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Would you I should be still deform'd and old,
Nauseous to touch, and loathsome to behold;
On this condition to remain for life
A careful, tender, and obedient wife,
In all I can, contribute to your ease,

And not in deed, or word, or thought, displease?
Or would you rather have me young and fair,
And take the chance that happens to your share?
Temptations are in beauty, and in youth,
And how can you depend upon my truth?
Now weigh the danger with the doubtful bliss,
And thank yourself if aught should fall amiss.'
"Sore sigh'd the knight, who this long sermon
heard;

At length, considering all, his heart he chear'd;
And thus reply'd: My lady and my wife,
To your wise conduct I resign my life:
Choose you for me, for well you understand
The future good and ill, on either hand :
But if an humble husband may request,
Provide, and order all things for the best;
Your's be the care to profit, and to please :
And let your subject servant take his ease.'
"Then thus in peace,' quoth she, concludes
the strife,

Since I am turn'd the husband, you the wife :
The matrimonial victory is mine,
Which, having fairly gain'd, I will resign;
Forgive if I have said or done amiss,
And seal the bargain with a friendly kiss:
I promis'd you but one content to share,
But now I will become both good and fair,
No nuptial quarrel shall disturb your case;
The business of my life shall be to please:
And for my beauty, that, as time shali try;
But draw the curtain first, and cast your eye.'
He look'd, and saw a creature heavenly fair,
In bloom of youth, and of a charming air.
With joy he turn'd, and seiz'd her ivory arm;
And like Pygmalion found the statue warm.
Small arguments there needed to prevail,
A storm of kisses pour'd as thick as hail.
Thus long in mutual bliss they lay embrac'd,
And their first love continued to the last :
One shunshine was their life, no cloud between ;
Nor ever was a kinder couple seen.

"And so may all our lives like theirs be led ; Heaven send the maids young husbands fresh in bed;

May widows wed as often as they can,
And ever for the better change their man;
And some devouring plague pursue their lives,
Who will not well be govern'd by their wives."

THE

CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON.

A PARISH priest was of the pilgrim-train ;
An awful, reverend, and religious man.
His eyes diffus'd a venerable grace,
And charity itself was in his face.
Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor,
As God bad cloth'd his own ambassador,
For such, on Earth, his bless'd Redeemer bore.
Of sixty years he seem'd; and well might last
To sixty more, but that he liv'd too fast;

Refin'd himself to soul, to curb the sense;
And made almost a sin of abstinence.
Yet, had his aspect nothing of severe,
But such a face as promis'd him sincere.
Nothing reserv'd or sullen was to see:
But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity:
Mild was his accent, and his action free.
With eloquence innate his tongue was arm'd ;
Though harsh the precept, yet the people charm'd.
For, letting down the golden chain from high,
He drew his audience upward to the sky:
And oft with holy hymns he charm'd their ears,
(A music more melodious than the spheres)
For David left him, when he went to rest,
His lyre; and after him he sung the best.
He bore his great commission in his look:
But sweetly temper'd awe; and soften'd all he
spoke.

He preach'd the joys of Heaven, and pains of
Hell,

And warn'd the sinner with becoming zeal;
But on eternal mercy lov'd to dwell,

He taught the gospel rather than the law;
And forc'd himself to drive; but lov'd to draw.
For Fear but freezes minds: but Love, like heat,
Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her native seat.
To threats the stubborn sinner oft is hard,
Wrapp'd in his crimes, against the storm pre-
par'd;

But, when the milder beams of Mercy play,
He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak away.
Lightning and thunder (Heaven's artillery)
As harbingers before th' Almighty fly:
Those but proclaim his style, and disappear;
The stiller sound succeeds, and God is there.

The tithes, his parish freely paid, he took;
But never sued, or curs'd with bell and book.
With patience bearing wrong; but offering none :
Since every man is free to lose his own.
The country churls, according to their kind,
(Who grudge their dues, and love to be behind)
The less he sought his offerings, pinch'd the

more,

Aud prais'd a priest contented to be poor.
Yet of his little he had some to spare,
To feed the famish'd, and to clothe the bare:
For mortify'd he was to that degree,

A poorer than himself he would not see.
True priests, he said, and preachers of the word,
Were only stewards of their sovereign lord;
Nothing was theirs; but all the public store:
Intrusted riches, to relieve the poor.
Who, should they steal, for want of his relief,
He judg'd himself accomplice with the thief.

