CANTO I.

ARGUMENT.

The Squire of Dames to Satyrane
His biflory doth tell,

With all the toils he underwent

To gain his Columbel.

I.

THE 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 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 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 fay, is now a grafs-grown field,

That long withstood the force of Grecian might;

And

And castles fall tho' deep in earth empight;
Ne ought fo ftrong is found but what may fail,
The fun at last shall lose 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 away my congé of my blooming maid,

I kifs'd her hond, and, louting very low,

To her beheft at length myself array'd:
The fair we love expects to be obey'd,
Altho' fhe bid us with the keftrel fly;

So forth I prick, tho' much by doubt difmay'd,
The hard experiment refolv'd to try:

For fhe was wond'rous fair, and much in love was I.

IV.

A grove I reach'd, where tuneful throftles fung,
The linnet here did ope his little throat,

His twitting jefts around the cuckoo flung,

And the proud goldfinch fhow'd his painted coat,
And hail'd us with no inharmonious note:
The robin eke here tun'd his fonnet fhrill,
And told the foothing ditty all by rote,
How he with leaves his pious beak did fill,

To shroud those pretty babes, whom Sib unkind would kilj.

V.

And many a fair Narciffus deck'd the plain, That feem'd anew their paffions to admire ; Here Ajax told his dolors o'er again, And am'rous Clytie ficken'd with defire; Here the blown rose her odors sweet did spire; Thro' the dun grove a murm'ring river led His chrystal streams that wound in many a gyre; The baleful willow all the banks befpread, And ever to the breeze ycurl'd his hoary head.

ᏙᏗ .

Soon to the grove there came a lovely maid,
For maiden fure fhe did to me appear,

In plain check-laton was the nymph array'd,
Her sparkling eyes flood full of many a tear,
And the bewept the abfence of her dear.
Alas! fhould beauty be to woe allay'd?

Beauty, methinks, fhould 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, fhe cry'd, fince Colin's fled, "Whofe gentle prefence did thefe plains adorn,

"Soon was he ravifh'd from the nuptial bed, "Torn from these arms, from his dear leman torn!

"O grief! far fharper than the pointed thorn.
"I faw him ill-beftad 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 fhun'd the noon-tide air, "Or to the mart to lead his fleecy care. "And is it fit in hacqueton and mail

"The youth for war's grim terrors should prepare! "His voice outfung 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 favage wolf may tear the bounding fawn, "But fparrows mild are form'd for feats of love, "And kids dew not with blood the flow'ry lawn; "Then how fhall he, in whom all graces dawn, "In the red field the cruel paynim kill?

"For scenes like these find men of hellish spawn. ""Tis his with joy the virgin's heart to fill,

"And not on foreign fhore his foemen's blood to fpill.

X.

"No days of blifs my forrows fhall aslake,
"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-ftone these true words adorn:
"A wretched maiden lies intombed here,
"Who faw a fhepherd brighter than the morn,

"Then pin'd 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 lofe fhall here discover'd be.
The other answer'd with his cheeks on fire,
Now, by my hallidom you foon fhall fee
That words may with the heart full often ill agrée.

XII.

I, nought accoy'd, came up unto the fair,
And. fwore to love her all my length of life

e;

Then offer'd her to gorgeous domes to bear,
Where haidegives are daunc'd to harp and fife.

She