the turf on which he trod : 
 
 At ease he seem'd, and, prancing o'er the plains, 
 
 Turn'd only to the grove his horse's reins, 
 
 The grove I named before ; and, lighted there, 
 
 A woodbine-garland sought to crown his hair ; 
 
 Then turn'd his face against the rising day. 
 
 And raised his voice to welcome in the May 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 3S 
 
 * For thee, sweet month, the groves green liveries 
 If not the first, the fairest of the year ; [wear ! 
 
 For thee the Graces lead the dancing Hours, 
 And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers : 
 When thy short reign is pass'd, the feverish sun 
 The sultry tropic fears, and moves more slowly oq« 
 So may thy tender blossoms fear no blight. 
 Nor goats, with venom'd teeth, thy tendrils bite. 
 As thou shalt guide my wandering feet to find 
 The fragrant greens I seek, my brows to bind.* 
 
 His vows address 'd, within the grove he stray *d. 
 Till fate or fortune near the place convey'd 
 His steps where secret Palamon was laid. 
 Full little thought of him the gentle knight, 
 Who, flying death, had there concealM his flight, 
 In brakes and brambles hid, and shunning mortal 
 sight ; 
 
 And less he knew him for his hated foe. 
 But fear'd him as a man he did not know. 
 But as it has been said of ancient years. 
 That fields are full of eyes, and woods have ea?8. 
 For this the wise are ever on their guard, 
 For, unforeseen (they say) is unprepared. 
 Uncautious Arcite thought himself alone. 
 And, less than all, suspected Palamon ; 
 Who, listening, heard him, while he search'd tht 
 grove. 
 
 And loudly sung his roundelay of love : 
 But on the sudden stopp'd, and silent stood, 
 (As lovers often muse and change their mood ; 
 Now high as heaven, and then as low as hell ; 
 Now up, now down, as buckets in a well ; 
 
 o 
 
94 
 
 I ABLES. 
 
 For Venus, like her day, will chancre her cheer, 
 
 And seldom shall we see a Friday dear.) 
 
 Thus Arcite, having sung, with alter'd hue 
 
 Sunk on the ground, and from his bosom drc^*■ 
 
 A desperate sigh, accusing heaven and fate, 
 
 And angry Juno's unrelenting hate : — 
 
 * Cursed be the day when first I did appear ; 
 
 Let it be blotted from the calendar. 
 
 Lest it pollute the month, and poison all the y^kr, 
 
 Still will the jealous queen pursue our race ? 
 
 Cadmus is dead, tho Theban city was : 
 
 Yet ceases not her hate : for all who come 
 
 From Cadmus are involved in Cadmus' doom. 
 
 I suffer for my blood : unjust decree ! 
 
 That punishes another's crime on ;ne. 
 
 In mean estate I serve my mortal foe, 
 
 The man who caused my country's overthr-ow. 
 
 This is not all ; for Juno, to ray shame. 
 
 Has forced me to forsake my former name ; 
 
 Arcite I was, Philostratu« I am. 
 
 That side of heaven is all my enemy : 
 
 Mars ruin*d Thebes : his mother ruin'd me. 
 
 Of all ike royal race remains but one 
 
 Besides myself, th' unhappy Palamon, 
 
 Whom Theseus holds in bonds, and will not frcfl i 
 
 Without a crime, except his kin to me. 
 
 Yet these, and all the rest, I could endure ; 
 
 But love's a malady without a cure : 
 
 Fierce love has pierced me with his fiery dart. 
 
 He fires within, and hisses at my heart. 
 
 Your eyes, fair Emily, my fate pursue ; 
 
 I suffer for the rest, I die for you. 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 35 
 
 See how the madmen bleei : behold the gaing 
 With which their master, Love, rewards their paint. 
 For seven long years, on duty every day, 
 Lo ! their obedience, and their monarch's pay : 
 Yet, «s in duty bound, they S'srve him on ; 
 And Ask the foo^s, they think it wisely done : 
 Noi ease, nor wealth, nor life itself regard, 
 FoV 'tis their maxim, love is love's reward ! 
 Thib is not all ; the fair for whom they strove 
 Nor knew before nor could suspect their love, 
 Nor thought, when she beheld the fight from far, 
 Her beauty was th' occasion of the war. 
 But sure a general doom on man is pass'd, 
 And all are fooh and lovers, first or last : 
 This both by others and myself I know, 
 For I have served their sovereign long ago : 
 Oft have been caught within the winding trai* 
 Of female snares, and felt the lover's pain, 
 And learn'd how far the god can human hearts con* 
 strain. 
 
 fo this remembrance, and the prayers of those 
 
 Who, for th' offending warriors, interpose, 
 
 I give their forfeit lives ; on this accord, 
 
 To do me homage as their sovereign lord ; 
 
 And, as my vassals, to their utmost might 
 
 Assist my person, and assert my righ-t.' 
 
 This, freely sworn, the knights their grace obtained 
 
 Then thus the king his secret thoughts explain'd : 
 
 * If wealth, or honour, or a royal race, 
 
 Or each, or all, may win a lady's grace. 
 
 Then either of you knights may well deserve 
 
 A princess born ; and such is she you serve j 
 
96 
 
 FABUS. 
 
 The surety which I gave thee, I defy ; 
 
 Fool, not to know that love endure? no tie ; 
 
 And Jove but laughs at lovers' perjury. 
 
 Know, I will serve thee fair in thy despite ; 
 
 But since thou art my kinsman, and a knight. 
 
 Here, have my faith ; to-morrow, in this grove, 
 
 Our arms shall plead the titles of our love : 
 
 And Heaven so help my right, as I alone [Ten own, 
 
 Will come, and keep the cause and quarrel both un- 
 
 "With arms of proof both for myself and thee ; 
 
 Choose thou the best, and leave the worst to me. 
 
 And, that at better ease thou mayst abide, 
 
 Bedding and clothes I will this night provide, 
 
 And needful sustenance, that thou mayst be 
 
 A conquest better won, and worthy me.' 
 
 His promise Palamon accepts ; but pray'd 
 
 To keep it better than the first he made. 
 
 Thus fair they parted till the morrow's dawn ; 
 
 For each had laid his plighted faith to pawn. 
 
 Oh Love ! thou sternly dost thy power maintain. 
 
 And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign ; 
 
 Tyrants and thou all fellowship disdain. 
 
 This was in Arcite proved and Palamon, 
 
 Both in despair, yet each would love alone. 
 
 Arcite retur»n'd, and, as in honour tied. 
 
 His foe with bedding and with food supplied ; 
 
 Then, ere the day, two suits of armour sought. 
 
 Which, borne before him, on his steed he brought : 
 
 Both were of shining steel, and wrought so pure, 
 
 As might the strokes of two such arms endure. 
 
 Now, at the time, and in th' appointed place. 
 
 The challenger and challenged, face to facQ, 
 
PALAMON AND AKCITE. 
 
 V 
 
 Approach ; each other from afar they knew, 
 
 And from afar their hatred changed their hue. 
 
 So stands the Thracian herdsman with his spear, 
 
 Full in the gap, and hopes the hunted bear, 
 
 And hears him rustUng in the wood, and sees 
 
 His course at distance by the bending trees ; 
 
 And thinks, here comes my mortal enemy, 
 
 And either he must fall in fight, or I : 
 
 This, while he thinks, he lifts aloft his dart ; 
 
 A generous chillness seizes every part ; 
 
 The veins pour back the blood, and fortify the heart* 
 
 Thus pale they meet ; their eyes with fury burn ; 
 None greets ; for none the greeting will return : 
 But in dumb surliness, each arm'd with care 
 His foe profess'd, as brother of the war : 
 Then both, no moment lost, at once advance 
 Against each other, arm'd with sword and lance : 
 They lash, they foin, they pass, they strive to bore 
 Their corslets, and the thinnest parts explore. 
 Thus, two long hours, in equal arms they stood, 
 And wounded, wound ; till both were bathed in 
 blood ; 
 
 And not a foot of ground had either got. 
 
 As if the world depended on the spot. 
 
 Fell Arcite like an angry tiger fared, 
 
 And like a lion Palamon appear' d : 
 
 Or as two boars whom love to battle draws, 
 
 With rising bristles, and with frothy jaws. 
 
 Their adverse breasts with tusks oblique they wound^ 
 
 With grunts and groans the forest rings around : 
 
 So fought the knights, and fighting must abide. 
 
 Till fate an umpire sends their difference to decide* 
 
38 
 
 FAB LIS. 
 
 The powe^ thit miiiisters to God's decrees, 
 And executes on earth what Heaven foresees, 
 Caird providence, or chance, or fatal sway, 
 Conies with resistless force, and finds or makes her 
 way. 
 
 Nor kings, nor nations, nor united power, 
 
 One moment can retard th' appointed hour : 
 
 And some one day, some wondrous chance appear*, 
 
 Which happen'd not in centuries of years : 
 
 For sure, whatever we mortals hate or love, 
 
 Or hope or fear, depends on powers above ; 
 
 They move our appetites to good or ill. 
 
 And by foresight necessitate the will. 
 
 In Theseus this appears ; whose 5'outhful joy 
 
 Was beasts of chase in forests to destroy : 
 
 This gentle knight, inspired by jolly May, 
 
 Forsook his easy couch at early day. 
 
 And to the woods and wilds pursued his way. 
 
 Beside him rode Hippolita, the queen. 
 
 And Emily, attired in lively green. 
 
 W'.'lh. horns and hounds, and all the tuneful cry, 
 
 To hunt a royal hart within the covert nigh : 
 
 And as he foUow'd Mars before, so now 
 
 He serves the goddess of the silver bow. 
 
 The way that Theseus took was to the wood 
 
 Where the two knights in cruel battle stood : 
 
 The land on which they fought, th* appointed place 
 
 In which th' uncoupled hounds began the chase. 
 
 Thither forth-right he rode to rouse the prey. 
 
 That shaded by the fern in harbour lay ; 
 
 And thence dislodged, was wont to leave the wooQ, 
 
 For open fields, and cross the crystal flood. 
 
PALAMON AXD ARCITE. 
 
 ApproPiCl/J, and looking underneath the sun, 
 He saw proud Arcite and fierce Palamon 
 In mortal battle, doubUng blow on blov.' ; 
 Like lightning flamed their falchions to and fro. 
 And shot a dreadful gleam ; so strong they strutic. 
 There seern'd less force required to fell an oak. 
 He gazed with wonder on their equal might, 
 Look'd eager on, but knew not either knight : 
 Hcsolved to learn, he spurr'd his fiery steed 
 With goring rowels, to j)rovoke his speed. 
 The minute ended that began the race, 
 So soon he was betwixt them on the place ; 
 And, with his sword unsheath'd, on pain of life 
 Commands both combatants to cease their strife : 
 Then, with imperious tone, pursues his threat, 
 * What are ycu ? Why in arnif, together met ? 
 How dares your pride presume against my laws, 
 As in a listed field to fight your cause, 
 TJnask'd the royal grant : no marshal by 
 As knightly rites require ; no judge to try ?* 
 Then Palamon, with scarce-recover'd breath, 
 Thus hasty spoke : * We both deserve the death. 
 And both would die ; for look the world around, 
 A pair so wretched is not to be found. 
 Our life's a load ; encumber' d with the charge. 
 We long to set tb.' imprison 'd soul at large. 
 Now as thou art a sovereign judge, decree 
 The rightful doom of death to him and me ; 
 Let neither find thy grace ; for grace is cruelty. 
 Me first ! O, kill me first ! and cure my woe ; 
 Then sheathe the sword of justice on mj tot i 
 
40 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Or kill him first ; for when his name is heard, 
 
 He, foremost, will receive his due reward. 
 
 Arcite of Thebes is he ! thy mortal foe, 
 
 On whom thy grace did liberty bestow ; 
 
 But first conlr^-cted, that if ever found 
 
 By day or night upon th' Athenian ground, 
 
 His head should pay the forfeit ; see return' d 
 
 The perjured knifrht, his oath and honour &corn'd I 
 
 For this is he, "'oo, with a borrow 'd name, 
 
 And proper' d service, to thy palace cam«, 
 
 Now call'd Philcstratus : retain d by thee, 
 
 A traitor trusted and in high decree, 
 
 Aspiring to the bed of beauteous Kmily. 
 
 My part remains • — From 'I'hcbes my birth 1 own, 
 
 And Cu.l myself th' -.i.^ifj y Palamon. 
 
 Thir.k n: c not bUt thai n,an ; sii.te no diAgrare 
 
 Can foitt K-e ^o rcnuii;ict honour of my r*»:e ; 
 
 Know me for ^^hat T am ; 1 bioke thy chain, 
 
 Nor prorn-'cd 1 thy prif ^'i-r tu remain : 
 
 The I'j-^t of Ll.erly witb life is given, 
 
 And life itself i,h' infeiior gift of Heaven, 
 
 Thui, vvhhrui crirno, I s!cd ; but lurther knew, 
 
 I, with this Arcite, am i::7 niv)rtal foe : 
 
 Then give ncc dcHuh. sirice I thy life pursuo, 
 
 For safej?;uarvi ( f tlivs'^lf, death is my due. 
 
 More wonldst thou kr.ow 7 i love bright Emily, 
 
 And for her sake and in her sight v'ill die : 
 
 But kill my rival too : for he no less 
 
 Deserves ; and I thy righteous doom will bless ; 
 
 Assured, that what I lose, he never shall posiesa.* 
 
 To this replied the stern Athenian prince. 
 
 And sourly smiled, * In owning your offence 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 41 
 
 You judge yourself ; and I but keep record 
 In place of law, while you pronounce the word. 
 Take your desert, the death you have decreed ; 
 I seal your doom, and ratify the deed. 
 By Mars, the patron of my arms, you die \ * 
 
 He said : dumb sorrow seized the standers by. 
 The queen above the rest, by nature good, 
 (The pattern form'd of perfect womanhood) 
 For tender pity wept : when she began. 
 Through the bright quire th' infectious virtue ran. 
 All dropp'd their tears, e'en the contended maid j 
 And thus, among themselves, they softly said : 
 ' What eyes can suffer this unworthy sight ! 
 Two youths of royal blood, renown'd in fight, 
 The mastership of Heaven in face and mind, 
 And lovers, far beyond their faithless kind : 
 See their wide streaming wounds ; they neither camo 
 For pride of empire nor desire of fasne : 
 Kings fight for kingdoms, madmen for applause ; 
 But love for love alone ; that crowns the lover's cause ! ' 
 This thought, which ever bribes the beauteous kind, 
 Such pity wrought in every lady's mind. 
 They left their steeds, and prostrate on the place, 
 From the fierce king implored th' offenders' gracCi 
 
 He paused awhile, stood silent in his mood 
 (For yet his rage was boiling in his blood). 
 But soon his tender mind th' impre8sii>n felt 
 (As softest metals are not slow to mel-t. 
 And pity soonest runs in softest minds :) 
 Then reasons with himself ; and first ho finds 
 His passion cast a mist before his sense, 
 And either made, or magnified th* offence. 
 
FABLES. 
 
 Offence ? of what ? to whom ? Who jiidgod the 
 cause ? 
 
 'She prisoner freed himself by nature's laws : 
 Born free, he sought his right : the man he I'reed 
 Was perjured, but his love excused the deed. 
 Thus pondering, he look'd under with his eyes, 
 And saw the women's tears, and heiird ilieir cries : 
 Which moved compassion more : he shook his head» 
 And, softly sighing to himself, he said : — 
 * Curse on th' unpardoning prince, whom tears cao 
 draw 
 
 To no remorse ; who rules by lions' law ; 
 And deaf to prayers, by no submission bow'd, 
 Kends all alike, the penitent and pro\ul :' 
 At this, with look serene, he raised his head. 
 Reason resumed her place, and passion fled ; 
 Then thus aloud he spoke : ' The power of Love, 
 In earth, and seas, and air, and Heaven above, 
 Kules unresisted, with an awful nod ; 
 By daily miracles declared a god : 
 He blinds the wise, gives eyesight to the blind ; 
 And moulds and stamps anew the lover's mind. 
 Behold that Arcite, and this Palamon, 
 Freed from my fetters, and in safety gone ; 
 What hinder' d either, in their native soil, 
 At ease to reap the harvest of their toil ? 
 But Love, their lord, did otherwise ordain, 
 And brought them in their own despite again, 
 To suffer death deserved ; for well they know, 
 'Tis in my power, and I their deadly foe j 
 The proverb holds, that to be w ise and loy» 
 Is hardly graiited to the gods above. 
 
?ALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 Of such a goddess no time leaves record, 
 Who burn'd the temple where she was adored : 
 And let it burn, I never will complain. 
 Pleased with ray sufferings, if you knew my paitt: 
 
 At this a sickly qualm his heart assail 'd, 
 His ears ring inward, and his senses fail'd. 
 No word miss'd Palamon of all he spoke. 
 But soon to deadly pale he changed his look : 
 He trembled every limb, and felt a smart. 
 As if cold steel had glided through his heart ; 
 Nor longer staid, but, starting from his place, 
 Discover'd stood, and show'd his hostile face : 
 
 * False traitor, Arcite ! traitor to thy blood, 
 Bound by thy sacred oath to seek my good, 
 Now art thou found forsworn, for Emily ; 
 And darest attempt her love, for whom I die. 
 So hast thou cheated Theseus with a wile, 
 Against thy vow, returning to beguile 
 Under a borrow'd name : as false to me, 
 
 So false thou art to him who set thee free j 
 But rest assured, that either thou shalt die, 
 Or else renounce thy claim in Emily : 
 For though unarm'd I am, and (freed by chance) 
 And here without my sword or pointed lance, 
 Hope not, base man, unquestion'd hence to go. 
 For I am Palamon, thy mortal foe.' 
 
 Arcite, who heard this tale, and know the man. 
 His sword unsheath'd, and fiercely thus began : 
 
 * Now, by the gods, who govern Heaven above I 
 Wert thou not weak with hunger, mad with love, 
 That word had been thy last ; or in this grove 
 This hand sLould force thee to renounce thy love* 
 
 £ 2 
 
44 
 
 FABLES, 
 
 For Emily is sister to the crown, 
 And but too well to both her beauty known : 
 But should you combat till you both were dead. 
 Two lovers cannot shave a single bed : 
 As therefore both are equal in degree, 
 The lot of both be left to destiny. 
 Now hear th' award, and happy may it prove 
 To her, and him who best deserves her love. 
 Depart from hence in peace, and, free as air. 
 Search the wide world, and where you please re« 
 pair ; 
 
 But on the day when this returning sun 
 
 To the same point through every sign has run, 
 
 Then eacli of you his hundred knights shall bring, 
 
 In royal lists, to fight before the king ; 
 
 And then, the knight whom fate or happy chance 
 
 Shall with his friends to victory advance, 
 
 And grace his arms so far in er^ual fight, 
 
 From out the bars to force his oj)posite, 
 
 Or kill, or make him recreant on the plain, 
 
 The prize of valour and of love shall gain ; 
 
 The vanquish' d party shall their claim release. 
 
 And the long jars conclude in lasting peace. 
 
 The charge be mine to adorn the chosen ground, 
 
 The theatre of war, for champions so r€nown'd ; 
 
 And take the patron's place of either knight, 
 
 With eyes impartipl to behold the fight ; 
 
 And Heaven of me so judge, as I shall judge aright. 
 
 If both are satisfied with this accord. 
 
 Swear by the laws of knighthood on my sword.* 
 
 Who now but Palamon exults with joy ? 
 And ravish 'd Arcite seems to touch the sky. 
 
PALAMOX AND ABCITE. ' 45 
 
 The whole assembled troop was pleased as Vvell, 
 
 Extoird th' award, and on their knees they fell 
 
 To bless the gracious king. The knights, with leave 
 
 Departing from the place, his last commands receive; 
 
 On Emily with equal ardour look, 
 
 And from her eyes their inspiration took : 
 
 From thence to Thebes' old walls pursue their way, 
 
 Each to provide his champions for the day. 
 
 It might be deem'd, on our historian's part, 
 Or too much negligence or want of art. 
 If he forgot the vast magnificence 
 Of royal Theseus, and his large expense. 
 He first inclosed for lists a level ground. 
 The whole circumference a mile around : 
 The form was circular ; and all without 
 A trench was sunk, to moat the place about. 
 Within, an amphitheatre appear'd, 
 Raised in degrees ; to sixty paces rear'd : 
 That when a man was placed in one degree. 
 Height Mas allow'd for him above to see. 
 
 Eastward was built a gate of marble white ; 
 The like adorn' d the western opposite. 
 A nobler object than his fabric was, 
 Rome never saw ; nor of so vast a space, 
 For, rich with spoils of many a conquer'd land, 
 All arts and artists Theseus could command ; 
 Who sold for hire, or wrought for better fame. 
 The master-painters, and the carvers came. 
 So rose within the compass of the year 
 An age's work, a glorious theatre. 
 Then o'er its eastern gate was raised above 
 A temple, sacred to the queen of love ; 
 
40 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 An altar stood below : on cither hand 
 A priest, with roses crown 'd, who held a myrti« 
 wand. 
 
 The dome of Jfars was on the gate opposed ; 
 And on the north a turret was enclosed. 
 Within the wall, of alabaster white 
 And crimson coral, for the queen of night ; 
 Who takes in silvan sports her chaste delight. 
 
 Within these oratories might you see 
 Kich carvings, portraitures, and imagery ; 
 Where every figure to the life express' d 
 The godhead's power to whom it was address' d. 
 In Venus' temple, on the sides were seen 
 The broken slumbers of enamour' d men : 
 Prayers that e'en spoke, and pity seem'd to call, 
 And issuing sighs that smoked along the wall, 
 Complaints, and hot desires, the lover's hell, 
 And scalding tears, that wore a channel where they 
 fell : 
 
 And all around were nuptial bonds, the ties 
 Of love's assurance, and a train of lies. 
 That, made in lust, concludes in perjuries. 
 Beauty, and youth, and wealth, and luxury. 
 And s^)rightly hope, and short-enduring joy ; 
 And sorceries to raise tk' infernal powers. 
 And sigils framed in planetary hours ; 
 Expense, and after- thought, and idle care, 
 And doubts of motley hue, and dark despair ; 
 Suspicions, and fantastical surmise, 
 And Jealousy suffused, with jaundice in her eyefc 
 JHscolouring all she vicw'd, in tawny dress' d, 
 Down-look'd, and with a cuckoo on her fist. 
 
PALAMON AXD ARCITE. 
 
 47 
 
 Opposed to lier, on th' other side, advance 
 The costly feast, the carol, and the dance, 
 Minstrels and music, poetry and play, 
 And balls by night, and tournaments by day. 
 AH these were painted on the wall, and more ; 
 With acts and monuments of times before : 
 And others added by prophetic doom, 
 And lovers yet unborn, and loves to come : 
 For there, tli' Idalian mount, and Citheron^ 
 The court of Venus, was in colours drawn : 
 Before the palace- gate, in careless dress. 
 And loose array, sat portress Idleness : 
 There, by the fount, Narcissus pined alone ; 
 There Samson was, with wiser Solomon, 
 And all the mighty names by love undone : 
 Medea's charms were there, Circcan feasts, 
 With bowls that turn'd enamour' d youths to beastsu 
 Here might be seen, that beauty, wealth, and wit, 
 And prowess, to the powers of love submit : 
 The spreading snare for all mankind is laid ; 
 And lovers all betray, and are betray' d. 
 The goddess' self, some noble hand, had wrought; 
 Smiling she seem'd, and full of pleasing thought : 
 From ocean as she first began to rise. 
 And smooth 'd the ruffled seas, and clear' d the 
 skies ; 
 
 She trod the brine, all bare below the breast, 
 And the green waves but ill conceal'd the rest : 
 A lute she held ; and on her head was seen 
 A wreath of roses red, and myrtles green : 
 Her turtles fann'd the buxom air above ; 
 And, by his mother, stood an infant Lov« 
 
48 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 With wings unfledged ; his eyes were banded o'er; 
 
 His hands a how, his back a quiver bore, 
 
 Suppfied with ar?ows bright and keen, a deadly store. 
 
 But in the dome of mighty Mars the red, 
 With different figures all the sides were spread : 
 This temple, less in form, with equal grace 
 Was imitative of the first in Thrace : 
 For that cold region was the loved abode 
 And sovereign mansion of the warrior- god. 
 The landscape was a forest wide and bare. 
 Where neither beast nor humankind repair : 
 The fowl, that scent afar, the borders fly, 
 And shun the bitter blast, and wheel about the sky. 
 A cake of scurf lies baking on the ground. 
 And prickly stubs, instead of trees, are found ; 
 Or woods, with knots and knares deformed and old ; 
 Headless the most, and hideous to behold : 
 A rattling tempest through the branches went, 
 That stripp'd them bare, and one sole way they bent. 
 Heaven froze above, severe ; the clouds congeal, 
 And through the crystal vault appear'd the standing 
 hail. 
 
 Such was the face without ; a mountain stood 
 Threatening from high, and overlook'd the wood. 
 Beneath the louring brow, and on a bent, 
 The temple stood of Mars armipotent : 
 The frame of burnish 'd steel, that cast a glare 
 From far, and seemed to thaw the freezing air. 
 A straight long entry to the temple led, 
 Blind with high walls, and horror overhead : 
 Thence issued such a blast, and hollow roar, 
 As threatened from the hinge \^ heave the doot^ 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 49 
 
 In, through that door, a northern light there shone ; 
 *Twas all it had, for windows there were none. 
 The gate was adamant ; eteinal frame ! 
 Which, hew' J by Mars himself, from Indian quarries 
 came. 
 
 The labour of a god ; and all along 
 Tough iron plates were clench 'd to make it strong. 
 A tun about was every pillar there ; 
 A polish'd mirror sVione not half so clear. 
 There saw I how the secret felon wrought, 
 And treason labouring in the traitor's thought ; 
 And midwife Time the ripen'd plot to murdei 
 brought. 
 
 There, the red anger dared the pallid fear ; 
 
 Next stood Hypocrisy, with holy leer ; 
 
 Soft-smiling, and demurely looking down, 
 
 But hid the dagger underneath the gown : 
 
 Th' assassinating wife, the household fiend; 
 
 And, far the blackest there, the traitor-friend. 
 
 On th* other side there stood destruction bare ; 
 
 Unpunish'd rapine, and a wagte of war. 
 
 Contest, with sharpen'd knives, in cloisters drawn, 
 
 And all with blood bespread the holy lawn. 
 
 Loud menaces were heard, and foul disgrace, 
 
 And bawling infamy, in lang-iage base ; [place. 
 
 Till sense was lost in sound, and silence fled th« 
 
 The slayer of himself yet sa^v I there, 
 
 The gore congeal 'd was clotted in his hair ; 
 
 With eyes half closed, and gaping mouth he lay, 
 
 And grim, as when he breathed his sullen soul away« 
 
 In mList of all the dome, misfortune sat. 
 
 And gloomy discontent, and fell debate ; 
 
FABLES. 
 
 And madness laughing in his ireful mood ; 
 
 And arni'd complaint on theft ; and erics of blood* 
 
 There was the murder* d corpse, in covert laid, 
 
 And violent death in thousand shapes display' d : 
 
 The city to the soldier's rage resign 'd : 
 
 Successful wars, and poverty behind : 
 
 Ships burh'd in fight, or forced on rocky shores, 
 
 And the rash hunter strangled by the boars : 
 
 The new-born babe by nurses overlaid ; 
 
 And the cook caught within the raging fire he made. 
 
 All ills of Mars's nature, flame and steel; 
 
 The gasping charioteer beneath the wheel 
 
 Of his own car ; the ruin'd house, that falls 
 
 And intercepts her lord betwixt the walls : 
 
 The whole division that to Mars pertains. 
 
 All trades of death that deal in steel for gains, 
 
 Were there : the butcher, armourer, and smith 
 
 Who forges sharpen'd falchions, or the scythe. 
 
 The scarlet conquest on a tower was placed, 
 
 With shouts and soldiers' acclamations graced : 
 
 A pointed sword hung threatening o'er his head, 
 
 Sustain' d but by a slender twine of thread. 
 
 There saw I Mars's Ides, the capitol, 
 
 The seer in vain foretelling Cessar's fall. 
 
 The last triumvirs, and the wars they move, 
 
 And Anthony, who lost the world for love ! 
 
 These, and a thousand more, the fane adorn ; 
 
 Their fates were painted ere the men were born ; 
 
 All copied from the heavens, and ruling force 
 
 Of the red star, in his revolving course. 
 
 The form of Mars high on a chariot stood, 
 
 All sheath'd in arms, and gruffly look'd the god a 
 
PALAMON AND ABCITE. 
 
 61 
 
 Two geomantic figures were displayed 
 Above his head, a warrior and a maid*, 
 One when direct, and one when retrograde. 
 
 Tired with deformities of death, I haste 
 To the third temple of Diana chaste : — 
 A silvan scene with various greens was drawn, 
 Shades on the sides, and in the midst a lawn : 
 The silver Cynthia, with her nymphs around, 
 Pursued the flying deer, the woods with horn« re- 
 sound : 
 
 Calisto there stood manifest of shame, 
 
 And, turn'd a bear, the northern star became : 
 
 Her son was next, and by peculiar grace 
 
 In the cold circle held the second place : 
 
 The stag Acteon in the stream had spied 
 
 The naked huntress, and, for seeing, died : 
 
 His hounds, unknowing of his change, pursue 
 
 The chase, and their mistaken master slew, 
 
 Peneian Daphne too was there to see, 
 
 Apollo's love before, and now his tree : 
 
 Th' adjoining fane th' assembled Greeks express'd, 
 
 And hunting of the Calydonian beast ; 
 
 (Enides' valour, and his envied prize ; 
 
 The fatal power of Atalanta's eyes ; 
 
 Diana's vengeance on the victor shown, 
 
 The murdress mother, and consuming son ; 
 
 The Volscian queen extended on the plain ; 
 
 The treason punish 'd, and the traitor slain. 
 
 The rest were various huntings, well design*d, 
 
 And savage beasts destroy' d, of every kind. 
 
 * Rubeus an«l Ptiella. 
 ■ 2 
 
S3 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 The graceful goddess was array 'd in green ; 
 About her feet were little beagles seen, 
 That watch'd with upward eyes the motioriS of their 
 queen. 
 
 Her legs were buskin' d, and the left before, 
 In act to shoot : a silver bow she bore, 
 And at her back a painted quiver wore. 
 She trod a waxing moon, that soon would wane, 
 And, .drinking borrow 'd light, be fill'd again : 
 With downcast eyes, as seeming to survey 
 The dark dominions, her alternate sway. 
 Before her stood a woman in her throes, 
 And call'd Lucina's aid, her burden to dirclose. 
 All these the painter drew with such command, 
 That Nature snatch' d the pencil from his hand ; 
 Ashamed and angry, that his heart could feign 
 And mend the tortures of a mother's pain. 
 Theseus beheld the fanes of every god, 
 And thought his mighty cost was well bestow'd. 
 So princes now their poets should regard ; 
 But few can write, and fewer can reward. 
 
 The theatre thus raised, the lists enclosed, 
 And all with vast magnificence disposed, 
 We leave the nionarch phased ; and haste to bring 
 The knights to combat ; and their arms to sing. 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITR 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 The day rpproacli'd when fortune should decide 
 Th' important enterprise, and give the bride ; 
 For now, the rivals round the world had sought, 
 And each his number, well appointed, brought. 
 The nations far and near contend in choice, 
 And send the flower of war by public voice ; 
 That after, or before, were never known 
 Such chiefs ; as each an army seem'd alone. 
 Beside the champions, all of high degree. 
 Who knighthood loved, and deeds of chivalry, 
 Throng'd to the lists, and envied to behold 
 The names of others, not their own enrclPd. 
 Nor seems it strange ; for every noble knight, 
 Who love'fj the fair, and is endued with might, 
 In such a quarrel would be proud to fight. 
 There breathes not scarce a man on British ground 
 (An isle for love and arms of old renown'd) 
 But would have sold his life to purchase fame, 
 To Palamon or Arcite sent his name ; 
 
£4 
 
 FABIES 
 
 And had the hind selected of the best, 
 Half had come hence, and let the world provide<stht 
 rest. 
 
 A hundred knights with Palamon there came, 
 Approved in fight, and men of mighty name ; 
 Their arms were several, as their nations were, 
 But furnish'd all alike with sword and spear. 
 Some wore coat-armour, imitating scale ; 
 And next their skins were stubborn shirts of mail. 
 Some wore a breastplate and a light juppon*, 
 Their horses clothed with rich caparison : 
 Some for defence would leathern bucklers use, 
 Of folded hides ; and others, shields of Prucef, 
 One hung a poleaxe at his saddle-bow. 
 And one a heavy mace, to stun the foe : 
 One for his legs and knees provided well, 
 With jambeux arm'd, and double plates of steel : 
 This on his helmet wore a lady's glove, 
 And that, a sleeve embroider' d by his love. 
 
 With PalaiTwn, above the rest in place, 
 Lycurgus came, the surly king of Thrace ; 
 Black was his beard, and manly was his face : 
 The balls of his broad eyes roU'd in his head, 
 And glared betwixt a yellow and a red : 
 He look'd a lion with a gloomy stare. 
 And o'er his eyebrows hung his matted hair: 
 Big-boned, and large of limbs, with sinews strong. 
 Broad- shoulder' d, and his arms were round and long, 
 Four milk-white bulls (the Thracian use of old) 
 Were yoked to draw his car of burnish' d gold. 
 
 A dose coat* 
 
 t Prussian leather. 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 55 
 
 Upright he stood, and bore aloft his shield, 
 Conspicuous from afar, and overlook' d the field. 
 His surcoat was a bear- skin on his back ; 
 His hair hung long behind, and glossy raven-black. 
 His ample forehead bore a coronet, 
 With sparkling diamonds and with rubies set : 
 Ten brace, and more, of greyhounds, snowy fair, 
 And tall as stags, ran loose, and coursed around his 
 chair ; 
 
 A match for pards in flight, in grappling for the bear ; 
 With golden muzzles all their mouths were bound, 
 And collars of the same their necks surround. 
 Thus through the fields Lycurgus took his way : 
 His hundred knights attend in pomp and proud 
 array. 
 
 To match this monardi, with strong Arcite came 
 Eraelrius, king of Ind, (a mighty name !) 
 On a bay courser, goodly to behold, 
 The trappings of his horse emboss' d with barbarous 
 gold. 
 
 Not l\Iars bestrode a steed with greater grace ; 
 
 His surcoat o'er his arms was cloth of Thrace, 
 
 Adorn' d with pearls, all orient, round, and great ; 
 
 His saddle was of gold, with emeralds set. 
 
 His shoulders large a mantle did attire. 
 