Wide was his parish; not contracted close
In streets, but here and there a straggling

house;

Yet still he was at hand, without request,
To serve the sick; to succour the distress'd:
Tempting, on foot, alone, without affright,
The dangers of a dark tempestuous night.

All this, the good old man perform'd alone,
Nor spar'd his pains; for curate he had none.
Nor durst he trust another with his care;
Nor rode himself to Paul's, the public fair,
To chaffer for preferment with his gold,
Where bishoprics and sinecures are sold.
But duly watch'd his flock, by night and day;
And from the prowling wolf redeem'd the prey:
And hungry sent the wily fox away.

The proud he tam'd, the penitent he chear'd: Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear'd.

His preaching much, but more his practice wrought,

(A living sermon of the truths he taught)
For this by rules severe his life he squar'd:
That all might see the doctrine which they heard.
For priests, he said, are patterns for the rest
(The gold of Heaven, who bear the God im-
press'd):

But when the precious coin is kept unclean,
The sovereign's image is no longer seen.
If they be foul on whom the people trust,
Well may the baser brass contract a rust.
The prelate, for his holy life he priz'd;
The wordly pomp of prelacy despis'd.
His Saviour came not with a gaudy show;
Nor was his kingdom of the world below.
Patience in want, and poverty of mind,

These marks of church and churchmen he design'd,

And living taught, and dying left behind.

The crown he wore was of the pointed thorn:
In purple he was crucified, not born.
They who contend for place and high degree,
Are not his sons, but those of Zebedee.

Not but he knew the signs of earthly power
Might well become Saint Peter's successor;
The holy father holds a double reign, [plain.
The prince may keep his pomp, the fisher must be
Such was the saint; who shone with every

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He took the time when Richard was depos'd,
And high and low with happy Harry clos'd,
This prince, though great in arms, the priest
withstood:

Near though he was, yet not the next of blood.
Had Richard, unconstrain'd, resign'd the throne,
A king can give no more than is his own:
The title stood entail'd, had Richard had a son.

Conquest, an odious name, was laid aside,
Where all submitted, none the battle try'd.
The senseless plea of right by Providence
Was, by a flattering priest, invented since ;
And lasts no longer than the present sway;
But justifies the next who comes in play.

[dare

The people's right remains; let those who Dispute their power, when they the judges are.

He join'd not in their choice, because he knew Worse might, and often did, from change ensue. Much to himself he thought; but little spoke; And, undepriv'd, his benefice forsook.

Now, through the land, his cure of souls he stretch'd:

And like a primitive apostle preach'd.
Still chearful; ever constant to his call;
By many follow'd; lov'd by most, admir'd by all.
With what he begg'd, his brethren he reliev'd;
And gave the charities himself receiv'd.
Gave, while he taught; and edify'd the more,
Because he show'd, by proof, 'twas easy to be

poor.

He went not with the crowd to see a shrine; But fed us, by the way, with food divine. In deference to his virtues, I forbear To show you what the rest in orders were: This brilliant is so spotless, and so bright, He needs no foil, but shines by his own proper light,

TRANSLATIONS FROM BOCCACE.

SIGISMONDA AND GUISCARDO.

WHI
WHILE Norman Tancred in Salerno reign'd,
The title of a gracious prince he gain'd;
Till, turn'd a tyrant in his latter days,
He lost the lustre of his former praise;
And from the bright meridian where he stood,
Descending, dipp'd his hands in lovers' blood.
This prince, of Fortune's favour long possess'd,
Yet was with one fair daughter only bless'd,

And bless'd he might have been with her alone:
But oh! how much more happy had he none !
She was his care, his hope, and his delight,
Most in his thought, and ever in his sight:
Next, nay beyond his life, he held her dear;
She liv'd by him, and now he liv'd in her.
For this, when ripe for marriage, he delay'd
Her nuptial bands, and kept her long a maid,
As envying any else should share a part
Of what was his, and claiming all her heart.

