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.

PROLOGUE TO THE TALES.

CHARACTERS OF THE PILGRIMS.

PROLOGUE TO THE Knight's TALE.

Palamon and Arcite:

PROLOGUE TO THE MILLER's TALE.

THE CARPENTER of OXFORD:

PROLOGUE TO THE REVE's TALE.

THE REVE's TALE.

II.

VOL. II.

III.

VOL. III.

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I. VOL. I.

PROLOGUE TO THE TALES.

By Mr. OGLE.

When April, soft'ning, sheds refreshing Show'rs,
And frees, from droughty March, the springing Flow'rs;
April! That bathes the teeming Womb of Earth,
And gives, to Vegetation, kindly Birth!

When Zephyr breathes the Gale that favors Love,
And cherishes the Growth of ev'ry Grove;
Zephyr! That ministers, with genial Breeze,
Bloom to the Shrubs, and Verdure to the Trees!

When youthful Phœbus half his Course compleats,
Divides the Ram, and glows with temp'rate Heats;
Phœbus! Our equal Good, the live-long Year,
Or shou'd he take, or shou'd he quit the Sphere!

When Philomel injoys the coming Spring,
And feeling her Approach, delights to sing;
Sweet Philomel! Of all the Birds that fly,
The Sole, to pass the Night, with sleepless Eye!

Then Pilgrims long to roam to foreign Lands;
Then Palmers pass, with Branches in their Hands;
Then various Vot'ries visit various Climes;
Then sund'ry Saints are feed for sundry Crimes.

But not Abroad, our English Zealots strole,
To Canterbury tend the pious Shoal.
There pay, and promise to the Saint Inshrin'd,
For ev'ry Ail of Body, and of Mind.

It so befell, that Season, on a Day,
In Southwark, at the Tabarde-Inn, I lay;
Ready, by Morn, my Progress to pursue:
A Pilgrimage to See, was all my View!

When at our Inn, before the Fall of Night,
Lo! Twenty-Nine in Fellowship alight:
Strangers, that chanc'd, in Company to fall,
Unlike the Men, but Pilgrims they were all.

To Canterbury Each propos'd to ride—
The House was roomy, and the Stables wide:
Well serv'd was ev'ry Beast, and ev'ry Guest,
And Man and Horse were treated with the Best.

I talk'd with Each, with Each familiar grew,
Was One with All, before the Sun withdrew.
And One and All agreed, at Dawn of Day,
To Canterbury Town to take their Way.

But here it falls in Season and in Place,
That Company with Play keep Pace with Pace.
Then e'er we sally, take, as I describe,
The Characters of all our Pilgrim-Tribe;

Just what they were, or what they seem'd to me,
Their Age or Sex, their Fashion, or Degree,
In what, Array, or what Condition in;
This granted; with the Knight I first begin.

The End of the Prologue.

CHARACTERS OF THE PILGRIMS.

By Mr. BETTERTON.

The KNIGHT.

A Knight there was, whose early Youth had shown
His Love to Arms, and Passion for Renown.
Courteous and affable, of Honor nice,
A Friend to Truth, a Foe to ev'ry Vice.
In many brave Engagements had he been,
Known foreign Courts, and Men and Manners seen.
In Christendom much Fame he had acquir'd;
In Turkey he was dreaded and admir'd.
When Alexandria was besieg'd and won,
He pass'd the Trenches first, and scal'd the Town

Granada's Siege increas'd the Warrior's Fame,
And Algier trembled but to hear his Name;
In fifteen Battles deathless Wreaths he got,
Three single Combats with Success he fought.
Much Ground he Travell'd o'er, for he had Seen
Our Saviour's Sepulchre in Palestine.
The barb'rous Infidels had felt his Might,
Fierce in Engagement, gentle after Fight.
In Council and in Conduct, Wise and Stay'd;
In Conversation, modest as a Maid;
Plain and Sincere, observant of the Right.
In Mien and Manners, an accomplish'd Knight.
A goodly Horse he rode, well Shap'd and Strong,
No gaudy Saddle, nor no Trappings long.
The Arms he wore, were bright, and free from Stain,
His Habit serviceable, neat and plain:
With grateful Zeal, devoutly he was come
To thank the Saint, that brought him safely home.

THE SQUIRE.

With him his Son, a sprightly Squire, and gay;
Youthful and Blooming as the Month of May;
A fearless Lover, in a courtly Dress,
With curling Locks, just taken from the Press.
Of twenty Years he seem'd, well Shap'd and Tall,
Strong was his Make, his Port majestical.
The Army did his early Courage see
In Flanders, and in fertile Picardy.
He hop'd his Valour would all Forms remove,
And plead successfully its Master's Love.
His Vest with various Colours did abound,
Like flow'ry Meads, when Spring adorns the Ground.
Short was his Coat, the Sleeves were long and wide,
Well could he Sing, and Treats and Balls provide.
His fiery Steed he gracefully wou'd sit;
Love-Songs he made, not wholly void of Wit.

Some Skill in Painting too the Youth had shown,
Could draw a Mistress, or design a Town;
Love o'er his gentle Heart did so prevail,
He slept as little as the Nightingale.

THE SQUIRE's YEOMAN.

This Squire a Yeoman had, and only him,
Whose Truth and Diligence deserv'd Esteem;
Girt with a Belt, his Garment was of Green,
A Quiver stor'd with Arrows, bright and keen,
Hung cross his Shoulders in a silken String,
The Feathers borrow'd from the Peacock's Wing.
At his left Side a weighty Sword he wore,
And on his Arm, a well try'd Buckler bore:
A Dagger; short and broad, was ty'd below,
His strong right Hand sustain'd a mighty Bow,
A Christopher his Bosom did adorn,
In a fair Baldricke hung his Silver Horn.

His Sun-burnt Visage, and his Grass-green Hood,
Might prove him well a Ranger of the Wood.

THE PRIORESS.

There was with these a Nun, a Prioress,
A Lady of no ord'nary Address.
Her Smiles were harmless, and her Look was coy,
She never Swore an Oath, but by St. Loye;
Known by the Name of Lady Eglantine,
She sung the Office with a Grace Divine.
She spoke the French of Stratford-School, by Bow,
The French of Paris She did never know.
The French of Paris did to her appear
Strange, as our Law-French to a Frenchman's Ear.
At Meals she sat demure, carv'd neat, and well,
No Morsel from her Lips unseemly fell.
She never dipp'd her Finger in the Mess,
Nor with one Drop defil'd her holy Dress:

With a becoming Grace, and smiling Eye,
She gain'd Respect from all the Company;
Easy and free, still pleasant at her Meat,
And held it no small pain to Counterfeit.
She hated Stateliness, yet wisely knew
What fit Regard was to her Title due.
She pity'd ev'ry Creature in Distress,
Devout, and charitable to Excess;
Her tender Heart, with such Compassion fill'd,
She'd weep to see a poor Mouse caught and kill'd.
Her Lap-dogs still with her fair Hand she fed,
With Milk, and Roast-meat, mixt with Crumbs of read;
In her own Chamber, on her Bed they slept,
If any dy'd, most bitterly she wept.
Well set her Wimple, nicely pinch'd it was;
Her Nose was straight, her Eyes were grey as Glass.
Small was her Mouth, her Lips were red and soft;
A beauteous Forehead, always borne aloft;
Broad, smooth and shining Eye-brows, neat and small,
A slender Waist, inclining to be tall.

A curious Garment, wond'rous neat, she wore,
A Pair of Beads, with Green enamel'd o'er,
Of shining Coral, did her Arm infold,
Grac'd with an Ornament of beaten Gold.
Upon it was engrav'd; a circling Wreath,
And Amor vincit omnia writ beneath.
A Nun, who seldom from her Sight did stir,
Her Chaplain, and three Priests attended her.

THE MONK.

Next these a merry Monk appears in Place,
Who follow'd Hunting more than saying Mass.
As bravely Mounted, as a Lord from Court,
No well-fed Abbot bore a comelier Port.
And when in State he ambled, all might hear
The Jingling of his Bridle, loud and clear;
As far, almost, as any Chapel Bell.
This lordly Monk, once Keeper of a Cell,

Held good St. Bennet's Order too severe;
St. Maure to his nice Judgment did appear
Too strict and rigid, for old Dotards fit,
But scorn'd by Priests of Spirit and of Wit.
One Scripture-Text he blotted with his Pen,
That says, all Hunters are ungodly-Men.
What Shoals of Converts would this Doctrine raise!
Shall Monks in Study pass laborious Days?
Turn o'er dull Fathers, and worm-eaten Books,
With dazled Eyes, and melancholy Looks;
Toil with their Hands to make the Garden neat,
Turn Cooks, and baste the Roast with their own Sweat?
This Austin humbly did; Did he? (Saith he)
Austin may do the same again for me.
He lov'd the Chace, the Hound's melodious Cry,
Hounds that ran swiftly as the Swallows fly.
His Sleeves, I saw, with Furs all lin'd within,
From Russia brought, the finest Squirrels Skin;
(Hair Shirts, he said, provok'd the Blood to Sin.)

His Hood beneath, his double Chin to hold,
'Twas fasten'd with a curious Clasp of Gold.
A Love-knot at the greater End there was;
His Head close shav'd, and smooth as any Glass,
His strutting Paunch was seldom disappointed,
His broad full Face shone as it were anointed.
His Eyes were sleepy, rolling in his Head,
That steam'd like Furnaces of Molten Lead.
Supple his Boots, his Horse he proudly sate;
You'd take him for a Bishop by his State:
Fasts had not made him meagre like a Ghost,
But fat he was, and goodly as mine Host.
A fat plump Swan he lov'd, young, but full grown,
His Horse was sleek, and as the Berry brown.

THE FRYAR.

A Fryar next, to ev'ry Female dear,
All the four Orders never had his Peer.
Wanton, diverting still in Prose or Rhime,
He many Couples married in his Time;
Some young Ones at his own Expence he wed,
And to their Husbands Grief, soon brought to Bed.
A frank Companion, Secret, often try'd
To gentle Dames, a Confessor and Guide;
Licentiate of his Order once, and then,
For one the Curate had, he shrifted ten;
He with a Smile wou'd their Confession hear,
No Soul had Cause his Penances to fear.
His Absolutions pleasant, soft and mild;
He stroak'd 'em as a Parent does his Child.
To a poor Order, lib'ral Ladies fly,
With golden Presents easy Penance buy.

For Man is obstinate, and hard of Heart,
He keeps his Money, tho' he feels the Smart.
But to poor Fryars you must Silver give,
'Tis not with Pray'rs and Fasting they can live;
He stitch'd within his Tippet, pretty Knives,
With silver Pins, small Presents for kind Wives.
In chearful Company, he sung all Day,
To help his Voice, could on the Cittern play;
His Arms were brawny, few such Weights could fling,
Strong as a Champion for an English King.
All Inns and Taverns in the Town he knew,
But from the Poor, he prudently withdrew;
To rich and lib'ral Penitents inclin'd,
To those was meek, and of an humble Mind;
None in Appearance more devout could be,
The ablest Beggar of his House was he;
He farm'd that Income, and procur'd a Grant,
No holy Brother should disturb his Haunt.
Coarse was his Habit, when a begging Fryar,
In wanton Love-days, Gorgeous his Attire.

Of finest Cloth was then his Demi-Cope,
No Mendicant, but Stately as a Pope;
Something he humm'd betwixt a Lisp and Song,
To make his English Sweet upon his Tongue;
His little Pigs-Eyes gave unequal Light,
Like small Stars twinkling in a frosty Night.
The good Wives chuckled, wheresoe'er he came,
A useful Fry'r, and Hubert was his Name.

THE MERCHANT.

With these a Merchant in a motley Coat,
Well mounted too, and bearded like a Goat;
A Flander's Beaver on his Head he wore;
His Boots were neatly Buckled on before:
He prov'd with Reasons strong, and formal Face,
T'increase in Wealth was to increase in Grace;
Greedy of Gold, and popular Esteem,
He wish'd the Sea were shut to all but him.

Traffick in Money, he had study'd well,
Knew where th' Exchange would rise, and where it fell;
In Debt to none, in Bargains strict and nice;
Thought unprompt Payment was the greatest Vice.
What he with Pains had got, with Care he'd save,
Not Charitable, for he seldom gave.

THE Clerk or Scholar of Oxford.

By Mr. OGLE.

A Clerk of Oxford next appear'd in Sight,
Who spent on Logic many a Day and Night.
Lank as a Rake, the Steed on which He sat;
And, sooth to say, the Man was nothing fat.
Of Aspect sober, as of Body lean;
Effect of Contemplation more than Spleen.
Hollow his Vest, and thread-bare was his Coat,
A Youth of Worth, He look'd, tho' not of Note.
For He, nor Benefice had got, nor Cure,
No Patron, yet so worldly, to insure!

So dextrous yet, of Body, or of Face,
To circumvent no Chaplain, with his Grace:
Nor fulsome Dedication cou'd he write!
Drudge for a Dame, or pander for a Knight!
Much rather had he range, beside his Bed,
A Score of Authors unadorn'd in Red,
With Aristotle, Champion of the Schools;
To mend his Ways, by Philosophic Rules:
Than basely to a Vic'rage owe his Rise,
By Courting Folly, or by Flatt'ring Vice;
Than flourish like a Prebend in his Stall:
That Way, he held, was not to rise, but fall.
Nor wou'd he be the Man, for all his Rent;
Nam'd you the Priest of Bray, or Priest of Trent!

One Search of Science, he forgot alone;
An useful Search! the Philosophic Stone!
Hence, tho' his Head much learned Wealth might hold;
Yet held he, in his Coffer, little Gold.
And late, that Stock, a Foreign Journey drain'd,
Curious to see, what yet of Rome remain'd.

Not, to the Dead, that he confin'd his Looks,
The Living he could read, and Men with Books;
Yet most on Books, what he acquires, he spends,
From Care of Parents, or from Love of Friends!
And these, unbound, or bound, his Chambers strow,
A choice Collection, bought for Use, not Show!
There oft, in Secret, pray'd the grateful Youth,
For those, that put him in the Way of Truth;
That gave the Means, just Precepts to instill;
Or taught him to distinguish Good from Ill.
Thus grounded well, he study'd to proceed;
And not a Word spoke more than there was need.
'Twas short or close, sententious or sublime,
And urg'd with Modesty, and said in Time.
For to instruct, he rather wish'd, than strove,
Willing to be improv'd, or to improve!
Still turn'd to moral Virtue was his Speech,
And gladly wou'd he learn, and gladly teach.

THE MAN of LAW, &c.

By Mr. BETTERTON.

A Serjeant of the Law, discreet, precise,
Well cou'd he plead at Bar, and well advise;
Wealthy he was, but frugal of Expence,
And his sage Look demanded Reverence.
Weighty his Arguments; his Words were wise;
Oft he had sat as Judge at an Assize:
There by Commission rais'd to high Degree,
Maturely weigh'd out Justice equally.
Robes for the Bench he had, and for the Bar;
No Serjeant was a greater Purchaser,
If safe the Title, moderate the Price,
A good Fee-simple never came amiss.
He for a very busie Man did pass,
And yet he seem'd much busier than he was.

Whole Shoals of Clients in the Term he had;
And Law enough to make those Clients mad.
All his Conveyances were legal, true,
No Flaw was found in any thing he drew.
The Statutes of the Land he had by Heart,
Turn'd all to Gold without the Chymist's Art:
In a plain motley Coat he rode, ty'd fast
With a strip'd Silken Sash about his Waist.

THE Franklin, or Country-Gentleman.

A Franklin was the Serjeant's chief Delight,
His Beard was long, and as the Daisie white:
Sanguine he was, and study'd Pleasure most,
His Morning's Draught, Sack with a Nut-brown Toast.
All Delicates, that Mony cou'd procure
He had; a nice luxurious Epicure.
With Fish and Fowl, with bak'd Meat and with roast,
His Table groan'd, he valu'd not the Cost.

All Rarities the Nation cou'd afford,
Were search'd, and bought to fill his ample Board.
In ev'ry Season, Delicates appear,
Diversify'd each Quarter of the Year.
Hare, Partridge, Pheasant ever were at Hand,
Carp, Tench, and Bream, as ready at Command.
With poignant Sauces proper for each Dish;
Woe to the Cook, were any thing amiss.
Spacious his Hall, and open was the Door,
Fragments and Marrow-bones bespread the Floor;
And, ready cover'd with all sorts of Food,
All the long Day a Table dormant stood.
This worthy Franklin bore a Purse of Silk,
Fixt to his Girdle, white as Morning-milk.
Knight of the Shire; first Justice at th' Assize,
To help the Poor, the Doubtful to advise.
In all Employments, gen'rous, just he prov'd,
Renown'd for Courtesy, by all belov'd.

THE Haberdasher; Weaver; Carpenter; Dyer; Tap'stry-Merchant.

By Mr. OGLE.

An Haberdasher next, a portly Wight!
Sleek was his Beaver, as a Sherif's white;
A Weaver follow'd, dext'rous to command
The sliding Shuttle, thrown from Hand to Hand;
A Carpenter, that well cou'd play his Part
Thro' all the Weapons of the Plaining Art;
A Dyer, that ev'ry Color knew to stain,
Or change anew, tho' ne'er so deep in Grain;
A Tap'stry-Merchant last, whose Web might pass,
Less for the Work of London, than Aras:
All of a Livery, each for other made,
All solemn Brothers, diff'ring but in Trade;

One Stamp of Mind their very Forms express'd,
Same shap'd, like fac'd, like manner'd, and same drest.
Fresh were their Cloaths, nor bought at trivial Cost,
So fresh, no Part its Christmass Gloss had lost.
Worne only on the Hours to feast or pray,
And dormant ev'ry common-letter'd Day.
No vulgar Daggers, vamp'd with Brass, They wore,
But trim'd with Silver of the finest Ore.
With Silver stitcht, the Pouches by their Side,
The Belts, that gird their Loins, with Silver ty'd.
A fair and ample Burgess, One and All,
And fit to fill the Tables of Guild-Hall;
Or when they meet to traffic, or to feast:
For Each was siz'd an Alderman at Least.
Staunch stood their City-shops in good Repair,
And neat their Boxes built for Country Air;
Where still, to breathe, on Saturdays They went;
For large their Stock in Trade, as well as Rent.
Of which their Wives were not a little proud,
And push'd the Foremost in the Sunday Croud.

Nor wou'd we here their Worldly Wisdom blame,
Respect from All superior Riches claim;
And tho' an aukward, 'tis a pleasant Sight,
To see the Bustling Dame assert her Right;
Full of the Money, torne from the Distrest,
Conceit herself a Thing above the Rest.
Madam! My Lady! seems a glorious Sound!
When loftily She moves, to Vigils bound;
With Mantle borne before, and Train behind:
For Wealth gives Pow'r of Face, and Pride of Mind.

THE COOK.

By the same Hand.

With Them, a trav'ling Cook They jointly led,
(For thriving Cits are delicately fed)
Well skill'd in all the Culinary Toil,
The Chick, just cackling in the Shell, to boil;

The Cypress Root, to shread and press with Art;
To lay the Custard, and to raise the Tart;
To pouder Marchant, ev'ry Game to roast;
To melt the Marrow, and to brown the Toast;
To season and to lard; to grill and fry;
To pound the Mortrey, and to bake the Pie.
Great Harm it was, (for much it flack'd his Pace,)
A Mormal on his Shin had taken Place;
And sorely griev'd, the Blemish I descry'd;
But what his Legs refus'd, his Hands supply'd.
Of Palate, exquisite! Of Labor, free!
A Kitchen Doctor in the first Degree,
The Food to cater, or the Dish to fill;
Blanc-mange was held his Master-piece of Skill.

THE Shipman or Seaman, &c.

By Mr. BETTERTON.

Then came a Dartmouth Seaman far from West,
A very aukward Rider at the Best.
A coarse Cloth Gown he wore, not long nor wide,
His Dagger in a Lace adorn'd his Side.
He knew those sultry Climates, where the Sun
Turn'd his Complexion to a dusky Brown.
To Company and Mirth he did incline,
Had swallow'd many a Draught of Bourdeaux Wine.
Kept an obedient Seaman's Conscience,
Held borrowing from his Owners no Offence.
If 'twas his Fate, to take a lucky Prize,
(For stoutly he wou'd fight) he was so Wise
To pick the best, which sent by Parcels home,
Little of Worth did to the Office come.

A perfect Master of the Compass, he
Cou'd shun each Rock and Shallow in the Sea.
Had weather'd Tempests, in Engagements been,
'Scap'd many Dangers, many Countries seen.
Knew ev'ry Creek and Harbour on the Main,
Of England, Scotland, and the Coast of Spain.
In many Fights his Frigate much was fam'd,
The Magdalene of England it was nam'd.

THE DOCTOR of PHYSICK.

The Doctor next; a Foe to all Excess,
Who travell'd more for Health than Holiness.
In nice Anatomy well skill'd was he,
And not a Stranger to Astronomy.
He knew to wire-draw a Distemper well,
And cures by Magic natural foretel.
A deep Astrologer, and could with Ease
Cast the Nativity of each Disease;

Show at what punctual Hour it shou'd expire,
In Terms which Knaves invent, and Fools admire.
The Cause of ev'ry Malady he knew,
Whether of Cold, Heat, Moist, or Dry it grew.
Told which of those engender'd the Disease,
'Twas but removing that, and you'd have Ease:
Th' Apothecary waited his Command,
Drugs and Electuaries were still at Hand.
Whatever one prescrib'd, the other made,
And each by Turns advanc'd the mutual Trade.
He'd tell the Wonders, wrought by Phœbus' Son,
What Fame the great Hippocrates had won:
Well read in Galen, Celsus, Avicene,
In Dioscorides and Damascene.
These Names, and many more, he had by rote,
Which to th' unlearn'd he never fail'd to quote.
No Bible on his Pagan Shelves had he,
It was prohibited the Layety.
In Diet singular, young tender Meat,
And easy of Digestion, he wou'd eat.

At a rich Patient's Table, bold and free;
But at his own, he prais'd Frugality;
Of Scarlet Persian Silk his Habit was,
And neatly lin'd with Taffety, or Gause.
Great were his Gains, but mod'rate his Expence;
He flourish'd in a Time of Pestilence.
Gold's the best Cordial; yet he lov'd to see
Coin'd Aurum, rather than potabile.

THE WIFE of BATH.

A merry Wife of Bath comes next in Place,
But somewhat deaf, with an autumnal Face;
By Trade a Weaver, one who scorn'd to grant
Her Work out-done at Ypres, or at Gaunt.
No Matron could with greater Zeal incline
To pay her Off'ring at the Martyr's Shrine.
She neither patient, nor devout could be,
If any rival'd her in Charity.

