Secret he feeds, unknowing in the cell;

At length, for hatching ripe, he breaks the shell,
And struggles into breath, and cries for aid;
Then, helpless, in his mother's lap is laid.
He creeps, he walks, and, iffuing into man,
Grudges their life, from whence his own began:
Recklefs of laws, affects to rule alone,

Anxious to reign, and reftlefs on the throne:
Firft vegetive, then feels, and reasons laft;
Rich of three fouls, and lives all three to waste.
Some thus; but thousands more in flower of age =
For few arrive to run the latter stage.

Sunk in the first, in battle fome are flain,
And others whelm'd beneath the ftormy main.
What makes all this, but Jupiter the king,
At whofe command we perish, and we fpring?
Then 'tis our beft, fince thus ordain'd to die,
To make a virtue of neceffity.

'Take what he gives, fince to rebel is vain ;
The bad grows better, which we well sustain;
And could we chufe the time, and chufe aright,
'Tis beft to die, our honour at the height.
When we have done our ancestors no fhame,

But ferv'd our friends, and well fecur'd our fame;
Then fhould we with our happy life to close,
And leave no more for fortune to dispose:

So fhould we make our death a glad relief

From future fheme, from fickness, and from grief:
Enjoying while we live the present hour,

And dying in our excellence and flower.

Then round our death-bed every friend should run,
And joyous of our conquest early won :

While the malicious world with envious tears

Should grudge our happy end, and wish it theirs.
Since then our Arcite is with honour dead,
Why should we mourn, that he fo foon is freed,
Or call untimely, what the Gods decreed?
With grief as juft, a friend may be deplor'd,
From a foul prifon to free air restor’d.
Ought he to thank his kinfmen or his wife,
Could tears recal him into wretched life?
Their forrow hurts themselves; on him is loft;
And, worse than both, offends his happy ghost.
What then remains, but, after paft annoy,
To take the good viciffitude of joy?

To thank the gracious Gods for what they give,
Poffefs our fouls, and, while we live, to live ?
Ordain we then two forrows to combine,
And in one point th extremes of grief to join
That thence refulting joy may be renew'd,
As jarring notes in harmony conclude.
Then I propose that Palamon fhall be
In marriage join'd with beauteous Emily;
For which already I have gain'd th' affent
Of my free people in full parliament.
Long love to her has borne the faithful knight,
And well deferv'd, had fortune done him right:
'Tis time to mend her fault; fince Emily
By Arcite's death from former vows is free:

}

If you, fair filter, ratify th' accord,

And take him for your husband and your lord,
'Tis no difhonour to confer your grace
On one defcended from a royal race:
And were he lefs, yet years of service past
From grateful fouls exact reward at last :
Pity is Heaven's and your's; nor can fhe find
A throne fo foft as in a woman's mind.

He faid; fhe blush'd; and, as o'eraw'd by might,
Seem'd to give Thefeus what she gave the knight.
Then turning to the Theban thus he faid;
Small arguments are needful to perfuade
Your temper to comply with my command;
And speaking thus, he gave Emilia's hand.
Smil'd Venus, to behold her own true knight
Obtain the conqueft, though he loft the fight;
And blefs'd with nuptial blifs the sweet laborious night.
Eros, and Anteros, on either fide,

}

One fir'd the bridegroom, and one warm'd the bride;
And long-attending Hymen from above,
Shower'd on the bed the whole Idalian grove.

All of a tenor was their after-life,

No day difcolour'd with domestic ftrife;
No jealousy, but mutual truth believ'd,
Secure repofe, and kindness undeceiv'd.
Thus Heaven, beyond the compass of his thought,
Sent him the bleffing he so dearly bought.

So may the Queen of Love long duty bless,
And all true lovers find the fame fuccefs.

THE

THE

COCK AND THE FOX.

O R,

THE TALE OF THE NUN'S PRIEST.

THERE liv'd, as authors tell, in days of yore,
A widow fomewhat old, and very poor :

Deep in her cell her cottage lonely stood,
Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood.
This dowager, on whom my tale I found,
Since laft fhe laid her husband in the ground,
A fimple fober life, in patience, led,
And had but juft enough to buy her bread:
But hufwifing the little Heaven had lent,
She duly paid a groat for quarter rent;
And pinch'd her belly, with her daughters two,
To bring the year about with much ado.

The cattle in her homeftead were three fows,
An ewe call'd Mally, and three brinded cows.
Her parlour-window stuck with herbs around,
Of favoury smell; and rushes ftrew'd the ground.
A maple-dreffer in her hall she had,

On which full many a flender meal she made;
For no delicious morfel pafs'd her throat;
According to her cloth she cut her coat:
No poignant fauce fhe knew, nor coftly treat,
Her hunger gave a relish to her meat :

A fparing

A fparing diet did her health affure;

Or, fick, a pepper poffet was her cure.
Before the day was done, her work she sped,
And never went by candle-light to bed:
With exercife the fweat ill humours out,
Her dancing was not hinder'd by the gout.
Her poverty was glad; her heart content;
Nor knew the what the spleen or vapours meant.
Of wine she never tasted through the year,
But white and black was all her homely chear:
Brown bread, and milk (but first she skim'd her bowls),
And rafhers of fing'd bacon on the coals.

On holy days an egg, or two at most;
But her ambition never reach'd to roaft.

A yard fhe had with pales inclos'd about,
Some high, fome low, and a dry ditch without.
Within this homestead, liv'd, without a peer,
For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer;
So hight her cock, whofe finging did furpass
The merry notes of organs at the mass.
More certain was the crowing of the cock
To number hours, than is an abbey-clock;
And fooner than the mattin-bell was rung,
He clap'd his wings upon his rooft, and sung:
For when degrees fifteen afcended right,
By fure instinct he knew 'twas one at night.
High was his comb, and coral-red withal,
In dents embattled like a caftle wall;
His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet;
Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet;