The Canterbury Tales of Chaucer :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Canterbury Tales of Chaucer

modernis'd by several hands. Publsh'd by Mr. Oggle

Ogle, George (1704-1746)

VOL. I.

II.

VOL. II.

PROLOGUE TO THE COOK's TALE.

GAMELYN:

PROLOGUE, TO THE Man of Law's TALE.

CONSTANTIA:

PROLOGUE TO The Squire's TALE.

CAMBUSCAN:

III.

VOL. III.

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GAMELYN:

OR, The COOK's TALE.

By Mr. BOYSE.

How constant Valour triumphs o'er its Foes,
And the firm Mind beneath Oppression grows,
I sing—Ye whom heroic Deeds delight,
Attend the Tale, and mark what I recite.

'Twas in victorious Edward's happy Days,
When Britain's Glory shed distinguish'd Rays!
Where thro' the verdant Groves and level Meads,
His silver Course the gentle Medway leads;
Too feeble now for Arms,—his Helm unbrac'd,
His calm Retreat a worthy Knight had plac'd:
In youthful Years no Stranger he to Fame,
Sir John of Bondis was the Warrior's Name;

From vanquish'd Gaul, and Cressy's sanguine Field,
He bore new Honours o'er his trophy'd Shield:
But Time had cool'd the Ardours in his Breast,
And Action taught him all the Worth of Rest;
Yet often at the hospitable Board,
By Cheerfulness maintain'd, with Plenty stor'd,
To speak of former Toils he took Delight,
To paint the Combat, and renew the Fight!
Close by the winding Stream his Castle stood,
It's Turrets glitter'd o'er the glassy Flood;
Here liv'd the honour'd Knight in decent State,
Peace watch'd the Walls, & Welcome kept the Gate.

His Consort lost, a widowed Life he led,
Three manly Sons had crown'd his nuptial Bed;
The eldest far unlike the generous Knight,
A rough, suspicious, base, uncourteous Wight:
To all ungentle, to his Father most,
His Age he slighted, and his Love he lost:
The younger two were of a milder Kind,
And bore their Sire's Impression on the Mind.

Long the respected Knight enjoy'd Repose,
Till Life's low Shade projected to a Close;
Soft tho' the Fall, and gentle the Decay,
Death is a Struggle still in Nature's Way;
But Arms had so familiariz'd his Face,
He met his Terror with a decent Grace;
Careful his House's Welfare to provide,
The Measure of his fair Estates he ey'd;
Study'd the separate Share to each should fall,
And found his Wealth sufficient for them all.

His Servants call'd; his last Request he draws,
Summons his Friends, judicious in the Laws;
His Case recites, how low near Death he lies,
Begs them to haste, and aid his last Devise;
With friendly Counsel his Intent supply,
And leave Affairs well order'd e'er he die.

Soon as the Tydings spread, the mournful Train
Crowd to the Hall, and sighing view the Scene.
Around his Bed the sad Attendance stands,
Comforts his Griefs, and waits his last Commands;

His Brow still placid, tho' his Accent weak,
He lifts his trembling Hand, and tries to speak.

“I feel, my Friends, the universal Doom,
“My Course is ended, and my Hour is come.
“The destin'd Hour, which none are giv'n to pass,
“Time shakes the ebbing Sands, and turns my glass.
(With that he sigh'd, his rev'rend Head he shook,
Tears melted from the Audience as he spoke)
They bid him cheer, nor be so deep dismay'd,
Sick as he was, yet Heav'n might send him Aid;
Raise Health from Fate, from Pain recover Ease,
And lengthen Life for yet succeeding Days.

“I know it well, the dying Knight reply'd,
“Heaven's Will is fix'd, and must not be deny'd;
“But Age from me forbids a Hope so vain,
“Nor wish I Life at the Expence of Pain.
“One Thought alone does all my Cares encrease
“On Terms secure to found my Children's Peace;
“You then, my Friends, whose sage Discretion knows,
“Suits to prevent, and Interests to compose,

“Amongst my Sons a fair Division make,
“My Wealth, my Fortune to your Wisdom take;
“For Heav'ns high Sake, take care of partial wrong,
“Nor slight my Gamelyn because he's young.
“Fond in my Heart he claims an equal Share,
“My just Affection points him equal Heir;
“Wretched the Brothers, who on one depend;
“Pow'r breaks the Ties of Kindred and of Friend.
“And oft the younger Martlet's forc'd to roam,
“To search that Rest he fails to find at home.

So ends the Knight, and in the Sages go,
Justice oft yields when Interest is the Foe.
A rising Sun the general Worship draws,
And well the Proverb speaks, New Lords new Laws;
Fear bid them not the wayward Squire provoke,
His Temper known they dread his future Stroke;
Love strikes the Heart, as Harmony the Ear,
The Taste alone that's delicate can hear;
But Tyrant Terror gives a stronger Sound,
And spreads an universal Panick round;

So half by Interest sway'd, and half by Fright,
They cross the honest Purpose of the Knight;
The large Succession to the first design,
To Otto next a small Remain assign,
And leave young Gamelyn without a Care,
To wait his Fortune from the potent Heir,
Who had, if he deserv'd, enough to spare.

Deciding thus, back to the Knight they speed,
Who waited what their Judgment had decreed;
Inform him, thay had acted his Commands,
And in the wisest Way dispos'd his Lands.
Vex'd as he heard, he often shook his Head,
And much displeas'd—at last broke out and said.

“Is this the Faith my confidence attends?
“And is it thus ye act the Part of Friends?
“By good Saint Martyn, but ye deal it fine!
“Yet do I live,—and still my Land is mine.
“Then witness Neighbours to my latest Will,
“Thus I ordain, so Heav'n my wish fulfil!

“Five Ploughs of Land my eldest I assign,
“The antient Seat of our paternal Line!
“To Otto I bequeath as many more,
“My Toils have added to our native Store:
“Of all my other Lands and Chattels fair,
“Of all my Steeds be Gamelyn the Heir!
“Impartial Justice gives this Law to bind,
“And Kent was ever true to Gavel-kind.
“This is my only Will, my last Command;
“Attest it Heav'n! and let no other stand!

The Knight, his last Intentions thus exprest,
Resign'd attended hastening Death's Arrest.
Soon came the Stroke, the Spirit passed away,
And the cold Warrior stiffen'd into Clay!

Now in his Tomb with decent Honours laid,
And all the Rites of due Interment paid;
Sir John, the empty Image of his Name,
A stranger to his Virtues, or his Fame!
His Fathers solemn Charge forgetful breaks,
With lawless grasp the wide Succession takes.

Then Gamelyn first divested of his Right,
Bore all the Vengeance of Fraternal Spite.
The Youth before who only Pleasure knew,
Who rose the Darling of a Father's View,
The sad Reverse of former Ease beheld,
With hardships practis'd, and with Frowns repeld;
Fed with the menial Train, and cloth'd yet worse,
And all he got, attended with a Curse.
Usage at last with ample Interest paid,
On the unnatr'al Giver's churlish Head!

Yet spite of all, young Gamelyn's gentle Art
Gain'd over every Vassal to his Part;
Such open Goodness dwelt around his Face,
His Actions bore such Marks of manly Grace!
They griev'd in Sloth to see such Virtue lost,
Each strove with eager Zeal to serve him most;
By each ador'd—but when the Knight was near,
They durst not show their Sentiments for Fear.

It chanc'd one Morn, involv'd in studious Mood,
Within the Spacious Court the Stripling stood:

He strok'd his Chin, whose early down began,
To rise and tell him, what became a Man;
His Eyes he threw along the Wood-land Coast,
And sigh'd to think the Heritage he lost:
His Lands he saw untill'd, his Parks unpal'd,
His Game was wasted, and his Woods were fell'd:
No Steed to call his own,—a generous Shame
Rose in his Breast and mounted to a Flame!
“Had he been cheated of his Right so long?
“And was he tamely still to bear the Wrong?
“Honour reproach'd him for a Thought so low,
“And threatning Justice set upon his Brow!”
Just from the Field return'd his Brother in,
With haughty Aspect, and assuming Mien;
“Go Idler! haste, he cry'd, and bring us Word,
“What Cheer to Day,—or have they spread the Board?
“Brother, the Youth replies, walk in and look.
“I neither am thy Butler, nor thy Cook!”
“What mutter'st thou? the Knight in Fury cry'd,
“Whence hast thou catch'd this Spark of upstart Pride?

“Thou never durst a Speech like this before,
“Go know thy self, and dread the Hand of Pow'r!”

“Brother, said Gamelyn, my Answer take,
“Myself I know, and from that Knowledge speak;
“But honest Minds a servile Yoke disdain,
“And honest Tongues will call Oppression mean!
“Think'st thou those Lands that lye before my View,
“My Birth-right seiz'd, unjustly seiz'd by you,
“Yon Fields unfallow'd, and yon Houses void,
“My Deer unharbour'd from those Woods destroy'd;
“My Coursers in your slavish Toil employ'd,
“Think'st thou that those for no Resentment call?
“Or think, if just, where that should greatly fall?
“All that my Father left is gone to wreck,
“So take my Curse, and wear it on thy Back.

At this Reproach all Patience left the Knight,
His Eye-balls kindled, and his Cheeks grew white.
“Hence Vagabond, he cries, and thank my Love,
“Thy Rashness does no worse Correction prove;

“What pratest thou of Lands, and Houses thine?
“Mine the Possession is,—the Right is mine:
“Furnish'd with simple Food and plain Attire,
“Rest well content,—What more canst thou desire?

To whom the Youth “False Knight, be thine: the Shame,
“Thou Wretch unworthy of a Brother's Name;
“A Vagabond!—Go boast thee of the Style,
“Whose social Titles sordid Thoughts defile:
“If thy Injustice has my Fall pursu'd,
“Am I from thence an Alien to thy Blood?
“To the same Source we owe our vital Fire,
“A Lady bore us, and a Knight our Sire!
“Usurper cease! thy lawless Claim resign!
“Give me, what Love paternal destin'd mine,
“All future Kindred willing I forego,
“All Bands disclaim,—I scorn to be thy Foe.
Then rag'd, Sir John, but half his Rage suppress'd!
Fear stopp'd his Voice, and chill'd his conscious Breast,
Trembling his scatter'd Servants round he calls;
The wish'd Assistance issues from the Walls:

With that returning, all his Wrath returns;
And so supplied, his borrow'd Courage burns,
“Go bind, he cries, Go bind this shallow Boy,
“Immur'd his Tongue may learn a just Employ;
“So due Chastisement quickly mends the Young,
“So shall this Sterling chant another Song!

