John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series
Page 53
Not louder Cries, when Ilium was in Flames,
Were sent to Heav’n by woful Trojan Dames, 700
When Pyrrhus toss’d on high his burnish’d Blade,
And offer’d Priam to his Father’s Shade,
Than for the Cock the widow’d Poultry made.
Fair Partlet first, when he was born from sight,
With soveraign Shrieks bewail’d her Captive Knight: 705
Far lowder than the Carthaginian Wife,
When Asdrubal her Husband lost his Life,
When she beheld the smouldring Flames ascend,
And all the Punick Glories at an end:
Willing into the Fires she plung’d her Head, 710
With greater Ease than others seek their Bed.
Not more aghast the Matrons of Renown,
When Tyrant Nero burn’d th’ Imperial Town,
Shriek’d for the downfal in a doleful Cry,
For which their guiltless Lords were doom’d to die. 715
Now to my Story I return again:
The trembling Widow, and her Daughters twain,
This woful cackling Cry with Horror heard,
Of those distracted Damsels in the Yard;
And starting up, beheld the heavy Sight, 720
How Reynard to the Forest took his Flight,
And cross his Back, as in triumphant Scorn,
The Hope and Pillar of the House was born.
The Fox, the wicked Fox, was all the Cry,
Out from his House ran ev’ry Neighbour nigh: 725
The Vicar first, and after him the Crew,
With Forks and Staves the Fellon to pursue.
Ran Coll our Dog, and Talbot with the Band,
And Malkin, with her Distaff in her Hand:
Ran Cow and Calf, and Family of Hogs, 730
In Panique Horror of pursuing Dogs;
With many a deadly Grunt and doleful Squeak
Poor Swine, as if their pretty Hearts would break.
The Shouts of Men, the Women in dismay,
With Shrieks augment the Terror of the Day. 735
The Ducks, that heard the Proclamation cry’d,
And fear’d a Persecution might betide,
Full twenty Mile from Town their Voyage take,
Obscure in Rushes of the liquid Lake.
The Geese fly o’er the Barn; the Bees in Arms, 740
Drive headlong from their Waxen Cells in Swarms.
Jack Straw at London-stone with all his Rout
Struck not the City with so loud a Shout;
Not when with English Hate they did pursue
A French Man, or an unbelieving Jew: 745
Not when the Welkin rung with one and all;
And Echoes bounded back from Fox’s Hall;
Earth seem’d to sink beneath, and Heav’n above to fall.
With Might and Main they chas’d the murd’rous Fox,
With brazen Trumpets, and inflated Box, 750
To Kindle Mars with military Sounds,
Nor wanted Horns t’ inspire sagacious Hounds.
But see how Fortune can confound the Wise,
And when they least expect it, turn the Dice.
The Captive Cock, who scarce cou’d draw his Breath, 755
And lay within the very Jaws of Death,
Yet in this Agony his Fancy wrought,
And Fear supply’d him with this happy Thought:
Yours is the Prize, victorious Prince, said he,
The Vicar my defeat, and all the Village see, 760
Enjoy your friendly Fortune while you may,
And bid the Churls that envy you the Prey,
Call back their mungril Curs, and cease their Cry,
See, Fools, the shelter of the Wood is nigh,
And Chanticleer in your despight shall die. 765
He shall be pluck’d and eaten to the Bone.
’Tis well advis’d, in Faith it shall be done;
This Reynard said: but as the Word he spoke,
The Pris’ner with a Spring from Prison broke:
Then stretch’d his feather’d Fans with all his might, 770
And to the neighb’ring Maple wing’d his flight.
Whom when the Traytor safe on Tree beheld,
He curs’d the Gods, with Shame and Sorrow fill’d;
Shame for his Folly; Sorrow out of time,
For Plotting an unprofitable Crime: 775
Yet mast’ring both, th’ Artificer of Lies
Renews th’ Assault, and his last Batt’ry tries.
Though I, said he, did ne’er in Thought offend,
How justly may my Lord suspect his Friend!