 With rubies thick, and sparkling as the fire : 
 
 His amber- colour' d locks in ringlets run 
 
 With graceful negligence, and shone against the sun* 
 
 His nose ^vas aquiline, his eyes were blue, 
 
 Ruddy his lips, and fresh and fair his hue : 
 
 Some sprinkled freckles on his face were seen, 
 
 Whose dusk set off the whiteness of the skia. 
 
56 
 
 yABLES. 
 
 His awful presence did the crowd surprise, 
 Nor dm-st the rash spectator meet his eyes ; 
 Eyes, that confess'd him born for kingly sway, 
 So fierce, they flash'd intolerable day. 
 His age in nature's youthful prime appear' d, 
 And just began to bloom his yellow beard ; 
 Whene'er he spoke, his voice was heard around. 
 Loud as a trumpet, with a silver sound ; 
 A laurel wreath his temples, fresh and green. 
 And myrtle sprigs, the marks of love, were mix'd be- 
 tween ; 
 
 Upon his fist he bore, for his delight. 
 An eagle well reclaim' d, and lily-white. 
 
 His hundred knights attend him to the war, 
 All arm'd for battle, save their heads were bare. 
 Words and devices blazed on every shield. 
 And pleasing was the terror of the field, 
 For kings, and dukes, and barons you might se-?, 
 Like sparkling stars, though different in degree, 
 All for th' increase of arms, and love of chivalry. 
 Before the king tame leopards led the way. 
 And troops of lions innocently play : 
 So Bacchus through the coiiquer'd Indies rode. 
 And beasts in gambols frisjt'd before their honest 
 god] 
 
 In this ar-ay the war of either side 
 Tlirough Athens pass'd with military pride. 
 At prime they enter' d, on the Sunday morn ; 
 Rich tapestry spread the streets, and flowers the po9t4 
 adorn. 
 
 The town was all a jubilee of feasts : 
 
 So Theseus will'd, in honour of his guests, 
 
PALAMON AND AKCITE. 
 
 Himself with op§n arms the king embraced ; 
 Then all the rest in their degrees were graced, 
 No harbinger was needful for the night, 
 For every house was proud to lodge a knight, 
 
 I pass the ro3'al treat, nor must relate 
 The gifts bestow' d, nor how the champions sate ; 
 Who first, who last, or how the knights address' d 
 Their vows, or who was fairest at the feast ; 
 \Vhase voice, v/hose graceful dance did most surprise; 
 Soft amorous sighs, and silent love of eyes. 
 The rwals call my IMuse another way, 
 To sing their vigils for th' ensuing day. 
 
 'Twas ebbing darkness, past the noon of night, 
 And Phos])hor, on the confines of ihe light. 
 Promised the sun, ere day began to spring ; 
 The tuneful lark already stretch'd her wing, 
 And, flickering on her nest, made short essays to 
 sing: 
 
 When wakeful Palamon, preventing day. 
 
 Took to the royal lists his early way. 
 
 To Venus at her fane, in her own house to pray. 
 
 There falling on his knees before her shrine, 
 
 He thus im;,lored with prayers her power divine :— - 
 
 * Creator Venus ! genial power of love ! 
 
 The bliss of men below and gods above ! 
 
 Beneath the sliding sun thou runn'st thy race, 
 
 Dost fairest shine and best become thy place : 
 
 For thee the winds their eastern blasts forbear ; 
 
 Thy month reveals the spring, and opens all the year* 
 
 Tliee, goddess ! thee the storms of winter fly ; 
 
 Earth smiles with flowers renewing ; laughs the sky j 
 
 And birds to lays of love their tuneful notes apply. 
 
58 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 For thee the hon loathes the taste (Jf blooti, 
 And, roaring, hunts his female through the wo?ri| 
 For thee the bulls rebellow through the groves, 
 And tempt the streams, and snufF their absent 
 loves. 
 
 'Tis thine whate'er is pleasant, good, or fair ; 
 
 All nature is thy province, life th)' care : 
 
 Thou niadest the world, and dost the world repaif. 
 
 Thou gladder of the mount of Cytheron; 
 
 Increase of Jove, companion of the sun ! 
 
 If e'er Adonis touch'd thy tender heart, 
 
 Have pity, goddess, for thou know'st the smart* 
 
 Alas ! I have not words to tell my grief ; 
 
 To vent my sorrow v ould be some relief : 
 
 Light sufferings give us leisure to complain ; 
 
 We groan, but cannot speak, in greater pain. 
 
 O goddess ! tell thvself what I would say ; 
 
 Thou know'st it, a\.J I feel too much to pra^t 
 
 Ro grant my suit as I enforce niy might, 
 
 In love to be thy champion and thy knight J 
 
 A servant to thy sex, a slave to thee, 
 
 A foe profess'd to barren chastity. 
 
 Nor ask I fame or honour of the field ; 
 
 Nor choose I more to vanquish than to yield t 
 
 In my divine Emilia make me bless' d, 
 
 Let fate or partial chance dispose the rest : 
 
 Find thou the manner and the means prepare | 
 
 Possession, more than conquest, is my care. 
 
 Mars is the warrior's god ; in him it lies, 
 
 On whom he favours to confer the prize; 
 
 With smiling aspect you serenely move 
 
 Iq your fiUh ofb, and rule the realm of love* 
 
ALAMON AND ARCITS. 
 
 The Fates but only spin the coarser clue ; 
 
 The finest of the wool is left for you. 
 
 Spare me but one small portion of the twine, 
 
 And let the Sisters cut below your line ; 
 
 The rest among the rubbish may they sweep, 
 
 Or add it to the yarn of some old miser's heap. 
 
 But if you this ambitious prayer deny 
 
 (A wish, I grant, beyond mortality), 
 
 Then let me sink beneath proud Arcite's arms. 
 
 And I once dead, let him possess her charms !* 
 
 Thus ended he : then, with observance due. 
 The sacred incense on her altar threw. 
 Tlic curling smoke mounts heavy from the fires ; 
 At length it catches flame, and in a blaze expires i 
 A-t once the gracious goddess gave the sign, 
 Her statue shook, and trembled all the shrine. 
 Pleased, Palamon the tardy omen took ; 
 For, since the flames pursued the trailing smoke, 
 He knew his boon was granted : but the day [delay. 
 To distance driven, and joy adjourn'd with long 
 
 Now morn with rosy light had streak' d the sky, 
 (Jp rose the sun, and up rose Emily ; 
 Address' d her early steps to Cynthia's fane, 
 In state, attended by her maiden train. 
 Who bore the vests that holy rites require. 
 Incense, and odorous gums, and cover'd fire. 
 The plenteous horns with pleasant mead they crown, 
 Nor wanted aught besides in honour of the moon. 
 Now, while the temple smoked with hallowed steana, 
 They wash the virgin in a living stream. 
 The secret ceremonies I conceal, 
 Uncouth, perhaps unlawful, to reveal ; 
 
60 
 
 FABLES, 
 
 But such they were as pagaa use required, 
 Perform' d by women when the men retired ; 
 Whose eyes profane, their chaste mysterious rites 
 Might turn to scandal or obscene dehghts. 
 Well-meaners think no harm ; but for the rest, 
 Things sacred they pervert, and silence is the best. 
 Her shining hair, uncomb'd, was loosely spread, 
 A crown of mastless oak adorn'd her head, 
 When, to the shrine approach' d, the spotless maid 
 Had kindling fires on either altar laid 
 (The rites were such as were observed of old, 
 By Statins in his Theban story told) ; 
 Then kneeling, with her hands across her breast, 
 Thus lowly she preferr'd her chasie request : — 
 * O goddess ! haunter of the woodland green, 
 To whom both heaven, and earth, and seas are seen, 
 Queen of the nether skies, where half tne year 
 Thy silver beams descend, and light the gloomy 
 sphere ; 
 
 Goddess of maids ! and conr-cious of our hearts, 
 
 So keep me from the vengeance of thy darts. 
 
 Which Niobe's devoted issue felt, [were dealt, 
 
 When hiesing through the skies the feather' d deaths 
 
 As I desire to live a virgin life, 
 
 Nor know the name of mother or of wife. 
 
 Thy votaress from my tender years I am. 
 
 And love, like thee, the woods and si-Ivan game. 
 
 Like death, thou know'st, I loathe the nuptial state; 
 
 And man, the tyrant of our sez, I hate ; 
 
 A lowly servant, but a lofty mate. 
 
 Where love is duty on the female side, [pride. 
 
 On theirs mere sensual gust, and sought with stuly 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 81 
 
 Now by thy triple shape, as thou art seen 
 In heaven, earth, hell, and every where a queen, 
 Grant this, my first desire : let discord cease, 
 And make betwixt the rivals lasting peace ; 
 Quench their hot fire, or far from me remove 
 The flame, and turn it on some other love. 
 Or if my frowning stars have so decreed 
 That one must be rejected, one succeed, 
 Make him my lord within whose faithful breast 
 Is fix'd my image, and who loves me best. 
 But, oh ! e'en that avert ! I choose it not ; 
 But take it as the least unhappy lot. 
 A maid I am, and of thy virgin train ; 
 Oh, let me still that spo'.less name retain ! 
 Frequent the forests, thy chaste will obey, 
 And only make the beasts of chase my prey !' 
 
 The flames ascend on either altar clear, 
 While thus the blameless maid address'd her prayer, 
 When lo ! the burning fire, that shone so bright, 
 Flew off, all sudden, with extinguish' d light. 
 And left one altar dark, a little space, 
 Which turn'd, self-kindled, and renew'd the blaze: 
 The other victor-flame a moment stood, 
 Then fell, and lifeless left th' extinguish'd wood; 
 For ever lost, th' irrevocable light 
 Forsook the blackening coals and sunk to night : 
 At either end it whistled as it flew, 
 And as the brands were green, so dropp'd the dew. 
 Infected, as it fell, with sweat of sanguine hue. 
 
 The maid from that ill omen turn'd her eyes. 
 And with loud shrieks and clamours rent the skiefl j 
 
02 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Nor kntw what signified the boding sign, 
 
 Put found the powers displeased, and fear'd th« 
 
 wrath divine. 
 Then shook the sacred shrine, and sudden light 
 Sprung through the vaulted roof, and made the 
 
 temple bright. 
 The po'.ver, }>ehold ! the power in glory shone, 
 By her bent bow and her keen arrows known ; 
 The rest, a huntress issuing from the wood, 
 Reclining on her cornel spear she stood. 
 Then gracious thus began : — ' Dismiss thy fear. 
 And Heaven*s unchanged decrees attentive hear : 
 More powerful gods have torn thee from my side, 
 Unwilling to resign, and doom'd a bride: 
 The two contending knights are weigh' d above ; 
 One Mars protects, and one the queen of Love ; 
 But which the man, is in the Thunderer's breast. 
 This he pronounced — 'tis he who loves thee best. 
 The fire, that once extinct revis ed again. 
 Foreshows the love allotted to remain : 
 Farewell !' she said, and vanish'd from the place : 
 The sheaf of arrows shook, and rattled in the case. 
 Aghast at this, the royal virgin stood 
 ])isclaim'd, and now no nvore a sister of the wood : 
 But to the parting goddess thus she pray'd : 
 * Propitious still be present to my aid. 
 Nor quite abandon your once favour' d maid !' 
 Then, sighing, she return'd ; but smiled betwixt, 
 With hopes and fears, and joys with sorrows mix'd* 
 
 The next returning planetary hour 
 Of Mars, who shared the heptarchy of power, 
 
PALAMON A.XD ARCITE, 
 
 63 
 
 His steps bold Arcite to the temple bent, 
 T' adore with pagan rites the power armipotent : 
 Then prostrate low before his altar lay, 
 And raised his manly voice, and thus began to pray t 
 * Strong God of Arms, whose iron sceptre sways 
 The freezing north and Hyperborean seas, 
 And Scythian colds, and Thracia's winter coast, 
 Where stand thy steeds, and thou art honour' d 
 most : 
 
 There most ; but every where thy power is known - 
 
 The fortune of the fight is all thy own : 
 
 Terror is thine, and wild amazement flung 
 
 From out thy chariot, withers e'en the strong ; 
 
 And disarray and shameful route ensue, 
 
 And force is added to the fainting crew. 
 
 Aclcnowledged as thou art, accept my pray'r : 
 
 If aught I have achieved deserve thy care ; 
 
 If to my utmost power, with sword and shield, 
 
 I dar,ed the death, unknowing how to yield ; 
 
 And, falling in my rank, still kept the field : 
 
 Then let my arms prevail, by thee sustain' d, 
 
 That Emily by conquest may be gain'd. 
 
 Have pity on my pains ; nor those unknown 
 
 To Mars, which, when a lover, were his own. 
 
 Venus, the public care of all above. 
 
 Thy stubborn heart has soften' d into love : 
 
 Now, by her blandishments and powerful charms, 
 
 When, yielded, she lay curling in thy arms ; 
 
 Even by thy shame, if shame it may be call'd, 
 
 When Vulcan had thee in his net enthrall' d ; 
 
 O envied ignominy ! sweet disgrace I 
 
 When every god that law •^b** A'ish'd thy pkc« * 
 
54 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 By those dear pleasures, aid my arms in fight, 
 
 And make me conquer in my patron's right ; 
 
 For I am young, a novice in the trade, 
 
 The fool of love, unpractis'd to persuade ; 
 
 And want the soothing arts that catch the fair, 
 
 But, caught myself, lie struggling in the snare : 
 
 And she I love, or laughs at all my pain, [dain. 
 
 Or knows her worth too well, and pays me with dis- 
 
 For sure I am, unless I win in arms. 
 
 To stand excluded from Emilia's charms r 
 
 Nor can my strength avail, unless by thee 
 
 Endued with force, I gain ^he victory : 
 
 Then for the fire which warm'd thy generous heart, 
 
 Pity thy subject's pains and equal smart : 
 
 So be the morrow's sweat and labour mine ; 
 
 The palm and honour of the conquest thine. 
 
 Then shall the war, and stern debate, and strife 
 
 Immortal, be the business of my life ; 
 
 And in thy fane, the dusty spoils among. 
 
 High on the burnish'd roof my banners ^iiall be hungfj 
 
 Ilank'd with my champions' bucklers ; and below^ 
 
 With arms reversed, th' achievements of my foe : 
 
 And while these limbs the vital spirit feeds. 
 
 While day to night, and night to day succeeds, 
 
 Thy smoking altars shall be fat with food 
 
 Of incense, and the grateful steam of blood ; 
 
 Burnt-offerings morn and evening shall be thine, 
 
 And fires eternal in thy temple shine. 
 
 The bush of yellow beard, this length of hair, 
 
 Which from my birth inviolate I bear, 
 
 Guiltless of steel, and from the razor free, 
 
 Siiall fall, a plenteous crop, reserved for thee* 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 6ft 
 
 So may my arras with victory be bless 'd, 
 I asit no more, let fate dispose the rest !' 
 
 The champion ceased : there follow'd in the cloft* 
 A hollow groan ; a murmuring wind arose ; 
 The rings of iron that on the doors were hung 
 Sent out a jarring sound, and harshly rung : 
 The bolted gates flew open at the blast ; 
 The storm rush'd in ; and Arcite stood aghast ! 
 The flames were blown aside, yet shone they bright, 
 Fann'd by the wind, and gave a ruffled light. 
 
 Then from the ground a scent began to rise, 
 Sweet smelling, as accepted sacrifice : 
 ITiis omen pleased ; and as the flames aspire. 
 With odorous incense Arcite heaps the fire : 
 Nor wanted hymns to Mars, or heathen charms ; 
 At length tHe nodding statue clash'd his arms, 
 And with a sullen sound and feeble cry, 
 Half sunk and half pronounced the word of Victory I 
 For this, with soul devout, he thank'd the god ; 
 And, of success secure, return'd to his abode. 
 
 These vows, thus granted, raised a strife above. 
 Betwixt the god of War and queen of Love. 
 She granted first, had right of time to plead ; 
 But he had granted too, nor would recede. 
 Jove was for Venus, but he fear'd his wife. 
 And seem'd unwiUing to decide the strife ; 
 Till Saturn from his leaden throne arose, 
 And found a way the difference to compose : 
 Though sparing of his grace, to mischief bent. 
 He seldom does a good with good intent. 
 Wayward, but wise ; by long experience taught j 
 To please both parties, for ill ends, he so-ught ; 
 9 
 
69 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 For this advantage age from youth has won, 
 
 As, not to be outridden, though outrun. 
 
 By fortune he was now to Venus trined*, 
 
 And with stern Mars in Capricorn was join'd : 
 
 Of him disposing in his own abode. 
 
 He sooth'd the goddess, while he guU'd the godr: - 
 
 * Cease, daughter, to complain, and stint the strife, 
 
 Thy Palamon shall have his promised wife ; 
 
 And Mars, the lord of conquest, in the fight, 
 
 With palm and laurel shall adorn his knight. 
 
 Wide is my course, nor turn I to my place 
 
 Till length of time, and move with tardy pace. 
 
 Man feels me when I press th' ethereal plains ; 
 
 ]My hand is heavy, and the wound remains. 
 
 Mine is the shipwreck, in a watery sign ; 
 
 And in an earthy, the dark dungeon mine. 
 
 Cold shivering agues, melancholy care, 
 
 And bitter blasting winds, and |>oison'd air 
 
 Are mine ; and wilful death, resulting from despair. 
 
 The throttling quinsy 'tis my star appoints, 
 
 And rheumatisms I send, to rack the joints. 
 
 When churls rebel against their native prince, 
 
 I arm thtir hands, and furnish the pretence ; 
 
 And, housing in the lion's hateful sign, 
 
 Bought senates and deserting troops are mine. 
 
 Mine is the privy poisoning ; I command 
 
 Unkindly seasons and ungrateful land. 
 
 By me kings' palaces are push'd to ground, 
 
 And miners crush' d beneath their mines anc found ; 
 
 • Trine m an aspe-T*; of plwn&ts stppojetl by eistrolofen tc 
 be cniiiientij benign. 
 
PALAMON AND ARClTB. 
 
 87 
 
 *Twas I slew Samson, when the pillar' d hull 
 Fell down, and crush'd the many with the fall : 
 My looking is the sire of pestilence. 
 That sweeps at once the people and the prince. 
 Now weep no more, but trust thy grandsire's art ; 
 Mars shall be pleased, and thou perform thy part. 
 *Tis ill, though different your complexion)? are, 
 The family of heaven for men should war.' 
 Th' expedient pleased, where neither lost his right t 
 Mars had the day, and Venus had the night. 
 The management they left to Chronos' care : 
 Now turn we to th' effect, and sing the war. 
 
 In Athens all was pleas .ire, mirth, and play, 
 All proper to the spring and sprightly May ; 
 Which every soul inspired with such delight, 
 *T\vas justing all the day, and love at night. 
 Heaven smiled, and gladdened was the heart of man ; 
 And Venus had the world as when it first began. 
 At length in sleep their bodies they compose, 
 And dream'd the future fight, and early rose. 
 
 Now scarce the dawning day began to sj)ring, 
 As, at a signal given, the streets with clamours ringj 
 At once the crowd arose ; confused and high, 
 
 '< E'en from the heavens was heard a shouting cry ; 
 
 1 For Mars was early up, and roused the sky. 
 The gods came downw ard to behold the wars, 
 Sharpening their sights, and leaning from their 
 stars. 
 
 The neighing of the generous horse was heard, 
 For battle by the busy groom prepared ; 
 il-ustling of harness, rattling of the shield, 
 Clattering of armour furbish'd for the ileldt 
 r 9 
 
FABLES. 
 
 Crowds to the castle xiounted up the street, 
 Battering- the pavement with their coursers' feet; 
 The greedy sight might there devour the gold 
 Of glittering arms, too dazzling to behold ; 
 And polish'd steel, that cast the view aside, 
 And crested morions with their plumy pride. 
 Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, 
 In gaudy liveries march, and quaint attires : 
 One laced the helm, another held the lance, 
 A third the shining buckler did advance. 
 The courser paw'd the ground with restless feet, 
 And snorting foam'd, and champ' d the golden bit. 
 The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride, 
 Files in their hands, and hammers at their side, 
 And nails for loosen' d spears, and thongs for shield* 
 provide. 
 
 The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands, 
 And clowns come crowding on with cudgels in their 
 hands. 
 
 The trumpets, next the gate in order placed, 
 Attend the sign to sound the martial blast : 
 The palace-yard is fiU'd with floating tides, 
 And the last comers bear the former to the aides. 
 The throng is in the midst : the common crew 
 Shut out, the hall admits the better few. 
 In knots they stand, or in a rank they walk, 
 Serious in aspect, earnest in their talk : 
 Factious, and favouring this or th' other side, 
 As their strong fancies and weak reason guide. 
 Their wagers back their wishes : numbers hold 
 With the fair 5f eckled king, and beard of gtld ; 
 So vigorous are his eyes, such rays they cast. 
 So prominent his eagle's beak is placed. 
 
PALAMO:* AND AUCITE. 
 
 But most their looks on the bhick monarch bend, 
 
 His risin;^ muscles and his brawn commend ; 
 
 His double-biting axe and beamy spear, 
 
 Each asking a gigantic force to rear. 
 
 AH spoke as partial favour moved the mind, 
 
 And, safe themselves, at others' cost divined. 
 
 \Vaked by the cries, th' Athenian chief arcse, 
 The knightly forms of combat to dispose ; 
 And, passing through th' obsequious guards, he sat6 
 Conspicuous on a throne, sublime in state. 
 There, for the two contending knights he*oent : 
 Arm'd cap-a-pee, with reverence low they bent: 
 He smiled on both, and with superior look, 
 Alike their olfer'd adoration took. 
 The people press on every side to see 
 Their awful prince, and hear his high decree. 
 Then signing to their heralds with his hand. 
 They gave his orders from their lofty stand. 
 Silence is thrice enjoin' d ; then thus aloud [crowd j 
 The king at arms bespeaks the knights and listening 
 
 • Our sovereign lord has pondered in his mind 
 The means to spare the blood of gentle kind ; 
 And of his grace and inborn clemency, 
 He modifies his first severe decree : 
 The keener edge of battle to rebate. 
 The troops for honour fighting, not for hate. 
 He wills, not death should terminate their strife ; 
 And wounds, if wounds ensue, be short of life j 
 But issues, ere the fight, his dread command. 
 That slings afar, and poignards hand to hand. 
 Be bacish'd from the field ; that none siiall darQ 
 With shorten'd sword to stab in closer war j 
 
FABLES. 
 
 But in fair combat fight, with manly strength ; 
 
 Nor push with biting point, but strike at length. 
 
 The tourney is allow'd but one career 
 
 Of the tough ash with the sharp -grinded spear : 
 
 But knights unhorsed may rise from off the plair^^ 
 
 And fight on foot their honour to regain. 
 
 Nor, if at mischief taken, the ground 
 
 Be slain, but prisoners to the pillar bound, 
 
 At either barrier placed ; or, captives made, 
 
 Be freed ; or, arm'd .mew, the fight invade. 
 
 The chief of either side bereft of life, 
 
 Or yielded to his foe, concludes the strife. [young. 
 
 Thus dooms the lord : now, valiant knights and 
 
 Fight each his fill with swords and maces long,' 
 
 The herald ends : the vaulted firmament 
 
 With loud acclaim.s 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 trumpet's sound 
 
 And warlike symphony is heard around. 
 
 The marching troops through ^-thens take their way 
 
 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, 
 
 Proceed by titles marshal 'd in degree. 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 71 
 
 Thus through the southern gate they take their way. 
 And at the lists arrived, ere prime of day. 
 There, parting from the king, the chiefs divide. 
 And wheeling east and west, before their meny ride, 
 Th' Athenian monarch mounts his throne on higj), 
 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 
 In rush'd at once a rude promiscuous crowd : 
 The guards and then each other overbare, 
 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 hears the goii of War, 
 Proud Arcite, entering arm'd before hb tr&lni 
 Stops at the barrier and divides the plain : 
 Red was his banner, and display'd abroad 
 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 peop)e'3 eyes. 
 From east to west, look all the world around, 
 Two troops so match' d were never to be found t 
 Such bodies built for strength, of equal age, 
 In stature sized ; so proud an equipage : 
 The nicest eye could no distinction make, 
 Where lay th* advantage, or what side to take. 
 Thus ranged, the herald for the last proclaim* 
 A silence, while they answer* d to their names ! 
 
FABLES. 
 
 For so the king decreed, to shun with care 
 
 The fraud of musters false, the common bane of war. 
 
 The tale was just, and then the gates were closed ; 
 
 And chief to chief, and troop to troop opposed. 
 
 The heralds last retired, and loudly cried, 
 
 * The fortune of the field be fairly tried !' 
 
 At this, the challenger with fierce defy 
 His trumpet sounds ; the challenged makes reply : 
 With clangour rings the field, resounds the vaulted 
 sky. 
 
 Their vizors closed, their lances in the rest, 
 Or at the helmet pointed, or the crest ; 
 They vanish from the barrier, speed the race. 
 And, spurring, see decrease the middle space. 
 A cloud of smoke envelopes either host, 
 And all at once the combatants are lost. 
 Darkling they join adverse, and shock unseen, 
 Coursers with coursers justling, men with men; 
 As labouring in Eclipse, awhile they stay, 
 Till the next blast of wind restores the day. 
 They look anew : the beauteous form of fight 
 Is changed, and war appears a grisly sight. 
 Two troops in fair array one moment show'd, 
 The next, a field with fallen bodies strow'd : 
 Not half the number in their seats are found ; 
 But men and steeds lie grovelling on the ground, 
 The points of spears are stuck within the shield, 
 The steeds without their riders scour the field. 
 The knights unhorsed on foot renew the fight ; 
 The glittering l?alchions cast a gleaming light : 
 Hauberks and helms are hew'd with many a wound ; 
 Out spins the streaming blood, and dj-cs the ground* 
 
FA.LAMON AND ARCITS. 71 
 
 rhe mighty maces with such haste descend, [bend, 
 rhey break the bones, and make the solid armour 
 This thrusts amid the throng with furious force ; 
 Down goes, at once, the horseman and the horse : 
 That courser stumbles on the fallen steed, 
 And, floundering, throws the rider o'er his head. 
 One rolls along, a football to his foes ; 
 One with a broken truncheon deals his blows. 
 This halting, this disabled with his wound, 
 In triumph led, is to the pillar bound, 
 Where, by the king's award, he must abide: 
 There goes a captive led on th' other side. 
 By fits they cease ; and leaning on the lance, 
 Take breath a while, and to new fight advance. 
 Full oft the rivals met, and neither spared 
 His utmost force, and each forgot to ward. 
 The head of this was to the saddle bent. 
 That other backward to the crupper sent ; 
 Both were by turns unhorsed ; the jealous blows 
 Fall thick and heavy, when on foot they close. 
 So deep their falchions bite, that every stroke 
 Pierced to the quick ; and equal wounds they gave an4 
 Borne far asunder by the tides of men, [k?ck« 
 Like adamant and steel they meet again. 
 So when a tiger sucks the bullock's blood, 
 A famish' d lion issuing from the wood 
 Roars lordly fierce, and challenges the food ; 
 Each claims possession, neither will obey. 
 Bat both their paws are fasten' d on the prey : 
 They bite, they tear ; and while in vain they strive, 
 The swains come arm'd between, av-d both to dis# 
 tance drive. 
 
74 
 
 PABLKS. 
 
 At length, ab fate foredoom' d, and all things tend 
 By course of time to their a4)pointed end ; 
 So when the sun to west was far declined, 
 And both afresh in mortal battle join'd, 
 The strong Emetrius came in Arcite's aid, 
 And Palamon with odds was overlaid : 
 For turning short, he struck with all his might 
 ¥all on the helmet of th' unwary knight. 
 Deep was the wound ; he stagger'd with the blow, 
 And turn'd him to his unexpected foe ; 
 Whom with such force he struck, he felPd hiaa 
 down, 
 
 And cleft the circle of his golden crown. 
 
 ]iut Arcite's men, who now prevail'd in fight, 
 
 Twice ten at once surround the single knight : 
 
 O'erpower'd at length, they force him to the ground, 
 
 Unyielded as he was, and to the pillar bound ; 
 
 And king Lycurgus,. while he fought in vain 
 
 His friend to free, was tumbled on the plain. 
 
 Who now laments but Palamon, compelled 
 No more to try the fortune of the field ! 
 And worse than death, to view with hateful eyes 
 His rival's conquest, and renounce the prize ! 
 
 The royal judge on his tribunal placed. 
 Who had beheld the fight from first to last, 
 Bade cease the war: pronouncing from on high 
 ' Arcite of Thebes had wort the beauteous Emily.* 
 The sound of trumpets to the voice replied, 
 And round the royal lists the heralds cried, 
 ' Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous bride !* 
 
 The people rend the skies with vast applause ; 
 All own the chief, when fortune owns the cause. 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 Arcite is own*d, e'en by the gods above, 
 
 And conquering Mars insults the queen of Love. 
 
 So laugh'd he when the rightful Titan fail*d, 
 
 And Jove's usurping arms in heaven ])revail'd. 
 
 Laugh 'd all the powers who favour tyranny, 
 
 And all the standing army of the sky. 
 
 But Venus with dejected eyes appears, 
 
 And, weeping, on the lists distill'd her tears ; 
 
 Her will refused, which grieves a woman most. 
 
 And in her champion foil'd, the cause of love is los 
 
 Till Saturn said, * Fair daughter, now be still, 
 
 Tlie blustering fool has satisfied his will : 
 
 His boon is given ; his knight has gained the day. 
 
 But lost the prize ; th' arrears are yet to pay. 
 
 Thy hour is come, and mine the care shall be 
 
 To please thy knight, and set thy promise free.* 
 
 Now while the heralds run the lists around. 
 And 'Arcite, Arcite,* heaven and earth resound: 
 A miracle (nor less it could be call'd) 
 Their joy with unexpected sorrow pall'd. 
 The victor-knight had laid his helm aside, 
 ^firt for his ease, the greater part for pride ; 
 Bare-headed, popularly low he bow'd, 
 And paid the salutations of the crowd. 
 Then spurring at full speed, ran endlong on 
 Where Theseus sate on his imperial throne ; 
 Furious he drove, and upward cast his eye. 
 Where, next the queen, was placed his EmiJr; 
 Then passing, to the saddle-bow he bent, 
 A sweet regard the gracious virgin lent 
 (For women, to the brave an easy prey, 
 Still follow fortune, where she leads the way) : 
 
FABLES. 
 
 Just then, from earth sprung out a flashing fire, 
 
 By Pluto sent, at Saturn's bad desire : 
 
 The startling steed was seized with sutlden fright, 
 
 And, bounding, o'er the pummel cast the knight : 
 
 Forward he flew, and pitching on his head, 
 
 We Quivvr'd with his feet, and lay for dead. 
 
 *ilack was his countenance in a little space, 
 
 yor all the blood was gathered in his face. 
 
 Help was at hand : they rear'd him from the ground. 
 
 And from his cumbrous arms h\s limbs unbound ; 
 
 Then lanced a vein, and watch'd returning breath ; 
 
 It came, but clogg'd with symptoms of his death. 
 
 The saddle-bow the noble parts had press'd, 
 
 All bruised and mortified his manly breast. 
 
 Him still entranced, and in a litter laid. 
 
 They bore from field, and to his bed convey'd. 
 
 At length he waked, and, with a feeble cry. 
 
 The word he first pronounced was ' Emily.' 
 
 Meantime the king, though inwardly he mourn'dj 
 In pomp triumphant to the town return'd, 
 Attended by the chiefs, who fought the field 
 (Now friendly mix'd, and in one troop compell'd). 
 Composed his looks to counterfeited cheer. 
 And bade them not for Arcite's life to fear. 
 But that which gladded all the Warrior- train, 
 Though most were sorely wounded, none were slain 
 The surgeons soon despoil'd them of their arms. 
 And some with salves they cure, and some with 
 charms ; 
 
 Foment the bruises, and the pains assuage, 
 And heal their inward hurts with soveveisii draughts 
 of sage. 
 
PALAMON AND ARCIITE. ^ 77 
 
 The king in person visits all around, 
 
 Comforts the sick, congratulates the sound ; 
 
 Honours the princely chiefs, rewards the rest. 
 
 And holds for thrice three days a royal feast. 
 
 None was disgraced ; for falling is no shame ; 
 
 And cowardice alone is loss of fame. 
 
 The venturous knight is from his saddle thrown; 
 
 But 'tis the fault of fortune, not his own. 
 
 If crowns and palms the conquering side adorn, 
 
 The victor under better stars was born : 
 
 The brave man seeks not popular applause, 
 
 Nor overpowcr'd with arms deserts his cause; 
 
 Unshamed, though foil' d, he does the best he caa } 
 
 Force is of brutes, but honour is of man. 
 
 Thus Theseus smiled on all w^ith equal grace ; 
 And each was set according to his place. 
 With ease were reconciled the differing parts, ' 
 For envy never dwells in noble hearts. 
 At length they took their leave, the time expired, 
 Well pleased ; and to their several homes retired. 
 
 Meanwhile the health of Arcite stiti impairs ; 
 From bad proceeds to ik'orse, and mocks the leechei' 
 cares : 
 
 Swoln is his breast, his ^"^ward pains increase, 
 All means are used, and all wi;,hout success. 
 The clotted blood lies heavy on his heart, 
 Corrupts, and there r'^mains in spite of art : 
 Nor breathing veins nor cupping will prevail : 
 All outward remedies and inward fail : 
 The mould of nature's fabric is destroyed, 
 Her vessels discomposed, he? virtue void : 
 
7« 
 
 FABLKS. 
 
 The bellows of his lungs begin to swell : 
 
 All out of frame is every secret eel!, 
 
 Nor can the good receive, nor bad expel. 
 
 Those breathing organs, thus within oppress'd, 
 
 With venom soon distend the sinews of his breast. 
 
 Nought profits him to save abandon'd life, 
 
 Nor vomit's upward aid, nor downward Izaitivc. 
 
 The midmost region batter' d and destroy* d, 
 
 When nature cannot work, th' effect of art is voidj 
 
 Tot physic can but mend our crazy state, 
 
 Patch an old building, not a new create. 
 
 Arcite is doom'd to die in all his pride, 
 
 IMust leave his youth, and yield his beauteous brid«, 
 
 Gain'd hardly, against right, and unenjoy'd. 
 
 When 'twas declared all hope of life was pass'd, 
 
 Conscience (that of all physic works the last) 
 
 Caused him to send for Emily in haste, 
 
 With her, at his desire, came Palamon ; 
 
 Then, on his pillow raised, he thus begun : 
 
 * No language can express the smallest part 
 Of what I feel and suffer in my heart 
 For you, whom best I love and value most ; 
 But to your service I bequeath my ghost ; 
 Which, from this mortal body, when untied, 
 Unseen, unheard, shall hover at your side ; 
 Nor fright you waking, nor your sleep offend, 
 But wait officious, and your steps attend : 
 How I have loved, excuse my faltering tongu^ 
 My spirits feeble, and my pains are strong: 
 This 1 may say, I only grieve to die 
 Because I lose my charming Entfly : 
 
PALA.MON AND ARCITE. 
 