Then Gamelyn thus,—“Thou Tyrant! base of Heart!
Who can reply to thy degenerate Part?
“What, of a Stripling is a Knight afraid?
“But dastard Minds grow insolent with Aid;
“In Innocence, unarm'd, secure I stand,
“And brave the coward Malice of thy Hand;
“Provoke the Fight, thy empty Boastings throw,
“Cursed be he, that keeps thee from my Blow!”

At this the Caitiff shrunk with new Alarms,
And call'd the rude Militia out to Arms;
The ready Weapons, Pitchforks, Poles afford,
Sneering they march to save their fearful Lord;
The manly Youth well pleas'd the Storm survey'd,
On a strong Staff his Hands he quickly laid;

Then like a prudent General look'd around,
Stept to a Wall, and seiz'd th' advantage Ground;
He mark'd the aukward Rout as on they press'd,
Affection most detain'd, and Fear the rest;
Encourag'd thus he made a forward Pace,
And saw Confusion rise in every Face!
Some gentle Strokes apply'd with skillful Hand,
Forc'd all the rude Battalion to disband;
To Stables some, and some to Barns retreat,
Others more hasty sought the Postern Gate;
But safest in the Van the General fled,
And in a Hay-loft screen'd his valiant Head:
When Gamelyn, now who saw the Field his own,
Address'd the Fugitive in scornful Tone!

“And is it thus, good Knight, you value Fame?
“Thus is it you assert your Father's Name?
“For Flight so ready, yet so prone to Strife,
“Nor less the Hopes of your inglorious Life!
(At this as round he look'd the Knight he spy'd
Who at a narrow Chink his Face apply'd)

“Bondis come down, and fetch thy mighty Blade!
“Art thou a Knight, and dar'st thou be afraid?
“A Novice I, yet would I fain discern,
“What thou can'st practise, or what I may learn.

“By good Saint Richard, said th' astonish'd Knight,
“I did not guess you were so keen at Fight;
“But while you brandish that accursed Stake,
“Nor will I venture down, nor Parlance make;
“Thy Weapon quit, I give the Contest o'er,
“And here I vow to injure thee no more!

“How soon I ween you change, reply'd the Squire,
“Aggressor first, you first the Peace require;
“Thanks to my Staff that kept your Clowns away,
“Else might my Bones have suffer'd from the Play.

“No, Gamelyn dear, reply'd the treacherous Knight,
“By good Saint Richard, you mistook me quite;
“Your mounting Spirits took too soon th' Alarm,
“Be witness Heav'n, I never meant you Harm!
“To try your early Worth was my Design,
“Who durst so young th' unequal Combat join;

“Now known with Joy thy Courage I embrace,
“And own thee worthy of our noble Race!

With a Confession pleas'd he thought sincere,
The honest Youth resum'd his wonted Air;
“Descend, Sir Knight, securely, safe descend,
“Here cease our Quarrel, all Divisions end!
“Grant me one sole Request, my humble Boon,
“And good Agreement shall unite us soon.

Down came the Knight, but trembling look'd around,
And saw the dreaded Weapon on the Ground;
But Smiles conceal'd the Rancour of his Breast,
“Brother, says he, impart your fair Request;
“If I deny you ought, your Wishes claim,
“Your's be the Credit, and be mine the Shame!

I take your Word, the Youth sincere replies,
Justice I ask, in you, the Justice lies;
Decline the stronger Plea of wresting Pow'r,
My Father's Heritage entire restore;
So shall thy Honour make its Promise good,
So shall we live in Peace,—as Brothers shou'd.

“Agreed, resum'd Sir John and gave his Hand,
“Thy Lands be thine, I grant thy full Demand!
“When e'er thy Youth the Date of Manhood gains
“I yeild thee all, our Father's Will ordains;
“If further Favours then thy Wishes crave,
“As freely share the fair Demains I have;
“Till then thy Fields manur'd shall feel my care,
“They Parks inclos'd, thy Houses find Repair”.

So spoke the Traitor with dissembling Art,
What to perform was never in his Heart;
With secret Fraud his wicked Flattry fraught,
And dark Revenge lay lurking in his Thought.
Not Gamelyn so, his Bosom knew no Guile,
He kiss'd his Judas Brother with a Smile;
Where feigned Kindness spoke him well content,
So reconcil'd together in they went.

The Story spread soon grew the Village Theme
And the fond Neighbours dwelt on Gamelyn's Name;
But he regardless pass'd the Action by,
For Clowns were not the Foes he wish'd to try;

Oft thro' the Hall as silently he pass'd,
And on the trophy'd Walls Attention cast;
His Father's Arms, the Banner high display'd,
The crested Helmet, and the massy Blade!
A Sigh the Biass of his Soul confess'd,
And all the Warrior glow'd within his Breast;
The Rage of Battle glitter'd in his Sight,
His Heart beat high, and panted for the Fight!

Nor vain his Hope to prove the martial Flame,
Nor wish'd he long, till kind Occasion came;
The Swains who to the Castle held Resort,
The Tidings brought and swell'd the fond Report;
How near the Kentish Wild for Wrestlers fam'd,
That Day a famous Contest was proclaim'd,
Where a huge Ram of more than common Size,
And Ring of Gold were set the Victor's Prize;
They tell from all around what Numbers speed,
How many Rivals go to seek the Meed;
But chief a Flemish Champion's Praise they sound,
Whose Vigour in repeated Trials found,

Whose sinew'd Limbs experienc'd Action show,
And make Contenders dread so fierce a Foe!

Enough was said, nor needed Gamelyn more,
To raise that Passion glow'd so warm before;
With eager Ears he drinks the pleasing Tale,
Resolv'd to try his Fortune on the Dale.

Immediate to his Brother's Sight he press'd,
And thus he vents th' Impatience in his Breast;
“A Journey must I speed, Sir John, this Night,
“A Horse I want, a Courser fleet and light;
“Of all thy numerous Steeds I seek but one,
“Nor wave my Suit, I languish to be gone;
“To Minds, that early Thirst of Honour sways,
“Time backward rolls, and Moments seem Delays.

To whom the artful Knight with feigning Voice.
“My Steeds are at thy Will, and wait thy Choice;
“But tell me whence Requests so earnest flow,
“And whither would my gentle Brother go?

“In Words as brief, the smiling Youth reply'd,
“A Wrestling near is kept, and there I ride;

“Thither in Crowds th' assembling Youth convene,
“I mean to try the Hazard of the Green;
“Success, perhaps, may crown my first Essay,
“My Arm, perhaps, may bear the Prize away;
“Go, said the Knight, right may your Wishes fall,
“And your first Spoils adorn our ancient Hall!

The Order giv'n,—the lively Youth descends,
Where at the Gate the harnest Steed attends;
Fast on his Feet the shining Spurs he makes,
Light in his Hand, a slender Wand he shakes!
A conscious Pleasure sparkles in his Eye;
He look'd like Hermes, just prepar'd to fly!
The Courser mounts, and agile as the Wind,
Soon leaves the lessening Tow'rs obscur'd behind;
A single Servant scarce his Flight can trace,
And reach'd him late, upon the destin'd Place.
The jealous Brother pleas'd his parting view'd,
And with dark Envy his Design pursu'd;
“Go, shallow Boy, he mutter'd, tempt thy Fate,
“And find a Period equal to my Hate;

“Disgrac'd and trampled by some Foot obscene,
“Perish thy breathless Carcase on the Plain.
Then to the Hall return'd in Discontent,
Yet oft look'd back, and secret Curses sent.
So thought the Wretch,—but Heav'n refus'd the Pray'r,
And all his impious Vows were lost in Air.

But distant now, a-cross the heathy Waste,
The little Hero to the Contest past;
And now the smoaking Village rose to view,
And now he nearer heard the shouting Crew!
Yet more distinct appears the opening Scene,
The spacious Circle and the crowded Green.
Nimbly he whirls the panting Courser round,
Springs from the Seat, and treads the envied Ground.

Attentive round him as he newly gaz'd,
A neighb'ring Object all his Pity rais'd;
An aged Yeoman, decent was his Dress,
Whose strong Emotion deepest Sighs express;
Fast o'er his Cheeks the briny Currents spread,
While to the Ground he bent his mournful Head;

Fix'd in a Lethargy of Grief he stands,
Oft lifts his weeping Eyes, and wrings his Hands;
Compassion glow'd in Gamelyn's gentle Mind,
The venerable Man's Distress to find;
“Forgive, he said, good Man, whose silver Hairs,
“Should claim Exemption from such piercing Cares,
“Forgive the friendly Motive guides my Tongue,
“To aid your Anguish, or redress your Wrong;
“For this I ask, nor then refuse to tell,
“What speechless Griefs thy warring Bosom swell?
“Cloud o'er the Brows, and round thy Visage roll,
“And speak the Tempest rising in thy Soul?

To whom the Farmer thus in broken Strain,
“Vain is thy Help, kind Youth, thy Pity vain!
“No Hand can sooth the Sorrows I endure,
“Nor Time can mitigate, nor Comfort cure:
“Canst thou restore the Dead? The Storm asswage?
“Or bind the Pinions of revolving Age?
“Then might I hope from thee to find Relief,
“Then might one Beam of Ease allay my Grief!

“But Nature sinks beneath the fatal Blow,
“And future Life is but imbitter'd Woe!
“Two Sons I had, the Honour of the Plain,
“Two Sons deserving of the Name of Men,
“Two Sons this happy Morning hail'd me gay,
“Dress'd in the lusty Prime of youthful May!
“Who now, ere Noon united press the Strand,
“Slain by th' accursed Fleming's deadly Hand;
“Detested Terror! could my Eyes but see,
“Their Tears repaid in Vengeance due to thee!
“Oh! would some Arm well practis'd to the Toil,
“Stretch thee all pale and fractur'd on the Soil!
“The destin'd Hero should my Wealth receive,
“And my bald Head contented reach the Grave.

