Much ground he travell'd o'er, for he had feen
Our Saviour's fepulchre in Palestine.
The barb'rous infidels had felt his might,
Fierce in engagement, gentle after fight.
In council, and in conduct, wife and ftaid;
In converfation, modest as a maid:
Plain and fincere, obfervant of the right;
In mien and manners, an accomplish'd knight.
A goodly horse he rode, well fhap'd and strong;
No gaudy faddle, nor no trappings long.
The arms he wore, were bright, and free from ftain ;
His habit ferviceable, neat, and plain.
With grateful zeal devoutly he was come
To thank the faint that brought him fafely home.
ITH him his fon, a fprightly Squire, and gay,
Youthful and blooming as the month of May;
A fearless lover, in a courtly dress,
With curling locks juft taken from the prefs.
Of twenty years he feem'd, well-fhap'd and tall,
Strong was his make, his port majeftical.
The army did his early courage fee,
In Flanders and in fertile Picardy:
He hop'd his valour would all forms remove,
And plead fuccessfully its mafter's love.
His veft with various colours did abound,
Like flow'ry meads when spring adorns the ground.
Short was his Coat, the fleeves were long and wide;
Well could he fing, and treats and balls provide.
His fiery steed he gracefully could fit ;
Love-fongs he made, not wholly void of wit;
Some skill in painting too the youth had shown,
Could draw a mistress, or defign a town.
Love o'er his gentle heart did so prevail,
He flept as little as the nightingale.
HIS Squire a Yeoman had, and only him, Whose truth and diligence deferv'd esteem. Girt with a belt, his garment was of green; A quiver ftor'd with arrows, bright and keen, Hung cross his fhoulders in a filken ftring; The feathers borrow'd from the peacock's wing.
At his left fide a weighty fword he wore,
And on his arm a well-try'd buckler bore ;
A dagger, fhort and broad, was ty'd below;
His ftrong right hand sustain❜d a mighty bow;
A Chriftopher his bosom did adorn ;
In a fair baldricke hung his filver horn:
His fun-burnt vifage and his grafs-green hood
Might prove him well a ranger of the wood.
Here was with these a Nun, a Priorefs,
A lady of no ord'nary address ;
Her fmiles were harmless, and her look was coy,
She never swore an oath, but by St. Loye.
Known by the name of Lady Eglantine :
She fung the office with a grace divine
She spoke the French of Stratford school, by Bow:
The French of Paris fhe did never know;
For French of Paris did to her appear
Strange, as our Law-French to a Frenchman's ear.
At meals fhe fat demure, carv'd meat, and well,
No morfel from her lips unfeemly fell.
She never dipp'd her finger in the mess ;
Nor with one drop defil'd her holy dress.
With a becoming grace, and smiling eye,
She gain'd refpect from all the company.
Easy and free, ftill pleasant at her meat;
And held it no small pain to counterfeit :
She hated stateliness, yet wifely knew
What fit regard was to her title due.
She pity'd ev'ry creature in distress,
Devout, and charitable to excess.
Her tender heart with fuch compaffion fill'd,
She'd weep to see a poor mouse caught, and kill'd.
Her lap-dogs ftill with her fair hand she fed,
With milk,and roaft-meat, mixt with crumbs of bread
In her own chamber, on her bed they flept;
If any dy'd, most bitterly she wept.
Well fet her wimple, nicely pinch'd it was,
Her nose was straight, her eyes were grey as glass;
Small was her mouth, her lips were red and soft,
A beauteous forehead, always born aloft ;
Broad, smooth and shining eye-brows, neat and small
A flender waift, inclining to be tall.
A curious garment, wond'rous neat, she wore ; A pair of beads, with green enamel'd o'er
Of fhining coral did her arm infold;
Grac'd with an ornament of beaten gold:
Upon it was engrav'd a circling wreath,
And Amor vincit omnia writ beneath.
A nun, who feldom from her fight did ftir,
Her chaplain and three priests attended her.
EXT these a merry Monk appears in place,
Who follow'd hunting more than saying mafs.
As bravely mounted, as a lord from court;
No well-fed abbot bore a comelier port.
And when in ftate he ambled, all might hear
The jingling of his bridle, loud and clear,
As far, almost, as any chapel-bell.
This lordly monk, once keeper of a cell,
Held good St. Bennet's order too severe :
St. Maure to his nice judgment did appear
Too ftrict, and rigid; for old dotards fit,
But fcorn'd by priests of fpirit, and of wit.
One fcripture text he blotted with his pen,
That fays all hunters are ungodly men.
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