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And the fair speaker rifing from the chair,
Did thus the judgment of the house declare.

Sir knight, though I have afk'd thy life, yet ftill
Thy destiny depends upon my will :

Nor haft thou other furety than the grace
Not due to thee from our offended race.
But as our kind is of a fofter mold,
And cannot blood without a sigh behold,
I grant thee life; reserving still the power
To take the forfeit when I fee my hour:
Unless thy answer to my next demand
Shall fet thee free from our avenging hand.
The question, whofe folution I require,
Is, What the fex of women moft defire?
In this difpute thy judges are at strife;
Beware; for on thy wit depends thy life.
Yet (left, furpriz'd, unknowing what to say,
Thou damn thyself) we give thee farther day
A
year
is thine to wander at thy will;
And learn from others, if thou want'ft the skill.
But, not to hold our proffer turn'd in fcorn,
Good fureties will we have for thy return;
That at the time prefix'd thou shalt obey,

And at thy pledge's peril keep thy day.

Woe was the knight at this fevere command; But well he knew 'twas bootlefs to withstand: The terms accepted as the fair ordain,

He put in bail for his return again,

And promis'd answer at the day affign'd,

The beft, with heaven's affiftance, he could find.

His

His leave thus taken, on his way he went
With heavy heart, and full of discontent,
Misdoubting much, and fearful of th' event.
'Twas hard the truth of fuch a point to find,
As was not yet agreed among the kind.
Thus on he went; ftill anxious more and more,
Afk'd all he met, and knock'd at every door;
Enquir'd of men; but made his chief request
To learn from women what they lov'd the best.
They anfwer'd each according to her mind
To please herself, not all the female kind.
One was for wealth, another was for place:
Crones, old and ugly, with'd a better face.
The widow's with was oftentimes to wed;
The wanton maids were all for sport a-bed.
Some faid the fex were pleas'd with handsome lies,
And fome grofs flattery lov'd without disguise:
Truth is, fays one, he feldom fails to win
Who flatters well; for that's our darling fin;
But long attendance, and a duteous mind,
Will work ev'n with the wifeft of the kind.
One thought the fex's prime felicity

Was from the bonds of wedlock to be free:

Their pleafures, hours, and actions, all their own,
And uncontrol'd to give account to none.
Some with a husband-fool; but fuch are curst,
For fools perverfe of hufbands are the worst:
All women would be counted chafe and wife,
Nor should our spouses fee, but with our eyes;

For

For fools will prate; and though they want the wit
To find close faults, yet open blots will hit :
Though better for their ease to hold their tongue,
For woman-kind was never in the wrong.
So noife enfues, and quarrels laft for life;
The wife abhors the fool, the fool the wife.
And some men say that great delight have we,
To be for truth extoll'd, and fecrecy :
And conftant in one purpofe ftill to dwell;
And not our husbands counfels to reveal.
But that's a fable: for our fex is frail,
Inventing rather than not tell a tale.
Like leaky fieves no fecrets we can' hold:
Witnefs the famous tale that Ovid told.

Midas the king, as in his book appears,
By Phoebus was endow'd with afs's ears,
Which under his long locks he well conceal'd,
(As monarchs vices must not be reveal'd)
For fear the people have them in the wind,
Who long ago were neither dumb nor blind :
Nor apt to think from heaven their title fprings,
Since Jove and Mars left off begetting kings.
This Midas knew: and durft communicate
To none but to his wife his ears of ftate :
One must be trufted, and he thought her fit,
As paffing prudent, and a parlous wit.
To this fagacious confeffor he went,

And told her what a gift the Gods had fent :
But told it under matrimonial feal,

With ftrict injunction never to reveal.

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The fecret heard, she plighted him her troth,
(And facred fure is every woman's oath).
The royal malady should rest unknown,
Both for her husband's honour and her own;
But ne'ertheless the pin'd with discontent;
The counfel rumbled till it found a vent.

The thing the knew he was oblig'd to hide;
By intereft and by oath the wife was ty'd;
But if the told it not, the woman dy'd.
Loth to betray a husband and a prince,
But the muft burft, or blab; and no pretence.
Of honour ty'd her tongue from felf-defence.
A marshy ground commodiously was near,
Thither fhe ran, and held her breath for fear,
Left if a word she spoke of any thing,
That word might be the fecret of the king.
Thus full of counfel to the fen fhe went,
Grip'd all the way, and longing for a vent;
Arriv'd, by pure neceflity compel'd,
On her majestic marrow-bones fhe kneel'd:
Then to the water's brink fhe laid her head,
And, as a bittour bumps within a reed,
To thee alone, O lake, fhe faid, I tell,
(And, as thy queen, command thee to conceal):
Beneath his locks the king my husband wears

A goodly royal pair of afs's ears.

Now I have eas'd my bofom of the pain,

Till the next longing fit return again.

Thus through a woman was the secret known;

Tell us, and in effect you tell the town.

But

1

But to my tale: The knight with heavy cheer,
Wandering in vain, had now confum`d the year:
One day was only left to folve the doubt,

Yet knew no more than when he firft fet out.
But home he muft, and, as th' award had been,
Yield up his body captive to the queen.
In this defpairing ftate he hapt to ride,
As fortune led him, by a foreft fide :
Lonely the vale, and full of horror stood,
Brown with the fhade of a religious wood
When full before him at the noon of night,
(The moon was up, and fhot a gleamy light)
He faw a quire of ladies in a round,

99

That featly footing feem'd to skim the ground:
Thus dancing hand in hand, fo light they were,
He knew not where they trod, on earth or air.
At fpeed he drove, and came a fudden gueft,
In hope where many women were, at least,
Some one by chance might anfwer his request.
But fafter than his horfe the ladies flew,
And in a trice were vanish'd out of view.
One only hag remain'd: but fouler far
Than grandame apes in Indian forests are;
Against a wither'd oak fhe lean'd her weight,
Propp'd on her trusty staff, not half upright.
And dropp'd an aukward court'fy to the knight.
Then faid, what makes you, Sir, fo late abroad
Without a guide, and this no beaten road?
Or want you aught that here you hope to find,
Or travel for fome trouble in your mind?

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