Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

John Dryden (1631–1700). The Poems of John Dryden. 1913.

Fables Ancient and Modern

The Flower and the Leaf; or, The Lady in the Arbour

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

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

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.

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,

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;

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,

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

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,

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.

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;

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;

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,

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.

’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;

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,

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,

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;

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

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:

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;

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:

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,

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:

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,

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:

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:

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.

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,

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.

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;

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 behind

A fair Assembly of the Female Kind:

A Train less fair, as ancient Fathers tell,

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.

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

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,

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

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,

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.

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,

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:

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.

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:

O’erjoy’d to see the jolly Troop so near,

But somewhat aw’d I shook with holy Fear;

Yet not so much, but that I noted well

Who did the most in Song, or Dance excel.

Not long I had observ’d, when from afar

I heard a suddain Symphony of War;

The neighing Coursers, and the Soldiers cry,

And sounding Trumps that seem’d to tear the Sky.

I saw soon after this, behind the Grove

From whence the Ladies did in order move,

Come issuing out in Arms a Warrior-Train,

That like a Deluge pour’d upon the Plain:

On barbed Steeds they rode in proud Array,

Thick as the College of the Bees in May,

When swarming o’er the dusky Fields they fly,

New to the Flow’rs, and intercept the Sky.

So fierce they drove, their Coursers were so fleet,

That the Turf trembled underneath their Feet.

To tell their costly Furniture were long,

The Summers Day wou’d end before the Song:

To purchase but the Tenth of all their Store

Would make the mighty Persian Monarch poor.

Yet what I can, I will; before the rest

The Trumpets issu’d in white Mantles dress’d:

A numerous Troop, and all their Heads around

With Chaplets green of Cerrial-Oak were crown’d,

And at each Trumpet was a Banner bound;

Which waving in the Wind display’d at large

Their Master’s Coat of Arms, and Knightly Charge.

Broad were the Banners, and of snowy Hue,

A purer Web the Silk-worm never drew.

The chief about their Necks the Scutcheons wore,

With Orient Pearls and Jewels pouder’d o’er:

Broad were their Collars too, and ev’ry one

Was set about with many a costly Stone.

Next these of Kings at Arms a goodly Train,

In proud Array came prancing o’er the Plain:

Their Cloaks were Cloth of Silver mix’d with Gold,

And Garlands green arround their Temples roll’d:

Rich Crowns were on their royal Scutcheons plac’d,

With Saphires, Diamonds, and with Rubies grac’d:

And as the Trumpets their appearance made,

So these in Habits were alike array’d;

But with a Pace more sober, and more slow:

And twenty, Rank in Rank, they rode a-row.

The Pursevants came next, in number more:

And like the Heralds each his Scutcheon bore:

Clad in white Velvet all their Troop they led,

With each an Oaken Chaplet on his Head.

Nine royal Knights in equal Rank succeed,

Each Warrior mounted on a fiery Steed:

In golden Armour glorious to behold;

The Rivets of their Arms were nail’d with Gold.

Their Surcoats of white Ermin-Fur were made;

With Cloth of Gold between that cast a glitt’ring Shade.

The Trappings of their Steeds were of the same;

The golden Fringe ev’n set the Ground on flame,

And drew a precious Trail: A Crown divine

Of Lawrel did about their Temples twine.

Three Henchmen were for ev’ry Knight assign’d,

All in rich Livery clad, and of a kind:

White Velvet, but unshorn, for Cloaks they wore,

And each within his Hand a Truncheon bore:

The foremost held a Helm of rare device;

A Prince’s Ransom wou’d not pay the Price.

The second bore the Buckler of his Knight,

The third of Cornel-Wood a Spear upright,

Headed with piercing Steel, and polish’d bright.

Like to their Lords their Equipage was seen,

And all their Foreheads crown’d with Garlands green.

And after these came arm’d with Spear and Shield

An Host so great as cover’d all the Field:

And all their Foreheads, like the Knights before,

With Lawrels ever green were shaded o’er,

Or Oak, or other Leaves of lasting kind,

Tenacious of the Stem and firm against the Wind.