At length, as public decency requir'd,
And all his vassals eagerly desir'd,
With mind averse, he rather underwent
His people's will, than gave his own consent.
So was she torn, as from a lover's side,
And made almost in his despite a bride.
Short were her marriage joys; for in the prime
Of youth, her lord expir'd before his time;
And to her father's court in little space
Restor'd anew, she held a higher place;
More lov'd, and more exalted into grace.
This princess, fresh and young, and fair and wise,
The worship'd idol of her father's eyes,,
Did all her sex in every grace exceed,
And had more witbeside than women need. [mind,
Youth, health, and ease, and most an amorous
To second nuptials had her thoughts inclin'd:
And former joys had left a secret sting behind.
But, prodigal in every other grant,
Her sire left unsupply'd her only want;
And she, betwixt her modesty and pride,
Her wishes, which she could not help, would hide.
Resolv'd at last to lose no longer time,
And yet to please herself without a crime,
She cast her eyes around the court, to find
A worthy subject suiting to her mind,
To him in holy nuptials to be ty'd,
A seeming widow, and a secret bride.
Among the train of courtiers, one she found
With all the gifts of bounteous Nature crown'd,
Of gentle blood; but one whose niggard Fate
Had set him far below her high estate;
Guiscard his name was call'd, of blooming age,
Now squire to Tancred, and before his page:
To him, the choice of all the shining crowd,
Her heart the noble Sigismonda vow'd.

Yet hitherto she kept her love conceal'd,
And with those graces every day beheld
The graceful youth; and every day increas'd
The raging fires that burn'd within her breast;
Some secret charm did all her acts attend,
And what his fortune wanted, hers could mend;
Till, as the fire will force its outward way,
Or, in the prison pent, consume the prey;
So long her carnest eyes on his were set,
At length their twisted rays together met;
And he, surpris'd with humble joy, survey'd
One sweet regard, shot by the royal maid:
Not well assur'd, while doubtful hopes he nars'd,
A second glance came gliding like the first;
And he, who saw the sharpness of the dart,
Without defence receiv'd it in his heart.
In public, though their passion wanted speech,
Yet mutual looks interpreted for each;
Time, ways, and means of meeting were deny'd;
But all those wants ingenious Love supply'd.
Th' inventive god, who never fails his part,
Inspires the wit, when once he warms the heart.

When Guiscard next was in the circle seen, Where Sigismonda held the place of queen, A hollow cane within her hand she brought, Bun the concave had enclos'd a note; With this she seem'd to play, and, as in sport, Toss'd to her love, in presence of the court; "Take it," she said; "and when your needs require, This little brand will serve to light your fire." He took it with a bow, and soon divin'd The seeming toy was not for nought design'd: But when retir'd, so long with curious eyes He view'd his present, that he found the prize.

Much was in little writ; and all convey'd
With cautious care, for fear to be betray'd
By some false confident, or favourite maid.
The time, the place, the manner how to meet,
Were all in punctual order plainly writ:
But, since a trust must be, she thought it best
To put it out of laymen's power at least ;
And for their solemn vows prepar'd a priest.

Guiscard (her secret purpose understood)
With joy prepar'd to meet the coming good;
Nor pains nor danger was resolv'd to spare,
But use the means appointed by the fair.

Next the proud palace of Salerno stood
A mount of rough ascent, and thick with wood.
Through this a cave was dug with vast expense:
The work it seem'd of some suspicious prince,
Who, when abusing power with lawless might,
From public justice would secure his flight.
The passage made by many a winding way,
Reach'd ev'n the room in which the tyrant lay.
Fit for his purpose, on a lower floor,
He lodg'd, whose issue was an iron door;
From whence, by stairs descending to the ground,
In the blind grot a safe retreat he found.
Its outlet ended in a brake o'ergrown [known,
With brambles, choak'd by time, and now un-
A rift there was, which from the mountain's height
Convey'd a glimmering and malignant light,
A breathing-place to draw the damps away,
A twilight of an intercepted day.

The tyrant's den, whose use, though lost to fame,
Was now th' apartment of the royal dame;
The cavern only to her father known,
By him was to his darling daughter shown.

