By heav'n, those authors are our sex's foes,

Whom, in our right, I must and will oppose.

"Nay," (quoth the King), "dear Madam, be not wroth: 700

I yield it up; but since I gave my oath,

That this much-injur'd Knight again should see;

It must be done I am a King, said he,

And one, whose faith has ever sacred been."

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

705

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,

710

It is not in our sex to break our word.

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; "Oh 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 spy'd her Love
Full fairly perch'd among the boughs above.
She stopp'd, and sighing: "Oh good Gods,
"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!"

" she cry'd,

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 eye-sight too,
What could, alas! a helpless husband do?
"And must I languish then, she said, "and die,
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 reply'd 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.
Now prove your patience, gentle Ladies all!
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.

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720

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730

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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:

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755

He cry'd, 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 reply'd;
"I thought your patience had been better try'd:

Is this your love, ungrateful and unkind,
This my reward for having cur'd the blind?
Why was I taught to make my husband see,
By struggling with a Man upon a Tree?

760

Did I for this the pow'r of magic prove?

Unhappy wife, whose crime was too much love!" "If this be struggling, by this holy light,

765

'Tis struggling with a vengeance, (quoth the Knight), "So heav'n preserve the sight it has restor❜d,

As with these eyes I plainly saw thee whor'd;
Whor'd by my slave-perfidious wretch! may hell
As surely seize thee, as I saw too well."

770

"Guard me, good angels!" cry'd the gentle May, "Pray heav'n, this magic work the proper way! Alas, my love! 'tis certain, could you see, You ne'er had us'd these killing words to me: So help me, fates, as 'tis no perfect sight, But some faint glimm'ring of a doubtful light. "What I have said" (quoth he), "I must maintain, For, by th' immortal pow'rs it seem'd too plain—” "By all those pow'rs, some frenzy seiz'd your mind,' (Reply'd the dame,) "are these the thanks Í 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 wip'd from either eye

785

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, 'tis past, and my short anger o'er;
Come down, and vex your tender heart no more:
Excuse me, dear, if aught amiss was said,
For, on my soul, amends shall soon he made:
Let my repentance your forgiveness draw,
By heav'n, I swore but what thought I saw.

790

'Ah my lov'd lord! 'twas much unkind (she cry'd)
On bare suspicion thus to treat your bride.
But till your sight's establish'd, for a while,
Imperfect objects may your sense beguile.
Thus when from sleep we first our eyes display,
The balls are wounded with the piercing ray,

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And dusky vapours rise, and intercept the day.

So just recov'ring from the shades of night,

Your swimming eyes are drunk with sudden light,

Strange phantoms dance around, and skim before your sight:

"Then, Sir, be cautious, nor too rashly deem;

805

Heav'n knows how seldom things are what they seem!
Consult your reason, and you soon shall find
'Twas you were jealous, not your wife unkind:
Jove ne'er spoke oracle more true than this,
None judge so wrong as those who think amiss."
With that she leap'd into her Lord's embrace,
With well-dissembled virtue in her face.

810

He hugg'd her close, and kiss'd her o'er and o'er,
Disturb'd with doubts and jealousies no more:

Thus ends our tale, whose moral next to make,

Both, pleas'd and bless'd, renew'd their mutual vows,
A fruitful wife, and a believing spouse.

815

Let all wise husbands hence example take;

And pray, to crown the pleasure of their lives,
To be so well deluded by their wives.

820

THE WIFE OF BATH.

FROM CHAUCER.

IN 1714, Pope's Wife of Bath, with two translations from the Odyssey (the arrival of Ulysses in Ithaca and the Garden of Alcinous) were published [by Tonson] in a volume of miscellanies, edited by Steele. To this miscellany, Hughes, the author of the Siege of Damascus, &c., sent several pieces, but finding, before publication, that Pope's Wife of Bath and some other pieces, which were inconsistent with his ideas of decency and decorum, had been admitted, he immediately withdrew most of his own, and allowed only two small poems, and those without his name, to appear. Carruthers. The greatest part of the Wife of Bath's Prologue must have been of Chaucer's own invention, though one may plainly see that he had been reading the popular invectives against marriage, and women in general; such as the Roman de la Rose, Valerius ad Rufinum de non ducendâ uxore, and particularly Hieronymus contra Jovinianum. Tyrwhitt. [The Wife of Bath's Tale, to which this is the Prologue, was modernised by Dryden. Happily the latter did not, like Pope, confine himself to the reproduction of Chaucer's humorous and, to modern taste, indecorous pieces.]

For, since fifteen, in triumph have I led
Five captive husbands from the church to bed.

Christ saw a wedding once, the scripture says,
And saw but one, 'tis thought, in all his days;
Whence some infer, whose conscience is too nice,
No pious Christian ought to marry twice.

But let them read, and solve me, if they can,
The words address'd to the Samaritan :
Five times in lawful wedlock was she join'd;
And sure the certain stint was ne'er defin'd.

Increase and multiply, was heav'n's command,
And that's a text I clearly understand.

This too, "Let men their sires and mothers leave, "And to their dearer wives for ever cleave."

More wives than one by Solomon were try'd,

Or else the wisest of mankind's belied.
I've had myself full many a merry fit;
And trust in heav'n I may have many yet.
For when my transitory spouse, unkind,
Shall die, and leave his woeful wife behind,
I'll take the next good Christian I can find.
Paul, knowing one could never serve our turn,
Declar'd 'twas better far to wed than burn.
There's danger in assembling fire and tow;

I grant 'em that, and what it means you know.
The same Apostle too has elsewhere own'd,
No precept for Virginity he found:

'Tis but a counsel-and we women still

Take which we like, the counsel, or our will.
I envy not their bliss, if he or she
Think fit to live in perfect chastity;

Pure let them be, and free from taint of vice;
I, for a few slight spots, am not so nice.
Heav'n calls us diff'rent ways, on these bestows
One proper gift, another grants to those:
Not ev'ry man's oblig'd to sell his store,
And give up all his substance to the poor;
Such as are perfect, may, I can't deny;
But, by your leave, Divines, so am not I.

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Full many a Saint, since first the world began,

Liv'd an unspotted maid, in spite of man:

Let such (a God's name) with fine wheat be fed,
And let us honest wives eat barley bread.
For me, I'll keep the post assign'd by heav'n,

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And use the copious talent it has giv'n:

Let my good spouse pay tribute, do me right,
And keep an equal reck'ning ev'ry night.

His proper body is not his, but mine;
For so said Paul, and Paul's a sound divine.

Know then, of those five husbands I have had,
Three were just tolerable, two were bad.
The three were old, but rich and fond beside,

55

"Nay," (quoth the King), "dear Madam, be not wroth: 700

I yield it up; but since I gave my oath,

That this much-injur'd Knight again should see;

It must be done-I am a King, said he,

And one, whose faith has ever sacred been."

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

705

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."

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:

710

This was his song; "Oh kind and constant be, "Constant and kind I'll ever prove to thee."

715

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 spy'd her Love
Full fairly perch'd among the boughs above.

She stopp'd, and sighing: "Oh good Gods," she cry'd,

720

"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 eye-sight too,
What could, alas! a helpless husband do?

725

730

735

"And must I languish then," she said, "and die,
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 reply'd 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.

Now prove your patience, gentle Ladies all!
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.

740

745