Th’ appearance is against me, I confess, 780
Who seemingly have put you in Distress:
You, if your Goodness does not plead my Cause,
May think I broke all hospitable Laws,
To bear you from your Palace-yard by Might,
And put your noble Person in a Fright: 785
This, since you take it ill, I must repent,
Though Heav’n can witness with no bad intent
I practis’d it, to make you taste your Cheer,
With double Pleasure, first prepared by fear.
So loyal Subjects often seize their Prince, 790
Forc’d (for his Good) to seeming Violence,
Yet mean his sacred Person not the least Offence.
Descend; so help me Jove as you shall find
That Reynard comes of no dissembling Kind.
Nay, quoth the Cock; but I beshrew us both, 795
If I believe a Saint upon his Oath:
An honest Man may take a Knave’s Advice,
But Idiots only will be couzen’d twice:
Once warn’d is well bewar’d: No flattering lies
Shall sooth me more to sing with winking Eyes, 800
And open Mouth, for fear of catching Flies.
Who Blindfold walks upon a Rivers brim,
When he should see, has he deserv’d to swim?
Better, Sir Cock, let all Contention cease,
Come down, said Reynard, let us treat of Peace. 805
A Peace with all my Soul, said Chanticleer;
But, with your Favour, I will treat it here:
And least the Truce with Treason should be mixt,
’Tis my concern to have the Tree betwixt.
THE MORAL
In this plain Fable you th’ Effect may see 810
Of Negligence, and fond Credulity:
And learn besides of Flatt’rers to beware,
Then most pernicious when they speak too fair.
The Cock and Fox, the Fool and Knave imply;
The Truth is moral, though the Tale a Lie. 815
Who spoke in Parables, I dare not say;
But sure, he knew it was a pleasing way,
Sound Sense, by plain Example, to convey.
And in a Heathen Author we may find,
That Pleasure with Instruction should be join’d: 820
So take the Corn, and leave the Chaff behind.
The Flower and the Leaf; or, The Lady in the Arbour
A VISION.
NOW turning from the wintry Signs, the Sun
His Course exalted through the Ram had run:
And whirling up the Skies, his Chariot drove
Through Taurus, and the lightsome Realms of Love,
Where Venus from her Orb descends in Show’rs 5
To glad the Ground, and paint the Fields with Flow’rs:
When first the tender Blades of Grass appear,
And Buds that yet the blast of Eurus fear,
Stand at the door of Life; and doubt to cloath the Year;
Till gentle Heat, and soft repeated Rains 10
Make the green Blood to dance within their Veins:
Then, at their Call, embolden’d out they come,
And swell the Gems, and burst the narrow Room;
Broader and broader yet, their Blooms display,
Salute the
welcome Sun, and entertain the Day. 15
Then from their breathing Souls the Sweets repair
To scent the Skies, and purge th’ unwholesome Air:
Joy spreads the Heart, and with a general Song,
Spring issues out, and leads the jolly Months along.
In that sweet Season, as in Bed I lay, 20
And sought in Sleep to pass the Night away,
I turned my weary Side, but still in vain,
Tho’ full of youthful Health, and void of Pain:
Cares I had none to keep me from my Rest,
For Love had never enter’d in my Breast; 25
I wanted nothing Fortune could supply,
Nor did she Slumber till that hour deny:
I wonder’d then, but after found it true,
Much Joy had dry’d away the balmy Dew:
Sea’s wou’d be Pools without the brushing Air, 30
To curl the Waves; and sure some little Care
Shou’d weary Nature so, to make her want repair.
When Chaunticleer the second Watch had sung,
Scorning the Scorner Sleep from Bed I sprung.
And dressing, by the Moon, in loose Array 35
Pass’d out in open Air, preventing Day,
And sought a goodly Grove, as Fancy led my way.
