And who the knights in green, and what the train
Of ladies dress'd with daisies on the plain ?
Why both the bands in worship disagree,
And fome adore the flow'r, and some the tree?
Just is your fuit, fair daughter, said the dame :
Those laurell'd chiefs were men of mighty fame;
Nine worthies were they call'd of diff'rent rites,
Three jews, three pagans, and three christian knights.
These, as you fee, ride foremost in the field,
As they the foremost rank of honour held,
And all in deeds of chivalry excell'd:
Their temples wreath'd with leaves, that still renew;
For deathless laurel is the victor's due:
Who bear the bows were knights in Arthur's reign,
Twelve they, and twelve the peers of Charlemain :
For bows the strength of brawny arms imply,
Emblems of valour, and of victory.
Behold an order yet of newer date,
Doubling their number, equal in their fstate;
Our England's ornament, the crown's defence,
In battle brave, protectors of their prince:
Unchang'd by fortune, to their sovereign true,
For which their manly legs are bound with blue.
These, of the garter call'd, of faith unstain'd,
In fighting fields the laurel have obtain'd,
And well repaid the honours which they gain'd.
The laurel wreaths were first by Cæfar worn,
And still they Cæfar's successors adorn :
One leaf of this is immortality,
And more of worth than all the world can buy.
One doubt remains, faid I, the dames in green,
What were their qualities, and who their queen ?
Flora commands, faid the, those nymphs and knights,
Who liv'd in flothful ease and loose delights;
Who never acts of honour durst pursue,
The men inglorious knights, the ladies all untrue:
Who nurs'd in idleness, and train'd in courts,
Pass'd all their precious hours in plays, and sports,
Till death behind came stalking on, unseen,
And wither'd (like the storm) the freshness of their green.
These, and their mates, enjoy their present hour,
And therefore pay their homage to the flow'r.
But knights in knightly deeds should persevere,
And still continue what at first they were;
Continue, and proceed in honour's fair career.
No room for cowardice, or dull delay;
From good to better they should urge their way.
For this with golden spurs the chiefs are grac'd,
With pointed rowels arm'd to mend their haste;
For this with lasting leaves their brows are bound;
For laurel is the sign of labour crown'd,
Which bears the bitter blast, nor shaken falls to ground:
From winter winds it suffers no decay,
For ever fresh and fair, and ev'ry month is May.
Ev'n when the vital sap retreats below,
Ev'n when the hoary head is hid in snow;
The life is in the leaf, and still between
The fits of falling snow appears the streaky green.
Not so the flow'r, which last for little space,
A short-liv'd good, and an uncertain grace;
This way and that the feeble stem is driv'n,
Weak to sustain the storms, and injuries of heav'n.
Propp'd by the spring, it lifts aloft the head,
But of a fickly beauty, foon to shed;
In summer living, and in winter dead.
For things of tender kind, for pleasure made,
Shoot up with swift increase, and sudden are decay'd.
With humble words, the wisest I could frame,
And proffer'd service, I repaid the dame;
That, of her grace, she gave her maid to know
The fecret meaning of this moral show.
And she, to prove what profit I had made
Of mystic truth, in fables first convey'd,
Demanded till the next returning May,
Whether the leaf or flow'r I would obey ?
I chose the leaf; she smil'd with sober chear,
And wish'd me fair adventure for the year,
And gave me charms and sigils, for defence
Against ill tongues that scandal innocence;
But I, said she, my fellows must pursue,
Already paft the plain, and out of view.
We parted thus; I homeward sped my way,
Bewilder'd in the wood till dawn of day;
And met the merry crew who danc'd about the May.
Then late refresh'd with sleep, I rose to write
The vifionary vigils of the night:
Blush, as thou may'st, my little book with shame,
Nor hope with homely verse to purchase fame,
For such thy Maker chose; and so design'd
Thy simple stile to suit thy lowly kind.
N days of old, when Arthur fill'd the throne, Whose acts and fame to foreign lands were blown; The king of elfs and little fairy queen Gamboll'd on heaths, and danc'd on ev'ry green; And where the jolly troop had led the round, The grafs unbidden rose, and mark'd the ground: Nor darkling did they glance, the filver light Of Phœbe serv'd to guide their steps aright, And with their tripping pleas'd, prolong the night. Her beams they follow'd, where at full the plaid, Nor longer than she shed her horns they staid, From thence with airy flight to foreign lands convey'd. Above the rest our Britain held they dear, More folemnly they kept their fabbaths here, [year. And made more spacious rings, and revell'd half the I speak of ancient times, for now the swain
Returning late may pass the woods in vain,
And never hope to see the nightly train :
In vain the dairy now with mints is dress'd,
The dairy-maid expects no fairy guest,
To skim the bowls, and after pay the feast.
She fighs and shakes her empty shoes in vain,
No filver penny to reward her pain:
For priests with pray'rs, and other godly geer,
Have made the merry goblins disappear;
And where they play'd their merry pranks before,
Have sprinkled holy water on the floor:
And friars that through the wealthy regions run,
Thick as the motes that twinkle in the fun,
Refort to farmers rich, and bless their halls,
And exorcife the beds, and cross the walls :
This makes the fairy quires forsake the place,
When once 'tis hallow'd with the rites of grace :
But in the walks where wicked elves have been,
The learning of the parish now is seen,
The midnight parson posting o'er the green,
With gown tuck'd up, to wakes, for Sunday next,
With humming ale encouraging his text;
Nor wants the holy leer to country-girl betwixt.
From fiends and imps he fets the village free,
There haunts not any incubus but he.
The maids and women need no danger fear
To walk by night, and sanctity so near:
For by fome haycock, or fome shady thorn,
He bids his beads both even song and morn.
It fo befel in this king Arthur's reign,
A lusty knight was pricking o'er the plain;
A bachelor he was, and of the courtly train.
It happen'd as he rode, a damsel gay
In russet robes to market took her way:
Soon on the girl he cast an amorous eye,
So straight she walk'd, and on her pasterns high:
If seeing her behind he lik'd her pace.
Now turning short, he better likes her face.
He lights in haste, and full of youthful fire,
By force accomplish'd his obscene defire :
This done away he rode, not unespy'd,
For swarming at his back the country cry'd:
And once in view they never loft the fight,
But seiz'd, and pinion'd brought to court the knight.
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