'TWAS very cold, and darkness 'gan to peep; The place was distant yet, where they might sleep. Perhaps, said Reynold, 'tis your usual care, In travelling, to say, like me, this prayer. Not so, the other cried, to you I vow, Invoking saints is not my practice now; But should I lose, thenceforth I'll them address.— Said Reynold, readily I acquiesce; My life I'd venture, should you to an inn, For, in the town, I've neither friend nor kin, And, if you like, we'll this exception make. The other answered: Well, the bet I'll take; Your horse and coat against my purse you wage, And, sure of gaining, readily engage. Our Wight might then have thoroughly perceived, His horse was lost—no chance to be relieved.

BESIDE a wood, as on the party moved, The one, who betting had so much approved, Now changed his tone, and in a surly way, Exclaimed:—Alight—you'll find it time to pray; Let me apprize you, distant is the place, And much you'll need Saint Julian's special grace. Come off, I tell you:—instantly they took His purse, horse, clothes, and all their hands could hook E'en seized his boots, and said with subtle sneer, Your feet, by walking, won't the worse appear; Then sought a diff'rent road by rapid flight, And, presently the knaves were out of sight; While Reynold still with stockings, drawers, and shirt, But wet to skin, and covered o'er with dirt: (The wind north-east in front—as cold as clay;) In doleful dumps proceeded on his way, And justly feared, that spite of faith and prayer, He now should meet, at night, with wretched fare.

HOWEVER, some pleasing hopes he still had yet, That, from his cloak-bag, he some clothes might get; For, we should note, a servant he had brought, Who in the neighbourhood a farrier sought. To set a shoe upon his horse, and then Should join his master on the road agen; But that, as we shall find, was not the case, And Reynold's dire misfortune thence we trace. In fact, the fellow, worthless we'll suppose, Had viewed from far what accidents arose, Then turned aside, his safety to secure, And left his master dangers to endure; So steadily be kept upon the trot, To Castle-William, ere 'twas night, he got, And took the inn which had the most renown; For fare and furniture within the town, There waited Reynold's coming at his ease, With fire and cheer that could not fail to please. His master, up to neck in dirt and wet, Had num'rous difficulties o'er to get; And when the snow, in flakes obscured the air, With piercing cold and winds, he felt despair; Such ills he bore, that hanging might be thought A bed of roses rather to be sought. CHANCE so arranges ev'ry thing around ALL good, or ALL that's bad is solely found; When favours flow the numbers are so great, That ev'ry wish upon us seems to wait; But, if disposed, misfortunes to bestow; No ills forgot: each poignant pang we know. In proof, attend my friends, this very night, The sad adventures that befell our wight, Who, Castle-William did not reach till late, When they, an hour or more, had shut the gate.

AT length our traveller approached the wall, And, somehow to the foot contrived to crawl; A roofed projection fortune led him near, That joined a house, and 'gan his heart to cheer. Delighted with the change he now had got, He placed himself upon the sheltered spot; A lucky hit but seldom comes alone; Some straw, by chance, was near the mansion thrown, Which Reynold 'neath the jutting penthouse placed There, God be praised, cried he, a bed I've traced.

MEANWHILE, the storm from ev'ry quarter pressed; Our traveller was soon to death distressed; With cold benumbed; by fell despair o'erspread; He trembled, groaned:—teeth chattered in his head; So loud his plaints, at length they reached the ear Of one who dwelled within the mansion near: A servant girl; her mistress brisk and gay: A youthful widow, charming as the day; The governor she privately received: A noble marquis, who her cares relieved. Oft interrupted when he sought the fair, And wished at ease her company to share; Desirous too of passing quite unknown, A private door he presently was shown, That opened to the fields, and gave access: Through this he visited with such address, That none within the town his commerce viewed, Nor e'en a servant's eye his course pursued. Surprise I feel, since pleasures of the mind, Apparently were not for lords designed; More pleased they seem when made the talk around And soft amours divulged, delights are found.

IT happened that the night our Job arrived, And, stretched on straw, misfortune just survived, The lady thought her fond gallant to see, And ev'ry moment hoped with him to be. The supper ready, and the room prepared, Each rarity was served: no trouble spared; Baths, perfumes, wines, most exquisite, in place, And ev'ry thing around displaying grace, With Cupid's whole artillery in view, Not his, who would with sighs alone pursue, But that kind god who always favour shows, The source of happiness, whence pleasure flows.

MEANWHILE, however, while thus the lady sought. By ev'ry charm to please, a note was brought; A page conveyed it, by the marquis sent, To say his coming business would prevent. The disappointment doubtless was severe, But consolation certainly was near; It proved to Reynold wonderfully kind, For scarcely had our traveller resigned, And groaned aloud, but, tender as her dame, In haste the confidential servant came, And to the widow said:—I hear below Some poor unfortunate o'ercome with woe; 'Tis piercing cold, and he perhaps will die Some place, pray grant, where he to-night may lie.

MOST readily, replied the courteous fair, We never use the garret:—lodge him there; Some straw upon a couch will make a bed, On which the wand'rer may repose his head; Shut well the door, but first provide some meat, And then permit him thither to retreat.

WITHOUT this timely help 'twas clear our wight Had ne'er survived the horrors of the night; The door was ope'd, and Reynold blessed the hand That gave relief, and stopt life's ebbing sand. His tale he told; got spirits, strength, and ease; In person tall, well made, and formed to please, He looked not like a novice in amour, Though young, and seeking shelter at a door. His want of dress and miserable state Raised shame indeed, and showed distress was great. Though LOVE be seen in Nature's pure array, No dirt appears, however you survey.

THIS servant girl now hastened to the fair, And ev'ry circumstance detailed with care. See, said the lady, if within the press There be not clothes to furnish him a dress; My husband, now no more, must some have left; Yes, said the girl, you're not of them bereft, I recollect his wardrobe did abound; And presently a handsome suit she found.

MEANWHILE the lady having learned the name Of Reynold D'Ast, his quality and fame, (Himself it seems particulars detailed, While all around his suff'rings keen bewailed,) Her orders gave, the bath for her prepared Should now receive the man her care had spared. Unasked, the stranger this attention got, And well perfumed ere clothes they would allot. When dressed, he waited on the widow fair, And paid his compliments with graceful air.

THE supper (for the marquis first designed) At length was served with taste the most refined. Our trav'ller glad, an appetite displayed; The lady carefully her guest surveyed, And anxious seemed to gratify his wish, By helping what appeared his favourite dish. Already, perhaps, she felt a Cupid's dart, And in her throbbing bosom knew the smart; Or sympathy, or pity for his woes, Might touch the spring whence softest passion flows. On ev'ry side assailed the youthful dame Herself surrendered unto Cupid's flame. Should I give way, said she, who'll tell the tale? No risk is run if secrecy prevail. The marquis merits to be played the trick; He no excuse can have, unless he's sick. One sin against another I may weigh, And man for man will equally repay.

SO inexperienced Reynold was not found, But that he saw how things were going round, And, that Saint Julian's Prayer would yet succeed, To give him all the lodging he might need.

THE supper o'er, our couple left alone, What fairer field could truly have been shown? The belle now wore a smart becoming dress, Designed, in ev'ry view, to prepossess. 'Twas NEGLIGENCE, so requisite to please And fascinate, with airy, careless ease, According to the taste which I pursue, That made her charms so exquisite to view. No gaudy tinsel: all was flowing light; Though not superb, yet pleasing to the sight; A neckerchief, where much should be concealed, Was made so narrow,—beauties half revealed; Beneath is shade—what words can ne'er express; And Reynold saw enough the rest to guess. No more I say; the belle indeed was fair, Possessed of youth and all engaging air; Tall, nicely formed; each grace, that hearts could win; Not much of fat, nor yet appeared too thin. Emotion, at the view, who would not feel? To soft delight what bosom proves of steel? No marble bust, philosopher, nor stone, But similar sensation would have shown.

THE silence first was broken by the dame; Who spoke so freely, Reynold bolder came. He knew not well, howe'er, discourse to find; To help him out the widow was inclined; Said she, you much remind me of a friend, Whose ev'ry wish I sought with mine to blend My husband (rest his soul!) had just those eyes, That look, air, mouth:—the very height and size: You greatly honour me, the spark replied: Your charms howe'er might well have been his pride; I ne'er beheld such soft engaging mien: On earth, like beauty never yet was seen. But, in extremes to be, appears my lot; Just now I felt quite chilled:—at present hot; Pray tell me which is best? The fair looked down, And humbly seemed to wave the proffered crown, That she might still more flattery receive Address not small, if we'll our eyes believe. The swain now praised each charm within his view, And whatsoe'er his wishes could pursue; Where hope was strong, and expectation high, She would not long be cruel and deny. To give the praise, your due, the lover cried, And note the beauties that my heart divide, 'Twould take an age, and I've a single night, Which surely might be passed with more delight. The widow smiled; enough it seems was said; And Reynold shortened—what to nothing led. In war or love, time equally is dear; More happy than our spark none could appear; No point but what he gained; the smiling dame Resistance only showed to raise the flame; Nor more nor less; each belle like art has got, And practises at will, or maid or not.

