‘One only doubt remains: full oft, I ‘ve heard,
By casuists grave and deep divines averr’d,
That ‘t is too much for human race to know 270
The bliss of Heav’n above and earth below:
Now should the nuptial pleasures prove so great,
To match the blessings of the future state,
Those endless joys were ill exchanged for these:
Then clear this doubt, and set my mind at ease.’ 275
This Justin heard, nor could his spleen control,
Touch’d to the quick, and tickled at the soul.
‘Sir Knight,’ he cried, ‘if this be all you dread,
Heav’n put it past a doubt whene’er you wed;
And to my fervent prayers so far consent, 280
That, ere the rites are o’er, you may repent!
Good Heav’n, no doubt, the nuptial state approves,
Since it chastises still what best it loves.
‘Then be not, Sir, abandon’d to despair;
Seek, and perhaps you ‘ll find among the Fair 285
One that may do your business to a hair;
Not ev’n in wish your happiness delay,
But prove the scourge to lash you on your way:
Then to the skies your mounting soul shall go,
Swift as an arrow soaring from the bow! 290
Provided still, you moderate your joy,
Nor in your pleasures all your might employ:
Let Reason’s rule your strong desires abate,
Nor please too lavishly your gentle mate.
Old wives there are, of judgment most acute, 295
Who solve these questions beyond all dispute;
Consult with those, and be of better cheer;
Marry, do penance, and dismiss your fear.’
So said, they rose, nor more the work delay’d:
The match was offer’d, the proposals made. 300
The parents, you may think, would soon comply;
The old have int’rest ever in their eye.
Nor was it hard to move the lady’s mind;
When Fortune favours, still the Fair are kind.
I pass each previous settlement and deed, 305
Too long for me to write, or you to read;
Nor will with quaint impertinence display
The pomp, the pageantry, the proud array.
The time approach’d; to church the parties went,
At once with carnal and devout intent: 310
Forth came the priest, and bade th’ obedient wife
Like Sarah or Rebecca lead her life;
Then pray’d the Powers the fruitful bed to bless,
And make all sure enough with holiness.
And now the palace gates are open’d wide, 315
The guests appear in order, side by side,
And, placed in state, the bridegroom and the bride.
The breathing flute’s soft notes are heard around,
And the shrill trumpets mix their silver sound;
The vaulted roofs with echoing music ring, 320
These touch the vocal stops, and those the trembling string.
Not thus Amphion tuned the warbling lyre,
Nor Joab the sounding clarion could inspire,
Nor fierce Theodamas, whose sprightly strain
Could swell the soul to rage, and fire the martial train. 325
Bacchus himself, the nuptial feast to grace,
(So poets sing) was present on the place:
And lovely Venus, Goddess of Delight,
Shook high her flaming torch in open sight,
And danced around, and smiled on ev’ry Knight: 330
Pleas’d her best servant would his courage try,
No less in wedlock than in liberty.
Full many an age old Hymen had not spied
So kind a bridegroom, or so bright a bride.
Ye Bards! renown’d among the tuneful throng 335
For gentle lays, and joyous nuptial song,
Think not your softest numbers can display
The matchless glories of this blissful day;
The joys are such as far transcend your rage,
When tender youth has wedded stooping age. 340
The beauteous dame sat smiling at the board,
And darted am’rous glances at her lord.
Not Hester’s self, whose charms the Hebrews sing,
E’er look’d so lovely on her Persian King:
Bright as the rising sun in summer’s day, 345
And fresh and blooming as the month of May!
The joyful knight survey’d her by his side,
Nor envied Paris with his Spartan bride:
Still as his mind revolv’d with vast delight
Th’ entrancing raptures of th’ approaching night, 350
Restless he sat, invoking every Power
To speed his bliss, and haste the happy hour.
Meantime the vig’rous dancers beat the ground,
And songs were sung, and flowing bowls went round.
With od’rous spices they perfumed the place, 355
And mirth and pleasure shone in ev’ry face.
Damian alone, of all the menial train,
Sad in the midst of triumphs, sigh’d for pain,
Damian alone, the Knight’s obsequious Squire,
Consumed at heart, and fed a secret fire. 360
His lovely mistress all his soul possess’d;
He look’d, he languish’d, and could take no rest:
His task perform’d, he sadly went his way,
Fell on his bed, and loath’d the light of day:
There let him lie; till his relenting dame 365
Weep in her turn, and waste in equal flame.
The weary sun, as learned poets write,
Forsook th’ horizon, and roll’d down the light;
While glitt’ring stars his absent beams supply,
And night’s dark mantle overspread the sky. 370
Then rose the guests, and as the time required,
Each paid his thanks, and decently retired.