Some in their Hands, besides the Lance and Shield,

The Boughs of Woodbind or of Hauthorn held,

Or Branches for their mistique Emblems took,

Of Palm, of Lawrel, or of Cerrial Oak.

Thus marching to the Trumpets lofty Sound,

Drawn in two Lines adverse they wheel’d around,

And in the middle Meadow took their Ground.

Among themselves the Turney they divide

In equal Squadrons rang’d on either side.

Then turn’d their Horses Heads, and Man to Man,

And Steed to Steed oppos’d, the Justs began.

They lightly set their Lances in the rest,

And, at the Sign, against each other press’d

They met, I sitting at my Ease beheld

The mix’d Events, and Fortunes of the Field.

Some broke their Spears, some tumbled Horse and Man,

And round the Fields the lighten’d Coursers ran.

An Hour and more like Tides, in equal sway

They rush’d, and won by turns, and lost the Day:

At length the Nine (who still together held)

Their fainting Foes to shameful Flight compell’d,

And with resistless Force, o’er-ran the Field.

Thus, to their Fame, when finish’d was the Fight,

The Victors from their lofty Steeds alight:

Like them dismounted all the Warlike Train,

And two by two proceeded o’er the Plain:

Till to the fair Assembly they advanc’d,

Who near the secret Arbour sung and danc’d.

The Ladies left their Measures at the Sight,

To meet the Chiefs returning from the Fight,

And each with open Arms embrac’d her chosen Knight.

Amid the Plain a spreading Lawrel stood,

The Grace and Ornament of all the Wood:

That pleasing Shade they sought, a soft Retreat

From suddain April Show’rs, a Shelter from the Heat.

Her leavy Arms with such extent were spread,

So near the Clouds was her aspiring Head,

That Hosts of Birds that wing the liquid Air,

Perch’d in the Boughs, had nightly Lodging there.

And Flocks of Sheep beneath the Shade from far

Might hear the ratling Hail, and wintry War;

From Heav’ns Inclemency here found retreat,

Enjoy’d the cool, and shun’d the scorching Heat:

A hundred Knights might there at Ease abide;

And ev’ry Knight a Lady by his side:

The Trunk it self such Odours did bequeath

That a Moluccan Breeze to these was common Breath.

The Lords, and Ladies here approaching, paid

Their Homage, with a low Obeisance made:

And seem’d to venerate the sacred Shade.

These Rites perform’d, their Pleasures they pursue,

With Songs of Love, and mix with Measures new;

Around the holy Tree their Dance they frame,

And ev’ry Champion leads his chosen Dame.

I cast my Sight upon the farther Field,

And a fresh Object of Delight beheld:

For from the Region of the West I heard

New Musick sound, and a new Troop appear’d;

Of Knights, and Ladies mix’d a jolly Band,

But all on Foot they march’d, and Hand in Hand.

The Ladies dress’d in rich Symarrs were seen

Of Florence Satten, flower’d with White and Green,

And for a Shade betwixt the bloomy Gridelin.

The Borders of their Petticoats below

Were guarded thick with Rubies on a-row;

And ev’ry Damsel wore upon her Head

Of Flow’rs a Garland blended White and Red.

Attir’d in Mantles all the Knights were seen

That gratify’d the View with chearful Green:

Their Chaplets of their Ladies Colours were

Compos’d of White and Red, to shade their shining Hair.

Before the merry Troop the Minstrels play’d,

All in their Master’s Liveries were array’d,

And clad in Green, and on their Temples wore

The Chaplets White and Red their Ladies bore.

Their Instruments were various in their kind,

Some for the Bow, and some for breathing Wind:

The Sawtry, Pipe, and Hautbois noisy band,

And the soft Lute trembling beneath the touching Hand.

A Tuft of Dasies on a flow’ry Lay

They saw, and thitherward they bent their way:

To this both Knights and Dames their Homage made,

And due Obeisance to the Daisy paid.