BUT truly, it was never my intent To count each favour she to Reynold lent; Particulars exact of ev'ry kiss, And all the preludes incident to bliss; Both, doubtless, knew more ways than one to please; And sought, with anxious care, love's charms to seize. On recollection of the wretched state In which our traveller had moved of late, Some favour was bestowed:—there, cried the dame, Is something to repay the road you came; This for the cold; that fear; there thieves disgraced; So, one by one, the whole was soon effaced. In this way to be paid for ills we meet, Who'd not be satisfied with boons so sweet? And we conclude, that Reynold on the spot, Love's am'rous recompense of pleasures got. Now easy conversation was renewed; Then mutual kisses; ev'ry sweet pursued. 'Twas time for bed; howe'er, the widow fair Determined that her own the spark should share; 'Twas prudent, doubtless; like a lady wise; Gallantly done: one room would well suffice.

WHAT further passed betwixt the pair that night; I cannot say, though we'll believe 'twas right; Between the clothes when laid, and unrestrained, Most clearly, Reynold all his wishes gained. There he was recompensed for ev'ry grief; The lady too, received so much relief, That she desired his company again, But still these visits secrets should remain; 'Twas requisite the governor to see; Howe'er the dame delighted seemed to be, And not content with what she had bestowed, A purse well stored with gold to Reynold showed: He took no more, indeed, than what would pay The bare expenses on his homeward way; Then sought the street that to the tavern led, Where still his lazy servant was in bed; The fellow mauled; then changed throughout his dress; Since to the cloak-bag now he had access. His fortune to complete, that day they took The very wretches that he wished to hook. He to the judge repaired with ev'ry haste; In such a case you never time should waste; For, once the things are into court received, 'Tis like the lion's den: naught e'er 's retrieved; Their hands are closed, not 'gainst what may be brought But to secure what from their grasp is sought. Who seeks redress by law, facts oft have shown, May bless his stars if he but keep his own.

THE trial o'er, a gallows treble-faced, Was, for their swinging, in the market placed, ONE of the three harangued the mob around, (His speech was for the others also found) Then, 'bout their necks the halters being tied, Repentant and confessed the culprits died.

WHO, after this, will doubt the pow'r of prayers? These silly knaves had banished all their cares; And when at ease they thought to skip and prance, Were seized and quickly taught another dance. On t'other hand, where dire distress prevailed, And death, in various ways, our spark assailed, A beauty suddenly his senses charmed, Who might a prelate's bosom have alarmed. So truly fortunate, indeed, his lot, Again his money, baggage, horse he got; And, thank Saint Julian, howsoever tossed, He passed a blissful night that nothing cost.



THE COUNTRYMAN WHO SOUGHT HIS CALF

A COUNTRYMAN, one day, his calf had lost, And, seeking it, a neighbouring forest crossed; The tallest tree that in the district grew, He climbed to get a more extensive view. Just then a lady with her lover came; The place was pleasing, both to spark and dame; Their mutual wishes, looks and eyes expressed, And on the grass the lady was caressed. At sights of charms, enchanting to the eyes, The gay gallant exclaimed, with fond surprise:— Ye gods, what striking beauties now I see! No objects named; but spoke with anxious glee. The clod, who, on the tree had mounted high, And heard at ease the conversation nigh, Now cried:—Good man! who see with such delight; Pray tell me if my calf be in your sight?



HANS CARVEL'S RING

HANS CARVEL took, when weak and late in life; A girl, with youth and beauteous charms to wife; And with her, num'rous troubles, cares and fears; For, scarcely one without the rest appears. Bab (such her name, and daughter of a knight) Was airy, buxom: formed for am'rous fight. Hans, holding jeers and cuckoldom in dread, Would have his precious rib with caution tread, And nothing but the Bible e'er peruse; All other books he daily would abuse; Blamed secret visits; frowned at loose attire; And censured ev'ry thing gallants admire. The dame, howe'er, was deaf to all he said; No preaching pleased but what to pleasure led, Which made the aged husband hold his tongue. And wish for death, since all round went wrong. Some easy moments he perhaps might get; A full detail in hist'ry's page is met. One night, when company he'd had to dine, And pretty well was fill'd with gen'rous wine, Hans dreamed, as near his wife he snoring lay, The devil came his compliments to pay, And having on his finger put a ring, Said he, friend Hans, I know thou feel'st a sting; Thy trouble 's great: I pity much thy case; Let but this ring, howe'er, thy finger grace, And while 'tis there I'll answer with my head, THAT ne'er shall happen which is now thy dread: Hans, quite delighted, forced his finger through; You drunken beast, cried Bab, what would you do? To love's devoirs quite lost, you take no care, And now have thrust your finger God knows where!



THE HERMIT

WHEN Venus and Hypocrisy combine, Oft pranks are played that show a deep design; Men are but men, and friars full as weak: I'm not by Envy moved these truths to speak. Have you a sister, daughter, pretty wife? Beware the monks as you would guard your life; If in their snares a simple belle be caught: The trap succeeds: to ruin she is brought. To show that monks are knaves in Virtue's mask; Pray read my tale:—no other proof I ask.

A HERMIT, full of youth, was thought around, A saint, and worthy of the legend found. The holy man a knotted cincture wore; But, 'neath his garb:—heart-rotten to the core. A chaplet from his twisted girdle hung, Of size extreme, and regularly strung, On t'other side was worn a little bell; The hypocrite in ALL, he acted well; And if a female near his cell appeared, He'd keep within as if the sex he feared, With downcast eyes and looks of woe complete, You'd ne'er suppose that butter he could eat.

NOT far from where the hermit's cell was placed, Within a village dwelled a widow chaste; Her residence was at the further end And all her store—a daughter as a friend, Who candour, youth, and charms supreme possessed; And still a virgin lived, howe'er distressed. Though if the real truth perhaps we name, 'Twas more simplicity than virtuous aim; Not much of industry, but honest heart; No wealth, nor lovers, who might hope impart. In Adam's days, when all with clothes were born, She doubtless might like finery have worn; A house was furnished then without expense; For sheets or mattresses you'd no pretence; Not e'en a bed was necessary thought No blankets, pillowbiers, nor quilts were bought. Those times are o'er; then Hymen came alone; But now a lawyer in his train is shown.

OUR anchorite, in begging through the place; This girl beheld,—but not with eyes of grace. Said he, she'll do, and, if thou manag'st right, Lucius, at times, with her to pass the night. No time he lost, his wishes to secure: The means, we may suppose, not over pure.

QUITE near the open fields they lived, I've said; An humble, boarded cottage o'er their head. One charming night—no, I mistake 'tis plain, Our hermit, favoured much by wind and rain, Pierced in the boarding, where by time 'twas worn; A hole through which he introduced a horn; And loudly bawled:—attend to what I say, Ye women, my commands at once obey. This voice spread terror through the little cot; Both hid their heads and trembled for their lot; But still our monk his horn would sound aloud Awake! cried he; your favour God has vowed; My faithful servant, Lucius, haste to seek; At early dawn go find this hermit meek To no one say a word: 'tis Heav'n ordains; Fear nothing, Lucius ever blessed remains; I'll show the way myself: your daughter place, Good widow, with this holy man of grace; And from their intercourse a pope shall spring, Who back to virtue christendom will bring.

HE spoke to them so very loud and clear, They heard, though 'neath the clothes half dead with fear. Some time howe'er the females lay in dread; At length the daughter ventured out her head, And, pulling hastily her parent's arm, Said she, dear mother, (not suspecting harm) Good Heav'ns! must I obey and thither go? What would the holy man on me bestow? I know not what to say nor how to act; Now cousin Anne would with him be exact, And better recollect his sage advice:— Fool! said the mother, never be so nice; Go, nothing fear, and do whate'er's desired; Much understanding will not be required; The first or second time thou'lt get thy cue, And cousin Anne will less know what to do. Indeed? the girl replied; well, let's away, And we'll return to bed without delay. But softly, cried the mother with a smile; Not quite so fast, for Satan may beguile; And if 'twere so, hast taken proper care? I think he spoke like one who would ensnare. To be precipitate, in such a case, Perhaps might lead at once to dire disgrace. If thou wert terrified and did'st not hear, Myself I'm sure was quite o'ercome with fear. No, no, rejoined the daughter, I am right: I clearly heard, dear mother, spite of fright. Well then, replied the widow, let us pray, That we by Satan be not led astray.

AT length they both arose when morning came, And through the day the converse was the same. At night howe'er the horn was heard once more, And terrified the females as before. Thou unbelieving woman, cried the voice, For certain purposes of God the choice; No more delay, but to the hermit fly, Or 'tis decreed that thou shalt quickly die. Now, mother, said the girl, I told you well; Come, let us hasten to the hermit's cell; So much I dread your death, I'll nothing shun; And if 'tis requisite, I'll even run. Away then, cried the mother, let us go; Some pains to dress, the daughter would bestow, Without reflecting what might be her fare:— To PLEASE is ev'ry blooming lass's care.