 79 
 
 To die, when Heaven had put you in my power, 
 
 Fate could not choose a more mali-cious hour \ 
 
 What greater curse could envious fortune give, 
 
 Than just to die when I began to live ! 
 
 Vain men, how vanishing a bliss we crave, 
 
 Now warm in love, now withering in the grave ! 
 
 Never, O ! never more to see the sun ! 
 
 Still dark, in a damp vault, and still alone ! 
 
 This fate is common ; but I lose my breath 
 
 Near bliss, and yet not bless' d before my death. 
 
 Farewell ! but take me dying in your arms, 
 
 'Tis all I can enjoy of all your charms : 
 
 This hand I cannot but in death resign j 
 
 Ah, could I live ! but while I live 'tis mine. 
 
 I feel my end approach, and thus embraced, 
 
 Am pleased to die ; but hear me speak my last. 
 
 Ah ! my sweet foe, for you, and you alone, 
 
 I broke my faith with injured Palamon. 
 
 But love the sense of right and wrong confounds, 
 
 Strong love and proud ambition have no bounds. 
 
 And much 1 doubt, should Heaven my life prolongs 
 
 I should return to justify my wrong : 
 
 For while my former flames remain within, 
 
 Repentance is but want of power to sin. 
 
 With mortal hatred I pursued his life, 
 
 Nor he, nor you were guilty of the strife ; 
 
 Nor I, but as I loved : yet all combined, 
 
 Your beauty, and my impotence of mind, 
 
 And his concurrent flame that lAew my fire ; 
 
 For still our kindred souls had one desire. 
 
 He had a moment's right in point of time ; 
 
 Had I seen first, then his had been the crime. 
 
•0 
 
 FABLESi 
 
 Fate made it mine, and justified his ri;;ht ; 
 Nor holds this earth a more deserving knight. 
 For virtue, valour, and for noble blood, 
 Truth, honour, all that is comprised in good ; 
 So help me Heaven ! in all the world is none 
 So worthy to be loved as Palamon. 
 Re loves you too with such a holy fire 
 As will not, cannot but with life expire : 
 Our vow'd affections both have often tried, 
 Nor any love but yours could ours divide. 
 Then, by my love's inviolable band, 
 By my long suffering, and my short command, 
 If e'er you plight your vows when I am gone, 
 Have pity on the faithful Palamon!' 
 
 This was his last ; for Death came on amain, 
 And exercised below his iron reign ; 
 Then upward to the seat of life he goes ; 
 Sense fled before him, what he touch'd he froae ; 
 ret could he not his closing eyes withdraw. 
 Though less and less of Emily he saw : 
 So speechless for a little space he lay, [aw»y« 
 Then grasp' d the hand he held, and sighM his soul 
 But whither went his soul, let such rolate 
 Who search the secrets of the future state : 
 Divines can say but what themselves believe ; 
 Strong proofs they have, but not demonstrative ; 
 For, were all plain, then all sides must agree. 
 And faith itself be lost in certainty. 
 To live uprightly then is sure the best, 
 To save ourselves, and not to damn the rest. 
 The soul of Arcite went were heathens go 
 Who better live than we. though less they know* 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE, 
 
 SI 
 
 In Palamon a manly grief appears; 
 Silent he wept, ashamed to show his tears : 
 Emilia shriek'd but onr«, and then, oppress'd 
 With sorrow, sunk upon her lover's breast : 
 Till Theseus, in his arms convey 'd with care, 
 Far from so sad a sight, the swooning fair. 
 *Twere loss of time her sorrorvv to relate ; 
 111 bears the sex a youthful lover's fate, 
 When just approaching to the nuptial state. 
 13ut like a low-hung cloud, it rains so fast 
 That all at once it falls, and cannot last. 
 The face of things is changed, and Athens now, 
 That laugh 'd so late, becomes the scene of woe : 
 Llatrons and maids, both sexes, every state 
 With tears lament the knight's untimely fate. 
 Not greater grief in falling Troy waa seen 
 For Hector's death ; but Hector was not then. 
 Old men with dust deform' d their hoary hair, 
 The women beat their breasts, their cheeks they 
 tear. 
 
 * Why wouldst thou go (with one consent they cry), 
 When thou hadst gold enough, and Emily !' 
 Theseus himself, who should have cheer'd the griel 
 Of others, wanted now the same relief. 
 
 Old Egeus only could revive his son, 
 Who various changes of the world had known. 
 And strange vicissitudes of human fate. 
 Still altering, never in a steady state : 
 Good after ill, and after pain delight ; 
 Alternate, like the scenes of day and night, 
 
 • Since every man who lives is born to die, 
 And none can boast sincere felicity ; 
 
 o 
 
82 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 With equal mind what happens let us bear, [carei 
 Kor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond oui 
 Like pilgrims, to th' appointed place we tend ; 
 The world's an inn, and death the journey's end. 
 E'en kings but play ; and when their part is done. 
 Some other, worse or better, mouit the throne.* 
 With words like these the crowd was satisfied, 
 And so they would have been, had Theseus died. 
 But he, their king, was labouring in his mind, 
 A fitting place for funeral pomps to find, 
 Which were in honour of the dead design' d. 
 And after long debate, at kst he found 
 (As love itself had mark'd the spot of ground) 
 That grove for ever green, that canscious land, 
 Where he with Palamon fought hand to hand : 
 That where he fed his amorous desires 
 With soft complaints, and felt his hottest fires, 
 There other flames might waste his earthly part, 
 And burn his limbs, where love had burn'd hia 
 heart. 
 
 This once resolv'd, the peasants were enjoin'd 
 Sere wood and firs and dodder'd oaks to find. 
 With sounding axes to the grove they go, 
 Fell, split, and lay the fuel on a row, 
 Vulcanian food : a bier is next prepared. 
 On which the lifeless body shot?ld be rear'd, 
 Cover' d with cloth of gold, on which was laid 
 The corpse of Arcite, in like robes array 'd, 
 White gloves were on his hands, and on his head 
 A wreath of laurel, mix'd with myrtle, spread ; 
 A sword keen-edged within his right he held, 
 I'be warlike emblem of the conquer' d field ; 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 Bare was his manly visage on the bier ; 
 Menaced his countenance, even in death severe. 
 Then to the palace-hall they bore the knight, 
 To lie in solemn state, a public sight. 
 Groans, cr'es, and bowlings fill the crowded place, 
 And unaffected sorrow sat on every face. 
 Sad Palamon al>ove the rest appears 
 In sable garments, devv'd with gushing tears, 
 His auburn locks on either shoulder flow'd, 
 Which to the funeral erf his friend he vow'd : 
 But Emily, as chief, was next his side, 
 A virgin-widow, and a mourning bride. 
 And that the princely obsequies might be 
 Perform' d according to his high degree, 
 The steed that bore him living to the figlsft 
 Was trapp'd with polish'd steel all shining bright. 
 And cover'd with th' achievements of the knight. 
 The riders rode abreast, and one his shield, 
 His lance of cornel- wood another held : 
 The third his bow ; and, glorious to behold, 
 The costly q»aiver, all of burnish 'd gold. 
 The noblest of the Grecians next appear. 
 And, weeping, on their shoulders bore the bier ; 
 With sober pace they march'd, and often staid, 
 And through the master-street the corpse convey'd. 
 The houses to their tops with black were spread, 
 And e'en the pavements were with mourning hid. 
 The right side of the pall old Egeus kept, 
 And on the left the royal Theseus wept : 
 Each bore a golden bowl of work divine, 
 With honey rill'd, and milk, and mix'd with ruddy 
 wine. 
 
 G 2 
 
114 FABLEfl. 
 
 Then Palamon, the kinsman of the slain, 
 
 And after him appeat'd th* illustrious train. 
 
 To grace the pomp, came Emily the bright, 
 
 With oover'd fire, the funeral pile to light. 
 
 With high devotion was the service made, 
 
 And all the rites ofpagan honour paid : 
 
 So lofty was the pile, a Parthian hew, 
 
 With vigour drawn, must send the shaft below. 
 
 The bottom was full twenty fathom brosKl, 
 
 With crackling strav; beneath in due proportion 
 
 The fabric seem'd a wood of rising green, [strow'd. 
 
 With sulphur and bitumen cast between 
 
 To feed the flames : the trees were unctuous fir, 
 
 And mountain ash, the mother of the spear ; 
 
 The mourner yew, and builder oak were there ; 
 
 The beech, the swimming alder, and the plane, 
 
 Hard box, and linden of a softer grain, [ordain. 
 
 And laurels, which the gods for conquering chiefs 
 
 How they were rank'd, shall rest untold by me. 
 
 With nameless nymphs that lived in every tree ; 
 
 Nor how the Dryads and the woodland train. 
 
 Disherited, ran howling o'er the plain : 
 
 Nor how the birds to foreign seats repair' d. 
 
 Or beasts, that bolted out, and saw the forest bar-ed : 
 
 Nor how the ground, now clear'd, with gastly fright 
 
 Beheld the sudden sun, a stranger to the light. 
 
 The straw, as first I said, was laid below ; 
 Of chips and serewood was the second row ; 
 The third of greens, and timber newly fell'd ; 
 The fourth high stage the fragrant odours held, 
 And pearls, and precious stones, and rich array; 
 In midst of which, embalm'd, the body lay. 
 
PALAMON AND ARClTE. 
 
 88 
 
 The service sung, the maid with mourning eyes 
 The stubble fired ; the smouldering flames arise : 
 This o^ce done, she sunk upon the ground ; 
 But what she spoke, recover'd from her swoon, 
 I want the wit in moving words to dress ; 
 But by themselves the tender sex may guesB, 
 "While the devouring fire was burning fast, 
 Rich jewels in the flame the wealthy cast ; 
 And some their shields, and some their lances tlureir, 
 And gave their warr»lor's ghost a warrior's due. 
 Full bowls of wine, of honey, milk, and blood, 
 Were poM'd upon the pile of burning wood. 
 And hissing flames receive, and hungry lick the food* 
 Then thrice the mounted squadrons ride around 
 The fire, and Arcite's name they thrice resound : 
 * Hail ! and farewell !* they shouted thrice amain, 
 Thrice facing to the left, and thrice they turn'd 
 again ; 
 
 Still as they turn'd, they beat their clattering shields ; 
 The women mix tiieir cries ; and clamour fills the 
 fields. 
 
 The^ warlike wakes continued all the night, 
 And 'funeral games were play'd at new returning 
 light : 
 
 Who, raked, wrestled best, besmear'd with oil. 
 Or who with gauntlets gave or took the foil, 
 I will not tell you, nor would you attend ; 
 But briefly haste to my long story's end. 
 I pass the rest ; the year was fully mourn 'd, 
 And Palamon long since to Thebes return'd | 
 When, by the Grecians' general consent, 
 At Athens Theseus held his pariiameni t 
 
FABLES. 
 
 Among the laws that pass'd, it was decreed, 
 That conquer' d Thebes from bondage should be 
 freed : 
 
 Reserving homage to th' Athenian throne, 
 To which the sovereign summon' d Palamon. 
 Unknowing of the cause, he took his way, 
 Mournful in mind, and still in black array. [high, 
 The monarch mounts the throne, and, placed on 
 Commands into the court the beauteous Emily : 
 So call'd, she came ; the senate rose, and paid 
 Becoming reverence to the royal maid. 
 And first soft whispers through th' assembly went; 
 With silent wonder then they watch' d th' event : 
 All hush'd, the king arose with awful grace. 
 Deep thought was in his breast, and counsel in his 
 face. 
 
 At tength he sigh'd ; and, having first prepared 
 Th' attentive audience, thus his will declared: 
 
 * The cause and spring of motion, from above, 
 Hung down on earth the golden chain of love : 
 Great was th' effect, and high was his intent, 
 When peace among the jarring seeds he sent ; 
 Fire, flood, and earth, and air, by this were bound. 
 And love, the common link, the new creation crown'd. 
 The chain still holds ; for though the forms decay, 
 Eternal matter never wears away : 
 The same first Mover certain bounds has placed, 
 How long those perishable forms shall last ; 
 Nor can they last beyond the time assign'd 
 By that all-seeing and all-making Mind : 
 Shorten their hours they may, for will is free, 
 But never pass th' appointed destiny. 
 
PALAMON AND AT^CITB^ 
 
 87 
 
 So men oppress'd, wlien weary of their hreath, 
 
 Throw off the burden, and suborne their death. 
 
 Then since those forms begin and have their end. 
 
 On some unalter'd cause they sure depend : 
 
 Parts of the whole are we ; but God the whole, 
 
 Who gives us life and animating soul. 
 
 For nature cannot from a part derive 
 
 That being which the whole can only give : 
 
 He perfect, stable : but imperfect we, 
 
 Subject to change, and different in degree : 
 
 Plants, be?sts, and man, and, as our organs dre, 
 
 We more or less of his perfection share. 
 
 But by a long descent, th* ethereal fire 
 
 Corrupts ; and forms, the mortal part, expire : 
 
 As he withdraws his vii-tue, so they pass. 
 
 And the same ixatter makes another mass. 
 
 This law th' omniscient Power was pleased to give, 
 
 That every kind should by succession live : 
 
 That individuals die, his will ordains ; 
 
 The propagated species still remains. 
 
 The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees, 
 
 Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees ; 
 
 Three centuries he grows, and three he stays » 
 
 Supreme in state, and in three more decays ; 
 
 So wears the paving pebble in the street. 
 
 And towns and towers their fatal peniods meet ; 
 
 So rivers, rapid once, now naked lie, C^^ry* 
 
 Forsaken of their springs, and leave their chan^jcli 
 
 So man, at first a drop, dilates with heat, 
 
 Thc4i form'd, the little heart begins to beat; 
 
 Scciet he feeds, unknowing, in the cell ; 
 
 At length, for hatching ripe, he breaks ""V 
 
8S 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 And struggles iiifo breath, and cries for aid: 
 Then, helpless, io his mother's lap is laid ; 
 He creeps, he walks, and, issuing into man, 
 Grudges their life, from whence his o^n began* 
 Reckless of laws, affects to rule alone, 
 Anxious to reign, and restless on the throne : 
 First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last ; 
 Rich of three so«''s, and lives all three to waste. 
 Some thus ; buf housands more in flower of aget 
 For few arrive to run the latter st?.ge. 
 Sunk in the first, in battle some are slain, 
 And others whelm' d beneath the stormy main. 
 What makes all this, but Jupiter ths king, 
 At whose command we perish and we spring? 
 Then 'tis our best, since thus ordain'd to die, 
 To make a virtue of necessity. 
 Take what he gives, since to rebel is vain : 
 The bad grows better, which we well sustain ; 
 And could wc choose the time, and choose aright, 
 *Tis best to die, our honour at the height, 
 AVhen we have done our ancestors no shame, 
 But served our friends, and well secured our fame. 
 Then should we wish our happy life to close, 
 And leave no more for fortune to dispose : 
 So should we make our death a glad relief 
 From future shame, from sickness, and from grief t 
 Enjoying, M'hile we live, the present hour, 
 And dying in our excellence and flower. 
 Then round our death-bed every friend should run, 
 And joy us of our conquest, early won : 
 While the malicious world with envious tears 
 Should grudge our happy end, and wish it their«« 
 
PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 Since then our Arcite is with honour dead, 
 Why should we mourn, that he so soon is freed. 
 Or call untimely what the gods decreed ? 
 With grief as just a friend may be deplored, 
 From a foul prison to free air restored. 
 Ought he to thank his kinsman, or his wife. 
 Could tears recall him into wretched life ! 
 Their sorrow hurts themselves ; on him is lost : 
 And worse than both, offends his happy ghost. 
 What then remains, but after past annoy. 
 To take the good vicissitude of joy ? 
 To thank the gracious gods for what they give ; 
 Possess our souls, and while we live, to live ? 
 Ordain we then two sorrows to combine. 
 And in one point th' extremes of grief to join. 
 That, thence resulting, joy may be Fenew'd, 
 As jarring notes in harmony conclude. 
 Then I propose, that Palamon should be 
 In marriage join* d with beauteous Emily; 
 For which already I have gain'd th' assent 
 Of my free people in full parliament. 
 Long love to her has borne the faithful knight, 
 And well deserved, had fortune done him right i 
 'Tis time to mend her fault ; since Emily 
 By Arcite' s death from former vows is free. 
 If you, fair sister, ratify th' accord, 
 And take him for your husband and your lord| 
 *Tis no dishonour to confer your grace 
 On one descended from a royal race : 
 And were he less, yet years of service past, 
 From grateful souls exact reward at last : 
 
90 
 
 JTABLES. 
 
 Pity is heaven's and yours : nor can she find 
 A throne so soft as in a woman's mind.' 
 
 He said ; she blush'd ; and, as o'erawed by m'lgnt, 
 Scern'd to give Theseus what she gave the knight. 
 Then turning to the Theban, thus he said : 
 * Small arguments are needful to persuade 
 Your temper to comply with my command ;' 
 And, speaking thus, he gave Emilia's hand. 
 Smiled Venus, to behold her own true knight 
 Obtain the conquest, though he lost the fight, 
 And bless' d with nuptial bliss the sweet laborious 
 night. 
 
 Eros and Anteros, on either side. 
 
 One fired the bridegroom, and one warm'd the bride ; 
 
 And long-attending Hymen from above, 
 
 Shower'd on the bed the whole Idalian grove. 
 
 All of a tenor was their after life. 
 
 No day discolour' d with domestic strife ; 
 
 No jealousy, but mutual truth believed. 
 
 Secure repose, and kindness undeceived. 
 
 Thus Heaven, beyond the compass of his thought. 
 
 Sent hipa the blessing he so dearly bought. 
 
 So may the queen of Love long duty blest, 
 Aud all true k)vers find the same succeia 1 
 
SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO. 
 
 While Normi»,n Tancred in Salerno reign' d. 
 The title of a gracious prince he gain'd ; 
 Till turn'd a tyrant in his latter days, 
 He lost the lustre of his former praise ; 
 And from the bright meridian where he stood, 
 Descending, dipp'd his hands in lovers' blood. 
 
 This prince, of fortune's favour long possess'd, 
 Yet was with one fair daughter only bless' d ; 
 And bless' d he might have been with her alone : 
 But oh ! how much more happy had he none I 
 She was his care, his hope, and his delight, 
 Most in hia taought, and ever in his sight : 
 Next, nay, beyond his life he held her dear ; 
 She lived by him, and now he lived in her. 
 For this, when ripe for marriage, he delay'd 
 Her nuptial bands, and kept her long a maid ; 
 As envying any else should share a part 
 Of what was his, and claiming all her heart. 
 At length, as public decency required, 
 And all his vassals eagerly desired, 
 With mind averse, he rather underwent 
 His people's will than gave his own consent t 
 
92 
 
 FABL8». 
 
 So was she torn, as from a lover's side, 
 And made, almost in his despite, a bride. 
 
 Short were her marriage joys ; for in the prime 
 Of youth, her lord expired before his time : 
 And to her father's court, in little space 
 Restored anew, she held a higher place ; 
 More loved and mere exalted into grace. 
 This princess, fresh ax.d young and f^T and wise. 
 The worshipp'd idol of her father's eyes. 
 Did all her sex in every grace exceed, 
 And had more wit beside than woman need, [mind 
 
 Youth, health, and ease, and most an amorous 
 To second nuptials had her thoughts inclined ; 
 And former joys had left a secret sting behind. 
 But, prodigal in every other grant. 
 Her sire left unsupplied her only want; 
 And she, betwixt her modesty and pride, 
 Her wishes, which she could not help, would hide. 
 
 Resolved at last to lose no longer time, 
 And yet to please herself without a crime, 
 She cast her eyes around the court, to find 
 A worthy subject suiting to her mind ; 
 To him in holy nuptials to be tied, 
 A seeming widow, and a secret bride. 
 Among the train of courtiers, one she found 
 With all the gifts of beauteous nature crown' d ; 
 Of gentle blood, but one whose niggard fate 
 Had set him far below her high estate ; 
 Guiscard his name was call'd, of blooming age. 
 Now squire to Tancred, and before, his page : 
 To him, the choice of all the shining cro'tfd. 
 Her heart the noble Sigismonda vow'd. 
 
SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO. 
 
 Yet kitherto she kept her love conceal'd, 
 
 And with those graces every day beheld 
 
 The graceful youth ; and every day increased 
 
 The raging fire that burn'd within her breast ; 
 
 Some secret charm did all his acts attend, 
 
 And what his fortune wanted, hers could mend : 
 
 Till as the fire will force its outward way, 
 
 Or, in the prison pent, consume the prey. 
 
 So long her earnest eyes on him were set, 
 
 At length their twisted rays together met ; 
 
 And he, surprised, with humbie joy survey'd 
 
 One sweet regard, shot by the royal maid : 
 
 Not well assured, while doubtful hopes he nursed, 
 
 A second glance came gliding like the first ; 
 
 And he, who saw the sharpness of the dart. 
 
 Without defence received it in his heart. 
 
 In public though their passion wanted speech, 
 
 Yet mutual looks interpreted for each : 
 
 Time, ways, and means of meeting were denied ; 
 
 But all those wants ingenious love supplied. 
 
 Th' inventive god, who never fails his part. 
 
 Inspires the wit, when once he warms the heart. 
 
 When Guiscard next was in the circle seeu. 
 Where Sigismonda held the place of queen, 
 A hollow cane within her hand she In-ought, 
 But in the concave had enclosed a note : 
 With this she seem'd to play, and, as in sport, 
 Toss'd to her love, in presence of the court : 
 * Take it,' she said, ' and when your needs require, 
 This little brand will serve to light your fire.' 
 He took it with a bow, and soon divined 
 The seeming toy was not for nought design'd ; 
 
94 
 
 FAB1.SS. 
 
 But when retired, so long with curious eyes 
 He view'd the present, that he found the prize. 
 Much was in little writ ; and all convey'd 
 With cautious care, for fear to be betray' d 
 By some false confidant or favourite maid. 
 The time, the place, the m.anner how to meet. 
 Were all in punctual order plainly writ : 
 But since a trust must be, she thought it best 
 To put it out of laymen's power at least, 
 And for their solemn vows prepared a priest. 
 
 Guisrard (her secret purpose understood) 
 With joy prepared to meet the coming good ; 
 Nor pains nor danger was resolved to spare, 
 But use the means appointed by the fair. 
 
 Next the proud palace of Salerno stood 
 A mount of rough ascent, and thick with wood : 
 Through this a cave was dug with vast expense ; 
 The work it seem'd of some suspicious prince, 
 Who, when abusing power with lawless might, 
 From public justice would secure his flight. 
 The passage, made by many a winding way, 
 Reach' d e'en the room in which the tyrant lay. 
 Fit for his purpose, on a lov/er floor 
 He lodged, whose issue was an iron door, 
 From whence, by stairs descending to the ground, 
 In the blind grot a safe retreat he found. 
 Its outlet ended in a brake o'ergrown 
 With brambles, choked by time, and now unknowtw 
 A rift there was, which from the mountain's height 
 Convey'd a glimmering and malignant light, 
 A breathing place to draw the damps away, 
 A twilight of an intercepted day. 
 
SIGISMONDA AXD GUISCARDO. 
 
 The tyrant's den, vhose use though lost to fame, 
 Was now th' apartment of the royal dame : 
 The cavern, only to her father known, 
 By hini was to his darling daughter shown. 
 
 Neglected long, she let the secret rest. 
 Till love recall' d it to her labouring breast, 
 And hinted as the way by heaven design'd 
 The teacher, by the means he^caught, to blind. 
 What will not women do, whcM need inspires 
 Their wit, or love their inclination fires ! 
 Though jealousy of state th' invention found, 
 Yet love refined upon the former ground ; 
 That way the tyrant had reserved to fly 
 Pursuing hate, now served to bring two lovers nigh. 
 
 The dame, who long in vain had kept the key, 
 Bold by desire, explored the secret way ; 
 Now tried the stairs, and wading through the night, 
 Search'd all the deep recess, and issued into light. 
 All this her letter had so well explain' d, 
 Th' instructed youth might compass what remain' d ; 
 The cavern-mouth alone was hard to find, 
 Because the path, disused, was out of mind ; 
 But in what quarter of the copse it lay 
 His eye by certain level could survey : 
 Yet (for the wood perplex'd with thorns he knew) 
 A frock of leather o'er his limbs he drew ; 
 And, thus provided, search'd the brake around, 
 Till the choked entry of the cave he found. 
 
 Thus, all prepared, the promised hour arrived, 
 So long expected, and so well contrived ; 
 With Love to friend, th' imjiaticnt lover went. 
 Fenced from the thorns, and trod the deep descent* 
 
The conscious priest, who was suborn' d before. 
 
 Stood ready posted at the postern door ; 
 
 The maids in distant rooms were sent to rest, 
 
 And nothing wanted but th' invited guest. 
 
 He came, and knocking thrice, without delay, 
 
 7'he longing lady heard, and turn'd the key ; 
 
 At once invaded him with all her charms. 
 
 And the first step he made was in her arms : 
 
 The leathern outside, boisterous as it was. 
 
 Gave way, and bent beneath her strict embrace : 
 
 On either side the kisses flew so thick 
 
 That neither he nor she had breath to speak. 
 
 The holy man, amazed at what he saw, 
 
 Made haste to sanctify the bliss by law : 
 
 And mutter'd fast the matrimony o'er, 
 
 For fear committed sin should get before. 
 
 His work perform' d, he left the pair alone, 
 
 Because he knew he could not go too soon ; 
 
 His presence odious, when his task was done. 
 
 What thoughts he had beseems not me to say ; 
 
 Though some surmise he went to fast and pray, 
 
 And needed both, to drive the tempting thoughts awaji 
 
 The foe once gone, th^y took their full delight ; 
 'Twas restless rage and tempest all the night ; 
 For greedy love each moment would employ. 
 And grudged the shortest pauses of their joy. 
 
 Thus were their loves auspiciously begun, 
 And thus with secret care were carried on : 
 The stealth itself did appetite restore. 
 And look'd so like sin, it pleased the more. 
 
 The cave was now become a common way, 
 The wicket, often open'd, knew the key ; 
 
SIGISMONDA Ar?D GUISCABDO. 
 
 97 
 
 Love rioted secure, and long enjoy'd, 
 Was ever eager, and was never cloy'd. 
 
 But as extremes are short, of ill and good, 
 And tides, at highest mark, regorge the flood ; 
 So fate, that could no more improve their joy, 
 Took a malicious pleasure to destroy. 
 
 Tancred, who fondly loved, and whose delight 
 Was placed in his fair daughter's daily sight ; 
 Of custom, when his state affairs were doi.e, 
 Would pass his pleasing hours with her alon« : 
 And, as a father's privilege allow'd, 
 Without attendance of th' officious crowd. 
 
 It happen'd once, that when in heat of day 
 He tried to sleep, as was his usual way. 
 The balmy slumber fled his wakeful eyes, 
 And forced him, in his own despite, to rise : 
 Of sleep forsaken, to relieve his care. 
 He sought the conversation of the fair : 
 But with her train of damsels she was gone. 
 In shady walks the scorching heat to shun. 
 He would not violate that sweet recess, 
 And found besides a welcome heaviness 
 That seized his eyes ; and slumber, which forgot. 
 When caird before to come, now came unsoughta 
 From light retired, behind his daughter's bed, 
 He for approaching sleep, composed his head ; 
 A chair was ready, for that use design' d, 
 So quilted that he lay at ease reclined ; 
 The curtains closely drawn, the light to screen. 
 As if he had contrived to lie unseen : 
 Thus cover' d with an artificial night, 
 Sleep did his office soon, and seal'd his sight. 
 
9S 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 With Heaven averse, in this ill omen'd hour 
 Wis Guiscard summon'd to the secret bowear, 
 And the fair nymph, with expectation fired, 
 From her attending damsels was retired : 
 For, true to love, she measured time so right 
 As not to miss one moment of delight. 
 The garden, seated on the level floor, 
 She left behind, and locking every door, 
 Thought all secure ; but little did she know, 
 Blind to her fate, she had enclosed her foe. 
 Attending Guiscard, in his leathern frock. 
 Stood ready, with his thrice-repeated knock : 
 Thrice with a doleful sound the jarring grate 
 Rung deaf, and hollow, and presaged their fate. 
 The door unlock' d, to known delight they haste, 
 And panting, in each other's arms embraced. 
 Rush to the conscious bed, a mutual freight. 
 And heedless press it with their wonted weight. 
 
 The sudden bound awaked the sleeping sire. 
 And show'd a sight no parent can desire : 
 His opening eyes at once with odious view 
 The love discover' d, and the lover knew : 
 He would have cried ; but hoping that he dreamt, 
 Amazement tied his tongue, and stopp'd th' at- 
 Th' ensuing moment all the truth declared ; [tempt. 
 But now he stood collected and prepared, 
 For malice and revenge had put him on his guard. 
 
 So, like a lion that unheeded lay, 
 Dissembling sleep, and watchful to betray. 
 With inward rage he meditates his prey. 
 The thoughtless pair, indulging their desires, 
 Alternate kindled, and then quench' d their fire« { 
 
SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO. 
 
 Nor thinking in the shades of death they play'd, 
 Fui! of themselves, themselves alone survey'd, 
 And, too secure, were by themselves betray'd. 
 Long time dissolved in pleasure thus they lay, 
 Till nature could no more suflSce their play ; 
 Then rose the youth, and through the cave again 
 Return'd ; the princess mingled with her train. 
 
 Resolved his unripe vengeance to defer, 
 The royal spy, when now the coast was clear, 
 Sought not the garden, but retired unseen, 
 To brood in secret on his gather'd spleen, 
 And methodise revenge : to death he grieved ; 
 And, but he saw the crime, had scarce believed. 
 Th' appointment for th' ensuing night he heard ; 
 And therefore in the cavern had prepared 
 Two brawny yeomen of h.s trusty guard. 
 
 Scarce had unwary Guiscard set his foot 
 Within the foremost entry of the grot, 
 When these in secret ambush ready lay, 
 And rushing on the sudden, seized the prey : 
 Encumber'd with his frock, without defence, 
 An easy prize, they led the prisoner thence, 
 And, as commanded, brought before the prince. 
 The gloomy sire, too sensible of wron.g 
 To vent his rage in words, restrain' d his tongue ; 
 And only said, ' Thus servants are preferr'd : 
 And trusted, thus their sovereigns they reward. 
 Had I not seen, had not these eyes received 
 Too clear a proof, I could not have believed.' 
 
 He paused, and choked the rest. The youth, who 
 saw 
 
 His forfeit life abandon' d to the law, 
 
 H 2 
 
100 
 
 FABLE«. 
 
 The judge, th* accuser, and th' offence to him 
 Who had both power ami will t' avenge the crime. 
 No vain defence prepared, but thus replied : 
 * The faults of love by love are justified : 
 With unresisted mi^ht the monarch reigns, 
 He levels mountains, and he raises plains ; 
 And, not regarding difference of degree, 
 Abased your daughter, and exalted me.* 
 
 This bold return with seeming patience heard, 
 The prisoner was remitted to the guard. 
 The sullen tyrant slept not all the night, 
 But lonely walking by a winking light, 
 Sobb'd, wept, and groan'd, and beat his wither'd 
 breast, 
 
 But would not violate his daughter''s rest ; 
 Wito long expecting lay, for bliss prepared. 
 Listening for noise, and grieved that none she heard; 
 Oft rose, and oft in vain employ' d the key, 
 And oft accused her lover of delay ; 
 And pass'd the tedious hours in anxious thougkts 
 away. 
 
 The morrow came ; and at his usual hour 
 Old T{»jicred visited his daughter's bower ; 
 Her cheek (for such his custom was) he kiss'd. 
 Then bles^s'd her kneeling, and her maids dismiss'dt 
 The royal dignity thus far maintain'd, 
 Now left in private, he no longer fei^n'd ; 
 But all at once his grief and rage appear' d, 
 And floods of tears ran trickling down his beard, 
 
 * O Sigismonda !' he began to say : 
 Thrice he began, and thrice was forced to stay, 
 Ti'l words, with often trying, found their way: 
 
SIGISMOXOA AND CUISCARDO. 101 
 
 * I thought, O Sigismonda, (but how blind 
 
 Are parents' eyes, their children's faults to find !) 
 
 Thy virtue, birtli, and breeding were above 
 
 A mean desire, and vulgar sense of love : 
 
 Nor less than sight and hearing could convince 
 
 So fond a father, and so just a prince, 
 
 Of such an unforeseen and unbelieved offence. 
 
 Then what indignant sorrow must I have, 
 
 To see thee lie subjected to my slave ! 
 
 A man so smelling of the people's lee. 
 
 The court received him first for charity ; 
 
 And since, with no degree of honour graced. 
 
 But only suffer'd, wh^re he first was placed : 
 
 A grovelling insect still ; and so design'd 
 
 By natuie'*s hand, nor born of noble kind : 
 
 A thing, by neither man nor woman prized, 
 
 And scarcely known enough to be despised. 
 
 To what has Heaven reserved my age ! Ay ! why 
 
 Should man, when nature calls, not choose to di<y 
 
 Rather than stretch the span of life, to find 
 
 Such ills as fate has wisely cast behind. 
 
 For those to feel, whom fond desire to live 
 
 INIakes covetous of more than life can gi\'e ! 
 
 Each has his share of good ; and when 'tis gone. 
 
 The guest, though hungry, cannot rise too soon. 
 
 But I, expecting more, in my own wrong, 
 
 Protracting life, have lived a da^ too Icflig. 
 
 If yesterday could be recall'd agam, 
 
 E'en now would I conclude my happy reign : 
 
 But 'tis too late, my glorious race is run, 
 
 And a dark cloud o'ertakes my setting tun. 
 
102 
 
 TAhLE%. 
 
 Hadsf- thou not loved, or loving, saved the shame 
 If not the sin, by some illustrionis nam" : 
 This little comfort had relieved my mind, 
 'Twas frailty, not unusual to thy kind : 
 But thy low fall beneath thy royal blood, 
 Sliows downward appetite to mix with mud. 
 Thus, not the least excuse is left for thee, 
 Nor the least refuge for unhappy me. 
 
 * For him I have resolved, whom by surprise 
 I took, and scarce can call it, in disguise : 
 For sueh was his attire, as with intent 
 
 Of nature, suited to his mean descent : 
 The harder question yet remains b'lhind, 
 What pains a parent and a prince can find 
 To punish an offence of this degenerate kind. 
 
