And draw Thy Water from the freshest Spring:
And when at Night with weary Toil opprest,
Soft Slumbers Thou injoy’st, and wholesome Rest;
Watchful I’ll guard Thee, and with Midnight Pray’r
Weary the Gods to keep Thee in their Care;
And joyous ask, at Morn’s returning Ray,
If Thou has Health, and I may bless the Day.
My Thought shall fix, my latest Wish depend
On Thee, Guide, Guardian, Kinsman, Father, Friend:
By all these sacred Names be Henry known
To Emma’s Heart: and grateful let Him own,
That She, of all Mankind, could love but Him alone.
HENRY:
Vainly thou tell’st Me, what the Woman’s Care
Shall in the Wildness of the Wood prepare:
Thou, e’er thou goest, unhapp’yest of thy Kind,
Must leave the Habit, and the Sex behind.
No longer shall thy comely Tresses break
In flowing Ringlets on thy snowy Neck;
Or sit behind thy Head, an ample Round,
In graceful Breeds with various Ribbon bound:
No longer shall the Boddice, aptly lac’d,
From thy full Bosome to thy slender Waste,
That Air and Harmony of Shape express,
Fine by Degrees, and beautifully less:
Nor shall thy lower Garments artful Pleat,
From thy fair Side dependent to thy Feet,
Arm their chaste Beauties with a modest Pride,
And double ev’ry Charm they seek to hide.
Th’Ambrosial Plenty of Thy shining Hair
Cropt off and lost, scarce lower than Thy Ear
Shall stand uncouth: a Horse-man’s Coat shall hide
Thy taper Shape, and Comeliness of Side:
The short Trunk-Hose shall show Thy Foot and Knee
Licentuous, and to common Eye-sight free:
And with a bolder Stride, and looser Air,
Mingl’d with Men, a Man Thou must appear.
Nor Solitude, nor gentle Peace of Mind,
Mistaken Maid, shalt Thou in Forests find:
’Tis long, since Cynthia and her Train were there;
Or Guardian Gods made Innocence their Care.
Vagrants and Out-laws shall offend Thy View;
For such must be my Friends; a hideous Crew,
By adverse Fortune mix’d in Social Ill,
Train’d to assault, and disciplin’d to kill:
Their common Loves, a lewd abandon’d Pack,
The Beadle’s Lash still flagrant on their Back;
By Sloth corrupted, by Disorder fed,
Made bold by Want, and prostitute for Bread:
With such must Emma hunt the tedious Day,
Assist their Violence, and divide their Prey:
With such She must return at setting Light,
Tho’ not Partaker, Witness of their Night.
Thy Ear, inur’d to charitable Sounds,
And pitying Love, must feel the hateful Wounds
Of Jest obscene, and vulgar Ribaldry,
The ill-bred Question, and the lewd Reply;
Brought by long Habitude from Bad to Worse,
Must hear the frequent Oath, the direful Curse,
That latest Weapon of the Wretches War,
And Blasphemy, sad Comrade of Despair.
Now, Emma, now the last Reflection make,
What Thou would’st follow, what Thou must forsake:
By our ill-omen’d Stars, and adverse Heav’n,
No middle Object to thy Choice is given.
Or yield thy Virtue, to attain thy Love;
Or leave a banish’d Man, condemn’d in Woods to rove.
EMMA:
O Grief of Heart! that our unhappy Fates
Force Thee to suffer what thy Honor hates:
Mix Thee amongst the Bad; or make Thee run
Too near the Paths, which Virtue bids Thee shun.
Yet with her Henry still let Emma go;
With Him abhor the Vice, but share the Woe:
And sure My little Heart can never err
Amidst the worst; if Henry still be there.
Our outward Act is prompted from within;
And from the Sinner’s Mind proceeds the Sin:
By her own Choice free Virtue is approv’d;
Nor by the Force of outward Objects mov’d.
Who has assay’d no Danger, gains no Praise.