OUR monk was on the watch you may suppose; A hole he made that would a glimpse disclose; By which, when near his cell the females drew, They might, with whip in hand the hermit view, Who, like a culprit punished for his crimes, Received the lash, and that so many times, It sounded like the discipline of schools, And made more noise than flogging fifty fools.

WHEN first our pilgrims knocked, he would not hear; And, for the moment, whipping would appear; The holy lash severely he applied, Which, through the hole, with pain our females spied; At length the door he ope'd, but from his eyes No satisfaction beamed: he showed surprise. With trembling knees and blushes o'er the face, The widow now explained the mystick case. Six steps behind, the beauteous daughter stood, And waited the decree she thought so good. The hypocrite howe'er the hermit played, And sent these humble pilgrims back dismayed. Said he, the evil spirit much I dread; No female to my cell should e'er be led; Excuse me then: such acts would sorrow bring; From me the HOLY FATHER ne'er spring. What ne'er from you? the widow straight replied: And why should not the blessing, pray, be tried? No other answer howsoe'er she got; So back they trudged once more to gain their cot. Ah! mother, said the girl, 'tis my belief, Our many heavy sins have caused thus grief.

WHEN night arrived and they in sleep were lost, Again the hermit's horn the woodwork crossed; Return, return, cried he with horrid tone; To-morrow you'll have due attention shown; I've changed the hermit's cold fastidious mind, And when you come, he'll act as I've designed.

THE couple left their bed at break of day, And to the cell repaired without delay Our tale to shorten, Lucius kind appeared To rigid rules no longer he adhered. The mother with him let her girl remain, And hastened to her humble roof again. The belle complying looked:—he took her arm, And soon familiar grew with ev'ry charm.

O HYPOCRITES! how oft your wily art Deceives the world and causes poignant smart.

AT matins they so very often met, Some awkward indications caused regret. The fair at length her apron-string perceived Grew daily shorter, which her bosom grieved; But nothing to the hermit she'd unfold, Nor e'en those feelings to her mother told; She dreaded lest she should be sent away, And be deprived at once of Cupid's play. You'll tell me whence so much discernment came? From this same play:—the tree of art by name. For sev'n long months the nymph her visits paid; Her inexperience doubtless wanted aid.

BUT when the mother saw her daughter's case, She made her thank the monk, and leave the place. The hermit blessed the Lord for what was done; A pleasant course his humble slave had run. He told the mother and her daughter fair, The child, by God's permission, gifts would share. Howe'er, be careful, said the wily wight, That with your infant ev'ry thing goes right; To you, from thence, great happiness will spring: You'll reign the parent of what's more than king; Your relatives to noble rank will rise: Some will be princes; others lords comprise; Your nephews cardinals; your cousins too Will dukes become, if they the truth pursue; And places, castles, palaces, there'll be, For you and them of every high degree; You'll nothing want: eternal is the source, Like waters flowing in the river's course. This long prediction o'er: with features grave, His benediction to them both he gave.

WHEN home returned, the girl, each day and night, Amused her mind with prospects of delight; By fancy's aid she saw the future pope, And all prepared to greet her fondest hope; But what arrived the whole at once o'erthrew Hats, dukedoms, castles, vanished from the view: The promised elevation of the NAME Dissolved to air:-a little female came!



THE CONVENT GARDENER OF LAMPORECHIO

WHEN Cupid with his dart, would hearts assail, The rampart most secure is not the VEIL; A husband better will the FAIR protect, Than walls or lattices, I much suspect. Those parents, who in nunneries have got Their daughters (whether willingly or not), Most clearly in a glaring error prove, To fancy God will round their actions move; 'Tis an abuse of what we hold divine; The Devil with them surely must combine. Besides, 'twere folly to suppose that vice Ne'er entered convent walls, and nuns were ice. A very diff'rent sentiment I hold: Girls, who in publick move, however bold, Have greater terrors lest they get a stain; For, honour lost, they never fame regain. Few enemies their modesty attack; The others have but one their minds to rack. TEMPTATION, daughter of the drowsy dame, That hates to move, and IDLENESS we name, Is ever practising each wily art, To spread her snares around the throbbing heart; And fond DESIRE, the child of lorn CONSTRAINT, Is anxious to the soul soft scenes to paint. If I've a worthy daughter made a nun, Is that a reason she's a saint?—Mere fun! Avaunt such folly!—three in four you'll find, Of those who wear the veil—have changed their mind; Their fingers bite, and often do much worse: Those convent vows, full soon, become a curse; Such things at least have sometimes reached my ear (For doubtless I must speak from others here); Of his Boccace a merry tale has told, Which into rhyme I've put, as you'll behold.

WITHIN a nunnery, in days of yore, A good old man supplied the garden-store; The nuns, in general, were smart and gay, And kept their tongues in motion through the day. Religious duties they regarded less, Than for the palour* to be nice in dress Arranging ev'ry article to please, That each might captivate and charm at ease; The changes constantly they rang around, And made the convent-walls with din resound. Eight sisters and an abbess held the place, And strange to say—there DISCORD you might trace. All nine had youth, and many beauty too: Young friars round the place were oft in view, Who reckoned ev'ry step they took so well, That always in the proper road they fell. Th' aged gard'ner, of whom ere now we spoke, Was oft bewildered, they would so provoke; Capricious, whimsical, from day to day, Each would command and try to have her way; And as they ne'er agreed among themselves, He suffered more than if with fifty elves; When one was pleased, another soon complained: At length to quit the nuns he was constrained. He left them, poor and wretched as he came; No cross, pile, money:—e'en his coat the same.

A YOUTH of Lamporechio, gay and bold, One day this gard'ner met as I am told; And after conversation 'bout the place, Said, he should like nun's service to embrace, And that he wished sincerely to be hired: He'd gratis do whatever was required. 'Twas clear indeed his object was not pelf; He thought however he might reward himself; And as the sisters were not over wise, A nun he now and then might make his prize; Proceed from one to more with like address, Till with the whole he'd had complete success. Said Nuto (such we find the gard'ner's name), Believe me, friend, you will be much to blame; Some other service seek, I recommend; These convent-dames will ne'er their whimseys end. I'd rather live without or soup or bread, Than work for them, however nicely fed.

STRANGE creatures are these nuns, upon my word; Their ways ridiculous and e'en absurd; Who, with the sisterhood, has never been, Has clearly yet, not perfect torment seen, Such service, prithee, never try to gain; To do what they require I know is vain; One will have soft, and t'other asks for hard: Thou'lt be a fool such ninnies to regard; No work thou'lt do, whatever be the want: THIS cabbages,—THAT carrots tells thee plant: Said t'other, fain I'd bring it to the test; I'm but a simpleton, it is confessed; Yet still a month in place, and thou wilt see; How well I with the convent-dames agree. The reason is, my life is in its prime, While thou art sunk in years and worn by time, I'm proper for their work, and only ask, To be admitted to the drudging task. Well, said the former, if resolved to try, To their factotum instantly apply; Come; let's away. Lead on, the other cried; I've got a thought, which I'll to you confide:— I'll seem an idiot, and quite dumb appear.— In that, said Nuto, only persevere, And then perhaps the confessor thou'lt find, With their factotum carelessly inclined; No fears nor dark suspicions of a mute: Thou'lt ev'ry way, my friend, their wishes suit.

THE place, as was expected, soon he got; And half the grounds to trench, at once his lot: He acted well the nincompoop and fool, Yet still was steady to the garden tool; The nuns continually would flock around, And much amusement in his anticks found.

ONE day, as sleeping lay our sprightly wight, Or feigning sleep, no matter which is right, (Boccace pretends the latter was the fact) Two nuns (perhaps not two the most exact,) Observing him extended on the sward, While summer's heat from air so much debarred; That few would venture from the convent-roof, Lest, 'gainst the sun, their cheeks should not be proof: Said one, approaching him, let's take this fool, And place him in the garden-house to cool. The lad was handsome, with engaging mien: The nun admired the features she had seen, And Cupid raised a wish to be at ease, Where she, without restraint, herself might please. What would you, cried the other, with him do? You'll see, rejoined the first, if we pursue; Just what might be expected from the place; Christ! said the second (with a cross of grace), You would not surely do what is forbid? Suppose increase? it never could be hid; Besides, should we be seen, 'twill be the cause, Of dire disgrace to break such sacred laws.

WE shall not be observed, the first replied; These ills thy fancy forms: haste, let's decide, And seize the moment while 'tis in our reach, Without regard to what old dotards teach, Or what may happen at a future hour; Here's no one near: 'tis fully in our pow'r; The time and place so thoroughly agree, 'Twill be impossible our freaks to see; But 'twill be right that one should watch with care; While t'other with the lad seeks joys to share, And irksome gloom endeavours to dispel: He's dumb, you know, and tales can never tell. The other answered, since 'tis your desire, I'll acquiesce and do what you require; You'll take him first: I see it is your aim; And since it will oblige, I'll wave my claim; Go, pleasure seek, and satisfy each wish: You're always anxious for a fav'rite dish; 'Tis only to oblige that I comply. That, said the other, clearly I descry; I'm well persuaded, thou art always kind; But still I think thou would'st not be inclined; In such a scene to take the leading part, Thy bashfulness would counteract thy heart.

