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,
The guests appear in order, fide by fide,
And plac'd in ftate, the bridegroom and the bride.
The breathing flute's foft notes are heard around,
And the shrill trumpets mix their filver found;
The vaulted roofs with echoing mufic ring,
These touch the vocal ftops, and those the trembling string. Not thus Amphion tun'd the warbling lyre,
Nor Joab the founding clarion could inspire,
Nor fierce Theodamas, whose sprightly strain
Cou'd fwell the foul to rage, and fire the martial train.
Bacchus himself, the nuptial feast to grace,
(So Poets fing) was prefent on the place:
And lovely Venus, Goddess of delight,
Shook high her flaming torch in open fight,
And danc'd around, and fmil'd on ev'ry Knight: 330.
Pleas'd her best fervant wou'd his courage try,
No lefs in wedlock, than in liberty.
Full many an age old Hymen had not spy'd
So kind a bridegroom, or fo bright a bride.
Ye bards! renown'd among the tuneful throng
For gentle lays, and joyous nuptial song ;
Think not your foftest numbers can display
The matchlefs glories of this blissful day:
The joys are fuch, as far tranfcend your rage,
When tender youth has wedded stooping age.
The beauteous dame fate fmiling at the board,
And darted am'rous glances at her Lord.
Not Hefter's felf, whose 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 survey'd her by his fide,
Nor envy'd Paris with the Spartan bride:
Still as his mind revolv'd with vaft delight
Th' entrancing raptures of th' approaching night: 350
Reftlefs he fate, invoking ev'ry pow'r,
To speed his bliss, and haste the happy hour.
Meantime the vig'rous dancers beat the ground,
And fongs were fung, and flowing bowls went round,
With od'rous fpices they perfum'd the place,
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 secret fire.
His lovely mistress all his foul poffefs'd,
He look'd, he languish'd, and cou'd 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
Weep in her turn, and waste in equal flame.
The weary fun, as learned Poets write,
Forfook th' horizon, and roll'd down the light;
While glitt'ring stars his absent beams supply,
And night's dark mantle overspread the sky.
Then rose 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,
Which grave Phyficians fcruple not to give;
Satyrion near, with hot Eringo's stood,
Cantharides, to fire the lazy blood,
Whose use old Bards defcribe in luscious rhymes,
And Critics learn'd explain to modern times.
By this the sheets were spread, the bride undress'd,
The room was sprinkled, and the bed was bless'd.
What next enfu'd beseems not me to fay;
'Tis fung, he labour'd till the dawning day,
Then briskly fprung from bed, with heart fo light, 385
As all were nothing he had done by night;
And fipp'd his cordial as he fate upright:
He kifs'd his balmy spouse with wanton play,
And feebly fung a lufty roundelay:
Then on the couch his weary limbs he caft;
For every 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 nicest art,
He wrapp'd in filk, and laid upon his heart.
When now the fourth revolving day was run,
(Twas June, and Cancer had receiv'd the fun)
Forth from her chamber came the beauteous bride;
The good old knight mov'd slowly by her fide.
High Mass was fung; they feasted in the hall;
The fervants round stood ready at their call.
The fquire alone was absent from the board,
And much his ficknefs griev'd his worthy Lord,
Who pray'd his spouse attended by her train,
To vifit Damian, and divert his pain.
Th' obliging dames obey'd with one confent;
They left the hall, and to his lodging went.
The female tribe furround him as he lay,
And close beside him fate the gentle May:
Where, as the try'd his pulfe, he foftly drew
A fpeaking figh, and caft a mournful view;
Then gave his bill, and brib'd the pow'rs divine
With fecret vows, to favour his defign.
Who ftudies now but difcontented May?
On her foft couch uneafily fhe lay:
The lumpish husband fnoar'd away the night,
Till coughs awak'd him near the morning light.
What then he did, I not prefume to tell,
Nor if the thought herself in heav'n or hell:
Honest and dull, in nuptial bed they lay,
Till the bell toll'd, and all arose to pray.
Were it by forceful deftiny decreed,
Or did from chance, or nature's pow'r proceed;
Or that fome ftar, with afpect kind to love,
Shed its felecteft influence from above;
Whatever was the caufe, the tender dame
Felt the first motions of an infant flame;
L 3
Receiv'd the impreffions of the love-fick fquire,
And wasted in the foft, infectious fire.
Ye fair, draw near, let May's example move
Your gentle minds to pity those who love!
Had fome fierce tyrant in her stead been found,
The poor adorer fure had hang'd, or drown'd:
But fhe, your fex's mirrour, free from pride,
Was much too meek to prove a homicide.
But to my tale: Some Sages have defin'd
Pleasure the fov'reign blifs of human-kind :
Our Knight (who study'd much, we may suppose)
Deriv'd this high philofophy from those;
For, like a Prince, he bore the vast expence
Of lavish pomp and proud magnificence:
His house was stately, his retinue gay,
Large was his train, and gorgeous his array.
His fpacious garden made to yield to none,
Was compafs'd round with walls of folid ftone;
Priapus could not half describe the grace
(Tho' God of gardens) of this charming place :
A place to tire the rambling wits of France
In long descriptions, and exceed Romance;
Enough to fhame the gentleft bard that fings
Of painted meadows, and of purling springs.
Full in the centre of the flow'ry ground,
A crystal fountain fpread its ftreams around,
The fruitful banks with verdant laurels crown'd:
About this spring (if ancient fame say true)
The dapper Elves their moon-light sports pursue: 460
|