What, is the race of human kind your care
Beyond what all his fellow-creatures are?
He with the rest is liable to pain,

And like the sheep, his brother-beaft, is flain.
Cold, hunger, prifons, ills without a cure,
All these he muft, and guiltlefs oft endure;
Or does your juftice, pow'r, or prescience fail;
When the good fuffer, and the bad prevail?
What worse to wretched virtue could befal,
If fate or giddy fortune govern'd all ?
Nay, worse than other beafts is our estate;
Them, to pursue their pleasures, you create;
We, bound by harder laws, muft curb our will,
And your commands, not our defires, fulfil;
Then when the creature is unjustly flain,
Yet after death at least he feels no pain;
But man in life surcharg'd with woe before,
Not freed when dead, is doom'd to fuffer more.
A ferpent shoots his fting at unaware;

An ambush'd thief forelays a traveller:

The man lies murder'd, while the thief and fnake,
One gains the thickets, and one thrids the brake.
This let divines decide; but well I know,
Juft, or unjust, I have my fhare of woe,
Through Saturn feated in a luckless place,
And Juno's wrath, that perfecutes my race;
Or Mars and Venus, in a quartil, move
My pangs of jealoufy for Arcite's love.

Let Palamon opprefs'd in bondage mourn,
While to his exil'd rival we return,

By this, the fun, declining from his height,
The day had fhorten'd to prolong the night:
The lengthen'd night gave length of mifery
Both to the captive lover and the free.
For Palamon in endless prifon mourns,
And Arcite forfeits life if he returns :

The banish'd never hopes his love to fee,
Nor hopes the captive lord his liberty:
'Tis hard to fay who fuffers greater pains!

One fees his love, but cannot break his chains:

One free, and all his motions uncontrol'd,

Beholds whate'er he wou'd, but what he wou'd behold,
Judge as you please, for I will hafte to tell
What fortune to the banish'd knight befel.
When Arcite was to Thebes return'd again,
The lofs of her he lov'd renew'd his pain;
What cou'd be worse, than never more to fee
His life, his foul, his charming Emily?
He rav'd with all the madness of despair,
He roar'd, he beat his breaft, he tore his hair,
Dry forrow in his stupid eyes appears,
For wanting nourishment, he wanted tears:
His eye-balls in their hollow fockets fink,
Bereft of fleep he loaths his meat and drink,

He withers at his heart, and looks as wan

As the pale spectre of a murder'd man:

That pale turns yellow, and his face receives
The faded hue of fapless boxen leaves :
In folitary groves he makes his moan,
Walks early out, and ever is alone :

Nor, mix'd in mirth, in youthful pleasures shares,
But fighs when fongs and inftruments he hears.
His spirits are so low, his voice is drown'd,
He hears as from afar, or in a swoon,
Like the deaf murmurs of a distant found :
Uncomb'd his locks, and fqualid his attire,
Unlike the trim of love and gay defire;
But full of mufeful mopings, which prefage
The lofs of reafon, and conclude in rage.
This when he had endur'd a year and more,
Now wholly chang'd from what he was before,
It happen'd once, that, flumb'ring as he lay,
He dream'd, (his dream began at break of day)

That Hermes o'er his head in air appear'd,
And with foft words his drooping spirits chear'd:
His hat, adorn'd with wings, difclos'd the God,
And in his hand he bore the fleep-compelling rod:
Such as he seem'd, when, at his fire's command,
On Argus' head he laid the fnaky wand,
Arife, he faid, to conqu'ring Athens go,
There fate appoints an end to all thy woe.
The fright awaken'd Arcite with a start,
Against his bofom bounc'd his heaving heart;
But foon he said, with fcarce-recover'd breath,
And thither will I go, to meet my death,
Sure to be flain; but death is my defire,
Since in Emilia's fight I fhall expire.
By chance he spy'd a mirror while he spoke,
And gazing there beheld his alter'd look ;
Wond'ring, he faw his features and his hue

So much were chang'd, that scarce himself he knew.
A fudden thought then starting in his mind,

Since I in Arcite cannot Arcite find,

The world may search in vain with all their eyes,

But never penetrate thro' this disguise.

Thanks to the change which grief and sickness give,
In low estate I may fecurely live,

And fee unknown my miftrefs day by day.

He faid; and cloth'd himself in coarse array :
A lab'ring hind in fhew; then forth he went,
And to th' Athenian tow'rs his journey bent:
One squire attended in the fame disguise,
Made confcious of his master's enterprize.
Arriv'd at Athens foon he came to court,
Unknown, unqueftion'd in that thick refort:
Proff'ring for hire his service at the gate,
To drudge, draw water, and to run or wait,
So fair befel him, that for little gain
He ferv'd at first Emilia's chamberlain ;

And, watchful all advantages to spy,
Was ftill at hand, and in his master's eye;
And as his bones were big, and finews ftrong,
Refus'd no toil that could to flaves belong;
But from deep wells with engines water drew,
And us'd his noble hands the wood to hew.
He pafs'd a year at leaft attending thus
On Emily, and call'd Philoftratus.
But never was there man of his degree
So much esteem'd, fo well belov'd as he.
So gentle of condition was he known,
That through the court his courtesy was blown:
All think him worthy of a greater place,
And recommend him to the royal grace;
That exercis'd within a higher sphere,
His virtues more confpicuous might appear.
Thus by the gen❜ral voice was Arcite prais'd, -
And by great Thefeus to high favor rais'd;
Among his menial fervants firft enroll'd,
And largely entertain'd with fums of gold:
Befides what fecretly from Thebes was fent,
Of his own income, and his annual rent:
This well employ'd, he purchas'd friends and fame,
But cautiously conceal'd from whence it came.
Thus for three years he liv'd with large increase,
In arms of honor, and esteem in peace;

To Thefeus' perfon he was ever near;
And Thefeus for his virtues held him dear.

PALA

O R, THE

KNIGHT's

TALE.

WE

BOOK II.

HILE Arcite lives in blifs, the story turns
Where hopeless Palamon in prison mourns.
For fix long years immur'd, the captive knight
Had dragg'd his chains, and fcarcely feen the light:
Loft liberty, and love at once he bore:
His prifon pain'd him much, his paffion more:
Nor dares he hope his fetters to remove,
Nor ever wishes to be free from love.

But when the fixth revolving year was run,
And May within the Twins receiv'd the fun,
Were it by chance, or forceful destiny,
Which forms in causes first whate'er shall be,
Affifted by a friend, one moonless night,
This Palamon from prifon took his flight:
A pleafant beverage he prepar'd before
Of wine and honey mix'd with added store
Of opium; to his keeper this he brought,
Who fwallow'd unaware the fleepy draught,
And fnor'd fecure till morn, his fenfes bound
In flumber, and in long oblivion drown'd.
Short was the night, and careful Palamon
Sought the next covert e'er the rifing fun.
A thick fpread foreft near the city lay,
To this with lengthen'd ftrides he took his way,
(For far he could not fly, and fear'd the day.)

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