VIOLENTA FROM BOCCACE

VIOLENTA FROM BOCCACE BEGIN my Muse , the wondrous Tale reherse , The various Turns of Virtue in Distress . How Fate controuls the Council of the Wise , How often hid in Beauties fair Disguise , Foul Deceit and treacherous Falshood Lies . How Virtue breaks the dark'ning Clouds away , And from Misfortunes Night arises gay , Gives double Lustre to the glorious Day . Here may the Old a mighty Pattern find , And view the Trial of the noblest Mind ; Soft Love to please the chearful happy Young , With strange Adventures fills th' Historick Song . 'Twas in those warlike Days , when growing France Would with extending Power her Realms advance : The Sturdy Germans , late the Roman Pride , Still struggl'd hard , still push'd and gor'd her Side ; Vast Troops they rais'd , the King and Prince their Head , Fill'd with their Youth , and by their Heroes led ; This done , there follows and important Care , Whom they shall trust , their great Vicegerent here . The Dauphin to his Father recommends One of his dearest , most deserving Friends , The Count of Angiers , then in high Renown , Fittest to guard and fill the empty Throne . The Choice with universal Joy's approv'd , Never was Man like Noble Angiers lov'd . Against his Will the Mourner's drawn to Court , Who had forsook the World and all Resort ; To the dark Groves and silent Caves was fled To weep in vain , his dear Maria dead ; For Tyrant Death had snatch'd a Faithful Wife , And with her all the Joys of hapless Angiers Life ; The World to him had now no pleasing Charms , Nor wak'd he with the once lov'd Sound of Arms : Thus liv'd the Count to eating Grief a Prey , 'Till by his Master's Voice he's forc'd away , He heard , and knew he must the King obey . He comes , and soon the mighty Charge receives , And for his Trust his Faith and Honour gives ; And now the Dauphin ready to depart , Presses his faithful Angiers to his Heart : Oh! thou my Dear and long try'd Friend he said ! And on his Bosom kindly lean'd his Head , To thee my Father leaves his Kingdom's Care , No Subject boasts of Pow'r a larger Share : The Trust is weighty , and the Trouble great , To Rule this potent Land and Pop'lar State ; Yet my best Friend there is more Business yet . I must ingage thy most peculiar Care , To guard and please that bright Illustrious Fair , My charming Wife , whose far fam'd Beauty may , While I to distant Camps am call'd away , By some ill Fate , my Peace at Home betray . Watch that Cleora undisturb'd may rest , In serving her thou gain'st thy Master's Breast : This said , he clasp'd him fast , nor staid Replies , But cry'd , I read thy Answer in thy Eyes . Quick to his warlike Troops he took his Way , Whose youthful Heat cou'd brook no longer stay . Angiers is left the sole Commander now , To him the officious Courtiers crowd and bow ; He look'd as born to the Honours of his Place , His Noble Soul enrich'd with every Grace , Shone with Majestick Sweetness in his Face . Just ripen'd full from Youths delightful Bloom , Enough to promise happy Years to come ; With most judicious Policy he Reigns , Supports the Good , the Bad his Pow'r restrains ; Remembring well his Master's last Command , He Signs all Orders with Cleora's Hand . Cleora bright as the approaching Day , When Fair Aurora does her Beams display And gilds the Mountains with her blooming Ray . In her ten Thousand Graces Revelling meet , The blowing Rose not half so lovely sweet : She look'd as if her Eyes commanded Fate , Form'd equal to her Great Imperial State , Yet on her Soul a yielding Softness sate ; And Noble Angiers was her chiefest Care , On him she smil'd with a familiar Air ; Try'd every way that might his Griefs redress , Oblige the Count ( and make that Passion less ) With all Delights that Prudence could afford , Or Pallace yield in th' Absence of its Lord . Sometimes with Rural Sports they'd chase the Hind , Whose nimble Feet seem to outstrip the Wind ; Then Dancing , Balls , and Masquerades and Plays , With these they wast the Nights and chearful Days ; With these Delights Cleora kindly strove To drive from Angiers Breast all former Love ; Abroad they prosper , Couriers daily bring News of Success both by the Prince and King . Now in the height of Bliss , just Angiers stood Supreamly Great , and more supreamly Good : Yet short the Joys which humane Souls allure , Nor can we make our Happiness secure ; Vain Man as well on Sand may Structures lay , As hope to fix his Fate in mould'ring Clay ; A Thousand Accidents frail Life attend , And Mortals only know that Life must end ; Our Paths seem hid in the dark Book of Fate , The Doom once past , Precaution comes too late ; So luckless Angiers , Thoughtful Bold and Wise , Esteem'd his Court another Paradice ; Yet to his Cost , the Noble Heroe found Ten Thousand Snakes beneath th' enamell'd Ground : Had he foreseen his Fate , tho' but in Dreams , He must have dy'd at Terrour of the Scenes , Which thus began ; Cleora Orders sends To th' Count her Councellor , and best of Friends , To her Appartment he must straight repair , For Business of Importance waits him there . With hast , and Loyal Zeal , the Victim came , Dress'd like Loves Goddess was the princely Dame , Her Eyes had equal Brightness , equal Flame ; Her Mantle Azure , fill'd with Stars of Gold , And shining Jems adorn'd each curious Fold ; Careless thrown , scarce cover'd half her Breast ; But to the wond'ring Eye expos'd the rest : Choice Garlands crown'd her lovely flowing Hair , Yet seem to lose their Lustre planted there , The Rose not half so fresh , the Lilly half so fair . Supinely on a glorious Couch she lay As she wou'd Rival the bright Lamp of Day ; Her Head she lean'd upon her snowy Hand , Whilst Angiers kneels to hear her dread Command ; The bright attending Nymphs that round her wait , Retire , not pry into Affairs of State : When thus the charming Princess Silence broke , And with a Smile to faithful Angiers spoke , Arise my Noble Lord , and seat you there , For I have much to say , and you must hear ; You once did feel great Love's Tyranick Reign , And sure must kindly Sigh when I complain ; The Dauphin writes , the Wars will take much Time , And me neglected leaves in Beauties Prime , Hard Fate ! a Sacrifice to publick Voice , I never knew the Priveledge of Choice ; When in my Father's Court , the wond'ring Croud Still gaz'd , and Poets sung my Praises loud ; They haild my Youth , and wish'd me all Delights , But I'm condemn'd to care , and widdow'd Nights : The sad Reverse of all their Blessings prove , And must conclude the Dauphin does not love . The flattering World , and each reflecting Glass , Owns matchless Glory's in this injur'd Face ; Forgive me if I break our Sexes Laws , When wrong'd , we may assert our Right , our Cause . Speak Angiers , were I circled in thy Arms , Wou'dst thou for Camps forsake Loves softer Charms ? Up to her Cheeks a conscious Blush straight flies , And thousand Cupids revell'd in her Eyes . Angiers arose , with Reverence profound Began , nor rais'd his fix'd Eyes from the Ground : Most Divine Princess , you may rest assur'd , You are the Treasure of your absent Lord ; By Glory torn from Loves delightful Chains , Yet in his Heart alone Cleora Reigns : Oh! had you heard the tender Charge he gave Of you ( his Lifes Reward ) to me his Slave , You never cou'd his Constancy suspect , But call that Violence which now you term Neglect . Scarce cou'd the Fair her soft Confusion hide , And half compos'd , she blushing thus reply'd , To Angiers then did he Cleora leave ? For that one Act I all his Faults forgive . To Angiers freely I my self resign , Too sure I'm his , Heaven make the Heroe mine : What racking Fires are these that fill my Breast , My Soul distract , and rob my Eyes of Rest ! Oh! turn not from me , since too