AYE AND NO.

A FABLE*.

IN Fable all things hold difcourfe,

10

Then Words, no doubt, must talk of course, Once on a time near Cannon-row, Two hoftile adverbs, Aye and No, Werehaftening to the field of fight, And front to front ftood oppofite; Before each general join'd the van, Aye, the more courteous knight, began. "Stop, peevish Particle! beware! I'm told you are not fuch a bear, But fometimes yield when ofer'd fair. Suffer yon' folks awhile to tattle; 'Tis we who must decide the battle. Whene'er we war on yonder stage, With various fate and equal rage, The nation trembles at each blow That No gives Aye, and Aye gives No; Yet, in expenfive long contention, We gain nor office, grant, or penfion. Why then should kinsfolks quarrel thus? (For two of you make one of us.) To fome wife ftatefman let us go, Where each his proper ufe may know : He may admit two fuch commanders, And make those wait who ferv'd in Flanders, Let's quarter on a great man's tongue, A treafury lord, not Maifter Young. Obfequious at his high command, Aye fhall march forth to tax the land; Impeachments No can beft refift,

5

25

30

And Aye fupport the Civil lift:

Aye, quick as Cæfar, wins the day,

And No, like Fabius, by delay.

Now that this fame it is right footh,
Full plainly doth appear,

From what befel John Duke of Guiset,
And Nic of Lancastere ..

When Richard Coeur-de-Lion reign'd,
(Which means a lion's heart)
Like him his barons rag'd and roar'd;
Each play'd a lion's part.

A word and blow was then enough:
Such honour did them prick,

If you but turn'd your cheek a cuff;
And, if your a-fe, a kick.

Look in their face, they tweak'd your nose,
At every turn fell to 't;

Come near, they trod upon your toes;
They fought from head to foot.

Of these the duke of Lancastere
Stood paramount in pride;

He kick'd and cuff'd, and tweak'd and trod
His foes, and friends befide.

Firm on his front his beaver fate;

So broad, it hid his chin;

For why? he deem'd no man his mate, And fear'd to tan his skin.

With Spanish wool he dy'd his cheek, With effence oil'd his hair;

No vixen civet-cat fo fweet,

Nor could fo fcratch and tear.

Right tall he made himself to fhow,
Though made full short by God:
And, when all other dukes did bow,
This duke did only nod.

Yet courteous, blithe, and debonnair,
To Guife's duke was he :
Was ever fuch a loving pair?

How could they disagree?

Oh, thus it was: he lov'd him dear,
And caft how to requite him;
And having no friend left but this,
He deem'd it meet to fight him.

Forthwith he drench'd his defperate quill,
And thus he did indite :
"This eve at whift ourself will play,

"Sir Duke! be here to-night."

"Ah no! ah no!" the guilelefs Guife Demurely did reply;

"I cannot go, nor yet can ftand, "So fore the gout have I."

marked as not the Dean's; and has never been confidered as Mr. Pope's. N.

Sir John Guife. N. Nicholas Lord Lechmere, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. N

HY doft thou fly me? Stay, unhappy fair,

If faultering fhame thy bafhful tongue reftrain, If thou haft look'd, and blush'd, and figh'd in vain;

Say, in what grove thy lovely fhepherd ftrays, Tell me what mountains warble with his lays; Thither I'll speed me, and with moving art Draw foft confeffions from his melting heart.

DIONE.

Thy generous care has touch'd my fecret woe,
Love bids these scalding tears inceffant flow.
Ill-fated love! O fay, ye fylvan maids,
Who range wide forests and fequefter'd fhades,
Say where Evander bled, point out the ground
That yet is purple with the favage wound.
Yonder he lies; I hear the bird of prey;
High o'er those cliffs the raven wings his way;
Hark how he croaks! he fcents the murder near.
O may no greedy beak his vifage tear!

Shield him, ye Cupids; ftrip the Paphian grove,
And ftrow unfading myrtle o'er my love!
Down, heaving heart.

LAURA.

-The mournful tale difclofe.

DIONE.

Let not my tears intrude on thy repose.
Yet if thy friendship still the cause request;
I'll fpeak, though forrow rend my labouring breast.
Know then, fair fhepherdess, no honeft fwain
Taught me the duties of the peaceful plain;
Unus'd to fweet content, no flocks I keep,
Nor browzing goats that overhang the steep.
Born where Orchomenos' proud turrets thine,
I trace my birth from long illuftrious line,
Why was I train'd amidst Arcadia's court?
Love ever revels in that gay refort.
Whene'er Evander paft, my fmitten heart
Heav'd frequent fighs, and felt unusual smart.

To trace thy fteps, the midnight air I bore,

Trod the brown defert, and unfhelter'd moor: Three times the lark has fung his matin lay, And rofe on dewy wing to meet the day,

mov'd!

Yet why that wish? for Laura then had lov'd.

LAURA.

Afk the fighing fwains.

Obferv'd the fatal spot?