Neglected long she let the secret rest,
Till Love recall'd it to her labouring breast,
And hinted as the way by Heaven design'd
The teacher, by the means he taught, to blind.
What will not women do, when need inspires
Their wit, or love their inclination fires!
Though jealousy of state th' invention found,
Yet love refin'd upon the former ground.
That way, the tyrant had reserv'd, to fly [nigh.
Pursuing heat, now serv'd to bring two lovers
The dame, who long in vain had kept the key,
Bold by desire, explor'd the secret way;
Now try'd the stairs, and, wading through the
night,

Search'd all the deep recess, and issued into light.
All this her letter had so well explain'd,
Th' instructed youth might compass what re-
main'd;

The cavern's mouth alone was hard to find,
Because the path, disus'd, was out of mind:
But in what quarter of the copse it lay,
His eye by certain level could survey:
Yet (for the wood perplex'd with thorns he knew)
A frock of leather o'er his limbs he drew;
And, thus provided, search'd the brake around,
Till the choak'd entry of the cave he found.

Thus, all prepar'd, the promis'd hour arriv'd
So long expected, and so well contriv'd:
With Love to friend, th' impatient lover went,
Fenc'd from the thorns, and trod the deep descent.
The conscious priest, who was suborn'd before,
Stood ready posted at the postern door;
The maids in distant rooms were sent to rest,
And nothing wanted but th' invited guest.
He came, and knocking thrice without delay,
The longing lady heard, and turn'd the key;

At once invaded him with all her charins,
And the first step he made was in her arms:
The leathern outside, boisterous as it was,
Gave way, and bent beneath her strict embrace:
On either side the kisses flew so thick,
That neither he nor she had breath to speak.
The holy man, amaz'd at what he saw,
Made haste to sanctify the bliss by law;
And mutter'd fast the matrimony o'er,
For fear committed sin should get before.
His work perform'd, he left the pair alone,
Because he knew he could not go too soon;
His presence odious, when his task was done.
What thoughts he had beseems me not to say;
Though some surmise he went to fast and pray,
And needed both to drive the tempting thoughts
away.

The foe once gone, they took their full de-
light:

'Twas restless rage, and tempest all the night;
For greedy Love each moment would employ,
And grudg'd the shortest pauses of their joy.
Thus were their loves auspiciously begun,
And thus with secret care were carried on.
The stealth itself did appetite restore,
And look'd so like a sin, it pleas'd the more.
The cave was now become a common way,
The wicket, often open'd, knew the key:
Love rioted secure, and, long enjoy'd,
Was ever eager, and was never cloy'd,

But as extremes are short, of ill and good, And tides at highest mark regorge their flood; So Fate, that could no more improve their joy, Took a malicious pleasure to destroy.

Tancred, who fondly lov'd, and whose delight Was plac'd in his fair daughter's daily sight, Of custom, when his state affairs were done, Would pass his pleasing hours with her alone; And, as a father's privilege allow'd, Without attendance of th' officious crowd. It happen'd once, that when in heat of day He try'd to sleep, as was his usual way,

e balmy slumber fled his wakeful eyes, And fore'd him, in his own despite, to rise: Of sleep forsaken, to relieve his care, He sought the conversation of the fair; But with her train of damsels she was gone, In shady walks the scorching heat to shun: He would not violate that sweet recess, And found besides a welcome heaviness, That seiz'd his eyes; and slumber, which forgot When call'd before to come, now came unsought. From light retir'd, behind his daughter's bed, He for approaching sleep compos'd his head; A chair was ready, for that use design'd, So quilted, that he lay at ease reclin'd; The curtains closely drawn, the light to skreen, As if he had contriv'd to lie unseen: Thus cover'd with an artificial night, Sleep did his office soon, and seal'd his sight. With Heaven averse, in this ill-omen'd hour Was Guiscard summon'd to the secret bower, And the fair nymph, with expectation fir'd, From her attending damsels was retir'd: For, true to love, she measur'd time so right, As not to miss one moment of delight. The garden, seated on the level floor, She left behind, and, locking every door, Thought all secure; but little did she know, Blind to her fate, she had enclos'd her foe.

Attending Guiscard, in his leathern frock,
Stood ready, with his thrice-repeated knock:
Thrice with a doleful sound the jarring grate
Rung deaf and hollow, and presag'd their fate.
The door unlock'd, to known delight they haste,
And, panting in each other's arms embrac'd,
Rush to the conscious bed, a mutual freight,
And heedless press it with their wonted weight.
The sudden bound awak'd the sleeping sire,
And show'd a sight no parent can desire;
His opening eyes at once with odious view
The love discover'd, and the lover knew:
He would have cry'd; but hoping that he dreamt,
Amazement ty'd his tongue, and stopp'd th'
attempt.

Th' ensuing moment all the truth declar'd,
But now he stood collected, and prepar'd,
For malice and revenge had put him on his
guard.

So like a lion, that unheeded lay,

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Dissembling sleep, and watchful to betray,
With inward rage he meditates his prey.
The thoughtless pair, indulging their desires;
Alternate, kindled, and then quench'd their fires ;
Nor thinking in the shades of death they play'd,
Full of themselves, themselves alone survey'd,
And, too secure, were by themselves betray'd.
Long time dissolv'd in pleasure thus they lay,
Till nature could no more suffice their play;
Then rose the youth, and through the cave again
Return'd; the princess mingled with her train.
Resolv'd his unripe vengeance to defer,
The royal spy, when now the coast was clear,
Sought not the garden, but retir'd unseen,
To brood in secret on his gather'd spleen,
And methodize revenge: to death he griev'd;
And, but he saw the crime, had scarce believ'd.
Th' appointment for th' ensuing night he heard;
And therefore in the cavern had prepar'd
Two brawny yeomen of his trusty guard.

Scarce had unwary Guiscard set his foot
Within the foremost entrance of the grot,
When these in secret ambush ready lay;
And rushing on the sudden seiz'd the prey:
Encumber'd with his frock, without defence,
An easy prize, they led the prisoner thence,
And, as commanded, brought before the prince.
The gloomy sire, too sensible of wrong,
To vent his rage in words, restrain'd his tongue,
And only said, "Thus servants are preferr'd,
And, trusted, thus their sovereigns they reward.
Had I not seen, had not these eyes receiv'd
Too clear a proof, I could not have believ'd."

[who saw

He paus'd, and choak'd the rest. The youth, His forfeit life abandon'd to the law, The judge the accuser, and th' offence to him Who had both power and will t' avenge the crime, No vain defence prepar'd; but thus reply'd: "The faults of love by Love are justify'd: With unresisted might the monarch reigns, He levels mountains, and he raises plains; And, not regarding difference of degree, Abas'd your daughter, and exalted me."

This bold return with seeming patience heard, The prisoner was remitted to the guard. The sullen tyrant slept not all the night, But, lonely walking by a winking light, Sobb'd, wept, and groan'd, and beat his wither'd

breast,

But would not violate his daughter's rest;

Fain would I choose a middle course to steer;

Who long expecting lay, for bliss prepar'd,
Listening for noise, and griev'd that none she Nature's too kind, and Justice too severe;

heard;

Oft rose, and oft in vain employ'd the key,
And oft accus'd her lover of delay;

And pass'd the tedious hours in anxious thoughts

away.

[miss'd.

The morrow came; and at his usual hour Oid Tancred visited his daughter's bower; Her cheek (for such his custom was) he kiss'd, Then bless'd her kneeing, and her maids disThe royal dignity thus far maintain`d, Now left in private, he no longer feign'd; But all at once his grief and rage appear'd, And floods of tears ran trickling down his beard. "O Sigismonda," he began to say: Thrice he began, and thrice was forc'd to stay, Till words with often trying found their way: "I thought, O Sigismonda, (but how blind Are parents' eyes, their children's faults to find!) Thy virtue, birth, and breeding were above A mean desire, and vulgar sense of love: Nor less than sight and hearing cou d convince So ond a father, and so just a prince, Of such an unforeseen and unbeliev'd offence. Then what indignant sorrow must I have To see thee lie subjected to my slave! A man so smelling of the people's lee, The court receiv'd him first for charity; And since with no degree of honour grac'd, But only suffer'd, where he first was piac'd. A grovelling insect stili; and so design'd By Nature's hand, nor born of noble kind: A thing, by neither man nor woman priz'd, And scarcely known enough to be despis'd. To what has Heaven reserv'd my age? Ah! why Should man, when Nature calls,, not choose to die, Rather than stretch the span of life, to find Such ills as Fate has wisely cast behind, For those to feel, whom fond desire to live Makes covetous of more than life can give! Each has his share of good; and when 'tis gone, The guest, though hungry, cannot rise too soon. But I, expecting more, in my own wrong Protracting life, have liv'd a day too long. If yesterday could be recall'd again, Ev'n now would I conc ude my happy reign; But 'tis too late, my glorious race is run, And a dark cloud o'ertakes my setting sun. Had'st thou not lov'd, or loving sav'd the shame, If not the sin, by some illustrious name, This little comfort had reliev'd my mind, 'Twas frailty, not unusual to thy kind: But thy low fall beneath thy royal blood Shows downward appetite to mix with mud: Thus not the least excuse is left for the, Nor the least refuge for unhappy me.