much I've said , And the soft Secret of my Soul betray'd : If I'm refus'd , Death is the Punishment . But Love and Pleasure wait on kind Consent . Down at her Feet the trembling Angiers fell , His Terrour and Surprize no Tongue can tell His Faulters , not knows which way to begin , The Princess he reveres , abhors the Sin : 'Tis a hard Task Superiors to reprove , And mighty Vertue to resist such Love ; Amaz'd , he spoke in th' mildest Phrase he cou'd , Instructs the Charming Princess to be good . Then cry'd , What Frenzy's this that dares controul The Noble Greatness of Cleora's Soul ? You're born Supream , your Lots are pair'd above : Bounded by Fate from an inferiour Love . The Dauphin , first of Men , already's yours , By Right Divine his lawful Claim secures : I own ye beautious as the blooming May , Fair as the First , e'er Nature knew decay ; Still in your Looks you wear all conquering Charms , But these are destin'd for my Masters Arms ; I'd give my Body to consuming Flame , Leave any other Blot upon my Name , E'er wrong , in you , that Royal Masters Fame . She rose with Fury , and would hear no more ; Disdain now work'd her boyling Spirits o'er , Those Eyes shot Fire , that languish'd Love before . She starts , then paus'd , and with a scornful Smile , Foretold the Mischiefs and intended Guile . The Count who knew no Ill , suspected none ; Blush'd for her Shame , and wish'd himself alone . When straight she threw her Mantle on the Ground , Her Garland tore , her curling Hair unbound ; Then seizing Angiers , with a Scream of Woe , Cry'd Murder , Villain , Traytor , let me go . The Voice of Terrour thro' the Pallace flies , Follow'd still with loud incessant Cries ; Help all , oh help , or lost Cleora dies . All hast , and swift as Thought th' Apartment's fill'd , Where on the Flore the Princess they beheld ; The injur'd Earl confus'd and pale they View , This Turn rob'd him of Speech and Reason too . When false Cleora rear'd her weeping Face , And Beauty gave to Sorrow double Grace , Look on the base perfidious Man she said , By whom the Dauphin and you're all betray'd ; Trusting his Faith , I charg'd him to declare Th' Affairs of State , and Business of the War , The Conference strict Secrecy requir'd , My waiting Servants by Command retir'd ; But e'er he half the Dauphins Will declar'd , Seiz'd on my Hand , around like Madness star'd , And cry'd , the Regent Princess now is mine , She shall her Honour or her Life resign : For I am wild with Loves ungovern'd Rage , Possession only can my Flame asswage . With the Surprize I scarce cou'd raise my Breath To call your Aid which has secur'd from Death . Who cou'd suppose the Raising of the Dead Might see th' Amazement that each Face o'erspread ; None but the Wicked this sad Tale does please , Nor dare his Enemies his Person seize . Alone , disgrac'd he to his Palace goes , And there reflects on his malicious Foes , Thinks on the Weight of his pretended Crimes , Resolves to fly his coming Fate betimes : For if he shou'd declare his Innocence , And on the Princess cast the Black Offence , The Laurels which the Prince abroad did gain , Wou'd wither all at the unhappy Stain ; Resolv'd alone the rigorous Fate to bear , And own the Guilt rather than lay't on her . His speedy Flight is straight condemn'd by Fame , And all ill Tongues are busie with his Name ; He takes two tender Pledges Wedlock gave , The only Treasure he had Power to save : With him Ernesto flies , faithful and just , Who long had serv'd , and ne'er betray'd his Trust : Thus the Great Man , whom that same rising Morn Saw dress'd in Honours that such Trust adorn , With crowded Levee , and a waiting Train , All the gay Pomps that can Observance Gain ; Now stript , forsaken , bare , disgrac'd and lost , Wanders to find some hospitable Coast ; And as he travel'd towards the distant Sea , A dreadful Light directs his doubtful Way ; He views his Castle blazing in one Flame ; The fierce Revenge of that invet'rate Dame ; Unmov'd , he saw the Structure tumble down ; And cry'd , thou can'st not bury my Renown : In time perhaps my Truth may come to Light , My Fame out-shine those Tow'rs that Blaze so bright , And the mistaken World , tho' late , may see A conspicuous Virtue in unhappy Me . Now in a Cell they snatch a short Repose ; Soon as the Sun the wakeful Angiers rose , His Courage yet unshock'd by adverse Fate , His Noble Suff'ring show'd him truly Great . But oh ! when he beheld his little Pair , The Mothers Darlings , and the Fathers Care , In vain upon their Nurse and Servants call , The Floods so long restrain'd , in Torrents fall ; At their sad Wants he cou'd no more forbear , Indulg'd his Grief with many a pitying Fear ; The tender Charge , who thus awak'd his Care , A little Son , and lovely Daughter were , Both Beautious seem'd , as form'd by Hands Divine , The Parents Graces in the Infants shine ; Lewis the Son , a charming sprightly Boy , The first dear Fruit of Angiers Nuptial Joy ; His other Hope , his Darling Daughter's Name Was Violante , sacred still to Fame : The helpless Infants , the wrong'd Angiers view'd , Their woes , the dear Maria's lost renew'd . Dash'd by Dispair , and grov'ling on the Earth , Curs'd the Malignant Star that rul'd his Birth , Like some sad Wretch , long strugling for the Shore , He sinks and gives his hopeless Labour o'er , 'Till old Ernesto urg'd him to remove , By that fond Care and that pater'nal Love . If you neglect your Princess Wroth to fly , Then next prepare to see your Children dye ; Revenge will touch you in the tend'rest Part , Her Rage will wound , thro' theirs , your Manly Heart : He found 'twas vain to make a useless Moan , The Father and the unhappy Babes must on . At length they Calice reach'd , and there they found A Passage Ship for neighbouring England bound ; He gets an humble Weed , amd poor Disguise , Besmears his Face , and vails his Noble Eyes To shun the swift Pursuit of eager Enemies . Imbark'd , he turns towards his native Land , Tho' injur'd much , he sighs to leave the Strand ; And softly murmurs o'er his riged Fate , Undone by Love , far worse than Mortal Hate ; Yet still he bids the list'ning Winds forbear , Nor waft the Story to the Dauphin's Ear ; For his sweet Peace he barters all his own , Neglects the Fame which did his Actions crown ; Wives Errours on the Husbands Head remain , To keep the Dauphin clear he bears himself the Stain . Cleora ! canst thou have a peaceful Thought , Whose lawless Fires this mighty Ruine brought ? Poor Angiers still pursu'd by his ill Fate , As if the Winds joyn'd with Cleora's Hate ; Adverse they toss the Vessel on the Seas , Like his tempestuous Mind , no Calm , no Ease ; These Toils to old Ernesto were unknown , A gentle Servitude his Years did crown ; Unable now , in his declining Age , To act a longer Part on this rough Stage , Pale Death , the last Retreat , and sure Relief , Came to his Aid , and ends his Life and Grief : The gashly Tyrant he seems joy'd to meet , And sinks beneath his troubled Masters Feet : There was no need of this ; griev'd Angiers said , Will Heaven still pursue the Wretch it made ? Why was this added to my Misery , That thou my poor Ernesto too must die ? Now of a Sudden all the Seas grow Calm , As if his Grief had hush'd the raging Storm ; At length the fair white chalky Cliffs they spy , A joyful Sight to every Sailor's Eye ; Only the Earl who knows not where to go , Alone expects variety of Woe : The Travellers wou'd fain his Sorrows chear , Inquire his Name , what Course he meant to stear ? He answers with a Sigh , I cannot stray : The Wretched never fear to lose their Way . In the same Ship , a venerable Man Well mark'd the Count , and then with Tears began , Whoe'er thou art , says he , within thy Face , Is writ unspotted Truth , and matchless