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Yours is my life, redeem'd by your advice,
Afk what you pleafe, and I will pay the price,
The proudest kerchief of the court shall rest
Well fatisfy'd of what they love the best.
Plight me thy faith, quoth fhe, that what I afk,
Thy danger over, and perform'd thy task,
That thou shalt give for hire of thy demand;
Here take thy oath, and feal it on my hand;
I warrant thee, on peril of my life,

Thy words fhall please both widow, maid, and wife.
More words there needed not to move the knight,
To take her offer, and his truth to plight.
With that the spread a mantle on the ground,
And, first inquiring whither he was bound,
Bade him not fear, tho' long and rough the way,
At court he should arrive ere break of day;
His horfe fhould find the way without a guide.
She faid with fury they began to ride,
He on the midft, the beldam at his fide.
The horse, what devil drove, I cannot tell,
But only this, they fped their journey well:
And all the way the crone inform'd the knight,
How he should anfwer the demand aright.

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To court they came; the news was quickly fpread Of his returning to redeem his head.

The female fenate was affembled foon

With all the mob of women of the town:
The queen fat lord chief juftice of the hall,
And bade the crier cite the criminal.

The knight appear'd; and filence they proclaim:
Then firft the culprit anfwer'd to his name:
And, after forms of law, was laft requir'd
To name the thing that women most desir’d.
Th' offender, taught his leffon by the way,
And by his counfel order'd what to fay,
Thus bold began: My lady liege, faid he,
What all your fex defire is fovereignty.

The wife affects her husband to command;

All must be her's, both money, house, and land.
The maids are miftreffes ev'n in their name;
And of their fervants full dominion claim.
This, at the peril of my head, I fay,
A blunt plain truth, the sex aspires to sway,
You to rule all, while we, like flaves, obey.
There was not one, or widow, maid, or wife,
But faid the knight had well deserv'd his life.
Ev'n fair Geneura, with a blush, confefs'd
The man had found what women love the best.
Upftarts the beldam, who was there unfeen:
And, rev'rence made, accofted thus the queen.
My liege, faid fhe, before the court arife,

May I, poor wretch, find favour in your eyes:
To grant my just requeft: 'twas I who taught
The knight this answer, and inspir'd his thought,
None but a woman could a man direct
To tell us women, what we most affect.
But first I fwore him on his knightly troth,
(And here demand performance of his oath)
Το grant the boon that next I fhould defire;
gave his faith, and I expect my hire:
My promife is fulfill'd: I fav'd his life,

He

And claim his debt, to take me for his wife.
The knight was afk'd, nor could his oath deny,
But hop'd they would not force him to comply.
The women, who would rather wreft the laws,
Than let a fifter-plaintiff lose the cause,
(As judges on the bench more gracious are,
And more attent to brothers of the bar)

Cry'd one and all, the fuppliant should have right,
And to the grandame hag adjudg'd the knight.

In vain he figh'd, and oft with tears defir'd,
Some reasonable fuit might be requir'd.

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But

But ftill the crone was conftant to her note;

The more he spoke, the more she stretch'd her throat. In vain he proffer'd all his goods, to fave

His body deftin'd to that living grave.

The liquorish hag rejects the pelf with scorn;
And nothing but the man would ferve her turn.
Not all the wealth of Eaftern kings, faid fhe,
Have pow'r to part my plighted love, and me;
And, old and ugly as I am, and poor,
Yet never will I break the faith I fwore;
For mine thou art by promife, during life,
And I thy loving and obedient wife.

My love! nay rather my damnation thou,
Said he; nor am I bound to keep my vow;
The fiend thy fire hath sent thee from below,
Elfe how cou'dft thou my secret sorrows know?
Avaunt, old witch, for I renounce thy bed:
The queen may take the forfeit of my head,
Ere any
of my race fo foul a crone fhall wed.
Both heard, the judge pronounc'd against the knight;
So was he marry'd in his own despite:
And all day after hid him as an owl,
Not able to fuftain a fight fo foul.

Perhaps the reader thinks I do him wrong,
To pafs the marriage feaft, and nuptial fong:
Mirth there was none, the man was a la-mort,
And little courage had to make his court.
To bed they went, the bridegroom and the bride
Was never fuch an ill-pair'd couple ty'd:
Reftlefs he tofs'd, and tumbled to and fro,
And roll'd, and wriggled further off for woe.
The good old wife lay finiling by his fide,

And caught him in her quiv'ring arms, and cry'd,
When you my ravish'd predeceffor faw,

You were not then become this man of straw;

Had you been fuch you might have fcap'd the law.

Is this the custom of king Arthur's court ?
Are all round-table knights of fuch a fort?
Remember I am fhe who fav'd your life,
Your loving, lawful, and complying wife:
Not thus you fwore in your unhappy hour,
Nor I for this return employ'd my pow'r.
In time of need I was your faithful friend;
Nor did I fince, nor ever will offend.
Believe me, my lov'd lord, 'tis much unkind;
What fury has poffefs'd your alter'd mind?
Thus on my wedding night-without pretence-
Come turn this way, or tell me my offence.
If not your wife, let reason's rule persuade;
Name but my fault, amends fhall foon be made.
Amends! nay that's impoffible, faid he,
What change of age or uglinefs can be ;
Or could Medea's magic mend thy face,
Thou art defcended from so mean a race,
That never knight was match'd with such disgrace.
What wonder, madam, if I move my fide,
When, if I turn, I turn to fuch a bride?
And is this all that troubles you so fore?

And what the devil cou’dst thou wish me more ?
Ah Benedicite, reply'd the crone :

Then cause of just complaining have you none.
The remedy to this were foon apply'd,

Wou'd you be like the bridegroom to the bride:
But, for you fay a long defcended race,
And, wealth and dignity, and pow'r, and place,
Make gentlemen, and that your high degree
Is much difparag'd to be match'd with me;
Know this, my lord, nobility of blood
Is but a glitt'ring and fallacious good:
The nobleman is he whose noble mind

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Is fill'd with inborn worth, unborrow'd from his kind.

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The king of heav'n was in a manger laid;
And took his earth but from an humble maid;
Then what can birth, or mortal men, beftow?
Since floods no higher than their fountains flow,
We, who for name and empty honour strive,
Our true nobility from him derive.

Your ancestors, who puff your mind with pride,
And vaft eftates to mighty titles ty'd,

Did not your honour, but their own, advance;
For virtue comes not by inheritance.
If you tralineate from your father's mind,
What are you elfe but of a baftard-kind?
Do, as your great progenitors have done,
And by their virtues prove yourself their fon,
No father can infuse or wit or grace;
A mother comes across, and mars the race.
A grandfire or a grandame taints the blood;
And seldom three descents continue good.
Were virtue by descent, a noble name
Cou'd never villanize his father's fame:
But, as the firft, the laft of all the line,
Wou'd like the fun ev'n in defcending fhine;
Take fire, and bear it to the darkest house,
Betwixt king Arthur's court and Caucafus;
If you depart, the flame fhall ftill remain,
And the bright blaze enlighten all the plain;
Nor, till the fuel perifh, can decay,

By nature form'd on things combustible to prey.
Such is not man, who, mixing better feed
With worse, begets a bafe degen'rate breed:
The bad corrupts the good, and leaves behind
No trace of all the great begetter's mind.
The father finks within his fon, we fee,
And often rifes in the third degree;
If better luck a better mother give,

Chance gave us being, and by chance we live.

Such

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