In her own Parish She would take the Wall,
Before the proudest Matron of 'em all.
Upon a Sunday ever trimly drest,
She flaunted forth, the Envy of the Rest;
Large were her Kerchiffs, yet more gorgeous made
With her own Work, and full three Pound they weigh'd.
Scarlet her Hose, her glossy Shoes were new;
Bold was her Face, and ruddy was its Hue;
Not one of her five Husbands could be found,
She lay'd 'em safe long since in holy Ground.
With these she made a Shift to pass her Youth;
Such was this good Wife's Constancy and Truth!
She travell'd far, pass'd many a rapid Stream;
Thrice saw the Reliques of Jerusalem.
Rome and the Catacombs she knew full well;
Strange Things of Cologne and its Kings could tell:
Spain she had travell'd o'er from End to End,
And good St. James was very much her Friend.
Of various Haps and Perils by the Way;
Much had she known, and yet much more wou'd say.

Upon an ambling Pad at Ease she sat,
Jingling the Bit, and slack'd her Pace to chat.
A Steeple Hat she wore upon her Head,
Whose ample Brims were like a Buckler spread;
O'er her large Hips, a Mantle fairly wrought
Before; her Kerchiff to a Point was brought;
Like a rank Rider, pointed Spurs she wore;
Of Jests she had an unexhausted Store;
Her Talk did notably Love's Art advance;
For she had practis'd long that old, new Dance.

THE PARSON.

By Mr. DRYDEN.

A Parish Priest was of the Pilgrim-Train;
An Awful, Rev'rend, and Religious Man,
His Eyes diffus'd a venerable Grace,
And Charity itself was in his Face.

Rich was his Soul, tho' his Attire was poor;
(As God had cloth'd his own Ambassador;)
For Such, on Earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore.
Of Sixty Years he seem'd; and well might last
To Sixty more, but that he liv'd too fast;
Refin'd 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 promis'd him sincere.
Nothing reserv'd 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;
Tho' harsh the Precept, yet the Preacher charm'd.
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 Musick 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 temper'd Awe; and soften'd all he spoke.
He preach'd the Joys of Heav'n, and Pains of Hell;
And warn'd the Sinner with becoming Zeal;
But on eternal Mercy lov'd to dwell.
He taught the Gospel, rather than the Law:
And forc'd himself to drive; but lov'd 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 prepar'd;
But, when the milder Beams of Mercy play,
He melts, and throws his cumb'rous Cloak away.

Lightning and Thunder (Heav'n's Artillery)
As Harbingers before th' Almighty fly:
Those but proclaim his Stile, and disappear;
The stiller Sound succeeds; and God is there.

The Tithes, his Parish freely paid, he took;
But never Su'd; or Curs'd with Bell and Book.

With Patience bearing Wrong; but off'ring none:
Since ev'ry Man is free to lose his own.
The Country Churls, according to their Kind,
(Who grudge their Dues, and love to be behind)
The less he sought his Off'rings, pinch'd the more;
And prais'd a Priest, contented to be Poor.

Yet, of his little, he had some to spare,
To feed the Famish'd, and to cloath the Bare:
For mortify'd he was, to that Degree,
A poorer than himself he wou'd not see.
True Priests, he said, and Preachers of the Word,
Were only Stewards of their Sov'reign Lord;
Nothing was theirs, but all the publick Store;
Intrusted Riches, to relieve the Poor:
Who, shou'd they steal, for want of his Relief,
He judg'd 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, or 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 spar'd his Pains; for Curate he had none.
Nor durst he trust another with his Care;
Nor rode himself to Paul's, the publick Fair,
To chaffer for Preferment with his Gold,
Where Bishopricks and Sine Cures 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 tam'd, the Penitent he chear'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 squar'd;
That all might see the Doctrine which they heard;
For Priests, he said, are Patterns for the rest;
(The Gold of Heav'n, who bear the God impress'd)

But when the precious Coin is kept unclean,
The Sov'reign's Image is no longer seen.
If they be foul, on whom the People trust,
Well may the baser Brass contract a Rust.

The Prelate, for his holy Life, he priz'd;
The worldly Pomp of Prelacy despis'd.
His Saviour came 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 crucify'd, not born.
They who contend for Place and high Degree,
Are not his Sons, but those of Zebadee.

Not, but he knew the Signs of Earthly Pow'r
Might well become Saint Peter's Successor:
The holy Father holds a double Reign,
The Prince may keep his Pomp, the Fisher must be plain.

Such was the Saint, who shone with ev'ry Grace,
Reflecting, Moses-like, 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 depos'd,
And high and low with happy Harry clos'd.
This Prince, tho' great in Arms, the Priest withstood.
Near tho' he was, yet not the next of Blood.
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 try'd.
The senseless Plea of Right by Providence,
Was by a flatt'ring 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 dare,
Dispute their Pow'r, 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, undepriv'd, his Benefice forsook.

Now, through the Land, his Cure of Souls he stretch'd;
And like a primitive Apostle preach'd
Still chearful; ever constant to his Call;
By many follow'd; lov'd by most, admir'd by all.
With what he beg'd, his Brethren he reliev'd;
And gave the Charities himself receiv'd.
Gave, while he Taught; and edify'd the more,
Because he shew'd, by Proof, 'twas easy to be Poor.

He went not with the Croud, to see a Shrine;
But fed us by the Way with Food Divine.
In Def'rence to his Virtues, I might spare
To show you what the Rest in Orders were:
This Brilliant is so spotless, and so bright,
He needs no Foil; but shines by his own proper Light.

THE PLOWMAN, &c.

By Mr. BETTERTON.

A Plowman follow'd, who had still at hand
Loads of Manure t'enrich the grateful Land;
An able, strong, laborious Man was he,
Who liv'd with all in perfect Charity:
He serv'd God faithfully, nor hoarded Pelf,
But lov'd his Neighbour equal with himself,
Hard would he work, and freely would he give;
And oft, for God's Sake, did the Poor relieve;
In Dealing just, with Losses not dismay'd;
In ev'ry Kind his Tithes he duly paid;
In a short Coat he rode without a Sleeve.
There was beside, a Miller and a Reve,
A Sumner and a Pardon-monger too,
A Steward, and Myself, were all the Crew.

THE MILLER.

The Miller, hardy as his own Mill-stones,
With brawny Flesh, large Sinews and strong Bones.
His Strength to all the Town was known too well,
In Wrestling still he bore away the Bell.
Short Shoulder'd, knotty as a stubborn Oak,
Hard to be bent, and harder to be broke:
Not one, so far as he, cou'd pitch a Bar,
Or lift a Weight, or swing it in the Air.
He'd running force a Door, with his hard Head;
His Beard, like any Fox's Tail, was red,
But straight, and even as a Gard'ner's Spade.
Just at the End of his huge Nose he had
A large black Wart, on that a Tuft of Hairs,
Red, as the Bristles of an old Sow's Ears.
His Nostrils, like a Furnace, black and wide;
A Sword and Buckler hanging on his Side.

A Babbler, with a gormandizing Throat;
And leach'rous as a Monkey or a Goat.
Corn he cou'd steal, the same Corn thrice he toll'd;
And yet, they say, he had a Thumb of Gold.
His Coat was white, on Bagpipes he cou'd play,
And with that Musick brought us on our Way.

THE Manciple, or Temple-Treasurer.

A Steward of the Temple next must come,
A Pattern for all Caterers in Town.
The Price of ev'ry thing, each Market had,
He knew, and nicely pick'd the Good from Bad.
Sometimes he went on trust, and sometimes paid,
Yet none cou'd over-reach him in his Trade.
Some wonder much, how an unletter'd Man,
Of such low, sordid Education, can
(Who is but One to more than three times Ten)
O'er-reach so many Grave, Wise, Learned Men.

A practis'd Lawyer, all things understands
Th' Affairs of half the Nation pass their Hands.
We praise unjustly, partially condemn,
As they cheat others, others cozen them.
By various Methods all Professions live,
By their wise Management he learn'd to thrive.
In Life's long Course, such diff'rent Ways we run,
Some to undo, but most to be undone.

THE REVE, or STEWARD.

The Reve, a little, slender, chol'rick thing,
His Face shav'd close, and not a Hair on Chin.
His Locks above his Ears, an Inch at least,
And dock'd before like any Begging Priest.
His active Legs were very long and lean,
Streight as a Staff, no Calf was to be seen.
No Auditor e'er found him in the wrong,
A good Accomptant, tho' his Bills were long.

Well judg'd he by the Drought, and by the Rain,
The future Product of his Seed and Grain.
He kept due Tale of Oxen, Sheep and Swine,
His Lord's March Beer, and his more precious Wine.
All Rents receiv'd, for all things did engage,
And manag'd since his Master came to Age.
O'er ev'ry Under-Bailiff he had Spies,
Knew all their Cunning, all their Knaveries:
His House lay tight, and kept in good Repair,
Beside a Heath, and in a healthy Air;
Close in a Corner, couch'd behind a Row
Of spreading Trees; the Building snug and low.
The Man was warm, with Wealth in private stor'd,
And abler far to purchase than his Lord.
He knew his Honour's Humor to a Hair,
When it was fit to ask, or to forbear.
Whene'er his Lordship wanted a Supply,
He with a busy careful Face wou'd fly,
Run here and there, then bring the Luggage home,
And only help his Master to his own.

He (as those gen'rous Lords are us'd to do)
Not only thanks him, but rewards him too.
This Steward rode upon a sturdy Jade,
And on his Side he wore a rusty Blade.
A Wheelwright he had been, in Norfolk known,
In all the Villages near Baldswell Town.
Tuck'd round his Waist, like any Fry'r was he,
And still rode hindmost of the Company.

THE SUMNER, or APPARITOR.

This Sumner was not overstock'd with Grace,
He had a Bloated, Broad, Cherubic Face,
Of fiery Hue, with hollow Eyes and narrow,
Red as a Cock, and leach'rous as a Sparrow:
Black were his Eye-Brows, bristled was his Beard,
And much the Children his stern Visage fear'd.
His Nose with Carbuncles was overspread.
His Cheeks with white Welks on a Ground of red.

No inward Med'cine, he cou'd e'er procure,
Had Pow'r sufficient to effect their Cure.
Not new Quick-silver, with Ceruse too,
Brimstone, nor Oyl of Tartar, aught cou'd do.
Strong bloody Wine he lov'd, and well dress'd Fish,
And stunk of Garlick like a Spanish Dish.
When he was drunk, he'd talk a Man to Death,
And belch out Latin with unsav'ry Breath.
Two or three common Fragments he cou'd say;
No Wonder, for he heard it all the Day.
But if you press'd him farther, you might see
A sudden End of his Philosophy.
A leud young Fellow, for a Quart of Wine,
Might for a Twelvemonth have his Concubine.
He taught his loose Companions in their Sport,
T'evade the Censure of th' Archdeacon's Court.
But if a rich libid'nous Prize he found,
Him he inclos'd within his bawdy Pound.
This, as no vulgar Secret, he wou'd tell,
A large full Purse is the Archdeacon's Hell.

If rich Mens Souls, within their Purses lie,
'Tis just their Sins be punish'd there, say I.
To him all Wenches in the Bishop's See
Paid publick Tribute, or a private Fee.
Boldly he rode, a Garland on his Head,
Of all unmarry'd Men and Maids the Dread.

THE PARDONER.

A Pardon-Monger last brought up the Rear,
With Patriarchal face, and holy Leer.
His Hair was of the Hue of yellow Wax,
Strait and unequal as a Striek of Flax.
Yet long, and thin it grew from his large Head,
And all his brawny Shoulders overspread.
Divided into Parcels here and there,
No gaudy Hood conceal'd his golden Hair.
For that, with Care, was in his Wallet laid,
Where many Curiosities he had.

Except a little Cap, he rode all bare,
With glaring Eyes, like a new started Hare:
A holy Figure stitch'd upon his Cap,
His Wallet hung before him on his Lap,
Stuff'd and cramm'd full of Pardons, newly come,
For greedy Zealots, piping hot from Rome.
Shrill was his Voice, as any Mountain Goat;
Aloud he said his Orisons by rote.
A Beard he never had, nor e'er will have,
No Barber took the Pains, that Chin to shave.
He might have been a Gelding, or a Mare,
But never sure, from Berwick e'en to Ware,
Was Pard'ner furnish'd with such precious Geer:
For in his Male he had a Pillow-bier,
Which piously was thought our Lady's Veil;
He kept, beside, a Gobbet of the Sail
Which Peter had (and now this Pard'ner hath)
When Christ rebuked him for little Faith.
A Cross he show'd of Tin, set full of Stones,
And in a Glass, a Number of Pigs Bones.

With these, more Pardons daily he'd dispense,
In one poor Village wou'd collect more Pence,
(As by Record too plainly does appear)
Than a poor Parson lab'ring all the Year.
Then, with feign'd Flatteries and holy Tools,
He made the Parson and the People Fools.
Howe'er, to tell the Truth just as it stood,
He seem'd in Church Ecclesiastick good.
A Lesson he cou'd read, or tell a Story,
And roar the Psalter with no little Glory.
But best of all, an Offertory sung,
So loud, so chearful, that the Chapel rung.
This gain'd him Pence from the deluded Croud,
Therefore he sung so chearful, and so loud.

End of the Characters of the Pilgrims.

PROLOGUE TO THE Knight's TALE.

By Mr. OGLE.

What needs there more our Pilgrims to describe,
Our Southwark Guests? A mix'd, but merry Tribe.
Their various Looks and Talents to display?
Their Sex and Age? Their Number and Array?
Whom pious Zeal, or fashionable Course,
Drew from their Homes, here resting Man and Horse.
Here well to rest! As Trav'lers witness well,
A friendly House! The Tabarde by the Bell.

And here it falls in Order to recite,
First, how in social Cheer we pass'd the Night;
Next how, with common Voice, and early Day,
Our Troop to Canterbury took their Way;

And last the Progress of our Pilgrims tell;
With each Adventure duly as it fell.

But let me first your due Indulgence claim,
Lest this my Freedom you unjustly blame;
Where loose the Subject, or where rude the Speech:
For we pretend to copy, not to teach.
Who tells Another's Tale, in Verse or Prose,
Nigh as He can shou'd ev'ry Word disclose;
For be it ne'er so wanton, or at large,
Such are the Facts, and you must give the Charge.
This Rule infring'd (by Law and Reason known)
The Tale is not Another's, but your Own.
All Evidence is strict, all Trial plain,
A Witness shou'd repeat, but never feign.
If new the Conduct, or the Language new;
The Stamp re-touch'd, the Coinage is untrue.
To This, Whate'er the Standard Sense affords,
Requires exact Similitude of Words.
Apt Words are shap'd, fix'd Objects to express;
For Language is no more than Nature's Dress.

If some that Love's exalted Colors wear,
Capriciously offend the virtuous Ear;
Or heedlessly the Virgin Cheek inflame,
'Tis faulty Modesty! Mistaken Shame!
If right the Laws that free-born Tongues inslave,
And force to veil what Nature publick gave,
Then Nature err'd, deform'd the Human Frame
With Parts dishonest, horrible to Name!
But that great Nature err'd! Who dares pretend?
Why, shou'd the just Description then offend?
Form'd by the wisest Plan each Part is found,
And Voice was giv'n to fit each Part to Sound.
Hence various Words by well-tun'd Accents wrought,
Stamp on the Ears the Figures of the Thought,
And fix the airy Progress e'er it flies,
As Painting is the Language of the Eyes.
The Skilfull Artist, lab'ring to display
The bright Effulgence of Meridian Day,
With strongest Colours strikes the burnish'd Light,
The darker Shades reserv'd for Sullen Night.

The Poet thus that treats of am'rous Wile,
Or wanton Theft, must heighten all his Stile,
To raise warm Passions, warm Descriptions raise,
And keep for cooler Sense, the cooler Phrase!
Nor arbitrary deem these stated Rules,
The Random Doctrines of Illib'ral Schools.
The best Philosophers like Tenets hold,
Christian and Heathen! Both the New and Old.
Read Plato, Plato says (if Thou canst read)
“The Word must be adapted to the Deed.”
And oft full broad the Phrase of Holy Writ,
Heathen and Christian must this Truth admit.

Others perhaps, with happier Talents blest,
Our Breach of due Decorum may contest:
In Poems well dispos'd they may maintain,
Rank shou'd be kept, as in a public Train.
And None too forward, None too backward stand;
But Band, with due Distinctions, follow Band.
“Nor Rank, nor File, our rude Militia mind,
“Some stray, 'tis true, before, and some behind.”

If This excuse not; on the Truth We rest,
“Low was our Genius, and We did our Best.
“And tho' a Fault, I speak without Offence)
“Yet sure a Venial Fault, is Want of Sense.”

But to return. Great Joy our Host express'd,
Thrice-heartily He welcom'd ev'ry Guest.
And goodly Cheer prepar'd with equal Haste;
(He of two Ills had rather pray than fast.)
Nor less, the Plague or Comfort of his Life,
Judge as Ye list! His busy-stirring Wife.
Anon was Supper serv'd, and neatly drest,
In Season ev'ry Dish, and of the Best.
Strong was the Ale, with Toast and Nutmeg crown'd,
Pure was the Wine! And both went briskly round.

Frank was our Host. A comely Man withal,
A Marshall fit for any noble Hall,
Where many a graceless Page is left in Charge,
Round was his Body, nor more round than large.
His sturdy Legs, tho' slow, just Measure keep!
A fairer Burgess never trod the Cheap!

Tho' bold of Speech; Yet not more bold than wise!
His Wits awake, and watchful as his Eyes!
Loud when He laugh'd! and hearty when He spoke!
His Voice was Mirth! His very Look a Joke!

When now the Rage of Hunger was allay'd;
And, what more joy'd our Host, our Reck'ning paid.
“Thrice welcome (He began) both Great and Small!
“Bright Lords and Ladies fair! Thrice welcome all!
“Full many a Noon has pass'd, full many a Night,
“Since in this Inn appear'd so brave a Sight.
“A braver, never wish these Eyes to see!
“Such Guests! so full of Honor and of Glee!
“Fain wou'd I raise your Mirth, had I but Skill;
“Or were my Talent equal to my Will.
“Yet let not the Intent be wholly lost;
“I mean not here to please You at your Cost.
“To Canterbury, early You proceed;
“And may the blissfull Saint your Wishes speed.
“But if the Good and Bad You justly weigh,
“Long must the Road, and tedious seem the Day;

“For 'tis but dull to travel, You must own,
“Mute as a Fish, and senseless as a Stone.

“Be mine such luckless Silence to prevent;
“Attend but my Award with one Consent.
“For, by my Father's Body, long since dead;
“Mirth You shall have, at Forfeit of my Head:
“If none, my Wish too willfully withstands,
“In witness of your Minds hold up your Hands!”

Here waiting the Event, He ceas'd to speak;
Our gen'ral Counsel was not long to seek:
For why shou'd We reject his honest Suit,
The Purport far from worthy the Dispute?
We vote the Journey as he shou'd advise;
In trivial Things, 'tis Foolish to be Wise.

Then thus our Host his Speech renew'd again,
“The Point, ye Nobles, take not in Disdain.
“The Road to shorten, and deceive the Day,
“(For Mirth makes Mirth, and Play gives Rise to Play)
“I will that Each, by Turns, two Stories tell,
“Of strange Adventures, which of old befell.

“One e'er Your each Saint Thomas' sacred Shrine;
“And one, e'er You regain the Tabarde Sign.
“Then farther, be it solemnly agreed;
“That He, that in his Place shall best succeed:
“Whose Close is held most just, whose Phrase most fit,
“For Profit or Delight, for Sense or Wit.
“His be a Supper at the common Cost;
“Here, in this Host'lry, sitting by this Post.
“And more, to aid your Sport, myself will ride,
“And be at once your Governor and Guide;
“Content the shar'd Expences to maintain;
“Not grudgingly. Such Company is Gain.
“But first enact; that He that disobeys
“My Will, the common Charge, convicted pays.
“This is my Verdict. E'er We further go,
“Pass Sentence, One and All! Your Aye, or No!”

Consent, from One and All, the Question bore;
And jointly, as our Host requir'd, We swore.
Nay more, We vote Him in the Chair of State,
Sole Umpire of the Tales We should relate.

Submiss in All to follow his Advice,
We fix a Supper at a stated Price.
Pleas'd was our Host; Success improves Design!
Pleas'd were the Guests; and loud they call'd for Wine.
Smooth ev'ry Brow, and easy every Breast;
Each took his cordial Draught, and went to Rest.

When scarce the blushing Morn had streak'd the Skies
With earliest Day, our Host began to rise;
And strait his Guests he gather'd in a Flock,
As stirs his Common Mates the feather'd Cock.
Then forth We sally'd with an easy Pace,
Some low of Spirits, sober most of Face:
Till jointly, to the Sacred Ford we came,
Known, good Saint Thomas, by thy Guardian Name.
There, at thy Stream, to many a thirsty Steed
Free-giv'n, our Host, forebade us to proceed.
And, silencing a-while his jingling Bit,
Arrests his Horse; All readily submit;
And circle him around on ev'ry Side:
When loud as any Chanter thus he cry'd.

“As Morning Song, and Ev'ning Song agree,
“Both High and Low attend to my Decree,
“Pay here such Duty as by Vote you pass'd,
“Then sweetly shall we chime from first to last.
“Be this the Spot to cast the foremost Tale;
“And may these Lips nor relish Wine nor Ale
“(What more I dread, or dread not less than Death;
“For want of Liquor is like Want of Breath.)
“As he that dares against my Will offend,
“Pays All, (for thus you swore) that All expend.
“Now Chance decide, who loses, or who wins!
“Who draws the shortest Lot, the first begins.

“Sir Knight, he said, my Master and my Lord,
“Draw forth, I mean your Fortune, not your Sword!
“And gentle Dame, with one Accord appear,
“Come near, my Lady Prioress, come near!
“And you, Sir Clerk, look up, take Heart of Grace;
“Put off that Book-learn'd Bashfulness of Face!
“And Males and Females, all, alike lay Hand.”
And all alike submit to his Command.

