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C Α Ν Τ Ο Ι.

A R G U M E N T.

The Squire of Dames to Satyrane

His biflory doth tell,
With all the toils be underwent

To gain bis Columbel.

;

1.
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 scath and dol'rous pain,
Ne shall thy gentle eye from tears refrain.
Me Columbel commanded far to go
'Till I should full three hundred nymphs attain,

Whose hearts should aye with Virtue's lessons glow,
And to all swains 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 say, is now a grass-grown field,
That long withstood the force of Grecian might;

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And castles fall tho' deep in earth empight;
Ne ought so strong is found but what may fail,
The fun at laft shall lose his glorious light,

And vows or bribes o'er women may prevail ;
Their hearts are made of flesh, and mortal Alesh is frail.

III.
With heavy heart, and full of cark I go
And take away my congé of my blooming maid,
I kiss'd her hond, and, louting very low,
To her behest at length myself array'd :
The fair we love expects to be obey'd,
Altho’ she bid us with the kestrel fly;
So forth I prick, tho' much by doubt dismay'd,

The hard experiment resolv'd to try :
For she was wond'rous fair, and much in love was I.

IV.
A grove I reach'd, where tuneful throftles sung,
The linnet here did ope his little throat,
His twitting jests around the cuckoo Aung,
And the proud goldfinch show'd his painted coat,
And hail'd us with no inharmonious note :
The robin eke here tun'd his sonnet fhrill,
And told the soothing ditty all by rote,

How he with leaves his pious beak did fill,
To shroud those pretty babes, whom Sib unkind would kill.

V. And many a fair Narcissus deck'd the plain, That seem'd anew their passions to admire ; Here Ajax told his dolors o'er again, And am'rous Clytie ficken'd with desire; Here the blown rose her odors sweet did spire; Thro' the dun grove a murm’ring siver led His chrystal ftreams that wound in many a gyre ;

The baleful willow all the banks bespread, And ever to the breeze ycurl'd his hoary head.

VI. Soon to the grove there came a lovely maid, For maiden sure she did to me appear, In plain check-laton was the nymph array'd, Her sparkling eyes ftood full of many a tear, And she bewept the absence of her dear. Alas! should beauty be to woe allay'd ? Beauty, methinks, should meet with better cheer,

Content should never wander from her fide; Good luck, I pray to heav'n, the face that's fair betide.

VII. “ Ah! woe is me, she cry'd, since Colin's filed, “ Whose gentle presence did these plains adorn, “ Soon was he ravish'd from the nuptial bed, “ Torn from these arms, from his dear leman torn!

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“ O grief! far sharper than the pointed thorn. “ I saw him ill-bestad by martial band. “ Alas the day that ever I was born ! “ Where roves my Colin, on what foreign strand, Arraught from Laura's eyes, and his dear native land?

VIII. “ Alas! he only knew to prune the vine, • Or thro' the earth to urge the biting share, “ To twift the bower with fragrant eglantine, " Where free from heat we shun'd the noon-tide air, « Or to the mart to lead his fleecy care. “ And is it fic in hacqueton and mail “ The youth for war's grim terrors should prepare !

“ His voice outsung the love-lorn nightingale, “ And deftly could he daunce, or pipe along the dale.

IX. “ The gos-hawk fierce may pounce the trembling dove, " The lavage wolf may tear the bounding fawn, “ But sparrows mild are form'd for feats of love, “ And kids dew not with blood the flow'ry lawn; “ Then how shall he, in whom all graces dawn, • In the red field the cruel paynim kill? “ For scenes like these find men of hellith spawn.

“ 'Tis his with joy the virgin's heart to fill, " And not on foreign fore his foemen's blood to spill.

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X. “ No days of bliss my forrows shall allake, “ For him I'll ever drop the dol'rous tear. “ Adieu the circled green, the buxom wake, “ Since Colin's gone I taste of nought but drear. Stretch me, ye maidens, stretch me on the bier, And let my grave-stone these true words adorn: “ A wretched maiden lics intombed here,

• Who faw a shepherd brighter than the morn, “ Then pind her heart away, and dy'd of love forlorn."

XI.
Much was I grieved at her piteous plaint,
And greeted to myself, O happy Squire !
At length, tho' late, thou haft found out a faint,
Who, but for Colin, feels no warm defire.
Perdie, quoth Satyrane, I her admire;
No lozel lose shall here discover'd be.
The other answer'd with his cheeks on fire,

hallidom

you

foon shall see
That words may with the heart full often ill agree.

XII.
I, nought accoy'd, came up unto the fair,
And. swore to love her all my length of life ;
Then offer'd her to gorgeous domes to bear,
Where haidegives are daunc'd to harp and fife.

Now, by my

She

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