Some time the squeamish sister watched the spot; At length the other, who'd her wishes got, The station took; the lab'rer tried to please The second as the first, but less at ease; So many favours fell not to her share, And only treble comfort proved her fare.

THE garden-path, and summer-house as well, Were well remembered by each wanton belle; No need of guides; and soon our spark contrived; With sister Agnes also to be hived A press-house at the convent end he chose, in which he showed her how soft pleasure flows; Nor Claudia nor Angelica would miss The dormitory that, and cellar this; In short the garret and the vaulted cave Knew fully how the sisters could behave; Not one but what he first or last regaled E'en with the rigid abbess he prevailed, To take a dance, and as the dame required Her treble share of what was most admired, The other nuns were oft obliged to fast, While with the convent-head his time was passed.

To no restoratives our Wight would run; Though these do little, where much work is done: So oft the lad was pressed for cheering play, That with the abbess, when engaged one day, He said, where'er I go, 'tis common talk, With only sev'n an able bird should walk, Yet constantly I've got no less than nine:— The abbess cried,—A miracle divine! Here nuns, pray haste, and quickly come around; We've fasted with success:—his tongue is found. The eight encircled him with great surprise; No longer dumb.—they viewed with eager eyes: A consultation instantly was had, When 'twas agreed to honour well the lad, And try to make him secrecy observe; But if dismissed, from silence he might swerve. The active youth, well fed, well paid, thus blessed, Did all he could,—and others did the rest. He for the nuns procured a little lot, That afterward two little friars got, And in the sequel fathers soon became; The sisters mothers too, in spite of shame; But never name more justly was applied: In vain their mysteries they strove to hide.

* The parlour in a convent is the room where the nuns are permitted to speak to their friends through a lattice.



THE MANDRAKE

FLORENTINE we now design to show;— A greater blockhead ne'er appeared below; It seems a prudent woman he had wed, With beauty that might grace a monarch's bed; Young, brisk, good-humoured, with engaging mien; None in the town, or round, the like was seen: Her praises every voice inclined to sing, And judged her worthy of a mighty king; At least a better husband she deserved: An arrant fool he looked, and quite unnerved. This Nicia Calfucci (for such his name) Was fully bent to have a father's fame, And thought his country honour he could do, Could he contrive his lineage to pursue. No holy saint in Paradise was blessed, But what this husband fervently addressed; From day to day, so oft he teazed for grace, They scarcely knew his off'rings where to place. No matron, quack, nor conjurer around, But what he tried their qualities profound; Yet all in vain: in spite of charm or book, No father he, whatever pains he took.

TO Florence then returned a youth from France; Where he had studied,—more than complaisance: Well trained as any from that polished court; To Fortune's favours anxious to resort; Gallant and seeking ev'ry FAIR to please; Each house, road, alley, soon he knew at ease; The husbands, good or bad, their whims and years, With ev'ry thing that moved their hopes or fears; What sort of fuel best their females charmed; What spies were kept by those who felt alarmed; The if's, for's, to's, and ev'ry artful wile, That might in love a confidant beguile, Or nurse, or father-confessor, or dog; When passion prompts, few obstacles can clog.

THE snares were spread, each stratagem was laid; And every thing arranged to furnish aid, When our gay spark determined to invest Old Nicia with the cuckold's branching crest. The plan no doubt was well conceived and bold; The lady to her friends appeared not cold; Within her husband's house she seemed polite; But ne'er familiarly was seen invite, No further could a lover dare proceed; Not one had hope the belle his flame would heed.

OUR youth, Calimachus, no sooner came, But he howe'er appeared to please the dame; His camp he pitched and entered on the siege Of fair Lucretia, faithful to her liege, Who presently the haughty tigress played, And sent him, like the rest, away dismayed.

HE, scarcely knew what saint he could invoke; When Nicia's folly served him for a cloak; However strange, no stratagem nor snare, But what the fool would willingly prepare With all his heart, and nothing fancy wrong; That might to others possibly belong. The lover and himself, as learned men, Had conversations ev'ry now and then; For Nicia was a doctor in the law: Degree, to him, not worth a single straw; Far better had he common prudence traced; And not his confidence so badly placed.

ONE day he to Calimachus complained, Of want of heirs, and wished they could be gained: Where lay the fault? He was a gay gallant; Lucretia young with features to enchant. When I at Paris was, replied our wight, There passed a clever man, a curious sight, His company with anxious care I sought, And was at length a hundred secrets taught; 'Mong others how, at will, to get an heir:— A certain thing, he often would declare; The great Mogul had tried it on his queen, just two years since, the heir might then be seen; And many other princesses of fame, Had added by it to their husband's name. 'Twas very true; I've seen it fully proved: The remedy all obstacles removed; 'Tis from the root of certain tree expressed; A juice most potent ev'ry where confessed, And Mandrake called, which taken by a wife; More pow'r evinces o'er organick life, Than from conventual grace was e'er derived, Though in the cloister youthful friars hived.

TEN months from hence I'll you a father make; No longer time than that I ask to take; This period o'er, the child to church we'll bring,— If true, said Nicia, what a glorious thing! You'll do me services I can't express.— Don't doubt it, cried the spark of smart address: Must I the fact so oft to you repeat? I've seen it with my eyes; 'tis most complete; You mean to jest, assuredly my friend; Would you by doubts the great Mogul offend? So handsomely this traveller he paid, No sign of discontent he e'er betrayed.

'TIS excellent, the Florentine replied; Lucretia must be pleased to have it tried; What satisfaction! in her arms to view An infant that my lineage will renew. Now, worthy friend, you god-father shall stand; This very day pray take the thing in hand.

NOT quite so fast, rejoined our smart gallant, First know the plan, before consent you grant; There is an ill attends the whole affair; But what below, alas! is free from care; This juice, possessing virtues so divine, Has also pow'rs that prove the most malign: Whoe'er receives the patient's first embrace; Too fatally the dire effects will trace; Death oft succeeds the momentary joy; We scarcely good can find without alloy.

YOUR servant; sir, said Nicia with surprise; No more of this: the name will me suffice; Lucretia we will let remain at ease: What you propose can never truly please; If I must die by getting of a son, 'Tis better far the benefit to shun; Go find some other for your wondrous art; In fact I'm not inclined with life to part.

HOW strange your conduct, cried the sprightly youth: Extremes you seek, and overleap the truth; Just now the fond desire to have a boy Chased ev'ry care and filled your heart with joy; At present quite the contrary appears A moment changed your fondest hopes to fears; Come, hear the rest; no longer waste your breath: Kind Nature all can cure, excepting death. What's necessary pray, that things succeed? Some youthful clod for once should take the lead, And clear the way of ev'ry venom round Then you with safety may commence to sound; No time you'll lose, but instantly begin And you'll most certainly your object win. This step is necessary to the end; Some lad of little worth I recommend; But not ill made, nor savagely robust, To give your lady terror nor disgust. We know that, used to Nicia's soft caress, Lucretia would disrelish rude address; Indeed 'tis possible in such event, Her tender heart would never give consent; This led me to propose a man that's young; Besides, the more he proves for action strong, The less of venom will behind remain, And I'll engage that ev'ry drop he'll drain.

AT first the husband disapproved the plan, The infamy, and danger which they ran Perhaps the magistrate might have him sought, And he, of murder, guilty might be thought; The sudden death would mightily perplex; A fellow's creature's loss would sorely vex; Lucretia, who'd withstood each tempter's charms, Was now to be disgraced in rustick arms!

CALIMACHUS, with eagerness replied; I would a man of consequence provide, Or one, at all events, whose anxious aim Would be, aloud the myst'ry, to proclaim! But fear and folly would contain the clown, Or money at the worst would stop renown, Your better half apparently resigned; The clod without intention of the kind; In short whate'er arrived, 'tis clear your case Could not with Cuckoldom be well in place. Besides 'tis no way certain but our blade, By strength of nerves the poison may evade; And that's a double reason for the choice, Since with more certainty we shall rejoice: The venom may evaporate in fume, And Mandrake pleasing pow'rs at once assume; For when I spoke of death, I did not mean, That nothing from it would the person screen; To-morrow we the rustick lad must name; To-night the potion given your charming dame; I've some already with me, all prepared; Let nothing of your project be declared: You should not seem to know what we've designed; Ligurio you'll permit this clod to find; You can most thoroughly in him confide: Discretion, secrecy, with him reside. One thing, however, nearly I'd forgot; A bandage for the eyes we should allot; And when well bound he nothing e'er can trace Of whom, or what, the lady, or the place.