Suffice, that on the Knight the Forfeit fell;
Or were it Chance, or Fate; who knows may tell.
Nor know We, nor can tell; yet, for the Best,
Suppose, it fortun'd. Glad were all the rest:
As tho' not freed, yet of their Burthen eas'd:
Nor seem'd the noble Knight in Look displeas'd,
Or griev'd in Thought: The noble Knight was wise:
Whether Concern he cover'd with Disguise,
Or from Experience had acquir'd Content.
For Care is vain, unless it can prevent.
“If then, by Me, the Sport must be begun,
“Thrice welcome Lot (he said) not lost but won!
“Then, ride and listen, to the Croud, he cry'd;”
And, at the Word, We listen, as We ride.
While, nor with vulgar Speech, nor Gesture rude,
This Tale of Love and Honour he pursu'd.

End of the Prologue to the Knight's Tale.

Palamon and Arcite:

OR, THE KNIGHT's Tale.

By Mr. DRYDEN.

In Days of old, there liv'd, of mighty Fame,
A valiant Prince; and Theseus was his Name:
A Chief, who more in Feats of Arms excell'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.

With Honor to his Home let Theseus ride,
With Love to Friend, and Fortune for his Guide,
And his victorious Army at his Side.
I pass their warlike Pomp, their proud Array,
Their Shouts, their Songs, their Welcome on the Way:
But, were it not too long, I would recite
The Feats of Amazons, the fatal Fight
Betwixt the hardy Queen, and Heroe Knight;
The Town besieg'd, and how much Blood it cost
The Female Army, and th' Athenian Host;
The Spousals of Hippolita the Queen;
What Tilts and Turneys at the Feast were seen;
The Storm at their Return, the Ladies Fear:
But these, and other Things, I must forbear.
The Field is spacious I design to sow,
With Oxen far unfit to draw the Plow:
The Remnant of my Tale is of a Length
To tire your Patience, and to waste my Strength;
And trivial Accidents shall be forborn,
That others may have Time to take their Turn;

As was at first enjoin'd us by mine Host:
That he whose Tale is best, and pleases most,
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 chanc'd to cast his Eye aside,
And saw a Choir of mourning Dames, who lay
By Two and Two a-cross the common Way:
At his Approach they rais'd a rueful Cry,
And beat their Breasts, and held their Hands on high.
Creeping and crying, till they seiz'd at last
His Courser's Bridle, and his Feet embrac'd.

“Tell me, said Theseus, what and whence you are,
“And why this Fun'ral 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 are you injur'd, 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, th' Afflicted to redress,
‘And Fame has fill'd the World with thy Success:
‘We wretched Women sue for that alone,
‘Which of thy Goodness is refus'd to none:
‘Let fall some Drops of Pity on our Grief,
‘If what we beg be just, and we deserve Relief:
‘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,
‘That 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 Clemency.
‘But rev'rence thou the Pow'r whose Name it bears,
‘Relieve th' Oppress'd, and wipe the Widow's Tears.
‘I, wretched I, have other Fortune seen,
‘The Wife of Capaneus, and once a Queen:
‘At Thebes he fell; curst 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, besieg'd by our Confed'rate Host:
‘But Creon, old and impious, who commands
‘The Theban City, and usurps the Lands,
‘Denies the Rites of Fun'ral Fires to those
‘Whose breathless Bodies yet he calls his Foes.
‘Unburn'd, unbury'd, on a Heap they lie;
‘Such 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 grov'ling 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 deplore,
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 what e'er else to Chivalry belongs,
He would not cease, till he reveng'd their Wrongs:
That Greece should see perform'd what he declar'd;
And cruel Creon find his just Reward.
He said no more, but shunning all Delay,
Rode on; nor enter'd Athens on his Way:
But left his Sister and his Queen behind,
And wav'd 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;
Ev'n the Ground glitter'd where the Standard flew,
And the green Grass was dy'd to sanguine Hue.
High on his pointed Lance his Pennon bore
His Cretan Fight, the conquer'd Minotaur:
The Soldiers shout around with gen'rous Rage,
And in that Victory their own presage.
He prais'd their Ardour: inly pleas'd to see
His Host the Flow'r of Grecian Chivalry.
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 after, how by Storm the Walls were won,
Or how the Victor sack'd and burn'd the Town:
How to the Ladies he restor'd 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;
How Theseus at these Fun'rals did assist,
And with what Gifts the mourning Dames dismiss'd.

Thus when the Victor Chief had Creon slain,
And conquer'd Thebes, he pitch'd upon the Plain
His mighty Camp, and when the Day return'd,
The Country wasted, and the Hamlets burn'd;
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 youthful Knights they found beneath a Load oppress'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 the same.
Close by each other laid, they press'd the Ground,
Their manly Bosoms pierc'd with many a griesly Wound;

Nor well alive, nor wholly dead they were,
But some faint Signs of feeble Life appear:
The wand'ring Breath was on the Wing to part,
Weak was the Pulse, and hardly heav'd the Heart.
These two were Sister's Sons; and Arcite one,
Much fam'd in Fields, with valiant Palamon.
From these their costly Arms the Spoilers rent,
And softly both convey'd to Theseus' Tent;
Whom known of Greon's Line, and cur'd with Care,
He to his City sent as Pris'ners of the War,
Hopeless of Ransom, and condemn'd to lie
In Durance, doom'd a ling'ring Death to die.

This done, he march'd away with warlike Sound,
And to his Athens turn'd with Laurels crown'd,
Where happy long he liv'd, much lov'd, and more renown'd.
But in a Tow'r, and never to be loos'd,
The woful captive Kinsmen are inclos'd:

Thus Year by Year they pass, and Day by Day,
Till once ('twas on the Morn of chearful May)

The young Emilia, fairer to be seen
Than the fair Lily on the Flow'ry Green,
More fresh than May herself in Blossoms new
(For with the Rosy Colour strove her Hue)
Wak'd, as her Custom was, before the Day,
To do th' Observance due to sprightly May:
For sprightly May commands our Youth to keep
The Vigils of her Night, and breaks their sluggard Sleep.
Each gentle Breast with kindly Warmth she moves:
Inspires new Flames, revives extinguish'd Loves;
In this Remembrance Emily e're 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:
A Ribband did the braided Tresses bind,
The rest was loose, and wanton'd in the Wind:
Aurora had but newly chas'd 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 offer Maiden Vows in Honor of the May.

At ev'ry Turn, she made a little Stand,
And thrust among the Thorns her Lily Hand
To draw the Rose, and ev'ry Rose she drew
She shook the Stalk, and brush'd away the Dew:
Then party-colour'd Flow'rs of white and red
She wove, to make a Garland for her Head:
This done, she sung and caroll'd out so clear,
That Men and Angels might rejoice to hear.
Ev'n wond'ring Philomel forgot to sing;
And learn'd from Her to welcome in the Spring.
The Tow'r, of which before was Mention made,
Within whose Keep the Captive Knights were laid,
Built of a large Extent, and strong withal,
Was one Partition of the Palace Wall:
The Garden was inclos'd within the Square,
Where young Emilia took the Morning-Air.

It happen'd Palamon the Pris'ner Knight,
Restless for Woe, arose before the Light,
And with his Jaylor's Leave desir'd to breathe
An Air more wholsom than the Damps beneath.

This granted, to the Tow'r he took his Way,
Cheer'd with the 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 Flow'rs in wide Parterrers, and shady Walks between.
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.
At last (for so his Destiny requir'd)
With walking giddy, and with thinking tir'd,
He thro' a little Window cast his Sight,
Tho' thick of Bars, that gave a scanty Light,

But ev'n that Glimm'ring serv'd him to descry
Th' inevitable Charms of Emily.

Scarce had he seen, but seiz'd with sudden Smart,
Stung to the Quick, he felt it at his Heart;
Struck blind with overpow'ring Light he stood,
Then started back amaz'd, and cry'd aloud.

Young Arcite heard; and up he ran with Haste,
To help his Friend, and in his Arms embrac'd;
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' Offence? “But if, said he,
“Your Grief alone is hard Captivity;
“For Love of Heav'n, 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, rul'd our Birth,
“When all the friendly Stars were under Earth:
“What e'er betides, by Destiny 'tis done;
“And better bear like Men, than vainly seek to shun.

‘Nor of my Bonds, said Palamon again,
‘Nor of unhappy Planets I complain;
‘But when my mortal Anguish caus'd my Cry,
‘That Moment I was hurt thro' either Eye;
‘Pierc'd with a Random-shaft, I faint away,
‘And perish with insensible Decay:
‘A Glance of some new Goddess gave the Wound,
‘Whom, like Actæon, unaware I found.
‘Look how she walks along yon shady Space,
‘Not Juno moves with more Majestick Grace;
‘And all the Cyprian Queen is in her Face.
‘If thou art Venus, (for thy Charms confess
‘That Face was form'd in Heav'n) nor art thou less,
‘Disguis'd in Habit, undisguis'd in Shape;
‘O help us Captives from our Chains to 'scape!
‘But if our Doom be past in Bonds to lie
‘For Life, and in a loathsom Dungeon die,
‘Then be thy Wrath appeas'd with our Disgrace,
‘And show Compassion to the Theban Race.

‘Oppress'd by Tyrant Pow'r!’ While yet he spoke,
Arcite on Emily had fix'd his Look;
The fatal Dart a ready Passage found,
And 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 beheld has struck me dead:
“Unknowingly she strikes; and kills by chance;
“Poison is in her Eyes, and Death in ev'ry Glance.
“O, I must ask; nor ask alone, but move
“Her Mind to Mercy, or must die for Love.”

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 Brows) with Men who Honor 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.
‘Have we not plighted each our holy Oath,
‘That one shou'd be the Common Good of both?
‘One Soul shou'd both inspire, and neither prove
‘His Fellow's Hind'rance 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 canst, nor dar'st thou, Traitor, on the Plain
‘Appeach my Honor, or thine own maintain.
‘Since thou art of my Council, and the Friend
‘Whose Faith I trust, and on whose Care depend:
‘And woud'st thou court my Lady's Love, which I
‘Much rather than release, wou'd choose to die?
‘But thou, false Arcite, never shalt obtain
‘Thy bad Pretence; I told thee first my Pain:
‘For first my Love began e're thine was born;
‘Thou as my Council, and my Brother sworn,

‘Art bound t'assist my Eldership of Right,
‘Or justly to be deem'd a perjur'd Knight.’

Thus Palamon: But Arcite with Disdain
In haughty Language thus reply'd again:
“Forsworn thy self: The Traitor's odious Name
“I first return, and then disprove thy Claim.
“If Love be Passion, and that Passion nurst
“With strong Desires, I lov'd the Lady first.
“Canst thou pretend Desire, whom Zeal inflam'd
“To worship, and a Pow'r Celestial nam'd?
“Thine was Devotion to the Blest above,
“I saw the Woman, and desir'd her Love;
“First own'd my Passion, and to thee commend
“Th' important Secret, as my chosen Friend.
“Suppose (which yet I grant not) thy Desire
“A Moment elder than my Rival Fire;
“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 but positive: Love's Pow'r, 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 Rights are plac'd,
“Love throws the Fences down, and makes a gen'ral 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 both 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 Æsop's Hounds contending for the Bone,
“Each pleaded Right, and wou'd be Lord alone:
“The fruitless Fight continu'd all the Day;
“A Cur came by, and snatch'd the Prize away.
“As Courtiers therefore justle for a Grant,
“And, when they break their Friendship, plead their Want:

“So thou, if Fortune will thy Suit advance,
“Love on; nor envy me my equal Chance:
“For I must love, and am resolv'd to try
“My Fate, or, failing in th' Adventure die.”

Great was their Strife, which hourly was renew'd,
Till each with mortal Hate his Rival view'd:
Now Friends no more, nor walking Hand in Hand;
But when they met, they made a surly Stand;
And glar'd like angry Lions as they pass'd,
And wish'd that ev'ry Look might be their last.

It chanc'd 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 lov'd so well,
That when one dy'd, 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 honor'd by this young Thessalian Prince.
Theseus, to gratify his Friend and Guest,
Who made our Arcite's Freedom his Request,
Restor'd 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,
By Day or Night, or on whate'er Pretence,
His Head shou'd pay the Forfeit of th' Offence.
To this, Pirithous, for his Friend agreed,
And on his Promise was the Pris'ner freed.

Unpleas'd and pensive hence he takes his Way,
At his own Peril; for his Life must pay.
Who now but Arcite mourns his bitter Fate,
Finds his dear Purchase, and repents too late?
“What have I gain'd, he said, in Prison pent,
“If I but change my Bonds for Banishment?
“And banish'd from her Sight, I suffer more
“In Freedom, than I felt in Bonds before:

“Forc'd from her Presence, and condemn'd to live:
“Unwelcome Freedom, and unthank'd Reprieve!
“Heav'n is not, but where Emily abides,
“And where she's absent, all is Hell besides.
“Next to my Day of Birth, was that accurst
“Which bound my Friendship to Pirithous first:
“Had I not known that Prince, I still had been
“In Bondage, and had still Emilia seen:
“For tho' I never can her Grace deserve,
“'Tis Recompence enough to see and serve.
“O Palamon, my Kinsman and my Friend,
“How much more happy Fates thy Love attend!
“Thine is th' Adventure, thine the Victory:
“Well has thy Fortune turn'd the Dice for thee:
“Thou on that Angel's Face may'st feed thy Eyes;
“In Prison? no; but blisful Paradise!
“Thou daily seest that Sun of Beauty shine,
“And lov'st at least in Love's extremest Line.

“I 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 Pow'r) may cease to frown,
“And by some Ways unknown thy Wishes crown?
“But I, the most forlorn of Human-kind,
“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 Heav'n that all creates,
“Nor Art, nor Nature's Hand can ease my Grief;
“Nothing but Death, the Wretch's last Relief:
“Then farewel Youth, and all the Joys that dwell
“With Youth and Life, and Life itself farewel.

“But why, 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;
“Murder'd by those they trusted with their Life,
“A favour'd Servant, or a Bosom Wife.
“Such dear-bought Blessings happen ev'ry Day,
“Because we know not for what Things to pray.
“Like drunken Sots, about the Street 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 ev'ry 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 Prison free,
“I starve abroad, and lose the Sight of Emily.”

Thus Arcite; but if Arcite thus deplore
His Suff'rings, Palamon yet suffers more.

For when he knew his Rival freed and gone,
He swells with Wrath; he makes outrageous Moan:
He frets, he fumes, he stares, he stamps the Ground;
The hollow Tow'r with Clamours rings around:
With briny Tears he bath'd his fetter'd Feet,
And dropp'd all o'er with Agony of Sweat.
‘Alas! he cry'd, I Wretch in Prison pine,
‘Too happy Rival, while the Fruit is thine:
‘Thou liv'st at large, thou draw'st thy native Air,
‘Pleas'd with thy Freedom, proud of my Despair:
‘Thou may'st, since thou hast Youth and Courage join'd,
‘A sweet Behaviour and a solid Mind,
‘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 of the Strife is thine,
‘Thy Portion double Joys, and double Sorrows mine.

The Rage of Jealousy then fir'd his Soul,
And his Face kindled like a burning Coal:
Now cold 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 Human Kind 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 slain.
‘Cold, Hunger, Prisons, Ills without a Cure,
‘All these he must, and guiltless oft, endure:
‘Or does your Justice, Pow'r, 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 feels no Pain.
‘But Man in Life surcharg'd with Woe before,
‘Not freed when dead, 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 unjust, I have my Share of Woe,
‘Through Saturn seated in a luckless Place,
‘And Juno's Wrath, that persecutes my Race;
‘Or Mars and Venus in a Quartil, move
‘My Pangs of Jealousy for Arcite's Love.’

Let Palamon oppress'd in Bondage mourn,
While to his exil'd 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 Lord his Liberty.
'Tis hard to say who suffers greater Pains:
One sees his Love, but cannot break his Chains:
One freed, and all his Actions uncontroll'd,
Beholds whate'er he wou'd, but what he wou'd behold.
Judge as you please, for I will haste to tell
What Fortune to the banish'd Knight befel.

When Arcite was to Thebes return'd again,
The Loss of her he lov'd renew'd his Pain;
What cou'd be worse, than never more to see
His Life, his Soul, his charming Emily?
He rav'd 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 Eye-balls in their hollow Sockets sink;
Bereft of Sleep, he loaths his Meat and Drink.
He withers at his Heart, and looks as wan
As the pale Spectre of a murder'd Man:
That Pale turns Yellow, 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.

This when he had endur'd a Year and more,
Now wholly chang'd from what he was before,
It happen'd once, that slumb'ring as he lay,
He dreamt (his Dream began at Break of Day)
That Hermes o'er his Head in Air appear'd,
And with soft Words his drooping Spirits chear'd:
His Hat, adorn'd with Wings, disclos'd the God,
And in his Hand he bore the Sleep-compelling Rod:
Such as he seem'd, when at his Sire's Command
On Argus' Head he laid the Snaky Wand;
“Arise, he said, to conqu'ring Athens go,
“There Fate appoints an End to all thy Woe.”
The Fright awaken'd Arcite with a Start,
Against his Bosom bounc'd 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 spy'd a Mirrour while he spoke,
And gazing there, beheld his alter'd Look;

Wond'ring, he saw his Features and his Hue
So much were chang'd, that scarce himself he knew.
A sudden Thought then starting in his Mind,
“Since I in Arcite cannot Arcite find,
“The World may search in vain with all their Eyes,
“But never penetrate thro' this Disguise.
“Thanks to the Change which Grief and Sickness give;
“In low Estate I may securely live,
“And see unknown my Mistress Day by Day:”
He said; and cloth'd himself in coarse Array:
A lab'ring Hind in shew: Then forth he went,
And to th' Athenian Tow'rs his Journey bent:
One Squire attended in the same Disguise,
Made conscious of his Master's Enterprize.
Arriv'd at Athens, soon he came to Court,
Unknown, unquestion'd in that thick Resort;
Proff'ring for Hire his Service at the Gate,
To drudge, draw Water, and to run or wait.

So fair befel him, that for little Gain
He serv'd at first Emilia's Chamberlain;

And watchful all Advantages to spy,
Was still at Hand, and in his Master's Eye;
And as his Bones were big and Sinews strong,
Refus'd no Toil that cou'd to Slaves belong;
But from deep Wells with Engines Water drew,
And us'd his noble Hands the Wood to hew.
He pass'd a Year at least attending thus
On Emily, and call'd Philostratus.
But never was there Man of his Degree
So much esteem'd, so well-belov'd 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 exercis'd within a higher Sphere,
His Virtues more conspicuous might appear.
Thus by the gen'ral Voice was Arcite prais'd,
And by great Theseus to high Favour rais'd;
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 purchas'd Friends and Fame,
But cautiously conceal'd from whence it came.
Thus for three Years he liv'd with large Increase,
In Arms of Honor, and Esteem in Peace;
To Theseus' Person he was ever near;
And Theseus for his Virtues held him dear.

While Arcite lives in Bliss, the Story turns
Where hopeless Palamon in Prison mourns.
For six long Years immur'd, the Captive Knight
Had dragg'd his Chains, and scarcely seen the Light:
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,
Nor ever wishes to be free from Love.

But when the Sixth revolving Year was run,
And May within the Twins receiv'd 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 Palamon from Prison took his Flight:
A pleasant Beverage he prepar'd 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 snor'd secure till Morn, his Senses bound
In Slumber, and in long Oblivion drown'd.
Short was the Night, and careful Palamon
Sought the next Covert e're the Rising Sun.
A thick-spread Forest near the City lay,
To this with lengthen'd Strides he took his Way,
(For far he cou'd 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, this 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 ling'ring Day beguile,
To gentle Arcite let us turn our Stile,
Who little dreamt how nigh he was to Care,
Till treach'rous 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, resolv'd to pay
Observance to the Month of merry May:
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 nam'd before; and lighting there,
A Woodbind Garland sought to crown his Hair;
Then turn'd his Face against the rising Day,
And rais'd his Voice to welcome in the May.

“For thee, sweet Month, the Groves green Liv'ries wear,
“If not the first, the fairest of the Year:
“For thee the Graces lead the dancing Hours,
“And Nature's ready Pencil paints the Flow'rs:
“When thy short Reign is past, the Fev'rish Sun
“The sultry Tropick fears, and moves more slowly on.
“So may thy tender Blossoms fear no Blite,
“Nor Goats with venom'd Teeth thy Tendrils bite,
“As thou shalt guide my wand'ring 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 conceal'd 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 Ears:

For this the Wise are ever on their Guard,
For Unforeseen, they say, is Unprepar'd.
Uncautious Arcite thought himself alone,
And less than all suspected Palamon,
Who list'ning heard him, while he search'd the 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 Heav'n, and then as low as Hell;
Now up, now down, as Buckets in a Well:
For Venus, like her Day, will change her Cheer,
And seldom shall we see a Friday clear.
Thus Arcite having sung, with alter'd Hue
Sunk on the Ground, and from his Bosom drew
A desp'rate Sigh, accusing Heav'n and Fate,
And angry Juno's unrelenting Hate.
“Curs'd be the Day when first I did appear;
“Let it be blotted from the Calendar,
“Lest it pollute the Month, and poison all the Year.

“Still will the jealous Queen pursue our Race?
“Cadmus is dead, the Theban City was:
“Yet ceases not her Hate: For all who come
“From Cadmus, are involv'd in Cadmus' Doom.
“I suffer for my Blood: Unjust Decree!
“That punishes another's Crime on me.
“In mean Estate I serve my mortal Foe,
“The Man who caus'd my Country's Overthrow.
“This is not all; for Juno, to my Shame,
“Has forc'd me to forsake my former Name;
“Arcite I was, Philostratus I am.
“That Side of Heaven is all my Enemy:
“Mars ruin'd Thebes; his Mother ruin'd me.
“Of all the Royal Race remains but one
“Beside myself, th' unhappy Palamon,
“Whom Theseus holds in Bonds, and will not free;
“Without a Crime, except his Kin to me.
“Yet these, and all the rest I cou'd endure;
“But Love's a Malady without a Cure:

“Fierce Love has pierc'd me with his fiery Dart,
“He fries within, and hisses at my Heart.
“Your Eyes, fair Emily, my Fate pursue;
“I suffer for the rest, I die for you.
“Of such a Goddess no Time leaves Record,
“Who burn'd the Temple where she was ador'd:
“And let it burn, I never will complain,
“Pleas'd with my Suff'rings, if you knew my Pain.”

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 chang'd his Look:
He trembled ev'ry 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 dar'st 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 that set thee free:
‘But rest assur'd, that either thou shalt die,
‘Or else renounce thy Claim in Emily.
‘For though unarm'd I am, and (freed by Chance)
‘Am 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 his Tale, and knew the Man,
His Sword unsheath'd, and fiercely thus began:
“Now by the Gods, who govern Heav'n above,
“Wert thou not weak with Hunger, mad with Love,
“That Word had been thy last, or in this Grove
“This Hand should force thee to renounce thy Love.
“The Surety which I gave thee, I defy:
“Fool, not to know that Love endures no Tie,
“And Jove but laughs at Lovers Perjury.