He spoke,—and faint as Gamelyn's Form he ey'd,
Admir'd his Mein, while thus the Youth reply'd,
“If Wrongs like thine a just Relief engage,
“I take thy Cause, my Honour be thy Gage.
“Justice herself shall lend her fav'ring Scale,
“And bid my Purpose for thy sake prevail!

“But while my Man prepares me for the Field,
“My Horse to thee committed, safe I yield;
“Then mean I bold this Champion to defy,
“And right thy Cause, or in the Quarrel die.

“A thousand Blessings crown thy generous Heart
“The Yeoman said, Brave Youth, whoe'er thou art.
“Whose Soul by noble Emulation fir'd,
“By Worth incited, or by Heaven inspir'd,
“For my sad Loss such kind Concern canst show,
“And dare to grapple with so fierce a Foe:
“Thy Steed to me, a willing Charge assign,
“To aid you for the Field the care be mine.
“Revenge alone can stop my bleeding Eyes;
“Yours be the Glory, and be yours the Prize.

The Youth they strip, his snowy Limbs unfold,
Whose tender Arms unwonted Vigour hold;
The chesnut Ringlets fall his Neck a-down,
His Neck that gave new Lustre to their Brown;
Bare was his Foot, his ardent Breast reveal'd,
The rest a Wreath of spotless white conceal'd;

So thro' the Throng he pass'd with noble Grace,
Enter'd the List, and rose upon the Place.

Conspicuous now, as many knew his Name,
A circling Whisper told his early Fame;
All wonder'd how a Youth so softly young,
Should dare a Champion so confirm'd and strong!
Incens'd, a Foreign Arm should awe the Field,
And make the Stoutest of their Natives yield;
Conspiring Vows the generous Stripling wait,
Conspiring Fears are felt for his Defeat.
But chief the Youth the scornful Victor ey'd,
And found the Match unequal to his Pride.
Starting he fiercely stalk'd along the Plain,
And thus presuming spoke—in jeering Strain.

“Whence come this Infant?—or to whom belong?
“Whose gentle Mien proclaims him nicely sprung!
“Say, Child, thy Sire? or by what Folly led,
“Hither thou camest? to softer Labours bred?
“Return, nice Stripling, free from threaten'd harm,
“Thy Fall would but disgrace my practis'd Arm!

Then Gamelyn thus—“Insulting Boaster take,
“In breif the Answer which I deign to make;
“My Father's honour'd Name, while Life he drew,
“Well known to Gallia, well is known to you;
“Sir John of Bondis well in Battle known,
“From him I spring—and am his youngest Son:
“Gamelyn my Name—the rest let Tryal say,
“I come to take the hazard of the Day.

So spoke the blooming Youth with manly Pride,
The kindling Foreigner enrag'd reply'd:
“Thy Sire I knew, by wide Report proclaim'd,
“A Knight for hardy Prowess not unfam'd,
“Thy childish Frolicks too have reach'd our Ears,
“Thy early Pertness far out strips thy Years;
“But Stripes that growing Mischief should destroy,
“For me I scorn to grapple with a Boy”!

The Youth reply'd—” And hast thou heard my Name,
“Then let th' Encounter tell thee what I am:
“Welcome, the Champion cries, so may I thrive,
“As from my Hands thou partst or partst alive.

And now the setting Sun withdrew his Light,
And Silver Cynthia usher'd in the Night;
Bright o'er the Lawn she shed her clearest Beam,
When to the List these last Contenders came;
The disproportion'd Pair all Eyes employ,
The harden'd Fleming, and the English Boy!
His slightest Efforts first the Champion try'd,
To bend the pliant Youth on every Side;
As feels the rooted Plant the Northern Blast,
And yields to rise more prevalently fast;
So the rude Shock the artful Stripling bore,
And closer press'd still gather'd Strength the more;
Then foil'd, the Fleming's fruitless Rage increas'd,
And diff'rent Motions fill his anxious Breast;
Oft round the Youth this new Alcides wound,
And Gamelyn like Antæus kept his Ground;
Then thus.—“I see thy vast gigantic Pain,
“To bring me down thy Victim on the Plain;
“Now in return, accept what I repay,
“To show my Thanks, and take it as it may!”

So said, around the Champion's bulky Waste,
His slender Arms the vigorous Stripling plac'd;
Artful, unseen, his Foot was plac'd behind,
Where to the left the struggling Cheif inclin'd;
Turn'd from its Poize, his Body whelms the Ground,
A loud Applause the joyful Circle crown'd!
So once, if rightly sacred Stories tell,
Jessides conquer'd, and Goliah fell!
Revers'd, confounded the Insulterlay,
His Visage rent with Pain and deep Dismay!
Three Ribs distorted with the fatal Stroke,
And his left Arm the cumbrous Downfal broke;
To whom the Youth in terms exulting spoke.
Say art thou foil'd, Sir Champion, dost thou own,
This Cast for good? or shall it pass for none?

To whom the Fleming—Whether so it be,
“Ill chance the Man, who taught this Cast to thee!
“Who from thy Youth expects to raise his Boast,
“Shall, by Saint. Swithin, find his Labour lost”.

But stronger Joy that fill'd the Farmer's Mind,
The full Completion of his Hope to find,
Exulting in his alter'd Visage spoke,
And from his Tongue in hasty Transports broke.

“Delightful Youth! sole Prop of my Desires,
“Bless'd be the Day that warm'd thy vital Fires;
“Bless'd be the Morn that sent thee to my Aid,
“Bless'd be thy Arm that thus my Vengeance paid;
“Now to this prostrate Miscreant can I say,
“Here stands the Youth, that foil'd thee at the Play.

To whom agast the suffering Champion cry'd,
“Rough is his Play, as sorely have I try'd;
“Full thirty Years, a Wrestler have I been,
“Inur'd to Toils, and practis'd on the Green;
“But by the Mass, of all I ever met,
“None ever dealt so rudely with me yet”.

Firm in the Place the smiling Victor stood,
In hopes to see the pleasing Strife renew'd;
“And is there none, he said, amongst you all,
“Will venture on the Green to try a Fall”?

In vain he call'd, in vain he look'd around,
Nor Combatant beheld nor Answer found;
From the assur'd Defiance all withdraw,
The Fleming's Downfal kept the Field in Awe.

Then from their Place the reverend Umpires came,
While all the Crow'd repeats the Victor's Name!
“Distinguish'd Youth, they cry'd, whoe'er thou be,
“Thy Valour speaks thee of no low Degree;
“Retire content—the further Fight decline,
“All own the Glories of the Field are thine;
“But Honour first that led thy Footsteps here,
“Commends thy Safety to our faithful Care;
“Cautions thy Health the Midnight Damp to shun,
“Be ours to give the Prize thy Arm has won!
“Then let the Herald tell the Sports are o're,
“And let Repose thy short Fatigue restore.

“I came, the Youth replies, to try your Fair,
“Nor have I yet unfolded half my Ware;
To whom the Fleming “Fool, I ween, is he,
“Who meddles with thy Merchandise, or thee!

“For me, by good Saint Gregory I swear,
“I'll buy no more—thou sell'st it all too dear,
The Farmer then, whose Joy could find no Vent,
Said, Foreign Boaster! rest thee well content,
“By bless'd Saint James of holy Pilgrims sought,
“A penny worth hast thou of what thou bought!
“For had my Wishes but obtain'd the Pow'r,
“Thou never should have try'd this Traffick more.

They ceas'd—for now the appointed Judges bring
Thro' the admiring Crow'd the Ram and Ring;
The pleasing Charge young Gamelyn's Servant takes,
While thus th' assembled Throng his Lord bespeaks,

“In the grey Sky yon eastearn streaks of Light,
“Proclaim the waning Empire of the Night!
“Let your Attendance than my Wishes grace,
“My Father's Hall lies hence a little Space;
“Thither your Company does Kindness pray,
“Nor slight the slender Welcome Love would pay,
“Such Cheer as our Domestic Vaults supply,
“Shall speak my Thanks and crown our mutual Joy!

Applause thro' the consenting Ring resounds,
The Stripling mounts, the joyful Train surrounds;
The Minstrelsie attends, 'tis Frolick all!
And the wild Triumph hastens to the Hall!

The Knight in different Guise the Night had spent,
Perplext with Envy, torn with Discontent;
Till chearful Morning glitt'ring in the East,
Dispell'd all Gloom, but that within his Breast.
Then starting Eager from his restless Bed,
The wayward Caitiff shook his guileful Head;
Earnest to learn the hated Gamelyn's Fate,
He bent his Footsteps to the outer Gate:
O'er the still Road he cast his baleful Eyes,
Surpriz'd as soon the Dusty Vapour spies;
A fainter Clamour next his Ears invades,
And Men and Horse seem pictur'd in the Shades!
But oh what Tumults in his Bosom rise,
What cruel Envy darkens in his Eyes!
When the known Youth he sees with conquest crown'd,
Whom Music waits, and joyful Crowds surround;

Pale grew his Cheek, to find his Purpose crost,
And every cruel Expectation lost;
With falt'ring Voice the Porter down he calls
Summons his Servants to defend the Walls;
Secures each Avenue with fearful Haste,
And makes himself the slender Wicket fast;
A wooden Bolt secur'd that Pass alone,
For Theft and Fraud were then but little known.

Now to the Tow'rs the jovial Train inclin'd,
But look in vain Admittance there to find;
From his fair Steed, dismounts our Gamelyn strait,
Ascends the Steps, and thunders at the Gate.
“Porter, I charge thee by my Father's Name,
“Undo the Doors and let me Entry claim;
“Spread every Passage to my Wishes wide;
“For many a good Man's Son is at my Side;
“Shame to our House, should I thus bring them here,
“To send them back without a Neighbour's Cheer.”

To whom the Porter, trembling as he eyed
The laughing Rout, with feeble Voice reply'd,

“Depart, young Squire, nor vainly idle stand,
“Thou com'st not here, so gave my Lord Command;
“Thou com'st not here, by good Saint Giles, I say,
“Thy Roysters to some other Inn convey!
“Depart, nor bring a Mischief on us both,
“I know my Charge, and will not break my Oath.