THE whole arrangement Nicia much approved; But now 'twas time the lady should be moved. At first she thought it jest, then angry grew, And vowed the plan she never would pursue; Her life she'd rather forfeit than her name: Once known, for ever lost would be her fame Besides the heinous sin and vile offence, God knew she rather would with all dispense; Mere complaisance had led her to comply; Would she admit a wretch with blearing eye, To incommode, and banish tranquil ease? Who could conceive her formed a clod to please? Can I, said she, the paths of honour quit, And in my bed a loathsome brute permit? Or e'er regard the plan but with disdain? No, by saint John, I ever will maintain, Nor beau, nor clown, nor king, nor lord, nor 'squire, Save Nicia, with me freely shall retire.

THE fair Lucretia seemed so firmly bent, To father Timothy at length they went, Who preached the lady such a fine discourse, She ceded more through penitence than force.

MOREOVER she was promised that the lad Should be nor clownish, nor in person bad; Nor such as any way might give disgust, But one to whom she perfectly might trust.

THE wondrous draught was taken by the fair; Next day our Wight prepared his wily snare: Himself bepowdered like a miller's man, With beard and whiskers to complete his plan; A better metamorphose ne'er was seen; Ligurio, who had in the secret been, So thoroughly disguised the lover thought, At midnight him to Nicia freely brought, With bandage o'er the eyes and hair disdained, Not once the husband of deceit complained.

BESIDE the dame in silence slid our spark; In silence she attended in the dark, Perfumed and nicely ev'ry way bedecked; For what? you ask, or whom did she expect; Were all these pains a miller to receive?— Too much they cannot take, the sex believe; And whether kings or millers be their aim, The wish to please is ever found the same. 'Tis double honour in a woman thought, When by her charms a torpid heart is caught; She, who in icy bosoms flame can raise, Deserving doubtless is of treble praise.

THE spark disguised, his place no sooner took, But awkwardness he presently forsook; No more the miller, but the smart gallant: The lady found him kind and complaisant; Such moments we'll suppose were well employed; Though trembling fears not perfectly destroyed.

SHE, to herself, remarked, 'tis very strange, This lad's demeanour should so quickly change; He's quite another character, 'tis clear; What pity that his end should be so near; Alas! he merits not so hard a fate; I feel regret the lot should him await; And while soft pleasure seems his heart's delight; His soul is doomed from hence to take its flight.

THE husband who so fully gave consent, Was led his partner's suff'rings to lament The spirit of a queen in truth she showed, When cuckoldom was on her spouse bestowed; In decoration, forced to acquiesce, She would not condescend to join caress.

LUCRETIA howsoe'er the lad approved; His winning manners much her favour moved.

WHEN he the subtle venom had subdued, He took her hand, and having fondly sued, Said he, your pardon lady now I ask; Be not displeased when I remove the mask; Your rage restrain; a trick on you's been played; Calimachus am I; be not dismayed; Approve my sacrifice; the secret's known; Your rigour would be useless now if shown; Should I be doomed howe'er to breathe my last, I die content, rememb'ring what has passed; You have the means my life at will to take; More havock with me soft delight could make, Than any poison that the draught possessed; Mere folly, imposition, all the rest.

TILL then Lucretia had resistance made; To seem submissive she was still afraid; The lover was not hated by the belle, But bashfulness she could not well dispel, Which, joined to simple manners mixed with fear, Ungrateful made her, spite of self, appear.

IN silence wrapt, and scarcely drawing breath, By passion moved, and yet ashamed to death, Not knowing how to act, so great her grief, From tears, her throbbing bosom sought relief. Look, could she e'er her lover in the face? Will he not think me covered with disgrace? Said she, within herself;—what else believe? My wits were lost to let him thus deceive. O'ercome by sorrow, then she turned her head, And tried to hide herself within the bed, At furthest end, but vain alas her aim, The lover thither in a moment came: Her only ground, remaining unsubdued, Surrendered when the vanquisher pursued, Who every thing submitted to his will, And tears no more her eyes were found to fill; Shame took to flight, and scruples spread the wing; How happy those whom duping GAIN can bring!

TOO soon Aurora for our spark appeared; Too soon for her so thoroughly revered; Said he, the poison, that can life devour, Requires repeated acts to crush its pow'r. The foll'wing days our youthful am'rous pair Found opportunities for pleasing fare. The husband scarcely could himself contain, So anxiously he wished his aim to gain.

THE lover from the belle at length arose, And hastened to his house to seek repose; But scarcely had he placed himself in bed, When our good husband's footsteps thither led; He, to the spark, related with delight, How mandrake-juice succeeded in the night. Said he, at first beside the bed I crept, And listened if the miller near her kept, Or whether he to converse was inclined, And ev'ry way to act as was designed. I then my wife was anxious to address, And whispered that she should the youth caress; Nor dread too much the spoiling of her charms: Indeed 'twas all embarrassing alarms. Don't think, said I, that either can deceive; I ev'ry thing shall hear, you may believe; Know, Nicia is a man, who well may say, He's trusted without measure ev'ry day.

PRAY recollect my very life 's at stake, And do not many difficulties make. Convince thereby how much your spouse you love; 'Twill pleasure doubtless give the pow'rs above. But should the blockhead any how prove shy Send instantly to me; I shall be nigh; I'm going now to rest; by no means fail; We'll soon contrive and ev'ry way prevail. But there was no necessity for this; 'Tis pretty clear that nothing went amiss. In fact the rustick liked the business well, And seemed unwilling to resign the belle, I pity him, and much lament his lot; But—he must die and soon will be forgot: A fig for those who used to crack their jest; In nine months' time a child will be the test.



THE RHEMESE

NO city I to Rheims would e'er prefer: Of France the pride and honour I aver; The Holy Ampoule * and delicious wine, Which ev'ry one regards as most divine, We'll set apart, and other objects take: The beauties round a paradise might make! I mean not tow'rs nor churches, gates, nor streets; But charming belles with soft enchanting sweets: Such oft among the fair Rhemese we view: Kings might be proud those graces to pursue.

ONE 'mong these belles had to the altar led, A painter, much esteemed, and who had bread. What more was requisite!—he lived at ease, And by his occupation sought to please. A happy woman all believed his wife; The husband's talents pleased her to the life: For gallantry howe'er he was renowned, And many am'rous dames, who dwelled around, Would seek the artist with a double aim: So all our chronicles record his fame. But since much penetration 's not my boast, I just believe—what's requisite at most.

WHENE'ER the painter had in hand a fair, He'd jest his wife, and laugh with easy air; But Hymen's rights proceeding as they ought, With jealous fears her breast was never fraught. She might indeed repay his tricks in kind, And gratify, in soft amours, her mind, Except that she less confidence had shown, And was not led to him the truth to own.

AMONG the men attracted by her smiles, Two neighbours, much delighted with her wiles; Were often tempted, by her sprightly wit, To listen to her chat, and with her sit; For she had far the most engaging mien, Of any charmer that around was seen. Superior understanding she possessed; Though fond of laughter, frolick, fun, and jest. She to her husband presently disclosed The love these cit-gallants to her proposed; Both known for arrant blockheads through the town, And ever boasting of their own renown. To him she gave their various speeches, tones, Each silly air: their tears, and sighs, and groans; They'd read, or rather heard, we may believe, That, when in love, with sighs fond bosoms heave. Their utmost to succeed these coxcombs tried, And seemed convinced they should not be denied; A common cause they would the business hold, And what one knew the other must be told. Whichever first a favour might obtain, Should tell his happiness to t'other swain.

YE FAIR 'tis thus they oft your kindness treat: The pleasure that he wished alone is sweet. LOVE, is no more; of t'other, laid in earth, We've here no traces scarcely from the birth. You serve for sport and prey, to giddy youth, Devoid of talents, principles, and truth. 'Tis right they should suppose, still two are found; Who take their course continually round. The first that in your pleasure grounds appears; I'd have you, on his wings, to use the shears.

OUR lady then, her lovers to deceive, One day observed—you shall, my friends, this eve; Drink wine with me:—my husband will away, And, what's delightful, till to-morrow stay; We shall ourselves be able to amuse, And laugh, and sing, and talk as we may choose. 'Tis excellent, cried they: things well you frame; And at the promised hour, the heroes came.

WHEN introduced, and all supposing clear, A sudden knocking turned their joy to fear; The door was barred; she to the window flew; I think, said she, that's to the master due; And should it prove to be as I suspect:— 'Tis he, I vow:—fly, hide, he'll you detect; Some accident, suspicion, or design, Has brought him back to sleep, I now divine:

OUR two gallants, when dangers round them pressed, A closet entered, mightily distressed; To get away 'twere folly to have tried; The husband came, the roast he quickly spied; With pigeons too, in diff'rent fashions cooked; Why, hey! said he, as round about he looked: What guests have you that supper you prepare? The wife replied: two neighbours taste our fare: Sweet Alice, and good Simonetta, mean To-night, at table with us to be seen; I'm quite rejoiced to think that you are here: The company will more complete appear; These dames will, by your presence, nothing lose; I'll run and hasten them: 'twill you amuse; The whole is ready; I'll at once away, And beg, in coming, they'll no more delay.

