No outward Signs their deepest Thoughts difguife,

For their dark Souls glare dreadful thro' their Eyes.

To hide their naked Charms the Virgins ftrove, And their Shrieks echo'd thro' the plaintive Grove.

The boding Cries Carvilior's Ears invade,
Who penfive lay beneath a diftant Shade;
He knew the much lov'd Voice, and from the
Ground

Starting, he trembled at the well-known
Sound;

His Bow, and Quiver, o'er his Arms he threw, And, wing'd with Love, fwift as the Winds he flew.

Soon on the Bank he ftood, a new Surprize!
For poor Matilda scarce believ'd her Eyes.
Defist, he cry'd aloud, nor touch the Fair;
An unexpected Foe demands your Care.
Then to the Head he drew the barbed Dart,
And found a Paffage to a Traytor's Heart;
The Villain proftrate on the Ground he laid,
A breathlefs Victim to the virtuous Maid.
To fhun his Fate by Flight the fecond ftrove,
And fought for Refuge in the shady Grove.
The Prince purfues faft as the Wretch can fly,
Refolv'd his Vengeance to compleat, or die.
Mean-while the Damfels to the Shade repair,
Studious to dress, and to relieve, the Fair;

With her they Prince Carvilior's Fate deplore, And fear for him, as for themselves before; But foon their Fears are with their Danger fled, And now the Nymph uprears her drooping Head;

For lo the blefs'd Preferver of her Fame, Safe from the Work of Fate, and Justice,

came.

Quick to his Breaft he clasp'd the love-fick Maid,

And thought the Toils he bore were well repay'd.

In filent Raptures they their Joys reveal, Which none can well describe, but when they feel.

So fhall the Soul, if true the Sages fay,
Mark out her Partner in the last great Day;
As great as those met to eternal Eafe,
Tho' not so lafting, are the Joys of these.

Soon as the good old King the Story hears, He owns the godlike Act in gen'rous Tears; A thousand Sorrows fwell his lab'ring Breast, To fee fuch Virtues by himself oppress'd. His royal Griefs confefs his Senfe of Shame; And now he hears with Joy Carvilior's Name, Firmly refolv'd, impatient of Delay, Not to defer the marriage Rites a Day:

And that the Tale might e'er be told on Earth, And fuch a Pattern of heroic Worth,

To

To future Ages might be handed down,
He thrice twelve gallant Youths, of high Re-

nown,

Selected Souls, of all the Land the Flow'r,
Appointed to adorn the bridal Hour.
They go, conducted by the Man divine,
Full of Devotion to the facred Shrine.
Before the Altar to the God they bow;
And make, with Zeal unfeign'd, the folemn
Vow:

To give, in Time of Need, the wretched Aid;
To guard, from brutal Force, the spotless Maid.
And thus, my Lord, the Knights of Bath
began,

In Honour to the brave and godlike Man ;
An Order, ever to Carvilior's Fame,
Which from the Virgins bathing took the

Name.

SNAITH MARSH.

A Yorkshire Paftoral.

'Oung Robin of the Plain, 'erft * blithest

Youn

Blade
That e'er with Sickle keen the Fields difray'd,

* An old Word fignifying Time past.

Who

Who whistling drove the smoking Teem along,
Or trimm'd the thorny Fence, with ruftic Song,
Thro' ev'ry Seafon busy, ftill, and gay,
He plough'd, he fow'd; he made, and stack'd
the Hay,

Not dreary Winter reach'd to Robin's Breast,
He thrash'd, he winnow'd, and he crack'd his
Jeft.

But now, nor Spring's Return with Joy he fees, Nor flow'ry Plain he heeds, nor budding Trees, Nor Linnet warbling from the dewy Brakes, Nor early Lark who tow'ring Circles takes, Nor tuneful Thrushes from the Hedge that fing, Nor the fhrill Blackbird's Welcome to the Spring.

Against a Gate he leans in rueful Plight,
And eyes the Plain that late was Snaith Marsh
Hight.

Ah! wae is me, thus doleful 'gan he

*

mourn:

Ah! wae the Time, whenever I was born, But far more waeful still that luckless Day, Which with the Commons gave Snaith Marsh

away,

Snaith Marsh our whole Town's Pride, the poor Man's Bread,

Where, tho' no Rent he paid, his Cattle fed,

* Woe.

Fed

Fed on the fweetest Grafs which here rife *

grew,

Common to all, nor Fence, nor Landmark
knew,

Whofe flow'ry Turf no crooked Share had
raz'd,

Nor wide destroying Scythe its Green effac'd.
But now, ah! now, it ftoops, fad feet + I
ween, t

In mony a Row, with Rails fufpended 'tween.
Wae warth § the Day, when tic'd fure by
old Nick,

All to grow rich at once, like Neighbour Dick,
To Town I high'd, and on a luckless Fair,
For Cattle here to graze, war'd || all my
Gear, ¶

And boldly ventur'd at one Caft to buy,
A deft ** fine breading Mear ††, and newted
Whye ‡‡,

Ten Ewes, a Tup §§, and more, a Flock of
Geefe,

All which I thought would here fo fast increafe,
That tho' they'd coft me all my worldly Store,
I rekenn'd foon to gain as mickle more,
But now Snaith Marsh's taid |||, and all my
Gain blown o'er.

* Plentiful, † Sight.
Laid out.

Riches.
New calv'd young Cow.

Think or conceive. § A Phrase.
** Lively or nimble.
§§ A Ram.

tt Mare.

Took.

My