CXXII. 'Twas the heart's logic:-but the point, alas! Was her stern father of the gold to rid, Who kept it closely, and was no such ass As to yield up, or tell her where 'twas hid. At last, one day when he was gone to mass, Love lent her instinct, and she found the lid Which cover'd all her treasures, and her eye Gleam'd, as she seized the gold triumphantly. CXXIV. Forgive her, reader; love's a bad logician, In seizing thus her own-but who'll deny That when young Love rebels, papa may go (As the song says) and preach at Jericho. CXXV. This chanced one morn of merry Whitsuntide, CXXVI. The noblest knight that ever couch'd a lance Graced not that banquet-for his wealth was gone; The loveliest maid that e'er adorn'd a dance Graced not that banquet-for her cheek was wan; The former was reduced to trust to chance For turnips or a crust to dine upon; The latter was, just then, upon her way Her whole possessions at his feet to lay. CXXVII. Indulgent reader, we'll omit the meeting, Because I could'nt paint it, if I would; The pale-faced girl her, earnest suit repeating- CXXVIII. Meekly she gazeth on his faded cheek His cheek with hunger pale, as her's with love; With his unyielding spirit-so she strove CXXIX. "Alas! thy cheek is thin and pale with want, CXXX. "I am unworthy that a prince like thee Should in my father's house such shelter find; CXXXI. Thus, the poor girl, with meek submissive eyes As half enforced his spell-bound heart to meltBut the charm held him—so, in courteous guise, Once more did he dissemble what he felt, And, in mild phrase, declined her gentle proffer But thank'd her, very kindly, for the offer. CXXXII. Yet, lest his words should add one sorrow more (His own were seized for debt some time before) CXXXIII. They came: but, ere that mournful knight departed, And why he loved her not, he could not guess; CXXXIV. So he departed ;-and, when next he came Which sunk beneath his shafts-and yet, 'tis said, She ne'er was heard to breathe Sir Lonvil's name Till just before her guiltless spirit fled; And then, she bless'd him with her parting breath, And said she died for him, and welcomed death. CXXXV. Sir Lonvil visited her grave, and wept A thought distinct from earthly hopes and fears, CXXXVI. Amen!-this Canto's no more like the last Than copper's like pure gold, or crockery delf ;I shan't be angry, reader, if it's cast Behind the fire, or left upon the shelf;But by the next it shall be far surpast, (At least in what depends upon myself;-) In fact, the present Canto's whole demerit's Occasioned by my utter want of spirits. CXXXVII. Two more are yet to come ;—and then I quit So I must try, in these, to shew my wit, ;— And make my final exit grand and clever ;- Nor shall it fail for want of due endeavour; END OF CANTO II. G. M. DAMASIPPUS. Scene-ROME. A Cook's Shop. Time-NIGHT. DAMASIPPUS. SYRINX. GETA. CYANE. A MESSENGER. Was it Dam. (entering.) HILLOA! black dweller in darkness! Hilloa! monarch of perfumes and placentæ! how long am I to kick my royal feet before thy damnable dwelling-place, like a half-buried ghost before Charon, or a half-witted Grecian be fore Troy? Shrivelled imp of Hades, answer me! for me, for me, reptile, the lord of all misrule, the bosom friend of every felon and flagon in Rome, the deepest drinker that ever kissed Chian-saving always the emperor, whom the fates and the furies preserve-was it for me to stand for an hour, roaring "Syrinx, Syrinx," louder than ever poet cried Evoe! over his sour verses and sour vinegar, with not a hand of those who live by me, to take the bolt from the door, and the seal from the bottle? Now, by Pollux, Syr. Prince of patrons Dam. I tell thee, foul fiend, all Rome has been at my heels, hooting and hallooing, sweating and swearing, making a very chaos of greasy caps and grievous imprecations, red flambeaux and faces almost as red, cooks and cobblers, slaves and centurions, money borrowers and money lenders. By Pollux, again I say, Themison is not more weary when he has prescribed for his twentieth patient, nor Palemon, when the last disputant of his hundred has murthered grammar and great Julius together. Syr. Merciful lord Dam. Hecate! we are come to a pretty pass, when a man of my blood may not walk in the dark, and swear in a mask, and kiss a girl in the capitol, and cudgel an usurer in the Suburra-but fathers, and brothers, and cousins, ay, by the gods of the hearthstone! and mothers and aunts to boot, must start up, like the Argonaut's harvest, scouring and screaming in all the streets of Rome, and all the dialects of its provinces. Marry, hang them! is there no respect or reverence for my this year's chariot, or my last year's fasces? Nay, then honour may hide in a cloaca, and fashion walk a-foot; patricians shall patronise the tunic, and consulships be sold for an as. Syr. Most munificent of revellers Dam. And for thee, scum of Ethiopia, for thee to keep thy YOL. II. PART II. 2 F |