The foe once gone, our Knight prepared t’ undress,
So keen he was, and eager to possess:
But first thought fit th’ assistance to receive, 375
Which grave physicians scruple not to give:
Satyrion near, with hot eringoes stood,
Cantharides, to fire the lazy blood,
Whose use old Bards describe in luscious rhymes,
And Critics learn’d explain to modern times. 380
By this the sheets were spread, the bride undress’d,
The room was sprinkled, and the bed was bless’d.
What next ensued beseems not me to say;
‘T is sung, he labour’d till the dawning day;
Then briskly sprung from bed, with heart so light, 385
As all were nothing he had done by night,
And sipp’d his cordial as he sat upright.
He kiss’d his balmy spouse with wanton play,
And feebly sung a lusty roundelay:
Then on the couch his weary limbs he cast; 390
For ev’ry labour must have rest at last.
But anxious cares the pensive Squire opprest,
Sleep fled his eyes, and Peace forsook his breast;
The raging flames that in his bosom dwell,
He wanted art to hide, and means to tell: 395
Yet hoping time th’ occasion might betray,
Composed a sonnet to the lovely May;
Which, writ and folded with the nicest art,
He wrapt in silk, and laid upon his heart.
When now the fourth revolving day was run, 400
(‘T was June, and Cancer had receiv’d the sun)
Forth from her chamber came the beauteous bride;
The good old Knight mov’d slowly by her side.
High mass was sung; they feasted in the hall;
The servan
ts round stood ready at their call. 405
The Squire alone was absent from the board,
And much his sickness griev’d his worthy lord,
Who pray’d his spouse, attended with her train,
To visit Damian, and divert his pain.
Th’ obliging dames obey’d with one consent: 410
They left the hall, and to his lodging went.
The female tribe surround him as he lay,
And close beside him sat the gentle May:
Where, as she tried his pulse, he softly drew
A heaving sigh, and cast a mournful view! 415
Then gave his bill, and bribed the Powers divine,
With secret vows to favour his design.
Who studies now but discontented May?
On her soft couch uneasily she lay:
The lumpish husband snored away the night, 420
Till coughs awaked him near the morning light.
What then he did, I ‘ll not presume to tell,
Nor if she thought herself in Heav’n or Hell:
Honest and dull in nuptial bed they lay,
Till the bell toll’d, and all arose to pray. 425
Were it by forceful Destiny decreed,
Or did from Chance, or Nature’s power proceed;
Or that some star, with aspect kind to love,
Shed its selectest influence from above;
Whatever was the cause, the tender dame 430
Felt the first motions of an infant flame;
Receiv’d th’ impressions of the lovesick Squire,
And wasted in the soft infectious fire.
Ye Fair, draw near, let May’s example move
Your gentle minds to pity those who love! 435
Had some fierce tyrant in her stead been found,
The poor adorer sure had hang’d or drown’d:
But she, your sex’s mirror, free from pride,
Was much too meek to prove a homicide.
But to my tale: — Some sages have defin’d 440
Pleasure the sov’reign bliss of humankind:
Our Knight (who studied much, we may suppose)
Derived his high philosophy from those;
For, like a prince, he bore the vast expense
Of lavish pomp, and proud magnificence: 445
His house was stately, his retinue gay.
Large was his train, and gorgeous his array.
His spacious garden, made to yield to none,
Was compass’d round with walls of solid stone;
Priapus could not half describe the grace 450
(Tho’ God of gardens) of this charming place:
A place to tire the rambling wits of France
In long descriptions, and exceed Romance:
Enough to shame the gentlest bard that sings
Of painted meadows, and of purling springs. 455
Full in the centre of the flowery ground
A crystal fountain spread its streams around,
The fruitful banks with verdant laurels crown’d:
About this spring (if ancient Fame say true)
The dapper Elves their moonlight sports pursue: 460
Their pygmy King, and little fairy Queen,
In circling dances gambol’d on the green,
While tuneful sprites a merry concert made,
And airy music warbled thro’ the shade.
Hither the noble Knight would oft repair 465
(His scene of pleasure, and peculiar care);
For this he held it dear, and always bore
The silver key that lock’d the garden door.
To this sweet place in summer’s sultry heat
He used from noise and bus’ness to retreat; 470
And here in dalliance spend the livelong day,
Solus cum sola, with his sprightly May:
For whate’er work was undischarg’d abed,
The duteous Knight in this fair garden sped.
But ah! what mortal lives of bliss secure? 475
How short a space our worldly joys endure!
O Fortune, fair, like all thy treach’rous kind,
But faithless still, and wav’ring as the wind!
O painted monster, form’d mankind to cheat,
With pleasing poison, and with soft deceit! 480
This rich, this am’rous, venerable Knight,
Amidst his ease, his solace, and delight,
Struck blind by thee, resigns his days to grief,
And calls on death, the wretch’s last relief.
The rage of jealousy then seiz’d his mind, 485
For much he fear’d the faith of womankind.
