Damian alone, the Knight's obsequious squire,
Consum'd at heart, and fed a secret fire.
His lovely mistress all his soul possest;
He look'd, he languish'd, and could take no rest:
His task perform'd, he sadly went his way,
Fell on his bed, and loath'd the light of day.
There let him lie till his relenting dame
Weep in her turn, and waste in equal flame.
The weary sun, as learned poets write,
Forsook th' horizon, and roll'd down the light;
While glitt'ring stars his absent beams supply,
And night's dark mantle overspread the sky.
Then rose the guests, and as the time requir'd,
Each paid his thanks, and decently retir'd.
The foe once gone, our Knight prepar'd t' undress,
So keen he was, and eager to possess;
But first thought fit th' assistance to receive,
Which grave physicians scruple not to give;
Satyrion near, with hot eringoes stood,
Cantharides, to fire the lazy blood,
Whose use old bards describe in luscious rhymes,
And critics learn'd explain to modern times.
By this the sheets were spread, the bride undress'd, The room was sprinkled, and the bed was bless'd. What next ensu'd beseems not me to say;
'Tis sung, he labour'd till the dawning day. 384
Then briskly sprung from bed, with heart so light,
As all were nothing he had done by night,
And sipp'd his cordial as he sat upright.
He kiss'd his balmy spouse with wanton play,
And feebly sung a lusty roundelay:
Then on the couch his weary limbs he cast;
For ev'ry labour must have rest at last.
But anxious cares the pensive Squire opprest,
Sleep fled his eyes, and peace forsook his breast;
The raging flames that in his bosom dwell,
He wanted art to hide, and means to tell:
Yet hoping time th' occasion might betray,
Compos'd a sonnet to the lovely May;
Which, writ and folded with the nicest art,
He wrapt in silk, and laid upon his heart.
When now the fourth revolving day was run, 400 ('Twas June, and Cancer had receiv'd the sun,) Forth from her chamber came the beauteous bride, The good old Knight mov'd slowly by her side. High mass was sung; they feasted in the hall; The servants round stood ready at their call. The Squire alone was absent from the board, And much his sickness griev'd his worthy lord, Who pray'd his spouse, attended with her train, To visit Damian, and divert his pain. Th' obliging dames obey'd with one consent; They left the hall, and to his lodging went.
The female tribe surround him as he lay,
And close behind him sat the gentle May:
Where, as she try'd his pulse, he softly drew
A heaving sigh, and cast a mournful view!
Theu gave his bill, and brib'd the pow'rs divine
With secret vows, to favour his design.
Who studies now but discontented May ?
On her soft couch uneasily she lay :
The lumpish husband snor'd away the night,
Till coughs awak'd him near the morning light.
What then he did, I'll not presume to tell,
Nor if she thought herself in heav'n or hell :
Honest and dull in nuptial bed they lay,
Till the bell toll'd, and all arose to pray.
Were it by forceful destiny decreed,
Or did from Chance, or Nature's pow'r proceed;
Or that some star, with aspect kind to love,
Shed its selected influence from above;
Whatever was the cause, the tender dame
Felt the first motions of an infant flame;
Receiv'd th' impressions of the love-sick Squire,
And wasted in the soft infectious fire.
Ye Fair, draw near, let May's example move
Your gentle minds to pity those who love!
Had some fierce tyrant in her stead been found,
The poor adorer sure had hang'd or drown'd ;
But she, your sex's mirror, free from pride,
Was much too meek to prove a homicide.
But to my tale: some sages have defin'd
Pleasure the sov'reign bliss of humankind:
Our Knight (who studied much, we may suppose)
Deriv'd his high philosophy from those ;
For, like a prince, he bore the vast expence
Of lavish pomp, and proud magnificence:
His house was stately, his retinue gay,
Large was his train, and gorgeous his array.
His spacious garden, made to yield to none,
Was compass'd round with walls of solid stone;
Priapus could not half describe the grace
(Though god of gardens) of this charming place:
A place to tire the rambling wits of France
In long descriptions, and exceed romance:
Enough to shame the gentlest bard that sings
Of painted meadows, and of purling springs. 455
Full in the centre of the flow'ry ground
A crystal fountain spread its streams around,
The fruitful banks with verdant laurels crown'd:
About this spring (if ancient fame say true)
The dapper elves their midnight sports pursue: 460
Their pigmy king, and little fairy queen,
In circling dances gambol'd on the green,
While tuneful sprites a merry concert made,
And airy music warbled through the shade.
Hither the noble Knight would oft repair,
(His scene of pleasure, and peculiar care;)
For this he held it dear, and always bore
The silver key that lock'd the garden-door.
To this sweet place in summer's sultry heat,
He us'd from noise and bus'ness to retreat;
And here in dalliance spend the live-long day,
Solus cum sola, with his lovely May:
For whate'er work was undischarg'd a-bed,
The duteous Knight in this fair garden sped.
But ah! what mortal lives of bliss secure?
How short a space our worldly joys endure!
O Fortune, fair, like all thy treach’rous kind,
But faithless still, and wav'ring as the wind!
O painted monster, form'd mankind to cheat,
With pleasing poison, and with soft deceit !
This rich, this am'rous, venerable Knight,
Amidst his ease, his solace, and delight,
Struck blind by thee, resigns his days to grief,
And calls on Death, the wretch's last relief.
The rage of jealousy then seiz'd his mind, For much he fear'd the faith of womankind. His wife not suffer'd from his side to stray, Was captive kept; he watch'd her night and day, Abridg'd her pleasures, and confin'd her sway. Full oft in tears did hapless May complain, And sigh'd full oft; but sigh'd and wept in vain:
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