Yet fure fome turtle's love has equal'd mine, Who, when the hawk has fnatch'd her mate away, Hath never known the glad return of day.

When my fond father faw my faded eye, And on my livid check the roses die ; When catching fighs my wafted bofom mov'd, My looks, my fighs, confirm'd him that I lov'd, He knew not that Evander was my flame, Evander dead! my paffion ftill the fame! He came, he threaten'd; with paternal fway, Cleanthes nam'd, and fix'd the nuptial day : O cruel kindness! too feverely preft!

I fcorn his honours, and his wealth deteft.

LAURA,

How vain is force! Love ne'er can be compell'd'

DIONE.

Though bound my duty, yet my heart rebell'd.
One night, when fleep had hufh'd all bufy fpies,
And the pale moon bad journey'd half the skies,
Softly I rofe and drefs'd; with filent tread,
Unbarr'd the gates, and to the fe mountains fled.
Here let me footh the melancholy hours!
Clofe me, ye woods, within your twilight bowers!!

Whoever fees her, loves; who loves her, dies,

DIONE.

Perhaps untimely fate her flame hath crofs'd, And the, like me, hath her Evander loft. How my foul pities her!

LAURA.

If pity move Your generous bofom, pity thofe who love. There late arriv'd among our fylvan race A franger thepherd, who with lonely pace Vifts thofe mountain-pines at dawn of day, Where oft' Parthenia takes her early way To rouze the chace; mad with his amorous pain, He ftops and raves; then fullen walks again. Parthenia's name is borne by paffing gales, And talking hills repeat it to the dales. Come, let us from this vale of forrow go, Nor let the mournful fcene prolong thy woe. [Exeunt.

Thus fpake Menalcas on the verge of death. "Belov'd Palemon, hear a dying friend; "See where yon hills with craggy brows afcend, "Low in the valley where the mountain grows, "There frit I faw her, there began my woes. "When I am cold, may there this clay be laid! "There often ftrays the dear, the cruel maid; "Thereas the walks, perhaps you'll hear her fay, "(While a kind gushing tear fhall force its way) "How could my ftubborn heart relentless prove? "Ah, poor Menalcas-all thy fault was love!"

*This and the following scene are formed upon the novel of Marcella in Don Quixote,

2 SHEPHERD.

When pitying lions o'er a carcafe groan,
And hungry tigers bleeding kids bemoan;
When the lean wolf laments the mangled fheep;
Then fhall Parthenia o'er Menalcas weep.

I SHEPHERD.

When famish'd panthers feek their morning food,
And monfters roar along the defert wood;
When hiffing vipers ruftle through the brake,
Or in the path-way rears the fpeckled fnake:
The wary fwain th' approaching peril fpies,
And through fome diftant road fecurely flies.
Fly then, ye fwains, from beauty's furer wound.
Such was the fate our poor Menalcas found!

2 SHEPHERD.

What shepherd does not mourn Menalcas flain! Kill'd by a barbarous woman's proud difdain! Whoe'er attempts to bend her fcornful mind, Cries to the deferts, and pursues the wind.

I SHEPHERD.

With every grace Menalcas was endow'd,
His merits dazzled all the fylvan croud.
If you would know his pipe's melodious found,
Afk all the echoes of thefe hills around,

For they have learnt his ftrains; who fhall rehearfe

The ftrength, the cadence of his tuneful verfe? Go, read thofe lofty poplars; there you'll find Some tender fonnet grow on every rind.

2 SHEPHERD.

Yet what avails his fkill? Parthenia flies. Can merit hope fuccefs in woman's eyes?

I SHEPHERD.

Why was Parthenia form'd of softeft mould?
Why does her heart fuch favage nature hold?
O ye kind gods! or all her charms efface,
Or tame her heart-fo fpare the shepherd race.

2 SHEPHERD.

As fade the flowers which on the grave I caft; So may Parthenia's tranfient beauty waste !

I SHEPHERD.

What woman ever counts the fleeting years,
Or fees the wrinkle which her forehead wears?
Thinking her features never shall decay,
This fwain fhe fcorns, from that the turns away.
But know, as when the rofe her bud unfolds,
A while each breast the short-liv'd fragrance holds;
When the dry ftalk lets drop her fhrivel'd pride,
The lovely ruin's ever thrown aside.
So fhall Parthenia be.

2 SHEPHERD.

-See, the appears,

To boast her spoils, and triumph in our tears.

figh;

Mine, like an oak, whofe firm roots deep defcend.
Nor breath of love can fhake, nor figh can bend.
If ye unhappy Lycidas would fave;

Go feek him, lead him to Menalcas' grave;
Forbid his eyes with flowing grief to rain,
Like him Menalcas wept, but wept in vain :
Bid him his heart-confuming groans give o'er:
Tell him, I heard fuch piercing groans before,
And heard unmov'd. O Lycidas, be wife,
Prevent thy fate.-Lo! there Menalcas lies.

1 SHEPHERD.

Now all the melancholy rites are paid,
And o'er his grave the weeping marble laid;