His wife, not suffer’d from his side to stray,
Was captive kept; he watch’d her night and day,
Abridg’d her pleasures, and confin’d her sway.
Full oft in tears did hapless May complain, 490
And sigh’d full oft; but sigh’d and wept in vain;
She look’d on Damian with a lover’s eye;
For oh, ‘t was fix’d; she must possess or die!
Nor less impatience vex’d her am’rous Squire,
Wild with delay, and burning with desire. 495
Watch’d as she was, yet could he not refrain
By secret writing to disclose his pain:
The dame by signs reveal’d her kind intent,
Till both were conscious what each other meant,
Ah! gentle Knight, what would thy eyes avail, 500
Tho’ they could see as far as ships can sail?
‘T is better, sure, when blind, deceiv’d to be,
Than be deluded when a man can see!
Argus himself, so cautious and so wise,
Was overwatch’d, for all his hundred eyes: 505
So many an honest husband may, ‘t is known,
Who, wisely, never thinks the case his own.
The dame at last, by diligence and care,
Procured the key her Knight was wont to bear;
She took the wards in wax before the fire, 510
And gave th’ impression to the trusty Squire.
By means of this some wonder shall appear,
Which, in due place and season, you may hear.
Well sung sweet Ovid, in the days of yore,
What sleight is that which love will not explore! 515
And Pyramus and Thisbe plainly show
The feats true lovers, when they list, can do:
Tho’ watch’d and captive, yet in spite of all,
They found the art of kissing thro’ a wall.
But now no longer from our tale to stray, 520
It happ’d, that once upon a summer’s day
Our rev’rend Knight was urged to am’rous play:
He rais’d his spouse ere matin-bell was rung,
And thus his morning canticle he sung:
‘Awake, my love, disclose thy radiant eyes; 525
Arise, my wife, my beauteous lady, rise!
Hear how the doves with pensive notes complain,
And in soft murmurs tell the trees their pain:
The winter’s past; the clouds and tempests fly;
The sun adorns the fields, and brightens all the sky. 530
Fair without spot, whose ev’ry charming part
My bosom wounds, and captivates my heart!
Come, and in mutual pleasures let ‘s engage,
Joy of my life, and comfort of my age.’
This heard, to Damian straight a sign she made 535
To haste before; the gentle Squire obey’d:
Secret and undescried he took his way,
And ambush’d close behind an arbour lay.
It was not long ere January came,
And hand in hand with him his lovely dame; 540
Blind as he was, not doubting all was sure,
He turn’d the key, and made the gate secure.
‘Here let us walk,’ he said, ‘observ’d by none,
Conscious of pl
easures to the world unknown:
So may my soul have joy, as thou, my wife, 545
Art far the dearest solace of my life;
And rather would I choose, by Heav’n above,
To die this instant, than to lose thy love.
Reflect what truth was in my passion shown,
When, unendow’d, I took thee for my own, 550
And sought no treasure but thy heart alone.
Old as I am, and now deprived of sight,
Whilst thou art faithful to thy own true Knight,
Nor age, nor blindness, robs me of delight.
Each other loss with patience I can bear, 555
The loss of thee is what I only fear.
‘Consider then, my lady and my wife,
The solid comforts of a virtuous life.
As first, the love of Christ himself you gain;
Next, your own honour undefiled mountain; 560
And, lastly, that which sure your mind must move,
My whole estate shall gratify your love:
Make your own terms, and ere to-morrow’s sun
Displays his light, by Heav’n it shall be done
I seal the contract with a holy kiss, 565
And will perform — by this, my dear, and this.
Have comfort, Spouse, nor think thy lord unkind;
‘T is love, not jealousy, that fires my mind:
For when thy charms my sober thoughts engage,
And join’d to them my own unequal age, 570
From thy dear side I have no power to part,
Such secret transports warm my melting heart.
For who that once possess’d those heav’nly charms,
Could live one moment absent from thy arms?’
He ceas’d, and May with modest grace replied 575
(Weak was her voice, as while she spoke she cried):
‘Heav’n knows (with that a tender sigh she drew)
I have a soul to save as well as you;
And, what no less you to my charge commend,
My dearest honour, will to death defend. 580
To you in holy church I gave my hand,
And join’d my heart in wedlock’s sacred band:
Yet after this, if you distrust my care,
Then hear, my lord, and witness what I swear:
First may the yawning earth her bosom rend, 585
And let me hence to Hell alive descend;
Or die the death I dread no less than Hell,
Sew’d in a sack, and plunged into a well;
Ere I my fame by one lewd act disgrace,
Or once renounce the honour of my race. 590
For know, Sir Knight, of gentle blood I came;
I loathe a whore, and startle at the name.
But jealous men on their own crimes reflect,
And learn from thence their ladies to suspect:
Else why these needless cautions, Sir, to me? 595
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 6