“Know, I will serve the 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 Heav'n so help my Right, as I alone
“Will come, and keep the Cause and Quarel both unknown,
“With Arms of Proof both for myself and thee;
“Choose thou the Best, and leave the Worst to me.
“And, that a better Ease thou may'st abide,
“Bedding and Cloaths I will this Night provide,
“And needful Sustenance, that thou may'st 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 Pow'r maintain,
And wilt not bear a Rival in thy Reign,
Tyrants and thou all Fellowship disdain.

100

This was in Arcite prov'd, and Palamon,
Both in Despair, yet each wou'd love alone.

Arcite return'd, and, as in Honor ty'd,
His Foe with Bedding, and with Food supply'd;
Then, e're 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 Challeng'd, Face to Face,
Approach; each other from afar they knew,
And from afar their Hatred chang'd their Hue.
So stands the Thracian Herdsman with his Spear,
Full in the Gap, and hopes the hunted Bear,
And hears him rustling 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 gen'rous Chilness seizes ev'ry Part;
The Veins pour back the Blood, and fortify the Heart.

101

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 profest, 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 bath'd 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 far'd,
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 Diff'rence to decide.

102

The Pow'r that ministers to God's Decrees,
And executes on Earth what Heav'n foresees,
Call'd Providence, or Chance, or fatal Sway,
Comes with resistless Force, and finds or makes her Way.
Nor Kings, nor Nations, nor united Pow'r,
One Moment can retard th' appointed Hour.
And some one Day, some wond'rous Chance appears,
Which happen'd not in Centuries of Years:
For sure, whate'er we Mortals hate, or love,
Or hope, or fear, depends on Pow'rs above;
They move our Appetites to Good or Ill,
And by Foresight necessitate the Will.

In Theseus this appears; whose youthful Joy
Was Beasts of Chase in Forests to destroy;
This gentle Knight, inspir'd by jolly May,
Forsook his easy Couch at early Day,
And to the Wood and Wilds pursu'd his Way.
Beside him rode Hippolita the Queen,
And Emily attir'd in lively Green:

103

With Horns, and Hounds, and all the tuneful Cry,
To hunt a Royal Hart within the Covert nigh:
And as he follow'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 Lawn on which they fought, th' appointed Place,
In which th' uncoupled Hounds began the Chace.
Thither forth-right he rode to rouze the Prey,
That shaded by the Fern in Harbour lay;
And thence dislodg'd, was wont to leave the Wood,
For open Fields, and cross the Crystal Flood.
Approach'd, and looking underneath the Sun,
He saw proud Arcite, and fierce Palamon,
In mortal Battle doubling Blow on Blow,
Like Light'ning flam'd their Fauchions to and fro,
And shot a dreadful Gleam; so strong they struck,
There seem'd less Force requir'd to fell an Oak:
He gaz'd with Wonder on their equal Might,
Look'd eager on, but knew not either Knight:

104

Resolv'd to learn, he spurr'd his fiery Steed
With goring Rowels, to provoke his Speed.
The Minute ended that began the Race,
So soon he was betwixt 'em 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 you? Why in Arms together met?
“How dares your Pride presume against my Laws,
“As in a lifted Field to fight your Cause?
“Unask'd the Royal Grant; no Marshal by,
“As Knightly Rites require; nor Judge to try?”

Then Palamon, with scarce-recover'd Breath,
Thus hasty spoke: ‘We both deserve the Death,
‘And both wou'd 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 th' imprison'd Soul at large.
‘Now as thou art a Sov'reign Judge, decree
‘The rightful Doom of Death to him and me,
‘Let neither find thy Grace; for Grace is Cruelty.

105

‘Me first, O kill me first; and cure my Woe:
‘Then sheath the Sword of Justice on my Foe,
‘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 contracted, that if ever found
‘By Day or Night upon th' Athenian Ground,
‘His Head should pay the Forfeit: See return'd
‘The perjur'd Knight, his Oath and Honor scorn'd.
‘For this is he, who with a borrow'd Name
‘And proffer'd Service to thy Palace came,
‘Now call'd Philostratus: Retain'd by thee,
‘A Traitor trusted, and in high Degree,
‘Aspiring to the Bed of beauteous Emily.
‘My Part remains: From Thebes my Birth I own,
‘And call myself th' unhappy Palamon.
‘Think me not like that Man; since no Disgrace
‘Can force me to renounce the Honor of my Race.

106

‘Know me for what I am: I broke thy Chain,
‘Nor promis'd I thy Pris'ner to remain:
‘The Love of Liberty with Life is giv'n,
‘And Life itself th' inferior Gift of Heav'n.
‘Thus without Crime I fled; but farther know,
‘I with this Arcite am thy mortal Foe:
‘Then give me Death, since I thy Life pursue,
‘For Safeguard of thyself, Death is my Due.
‘More wou'dst thou know? I love bright Emily,
‘And for her Sake and in her Sight will die:
‘But kill my Rival too; for he no less
‘Deserves; and I thy righteous Doom will bless,
‘Assur'd that what I lose, he never shall possess.’

To this reply'd the stern Athenian Prince,
And sourly smil'd: “In owning your Offence
“You judge your self; 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.

107

“By Mars, the Patron of my Arms you die.”

He said; dumb Sorrow seiz'd 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, ev'n the contended Maid:
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 Heav'n in Face and Mind,
‘And Lovers, far beyond their faithless Kind:
‘See their wide streaming Wounds; they neither came
‘For Pride of Empire, nor Desire of Fame:
‘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 ev'ry Lady's Mind,
They left their Steeds, and prostrate on the Place,
From the fierce King, implor'd th' Offenders Grace.

108

He paus'd a while, stood silent in his Mood,
(For yet, his Rage was boiling in his Blood)
But soon his tender Mind th' Impression felt,
(As softest Metals are not slow to melt,
And Pity soonest runs in gentle Minds:)
Then reasons with himself; and first he finds
His Passion cast a Mist before his Sense,
And either made, or magnify'd th' Offence.
Offence! of what? to whom? Who judg'd the Cause?
The Pris'ner freed himself by Nature's Laws:
Born free, he sought his Right: The Man he freed
Was perjur'd, but his Love excus'd the Deed:
Thus pond'ring, he look'd under with his Eyes,
And saw the Womens Tears, and heard their Cries;
Which mov'd Compassion more: he shook his Head,
And softly sighing, to himself he said:

“Curse on th' unpard'ning Prince, whom Tears can draw
“To no Remorse; who rules by Lions Law;
“And deaf to Pray'rs, by no Submission bow'd,
“Rends all alike, the Penitent and Proud:”

109

At this, with Look serene, he rais'd his Head.
Reason resum'd her Place, and Passion fled:
Then thus aloud he spoke: “The Pow'r of Love,
“In Earth, and Seas, and Air, and Heav'n above,
“Rules, unresisted, with an awful Nod;
“By daily Miracles, declar'd a God:
“He blinds the Wise, gives Eye-sight 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 deserv'd; for well they know,
“'Tis in my Pow'r, and I their deadly Foe:
“The Proverb holds, That to be wise and love,
“Is hardly granted to the Gods above.
“See how the Madmen bleed: Behold the Gains
“With which their Master, Love, rewards their Pains:

110

“For sev'n long Years, on Duty ev'ry Day,
“Lo their Obedience, and their Monarch's Pay!
“Yet, as in Duty bound, they serve him on;
“And ask the Fools, they think it wisely done:
“Nor Ease, nor Wealth, nor Life itself regard,
“For 'tis their Maxim, Love is Love's Reward.
“This 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 gen'ral Doom on Man is past,
“And all are Fools and Lovers, first or last:
“This both by others and myself I know,
“For I have serv'd their Sovereign long ago.
“Oft have been caught within the winding Train
“Of Female Snares, and felt the Lover's Pain,
“And learn'd how far the God can Human Hearts constrain.
“To this Remembrance, and the Prayers of those
“Who for th' offending Warriors interpose,

111

“I give their forfeit Lives; on this Accord,
“To do me Homage as their Sov'reign Lord;
“And as my Vassals, to their utmost Might,
“Assist my Person, and assert my Right.”
This, freely sworn, the Knights their Grace obtain'd;
Then thus the King his secret Thoughts explain'd:
“If Wealth, or Honor, 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;
“For Emily is Sister to the Crown,
“And but too well to both her Beauty known:
“But shou'd you combat till you both were dead,
“Two Lovers cannot share 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 repair;

112

“But on the Day when this returning Sun
“To the same Point through ev'ry Sign has run,
“Then each 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 equal Fight,
“From out the Bars to force his Opposite,
“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 t'adorn the chosen Ground,
“The Theatre of War, for Champions so renown'd;
“And take the Patron's Place of either Knight,
“With Eyes impartial to behold the Fight;
“And Heav'n of me so judge, as I shall judge aright;
“If both are satisfy'd with this Accord,
“Swear by the Laws of Knighthood on my Sword.”

113

Who now but Palamon exults with Joy?
And ravish'd Arcite seems to touch the Sky:
The whole assembled Troop was pleas'd as well,
Extol'd 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 Ardor 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 Expence.
He first inclos'd 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,
Rais'd in Degrees; to sixty Paces rear'd:

114

That when a Man was plac'd in one Degree,
Height was 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 this Fabrick 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 a Year
An Age's Work, a glorious Theatre.
Then o'er its Eastern Gate was rais'd above
A Temple, sacred to the Queen of Love;
An Altar stood below: On either Hand
A Priest with Roses crown'd, who held a Myrtle Wand.

The Dome of Mars was on the Gate oppos'd,
And on the North a Turret was inclos'd,
Within the Wall, of Alabaster white,
And Crimson Coral, for the Queen of Night,
Who takes in Sylvan Sports her chaste Delight.

115

Within these Oratories might you see
Rich Carvings, Pourtraitures, and Imag'ry:
Where ev'ry Figure to the Life express'd
The Godhead's Pow'r to whom it was address'd.
In Venus' Temple, on the Sides were seen
The broken Slumbers of enamour'd Men:
Pray'rs that ev'n spoke, and Pity seem'd to call,
And issuing Sighs that smok'd 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, conclude in Perjuries.
Beauty, and Youth, and Wealth, and Luxury,
And spritely Hope, and short-enduring Joy;
And Sorceries to raise th' Infernal Pow'rs,
And Sigils fram'd in Planetary Hours:
Expence, and After-thought, and idle Care,
And Doubts of motly Hue, and dark Despair:

116

Suspicions, and fantastical Surmise,
And Jealousy suffus'd, with Jaundice in her Eyes;
Discolouring all she view'd, in Tawny dress'd;
Down-look'd, and with a Cuckow on her Fist.
Oppos'd to her, on t'other Side advance
The costly Feast, the Carol, and the Dance,
Minstrels and Musick, Poetry and Play,
And Balls by Night, and Tournaments by Day.
All these were painted on the Wall, and more;
With Acts and Monuments of Times before:
And others added by Prophetick Doom,
And Lovers yet unborn, and Loves to come:
For there, th' 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 pin'd alone;
There Sampson was; with wiser Solomon,
And all the mighty Names by Love undone.

117

Medea's Charms were there, Circean Feasts,
With Bowls that turn'd enamour'd Youths to Beasts.
Here might be seen, that Beauty, Wealth, and Wit,
And Prowess, to the Pow'r 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 ruffl'd 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-Love,
With Wings unfledg'd; his Eyes were banded o'er;
His Hands a Bow, his Back a Quiver bore,
Supply'd with Arrows bright and keen, a deadly Store.

118

But in the Dome of mighty Mars the Red,
With diff'rent 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 lov'd Abode,
And Sov'reign Mansion of the Warrior-God.
The Landscape was a Forest wide and bare;
Where neither Beast, nor Human-kind 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 deform'd and old;
Headless the most, and hideous to behold:
A ratling Tempest through the Branches went,
That stripp'd 'em bare, and one sole Way they bent.
Heav'n froze above, severe, the Clouds congeal,
And thro' the Crystal Vault appear'd the standing Hail.
Such was the Face without, a Mountain stood
Threat'ning from high, and overlook'd the Wood:

119

Beneath the low'ring Brow, and on a Bent,
The Temple stood of Mars Armipotent;
The Frame of burnish'd Steel, that cast a Glare
From far, and seem'd to thaw the freezing Air.
A strait, long Entry, to the Temple led,
Blind with high Walls; and Horror over Head:
Thence issued such a Blast and hollow Rore,
As threaten'd from the Hinge to heave the Door;
In, through that Door, a Northern Light there shone;
'Twas all it had, for Windows there were none.
The Gate was Adamant; Eternal Frame!
Which hew'd 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 ev'ry Pillar there;
A polish'd Mirror shone not half so clear.
There saw I how the secret Felon wrought,
And Treason lab'ring in the Traitor's Thought;
And Midwife Time the ripen'd Plot to Murder brought.

120

There, the Red Anger dar'd the Pallid Fear;
Next stood Hippocrisy, with holy Leer:
Soft, smiling, and demurely looking down,
But hid the Dagger underneath the Gown:
Th' assassinating Wife, the Houshold Fiend;
And far the blackest there, the Traitor-Friend.
On t'other Side, there stood Destruction bare;
Unpunish'd Rapine, and a Waste 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 Language base;
Till Sense was lost in Sound, and Silence fled the Place.
The Slayer of himself yet saw I there,
The Gore congeal'd was clotter'd in his Hair:
With Eyes half clos'd, and gaping Mouth he lay,
And grim, as when he breath'd his Sullen Soul away.
In midst of all the Dome, Misfortune sat,
And gloomy Discontent, and fell Debate.

121

And Madness laughing in his ireful Mood;
And arm'd Complaint on Theft; and Cries of Blood.
There was the murder'd Corps, in Covert laid,
And Violent Death in thousand Shapes display'd:
The City to the Soldier's Rage resign'd:
Successless Wars, and Poverty behind:
Ships burnt in Fight, or forc'd 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 his 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 Fauchions, or the Scythe.
The scarlet Conquest on a Tow'r was plac'd,
With Shouts, and Soldiers Acclamations grac'd:

122

A pointed Sword hung threat'ning o'er his Head,
Sustain'd but by a slender Twine of Thread.
There saw I Mars his Ides, the Capitol,
The Seer in vain foretelling Cæsar's Fall,
The last Triumvirs, and the Wars they move,
And Antony, who lost the World for Love.
These and a thousand more, the Fane adorn;
Their Fates were painted e're the Men were born,
All copy'd from the Heav'ns 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:
Two Geomantick Figures were display'd
Above his Head, a Warrior and a Maid,
One when direct, and one when Retrograde.

Tir'd with Deformities of Death, I haste
To the third Temple of Diana chaste;
A Sylvan Scene with various Greens was drawn,
Shades on the Sides, and on the midst a Lawn:

123

The Silver Cynthia, with her Nymphs around,
Pursued the flying Deer, the Woods with Horns resound:
Calistho 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 spy'd
The naked Huntress, and, for seeing, dy'd:
His Hounds, unknowing of his Change, pursue
The Chace, 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 Caledonian Beast.
Oenides' Valour, and his envy'd Prize;
The fatal Pow'r of Atalanta's Eyes;
Diana's Vengeance on the Victor shown,
The Murdress Mother, and consuming Son.
The Volcian Queen extended on the Plain;
The Treason punish'd, and the Traitor slain.

124

The rest were various Huntings, well design'd,
And Savage Beasts destroy'd, of every Kind.
The graceful Goddess was array'd in Green;
About her Feet were little Beagles seen,
That watch'd with upward Eyes the Motions 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 wexing Moon, that soon wou'd wane,
And drinking borrow'd Light, be fill'd again:
With down-cast 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 disclose.
All these the Painter drew with such Command,
That Nature snatch'd the Pencil from his Hand,
Asham'd and angry that his Art cou'd feign
And mend the Tortures of a Mother's Pain.
Theseus beheld the Fanes of ev'ry God,
And thought his mighty Cost was well bestow'd.

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So Princes now their Poets should regard;
But few can write, and fewer can reward.

The Theatre thus rais'd, the Lists enclos'd,
And all with vast Magnificence dispos'd,
We leave the Monarch pleas'd, and haste to bring
The Knights to Combate: and their Arms to sing.

The Day approach'd, when Fortune shou'd decide
Th' important Enterprize, 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 Flow'r of War by publick Voice;
That after, or before, were never known
Such Chiefs; as each an Army seem'd alone:
Besides the Champions; all of high Degree,
Who Knight-hood lov'd and Deeds of Chivalry,
Throng'd to the Lists, and envy'd to behold
The Names of others, not their own, enroll'd.
Nor seems it strange; for ev'ry Noble Knight,
Who loves the Fair, and is endu'd with Might,
In such a Quarrel wou'd be proud to fight.

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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:
And had the Land selected of the best,
Half had come hence, and let the World provide the rest.
A hundred Knights with Palamon there came,
Approv'd in Fight, and Men of mighty Name:
Their Arms were sev'ral, 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 cloath'd with rich Caparison:
Some for Defence would leathern Bucklers use,
Of folded Hides; and others Shields of Pruce.
One hung a Pole-axe at his Saddle-bow,
And one a heavy Mace, to shun the Foe:
One for his Legs and Knees provided well,
With Jambeux arm'd, and double Plates of Steel:

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This on his Helmet wore a Lady's Glove,
And that a Sleeve embroider'd by his Love.

With Palamon, 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 roll'd in his Head,
And glar'd betwixt a Yellow and a Red:
He look'd a Lion with a gloomy Stare,
And o'er his Eye-brows hung his matted Hair:
Big-bon'd, 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 yok'd to draw his Car of burnish'd Gold.
Upright he stood, and bore aloft his Shield,
Conspicuous from afar, and over-look'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:

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Ten Brace, and more, of Greyhounds, snowy fair,
And tall as Stags, ran loose, and cours'd 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 thro' the Fields Lycurgus took his Way;
His hundred Knights attend in Pomp and proud Array.

To match this Monarch, with strong Arcite came
Emetrius King of Inde, a mighty Name,
On a Bay Courser, goodly to behold,
The Trappings of his Horse emboss'd with barb'rous Gold,
Not Mars 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 Em'ralds 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.

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His Nose was 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 Skin:
His awful Presence did the Crowd surprize,
Nor durst 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'd his Temples, fresh, and green;
And Myrtle-sprigs, the Marks of Love, were mix'd between.
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 blaz'd on ev'ry Shield,
And pleasing was the Terror of the Field.

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For Kings, and Dukes, and Barons you might see,
Like sparkling Stars, though diff'rent 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 conquer'd Indies rode,
And Beasts in Gambols frisk'd before their honest God.

In this Array the War of either Side
Through Athens pass'd with Military Pride.
At Prime, they enter'd on the Sunday Morn;
Rich Tap'stry spread the Streets, and Flow'rs the Pots adorn.
The Town was all a Jubilee of Feasts;
So Theseus will'd, in Honor of his Guests;
Himself with open Arms the King embrac'd,
Then all the rest in their Degrees were grac'd.
No Harbinger was needful for the Night,
For ev'ry House was proud to lodge a Knight.

I pass the Royal Treat, nor must relate
The Gifts bestow'd, nor how the Champions sate;

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Who first, who last, or how the Knights address'd
Their Vows, or who was fairest at the Feast;
Whose Voice, whose graceful Dance did most surprize,
Soft am'rous Sighs, and silent Love of Eyes.
The Rivals call my Muse another way,
To sing their Vigils for th' ensuing Day.

'Twas ebbing Darkness, past the Noon of Night;
And Phosphor, on the Confines of the Light,
Promis'd the Sun, e're Day began to spring;
The tuneful Lark already stretch'd her Wing,
And flick'ring 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 implor'd with Pray'rs her Pow'r Divine.
‘Creator Venus, Genial Pow'r 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.

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‘For thee the Winds their Eastern Blasts forbear,
‘Thy Month reveals the Spring, and opens all the Year.
‘Thee, Goddess, thee the Storms of Winter fly,
‘Earth smiles with Flow'rs renewing; laughs the Sky,
‘And Birds to Lays of Love their tuneful Notes apply.
‘For thee the Lion loaths the Taste of Blood,
‘And roaring hunts his Female through the Wood:
‘For thee the Bulls rebellow through the Groves,
‘And tempt the Stream, and snuff their absent Loves.
‘'Tis thine, whate'er is pleasant, good, or fair:
‘All Nature is thy Providence, Life thy Care;
‘Thou mad'st the World, and dost the World repair.
‘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 wou'd be some Relief:
‘Light Suff'rings give us Leisure to complain;

We groan, but cannot speak, in greater Pain.

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‘O Goddess, tell thyself what I wou'd say,
‘Thou know'st it, and I feel too much to pray.
‘So grant my Suit, as I enforce my Might,
‘In Love to be thy Champion and thy Knight;
‘A Servant to thy Sex, a Slave to Thee,
‘A Foe profest to barren Chastity.
‘Nor ask I Fame or Honor of the Field,
‘Nor chuse I more to vanquish than to yield:
‘In my Divine Emilia make me blest,
‘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
‘In your fifth Orb, and rule the Realm of Love.
‘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:

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‘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 Pray'r 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:
The curling Smoke mounts heavy from the Fires;
At length it catches Flame, and in a Blaze expires;
At once the gracious Goddess gave the Sign,
Her Statue shook, and trembled all the Shrine:
Pleas'd Palamon the tardy Omen took:
For, since the Flames pursu'd the trailing Smoke,
He knew his Boon was granted; but the Day
To distance driv'n, and Joy adjourn'd with long Delay.

Now Morn with Rosy Light had streak'd the Sky,
Up rose the Sun, and up rose Emily;
Address'd her early Steps to Cynthia's Fane,
In State attended by her Maiden Train,

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Who bore the Vests that Holy Rites require,
Incense, and od'rous Gums, and cover'd Fire,
The plenteous Horns with pleasant Mead they crown,
Nor wanted aught besides in Honor of the Moon.
Now while the Temple smok'd with hallow'd Steam,
They wash the Virgin in a living Stream;
The secret Ceremonies I conceal:
Uncouth; perhaps unlawful to reveal:
But such they were as Pagan Use requir'd,
Perform'd by Women when the Men retir'd,
Whose Eyes profane, their chaste mysterious Rites
Might turn to Scandal, or obscene Delights.
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 observ'd of old,
By Statius in his Theban Story told.)

