And witness next what Roman Authors tell,
How Arria, Portia, and Lucretia fell.

But fince the facred Leaves to All are free, And Men interpret Texts, why fhou'd not We? By this no more was meant, than to have shown, That Soveraign Goodness dwells in Him alone Who only Is, and is but only One.

}

But grant the worft; fhall Women then be weigh'd By ev'ry Word that Solomon has faid?

What tho' this King (as Hebrew Story boasts) Built a fair Temple to the Lord of Hofts; He ceas'd at laft his Maker to adore, And did as much for Idol Gods, or more. Beware what lavish Praises you confer On a rank Leacher, and Idolater, Whofe Reign Indulgent God, fays Holy Writ, Did but for David's Righteous Sake permit ; David, the Monarch after Heav'ns own Mind, Who lov'd our Sex, and honour'd all our Kind. Well, I'm a Woman, and as fuch must speak; Silence wou'd fwell me, and my Heart wou'd break Know then, I fcorn your dull Authorities, Your idle Wits, and all their learned Lies: By Heav'n, thofe Authors are our Sex's Foes, Whom, in our Right, I must, and will oppose. Nay, (quoth the King) dear Madam be not wroth; I yield it up; but fince I gave my Oath, That this much-injur'd Knight again fhou'd fee; It must be done----I am a King, said he, And one, whofe Faith has ever facred been. And fo has mine, (she said)----I am a Queen! Her Anfwer fhe fhall have, I undertake; And thus an End of all Dispute I make: Try when you lift; and you shall find, my Lord, It is not in our Sex to break our Word.

We leave them here in this Heroick Strain And to the Knight our Story turns again,

That in the Garden, with his lovely May,
Sung merrier than the Cuckow or the Jay:
This was his Song; Oh kind and conftant be,
Conftant and kind I'll ever prove to thee.

Thus finging as he went, at last he drew
By eafie Steps, to where the Pear-Tree grew :
The longing Dame look'd up, and spy'd her Love
Full fairly perch'd among the Boughs above.
She stopp'd, and fighing, Oh good Gods, the cry'd,
What Pangs, what sudden Shoots diftend my side?
O for that tempting Fruit, fo fresh, so green;
Help, for the Love of Heav'ns immortal Queen!
Help deareft Lord, and fave at once the Life
Of thy poor Infant, and thy longing Wife!

Sore figh'd the Knight, to hear his Lady's Cry,
But cou'd not climb, and had no Servant nigh,
Old as he was, and void of Eye-fight too,
What cou'd, alas, the helple's Husband do?
And muft I languish then (she said) and die,
Yet view the lovely Fruit before my Eye?
At least, kind Sir, for Charity's fweet fake,
Vouchsafe the Bole between your Arms to take;
Then from your Back I might afcend the Tree;
Do you but ftoop, and leave the reft to me.

With all my Soul, he thus reply'd again;
I'd spend my deareft Blood to ease thy Pain.
This faid, his Back againft the Trunk he bent;
She feiz'd a Twig, and up the Tree fhe went.

Now prove your Patience, gentle Ladies all,
Nor let on me your heavy Anger fall:
'Tis Truth I tell, tho' not in Phrafe refin'd;
Tho' blunt my Tale, yet honeft is my Mind.

What Feats the Lady in the Tree might do,

I pafs, as Gambols never known to you:
But fure it was a merrier Fit, fhe fwore,
Than in her Life fhe ever felt before.

In that nice Moment, lo! the wondring Knight Look'd out, and stood reftor'd to sudden Sight.

Strait on the Tree his eager Eyes he bent,
As one whofe Thoughts were on his Spouse intent;
But when he faw his Bofom-Wife fo dreft,
His Rage was fuch, as cannot be expreft:
Not frantick Mothers when their Infants die,
With fuch loud Clamours rend the vaulted Sky:
He cry'd, he roar'd, he rag'd, he tore his Hair;
Death! Hell! and Furies! what doft Thou do there?
What ails my Lord? the trembling Dame reply'd;
I thought your Patience had been better try'd:
Is this your Love, ungrateful and unkind,
This my Reward, for having cur'd the Blind?
Why was I taught to make my Husband fee,
By Strugling with a Man upon a Tree?
Did I for this the Pow'r of Magick prove?
Unhappy Wife, whofe Crime was too much Love!
If this be Strugling, by this holy Light,

'Tis Strugling with a Vengeance, (quoth the Knight:)
So Heav'n preferve the Sight it has reftor'd,
As with thefe Eyes I plainly faw thee whor'd;
Whor'd by my Slave---Perfidious Wretch! may Hell
As furely feize thee, as I faw too well.

