Till force returns, his ardor we restrain,

And curb his warlike with to cross the main.
Now paft the danger, let the learn'd begin
Th' inquiry, where difeafe could enter in;
How thofe malignant atoms forc'd their way,,

What in the faultlefs frame they found to make their prey?

Where every element was weigh'd fo well,

That heaven alone, who mix'd the mafs, could tell
Which of the four ingredients could rebel;
And where, imprifon'd in fo fweet a cage,
A foul might well be pleas'd to pafs an age.
And yet the fine materials made it weak :
Porcelain, by being pure, is apt to break :
Ev'n to your breast the sickness durft aspire;
And, forc'd from that fair temple to retire,
Profanely fet the holy place on fire.

In vain your lord like young Vefpafian mourn'd,
When the fierce flames the fanctuary burn'd :
And I prepar'd to pay in verfes rude

A most detefted act of gratitude :

Ev'n this had been your elegy, which now
Is offer'd for your health, the table of my vow.
Your angel fure our Morley's mind inspir'd,
To find the remedy your ill requir'd;

As once the Macedon, by Jove's decree,
Was taught to dream an herb for Ptolomee:
Or heaven, which had fuch over-coft beftow'd,
As fcarce it could afford to flesh and blood,
So lik'd the frame, he would not work anew,

To fave the charges of another you.

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Or

Or by his middle fcience did he steer,
And faw fome great contingent good appear
Well worth a miracle to keep you here:

And for that end, preferv'd the precious mould,
Which all the future Ormonds was to hold;
And meditated in his better mind

An heir from you, which may redeem the failing kind.
Bleft be the power which has at once restor'd
The hopes of loft fucceffion to your lord,
Joy to the first and laft of each degree,
Virtue to courts, and, what I long'd to fee,
Το you the Graces, and the Mufe to me.
O daughter of the rofe, whofe cheeks unite
The differing titles of the red and white;
Who heaven's alternate beauty well difplay,
The blush of morning and the milky way;
Whofe face is paradife, but fenc'd from fin:
For God in either eye has plac'd a cherubin.

All is your lord's alone; ev'n absent, he
Employs the care of chafte Penelope.
For him you wafte in tears your widow'd hours,
For him your curious needle paints the flowers;
Such works of old Imperial dames were taught¿
Such, for Afcanius, fair Elifa wrought.
The foft receffes of your hours improve
The three fair pledges of your happy love:
All other parts of pious duty done,
You owe your Ormond nothing but a son;
To fill in future times his father's place,
And wear the garter of his mother's race.

PALA

PALAMON AND ARCITE:

O R,

THE KNIGHT'S TALE.

BOOK I.

N days of old, there liv'd, of mighty fame,

IN

A valiant prince, and Theseus was his name :
A chief who more in feats of arms excell'd,
The rifing nor the fetting fun beheld.

Of Athens he was lord; much land he won,
And added foreign countries to his crown.
In Scythia with the warrior queen he strove,
Whom first by force he conquer'd, then by love;
He brought in triumph back the beauteous dame,
With whom her fifter, fair Emilia, came.

With honour to his home let Thefeus ride,
With love to friend, and fortune for his guide,
And his victorious army at his fide.

I pass their warlike pomp, their proud array,

Their fhouts, their fongs, their welcome on the way:
But, were it not too long, I would recite
The feats of Amazons, the fatal fight
Betwixt the hardy queen and hero knight;

The town befieg'd, and how much blood it coft
The female army and th' Athenian host;
The fpoufals of Hippolita the queen ;

What tilts and turneys at the feast were seen ;

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The

The ftorm at their return, the ladies fear:

But thefe, and other things, I must forbear.
The field is fpacious I defign to sow,
With oxen far unfit to draw the plow:

The remnant of my tale is of a length

To tire your patience, and to wafte my ftrength;
And trivial accidents fhall be forborn,

That others may have time to take their turn ;
As was at first enjoin'd us by mine host :
That he whofe tale is beft, and pleases moft,
Should win his fapper at our common coft.
And therefore where I left, I will purfue
This ancient tory, whether falfe or true,
In hope it may be mended with a new.
The prince I mention'd, full of high renown,
In this array drew near th' Athenian town ;
When in his pomp and utmost of his pride,
Marching he chanc'd to caft his eye afide,
And faw a choir of mourning dames, who lay
By two and two across the common way:

At his approach they rais'd a rueful cry,

And beat their breafts, and held their hands on high, Creeping and crying, till they feiz'd at last

His courfer's bridle, and his feet embrac'd.

Tell me, faid Thefeus, what and whence you are, And why this funeral pageant you prepare ? Is this the welcome of my worthy deeds, To meet my triumph in ill-omen'd weeds? Or envy you my praise, and would destroy With grief my pleasures, and pollute my joy?

Or

Or are you injur'd, and demand relief ?
Name your request, and I will ease your grief.
The most in years of all the mourning train
Began (but fwooned first away for pain);
Then fcarce recover'd spoke: nor envy we
Thy great renown, nor grudge thy victory;
'Tis thine, O king, th' afflicted to redress,
And fame has fill'd the world with thy fuccefs :
We wretched women fue for that alone,
Which of thy goodness is refus'd to none;
Let fall fome drops of pity on our grief,

If what we beg be juft, and we deserve relief:
For none of us, who now thy grace implore,
But held the rank of fovereign queen before ;
Till, thanks to giddy chance, which never bears,
That mortal blifs fhould last for length of
She caft us headlong from our high estate,
And here in hope of thy return we wait :
And long have waited in the temple nigh,
Built to the gracious goddess Clemency.

years,

But reverence thou the power whofe name it bears,
Relieve th' opprefs'd, and wipe the widow's tears,
I, wretched I, have other fortune feen,

The wife of Capaneus, and once a queen :
At Thebes he fell; curft be the fatal day!
And all the rest thou feeft in this array,
To make their moan, their lords in battle loft
Before that town besieg'd by our confederate host :
But Creon, old and impious, who commands
The Theban city, and ufurps the lands,