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Then kneeling, with her Hands across her Breast,
Thus lowly she preferr'd her chaste Request.

‘O Goddess, Haunter of the Woodland Green,
‘To whom both Heav'n and Earth and Seas are seen;
‘Queen of the nether Skies, where half the Year
‘Thy Silver Beams descend, and light the gloomy Sphere;
‘Goddess of Maids, and conscious of our Hearts,
‘So keep me from the Vengance of thy Darts,
‘Which Niobe's devoted Issue felt,
‘When hissing thro' the Skies the feather'd Deaths were dealt:
‘As I desire to live a Virgin-Life,
‘Nor know the Name of Mother, or of Wife.
‘Thy Votress from my tender Years I am,
‘And love, like thee, the Woods and Sylvan Game.
‘Like Death, thou know'st I loath the Nuptial-State,
‘And Man, the Tyrant of our Sex, I hate,
‘A lowly Servant, but a lofty Mate.
‘Where Love is Duty, on the Female Side:
‘On theirs meer sensual Gust, and sought with surly Pride.

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‘Now by thy triple Shape, as thou art seen
‘In Heav'n, Earth, Hell, and ev'ry 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 may be rejected, one succeed,
‘Make him my Lord, within whose faithful Breast
‘Is fixt my Image, and who loves me best.
‘But, oh! ev'n that avert! I chuse it not,
‘But take it as the least unhappy Lot.
‘A Maid I am, and of thy Virgin Train;
‘Oh, let me still that spotless Name retain!
‘Frequent the Forests, thy chaste Will obey,
‘And only make the Beasts of Chaste my Prey!’

The Flames ascend on either Altar clear,
While thus the blameless Maid address'd her Pray'r.
When lo! the burning Fire, that shone so bright,
Flew off, all sudden, with extinguish'd Light,

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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 black'ning 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 Skies,
Nor knew what signify'd the boding Sign,
But found the Pow'rs displeas'd, and fear'd the Wrath Divine.

Then shook the Sacred Shrine, and sudden Light
Sprung through the vaulted Roof, and made the Temple bright.
The Pow'r, behold! the Pow'r 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.

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Then gracious thus began: “Dismiss thy Fear,
“And Heav'n's unchang'd Decrees attentive hear:
“More pow'rful 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 Thund'rer's Breast,
“This he pronounc'd, 'tis he who loves thee best.
“The Fire that once extinct, reviv'd again,
“Foreshows the Love allotted to remain.
“Farewel, 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,
Disclaim'd, and now no more 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 smil'd betwixt,
With Hopes and Fears, and Joy with Sorrow mixt.

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The next returning Planetary Hour
Of Mars, who shar'd the Heptarchy of Pow'r,
His Steps bold Arcite to the Temple bent,
T'adore with Pagan Rites the Pow'r Armipotent:
Then prostrate, low before his Altar lay,
And rais'd his manly Voice, and thus began to pray:
“Strong God of Arms, whose Iron Scepter sways
“The freezing North, and Hyperborean Seas,
“And Scythian Colds, and Thracia's Wintry Coast,
“Where stand thy Steeds, and thou art honour'd most:
“There most; but ev'ry where thy Pow'r is known,
“The Fortune of the Fight is all thy own:
“Terror is thine, and wild Amazement flung
“From out thy Chariot, withers ev'n the Strong:
“And Disarray and shameful Rout ensue,
“And Force is added to the fainting Crew.
“Acknowledg'd as thou art, accept my Pray'r,
“If aught I have atchiev'd deserve thy Care:
“I to my utmost Pow'r with Sword and Shield
“If dar'd the Death, unknowing how to yield,
“And falling in my Rank, still kept the Field:

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“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 Publick 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,
“Ev'n by thy Shame, if Shame it may be call'd,
“When Vulcan had thee in his Net inthrall'd;
“O envy'd Ignominy! sweet Disgrace!
“When ev'ry God that saw thee, wish'd thy Place!
“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,
“Or knows her Worth too well, and pays me with Disdain.

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“For sure I am, unless I win in Arms,
“To stand excluded from Emilia's Charms:
“Nor can my Strength avail, unless by thee
“Endu'd with Force, I gain the Victory:
“Then for the Fire which warm'd thy gen'rous Heart,
“Pity thy Subject's Pains, and equal Smart.
“So be the Morrow's Sweat and Labour mine,
“The Palm and Honor of the Conquest thine:
“Then shall the War, and stern Debate, and Strife
“Immortal, be the Bus'ness of my Life;
“And in thy Fane, the Dusty Spoils among,
“High on the burnish'd Roof my Banner shall be hung
“Rank'd with my Champions Bucklers, and below
“With Arms revers'd, th' Atchievements of my Foe:
“And while these Limbs the Vital Spirit feeds,
“While Day to Night, and Night to Day succeeds,
“Thy smoaking Altar shall be fat with Food
“Of Incense, and the grateful Steam of Blood;
“Burnt-Off'rings Morn and Ev'ning shall be thine;
“And Fires eternal in thy Temple shine.

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“The Bush of yellow Beard, this Length of Hair,
“Which from my Birth inviolate I bear,
“Guiltless of Steel, and from the Razor free,
“Shall fall a plenteous Crop, reserv'd for thee.
“So may my Arms with Victory be blest,
“I ask no more; let Fate dispose the rest.”

The Champion ceas'd; there follow'd in the Close
A hollow Groan, a murm'ring Wind arose,
The Rings of Ir'n, 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:
This Omen pleas'd, and as the Flames aspire,
With od'rous Incense Arcite heaps the Fire:
Nor wanted Hymns to Mars, or Heathen Charms:
At length the nodding Statue clash'd his Arms:

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And with a sullen Sound and feeble Cry,
Half sunk, and half pronounc'd the Word of Victory;
For this, with Soul devout, he thank'd the God,
And of Success secure, return'd to his Abode.

These Vows thus granted, rais'd a Strife above,
Betwixt the God of War and Queen of Love.
She granting 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 unwilling to decide the Strife;
Till Saturn from his Leaden Throne arose,
And found a Way the Diff'rence 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,
To please both Parties, for ill Ends, he sought:
For this Advantage Age from Youth has won,
As not to be out-ridden, though out-run.
By Fortune he was now to Venus Trin'd,
And with stern Mars in Capricorn was join'd:

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Of him disposing in his own Abode,
He sooth'd the Goddess, while he gull'd the God:
‘Cease, Daughter, to complain; and stint the Strife;
‘Thy Palamon shall have his promis'd 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' Etherial Plains,
‘My Hand is heavy, and the Wound remains.
‘Mine is the Shipwreck, in a Watry Sign;
‘And in an Earthy, the dark Dungeon mine.
‘Cold shiv'ring Agues, melancholy Care,
‘And bitter blasting Winds, and poison'd Air,
‘Are mine, and wilful Death, resulting from Despair.
‘The throtling Quinsey 'tis my Star appoints,
‘And Rheumatisms I send to rack the Joints:
‘When Churls rebel against their Native Prince,
‘I arm their Hands, and furnish the Pretence;

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‘And housing in the Lion's hateful Sign,
‘Bought Senates, and deserting Troops are mine.
‘Mine is the privy Pois'ning, I command
‘Unkindly Seasons, and ungrateful Land.
‘By me Kings Palaces are push'd to Ground,
‘And Miners, crush'd beneath their Mines are found.
‘'Twas I slew Sampson, when the Pillar'd Hall
‘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 my Grandsire's Art;
‘Mars shall be pleas'd, and thou perform thy Part.
‘'Tis ill, though diff'rent your Complexions are,
‘The Family of Heav'n for Men should War.’
Th' Expedient pleas'd, where neither lost his Right:
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 Pleasure, Mirth and Play,
All proper to the Spring, and sprightly May:

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Which ev'ry Soul inspir'd with such Delight,
'Twas Justing all the Day, and Love at Night.
Heav'n smil'd, and gladded was the Heart of Man;
And Venus had the World, as when it first began.
At length in Sleep their Bodies they compose,
And dreamt the future Fight, and early rose.

Now scarce the dawning Day began to spring,
As at a Signal giv'n, the Streets with Clamours ring:
At once the Crowd arose; confus'd and high,
Ev'n from the Heav'n was heard a shouting Cry;
For Mars was early up, and rous'd the Sky.
The Gods came downward to behold the Wars,
Sharp'ning their Sights, and leaning from their Stars;
The Neighing of the gen'rous Horse was heard,
For Battle by the busy Groom prepar'd:
Rustling of Harness, rattling of the Shield,
Clatt'ring of Armour, furbish'd for the Field.
Crowds to the Castle mounted up the Street,
Batt'ring the Pavement with their Coursers Feet:

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The greedy Sight might there devour the Gold
Of glitt'ring 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 Liv'ries march, and quaint Attires.
One lac'd 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 Shields 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 plac'd,
Attend the Sign to sound the Martial Blast:
The Palace-yard is fill'd with floating Tides,
And the last Comers bear the former to the Sides.

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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 fav'ring this or t'other Side,
As their strong Fancies, and weak Reason guide:
Their Wagers back their Wishes: Numbers hold
With the fair freckled King, and Beard of Gold:
So vig'rous are his Eyes, such Rays they cast,
So prominent his Eagle's Beak is plac'd.
But most their Looks on the black Monarch bend,
His Rising Muscles, and his Brawn commend;
His double-biting Ax, and beamy Spear,
Each asking a Gigantick Force to rear.
All spoke as partial Favour mov'd the Mind;
And safe themselves, at others Cost divin'd.

Wak'd by the Cries, th' Athenian Chief arose,
The Knightly Forms of Combate to dispose;
And passing thro' th' obsequious Guards, he sate
Conspicuous on a Throne, sublime in State;

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There, for the two contending Knights he sent;
Arm'd Cap-a-pee, with Rev'rence low they bent;
He smil'd on both, and with superior Look
Alike their offer'd Adoration took.
The People press on ev'ry 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 injoin'd; then thus aloud
The King at Arms bespeaks the Knights and list'ning Crowd.

‘Our Sovereign Lord has ponder'd in his Mind
‘The Means to spare the Blood of gentle Kind;
‘And of his Grace, and in-born Clemency,
‘He modifies his first severe Decree;
‘The keener Edge of Battle to rebate,
‘The Troops of Honor fighting, not for Hate.
‘He wills, not Death should terminate their Strife;
‘And Wounds, if Wounds ensue, be short of Life.
‘But issues, e're the Fight, his dread Command,
‘That Slings afar, and Poniards Hand to Hand,

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‘Be banish'd from the Field; that none shall dare
‘With short'ned Sword to stab in closer War;
‘But in fair Combate fight with manly Strength,
‘Nor push with biting Point, but strike at Length.
‘The Turney is allow'd but one Career,
‘Of the tough Ash, with the sharp-grinded Spear.
‘But Knights unhors'd may rise from off the Plain,
‘And fight on Foot, their Honor to regain.
‘Nor, if at Mischief taken, on the Ground
‘Be slain, but Pris'ners to the Pillar bound,
‘At either Barrier plac'd; nor, Captives made,
‘Be freed, or arm'd anew the Fight invade.
‘The Chief of either Side, bereft of Life,
‘Or yielded to his Foe, concludes the Strife.
‘Thus dooms the Lord: Now valiant Knights and young,
‘Fight each his Fill with Swords and Maces long.’

The Herald ends: The vaulted Firmament
With loud Acclaims, and vast Applause is rent:
“Heav'n guard a Prince so gracious and so good,
“So just, and yet so provident of Blood!”

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This was the gen'ral Cry. The Trumpets sound,
And Warlike Symphony is heard around.
The marching Troops thro' Athens take their Way,
The great Earl-Mashal orders their Array.
The Fair from high the passing Pomp behold;
A Rain of Flow'rs is from the Windows roll'd.
The Casements are with golden Tissue spread,
And Horses Hoofs, for Earth, on Silken Tap'stry 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.
Thus thro' the Southern Gate they take their Way,
And at the Lists arriv'd e're Prime of Day.
There, parting from the King, the Chiefs divide,
And wheeling East and West, before their Many ride,
Th' Athenian Monarch mounts his Throne on high,
And after him the Queen and Emily:

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Next these, the Kindred of the Crown are grac'd
With nearer Seats, and Lords by Ladies plac'd.
Scarce were they seated, when with Clamours loud
In rush'd at once a rude promiscuous Crowd:
The Guards, and then each other overbear,
And in a Moment throng the spacious Theatre.
Now chang'd the jarring Noise to Whispers low,
As Winds forsaking Seas more softly blow;
When at the Western Gate, on which the Car
Is plac'd aloft, that bears the God of War:
Proud Arcite entring arm'd before his Train,
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;
Wav'd by the wanton Winds, his Banner flies,
All Maiden White, and shares the Peoples Eyes.
From East to West, look all the World around,
Two Troops so match'd were never to be found.

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Such Bodies built for Strength, of equal Age,
In Stature siz'd; so proud an Equipage:
The nicest Eye could no Distinction make,
Where lay th' Advantage, or what Side to take.

Thus rang'd, the Herald for the last proclaims
A Silence, while they answer'd to their Names:
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 clos'd;
And Chief to Chief, and Troop to Troop oppos'd.
The Heralds last retir'd, and loudly cry'd,
“The Fortune of the Field be fairly try'd.”

At this, the Challenger with fierce Defy
His Trumpet sounds; the Challeng'd makes Reply,
With Clangor rings the Field, resounds the vaulted Sky.
Their Vizors clos'd, 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.

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A Cloud of Smoke envelops 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 lab'ring in Eclipse, a while they stay,
Till the next Blast of Wind restores the Day.
They look anew: The beauteous Form of Fight
Is chang'd, and War appears a grizly 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 grov'ling on the Ground.
The Points of Spears are stuck within the Shield,
The Steeds without their Riders scour the Field.
The Knights unhors'd, on Foot renew the Fight;
The glitt'ring Fauchions cast a gleaming Light;
Hauberks and Helms are hew'd with many a Wound;
Out spins the streaming Blood, and dies the Ground.
The mighty Maces with such Haste descend,
They break the Bones, and make the solid Armour bend.

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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 floundring, throws the Rider o'er his Head.
One rolls along, a Foot-ball 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 t'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 spar'd
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 unhors'd; the jealous Blows
Fall thick and heavy, when on Foot they close.
So deep their Fauchions bite, that ev'ry Stroke
Pierc'd to the Quick; and equal Wounds they gave and took.

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Borne far asunder by the Tides of Men,
Like Adamant and Steel they meet agen.

So when a Tiger sucks a Bullock's Blood,
A famish'd Lion issuing from the Wood
Roars Lordly fierce, and challenges the Food.
Each claims Possession, neither will obey,
But 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, and both to distance drive.

At length, as Fate fore-doom'd, and all things tend
By Course of Time to their appointed End;
So when the Sun to West was far declin'd,
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
Full 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;

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Whom with such Force he struck, he fell'd him down,
And cleft the Circle of his Golden Crown.
But 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, compell'd
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 plac'd,
Who had beheld the Fight from first to last,
Bade cease the War; pronouncing from on high
“Arcite of Thebes had won the beauteous Emily.”
The Sound of Trumpets to the Voice reply'd,
And round the Royal Lists the Heralds cry'd,
“Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous Bride.”

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The People rend the Skies with vast Applause;
All own the Chief, when Fortune owns the Cause.
Arcite is own'd ev'n by the Gods above,
And conqu'ring Mars insults the Queen of Love.
So laugh'd he, when the rightful Titan fail'd,
And Jove's usurping Arms in Heav'n prevail'd.
Laugh'd all the Pow'rs 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 refus'd, which grieves a Woman most,
And in her Champion foil'd, the Cause of Love is lost.
Till Saturn said, “Fair Daughter, now be still,
“The blustring Fool has satisfy'd his Will:
“His Boon is giv'n; his Knight has gain'd 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, Heav'n and Earth resound;

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A Miracle (nor less it could be call'd)
Their Joy with unexpected Sorrow pall'd.
The Victor Knight had laid his Helm aside,
Part 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 plac'd his Emily;
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:)
Just then, from Earth sprung out a flashing Fire,
By Pluto sent, at Saturn's bad Desire:
The startling Steed was seiz'd with sudden Fright,
And, bounding, o'er the Pummel cast the Knight:
Forward he flew, and pitching on his Head,
He quiver'd with his Feet, and lay for Dead.

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Black was his Count'nance in a little space,
For all the Blood was gather'd in his Face.
Help was at hand; they rear'd him from the Ground,
And from his cumb'rous Arms his Limbs unbound;
Then lanc'd a Vein, and watch'd returning Breath;
It came, but clogg'd with Symptoms of his Death.
The Saddle-bow the noble Parts had prest,
All bruis'd and mortify'd his manly Breast.
Him still entranc'd, and in a Litter laid,
They bore from Field, and to his Bed convey'd.
At length he wak'd, and with a feeble Cry,
The Word he first pronounc'd was Emily.

Mean time the King, tho' inwardly he mourn'd,
In Pomp triumphant to the Town return'd,
Attended by the Chiefs, who sought the Field;
(Now friendly mix'd, and in one Troop compell'd.)
Compos'd his Looks to counterfeited Cheer,
And bade them not for Arcite's Life to fear.
But that which gladded all the Warrior Train,
Tho' most were sorely wounded, none were slain.

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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 asswage,
And heal their inward Hurts with sov'reign Draughts of Sage.
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 disgrac'd; for Falling is no Shame;
And Cowardice alone is loss of Fame.
The vent'rous Knight is from the Saddle thrown;
But 'tis the Fault of Fortune, not his own.
If Crowns and Palms the conqu'ring Side adorn,
The Victor under better Stars was born:
The brave Man seeks not popular Applause,
Nor overpow'r'd with Arms deserts his Cause;
Unsham'd, though foil'd, he does the best he can;
Force is of Brutes, but Honour is of Man.

Thus Theseus smil'd on all with equal Grace,
And each was set according to his Place.

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With Ease were reconcil'd the diff'ring Parts,
For Envy never dwells in Noble Hearts.
At length they took their Leave, the Time expir'd;
Well pleas'd; and to their sev'ral Homes retir'd.

Mean while the Health of Arcite still impairs;
From Bad proceeds to Worse, and mocks the Leeches Cares:
Swoln is his Breast; his inward Pains increase,
All Means are us'd, and all without Success.
The clotted Blood lies heavy on his Heart,
Corrupts, and there remains in spite of Art:
Nor breathing Veins, nor Cupping will prevail;
All outward Remedies and inward fail:
The Mold of Nature's Fabrick is destroy'd,
Her Vessels discompos'd, her Virtue void:
The Bellows of his Lungs begin to swell:
All out of Frame is ev'ry secret Cell,
Nor can the Good receive, nor Bad expel.
Those breathing Organs thus within opprest,
With Venom soon distend the Sinews of his Breast.

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Nought profits him to save abandon'd Life,
Nor Vomits upward aid, nor downward Laxatife.
The midmost Region batter'd, and destroy'd,
When Nature cannot work, th' Effect of Art is void.
For Physick can but mend our crazy State,
Patch an old Building, not a new create.
Arcite is doom'd to die in all his Pride,
Must leave his Youth, and yield his beauteous Bride,
Gain'd hardly, against Right, and unenjoy'd.
When 'twas declar'd all Hope of Life was past,
Conscience (that of all Physick works the last)
Caus'd him to send for Emily in haste.
With her, at his Desire, came Palamon;
Then on his Pillow rais'd, 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 unty'd,
“Unseen, unheard, shall hover at your Side;

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“Nor fright you waking, nor your Sleep offend,
“But wait officious, and your Steps attend:
“How I have lov'd, excuse my falt'ring Tongue,
“My Spirits feeble, and my Pains are strong:
“This I may say, I only grieve to die,
“Because I lose my charming Emily:
“To die, when Heav'n had put you in my Pow'r,
“Fate could not chuse a more malicious 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 with'ring 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 not yet bless'd before my Death.
“Farewel; but take me dying in your Arms,
“'Tis all I can enjoy of all your Charms:
“This Hand I cannot but in Death resign;
“Ah, could I live! But while I live 'tis mine.

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“I feel my End approach, and thus embrac'd,
“Am pleas'd to die:—but hear me speak my last.
“Ah! my sweet Foe, for you, and you alone,
“I broke my Faith with injur'd Palamon.
“But Love the Sense of Right and Wrong confounds,
“Strong Love and proud Ambition have no Bounds.
“And much I doubt, should Heav'n my Life prolong,
“I should return to justifie my Wrong:
“For while my former Flames remain within,
“Repentance is but want of Pow'r to sin.
“With mortal Hatred I pursu'd his Life,
“Nor he, nor you, were guilty of the Strife;
“Nor I, but as I lov'd: Yet all combin'd,
“Your Beauty, and my Impotence of Mind;
“And his concurrent Flame, that blew 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.
“Fate made it mine, and justify'd his Right;
“Nor holds this Earth a more deserving Knight,

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“For Virtue, Valour, and for Noble Blood,
“Truth, Honour, all that is compriz'd in Good;
“So help me Heav'n, in all the World is none
“So worthy to be lov'd as Palamon.
“He loves you too; with such a holy Fire,
“As will not, cannot but with Life expire:
“Our vow'd Affections both have often try'd,
“Nor any Love but yours could ours divide.
“Then by my Love's inviolable Band,
“By my long Suff'ring, 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 exercis'd below his Iron Reign;
Then upward to the Seat of Life he goes;
Sense fled before him, what he touch'd he froze:
Yet could he not his closing Eyes withdraw,
Though less and less of Emily he saw:
So, speechless, for a little Space he lay;
Then grasp'd the Hand he held, and sigh'd his Soul away.

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But whither went his Soul, let such relate
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, where Heathens go,
Who better live than we, tho' less they know.

In Palamon a manly Grief appears;
Silent, he wept, asham'd to show his Tears:
Emilia shriek'd but once, 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 Sorrow to relate,
Ill bears the Sex a youthful Lover's Fate,
When just approaching to the Nuptial State.

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But like a low hung Cloud, it rains so fast,
That all at once it falls, and cannot last.
The Face of Things is chang'd, and Athens now,
That laugh'd so late, becomes the Scene of Woe:
Matrons and Maids, both Sexes, ev'ry State,
With Tears lament the Knight's untimely Fate.
Not greater Grief in falling Troy was 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 tare.
“Why wou'dst thou go, with one Consent they cry,
“When thou hadst Gold enough, and Emily!”

