'And one whose faith has ever sacred

been-'

And so has mine (she said) - I am a
Queen:

Her answer she shall have, I undertake;
And thus an end of all dispute I make.
Try when you list; and you shall find, my
lord,

It is not in our sex to break our word.' 709

We leave them here in this heroic strain, And to the Knight our story turns again; Who in the garden, with his lovely May, Sung merrier than the cuckoo or the jay: This was his song, 'O kind and constant be,

Constant and kind I'll ever prove to thee.'

Thus singing as he went, at last he drew By easy steps to where the pear-tree grew: The longing dame look'd up, and spied her love

Full fairly perch'd among the boughs

above.

What pangs, what sudden shoots distend my side?

O for that tempting fruit, so fresh, so

green!

Help, for the love of Heav'n's immortal Queen!

Help, dearest lord, and save at once the life Of thy poor infant, and thy longing wife!' Sore sigh'd the Knight to hear his lady's cry,

But could not climb, and had no servant nigh:

Old as he was, and void of eyesight too, What could, alas! a helpless husband do? 'And must I languish then (she said), and die,

730

Yet view the lovely fruit before my eye? At least, kind Sir, for charity's sweet sake, Vouchsafe the trunk between your arms to take,

Then from your back I might ascend the

tree;

Do you but stoop, and leave the rest to

me.'

With all my soul,' he thus replied again,

'I'd spend my dearest blood to ease thy pain.'

With that his back against the trunk he bent;

She seiz'd a twig, and up the tree she went.

Nor let on me your heavy anger fall: "Tis truth I tell, tho' not in phrase refin'd;

Tho' blunt my tale, yet honest is my mind.

What feats the lady in the tree might do, I pass, as gambols never known to you; But sure it was a merrier fit, she swore, Than in her life she ever felt before.

In that nice moment, lo! the wond'ring Knight

Look'd out, and stood restor❜d to sudden sight.

749

Straight on the tree his eager eyes he bent, As one whose thoughts were on his spouse intent:

But when he saw his bosom-wife so dress'd, His rage was such as cannot be express'd. Not frantic mothers when their infants die With louder clamours rend the vaulted sky: He cried, he roar'd, he storm'd, he tore his hair;

'Death! Hell! and Furies! what dost thou do there ?'

'What ails my lord?' the trembling dame replied,

'I thought your patience had been better

tried:

759

Is this your love, ungrateful and unkind, This my reward for having cured the blind? Why was I taught to make my husband

For by th' immortal Powers it seem'd too plain — ›

780

By all those Powers, some frenzy seiz'd your mind (Replied the dame): are these the thanks I find?

Wretch that I am, that e'er I was so
kind!'

She said; a rising sigh express'd her woe,
The ready tears apace began to flow,
And as they fell she wiped from either eye
The drops (for women, when they list, can
cry).

The Knight was touch'd; and in his looks appear'd

Signs of remorse, while thus his spouse he cheer'd;

'Madam, 't is past, and my short anger

o'er!

With well dissembled virtue in her face. He hugg'd her close, and kiss'd her o'er and o'er,

Disturb'd with doubts and jealousies no