And long-attending Hymen from above,
Show'r'd on the bed the whole Idalian grove.
All of a tenor was their after-life,
No day discolour'd with domestic strife;
No jealousy, but mutual truth believ'd,
Secure repose, and kindness undeceiv'd.
Thus Heav'n, beyond the compass of his thought,
Sent him the blessing he so dearly bought.

So may the Queen of love long duty bless,
And all true lovers find the fame fuccefs.

THE THE

COCK and the FOX:

OR, THE

TALE of the NUN's PRIEST.

THE

in days of yore,

HERE liv'd, as authors tell,
A widow somewhat old, and very poor :

Deep in a cell her cottage lonely stood,
Well thatch'd, and under covert of a wood.
This dowager, on whom my tale I found,
Since last she laid her husband in the ground,
A fimple sober life, in patience, led,
And had but just enough to buy her bread :
But huswifing the little Heav'n had lent,
She duly paid a groat for quarter rent;
And pinch'd her belly, with her daughters two,
To bring the year about with much ado.

The cattle in her homestead were three sows,
An ewe call'd Mally, and three brinded cows.
Her parlour-window stuck with herbs around,
Of sav'ry smell; and rushes strew'd the ground.
A maple-dresser in her hall she had,

On which full many a flender meal she made;
For no delicious morsel pass'd her throat;
According to her cloth she cut her coat:
No poynant fauce she knew, nor costly treat,
Her hunger gave a relish to her meat:
A sparing diet did her health assure;
Or fick, a pepper posset was her cure.

Before

Before the day was done, her work she sped,
And never went by candle light to bed :
With exercise she sweat ill humours out,
Her dancing was not hinder'd by the gout.
Her poverty was glad; her heart content,
Nor knew she what the spleen or vapours meant.

Of wine she never tasted through the year,
But white and black was all her homely chear :
Brown bread, and milk, (but first she skim'd her bowls)
And rashers of fing'd bacon on the coals.
On holy days an egg, or two at most;
But her ambition never reach'd to roaft.

A yard she had with pales enclos'd about,
Some high, some low, and a dry ditch without.
Within this homestead, liv'd, without a peer,
For crowing loud, the noble Chanticleer;
So hight her cock, whose singing did furpass
The merry notes of organs at the mass.
More certain was the crowing of the cock
To number hours, than is an abbey-clock;
And fooner than the mattin-bell was rung,
He clap'd his wings upon his rooft, and sung:
For when degrees fifteen afcended right,
By sure instinct he knew 'twas one at night.
High was his comb, and coral-red withal,
In dents embattell'd like a castle wall;
His bill was raven-black, and shone like jet;
Blue were his legs, and orient were his feet:
White were his nails, like filver to behold,
His body glitt'ring like the burnish'd gold.
This gentle cock, for folace of his life
Six misses had, besides his lawful wife;
Scandal that spares no king, tho' ne'er so good,
Says, they were all of his own flesh and blood,
His fifters both by fire and mother's fide;
And fure their likeness show'd them near ally'd.

But

But make the worst, the monarch did no more,
Than all the Ptolemys had done before:
When incest is for interest of a nation,
'Tis made no sin by holy dispensation.
Some lines have been maintain'd by this alone,
Which by their common ugliness are known.

But paffing this as from our tale apart,
Dame Partlet was the fovereign of his heart:
Ardent in love, outrageous in his play,
He feather'd her a hundred times a day :
And the that was not only passing fair,
But was withal discreet, and debonair,
Resolv'd the passive doctrine to fulfil,
Tho' loth; and let him work his wicked will :
At board and bed was affable and kind,
According as their marriage-vow did bind,
And as the church's precept had injoin'd.
Ev'n since she was a fennight old, they say,
Was chaste and humble to her dying day,
Nor chick nor hen was known to disobey.

By this her husband's heart she did obtain ;
What cannot beauty, join'd with virtue, gain!
She was his only joy, and he her pride,
She, when he walk'd, went pecking by his fide;
If spurning up the ground, he sprung a corn,
The tribute in his bill to her was born.
But oh! what joy it was to hear him fing
In summer, when the day began to spring,
Stretching his neck, and warbling in his throat,
Solus cum fola, then was all his note.
For in the days of yore, the birds of parts
Were bred to speak, and fing, and learn the lib'ral arts.
It happ'd that perching on the parlour-beam

Amidst his wives, he had a deadly dream,
Just at the dawn; and figh'd, and groan'd so faft,
As ev'ry breath he drew would be his laft.

}

}

Dame

Dame Partlet, ever nearest to his fide,
Heard all his piteous moan, and how he cry'd
For help from Gods and men: and fore aghait
She peck'd and pull'd, and waken'd him at last.
Dear heart, said she, for love of Heav'n declare
Your pain, and make me partner in your care.
You groan, Sir, ever since the morning-light,
As something had disturb'd your noble spright.

And madam, well I might, said Chanticleer,
Never was shrovetide-cock in such a fear.
Ev'n still I run all over in a sweat,
My princely senses not recover'd yet.
For fuch a dream I had of dire portent,
That much I fear my body will be shent:
It bodes I shall have wars and woful strife,
Or in a loathsome dungeon end my life.
Know, dame, I dreamt within my troubled breaft,
That in our yard I saw a murd'rous beaft,
That on my body would have made arrest.
With waking eyes I ne'er beheld his fellow;
His colour was betwixt a red and yellow :
Tipp'd was his tail, and both his pricking ears
Were black; and much unlike his other hairs :
The rest in shape a beagle's whelp throughout,
With broader forehead, and a sharper snout:
Deep in his front were funk his glowing eyes,
That yet methinks I see him with surprize.
Reach out your hand, I drop with clammy sweat,
And lay it to my heart, and feel it beat.
Now fy for shame, quoth she, by Heav'n above,
Thou hast for ever lost thy lady's love;
No woman can endure a recreant knight,
He must be bold by day, and free by night:
Our sex defires a husband or a friend,
Who can our honour and his own defend;
Wise, hardy, secret, lib'ral of his purse:
A fool is nauseous, but a coward worse :

}