"The hero wields the fword and poet's lyre : "This Sidney knew, who ftill with luftre fhines, "For whom Dan Spenfer wak'd the warbling quire, "And many more whofe 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 fea repel :
And, if no mage have laid a magick spell,
Perchaunce my lot may be at length to find
Three hundred nymphs, who wicked love can quell;
If not, I must defert all womankind,
And, what me most amates, leave Columbel behind.
The Squire of dames furceafed here his say,
And forth he yode to feek the British isle,
Sir Satyrane prick'd on his dapple-grey,
Ne ought forefwonk 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 foil.
Now how the Squire has fped, or ill, or well,
A future canto may, perhaps, at leisure tell.
For fee, how Phoebus welketh in the weft,
My oxen from their yoke I muft untye,
The collar much has chauf'd their tender chest,
Who labours much the sweets of reft should try.
To their warm nefts the daws and ravens fly
Deep in the ruin'd dome or dusky wood;
And beafts and birds fast lock'd in slumber lye,
Save the fell bat, that flutters out for food,
And the foothsaying owl, with her unlovely brood.
The Squire be lights on Bon-vivant,
Who wons in Fairy foil,
Then views in Merlin's magick glafs
A fight that ends his toil.
O gain the point to which our foui afpires
We nourish toil, and reek hard labour fweet;
For this, thro' Greenland's frofts, or India's fires,
The hardy failors death and dangers meet;
And the prow chieftain bolder than discreet,
In blood imbru'd pursues the martial fray,
And lovers eke thro' life's loud tempefts beat,
Led on by hope, that never-dying ray;
Hope wantons in their breaft, and ftrews with flow'rs the
And sure of all mankind the Squire of dames
Shall stand the first ensample of true love,
Who aye, untouch'd by any foreign flames,
Preferv'd his paffion for his gentle dove;
Blush, modern youths, whofe pulfes quickly move,
Fondly you glote upon the witching fair;
Yet, when a sweet enjoyment once you prove,
You leave the nymph intangled in the fnare,
Her tears flow trickling down, her fingults pierce the air
III.
Oh think of transports which ye whilom tafted,
And let the glad remembrance charm your mind,
Be not the fruits of joyment quickly wafted,
And to your heart her happy image bind :
Think what the merits who whilear was kind,
Nor by inconftancy her peace destroy;
Inconftancy, that monfter fell and blind,
That vainly fond of ev'ry paffing toy,
Treads down its late delight, and poifonsrapt'rous joy.
Return we now unto our gentle youth,
Whose little bark daunc'd lightly on the main,
His breast divided atween joy and ruth;
Now gay ideas wanton in his brain,
Now woe-begon his heart is rent in twain,
On his fuccefs depends his Columbel,
And now he hopes, and now defponds again;
The various turns of mind, when thoughts rebel,
pen mote ne'er describe, and none but lovers tell.
Methinks I fee him on the beachy ftrond,
Where Neptune's waves affrap the sturdy pier;
His hardy fteed neighs at the fight of lond,
In all adventures a moft faithful feer ;
And thro' that city he doth quickly steer,
Which Ethelbert to holy Austin gave:
The kings of Kent did erft inhabit here,
Here haughty Becket funk into the grave,
Here thro' the fmiling meads, Stoure rolls his dimpling
Long travell'd he, ne ventur'd to affay
The nymphs he met, for much he was affraid
To bribes or pray'rs few women would cry nay
At flatt'ry's tongue full oft will virtue fade
What shall he do? to win his lovely maid
He must three hundred virtuous females find,
Perdie, quoth he, my fortune be effay'd,
I'll boldly try the ftrength of womankind :
For craven heart, they fay, ne'er won fair lady's mind.
VII.
So on he prick'd, and from a rifing ground
Difcern'd before him, in a distant vale,
A castle fair; and auncient oaks around
Did to the breeze their lofty heads avail;
A filver ftream refresh'd the fragrant dale;
Their ledden loud fat oxen did repeat,
And nibbling sheep display'd their fleeces pale;
The woodbine shed an odor matchless sweet,
And to their patient dams the frisking lambkins bleat.
VIII.
To that fame caftle our advent'rer yode,
merry birds him welcom'd on the way,
An hundred flow'rs aumail'd the winding road,
And all was bright, and all was paffing gay,
You would have fworn it was the month of May.
Withouten drad he thunders at the gate,
Who wons within, or giant, knight or fay,
Shall ne'er, in footh, our imp of fame amate :
Unto the fummons loud the portal opens ftreit.
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