Retchlefs of laws, affects to rule alone,
Anxious to reign, and restless on the throne:
First vegetive, then feels, and reasons laft;
Rich of three fouls, and lives all three to waste..
Some thus; but thousands more in flow'r of age:
For few arrive to run the latter stage.
Sunk in the first, in battle some are slain,
And others whelm'd beneath the stormy main.
What makes all this, but Jupiter the king,
At whofe command we perifh, 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 fuftain;
And could we chufe the time, and chufe aright,
"Tis belt to die, our honour at the height.
When we have done our ancestors no shame,
But ferv'd our friends, and well fecur'd our fame;
Then should we wish our happy life to close,
And leave no more for fortune to difpofe:
So fhould we make our death a glad relief
From future fhame, from fick nefs, and from grief:
Enjoying while we live the prefent hour,
And dying in our excellence and flow'r.
Then round our death-bed ev'ry friend should run,
And joyous of our conqueft early won:
While the malicious world with envious tears
Shou'd grudge our happy end, and wish it theirs.
Since then our Arcite is with honour dead, ·
Why shou'd 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 prison to free air restor❜d.
Ought he to thank his kinsman or his wife,
Cou'd tears recall him into wretched life?
Their forrow hurts themfelves; 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 propofe that Palamon shall 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 born 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 fifter, ratify th' accord,
your husband, and your lord,
'Tis no dishonour to confer your grace
On one defcended from a royal race:
And were he lefs, yet years of fervice past
From grateful fouls exact reward at last:
Pity is heav'n's and your's; nor can she find
A throne fo foft as in a woman's mind.
He faid; fhe blush'd; and as o'er-aw'd by might,
Seem'd to give Thefeus what she gave the knight.
Then turning to the Theban thus he said;
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, tho' he loft the fight;
And blefs'd with nuptial blifs the fweet 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,
Show'r'd on the bed the whole Idalian grove,
All of a tenor was their after-life,
No day difcolour'd with domeftic ftrife;
No jealoufy, but mutual truth believ'd,
Secure repófe, and kindness undeceiv'd.
Thus Heav'n, beyond the compafs of his thought,
Sent him the bleffing he fo dearly bought.
So may the Queen of love long duty blefs,
And all true lovers find the fame fuccefs.
TALE of the NUN's PRIEST.
HERE liv'd, as authors tell, in days of yore,
Deep in a cell her cottage lonely flood,
Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood.
This dowager, on whom my tale I found,
Since last she laid her husband in the ground,
A fimple fober life, in patience, led,
And had but just enough to buy her bread :
But hufwifing the little Heav'n 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 homestead were three fows,
An ewe call'd Mally, and three brinded cows.
Her parlour-window ftuck with herbs around,
Of fav'ry smell; and rushes strew'd the ground.
A maple-dreffer in her hall fhe had,
On which full many a slender meal she made;
For no delicious morfel pass'd her throat;
According to her cloth the cut her coat:
No poynant fauce fhe knew, nor coftly treat,
Her hunger gave a relish to her meat:
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 exercise 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 tafted through the year,
But white and black was all her homely chear:
Brown bread, and milk, (but first she skim'd her bowls)
And rashers of fing'd bacon on the coals.
On holy days an egg, or two at moft t;
But her ambition never reach'd to roaft.
A yard fhe had with pales enclos'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 furpafs
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 fung:
For when degrees fifteen afcended right,
By fure inftinct he knew 'twas one at night.
High was his comb, and coral-red withal,
In dents embattell'd like a caftle wall;
His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet;
Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet:
White were his nails, like filver to behold,
His body glitt'ring like the burnish'd gold.
This gentle cock, for folace of his life
Six miffes had, befides his lawful wife;
Scandal that fpares no king, tho' ne'er fo good,
Says, they were all of his own flesh and blood,
His fifters both by fire and mother's fide;
And fure their likeness show'd them near ally'd.
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