Sly Cupid will steal in at fome little chink,

walk in the evening too late on the Link.

Ye poets fo lofty, who love to retire

From the noise of the town to the stream and the wood;
Who in epics and tragics, with marvellous fire,
Utter founds by mere mortals not well understood:
Here mouthe your loud strain, and here ply pen and ink,
Quit Parnaffus and Pindus, and come to the Link.

And come you, who for thought are at little expence, Who indite gentle paftoral, ballad, or fong;

You fee with smooth numbers, and not too much sense, How the verses run eafy and glibly along;

And the rhime at the clofe how it falls with a clink,

So kind are the Muses that sport on the Link!

THE

SQUIRE of DAME S.
A POE M.

In SPENSER's STILE.

ADVERTISEMENT.

In the feventh Canto of the Legend of Chastity, in Spenfer's Fairy Queen, the Squire of Dames tells Satyrane, that by order of his mistress Columbel (after having ferved the ladies for a year) he was fent out a fecond time, not to return till he could find three hundred women incapable of yielding to any temptation. The bad fuccefs he met with in the course of three years, which is flightly touch'd upon by Spenfer, is the foundation of the following poem.

PROLOGUE.

I.

HARD is the heart that never knew to love,

Ne felt the pleafing anguifh of defire.

Ye British maids, more fair than Venus' dove,
For you alone I tune my humble lyre;

Adopt me, nymphs, receive me in your quire,
Make me your bard; for that is all my care:
Then fhall I envy not that aged fire,

Who doth for court his annual fong prepare:
I lever myrtle wreath than Kefar's laurel wear.

II. Think

II.

Think not because I write of Columbel

I thence would blaft the fex with impious tale;
Transactions vile of foreign ftronds I tell,

Ne 'gainst a British female would I rail
For all the wealth that rolls on Indian grail.

Here, beauty, truth, and chastity are found :
Eleonora here, with vifage pale,

Did fuck the poifon from her Edward's wound,

And Anna's nuptial faith shall stond for aye renown'd. III.

See the fair fwans on Thamis' lovely tide, The which do trim their pennons filver bright, In fhining ranks they down the waters ride; Oft have mine eyes devour'd the gallant fight. Then caft thy looks with wonder and delight, Where yon fweet nymphs enjoy the evʼning air, Some daunce along the green, like fairies light, Some flow'rets cull to deck their flowing hair; Then tell me, foothly, fwain, which fight thou deem'ft [moft fair.

IV.

To you, bright ftars, that sparkle on our inle,

I give my life, my fortune, and my fame;
For my whole guerdon grant me but a smile,
A fmile from you is all I nope or claim;

Nor age's ice my ardent zeal shall tame,
To my life's end I fhall your names adore,
Not hermits bofoms feel fo pure a flame,
Warm'd by approval I more high shall foar:

Receive my humble lays, my heart was yours before.
V.

Should you confent, I'll quit my fhepherd's grey, And don more graceful and more costly gear, My crook and fcrip I'll throw with fcorn away, And in a famite garment ftreit appear.

Farewell, ye groves, which once I held fo dear; Farewell, ye glens, I other joys pursue; Then fhall the world your matchless pow'r revere, And own what wonders your sweet smiles can do, That could a fimple clown into a bard tranfmew.

CANTO I.

ARGUMENT.

The Squire of Dames to Satyrane

His biftory doth tell,

With all the toils be underwent

To gain his Columbel.

T

I.

HE Squire of Dames his tale thus 'gan to tell;

Sith you command my tongue, fir Satyrane, I now will all declare that me befell,

The cause of muchel fcath and dol'rous pain,
Ne fhall thy gentle eye from tears refrain.
Me Columbel commanded far to go

'Till I fhould full three hundred nymphs attain, Whose hearts should aye with Virtue's leffons glow, And to all fwains but one cry out for ever, No.

II.

To find the fortilage that ne'er will yield
Is not an easy matter, good fir Knight;
Troy town, they fay, is now a grafs-mown field,
That long withstood the force of Grecian might;
And castles fall though deep in earth empight;
Ne ought so strong is found but what may fail,
The fun at last shall lofe his glorious light,

And vows or bribes o'er women may prevail;

Their hearts are made of flesh, and mortal flesh is frail.
III.

With heavy heart, and full of cark I go
And take my congé of my blooming maid,
I kifs'd her hond, and louting very low,
To her beheft at length myself array'd: