That, rather than to forfeit you,
Has ventur'd loss of heaven too;
Both with an equal pow'r possest,
To render all that serve you blest:
But none like him, who's destin'd either
To have or lose you both together;
And if you'll but this fault release,
(For so it must be, since you please)
I'll pay down all that vow, and more,
Which you commanded, and I swore,
And expiate, upon my skin,
The' arrears in full of all my sin:
For 'tis but just that I should pay
The' accruing penance for delay,
Which shall be done, until it move
Your equal pity and your love.'
The Knight, perusing this Epistle, Believ'd he 'ad brought her to his whistle, And read it, like a jocund lover,
With great applause, to' himself, twice over;
Subscrib'd his name, but at a fit
And humble distance, to his wit,
And dated it with wondrous art,
"Giv'n from the bottom of his heart:'
Then seal'd it with his coat of love,
A smoaking faggot-and above,
Upon a scroll-'I burn, and weep,'
And near it-For her Ladyship,
Of all her sex most excellent,
These to her gentle hands present:'
Then gave it to his faithful Squire,
With lessons how to' observe and eye her.
She first consider'd which was better, To send it back, or burn the letter: But guessing that it might import, Though nothing else, at least her sport, She open'd it, and read it out,
With many a smile and leering flout;
Resolv'd to answer it in kind,
And thus perform'd what she design'd.
"THAT you're a beast, and turn'd to grass,
Is no strange news, nor ever was,
At least to me; who once, you know,
Did from the pound replevin* you,
When both your sword and spurs were won
In combat by an Amazon;
That sword that did, like Fate, determine
The' inevitable death of vermin,
And never dealt its furious blows,
But cut the throats of pigs and cows,
By Trulla was, in single fight,
Disarm'd and wrested from its Knight,
Your heels degraded of your spurs,
And in the stocks close prisoners,
Where still they 'ad lain, in base restraint,
If I, in pity' of your complaint,
Had not, on hon'rable conditions,
Releas'd 'em from the worst of prisons;
And what return that favour met
You cannot (though you would) forget;
When, being free, you strove to' evade
The oaths you had in prison made;
* Replevin is the releasing of cattle or goods distrained, with surety to answer the distrainer's suit,
Forswore yourself, and first denied it,
But after own'd, and justified it,
And when ye 'ad falsely broke one vow,
Absolv'd yourself by breaking two:
For while you sneakingly submit,
And beg for pardon at our feet,
Discourag'd by your guilty fears,
To hope for quarter for your ears,
And doubting 'twas in vain to sue,
You claim us boldly as your due;
Declare that treachery and force,
To deal with us, is the' only course:
We have no title nor pretence
To body, soul, or conscience,
But ought to fall to that man's share
That claims us for his proper ware:
These are the motives which, to' induce,
Or fright us into love, you use;
A pretty new way of gallanting,
Between soliciting and ranting;
Like sturdy beggars, that intreat
For charity, at once, and threat.
But since you undertake to prove
Your own propriety in love,
As if we were but lawful prizę
In war between two enemies,
Or forfeitures which every lover,
That would but sue for, might recover;
It is not hard to understand
The mystery of this bold demand,
That cannot at our persons aim,
But something capable of claim.
'Tis not those paltry counterfeit
French stones, which in our eyes you set,
But our right diamonds, that inspire
And set your amorous hearts on fire;
Nor can those false St. Martin's beads
Which on our lips you lay for reds,
And make us wear like Indian dames,
Add fuel to your scorching flames;
But those true rubies of the rock,
Which in our cabinets we lock.
'Tis not those orient pearls, our teeth,
That you are so transported with,
But those we wear about our necks,
Produce those amorous effects:
Nor is't those threads of gold, our hair,
The periwigs you make us wear,
But those bright guineas in our chests,
That light the wildfire in your breasts.
These love-tricks I've been vers'd in so,
That all their sly intrigues I know,
And can unriddle, by their tones,
Their mystic cabals, and jargones;
Can tell what passions, by their sounds,
Pine for the beauties of my grounds;
What raptures fond and amorous,
O'the' charms and graces of my house;
What ecstasy and scorching flame,
Burns for my money in my name;
What, from the' unnatural desire
To beasts and cattle, takes its fire;
What tender sigh, and trickling tear,
Longs for a thousand pounds a-year;
And languishing transports are fond
of statute, mortgage, bill, and bond.
"These are the' attracts which most men fall Enamour'd, at first sight, withal;
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