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The parents you may think, would foon comply;
The Old have int'reft ever in their eye.
Nor was it hard to move the Lady's mind;
When fortune favours, ftill the Fair are kind.

I pafs each previous fettlement and deed, 305
Too long for me to write, or you to read;
Nor will with quaint impertinence difplay
The pomp, the pageantry, the proud array.
The time approach'd, to Church the parties went,
At once with carnal and devout intent:
Forth came the Prieft, and bade th' obedient wife
Like Sarah or Rebecca lead her life:

Then pray'd the pow'rs the fruitful bed to bless, And made all fure enough with holiness.

And now the palace-gates are open'd wide, 3 1 5 The guests appear in order, fide by side, And plac'd in ftate, the bridegroom and the bride. The breathing flute's foft notes are heard around, And the fhrill trumpets mix their filver found; The vaulted roofs with echoing mufic ring, 320 These touch the vocal ftops, and those the trembling ftring.

Not thus Amphion tun'd the warbling lyre,

Nor Joah the founding clarion could infpire,

Nor fierce Theodamas, whofe fprightly ftrain 324 Could fwell the foul to rage, and fire the martial train.

Bacchus himself, the nuptial feaft to grace,

(So Poets fing) was prefent on the place:
And lovely Venus, Goddefs of delight,
Shook high her flaming torch in open fight:
And danc'd around, and fmil'd on ev'ry Knight:)
Pleas'd her beft fervant would his courage try,
No lefs in wedlock, than in liberty.

Full many an age old Hymen had not fpy'd
So kind a bridegroom, or fo bright a bride. 334
Ye bards! renown'd among the tuneful throng
For gentle lays, and joyous nuptial fong;
Think not your fofteft numbers can difplay
The matchless glories of this blissful day:
The joys are fuch, as far tranfcend your rage,
When tender youth has wedded stooping age. 340
The beauteous dame fate fmiling at the board,
And darted am'rous glances at her Lord.
Not Hefter's felf, whofe charms the Hebrews fing,

E'er look'd fo lovely on her Perfian King:


Bright as the rifing fun, in fummer's day,


And fresh and blooming as the month of May

The joyful Knight furvey'd her by his fide,

Nor envy'd Paris with the Spartan bride:

Still as his mind revolv'd with vast delight
Th' entrancing raptures of th' approaching night,
Restless he fate, invoking ev'ry pow'r


To speed his blifs, and hafte the happy hour. Mean time the vig'rous dancers beat the ground, And fongs were fung, and flowing bowls went round. With od'rous spices they perfum'd the place, 355 And mirth and pleasure fhone in ev'ry face.


Damian alone, of all the menial train, Sad in the midst of triumphs, figh'd for pain; Damian alone, the Knight's obfequious fquire, Confum'd at heart, and fed a fecret fire. His lovely mistress all his foul poffefs'd, He look'd, he languifh'd, and could take no reft: His task perform'd, he fadly went his way, Fell on his bed, and loath'd the light of day. There let him lie; till his relenting dame 365 Weep in her turn, and wafte in equal flame. The weary fun, as learned Poets write, Forfook th' Horizon, and roll'd down the light; While glitt'ring stars his abfent beams fupply, And night's dark mantle overfpread the sky. 370 Then rofe the guests; and as the time requir'd, Each paid his thanks, and decently retir'd.

The foe once gone, our Knight prepar'd t'undress, So keen he was, and eager to poffefs:

But first thought fit th'affiftance to receive, 375 Which grave Physicians scruple not to give; Satyrion near, with hot Eringo's stood, Cantharides, to fire the lazy blood,

Whose use old Bards describe in luscious rhymes, And Critics learn'd explain to modern times. 380

By this the sheets were spread, the bride undress'd, The room was fprinkled, and the bed was blefs'd. What next enfu'd befeems not me to fay;

'Tis sung, he labour'd till the dawning day,
Then brifkly fprung from bed, with heart fo light,
As all were nothing he had done by night; 386
And fipp'd his cordial as he fat upright.
He kiss'd his balmy spouse with wanton play,
And feebly fung a lufty roundelay;

Then on the couch his weary limbs he caft; 390
For ev'ry labour must have rest at last.

But anxious cares the penfive Squire opprefs'd, Sleep fled his eyes, and peace forfook his breaft; The raging flames that in his bofom dwell, He wanted art to hide, and means to tell.


Yet hoping time th' occafion might betray,
Compos'd a fonnet to the lovely May;
Which writ and folded with the niceft art,
He wrapp'd in filk, and laid upon his heart.

When now the fourth revolving day was run, 400
('Twas June, and Cancer had receiv'd the Sun)
Forth from her chamber came the beauteous bride;
The good old Knight mov'd flowly by her fide.
High mafs was fung; they feasted in the hall;
The fervants round ftood ready at their call. 405
The fquire alone was abfent from the board,
And much his fickness griev'd his worthy lord,
Who pray'd his spouse, attended with her train,
To vifit Damian, and divert his pain.

Th' obliging dames obey'd with one confent; 410
They left the hall, and to his lodging went.
The female tribe furround him as he lay,
And clofe befide him fat the gentle May:
Where, as the try'd his pulfe, he foftly drew
A heaving figh, and cast a mournful view! 415
Then gave his bill, and brib'd the pow'rs divine,
With fecret vows, to favour his design.

Who ftudies now but difcontented May?
On her foft couch uneafily the lay:

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