In a small Isle, amidst the widest Seas,
Triumphant Constancy has fix’d her Seat:
In vain the Syrens sing, the Tempests beat:
Their Flatt’ry She rejects, nor fears their Threat.
For Thee alone these little Charms I drest;
Condemn’d them, or absolv’d them by thy Test.
In comely Figure rang’d, my Jewels shone,
Or negligently plac’d, for Thee alone:
For Thee again they shall be laid aside:
The Woman, Henry, shall put off her Pride
For Thee: my Cloaths, my Sex exchang’d for Thee,
I’ll mingle with the People’s wretched Lee;
O Line extream of human Infamy!
Wanting the Scissors, with these Hands I’ll tear
(If that obstructs my Flight) this load of Hair.
Black Soot, or yellow Walnut shall disgrace
This little Red and White of Emma’s Face.
These Nails with Scratches shall deform my Breast,
Lest by my Look, or Color be express’d
The Mark of ought High-born, or ever better dress’d.
Yet in this Commerce, under this Disguise,
Let Me be grateful still to Henry’s Eyes.
Lost to the World, let Me to Him be known:
My Fate I can absolve; if He shall own,
That leaving all Mankind, I love but Him alone.
HENRY:
O wildest Thought of an abandon’d Mind!
Name, Habit, Parents, Woman left behind,
Ev’n Honor dubious, Thou preferr’st to go
Wild to the Woods with Me: Said Emma so?
Or did I dream what Emma never said?
O guilty Error! and O wretched Maid!
Whose roving Fancy would resolve the same
With Him, who next should tempt her easie Fame;
And blow with empty Words the susceptible Flame.
Now why should doubtful Terms thy Mind perplex?
Confess thy Frailty, and avow the Sex:
No longer loose Desire for constant Love
Mistake; but say, ’tis Man, with whom Thou long’st to rove.
EMMA:
Are there not Poisons, Racks, and Flames, and Swords;
That Emma thus must die by Henry’s Words?
Yet what could Swords or Poison, Racks or Flame,
But mangle and disjoint this brittle Frame?
More fatal Henry’s Words; they murder Emma’s Fame.
And fall these Sayings from that gentle Tongue,
Where civil Speech, and soft Persuasion hung;
Whose artful Sweetness and harmonious Strain,
Courting my Grace, yet courting it in vain,
Call’d Sighs, and Tears, and Wishes to it’s Aid;
And, whilst it Henry’s glowing Flame convey’d,
still blam’d the Coldness of the Nut-brown Maid?
Let envious Jealousie, and canker’d Spight
Produce my Action to severest Light,
And tax my open Day, or secret Night.
Did e’er my Tongue speak my unguarded Heart
The least inclin’d to play the Wanton’s Part?
Did e’er my Eye One inward Thought reveal,
Which Angels might not hear, and Virgins tell?
And hast Thou, Henry, in my Conduct known
One Fault, but That which I must ever own,
That I, of all Mankind, have lov’d but Thee alone?
> HENRY:
Vainly thou talk’st of loving Me alone:
Each Man is Man; and all Our Sex is One.
False are our Words; and fickle is our Mind:
Nor in Love’s Ritual can We ever find
Vows made to last, or Promises to bind.
By Nature prompted, and for Empire made,
Alike by Strength or Cunning We invade:
When arm’d with Rage We march against the Foe;
We lift the Battel-Ax, and draw the Bow:
When fir’d with Passion We attack the Fair;
Delusive Sighs and brittle Vows, We bear;
Our Falshood and our Arms have equal Use;
As they our Conquest, or Delight produce.
The foolish Heart Thou gav’st, again receive,
The only Boon departing Love can give.
To be less Wretched, be no longer True:
What strives to fly Thee, why should’st Thou pursue?
Forget the Present Flame, indulge a New.
Single the loveliest of the am’rous Youth;
Ask for his Vow; but hope not for his Truth.