THE ladies named were wives of our gallants, So fond of contraband, and smuggled grants, Who, vexed to be confined, still praised the dame, For skewing such address to 'scape from blame. She soon returned, and with her brought the FAIR, Who, gaily singing, entered free from care. The painter them received with bow and kiss; To praise their beauty he was not remiss; Their dress was charming; all he much admired; Their presence frolick, fun, and jest inspired, Which no way pleased the husbands in the cage, Who saw the freaks with marks of bursting rage: The door half open gave a view complete, How freely he their wives was led to treat.

THINGS thus commenced, the supper next was served; From playful tricks the painter never swerved, But placed himself at table 'twist the two, And jest and frolicking would still pursue. To women, wine, and fun, said he, I drink; Put round the toast; none from it e'er must shrink; The order was obeyed; the glass oft filled The party soon had all the liquor swilled:

THE wife just then, it seems, no servant kept; More wine to get, she to the cellar stept. But dreading ghosts, she Simonetta prayed; To light her down, she was so much afraid.

THE painter was alone with Alice left, A country belle, of beauty not bereft: Slight, nicely made, with rather pretty face, She thought herself possessed of ev'ry grace, And, in a country town, she well might get The appellation of a gay coquette.

THE wily spark, perceiving no one near; Soon ran from compliment to sweet and dear; Her lips assailed;—the tucker drew aside, And stole a kiss that hurt her husband's pride, Who all beheld; but spouses, that are sage, No trifles heed, nor peccadillos page; Though, doubtless, when such meetings are possessed, The simple kiss gives room to dread the rest; For when the devil whispers in the ear Of one that sleeps, he wakes at once to fear.

THE husband, howsoe'er, at length perceived Still more concessions, which his bosom grieved; While on the neck a hand appeared to please, The other wandered equally at ease; Be not offended, love! was often said; To frantick rage the sight her sposo led, Who, beating in his hat, was on the move To sally forth, his wrath to let them prove, To thrash his wife, and force her spark to feel his nervous arm could quickly make him reel.

BE not so silly, whispered t'other Wight; To stir up noise could ne'er be reckoned right; Be quiet now: consider where we are; Keep close, or else you'll all our pleasures mar; Remember, written 'tis, By others do The same as you would like they should by you; 'Tis proper in this place we should remain Till all is hushed in sleep: then freedom gain; That's my opinion how we ought to act Are you not half a cuckold now, in fact? Fair Alice has consented:-that's enough; The rest is mere compliance, nonsense, stuff!

THE husband seemed the reasons to approve; Some slight attempts the lady made to move; No time for more. What then? you ask:—Why, then— The lady put her cap to rights agen; No mark appeared suspicion to awake, Except her cheek a scarlet hue might take. Mere trifle that; from talking it might spring; And other causes, doubtless, we could bring.

ONE of the belles, howe'er, who went for wine, Smiled, on returning, at the blushing sign: The painter's wife; but soon they filled each glass, And briskly round the bottle seemed to pass; They drank the host, the hostess, and the FAIR, Who, 'mong the three, should first her wishes share.

AT length, a second time the bottle failed; The hostess' fear of ghosts again prevailed, And mistress Alice now for escort went, Though much she wished the other to have sent; With Simonetta she was forced to change, And leave the painter at his ease to range.

THIS dame at first appeared to be severe Would leave the room, and feigned to be sincere; But when the painter seized her by the gown, She prudence showed, and feared he'd pull her down; Her clothes might tear, which led her to remain: On this the husband scarcely could contain; He seemed resolved his hiding place to leave; But instantly the other pulled his sleeve; Be easy friend, said he, it is but right, That equal favours we should have to-night, And cuckoldom should take you to his care, That we alike in ev'ry thing may fare.

ARE we not brothers in adventure, pray? And such our solemn promises, to-day. Since one the painter clearly has disgraced, The other equally should be embraced. In spite of ev'ry thing you now advance, Your wife as well as mine shall have a dance; A hand I'll lend, if wanting it be found; Say what you will, I'll see she has her round. She had it then:—our painter tried to please; The lady equally appeared at ease; Full time the others gave, and when they came, More wine was not required by spark nor dame; 'Twas late, and for the day enough he'd done; Good night was said: their course the belles had run; The painter, satisfied, retired to rest; The gay gallants, who lay so long distressed, The wily hostess from the closet drew, Abashed, disconsolate, and cuckolds too; Still worse to think, with all their care and pain; That neither of them could his wish obtain, Or e'en return the dame what she procured Their wives, whom she so cleverly allured.

HERE ends our tale; the business is complete; In soft amours success alone is sweet.

* The Saint Ampoule, or Holy Ampulla, a vial said to have descended from heaven, in which was oil for anointing the kings of France at the coronation, and formerly kept at Rheims.



THE AMOROUS COURTESAN

DAN CUPID, though the god of soft amour, In ev'ry age works miracles a store; Can Catos change to male coquets at ease; And fools make oracles whene'er he please; Turn wolves to sheep, and ev'ry thing so well, That naught remains the former shape to tell: Remember, Hercules, with wond'rous pow'r, And Polyphemus, who would men devour: The one upon a rock himself would fling, And to the winds his am'rous ditties sing; To cut his beard a nymph could him inspire; And, in the water, he'd his face admire. His club the other to a spindle changed, To please the belle with whom he often ranged.

A hundred instances the fact attest, But sage Boccace has one, it is confessed, Which seems to me, howe'er we search around, To be a sample, rarely to be found. 'Tis Chimon that I mean, a savage youth, Well formed in person, but the rest uncouth, A-bear in mind, but Cupid much can do, LOVE licked the cub, and decent soon he grew. A fine gallant at length the lad appeared; From whence the change?—Fine eyes his bosom cheered The piercing rays no sooner reached his sight, But all the savage took at once to flight; He felt the tender flame; polite became; You'll find howe'er, our tale is not the same.

I MEAN to state how once an easy fair, Who oft amused the youth devoid of care, A tender flame within her heart retained, Though haughty, singular, and unrestrained. Not easy 'twas her favours to procure; Rome was the place where dwelled this belle impure; The mitre and the cross with her were naught; Though at her feet, she'd give them not a thought; And those who were not of the highest class, No moments were allowed with her to pass. A member of the conclave, first in rank, To be her slave, she'd scarcely deign to thank; Unless a cardinal's gay nephew came, And then, perhaps, she'd listen to his flame; The pope himself, had he perceived her charms, Would not have been too good to grace her arms. Her pride appeared in clothes as well as air, And on her sparkled gold and jewels rare; In all the elegance of dress arrayed, Embroidery and lace, her taste displayed.

THE god of soft amour beheld her aim; And sought at once her haughty soul to tame; A Roman gentleman, of finest form, Soon in her bosom raised a furious storm; Camillus was the name this youth had got; The nymph's was Constance, that LOVE'S arrow shot: Though he was mild, good humoured, and serene, No sooner Constance had his person seen, And in her breast received the urchin's dart, Than throbs, and trembling fears o'erwhelmed her heart. The flame she durst declare no other way, Than by those sighs, which feelings oft betray. Till then, nor shame nor aught could her retain; Now all was changed:—her bashfulness was plain. As none, howe'er, could think the subtle flame Would lie concealed with such a haughty dame, Camillus nothing of the kind supposed. Though she incessantly by looks disclosed, That something unrevealed disturbed the soul, And o'er her mind had absolute control. Whatever presents Constance might receive, Still pensive sighs her breast appeared to heave: Her tints of beauty too, began to fail, And o'er the rose, the lily to prevail.

ONE night Camillus had a party met, Of youthful beaux and belles, a charming set, And, 'mong the rest, fair Constance was a guest; The evening passed in jollity and jest; For few to holy converse seemed inclined, And none for Methodists appeared designed: Not one, but Constance, deaf to wit was found, And, on her, raillery went briskly round.

THE supper o'er the company withdrew, But Constance suddenly was lost to view; Beside a certain bed she took her seat, Where no one ever dreamed she would retreat, And all supposed, that ill, or spirits weak, She home had run, or something wished to seek.

THE company retired, Camillus said, He meant to write before he went to bed, And told his valet he might go to rest A lucky circumstance, it is confessed. Thus left alone, and as the belle desired; Who, from her soul, the spark so much admired; Yet knew not how the subject to disclose, Or, in what way her wishes to propose; At length, with trembling accents, she revealed; The flame she longer could not keep concealed.

EXCEEDINGLY surprised Camillus seemed, And scarcely could believe but what he dreamed; Why, hey! said he, good lady, is it thus, With favoured friends, you doubtful points discuss? He made her sit, and then his seat regained Who would have thought, cried he, you here remained; Now who this hiding place to you could tell? 'Twas LOVE, fond LOVE! replied the beauteous belle; And straight a blush her lovely cheek suffused, So rare with those to Cyprian revels used; For Venus's vot'ries, to pranks resigned, Another way, to get a colour, find.