And then the Band of Flutes began to play,

To which a Lady sung a Virelay;

And still at ev’ry close she wou’d repeat

The Burden of the Song, The Daisy is so sweet.

The Daisy is so sweet when she begun,

The Troop of Knights and Dames continu’d on.

The Concert and the Voice so charm’d my Ear,

And sooth’d my Soul, that it was Heav’n to hear.

But soon their Pleasure pass’d: At Noon of Day

The Sun with sultry Beams began to play:

Not Syrius shoots a fiercer Flame from high,

When with his pois’nous Breath he blasts the Sky:

Then droop’d the fading Flow’rs (their Beauty fled)

And clos’d their sickly Eyes, and hung the Head;

And, rivell’d up with Heat, lay dying in their Bed.

The Ladies gasp’d, and scarcely could respire;

The Breath they drew, no longer Air, but Fire;

The fainty Knights were scorch’d; and knew not where

To run for Shelter, for no Shade was near.

And after this the gath’ring Clouds amain

Pour’d down a Storm of rattling Hail and Rain;

And lightning flashed betwixt: The Field, and Flow’rs,

Burnt up before, were bury’d in the Show’rs.

The Ladies, and the Knights no Shelter nigh,

Bare to the Weather, and the wintry Sky,

Were dropping wet, disconsolate, and wan,

And through their thin Array receiv’d the Rain.

While those in White, protected by the Tree,

Saw pass the vain Assault, and stood from Danger free.

But as Compassion mov’d their gentle Minds,

When ceas’d the Storm, and silent were the Winds,

Displeas’d at what, not suff’ring they had seen,

They went to chear the Faction of the Green.

The Queen in white Array before her Band,

Saluting, took her Rival by the Hand;

So did the Knights and Dames, with courtly grace

And with Behaviour sweet their Foes embrace.

Then thus the Queen with Lawrel on her Brow:

Fair Sister, I have suffer’d in your Woe:

Nor shall be wanting ought within my Pow’r

For your Relief in my refreshing Bow’r.

That other answer’d with a lowly Look,

And soon the gracious Invitation took

For ill at ease both she and all her Train

The scorching Sun had born, and beating Rain.

Like Courtesy was us’d by all in White,

Each Dame a Dame receiv’d, and ev’ry Knight a Knight.

The Lawrel-Champions with their Swords invade

The neighb’ring Forests where the Justs were made,

And Serewood from the rotten Hedges took,

And Seeds of Latent-Fire from Flints provoke:

A chearful Blaze arose, and by the Fire

They warm’d their frozen Feet, and dry’d their wet Attire.

Refresh’d with Heat the Ladies sought around

For virtuous Herbs which gathered from the ground

They squeez’d the Juice; and cooling Ointment made,

Which on their Sun-burnt Cheeks, and their chapt Skins they laid:

Then sought green Salads, which they bad ’em eat,

A Soveraign Remedy for inward Heat.

The Lady of the Leaf ordain’d a Feast,

And made the Lady of the Flow’r her Guest:

When lo, a Bow’r ascended on the Plain,

With suddain Seats adorn’d, and large for either Train.

This Bow’r was near my pleasant Arbour plac’d,

That I could hear and see whatever pass’d

The Ladies sat, with each a Knight between,

Distinguish’d by their Colours White and Green;

The vanquish’d Party with the Victors join’d,

Nor wanted sweet Discourse, the Banquet of the Mind.

Mean time the Minstrels play’d on either side

Vain of their Art, and for the Mast’ry vy’d

The sweet Contention lasted for an Hour,

And reach’d my secret Arbour from the Bow’r.

The Sun was set; and Vesper to supply

His absent Beams, had lighted up the Sky;

When Philomel, officious all the Day

To sing the Service of th’ ensuing May,

Fled from her Lawrel Shade, and wing’d her Flight

Directly to the Queen array’d in White:

And hopping sate familiar on her Hand,

A new Musitian, and increas’d the Band.