“So Heav'n still sheild me from all deadly Sin,
Return'd the Squire—as mean I to get in.
Nor more he said, but once his Foot apply'd,
And the obedient Wicket open'd wide:
At Sight of that the Keeper shook his Head,
And trusting to his Feet, the Varlet fled.
“Is that thy Shift? said Gamelyn, I trow,
“I am of Foot as well expert as thou!
As cuts the fearful Dove her airy Way,
As stoops the tow'ring Falcon on his Prey;
So by the Neck the Fugitive he took,
And with one Grasp the yielding Texture broke.
Down sunk the Wretch, a Well presented nigh
A Depth, scarce fathom'd by the shrinking Eye!

In this he headlong plung'd the wayward Slave,
And sunk him breathless in the liquid Grave;
Then to the Gate with Joy returning pass'd,
Wide to the Wall the spreading Portals cast;
The shouting Train into the Circle broke,
While thus with pleasing Air, the Victor spoke.

“A hearty Welcome here, my Friends, receive,
“Here will we dine nor ask the Master's Leave;
“But Yesterday, if right I can divine,
“I left our Cellars well purvey'd in Wine;
“Four Tuns of Claret, one of Malmsley good,
“Rich to the Taste, and friendly to the Blood!
“While one remaining Drop can chear the Heart,
“Right loth I were, that you and I should part;
“And if my surly Brother grudge th' Expence
(“For well the selfish Niggard loves his Pence)
“Ill let him fare the while and fret him worse,
“Paid for his Envy with Saint Mary's Curse!
“If Any quarrel else, why here we dwell,
“Let the Fool seek his Answer in the Well!

The glad Assembly eccho'd their Consent,
And in the Multitude tumultuous went;
The Squire commands, the fair Provision looks,
And some the Butlers names, and some the Cooks:
While others round the wide Pavilions stray,
And all the Beauties of the Place survey;
At length the breakfast Bell is heard to sound,
The Cloath is spread, the social Bowl is crown'd!
A splendid Dinner next adorns the Board,
With all the Pomp of English Plenty stor'd;
Not the luxurious Whims of modern Date,
The Bane of Health, the Poison of the Great!
By whose Effects Nobility we trace,
The dwindling Product of a wanton Race;
But manly Food that hardy Warriors bred,
Who greatly triumph'd, or who nobly bled!
So well the Master had dispos'd the Feast,
The Company to part seem'd not in haste;
At Ev'n the sparkling Cup allur'd the Eye,
The Joke was rais'd—and rural Wit ran high.

Seven Days had Ceres chear'd the jolly Band!
Seven Nights had Bacchus wav'd his ruddy Brand!
As season'd with Delight the Moments flew,
And still the Entertainment seem'd as new.
Up in a little Turret lay the Knight,
Devoid of Service and consum'd with Spite!
Nor durst he say that ought he saw was wrong,
For Fear, his master Passion, ty'd his Tongue.

But Pleasure will not in its Nature last,
And Joy repeated dies upon the Taste.
Now orient Phœbus shed his golden Flame,
And the eighth Morning of the Banquet came;
When came the grateful Strangers to the Squire,
And beg'd his kind Permission to retire;
For all his Bounties humble Thanks they pay,
But Business must be serv'd, and call'd away!
Some to their Trades, and to their Labours some.
Each long'd impatient for his dearer Home;
The gen'rous Youth in vain their March delay'd,
The more persisted they, the more he pray'd;

In vain he courted, and in vain he show'd,
The Shame of leaving Liquor while 'twas good;
To his Request, they all as firm deny'd,
To theirs, he as reluctantly comply'd;
To Heav'ns Protection they the Squire commend,
And full of Gamelyn's Praises homeward bend.
Yet of the Body clustring that came in,
The Shadow in the last Retreater's seen;
As melts the Snow-Ball by degrees away,
So drop'd the loose Deserters of each Day!
Now comes the General Thaw—and leaves no Trace
Of all the busy Crowd that fill'd the Place!

The Triumph ended—every Guest was gone,
And Gamelyn left to meditate alone;
No Friend to counsel—in the dubious Case,
To fly with Safety, or to stay with Grace?
How for the best his Conduct to devise,
To keep his Pow'r, or seek to compromise?
Nor thought he long, for from his airy Void,
Where he so long had seen his Stores destroy'd;

Now finding the all dreaded Locusts gone,
The angry Knight encourag'd ventur'd down;
Advancing to the Youth with sullen Air,
“So Brother mine, he said, I see your Fare!
“You and your Revelry have rul'd the Roast,
“My Goods abus'd, and my Provisions lost;
“My Cellars drain'd of all my choicest Wine,
“Who gave thee thus to squander what is mine?
“Once, well I think, thou prated'st much of Might,
“How lawless Force oppresses weaker Right;
“But by Saint Martin, make the Case your own,
“You just can do, as other Folks have done!

“Brother, the Youth replys, your Wrath forbear,
“What I have spent of yours has cost me dear;
“Now o'er my Head have sixteen Summers pass'd,
“Since thou my distin'd Heritage possess'd;
“Of all the Profits of the fair Amount,
“Nor hast thou giv'n or Reason, or Account;
“For what thou losest by my friendly Band,
“Let the large Interest answer thy Demand;

“Omit no Article, enlarge the least,
“Be to the Height thy Damage thus replac'd:
“To this, a Trifle all our Mirth has spent,
“Nor scarce the Value of thy monthly Rent.

To whom the Knight—with secret Guile replete:
“Good Brother cease, I matter not the Treat:
“Nor grudge thy Train my Victuals or my Wine,
“Welcome art thou to any thing is mine;
“Thou know'st in Wife or Child am I unblest,
“To whom I may bequeath my Lands possess'd:
“'Tis thine to dissipate or thine to spare,
“For, by Saint Martin, I design thee Heir!

To whom the Squire—“Canst thou so friendly be,
“If with thy Tongue thy Heart sincere agree,
“So help me Heaven as still I honour thee!
For Gamelyn's Soul, to Falseshood unally'd,
Was still deluded with the fairer Side;
His Brother then-“One thing I left to say,
“Rash was the Vow my Passion made the Day,

“When by thy fatal Arm my Porter fell,
“Slain in the Court, and bury'd in the Well;
“For then my Anger swore thy Limbs to bind,
“Nor can I from my Oath Evasion find;
“Could thou a Moment's Space the Durance bear,
“My Love should make thy Fetters light as Air!
“The short Consent would quit my harsh Decree,
“More would I do, I think for Sake of thee.”

To whom the Youth-“The pleasing Bonds I take,
“Thou never shalt be perjur'd for my Sake.

By Flattery thus the Knight his Purpose gains;
The Servants call'd bring out the destin'd Chains:
The Youth sits down, the Fetters on they brace,
And deadly Ruin wears a smiling Face!
But when the Caitiff saw each Lock secure,
And that the cheated Youth was pris'ned sure;
Then from its Covert dark Resentment burst,
And with imbitter'd Rage he doubly curs'd!
Fire darted from his Eyes and swell'd his Breast;
While thus the Wretch his cruel Thought express'd.

“Go take this Royster hence, this graceless Boy,
“Who nurs'd in Ease takes Pleasure to destroy;
“Had he the Rule of our paternal Hall,
“Soon by his Waste our Opulence would fall:
“What Wealth could his Extravagance supply?
“Dogs would devour, and Beasts would drink him dry!
“A Pillar stands amidst the Lobby plac'd,
“Thither convey the Fool, and bind him fast;
“There let him dream of Tournaments and Fights,
“Of his late Riots, and his wassell Nights!
“Nor Meat nor Drink his Vision shall sustain,
“Fasting will help the Frenzy of his Brain;
“Who dares within our Roof his Wants supply,
“Shall with Disgrace expell'd our Service fly.

“And acts thou so? the generous Youth reply'd,
“Fool that I was to trust a Traytor try'd!
“Too weak indeed! who knew thy Faith before,
“Again to put my Safety in thy Pow'r;
“But Monster go! thy hellish Conquest boast,
“Thy Brother fetter'd, and thy Honour lost!

“Happy for thee, I knew not thy Design,
“Else had I paid thy Guile in better Coin;
“But sate thy Malice, send me to my Grave,
“My Heart disdains thee, like thy meaness Slave.

Their Lord's Command the servile Train obey,
And to his Post the captive Youth convey;
There in Confinement strict the Prisoner stands,
Inchain'd his Feet, and manacled his Hands;
Yet in his noble Air and Look serene,
The dauntless Temper of his Mind was seen;
There to the dewy Marble fetter'd fast,
Two tedious Days and Nights of Want he pass'd;
The Jest or Pity of the passing Crowd,
Who ey'd him often, silent as he stood;
Some with a tender Look his Fate beheld,
But Fear of Blame the falling Drop conceal'd.
Others of baser Stamp, the Worms of Pow'r,
Who take their motly Hire from Fortune's hour:
To pay their Court, employ their scurril Store,
And wound the generous Victim o'er and o'er.

With Famine wasted, feeble with Restraint,
Gamelyn began to feel his Vigour faint;
Now the third Morn had Sol his Lamp renew'd,
Since no Supply had fed the Vital Flood;
Slow from his Heart heav'd the exhausted Tide,
O'er his dim Eyes the misty Vapours glide:
When first the Youth on Adam fix'd his Sight,
Who saw with much Concern his heavy Plight;
He in his Father's Service spent his Youth,
Known was his Honesty, approv'd his Truth.
Oft had his Arms the smiling Infant press'd,
His Care attended, and his Faith caress'd;
To him the Youth, for his Deliverance seeks,
And thus the antient Servant mild bespeaks.
“Adam! my Father to thy Youth was kind,
“Nor do I think his Favours out of Mind.
“What need to tell my Case, or shew my Wrong?
“These Walls, if they could speak, would save my Tongue;
“Didst thou from Infancy good Bondis serve,
“And canst thou see his Favourite chain'd to starve?

“Perish I must, if you Relief deny,
“This Lent was never made for you or I.
“Then prithee, honest Butler, look the Keys,
“And bring my wearied Limbs some little Ease;
“As freely thou the just Reward demand,
“And take the Half of my paternal Land.

To whom the Butler—(half to yield inclin'd,
Yet fearful as he felt his dubious Mind)
“Thy Father, Gamelyn, I dearly knew,
“Nor want to learn the Love he bore to you!
“Thy Brother have I serv'd now Years sixteen
“And with domestick Cares have trusted been;
“Shall I, when Age has made my Temples grey,
“Abuse my Place, what would my Master say?