Grace , And thy young Cherubs seem of heav'nly Race . Then haste thee Stranger to our Nations Pride , To that great Mart where gaudy Courts abide ; There , if my Foresight fail not , thou shalt find Some Noble Brittain to these Infants kind ; He view'd him well , then press'd him more to know , Good Man he cry'd , thou hast a Scream of Woe , Inquire no more , but where I bid thee , go . His Words Emphatick , struck an awe Divine , Both Priest and Prophet in his Vizage shine ; Angiers , unknown , to London takes his Way , Resolv'd the Holy Father's Voice t' obey ; Wheree'er he goes there's no avoiding Fate , He to his Sufferings finds no early Date : The publick News his shameful Story tells , Explores his Crimes , the Dauphin Wrath reveals : His Castle's raz'd , his Lands Confiscate were , Too poor Amends , for that offended Fair ; A vast Reward , whoe'er shall Angiers bring Alive , or Dead , to the Revengeful King : His Race to endless Exile they condemn , And Death to those who shou'd these Laws contemn . I'd sing , my Muse , his Woes in such a Strain , That no sad reader might from Tears retrain : Sure all the generous World must weep to see Exalted Virtue in such Misery . Who can express his Fears and anxious Care ! Enough to raise Distraction and Dispair ! When he looks back upon his prosprous Days , The pleasant Paths , and the delightful Ways His Youth had trod , it racks his thoughtful Brain , His Lot of Grief he scarcely can sustain , But Piety forbids that he should Heav'n arraign . He knows the only Way to vanquish there , Is Patience , Faith unmov'd , and servent Pray'r ; So to the Temple flies , that Ancient Pile , Which long had grac'd the City and the Isle , St. Paul's , for stately Pillars so renown'd , With all the Beauties of the Artist croun'd ; There he repairs , and takes his Children too , In hopes their Innocence may Mercy woo ; Stretch'd on the Pavement , wretched Angiers lay , And kneeling Infants , early taught to pray . Devotion done , a lovely Brittish Dame , With her Attendants from the Temple came , The Lord High Marshal's Wife , of brightest Fame . She stop'd , and not disdain'd , to turn her Eye Towards him who bore such Marks of Misery : She said , my Friend , from whence , and what art thou ? Why hangs that Cloud of Sorrow on thy Brow ? This little Pair , with Beams of Beauty shine , I cannot think thee poor , if these are thine ; Yet speak , declare , what is thy Cause of Grief ? Perhaps , by me , kind Heav'n designs Relief . Oh! wondrous Condescention , Angiers cry'd , The truly Great are always free from Pride . Madam , I Native am of neighbouring Gaul , My Parents honest , tho' my Portion small ; 'Twas my hard Fate Superiors to offend , Whose Wrath no Moderation knew , nor end , And I was plac'd , too humble to contend : I from my peaceful Dwelling , straight was hurl'd , And bid to wander o'er an unknown World : Nor wou'd they stop their cruel Vengeance here , But sorc'd these Babes , my Punishment to share , Too weak , alass , such mighty Ills to bear . She heard , and Pity fill'd her Mind , The too long cruel Pow'rs , now made her kind , With soft Compassion , and a gracious Look , To listening Angiers thus the Lady spoke , If thou wilt give thy Daughter to my Care , Her Breeding and her Fortune shall be Fair : In Virtues Rules we will instruct her Youth , With Love of Modesty and Sacred Truth : Speak hen , if to my Words thou dost agree , Inform her Name , and leave the Child with me . First , up to Heaven his watry Eyes he rear'd , And thank'd the Pow'rs who thus his Pray'rs , had heard . Then to her . Oh! thou bright Pattern of thy charming Sex , Bless'd be thy Days , may no disquiets vex Thy peaceful Mind , nor lengthen'd Years perplex ; But all thy Joys uninterrupted be , Thy Life one Scene of bless'd Prosperity . Florella is the Name o'th' wretched Child , O may she Virtuous prove , her Temper mild ; With a kind Eye may you her Actions view , For you are Parents now , and Mistress too : With that he turn'd , and blotted out a Tear , The Infants parting Look he cou'd not bear . The courteous Dame to him a Present gave , And the poor Babe to an attending Slave . In ancient Times , thus did they merit Praise , By Noble Acts , their Name and Country raise : Few wanton Dames , no broken Nuptial Bed , The Wretched they reliev'd , the Poor they sed : In Deeds , like this , dwelt their Renown of Old , No Pride , no Falshood , no curs'd Love of Gold , But Glory reign'd in every Brittains Soul ; No lurking Vice their Greatness durst controul . Angiers return'd still sad , his Heart still griev'd , To him the Child is lost , tho' thus reliev'd ; And as he measur'd out his pencive Way , He met the Bard with whom he cross'd the Sea ; He hail'd him thus , lift up thy Eyes from Earth , No sulien Star o'er-rul'd thy Childrens Birth . Thy Daughter now has reach'd the happy Shore , Destructive Fate has lost its pois'nous Pow'r , Her Innocence the Planets hurt no more . Thy Son , good Fortune shall attend his Bloom , And a long Train of Blessings press to come ; Only thou many tedious Years must wait , E'er thou shalt conquer thy malignant Fate ; On me be all their hateful Influence shed , Showr all their Wrath on this poor destin'd Head , The Sufferer cry'd , I'll bear it in their Stead ; And if the rowling Torrent they withstand , I'll kneel and bless the persecuting Hand : Instruct me , Sir , how I this Youth may save From threat'ning Ills , which oft pursue the Brave , For I shall soon press to the peaceful Grave ; There undisturb'd may find that sweet Repose , So long deny'd by my too cruel Foes . Instruct your Son in his uncertain Way , For Truth Divine shines forth in all you say . Then thus the Bard : Amidst the Western Mountains , where of old , Such warlike Deeds of Brittains Chiefs are told ; Where Merlin did his mighty Art expose , From whence his Wonders and his Fame arose , The Lord high President keeps there his Court , And fondly seeks the Strangers kind Resort ; The Youths are there bred up to Feats of Arms : Thy lovely Son has all those manly Charms , That will attract his Eyes , his Fancy move , And fix him to his Soul , with Bonds of Love . Farewel , for I shall ne'er behold thee more ; My Tempest beaten Age , comes near the Shore ; Where wearied out , I lay me down to rest , When Thought and Care , no more shall load my Breast , Nor vainer Objects my freed Soul molest ; But upward mount , thro' yon bright Realms , and see All the great Maze of vast Eternity : The wond'rous Contemplation Silence brought , And he seem'd lost in Energy of Thought : Then lift his Eyes , and blest the believing Pair , But tho' intreated , would no more declare . He deem'd the Council Sacred , and from thence Doth his long weary Pilgrimage commence : Oft Scraggy Rocks , and lofty Mounts they meet , Where rising Ground resists their willing Feet ; Then reach'd those Brittains so renown'd of old , Of whom such famous Actions have been told ; There , as the Prophet said , the lovely Boy , ( The Last , the dearest Hope of Angiers joy ) At the first sight the President approv'd , Made him his Care , and soon he grew belov'd ; Soon Angiers saw his happy Son design'd The Darling of that Court , and humane Kind . This was an Age when the Renown'd and Great , Made Wealth but serve them to assist the State : When bountious Nature had the Ground-Work laid , Their forming Hand the worthy Heroe made ; Like his own Children , Angiers Son was train'd , And from his Patron's Bounty , Arms and Arts he gain'd . In this was Brittains Glory , and her Boast , From Discipline like this , they rais'd a Host ; Then no industrious Youth neglected lay , But Merit to Preferment led the Way : Lewis dispos'd as might advance his Worth ; Was call'd Perotto to conceal his Birth . The Dauphiness