The Goldfinch, who to shun the scalding Heat,

Had chang’d the Medlar for a safer Seat,

And hid in Bushes scap’d the bitter Show’r,

Now perch’d upon the Lady of the Flow’r;

And either Songster holding out their Throats,

And folding up their Wings renew’d their Notes:

As if all Day, preluding to the Fight,

They only had rehears’d, to sing by Night.

The Banquet ended, and the Battle done,

They danc’d by Star-light and the friendly Moon:

And when they were to part, the Laureat Queen

Supply’d with Steeds the Lady of the Green,

Her, and her Train conducting on the way

The Moon to follow, and avoid the Day.

This when I saw, inquisitive to know

The secret Moral of the Mystique Show,

I started from my Shade, in hopes to find

Some Nymph to satisfy my longing Mind:

And as my fair Adventure fell, I found

A Lady all in White, with Lawrel crown’d,

Who clos’d the Rear and softly pac’d along,

Repeating to her self the former Song.

With due respect my Body I inclin’d,

As to some Being of Superiour Kind,

And made my Court, according to the Day,

Wishing her Queen and Her a happy May.

Great Thanks my Daughter, with a gracious Bow

She said; and I who much desir’d to know

Of whence she was, yet fearful how to break

My Mind, adventur’d humbly thus to speak

Madam, Might I presume and not offend,

So may the Stars and shining Moon attend

Your Nightly Sports, as you vouchsafe to tell,

What Nymphs they were who mortal Forms excel,

And what the Knights who fought in listed Fields so well.

To this the Dame reply’d: Fair daughter know,

That what you saw, was all a Fairy Show:

And all those airy Shapes you now behold

Were humane Bodies once, and cloath’d with earthly Mold.

Our Souls, not yet prepar’d for upper Light,

Till Doomsday wander in the Shades of Night;

This only Holiday of all the Year,

We priviledg’d in Sun-shine may appear:

With Songs and Dance we celebrate the Day,

And with due Honours usher in the May.

At other Times we reign by Night alone,

And posting through the Skies pursue the Moon:

But when the Morn arises, none are found;

For cruel Demogorgon walks the round,

And if he finds a Fairy lag in Light,

He drives the Wretch before; and lashes into Night.

All Courteous are by Kind; and ever proud

With friendly Offices to help the Good.

In every Land we have a larger Space

Than what is known to you of mortal Race;

Where we with Green adorn our Fairy Bow’rs,

And even this Grove unseen before, is ours.

Know farther; Ev’ry Lady cloath’d in White,

And crown’d with Oak and Lawrel ev’ry Knight,

Are Servants to the Leaf, by Liveries known

Of Innocence; and I myself am one.

Saw you not Her so graceful to behold,

In white Attire, and crown’d with Radiant Gold?

The Soveraign Lady of our Land is She,

Diana call’d, the Queen of Chastity:

And, for the spotless Name of Maid she bears,

That Agnus castus in her Hand appears;

And all her Train with leavy Chaplets crown’d

Were for unblam’d Virginity renown’d

But those the chief and highest in Command

Who bear those holy Branches in their Hand:

The Knights adorned with Lawrel-Crowns, are they,

Whom Death nor Danger ever cou’d dismay,

Victorious Names, who made the World obey:

Who while they liv’d, in Deeds of Arms excell’d

And after Death for Deities were held.

But those who wear the Woodbine on their Brow

Were Knights of Love, who never broke their Vow:

Firm to their plighted Faith, and ever free

From Fears and fickle Chance, and Jealousy.

The Lords and Ladies, who the Woodbine bear,

As true as Tristram and Isotta were.

But what are those said I, th’ unconquered Nine,

Who crown’d with Lawrel-Wreaths, in golden Armour shine?

And who the Knights in Green, and what the Train

Of Ladies dress’d with Daisies on the Plain?

Why both the Bands in Worship disagree,

And some adore the Flow’r, and some the Tree?

