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From thy dear side I have no pow'r to part,
Such secret transports warm my melting heart.
For who, that once possess'd those heavenly charms,
Could live one moment absent from thy arms?"

He ceas'd, and May with modest grace replied (Weak was her voice, as while she spoke she cried), • Heaven knows,' with that a tender sigh she drew,

I have a soul to save as well as you;
And, what no less you to my charge commend,
My dearest honour, will to death defend.
To you in holy church I gave my hand,
And join'd my heart in wedlock's sacred band :
Yet, after this, if you distrust my care,
Then hear, my lord, and witness what I swear:

* First may the yawning earth her bosom rend,
And let me hence to hell alive descend;
Or die the death I dread no less than hell,
Sew'd in a sack, and plung’d into a well;
Ere I my fame by one lewd act disgrace,
Or once renounce the honour of my race:
For kuow, sir knight, of gentle blood I came;
I loathe a whore, and startle at the name.
But jealous men on their own crimes reflect,
And learn from hence their ladies to suspect :
Else why these needless cautions, sir, to me?
These doubts and fears of fernale constancy?
This chime still rings in every lady's ear,
The only strain a wife must hope to hear.'

Thus while she spoke, a sidelong glance she cast,
Where Damian, kneeling, worshipp'd as she past.
She saw him watch the motions of her eye,
And singled out a pear-tree planted nigh:
'Twas charg'd with fruit that made a goodly show,
And hung with dangling pears was every bough.
Thither th’ obsequious 'squire address’d his pace;
And, climbing, in the summit took his place;
The' kuight and lady walk'd beneath in view,
Where let us leave them, and our tale pursue.

'Twas now the season when the glorious sun His heavenly progress through the Twins had run;


And Jove, exalted, his mild influence yields,
To glad the glebe, and paint the flow'ry fields,
Clear was the day, and Phæbus, rising bright,
Had streak'd the azure firmament with light;
He pierc'd the glittering clouds with golden streams,
And warm’d the womb of earth with genial beams.

It so befel, in that fair morning-tide,
The fairies sported on the garden-side,
And in the midst their monarch and his bride.
So featly tripp'd the light-foot ladies round,
The knights so nimbly o'er the greensward bound,
That scarce they bent the flowers, or touch'd the

The dances ended, all the fairy train
For pinks and daisies search'd the Row'ry plain;
While, on a bank reclin'd of rising green,
Thus, with a frown, the king bespoke his queen:

• 'Tis too apparent, argue what you can,
The treachery you women use to man:
A thousand authors have this truth made out,
And sad experience leaves no room for doubt.

• Heaven rest thy spirit, noble Solomon,
A wiser monarch never saw the sun;
All wealth, all honours, the supreme degree
Of earthly bliss, was well bestow'd on thee!
For sagely hast thou said: 'Of all mankind,
One only just and righteous hope to find:
But shouldst thou search the spacious world around,
Yet one good woman is not to be found.'

* Thus says the king, who knew your wickedness:
The son of Sirach testifies no less.
So may some wildfire on your bodies fall,
Or some devouring plague consume you all;
As well you view the lecher in the tree,
And well this honourable knight you soe:
But since he's blind and old (a helpless case),
His 'squire shall cuckold him before your

• Now, by my own dread majesty I swear,
And by this awful sceptre which I bear,

No impious wretch shall 'scape unpunish'd long,
That in my presence offers such a wrong.
I will this instant undeceive the knight,
And in the very act restore his sight;
And set the strumpet here in open view,
A warning to these ladies, and to you,
And all the faithless sex, for ever to be true.'

• And will you so,' replied the queen, indeed?
Now, by my mother's soul it is decreed,
She shall not want an answer at her need.
For her, and for her daughters, I'll engage,
And all the sex in each succeeding age !
Art shall be theirs, to varnish av offence,
And fortify their crime with confidence.
Nay, were they taken in a strict embrace,
Seen with both eyes, and pinion'd on the place ;
All they shall need is to protest and swear,
Breathe a soft sigh, and drop a tender tear!
Till their wise husbands, gull’d by arts like these,
Grow gentle, tractable, and tame as geese.