"For him I have resoiv'd: whom by surprise I took, aud scarce can call it, in disguise; For such was his attire, as, with intent Of Nature, suited to his mean descent: The harder question yet remains behind, What pains a par nt and a prince can find To punish an offence of this degenerate kind. "As I have lov'd, and yet I love thee more Than ever father lov'd a child before; So that indulgence draws me to forgive; Nature, that gave thee life, would have thee live; But, as a public parent of the state, My justice, and thy crime, requires thy fate.

Speak for us both, and to the balance bring
On either side the father and the king.
Heaven knows, my heart is bent to favour thee;
Make it but scanty weight, and leave the rest to me."

Here stopping with a sigh, he pour'd a flood
Of tears, to make his last expression good.
She, who had heard him speak, nor saw alone
The secret conduct of her love was known,
But he was taken who her soul possess'd,
Felt all the pangs of sorrow in her breast,
And little wanted, but a woman's heart,
With cries and tears had testify'd her smart;
But inborn Worth, that Fortune can control,
New strung and stiffer bent her softer soul;
The heroine assum'd the woman's place,
Confirm'd her mind, and fortify'd her face:
Why should she beg, or what could she pretend,
When her stern father had condemn'd her friend?
Her life she might have had; but her despair
Of saving his, had put it past her care;
Resolv'd on fate, she would not lose her breath,
But, rather than not die, solicit death.
Fix'd on this thought, she, not as women use,
Her fault by common frailty would excuse;
But boldly justify'd her innocence,

And while the fact was own'd, deny'd th' offence:
Then with dry eyes, and with an open look,
She met his glance mid-way, and thus undaunted
"Tancred, I neither am dispos'd to make [spoke:
Request for life, nor offer'd life to take;
Much less deny the deed; but least of all
Beneath pretended justice weakly fall.
My words to sacred truth shall be confin'd,
My deeds shall show the greatness of my mind.
That I have lov'd, I own; that stiil I love,
I call to witness all the powers above:
Yet more I own: to Guiscard's love I give
The small remaining time I have to live;
And if beyond this life desire can be,
Not Fate itself shall set my passion free.
This first avow'd; nor folly warp'd my mind,
Nor the frail texture of the female kind
Betray'd my virtue: for, too well I knew
What honour was, and Honour had his due:
Before the holy priest my vows were ty'd,
So came I not a strumpet, but a bride.
This for my fame, and for the public voice:
Yet more, his merits justify'd my choice:
Which had they not, the first election thine,
That bond dissolv'd, the next is freely mine;
Or grant I err'd, (which yet I must deny)
Had parents pow'r ev'n second vows to tie,
Thy little car to mend my widow'd nights,
Has forc'd me to recourse of marriage rites,
To fill an empty side, and follow known delights.
What have I done in this, deserving blame?
State-laws may alter: Nature's are the same;
Those are usurp'd on helpless woman-kind,
Made without our consent, and wanting power
to bind.

"Thou, Tancred, better should have understood,
That as thy father gave thee flesh and blood,
So gav'st thou me: not from the quarry hew'd,
But of a softer mould, with sense endu'd;
Ev'n softer than thy own, of suppler kind,
More exquisite of taste, and more than man refin'd.
Nor need'st thou by thy daughter to be told,
Though now thy spritely blood with age be cold,

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