 * As I have loved, and yet I love thee more 
 Than ever father loved a child before ; 
 
 So, that indulgence draws me to forgive ; 
 
 Nature, that gave thee life, would have thee live. 
 
 But, as a public parent of the state, 
 
 My justice, a-^.d thy crime, requires thy fate. 
 
 Fain would I choose a i:niddle course to steer ; 
 
 Nature's too kind, and justice too severe : 
 
 Speak for us both, and to the balance bring 
 
 On either side the father and the king. 
 
 Heaven knows, my heart is bent to favour thee j 
 
 Make it but scanty weight, and leave the rest to nacj 
 
 Here stopping with a sigh, he pour'd a flood 
 Of tears, to make bis last expression good. 
 
 She, who had heard him speak, nor saw alone 
 The secret conduct of her love was kcown. 
 
SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO. 103 
 
 But he was taken who her soul possess' d, 
 Felt all the pangs of sorrow in her breast ; 
 And little wanted, but a woman's heart, 
 With cries and tears, had testified her smart ; 
 But inborn worth, tha«t fortune can controul, 
 New strung and stiff er bent her softer soul ; 
 The heroine assumed the woman's place, 
 Confirm'd her mind, and fortified her face. 
 Why should she beg, or what could she pretend, 
 When her stern father had condemn'd her friend ? 
 Her life she might have had ; but her despair 
 Of saving his had put it past her care : 
 Resolved on fate, she would not lose her breath. 
 But rather than not die, solicit death. 
 Fix'd on this thought, she, not as women use.. 
 Her fault, by common frailty, would excuse ; 
 But boldly justified her innocence, 
 But while the fact was own'd denied th' offence ; 
 Then, with dry eyes, and with an open look, 
 She "met his glance midway, and thus undaunted 
 spoke : 
 
 * Tancred, I neither am disposed to make 
 Request for life, nor offer' d life to take ; 
 Much less deny the deed ; but, least of all. 
 Beneath pretended justice woakly fall. 
 My words to sacred truth shall be confined. 
 My deeds shall show the greatness of my mind. 
 That I have loved, I own ; that still I love, 
 I call to witness all the powers above : 
 Yet more I own : to Guiscard's love I givi 
 Tli^ small remaining tf me I ha\'e to lire ; 
 
FABLES< 
 
 And if beyond tiiis life desire can be/ 
 Not fafe itself sliall set my passion free, 
 
 'This first avow'd; nor folly warp'd my reiai. 
 Nor the frail texture of the female kind 
 Betray'd my virtue: for, too well I knew 
 What honour was, and honour had his due. 
 Before the holy priest my vows were tied, 
 So came I not a strumpet, but a bride. 
 This for my fame, and for the public voice : 
 Yet more, his merits justified my choice ; 
 Which had they not, the first election thine, 
 That bond dissolved, the next is freely mine : 
 Or grant I err'd (which yet I must deny;. 
 Had parents power e'en second vows to tie. 
 Thy little care to mend ray widow'd nights 
 Has forced me to recourse of marriage rites) 
 To fill an empty side, and follow known delightg. 
 What have I done in this, deserving blame ? 
 State laws may alter— Nature's are tl-e same j 
 Those are usurp'd on helpless womankind, 
 Made without our consent, and wanting power <k 
 bind. 
 
 * Thou, Tancred, better shouldst hav« under- 
 stood, 
 
 That as thy father gave thee flesh and blood, 
 
 So gavest thou me : not from the quarry hew'd, 
 
 But of a softer mould, with sense endued ; 
 
 Even softer than thy own, of suppler kind, 
 
 More exquisite of taste, and more than man refined. 
 
 Nor need'st thou by thy daughter to be told, 
 
 Thoujirh now thy sprightly blood with age be cold. 
 
0 
 
 SIGISMCNDA AND CUISCABDO. 
 
 105 
 
 Thou hast been young i and canst remember still, 
 That when thou hadst the power, thou hadst the 
 will ; 
 
 And from the past experience of thy fires, 
 Canst tell with what a tide our strong desires 
 Come rushing on in youth, and what their rage 
 requires. 
 
 * And grant thy youth was exercised in arms, 
 When love no leisure found for softer charms,; 
 My tender age in luxury was train' d, 
 
 With idle ease and pageants entertain'd ; 
 
 My hours my own, my pleasures unrestrain*d ; 
 
 So bred, no wonder if I took the bent 
 
 That seem'd e'en warranted by thy consent; 
 
 For, when the father is too fondly kind, 
 
 Such seed he sows, such harvest shall he find. 
 
 Blame then thyself, as reason's law requires 
 
 (Since nature gave, and thou foment'st my fires) ; 
 
 If still those appetites continue strong, 
 
 Thou mayst consider, I am yet but young: 
 
 Consider too, that having been a wife, 
 
 I must have tasted of a better life ; 
 
 And am not to be blamed if I renew, 
 
 By lawful means, the joys which then I knew. 
 
 Where was the crime, if pleasure I procured, 
 
 Young, and a woman, and to bliss enured? 
 
 That was my case, and this is my defence ; 
 
 I pleased myself, I shunn'd incontinence. 
 
 And, urged by strong desires, indu'Iged my sens^ 
 
 * Left to myself, I must avow, I strove 
 From public shame to screen my secret love ; 
 
too 
 
 And well acquainted with thy native pride, 
 Endeavour'd, what I could not help, to hide; 
 For which a woman's wit an easy way suppHed. 
 How this so well contrived, so closely laid. 
 Was known to thee, or by what chance betray' d, 
 Is not my care : to please thy pride alone, 
 I could have wish'd it had been still unknown. 
 
 * Nor took I Guiscard by blind fancy led, 
 Or hasty choice, as many women wed ; 
 But with deliberate care and ripen'd thought, 
 At leisure first desi'gn'd, before I wrought : 
 On him I rested, after long debate. 
 And not without considering, fix'd my fate : 
 His flame was equal, though by mine inspired 
 (For so the difference of our birth required) : 
 Had he been born like me, like me his love 
 Had first begun what mine was forced to nvjve t 
 But thus beginning, thus we persevere ; 
 Our passions yet continue what they were 
 Nor length of trial makes our joys: *he less sincere. 
 
 ' At this my choice, though not by thi>ne allow' d 
 (Thy judgment herding with the common crowd), 
 Thou takcst unjust offence; and, led by them. 
 Dost less the merit than the man esteem. 
 Too sharply, Tancred, by thy pride betray' d, 
 Hast thou against the laws of kind inveigh'd, 
 (For all th' offence is in opinion placed, 
 Which deems high birth by lowly clvoice do* 
 based ! 
 
 This thought alone with fury fires thy bre'iiJt 
 For holy marriage justifies the rest), 
 
SIGISMONDA AND GUISCASBO. lO, 
 
 That I have sunk the glories of the state, 
 And mix'd my blood with a plebeian mate ; 
 In which I wonder thou shouldst oversee 
 Superior causes, or impute to me 
 The fault of fortune, or the fates* decree ; 
 Or call it Heaven's imperial power alone, 
 Which moves on springs of justice, though un« 
 known : 
 
 Yet this we see, though order' d for the best, 
 The bad exalted, and the good oppress'd ; 
 Permitted laurels grace the lawless brow, 
 Th' unworthy raised, the worthy cast below. 
 
 * But leaving that : search we the secret springs, 
 And backward trace the principles of things ; 
 There shall we find, that when the world began, 
 One common mass composed the mould of man ; 
 One paste of flesh on all degrees bestow'd. 
 
 And kneaded up alike with moistening blood. 
 The same Almighty Power inspired the frame 
 With kindled life, and form'd the souls the same : 
 The faculties of intellect and will [skill ; 
 
 Dispensed with equal hand, disposed with equal 
 Like liberty indulged, with choice of good or ill : 
 Thus born alike, from virtue first began 
 The difference that distinguish' d man from man : 
 He claim'd no title from descent of blood. 
 But that which made him noble, made him good : 
 Warm'd with more particles of heavenly ilame. 
 He wing'd his upward flight, and soar'd to fame ; 
 The rest remain 'd below, a tribe without a name. 
 
 * This law, though custom now diverts the course, 
 As nature's institute, is yet in force, 
 
108 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Uncancell'd, though disused ; and he whose mind 
 Is virtuous, is alone of noble kind ; 
 Though poor in fortune, of celestial race ; 
 And he commits the crime who calls him base, 
 * Now lay the line, and measure all thy court, 
 By inward virtue, not external port ; 
 And find whom justly to prefer above 
 The man on whom my judgment placed my love : 
 So shalt thou see his parts and person shine, 
 And, thus compared, the rest a base degenerate linCi 
 Nor took I, when I first surveyed thy court, 
 His valour or his virtues on report ; 
 But trusted what I ought to trust alone 
 Relying on thy eyes, and not my owtn : 
 Thy praise (and thine was then the public voice) 
 First recommended Guiscard to my choice. 
 Directed thus by thee, I look'd, and found 
 A man, I thought, deserving to be crown' d ; 
 First by my father pointed to my sight, 
 Nor less conspicuous by his native light ; 
 His mind, his mien, the features of his face, 
 Excelling all the rest of human race : 
 These were thy thou-ghts, and thou couldst judge 
 aright, 
 
 Till interest made a jaundice in thy sight. 
 Or should I grant, thou didst not rightly see ; 
 Then thou wert first deceived, and I deceived by 
 thee. 
 
 But if thou shalt allege, through pride of mind. 
 Thy blood with one of base condition join'd, 
 'Tis false ; for 'tis not baseness to be poor ; 
 Hk poverty augments thy crime the more ) 
 
SiGISltfONDi AND GUISCARDO. 109 
 
 Upbruius thy justice with the scant regard 
 
 Of worth : whom princes praise, tney should reward. 
 
 Are these the kings entrusted by the crowd 
 
 With wealth, to be dispensed for common good ? 
 
 The people sweat not for their king's delight, 
 
 T' enrich a pimp, or raise a parasite ; 
 
 Tlieirs is the toil ; and he who well has served 
 
 His country, has his country's wealth deserved. 
 
 E'en mighty monarchs oft are meanly born, 
 
 And kings by birth to lowest rank return ; 
 
 AH subject to the power of giddy chance. 
 
 For fortune can depress or can advance : 
 
 But true nobility is of the mind, 
 
 Not given by chance, and not to chance resign'd. 
 
 * For the remaining doubt of thy decree. 
 What to resolve, and how dispose of me ; 
 Be warn'd to cast that useless c«re aside, 
 IMyself alone will for myself provide ; 
 If, in thy doting and decrepit age. 
 Thy soul, a stranger in thy youth to rage, 
 Begins in cruel deeds to take delight, 
 Gorge with my blood thy barbarous appetite ; 
 For I so little am disposed to pray 
 For life, I would not cast a wish away. 
 &uch as it is, th' offence is all my own ; 
 And what to Guiscard is already done. 
 Or to be done, is doom'd by thy decree, 
 TTiat;. if not executed first by thee, 
 Shall on ray person be perform' d by me. 
 
 ' Away ! with women weep, and leave me }^ere, 
 Fix'd, like a man, to die without a tear; 
 
110 
 
 FABLBS, 
 
 Or save or slay us both this present hour, 
 'Tis all that fate has left within thy power !* 
 
 She said : nor did her father fail to find 
 In all she spoke the greatness of her mind ; 
 Yet thought she was not obstinate to die, 
 Nor deera'd the death she promised was so nigh. 
 Secure in this belief, he left the dame, 
 Resolved to spare her life, and save her shame ; 
 But that detested object to remove, 
 To wreak his vengeance, and to cure her love. 
 
 Intent on this, a secret order sign'd. 
 The death of Guiscard to his guards enjoin' d : 
 Strangling was chosen, and the night the time ; 
 A mute revenge, and Blind as was the crime : 
 His faithful heart, a bloody sacrifice, 
 Torn from his breast, to glut the tyrant's eyes, 
 Closed the severe command : for, slaves to pay, 
 What kings decree the soldier must obey : 
 Waged against foes ; and when the wars are o'er, 
 Fit only to maintain despotic power : 
 Pangerous to freedom, and desired alone 
 By kings who seek an arbitrary throne. 
 Such were these guards ; as ready to have slain 
 The prince himself, allured with greater gain : 
 So was the charge perform' d with better will 
 By men enured to blood and exercised in ill. 
 
 Now though the sullen sire had eased mind, 
 The pomp of his revenge was yet behind, 
 A pomp prepared to grace the present he design'd 
 A goblet rich with gems, and rough with gold, 
 Of depth and breadth the precious pledge to hold, 
 
SIGI3MONDA AX D GUISCARt)0. Ill 
 
 With cruel care he chose : the hollow part 
 Enclosed, the lid conceal'd the lover's heart. 
 Thea of his trusted mischiefs, one he sent, 
 And bade him with these words the gift present : 
 * Thy father sends thee this, to cheer thy breast, 
 And glad thy sight with what thou lovest the h^.st ; 
 As thou hast pleased his eyes, and joy'd his mind, 
 With what h'^ loved the most of humankind.* 
 
 Ere this, the royal dame, who well had weigh' d 
 The consequencp. of what her sire had said, 
 Fix'd on her fate, against th' expected hour 
 Procured the means to have it in her power : 
 For this, she had distill'd, with early care, 
 The juico of simples, friendly to despair, 
 A magazine of death ; and thus prepared, 
 Secure to die, the fatal message heard ; 
 Then smiled severe ; nor with a troubled look. 
 Or trembling hand, the funeral present took ; 
 E'en ke^t her countenance, when the lid, removed, 
 Disclosed the heart unfortunately loved. 
 She needed not be told within whose breast 
 It lodged ; the message had explain'd the rest. 
 Or not amaaed, or hiding her surprise, 
 She sternly on the bearer fix'd her eyes ; 
 Then thus : * Tell Tancred, on his daughter's part, 
 The gold, though precio^is, equals not the heart : 
 But he did well to give his best ; and I, 
 Who wish'd a worthier urn, forgive his poverty !* 
 
 At this she curb'd a groan, that else had comCj 
 And, pausing, view'd the present in the tomb : 
 Then to the heart adored devoutly glew'd 
 Her lips, and raising it, her speech renew- .1 : 
 
112 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 * E'en from my day of birth to this, the bdund 
 
 Of my unhappy being, I have found 
 
 My father's care and teaderness expressed ; 
 
 But this act of love excels the rest ; 
 
 For this so dear a present, bear him back 
 
 The best return that I can live to make.* 
 
 The messenger dispatch' d, again she vie\T'd 
 The loved remains, and sighing, thus pursued : 
 
 • Source of my life, and lord of my desires, 
 
 In whom I lived, with whom my soul expires : 
 Poor heart I no more the spring of vital heat, 
 Cursed be the hands that tore thee from thy seat! 
 The course is finish'd which thy fates decreed, 
 And thou from thy corporeal prison freed : 
 Soon hast thou reach' d the goal with mendetJ 
 pace, 
 
 A v/orld of woes dispatch' d in little space : 
 
 Forced by thy worth, thy foe, in death become 
 
 Thy friend, has lodged thee in a costly tomb. 
 
 There yet remain'd thy funeral exequies, 
 
 The weeping Oribute of thy widow's eyes ; 
 
 And those, indulgent Heaven has found the way 
 
 That I before my death have leave to pay. 
 
 My father e'en in cruelty is kind. 
 
 Or heaven has turn'd the malice of his mind 
 
 To better uses than his hate design' d ; 
 
 And made th' insult which in his gift appears 
 
 The means to mourn thee with my pious tears ; 
 
 Which I will pay thee down before I go. 
 
 And save myself the pains to weep below, 
 
 If souls can weep ; though once I meant to mee* 
 
 My fate with face unmoved, and eyes unwet ; 
 
SIGISMOXOA AND GUISCABDO. 113 
 
 Yet since I have thee here in narrow room. 
 
 My tears s>iall set thee firs-t afloat within thy tomb : 
 
 Then (as I know thy spirit hovers nigh) 
 
 Under thy friendly conduct will I fly 
 
 To regions unexplored, secure to share 
 
 Thy state ; nor hell shall punishment appear ; 
 
 And Heaven is double heaven, if thou art there i* 
 
 She said : her brimful eyes, that ready stood, 
 And only wanted will to weep a flood. 
 Released their watery store, and pour'd amain, 
 Like clouds low hung, a sober shower of rain ; 
 Mute solemn sorrow, free from female noise, 
 Such as the majesty of grief destroys : 
 For, bending o'er the cup, the tears she shed 
 Seem'd by the posture to discharge her liead, 
 O'crfill'd before ; and oft (her mouth applied 
 To the cold heart) she kisa'd at once, and cried. 
 Her maids, who stood amazed, nor knew the cause 
 Of her complaining, nor whose heart it was, 
 Yet all due measures of her mourning kept, 
 l>id ofllce at the dirge, and by infection wepb; 
 And oft inquired th' occasion of her grief 
 (Unanswer'd but by sighs), and ofl"er'd vain relief. 
 At length, her stock of tears already shed, 
 She wiped her eyes, she raised her drooping head, 
 And tiius pursued : * O ever faithful heart ! 
 1 have perform' d the ceremonial part, 
 The decencies of grief : it rests behind, 
 Tliat as our bodies were, our souls be join'd : 
 To thy what*'er abode, my shade convey, 
 And as an elder ghost, direct the way.' 
 
114 
 
 FABLES- 
 
 She said ; and bade the vial tc be brought, 
 Where she before had brew'd the deadly draught! 
 First pouring cut the medicinable bane, 
 The heart, her tears had rinsed, she bathed again j 
 Then down her throat the death securely throws, 
 And quaflfs a long oblivion of her woes. 
 
 This done she mounts the genial bed, and there 
 (Her body first composed with honest care) 
 Attends the welcome rest : her hands yet hold, 
 Close to her heart, the monumental gold ; 
 Nor further word she spoke, but closed her sight, 
 And, quiet, sought the covert of the night. 
 
 The damsels, who the while in silence mourn' d. 
 Not knowing, nor suspecting death suborn'd ; 
 Yet, as their duty was, to Tancred sent, 
 Who, conscious of th' occasion, fear'd th' event, 
 Alarm'd, and with presaging heart he came. 
 And drttw the curtains, and exposed the dame 
 To loathsome light : then, with a late relief. 
 Made vain efforts to mitigate her grief. 
 She, what she could, excluding day, her eyes 
 Kept firmly seal'd, and sternly thus replies : 
 
 * Tancred ! restrain thy tears, unsought by rae, 
 And sorrow, unavailing now to thee : 
 Did ever man before afflict his mind. 
 To see th' effect of what himself design'd ? 
 Yet if thou hast remaining in thy heart 
 Some sense of love, some imextinguish'd part 
 Of former kindness, largely once profess'd. 
 Let me by that adjure thy hardened breast, 
 Nat to deny thy dauy;htev's last request. 
 
 4 
 
SIGISMONDA AUb GUlSCAUDO. 114 
 
 The secret love, which I so lonj enjoy'd, 
 And still coneeal'd to gratify thy pride, 
 Thou hasi disjoin'd ; but, with my dyin'g breath, 
 Seek not, I beg thee, to disjoin ouf death ; 
 Where'er his corpse by thy command 13 laid, 
 Thither let mine in public be conveyed ; 
 Exposed in open view, and side by side, 
 Acknowledged as a bridegroom and a bride.* 
 
 The prince's anguish hinder'd his reply : 
 And she, who felt her fate approaching nigh, 
 Scifed the cold heart, and heaving to her breast, 
 ' Here, precious pledge (she said), securely rest !' 
 These accents were her last ; the creeping death 
 Benumb'd her senses first, then stopp'd hor breathi 
 
 Thus she for disobedience justly died ; 
 The sire was justly punished for his pride : 
 The youth, least guilty, suffer' d for th' oflence 
 Of duty violated to his prince : 
 Who, late repenting of his cruel deed. 
 One common sepulchre for both decreed ; 
 Entomb'd the wretched pair in royal state, 
 And on their monument inscribed their fate* 
 
 t i 
 
THE COCK AND THE FOX ; 
 
 THE TALK OF THE NUN'S PRIEST. 
 
 There lived, as author's tell, ii* days of yore, 
 A widow somewhat old, and very poor : 
 Deep in a dell her cottage lonely stood, 
 Well thatch' d, and under covert of a wood. 
 
 This dowager, on whom my tale I found, 
 Since last she laid her husband in the ground, 
 A simple sober life in patience led, 
 And had but just enough to buy her bread : 
 But housewifing the little Heaven had lent, 
 She duly paid a gro^r for quarter- rent ; 
 And pinch'd her belly with her daughters two, 
 To bring the year about with much ado. 
 
 The cattle in her homestead were three sows, 
 A ewe call'd Mally, and three brinded cows. 
 Her parlour-window stuck with herbs around. 
 Of savoury smell ; and rushes strcv'd the ground* 
 A maple-dresser in her hall she had. 
 On which full many a slender meal she made, 
 
118 
 
 PAULES. 
 
 For no delicious morsel pass'd her throat j 
 
 According to her cloth she cut her coart : 
 
 No poignant sauce she knew, nor costly treat. 
 
 Her liunger gave a relish to her meat : 
 
 A sparing diet did her health assure ; 
 
 Or sick, a pepper-posset was her cure. 
 
 Before the day was done, her work she sped, 
 
 And never went by candlelight to bed : 
 
 With exercise she sweat ill humours out, 
 
 Her dancing was not hinder'd by the gout. 
 
 Her poverty was glad ; her heart contoit ; 
 
 Nor knew she what the spleen or vapours meant. 
 
 Of wine she never tasted through the year, 
 But white and black was all her homely cheer ; 
 Brown bread, and milk (but first she skimm'd hei 
 And rashers of singed bacon on the coals. [bowls), 
 On holidays, an egg, or two at most ; 
 But her ambition never reach' d to roast. 
 
 A yard she had with pales enclosed about, 
 Some high, some low, and a dry ditch wiJ:hout, 
 Within this homestead lived, without a peer, 
 for crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer : 
 So hight her cock, whose singing did surpass 
 The merry notes of organs at the mass. 
 3\fore certain was the crowing of a cock 
 To number hours than is an abbey clock : 
 And sooner than the matin-bell was rung, 
 He clapp'd his wings upon his roost, and sung; 
 For when degrees fifteen ascended right, 
 By sure instin(rt he kn'ew 'twas one at night* 
 High was his comb, and coral-red withal, 
 In dents, embattled like a castle walU 
 
THE COCK AND THE FOX. 
 
 His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet ; 
 Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet ; 
 White were his nails, like silver to behold, 
 His body glittering like the burnish' d gold. 
 
 This gentle cock, for solace of his life, 
 Six misjses had, beside his lawful wife ; 
 Scandal, that spares no king, though ne'er so go< 
 Savs, they were all of his own flesh and blood ; 
 His sisters both by sire and mother's side, 
 And sure their likeness show'd them near allied. 
 But make the worst, the monarch did no more 
 Than all the Ptolemies had done before : 
 When incest is for interest of nation, 
 *Tis made no sin by holy dispensation. 
 Some lines have been maintain' d by this alone, 
 Which by their common ugliness are known. 
 
 But passing this, as from our tale apart. 
 Dame Partlet was the sovereign of his heart : 
 Ardent in love, outrageous in his play, 
 He feather'd her a hundred times a daj: 
 And she, tha.t was not only passing fair, 
 But was withal discreet and debonair, 
 ■Resolved the passive doctrine to fulfil. 
 Though loath, and let him work his wicked will. 
 At board and bed was affable and kind. 
 According as their marriage vow did bind, 
 And as the church's precept had enjoin'd. 
 E'en since she was a se'nnight old, they say, 
 Was chaste and humble to her dying day ; 
 Nor, chick nor hen, was known to disobey. 
 
 By this her husband's heart she did obtain ; 
 What cannot beauty, join'd with virtue, gain 1 
 
120 
 
 Fables. 
 
 She was his only joy, and he her pride, 
 She, when she walk'd, went pecking by his side ; 
 If, spurning on the ground, he sprung a corn, 
 The tribute in his bill to her was boFne. 
 But oh ! what joy it was to hear him sing 
 In summer, when the day began to spring ; 
 Stretching his neck, and warbling in his throat 
 Solus cum sold, then was all his note. 
 For, in the days of yore, the birds of parts 
 Were bred to speak, and sing, and learn the liberal 
 arts. 
 
 It happ'd, that, perching on the parlour-beam 
 Amidst his wives, he had a deadly dream, 
 Just at the dawn ; and sigh'd, and groan' d so 
 fast. 
 
 As every breath he drew would be his last. 
 Dame Partlet, ever nearest to his side, 
 Keard all his piteojis moan, and how he cried 
 For help from gods and men : and sore aghast 
 She peck'd and puU'd, and waken'd him at last. 
 
 * Dear heart,' said she, ' for love of heaven, declare 
 Your pain, and make me partner of your care. 
 You groan, sir, ever since the morning light, 
 
 As something had disturb'd your noble spright.* 
 * And, madam, well I might,' said Chanticleer, 
 
 * Never was Shrovetide cock in such a fear. 
 Even still I run all over in a sweat. 
 
 My princely senses not recover'd yet. 
 For such a dream I had of dire portent. 
 That much I fear my body will be shent ; 
 It bodes I shall have wars and woful strife, 
 Or in a loathsome dungeon end my life. 
 
THE COCK AND THE FOX. 
 
 121 
 
 Know, dame, I dream' d witlxn my troubled breast, 
 That in our yard I saw a murderous beast, 
 That on ray body would have made arrest. 
 With waking eyes I ne'er beheld his fellow. 
 His colour was betwixt a red and yellow, 
 Tipp'd was his tail, and both his pricking ears, 
 With black, aiid much unlike his other hairs : 
 The rest, in shape a beagle's whelp througbout. 
 With broader forehead, and a sharper snout : 
 Deep in his front were sunk his glowing eyes ; 
 That yet methinks I see him with surprise. 
 Reach out your hand, I drop with clammy sweat, 
 And lay it to my heart, and feel it beat.* [above, 
 
 'Now, fie, for shame!' quoth she, * by heaven 
 Thou hast for ever lost thy lady's love ; 
 No woman can endure a recreant knight. 
 He must be bold by day, and free by night. 
 Our sex desires a husband, or a friend, 
 Who can our honour and his own defend ; 
 Wise, hardy, secret, liberal of his purse : 
 A fool is nauseous, but a coward worse : 
 No bragging coxcomb, yet no baffled knight. 
 How darest thou talk of love, and darest not fight ? 
 How darest thou tell thy dame thou art a-feard ? 
 Hast thou no manly heart, and hast a beard ? 
 
 * If aught from fearful dreams may be divined, 
 They signify a cock of dunghill kind. 
 All dreams, as in old Galen I have read. 
 Are from repletion and complexion bred ; 
 From rising fumes of indigested food, 
 And noxious humours that in^jct the blood 
 
122 
 
 PABLSS. 
 
 And sure, my lord, if I can read aright, 
 
 These foolish fancies you have had to-night 
 
 Are certain symptoms (in the canting style) 
 
 Of boiling choler, and abounding bile : 
 
 This yellow gall that in your stomach floats 
 
 Engenders all these visionary thoughts. 
 
 ^Vhen choler overflows, then dreams are bred 
 
 Of flames, and all the family of red ; 
 
 Red dragons and red beasts in sleep we view ; 
 
 For humours are distinguish'd by their hue. 
 
 From hence we dream of wars and warlike thinprs. 
 
 And wasps and hornets with their double stings. 
 
 Choler adust congeals our blood with fear ; 
 
 Then black bulls toss us, and black devils tear. 
 
 In sanguine airy dreams aloft we bound, 
 
 With rheums oppressed we sink in rivers drown'd. 
 
 * More I could say, but thus conclude my theme : 
 The dominating humour makes the dream. 
 
 Cato was in his time accounted wise, 
 And he condemns them all for empty lies. 
 Take my advice, and when we fly to ground, 
 With laxatives presewe your body sound, 
 And purge the peccant humours that abound. 
 I should be loath to lay you on a bier ; 
 And though there lives no 'pothecary near, 
 I dare for once prescribe for your disease. 
 And save long bills, and a damn'd doctor's fees. 
 
 * Two sovereign herbs, which I by practice kAOW» 
 And both at hand, for in our yard they growVj 
 
 On peril of my soul shall rid you wholl/ 
 Of yellow choler, and of melancholy ? 
 
THE COCK AND THE FOX. 
 
 m 
 
 You must both purge and vomit ; but obey. 
 
 And for the love of heaven make no delay. 
 
 Since hot and dry in your complexion join. 
 
 Beware the sun when in a vernal sign ; 
 
 For when he mounts exalted in the ram. 
 
 If then he finds your body in a flame, 
 
 Replete with choler, I dare lay a groat, ^ 
 
 A tertian ague is at least your lot : ,^ 
 
 Perhaps a fever (which the gods forfend !) 
 
 May bring your youth to some untimely end. 
 
 And therefore, sir, as you desire to live, 
 
 A day or two before your laxative, 
 
 Take just three worms, nor under nor above, 
 
 Because the gods unequal numbers love. 
 
 These digestives prepare you for your purge. 
 
 Of fumatory, centaury, and spurge, 
 
 And of ground ivy add a leaf or two, 
 
 AU which within our yard or garden grow : 
 
 Vat these, and be, my lord, of better cheer : 
 
 Vour father's son was never born to fear.* 
 
 * l\ladam,' quoth he, * gramercy for your care ; 
 But Cato, whom you quoted, you may spare. 
 'Tis true, a wise and worthy man he seems, 
 And (as you say) gave no belief to dreams ; 
 But other men of more authority. 
 And, by th' immortal powers ! as wise as he. 
 Maintain, with sounder sense, that dreams forbode { 
 For Homer plainly says they come from God 
 Nor Cato said it : but some modern fool 
 Imposed in Cato's name on boys at school. 
 
 ' Believe mc, madam, morning dreams foreshow 
 Th* evenw 5)f things, and future weal or woe : 
 
124 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Some truths are not by reason to be trieJ, 
 But we have sure experifncfc for our j^uide. 
 An ancient author*, e(]u;il witli tlie best, 
 Relates this tale of dreams among the rest : — 
 
 * Two friends, or >)rothers, with devout intent, 
 On some far pilgrimafje tocrether went. 
 
 It happen'd so that when the sun was down^ 
 
 They just arrived by twilight at a town ; 
 
 That day had been the bairin^j of a bull, 
 
 *Twas at a feast, and evfiv inn so full, 
 
 That no void room in chamber, or on ground, 
 
 And but one sorry bed was to be found ; 
 
 And that so little it would hold but one. 
 
 Though till this hour they never lay alone. 
 
 ' * So were they forced to part ; one stay'd behind. 
 
 His fellow sought what lodging he could find : 
 
 At las-t he found a stall where oxen stood, 
 
 And that he rather chose than lie abroad. 
 
 *Twas in a further yard without a door, 
 
 But, for his ease, well litter'd was the floor. 
 
 * His fellow, who the narrow bed had kept. 
 Was weary, and without a recker slept : 
 Supine he snored ; but. in the dead of night, 
 He dream'd his friend appear'd before his sight, 
 Who, with a ghastly look and doleful cry. 
 Said, '* Help me, broth e-r, or this night I die 
 Arise, and help, before all help be vain, 
 
 Or in an ox's stall I shall be slain !" 
 
 * Roused from his rest, he waken'd in a start, 
 
 Shivering with horror, and with aching heart ( 
 
 • Cicero : -n his treatise De Divinationt' 
 
THE COCK AND THE FOX. 
 
 12% 
 
 At length to cure himself by reason tries : 
 'Twas but a dream, and what are dreams but lies ! 
 So thinking, changed his side, and closed his eyes. 
 His dream returns ; his friend appears again, 
 *' The murderers come : now help, or I am slain 5* ' 
 *Twas but a vision still, and visions are but vam. 
 He dream'd the third ; but now his friend appear'd 
 Pale, naked, pierced with wounds, with blood be- 
 smear 'd : 
 
 *' Thrice warn'd, awake !" said he, *' relief is late. 
 
 The deed is done ; but thou revenge my fate ! 
 
 Tardy of aid, unseal thy heavy eyes. 
 
 Awake, and with the dawning day arise : 
 
 Take to the western gate thy ready way. 
 
 For by that passage they my corpse convey : 
 
 My corpse is in a tumbril laid, among 
 
 The filth and ordure, and enclosed with dung. 
 
 That cart arrest, and raise a common cry : 
 
 For sacred hunger of my gold I die !" 
 
 Then show'd his grisly wound ; and last he drew 
 
 A piteous sigh ; and took a long adieu ! 
 
 * Tlie frighted friend arose by break of day, 
 And found the stall where late his fellow lay. 
 Then of his impious host inquiring more, 
 Was answer' d that his guest was gone before : 
 
 *' Muttering he went," said he, " by morning light, 
 And much complain'd of his ill rest by night." 
 This raised suspicion in the julgrim's mind ; 
 Because ail hosts are of an evil kind, 
 And oft, to share the spoil, with robbers join'd. 
 
 * His dream confirm' d his thought: with troubled 
 Straight to the western gate his way he took ; [look 
 
225 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 * For priests,' he said, * are patterns for the rest 
 tThe gold of Heaven, who bear the God impress'd) : 
 But when the precious coin is kept unclean, 
 The Sovereign's image is no longer seen. 
 If they he foul, on whom the people trust, 
 Well may the baser brass contract a rust.' 
 
 The prelate for his holy life he prized ; 
 The worldly pomp of prelacy despised. 
 His Saviour cam-e not with a gaudy show 
 Nor was his kingdom of the world below. 
 Patience in want, and poverty of mind, 
 These marks of church and churchmen he design' d. 
 And living taught, and dying left behind. 
 The crown he wore was of the pointed thorn ; 
 In purple he was crucified, not born. 
 They who contend for place and high degree, 
 Are not his sons, but those of Zebedee. 
 
 Not but he knew the signs of earthly power 
 Might well become Saint Peter's successor: 
 The holy father holds a double reign ; [plain. 
 The prince may keep his pomp — the fisher must be 
 
 Such was the saint, who shone with every g'ace. 
 Reflecting, IMoseslike, his Maker's face. 
 God saw his image lively was express' d, 
 And his own work, as in creation, bless'd. 
 
 The tempter saw him too with envious eye, 
 And, as on Job, demanded leave to try. 
 He took the time when Richard was deposed, 
 And high and low with happy Harry closed. 
 This prince, though great in arms, the priest with, 
 stood ; 
 
 Near though he was, yet not the next of blood » 
 
THE COCK AND TflE FOX. 12? 
 
 Of two young merchants, whom the hope of gain 
 Induced in partnership to cross the main : 
 Waiting till willing winds their sails supplied, 
 Within a trading-town they long abide, 
 Full fairly situate on a haven's side. 
 