Just is your Suit, fair daughter, said the Dame,

Those lawrell’d Chiefs were Men of mighty Fame;

Nine Worthies were they call’d of diff’rent Rites,

Three Jews, three Pagans, and three Christian Knights.

These, as you see, ride foremost in the Field,

As they the foremost Rank of Honour held,

And all in Deeds of Chivalry excell’d.

Their Temples wreath’d with Leafs, that still renew;

For deathless Lawrel is the Victor’s due.

Who bear the Bows were Knights in Arthur’s Reign,

Twelve they, and twelve the Peers of Charlemain:

For Bows the Strength of brawny Arms imply

Emblems of Valour, and of Victory.

Behold an Order yet of newer Date

Doubling their Number, equal in their State;

Our England’s Ornament, the Crown’s Defence,

In Battle brave, Protectors of their Prince

Unchang’d by Fortune, to their Soveraign true,

For which their manly Legs are bound with Blue.

These, of the Garter call’d, of Faith unstain’d,

In fighting Fields the Lawrel have obtain’d,

And well repaid those Honours which they gain’d.

The Lawrel-Wreaths were first by Cæsar worn,

And still they Cæsar’s Successors adorn:

One Leaf of this is Immortality,

And more of Worth, than all the World can buy.

One Doubt remains, said I, the Dames in Green,

What were their Qualities, and who their Queen?

Flora commands, said she, those Nymphs and Knights,

Who liv’d in slothful Ease, and loose Delights:

Who never Acts of Honour durst pursue,

The Men inglorious Knights, the Ladies all untrue:

Who nurs’d in Idleness, and train’d in Courts,

Pass’d all their precious Hours in Plays, and Sports,

Till Death behind came stalking on, unseen,

And wither’d (like the Storm) the freshness of their Green.

These, and their Mates, enjoy the present Hour,

And therefore pay their Homage to the Flow’r.

But Knights in Knightly Deeds should persevere,

And still continue what at first they were;

Continue, and proceed in Honour’s fair Career.

No room for Cowardise, or dull Delay;

From Good to Better they should urge their way.

For this with golden Spurs the Chiefs are grac’d,

With pointed Rowels arm’d to mend their haste;

For this with lasting Leaves their Brows are bound,

For Lawrel is the Sign of Labour crown’d;

Which bears the bitter Blast, nor shaken falls to Ground:

From Winter-Winds it suffers no decay,

For ever fresh and fair, and ev’ry Month is May.

Ev’n when the vital Sap retreats below,

Ev’n when the hoary Head is hid in Snow;

The Life is in the Leaf, and still between

The Fits of falling Snows, appears the streaky Green.

Not so the Flow’r which lasts for little space,

A short-liv’d Good, and an uncertain Grace;

This way and that the feeble Stem is driv’n,

Weak to sustain the Storms, and Injuries of Heav’n.

Prop’d by the Spring, it lifts aloft the Head,

But of a sickly Beauty, soon to shed;

In Summer living, and in Winter dead.

For Things of tender Kind for Pleasure made

Shoot up with swift Increase, and suddain are decay’d.

With humble Words, the wisest I could frame,

And profer’d Service I repaid the Dame:

That of her Grace she gave her Maid to know

The secret meaning of this moral Show.

And she to prove what Profit I had made

Of mystique Truth, in Fables first convey’d,

Demanded, till the next returning May,

Whether the Leaf or Flow’r I would obey?

I chose the Leaf; she smil’d with sober Chear,

And wish’d me fair Adventure for the Year,

And gave me Charms and Sigils, for defence

Against ill Tongues that scandal Innocence:

But I, said she, my Fellows must pursue,

Already past the Plain, and out of view.

We parted thus; I homeward sped my way,

Bewilder’d in the Wood till Dawn of Day:

And met the merry Crew who danc’d about the May.

Then late refresh’d with Sleep I rose to write

The visionary Vigils of the Night.

Blush, as thou may’st, my little Book for Shame,

Nor hope with homely Verse to purchase Fame;

For such thy Maker chose; and so design’d

Thy simple Style to suit thy lowly Kind.