“Adam, reply'd the Youth, to me be just,
“Nor shall you thence betray your antient Trust;
“Thou seest my Brother's Falshood shown to me,
“How canst thou hope he will be true to thee;
“Alas! the Wretch is by no Ties confin'd,
“'Tis Interest only rules his sordid Mind;

“Tis that alone does all his Actions guide,
“Treason to Traytors, ne'er can be apply'd;
“For me, I yield thee all my Lands to share,
“Thou knowst my Word, accept it if thou dare!

Adam was honest—but like all the Tribe,
He had a secret Biass to the Bribe:
Soon he consented to the Squire's Request,
And promis'd for his Sake to try his best;
So parted they on mutual Terms agreed.
The Tale, perhaps, grows long, kind Muse, proceed!

Now drowsy Morpheus with his leaden Rod,
Had shed his Influance o'er the still Abode;
When Adam to his Master's Chamber crept,
And stole the Keys as silently he slept;
Then hasten'd Gamelyn, his Charge, to find,
For still, the promis'd Land was in his Mind.

The Chains were loos'd—the Youth new Spirits found,
Bestir'd his Arms, and mov'd along the Ground.
“To Heav'n I yield the Thanks, and next to Thee,
“He cry'd, Good Adam, thus to find me free:

“Wouldst thou but in thy Pantry spread the Board,
“And give me what thy Cellars can afford;
“For once refresh'd, if I mistake not quite,
“Not all the House should fetter me To-night.

So saying, thro' the spacious Hall they pass'd,
Led by the Light the distant Taper cast;
Together to the lighted Pantry come,
Where Gamelyn finds prepared a little Room;
The ready Cloath purvey'd was set in View,
And Adam bid him welcome, and fall to!
Nor needed he the Invitation twice,
But heard the Call, his Stomach was not nice!
Next Adam fills with Wine the silver Cup,
And drinks his Health, the hearty Brimmer up!
Renew'd, the Youth the smiling Cordial took,
And gave him back his Pledge with friendly Look;
Returning Vigour mantles in his Breast,
His sparkling Eyes returning Life confess'd!
To Adam then—“I give thee to divine
“What is the present Shape of my Design;

“I mean to seek my Brother in his Bed,
“And with one Stroke to doom the Traitor dead.

“Not so, said Adam, Heav'n thy Arm restrain,
“Nor soil your Honour with so foul a Stain.
“My present Views to safer Counsels bend,
“Which Prudence guides, and with Success shall end;
“To-morrow holds Sir John his Sunday's Feast,
“With all our neighb'ring Ecclesiastics grac'd;
“From the huge Abbot, and the jolly Prior,
“To the sly Monk, and gormandizing Friar!
“The Knight, tho' otherwise inclin'd to spare,
“Yet loves to get our Mother-Church's Pray'r;
“And nothing buys it sooner than a Treat,
“For well these holy Locusts love to eat!
“Now to thy former Post shall thou repair,
“Thy Fetters seeming fasten'd as they were;
“While thus the motly Tribe pass on your Way,
“The speckled Brotherhood, black, brown, or grey!
“Prefer your Suit, implore the Church's Aid,
“To move your Brothers Pity on your Head.

“Tell them from Faith that Hope at first begins,
“And Charity can hide a Heap of Sins:
“If they compassionate, thy Cause maintain,
“Then art thou free, and blameless I remain;
“But if, as from their Stamp, I better guess,
“Thy just Petition meet with no Success;
“If they, disdainfull, thy Demand refuse,
“Thou need'st no more but shake thy Fetters loose;
“Two trusty Staves shall lie prepar'd at Hand,
“One shall I take, and one shall thou command;
“Nor grudge the Discipline we give each Brother;
“Ill thrive the first, I say, that fails the other.

Gamelyn the while, with laughing like to die,
Scarce cou'd recover Breath to form Reply.
‘By good Saint Martyn, worship thee I ought,
“Adam, he cry'd, it was a glorious Thought.
“So may I drink my Wine, and tell my Tale,
“As on my Side will the Adventure fail!
“Right well shall I absolve them of their Sin,
“Give but the Signal, when we shall begin.

“That shall I do, the Butler blythe reply'd,
“Mark when I wink, then cast thy Bonds aside;
“Secure thy Staff, be ready at my Hand,
“And we shall count at large the Holy Band.

To whom the Youth, still Adam may thou speed,
“For better Counsel never came at need;
“If these good Folks deny for me to pray,
“I trust, they shall not scape without their Pay.

The Bottle ended,—Adam Gamelyn press'd,
To snatch an Hour, of necessary Rest;
Then e're the early Porter left his Bed,
Back to his Post, the joyful Youth he led;
Impatient there to wait approaching Noon,
When the intended Farce should be begun.

Now Morning dawns, the Servants rise with Care,
And for the Business of the Day prepare;
The Knight to Mass rides out with Pride elate,
At noon returning, brings his Guests in State;
Close by his Side, a mitred Abbot rode,
Three Priors follow'd, each a Horses Load!

Canons and Monks well mounted next appear,
The barefoot Mendicants bring up the Rear;
The puffing Drones from every Quarter pour,
Bred, not to make the Honey, but devour!
All as they enter fair Attendance find,
And large Respect, well suited to their Mind;
While scornful at the Door each passing by,
On fetter'd Gamelyn cast a sullen Eye.
Whose Sufferings still his Brother's Pastime made,
While of the Youth a thousand Lyes he said;
Told how the Boy, had lost his Wits with Pride,
And thence in that Confinement so was ty'd;
The sordid Crowd the Punishment commend,
Not one appears to be Misfortune's Friend;
Each in Invective labour'd to excel,
And Gamelyn saw that Adam knew them well!

But now the Bell salutes their longing Ears,
The Dinner, spendid to their Wish, appears;
Each to their fav'rite Dish instructed drew,
For Feasting was a Province well they knew!

Now had they seen some Courses two or three,
When Gamelyn said, “Pray Friends how serve ye me?
“Not equitable quite its seems at least,
“The Son should perish, while the Strangers feast:
Sir John replies,—“This Babler mind no more,
“The Boy is wild, I told ye so before!
“And yet, methinks, his Voice is pretty strong,
“For one that has been dinnerless so long.
But Gamelyn now intent, what Adam said,
Observing, thus his low Addresses made,
“From Greatness Sorrow still Relief shou'd find,
“And gen'rous Pity shows a noble Mind.
“To ling'ring Death appointed here I stand,
“O shame to Nature, by a Brother's Hand!
“Then by his Passion, who for Sinners bled,
“Ye Rev'rend Prelates, for my Freedom plead!
“Let my slight Fault your Intercession crave,
“Your Goodness from devoted Ruin save!
“So may each Saint your just Petitions own;
“And on your Heads send num'rous Blessings down”!

To whom an Abbot with distemper'd Cheek:
“Who for thy graceless Head presumes to speak,
“Deserves himself to be corrected worse;
“For me, I give him holy Church's Curse!
“But blest the Man, who thus ordains thy Fate,
“And punishes a Wretch that all shou'd hate!

He ceas'd; and thus a Canon next begun:
“Wert Thou, ungracious Youth, my only Son;
“To Death deserv'd my Voice shou'd bid thee go!
“My Eye, like Brutus, tearless see the Blow”.

All at the Canon's wond'rous Learning gaze,
And All agree to give his Judgement Praise.
But most a pamper'd Monk; who thought it wrong,
“That such a wicked Lad had liv'd so long!
But strong Resentment Gamelyn's Bosom fir'd,
Flash'd from his Eye, and all his Arm inspir'd;
“Go on, he cries, to pay your wretched Court,
“Make Pow'r your Idol, Innocence your Sport!
“I see the Fate, Misfortune still attends,
“I find the Truth; The wretched have no Friends!

“Go on, your murderous Mischiefs to devise,
“Ye ravenous Wolves, tho' dress'd in Lambs disguise!
“Curss'd for my Sake, be he in Flesh and Blood,
“That ever does to Church, or Churchmen Good!

This while on Adam well he fix'd his Look,
Who just the Covering from the Table took;
With Pleasure Adam mark'd his Passion rise,
And to the Door directed with his Eyes;
Where Gamelyn saw the Staves were ready plac'd,
Then view'd the Wink;—and off his Fetters cast;
As soon he to the trusty Weapon flew,
And roun'd the Hall, his angry Aspect threw.

“Adam, he cry'd, do thou the Pass secure,
“Nor let a Cowl uncustom'd pass the Door.
“Mien while shall I examine all within,
“And help to shrive them from their deadly Sin!
“Methinks they keep not Vigils as they ought,
“They look as better fed, by far, than taught;
“They want some Discipline to cool the Blood,
“Perhaps this wholsome Staff may do some good;

“But to the Cloth due Reverence let me show,
“And take them in their Order as they go”.
Then on the Abbot's lordly Flank he laid,
Such Pennance as before was never made;
The Cannon next a-long his browny Side,
Felt the unusual Remedy apply'd,
Half dead with Pain beneath the Table fell;
Follow'd a Monk, who scap'd not quite so well!
Thick as the Hail-stones form the wintry Show'r,
So thick the Strokes amongst the Synod pour;
Chairs overturn'd with Hoods, confuse the Hall,
And the unsparing Cudgel levels all!

But in a Corner safe, the Laymen stood,
And unconcern'd the Church's Danger view'd;
With secret Signs, they prais'd the friendly Hand,
That dealt such Interest to the selfish Band;
Nor had they Pity on the haughty Drones,
Who dignify themselves,—The Church's Sons.

To Gamelyn then delighted Adam cry'd,
“Pay well the Wages due to every Hide,

“Here shall I stand, nor one shall pass unseen,
“Who cannot show thy Livery on his Skin!

“That shall I do, said Gamelyn, by my Troth,
“To cheat the Church, I should be sadly loth;
“Not here a Man shall miss his ample Pay,
“From his first Clerkship, to this present Day;
“Then keep thy Post, pass none without a blow;
“And we shall mark the Sheep before they go.

“Dear Youth says Adam, do them all but good,
“But take good Heed, thy weapon draw no Blood;
“Save well the Tonsure, and avoid the Head,
“But beat and bruise them, till they lie for Dead,
“Spare neither Back, nor Leg, nor Thigh, nor Arm,
“I shou'd not care to do them greater Harm!