Guard me, good Angels! cry'd the gentle May,
Pray Heav'n, this Magick work the proper Way :
Alas, my Lord, 'tis certain, cou'd you fee,
You ne'er had us'd these killing Words to me.
So help me Fates, as 'tis no perfect Sight,
But fome faint Glimm'ring of a doubtful Light.
What I have faid, quoth he, I must maintain;
For, by th' Immortal Pow'rs, it seem'd too plain----
By all thofe Pow'rs, fome Frenzy feiz'd your Mind,
(Reply'd the Dame :) Are thefe the Thanks I find?
Wretch that I am, that e'er I was fo Kind!
She faid; a rifing Sigh express'd her Woe,
The ready Tears apace began to flow,
And as they fell, the wip'd from either Eye
The Drops, (for Women when they lift, can cry.)

The Knight was touch'd, and in his Looks appear' Signs of Remorse, while thus his Spouse he chear'd : Madam, 'tis paft, and my fhort, Anger o'er; Come down, and vex your tender Heart no more: Excufe me, Dear, if ought amifs was faid, For, on my Soul, amends fhall foon be made: Let my Repentance your Forgiveness draw, By Heav'n, I fwore but what I thought I faw. Ah my lov'd Lord! 'twas much unkind (the cry'd) On bare Sufpicion thus to treat your Bride; But 'till your Sight's eftablish'd, for a while, Imperfect Objects may your Sense beguile: Thus when from Sleep we firft our Eyes display, The Balls feem wounded with the piercing Ray, And dusky Vapours rife, and intercept the Day: So just recov'ring from the Shades of Night, Your swimming Eyes are drunk with fudden Light, Strange Phantoms dance around, and skim before your Sight.

Then Sir be cautious, nor too rafhly deem; Heav'n knows, how feldom things are what they feem! Confult your Reafon, and you foon fhall find, 'Twas You were jealous, not your Wife unkind: Jove ne'er spoke Oracle more true than this, None judge fo wrong as thofe who think amifs. With that, the leap'd into her Lord's Embrace, With well-diffembl'd Virtue in her Face:

He hugg'd her close, and kiss'd her o'er and o'er, Disturb'd with Doubts and Jealousies no more: Both, pleas'd and bleft, renew'd their mutual Vows, A fruitful Wife, and a believing Spouse.

Thus ends our Tale, whofe Moral next to make, Let all wife Husbands hence Example take; And pray, to crown the Pleafures of their Lives, To be fo well deluded by their Wives.

A Paftoral DIALOGUE, between Two SHEPHERDESSES.

By the Author of the POEM on the SPLEEN.

P

STL VIA.

RETTY Nymph, within this Shade,
Whilft the Flocks to Reft are lay'd,

Whilft the World diffolves in Heat,
Take this cool, and flow'ry Seat;
And with pleafing Talk, a while,
Let us two the Time beguile:
Tho' thou here no Shepherd fee,
To encline his humble Knee;
Or, with Melancholy Layes,
Sing thy dangerous Beauty's Praise.
DORINDA.
Nymph, with thee 1 here wou'd ftay
But have heard, that on this Day,
Near those Beeches, fcarce in view,
All the Swains fome Mirth pursue,
To whofe Meeting now I haste:
Solitude does Life but waste.

STLVI A.

Prithee, but a Moment ftay.

DORIND A..

No, my Chaplet wou'd decay;
Ev'ry drooping Flow'r wou'd mourn,
And wrong the Face they fhou'd adorn.

STLVI A.

I can tell thee, tho' fo fair,

And drefs'd with all that Rural Care;

Most of the admiring Swains

Will be abfent from the Plains;
Gay Sylvander, in the Dance,
Met last Night a fhrewd Mifchance