CAMILLUS, truly, some suspicions had, That he was loved, though neither fool nor mad; Nor such a novice in the Paphian scene, But what he could at once some notions glean: More certain tokens, howsoe'er, to get, And set the lady's feelings on the fret, By trying if the gloom that o'er her reigned Was only sly pretence, he coldness feigned.

SHE often sighed as if her heart would break; At length love's piercing anguish made her speak: What you will say, cried she, I cannot guess, To see me thus a fervent flame confess. The very thought my face with crimson dyes; My way of life no shield for this supplies; The moment pure affection 's in the soul, No longer wanton freaks the mind control.

MY conduct to excuse, what can I say? O could my former life be done away, And in your recollection naught remain, But what might virtuous constancy maintain At all event, my frankness overlook, Too well I see, the fatal path I took Has such displeasure to your breast conveyed, My zeal will rather hurt than give me aid; But hurt or not, I'll idolize you still: Beat, drive away, contemn me as you will; Or worse, if you the torment can contrive I'm your's alone, Camillus, while alive.

TO this harangue the wary youth replied In truth, fair lady, I could ne'er decide, To criticise what others round may do.— 'Tis not the line I'd willingly pursue; And I will freely say, that your discourse Has much surprised me, though 'tis void of force. To you it surely never can belong, To say variety in love is wrong; Besides, your sex, and decency, 'tis clear, To ev'ry disadvantage you appear. What use this eloquence, and what your aim? Such charms alone as your's could me inflame; Their pow'r is great, but fully I declare, I do not like advances from the FAIR.

To Constance this a thunder-clap appeared; Howe'er, she in her purpose persevered. Said she, this treatment doubtless I deserve; But still, from truth my tongue can never swerve, And if I may presume my thoughts to speak, The plan which I've pursued your love to seek, Had never proved injurious to my cause, If still my beauty merited applause. From what you've said, and what your looks express To please your sight, no charms I now possess. Whence comes this change?—to you I will refer; Till now I was admired, you must aver; And ev'ry one my person highly praised; These precious gifts, that admiration raised, Alas! are fled, and since I felt LOVE'S flame, Experience whispers, I'm no more the same; No longer have charms that please your eyes: How happy I should feel if they'd suffice!

THE suppliant belle now hoped to be allowed One half his bed to whom her sighs were vowed; But terror closed her lips; she nothing said, Though oft her eyes were to his pillow led. To be confused the wily stripling feigned, And like a statue for a time remained.

AT length he said:—I know not what to do; Undressing, by myself, I can't pursue. Shall I your valet call? rejoined the fair; On no account, said he, with looks of care; I would not have you in my chamber seen, Nor thought that here, by night, a girl had been, Your caution is enough, the belle replied: Myself between the wall and bed I'll hide, 'Twill what you fear prevent, and ills avoid; But bolt the door: you'll then be not annoyed; Let no one come; for once I'll do my best, And as your valet act till you're undressed; To am'rous Constance this permission grant The honour would her throbbing breast enchant.

THE youth to her proposal gave consent, And Constance instantly to business went; The means she used to take his clothes were such, That scarcely once his person felt her touch; She stopt not there, but even freely chose To take from off his feet, both shoes and hose What, say you:—With her hands did Constance this? Pray tell me what you see therein amiss? I wish sincerely I could do the same, With one for whom I feel a tender flame.

BETWEEN the clothes in haste Camillus flew, Without inviting Constance to pursue. She thought at first he meant to try her love; But raillery, this conduct was above. His aim, howe'er more fully to unfold, She presently observed:—'Tis very cold; Where shall I sleep? said she:

CAMILLUS

Just where you please;

CONSTANCE

What, on this chair?

CAMILLUS

No, no, be more at ease; Come into bed.

CONSTANCE

Unlace me then, I pray.

CAMILLUS

I cannot: I'm undressed, and cold as clay: Unlace yourself.—

Just then the belle perceived A poinard, which anxiety relieved; She drew it from the scabbard, cut her lace, And many parts of dress designed for grace, The works of months, embroidery and flow'r Now perished in the sixtieth of an hour, Without regret, or seeming to lament, What more than life will of the sex content.

YE dames of Britain, Germany, or France, Would you have done as much, through complaisance? You would not, I'm convinced: the thing is clear; But doubtless this, at Rome, must fine appear.

POOR Constance softly to the bed approached, No longer now supposing she encroached, And trusting that, no stratagem again Would be contrived to give her bosom pain. Camillus said: my sentiments I'll speak; Dissimulation I will never seek; She who can proffer what should be denied, Shall never be admitted by my side; But if the place your approbation meet, I won't refuse your lying at my feet.

FAIR Constance such reproof could not withstand, 'Twas well the poinard was not in her hand; Her bosom so severely felt the smart, She would have plunged the dagger through her heart: But Hope, sweet Hope! still fluttered to her view; And young Camillus pretty well she knew; Howe'er with such severity he spoke, That e'en the mildest saint it would provoke; Yet, in a swain so easy, gentle, kind, 'Twas strange so little lenity to find.

SHE placed herself, as order'd, cross the bed, And at his feet at length reclined her head; A kiss on them she ventured to impress, But not too roughly, lest she should transgress: We may conjecture if he were at ease; What victory! to see her stoop to please; A beauty so renowned for charms and pride, 'Twould take a week, to note each trait described; No other fault than paleness he could trace, Which gave her (causes known) still higher grace.

CAMILLUS stretched his legs, and on her breast Familiarly allowed his feet to rest; A cushion made of what so fair appeared, That envy might from ivory be feared; Then seemed as if to Morpheus he inclined, And on the pillow sullenly resigned. At last the sighs with which her bosom heaved, Gave vent to floods of tears that much relieved; This was the end:—Camillus silence broke, And to tell the belle with pleasing accents spoke I'm satisfied, said he, your love is pure; Come hither charming girl and be secure. She t'wards him moved; Camillus near her slid; Could you, cried he, believe that what I did, Was seriously the dictates of my soul, To act the brute and ev'ry way control? No, no, sweet fair, you know me not 'tis plain: I truly wish your fondest love to gain; Your heart I've probed, 'tis all that I desire; Mid joys I swim; my bosom feels the fire. Your rigour now in turn you may display; It is but fair: be bountiful I pray; Myself from hence your lover I declare; No woman merits more my bed to share, Whatever rank, or beauty, sense or life, You equally deserve to be my wife; Your husband I'll become; forget the past; Unpleasant recollections should not last. Yet there's one thing which much I wish to speak The marriage must be secret that we seek; There's no occasion reasons to disclose; What I have said I trust will you dispose, To act as I desire: you'll find it best:— A wedding 's like amours while unconfessed; One THEN both husband and gallant appears, And ev'ry wily act the bosom cheers. Till we, continued he, a priest can find, Are you, to trust my promises inclined? You safely may; he'll to his word adhere: His heart is honest, and his tongue sincere.

TO this fair Constance answered not a word, Which showed, with him, her sentiments concurred. The spark, no novice in the dumb assent, Received her silence fully as 'twas meant; The rest involved in myst'ry deep remains; Thus Constance was requitted for her pains.

YE Cyprian nymphs to profit turn my tale; The god of LOVE, within his vot'ries pale, Has many, if their sentiments were known, That I'd prefer for Hymen's joys alone. My wife, not always to the spindle true, Will many things in life, not seem to view; By Constance and her conduct you may see How, with this theory, her acts agree; She proved the truth of what I here advance, And reaped the fruits produced by complaisance, A horde of nuns I know who, ev'ry night, Would such adventures wage with fond delight.

PERHAPS it will not be with ease believed, That Constance from Camillus now received, A proof of LOVE'S enchanting balmy sweet, A proof perhaps you'll think her used to meet; But ne'er till then she tasted pleasures pure; Her former life no blisses could secure. You ask the cause, and signs of doubt betray: Who TRULY loves, the same will ever say.



NICAISE

TO serve the shop as 'prentice was the lot; Of one who had the name of Nicaise got; A lad quite ignorant beyond his trade, And what arithmetick might lend him aid; A perfect novice in the wily art, That in amours is used to win the heart. Good tradesmen formerly were late to learn The tricks that soon in friars we discern; They ne'er were known those lessons to begin, Till more than down appeared upon the chin. But now-a-days, in practice, 'tis confessed, These shopkeepers are knowing as the best.

OUR lad of ancient date was less advanced; At scenes of love his eyes had never glanced; Be that as 'twill, he now was in the way, And naught but want of wit produced delay: A belle indeed had on him set her heart His master's daughter felt LOVE'S poignant smart; A girl of most engaging mind and mien, And always steady in her conduct seen. Sincerity of soul or humour free, Or whether with her taste it might agree, A fool 'twas clear presided o'er her soul, And all her thoughts and actions felt control. Some bold gallant would p'erhaps inform her plain, She ever kept wild Folly in her train, And nothing say to me who tales relate; But oft on reason such proceedings wait. If you a goddess love, advance she'll make; Our belle the same advantages would take. Her fortune, wit, and charm, attention drew, And many sparks would anxiously pursue; How happy he who should her heart obtain, And Hymen prove he had not sighed in vain! But she had promised, to the modest youth, Who first was named, her confidence and truth; The little god of pleasing soft desire With full compliance with his whims require.

