'Twas now the season when the glorious fun His heav'nly progress thro' 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 Phœbus rifing bright, Had streak'd the azure firmament with light; He pierc'd the glitt'ring clouds with golden streams, 615 And warm'd the womb of earth with genial beams.
It so befel, in that fair morning-tide,
The Fairies sported on the garden's fide,
And, in the midst, their Monarch and his bride.
So featly tripp'd the lightfoot Ladies round,
The knights so nimbly o'er the greensword bound,
That scarce they bent the flow'rs, or touch'd the ground.
The dances ended, all the fairy train
For pinks and daifies search'd the flow'ry plain;
While on a bank reclin'd of rifing green,
Thus, with a frown, the King bespoke his Queen.
'Tis too apparent, argue what you can,
Of earthly bliss, was well bestow'd on thee!
For fagely haft thou said; Of all mankind,
One only just, and righteous, hope to find:
But should'st thou search the spacious world around,
Yet one good woman is not to be found.
Thus says the King who knew your wickedness;
The fon of Sirach testifies no less.
So may fome wildfire on your bodies fall,
Or fome devouring plague consume you all;
As well you view the Leacher in the tree,
And well this honourable Knight you see :
But since he's blind and old, (a helpless cafe)
His squire shall cuckold him before your face.
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 prefence 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, reply'd the Queen indeed? 655
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 an offence,
And fortify their crimes 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,
Breath a soft sigh, and drop a tender tear;
Till their wife husbands, gull'd by arts like these,
Grow gentle, tractable, and tame as geefe.
What tho' this sland'rous Jew, this Solomon,
Call'd women fools, and knew full many a one?
The wiser wits of later times declare,
How conftant, 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, Fortia, and Lucretia fell.
But since the sacred leaves to all are free,
And men interpret texts, why shou'd not we?
By this no more was meant, than to have shown,
That sov'reign goodness dwells in Him alone
Who only Is, and is but only One.
But grant the worst; shall women then be weigh'd
By ev'ry word that Solomon has faid?
What tho' this King (as ancient story boafts)
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 leacher and idolater;
Whose reign indulgent God, says holy writ,
Did but for David's righteous sake permit;
David, the monarch after heav'ns 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 learned lyes.
By heav'n, those authors are our sex's foes,
Whom, in our right, I must, and will oppose.
Nay (quoth the King) dear Madam, be not wroth:
I yield it up; but since I gave my oath,
That this much-injur'd knight again shou'd fee;
It must be done-I am a King, faid he,
And one, whose faith has ever facred been.
And fo 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 heroick strain,
And to the knight our story turns again;
Who in the garden, with his lovely May,
Sung merrier than the Cuckow or the Jay :
This was his song; "Oh kind and constant be,
" Constant and kind I'll ever prove to thee.
Thus finging as he went, at last he drew By easy steps to where the Peartree grew: The longing dame look'd up, and spy'd her Love Full fairly perch'd among the boughs above. She stopp'd, and fighing: Oh good Gods, she cry'd, What pangs, what fudden shoots distend my fide? 720
O for the tempting fruit, so fresh, so green;
Help, for the love of heav'ns immortal Queen!
Help, dearest lord, and save at once the life
Of thy poor infant, and thy longing wife!
Sore figh'd the knight to hear his Lady's cry, 725 But cou'd not climb, and had no servant nigh:
Old as he was, and void of eye-fight too,
What cou'd, alas! the helpless husband do?
And must I languish then, she said, and die,
Vet 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 foul, he thus reply'd 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, tho' not in phrase refin'd;
Tho' 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 fure 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.
Strait on the tree his eager eyes he bent,
As one whose thoughts were on his spouse intent; 750
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 cry'd, he roar'd, he storm'd, he tore his hair; 755
Death! hell! and furies! what doft thou do there?
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