• What though this slanderous Jew, this Solomon, Call'd women fools, and knew full many a one; The wiser wits of later times declare, How constant, chaste, and virtuous, women are : Witness the martyrs, who resign'd their breath, Serene in torments, unconcern'd in death; And witness next what Roman authors tell, How Arria, Portia, and Lucretia fell.

• But, since the sacred leaves to all are free, And men interpret texts, why should not we? By this no more was meant, than to have shown, That sovereign goodness dwells in him alone Who only is, and is but only One. But grant the worst; shall women then be weigh'd By every word that Solomon has said? What though this king (as ancient story boasts) Built a fair temple to the Lord of Hosts ; He ceas'd at last his Maker to adore, And did as much for idol gods, or more.

Beware what lavish praises you confer
On a rank lecher and idolater;
Whose reign, indulgent God, says holy writ,
Did but for David's righteous sake permit;
David, the monarch after Heaven's own mind,
Who lov'd our sex, and honour'd all our kind.

"Well, I'm a woman, and as such must speak; Silence would swell me, and my heart would break. Know then, I scorn your dull authorities, Your idle wits, and all their learued lies. By Heaven, those authors are our sex's foes, Whom, in our right, I must and will oppose.' • Nay,' quoth the king, · dear madam, be not

I yield it up; but since I gave my oath,
That this much-injur'd knight again should see,
It must be done. I am a king,' said he,
*And one, whose faith has ever sacred beer.'
• And so has mine,' she said,---- I am a queen:
Her answer she shall have, I undertake;
And thus an end of all dispute I make.
Try when you list; and you shall find, my lord,
It is not in our sex to break our word.'

We leave them here in this heroic strain,
And to the knight our story turns again;
Who in the garden, with his lovely May,
Sung merrier than the cackow or the jay:
This was his song; “Oh, kind and constant be,
Constant and kind l'll ever prove to thee.'

Thus singing as he went, at last he drew
By easy steps, to where the pear-tree grew:
The longing dame look'd up, and spied her love
Full fairly perch'd among the boughs above.
She stopp'd, and sighing: 'Oh, good gods!' she cried,
• What pangs, what sudden shoots, distend my side!
O for that tempting fruit, so fresh, so green;
Help, for the love of Heaven's immortal queen!
Help, dearest lord, and save at once the life
Of thy poor infant, and thy longing wife!

Sore sigh'd the knight to hear his lady's cry,
But could not climb, and had no servant nigh:
Old as he was, and void of eye-sight too,
What could, alas! a helpless husband do?
• And must I languish then,' she said, “and die,
Yet view the lovely fruit before my eye?
At least, kind sir, for charity's sweet sake,
Vouchsafe the trunk between your arms to take,
Then from your back I might ascend the tree;
Do you but stoop, and leave the rest to me.'

• With all my soul,' he thus replied again,
• I'd spend my dearest blood to ease thy pain.'
With that, his back against the trunk he bent,
She seiz'd a twig, and up the tree she went.

Now prove your patience, gentle ladies all!
Nor let on me your heavy anger fall:
'Tis truth I tell, though not in phrase refin'd;
Though blunt my tale, yet honest is my mind.
What feats the lady in the tree might do,
I pass, as gambols never known to you;
But sure it was a merrier fit, she swore,
Than in her life she ever felt before.

In that nice moment, lo! the wond'ring knight
Look'd out, and stood restor'd to sudden sight,
Straight on the tree his eager eyes he bent,
As one whose thoughts were ou his spouse intent;
But when he saw his bosom-wife so dress'd,
His rage was such as cannot be express'd :
Not frantic mothers when their infants die,
With louder clamours rend the vaulted sky:
He cried, he roar'd, he storm'd, he tore his hair;
• Death! hell! and furies! what dost thou do

there? • What ails my lord ?" the trembling dame replied; • I thought your patience had been better tried : Is this your love, ungrateful and unkind, This my reward for having cur'd the blind? Why was I taught to make


husband see, By struggling with a man upon a tree?

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