Strait as a Line in beauteous Order stood
Of Oaks unshorn a venerable Wood;
Fresh was the Grass beneath, and ev’ry Tree, 40
At distance planted in a due degree,
Their branching Arms in Air with equal space
Stretch’d to their Neighbours with a long Embrace:
And the new Leaves on ev’ry Bough were seen,
Some ruddy-colour’d, some of lighter green. 45
The painted Birds, Companions of the Spring,
Hopping from Spray to Spray, were heard to sing;
Both Eyes and Ears receiv’d a like Delight,
Enchanting Musick, and a charming Sight.
On Philomel I fix’d my whole Desire; 50
And list’n’d for the Queen of all the Quire;
Fain would I hear her heav’nly Voice to sing:
And wanted yet an Omen to the Spring.
Attending long in vain; I took the way
Which through a Path, but scarcely printed, lay; 55
In narrow Mazes oft it seemed to meet,
And look’d as lightly press’d by Fairy Feet.
Wandring I walk’d alone, for still methought
To some strange End so strange a Path was wrought:
At last it led me where an Arbour stood, 60
The sacred Receptacle of the Wood:
This Place unmark’d though oft I walk’d the Green,
In all my Progress I had never seen:
And seiz’d at once with Wonder and Delight,
Gaz’d all arround me, new to the transporting Sight. 65
’Twas bench’d with Turf, and, goodly to be seen,
The thick young Grass arose in fresher Green:
The Mound was newly made, no Sight cou’d pass
Betwixt the nice Partitions of the Grass;
The well-united Sods so closely lay; 70
And all arround the Shades defended it from Day.
For Sycamours with Eglantine were spread,
A Hedge about the Sides, a Covering over Head.
And so the fragrant Brier was wove between,
The Sycamour and Flow’rs were mix’d with Green, 75
That Nature seem’d to vary the Delight;
And satisfy’d at once the Smell and Sight.
The Master Work-man of the Bow’r was known
Through Fairy-Lands, and built for Oberon;
Who twining Leaves with such Proportion drew, 80
They rose by Measure, and by Rule they grew;
No Mortal Tongue can half the Beauty tell,
For none but Hands divine could work so well.
Both Roof and Sides were like a Parlour made,
A soft Recess, and a cool Summer Shade; 85
The Hedge was set so thick, no Foreign Eye
The Persons plac’d within it could espy;
But all that pass’d without with Ease was seen,
As if nor Fence nor Tree was plac’d between.
’Twas borderd with a Field; and some was plain 90
With Grass; and some was sow’d with rising Grain.
That (now the Dew with Spangles deck’d the Ground,)
A sweeter spot of Earth was never found.
I look’d, and look’d, and still with new Delight;
Such Joy my Soul, such Pleasures fill’d my Sight: 95
And the fresh Eglantine exhal’d a Breath;
Whose Odours were of Pow’r to raise from Death.
Nor sullen Discontent nor anxious Care,
Ev’n tho’ brought thither, could inhabit there:
But thence they fled as from their mortal Foe; 100
For this sweet Place cou’d only Pleasure know.
Thus as I mus’d, I cast aside my Eye,
And saw a Medlar-Tree was planted nigh.
The spreading Branches made a goodly Show,
And full of opening Blooms was ev’ry Bough: 105
A Goldfinch there I saw with gawdy Pride
Of painted Plumes, that hopp’d from side to side,
Still pecking as she pass’d; and still she drew
The Sweets from ev’ry Flower, and suck’d the Dew:
Suffic’d at length, she warbled in her Throat, 110
And tun’d her Voice to many a merry Note,
But indistinct, and neither Sweet nor Clear,
Yet such as sooth’d my Soul, and pleas’d my Ear.