The next Man (and the next Thou shalt believe)
Will pawn his Gods, intending to deceive;
Will kneel, implore, persist, o’ercome, and leave.
Hence let Thy Cupid aim his Arrows right;
Be Wise and False, shun Trouble, seek Delight,
Change Thou the first, nor wait Thy Lover’s Flight.
Why shouldst Thou weep? let Nature judge our Case:
I saw Thee Young, and Fair; pursu’d the Chase
Of Youth, and Beauty: I another saw
Fairer, and Younger: yielding to the Law
Of our all-ruling Mother, I pursu’d
More Youth, more Beauty: Blest Vicissitude!
My active Heart still keeps it’s pristine Flame;
The Object alter’d, the Desire the same.
This Younger Fairer pleads her rightful Charms:
With present Power compels me to her Arms.
And much I fear, from my subjected Mind
(If Beauty’s Force to constant Love can bind)
That Years may roll, e’er in Her turn the Maid
Shall weep the Fury of my Love decay’d;
And weeping follow Me, as Thou dost now,
With idle Clamours of a broken Vow.
Nor can the wildness of thy Wishes err
So wide, to hope that Thou may’st live with Her.
Love, well Thou know’st, no Partnership allows:
Cupid averse rejects divided Vows.
Then from thy foolish Heart, vain Maid, remove
A useless Sorrow, and an ill-starr’d Love;
And leave me, with the Fair, at large in Woods to rove.
EMMA:
Are we in Life thro’ one great Error led?
Is each Man perjur’d, and each Nymph betray’d?
Of the Superior Sex art Thou the worst?
Am I of Mine the most compleatly Curst?
Yet let me go with Thee; and going prove,
From what I will endure, how much I love.
This potent Beauty, this Triumphant Fair,
This happy Object of our diff’rent Care,
Her let me follow; Her let me attend,
A Servant: (She may scorn the Name of Friend.)
What She demands, incessant I’ll prepare:
I’ll weave Her Garlands; and I’ll pleat Her Hair:
My busie Diligence shall deck her Board;
(For there, at least, I may approach my Lord.)
And when Her Henry’s softer Hours advise
His Servant’s Absence; with dejected Eyes
Far I’ll recede, and Sighs forbid to rise.
Yet when encreasing Grief brings slow Disease;
And ebbing Life, on Terms severe as these,
Will have it’s little Lamp no longer fed;
When Henry’s Mistress shows him Emma dead;
Rescue my poor Remains from vile Neglect:
With Virgin Honors let my Herse be deckt,
And decent Emblem; and at least persuade
This happy Nymph, that Emma may be laid,
Where Thou, dear Author of my Death, where She
With frequent Eye my Sepulchre may see.
The Nymph amidst her Joys may haply breath
One pious Sigh, reflecting on my Death,
And the sad Fate which She may one Day prove,
Who hopes from Henry’s Vows Eternal Love.
And Thou forsworn, Thou cruel, as Thou art,
If Emma’s Image ever touch’d thy Heart;
Thou sure must give one Thought, and drop one Tear
To Her, whom Love abandon’d to Despair;
To Her, who dying, on the wounded Stone
Bid it in lasting Characters be known,
That, of Mankind, She lov’d but Thee alone.
HENRY:
Hear, solemn Jove; and, concious Venus, hear;
And Thou bright Maid, believe Me, whilst I swear;
No Time, no Change, no future Flame shall move
The well-plac’d Basis of my lasting Love.
O Powerful Virtue! O Victorious Fair!
At least excuse a Tryal too severe:
Receive the Triumph, and forget the War.
No banish’d Man, condemn’d in Woods to rove,
Intreats thy Pardon, and implores thy Love:
No perjur’d Knight desires to quit thy Arms,
Fairest Collection of thy Sexe’s Charms,
Crown of my Love, and Honor of my Youth:
Henry, thy Henry with Eternal Truth,
As Thou may’st wish, shall all his Life imploy,
And found his Glory in his Emma’s Joy.
