"My dear," said he, "you've argued wondrous well,
I'm quite delighted with your long oration,
On all its beauties I forbear to dwell,

Enough that it hath met my approbation;
So much so, that to-morrow you may tell

Fair Coventry, it's free from all taxation, - If but these terms your approbation meetThat you ride naked through the public street."

Godiva started

well indeed she might,

She almost doubted her own ears' veracity; My modest pen can scarce endure to write

A speech of such unparalleled audacity. Leofric thought he had perplexed her quite,

And grinned immensely at his own sagacity;
For which I hold him a consummate beast,
Deserving of the pillory at least!

Shame on the heartless churl!-could he repose
On that so lovely bosom, which, he knew,

For him, albeit the author of its woes,

Throbbed with affection, warm, and chaste, and true! And could he thus its holy charms expose

Unveiled and blushing to the public view!

Ay, bid slaves gaze on beauties, which alone

(Though kings had sighed for) he might call his own!

And yet, I can't but own that modern spouses
In his opinions seem to acquiesce;

I've seen, in many fashionable houses,

The ladies waltzing in complete undress; A custom which no sort of feeling rouses

Amongst their husbands-and I must confess,

(Being unmarried) that I see no faults in Ladies, young, lovely, and half-naked, waltzing.

I must say I enjoy it- 't is a pleasure

Good-natured fair ones grant to amorous swains;

I like to whirl to that bewildering measure,

Which, "just like love "--or brandy, turns one's brains;

I like to view my partner's charms at leisure,
Till scarce a secret for the bride remains ;
While round her waist each wanton finger strays,
And counts the whalebones in her panting stays.

Let jealous husbands (if such still there be

In this improving age) cry out "For shame!" Let Quakers say our manners are too free,

And gouty folks quadrilles and waltzes blame;
I here protest I never will agree

In such reproaches-till I'm blind and lame.
Let maids of fifty prate of immorality,
I'm for the sexes' rational equality!

These are new doctrines: in Godiva's age
Husbands alone were privileged to kiss;
I said before, Reform was not the rage,
So that such nonsense was not then amiss;
And, though I've ransacked many an ancient page,
I find but one case similar to this,-
That of Candaules-handed down to us
By Barry Cornwall, and Herodotus.

Oh! matrimonial love, which I so long
Have fondly painted to my fancy's eye,
In vain would I embody now in song
My young conceptions of thy purity.

Thou should'st be chaste, though ardent; mild, though strong;
Thou should'st be-hang it, it's in vain to try,—

Thou should'st be-all that in my heart's recess
I long have worshipped, but can ne'er express.

And thou, fair image, whatsoe'er thou art,
The loved creation of my boyish brain,
The destined partner of my cares and heart,
To share my pleasures, and to soothe my pain;
Still of my dearest visions be a part,

In many a midnight dream appear again;
Still let me clasp thee to my glowing breast,
Enjoy thy converse, and in sleep be blest.

And if not all a phantom of my thought,

And thou indeed hast being, may thy young And sinless years be happy, and may nought

That tastes of sorrow in thy path be flung: May purest lessons thy young heart be taught, And each expanding thought to virtue strung; May'st thou have some accomplishments-much grace, And lovely as thy spirit be-thy face.

I shall be quite enraptured if you sing,

So but your taste is pure as was the Attics';
I only beg you'll take care not to fling
Your time away in learning mathematics;
Nor to my arms a heavy portion bring

Of Chemistry-and Greek—and Hydrostatic ;
You may nurse pinks and tulips, if you've got an,
But be no florist, love,-nor deal in Botany.

I mention this, because I know some ladies
Whose conversation is almost a bore;
But I should laud them, as the poet's trade is,
So wont pursue this topic any more!
Return we to our tale, which, I'm afraid, is

Too long in telling-but it's nearly o'er :
Godiva turned at last, with looks imploring,
And found her husband (like my reader) snoring.

Too well she knew to_wake him would be vain,
She thought 't was best to let him slumber on,
Or else his humour might relapse again,

And all she had effected be undone.

She lay, and communed with her heart and brain,— Her thoughts I know not; but when morning shone,

She told her husband, with a steadfast eye,

She had revolved the matter- and would try.

Her speech on this occasion I'd recorded
In my foul copy, and we all agreed
That it was most astonishingly worded,
For one who never learnt to write or read;

Yet scope for mirth it might have well afforded

To modern misses of our British breed; And grave Blue-stockings would, no doubt, have said, "Godiva's heart was better than her head."

Had she at some snug boarding-school been placed,
Of modern growth, for female education,
She would have had a most uncommon taste,
And I might now have printed her oration.
Her native genius she would then have graced
With stores of every sort of information,

And had, at twelve years old, more general knowledge
Than boys of fifteen gain at Eton College.

She turned, and left his lordship sore perplexed,
He almost questioned if he were awake,

And knew not whether to feel pleased or vexed;
Still less, what step it would be right to take.
He "wondered what the devil she 'd do next,

Who could so bold a resolution make;"
And felt a sort of shame that he 'd consented,
And, for the first time in his life, repented.

But then, he felt he never could retract,

(At least he would not-which was much the same),

And if his wife thought proper thus to act,
He couldn't help it—he was not to blame!
So that day, after breakfast, off he packed
A trumpeter (I quite forget his name)
To tell the people, in the market-place,
His wife's intention-and his own disgrace.

It was an idle morn in Coventry,

The people wandered through the gloomy mart; Labour with hope was o'er, and listlessly

Their footsteps traversed each unheeded part; Despair was yielding fast to apathy

They were prepared to die,—and every heart Its weight of woe had half forgot to feel,When in their ears shrill rung a trumpet-peal.

There was a sudden crowding round the space

Whence the sound came-and then from man to man, Throughout the full and spacious market-place,

A sudden, cold, electric shudder ran;

And each glanced quickly on his neighbour's face,
As if the working of his thought to scan,-
And then in every countenance were blent
Joy, love, and anger, and astonishment.

A breathless pause succeeded, then arose
A low and gathering murmur in the crowd,
Like the far peal that breaks the dread repose
Cast by the shadow of a thunder-cloud :
And fast and far that thrilling murmur flows

On through the multitude-yet grows not loud,
Slowly it died, and nought but trampling feet
Of crowds dispersing sounded in the street.

Noon came, yet ne'er in Coventry had reigned,
At deepest midnight, silence so profound;
In the wide streets no human form remained,
It seemed as Death had swallowed all around;
It was like that enchanted city, feigned

In Oriental Tales, where all were bound
In magic slumbers, and transformed to stone-
A story pretty generally known.

What were Godiva's thoughts at that dread hour

In her lone chamber? Silent did she kneel,Her deep blue eyes raised meekly to the Power

Of Heaven, in dumb, yet eloquent appeal.
Thus prayed the gentle lady in her bower,
Till o'er her sorrows peace began to steal,

And the calm rapture of the silent skies
Had sunk into her spirit, through her eyes.

The lady rose from prayer, with cheek o'er-flushed,
And eyes all radiant with celestial fire;

The anguished beatings of her heart were hushed,
So calmly heaven-ward did her thoughts aspire.