Theseus himself, who shou'd have cheer'd the Grief
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 alt'ring, never in a steady State:
Good after Ill, and after Pain, Delight;
Alternate, like the Scenes of Day and Night:

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‘Since ev'ry Man who lives, is born to die,
‘And none can boast sincere Felicity,
‘With equal Mind, what happens, let us bear,
‘Nor joy, nor grieve too much for Things beyond our Care.
‘Like Pilgrims, to th' appointed Place we tend;
‘The World's an Inn, and Death the Journey's End.
‘Ev'n Kings but play; and when their Part is done,
‘Some other, worse or better, mount the Throne.’
With Words like these the Crowd was satisfy'd,
And so they would have been, had Theseus dy'd.

But he, their King, was lab'ring in the Mind,
A fitting Place for Fun'ral Pomps to find,
Which were in Honor of the Dead design'd.
And after long Debate, at last he found
(As Love itself had mark'd the Spot of Ground)
That Grove for ever green, that conscious Lawnd,
Where he with Palamon fought Hand to Hand;
That where he fed his amorous Desires
With soft Complaints, and felt his hottest Fires,

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There other Flames might waste his Earthly Part,
And burn his Limbs, where Love had burn'd his 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 Fewel on a Row,
Vulcanian Food: A Bier is next prepar'd,
On which the lifeless Body should be rear'd,
Cover'd with Cloth of Gold, on which was laid
The Corps 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, spred.
A Sword keen-edg'd within his Right he held,
The warlike Emblem of the conquer'd Field:
Bare was his manly Visage on the Bier:
Menac'd his Count'nance; ev'n in Death severe.
Then to the Palace-Hall they bore the Knight,
To lie in solemn State, a publick Sight.
Groans, Cries, and Howlings fill the crowded Place,
And unaffected Sorrow sat on ev'ry Face.

172

Sad Palamon above the rest appears,
In sable Garments, dew'd with gushing Tears:
His Aubourn Locks on either Shoulder flow'd,
Which to the Fun'ral of 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 Fight,
Was trapp'd with polish'd Steel, all shining bright,
And cover'd with th' Atchievements 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 Quiver, 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 thro' the Master-Street the Corps convey'd.

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The Houses to their Tops with Black were spred,
And ev'n 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 fill'd, and Milk, and mix'd with ruddy Wine.
Then Palamon the Kinsman of the Slain,
And after him appear'd th' illustrious Train
To grace the Pomp; came Emily the Bright,
With cover'd Fire, the Fun'ral Pile to light.
With high Devotion was the Service made,
And all the Rites of Pagan-Honor paid:
So lofty was the Pile, a Parthian Bow,
With Vigour drawn, must send the Shaft below.
The Bottom was full twenty Fathom broad,
With crackling Straw beneath in due Proportion strow'd.
The Fabrick seem'd a Wood of rising Green,
With Sulphur and Bitumen cast between,

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To feed the Flames: The Trees were unctuous Fir,
And Mountain-Ash, the Mother of the Spear;
The Mourner Eugh, and Builder Oak were there:
The Beech, the swimming Alder, and the Plane,
Hard Box, and Linden of a softer Grain,
And Laurels, which the Gods for conqu'ring Chiefs ordain.
How they were rank'd, shall rest untold by me,
With nameless Nymphs that liv'd in ev'ry Tree;
Nor how the Dryads, and the Woodland Train,
Disherited, ran howling o'er the Plain:
Nor how the the Birds to foreign Seats repair'd,
Or Beasts, that bolted out, and saw the Forest bar'd:
Nor how the Ground, now clear'd, with ghastly Fright
Beheld the sudden Sun, a Stranger to the Light.

The Straw, as first I said, was laid below;
Of Chips and Sere-wood 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.

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The Service sung, the Maid with mourning Eyes
The Stubble fir'd; the smould'ring Flames arise:
This Office done, she sunk upon the Ground;
But what she spoke, recover'd from her Swoond,
I want the Wit in moving Words to dress;
But by themselves the tender Sex may guess.
While the devouring Fire was burning fast,
Rich Jewels in the Flames the Wealthy cast;
And some their Shields, and some their Lances threw,
And gave their Warrior's Ghost, a Warrior's Due.
Full Bowls of Wine, of Hony, Milk, and Blood,
Were pour'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 farewel, they shouted thrice amain,
Thrice facing to the Left, and thrice they turn'd again:
Still as they turn'd, they beat their clatt'ring Shields;
The Women mix their Cries; and Clamour fills the Fields.

176

The warlike Wakes continu'd all the Night,
And fun'ral Games were play'd at new returning Light:
Who naked wrestled best, besmear'd with Oil,
Or who with Gantlets gave or took the Foil,
I will not tell you, nor wou'd 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 Parliament:
Among the Laws that pass'd, it was decreed,
That conquer'd Thebes from Bondage shou'd be freed;
Reserving Homage to th' Athenian Throne,
To which the Sov'reign summon'd Palamon.
Unknowing of the Cause, he took his Way,
Mournful in Mind, and still in black Array.

The Monarch mounts the Throne, and plac'd on high,
Commands into the Court the beauteous Emily:
So call'd, she came; the Senate rose, and paid
Becoming Rev'rence to the Royal Maid.

177

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 length he sigh'd; and having first prepar'd
Th' attentive Audience, thus his Will declar'd.

‘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 plac'd,
‘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.

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‘So Men oppress'd, when weary of their Breath,
‘Throw off the Burden, and suborn 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 diff'rent in Degree.
‘Plants, Beasts, and Man; and as our Organs are,
‘We more or less of his Perfection share.
‘But by a long Descent, th' Etherial Fire
‘Corrupts; and Forms, the mortal Part, expire:
‘As he withdraws his Virtue, so they pass,
‘And the same Matter makes another Mass:
‘This Law th' Omniscient Pow'r was pleas'd to give,
‘That ev'ry Kind should by Succession live:
‘That Individuals die, his Will ordains;
‘The propagated Species still remains.

179

‘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 Tow'rs their fatal Periods meet;
‘So Rivers rapid once, now naked lie,
‘Forsaken of their Springs; and leave their Channels dry.
‘So Man, at first a Drop, dilates with Heat,
‘Then form'd, the little Heart begins to beat;
‘Secret he feeds, unknowing in the Cell;
‘At length, for hatching ripe, he breaks the Shell,
‘And struggles into Breath, and cries for Aid;
‘Then, helpless, in his Mother's Lap is laid.
‘He creeps, he walks, and issuing into Man,
‘Grudges their Life, from whence his own began.
‘Retchless of Laws, affects to rule alone,
‘Anxious to reign, and restless on the Throne:
‘First vegetive, then feels, and reasons last;
‘Rich of Three Souls, and lives all three to waste.

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‘Some thus; but thousands more in Flow'r of Age:
‘For few arrive to run the latter Stage.
‘Sunk in the first, in Battle some are slain,
‘And others whelm'd beneath the stormy Main.
‘What makes all this, but Jupiter the 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 cou'd we chuse the Time, and chuse aright,
‘'Tis best to die, our Honor at the Height.
‘When we have done our Ancestors no Shame,
‘But serv'd our Friends, and well secur'd 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.
‘Enjoying while we live the present Hour,
‘And dying in our Excellence, and Flow'r.

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‘Then round our Death-bed ev'ry Friend shou'd run,
‘And joyous of our Conquest early won:
‘While the malicious World with envious Tears
‘Shou'd grudge our happy End, and wish it theirs.
‘Since then our Arcite is with Honor dead,
‘Why shou'd we mourn, that he so soon is freed,
‘Or call untimely, what the Gods decreed?
‘With Grief as just, a Friend may be deplor'd,
‘From a foul Prison to free Air restor'd.
‘Ought he to thank his Kinsman, or his Wife,
‘Cou'd 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;

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‘That thence resulting Joy may be renew'd,
‘As jarring Notes in Harmony conclude.
‘Then I propose that Palamon shall 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 deserv'd, had Fortune done him Right:
‘'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 Dishonor 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:
‘Pity is Heav'n'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'er-aw'd by Might,
Seem'd to give Theseus, what she gave the Knight.

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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.
Smil'd 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 fir'd the Bridegroom, and one warm'd the Bride;
And long-attending Hymen from above,
Show'r'd on the Bed the whole Idalian Grove.
All of a Tenor was their After-Life,
No Day discolour'd with Domestick Strife;
No Jealously, but mutual Truth believ'd,
Secure Repose, and Kindness undeceiv'd.
Thus Heav'n, beyond the Compass of his Thought,
Sent him the Blessing he so dearly bought.

So may the Queen of Love long Duty bless,
And all true Lovers find the same Success.

End of the Knight's TALE.

Rubeus and Puella.

184

PROLOGUE TO THE MILLER's TALE.

By Mr. OGLE.

A Tale so nobly plan'd, and sweetly told!
Pleas'd All of either Sex, both Young and Old;
But most the Men of Sense, and Men of Taste:
Stor'd with such Virtue! With such Beauty grac'd.
They judg'd it, for the Stile, and for the Frame,
Worthy to stand in the Records of Fame!

Our Host all Rapture, “May my Mortal Sins
“Be so forgiv'n, as well the Game begins;
“By You, Sir Monk, be the next Party play'd;
“For You're a Man of Learning by your Trade.
“To match the Knight, unbuckle wide the Male,
“And to the Full repay him, Tale for Tale.”

185

The Miller, who till then rode void of Thought,
All Pale, and Drunken with his Morning Draught,
Rose from his Horse, where balancing He sat,
And little Rev'rence pay'd to Hood, or Hat;
But, lev'ling both the Gentry and the Croud,
Exclaim'd, not Pilate half so harsh or loud,
And look'd like Ananias on Saint Paul,
The very Semblance of a Whited Wall!

“A glorious Tale, now comes into my Head;
“Then take it, just as I have heard or read.
“(The Miller roar'd) Room to the Left and Right,
“Nor better cou'd the Monk repay the Knight.”

Our Host, the Miller, heard, and judg'd his Case;
“Hold, Robin, hold (He cry'd) and know thy Place.
“Our Turns come last; then first Our Betters hear!
“What, are thy Wits quite overcome with Beer?
“Forbear! And go more orderly to Work,
“The Christian shou'd not stand behind the Turk.”

‘Christian or Turk, the Miller made Reply,
‘Be silent He that will, that will not I.

186

‘Bar my Discourse, and I renounce the Play,
‘Hail-Fellow and well met! as Neighbors say;
‘Equal in Company are High and Low:
‘On these Conditions shall I stay, or go?’

“Stay, in the Dev'l's Name, stay, and take thy Will,
(Answer'd our Host, who chose the lighter Ill)
“What wou'd You more? Begin without Delay:
“A Fool Thou art, and Fools must have their Way.”

The Miller then; ‘Half Tipsey, by my Soul!
‘Fast as a Mill I feel my Senses rowl!
‘If then in Manners, or in Words I fail,
‘Impute it to the Strength of Southwark Ale.
‘While first I paint in Colours to the Life,
‘A jealous Husband, and a flaunting Wife;
‘He Rich and Old, a Carpenter by Trade!
‘She Young and Handsome, but an errant Jade!
‘And last a Student's Stratagem reveal,
‘Who put a Spoke into the Cuckold's Wheel’.

Him interrupts the Reve. ‘Forbear thy Prate;
‘All lewd and drunken Ribaldry I hate;

187

‘And hold it equally a Sin and Shame,
‘To God, and Man, our Neighbor to defame:
‘Much more the Virtue of his Bosom Spouse,
‘To bring in Question. Spare the Wedded House.
‘Another Subject chuse, the Coast is clear,
‘One fit for You to tell, and Us to hear.’
Not, so reprov'd, the Miller spar'd his Joke,
But spoke, and laugh'd full hearty as He spoke.
‘Good Brother Oswalde, I wou'd stake my Life,
‘No Cuckold is the Man who has no Wife;
‘Not that it therefore follows as imply'd,
‘That Thou art one, because in Wedlock ty'd.
‘Yet 'tis a Hazard, rightly understood,
‘Wives there are many bad, and many good.
‘And I as well as Thou, am duly bound,
‘Be Marriage what it will, a Park, or Pound!
‘Yet wou'd not I presume, in Word or Thought,
‘To Sentence Wives more strictly than I ought,
‘Or deem that Mine had slyly branch'd my Brow,
‘No, not for all the Oxen in my Plow;

188

‘Content, to hope the Best, good Master Reve,
‘For I'm a perfect Christian, and believe;
‘Nay more, to lay Partiality aside,
‘All Jealousy, is Av'rice mixt with Pride;
‘A Wish, to lay in Hoard, or keep for Show
‘More than we want; as Wives and Husbands know.
‘Then rate not by the lost, but by the giv'n,
‘The Goods of Wisehood, as the Goods of Heav'n.
‘Tho' some by Blasts of Wind are borne away,
‘And some to thievish Birds may fall a Prey;
‘If still Enough for Dayly Use remains,
‘Why wail the supernumerary Grains?’

What need of Words, the Prelude to prolong?
Nought cou'd restrain the Torrent of his Tongue;
For down He bore Us, with impetuous Sway,
And told his Tale in his own Churlish Way.
But not, to our Account, his Licence state,
If what he spoke, we faithfully relate.
Bound to the Truth, by Duty and by Force,
As Man to Wife, for Better and for Worse;

189

The Tale we must recount without Disguise,
Such as it was; in This no Medium lies.

Then timely warn'd, ye modest Virgins fly,
Nor curious lend an Ear, nor cast an Eye.
Here stop, and cautious further to ingage,
Turn the loose Leaf, and chuse a chaster Page.
Others, and many such, remain behind,
Unspotted Stories suited to your Mind;
Some fitted to instruct and to delight,
The Subject moral, and the Turn polite;
To Hist'ry, some that raise a bolder Wing,
And some that ev'n of Sacred Myst'ries sing.
Then blame not us, nor on our Labors frown;
We tell you plain, the Miller is a Clown!
A Clown the Reve! the Journey to beguile,
Who talk'd of Love, in Nature's naked Stile.
Nor take in Serious what is meant in Sport,
We scorn to trap you with unfair Report.
The Good and Bad to your Election leave,
Condemn not us, if you yourselves deceive.

190

But if the Prohibition more intice,
For Curiosity may want Advice,
Convey the Ribaldry from Vulgar Sight,
Peruse it in the Closet, and by Night;
Or with a female Friend in private read,
So may the Miller, if you chuse, proceed.

End of the Prologue.

191

THE CARPENTER of OXFORD:

OR, THE MILLER's TALE.

By Mr. COBB.

Whilom in Oxford an old Chuff did dwell,
A Carpenter by Trade, as Stories tell;
Who by his Craft had heap'd up many a Hoard,
And furnish'd Strangers both with Bed and Board.
With him a Scholar lodg'd, of slender Means,
But notable for Sciences and Sense.
Yet, tho' he took Degrees in Arts, his Mind
Was mostly to Astrology inclin'd.
A Lad in Divination skill'd and shrewd,
Who by Interrogations could conclude,
If Men should ask him at what certain Hours
The droughty Earth would gape for cooling Show'rs,

192

When it should Rain, or Snow, what should befall
Of Fifty Things; I cannot reckon all.

This learned Clerk had got a mighty Fame
For Modesty, and Nicholas his Name.
Subtle he was, well taught in Cupid's Trade,
But seem'd as Meek, and Bashful as a Maid.
A Chamber in this Hostelry he kept,
Alone he study'd, and alone he slept.
With sweet and fragant Herbs the Room was drest,
But he was ten times sweeter than the best.
His Books of various size, or great, or small,
His Augrim Stones to cast Accounts withal;
His Astrolabe and Almagist apart,
With twenty more hard Names of cunning Art;
On sev'ral Shelves were couched nigh his Bed,
And the Press cover'd with a folding Red.
Above an Instrument of Music lay,
On which sweet Melody he us'd to play;

193

So wond'rous sweet, that all the Chamber rung,
And Angelus ad Virginem he sung;
Then would he Chaunt in good King David's Note,
Full often blessed was his merry Throat.
And thus the Clerk in Books and Music spent
His Time, and Exhibition's yearly Rent.

This Carpenter had a new marry'd Wife,
Lov'd as his Eyes, and dearer than his Life.
The Buxom Lass had twice Nine Summers seen
And her brisk Blood ran high in ev'ry Vein.
The Dotard, jealous of so ripe an Age,
Watch'd her, and lock'd her, like a Bird in Cage.
For she was Wild, and in her lovely Prime;
But he, poor Man! walk'd down the Hill of Time.
He knew the Temper of a Youthful Spouse,
And oft was seen to rub his aking Brows.
He knew his own weak side, and dreamt in Bed
She had, or would be planting on his Head.

194

He knew not Cato, for his Wit was rude;
That Men should Wed with their Similitude.
Like should with Like in Love and Years ingage,
For Youth can never be a Rhyme to Age.
Hence Jealousies create a Nuptial War,
And the warm Seasons with the frigid jar.
But when the Trap's once down, he must endure
His Fate, and Patience is the only Cure.
Perhaps his Father, and a hundred more
Of honest Christians, were thus serv'd before.
Fair was his charming Consort, and withall
Slender her Waist, and like a Weasel's small.
She had a Girdle round her barr'd with Silk,
And a clean Apron, white as Morrow Milk.
White was her Smock, embroider'd all before,
Which on her Loins in many Plaits she wore.
Broad was her silken Fillet, set full high,
And oft she twinkled with a Liqu'rish Eye.
Her Brow was arch'd like any bended Bow,
Like Marble smooth, and blacker than a Sloe,
She softer far than Wool, or fleecy Snow.

195

Were you to search the Universal Round,
So gay a Wench was never to be found.
With greater Brightness did her Colour shine,
Than a new Noble of the freshest Coin.
Shrill was her Song, and loud her piercing Note,
No Swallow on a Barn had such a Throat.
To this she skipp'd and caper'd like a Lamb,
Or Kid, or Calf, when they pursue their Dam.
Sweet as Metheglin was her Honey Lip,
Or Hoard of Apples which in Hay are kept.
Wincing she was, as is a jolly Colt,
Long as a Mast, and upright as a Bolt:
Above her Ancles laced was her Shoe,
She was a Primrose, and a Pigsnye too.
And fit to lig by any Christian's Side,
Or a Lord's Mistress, or a Yeoman's Bride.

Now Sirs, what think you, how the Case befell?
This Nicholas (for I the Truth will tell)
Was a mere Wag, and on a certain Day,
When the Good Man, the Husband, was away,

196

Began to sport and wanton with his Dame,
(For Clerks are sly, and very full of Game)
And privily he caught her by That same.
“My Lemman Dear (quoth he) I'm all on Fire,
“And perish, if you grant not my Desire.
He clasp her round, and held her fast, and cry'd,
“O let me, let me—never be deny'd.”
At this she wreath'd her Head, and sprung aloof,
Like a young frisking Colt, whose tender Hoof
Felt never Farrier's Hand, and never knew
The Virgin Burden of an Iron Shoe.
‘Fye Nicholas! away your Hands, quoth she:
‘Is this your Breeding, and Civility?
‘Foh! Idle Sot! what means th' unmanner'd Clown,
‘To teize me thus, and toss me up and down?
‘I vow I'll tell, and bawl it o'er the Town.
‘You're rude, and will you not be answer'd, No?
‘I will not kiss you—prithee, let me go.’

197

Here Nicholas, a young, designing Knave,
Began to weep, and cant, and Pardon crave.
So fair he spoke, and importun'd so fast,
This seeming modest Spouse consents at last.
By good St. Thomas swore, her usual Oath,
That she would meet his Love—tho' mighty loath.
‘If you, said she, convenient Leisure wait,
‘(You know my Husband has a jealous Pate)
‘I will requite you; for if once the Beast
‘Should chance to find us out, and smell the Jest,
‘I must be a dead Woman at the least.’
“Let that, quoth Nicholas, ne'er vex your Head;
“He must be a meer learned Ass indeed,
“And very foolishly besets his Wile,
“Who cannot a dull Carpenter beguile.”
And thus they were accorded, thus they swore
To wait the Time, as I have said before.
And now, when Nicholas had wore away
The pleasant Time, in harmless am'rous Play,

198

To his melodious Psaltery he flew,
Play'd Tunes of Love, by which his Passion grew,
Then printed on her Lips a dear Adieu.
It happen'd thus, (I cannot rightly tell,
If it on Easter or on Whitson fell)
That on a Holyday, this modest Dame
To Church, with other honest Neighbours came,
In a good Fit to hear the Parson preach
What the Divine Apostles us'd to teach.
Bright was her Forehead, and no Summer's Day
Shone half so clear, so tempting, and so gay.

Now to this Parish did a Clerk belong,
Who many a Time had rais'd a Holy Song:
His Name was Absalon, a silly Man,
Who curl'd his Hair, which strutted like a Fan;
And from his jolly, pert, and empty Head,
In Golden Ringlets on his Shoulders spred.
His Face was Red, his Eyes as Grey as Goose,
With St. Paul's Windows figur'd on his Shoes.

199

Full properly he walk'd in Scarlet Hose,
But light, and Silver-colour'd were his Clothes,
And Surplice white as Blossoms on the Rose.
Thick Poynts and Tassels did the Coxcomb please,
And fetously they dangled on his Knees.
He could let Blood, and shave your Beard, or Head,
But a mere Barber Surgeon by his Trade.
Nay, he cou'd draw a Bond, and learnt from France,
In thirty Motions how to trip, and dance.
Nay, he cou'd write and Read, and that is more
Than twenty Parish-Clreks could do before:
Could frisk and toss his twirling Legs in Air,
Nice were his Feet, and trod it to a Hair.
Songs would he play, and, not to hide his Wit,
Would squeak a Treble to his squawling Kit;
His Dress was finical, his Music queer,
And pleas'd a Tapster's Eye or Drawer's Ear.
No Tavern, Brew-house, Ale-House in the Town,
Was to the gentle Absalon unknown:
But he was very careful of his Wind,
And never let it sally out behind;

200

To give the Devil his Due, he had an Art
By civil Speech to win a Lady's Heart.

This Absalon, so jolly, spruce and gay,
Went with the Censer on the Sabbath Day.
He swung the Incense Pot with comely Grace,
But chiefly would he Fume a pretty Face.
His wanton Eye, which every where he cast,
Dwelt on the Carpenter's fine Dame at last.
So sweet and proper was his lovely Wife,
That he could freely gaze away his Life.
Were he a Cat, this pretty Mouse would feel
Too soon his Talons, a delicious Meal.

And now had Cupid shot a piercing Dart,
As wet the Feathers in his wounded Heart.
No Offering of the Handsome Wives he took,
He wanted nothing but a smiling Look,
The Parish Fees refus'd, and said, the Light
Of the fair Moon shines brightest in the Night.
Soon as the Cock had bid the Morning rise,
The smitten Lover to his Fiddle flies.