 * One evening it befell, that looking out. 
 The wind they long had wish'd was come about. 
 Well pleased they went to rest, and, if the gale 
 Till morn continued, both resolved to sail. 
 But as together in a bed they lay, 
 The younger had a dream at break of day. 
 A man, he thought, stood frowning at his side, 
 Who warn'd him for his safety to provide, 
 Nor put to sea, but safe on shore abide. 
 " I come, thy genius, to command thy stay ; 
 Trust not the winds, for fatal is the day, 
 And death, unhoped, attends the watery way.'* 
 
 'The vision said, and vanish' d from his sight: 
 The dreamer waken' d in a mortal fright ; 
 Then pull'd his drow<|r neighbour, and declared 
 What in his slumber he had seen and heard. 
 His friend smiled scornful, and with proud contempt 
 Rejects as idle what his fellow dreamt : 
 ** Stay, who will stay : for me no fears restrain, 
 Who follow Mercury, the god of gain : 
 Let each man do as to his fancy seems, 
 I wait, not I, till you have better dreams. 
 Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes , 
 When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakea : 
 Compounds a medley of disjointed things : 
 A mob of cobblers, and a court of kings : 
 
128 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Light fumes arc merry, grosser fumes are sad ; 
 Both are the reasonable soul run mad : 
 And many monstrous forms in sleep we see, 
 That neither were, nor are, nor e'er can be. 
 Sometimes forgotten things long cast behind 
 Hush forward in the brain, and come to mind ; 
 The nurse's legends are for truths received, 
 And the man dreams but what the boy believed. 
 Sometimes we but rehearse a former play, 
 The night restores our actions done by day ; 
 As hounds in sleep will open for their prey. 
 In short, the farce of dreams is of a piece. 
 Chimeras all, and more absurd, or less : 
 You, who believe in tales, abide alo«e ; 
 Whate'er I get, this voyage, is my own.'* 
 
 ' Thus while he spoke, he heard the shouting crew 
 That call'd aboard, and took his last adieu! 
 The vessel went before a merry gale. 
 And for quick passage put on every sail : 
 But when least fear'd, and e'en in open day, 
 The mischief overtook her in the way : 
 Whether she sprung a leak, I cannot And, 
 Or whether she was overset with wind, 
 Or that some rock below her bottom rent ; 
 But down at once with all her crew she went : 
 Her fellow ships from far her loss descried; 
 But only she was sunk, and all vt ere safe beside, 
 
 * By this example you are taught again, 
 That dreams and visions are not always vain. 
 But if. dear Partlet, you are yet in doubt, 
 Another tale shall make the former out. 
 
TKZ COCK AND THE FOX. 
 
 129 
 
 * Kenelra, the son of Kenulph, Mercia's king. 
 Whose holy life the legends loudly sing*, 
 Warn'd in a dream, his murder did foretell, 
 From point to point, as after it befell : 
 
 All circumstances to his nurse he told 
 (A wonder, from a child of seven years old) : 
 The dream with horror heard, the gnod old wife 
 From treason counsel' d him to guard his life ; 
 But close to keep the secret in his mind, 
 For a boy's vision small belief would find. 
 The pious child, by promise bound, obey'd ; 
 Nor was the fatal murder long delay'd : 
 By Quenda slain, he fell before his time, 
 Made a young martyr by his sister's crime. 
 The tale is told by venerable Bede, 
 Which, at your better leisure, you may read. 
 
 * Macrobius, too, relates the vision sent 
 To the great Scipio, wit^» ^"jie famed event, 
 Objection makes, but after makes rc})lie3, 
 And adds, that dreams are often prophecie?. 
 
 * Of Daniel, you may read in holy writ, 
 Who, when the king his vision did forget, 
 Could word for word the wondrous dream repeat ; 
 Nor less of patriarch Joseph understand. 
 
 Who by a dream enslaved th' Egyptian land ; 
 The years of plenty and of dearth foretold, 
 When, for their bread, their liberty they sold. 
 Nor must th' exalted butler be forgot ; 
 Nor he whose dream presaged his hanging lot. 
 
 * The leg^ernU rftcord Him as a martyr. He was murder*! 
 his sister guendrcda, w hen only seven years old. 
 
 K 
 
}30 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 * And did not Croesus the same death foresee, 
 Kaised in a vision on a lofty tree ? 
 
 The wife of Hector, in his utmost pride, 
 Dream' d of his death the night before he died : 
 Well was he warn'd from battle to refrain. 
 But men to death decreed are warn'd in vain : 
 He dared the dream, and by his fatal foe was slain. 
 
 * Much more I know, which I forbear to aneak • 
 For see, the ruddy day begins to break : 
 
 Let this suffice, that plainly I foresee 
 My dream was bad, and bodes adversity: 
 But neither })ills nor laxa-tives I like. 
 They only serve to make a well man sick : 
 Of these his gain the sharp physician makes, 
 And often gives a purge, but seldom takes : 
 They not correct, but poison all the blood, 
 And ne'er did any but the doctors good. 
 Their tribe, trade, trinkets, I defy tkem all. 
 With every work of 'Pothecary's Hali. 
 
 * These melancholy matters I forbear : 
 But let me tell thee, Partlet min'C, and sw^ar, 
 That when I view the beauties of thy face, 
 
 I fear not death, nor dangers, nor disgrace : 
 So may my soul have bliss, as when I sdy 
 The scarlet red about thy partridge eye, 
 While thou art constant to thy own true knight. 
 While thou art mine, and I am thy deliarht, 
 All sorrows at thy presence take their fiisht. 
 For true it is, as in principio, 
 Jilulier est homines confusio. 
 IVIadam, the meaning of this Latin is. 
 That woman is man fiis sovereign b,'i»a. 
 
THE COCK AND THE FOX. 121 
 
 For when by night I feel your tender side, 
 Though for the narrow perch I cannot ride, 
 Yet I have such a solace in my mind, 
 That all my boding cares are cast behind ; 
 And even already I forget my dream :' — 
 He said, and downward flew from off the beam. 
 For daylight now began apace to spring. 
 The thrush to whistle, and the lark to sing. 
 Then crowing, clapp'd his wings ; th' appointed 
 call 
 
 To chuck his wives together in the hall. 
 
 By this the widow had unbarr'd the door, 
 And Chanticleer went strutting out befoTe, 
 With royal courage, and with heart so light, 
 As show'd he scorn'd the visions of the night. 
 Now roaming in the yard he spurn'd the ground. 
 And gave to Partlet the first grain he found. 
 Then often feather' d her with wanton play, 
 And tTod her twenty times ere prime of day ; 
 And took by turns and gave so much delight. 
 Her sisters pined with envy at the sight. 
 
 He chuck' d again, when other corns he found. 
 And scarcely deign' d to set a foot to ground ; 
 But swagger' d like a lord about his hall, 
 And his seven wives came running at his call. 
 
 'Twas now the month in which the world began 
 (If March beheld the first created man) : 
 And since the vernal equinox, the sun, 
 In Aries, twelve degrees, or more, had run ; 
 When castingt up his eyes against the light, 
 Both mouth and day and hour he measured right. 
 
132 
 
 FABLES, 
 
 And told mare truly than th' ephemeris ; 
 For art may err, but nature cannot mis8. 
 
 Thus numljeiin'j? times and seasons in his breast, 
 His second crowHug the third hour confcss'd: 
 Thus turning, said to Partlet, ' Sec, my dear, 
 How lavish nature has adorn 'd the year ; 
 How the pale primrose and blue violet spring. 
 And birds essay their throats, disused to sing j 
 All these are ours ; and I with pleasure see 
 Man strutting on two legs, and aping me ! 
 An unfledged creature, of a lumpish frame, 
 Endued with fewer particles of flame : 
 Our dame sits cowering o'er a kitchen fire, 
 I draw fresh air, and Nature's works admire: 
 And, even this day, in more delight abound 
 Than since I was an egg I ever found.' 
 
 The time shall come when Chanticleer shall wish 
 His words unsaid, and hate his boasted bliss : 
 The crested bird shall by experience know, 
 'ovc made not him his masterpiece below ; 
 And learn the latter end of joy is woe. 
 The vessel of his bliss to dregs is run, 
 And heaven will have him taste his other tun. 
 
 Ye wise, draw near, and hearken to my tale, 
 Which proves that oft the proud by flattery fail : 
 The legend is as true I undertake 
 As Tristran is, and Launcelot of the Lake : 
 Which all our ladies in such reverence hold. 
 As if in book of martyrs it were told. 
 
 A fox fall fraught with seeming sanctity. 
 That fear'd an oath, but like the devil would lie { 
 
THE COCK AND THE FOX. 
 
 133 
 
 VV^ho look'd like Lent, and had the holy leer, 
 And durst not sin before he said his prayer ; 
 This pious cheat, that never suck'd the blood, 
 Nor chew'd the flesh of lambs, but when he could ; 
 Had pass'd three summers in the neighbouring 
 wood : 
 
 And musing long whom next to circumvent, 
 On Chanticleer his wicked fancy bent : 
 And in his high imagination cast 
 By stratagem to gratify his taste. 
 
 The plot contrived, before the break of day, 
 Saint Reynard through the hedge had made hif 
 way : 
 
 The pale was next, but proudly with a bound 
 
 He leap'd the fence of the forbidden ground : 
 
 Yet, fearing to be seen, within a bed 
 
 Of coleworts he conceal' d his wily head ; 
 
 There skulk'd till afternoon, and watch' d his time 
 
 (As murderers use) to perpetrate his crinve 
 
 O hypocrite ! ingenious to destroy ; 
 
 O traitor, worse than Sinon was to Troy ! 
 
 O vile subverter of the Gallic reign. 
 
 More false than Gano was to Charlemagne I 
 
 O Chanticleer, in an unhappy hour 
 
 Didst thou forsake the safety of thy bower ! 
 
 Better for thee thou hadst believed thy dream, 
 
 And not that day descended from the beam ! 
 
 But here the doctors eagerly dispute : 
 Some hold predestination absolute : 
 Some clerks maintain, that Heaven at firfjt foreaoc*. 
 And in the virtus of foresight decrees. 
 
134 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 If this be so, then prescience binds the vvUl, 
 And mortals are not free to good or ill : 
 For what he first foresaw, he must ordain, 
 Or his eternal prescience may be vain : 
 As bad for us as prescience had not been : 
 For first or last he's author of the sin. 
 And who says that, let the blaspheming man 
 Say worse even of the devil, if he can. 
 For how can that Eternal Power be just 
 To punish man, who sins because he must ? 
 Or how can he reward a virtuous deed, 
 Which is not done by us, but first decreed ? 
 
 I cannot bolt this matter to the bran, 
 As Bradwardin * and holy Austin can : 
 If prescience ca-n determine actions so 
 That we must do, because he did foreknow ; 
 Or that foreknowing, yet our choice is free. 
 Not forced to sin by strict necessity : 
 This strict necessity they simple call, 
 Another sort there is conditional. 
 The first so binds the will, that things foreknown, 
 By spontaneity, not choice, are done. 
 Thus galley-slaves tug willing at their oar, 
 Consent to work, in prospect of the shore : 
 But would not work at all, if not constrain'd before. 
 That other does not liberty constrain, 
 But man may either act or may refrain. 
 
 ♦ Thomas Bradwardin was elected Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury in 1348. He had the character of a j^reat philosopher 
 and mathematician, and was so eminent a divine as tu be 
 caUed Doctor Profundnx. Austin, or Augustine, was the fir»( 
 Ardibishop ol' Canterbury. 
 
THE COCK AND THB FOX. 
 
 135 
 
 Heaven made us agents free to good or ill, 
 And forced it not, though he foresaw the will. 
 Freedom was first bestow'd on human race, 
 And prescience only held the second piace. 
 
 If he could make such agents wholly free. 
 I not dispute ; the point's too high for me : 
 For Heaven's unfathom' 1 power what mfan caa 
 sound. 
 
 Or put to his Omnipotence a bound ? 
 
 He made us to his image, all agree ; 
 
 That image is the soul, and that must be 
 
 Or not the Maker's image, or be free. 
 But whether it were better man had beep 
 
 By nature bound to good, not free to sin, 
 
 I waive, for fear of splitting on a rock. 
 
 The tale I tell is only of a cock ; 
 
 Who had not run the hazard of his life. 
 
 Had he believed his dream, and not his wife : 
 
 For women, with a mischief to their kind, 
 
 Pervert, with bad advice, our better mind. 
 
 A woman's counsel brought us first to woe, 
 
 And made her man his Paradise forego, 
 
 Where at heart's ease he lived ; and might have l>een 
 I As free from sorrow as he was from sin. 
 I For what the devil had their sex to do, 
 
 That, born to folly, they presumed to know, 
 
 And could not see the serpent in the grass ? 
 
 But I myself presume, and let it pass. 
 * Silence in times of suffering is the best, 
 
 'Tis dangerous to disturb a hornet's nest. 
 
 In other authors you may find enough. 
 
 But all they say of dames is idle stiiff, _ 
 
136 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Legends of Ij'ing wits together bound, 
 The wife of Bath would throw them to the ground.* 
 These are the words of Chanticleer, not mine, 
 r honour dames, and think their sex d'vii>e. 
 
 Now to continue what niy tale begur; : 
 Lay madam Partlet basking in the sun, 
 Hreast high in sand : her sisters in a row, 
 Enjoy'd the beams above, the warmth Ijelow, 
 The cock, that of his fles.h was ever free, 
 Rung merrier than the mermaid in the sea : 
 And so befell that, as he cast his eye 
 Among the cole worts on a butterflj', 
 He saw false Reynard, where he lay full low, 
 I need not swear he had no list to cr6w : 
 But cried, ' Cock, cock !* and gave a sudden start. 
 As sore dismay'd and frighten'd at his heart. 
 For birds and beasts, inform' d by nature, know 
 Kinds opposite to theirs, and fly their foe : 
 \o Chanticleer, who never saw a fox, 
 Sfet shunn'd hiui as a sailor shuns the rocks. 
 
 But the false loon, who could not work his will 
 By open force, employ'd his flattering skill ; 
 * I hope, my, lord,' said he, * I not offend ; 
 Are you afraid of me, that am your friend ? 
 I were a beast indeed to do you vrrong, 
 I, who have loved and honour' d you so long : 
 Stay, gentle sir, nor take a false alarm, 
 For, on my soul, I never meant you harm. 
 I come no spy, nor as a traitor press 
 To learn the secrets of your soft recess : 
 Far be from Reynard so profane a thought, 
 But hj the sweetness of your voice was brought : 
 
THE COCK AND THE FOX. 
 
 For, as I bid my beads, by chance I heard 
 The song as of an angel in the yard : 
 A song that would have charm'd th' infernal godsi 
 And banish'd horror from the dark abodes : 
 Had Orpheus sung it in the nether sphere, 
 So much the hymn had pleased the tyrant's ear, 
 The wife had been detain' d, to keep the husband 
 there. 
 
 * My lord, your sire familiarly I knew, 
 A peer deserving such a son as you : 
 
 He, with your lad}'- mother (whom Heaven rest !) 
 Has often graced my house, and been my guest. 
 To view his living features does me good. 
 For I am your poor neighbour in the wood ; 
 And in my cottage should be proud to see 
 The worthy heir of my friend's family. 
 
 * But since I speak of singing, let me say. 
 As with an upright heart I safely may, 
 
 xhat, save yourself, there breathes not on the 
 ground. 
 
 One like your father for a silver sound. 
 So sweetly would he wake the winter day 
 That matrons to the church mistook their way, 
 And thought they heard the merry organ play. 
 And he, to raise his voice with artful care, 
 (What will not beaux attempt to please the fair ?) 
 On tiptoe stood to sing with greater strength. 
 And strctch'd his comely neck at all the length : 
 And while he strain'd his voice to pierce the skies, 
 As saints in rapture use, would shut his eyes, 
 That the sound striving through the narrow throat. 
 His winking might avail, to mend the note. 
 
138 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 By this, in song, he never had his peer, 
 From sweet Cecilia down to Chanticleer ; 
 Not Maro's muse who sung '* tne mighty man," 
 Nor Pmdar's heavenly lyre, nor Horace when a 
 swan. 
 
 Your ancestors proceed from race divine, 
 From Brennus and Belinus is )'our line, 
 Who gave to sovereign Rome such loud alarms 
 That e'en the priests were not excused from arms. 
 
 * Besides, a famous monk* of modern times, 
 Has left of cocks recorded in his rhymes, 
 That of a parish priest the son and heir 
 (When sons of priests were from the proverb cleai)j 
 Affronted once a cock of noble kind, 
 And either lamed his legs or struck him blind ; 
 For which the clerk his father was disgraced. 
 And in his benefice another placed. 
 Now sing, my lord, if not for love of me, 
 Yet for the sake of sweet saint Charity ; 
 Make hills and dales, and earth and heaven rejoice, 
 Aiid emulate your father's angel voice.' 
 
 The cock was pleased to hear him speak so fair. 
 And proud beside, as solar people are : 
 Nor could the treason from the truth descry, 
 So was he ravish 'd with this flattery : 
 So much the more, as, from a little elf. 
 He had a high opinion of himself : 
 Though sickly, slender, and not large of limb ; 
 Concludmg all the world was made for him, 
 
 Se princes raised by poets to the gods. 
 And Alexander' d up in lying odes, 
 
 * Nigelius Wireker, in Speeulain Stult0nkm. 
 
I THE COCK AND THE FOX, 13D 
 
 j Believe not every flattering knave's report, 
 ' There's many a Reynard lurking in the court ; 
 And he shall be received with more regard, 
 And listen'd to, than modest truth is heard. 
 
 This Chanticleer, of whom the story sings, 
 Stood high upon his toes, and clapp'd his wings • 
 Then stretch'd his neck, and wink'd with both his 
 Ambitious, as he sought th' Olympic prize. [eyes, 
 But while he pain'd himself to raise his note. 
 False Reynard rush'd, and caught him *he throat : 
 Then on his back he laid the precious loJwJ, 
 And sought his wonted shelter of the wood ; 
 Swiftly he made his way, the mischief done. 
 Of all unheeded, and pursued by none. 
 
 Alas ! what stay is there in human state, 
 Or who can shun inevitable fate ? 
 The doom was written, the decree was pass'd. 
 Ere the foundations of the world were cast I 
 In Aries though the sun exalted stood, 
 His patron planet to procure his good ; 
 Yet Saturn was his mortal foe, and he 
 In Libra raised, opposed the same degree : 
 T?ie rays both good and bad, of equal power. 
 Each thwarting other, made a mingled hour. 
 
 On Friday morn he dream' d this direful dream. 
 Cross to the worthy native, in his scheme ; 
 Ah blissful Venus, goddess of delight. 
 How couldst thou suffer thy devoted knight, 
 On thy own day to fall by foe oppress' d. 
 The wight of all the world who served thee best? 
 Who, true to love, was all for recreation, 
 And minded not the work of propagatiou. 
 
FABLBSi. 
 
 Gaufride*, who couldit so well in rhyme coraplam 
 The death of Richard, with an arrow slain, 
 Why had not I thy muse, or thou my heart, 
 To sing this heavy dirge with equal art ! 
 That I like thee of Friday might complain ; 
 For on that day was Cceur de Lion slain. 
 
 Not louder cries, when Ilium was in fl-ames, 
 Were sent to heaven by woful Trojan dames. 
 When Pyrrhus toss'd on high his burnish'd blade 
 And offer'd Priam to his father's shade, 
 Than for the cock the widow*d poultry made. 
 Fair Partlct first, when he was borne from sight, 
 With sovereign shrieks bewail' d her captive knight. 
 For louder than the Carthaginian wife, 
 When Asdrubal, her husband, lost his life ; 
 When she beheld the smouldering flames ascend. 
 And all the Punic glories at an end : 
 Willing into the fires she plunged her head, 
 With greater ease than others seek their bed. 
 Not more aghast the matrons of renown. 
 When tyrant Nero burn'd th' imperial town, 
 Shriek' d for the dov,-nfal in a doleful cry. 
 For which their guiltless lords were doom'd to die. 
 
 Now to my story I return again : 
 The trembling widow, and her daughters twain, 
 This wofui cackling cry with horror heard, 
 Of these distracted damsels in the yard ; 
 And starting up beheld the heavy sight, 
 How Reynard to the forest took his flight, 
 And cross his back, as in triumphant scorn, 
 The hope and pillar of the house was borne. 
 
 * Or GcolFrey de Vinsauf, a Norman historian. 
 
THE COCK AND TUE FOX. 
 
 141 
 
 * The fox, the wicked fox !' was all the cry ; 
 Out from his house ran every neighbour nigh : 
 The vicar first, and after him the crew, 
 With forks and staves the felon to pursue. 
 Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot with the band, 
 And aialkin, v/ith her distaft" in her hand : 
 Ran cow and calf, and family of hogs, 
 In panic horror of pursuing dogs, 
 Wfcth many a deadly grunt and doleful squeak, 
 Poor swine ! as if their pretty hearts would break* 
 The shouts of men, the women in dismay, 
 With shrieks augment the terror of the day. 
 The ducks that heard the proclamation cried, 
 And fear'd a persecution might betide, 
 Full twenty miles from town their voyage take, 
 Obscure in rushes of the liquid lake. 
 The geese fly o'er the barn ; the bees in arms 
 Drive headlong from the waxen cells in swarms. 
 Jack Straw, at London -stone, with all his rout. 
 Struck not the city with so loud a shout : 
 Not when with English hate they did pursue 
 A Frenchman, or an unbelieving Jew : 
 Not when the welkin rung with ' ose and all 
 And echoes bounded back from Fox's hall ; 
 Earth scem'd to sink beneath, and heaven above to 
 fall! 
 
 With might and main they chased the murderou« 
 With brazen trumpets, and inflated box, [foy, 
 To kindle Mars with military sounds ; 
 Nor wanted horns t' inspire sagacious hounds, 
 But see how fortune can confound the wise, 
 And, when they least expect it turn the dice. 
 
142 
 
 FABLES* 
 
 The captive cock, who scarce could draw his breath| 
 
 And lay within the very jaws of death ; 
 
 Yet in his agony this fancy Vvrought, 
 
 And fear supphed him with this happy thought: 
 
 * Yours is the prize, victorious prince !' said he, 
 
 * The vicar my defeat, and all the village see. 
 Enjoy your friendly fortune while you may, 
 And bid the churls, that envy you the prey, 
 
 Call back their niungrel curs, and cease their cry • 
 See, fools, the shelter of the wood is nigh, 
 And Chanticleer in your despite shall die : 
 He shall be plucked and eaten to the bone.' 
 ' 'Tis well advised ; in faith it shall be done I* 
 rhus Reynard said : but, as the word he spoke, 
 The prisoner with a spring from prison broke : 
 Then stretch' d his feather' d fans with all his might, 
 And to the neighbouring maple wing'd his flight. 
 Whom when the traitor safe on tree beheld. 
 He cursed the gods, with shame and sorrow fill'd ; 
 Bhame for his folly, sorrow out of time, 
 For plotting an unprofitable crime : 
 Yet mastering both, th' artificer oi lies 
 Renews th' assault, and his last battery tries. 
 * Though I,' said he, ' did ne'ef in thought 
 offend, 
 
 How justly may my lord suspect his friend 1 
 Th' appearance is against me, I confess. 
 Who seemingly have put you in distress : 
 You, if your goodness does not plead my cause, 
 Jlay think I broke all hospitable laws. 
 To bear you from your palace yard by might. 
 And put your noble person in a fright : 
 
THE COCK AND THE FOX. 141 
 
 This, since you take it ill, I must repent ; 
 Though heaven can witness, with no bad intent ; 
 I practised it, to make you taste your cheer 
 With double pleasure, first prepared by fear. 
 So loyal subjects often seize their prince, 
 Forced (for his good) to seeming \-iolence, 
 Yet mean his sacred person not the least offence. 
 Descend ; so help me Jove ! as you shall find 
 That Reynard comes of no dissembling kind.' 
 
 * Nay,' quoth the cock, * but I beshre>w us both. 
 If I believe a saint upon his oath : 
 An honest man may take a knave's advice, 
 But idiots only may be cozen'd twice. 
 Once warn'd is well bewared : not flattering lies 
 Shall sooth me more to sing with winking eyes 
 And open mouth, for fear of catching flies. 
 Who blindfold walks upon a river's brim, 
 When he should see, has he deserved to swim ?' 
 ' Better, sir cock, let all contention cease ; 
 Come down,* said Reynard, * let us treat of peace.' 
 ^ A peace, with all my soul,' said Chanticleer ; 
 * But, with your favour, I will treat it here : 
 And, lest the truce with treason should be mix'd, 
 *Ti« my concern to have the tree betwixt.* 
 
!4« 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 THE MORAL. 
 
 In this plain fable you ch* effect may see 
 
 Of negligence and fond credulity : 
 
 And learn besides of flatterers to beware, 
 
 Then most pernicious when they speak too fair* 
 
 The cock and fox the fool and knave imply ; 
 
 The truth is moral, though the tale a lie. 
 
 Who spoke in parables, I dare not say ; 
 
 But sure he knew it was a pleasing way, 
 
 Sound sense by plain example to convey. 
 
 And in a heathen author we may find, 
 
 That pleaeure with instruction should be joia*d| 
 
 So take the corn, and leave the chaff behind. 
 
THEODORE AND HONORIA, 
 
 Of all the cities in Romanian lands, 
 The chief and m/)st renown'd Ravenna stands : 
 Adorn'd in ancient times with arms an.d arts, 
 And rich inhabitants, with generous hearts. 
 But Theodore the brave, above the rest 
 With gifts of fortune and of nature bless'd, 
 The foremost place for wealth and honour held, 
 And all in feats of chivalry excell'd. 
 
 This noble youth to madness loved a dame 
 Of high degree, Honoria was her name : 
 Fair as the fairest, but of haxghty mind, 
 And fiercer than became so soft a kind ; 
 Proud of her birth (for equal she had none), 
 The rest she scorn'd ; but hated him alone. 
 His gifts, his constant courtship nothing gain'd; 
 For she, the more he loved, the more disdain'd: 
 He lived with all the pomp he could devise, 
 At tilts and tournaments obtain' d the prize, 
 But found no favour in his lady's eye& ; 
 Relentless as a rock, the lofty maid 
 Turn'd all to poison that he did or said: 
 L 
 
140 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Nor prayers, nor tears, nor offer' d vows could more ; 
 The work went backward ; and the more he strove 
 T* advance his suit, the further 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 disdain'd so mean a fate ; 
 That pass'd, his next endeavour was to hate. 
 15ut 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 th' untamed disease : 
 But present love required a present ease. 
 Looking, he feeds alone his famish' d 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 save the fortune, if not cure the mind : 
 This means they long proposed, but little gain'd; 
 Yet after much pursuit, at length obtain'd. 
 
 Hard you may think it was to give consent, 
 But, struggling with his own desires he went: 
 With large expense, and with a pompous trsufli 
 Provided, as to visit Fi'auce or Spain, 
 Or for some distant voyage o'er the main. 
 
THEODORE AND HONORIA. 
 
 147 
 
 But love had clipp'd his wings, and cut him short ; 
 Confined within the purlieus of his court : 
 Throe miles he went, no farther could retreat : 
 His travels ended at his country seat. 
 To Chassis' pleasing plains he took his way, 
 There pitch'd 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 minister'd delight 
 
 To morning wj^lks, and luU'd his cares by night. 
 
 There he discharged his friends ; but not th' 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 happ'd 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 surrotinded by the wood : 
 Alone he walk'd, to please his pensive mind, 
 And sought the deepest solitude to find : 
 'Twas in a grove of spreading pines he stray'd : 
 The winds within the quivering branches play'd^ 
 And dancing trees a mournful music made. 
 The place itself was suiting to his care, 
 Uncouth and savage as the cruel fair. 
 He wander'd on, unknowing where he went, 
 Lost in the wood, and all on love intent. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 
 
 VABLES. 
 
 The day already half his race had ran. 
 And summon' d him to due repast at noon 
 But love could feel no hunger but his own. 
 
 Whilst listening to the murmjirincj leaves itt 
 stood, 
 
 More than a mile immersed within the wood, 
 At once the wind was laid ; the whisperina: sound 
 Was dumb : a rising earthquake rock'd the ground 1 
 With deeper brown the grave was or erspread : 
 A sudden horror seized his giddy head, 
 And his ears tinkled, and his colour fled. 
 Nature vras in alarm ; some danger nfgh 
 Seem'd threatened, though unseen to mortal eye. 
 Unused to fear, he sumnion'd all his soul, 
 And stood collected in himself, and whole ; 
 Not long ; for soon a whirlwind rose around. 
 And from afar he heard a screaming sound, 
 As of a dame distress'd, who cried for aid, 
 And fiU'd with loud laments the secret shorde, 
 A thicket close beside the grove there stood. 
 With briers and brambles choked, and dwarfish 
 wood : 
 
 From thence the noise, w^iich now approaching rear^ 
 With more distinguish' d notes invades his ear. 
 He raised his head, and saw a beauteous maid, 
 With hair dishevel' d, issuing through the shade : 
 Stripp'd of her clothes, and e'en those parts reveal'd 
 Which modest nature keeps from sight conceal' d. 
 Her face, her hands, her naked limbs were torn. 
 With passing through the brakes and prickly thorn : 
 Two mastiffs gaunt and grim her flight pursued, 
 And oft their fasten' d fangs in blood imbrued ; 
 
TUEODORE AND H0N6R1A. li§ 
 
 Oft they came up, and pinch' d her tender side, 
 
 * Mcpcy, O, mercy, Heaven !' she ran and cried ; 
 When Heaven was named, they loosed their hold 
 
 again ; 
 
 Then sprung she forth, they followed her amai^i. 
 
 Not far behind, a knight of swarthy face, 
 High on a coal-black steed pursued the chase ; 
 "With flashing flames his ardent eyes were fiU'd* 
 And in his hands a naked sword he held : 
 He cheer' d the dogs to follow her who fled, 
 And vow'd revenge on her devoted head. 
 
 As Theodore was born of noble kind, 
 The brutal action roused his manly mind : 
 Moved with unworthy usage of the maid, 
 He, though unarm'd, resolved to give her aid. 
 A sapling pine he wrench' d from out the ground, 
 The readiest weapon that his fury found. 
 Thus furnish' d for offence, he cross' d the way 
 Betwixt the graceless villain and his prey. 
 
 The knight came thundering on, but from afar, 
 Thus, in imperious tone, forbad the war : 
 
 * Cease, The->dore, to profiler vain relief, 
 Nor stop the vengeance of so just a grief: 
 But give me leave to seize my destined p^ev. 
 And let Eternal Justice take the way ! 
 
 1 but revenge my fate ; disdain'd, betray'd. 
 And suffering death for this ungrateful maid.* 
 
 He said ; at once dismounting from the steed ; 
 For now the hell-hounds, with superior speed, 
 Had reach 'd the dame ; and fastening on iier side. 
 The ground >vith issuing streams ot Durple dyed. 
 
150 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Stood Theodore surprised in deadly fright, 
 With chattering teeth and brrstling hair ujtright ; 
 Yet arm'd with inborn worth, * Whate'e?/ said he, 
 * Thou art, who know'st me better than * thee ; 
 Or prove thy rightful cause, or be defiec' l' 
 The spectre, fiercely staring, thu's replied :— 
 
 * Know, Theodore, thy ancestry I claim, 
 And Guido Cavalcanti was my name : 
 One common sire our fathers did beget ; 
 "hly name and story some remember yet. 
 Thee, when a boy, within my arms I laid, 
 When, for my sins, I loved this haughty maid ; 
 Not less adored in life, nor served by me, 
 Than proud Honoria now is loved by thee. 
 What did I not her stubborn heart to gain ? 
 But all my vows were answer'd with disdain ; 
 She scorn'd my sorrows, and despised my pain. 
 Long time I dragg'd my days in fruitless care ; 
 Then loathing life, and plunged in deep despair, 
 To finish my unhappy life, I fell 
 On this sharp sword, and now am dam»M in hell. 
 Short was her joy ; for soon th' insulting maid. 
 By Heaven's decree, in the cold grave was laid ; 
 And as in unrepented sin she died, [pride j 
 
 Doom'd to the same bad place, is punish' d for her 
 Because she deem'd I well deserved to die, 
 And made a merit of her cruelty. 
 There, then, we met ; both tried, and both vf ere cast, 
 And this irrevocable sentence pass'd ; 
 That she whom I so long ])ursued in vain 
 Should suff"er from my hands a lingering pain : 
 
THSODOUE AN» HONORIA. 
 
 ISi 
 
 Benew'd to life, that she might daily die, 
 I daily dooni'd to follow, she to fly : 
 No more a lover, but a mortal foe, 
 I seek her life (for love is none Ijclow), 
 As often as ray dogs with better speed 
 Arrest her flight, is she to death decreed. 
 Then with- this fatal sword, on which I died, 
 I pierce her open'd back or tender side, 
 And tear that harden 'd heart from out her breast J 
 Which, with her entrails, makes my hungry houndi 
 a feast. 
 
 Nor lies she long, but as her fates ordain, 
 
 Springs up to life, and fresh to second pain, 
 
 Is saved to-day, to-morrow to be slain.' 
 
 This, versed in death, the infernal knight relates, 
 
 And then for proof, fulfill' d their common fates j 
 
 Her heart and bowels through her back he drew, 
 
 And fed the hounds that help'd him to pursue. 
 
 Stern look'd the fiend, as frustrate of his will, 
 
 Not half sufficed, and greedy yet to kill. 
 
 And now the soul expiring through the wound, 
 
 Had left the body breathless on the ground. 
 
 When thus the grisly spectre spoke again j 
 
 * Behold the fruit of ill rewarded pain ! 
 
 As many months as I sustain'd her hate, 
 
 So many years is she condemned by fate 
 
 To daily death and every several place, 
 
 Conscious of her disdain and my disgrace, 
 
 Must witness her just punishment and be 
 
 A scene of triumph and revenge to me. 
 
 As in this grove I took my lasjt farewell, 
 
 As on this very spot of earth I fell, 
 
1S2 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 As Frid.'\y saw me die ; so she my prey 
 Becomes even here, on this revolving day.' 
 
 Thus while he spoke, the virgin from the ground 
 Upstarted fresh, already closed the v/ound ; 
 And unconcern'd for all she felt before, 
 Precipitates her flight along the shore : 
 The hell-hounds, as ungorged with flesh and blood, 
 Pursue their prey, and seek their wonted food : 
 The fiend remounts his courser ; mends his pace, 
 And all the vision vanish' d from the place. 
 
 Long stood the noble youth oppressed with awe, 
 And stupid at the wondrous things he saw, 
 Surpassing common fakh, transgressing nature*i 
 law. 
 