In Me behold the Potent Edgar’s Heir,
Illustrious Earl: Him terrible in War
Let Loyre confess; for She has felt His Sword,
And trembling fled before the British Lord.
Him great in Peace and Wealth fair Deva knows;
For she amidst his spacious Meadows flows;
Inclines her Urn upon his fatten’d Lands;
And sees his num’rous Herd imprint her Sands.
And Thou, my Fair, my Dove, shalt raise thy Thought
To Greatness next to Empire; shalt be brought
With solemn Pomp to my Paternal Seat;
Where Peace and Plenty on Thy Word shall wait.
Music and Song shall wake the Marriage-Day:
And while the Priests accuse the Bride’s Delay;
Myrtles and Roses shall obstruct Her Way.
Friendship shall still Thy Evening Feasts adorn;
And blooming Peace shall ever bless Thy Morn.
Succeeding Years their happy Race shall run;
And Age unheeded by Delight come on;
While yet Superior Love shall mock his Pow’r:
And when old Time shall turn the fated Hour,
Which only can our well-ty’d Knot unfold,
What rests of Both, One Sepulchre shall hold.
Hence then, for ever, from my Emma’s Breast
(That Heav’n of Softness, and that Seat of Rest)
Ye Doubts and Fears, and All that know to move
Tormenting Grief, and All that troubled Love,
Scatter’d by Winds recede, and wild in Forests rove.
EMMA:
O Day the fairest sure that ever rose!
Period and End of anxious Emma’s Woes!
Sire of her Joy, and Source of her Delight;
O! wing’d with Pleasure take thy happy Flight,
And give each future Morn a Tincture of thy White.
Yet tell thy Votary, potent Queen of Love,
Henry, my Henry, will He never rove?
Will He be ever Kind, and Just, and Good?
And is there yet no Mistress in the Wood?
None, none there is: The Thought was rash and vain;
A false Idea, and a fancy’d P
ain.
Doubt shall for ever quit my strengthen’d Heart,
And anxious Jealousie’s corroding Smart;
Nor other Inmate shall inhabit there,
But soft Belief, young Joy, and pleasing Care.
Hence let the Tides of Plenty ebb and flow,
And Fortune’s various Gale unheeded blow.
If at my Feet the Suppliant Goddess stands,
And sheds her Treasure with unweary’d Hands;
Her present Favor cautious I’ll embrace,
And not unthankful use the proffer’d Grace:
If She reclaims the Temporary Boon,
And tries her Pinions, flutt’ring to be gone;
Secure of Mind I’ll obviate her Intent,
And unconcern’d return the Goods She lent.
Nor Happiness can I, nor Misery feel,
From any Turn of her Fantastic Wheel:
Friendship’s great Laws, and Love’s superiour Pow’rs
Must mark the Colour of my future Hours.
From the Events which Thy Commands create
I must my Blessings or my Sorrows date;
And Henry’s Will must dictate Emma’s Fate.
Yet while with close Delight and inward Pride
(Which from the World my careful Soul shall hide)
I see Thee, Lord and End of my Desire,
Exalted high as Virture can require;
With Pow’r invested, and with Pleasure chear’d;
Sought by the Good, by the Oppressor fear’d;
Loaded and blest with all the affluent Store,
Which human Vows at smoaking Shrines implore;
Grateful and humble grant Me to employ
My Life, subservient only to thy Joy;
And at my Death to bless thy Kindness shown
To Her, who of Mankind could love but Thee alone.
While thus the constant Pair alternate said,
Joyful above them and around them play’d
Angels and sportive Loves, a numerous Crowd;
Smiling They clapt their Wings, and low They bow’d:
They tumbled all their little Quivers o’er,
To chuse propitious Shafts; a precious Store:
That when their God should take his future Darts,
To strike (however rarely) constant Hearts,
His happy Skill might proper Arms imploy,
Complete Works of Matthew Prior Page 16