became the Queen of France , Her Pride and Rage do with her Pow'r advance : New Proclamations all around she sends , Disgraces those who had been Angiers Friends : He fears a stricter Search will now be made ; Nor stays he , least his Children be betray'd , But hasts to find a more secure Retreat From Womans Rage , that's lasting as 'tis great : Distress'd , he quits Fair Albions court'ous Shore , But leaves behind , his All , his valu'd Store ; For whom he often does the Heavens implore . He , with Regret , now leaves the lucky Strand , Looks back , and Sighs , as on his native Land ; Extreamest Griefs , his suffering Soul o'erflow ; And every Breath declares incessent Woe ; Then he reflects on his malicious Foe . duplicate duplicate Inhumane Queen , ah ! Whether must I fly ? Is there no way to scape thée , but to die ? Yes , I wou'd die ! throw off these servil Chains , Did not our Priests pronounce eternal Pains To those who wearied out with Life's Disease , Shall dare to cure themselves e'er Nature please . Fond Fatal Princess , couldst thou see me now , Nor Love , nor Rage , wou'd discompose thy Brow . Thus Lean and Pail ( secure from being known ) I should move Pity for a Wretch undone : And now my Royal Friend the Dauphin Reigns , His Subjects in their Native Right maintains ; And Valour , Justice , Mercy , grace the Throne , No injur'd Wretch makes his impatient Moan , But all the Gallick World , the Face of joy puts on . 'Tis only I that am debard of Bliss , Nor can find Rest without destroying His : Then let me ne'er accuse th' Imperial Dame , But suffer still the Punishment and Shame . He who had once a Nation at Command , Now seeks a Master in Hibernia's Land . It was his Fate , a haughty Lord to find , Fierce and severe , nor cou'd he bend his Mind ; And he who in his mild and gentle Sway , His Servants made , thro' Love , not Fear , o bey , No Slaves to pride , in plenty and in ease , They liv'd content , for 'twas no Task to please ; Yet their Good Master's diligent in vain , Faultless is chid , nor dares he to complain ; Not Hebrew Job at length to Ills inur'd So much , or half so patiently indur'd . But now my weary'd Muse , his Woes sorsake , Begin another Scene , and turn the Prospect back ; O'er pass the rowling Years of flying Time , And shew Florella in her Beauties Prime , Divinely Fair , as the First Eden Maid . E'er she for Knowledge , Innocence betray'd : When in her Eyes sate smiling every Grace , And the immortal Bloom was on her Face , And bright unfully'd Glories , new Creation grace . Only one Son preserv'd the Marshal's Line , Whose Form was lovely , and his Soul Divine : His Tour thro' France , and Italy had been , And Europes World the Travelling Youth had seen ; Return'd , improv'd , by skilful Masters taught , With all their Language , and their Learning fraught ; Pleasing his Mean , so Gay , but truly Brave , Nor yet to Vice , or Passion made a Slave : The Courts Delight , for whom each Lady strove , And put on all her Charms , to make him Love . Lord Mandevil was now the only Theam , Their daily Pleasure , and their nightly Dream ; Florella at a Rural Mantion staid , Left to the Conduct of the lovely Maid ; Content with what her Fortune did afford , The Virgin thought not of her New come Lord : The joyful Parents show'd their Darling round , And every Pleasure his Return had crown'd ; Then leave the Town , their Country Seat to view , And with Variety their Joys renew : Soon as arriv'd , Florella Duty paid ; But Heav'n ! How gaz'd the Youth , when he beheld the Maid ! In all the Realms that he had travell'd o'er , He thought he ne'er had Beauty seen before ; He sigh'd , and look'd , and fasten'd there his Eyes , And scarcely cou'd he hide the vast Surprize . She saw him fix'd , the doubtful Virgin fear'd She had done some Fault , so , blushing , disappear'd . As if the Sun had straight his Beams withdrawn , And left no gladsome Ray , no twilight Dawn , So seem'd to him the Place , dark and forlorn , When Fair Florella from his Sight was gone ; Absent , her lovely Form remain'd behind , Fix'd was her Image on his tender Mind : He soon inquir'd who the Virgin was , And smiling said , she had a charming Face . Th' indulgent Mother , whose delightful Aim Was to please him , from whom her Pleasures came , With graceful Air , the whole Adventure tells , And to his list'ning Ears , each Circumstance reveals . He Blush'd , and Sigh'd at what she did relate , And cry'd , 'tis sure some Mistery of Fate ! Her looks , do Awe , and Admiration strike ! Such Charms from Want ? not Courts can show the like . Sure Heaven mistook , and with a hasty Hand , Form'd her a Slave , when it design'd Command ; The Talk was chang'd , but still his thinking Soul , Was with the glorious bright Idea full : He strugled hard , nor yeilded to the Snare , But often cry'd , she is not sure so Fair ; Besides her Birth is mean , not worth my Care . Urg'd by Desire , a second Sight he sought , As if he wou'd correct his former Thought ; Thus treacherous Love draws the Unwary on , The more they gaze , the more they are undone . The pointed Rays had fill'd his Youthful Breast , Th' amourous Fire , his daring Soul possest , And quickly grew too great to be supprest . The Brave , the soonest are to Love inclin'd , And Love delights to sooth a generous Mind . In vain the Youth with fated Passion strove , For ev'ry Breast must yield to pow'rful Love . The Sons of Art no Recipee have found ; In all their Store , to heal this pleasing Wound : Had there in Herbs or Plants a Balm been known , The God of Physick sure had cur'd his own ; He pines and sickens now with Loves excess , His Sighs and Languishings his Pains confess ; His wonted Sports grew tastless to his Soul , Triumphant Pashon all his Joys controul : He hates the Court , shuns ev'ry charming Fair , They cannot please , unless Florella's there . To some dark Grot , or Melancholly Grove , The Youth retires , and breathes his hapless Love ; There vents his killing Griefs , and there complains , And only tells the silent Trees his Pains . A little Distance from the Palace stood , A stately Shade of venerable Wood , Which full a Hundred Years the Seasons bore , And Rev'rend Trunks with Moss , were cover'd o'er ; Whose dusky Shade defi'd the Rays of Light , And spite of Noon-day-beams , seem Sacred still to Night : In this Retreat , the Love-sick Heroe chose , To nurse his Flame , and to indulge his Woes ; Florella too , to solitude inclin'd , But her Amusement's of another kind : Various Theams delight her easie Breast , And no prevailing Thought disturbs her Rest ; Pensive she walks to take the Evening Air , At her Approach , the Greens fresh Verdure wear ; For her Companion , flowing Horace chose , And could her self harmonious Airs compose ; Officious Love , her wand'ring Steps betray'd , And brought th' dispairing Youth , the lovely Maid ; Stretch'd on the Earth , beneath a Maple Shade , As rooted there , poor Mandevil was laid ; His absent Soul was waiting on his Fair , But Sense and Life return'd , as she drew near ; Straight with Convulsive Transports he was seiz'd At the Surprize , alarm'd , disturb'd , and pleas'd . The modest Maid , blushing , her Lord espy'd , Obeysance made , and turn'd her Steps aside : But when he saw the Virgin haste away , Confus'd , he rose , and thus bespake her , Stay Dear Nymph ! you seem the Goddess of this Grove ; Or , what is more , th' Immortal Queen of Love ! Let that soft Form , a tender Heart contain , With Pity , hear a dying Youth complain , For mine are real Woes , and real Pain : These Woods are Witness to my constant Flame , Each Tree thy Cypher bears , tho' not thy Name ; Least jealous Eyes the mighty Secret find , And to my Charmer , grow from thence unkind ; But when alone , my Tongue nought