 He v/ould have been asleep, and vvish'd to wake ; 
 But dreams, he knew, no long impression make, 
 Though strong at first : if vision, to what end, 
 But such as must his future state portend ? 
 His love the damsel, L,nd himself the fiend. 
 But yet, reflecting that it could not be 
 From Heaven, which cannot impious acts decree, 
 Resolved within himself to shun the snare 
 "Which hell for his destruction did prepare j 
 And as his better genius should direct. 
 From an ill cause to draw a good eff^cct. 
 
 Inspired from Heaven, he homeward took hit 
 way, 
 
 Nor pall'd his new design with long delay 
 But of his train a trusty servant sent 
 To call his friends together at his tent. 
 They came ; and usual salutations paid, 
 With words premeditated, thus he said i 
 
THBODOKK AND BOXORIA. 7 153 
 
 * Wkat you have often counsel' d, to remove 
 My vain pursuit of unregarded bve ; 
 By thrift my sinking fortune to repair, 
 Though late, yet is at last become my care : 
 My heart shall be my own ; my vast expense 
 Reduced to bounds, by timely providence ; 
 This only I require ; invite for me 
 Honoria, with her father's family, 
 Her friends, and mine ; the cause I shall display 
 On Friday next, for that's th' appointed day.' 
 
 Well pleased were all his friends ; the task was 
 The father, mother, daughter, they invite ; [light ; 
 Hardly the dame was drawn to this repast ; 
 But yet resolved, because it was the last. 
 The day was come, the guests invited came, 
 And, with the rest, th' inexorable dame ; 
 A feast prepared with riotous expense, 
 Much cost, more care, and most magnificence. 
 The place ordain' d was in that haunted grove 
 Where the revenging ghost pursued his love : 
 The tables in a proud pavillion spread, 
 With flowers below, and tissue over head : 
 The rest in rank ; Honoria, chief in place, 
 Was artfully contrived to set her face 
 To front the thicket, and behold the chase. 
 The feast was served ; the time so well forecast, 
 That just when the desert and fruits were placed, 
 The fiend's alarm began ; the hollow sound 
 Sung in the leaves, the forest shook around, 
 Air blacken 'd ; roU'd the thunder ; groan'd the 
 
 Nor long before the loud laments arise, [ground. 
 Of one distress' d, and mastiffs' mingled cries ; 
 
154 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 And first the dame came rushing through the wood, 
 And next the famish'd hounds that sought their food. 
 And griped her flanks, and oft as jay'd their jaws in 
 blood. 
 
 liast came the felon on his sable steed, [speed. 
 Arm'd with his naked sword, and urged his dogs to 
 She ran, and cried; her flight directly bent 
 (A guest unbidden) to the fatal tent, [ment. 
 The scene of death, and place ordain'd for punish- 
 Loud was the noise, aghast was every guest, 
 The women shriek'd, the men forsook the feast ; 
 The hounds at nearer distance hoarsely bay'd ; 
 The hunter close pursued the visionary maid : [aid. 
 She rent the heaven with loud laments ,t imploring 
 
 The gallants, to protect the lady's right, 
 Their falchions brandish'd at the grisly sprite : 
 High on his stirrups he provoked the fight. 
 Then on the crowd he cast a furious look, 
 And wither* d all their strength before he strook : 
 * Back, on your lives ! let be,' said he, * my prey^ 
 And let my vengeance take the destmed way. 
 Vain are your arms, and vainer your defence, 
 Against th' eternal doom of Providence : 
 Mine is th' ungrateful maid by Heaven design'd : 
 Mercy she would not give, nor mercy shall she find J 
 At this the former tale again he told 
 With thundering tone, and dreadful to behold. 
 Sunk were their hearts with horror of the crime, 
 Nor needed to be warn'd a second time, 
 But bore each other back ; some knew the face, 
 And all had heard the much lamented case 
 Of him who fell for love, and this the fatal placto 
 
THEODORE AND HONORIA. 
 
 155 
 
 And now the infernal minist-er advanced, 
 Seized the due victim, and with fury lanced 
 Her back, and piercing through her inmost heart, 
 Drew backward, as before, th' offending part. 
 The reeking eutrails next he tore away, 
 And to his meagre mastiffs made a prey : 
 The pale assistants on each other stared, 
 With gaping mouths for issuing words prepared ; 
 The still born sounds upon tl/e palate himg, 
 And died imperfect on the faltering tongue. 
 I The fright was general ; but the female band 
 I (A helpless train) in more confusion stand ; 
 I With horror shuddering, on a heap they run. 
 Sick at the sight of hateful justice done ; 
 For conscience rung the alarm, and made tl-ie case 
 their own. 
 
 So, spread upon a lake, with upward eye 
 A plump of fowl behold their foe on high ; 
 They close their trembling troop, and all attend 
 On whom the sousing eagle will descend. 
 ' But most the proud Honoria fear'd th' event, 
 I And thought to her alone the vision sent. 
 I Her guilt presents to her distracted mind 
 j Heaven's justice, Theodore's revengeful kind, 
 I And the same fate to the same sin assigned ; 
 Already sees herself the monster's prey, 
 And feels her heart and entrails torn away, 
 'Twas a mute scene of sorrow, mix'd with fear. 
 Still on the table lay th' unfinish'd cheer ; 
 The knight and hungry masiiffs sXood around. 
 The mangled dame lay breathless on the groun'I | 
 
FABLES. 
 
 When on a svulden, re-inspired with breath, 
 Again she rose, again to suffer death ; 
 Nor stay'd the hell-hounds, nor the hunter stay'd, 
 But followM, as before, the flying maid ; 
 Th' avenger took from earth th' avenging sword, 
 And, mounting light as air, his sable steed he 
 spurr'd : 
 
 The clouds dispell' d, the sky resumed her light, 
 And nature stood recover'd of her fright. 
 
 Eut fear, the last of ills, remain 'd behind ; 
 And horror heavy sat on every mind. 
 Nor Theodore encouraged more his feast, 
 But sternly look'd, as hatching in his breast 
 Some deep design ; which when Honoria viewM, 
 The fresh impulse her former fright renew' d ; 
 She thought herself the trembling dame who fled. 
 And him the grisly ghost that spurr'd the infernal 
 steed : 
 
 The more dismay'd, for when the guests withdrew, 
 Tbeir courteous host saluting all the crew, [adieu ! 
 Begardless: pass'd her o'er; nor graced with kind 
 That sting infix' d within her haughty mind. 
 The downfal of her empire she divined ; 
 And ber proud heart with secret sorrow pined. 
 Home as they went, the sad discourse renew' d 
 Of the relentless dame to death pursued. 
 And of the sight obscene so lately view'd. 
 None durst arraign the righteous doom she bore, 
 Even they who pitied most, yet blamed her more i 
 The parallel they needed not to name, 
 But in the dead they damn'd the living dame. 
 
THEODORB AND HONORIA. 157 
 
 At every little noise she look'd behind, 
 For still the knight was present to her mind : 
 And anxious oft she started on the way, 
 And thought the horseman-ghost came thundering 
 
 for his prey. 
 Return' 0, she took her bed with little rest. 
 But in short slumbers dream' d the funerai feast : 
 Awaked, she turn'd her side, and slept again ; 
 The same black vapours mounted in her brain, 
 And the same dreams return'd with double pain. 
 
 Now forced to wake, because afraid to sleep. 
 Her blood all fever' d, with a furious leap 
 She sprung from bed, distracted in her mind ! 
 And fear'd, at every step, a twitching sprite behiod. 
 Darkling and desperate, with a staggering pace. 
 Of death afraid, and conscious of disgrace ; 
 Fear, pride, remorse, at once her heart assail'd; 
 Pride put remorse to flight, but fear prevail' d. 
 Friday, the fatal day, when next it carae^ 
 Her soul forethought the fiend would change his 
 game. 
 
 And her pursue, or Theodore be slain. 
 And two ghosts join their packs to hunt her o'er th« 
 plain. 
 
 This dreadful image so possess 'd her mind 
 That, desperate any succour else to find. 
 She ceased all further hope ; and now began 
 To make reflection on th' unhappy man : 
 Rich, brave, and young, who past expression loved. 
 Proof to disdain, and not to be removed ; 
 Of all the men respected and admired, 
 Of all the dames, except herself, desired. 
 
2S8 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Why not of her ? preferr'd above the rcAt [fess'd ? 
 By him with knightly deeds, and open love pro- 
 So had another been, where he his vows address' d. 
 This q-uell'd her pri.ile ; yet other doubts remained. 
 That once disdaining, she might be disdain'd. 
 The fear was just ; but greater fear prevail'd, 
 Fear of her hfe by hellish hounds assail' d ; 
 He took a louring leave ; but who can tell, 
 \Vhat outward hate might inward love conceal ? 
 Her sex's arts she knew, and why not, then, 
 Might deep dissembling have a place in men ? 
 Here hope begaa to dawn ; resolved to try, 
 She fix'd 012 this her utmost remedy ; 
 Death was behind, but hard it was to die. 
 'Twas time enough at last on death to call, 
 The precipice in sight : a shrub w as all 
 That kindly stood betwixt to break the fatal fall. 
 
 One maid she had, beloved above the rest ; 
 Secure of her, the secret she confess'd: 
 And now the cheerftil light her fears dispell' d, 
 She with no winding turns the truth conceal'd, 
 But put the woman off, and stood reveal* d : 
 With faults confess'd, commission 'd her to go, 
 If pity yet had place, and reconcile her foe. 
 The welcome message made, was soon received ; 
 'Twas what he wish'd and hoped, but scarce b* 
 lieved ; 
 
 Fate seem'd a fair occasion to present. 
 He knew the sex, and fear'd she might repent, 
 Should he delay the moment of consent. 
 There yet remain' d to gain her friends (a c&ra 
 The modesty of maidens well might spare i) 
 
THiSODORK AND HONORIA. 
 
 But sho with such a zeal the cause embraced 
 (As women, where they will, are all in haste) 
 That father, mother, and the kin beside 
 Were overfjorne by fury of the tide : 
 With full consent of all, she changed her state, 
 Resistless in her love, as in her hate. 
 
 By her example warn'd, the rest beware ; 
 More easy, less imperious were the fair ; 
 And that one hunting, which the devil design'd 
 For otic fair female, lost him half the kind. 
 
THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE LADY IN THE ARBOUR. 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 Now turning from the wintry signs, the sun, 
 His course exalted through the RriOi had run, 
 And, whirling up the skies, his chariot drove 
 Through Taurus, and Ihe lightsome realms of love ; 
 Where Venus from her orb descends in showers, 
 To glad the ground, and paint the fields with flowers : 
 When first the tender blades of grass appear, 
 And buds, that yet the blast of Eurus fear, 
 Stand at the door of life, and doubt to clothe tho 
 year ; 
 
 Till gentle heat and soft repeated rains 
 Make the green blood to dance within their veins : 
 Then, at their call, embolden'd out they come, 
 And swell the gems, and burst the narrow room : 
 Broader and broader yet their blooms display, 
 Salute the welcome sun, and entertain tne da.y% 
 
 M 
 
FABLES. 
 
 Then from their breathing souis the sweets repair 
 To scent the skies, and purge th' unwholesome air ; 
 Joy spreads the heart, and with a generifi song 
 Spring issues out, and leads the joll}' mouths along. 
 
 In that sweet season, as in bed I la,v, 
 Aad sought in sleep to pass the night away, 
 I turn'd my weary side, but still in vain, 
 Though full of youthful health, and void of pain : 
 Cares I had none, to keep me from my rest. 
 For love had never entei' d in my breast ; 
 I wanted nothing fortune could supply, 
 Nor did she slumber tiK that hour deny. 
 I wonder' d then, but after found it true, 
 JIuch joy had dried away the balmy dew : 
 Seas would be pools, without the brushing air 
 To curl the waves ; and sure some little care 
 Should weary Nature so, to make her want repair. 
 
 When Chanticleer the second watch had sung, 
 Scorning the scorner sleep, from bed I sprung ; 
 And dressing, by the moon, in loose array, 
 Pass'd out in open air, preventing day, 
 And sought a goodly grove, as fancy led my way. 
 Straight as a line in beauteous order stood, 
 Of oaks unshorn, a venerable wood ; 
 Fresh was the grass beneath, and every tree 
 At distance planted in a due degree, 
 Their branching arms in air with equal space 
 Stretch' d to their neighbours with a long embrace I 
 And the new leaves on every bough were seen. 
 Some ruddy-colour' d, some of lighter green. 
 The painted birds, companions of the spring, 
 Hopping from spray to spray, were h«ard to sing ; 
 
THE FLOWER AND T. i LEAF. iGS 
 
 Both eyes ar>d ears received a like deiijht. 
 Enchanting music, and a charming sight. 
 On Philomel I fix'd my whole desire, 
 And listen'd for the queen of all the quire ; 
 Fain would I hear her heavenly voice to sing, 
 And w.anted yet an omen to th.e Spring. 
 
 Attending long in vain, I took the way, 
 Whi^h through a path hut scarcely printed lay ; 
 In narrow mazes oft it seem'd to me€t, 
 And iook'd as lightly press'd by fairy fpet. 
 Wandering I walk'd alone ; for still meth-ought 
 To some strange end so strange a path was wrought. 
 At last it led m.e where an arbour stood, 
 The sacred receptacle of the wood : 
 This place unmark'd, though oft I walk'd the green. 
 In all my progress I had never seen : 
 And, seized at once with wonder and delight, 
 Gazed all around me, new to the transporting sight* 
 'Twas bench 'd with turf, and goodly to be seen, 
 The thick young grass arose in fresher green : 
 The mound was newly made, no sight could pass 
 Betwixt the nice partitions of the grass, 
 The well united sods so closely lay ; 
 And all around the shades defended it from day: 
 For sycamores with eglantine were spread, 
 A hedge about the sides, a covering overhead. 
 And so the fragrant brier v\<xs wove between. 
 The sycamore and flowers were mix'd with green, 
 Thai nature seem'd to vary the delight, 
 Aud satisfied at once the smell and sight. 
 T-he master workman of the bower Avas known 
 Through fairy kinds, and built for Oberon ; 
 
194 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Who twining leaves with such proportion drew, 
 
 They rose by measure, and by rule they grew ; 
 
 No mortal tongue can half th-e beauty tell, 
 
 For none but hands divine could work so well. 
 
 Both roof and sides were like a parlour made, 
 
 A soft recess, and a cool summer shade ; 
 
 The hedge was set so thick, no foreign eye 
 
 The persons placed within it could espy : 
 
 But all that pass'd without with ease was seen^ 
 
 As if nor fence nor tree was placed between. 
 
 'Twas border' d with a field ; and some w,as plain 
 
 With grass ; and some was sow'd with rising grain j 
 
 That (now the dew with spangles deck'd the ground) 
 
 A sweeter spo4 of earth was never found. 
 
 I look'd, and look'd, and still with new delight ; 
 
 Such joy my soul, such pleasures fill'd ray sight : 
 
 And the fresh eglantine exhaled a breath. 
 
 Whose odours were of power to raise from death. 
 
 Nor sullen discontent, nor anxious care, 
 
 Even though brought thither, could inhabit there : 
 
 But thence they fled as from their mortal foe, 
 
 For this sweet place could only pleasure know. 
 
 Thus as I mused, I cast aside my eye 
 And saw a medlar-tree was planted nigh : 
 The spreading branches made a goodly show, 
 And full of opening blooms was every bough. 
 A goldfinch there I saw with gaudy pride 
 Of painted plumes, that hopp'd from s'dc to side. 
 Still pecking as she pass'd ; and still she drew 
 The sweets from every flower, and suck'd the dtw» 
 SuflSced at length, she warbted in her throat. 
 And tuned her voice to many a merry note, 
 
THE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 
 
 BKt indistiBct, and neither sweet nor clear, 
 Yet such as sooth' d my soul, and pleased ray ear. 
 
 Her short performa-nce was no sooner tried, 
 When she I sought, the nightingale, replied. 
 So sweet, so shrill, so varjonsly she sung, 
 That the grove echo'd, and the valleys rung : 
 And I so ravish 'd with her heavenly note, 
 I stood entranced, and had no room for thoughtr; 
 But all o'erpower'd with ecstasy of bliss, 
 Was in a pleasing dream of paradise. 
 At length I waked ; and looking round the bower 
 Search'd every tree, and pried on every flower, 
 If any where by chance I mi^ht espy 
 Tbe rural poet of the melody : 
 For still methought she sung not far away ; 
 At last I found her on a laurel spray. 
 Close by my side she sat, and fair in sight, 
 Full in a line, against her opposite ; 
 Where stood with eglantine the laurel twirred ; 
 And both their native sweets were well conjoin'd. 
 
 On the green bank I sat, and listen'd long 
 (Sitting was more convenient for the song) ; 
 Nor till her lay was ended could I move, 
 But wish'd to dwell for ever in the grove. 
 Only methought the time too swiftfy paseM, 
 And every note I fear'd would be the last. 
 My sight, and smell, and hearing were employed, 
 Add all three senses in full gust enjoy 'd. 
 And what alone did all the rest surpass, 
 The sweet possession of the fairy place ; 
 Single, and conscious to myself alone 
 Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown i 
 
PACLKS. 
 
 Pleasures wliich no where else >verc to ue foiici. 
 And all EI} siuni in a spot of ground. 
 
 Thus while I sat, intent to see and hear, 
 And drew perfumes of more t.han vital air, 
 All suddenly I heard th* approaching soiird 
 Of vocal music on th' enchanted ground. 
 A host of saints it seem'd, so full the quire 
 As if the bless 'd above did all conspire 
 To join then- voices, and neglect the lyrC: 
 At length there issued from the grove behind 
 A fair assembly of the female kind : 
 A train less fair, as ancient father.'* tell. 
 Se(«iced the sons of Heaven to rebel. 
 1 pass their form and every charnxing grace ; 
 Less than an angel would their worth debase ; 
 But their attire, like liveries of a kind 
 All rich and rare, is fresh within my mind. 
 In velvet white as snow the troop was gown'd, 
 The seams with sparkling emeralds set around ; 
 Their hoods and sleeves the same ; and purfled o'er 
 "With diamonds, pearls, and all the shining store 
 Cf eastern pomp : their long descending train, 
 "With rabies edged and sapphires, swept the plain : 
 High on their heads, with jewels richly set, 
 Each lady wore a radiant coronet. 
 Beneath the circles, all the quire was graced 
 With chaplets green on their fair foreheads placed. 
 Of laurel some, of woodbine many more ; 
 And wreaths of agnus castas others bore : 
 These last, who with those virgin crowns wert 
 d-rss'd, 
 
 Appear' d io hig-her honour than the rest* 
 
7HE FLOWER AND THE LEAF. l67 
 
 They danced around, but in the midst was seen 
 A lady of a more majestic mien ; 
 By stature and by beauty mark'd their so^ere'g* 
 queen. 
 
 She in the midst began with sober grace j 
 Her servants' eyes were fix'd upon her face : 
 And, as she moved or turn'd, her motions view*d, 
 Her measures kept, and step by step pursued. 
 IV'cthought she trod the ground with greater gmcc. 
 With more of godhead sliining in her face : 
 And as in beauty she surpass' d the quire, 
 So nobler than the rest was her attire. 
 A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow, 
 Plain without pomp, and rich without a show : 
 A branch of agr.ns castus in her hand 
 She bore aloft, her sceptre of command ! 
 Admired, adored by all the circling crowd ; 
 For wheresoe'er she turn'd her face, they bow'd: 
 And as she danced, a roundelay she sung. 
 In honour of the laurel, ever young : 
 She raised her voice on high, and sung so clear, 
 The fawns came scudding from the groves to hear: 
 And all the bending forest lent an ear. 
 At every close she made, th' attending thrcng 
 Replied, and bore the burden of the song ; 
 So just, 80 small, yet in so sweet a note. 
 It seem'd the music melted in the throat. 
 
 Thus dancing on, and singing as they danced. 
 They to the middle of the mead advanced, 
 Till round my arbour a new ring they made, 
 And footed it about»the secret shade. 
 
153 
 
 O* ercr'd to fee the jolly troop m nc^r, 
 But scmewhat awed, I shook with holy fearj 
 Yet not £0 much, but that I noted well 
 Who tiia the most in sons: or dance excel. 
 
 Not long: I had observed, when from afar 
 I i.e*id d sudd^in symphony ot v,ar ; 
 IT.e neighir g coursers, and the soldiers' cry. 
 And sctxndbg trumps that seem'd to tear the sky: 
 I saw sc-oa after this, behind the prove 
 From whence the ladies did in order move, 
 Come issuing out in arms a warrior train, 
 That like a ne'i-g'S pour'd upon the plain : 
 On barbed cteeds they rode in proud array, 
 Thick as th*: college of the bees in May, 
 When swarming o'er the dusky flckU they fly, 
 New to the flowers, and intercept the sky. 
 So fierce they drove, their coursers were so fleet 
 That the turf trembled underneath their feet. 
 
 To tell tlieir costly furniture were long, 
 The summer's day would end before the song ; 
 To purchase but the ter. th of all their store 
 Would make the mighty Persian monarch poor. 
 Vet what I cat» I will ; before the rest 
 The truro,»ets Issued in white mantles Jress'd : 
 A rumerii/us troop, and all their heads around 
 With chaplets green of cerrial oak were crown*d ; 
 And at each trumpet was a banner bound ; 
 Which, waving in the wind, display' d at large 
 Their master's coat of arms and knightly charge, 
 Broad were the banners, and of snowy hue, 
 A purer web the silkworm never drew. 
 
THS FLOWER AND THE LEAF. 10|^ 
 
 The chief about their necks the scutcheons wore, 
 With orient pearls and jewels powder'd o'er : 
 Broad were their collars too, and every one 
 Was set about with many a costly stone. 
 Next these of kings at arms a goodly train, 
 In proud array, came prancing o'er the plain j 
 Their cloaks were cloth of silver mix'd with gold* 
 And garlands green around their temples roU'd. 
 Rich crowns were on their royal 'scutcheons placca. 
 With sapphires, diamonds, and with rubies graced. 
 And as the trumpets their appearance made, 
 So these in habits were alike array 'd ; 
 But with a pace more sober, and more slow : 
 And twenty, rank in rank, they rode arow. 
 The pursuivants came next, in number more ; 
 And, like the heralds, each his 'scutcheon bore : 
 Clad in white velvet all their troop they led, 
 With each an oaken chaplet on his head. 
 
 Nine royal knights in equal rank succeed, 
 Each warrior mounted on a fiery steed : 
 In golden armour glorious to behold ; 
 The rivets of their arras were nail'd with gold. 
 Their surcoats of white ermine fur were made : 
 With cloth of gold between, that cast a glitterinf 
 shade . 
 
 The trappings of their steeds were of the same ; 
 The golden fringe e'en set the ground on flame, 
 And drew a precious trail : a crown divine 
 Of laurel did about their temples twine. 
 
 Three henchmen wf re for every kr^ight assign* dj 
 All in rich livorf clad, acid of a kind ; 
 
rABLBS. 
 
 White velvet, but unshorn, for cloaks they wof% 
 And each within his hand a truncheon bore : 
 The foremost held a helm of rare device ; 
 A prince's ransom would not pay the price : 
 The second bore the buckler of his knight ; 
 The third, of cornel- wood, a spear upright, 
 Headed with piercing steel, and polish' d bright» 
 Like to their lords', their equipage was seen. 
 And all their foreheads crown' d with garlands 
 green. 
 
 \nd, after these, came, arm'd with spear and shield; 
 A host so great as cover' d all the field : 
 And all theii ^reheads, like the knights before. 
 With laurels ever green were shaded o'er. 
 Or oak, or other leaves of lasting kind. 
 Tenacious of the stem, and firm against the wind. 
 Some in their hands, beside the lance and shield^ 
 The boughs of woodbine or of hawthorn held. 
 Or branches for their mystic emblems took 
 Of palm, of laurel, or of cerrial oak. 
 Thus marching to the trumpet's lofty sound, 
 Drawn in two lines adverse th^y wheel'd around, 
 And in the middle meadow took their ground. 
 Among themselves the tourney they divide 
 In equal squadrons, ranged on either side. 
 Then turn'd their horses* heads, and man to man, 
 And steed to steed opposed, the justs began. 
 They lightly set their lances in the rest. 
 And, at the sign, against each other press'd : 
 They met : I, sitting at my ease, beheld 
 The mix'd events and fortunes of the field. 
 
THE FLO-JTER AND THE LEAF. 
 
 171 
 
 S-jmc broke their spears, some tumbled horse and 
 man, 
 
 And round the fields the lighten'd coursers ran ; 
 An hour and more, like tides, in equal sway 
 They rush'd, and won by turns and lost the day. 
 At length the nine (who still together held) 
 Their fainting foes to shameful flight eompell'd. 
 And with resistless force o'erran the fie*d. 
 Thus, to their fame, when finish 'd was the fight, 
 The victors from their lofty steeds alight : 
 Like them dismounted all the warlike train, 
 And two by two proceeded o'er the plain : 
 Till to the fair assembly they advanced, 
 Who, near the secret arbour, sung and danced. 
 
 The ladies left their measures at the sight. 
 To r^ee*- the chiefs returning from the fight, 
 And trtcn, with open arms, embraced her chosen 
 knight. 
 
 Amid the plain a spreading laurel stood, 
 The grace and ornament of all the wood : 
 That pleasing shade they sought, a soft retreat, 
 From sudden April show-ers, a shelter from the he&t* 
 Her leafy arms with such extent were spread. 
 So near the clouds was her aspiring head. 
 That hosts of birds that wing the liquid air, 
 Perch'd in the boughs, had nightly lodging there': 
 And flocks of sheep beneath the shade from fat 
 Might hear the rattling hail and wintry war ; 
 From heaven's inclemency here found retreat, 
 Enjoy'd the cool, and shunn'd the scorching heati 
 A hundred knights might there at ease abide ; 
 And every kaifj^ht a lady b}- Lis side : 
 
yABL£a. 
 
 The trunk itself such odours did bequeath 
 
 That a ]\Ioluccan breeze to these was common breatlw 
 
 The lords and ladies, here approaching, paid 
 
 Their homage, with a low obeisance made : 
 
 And seem'd to venerate th-e sacred shade. 
 
 These rites perform'd, their j)leasures they pursue, 
 
 With songs of love, and mix with measures new ; 
 
 Around the holy tree their dance they frame, 
 
 And every champion leads liis chosen dame. 
 
 I cast my sight upon the further field, 
 And a fresh object of delight beheld : 
 For, from the region of the west, I heard 
 New music sound, and a new troop appear' J 
 Of knights and ladies mix'd, a jolly band; 
 But all on foot they march 'd, and hand in hand. 
 
 The ladies dress' d in rich simars were seen 
 Of Florence satin, flower' d with white and green, 
 And for a shade betwixt the bloomy gridelin. 
 The borders of their petticoats below 
 Were guarded thick with rubies on a row ; 
 And every damsel wore upon her head 
 Of flowers a garland, blended white and red. 
 Attired in mantles all the knights were seen. 
 That gratified the view v/ith cheerful green : 
 Their chaplets of their ladies' colours were, [hair. 
 Composed of white and red, to shade their shining 
 Before the merry troop the minstrels play'd ; 
 All in their master's liveries were array'd. 
 And clad in green ; and on their temples wore 
 The chaplets white and red their ladies bore. 
 Their instrumcttts were various in their kind ; 
 Some for the bow, and some for breathing wind j 
 
THE FLOWfiR AM) THE LEAF. 173 
 
 The psaltry, pipe, and hautboy's noisy band, 
 And the soft lute trembling beneath the touching 
 hand. 
 
 A tuft of daisies on a flowery lay 
 
 They saw, and thitherward they bent their way : 
 
 To this both knights and dames their homage madf. 
 
 And due obeisance to the daisy paid. 
 
 And when the band of flutes began to play, 
 
 To which a lady sung a virelay ; 
 
 And still at every close she would repeat 
 
 The burden of the song, ' The daisy is so sweet.* 
 
 * The daisy is so sweet,' when she begun, 
 
 The troop of icnights and dames continued on. 
 
 The concert and the voice so charm' d my ear. 
 
 And sooth' d my soul, that it was heaven to hear. 
 
 But soon their pleasure pass'd : at noon of day 
 The sun with sultry beams began to play : 
 Not Sirius shoots a fiercer flame from high. 
 When with his poisonous breath he blasts the sky : 
 Then droop'd the fading flowers (their beauty fled; 
 And closed their sickly eyes, and hung the head ; 
 And, rivel'd up with heat, lay dying in their bed. 
 The ladies gasp'd, and scarcely could respire : 
 The breath they drew, no longer air, but fire ; 
 The fainty knights were scorch' d, and knew not 
 To run for shelter, for no shade was near. [where 
 And after this the gathering clouds amain 
 Pour'd down a storm of rattling hail and rain, 
 And lightning flash' d betwixt : the field and flowers, 
 Burn'd up before, were buried in the showers. 
 The ladies and the knights, no shelter nigh, 
 Bwe to the weather and the wintry sky, 
 
174 
 
 VABLBS. 
 
 Were dropping wet, disconsolata and wan, 
 And through their thin array received the rain : 
 While those in white, protected by the tree, 
 Saw pass the vain assault, and stood from dangef 
 free. 
 
 But as compassion moved their gentle minds, 
 When ceased the storm, and silent were the winds, 
 Displeased at what, not suffering, they bad seen, 
 They went to cheer the faction of the green. 
 The queen in white array before her band. 
 Saluting, took her rival by the hand ; 
 So did the knights and dames, with courtly grace, 
 And with behaviour sweet their foes embrace. 
 Then thus the queen with laurel on her brow : 
 * Fair sister, I have suffer 'd in your woe. 
 Nor shall be wanting aught within my power 
 For your relief in my refreshing bower.* 
 That other answcr'd with a lowly look, 
 And soon the gracious invitation took : 
 For ill at ease, both she and all her train 
 The scorching sun had borne, and beating rain ; 
 Like courtesy was used by all in white. 
 Each dame a dame received, and every knight a 
 knight. 
 
 The laurel champions with their swords invade 
 
 The neighbouring forests, where the justs were made, 
 
 And sere wood from the rotten hedges took. 
 
 And seeds of latent fire from flints provoke : 
 
 A cheerful blaze arose, and by the fire [attire. 
 
 They warm'd their frozen feet, and dried their wet 
 
 Refresh' d with heat, the ladies sought around 
 
 For virluous herbs, which gather'd from the ground 
 
THB FLOWER A.ND THE LEAF. 175 
 
 THey squeezed the juice, and cooling ointment made, 
 Which on their sunburn' d cheeks, and their chapp*d 
 
 skins they laid : 
 Then sought green salads which they bade them eat, 
 A sovereign remedy for inward heat. 
 The lady of the leaf ordain 'd a feast," 
 And made the lady of the flower her guest : 
 When lo ! a bower ascended on the plain, 
 With sudden seats adorn 'd, and large for either train. 
 This bow».T was near my pleasant arbour placed, 
 That I could hear and see whatever pass'd. 
 The ladies sat, with each a knight between, 
 Distinguish' d by their colours, white and green : 
 The vanquish'd party with the victors join'd, 
 Nor wanted sweet discourse — the banquet of ik» 
 
 mind. 
 
 l\Ieantime, the minstrels play'd on cither side. 
 
 Vain in their art, and for the mastery vied : 
 
 The sweet contention lasted for an hour. 
 
 And reach' d my secret arbour from the bower. 
 
 The sun was set ; and Vesper, to suppply 
 
 His absent beam, had lighted up the sky ; 
 
 When Philomel, officious all the day 
 
 To sing the service of th' ensuing May, 
 
 Fled from her laurel shade, and wing'd her flight 
 
 Directly to the queen array 'd in white ; 
 
 And hopping, sat familiar on her hand, 
 
 A new musician, and increased the band. 
 
 The goldfinch, who, to shun the scalding heat. 
 Had changed the medlar for a safer wat, 
 And hid in bushes 'scaped the bitter shower, 
 Now perch' d upon the lady of the flower ; 
 
176 
 
 FABLKS. 
 
 And either songster holding out their throats, 
 An-d folding up their wings, renew'd their note* ; 
 As if all day, preluding to the fight, 
 They only had rehearsed, to sing by night. 
 The banquet ended, and the battle done, 
 They danced by starlight and the friendly moon*. 
 And when they were to part, the laureate queen 
 Supplied with steeds the lady of the green ; 
 Her and her train conducting on the way. 
 The moon to follow, and avoid the day. 
 
 This when I saw, inquisitive to know 
 The secret moral of the mystic show, 
 I started from my shade, in hopes to find 
 Some nymphs to satisfy my longing mind : 
 And, as my fair adventure fell, I found 
 A lady all in white with laurel crown 'd. 
 Who closed the rear, and softly paced along, 
 Repeating to herself the former song. 
 With due respect my body I inclined. 
 As to some being of superior kind, 
 And made my court, according to the day, 
 Wishing her queen and her a happy May ! 
 
 * Great thanks, my daughter !' with a gracious bo^ 
 She said ; and I, so much desired to know 
 
 Of whence she was, yet fearful how to break 
 My mind, adventured humbly thus to speak : 
 
 * Madam, might I presume, and not offend? 
 So may the stars and shining moon attend 
 Your nightly sports, as you vouchsafe to tell 
 What nymphs they were who mortal forms excel, 
 And what the knights who fought in listed field* sa 
 
THE FLOWEK AND THE LEAF. l^? 
 
 To this the dame replied, * Fair daughter, know 
 
 That what you saw was all a fairy show : 
 
 And all those airy shapes you now behold [mould : 
 
 Were human bodies once, and clothed with earthly 
 
 Our souls, not yet prepared for upper light, 
 
 Till doomsday wander in the shades of night : 
 
 This only holiday of all the year. 
 
 We privileged in sunshine may appear ; 
 
 With songs and dance we celebrate the day, 
 
 And with due honours usbcr in the May. 
 
 At other times we reign by night alone, 
 
 And, posting through the skies, pursue the moon : 
 
 But when the morn arises, none are found. 
 
 For cruel Demogorgon walks the round, 
 
 And if he finds a fairy lag in light, 
 
 He drives the wretch before, and lashes into nighti 
 
 * All courteous are by kind ; and ever proud 
 With friendly offices to help the good. 
 In every land we have a larger space 
 Than what is known to you of mortal race : 
 Where we with green adorn our fairy bowers^ 
 And even this grove, unseen before, is ours. 
 Know further, every lady clothed in white, 
 And, crown' d with oak and laurel every knight. 
 Are servants to the Leaf, by liveries known 
 Of innocence, and I myself am one ! 
 Saw you not her, so graceful to behold. 
 In white attire, and crown 'd with radiant gold 7 
 The sovereign lady of our land is she, 
 Diana call'd, the queen of chastity : 
 And, for the spotless name of maid she beaiSli^ 
 That agmts castm in her hand appears ; 
 
 M 
 
173 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 And all her train with leafy chaplets crown' d 
 Were for unblamed virginity renown'd; 
 But those the chief and highest in command 
 Who bear those holy branches in their hand. 
 The knights adorn*d with laurel crowns are they 
 Whom death nor danger ever could dismay ; 
 Victorious names, who made the world obey : 
 Who, while they lived, in deeds of arms excelled. 
 And after death for deities were held. 
 But those who wear the woodbine on their brow 
 Were knights of love, who never broke their vow : 
 Firm to their plighted faith, and ever free 
 From fears and fickle chance and jealousy. 
 The lords and ladies who the woodbine bear 
 As true as Tristram and Isotta were.' 
 