So Gamelyn and Adam foil'd their Foes
So met the disappointed Priests with Blows;
They to the Dinner rode, with joyful Haste,
But ill they lik'd the ending of the Feast;
Forc'd, maim'd and sore, unpity'd to depart,
The Load of many a Wain, and many a Cart;

A Frier, whose Bones the Discipline had try'd,
As the fat Abbot press'd his aking Side:
Cry'd, “Good my Lord, what Planet rul'd to Day,
“And led our luckless Steps, this cursed Way;
“Better at home, our Vigils had we kept,
“Taken a cordial Dose, and wisely slept:
“By good Saint Mary, but the Boy was warm,
“And laid it on with a remorseless Arm;
“But soon the Church's Vengeance shall be paid,
“And all our fearful Thunder blast his Head.

While Gamelyn pleas'd to see the Work go on,
Had laid his Hands o'er many a shaven Crown;
His Brother shrinking in a Corner lay,
Dreading the Close of this ill-omen'd Fray;
Him Gamelyn spy'd, and where th' embracing Blade
Sustains entwining the supported Head;
Strong fell his Arm, the yielding Sinues break,
And the distorted Muscles mark his Back!
Then by the Arm, he leads him to the Place,
So late the Scene of his reveng'd Disgrace;

“Now Knight, he cries, by good St. James I swear,
“I mean to make you try a Brother's Fare,
“Your Passions oft are apt to grow too loud,
“But Fasting qualisies the Heat of Blood;
“You have enjoy'd your Pleasure as you may,
“My turn is next,—each Man must have his Day.

To Adam turning,—then the Youth went on,
“I hold it right we wash, our Task is done:
“If foil'd perhaps our Hands with mortal Sin,
“Let Silver Medway's Current make us clean;
“Then sit we down,—my Stomach calls to Eat;
“Mass never was design'd to hinder Meat.

So to the ready Board, with chearful Air,
The honest Butler and the Squire repair:
While oft the genial Bowl is sent around,
And oft to mutual Faith the Brimmer crown'd;
Adam with Humour paints, the Church's Flight,
And Gamelyn drinks, Deliverance to the Knight;
The duteous Servants wait the Youth's Commands,
Rejoyc'd to see him saved from deadly Bands.

So pass their Hours, while Fortune's Hand prepares,
Severer Trials and succeeding Cares;
Not five Mile distant lay the Sheriff's Court,
Thither in Crowds the noisy Monks resort;
The Sacriledge display with venom'd Tongues,
And call the civil Arm to aid their Wrongs;
From Drone to Drone the loud Invective flies,
For touch one Wasp, and all the Nest will rise.

Incens'd the Sheriff heard the large Complaint,
But seeks his Vengeance from a secret Feint;
Twice ten he chuses of his wonted Band,
Full resolute to act his close Command;
Whose vig'rous Nerves unwasted Youth supply'd,
In Order faithful, and in Contest try'd!
To them unfolds the Manner of the Deed,
And promises large Gifts if they succeed.

As bold they answer—to the neighb'ring Sign,
He sends them first, where at his Cost they dine;
The Bowl succeeds, till Day withdraws its Light,
And Hesper gilds the gloomy Brow of Night.

To Business then they bid their Pleasure yield,
And out they march appointed for the Field.

And now along the silent Way they trod,
Still was the Night, and Darkness reign'd abroad.
The Birds were hush'd within their peaceful Nests,
And Trouble wak'd alone in human Breasts;
O'er the known Heath, across the dewy Grass,
And thro' the quiet Village on they pass;
Where as the Centinel their Motion hears,
He often barks, and often pricks his Ears!
So deep a Sable now usurp'd the Skies,
They hope to win the Castle by Surprize,
When from afar, to damp the recent Joy,
The glimmering Taper's Beam confus'd they spy.
Short at the Sight their present Course they break,
And halt to form what Measures now to take.

A Copse beneath the Castle's Summit lay,
Thither their new Resolve directs the Way;
There they intend approaching Morn to wait,
And try by Stratagem to gain the Gate.

Aurora smil'd—and from the russet Lawn,
Up sprung the chearful Lark to hail the Dawn!
When void of Weapons and in Clowns disguise,
Knock at the Gate the two selected Spies;
With harmless Guise their fatal Purpose dress,
And call the Porter and demand Access.

The watchful Porter from his Lodge unseen,
Had view'd their March and mark'd their dubious Mien;
Who lov'd the noble Youth and fear'd Deceit,
Requires their Message—nor unbarrs the Gate.

To whom, we come with no unfriendly Mind,
“To warn the gentle Squire of Harm design'd,;
“This Morning, as to woodland Work we went,
“Some Strangers we observ'd of ill Intent;
“Hither we heyed us by our Duty prest,
“Pray let us in, your Lord shall know the rest.

“Not so—reply'd the Servant—stand ye still,
“And I shall let you know our master's Will:
Then in to Gamelyn's Hall as fast he goes,
“Make ready, Lord, for here arrive your Foes;

“Two of the Sheriff's Villains watch the Gate;
“And seek your Ear—but there I bad them wait.

“Thanks trusty Friend, the dauntless Youth reply'd,
“Back to the Gate and see what may betide;
“You soon shall find if Foes so near there be,
“They shall not meet an easy Prize in me.

To Adam then—” For Contest now prepare,
“The pleasing Toils of honourable War!
“Pow'r threatens loud, and Prudence bids retreat;
“Yet must I try these Heroes at the Gate:
“If thou assist as on a former Day,
“They shall not go from hence without their Pay.
To whom the Butler—“So may Heaven befriend,
“One Course shall guide us, and one Fate attend;
“Do thou perform thy Part, as with the Friers.
“Some of these Knaves shall bed among'st the Briers.

Then on their trusty Staves at once they seize,
And at the postern Gate pursue their Ways;
As once conjoin'd the Grecian Chiefs of old,
Ulysses sage, and Diomede the Bold,

So silent by the winding Moat they pass'd,
Till on their Foes a nearer View they cast:
For now assembling the collected Band
In the King's Name an Entry loud demand;
Nor longer Semblance or Disguise put on,
But seek with Force to break the Barrier down.

As when the Bird of Jove amid'st the Skies,
With piercing Eye the distant Quarry spys:
Collects his Fire—intrepid darts his Way,
And falls resistless on the yielding Prey!
So at the Sight young Gamelyn's Breast grew warm,
He flew—and three were lost beneath his Arm.
One Adam following fell'd—nor needed more
To dissipate the rude ungovern'd Pow'r.
Fear lent them Wings, and well those Wings they try'd,
To seek their Safety—Nature was their Guide.
“What ho! cry'd Adam, Friends! why so much Haste,
“Will you not stay and take a short Repast?
“No, by the Mass (said one) your Sample's bad;
“I like not where such Dainties may be had.

With that away the fearful Caitiff flew,
And in the neighb'ring Shades escap'd the View.

The Scuffle ended Gamelyn look'd around,
And at the wide Horizon's distant Bound,
Far as the Sight its Progress could extend,
He saw a gathering Cloud of Dust ascend;
“Adam, he cry'd, or I mistake me quite,
“But here the Sheriff comes with all his Might.
“Wisdom forbids us longer to remain,
“Haste let us go and seek the Sylvan Scene!
“Better to wander in these Shades alone,
“For what is Life, when Liberty is gone?

Agreed, said Adam. Sir, I keep my Vow,
I call you mine, nor Fate shall part us now!
But e'er we go indulge one social Glass,
'Twill chear us for the Lot we must embrace.

The Squire assents, the sparkling Cup goes round,
And quick they leave the shortly dangerous Ground;
Pursue the Margin of the Medway Flood,
And gain by Noon the Shelter of the Wood.

And now advance the Posse's wide Array,
And meet their first Detachment on the Way.
Enrag'd the Sheriff urges on his Course,
The Castle opens to the Sov'reign's Force;
But more incens'd to find the Guilty fled,
He vows Destruction on the Rebel's Head;
Then hastes to bring the captive Knight Release,
Who long had sat confin'd in doleful Case;
And for a skilful Leech as soon they seek,
To heal the wayward Wight's distorted Neck.

So leave we them a while—with Care renew'd
To wait our gentle Exiles in the Wood;
Long march'd they on, and took but little Rest,
The Shadows lengthen'd, and the Day decreas'd;
The Path grew narrow, and the dubious Way
Was often stopp'd by the entwining Spray;
Adam, whose Pantry still ran in his Mind,
Relish'd but ill his living on the Wind;
“By good Saint Kit, said he, my loving Squire,
“A Butler's Life was ever my Desire.

“Right well I like the keeping of the Keys:
“Faith, I was never made for Toils like these:
“Better at home in Plenty pass the Day,
“Than in these empty Forests pine away.
“Repine not, Friend, the noble Youth reply'd;
“Heav'n owns our Cause, and Fortune be our Guide
“Nor judge of Happiness by present Rest;
“Hardships are oft the Fortune of the Best!

Thus, as in Talk the tedious Way they cheer,
Heav'n drew her sable Stole along the Sphere,
When sudden Adam gave surpriz'd a Start,
And felt a sudden Fear assault his Heart.
He stopt to listen, thro' the quiv'ring Shade;
The broken Sounds anew his Ears invade.
On Gamelyn he looks, who heard the same,
Nor knew as yet from whence the Accents came;
Till gently bending thro' the op'ning Trees,
A large Assembly banquetting he sees,
As oft, so legendary Fables feign,
The little Elves bestrew the Midnight-Plain.

From Eyes profane their mystick Revels keep,
And sport unseen, when wretched Mortals sleep:
So thro' the Gloom, distinct with spangled Light,
An hundred Archers rose to Gamelyn's Sight;
Stretch'd at their Ease, the Ground with Viands spread,
And many a Cup was fix'd to many a Head!
“Now, Adam (soft he cry'd) retract your Fault;
“Heav'n now, you see, is kinder than you thought.
“You see, from black Despair it can restore,
“And bring Relief, when Hope can do no more!
“So now it seems—For, Adam, well, I think,
“I see the sight of Victu'ls and of Drink.
“But, lest I err—assist me with thy View,
“And tell me, if my Eyes inform me true?

Then Adam stooping well perceiv'd the Feast,
And only wish'd for leave to be a Guest.
“Good Squire, he cries, I see right plenteous Fare;
“Heav'n send I only knew to get my Share!

He spoke; the Words too vehemently said,
The hasty Speaker, and his Friend betray'd.

