So fpread upon a lake with upward eye,
A plump of fowl behold their foe on high;
They close their trembling troop; and all attend
On whom the fowfing eagle will defcend.
But moft the proud Honoria fear'd th' event,
And thought to her alone the vision sent.
Her guilt prefents to her distracted mind
Heav'n's juftice, Theodore's revengeful kind,
And the fame fate to the fame fin affign'd.
Already fees herself the monster's prey,
And feels her heart and entrails torn away.
'I'was a mute scene of forrow, mix'd with fear;
Still on the table lay th' unfinish'd cheer:
The knight and hungry maftiffs stood around,
The mangled dame lay breathless on the ground;
When on a fudden, re-infpir'd with breath,
Again fhe rofe, again to fuffer death;
Nor ftaid the hell-hounds, nor the hunter ftaid,
But follow'd as before, the flying maid:
Th' avenger took from earth th' avenging sword,
And mounting light as air his fable steed he spurr'd:
The clouds difpell'd, the fky refum'd her light,
And Nature ftood recover'd of her fright.
But fear, the last of ills, remain'd behind,
And horror heavy fat on ev'ry mind.
Nor Theodore encourag'd more the feast,
But fternly look'd, as hatching in his breast
Some deep defigns; which when Honoria view'd,
The fresh impulse her former fright renew'd:
She thought herself the trembling dame who fled,
And him the grifly ghoft that fpurr'd th' infernal steed:
The more difmay'd, for when the guests withdrew,
Their courteous hoft faluting all the crew,
Regardless pafs'd her o'er; nor grac'd with kind adieu.
That fting infix'd within her haughty mind,
The downfall of her empire the divin'd;
And her proud heart with fecret forrow pin'd.
Home as they went, the fad difcourse renew'd,
Of the relentless dame to death pursu'd,
And of the fight obfcene fo lately view'd.
None durft arraign the righteous doom the bore,
Ev'n they who pity'd most, yet blam'd her more:
The parallel they needed not to name,
But in the dead they damn'd the living dame.
At ev'ry little noise the look'd behind,
For ftill the knight was present to her mind:
And anxious oft fhe started on the way,
And thought the horfeman-ghost came thund'ring for his prey.
Return'd she took her bed with little reft,
But in fhort flumbers dreamt the fun'ral feast:
Awak'd, the turn'd her fide, and slept again;
The fame black vapours mounted in her brain,
And the fame dreams return'd with double pain.
Now forc'd to wake, because afraid to sleep,
Her blood all fever'd, with a furious leap
She sprung from bed, distracted in her mind,
And fear'd, at ev'ry ftep, a twitching fpright behind.
Darkling and defperate with a ftagg'ring pace,
Of death afraid, and confcious of disgrace;
Fear, pride, remorse, at once her heart affail'd,
Pride put remorfe to flight, but fear prevail'd.
Friday, the fatal day, when next it came,
Her foul forethought the fiend would change his game,
And her purfue, or Theodore be slain,
And two ghofts join their packs to hunt her o'er the plain.
This dreadful image fo poffefs'd her mind,
That defperate any fuccour elfe to find,
She ceas'd all farther hope; and now began
To make reflexion on th' unhappy man.
Rich, brave, and young, who paft expreffion lov'd, ·
Proof to disdain, and not to be remov'd :
Of all the men refpected and admir'd,
Of all the dames, except herfelf, defir'd:
Why not of her? preferr'd above the reft
By him with knightly deeds, and open love profefs'd?
So had another beer, where he his vows address'd.
This quell'd her pride, yet other doubts remain'd,
That once difdaining, fhe might be difdain'd.
The fear was juft, but greater fear prevail'd,
Fear of her life by hellish hounds affail'd:
He took a low'ring leave; but who can tell,
What outward hate might inward love conceal ?
Her fex's arts fhe knew, and why not, then,
Might deep diffembling have a place in men?
Here hope began to dawn; refolv'd to try,
She fix'd on this her utmost remedy;
Death was behind, but hard it was to die.
'Twas time enough at last on death to call,
The precipice in fight: a fhrub was all,
That kindly ftood betwixt to break the fatal fall.
One maid fhe had belov'd above the reft:
Secure of her, the fecret fhe confefs'd;
And now the chearful light her fears difpell'd,
She with no winding turns the truth conceal'd,
But put the woman off, and flood reveal'd:
With faults confefs'd commiffion'd her to go,
If pity yet had place, and reconcile her foe;
The welcome meffage made, was foon receiv'd;
'Twas to be wish'd, and hop'd, but scarce believ'd;
Fate feem'd a fair occafion to prefent,
He knew the sex, and fear'd she might repent,
Should he delay the moment of consent.
There yet remain'd to gain her friends (a care
The modefty of maidens well might spare ;)
But the with fuch a zeal the cause embrac'd,
(As women, where they will, are all in hatte)
The father, mother, and the kin befide,
Were overborne by fury of the tide;
With full confent of all she chang'd her state;
Refistless in her love, as in her hate.
By her example warn'd, the reft beware;
More eafy, lefs imperious, were the fair;
And that one hunting, which the devil defign'd
For one fair female, loft him half the kind.
LD as I am, for ladies love unfit,
The pow'r of beauty I remember yet,
Which once inflam'd my foul, and ftill infpires my wit.
If love be folly, the fevere divine
Has felt that folly, tho' he cenfures mine;
Pollutes the pleasures of a chafte embrace,
Acts what I write, and propagates in grace,
With riotous excefs, a priestly race.
Suppofe him free, and that I forge th' offence,
He thew'd the way, perverting first my fenfe:
In malice witty, and with venom fraught,
He makes me fpeak the things I never thought.
Compute the gains of his ungovern'd zeal;
Ill futes his cloth the praife of railing well.
The world will think that what we loofely write,
Tho' now arraign'd, he read with fome delight;
Because he seems to chew the cud again,
When his broad comment makes the text too plain;
And teaches more in one explaining page,
Than all the double meanings of the ftage.
What needs he paraphrafe on what we mean?
We were at worst but wanton; he's obfcene.
I, not my fellows, nor myfelf excufe;
But love's the fubject of the comic mufe:
Nor can we write without it, nor would you
A tale of only dry inftruction view;
Nor love is always of a vicious kind,
But oft to virtuous acts inflames the mind,
Awakes the fleepy vigour of the foul,
And brushing o'er adds motion to the pool.
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