 * But what are those,' said I, ' th' unconquer'd 
 
 nine, [mour shine ? 
 
 Who, crown'd with laurel-wreaths, .n golden ar- 
 And who the knights in green, and what the train 
 Of ladies dress' d with daisies on the plain? 
 Why both the bands in worship disagree. 
 And some adore the flower, and some the tree ?* 
 
 * Just is your suit, fair daughter,' said the dame. 
 * Those laurel' d chiefs were men of mighty fame ; 
 Nine worthies were they call'd of different rites. 
 Three Jews, three pagans, and three Christian 
 
 knights. 
 
 These, as you see, ride foremost in the field, 
 
 As they the foremost rank of honour held. 
 
 And all in deeds of chivalry excell'd : 
 
 Their temples wreathed with leaves, that stili renew ; 
 
 For deathil2ss laurel is the victor's due. 
 
THE FLOWEB AND THE LEAF. 
 
 WliO bear the hows were knights in Arthur's reiga, 
 Twelve they, and twelve the peers of Charlemagne ; 
 For bows the strength of brawny arras imply, 
 Emblems of valour and of victory. 
 Behold an order yet of newer date, 
 Doubling their number, equal in their state ; 
 Our England'* ornament, the crown's defence, 
 In battle, brave protectors of their prince ; 
 Unchanged by fortune, to their sovereign true. 
 For which their manly legs are bound with blue. 
 These, of the garter call'd, of faith unstain'd. 
 In fighting fields the laurel have obtain' d, 
 And well repaid those honours which they gainM* 
 The laurel wreaths were first by Caesar worn. 
 And still they CiEsar's successors adorn : 
 One leaf of this is immortality. 
 And more of worth than all the world can buy.' 
 
 ' One doubt remains,' said I, ' the dames in green. 
 What were their qualities, and who their queen ?' 
 ' Flora commands,' said she, * those nymphs and 
 knights, 
 
 WTio lived in slothful ease, and loose delights : 
 Who never acts of honour durst pursue, 
 Tlie men inglorious knights, the ladies all untrue : 
 Who, nursed in idleness and train'd in courts, 
 Pass'd all their precious hours in plays and sports, 
 Till death behind came stalking on unseen. 
 And wither'd, like the storm, the freshness of thcif 
 green. 
 
 These and their mates enjoy the present hour, 
 And (aerefore pay their homage to the FlowQi* 
 it 2 
 
»80 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 But knights in knightly deeds should persevere, 
 And still continue what at first they were ; 
 Continue and proceed in honour's fair career. 
 No room for cowardice or dull delay, 
 From good to better they should urge their way. 
 For this w'ith golden spurs the chiefs are graced, 
 With pointed rowels arm'd to mend their haste ; 
 For this with lasting leaves their brows are bound ; 
 For laurel is the sign of labour crown'd, 
 Which bears the bitter blast, nor shaken falls to 
 ground : 
 
 From winter winds it supers no decay, 
 For ever fresh and fair, and every month is May. 
 Even when the vital sap retreats below, 
 Even when the hoary head is hid in snow, 
 The life is in the leaf ; and still between 
 The fits of falling snows appears the streaky green. 
 Not so the flower, which lasts for little space, 
 A shortlived good, and an uncertain grace : 
 This way and that the feeble stem is driven, 
 Weak to sustain the storms and injuries of heaven. 
 Propp'd by the si)ring, it lifts aloft its head. 
 But of a sickly beauty, soon to shed ; 
 in summer living, and in winter dead. 
 For things of tender kind, for pleasure made, 
 Shoot up with swift increase, and sudden are do« 
 cay'd.' 
 
 With humble words, the wisest I could frame, 
 And proffer'd service, I repaid the dame : 
 That, of her grace, she gave her maid to know 
 The secret meaning of this mopal shew. 
 
THE FLOWER AND THE LEAP. 
 
 161 
 
 And she, to prove what profit I had uiade 
 Of mystic truth, in fables fxrut convey 'd, 
 Demanded, till the next returning May, 
 Whether the leaf or flower I would obey ? 
 I chose the leaf ; she smiled with sober cheer, 
 And wish'd me fair adventure for the year ; 
 And gave me charms and sigils, for defence 
 Against ill tongues that scandal innocence : 
 * But I,' said she, * my fellows must pursue ; 
 Already pass'd the plain and out of view.' 
 
 We parted thus ; I homeward sped my way, 
 Bewilder' d in the wood till dawn of day, 
 And met the merry crew who danced about the May* 
 Then late refresh'd with sleep, I rose to write 
 The visionary vigils of the night. — 
 Blush, as thou mayst, my little book, for shame ! 
 Nor hope with homely verse to purchase fame ; 
 For such thy Maker chose ; and so dcsign'd 
 Tky simple style to suit thy lowly kin<^. 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 
 
 POETA LOaUITUR. 
 
 Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, 
 The power of beauty I remember yet. 
 Which once inflamed my soul, and still inspires my 
 wit. 
 
 If love be folly, the severe divine* 
 Has felt that folly, though he censures mine ; 
 Pollutes the pleasures of a chaste embrace, 
 Acts what I write, and propagates in grace. 
 With riotous excess, a priestly race. 
 Suppose him free, and that I forge th' oflFence, 
 He show'd the way, perverting first my sense : 
 In malice witty, and with venom fraught, 
 He makes me speak the things I never thought. 
 Compute the grains of his ungovern'd zeal ; 
 111 suits his cloth the praise of railing well ! 
 The world will think that what we locsely write, 
 Though now arraign'd, he read with some delight ; 
 Because he seems to chew the cud again, 
 When his broad comment makes the next too plain^ 
 ♦ Jsremy Collier. 
 
184 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 And teaches more in one explaining pape 
 Than all the double meanings of the stage. 
 
 What needs he paraphrase on what we m%a^ . 
 We were at worst but wanton, he's obscene, 
 I nor my fellows nor myself excuse ; 
 But love's the subject of the comic muse : 
 Nor can we write without it, nor would you 
 A tale of only dry instru-ction view ; 
 Nor love is always of a vicious kind, 
 But oft to virtuous acts inflames the mind ; 
 Awakes the sleepy vigour of the soul, 
 And, brushing o'er, adds motion to the pool. 
 hcve, studious how to please, improves our p«.rt> 
 With polish* d manners, and adorns with arts. 
 Love first invented verse, and form'd the rhyme, 
 The motion measured, harmonised the chime : 
 To liberal acts enlarged the n<xrrow soul'd, 
 Soften'd the fierce, and made the coward bold : 
 The world, when waste, he peopled with increase, 
 And warring nations reconciled in pe?.«e. 
 Ormond, the first, and all the fair r^iay T/nd, 
 in this one legend, to their fara*? de^ign'd, [nr3id« 
 When beauty fires the blooa, how love itxelXB « 
 
 Ik that s-jreet isle, where Venas keepe her court. 
 And every Gr»^e, and all the Lores resort ; 
 Where cither sex is forna'd of softer earth, 
 ind take* th<z: bent of pleasure from their birth ; 
 There lived a Cypiian lord, above the rest 
 ^ise, wealthy, with a numerous issue bleii*d t 
 
CTMON AND IPHIGBNIA. 
 
 fJut as no gift of fortune is sincere, 
 
 Was only wanting in a worthy heir. 
 
 Hia eldest born, a goodly youth to view, 
 
 Excell'd the rest in shape and outward show ; 
 
 Fair, tall, his limbs with due proportion join'd, 
 
 But of a heavy, dull, degenerate raind. 
 
 His soul belied the features of his face ; 
 
 Beauty was there, but beauty in disgrace : 
 
 A clownish mien, a voice with rustic sound, 
 
 And stupid eyes that ever loved the ground. 
 
 He look'd hke nature's error ; as the mind 
 
 And body were not of a piece design'd, (join'cL 
 
 But made for two, and by mistalce in one were 
 
 The ruling rod, the father's forming care. 
 
 Were exercised in vain on wit's despair; 
 
 The more inform' d, the less he understood, 
 
 And deeper sunk, by floundering in the mud. 
 
 Now scorn'd of all, and grown the public shame, 
 
 The people from Galcsus changed his name, 
 
 And Cymon call'd, which signifies a brute ; 
 
 So well his name did with his nature suit. 
 
 His father, when he found his labour lost, 
 And care employ'd, that ansv.er'd not the co&t. 
 Chose an ungrateful object to remove, 
 And loathed to see what nature made him love ; 
 So to his country farm the fool confined : 
 Rude Tork well suited with a rustic mind. 
 Thui to the wilds the sturdy Cymon went, 
 A squire among the swains, and pleased with baniftli* 
 raeut. 
 
 His corn and cattle were his only care, 
 And his supreme delight a country fair. 
 
186 
 
 PaBLBS. 
 
 It happcn'd on a summer's holiday, 
 That to the greenwood-shade he took his way ; 
 For Cymon shunn'd the church, and used not much 
 to pray. 
 
 His quarterstaff, which he could ne'er forsake, 
 Hung half before and half behind his back : 
 He trudged along unknowing what he sought, 
 And whistled as he went, for want of thought. 
 
 By chance conducted, or by thirst constrained, 
 The deep recesses of the grove he gain'd ; 
 Where in a plain, defended by the wood, 
 Crept through the matted grass a crystal flood, 
 By which an alabaster fountain stood ; 
 And on the margin of the fount was laid 
 (Attended by her slaves) a sleeping maid : 
 Like Dian and her nymphs, when, tired with sport, 
 To rest by cool Eurotas they resort. 
 The dame herself the goddess well express' d, 
 Not more distinguish' d by her purple vest 
 Than by the charming features of her face, 
 And even in slumber a superior grace : 
 Her comely limbs composed with decent care, 
 Her body shaded with a slight simar : 
 Her bosom to the view was only bare ; 
 Where two beginning paps were scarcely a^pied, 
 For yet their places were but signified. 
 7 he fanning wind upon her bosom blows ; 
 To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose ; 
 The fanning wind and purling streams continue het 
 repose. 
 
 The fool of Nature stood with stupid eyei 
 And gapitig mouth, that testified surpri»tt» 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGEMA. 
 
 187 
 
 Fix'd on her face, nor could remove his sight : 
 New as l:.e was to love, and novice in delight : 
 Long mute he stood, and leaning on his staff, 
 His wonder witness' d with an idiot laugh ; 
 Then would have spoke, but by his glimmering 
 sense 
 
 First found his want of words, and fear'd offence ; 
 Doubted for what he was he should be knov&n, 
 By his clown accent and his country tone. 
 
 Through the rude chaos, thus the running light 
 Shot the first ray that pierced the native night : 
 Then day and darkness in the mass were mix'd. 
 Till, gather' d in a globe, the beams were fix'd : 
 Last shone the sun, who, radiant in his sphere, 
 Illumined heaven and earth, and roll'd around the 
 So reason in this brutal soul began ; [year. 
 Love made him first suspect he was a man ; 
 Love made him doubt his broad barbarian sound ; 
 By love his want of words and wit he found : 
 That sense of want prepared the future way 
 To knowledge, and disclosed the promise of a day 
 
 What not his father's care nor tutor's art 
 Could plant with pains in his unpolish'd heart, 
 The best instructor, Love, at once inspired ; 
 As barren grounds to fruitfuliiess are fired : 
 Love taught him shame, and shame, with love al 
 strife, 
 
 Soon taught the sweet civilities of life. 
 His gross material soul at once could find 
 Somewhat in her excelling all her kind : 
 Exciting a desire till then unknown, 
 Somewhat unfound, or found in her alone* 
 
188 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Phis made the first impression in his mind, 
 Above, but just above, the brutal kind : 
 For beasts can like, but not distinguish too, 
 Nor their own liking by reflection know ; 
 Nor why they like or this, or th' other fr.ce, 
 Or judge of this or that peculiar grace ; 
 But love in gross, and stupidly admire ; 
 As flies, allured by light, approach the fire. 
 Thus our man-beast, advancing by degrees. 
 First likes the whole, then separates what he sees } 
 On several parts a several praise bestows. 
 The ruby lips, the well proportion' d nose, 
 The snowy skin, the raven-glossy hair. 
 The dimpled cheek, the forehead rising fair, 
 And even in sleep itself a smiling air. 
 From thence his eyes descending view'd the rest, 
 Her plump round arms, v»hite hands, and heaving 
 breast : 
 
 Long on the last he dwelt, though every part, 
 A pointed arrow sped to pierce his heart. 
 Thus in a trice a judge of beauty grown 
 judge erected from a country clown). 
 He long'd to see her eyes, in slumber hid. 
 And wish'd his own to pierce within the lid : 
 He would have waked her, but restrain' d hi.s» thought ; 
 And Love, new born, the first good manners taught. 
 An awful fear his ardent wish withstood, 
 Nor durst disturb the goddess of the wood ; 
 For such she seem'd by her celestial face, 
 Excelling all the rest of human race : 
 And things divine, by common sense he knew. 
 Must be devoutly seeu at distant view. 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 
 
 189 
 
 So, checking his desire, with trembling heart 
 Gazing he stood, nor would nor could depart ; 
 Fix'd as a pilgrim wilder' d in his way. 
 Who dares not stir by night for fear to stray, 
 But stands with awful eyes to watch the dawn of day. 
 
 At length awaking, Iphigene the fair 
 (So was the beauty call'd who caused his care) 
 Unclosed her eyes, and double day reveal'd, 
 While those of all her slaves in sleep are seal'd. 
 
 The slavering cuddcn, propp'd upon his staff, 
 Stood ready gaping with a grinning laugh, 
 To welcome her awake, nor durst begin 
 To speak, but wisely kept the fool within. 
 Then she : — ' What make you, Cymon, here alone V 
 (For Cymon's name was round the country known, 
 Because descended of a noble race, 
 And for a soul ill sorted with his face). 
 
 But still the sot stood silent with surprise, 
 With fix'd regard on her new-open'd eyes. 
 And in his breast received th' envenom' d dart, 
 A tickling pain that pleased amid the smart. 
 But conscious of her form, with quick distrust 
 She saw his sparkling eyes, and fear'd his brutal 
 lust. 
 
 This to prevent, she waked her sleepy crew, 
 And rising hasty took a short adieu ! 
 
 Then Cymon first his rustic voice essay'd, 
 With proifer'd service to the parting maid 
 To see her safe : his hand she long denied. 
 But took at length, ashamed of such a guide. 
 So Cymon led her home, and, leaving there, 
 No more would to his country clowns repair. 
 
190 
 
 VABLKS. 
 
 But sought his father's house with better mind. 
 Refusing in the farm to be confined. 
 
 The father wonder'd at the son's return. 
 And knew not whether to rejoice or mourn ; 
 But doubtfully received, expecting still 
 To learn the secset causes of his alter' d will. 
 Nor was he long delay 'd : the first request 
 He made was like his brothers to be dress' d, 
 And, as his birth required, above the rest. 
 
 With ease his suit was granted by his sire, 
 Distinguishing his heir by rich attire. 
 His body thus adorn'd, he next design'd 
 With liberal arts to cultivate his mind : 
 He sought a tutor of his own accord, 
 And studied lessons he before abhorr'd. 
 
 Thus the man-child advanced, and learn'd so fi»4{ 
 That in short time his equals he surpass 'd : 
 His brutal manners from his breast exiled, 
 His mien he fashion' d, and his tongue he filed ; 
 In every exercise of all admired, 
 He seera'd, nor only seem'd, but was inspired : 
 Inspired by love, whose business is to please ; 
 He rode, he fenced, he moved with graceful ease. 
 More famed for sense, for courtly carriage more 
 Than for his brutal folly kno.wn befone. 
 What then of alter' d Cyraon shall we say. 
 But that the fire, which choked in ashes laj, 
 A load too heavy for his soul to move, 
 "Was upward blown below, and brush' d away bf 
 love ? 
 
 Love made an active progress through his mind, 
 The dusky parts he clear' d, the gross refined, 
 
CYMON AND IPKIGENIA. 101 
 
 Tlie drowsy waked ; and, as he went, impressed 
 The Maker's image on the human breast. 
 Thus was the man amended by desire, 
 And though he loved perhaps with too much fire, 
 His father all his faults with reason seann'd, 
 And liked an error of the better hand ; 
 Excused th' excess of passion in his mind, 
 By flames too fierce, perhaps too much refined. 
 So Cymon, since his sire indulged his will, 
 Impetuous loved, and would be Cymon still ; 
 Galesus he disown' d, and chose to bear 
 The name of fool confirm'd, and bishop'd by tht 
 fair. 
 
 To Cipseus by his friends his suit he moved ; 
 Cipseus, the father of the fair he loved : 
 But he was pre-engaged by former ties, 
 While Cymon was endeavouring to be wise : 
 And Iphigene, obliged by former vows, 
 Had given her faith to wed a foreign spouse. 
 Her sire and she to Rhodian Pasiraond, 
 Though both repenting, were by promise bound. 
 Nor could retract ; and thus, as fate decreed, 
 Though better loved, he spoke too late to speed. 
 
 The doom was pass'd, the ship already sent 
 Did all his tardy diligence prevent : 
 Sigh'd to herself the fair unhappy maid. 
 While stormy Cymon thus in secret saifd ; 
 * The time is come for Iphigene to find 
 The miracle she wrought upon my mind : 
 Her charms have made me man, her ravish'd love 
 In rank shall place mc with the bloss'd above ; 
 
193 
 
 FABLES, 
 
 For mine by love, by force she shall be mine, 
 
 Or death, if force should fail, shall finish my design 1 
 
 Resolved he said ; and rigg'd with speedy care 
 A vessel strong, and well equipp'd for war : 
 The secret ship with chosen friends he stored ; 
 And, bent to die or conquer, went aboard. 
 Ambush 'd he ky behind the Cyprian shore, 
 Waiting the sail that all his wishes bore ; 
 Nor long expected, for the following tide 
 Sent out the hostile ship and beauteous bride. 
 
 To Rhodes the rival bark directly steer'd, 
 When Cymon sudden at her back appear' d, 
 And stopp'd her flight : then, standing on his prew* 
 In haughty terms he thus defied the foe : — 
 * Or strike your sails at summons, or prepare 
 To prove the last extremities of war !' 
 Thus warn'd, the Rhodians for the fight provide ; 
 Already were the vessels side by side. 
 These obstinate to save, and those to seize the bride. 
 But Cymon soon his crooked grapples cast, 
 Which with tenacious hold his foes embraced, 
 And, arm'd with sworyd and shield, amid the press h« 
 pass'd. 
 
 Fierce was the fight, but, hastening to his prey. 
 By force the furious lover freed his way : 
 Himself alone dispersed the Rhodian crew, 
 The weak disdain' d, the valiant overthrew ; 
 Cheap conquest for his following friends remam'd« 
 He reap'd the field, and they but only glean'd. 
 
 His victory confess' d, the foes retreat. 
 And cast their weapons at the victor's fett 
 
CYMON AND ITHIGENIA. IQS 
 
 Whom thus he cheer'd: * O Rhodian youth! I fought 
 
 For love alone, nor other booty sought ; 
 
 Your lives are safe ; your vessel I resign, 
 
 Yours be your own, restoring what is mine. 
 
 In Iphigene I claim my rightful due, 
 
 Robb'd by my rival, and detain'd by you : 
 
 Your Pasimond a lawless bargain drove, 
 
 The parent could not sell the daughter's love ; 
 
 Or if he could, my love disdains the laws, 
 
 And, like a king, by conquest gains his cause : 
 
 Where arms take place, all other pleas are vain, 
 
 Love taught me force, and force shall love maintain; 
 
 You, what by strength you could not keep, release ; 
 
 And at an easy ransom buy your peace,' 
 
 Fear, on the conquer'd side, soon sign'd th* ac« 
 cord : 
 
 And Iphigene to Cymon was restored : 
 While to his arms the blushing bride he took. 
 To seeming s-adness she composed her look, 
 As if by force subjected to his will ; 
 Though pleased, dissembling, and a woman still. 
 And (for she wept) he wiped her falling tears, 
 i And pray'd her to dismiss her empty fears ; 
 * For yours I am,' he said, ' and have deserved 
 Your love much better, whom so long I served, 
 Than he to whom your formal father tied 
 Your vows ; and sold a slave, not sent a bride.* 
 Thus, while he spoke, he seized the willing prey ; 
 As Paris bore the Spartan spouse away. 
 Faintly she scream' d, and even her eyes confessed 
 She rather would be thought, than was, distres«*d. 
 o 
 
194 
 
 Who now exults but Cymon in his mind ; 
 Vain hopes and empty joys of humankind, 
 Proud of the present, to the future blind ! 
 Secure of fate while Cymon ploughs the sea, 
 And steers to Candy with his conquer'd prey. 
 Scarce the third glass of measured hours was rtiA, 
 V/hen like a fiery meteor sunk the sun, 
 The promise of a storm ; the shifting gales 
 Forsake by fits and fill the flaorging sails : 
 Hoarse murmurs of the main from far were beard, 
 And night came on, not by degrees prepared. 
 But all at once ; at once the winds arise, 
 The thunders roll, the forky lightning flies. 
 In vain the master issues out commands. 
 In vain the tremV)ling sailors ply their hands : 
 The tempest unforeseen prevents their care, 
 And from the first they labour in despair. 
 The giddy ship, betwixt the winds and tides 
 Forced back and forwards, in the circle rides, 
 Stunn'd with the different blows; then shoots amain 
 Till counterbuflf'd she stops, and sleeps again. 
 Not more aghast the proud archangel fell, 
 Plunged from the height of Heaven to deej-^st hell. 
 Than stood the lover of his lo /cd possess' d. 
 Now cursed the more, the more he had been bl«5fc.*d 
 More anxious for her danger than his own, 
 Death he defies, but would be lost alone. 
 
 S-ad Iphigene to womanish complaints 
 Adds pious prayeis, and wearies all the saint* 
 Even, if she could, her love she would repent ; 
 But since she cannot, dreads the punishment : 
 
CtMON AND IPHIGENIA. 
 
 191 
 
 Her forfeit faith, and Pasimond betray'd,' 
 Are ever present, and her crime upbraid. 
 She blames herself, nor blames her lover less, 
 Augments her anger as her fears increase ; 
 From her own back the burden would remove, 
 And lays the load on his ungovern'd love, 
 Which interposing durst, in Heaven's despite. 
 Invade and violate another's right : 
 The powers incensed, a while deferr'd his pain, 
 And made him master of his vows in vain : 
 But soon they punish'd his presum^jtuous pride; 
 That for his daring enterprise she died, 
 Who rather not resisted than complied. 
 
 Then impotent of mind, with alter' d sense, 
 She hugg'd th' offender, and forgave th' offence ; 
 Sex to the last : meantime with sails declined 
 The wandering vessel drove before the wind : 
 Toss'd and retoss'd, aloft and then below. 
 Nor port they seek, nor certain course they know, 
 But every moment wait the coming blow. 
 Thus blindly driven, by breaking day they viewed 
 The land before them, and their fears reiiew'd; 
 The land was welcome, but the tempest bore 
 The threaten 'd ship against a rocky shore. 
 A winding bay v^ as near ; to this they bent, 
 And just escaped ; their force already spent : 
 Secure from storms, and panting from the sea, 
 The land unknown at leisure they survey ; 
 And saw (but soon their sickly sight withdre^v) 
 The rising towers of Rhodes at distant view j 
 And cursed the hostile shore of Pasimond, 
 Saved from the seas, and shipwreck'd on the ground* 
 O 3 
 
176 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 The frighted sailors tried their strength in vain 
 To turn th€ stern, and tempt the stormy main ; 
 But the stiff wind withstood the labouring oar. 
 And forced them forward on the fatal shore : 
 The crooked keel now bites the llhodian strand, 
 And the ship moor'd constrains the crew to land. 
 Yet still they might be safe because unknown ; 
 But, as ill fortune seldom comes alone, 
 The vessel they dismiss'd was driven before, 
 Already sheiter'd on their native shore : 
 Known each, they know ; but each with change of 
 cheer ; 
 
 The vanquish'd side exults ; the victor's fear 
 Not them but theirs, made prisoners ere they fight, 
 Despairing conquest, and deprived of flight. 
 
 The country rings around with loud alarms. 
 And raw in fields the rude militia swarms ; 
 Mouths without hands ; maintaiu'd at vast ex- 
 pense, 
 
 Id peace a charge, in war a weak defence : 
 
 Stout once a month they r.Mrch, a blustering band, 
 
 And ever, but in time-s of need, at hand. 
 
 This was the morn when, issuing on the guard, 
 
 Drawn up in rank and file they stood prepared 
 
 Of seeming arms to make a short essay, 
 
 Then hasten to be drunk, the business of the day. 
 
 The cowards would have fled, but that they knew 
 Themselves so many and tlicir foes so few : 
 But, crowding on, the last the first impel ; 
 Till overborne with weiglit the Cyprians fell. 
 Cymon enslaved, who first the war begun, 
 And Iphigene once more is lost and won. 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGEMA. 
 
 Deep in a dungeon was the captive cast, 
 Deprived of day, and held in fetters fast ; 
 His life was only spared at their request, 
 Whom taken he so nobly had released : 
 But Iphigenia was the ladies' care ; 
 Each in their turn address' d to treat the fair ; 
 While Pasimond and his the nuptial feast prepare* 
 
 Her secret soul to Cymon was inclined, 
 But she must suffer what her fates assign' d ; 
 So passive is the church of womankind ! 
 What worse to Cymon could his fortune deal, 
 RoH'd to the lowest spoke of all her wheel ? 
 It rested to dismiss the downward weight, 
 Or raise him upward to his former height ; 
 The latter pleased ; and love (conrcern'd the moat) 
 Prepared th' amends for what by love he lost. 
 
 The sire of Pasimond had left a son, 
 Though younger, yet for courage early known, 
 Ormisda call'd ; to whom, by promise tied, 
 A Rhodian beauty was the destined bride : 
 Cassandra was her name ; above the rest 
 Renown'd for birth, with fortune am.ply bless'd, 
 Lysimachus, who ruled the Rhodian state. 
 Was then by choice their annual magistrate : 
 He loved Cassrmdra too with equal fire. 
 But fortune had not favour'd his desire ; 
 Cross'd by her friends, by her not disapproved, 
 Nor yet preferr'd, or lik(p Ormisda loved ; 
 So stood th* affair : some little hope remain'd, 
 That should his rival chance to lose, he gain'd. 
 Meantime young Pasimond his marriage prcsi'd, 
 Ordaia'd the nuptial day, prepared tliv fea«t j 
 
198 
 
 CABLES. 
 
 And frugally resolved (the charge to shun, 
 Which would be double should he wed alone; 
 To join his brother's bridal with his own. 
 
 Lysimachus, oppress 'd with mortal grief, 
 Received the news, and studied quick relief. 
 The fatal day approach' d : if force were used, 
 The magistrate his public trust abused ; 
 To justice liable, as law required ; 
 For when his office ceased, his power expired : 
 While power remained, the means were in his hand 
 By force to seize, and then forsake the land. 
 Betwixt extremes he knew not how to move, 
 A slave to fame, but more a slave to love : 
 Restraining others, yet himself not free, 
 Made impotent by power, debased by dignity. 
 Both sides he weigh'd : but, after much debate, 
 The man pre vail' d above the magistrate. 
 
 Love never fails to master what he finds, 
 But works a different way in different minds, 
 The fool enlightens and the wise he blinds. 
 This youth, proposing to possess and 'scape, 
 Began in murder, to conclude in rape. 
 Unpraised by me, though Heaven sometime* may 
 bless 
 
 An impious act with undeserved success : 
 The great, it seems, arc privileged alone 
 To punish all injustice but their own. 
 But here I stop, not daring to proceed ; 
 Yet blush to flatter an unrighteous deed : 
 For crimes are bat permitted, nat decueed. 
 
 Resolved on force, his wit the pretor bent, 
 To find the means that might secure th* evsr^t ; 
 
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. 
 
 199 
 
 Not long he labour'd, for his lucky thought 
 In captive Cynion found the friend he sought ; 
 Th* example pleased ; the cause and crime the 
 s^me ; 
 
 An injured lover, and a ravish' d dame. 
 
 How much he durst he knew by what he dared ; 
 
 The less he had to lose, the less he cared 
 
 To manage loathsome life, when love was the reward. 
 
 This ponder' d well, and, fix'd on his intent, 
 In depth of night he for the prisoner sent ; 
 In secret sent, the public view to shun, 
 Then with a sober smile he thus begun : 
 * The powers above, who bounteously bestow 
 Their gift and graces on mankind below, 
 Yet prove our merit first ; nor blindly give 
 To such as are not worthy to receive : 
 For valour and for virtue they provide 
 I'heir due reward, but first they must be tried. 
 These fruitful seeds within your mind they sow*d, 
 *Twas yours t' improve the talent they bestow'd : 
 They gave you to be born of noble kind. 
 They gave you love to lighten up your mind, 
 And purge the grosser parts : they gave you care 
 To please, and courage to deserve the fair. 
 
 * Thus far they tried you, and by proof they found 
 The grain intrusted in a grateful ground : 
 But still the great experiment remain'd. 
 They suffer' d you to lose the prize you gain'd ; 
 That you might learn the gift was theirs aloae : 
 And wiien restored to them the blessing own. 
 Restored it soon will be ; the mea'ns prepared, 
 The diflSculty sraooth'd, the danger shared; 
 
200 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Be but j'ourself, the care to me resign, 
 Then Iphigene is yours, Cassandra mine. 
 Your rival Pasimond pursues your life, 
 Impatient to revenge his ruvish'd wife, 
 But yet not his ; to-morrow is behind, 
 And Love our fortunes in one band has join'd : 
 Two brothers are our foes ; Ormiada mine. 
 As much declared as Pasimond is thine : 
 To-morrow must their common vows be tied ; 
 With Love to friend, and Fortune for our guide. 
 Let both resolve to die, or each redeem a bride. 
 
 • Right I have none, nor hast thou much to plead ; 
 *Tis force, when done, must justify the deed : 
 Our task perform'd, we next prepare for flight ; 
 And let the losers talk in vain of right : 
 We with the fair will sail before the wind, 
 If they are grieved, I leave the laws* behind. 
 Speak thy resolves ; if now thy courage droop, 
 Despair in prison, and abandon hope ; 
 But if thou dares'; in arms thy love regain ' 
 (For liberty without thy love were vain), ; 
 ITien second my design to seize the prey t < 
 Or lead to second rape, for well thou know'st tht : 
 way.' 
 
 Said Cymon, overjoy'd, * Do thou propose j 
 The means to light, and only show the foes ; 
 For from the first, when love had fired my mind| 
 Resoh-^d I left the care of life behind.' 
 
 To this the bold Lysimachus replied, 
 * Let Heaven be neuter, and the sword decide : 
 The spousals are prepared, already play 
 The minstrels, and provoke the tardy day : 
 
CTMON a: D IPniGEMIA. 
 
 By this the brides are waked, their grooms arc 
 dress'd ; 
 
 All Rhodes is suramonM to the nuptial feast, 
 All but myself, the sole unbidden guest. 
 Unbidden though I am, 1 will be there, 
 And, join'd by thee, intend to joy the fair. 
 
 ' Now hear the rest ; when day resigns the light, 
 And cheerful torches gild the jolly night, 
 Be ready at my call ; my chosen few 
 With arms administer' d shall aid thy crew. 
 Then entering unexpected will we seize 
 Our destined prey, from men dissolved in ease. 
 By wine disabled, unprepared for fight ; 
 And hastening to the seas suborn our flight : 
 The seas are ours, for I command the fort, 
 A ship well mann'd expects us in the port : 
 If they or if their friends the prize contest. 
 Death shall attend the man who dares resist.* 
 
 It pleased ! the prisoner to his hold retired. 
 His troop with equal emulation fired, 
 All fix'd to fight, and all their wonted work required. 
 
 The sun arose ; the streets were throng' d around, 
 The palace open'd, and the posts were crown'd : 
 The double bridegroom at the door attends 
 Th' expected spouse, and entertains the friends. 
 They meet, they lead to church ; the priests invoke 
 The Powers, and feed the flames with fragrant 
 smoke. 
 
 This done, they feast ; and at the close of night 
 By kindled torches vary their delight, 
 These lead the lively dance, and tiose the brimming; 
 bowls invite. 
 
202 
 
 VABLES. 
 
 NoAv at th' appeinted place and hour assigned, 
 With souls resolved, the ravishers were join'd. 
 Three bands are form'd : the first is sent before, 
 To favour the retreat, and guard the shore : 
 The second at the palace-gate is placed, 
 And up the lofty stairs ascends the last : 
 A peaceful troop ithey seem with shining vests, 
 But coats of mail, beneath, secure their breasts. 
 Dauntless they CRter, Cymon at their head, 
 And find the feast renew'd, tho table spread : 
 Sweet voices, mix'd with instrumental sounds, 
 Ascend the vaulted roof, the vaulted roof rebounds: 
 When, like the harpies, rushing through the hall 
 Tlie sudden troop appears, the tables fall. 
 Their smoking load is on the pavement thrown ; 
 Each ravisher prepares to seize his own : 
 The brides, invaded with a rude embrace, 
 Shriek out for aid, confusion fills the place : 
 Quick to redeem the prey their plighted lords 
 Advance, the palace glea'his with shining swords. 
 
 But >ate is all defence, and succour vaia j 
 The rape is made, the ravishers remain ; 
 Two sturdy slaves were only sent before, 
 To bear the purchased p.rize in safety to the shore, 
 The troop retires, the lovers close the rear, 
 With forward faces, not confessing fear : 
 Backward they move, but scorn their pace to mend ; 
 Then sek the stairs, and with slow haste descend. 
 
 Fierce Pasimond, their passage to prevent, 
 Thrust full on Cymon's back in his descent ; 
 The blade return* d, unbathed, and to the handlj 
 bent: 
 
CTMON AND IPHIGEMA. 
 
 203 
 
 Stout Cjrmon soon remounts, and cleft in two 
 His rival's bead with one descending blow : 
 And as the next in rank Ormisda stood, 
 He turn'd the point : the sword, inured to Hood, 
 Bored his unguarded breast, which pour'd a purple 
 flood. 
 