The Master Outlaw started from the Shade,
And to his Train, with some Emotion, said,
“To Arms, my Lads: For by the holy Rood,
“I fear some near, who mean us little good.
“Perhaps, as Spies, to usher more behind:
“Go Ten of you! and see how blows the Wind?

Quick rise the Band, the neighb'ring Gloom explore,
And find the Vagrants of the darksome Hour!
Yet gently, for the Bus'ness they profest,
The Outlaw Train the Strangers thus addrest;
“Young Men, your Weapons to our hands consign,
“And trust our Faith, and tell us your Design.

Then Gamelyn answer'd—“Ill you judge the Field,
“If you imagine, I was born to yield.
“Ten are you now; let Ten be added more;
“Nor shall I fly you, tho' you were Threescore,

Surpriz'd they heard the Words the Stripling said,
And charm'd, his manly Air and Face survey'd.
Then one return'd—“Preserve your Weapons still,
“But come with us, and know our Master's Will.

“Be it our Care, as was our Charge to bring
“You straitways to the Presence of our King,

To whom the gen'rous Gamelyn, pleas'd, reply'd,
“I go content; be you our friendly Guide!
“But, on your Faith, the Honour of your Sword,
“Who is your King? What mean you by the Word!

To whom return'd the Spokesman of the Train,
“We live the free-born Natives of the Plain:
“No formal Tie, nor nobler Union binds,
“But Friendship firm, the Sympathy of Minds!
“From hence, in common our Enjoyment springs,
“We boast a Privilege as great as Kings!
“Conquest gives them a Right; why not the same
“To us? The diff'rence only lies in Name.
“Yet Silk and Ermine veil those haughty Elves;
“The Great can bear no Robbers but themselves.
“With us our own Election bears the sway;
“We prove our Chief, then chuse, and then obey!
“Such is our King; I wait you to his Sight;
“He Merit loves, and will receive you right.

“Adam (said Gamelyn) let us then proceed
“If courteous be this Captain, as I read;
“He will receive us civilly at least,
“And let us nobly of his Bounty taste;
“Go on, cry'd Adam, wait us Ill or Good,
“I'll venture every Chance in hopes of Food.”
So dubious they attend the Greenwood Band,
And in the Leader's Presence quickly stand.
Beneath the Covert of an ample Shade,
The Sylvan Monarch's mossy Throne was spread;
In Dress a Forrester array'd in Green,
Hung o'er his Side his glittering Horn was seen:
With which full oft he made the Woods resound,
When at the Call his Archers flock'd around!
His nervous Arm sustain'd the weighty Bow,
Fierce was his Port, and sullen was his Brow,
When thus—“Whence come you Strangers, what you are
“Your Names, your Dwelling and Intent declare,
“If artful Spies of cruel Pow'r you come,
“Ill was the Hour, or dread shall be your Doom;

“But if by Men, and social Ills betray'd,
“You seek the Covert of the friendly Shade;
“Dismiss your Fears, to our Protection trust,
“And learn that Outlaws are to Honour just.”

To whom the dauntless Youth with decent Pride
And all the Dignity of Truth reply'd:
“When Malice triumphs, Innocence must yield,
“When Towns grow dangerous, Men must walk the Field,
“Better with Freedom range the Woodland Scene,
“Than bear the Tyranny of worthless Men:
“Such is our Case—no base born Spies you see,
“But honest Exiles press'd with Misery;
“Who wander devious thro' the Forest-Lawn,
“In hopes to shoot some Deer or tender Fawn!

Compassion seiz'd the rugged Leader's Breast,
“Dismiss your Fears, I take you for my Guest;
“Sit welcome here, and share our coarse Repast,
“Want knows no Forms, 'tis time to break your Fast.

Right glad was Adam of the kind Request,
Nor needed Invitation to the Feast.

The Strangers sit—while all on Gamelyn gaze,
And silently admiring, silent praise;
Till one who formerly had present been
When the defeated Flemming press'd the Green,
In Whispers to his Fellow told his Name,
Till circling reach'd the Leader's Ear his Fame!
Thence with new Confidence the Youth was grac'd,
And next their Chief in Power and Honour plac'd
Such the Reward unshelter'd Merit finds,
So Valour triumphs ev'n o'er savage Minds!

Not long they had the Sylvan Life pursu'd,
And rang'd with Outlaws the remotest Wood,
When to the Chief the pleasing News were sent,
Of offer'd Grace and ended Banishment;
With rising Joy he view'd the opening Scene,
For still the social Tye is felt within;
Yet half reluctant to desert his Sway,
And leave the faithful Train his Call obey:
He summons round his bold obedient Hearts,
And thus the Purpose of his Soul imparts!

“Ye noble Spirits, ye associate Minds!
“Whom Griefs assemble, and whom Honour binds,
“Ye Sons of Want, in sharpest Honours try'd,
“Whose Trust has chose this Arm to be your Guide,
“Tydings I bring—uncertain how they please,
“Pardon recalls me to domestick Ease;
“Yet vain the Offer—had I still been young,
“Had not advancing Years my Nerves unstrung!
“But Nature yielding courts the Hope of Rest,
“And Time has damp'd the Fever in my Breast!
“Your martial Toils a nobler Chief demand,
“Your Dangers ask a more determin'd Hand.
“And see in Gamelyn, all your Wishes bent,
“Behold a Leader Heav'n it self has sent,
“To him contented I the Rule resign,
“Whose Conduct well shall pay the Loss of mine!
He spoke—his Archers answer'd with a Cry,
And wide the Voice of Eccho wafts the Joy!
Round Gamelyn's Head the Regal Mark is ty'd,
The glittering Horn suspended by his Side;

With gallant Air he greets the cheerful Band,
And takes each faithful Archer by the Hand;
While some the abdicating Chief convey,
Safe in his Passage to the publick Way.

Now Gamelyn rul'd, and led the outlaw Train
In all their wide Excursions o'er the Plain;
No Blood he shed, still gentle to the Poor,
He only tax'd the Overgrowth of Store:
But chief to Monks and Priests was he severe;
He knew the Church had Wealth enough to spare;
And well he paid their Charity in kind,
For deep it lay remember'd in his Mind.

Soon to his envious Brother reach'd the Tale
That Gamelyn rul'd the Outlaws in the Dale;
A sudden Joy, malicious, seiz'd his Breast,
And fed the Vengeance long his Mind possess'd;
Late had the Royal Mandate to his Claim,
Assign'd the Honours of the Sheriff's Name;
The Scheme he plans, the strong Indictment draws,
In all the aggravated Strain of Laws.

And Truth and Nature to his Rage subdu'd,
Fixes the Value of fraternal Blood;
Then casts about his secret Haunts to know,
And aim with Certainty the fatal Blow!

Far different Thoughts his Brother's Vassals had,
Their Lord's impending Ruin made them sad;
They knew his Goodness, wish'd for his Command,
And hop'd to thrive beneath his milder Hand.
With Zeal inspir'd, the noted Wood they tread,
And find their Lord amidst the friendly Shade.

To whom the Forms of Duty first express'd,
They tell the Cause which has their March address'd.
“Forgive us, noble Youth, nor disapprove
“This rude Intrusion of officious Love.
“Ill News we bring; but for your Safety brought
“To shun the Danger, of the Danger taught:
“The Sheriff's Pow'r now fills your Brother's Hands,
“And ample Kent obeys his wide Commands;
“Late has his Wrath the cruel Doom proclaim'd,
“Thy Life is purchas'd, and the Price is nam'd.

“Warn'd by our Counsel chuse some safe Retreat,
“And keep thy Virtues for a happier Fate.

“Fool that I was, the generous Youth reply'd,
“To spare his Neck, when I deform'd his Side:
“But you, return! my Friends with Kindness greet,
“And tell them Gamelyn Danger loves to meet;
“So Heav'n my Fortunes and my Life defend,
“As I this Brother-Sheriff shall attend;
Nor less indeed, I ween, was his Intent,
For Gamelyn never spoke but what he meant.

The Day arriv'd, the crowded Court was held,
The wayward Sheriff all his Pomp reveal'd,
When boldly to the high Surprize of all,
The hardy Youth appear'd before the Hall;
First, to his Country paid the Honours due,
Then on his Brother cast a scornful View;
When thus, “Degenerate both in Form and Heart,
“Thou Foe to Truth, and Stranger to Desert!
“Say, thou inhumane Tyrant! Name the Cause,
“Why thus I stand, the Outcast of the Laws?

“Why with inveterate Rage my Life pursued,
“And thirsts thy Malice for a Brother's Blood?”
“Well art thou found, the Knight returns with haste;
“Dear shall thou pay this Boldness, and the past;
“The Righteous Law already dooms thee dead;
“And Justice hovers round thy hot-brain'd Head!
“Go seize the Boy—to Prison safe convey,
“There let him wait till Justice comes her Way!”

In Durance now behold the Youth immur'd,
With Want attended, and in Bolts secur'd:
But still superior to Affliction's State,
He views the threat'ning Precipice of Fate.
One Beam appear'd—a trusty Hand he gains
With ample Promise buys his secret Pains;
To him his Purpose careful he commends,
And to his Brother Otto, faithful, sends;
Otto, who prov'd retir'd from Cares and Toil,
The grateful Leisure of the plenteous Soil!

With Grief his kindly Brother hears the News,
Resolv'd to save,—and not a Moment lose;

His fleetest Steed awaits his instant Call,
And swift he seeks his old paternal Hall.

Friendship is still the Test of noble Minds,
He gains the Castle, and the Knight he finds.
“Brother, abrupt he says, when Pow'r's misplac'd,
“Oft Virtue bleeds, and Merit is disgrac'd;
“Yet stranger Cruelty infects your Mind,
“A Brother to a Brother should be kind;
“Three were we left in one kind Parent blest,
“And Love and Union was his last Request;
“Committed to thy Faith and Guardian care,
“He left this fav'rite Child, his youngest Heir;
“And will thy Heart inhumane doom the Boy,
“A Brother's Hand, a Brother's Life destroy?
“To wretched Cain so guiltless Abel fell,
“Go thou, and copy the first Son of Hell.
“Forbear thy railing, answer'd short the Knight,
“Nor blast my Justice with the Name of Spite;
“Her Scale I ballance, and her Sword I wield,
“To her I bid each Tie inferior yield;

“Nor Blood I value, nor Relation know,
“When the Law points my Brother as a Foe;
“Thy Intercession makes his Case the worse,
“There let him lie—till Justice takes her Course.”