else will sound , I reach the vaulted Skies , and pierce the hallow Ground : To Eccho's Care , I send Florella's Name , And kindly she reverberates the same . Oh! do not look with such relentless Eyes , If you're unmov'd , your faithful Lover dies . All Night , on Beds of Down , I restless rave , On this cold Earth , I measure out my Grave ; 'Tis you alone can help , 'tis you alone can save . The Maid , whose Soul was suited to her Birth , With noble Scorn , rais'd her fair Eyes from Earth ; Then with a Voice majestick and severe Thus spoke , and gave the Love-sick Youth Dispair : Because I to your Mother's bountious Hand , For Food and Raiment do indebted stand , You think , perhaps , you may the Slave command . But tho' , my Lord , my Niggard Star's deny'd Me Wealth and Titles , they have giv'n me Pride : If from my Wants , your wanton Hopes you frame , Know I prize Honour , and a virt'ous Name . My Heart's unconquer'd , and my Soul unstain'd , A Fortitude by Heav'n it self maintain'd ; Nor Force , nor Flattery , can my Mind subdue , Behold me then , great and resolv'd like you . Surpriz'd at this ! the wretched Lover cry'd , If you're displeas'd , I wish ere this I'd dy'd : In my unhappy Speech , what have I said T' offend my dear belov'd bewitching Maid ! Beneath thy Feet let me for ever lye , Or by your just Commands , condemn'd to die If 'gainst your Honour I had least Design ; My Thoughts , tho' they are kind , are chast as thine ; When of my Love I make an Offering , With Flames less pure then pious Vestals bring , When in their Temple they sincerely pray , And bright Devotion , at their Altars pay , May all my Days and Nights be dash'd with woe , Nor e'er the Blessing of Possession know : May no Self-joys my longing Wishes Crown , But Curse me still with a remorsless Frown ; Ne'er think I would destroy the Worship'd shrine , Or wrong that Honour which I Court for mine : 'Tis Hymens Torch is my auspicious Guide , Directs my Love to seek you for my Bride : Blest with that Hope , I bear the Pains of Life , ( I ask you , not a Mistress , but a Wife ) Else on the Instant wou'd I quit this Breath , And seek my Peace in the cold Arms of Death : Oh! twou'd o'erwhelm my Soul with Black Dispair , If after all my Service , all my Care , I did not hope to gain my charming Fair . Florella , cease to think my Love a Crime , And let my Faith be try'd , by that sure test of Time : Injoyn me any thing that may convince Of my Flames Durance , and its Innosence , ( The greatest Tortures I would undergo ) If you'll except it , and believe it so . She listen'd now more Calm , and more Sedate , Yet seem'd resolv'd , as the Decrees of Fate : Then thus reply'd , Such Virtue sure has Charms , But I am plac'd Inferiour to your Arms ; Such Honours might the most Ambitious move , Who wou'd not prize the Treasure of your Love ? But I'm unworthy your exalted State , And must except a more convenient Fate . Let not ignoble Fires your Youth mislead , With equal Fortune grace your Nuptial Bed ; A Father will direct you in your Choice , There's no true Joys without the Parent's Voice ; Therefore no longer feed this fond Desire , But here , in silence , let your Flames expire : And that from Guilt Florella may remain , That no ungrateful Act her Duty stain , Thus in the Face of Heav'n firmly swear , Your ill plac'd Passion I no more will hear , Except your Father's free Consent you gain ; And Reason tells you , that Attempt is vain ; For he is cold , in his declining Years , A dow'rless Wife's , the greatest Ill he fears : Old Men are always fond of darling Gold , Still strive to grasp the Earth they cannot hold . Amongst the Great , some wealthy Fair adore , Consult with Duty , urge this Suit no more ; Then with redoubled haste she flies away , He call'd in vain , she wou'd no Answer stay . What Pen can paint the Sinner in Dispair , When Heav'n , regardless , will not hear his Pray'r ! Terrors like those , the hopeless Youth opprest , And fill'd the tortur'd Mansion of his Breast : Now he submits to Health-destroying Grief , Bends down beneath he load , nor seeks Relief ; A deadly Pale his youthful Cheeks o'er spread , Continual Sighs have chas'd from thence the Red , His langui'd Eyes the chearful Light refuse , And in pale Fires their former lustre lose . Scarce will this wanton Age my Tale Believe ; A Constant Youth their Vice wou'd ne'er forgive . Now Love is grown the Universal Sport , The Men design to leave , e'er they begin to Court ; Fickle their Nature's , roving their Desire , In Various Heats , there is no real Fire . Of old , to one the Passion was Confin'd , They'd wait an Age to make the Fair one Kind ; Changing's the Mode ; a Lover is a Fool , And to be very Faithful's , to be very Dull . But to return to our kind faithful Youth , And all the Wonders of his Love and Truth ; The Mother does with careful Eyes Survey His Griefs , and finds a sencible Decay ; She trys with all delights , his Soul to Chear , And when he Sighs , crys out , What ails my Dear ? In vain her fondness , the inquiry Frames , Guesses in vain , a Thousand things she Names ; Fruitless her Aid , he still the wrack indures , Beneath the Moon but one Elixer cures ; That deny'd , all other helps are vain , He only with his Life , can end his Pain ; A languid Sickness makes his Youth a Prey , And Canker like , eats the fine form a way : Apollo's Sons are brib'd to use their Art , To save this Darling of the Mother's Heart : Their Cordial Juilps they apply in vain ; They cannot Cool the Heat , nor swage the Pain . Who can the Sighs , the piercing Woe express , The Fears which his sad Parents Souls Distress ? His Noble Father cry's , his hopes are gone ; His Name is lost , his Heir , his only Son ; But his great Courage helps his Grief to Bear : The Lady seems distracted with her Care . Sorrow no sleep , no balmy peace allows , And Heav'n she wearies with Incessant Vows ; No Chearful Guest the wonted Mirth Maintains , But through the House a solemn Sadness Reigns . Florella too , who did these Woes Create , In Secret Mourns the Youths unhappy Fate ; Blames the Cross Star that had to Love inclin'd , And made her cause the ills she ne'er design'd . Now at a stand are all the learned Tribe , They find it vain to Visit or Prescribe ; The active Spirits weary of their Course , And drooping Life appears detain'd by Force : His Servants all are drown'd in black Dispair , He only lost in Thought , seems void of Fear ; Reserv'd and cold to his officious Friends , He chides their Care , their Diligence offends . When in her turn the Fair Florella came , The lovely source of this consuming Flame , He rear'd his dying Eyes , and faintly said , Come near , thou too too lovely Charming Maid ; Now see how pale and languishing I lye , And still remember 'tis for you I dye . Death , cold as your disdain , comes o'er my Bloom , And ah ! sweet Nimph , in Ages yet to come , As none in Beauty e'er can rival Thee , So none in Constancy shall equal me . Oh cruel Fair ! hereafter prove so Just , When I am lost , forgotten in the Dust , To all the list'ning Swains my Story tell , Proclaim how much I Lov'd , how early Fell : No other way , I'd Court a lasting Fame , But as Loves Victim Eternize my Name . Yes Goddess , the bright tract I have in View , Is that the World may say I dy'd for you . At this the Tears fell from her Conquering Eyes , And Sighs uncall'd from her fair Bosom Rise ; The fainting Youth beheld the blushing Maid , And to his trembling Lips her hand convey'd . Enough , my first , my everlasting Dear , I dye content , since I am worth a Tear . He said no more , The approaching Friends might spair Their useless aid , for all the help was there . Amongst Apollo's Sons that crouded there One to his Skill added peculiar Care , Resolves , if Art