 With vow'd revenge, the gathering crowd pursues, 
 The ravishers turn head, the fight renews ; 
 The hall is heap'd with corps ; the sprinkled gore 
 Besmears the walls, and floats the marble floor. 
 Dispersed at length, the drunken squadron flies, 
 The victors to ♦.heir vessel bear the prize, 
 And hear, behind, loud groans and lamentable cries. 
 
 The crew with merry shouts their anchors weigh, 
 Then ply their oars, and brush the buxom sea ; 
 While troops of gather'd Rhodians crowd the quay. 
 What should the people do, when left alone ? 
 The governor and government are gone ; 
 The public wealth to foreign parts convey' d ; 
 Some troops disbanded, and the rest unpaid. 
 Rhodes is the sovereign of the sea no more ; 
 Their ships unrigg'd, and spent their naval store; 
 They neither could defend, nor can pursue. 
 But grinn'd their teeth, and cast a helpless view ; 
 In vain with darts a distant war they try, 
 Short and more short the missive weapons fly. 
 Meanwhile the ravis^iers their crimes enjoy, 
 And flying sails and sweeping oars employ ; 
 The cliff's of Rhodes in little space are lost, 
 Jove's isle they seek : nor Jove denies his coast. 
 
 In safety landed on the Candian shore, 
 With generous wines their spirits they restore ; 
 
304 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 There Cymon*with his Rhodian friend reside*. 
 Both court and wed, at once, the willing brides. 
 A war ensues, the Cretans own their cause, 
 Stiff to defend their hospitable laws : 
 Both parties lose by turns, and neither wins. 
 Till peace propounded by a truce begins. 
 The kindred of the slain forgive the deed. 
 But a short exile must for show precede ; 
 The term expired, from Candia they remove i 
 And happy each, at hoxnei ^joya hU love* 
 
THE WIFE OF BATH. 
 
 HER TALE. 
 
 In days of old, when Arthur fill'd the throoe, 
 Whose acts and tame to foreign lands were blown, 
 The king ©f elves and little fairy queen 
 Gambol' d on heaths, and dan-ced on every green : 
 And where the jolly troop had led the round, 
 The grass unbidden rose, and mark'd the ground : 
 Nor darkling did they dance, the silver light 
 Of Phoebe served to guide their steps aright, 
 And, with their tripjnng pleased, prolong'd the night. 
 Her beams they follow' d, where at full she play'd, 
 Nor longer than she shed her horns they staid ; 
 From thence with airy flight to foreign lands con« 
 vey'd. 
 
 Above the rest our Britain held they dear ; 
 More solemnly they kept their sabbaths here. 
 And made more spacious rings, and revel' d half tha 
 year. 
 
 I speak of ancient times : for now the swaia 
 Returning late may pass the woods in vain, 
 Aud never hope to see the nightly train : 
 
206 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 In vain |he dairy now with mint is dress' d, 
 
 The dairy maid expects no fairy guest 
 
 To skim the bowls, and after pay the feast. 
 
 She sighs and shakes her empty shoes in vain, 
 
 No silver penny to reward her pain : 
 
 For priests, with prayers and other goodly geer. 
 
 Have made the merry goblins disappear ; 
 
 And where they play'd their merry pranks before 
 
 Have sprinkled holy water on the floor : 
 
 And friars, that through the wealthy regions run 
 
 Thick as the motes that twinkle in the sun, 
 
 Resort to farmers rich, and bless their halls, 
 
 And exorcise the beds, and cross the walls. 
 
 This makes the fairy quires forsake the place, 
 
 When once 'tis hallow 'd with the rites of grace : 
 
 But in the walks where wicked elves have been, 
 
 The learning of the parish now is seen, 
 
 The midnight parson posting o'er the green. 
 
 With gown tuck'd up to wakes ; for Sunday nextj 
 
 With humming ale encouraging his text ; 
 
 Nor wants the holy leer to country girl betwixt. 
 
 From fiends and imps he set the village free, 
 
 There haunts not any incubus but he. 
 
 The maids and women need no danger fear 
 
 To walk by night, and sanctity so near : 
 
 For by some haycock, or some shady thorn, 
 
 He bids his beads both even song and morn. 
 
 It so befell, in this King Arthur's reign, 
 A lusty knight was pricking o'er the plain ; 
 A bachelor he was, and of the courtly train. 
 It happen'd as he rode, a damsel gay 
 In russet robes to market took her way | 
 
THE WIFE OF BITH's TALE. J 207 
 
 Soon on the girl he cast an amorous eye, 
 So straight she walk'd, and on her pasterns high ; 
 If seeing her behind he liked her pace, 
 Now turning short, he better liked her fa.-e : 
 He lights in haste, and, full of youthful fire, 
 By force accomplish'd his obscene desire. 
 This done, away he rode, not unespied. 
 For swarming at his back the country cried ; 
 And once in view thny never lost the sight, 
 But, seized and pinion'd, brought to court the 
 knight. 
 
 Then courts of kings were held in high renown, 
 Ere made the common brothels of the town ; 
 There, virgins honourable vows received, 
 But chaste as maids in monasteries lived. 
 The king himself, to nuptial ties a slave. 
 No bad example to his poets gave : 
 And they, not bad, but in a vicious age. 
 Had not, to please the prince, debauch 'd the stage, 
 
 Now what should Arthur do ? he loved the knight* 
 But sovereign monarchs are the source of right ! 
 Moved by the damsel's tears and common cry, 
 He doom'd the brutal ravisher — to die. 
 But fair Geneura rose in his defence. 
 And p<*ay'd so hard for mercy from the prince 
 That to his queen the king th' offender gave, 
 And left it in her power to kill or save. 
 This gracious act the ladies all approve, 
 Who thought it much a man should die for love ; 
 And with their mistress join'd in close debate 
 (Covering their kindness with dissembled hate\ 
 If not to free him, to prolong his fate. 
 
208 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 At last agreed, they call'd him by consent 
 
 Before the queen and female parliament. 
 
 And the fair speaker, rising from the chair, 
 
 Did thus the judgment of the house declare : 
 
 * Sir knight, thougli I have ask'd thy life, yet BtiO 
 
 Thy destiny depends upon my will ; 
 
 Nor hast thou other surety than the grace 
 
 Not due to thee from our offended race. 
 
 But as our kind is of a softer mould, 
 
 And cannot blood without a sigh behold, 
 
 I grant thee life ; reserving still the power 
 
 To take the forfeit when I see ray hour : 
 
 Unless thy answer to my next demand 
 
 Shall set thee free from our avenging hand. 
 
 The question, whose solution I require. 
 
 Is — " what the sex of women most desire ?'* 
 
 In this dispute thy judges are at strife ; 
 
 Beware ; for on thy wit depends thy life. 
 
 Yet, lest surprised, unknowing what to say, 
 
 Thou damn thyself, we give thee further day ; 
 
 A year is thine to wander at thy will ; 
 
 And learn from others, if thou want'st the skill. 
 
 But, not to hold our proffer turn'd in scorn, 
 
 Good sureties will we have for thy return : 
 
 That at the time prefix' d thou shalt obey, 
 
 And at thy pledges' peril keep thy day.' 
 
 Woe was the knight at this severe command : 
 But well he knew 'twas bootless to withstand : 
 The terms accepted as the fair ordain, 
 He put in bail for his return again, 
 And promised answer at the day assign' d, 
 The best, with Heaven^) assistance he could find* 
 
THE •WIFE or BATxi's TALE. 209 
 
 His leave thus taken, on his way he >vent 
 With heavy heart, and full of discontent ; 
 Misdoubting much, and fearful of th' event. 
 'Twas hard the truth of such a point to find, 
 As was not yet agreed among the kind. 
 Thus on he went ; still anxious more and more, 
 Ask'd all he met, and knock'd at every door ; 
 Inquired of men ; but made his chief request 
 To learn from women what they loved the best. 
 They answer'd each according to her mind 
 To please herself, not all the female kind. 
 One was for wealth, another was for place ; 
 Crones, old and ugly, M'ish'd a better face : 
 The widow's wish was oftentimes to wed ; 
 The wanton maids were all for sport a bed. 
 Some said the sex were pleased with handscme 
 lies. 
 
 And some gross flattery loved without disguise : 
 * Truth is (says one), he seldom fails to win 
 Who flatters well, for that's our darling sin ; 
 But long attendance, and a duteous mind, 
 Will work even with the wisest of the kind.* 
 One thought the sex's prime felicity 
 Was from the bonds of wedlock to be free : 
 Their pleasures, hours, and actions all their own. 
 And uncontrol'd to give account to none. 
 Some wish a husband-fool ; but such are cursed, 
 For fools perverse of husbands are the worst : 
 All women would be counted chaste and wise, 
 Nor should our spouses see but with our eyes ; 
 For fools wLi prate, and though they want the wit 
 To find close faults, yet open blots will hit ; 
 
210 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Thovgli better for their ease to h-oM their tongue, 
 Foi fvomankind was never in the wrong. 
 So *ioise ensues, and quarrels last for life ; 
 The wife abhors the fool, the fool the wife ; 
 And some men say that great delight have we, 
 To be for truth extol' d, and secrecy ; 
 And constant in one purpose still to dwell ; 
 And not our husband's counsel to reveal. 
 But that's a fable, for our sex is frail, 
 Inventing rather than not tell a tale. 
 Like leaky sieves no secrets we can hold, 
 Witness the famous tale that Ovid told. 
 
 * Midas the king, as in his book appears, 
 By Phoebus was endow'd with ass's ears, 
 Which under his long locks he well conceal'd, 
 As irionarchs' vices must not be reveal'd, 
 For fear the people have them in the wind, 
 Who long ago were neither dumb nor blind ; 
 Nor apt to think from heaven their title springs, 
 Sirrce Jove and ]\Iars left off begetting kings. 
 This Midas knew ; and durst communicate 
 To none but to his wife his ears of state : 
 One must be trusted, and he thought her lit, 
 As passing prudent, and a parlous wit. 
 To this sagacious confessor he went, 
 And told her what a gift the gods had sent : 
 But told it under matrimonial seal, 
 With strict injunction never to reveal. 
 The secret heard, she plighted him her troth 
 (And sacred sure is every woman's oath). 
 The royal malady should rest unknown, 
 Both for her husband's honour and her own ; 
 
THE WIFE OF BATH's TALE. 
 
 But ne'ertheless she pined with discontent, 
 The counsel rumbled till it found a vent. 
 The thing she knew she was obliged to hide j 
 By interest and by oath the wife was tied ; 
 But if she told it not, the woman died. 
 Loath to betray a husband and a prince, 
 But she must burst or blab : and no pretence 
 Of honour tied her tongue from self-defence. 
 A marshy ground coramodiously was near ; 
 Thither she ran, and held her breath for fear, 
 Lest if a word she spoke of any thing, 
 That word might be the secret of the king. 
 Thus full of counsel to the fen she went. 
 Griped all the way, and longing for a vent. 
 Arrived, by pure necessity compcll'd, 
 On her majestic marrow-bones she kneel'd : 
 Then to the water's brink S'le iaid her head, 
 And, as a bittern bumps withhi a reed, 
 '* To thee alone, O lake ! (she said), I tell, 
 And, as thy queen, command thee to conceal ; 
 Beneath his lock the king my husband wears 
 A goodly royal pair of ass's ears! — 
 Now I have eased my bosom of the pain, 
 Till the next longing fit return again." ' 
 
 Thus through a woman was the secret known 
 Tell us, and in effect you tell the town. 
 But to ijjy tale : — The knight in heavy cheer, 
 Wandering in vain had now consumed the year ; 
 One day was only left to solve the doubt, 
 Yet knew no more than when he first set out. 
 But home he must : and, as the award had been 
 Yield up his body captive to the queen. 
 
812 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 In this despairing state he happ'd to rids, 
 As fortune led him, by a forest side : 
 Lonely the vale, and fall of horror stood, 
 Brown with the shade of a religious wood ; 
 When full before him at the noon of night 
 (The moon was up and shot a gleamy light), 
 He saw a quire of ladies in a round. 
 That, featly footing, seem*d to skim the grounds 
 Thus dancing hand in hand, so light they were, 
 He knew not where they trod, on earth or air. 
 At speed he drove, and came a sudden guest, 
 In hope where many women were, at least 
 Some one by chance might answer his request. 
 But faster than his horse the ladies flew, 
 And in a trice were vanish' d out of view. 
 One only hag remain' d : but foul.e.'- far 
 Than grandame apes in Indian forests are : 
 Against a wither' d oak she lean'd her weight, 
 Propp'd on her trusty staff, not half upright, 
 And dropp'd an awkward curtsy to the knight. 
 Then said, * What make you, sir, so late abroad 
 Without a guide, and this no beaten road ? 
 Or want you aught that here you hope to find. 
 Or travel for some trouble in your mind ? 
 The last I guess ; and, if I read aright. 
 Those of our sex are bound to serve a knight : 
 Perhaps good counsel may your grief assuage, 
 Then tell your pain ; for wisdom is in age.' [know 
 To this the knight ; * Good mother, would yctt 
 The secret cause and spring of all my woe ? 
 My lirf"c must with to-morrow*s light expijre. 
 Unless I tell what women most desire : 
 
THE WIFE OP BATH'S TALE. 
 
 219 
 
 Now could you help me at this hard essay, 
 Or for your inborn goodness or for pay ; 
 Yours is my life, redeem'd by your advice, 
 Ask what you please, and I will pay the price.* 
 * Plight me thy faith (quoth sho), that what I ask, 
 Thy danger over and perform 'd the task, 
 That shalt thou give for hire of thy demand, 
 Here take thy oath, and seal it on my hand : 
 I warrant thee, on peril of my life, [wife : 
 
 Thy words shall please both widow, maid, and 
 The proudest kerchief of the court shall rest 
 Well satisfied of what they love the best.' 
 
 More words there needed not, to move the knight 
 To take her offer, and his truth to plight. 
 With tkat she spread her mantle on the ground, 
 And, first enquiring whither he was bound, 
 Bade him not fear, though long and rough the way,, 
 At court he should arrive ere break of day ; 
 His horse should find the way without a guide, 
 She said : with fury they began to ride ; 
 He on the midst, the beldam at the side. 
 The horse what devil drove, I cannot tell, 
 But only this, they sped their journey well : 
 And all the way the crone inform'd the knight, 
 How he should answer the demand aright. 
 
 To court they came : the news was quickly spread 
 Of his returning to redeem his head. 
 The female senate was assembled soon. 
 With all the mob of women in the town : 
 The queen sat lord- chief- justice of the hall, 
 And bade the crier cite the criminal. 
 
214 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Tl^ knight appear'd, and silence they proclaim I 
 Then first the culprit answer'd to his name : 
 And after forms of law, was last required 
 To name the thing that women most desired, 
 Th' offender, taught his lesson by the way, 
 And by his counsel order' d what to say. 
 Thus bold began : ' My lady liege (said he), 
 What all your sex desire is Sovereignty ! 
 The wife affects her husband to command ; 
 All must be hers, both money, house, and land. 
 The maids are mistresses even in their name j 
 And of their servants full dominion claim. 
 This, at the peril of my head, I say, 
 A blunt plain truth — the sex aspires to sway ; 
 You, to rule all ; while we, like slaves, obey.' 
 
 There was not one, or widow, maid, or wife. 
 But said the knight had well deserved his life. 
 Even fair Geneura, with a blush, confess' d 
 The man had found what women love the best. 
 
 Upstarts the beldam, who was there unseen, 
 And, reverence made, accosted thus the queen : 
 • My liege (said she), before the court arise. 
 May I, poor wretch, find favour in your eyes, 
 To grant my just request : *twas I who taughfc 
 The knight this answer, and inspired his thought 
 None but a woman could a man direct 
 To tell us women what we most affect. 
 But first I swore him on his knightly troth 
 (And here demand performance of his oath). 
 To grant the boon that next I should desire ; 
 He gave his faith, and I expect my hire : 
 
TnE WIFE OP bath's TALE. 21* 
 
 Ky promise is fulfill' d : I saved his life, 
 And claim his debt — to take me for his wife.* 
 The knight was ask'd, nor could his oath deny, 
 But hoped thej* would not force him to comply.. 
 The women, Mho would rather wrest the laws 
 Than let a sister-plaintiff lose the cause 
 (As judges on the bench more gracious are, 
 And more attent to brothers of tht'^bar). 
 Cried, one and all, the suppliant should have rig'irt, 
 And to the grandame-hag adjudged the knight. 
 
 In vain he sigh'd, and oft with tears desired 
 Some reasonable suit might be required. 
 But still the crone was constant to her note. 
 The more he spoke, the more she stretch'd her 
 throat : 
 
 In vain he prutfer'd all his goods, to save 
 His body, destined to that living grave. 
 The liquorish hag rejects the pelf with scorn, 
 And nothing but the man would serve her turn* 
 ' Nor all the wealth of eastern kings (said she) 
 Have power to j)art my plighted love and me : 
 And, old and ugly as I am, and poor, 
 Yet ne^'er will I break the faith I swore ; 
 For mine thou art by promise during life, 
 And I, thy loving and obedient wife.' 
 
 * My love I nay, rather my damnation thou 
 (iJaid he) ; nor am I bound to keep my vow ; 
 The fiend, thy sire has sent thee from below, 
 Else how couidst thou my secret sorrows know ? 
 Avaunt, old witch ! for I renounce thy bed : 
 The qaeen may take the forfeit of my head. 
 Ere aoy of my race so foul a crone shall wed I* 
 
218 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 Both heard ; the judge pronounced against the 
 knight ; 
 
 So was he married in his own despite 
 And all day after hid him as an owl, 
 Not able to sustain a sight so foul. 
 Perhaps the reader thinks I do him wrong, 
 To.pass the marriage feast and nuptial song: 
 Mirth there was none, the man was cL-la-mortf 
 And little courage had to make his court. 
 To bed they went, the bridegroom and the bride ; 
 Was never such an ill pair'd couple tied. 
 Restless he toss'd and tumbled to and fro, 
 And roU'd, and wriggled further off, for woe. 
 The good old wife lay smiling by his side, 
 And caught him in her quivering arms, and cried, 
 * When you my ravish 'd predecessor saw, 
 You were not then become this man of straw ; 
 Had you been such, you might have 'scaped the law« 
 Is this the custom of king Arthur's court ? 
 Are all round table knights of such a sort ? 
 Remember I am she who saved your life. 
 Your loving, lawful, and complying wife ; 
 Not thus you swore in your unhappy hour, 
 Nor I for this return employ' d my power. 
 In time'of need I was your faithful triend ; 
 Nor did I since, nor ever will, offend, 
 Believe me, my loved lord, 'tis much unkind; 
 What fury has possess' d your alter' d mind ? 
 Thus on my wedding night — without pretence- 
 Come turn this way, or tell me my oflFence. 
 If not your wife, let reason's rule persuade, 
 Name but my fault, amends shall soon be made*' 
 
THB WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. " 217 
 
 * Amends ! nay, that's impossible (said he) ; 
 W^hat change of age or ugliness can be ! 
 Or, could Medea's magic mend thy face, 
 Thou art descended from so mean a race 
 That never knight was match' d with such disgrace. 
 What wonder, madam, if I move my side, 
 When, if I turn, I turn to such a bride.' 
 
 ' And is this all that troubles you so sore !' 
 
 * And what the devil couldst thou wish me more ?* 
 
 * Ah, benedicite ! (replied the crone 
 
 Then cause of just complaining have you none. 
 
 The remedy to this were soon applied, 
 
 Would you be like the bridegroom to the bride ; 
 
 But, for you say a long-descended race. 
 
 And wealth, and dignity, and power, and place. 
 
 Make gentlemen ; and that your high degree 
 
 Is much disparaged to be match' d with me ; 
 
 Know this, my lord, nobility of blood 
 
 Is but a glittering and fallacious good : 
 
 The nobleman is he whose noble mind [kind. 
 
 Is fiU'd with inborn worth, unborrow'd from hi> 
 
 The King of Heaven was in a manger laid ; 
 
 And took his earth but from an humble maid : 
 
 Then what can birth or mortal men bestow, 
 
 Since floods no higher than their fountains flow ? 
 
 We, who for name and empty honour strive, 
 
 Our true nobility from him derive. 
 
 Your ancestors, who puff your mind with pride, 
 
 And vast estates to mighty titles tied. 
 
 Did not your honour, but their own, advance ; 
 
 For virtue cosacu not by inheritance. 
 
21S 
 
 rABLES* 
 
 If you traiineate from your father's mind. 
 
 What are you else but of a bastard kind ? 
 
 Do as your great progenitors have done, 
 
 And by their virtues prove yourself their 901 , 
 
 No father can infuse or wit or grace ; 
 
 A mother comes across, and mars the race : 
 
 A grandsire or a grandame taints the blood, 
 
 And seldom three descents continue good. 
 
 Were virtue by descent, a noble name 
 
 Could never villanize his father's fame : 
 
 But, as the first, the last of all the line 
 
 Would, like the sun, even in descending, shine. 
 
 Take fire, and bear it to the darkest house. 
 
 Betwixt King Arthur's court and Caucasus ; 
 
 If you depart, the flame shall still remain. 
 
 And the bright blaze enlighten all the plain : 
 
 Nor, till the fuel perish, can decay, 
 
 By nature form'd on things combustible to prey. 
 
 Such is not man, who, mixing better seed 
 
 With worse, begets a base degenerate breed : 
 
 The bad corrupts the good, and leaves behind 
 
 No trace of all the great begetter's mind. 
 
 The father sinks within his son, we see, 
 
 And often rises in the third degree ; 
 
 If better luck a better mother give : 
 
 Chance gave us being, and by chance we live. 
 
 Such as our atoms were, even such are we, 
 
 Or call it chance or strong necessity ; 
 
 Thus, loaded with dead weight, the will is free. 
 
 And thus it needs must be : for seed conjoin' d 
 
 Lets into nature's work th' imperfect kind: 
 
THE WITB OF BATH's TALE. 
 
 219 
 
 But fire, th' enlivencr of the general frame, 
 
 Is one, its operation still the same. 
 
 Its principle is in itself : while ours 
 
 Works, as confederates war, with mingled powers ; 
 
 Or man, or woman, whichsoever fails ; 
 
 And oft the vigour of the worst prevails. 
 
 Ether with sulphur blended alters hue. 
 
 And casts a dusky gleam of Sodom blue. 
 
 Thus in a brute their ancient honour ends, 
 
 And the fair mermaid in the fish descends : 
 
 The line is gone — no longer duke or earl, 
 
 But, by himself degraded, turns a churl. 
 
 Nobility of blood is but renown 
 
 Of thy great fathers by their virtue knovm. 
 
 And a long trail of light to thee descending down ; 
 
 If in thy smoke it ends, their glories shine ; 
 
 But infamy and villanage are thine. 
 
 Then what I said before is plainly show'd, 
 
 The true nobility proceeds from God : 
 
 Not left us by inheritance, but given 
 
 By bounty of our stars, and grace of heaven. 
 
 Thus from a captive Servius TuUus rose. 
 
 Whom for his virtues the first Romans chose 
 
 Fabricius from their walls repell'd the foe. 
 
 Whose noble hands had exercised the plough; 
 
 From hence, my lord and love, I thus conclude, 
 
 That though my homely ancestors were rude, 
 
 Mean as I am, yet I may have the grace 
 
 To make you father of a generous race : 
 
 And noble then am I, when I begin, 
 
 In virtue clothed, to cast the rags of sin. 
 
i20 
 
 «ABLE8. 
 
 If poverty be my uporaided crime. 
 And you believe in heaven, there was a time 
 When He, the great controller of our fate, 
 Deign 'd to be man, and lived in low estate : 
 Which He who had the world at his dispose, 
 If poverty were vice, had never chose. 
 Philosophers have said, and poets sing, 
 That a glad poverty's an honest thing : 
 Contant is wealth, the riches of the mind. 
 And happy he who can that treasure find : 
 But the base miser starves amidst his store. 
 Broods on his gold, and griping still at more. 
 Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor. 
 The ragged beggar, though he wants relief, 
 Has not to lose, and sings before the thief. 
 Want is a bitter and a hateful good. 
 Because its virtues are not understood : 
 Yet many things, impossible to thought, 
 Have been by need to full perfection brought : 
 The daring of the soul proceeds from thence, 
 Sharpness of wit, and active diligence : 
 Prudence at once, and fortitude, it gives. 
 And, if in patience taken, mends our lives : 
 I*or even that indigence that brings me low. 
 Hakes me myself, and Him above, to know ; 
 A good which none would challenge, few would 
 choose, 
 
 A fair possession, which mankind refuse. 
 
 * If we from wealth to poverty descend. 
 Want gives to know the flatterer from the friend. 
 If I am old and ugly, well for you, 
 No lewd adulterer will my love pursue ; 
 
THE Wll'Z OF bath's TALE. 221 
 
 Nor jealousy, the bane of married life, 
 Shall haunt you for a wither'd homely wife : 
 For age and ugliness, as all agree, 
 Are the best guards of female chastity. 
 
 ' Yet since I see your mind is worldly bent, 
 I'll do my best to further your content : 
 And therefore of two gifts in my dispose, 
 Think, ere you speak, I grant you leave to choose } 
 Would you I should be still deform' d and old, 
 Nauseous to touch, and loathsome to behold; 
 On this condition, to remain for life, 
 A careful, tender, and obedient wife, 
 In ali I can contribute to your ease. 
 And not in deed, or word, or thought, displease ? 
 Or would you rather have me young and fair. 
 And take the chance that happens to your share ? 
 Temptations are in beauty and in youth, 
 And how can you depend upon my truth ? 
 Now weigh the danger with the doubtful blise, 
 And thank yourself, if aught should fall amiss.' 
 
 Sore sigh'd the knight, who this long sermoa 
 heard : 
 
 At length, considering all, his heart be cheer'd : 
 And thus replied : ' My lady and my wife, 
 To your wise conduct I resign my life ; 
 Choose you for me, for well you understand 
 The future good and ill on either hand : 
 But if an humble husband may request, 
 Provi'de and order all things for the best ; 
 Yours be the care to profit £>nd to please, 
 And let your subject servant take his ease.' 
 
323 
 
 FABLES. 
 
 * Then thus in peace (quoth she) concludes the 
 strife, 
 
 Since I um turn'd the husband, you the wife : 
 The matrimonial victory is mine, 
 Which, having fairly gain'd, I will resign. 
 Forgive, if I have said or done amiss, 
 And seal the bargin with a friendly kiss : 
 I promised you but one content to share, 
 But now I will become both good and fair. 
 No nuptial quarrel shall disturb your ease, 
 The business of my life shall be to please : 
 And, for my beauty, that, as time shall try, 
 But draw the curtain first, and cast your eye.' 
 
 He look'd, and saw a creature heavenly fair 
 In bloom o%outh, and of a charmJng air : 
 With joy he turn'd, and seized her ivory arm, 
 And, like P3'gmalion, found the statue warm. 
 Small arguments there needed to prevail ; 
 A storm of kisses pour'd as thick as hail. 
 Thus long in mutual bliss they lay embraced, 
 And their first love continued to the last : 
 One sunshine was their life, no cloud between, 
 Nor ever was a kinder couple seen. 
 
 And so may all our lives like theirs be led ; 
 Heaven send the maids young husbands, fresh in bed; 
 May widows wed as often as they can. 
 And ever for the better change their man 
 And some dcvodVing plague pursue their lives 
 Who will not well be govern' d by their wives I 
 
CHARACTER OF A GOOD 
 PARSON. 
 
 A PARISH priest was of the pilgrim train ; 
 
 A.n awful, reverend, and religious man. 
 
 His eyes diffused a venerable grace, 
 
 And charity itself was in his face. 
 
 Kich was his soul, though his attire was poor 
 
 (As God had clothed his own ambassador) ; 
 
 For such on earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore. 
 
 Of sixty years he seem'd ; and well might last 
 
 Too sixty more, but that he lived to fast ; 
 
 Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense, 
 
 And made almost a sin of abstinence. 
 
 Yet had his aspect nothing of severe, 
 
 But such a face as promised him sincere : 
 
 Nothing reserved or sullen was to see, 
 
 But sweet regards and pleasing sanctity ; 
 
 Mild was his accent, and his action free. 
 
 With eloquence innate his tongue was arm *d, 
 
 Though harsh the precept, yet the preacher charm* di 
 
224 CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON. 
 
 For, letting down the golden chain from high. 
 He drew his audience upward to the sky : 
 And oft with holy hymns he charm'd their ears 
 (A music more melodious than the spheres) : 
 For David left him, when he went to rest, 
 His lyre ; and, after him, he sung the best. 
 He bore his great commission in his look, 
 But sweetly tempered awe, and soften'd all ho 
 spoke. 
 
 He preach' d the joys of heaven, and pains of hell, 
 And warn'd the sinner with becoming zeal ; 
 But on eternal mercy loved to dwell. 
 He taught the gospel rather than the law, 
 And forced himself to drive, but loved to draw : 
 For fear but freezes minds ; but love, like heat. 
 Exhales the soul sublime to seek her native seat. 
 
 To threats the stubborn sinner oft is hard : 
 Wrapp'd in his crimes, against the storm prepared | 
 But when the milder beams of mercy play. 
 He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away. 
 Lightning and thunder (Heaven's artillery) 
 As harbingers before th' Almighty fly i 
 Those but proclaim his style, and afisappear ; 
 The stiller sour.-d succeeds, and God is there ! 
 
 The tithes his parish freely paid, he took. 
 But never sued, or cursed with bell and book : 
 With patience bearing wrong, but offering none, 
 Since every man is free to loose his own. 
 The country churls, according to their kind 
 (Who grudge their dues, and love to be behind), 
 The less he sought his offerings, pinch'd the more; 
 And praised a priest couteated to be poor. 
 
CfiAjCACTER OF A GOOD PARSON. QM 
 
 Yet of his little he had some to spare, 
 To feed the famish' d, and to clothe the bare : 
 For mortified he was to that degree, 
 A poorer than himself he would not see. 
 * True priests,' he said, ' and preachers of the word« 
 Were only stewards of their Sovereign Lord ; 
 Nothing was theirs, but all the public store, 
 Intrusted riches, to relieve the poor ; 
 Who, should they steal for want of his relief, 
 He judged himself accomplice with the thief.* 
 
 Wide was his parish, not contracted close 
 In streets, but here and there a straggling house ; 
 Yet still he was at hand, without request. 
 To serve the sick, to succour the distress'd. 
 Tempting, on foot, alone, without affright, 
 The dangers of a dark tempestuous night. 
 
 All this the good old man perform 'd alone. 
 Nor spared his pains : for curate he had none : 
 Nor durst he trust another with his care ; 
 Nor rode himself to Paul's, the public fair, 
 To chaffer for preferment with his gold. 
 Where bishoprics and sinecures are sold : 
 But duly watch' d his flock by night and day, 
 And from the prowling wolf redeem' d the prey, 
 And hungry sent the wily fox away. 
 
 The proud he tamed, the penitent he cheer' d. 
 Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear'd. 
 His preaching much, but more his practice wrought 
 (A living sermon of the truths he taught) : 
 For this by rules severe his life he squared. 
 That all might see the doctrine wb\ch they heard : 
 
120 
 
 FABLES) 
 
 There, as his dream foretold, a cart he foB nd, 
 That carried compost forth to dung the ground. 
 This when the pilgrim saw, he stretch* d liis throati 
 And cried out " Murder !" with a yelling notei 
 '* My murder' d fellow in this cart lies dead, 
 Vengeance and justice on the villain's head ! 
 You, magistrates, who sacred laws dispense, 
 On you I call to punish this offence !" 
 
 * The word thus given, within a little space. 
 The mob came roaring out, and throng' d the place. 
 All in a trice they cast the cart to ground, 
 
 And in the dung the murder' d body found, 
 Though breathless, warm, and reeking from the 
 
 wound. ^ 
 Good Heaven, whose darling attribute we find 
 Is boundless grace and mercy to mankind. 
 Abhors the cruel ; and the deeds of night 
 By wondrous ways reveals in open light ; 
 M-urder may pass unpunish'd for a time, 
 But tardy justice will o'ertake the crime: 
 And oft a speedier pain the guilty feels ; 
 The hue and cry of Heaven pursues him at the 
 heels, 
 
 Fresh from the fact ; as in the present ease : 
 
 The criminals are seized upon the place : 
 
 Carter and Host confronted face to face. 
 
 Stiff in denial ; as the law appoints, 
 
 On engines they distend their tortured joints : 
 
 So was confession forced, the offence was known. 
 
 And public justice on th' offenders done. 
 
 * Here may you see that visions are to dread | 
 And in the page that follows this, I read 
 
CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON. 22/ 
 
 Had Richard unconstrain'd resign'd the throne, 
 
 A king can give no more than is his own, 
 
 The title stood entail' d, had Richard had a son. 
 
 Conquest, an odious name, was laid aside ; 
 Where all submitted, none the battle tried. 
 The senseless plea of right by ProvideHce 
 Was, by a flattering priest, invented since. 
 And lasts no longer than the present sway, 
 But justifies the next who comes in play. 
 
 The people's right remains ; let those who dara 
 Dispute their power, when they the judges are. 
 
 He join'd not in their choice, because he knew 
 Worse might, and often did, from change ensue; 
 Much to himself he thought, but little spoke, 
 And, undeprivcd, his benifice forsook, [stretch'd. 
 
 Now, through the land, his cure of souls 
 And like a primitive apostle preach 'd : 
 Still cheerful, ever constant to his call ; 
 By many follow'd, loved by most, admired by all. 
 With what he begged, his brethren he relieved, 
 And gave the charities himself received : 
 Gave, while he taught, and edified the more, 
 Because he show'd by proof, 'twas easy to be poor, 
 He went not with the crowd to see a shrine ; 
 But fed us by the way with food divine. 
 
 In deference to his virtues, I forbear 
 To show you what the rest in coders were : 
 This brilliant is so spotless and so bright, 
 He needs no foil, but shines by his ovt n proper lighti 
 
 TUB END. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Memoir of the Life and Writings of Dryden « v 
 Dedication. To her Grace the Duchess of Or- 
 mond : with the Poem of Palamon and Arcite 1 
 
 Palamon and Arcite ; or, The Knight's Talc. 
 
 Book I. . . . . .9 
 
 Book II. . . . . * .31 
 
 Book III. . . . . .53 
 
 Sigismonda a,n^ O'nscardo . . , Ql 
 
 The Cock and the Toj ; or, The Tale of the 
 Nun's Priest . . . . , US 
 
 Theodore and Honoria * . • • 145 
 
 The Flower and the Leaf ; or, The Lady in the 
 Ainour. A VL«ion . . , . ]6l 
 
 Cymon and Iphigenia . . . ,183 
 
 The Wi^e of Bath. K^i Tnie . , . 2#J 
 
i