“Not so, by Heav'n, incens'd Sir Otto said,
“Nor shall thy Malice hurt our Brother's Head;
‘Thou talk'st of Law, by that I make Demand;
“I bail the injur'd Stripling from thy Hand,
“I take the Charge,—and here engage my Word,
“To bring him, at thy legal Call restor'd.

To whom, enrag'd the swelling Knight replies,
“Go, take thy Bail,—but mark what I advise;
“By that good Father's Soul from whom we came,
“And by the Body of our honour'd Dame;
“If Gamelyn comes not at th' appointed Day,
“Thy Head the Forfeit of the Law shall pay.”

Agreed, return'd Sir Otto, Knight, agreed,
“I take thy Gage, be then our Brother freed!
The Knight reluctant signs the Order due,
The Brother hastens to his Gamelyn's View;

Bears the glad Youth with fond Affection home,
And chears him for the Dangers yet to come.

Now Supper ended, o'er the genial Glass,
As in Discourse the happy Hour they pass,
Young Gamelyn thought on Empire left behind,
And all the Picture glow'd within his Mind!
“Brother, he said, the grateful Thanks I owe
“Words faintly speak, but future Time shall show:
“But needs I must with the returning Dawn
“Visit my Men that range the flow'ry Lawn,
“To see what good or ill my Friends betide,
“Who sav'd my Life and chose me for their Guide.

To whom, appall'd, return'd the honest Knight,
“I like not, Gamelyn, this Design so right;
“Thou know'st my Honour fetter'd in thy Cause,
“Thou know'st the Ills on me thy Absence draws;
“More generous then, for my Affection shown,
“To leave me for thy Sake to be undone!”

To whom the Youth,—“Sir Otto keep your Heart,
“Nor yet distrust me, tho' I mean to part.

“By conscious Heav'n, by Friendship here I swear,
“Just to thy Promise shall I re-appear;
“So Heav'n my Liberty and Life defend,
“As never meant I to desert my Friend!”

“Enough, I take thy Word, Sir Otto said,
“Go see thy Forresters beneath the Glade;
“Heaven shield thy Life from ev'ry threatned Ill,
“And think on one whose Love attends you still.

The orient Sun now shed his ruddy Ray,
And Nature waken'd at the Sight of Day;
When lonely to the well frequented Wood,
The steady Youth his purpos'd Way pursu'd,
And soon his stragling Forresters he spies,
Who glad salute him with redoubled Cries;
Soon thro' the Wilds the cheerful Notes are borne,
And Crowds assemble to the regal Horn.
Around their much lov'd Chief with Zeal they throng,
And catch the Accents falling from his Tongue.
Much of his Dangers, and Escape enquire,
Lament his Absence, his Return admire.

Show by their whole Deportment, how they love,
And feast them with the Bounties of the Grove.

Mean while the Knight, with a malicious Care,
Studies the future Inquest to prepare:
Some he secures with Gold, with Threat'nings some,
And plans with Certainty a Brother's Doom.

Nor Gamelyn thoughtless, in the secret Shade,
Review'd the Danger threaten'd to his Head;
He weighs the bold Design with mental Poize,
His Men he hardens, and his Spies employs:
Inform'd by them, he hears the Trial set,
And vows to see the Court as soon as met,
Determin'd, with returning Day to wait
The Pow'r of Law, and throw the Dice of Fate.

Now, Night advancing far her Influence shed,
And the broad Moon illumin'd all the Glade;
When to their Rendevouze the Archers come,
And safe recline beneath the Sylvan Dome;
When thus the Youth-“Ye Friends, inur'd to Arms,
“Whom Friendship bends, and social Courage warms,

“This Night your Arrows and your Bows prepare:
“To morrow, nobler Toils demand your Care.
“You know, my Honour is engag'd away:
“You know, my Brother forfeits if I stay:
“For Freedom, boldly let us draw the Sword,
“Preserve my Friend, and justify my Word.
With one Acclaim the Summons they return;
All promise Faith, and for the Contest burn!

Now thro' the Foliage pierc'd the Eye of Day,
And dewy Di'monds spangl'd ev'ry Spray!
The Monarch calls—his Subjects at the Sound,
Arise and with uncommon Zeal surround.
With careful Eye he marks the ardent Train;
Then heads the March, and issues to the Plain.
Full Six score Foresters attend behind,
While the green Banner wantons in the Wind:
Adam, with cautious Eye, the Rear intends,
And to the Town the bold Procession bends.

Full time it was: For, heavy now with Care,
Sir Otto waited, fetter'd at the Bar.

The wayward Knight, who found that Gamelyn fled,
Resolv'd to take the Forfeit of his Head:
For now the manag'd Inquest was enclos'd,
To give the fatal Sentence he propos'd.

Where Maidstone smiles in chrystal Medway's Tide,
Arriv'd the Archer-Band, and noble Guide;
Who, sudden halts, and from the circling Rear
On Adam throws the Signal to appear.
“From hence, he cries, I see the Sheriff's State;
“E'en now, perhaps, my Brother tempts his Fate.
“Do thou proceed, inform how matters stand;
“Close shall I follow with my trusty Band.

Observant Adam to the Hall repairs,
Notes well the Scene, and back these Tidings bears,
That on the Bench the envious Knight was plac'd,
And at the Bar his Brother stood disgrac'd.
“By Heav'n, inflam'd, the gen'rous Youth reply'd,
“Well shall the Sheriff pay his new-blown Pride.
To whom, said Adam, “If I counsel right
“(So much thy Brother's Wrongs my Rage excite)

“With Freedom should the Sword of Vengeance go,
“Nor one, except Sir Otto, 'scape the Blow!
“No, Adam, no, the gen'rous Youth reply'd,
“Let Justice draw the Sword, but Reason guide.
“Secure the Doors; let me survey the Hall,
“And mark the Guilty, I have fix'd to fall.
“I sit as Judge and Sheriff for this Day;
“Be thou my Clerk—Good Adam, haste away!

His Men determin'd seize on ev'ry Gate,
While thro' the Crowd he bears his Brother's Fate,
Views his deliver'd Friend with joyful Eyes,
And from his Arms the shameful Bands unties.
To whom Sir Otto, half with Transport dumb,
Said, “Brother,—in a happy Hour you come;
“Ev'n now the Inquest sit upon my Head,
“And the perverted Law has doom'd me dead.
“Not so, said Gamelyn, Brother, e're we dine,
“Theirs be the Fate, which they intended thine!
“Some others too, the Hand of Pow'r shall feel,
“But foremost, he, from whom arose this Ill!

Then to the Judge,—“Thou Pageant-Form, come down,
“Justice by me disclaims thee for her Son:
“For once I venture to usurp thy Place,
“And save thy Sentence from its due Disgrace.

The haughty Magistrate with Anger burn'd,
Still kept his Seat, nor Answer least return'd;
When Gamelyn's Arm, ascending to his Head,
Beneath his Feet the frighten'd Victim laid:
The Rooks of Pow'r, the servile Slaves of Law,
Confus'd, the Insult on their Leader saw:
But durst not move; for round the Archers stood,
And each his Weapon held, prepar'd for Blood.
Then rising to the ministerial Throne,
His Hopes had compass'd, and his Valour won!
Sir Otto by his side distinguish'd set,
And Adam plac'd as Clerk, beneath his Feet.
He calls his hardy Band with Voice severe,
To bring the Judge and Sheriff to the Bar:
Strait for th' impanell'd Quest he sends away,
To join the Issue of the alter'd Day!

Then from his Train he forms a new Assize,
And tells them Justice on their Verdict lies.
Their Verdict they return with equal Breath,
And deem the Sheriff, Inquest, Judge to Death.

Then round the Hall, confus'd Disorder spred,
And all the Insolence of Pow'r was fled,
As Vipers, clasp'd within the circling Cage,
Between themselves exert their fruitless Rage;
So pierc'd the Judge the Sheriff fetter'd views,
The fearful Jury join in the Abuse.
Their different Looks bespeak alternate Wrongs,
And Eyes supply th' invective Wrath of Tongues.
The Sheriff low for Gamelyn's Mercy cries,
All Mercy the victorious Youth denies;
“Twice have I prov'd, Sir John, your wretched Faith,
“Twice hast thou doom'd me to inglorious Death;
“But now I trust the present Hour my own,
“Go thou, and count the Sands thy Glass must run!

A new-made Gibbet had the Knight prepar'd,
Nor guess'd, the Tree would be his own Reward.

Forth lead the Archers the allotted Crew,
While gathring Numbers flock the Scene to view.
Then to the Stake the trembling Wretches bind,
And leave their Forms to mingle with the Wind.

So ended this malicious Knight his Days,
In Falshood practis'd, and too proud with Ease,
So Justice paid the long Arrears she cast,
So fell a Father's Curse severe at last.
So rose the Brave, the Innocent was freed,
And dark Oppression met the Fate decreed.

By Friends attended with disclosing Day,
To Court the Victor Brothers shape their Way;
By potent Friends was there Sir Otto lov'd,
These he employs till Edward's Ear was mov'd.
Pleas'd with the Tale (so Heav'n defends the brave)
The generous Prince his gracious Pardon gave.
The South of Trent, of all his Forest Land,
Gave to the noble Youth the wide Command,
And to his Service took his social Train,
To guard his Conquests on the Gallick Main.

So the brave Youth by prudent Valour led,
His Lands recover'd and his Fortunes made;
Thro' ev'ry Hardship still superior rose,
True to his Friends, but fatal to his Foes!
Preserv'd a faithful Brother's Span of Life,
And doom'd to Death the Author of the Strife;
'Till Ease domestick softer Thoughts inspir'd,
And Love assum'd the Breast Ambition fir'd;
Then felt his yielding Heart the noblest Wound,
Then Venus first the captive Warrior bound,
From virtuous Eyes the Goddess threw the Dart,
While equal Bosoms felt the pleasing Smart.
By Hymen join'd they prov'd the gentle Flame;
Their Joys, their Wishes, and their Souls the same,
In honour'd Affluence they close their Days;
Vice lords its Hour,—but Virtue lives on Praise.

End of Gamelyn, or the Cook's Tale.