Her short Performance was no sooner try’d,
When she I sought, the Nightingale reply’d: 115
So Sweet, so shrill, so variously she sung,
That the grove eccho’d, and the Valleys rung:
And I so ravish’d with her heav’nly Note
I stood intranc’d, and had no room for Thought,
But all o’er-pow’r’d with Extasy of Bliss, 120
Was in a pleasing Dream of Paradice;
At length I wak’d; and looking round the Bow’r
Search’d every Tree, and pry’d on ev’ry Flow’r,
If anywhere by chance I might espy
The rural Poet of the Melody: 125
For still methought she sung not far away;
At last I found her on a Lawrel Spray,
Close by my Side she sate, and fair in Sight,
Full in a Line, against her opposite;
Where stood with Eglantine the Lawrel twin’d: 130
And both their native Sweets were well conjoin’d.
On the green Bank I sat, and listen’d long;
(Sitting was more convenient for the Song!)
Nor till her Lay was ended could I move,
But wish’d to dwell for ever in the Grove. 135
Only methought the time too swiftly pass’d,
And ev’ry Note I fear’d would be the last.
My Sight, and Smell, and Hearing were employ’d,
And all three Senses in full Gust enjoy’d.
And what alone did all the rest surpass, 140
The sweet Possession of the Fairy Place;
Single, and conscious to my Self alone
Of Pleasures to th’ excluded World unknown.
Pleasures which nowhere else, were to be found,
And all Elysium in a spot of Ground. 145
Thus while I sat intent to see and hear,
And drew Perfumes of more than vital Air,
All suddenly I heard th’ approaching sound
Of vocal Musick, on th’ enchanted Ground:
An Host of Saints it seem’d, so full the Quire; 150
As if the Bless’d above did all conspire,
To join their Voices, and neglect the Lyre.
At length there issu’d from the Grove behin
d
A fair Assembly of the Female Kind:
A Train less fair, as ancient Fathers tell, 155
Seduc’d the Sons of Heaven to rebel.
I pass their Forms, and ev’ry charming Grace,
Less than an Angel would their Worth debase:
But their Attire like Liveries of a kind,
All rich and rare is fresh within my Mind. 160
In Velvet white as Snow the Troop was gown’d,
The Seams with sparkling Emeralds set around;
Their Hoods and Sleeves the same: And purfled o’er
With Diamonds, Pearls, and all the shining store
Of Eastern Pomp: Their long descending Train 165
With Rubies edg’d, and Saphires, swept the Plain:
High on their Heads, with Jewels richly set
Each Lady wore a radiant Coronet.
Beneath the Circles, al the Quire was grac’d
With Chaplets green on their fair Foreheads plac’d, 170
Of Lawrel some, of Woodbine many more;
And Wreaths of Agnus castus others bore:
These last, who with those Virgin Crowns were dress’d,
Appear’d in higher Honour than the rest.
They danc’d around, but in the midst was seen 175
A Lady of a more majestique Mien;
By Stature, and by Beauty mark’d their Sovereign Queen.
She in the midst began with sober Grace;
Her Servants Eyes were fix’d upon her Face,
And as she mov’d or turn’d, her Motions view’d, 180
Her Measures kept, and Step by Step pursu’d.
Methought she trod the Ground with greater Grace,
With more of Godhead shining in her Face;
And as in Beauty she surpass’d the Quire,
So, nobler than the rest, was her Attire. 185
A crown of ruddy Gold inclos’d her Brow,
Plain without Pomp, and Rich without a Show:
A Branch of Agnus Castus in her Hand
She bore aloft (her Scepter of Command;)
Admir’d, ador’d by all the circling Crowd, 190
For wheresoe’er she turn’d her Face, they bow’d:
And as she danc’d, a Roundelay she sung,
In honour of the Lawrel, ever young:
She rais’d her Voice on high, and sung so clear,
The Fawns came scudding from the Groves to hear: 195
And all the bending Forest lent an Ear.
At ev’ry Close she made, th’ attending Throng
Reply’d, and bore the Burden of the Song:
So just, so small, yet in so sweet a Note,
It seem’d the Musick melted in the Throat. 200
Thus dancing on, and singing as they danc’d,
They to the middle of the Mead advanc’d:
Till round my Arbour, a new Ring they made,
And footed it about the secret Shade: