The fair Isabel of Cotehele a Cornish romance, in six cantos. By the author of Local attachment, and translator of Theocritus [i.e. Richard Polwhele] |
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The fair Isabel of Cotehele | ||
XXVIII.
Ah! Jacqueline!—not arm'd with switchAnd mumbling curses, shrivel'd witch
Did e'er awaken such dislike,
Or as thy frown, with terror strike!
They said indeed, (and all believ'd
That death would shroud her up unshriev'd
Her form was shadowless!
Still Lady Alice (ah too good
Herself, to fear in others fraud)
Was her indulgent patroness
Whilst undissolv'd her nunnery stood;
And midst the nunnery-walls carest,
Matilda (so baptiz'd was Mawd)
54
Of a creature of the Prioress,
But soon reclaim'd to Tamar-stream.
Yet Mawd in temper and in face
So like old Jacqueline did seem,
And so unlike the Edgcumbe race,
Strange things, in malice or in sport,
The tongue of satire did report.
The fair Isabel of Cotehele | ||