How pleasant the morning, how clear the blue fky, How pure the fresh air, and how healthy the place! Your heart goes a pit-a-pat light as a fly,

And the blood circles brifkly, and glows in your face: Would you paint your fair cheeks with the rofe and the Throw your washes away, take a walk on the Link, [pink?

After dinner the 'fquire ere the ladies retreat,

Marches off with fome friends that will ply the brifk glafs;
Gives us liquor enough, and a good pleasant seat,
And damns your fine tafte, and your finical lass:
Al fresco, my lads, we'll carouse and we'll drink,
Take your bottle each man, and away to the Link.

Not fo gentle Collin, whom love holds in thrall,
To Molly he steals all in filence away;
And when nought can be heard but the rude water-fall,
And the woodbine breathes sweetest at close of the day,
He takes her foft hand, and he tips her the wink,
Come, my dear, let us take a cool walk on the Link.

But, O ye fair maidens, be fure have a care,
Nor lay yourselves open to love's cruel dart;
Of the hour and the place and the season beware,

And guard well each paffage that leads to your heart;

Sly Cupid will steal in at fome little chink,

If you walk in the evening too late on the Link.

Ye poets fo lofty,
fo lofty, who love to retire

From the noise of the town to the stream and the wood ;
Who in epics and tragics, with marvellous fire,
Utter founds by mere mortals not well understood:
Here mouthe your loud ftrain, and here ply pen and ink,
Quit Parnaffus and Pindus, and come to the Link.

And come you, who for thought are at little expence, Who indite gentle paftoral, ballad, or fong;

You fee with smooth numbers, and not too much fenfe, How the verfes run eafy and glibly along;

And the rhime at the close how it falls with a clink, So kind are the Muses that sport on the Link!

THE

SQUIRE of DAME S.
A POE M.

In SPENSER's STILE.

ADVERTISEMENT.

In the feventh Canto of the Legend of Chastity, in Spenfer's Fairy Queen, the Squire of Dames tells Satyrane, that by order of his mistress Columbel (after having ferved the ladies for a year) he was sent out a fecond time, not to return till he could find three hundred women incapable of yielding to any temptation. The bad fuccefs he met with in the course of three years, which is flightly touch'd upon by Spenfer, is the foundation of the following poem.

H

PROLOGUE.

I.

ARD is the heart that never knew to love,

Ne felt the pleasing anguish of defire.

Ye British maids, more fair than Venus' dove,

For

you alone I tune my humble lyre;

Adopt me, nymphs, receive me in your quire,
Make me your bard; for that is all my care:
Then fhall I envy not that aged fire,

Who doth for court his annual fong prepare:
I lever myrtle wreath than Kefar's laurel wear.
II. Think

II.

Think not because I write of Columbel

I thence would blast the sex with impious tale;
Transactions vile of foreign ftronds I tell,

Ne 'gainst a British female would I rail

For all the wealth that rolls on Indian grail.

Here, beauty, truth, and chastity are found :
Eleonora here, with vifage pale,

Did fuck the poison from her Edward's wound,

And Anna's nuptial faith fhall ftond for aye renown'd. III.

See the fair swans on Thamis' lovely tide, The which do trim their pennons filver bright, In fhining ranks they down the waters ride; Oft have mine eyes devour'd the gallant fight. Then caft thy looks with wonder and delight, Where yon fweet nymphs enjoy the ev'ning air, Some daunce along the green, like fairies light, Some flow'rets cull to deck their flowing hair; Then tell me, foothly, fwain, which fight thou deem'st [most fair.

IV.

To you, bright stars, that sparkle on our isle,
I give my life, my fortune, and my fame;

For

my

whole guerdon grant me but a smile,

A fmile from you is all I hope or claim;

'Nor age's ice my ardent zeal shall tame,

Το

my

life's end I fhall your names adore,

Not hermits bofoms feel fo pure a flame,

Warm'd by approval I more high shall foar:

Receive my humble lays, my heart was yours before. V.

Should you confent, I'll quit my fhepherd's grey, And don more graceful and more coftly gear, My crook and fcrip I'll throw with scorn away, And in a famite garment ftreit appear.

Farewell, ye groves, which once I held fo dear; Farewell, ye glens, I other joys pursue; Then fhall the world your matchless pow'r revere, And own what wonders your sweet smiles can do, That could a fimple clown into a bard transmew.

CANTO I.

ARGUMENT.

The Squire of Dames to Satyrane

His biftory doth tell,

With all the toils he underwent

To gain his Columbel.

I. THE