will do't , to save th' important Heir . Upon his Life he saw their hopes Depend , Nor unconcern'd , heard ev'ry Mourning Friend ; Tho' some unmov'd , can see the Parents Cry , Lamenting Wife , or Friend stand sighing by , And gravely Answer , Man was Born to dye , When they , perhaps , have hasten'd Natures Date , And lay their own Mistake , on guiltless Fate : But this , with utmost care , consulted Health , Like Generous Garth aim'd not alone at wealth ; The Mean , the Great , his equal influence find , As sent by Heav'n , to heal and bless Mankind . In him the Graces with the Arts combin'd , Like Poetry and Wealth , but seldom Joyn'd , Yet here they Triumph all , while he with Ease , Can Charm , Relieve , and Conquer a Disease ; A Stranger to the New Phantastick way , Which dresses first , and bids the Dying stay , He weigh'd each C rcumstance e'er gave his Vote , Took not the common way , and kill'd by Rote ; And by his nice Observances , could find The Body strugling with a tortur'd Mind . Healthful , reluctant to th' imperial Sway , Contending still , unwilling to obey : No Hective Feaver lodg'd within his Blood , The sullen Soul deny'd the Body Food , And Sighs and Sorrow robb'd his Eyes of Rest , He sooths the Griefs which his sad mind opprest . Seeing him thus resolvd , the ill t' Indure , And that he neither strove , nor wish'd a Cure , The only care must be to search the Wound , There's no Receit has pow'r , till that be found : He waits and watches the slow passing Sand , Tho' bid retire , he minds not the Command ; But still observes and grasps his feeble Hand . The Pulse was low as at th' Ebb of Life , And weaken'd Nature scarce maintain'd the strife . When fair Florella to the Chamber came , Sent by his Mother , that dispairing Dame , Straight the small Ministers fetch nimble Strokes , And fresh Vermillion dy'd his Languid Looks ; New strength , new Vigour now his Eyes inspir'd , And glowing Cheeks , with conscious Blushes fir'd , Relaps'd again , soon as the Nymph Retir'd . The Wise Physitian , this with Judgment weigh'd , He found the Youth was dying for the Maid . He smiling rose , and hasten'd to depart , And murmur'd to himself , How Vain's our Art ? We have no Medicine , for a Love-sick Heart . He left the Room , th inquiring Mother flys To ask what hopes , examines first his Eyes , Longing the truth to know , yet truth she sears , Her trembling Voice is choak'd with rising Tears . Says he , I long have view'd your deep Concern , And studi'd much your Sons Disease , to learn What led his Youth tow'rds an untimely Grave , And why my Drugs now lose their pow'r to save ; In vain my utmost Art and Care I use , My Medicines all their healing power Lose , And the sick Youth does all releif refuse . At this amaz'd ! at length I truly Guest Some Pain hid in the Closet of his Breast : There like destructive Fire , in secret Mines , Consum'd his strength , and baffl'd our Designs . The impatient Mother , interrupted now , Surpriz'd , she cry'd , Can there be ought below , My Darling Son eager as Life Requires And wait not I too Crown his fond Desires ? 'Tis Love , he then reply'd , has rack'd him long , Love , that delightful Torture of the Young , The Worlds great Lord , subduer of the strong ; The subtle Fire has pierc'd his aking Heart , And drinks his Vital Blood with ceasless Smart : His Life's a Prey to the All powerful Flame , Unless he's cur'd , from whence the Torment came . And is there then , she haughtily reply'd , A Dame too great , to be Lord Mand'vils Bride ? Why pines my Son upon the Wrack of Love , When to be his , each charming Nymph has strove ? Name but the Fair , who bears such conquering Eyes , Be sure my Lord High Marshal gains the Prize , How great soe'er her , Noble Parents be ; My Son can boast Descent with any she . The Blood that fills his Veins , from either Source , Has a glorious Spring , and untaunted Course ; Titles and flowing Wealth , his Name adorn , What cruel Nymph can pay him back with Scorn ! Then the good Man , whose Speeches only tend To calm her Wrath , and to preserve his Friend , Went on ; If thus he'ad place'd his Love , why shou'd he mourn ? Or fear your kind Consent , or her Return ? But if forgot the Honours of his Race , He doats upon a beauteous Form and Face , Of Birth unknown , tho' most divinely Fair , Whose utmost Glory is to be your Care : His Reason by his conqu'ring Love betray'd , And the sad Choice , is Death , or that bright Maid ; I need not now pronounce her well known Name , There is but one can kindle such a Flame . The Mother said , What Ills must I indure , E'er my Stern Lord will yield to such a Cure ? For this Misfortune he will me upbrai'd , Because I succor'd first the tender Maid . Vertue and Grace Florella does possess , My cruel Lord builds there no Happiness : Howe'er my utmost Tears , and Prayers I'll try ; 'Tis better far , to see him hers , than dye . This spoke , she hast's to find her Mourning Lord , In th' softest Phrase her Language cou'd afford ; With moving Tears th' unhappy Tale relates , Oft blames her Son , but more the cruel Fates , That thus ordain'd to rob their Souls of Rest , To lose the Youth , by whom their Age was blest Or give Consent , she sigh'd , that Ill's the least . Her soothing Softness cou'd not stop his Rage , Nor gentle Showers , his Mad Fury swage : From his fierce Eyes the fiery Tempest came , Tumultuous Passion set him in a Flame , Let him then dye , he cry'd , e'er thus disgrace his Name . Oh! barb'rous Sound ! Oh! most unnatural Breath She said ! To doom an only Son to Death ! When first , my Lord , to me your Vows you paid , How oft you wish'd me born some humble Maid , That you might greatly prove your generous Fire , And griev'd , your Fortunes cou'd not raise me higher : Had I been so , you the same Risque had run ; Then , oh ! Forgive your too too Amourous Son ! Yet all her pleading Agonies were vain , Her unperswasive Griefs cou'd only gain That she might sooth her Son , in his destructive Pain ; That she with Hopes might lull his Cares a Sleep , Make Promises , which he ne'er meant to keep . With this dear Cordial , to the Youth she flies , Sits down , and views him with the kindest Eyes : He Sigh'd , and Begg'd she would his Faults forgive , And cry'd , don't ask your wretched Child to live ; Nor torture thus , my Soul , to see you Grieve : Your Blessing on your hapless Son bestow ; Excuse the Debt I to your Goodness owe : 'Tis a vast Summ , which I can never pay , Yet I will rather dye than disobey . Weeping , the Lady spoke : Oh! thankless Child ! oh ! most ungrateful Boy ! Too well thou know'st , thou art alone my Joy ; Thy Death will my Remains of Life destroy : Therefore no more of thy false Duty boast , When you indulge the Ill by which my Peace is lost : Since after Days , and Nights , of wracking Pain , Scarcely to be endur'd , or thought again , Since the First happy Hour the gladsome Morn , When the wish'd News went round , a Son was Born ; I have indulg'd thee ev'ry anxious Year , No Mother e'er such Tenderness did bear , Why dost thou then distract me with Dispair ? Upon my Love and Pain thou ne'er look'st back Nor the successive Cares which I did take ; So forward still the eager Streams are born , And to the Nursing Fountain rarely turn . He only groan'd , here let my Life have end , Too long I've liv'd such Goodness to offend . She cou'd not bear the Grief she saw him feel , Fear'd to increase the Pangs she meant to heal : Then mildly , with a softer Air began , And kindly cheer'd her poor dejected Son : Thy Fathers Hopes , and mine , are built in thee , His Pride thou art , and every Wish to me ; Yet cautious Youth , in this you are to blame , You do not prize aright a Mothers Name ; But hide from me , your very best of Friends , The secret Woe , on which your Life depends , Whilst your Physitian , the true Cause displays , And saith , 'tis inward Grief , your Youth decays . Officious Fool ! the pensive Son reply'd ! His nauseous Draughts he longer shou'd have try'd ! Not the dear Secret of my Soul impart ! And thereby show the Weakness of his Art ! Oh! Mandevill , his Mother mildly said , Confess the Truth , I will no more upbraid , For now his Care thy wishes have betray'd ! Thy healthful Bloom , let Grief no more devour , But seek my Aid , and trust Mothers Power . What silent still ! Will nought your Spirits chear ? Go quickly one , and call Florella here : Look up , my Son , and now believe me kind , I've brought the Balm for thy distemper'd Mind : Your Life in Ballance , we this Choice prefer , Your only Task's to live and conquer her . Too much transported at this Change of Fate , He cry'd , Your proffer'd Kindness is too late . The mighty Tides of Joy come on too fast , And weaken'd Life is gone too far to last ; A dreadful Sound adds Terrour to their Fears , And fills the Room with piercing Shrieks and Tears ; The Mother from the Pillow snatch'd her Son , And cry'd , Help all , or I am lost , undone . Then on her Breast the Darling Youth she laid , And bid Florella bring her useful Aid : He strait reviv'd at Touches of the Maid . Then Conscious what transporting Joy had done , He blush'd at what Extravagance he'd shewn , And she , as if the Fault had been her own . This was his Crisis , this the lucky Hour , And Death , and Sickness , quit malignant Pow'r . Now wing'd with Joy , the happy Minutes flew ; He still beheld the Fair , and still the Sigh was New ; Soft Tales of Love he whisper'd in her Ear , Not so reserv'd , butshe seem'd pleas'd to hear ; And when he begg'd she wou'd his Fears remove , And bless him with that charming Sound , I love ; Her Tongue was silent , but her Eyes proclaim , She lov'd the Youth , and caught the infectious Flame : His Health return'd , and every blooming Grace Revives and sparkles in its wonted Place , With Transports in his Mein , and Raptures in his Face . A new Respect was to Florella paid , All hail'd with Joy , the beauteous happy Maid : Thro'out the Land was spread her wond'rous Fame , Each Sonnet rais'd new Trophies to her Name ; With such a Grace as scarce can be believ'd , These flowing Honours the Fair Nymph receiv'd : The Courtly Youth now envy'd Mand'vill more For this rich Prize , than what his Titles bore . Paint now the Pleasures of the happy Pair , Whose Joys were Innocent , and most Sincere ; From Garden Grots , to purling Streams they rove , Endless their Talk , and all that Talk was Love . New Raptures still , from Conversation grow , Ten Thousand Joys , which only Lovers know : Such sancy'd Bliss , her charming Presence brings , The blest transported Youth , looks down on Kings ; Implores , that Hymen make his Joys secure , And tye that Knot , which does for Life indure . Those were the Sun shine Days , when Cupid play'd , And every Laughing Hour was joyful made ; They dream'd not of the Black approaching Shade : ( Mankind , when he injoys the Smiles of Fate , But vainly thinks to fix a prosperous State : And when ill Fortune does his Life attend , As vainly fears his Woes will never end : Alas ! 'tis foolish ! All our Life's a Dream , And every Season has its changing Scene ! ) Fearless , Supine , and bless'd with sweet Repose , The Lovers were , when unthought Storms arose . The Father to his Closet takes his Son , And with an Air severe , his Speech begun : I'd know when you will quit this Sluggish Pace , When banish'd Honour reassumes its Place , And you maintain the Glory of your Race . Is not thy Fancy sated , foolish Boy ? Love is a Sweet , design'd to please and cloy , Nor meant the nobler Faculty's t' employ . License I gave to the ignoble Fire , That thou might'st Glut thy insatiate Desire ; And feed like some Ill-manner'd eager Guest , 'Till thou grew Sick , and loath'd the Luscious Feast . Nay , turn not Pale ; thou canst not change my Mind , Nor think I ever otherwise design'd . The impatient Son , then eagerly reply'd , Under Love's Vail , could you such Baseness hide ? Compell'd by Duty , I have heard too long , The Sacred Bus'ness of my Love you wrong . Florella's Vertue is above your Thought ; Nor wou'd the Jem with all your Wealth be bought : For the Fair Maid , good Angels be her Guard , May her just Worth still meet a just Reward : Kind Providence ! preserve her Youth from Harm ! Oh! may shee ever live , and live to Charm ! His Father was inrag'd at this Reply , And with a Stern tremendous Voice , did cry , Audacious Boy ! And durst thou to my Face , Bless One born for thy Shame , and my Disgrace ! Go to the Grave , and hide thy Abject Flame : Could'st hope I'd give to her a Daughters Name ; Or vainly think I would thy Choice applaud , Tho' I did yield to a fond Mothers Fraud ; I'd rather see thee and thy Sorc'ress dye , Than to the Marriage but in Thought comply : He calmly answer'd ; Enough , my Lord , your furious Rage give o'er ; Take your Sons Word , you'll hear of this no more : With Looks compos'd , he left the hateful Room ; Nor cou'd his Father guess the Fate to come . No Image of Delight now fills his Mind ; He ne'er can hope to make his Father kind . Deep strugling Griefs his doubtful Thoughts opprest , All Day no Dawn of Peace , all Night no Rest ; Tortur'd with Pains , too great to be exprest , Disturb'd he walks , revolving in his Breast , What Course he shou'd his wretched Footsteps , stear , That most might shew his Love and his Dispair . Florella fear'd him weary of his Flame ; Nor gay , nor pleas'd , he to her Toilet came ; No tuneful Airs her gentle Slumbers break ; No Songs Salute her , e'er she's well awake , And sweet Melodious Notes , compos'd for her dear Sake : Nor one soft Billet Deaux so kind does prove , To whisper the Dear Tale of Truth and Love : If she approach , he hangs his pensive Head , His Looks strait change , from Pale , to glowing Red . He Sighs , as if around Destruction fell , And his full Eyes , a fatal Story tell . These boding Symptoms fright the Charming Fair , Who finds , when Love does faithful Breasts insnare , They're wrack'd with Jealous Fears , and every tender Care . Retir'd alone , she softly does complain , And wishes for her former Peace in vain ; Reflects upon her Hours of downy Rest , Before inchanting Love , that cruel Guest , Usurp'd , with Tyrant Pow'r , her milder Breast . Oh! happy Days , she said , from Passion free ! When all was Peace , and calm Felicity : If eager Joy , I neither wish'd nor knew , I liv'd without the Pain and Pleasure too . Oh happy State of Cold Indifference ! Bless'd in that seeming Want of nicer Sense , Whom nothing pleases , nothing gives Offence . No fierce Pursuit , their thoughtless Minds employ , They feel no Sorrow , as they taste no Joy . In Bounds the Stagnate Waters sullen lye , No Tempest raises them like Mountains high ; Whilst Curling Waves , form'd by the rapid Stream , Can never rest , nor ever be Serene . Oh friendless Maid ! If he Unkind shou'd prove , Or so Untrue , but to dissemble Love , And I , the publick Talk , the publick Jest , Become of ev'ry Meeting , ev'ry Feast : But hold ! There's something tells me I am Born , Above their Laughter , and above their Scorn ; Yes , Mand'vill , If thou disdain'st thy humble Victory , Know I can Triumph too , and bravely dye : Thus her dispairing Fears , her Hopes o'ercame , Thus she accus'd her Lord , and curs'd the fatal Flame . Whilst Love alone possest Young Mand'vills Mind , To give the greatest Proof he now design'd , And quit the waiting Grandeur of his Birth , And with his Love , forsake the Glories of the Earth ; For since Florella is deny'd his Wife , He'll wed himself to a Monastick Life ; And