201

A hideous Noise his squeaking Trillos make,
And all the drowsy Neighbourhood awake.
At the lov'd House some am'rous Tunes he play'd,
And thus with gentle Voice he sung or said.
Now dear Lady,
If thy Will be,
I pray to Thee
To pity me.
And twenty such complaining Notes he sung,
Alike the Music of his Kit, and Tongue.
At this the staring Carpenter awoke,
And thus his Wife, fair Alison, bespoke.

“Art Thou asleep, or art Thou deaf, my Dear?
“And cannot Absalon at Window hear?
“How with his Serenade he charms us all,
“Chanting melodiously beneath our Wall?”
‘Yes, yes, I hear him, Alison reply'd,
‘Too well, God wot,’ and then she turn'd aside.
Thus went Affairs, till Absalon, alas!
Was a lost Creature, a mere whining Ass.

202

All Night he wakes, and sighs, and wears away
On his broad Locks and Dress, the live-long Day.
To such a Height his doating Fondness grew,
To kiss the Ground, and wipe her very Shoe.
Where're she went, he like a Slave pursu'd,
With spiced Ale, and sweet Metheglin woo'd.
All Dainties he could rap and rend, he got,
And sent her Tarts and Custards piping hot.
He spar'd no Cost for an expensive Treat,
Of Mead and Cyder, and all Sorts of Meat.
Throbbing he sings with his lamenting Throat,
And rivals Philomela's mournful Note.
With Rigour some, and some with gentle Arts
Have found a Passage to Young Ladies Hearts:
Some Wealth has won, and some have had the Lot
To fall inamour'd of a Treating Sot.

Sometimes he Scaramouch'd it all on high,
And Harlequin'd it with Activity.
Betrays the Lightness of his empty Head,
And how he could cut Capers in a Bed.

203

But neither this, nor that, the Damsel move,
For Nicholas has swept the Stakes of Love.
The Parish Clerk has nothing met but Scorn,
And may go Fiddle now, or blow his Horn.
Thus gentle Absalon is made her Ape,
And all his Passion turn'd into a Jape.
For Nicholas is always in her Eye:
True says the Proverb, that the Nigh are Sly.
A distant Love may Disappointment find,
For out of Sight is ever out of Mind.
The Scholar was at hand, as I have told,
And gave the Parish Clerk the Dog to hold.
Now Nicholas thy Craft and Cunning try,
That Absalon may De Profundis cry.

Now when this Carpenter was call'd away
To Work at Osney, on a certain Day;
The subtle Scholar, and his wanton Spouse,
Were decently contriving for his Brows:
Agreed, that Nicholas should shape a Wile,
Her addle-pated Husband to beguile.

204

And, if so be the Game succeeded right,
She then would sleep within his Arms all Night.
For both were in this one Desire concern'd,
Alike they Suffer'd, and alike they Burn'd.
Strait a new Thought leapt cross the Scholar's Head,
Who at that Instant to his Chamber fled.
But to relieve his Thirst and Hunger, bore
Of Meat and Liquor a substantial Store,
And victual'd it for one long Day, or more.
“Alce, shou'd your Husband ask for Us (quoth he)
“Reply in Scorn, What's Nicholas to me?
“Am I his Keeper? help your silly Head!
“Perhaps the Man is mad, asleep, or dead;
“My Maid indeed has thump'd this Hour or more,
“And knock'd as if she'd thunder down the Door:
“But He, a moaping Drone, no Answer gave,
“Fast as a Church, and silent as the Grave.”

Thus did one Saturday entire consume,
Since Nicholas had lock'd him in his Room.

205

Nor was he Idle; for no Lent he kept,
But eat, like other Men, and drank, and slept.
Did what he list, till the next Sun was new,
And went to Rest, as common Mortals do.

This Carpenter was in a grievous Pain,
Lest Nicholas should over-work his Brain;
By Study lose his Reason, or his Life—
‘Well, by St. Thomas, I don't like it, Wife.
‘The World we live in, is a ticklish Place,
‘And sudden Death has often stopt our Race.
‘I saw a Corpse, as to the Church it past,
‘And the poor Man at work but Monday last.
‘Run, Dick, quoth he, run speedily up Stairs,
‘Thump at the Door, and see how stand Affairs.’
Up strait he runs, like any Tempest flies,
And knocks, and bawls, and like a Madman cries.
“Hoh! Master Nicholas, what mean you thus
“To sleep all Night and Day, and frighten Us?”
He might as well have whistl'd to the Wind,
As from good Nicholas an Answer find.

206

At last he spy'd a Hole, full low, and deep,
Where usually the Cat was wont to creep;
Here was discover'd to his wond'ring Sight,
The Scholar gazing with his Eyes upright,
As if intent upon the Stars and Moon:
And down runs He, to tell his Master soon,
In what Array he saw this studious Man.
The Carpenter to cross himself began:
And cry'd, ‘St. Frideswild, help us one and all!
‘Little we know what Fate shall us befall.
‘This Man with his Astronomy is got
‘Into some Frenzy, and stark mad, God wot.
‘This comes of poring on his cunning Books,
‘Of his Moon-snuffing, and Star-peeping Looks.
‘Why should a silly Earth-born Mortal pry
‘On Heav'n, and search the Secrets of the Sky?
‘Well fare those Men, who no more Learning need
‘Than what's contain'd in the Lord's Pray'r and Creed,
‘Scholars sufficient, if they can but Read!

207

‘Thus far'd a Sage Philosopher of Old,
‘Who walking out, as 'tis in Story told,
‘Was so much with Astronomy bewitch'd,
‘That his Star-gazing Clerkship was beditch'd.
‘Ill Luck attends the Man, who looks too high,
‘And can a Star, but not a Marl-pit spy.
‘But, by St. Thomas, this shall never pass;
‘Too well I love this gentle Nicholas.
‘I'll ferret him, unless the Devil's in it,
‘From his brown Fit of Study in a Minute.

‘Robin, let's try if that an Iron Pur
‘And your strong Back can make this Scholar stir.’
Now Robin was a Lad of Brawn and Bones,
And by the Hasp heav'd up the Door at once,
Which in the Chamber fell with dreadful Sound,
As would a Man, like you or me, astound.
But Nicholas, did nothing do but stare;
And like a Statue gape upon the Air.

208

This Carpenter was in a piteous Fear,
Because he did not, or he would not hear.
Thought some deep Melancholy had impair'd
His Brain, and that of Mercy he despair'd;
For which the Student in his Arms he took
With might and main, and by the Shoulders shook.
‘Cry'd, Nicholas, awake! what? not a Word?
‘Look down, despair not—think upon the Lord!
Then the Night-Spell he mumbled to himself:
‘Bless thee from Fiends, and every wicked Elf!
He crost the Threshold, where a Dev'l might creep,
And each small Hole, thro' which an Imp might peep;
With solemn Pater Nosters blest the Door,
And Ave Marys after and before.
At this the Clerk sent forth a heavy Sigh,
With Tears, and woful Tone began to cry—
And shall this World be lost so soon? Ah! why?
‘What do I hear? the Carpenter reply'd,
‘What say'st Thou, Nicholas? sure Thou art beside

209

‘Thy self: Serve God, as we poor Lab'rers do,
‘And then no Harm, nor Danger will ensue.’
“Ah! Friend, quoth Nicholas, you little think
“What I can tell; but first let's have some Drink.
“Then, my dear Host, Thou shalt in private learn
“Some certain things, which Thee and Me concern.
“It shall no Mortal but your self avail;
“Then fetch a Winchester of mighty Ale.”
And now when both had drank an equal Share,
Cries Nicholas, “Sit down, and draw your Chair.
“But first, sweet Landlord, you must take an Oath,
“To no Man living to betray thy Troth.
“For, trust me, what I'm going to relate
“Is Revelation, and as sure as Fate.
“And if you tell, this Vengeance will ensue,
“No Hare in March will be so Mad as You.”

‘Nay, quoth mine Host, I am no Blab, not I,
‘And hang me, if you catch me in a Lye.
‘I would not tell, tho' 'twere to save my Life,
‘To Chick or Child, to Man, or Maid, or Wife.’

210

“Now, John, quoth Nicholas, I will not hide
“What by my Art I have of late descry'd;
“How, as I por'd upon fair Cynthia's Light,
“Should fall, on Monday next, at Quarter Night,
“A Rain so sudden, and so long to boot,
“That Noah's Flood was but a Spoonful to't.
“This World within the Compass of an Hour
“Shall all be drown'd, so hideous is the Show'r,
“As will the Cattle, and Mankind devour.”
Cries then this silly Man, ‘Alas, my Wife!
‘My Bosom-comfort, and my better Life!
‘And must She drown, and perish with the Rest?
‘My Alison, the Darling of my Breast?’
At this well nigh he swoon'd o'er-whelm'd with Grief,
Fetch'd a deep Sigh, ‘And is there no Relief;
‘No Remedy, he cry'd, no Succour left?
‘Are we, alas! of ev'ry Hope bereft?’
“No, by no Means, quoth this designing Clerk;
“Be of good Heart, and by Instruction Work.

211

“For if by Nicholas you will be led,
“And build no Castles in your own wild Head,
“None so secure: for Solomon says true,
“Work all by Counsel, and you cannot rue.
“If you'll be govern'd, and be rul'd by me,
“I'll undertake to save Thy Wife and Thee;
“By my own Art against the Flood prevail,
“And make no Use of either Mast or Sail.
“Have you not heard, how, when the World was naught,
“Noah, by Heav'nly Inspiration taught’—
‘(Ay, ay, quoth John, I've in my Bible found
‘That once upon a Time the World was drown'd,’)
“Hast thou not heard, how Noah was concern'd
“For his dear Wife, and how his Bowels yearn'd,
“Till he had built and furnish'd out a Bark,
“And lodged her, with her Children in the Ark?
“Now Expedition is the Soul and Life
“Of Business; if you love Yourself or Wife,
“Run, Fly—for in this Case it is a Crime
“To loyter, or to lose an Inch of Time.

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“For Alison, Yourself, and Me provide
“Three Kneading-Troughs, to sail upon the Tide.
“But take most special Care, that they be large,
“In which a Man may swim as in a Barge.
“Let them be victual'd well, and see you lay
“Sufficient Stores against a rainy Day;
“Enough to serve You twenty Hours, and more,
“For then the Flood will swage, and not before.
“But one thing let me whisper in your Ear,
“Let not thy sturdy Servant Robin hear,
“Nor bonny Gillian know what I relate;
“I must not utter the Decrees of Fate.
“Ask me not Reasons why I cannot save
“Your trusty Serving-Maid, and honest Knave:
“Suffice it thee, unless Thy Wits be mad,
“To have as great a Grace, as Noah had.
“Do you make Haste, and mind the grand Affair;
“To save your Wife shall be my proper Care.
“But when these Kneading-Tubs are ready made,
“Which may secure us, when the Floods invade,

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“See that you hang them in the Roof full high,
“That none our Providential Plot descry.
“And when Thou hast convey'd sufficient Store
“Of Meats and Drink, as I have said before,
“And put a sharp'ned Ax in ev'ry Boat,
“To cut the Cord, and set us all afloat;
“Then thro' the Gable of the House, which lies
“Above the Stable, and the Garden spies,
“Break out a Hole, so very large and wide,
“Thro' which our Tubs may sail upon the Tide.

“Then wilt thou so much Mirth and Pleasure take
“In swimming, as the white Duck and the Drake.
“Then when I cry, Hoh! Alison, and John,
“Be merry; for the Flood will pass anon.
“Then wilt thou answer, Master Nicholay;
“Good morrow, for I see it is broad Day.
“Then shall we reign, as Emperors for Life,
“O'er all the World, like Noah and his Wife.
“But one thing I almost forgot to tell,
“Which now comes in my Head, (and mark me well)

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“That on that very Night we go aboard,
“All must be hush'd, and whisper not a Word.
“But all the Time employ our holy Mind
“In earnest Prayers: For thus has Heav'n injoin'd.

“You and your Wife must take a separate Place,
“Nor is there any Sin in such a Case.
“To morrow Night, when Men are fast asleep,
“We to our Kneading-Tubs will slyly creep.
“There will we sit, each in his Ship apart,
“And wait the Deluge with a patient Heart.
“Go now; I have no longer time to spare
“In Sermoning, use expeditious Care.
“Your Apprehension needs no more Advice:
“One single Word's sufficient for the Wise.
“And none, dear Landord, can your Wit inform;
“Go, save our Lives from this impending Storm.”
Away hies John, with melancholy Look,
And sigh'd, and groan'd, at ev'ry Step he took.
To Alison he does his Fate deplore,
And tells a Secret which she knew before.

215

But yet she trembl'd, like an Aspin Leaf,
And seem'd to perish with dissembled Grief;
Crying, “Alas! What shall I do?—begone—
“Help us to 'scape, or we are all undone.
“I am thy true and very wedded Wife;
“Go, dear, dear Spouse, and help to save my Life.”

What strong Impressions does Affection give?
By Fancy, Men have often ceas'd to live.
Howe're absurd things in themselves appear,
Weak Minds are apt to credit what they fear.

This silly Carpenter is almost Wood,
And thinks of nothing else, but Noah's Flood.
Believes he sees it, and begins to quake,
And all for Alison, his Hony's Sake.
He's over-run with Sorrow and with Fear,
And sends forth many a Groan and many a Tear.
A Kneading-Trough, a Tub, and Kemelin
He gets by Stealth, and sends them to his Inn.

216

He makes three Ladders, whence he climbs aloof,
And privately he hangs them in the Roof.
But first he victual'd them, both Trough and Tub,
With Bread and Cheese, and Bottles fill'd with mighty Bub;
Enough o'Conscience to relieve their Fast,
And be sufficient for a Day's Repast.

But e're this Preparation had been made,
He sent to London both his Man and Maid,
On certain Matters, which concern'd his Trade.

And now came on the fatal Monday Night,
Barr'd are the Doors, out goes the Candle-Light.
And when all things in Readiness were set,
These Three their Ladders take, and up they get.
Now Pater-Noster, clum, said Alison,
And clum, quoth Nicholas, and clum, quoth John.
This Carpenter his Orisons did say,
For Men in fear are very apt to pray.
Silent he waited, when the Skies would pour
This unaccountable and dismal Show'r.

217

And now at Curfew time, dead Sleep began
To fall upon this easy, simple Man.
Who after so much Care and Bus'ness past,
And spent with sad Concern, was quickly fast.
Soft down the Ladder stole this loving Pair,
Good Nicholas, and Alison the Fair;
Then, without speaking, to the Bed they creep
Of John, poor Cuckold! who was fast asleep.
There all the Night they revel, sport, and toy,
And act the merry Scene of am'rous Joy;
Till that the Bell of Lauds began to ring,
And the fat Fryars in the Chancel sing.

The Parish Clerk, this am'rous Absalon,
Who over Head and Ears in Love is gone,
At Osney happen'd with a jovial Crew
To spend the Monday, as they us'd to do;

218

There pulls a certain Fryar by the Sleeve,
With Pardon begg'd, and Father, by your Leave,
“When saw yon John the Carpenter? he cries”.
‘Last Saturday, the Cloisterer replies,
‘Since then I have not seen him with these Eyes;
‘Perhaps abroad he's playing fast and loose;
‘Or fetching Timber for the Abbot's Use,
‘And lodges at the Graunge a Day or two,
‘Or else at Home—I know no more than you.’
This made Nab's boiling Blood with Pleasure start,
The News rejoyc'd the Cockles of his Heart.
“Now is my Time, thinks he; the Moon is bright,
“Nor care I, if I travel all the Night;
“For at his Door since Day began to spring,
“I've seen, like him, no kind of Man, or Thing.

“It is resolv'd; to Alison I'll go,
“When the first Morning Cock begins to crow;
“And to her Window privately repair,
“Then knock, and tell her my tormenting Care.

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“I'll open all my Breast, and ease my Heart,
“For 'tis too much to bear Love's stinging Smart.
“Some little Comfort sure I shall not miss,
“At least she'll grant the Favour of a Kiss;
“My Mouth has itch'd all Day, from whence it seems,
“That I shall kiss: Besides my pleasant Dreams
“Of Feasts and Banquets, whence a Man may guess
“That I may haply meet with some Success:
“But for an Hour or two before I go,
“I'll first refresh me with a Nap, or so.”

Now the first Cock had wak'd from his Repose
The jolly Absalon, and up he rose.
But first he dresses finical and gay,
And looks like any Beau, at Church or Play,
And brisk as Bridegroom on a Wedding-Day.
Nicely he combs the Ringlets of his Hair,
And wash'd with Rose-water, looks fresh and fair;
Then with his Finger he her Window twang'd,
Whisper'd a gentle Tone, and thus harangu'd.

220

Sweet Alison, my Hony-comb, my Dear,
My Bird, my Cinamon, your Lover hear.
Awake, and speak one Word before I part,
But one kind Word, the Balsam to my Heart.
Little you think, alas! the mighty Woe,
Which for the Love of Thee I undergo.
For Thee I swelter, and for Thee I sweat,
And mourn as Lamb-kins for the Mother's Teat.
Nor false my Grief, nor does the Turtle Dove
Lament more truly, or more truly love.
I cannot eat nor drink, and all for Thee—
“Get from my Window, you Jack Fool, said she;
“I love another of a different Hue
“From such a silly Dunder-head as you.
“If you stand talking at that foolish Rate,
“My Chamber-pot shall be about your Pate.
“Begone, you empty Sot, and let me sleep”—
At this poor Absalon began to weep,
And his hard Fate with Sighs and Groans deplore,
Was ever faithful Love thus serv'd before!

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Since then, my Sweet, what I desire's in vain,
Let me but one small Boon, a Kiss, obtain.
“And will you then be gone, nor loyter here,”
Quoth Alison?—Ay certainly, my Dear!
“Make ready then”—Now, Nicholas, lye still,
'Tis such a Jest, that you shall laugh your fill.

Ravish'd with Joy, Nab fell upon his Knees,
The happiest Man alive in all Degrees;
In silent Raptures he began to cry,
No Lord in Europe is so blest as I.
I may expect more Favours; for a Kiss
Is an Assurance of a further Bliss.
The Window now unclasp'd, with slender Voice,
Cries Alison, “Be quick, and make no Noise;
“I would not for the World our Neighbours hear,
“For they're made up of Jealousy and Fear.”

Then silken Handkerchief from Pocket came,
To wipe his Mouth full clean to kiss the Dame.
Dark was the Night, as any Coal or Pitch,
When at the Window she clapt out her Breech.

222

The Parish Clerk ne'er doubted what to do,
But ask'd no Questions, and in haste fell to;
On her blind Side full savourly he prest
A loving Kiss, e'er he smelt out the Jest.
Aback he starts, for he knew well enough,
That Women's Lips are smooth, but these were rough.
What have I done, quoth he? and rav'd and star'd,
Ah me! I've kist a Woman with a Beard.
He curst the Hour, and rail'd against the Stars,
That he was born to kiss my Lady's ---
Tehea, she cry'd, and clapt the Window close,
While Absalon with Grief and Anger goes
To meditate Revenge; and to requite
The foul Affront, he would not sleep that Night.
And now with Dust, with Sand, with Straw, with Chips,
He scrubs and rubs the Kisses from his Lips,
Oft would he say, Alas! O basest Evil!
Than met with this Disgrace so damn'd uncivil,
I rather had went headlong to the Devil.

223

To kiss a Woman's --- oh! it can't be born!
But by my Soul I'll be aveng'd by Morn.

Hot Love, the Proverb says, grows quickly cool,
And Absalon's no more an Am'rous Fool:
For since his Purpose was so fouly crost,
He gains his Quiet, tho' his Love is lost:
And, cur'd of his Distemper, can defy
All whining Coxcombs with a scornful Eye:
But for meer Anger, as he pass'd the Street,
He wept, as does a School-boy when he's beat.
In a soft, doleful Pace at last he came
To an old Vulcan, Jarvis was his Name;
Who late and early at the Forge turmoyl'd,
In hamm'ring Iron Bars, and Plough-shares, toil'd.
Hither repair'd, by One or Two a Clock,
Poor Absalon, and gave an easy Knock.
Who's there that knocks so late, Sir Jarvis cries?
“'Tis I, the pensive Absalon replies.
“Open the Door.” ‘What Absalon, quoth He,
‘The Parish Clerk?’ Ah! Benedicite.

224

Where hast thou been? some pretty Girl, I wot,
Has led you out so late upon the trot.
Some merry-meeting on the Wenching score,
You know my Meaning,—but I'll say no more.

This Absalon another Distaff drew,
And had more Tow to spin than Jarvis knew:
He minded not a Bean of all he said,
For other Things employ'd his careful Head.
At last he Silence breaks, Dear Friend, he cries,
Lend's that hot Pur, which in the Chimney lies;
I have occasion for't, no Questions ask,
To bring it back again shall be my Task.
‘With all my Heart, quoth Jarvis, were it Gold,
‘Or splendid Nobles in a Purse untold;
‘With all my Heart, as I'm an honest Smith,
‘I'll lend it Thee; but what wilt do therewith?’
“For that, quoth Absalon, nor care, nor sorrow,
“I'll give a good Account of it to Morrow.”
Then up the Culter in his Hand he caught,
Tripp'd out with silent Pace, and wicked Thought.

225

Red-hot it was, as any burning Cole,
With which to John the Carpenter's he stole.
There first he cough'd, and, as his usual Wont,
Up to the Window came, and tapp'd upon't.
‘Who's there? quoth Alison, Some Midnight Rook,
‘Some Thief, I warrant, with a hanging Look.’
“Ah! God forbid, quoth this dissembling Elf,
“'Tis Absalon, my Life! my better Self!
“A rich Gold Ring I've to my Darling brought,
“By a known Graver exquisitely wrought.
“Beside, a Posie, most divinely writ
“By a fam'd Poet, and notorious Wit.
“My Mother gave it me ('tis wond'rous fine)
“She clapp'd it on my Finger, I on thine,
“If thou wilt deign the favour of a Kiss—”
Now Nicholas by chance rose up to piss,
Thinking to better, and improve the Jest,
He should salute his Breech, before the rest.
With eager Haste, and secret Joy he went,
And his Posteriors out at Window sent.