THe belle was pleased the 'prentice to prefer: A handsome lad with truth we may aver, Quite young, well made, with fascinating eye: Such charms are ne'er despised we may rely, But treasures thought, no FAIR will e'er neglect; Whate'er her senses say, she'll these respect. For one that LOVE lays hold of by the soul, A thousand by the eyes receive control.

THIS sprightly girl with soft endearing ease, Exerted ev'ry care the lad to please, To his regards she never shy appeared; Now pinched his arm, then smiled and often leered; Her hand across his eyes would sometimes put; At others try to step upon his foot. To this he nothing offered in reply, Though oft his throbbing bosom heaved a sigh.

So many tender scenes, at length we find, Produced the explanation LOVE designed; The youthful couple, we may well believe, Would from each other mutual vows receive; They neither promises nor kisses spared, Incalculable were the numbers shared; If he had tried to keep exact account, He soon had been bewildered with th' amount; To such infinity it clearly ran, Mistakes would rise if he pursued the plan; A ceremony solely was required, Which prudent girls have always much admired, Yet this to wait gave pain and made her grieve; From you, said she, the boon I would receive; Or while I live the rapture never know, That Hymen at his altar can bestow; To you I promise, by the pow'rs divine, My hand and heart I truly will resign. Howe'er I'll freely say, should Hymen fail To make me your's and wishes not prevail, You must not fancy I'll become a nun, Though much I hope to act as I've begun; To marry you would please me to the soul; But how can WE the ruling pow'rs control? Too much I'm confident you love my fame, To aim at what might bring me soon to shame: In wedlock I've been asked by that and this; My father thinks these offers not amiss; But, Nicaise, I'll allow you still to hope, That if with others I'm obliged to cope, No matter whether counsellor or judge. Since clearly ev'ry thing to such I grudge, The marriage eve, or morn, or day, or hour, To you I'll give—the first enchanting flow'r.

THE lad most gratefully his thanks returned; His breast with ev'ry soft emotion burned. Within a week, to this sweet charmer came, A rich young squire, who soon declared his flame; On which she said to Nicaise:—he will do; This spark will easily let matters through; And as the belle was confident of that, She gave consent and listened to his chat. Soon all was settled and arranged the day, When marriage they no longer would delay, You'll fully notice this:—I think I view The thoughts which move around and you pursue; 'Twas doubtless clear, whatever bliss in store, The lady was betrothed, and nothing more.

THOUGH all was fixed a week before the day, Yet fearing accidents might things delay, Or even break the treaty ere complete, She would not our apprentice fully greet, Till on the very morn she gave her hand, Lest chance defeated what was nicely planned.

HOWE'ER the belle was to the altar led, A virgin still, and doomed the squire to wed, Who, quite impatient, consummation sought, As soon as he the charmer back had brought; But she solicited the day apart, And this obtained, alone by prayers and art. 'Twas early morn, and 'stead of bed she dressed, In ev'ry thing a queen had thought the best; With diamonds, pearls, and various jewels rare; Her husband riches had, she was aware, Which raised her into rank that dress required, And all her neighbours envied and admired. Her lover, to secure the promised bliss, An hour's indulgence gained to take a kiss. A bow'r within a garden was the spot, Which, for their private meeting, they had got. A confidant had been employed around, To watch if any one were lurking found.

THE lady was the first who thither came; To get a nosegay was, she said, her aim; And Nicaise presently her steps pursued, Who, when the turf within the bow'r he viewed, Exclaimed, oh la! how wet it is my dear! Your handsome clothes will be spoiled I fear! A carpet let me instantly provide? Deuce take the clothes! the fair with anger cried; Ne'er think of that: I'll say I had a fall; Such accident a loss I would not call, When Time so clearly on the wing appears, 'Tis right to banish scruples, cares, and fears; Nor think of clothes nor dress, however fine, But those to dirt or flames at once resign; Far better this than precious time to waste, Since frequently in minutes bliss we taste; A quarter of an hour we now should prize, The place no doubt will very well suffice; With you it rests such moments to employ, And mutually our bosoms fill with joy. I scarcely ought to say what now I speak, But anxiously your happiness I seek.

INDEED, the anxious, tender youth replied, To save such costly clothes we should decide; I'll run at once, and presently be here; Two minutes will suffice I'm very clear. AWAY the silly lad with ardour flew, And left no time objections to renew. His wondrous folly cured the charming dame; Whose soul so much disdained her recent flame; That instantly her heart resumed its place, Which had too long been loaded with disgrace: Go, prince of fools, she to herself exclaimed, For ever, of thy conduct, be ashamed; To lose thee surely I can ne'er regret, Impossible a worse I could have met. I've now considered, and 'tis very plain, Thou merit'st not such favours to obtain; From hence I swear, by ev'ry thing above; My husband shall alone possess my love; And least I might be tempted to betray, To him I'll instantly the boon convey, Which Nicaise might have easily received; Thank Heav'n my breast from folly is relieved. This said, by disappointment rendered sour, The beauteous bride in anger left the bow'r. Soon with the carpet simple Nicaise came, And found that things no longer were the same.

THE lucky hour, ye suitors learn I pray, Is not each time the clock strikes through the day, In Cupid's alphabet I think I've read, Old Time, by lovers, likes not to be led; And since so closely he pursues his plan, 'Tis right to seize him, often as you can. Delays are dangerous, in love or war, And Nicaise is a proof they fortune mar.

QUITE out of breath with having quickly run; Delighted too that he so soon had done, The youth returned most anxious to employ, The carpet for his mistress to enjoy, But she alas! with rage upon her brow, Had left the spot, he knew not why nor how; And to her company returned in haste The flame extinguished that her mind disgraced. Perhaps she went the jewel to bestow, Upon her spouse, whose breast with joy would glow: What jewel pray?—The one that ev'ry maid Pretends to have, whatever tricks she's played. This I believe; but I'll no dangers run; To burn my fingers I've not yet begun; Yet I allow, howe'er, in such a case, The girl, who fibs, therein no sin can trace.

OUR belle who, thanks to Nicaise, yet retained; In spite of self, the flow'r he might have gained, Was grumbling still, when he the lady met Why, how is this, cried he, did you forget, That for this carpet I had gone away? When spread, how nicely on it we might play! You'd soon to woman change the silly maid; Come, let's return, and not the bliss evade; No fear of dirt nor spoiling of your dress; And then my love I fully will express.

NOT so, replied the disappointed dame, We'll put it off:—perhaps 'twould hurt your frame Your health I value, and I would advise, To be at ease, take breath, and prudence prize; Apprentice in a shop you now are bound Next 'prentice go to some gallant around; You'll not so soon his pleasing art require, Nor to your tutorage can I now aspire. Friend Nicaise take some neighb'ring servant maid, You're quite a master in the shopping trade; Stuffs you can sell, and ask the highest price; And to advantage turn things in a trice. But opportunity you can't discern; To know its value,—prithee go and learn.



THE PROGRESS OF WIT

DIVERTING in extreme there is a play, Which oft resumes its fascinating sway; Delights the sex, or ugly, fair, or sour; By night or day:—'tis sweet at any hour. The frolick, ev'ry where is known to fame; Conjecture if you can, and tells its name.

THIS play's chief charm to husbands is unknown; 'Tis with the lover it excels alone; No lookers-on, as umpires, are required; No quarrels rise, though each appears inspired; All seem delighted with the pleasing game:— Conjecture if you can, and tell its name.

BE this as 'twill, and called whate'er it may; No longer trifling with it I shall stay, But now disclose a method to transmit (As oft we find) to ninnies sense and wit. Till Alice got instruction in this school, She was regarded as a silly fool, Her exercise appeared to spin and sew:— Not hers indeed, the hands alone would go; For sense or wit had in it no concern; Whate'er the foolish girl had got to learn, No part therein could ever take the mind; Her doll, for thought, was just as well designed. The mother would, a hundred times a day, Abuse the stupid maid, and to her say Go wretched lump and try some wit to gain.

THE girl, quite overcome with shame and pain; Her neighbours asked to point her out the spot, Where useful wit by purchase might be got. The simple question laughter raised around; At length they told her, that it might be found With father Bonadventure, who'd a stock, Which he at times disposed of to his flock.

AWAY in haste she to the cloister went, To see the friar she was quite intent, Though trembling lest she might disturb his ease; And one of his high character displease. The girl exclaimed, as on she moved,—Will he Such presents willingly bestow on me, Whose age, as yet, has scarcely reached fifteen? With such can I be worthy to be seen? Her innocence much added to her charms, The gentle wily god of soft alarms Had not a youthful maiden in his book, That carried more temptation in her look.

MOST rev'rend sir, said she, by friends I'm told, That in this convent wit is often sold, Will you allow me some on trust to take? My treasure won't afford that much I stake; I can return if more I should require; Howe'er, you'll take this pledge I much desire; On which she tried to give the monk a ring, That to her finger firmly seemed to cling.