By change of clime my forrows to beguile,

I leave for Sicily my native ifle:

Vain hope! for who can leave himself behind;
And live a thoughtless exile from the mind?
Arriving there, amidst a flowery plain
That join'd the shore, I view'd a virgin-train ;
Who in foft ditties fung of Acis' flame,

And ftrew'd with annual wreaths his amber ftream.
Me foon they faw, and, fir'd with pious joy,
He comes, the god-like Acis comes, they cry:
Fair pride of Neptune's court! indulge our prayer;
Approach, you 've now no Polypheme to fear:
Accept our rites: to bind thy brow, we bring
Thefe earliest honours of the rofy spring:
So may thy Galatea ftill be kind,

As we thy fmiling power propitious find!
But if (they read their error in my blush ;
For fhame, and rage, and scorn, alternate flush)
But if of earthy race, yet kinder prove;

Refufe all other rites, but those of Love.

That hated word new-ftabs my rankling wound;
Like a ftuck deer I startle at the found:
Thence to the woods with furious fpeed repair,
And leave them all abandon'd to defpair.

So, frighted by the fwains, to reach the brake
Glides from a funny bank the glittering snake :
And whilft, reviv'd in youth, his wavy train
Floats in large fpires, and burns along the plain;
He darts malignance from his fcornful eye,
And the young flowers with livid hiffes die.

Let my fad fate

your

foft compaffion move,

Convinc'd that Phaon would, but cannot love :
To torture and distract my soul, are join'd
Unfading youth, and impotence of mind.
The white and red that flatter on my skin,
Hide hell; the grinning Furies howl within ;
Pride, Envy, Rage, and Hate inhabit there,
And the black child of Guilt, extreme Despair :
Nor of lefs terror to the perjur'd prove
The frowns of Venus, than the bolts of Jove.
When Orpheus in the woods began to play,
Sooth'd with his airs the leopards round him lay:
Their glaring eyes with leffen'd fury burn'd;
But when the lyre was mute, their rage return'd:
So would thy Mufe and lute a while controul
My woes, and tune the difcord of my
foul:
In fweet fufpence each favage thought restrain'd;
And then, the love I never felt I feign'd.
O Sappho, now that Muse and lute employ ;
Invoke the golden goddess from the sky:
From the Leucadian rock ne'er hope redress;
In love, Apollo boasts no fure fuccefs:
Let him prefide o'er oracles and arts;
Venus alone hath balm for bleeding hearts.
O, let the warbled hymn* delight her ear;
Can fhe when Sappho fings refuse to hear?
Thrice let the warbled hymn repeat thy pain,
While flowers and burning gums perfume her fane.

And when, defcending to the plaintive found,
She comes confefs'd with all her Graces round;
O, plead my cause! in that aufpicious hour,
Propitiate with thy vows the vengeful power.
Nor ceafe thy fuit, till with a fmiling air
She cries, I give my Phaon to thy prayer :
And, from his crime abfolv'd, with all his charms
He long fhall live, and die in Sappho's arms.---
Then swift, and gentle as her gentleft dove,
I'll feek thy breast, and equal all thy love:
Hymen fhall clap his purple wings, and spread
Inceffant raptures o'er the nuptial bed.

And while in pomp at Cytherea's fhrine,
With choral fong and dance, our vows we join;
Her flaming altar with religious fear

I'll touch, and proftrate on the marble, swear
That zeal and love for ever shall divide

My heart, between the goddess and the bride.

A

T A L

E,

Devised in the plefaunt Manere of

GENTIL MAISTER JEOFFREY CHAUCER.

W

Hylom in Kent there dwelt a clerke,

Who wyth grete cheer, and litil werke,

Upfwalen was with venere :

For meagre Lent ne recked he,

Ne faincts daies had in remembraunce,
Mo will had he to daliaunce.

To ferchen out a bellamie,

He had a sharp and licorous eie ;
But it wold bett abide a leke,

Or onion, than the fight of Greke :
Wherefore, God yeve him shame, Boccace
Serv'd him for Bafil and Ignace,

His vermeil cheke that fhon wyth mirth,
Spake him the blitheft prieft on yearth:
At chyrch, to fhew his lillied hond,
Full fetoufly he prank'd his bond;
Sleke weren his flaxen locks ykempt,
And Ifaac Wever was he nempt.

Thilke clerke, echaufed in the groyne,
For a young damofell did pyne,
Born in Eaft-Cheap; who, by my fay,
Ypert was as a popinjay :

Ne wit ne wordes did fhe waunt,
Wele cond she many a romaunt ;
Ore mufcadine, or fpiced ale,
She carrold foote as nightingale :
And for the nonce couth rowle her eyne,
Withouten fpeche; a fpeciall figne

She lack'd fomdele of what ech dame
Holds dere as life, yet dredes to name :
So was eftfoons by Ifaac won,

To blifsful confummation.

Here mought I now tellen the festes, Who yave the bryde, how bibb'd the gheftes;

But withouten fuch gawdes, I trow
Myne legend is prolix ynow.
Ryghte wele areeds Dan Prior's fong,
A tale fhold never be too long;
And fikerly in fayre Englond
None bett doeth taling understond.

She now, algates full fad to chaunge
The citee for her husbond's graunge,
To Kent mote; for fhe wele did knowe
'Twas vaine ayenft the ftreme to rowe.
Sa wend they on one steed yfere,
Ech cleping toder life and dere;
Heven fhilde hem fro myne Bromley host,
Or many a groat theyr meel woll cost.
Deem next ye maistress Wever fene
Yclad in fable bombafine;

The frankeleins wyves accoft her blythe,
Curteis to guilen hem of tythe;
And yeve honour parochiall

In pew,

and eke at festivall.

Worfchip and wealth her husbond hath;

Ne poor
in aught, fave werks and faith:
Kepes bull, bore, stallion, to difpence
Large pennorths of benevolence.

His berne ycrammed was, and store
Of poultrie cackled at the dore
His wyf grete joie to fede hem toke,
And was aftonied at the cocke;
That, in his portaunce debonair,
On everich henn bestow'd a fhare

Of