tho' within his own dear Native Land , Many Fair Abbyes do inviting stand , Gardens and Groves , delightful to the Eye , As if they meant to sooth Austerity ; ( The best of all the Realm the Priest's still chose , They look'd as if design'd for soft Repose ; But we are to believe they watch and pray , And Tears and Pennance wear their Hours away ) These he avoids , least Pow'r his Will restrain , And force him from their Convent , Home again . In France he means to find some lovely Cell , And there in solemn Silence , ever dwell : Now all things for his Voyage he provides , But from his dearest Friends , the Secret hides : The Marshal , dayly , Tables did ordain , The weary travelling Pilgrims to maintain , Who always found a welcome ; there refresht With Hospitable Food , the Gracious Donor blest : Like one of these , his Son design'd to dress , And 'scape unknown , amidst the thronging Press . Thus his Designs the wandering Scene had laid , And thus the hapless Youth himself betray'd ; Not to his Love , he wou'd his Thoughts reveal , Yet cou'd not part without a last Farewel ; Tho' 'twas a pang that Life cou'd hardly Bear , For her to Health and Life he did Prefer , Nothing beneath the Sun he held so Dear . He to the Beautious Nymph's Apartment went , Pains in his Heart , and Looks of Discontent ; He found her Reading to divert her Mind , 'Twas Ariadne's pray'rs breath'd to the Wind , When faithless Theseus left the Fair Behind ; He took the Book , and when he saw the Place , A burning Blush flew to his lovely Face . She forc'd a Smile , and cry'd , what find you there , That in your Cheeks such Signs of guilt appear ? Said he , Had Theseus been Compell'd to go , To purchase Fame , and fight a distant Foe , And left the Nymph in some blest happy Place , Wou'd that , and sigh'd , not alter much the Case ? If left , the Maid reply'd , Tho' in a Palace where she bore Command , 'Twou'd soon grow hateful as the barren Sand ; Since there is no amends for perjur'd Love , No pleasures will the bitter Pain Remove . Heav'n it self , takes cognisance of broken Vows , And its strict Justice there , no Mercy shows , Whither , oh whither , do thy Speeches lead ? With dying Eyes , the tortur'd Mand'vil said , Dost thou unjustly think thou art betray'd . Me , my Florella ! Me , dost thou accuse ! Or tax with perjur'd Love , or broken Vows ! Do not my suff'rings dwell upon thy Mind ? Oh thou too killing Fair ! And too unkind ! Know that in all the tales of Love thou'st found , No Heart with greater truth was ever crown'd , My Thoughts have still been fix'd , my Eyes ne'er straid , Since first Loves mighty Laws my Soul obey'd , And if my adverse Stars , such woe Ordains , That I am still Condemn'd to endless Pains . If I am doom'd to lose what I hold dear , A Punishment which Nature cannot Bear . Add not my Fair , to the too Cruel weight , But think it is the hard necessity of Fate . Ah little , little of my Pangs you know ! Nor kindly guess the wracks I under go ; The rending Grief , that tears my lab'ring Heart , When I with you , and all my Joys must Part ; Such woes as these fond nursing Mothers Feel ; To see their Infants on the Soldiers steel , Such piercing Pain , when we behold from far , The Vessel sink , where all our Treasures are ; Yet these sad Woes , compar'd to mine , are small , A parting Lovers grief , exceeds them all . Must we then part ? she said : Oh most unkind ! And for what wretched place am I design'd ? Friendless , forsaken , must I wander now , Or to some new imperious Mistress Bow . Ye unauspicious Stars , that rul'd my Birth , Why was I form'd ? Why did I crow'd the Earth , When no Provision for my Life was made , And not one place my own , to rest my Head . Let not such Thoughts , affright thy tender Mind , Here thou shalt stay ; my Mother will be kind . That Parent for the Other does attone ; She mild as Doves , he hard as petred Stone : My Charmer , she thy Life will easie make , And love Florella , for her Mand'vils sake . She answer'd , Why such disjointed Thoughts do you express ? You'll leave me , yet talk of Happiness : Ruin thee ! surely , my Ruin is design'd by Fate ; And must Love more destructive prove than Hate ? Why my Calm Virgin Hours did you molest ? Flatter me with possession of your Breast ? Make me exchange my Peace , for this unrest ? If still , he cry'd , I do not love thee More , Than greedy Misers , Gold , or Monarchs Pow'r ; Than sick Men Ease , the happy Lifes Increase ; Towns Beseig'd , Relief ; or pious Matrons Peace ; If thou art not my Joy , my Life my Health , Priz'd like my Soul , my only valu'd Wealth , Then send just Heaven , upon my perjur'd Head Ten Thousand Plagues , and strike me with 'em Dead . But , oh ! my Fair ! my Hope ! my only Wish ! A Father stands 'twixt me , and happiness ; Deceiv'd in his dissembl'd false Consent , Whose specious words disguis'd a foul intent : In Rage , he bid me quench my faithful flame , In Terms so vile , my Soul abhors to Name . I oft have heard your cruel fatal Vow , Your Virtue no stol'n Marriage will allow ; Therefore we must for ever , everpart ; Why do I live ? Why dost thou hold my Heart ? Why does not Fate , quick , sure Destruction bring , Burst tortur'd Natures tyes , and break each trembling String ? Why , when Life's tedious March was almost o'er , Was I brought back , to suffer on the Shore ? My cruel Father , worse than Death destroys , Death is a Good , when Life's bereft of Joys . Cease my lov'd Lord , the fair Florella cry'd , Wou'd I had ne'er been born , or born , that Moment dy'd . All things to your kind Family I owe , And in return , Curses alone bestow : I'll go where you shall ne'er behold me more , And with my Absence , former Peace restore . Peace without thee ! the doting Youth reply'd , No Griefs will all my Days and Nights devide : Dispair and Sorrows , all my restless Hours betide . Since from what my Soul desires I'm debarr'd , Forgive my earnest Suit , nor think it hard : I beg you ne'er will yield to a new Lovers Charms , For I shou'd dye , to see you in another's Arms ; And ( as my first , last Dear ) with lovely you , I bid the World , and all your Sex adieu : So let me hope that Snowy Virgin Breast , Will never entertain another guest ; If I have first your Heart to Love inclin'd , Oh! still preserve me in your Chaster Mind ; Will ye be so kind ? Can these Tears perswade The fairest Nymph that ever Nature made ? Can she , for the poor hapless Mand'vill's sake , Resolve a lasting Leave of all Mankind to take ? It looks like sullen Pride , I must confess , That I should others barr of Happiness , But oh ! impute it to my Love's excess . Grant this my charming Dear , my Hearts desire , The only Suit that I shall e'er require . Like Sorrows Image then , he silent stood , And strove in vain to hide the falling Flood : Pale , at her Feet , the dying Hero fell , And let those Signs of Grief , his inward Sorrows tell , Distress'd , she rais'd him with her lovely Hand , And cry'd , What wou'd my Lord his Slave command ? Oh! poor Return , for all his wond'rous Love , That to no other Youth I kind should prove ; Without Injunction , I'd have made that Vow , Immortal Passion , is your Merits due , No Maid can Love again , after once loving you ; No thou dear Idol of my conquer'd Soul ! Thy Empire in my Breast , no Pow'r shall e'er controul ; Each tender Wish I'll dedicate to thee , For wheresoe'er confin'd , still Thought is free , And mine shall ever Faithful , ever Constant be . Oh! For my sake , each desperate Purpose shun , If thou art lost , Florella is undone : With Patience , let us our Misfortunes wait , And hope , from Innocence , a better Fate . He with glad Pleasure listened to the Fair , His Heart rejoyc'd to hear her Love and Care ; Yet still resolves his Purpose to pursue ,