Let smiling love from wife or maiden try
With gifts to bend, what virtue would deny?
To please the sex what lover will refuse,
Or stop his ear when charming woman sues?
And oft, I fear, from some injurious cause,
The fair are led t' infringe the nuptial laws:
Perchance, their beauty view'd with sated eye,
They see their lords to foreign beauties fly:
Love claims return---what we to others give,
We claim in equal measure to receive.
Could I a statute frame, each guilty wife,
In sinful commerce found, should yield her life,
Unless she clearly to the world could prove,
Her consort had indulg’d unlawful love;
But this once prov'd, the dame absolv'd should be,
From courts, and from her lord's resentment free: 590
For CHRIST has taught--" To others never do,
That which yourselves would wish undone to you."
Yet still incontinence, if this we call
Weak woman's crime is not the crime of all.
But even in this our sex's guilt is most,
Since not a man of chastity can boast:
All crimes are his, and crimes of deepest dye,
Usurious griping, pillage, blasphemy,
And crimson murder ;---crimes, though rarely known
To woman's sex, familiar to our own.
Ver. 591. For Christ has taught---] The custom of introducing religious aphorisms, or allusions to texts of scripture, in compositions even of the familiar kind, was common with the writers of the early ages. Our Chancer abounds with such instances, and many may be found in Shakespeare; which passages were not then deemed exceptionable, nor, it is probable, gave offence to the nicest ear.
Here the just sage his weighty reasons clos'd; And many a fair example had propos'd,
Of virtuous dames; but with averted ear
The Pagan king, who loath'd the truth to hear,
Aw'd him with threatening glance and brow severe.
Yet while in dread the sage from speech refrain'd, 606
The truth unshaken in his soul remain'd.
The Sarzan prince here bade the contest cease,
Then left the board, and hop'd to rest in peace
Till dawn of day: but all the sleepless night,
He mourn'd his changeful mistress' cruel flight;
And thence departing with the morning ray,
Resolv'd by ship to take his future way;
Yet, like a champion, who with prudent heed
O'crwatches all, attentive for his steed,
That steed so good, so fair, which late he bore,
From Sacripant and from Rogero's power:
And conscious, that for two whole days he press'd
Too far the mettle of the generous beast;
He fix'd down Sonna's stream a bark to take,
For speed, for ease, and for Frontino's sake.
He bade the ready boatman from the shore
The cable loose, and stretch the dashing oar:
Before the wind the vessel lightly glides,
And the swift stream with swifter prow divides:
But Rodomont in vain, on land or wave,
From cruel care his anxious breast would save:
He mounts his steed, it follows close behind,
He sails the bark, it breathes in every wind!
Now in his soul the fatal inmate dwells,
And every hope or comfort thence expels;
While he, alas! with cruel anguish pain❜d,
Conscious his inmost fort the foe has gain'd,
Expects no friendly hand can aid impart,
While self-consuming thoughts distract his heart.
All day and night, the liquid road he press'd,
His king and mistress rankling in his breast:
In vain from shore or bark he hopes relief,
Nor shore nor bark can sooth his rage of grief.
Thus the sick patient seeks t' assuage his pain,
While the fierce fever throbs in every vein;
From side to side, he shifts his place by turns,
But unremitting still the fever burns.
Tir'd with the stream, again he sought the strand,
And pass'd Vienna and Valenza's land.
And where Avignon's bridge stupendous stood.
The walls of Lyons next the Pagan view'd,
These towns, and more, of semblance rich and gay,
That 'twixt th' Iberian hills and river lay,
Paid to the Monarch-Moor* and king of Spain
Allegiance due, as lords of that domain,
Won by their bands from Gallia's shrinking, reign.
Thence on the right to Acquamort he bends,
And strait for Afric's realm his course intends;
Till near a river he a town survey'd,
Which Ceres once and purple Bacchus sway'd;
Ver. 648. These towns, and more, &c.] By the river, he means the Rhodan; by the Iberian hills, he means the hill Jubaldo in Spain, by which he would infer that Agramant and Marsilius, after the last defeat of Charles, had made themselves masters of Catalonia, and from Narbona (Narbonne) to Paris.
Compell'd their favourite dwelling to forego
From cruel inroads of a barbarous foe:
Here smile the fields, there roars the surgy main,
On this fair spot a chapel neat he found,
Built on a hill, and neatly wall'd around :
This, when the flames of war their horror spread,
The priest deserted, and with terror fled :
Struck with the site, as from the camp remov'd,
The hated camp and arms no longer lov'd,
The king resolv'd on this sequester'd shore
To fix his seat, nor dream of Afric more:
Pleas'd with this new abode and place of rest,
Algiers so lov'd was banish'd from his breast.
With their stern lord the squires attending dwell'd,
The walls himself, his train, and courser held;
Not far his turrets proud Montpelier shows;
And, near, another stately castle rose;
Which seated on the river's gentle tide,
The town with stores for every need supply'd.
One day, while deep immers'd in pensive mood,
The king, as wont, a thousand thoughts pursu'd;
Along a path-way through th' enamell'd green,
Approaching nigh, a lovely dame was seen:
An aged monk, with beard descending low,
Beside her came, with solemn steps and slow;
A warrior-steed he led, that proudly bore
A weighty bier with sable cover'd o'er :
But who the monk, and who th' afflicted fair,
Or what the load, 'twere useless to declare:
All knew 'twas Isabella, hapless maid,
Who lov'd Zerbino's breathless corse convey'd:
Her in Provence I left, and at her side
This reverend sire, her comforter and guide;
By whom confirm'd, she meant her future days
To dedicate for God's eternal praise.
Though on her cheek was spread a death-like hue,
Though to the winds her locks dishevell'd flew;
Though sighs incessant speak her cureless woe,
And from her eyes unbidden fountains flow:
Though every mournful sigh too well express'd
The anguish harbour'd in her gentle breast;
Through all her grief such beauties were descry'd
The Loves and Graces there might still reside.
Soon as the Saracen the mourner view'd,
Th' unlook'd for sight his haughty soul subdu'd;
No more he blam'd, or loath'd that gentle race,
Whose charms inspire us, and whose virtues grace;
While Isabella worthy seem'd to prove
The peerless object of his second love;
And from his breast expunge Granada's dame,
As pity yields to pity, flame to flame,
The Pagan saw, and kindling at the view,
With eager step to meet the virgin drew;
And with demeanour fair and mild address,
Enquire the cause that wrought her deep distress.
She told the sorrows of her secret breast,
And, how deny'd on earth a place of rest,
Her soul had fix'd to bid the world farewel,
And with her God in holy mansions dwell.
Loud laugh'd the Pagan, who nor God would know,
Nor own his laws, to every faith a foe!
He blam'd her erring zeal, to keep confin'd
Such beauty, form'd but to delight mankind:
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