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The Squire pursu'd his tale ; 'tis now three years
Since curft Avara's visage first I saw.;.
Convents I've try'd, but there the luscious freers
The fair-fac'd nuns to fornication draw ;
Nor palaces are free from Cupid's law;
His darts are fiercer than the levin-brond ;
Few, very few, there 'scape his mighty paw,

And those in golden palls, who proudly stond,
Had lever kiss their love's, than Keyfar's royal hond.

Fair Jenny of the mill I ftrove to win,
And her benempt Paftora of the dale ;
But they bilive agreed with me to fin;
One ask'd an owch, and one a watchet veil.
Some wish o'er ev'ry female to prevail ;;
My hope, my conquest is to be deny'd.
The stage I've try'd, but there my projects fail ;

For there is scarce a single wedded bride
But doth her husband's noul with horns of ront provide.

As couthful fishers at the benty brook,
By various arts assot the feely fry,
Now wriggling worms, now paste conceals the hook,
And now they hide it with a colour'd fly;

This takes the perch, and that the tench's eye ;
So diff'rent nymphs a diff'rent charm invites,
Some yield for vantage, some for vanity,

A song this one, a daunce that maid delights :
Man throws the wimble bait, and greedy woman bites:

With sorrow overhent, the other day
I laid my weary limbs adown to rest,
Where a tall beech o'erspread the dusky way;
My noyous thoughts a dream awhile suppress’d,
Oft weighty truths are in this garb ydress’d.
Grant that it so may happen unto me;
Then joyance once again shall footh this breaft,
My pining foul shall be from anguish free,
And I shall taste trúe bliss, dear Columbel, with thee.

Methought I saw a figure fair and tall,
And gentle smiles sat dimpling on her face,
Yet seemed of a beauty nought at all,
'Till much beholding did improve each grace;
At length she seem’d too fair for human race.
Her kirtle white might vie with winter snows,
Ne could you ought of her fair bosom trace,

Nought but her face would she to fight expose,
So modeft maiden wends, the frannion muchel shows.

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Xxx. With visage bland, methought, she hail'd me oft ; “ Ne fear, quoth the, a female's mild request. The bark by tempests that is whirl'd aloft, “ At length, the tempeft o'er, enjoyeth reft. “ My name is Chastity, tho' out of quest “ With modern dames, yet thou shalt still survey “ A clime where beauty is with virtue bleft.

" Good fortune speed you on your happy way ; “ Go, gentle Squire of dames, and here no longer stay.

XXXI. “ To Fairy lond your instant journey bend, “ There Columbel may find her will obey'd ; There Chastity may boast of many a friend, “ She visits there each rosy-featur'd maid. Go on, nor be by former toils affray'd : Go where yon oaks display their verdant pride, “ 'Till, from the mountains torn and stripp'd of shade,

“ On Neptune's billows they triumphant ride, « Protect their happy lond, and conquer all befide.

XXXII. “ Hail happy lond! for arms and arts renown'd, “ For blooming virgins free from loose defire; “ A Drake, a Bacon, there a birth-place found, " And chafte Eliza time shall e'er admire :


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« The hero wields the sword and poet's lyre:
“ This Sidney knew, who still with lustre shines,
- " For whom Dan Spenser wak’d the warbling quire,

“ And many more whose names might grace his lines ;
" There round the warriour's palm the lover's myrtle

At this I woke, and now resolve to brave
The utmost perils for my Columbel ;
For, know, I mean to cross the briny wave,
Where Albion's chalky cliffs the sea repel:
And, if no mage have laid a magick spell,
Perchaunce my


may be at length to find
Three hundred nymphs, who wicked love can quell;

If not, I must desert all womankind,
And, what me most amates, leave Columbel behind,

The Squire of dames surceased here his say,
And forth he yode to seek the British isle,
Sir Satyrane prick’d on his dapple-grey,
Ne ought foreswonk he travell’d many a mile
To spend his days in hardiment and toil :
But first in courteous guise they bid farewell,
As well befits men bred in courtly soil.

Now how the Squire has sped, or ill, or well,
A future canto may, perhaps, at leisure tell.

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For fee, how Phæbus welketh in the west,
My oxen from their yoke I must untye,
The collar much has chauf'd their tender cheft,
Who labours much the sweets of reft should try.
To their warm nests the daws and ravens fly
Deep in the ruin'd dome or dusky wood;
And beasts and birds faft lock'd in slumber lye,

Save the fell bat, that flutters out for food,
And the foothsaying owl, with her unlovely brood.



The Squire he lights on Bon-vivant,

Who wons in Fairy foil,
Then views in Merlin's magick glass

A fight that ends his toil.

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O gain the point to which our soul aspires

We nourish toil, and reek hard labour sweet ; For this, thro' Greenland's frosts, or India's fires, The hardy failors death and dangers meet;


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