226

Here Absalon, the Wag, with subtle Tone
Whispers, “My Love! my Soul! my Alison,
“Speak, my sweet Bird, I know not where thou art—”
At this the Scholar let a rouzing Fart;
So loud the Noise, as frightful was the Stroke,
As Thunder, when it splits the sturdy Oak.
The Clerk was ready, and with hearty Gust
The Red-hot Iron in his Buttocks thrust.
Streight off the Skin, like shrivel'd Parchment flew,
His Breech as raw as Saint Bartholomew.
The Culter had so fing'd his Hinder Part,
He thought he should have dy'd for very Smart.
In a mad Fit about the Room he ran,
Help, Water, Water, for a dying Man.

The Carpenter, as one beside his Wits,
Starts at the dreadful Sound, and up he gets.
The Name of Water rouz'd him from his Sleep,
He rubb'd his Eye-lids, and began to peep.
Alas! thought he, now comes the fatal Hour,
And from the Clouds does Noah's Deluge pour.

227

Up then he sits, and without more Ado
He takes his Ax, and smites the Cord in two.
Down goes the Bread, and Ale, and Cheese, and All,
And John himself had a confounded Fall.
Dropp'd from the Roof upon the Floor; astoun'd
He lies, as dead, and swims upon dry Ground.

Then Nicholas, to play the Counterfeit,
With Alison, cries Murder in the Street.

In came the Neighbours pouring like the Tide,
To know the reason why was Murder cry'd.
There they beheld poor John, a gasping Man,
Shut were his Eyes, his Face was pale and wan.
Batter'd his Sides, and broken was his Arm,
But stand it out he must to his own Harm.
For when he aim'd to speak in his Defence,
They bore him down, and baffled all his Sense.
They told the People, that the Man was wood,
And dreamt of nothing else but Noah's Flood.
His heated Fancy of this Deluge rung,
That to the Roof three Kneading-Troughs he hung,

228

With which in Danger he design'd to swim,
And we, forsooth, must carry on the Whim:
He begg'd, and pray'd, and so we humour'd him.

At hearing this, the sneering Neighbours gave
An universal Shout, and hideous Laugh.
Now on the Roof, and now on John they gape,
And all his Earnest turn into a Jape.
He swore against the Scholar and his Wife,
And never look'd so foolish in his Life.
Whate're he speaks, the People never mind,
His Oaths are nothing, and his Words are Wind.
Thus all consent to scoff each serious Word,
And John remain'd a Cuckold on Record.

Thus Doors of Brass, and Bars of Steel are vain,
And watchful Jealousy, and carking Pain
Are fruitless all, when a good-natur'd Spouse
Designs Preferment for her Husband's Brows.
Thus Alison her Cuckold does defy,
And Absalon has kiss'd her-nether Eye;
While Nicholas is scalded in the Breech,
My Tale is done, God save us all, and each.

End of the Miller's TALE.

The Name of a Book of Astronomy, written by Ptolemy.

The Angel's Salutation to the Virgin Mary.

Mistress.

St. Thomas Becket.

Thales.

A Brewer's Vessel.

A Note of Silence.

Curfew. WILLIAM the Conqueror, in the first Year of his Reign, commanded that in every Town, and Village a Bell should be rung every Night, at eight of the Clock, and that all People should then put out their Fire and Candle and go to Bed. The Ringing of this Bell was call'd Curfew, that is, Cover Fire.

A Note of Laughter.

229

PROLOGUE TO THE REVE's TALE.

By Mr. OGLE.

The Miller ceas'd, exulting at the Close,
And, as He ceas'd, a gen'ral Laugh arose;
For hum'rous was the Tale, tho' low the Stile,
Ev'n They, that blush'd to laugh, agreed to smile.
Each, various, variously discuss'd the Case;
The Scholar's Payment, and the Clerk's Disgrace!
The frisky Wife's Elopement in the Dark,
And the dull Husband, lodg'd in Noah's Ark!
Not One, but peevish Oswolde, seem'd to grieve,
Of Craft, a Carpenter, as well as Reve.
Hence, many a Fault he found, and more he made;
The Tale was a Reflection on the Trade!—

230

So lash the lewdest Varlet of the Gown,
You raise the Spleen of ev'ry Priest in Town.

“For Wit, said He, was Ribaldry to pass,
“Full on the Miller cou'd I turn the Glass.
“But Old I am! Sport suits but ill with Age!
“And He too verges on his latter Stage.
“Past is the Spring that Heav'n to Me assign'd!
“He thinks a second Crop remains behind.
“Poor Forage at the Best! (I scorn all Art,—)
“Nor will it keep the Steed in Flesh, or Heart.
“This Top of Snow my Wintry State declares,
“My Spirits fail me faster than my Hairs.
“Yet some in Age affect the Wanton Play,
“As if improv'd, like Medlars, by Decay;
“(The Fruit, that, till it rots, is never ripe!)
“But, ah! so long we dance, as we can pipe!
“Woman indeed, like Leeks, may last a-bed;
“Green at the Tail, tho' hoary at the Head.
“But for the Man that toils with Limbs declin'd,
“What shows he but a teazing Itch of Mind?

231

“Hands cease to move, and Feet forget to walk,
“But not the Heart to wish, or Tongue to talk;
“With Ashes loaded still survives Desire,
“A Spark of What he was, a Mark of Fire!
“Decrepid Age, you may as well defy,
“Or not to fret, or hoard, or vaunt, or lye,
“As not to covet what it priz'd in Youth;
“Last falls, of all the Teeth, the Coltish Tooth!
“Full many a Year (for so my Thread was spun)
“Has ended, since my Tap of Life begun.
“Death, present at my Birth, (that Early Foe!)
“Drew forth the Cock, and bade the Current flow.
“Fast has it ran, but will no longer run,
“I feel it, almost empty is the Tun!
“The Liquor, be it us'd, or be it spilt,
“Is gone; the Cask stands high upon the Tilt!
“When sinks the Body to so low a State,
“Ill may the silly Tongue pretend to prate;
“The Wish to please will scarce the Pow'r restore;
“That Fancy is meer Dotage, and no more.

232

Our Host, while little Oswolde tun'd his String,
Began to look as Lordly as a King.
‘To what amounts this Sermonizing Wit?
‘All day will you descant on Holy Writ?
‘The Dev'l, I think, has mov'd a Reve to preach;
‘A Cobler might as well a Souter teach;
‘Physicians, o'er the Seas, our Merchants guide;
‘Or Sailors show our Jockeys how to ride.

‘Begin, at once, your Tale, nor waste our Time!
‘It wants but little of half way to Prime,
‘And lo! where Deptford rises full in View!
‘Lo! Greenwich, the Abode of many a Shrew!’

“Sirs, quoth the Reve, then favour my Request,
“If saucy Jest be pay'd with saucy Jest,
“Full largely on a Miller while I dwell;
“For Force, with Force, 'tis lawful to repell.

“This Drunkard, (for he needs no other Name)
“Has brought an honest Carpenter to shame.

233

“Nor is it hard his Motive to divine,
“The Trade, that He abus'd, He knew was mine.

“So Wits play Wits, and Fools by Fools are shown;
“Each hits his Neighbour's Case, but not his own.
“The Beam, that blinds him, let him first descry,
“Then pluck the Mote from out his Brother's Eye.”

End of the Prologue.

Shoe-maker.

234

THE REVE's TALE.

By Mr. BETTERTON.

At Thrompington, not far from Cambridge, stood
Across a pleasant Stream, a Bridge of Wood;
Near it a Mill, in low and plashy Ground,
Where Corn for all the neighb'ring Parts was ground.
The sturdy Miller, with his powder'd Locks,
Proud as a Peacock, subtile as a Fox,
Could pipe, and fish, and wrestle, throw a Net,
Turn drinking Cups, and teach young Dogs to set;
Brawny, big-bon'd, strong made was ev'ry Limb,
But few durst venture to contend with him.
A Dagger hanging at his Belt he had,
Made of an antient Sword's well-temper'd Blade;

235

He wore a Sheffield Whittle in his Hose;
Broad was his Face, and very flat his Nose;
Bald as an Ape behind was this Man's Crown;
No one could better beat a Market down:
But Millers will be Thieves; he us'd to steal,
Slyly and artfully, much Corn and Meal.

This Miller's Wife came of a better Race,
The Parson's Daughter of the Town she was:
Her Portion small, her Education high,
She had her Breeding in a Nunnery.
‘Whoe'er he marry'd (Simkin boldly said)
‘Should be a Maid well-born, and nicely bred.
You'd laugh to see him in his best Array,
Strutting before her on a Holy Day.
If any boldly durst accost his Wife,
He drew his Dagger, or his Sheffield Knife.
'Tis dang'rous to provoke a jealous Fool;
She manag'd cunningly her stubborn Tool.
To all beneath her, insolently high,
Walk'd like a Duck, and chatter'd like a Pye:

236

Proud of her Breeding, froward, full of Scorn,
As if she were of Noble Parents born;
With other Virtues of the same Degree,
All learn'd in that choice School, the Nunnery.

Their Daughter was just twenty, coarse and bold;
A Boy too in the Cradle, six Months old.
Thick, short, and brawny this plump Damsel was,
Her Nose was flat, her Eyes were grey as Glass;
Her Haunches broad, with Breasts up to her Chin;
Fair was her Hair, but tawny was her Skin,

A mighty Trade this lusty Miller drove,
All for Convenience came, not one for Love.
Much Grist from Cambridge to his Lot did fall,
And all the Corn they us'd at Scholars-hall.
Their Manciple fell dangerously ill;
Bread must be had, their Grist went to the Mill:
This Simkin moderately stole before,
Their Steward sick, he robb'd them ten times more.
Their Bread fell short; the Warden storm'd; with Skill
Examin'd those who brought it from the Mill.

237

The Miller to a strict Account they call:
He impudently swears he gave them all.

Two poor young Scholars, hungry, much distress'd,
(Who thought themselves more wise than all the rest)
Intreat the Warden, the next Corn he sent,
To trust it to their prudent Management:
Both would attend him with such Care and Art,
Defy him then to steal the smallest Part.

At last the Warden grants what they desire,
All is got ready as these Two require.
Bold Men, tho' disappointed, ne'er are sham'd;
One was call'd Allen, t'other John was nam'd.
Both Northern Men, both in one Town were born,
They mount, and lead the Horse that bears the Corn.
‘Be careful, Allen cries, and do not stray.’
“Fear nothing, he replies, I know the Way.”
Thus they jog on, and on the Road contrive
To catch the Thief; till at the Mill they 'rive.

“Ho Sim, says John, what ho, the Miller there?
‘Who calls? cries Simkin, tell me who you are?’

238

“How fares your comely Daughter and your Wife?
‘What, John and Allen? welcome by my Life;
The Miller said, ‘What Wind has brought you hither?’
“That which makes old Wives trudge, brought us together.
“Who keeps no Man, must his own Servant be;
“Our Manciple is very sick, and we
“Are with the Corn from our good Warden come,
“To see it ground, and bring it safely home:
“Dispatch it, Sim, with all the Haste you may.”
‘It shall be done (he says) without Delay.
‘What will you do while I have this in Hand?’
“Says John, just at the Hopper will I stand,
“(In my whole Life I never saw Grist ground,)
“And mark the Clack how justly it will sound.”

‘Aha! Chum John, cries Allen, will you so?
‘Then will I watch how it steals out below.’

Sim, at their Plot, maliciously did smile;
None could, they thought, such learned Clerks beguile.
He meant to cast a Mist before their Eye,
In spite of all their fine Philosophy,

239

Neither should find where he convey'd the Meal;
The narrower they watch'd, the more he'd steal.
These Scholars for their Flour, shall have the Bran;
The learned'st Clerk is not the wisest Man:
Then out he steals, and finds, where, by the Head,
Their Horse hung fasten'd underneath a Shed:
He slips the Bridle o'er his Neck; the Steed
Makes to the Fens, where Maies and Fillies feed.
Unmiss'd comes Sim, finds John fix'd at his Post,
And Allen diligent, no Meal was lost:
‘Now do me Justice, Friends, he says, you can
‘Convince your Warden I'm an honest Man.’
Now the great Work is done, their Corn is ground,
The Grist is sack'd, and every Sack well bound:
John runs to fetch the Horse; aloud he cries,
“Come hither Allen;” Allen to him flies.
“O Friend, we are undone!”—‘What mean you, John?’
“Look there's the Bridle, but our Horse is gone!”
‘Gone! whither? says he’—“Nay, Heav'n knows, not I’—

Out bolts Sim's Wife, and (with a ready Lye)

240

She cries, “I saw him toss his Head, and play,
“Then slip the loosen'd Reins, and trot away.
‘Which Way? they both demand—“With wanton Bounds,
“I saw him scamp'ring tow'rd yon fenny Grounds:
“Wild Mares and Colts in those low Marshes feed.”
Away the Scholars run with utmost Speed,
Forget their former cautious Husbandry;
Their Sack does at the Miller's Mercy lie.
He half a Bushel of their Flour does take,
Then bids his Wife secure it in a Cake.
‘I'll send these empty Boys again to School,
‘To plot and study who's the greater Fool:
‘Look where the learned Blockheads make their Way,
‘Let us be merry, while those Children play.’

These silly Scholars ran from Place to Place;
Now here, now there, unequal was the Chace.
They call him by his Name, whistle and cry,
Ho Ball! but Ball is pleas'd with Liberty.
At Night into a narrow Place they brought him,
Drove him into a Ditch, and there they caught him.

241

Weary and wet, as Cattle in the Rain,
Allen, and simple John, come back again.
“Alas! cries John, wou'd I had ne'er been born!
“When we return, we shall be laugh'd to Scorn.
“Call'd by the Fellows, and our Warden Fools:
“Our Grist is stol'n, and we the Miller's Tools.”
Thus John complains: Allen without Remorse
Goes to the Barn, and in he turns the Horse.
Both cold and hungry, wet and daub'd with Mire;
They find the Miller sitting at his Fire;
“We can't return, they say, before 'tis Light;
“So beg for Lodging in your Mill to-night.”

Simkin replies, ‘Welcome with all my Heart,
‘I'll find you out the most convenient Part.
‘My House is straight, but you are learned Men;
‘You can by Dint of Argument maintain,
‘That twenty Yards a Mile in Breadth comprise:
‘Now show your Art, and make a Miller Wise.’
“You're merry, Friend; but wet and clammy Earth,
“Hunger and Cold, provoke few Men to Mirth.

242

“A Man complies with necessary Things,
“Content with what he finds, or what he brings.
“'Tis Meat and Drink we earnestly desire;
“To warm and dry us with a better Fire.
“Look, we have Coin to pay what you demand!
“We ne'er catch Falcons with an empty Hand.”

Sim sends his Daughter to a neighb'ring House
For good strong Ale, and roasts a well-fed Goose.
Tho' homely was his Room, it was not small;
They had no other, it must serve them all.
The Daughter makes for these two Youths a Bed,
Lays on clean Sheets, with Blankets fairly spred.
Twelve Foot beyond, in the remotest Place,
There stood another for their Daughter Grace.
The Supper does with sprightly Mirth abound,
Each has his Jest, the nappy Ale goes round;
Nor the squab Daughter, nor the Wife were nice,
Each Health the Youths began, Sim pledg'd it twice.
The heady Liquor stupefies their Care,
But Midnight past, they all to Rest repair.

243

The Miller yawn'd, his Eyes began to close;
The Wife got Sim to Bed, he had his Dose.
She follow'd him; but she was gay and light,
Her Whistle had been wetted too that Night;
She plac'd the Child in Cradle by her Side,
To give it Suck, or rock it if it cry'd.
The Daughter too, when once the Ale was gone,
Retir'd to Bed; so Allen did, and John.
Sleep on the most did instantly prevail;
The Miller's lusty Dose of potent Ale
Made him like any Stone-horse snort and snore,
The Treble was behind, the Base before:
The Wife's Horse-tenor vacant Parts did fill,
The Daughter bore her Part with wond'rous Skill,
They might be heard a Furlong from the Mill.

When this melodious Consort first began,
Young Allen tumbling, pushes his Friend John:
‘It is impossible to sleep, he says,
‘I'll up and dance, while this choice Musick plays.’

244

He cries, “What means my Brother?”—Allen said,
‘I mean to steal into the Daughter's Bed.
‘'Tis said, the Man who in one Point is griev'd,
‘Ought in another Point to be reliev'd.
‘Our Corn is stol'n, and we like Fools are caught,
‘The Daughter shall repay the Father's Fault.’—
“O Allen, he replies, think while you can,
“'Fore Heav'n the Miller is a dang'rous Man!
“Should he discover you, I would be loth
“The Thief should wreak his Vengeance on us both.”
‘I fear him not, says Allen, I am young;
‘Tho' he's well-set, my Sinews are as strong.’
Then up he gets; now Friend good Luck (he said)
The Daughter's Trumpet led him to her Bed:
Half stupefy'd with Ale, she sprawling lay;
He softly creeping in, soon hit his Way;
Soon put all knotty Questions out of doubt,
Stopping her Mouth, prevented crying out.

John grumbling lay, while Allen's Place was void,
“Am I then idle, while my Friend's employ'd?

245

“He can revenge himself for all his Harms,
“He has the Miller's Daughter in his Arms,
“While I lie spiritless, benumb'd and cold;
“I shall be jear'd to Death, when this is told—
“They nothing can perform, who ne'er begin;
“Faint Heart, they say, did ne'er fair Lady win.”

Then up he rose, and softly groaping round,
He found the Cradle standing on the Ground,
Close by the Miller's Bed; this unespy'd
He took, and set it by his own Bed-side.
The Miller's Wife had now more Grists to grind,
(Some Mills by Water move, and some by Wind)
The proper Utensil not plac'd at Hand,
She rose, by pure Necessity constrain'd.
That grand Affair dispatch'd, and feeling round
Her Husband's Bed, no Cradle could be found.
“Where am I? Benedicite, she said!
“This is undoubtedly the Scholars Bed.”
Then turning t'other Way, her Hand did light
Full on the Cradle.—“Now, she cry'd, I'm right.”

246

Lifting the Clothes, into the Bed she leap'd,
And close to John full harmlesly she crept:
In a short time he takes her in his Arms,
And kindly treats her with unusual Charms.
She thought (strange Fancies working in her Mind)
Some Saint had made her Husband over-kind.
Propitious Stars this Fortune did bestow
On Both, till the third Cock began to crow.

Now Allen fancy'd Light would soon appear,
He kiss'd the Wench, and said, ‘My Grace! my Dear!
‘Thou kindest of thy Sex, the Day comes on,
‘And we must part’—“Alas, will you be gone,
“She said, and leave poor harmless me alone?”—
‘If I stay longer, we are both undone;
‘For should your Father wake, and find me here,
‘What will become of me and you, my Dear?’
“That dreadful Thought (she cries) distracts my Heart,
“Too soon you won me, and too soon we part.”
Then clinging round his Neck, with weeping Eyes,
She says, “Remember me!” ‘Allen replies,

247

‘I'll quickly find Occasion to return;
‘You shall not long for Allen's Absence mourn.’
“Farewel, she cries! But, Dearest, one Word more;
“You'll find upon a Sack behind the Door
“A Cake, and under it a Bag of Meal;
“The Flour my Father and my self did steal
“Out of your Sack; but take it, 'tis your own;
“Be careful, Love,—not a Word more, be gone.”

Now Allen softly feeling for his Bed,
By Chance his Hand laid on the Cradle-head.
And shrinking from it, said (with no small Fear)
‘That Rogue the Miller and his Wife lie there.’
Turning, he finds Sim's Palate, in he crept;
‘I'm right, he says, dull John all Night has slept.
Then shaking him ‘Wake, Swineherd, Allen cries,
‘I've joyful News.’—“What?” grumbling Sim replies.
‘I am the luckiest Rogue—by this no Light,
‘I have had full Employment all the Night:
‘The Daughter kindly paid her Father's Score,
‘All Night I have embrac'd her.’—“O the Whore!

248

“O thou false Traytor, Clerk! thou hast defil'd
“Our honest Family, deflow'r'd our Child!
“Thy Life shall answer it.”—With that he caught
At Allen's Throat: young Allen stoutly fought.
Both give and take, returning Blows with Blows;
But Allen struck the Miller on the Nose
With all his Force; out flies the streaming Gore,
And down it runs: They tumble on the Floor:
Then up they get, lab'ring with equal Strife:
Sim stumbled backwards quite across his Wife.
She fast asleep, none of this Scuffle heard;
Wak'd by his Fall, and heartily afeard:
“Help, Holy Cross of Broholme! (O I faint!)
“Help my good Angel! help my Patron Saint!
“The Fiend lies on me like a Load of Lead!
“Remove this Dev'l, this Night-mare, or I'm dead!”
Then up starts John, and turns 'em from the Wife,
Hunts for a Cudgel to conclude the Strife.
Up gets the Miller, Allen grasps him close,
Both play at hard-head, struggling to get loose.

249

Out steps the Wife, well knowing where there stood.
In a By-corner, a tough Piece of Wood;
On this she seiz'd, and by a glimm'ring Light
Which enter'd at a Chink, saw something white:
But, by a foul Mistake, 'twas her ill Hap
To take his bald Pate for the Scholar's Cap.
She lifts the Staff, it fell on his bare Crown,
Strong was the Blow, she knock'd her Husband down.
‘O, I am slain! the Miller loudly cry'd;
“Live to be hang'd, thou Thief,” Allen reply'd.
Away they go, first take their Meal and Cake,
Then lay the Grist upon their Horse's Back.
To Scholars-hall they march, for now 'twas Light,
Pleas'd with the strange Adventures of the Night.

The Wife the Scholars curses, binds his Head,
Then lifts him up, and lays him on the Bed.
‘O Wife, says Sim, our Daughter is defil'd!
‘That Villain Allen has debauch'd our Child!
‘Mistaking me for John, he told me all;
‘Ten thousand Furies plague that Scholars-hall.

250

“O false abusive Knave! (the Wife reply'd)
“In ev'ry Word the Villain spake, he ly'd.
“I wak'd, and heard our harmless Child complain,
“And rose, to know the Cause, and ease her Pain.
“I found her torn with Gripes, a Dram I brought,
“And made her take a comfortable Draught.
“Then lay down by her, chaf'd her swelling Breast,
“And lull'd her in these very Arms to Rest.
“All was Contrivance, Malice all and Spite;
“I have not parted from her all this Night.”
Then is she innocent? “Ay, by my Life,
“As pure and spotless—as thy Bosom Wife.”
I'm satisfy'd, says Sim. O that damn'd Hall!
I'll do the best I can to starve them all.
And thus the Miller of his Fear is eas'd,
The Mother and the Daughter both well-pleas'd.

End of the First Volume.