But vainer that Relief than all the rest; The less he hop'd, with more Desire possessed;

Love stood the Siege, and would not yield his Breast.

Change was the next, but change deceiv'd his Care,

He sought a Fairer, but found none so Fair. He would have worn her out by slow degrees,

As Men by Fasting starve th' untam'd Disease:

But present Love requir'd a present Ease. Looking he feeds alone his famish'd Eyes, Feeds lingring Death, but, looking not, he dies. 40

Yet still he chose the longest way to Fate, Wasting at once his Life, and his Estate.

His Friends beheld, and pity'd him in vain, For what Advice can ease a Lover's Pain! Absence, the best Expedient they could find Might save the Fortune, if not cure the Mind:

This Means they long propos'd, but little gain'd,

Yet after much pursuit, at length obtain'd. Hard, you may think it was, to give consent,

But, struggling with his own Desires, he went;

50

He liv'd as Kings retire, though more at large,

From publick Business, yet with equal Charge;

With House, and Heart still open to receive; As well content, as Love would give him leave:

Ile would have liv'd more free; but many a Guest,

70 Who could forsake the Friend, pursu'd the Feast.

It happ'd one Morning, as his Fancy lcd, Before his usual Hour, he left his Bed; To walk within a lonely Lawn, that stood On ev'ry side surrounded by the Wood: Alone he walk'd, to please his pensive Mind, And sought the deepest Solitude to find: 'Twas in a Grove of spreading Pines hey stray'd;

The Winds, within the quiv'ring Branches plaid,

And Dancing-Trees a mournful Musick

made.

80

The Place it self was suiting to his Care,
Uncouth and Salvage as the cruel Fair.
He wander'd on, unknowing where he went,
Lost in the Wood, and all on Love intent:
The Day already half his Race had run,
And summon'd him to due Repast at Noon,
But Love could feel no Hunger but his own.
While list'ning to the murm'ring Leaves
he stood,

More than a Mile immers'd within the
Wood,

At once the Wind was laid; the whisp'ring sound

Was dumb; a rising Earthquake rock'd the Ground:

With deeper Brown the Grove was over

spred,

A sudden Horror seiz'd his giddy Head, And his Ears tinckled, and his Colour fled.) Nature was in alarm; some Danger nigh Seem'd threaten'd, though unseen to mortal Eye:

Unus'd to fear, he summon'd all his Soul, And stood collected in himself, and whole:

Not long: For soon a Whirlwind rose

around,

99

And from afar he heard a screaming sound, As of a Dame distress'd, who cry'd for Aid, And fill'd with loud Laments the secret

Shade.

Her Face, her Hands, her naked Limbs were torn,

With passing through the Brakes, and prickly Thorn :

Two Mastiffs gaunt and grim, her Flight pursu'd,

And oft their fasten'd Fangs in Blood embru'd:

Oft they came up, and pinch'd her tender Side,

Mercy, O Mercy, Heav'n, she ran, and cry'd; When Heav'n was nam'd, they loos'd their Hold again,

Then sprung she forth, they follow'd her amain.

Not far behind, a Knight of swarthy Face, High on a Coal-black Steed pursu'd the Chace; 120

With flashing Flames his ardent Eyes were fill'd,

And in his Hands a naked Sword he held: He chear'd the Dogs to follow her who fled, And vow'd Revenge on her devoted Head.

As Theodore was born of noble Kind, The Brutal Action rowz'd his manly Mind: Mov'd with unworthy Usage of the Maid, He, though unarm'd, resolv'd to give her Aid.

A Saplin Pine he wrench'd from out the Ground,

The readiest Weapon that his Fury found. Thus, furnish'd for Offence, he cross'd the

He say'd, at once dismounting from the Steed;

For now the Hell-hounds with superiour Speed

Had reach'd the Dame, and fast'ning on her Side,

The Ground with issuing Streams of Purple dy'd.

Stood Theodore surpriz'd in deadly Fright, With chatt'ring Teeth, and bristling Hair upright;

Yet arm'd with inborn Worth, What e'er, said he,

Thou art, who know'st me better than I thee;

Or prove thy rightful Cause, or be defy'd. The Spectre, fiercely staring, thus reply'd.

Know, Theodore, thy Ancestry I claim, 151 And Guido Cavalcanti was my Name. One common Sire our Fathers did beget, My Name and Story some remember yet: Thee, then a Boy, within my Arms I laid, When for my Sins I lov'd this haughty Maid;

Not less ador'd in Life, nor serv'd by Me, Than proud Honoria now is lov'd by Thee. What did I not her stubborn Heart to gain? But all my Vows were answer'd with Disdain;

160

She scorn'd my Sorrows, and despis'd my Pain.

Long time I dragg'd my Days in fruitless Care,

Then loathing Life, and plung'd in deep Despair,

To finish my unhappy Life, I fell

On this sharp Sword, and now am damn'd in Hell.

Short was her Joy; for soon th' insulting Maid

the unworthy

laid,

And as in unrepenting Sin she dy'd, Doom'd to the same bad Place, is punish'd

for her Pride;

Because she deem'd I well deserv'd to die, And made a Merit of her Cruelty. 171 There, then, we met; both try'd, and both

were cast,

And this irrevocable Sentence pass'd;
That she whom I so long pursu'd in vain,
Should suffer from my Hands a lingring
Pain:

Renew'd to Life, that she might daily die,
I daily doom'd to follow, she to fly;
No more a Lover but a mortal Foe,

I seek her Life (for Love is none below :)
As often as my Dogs with better speed 180
Arrest her Flight, is she to Death decreed:
Then with this fatal Sword on which I dy'd,
I pierce her open'd Back or tender Side,
And tear that harden'd Heart from out her
Breast,

Which, with her Entrails, makes my hungry
Hounds a Feast.

Nor lies she long, but as her Fates ordain,)
Springs up to Life, and fresh to second Pain,
Is sav'd to Day, to Morrow to be slain.)
This, vers'd in Death, th' infernal Knight
relates,

And then for Proof fulfill'd their common Fates; 190 Her Heart and Bowels through her Back he drew,

And fed the Hounds that help'd him to

pursue.

Stern look'd the Fiend, as frustrate of his Will,

Not half suffic'd, and greedy yet to kill. And now the Soul expiring through the Wound,

Had left the Body breathless on the Ground,
When thus the grisly Spectre spoke again:
Behold the Fruit of ill-rewarded Pain:
As many Months as I sustain'd her Hate,
So many Years is she condemn'd by Fate 200|
To daily Death; and ev'ry several Place,
Conscious of her Disdain, and my Disgrace,
Must witness her just Punishment; and be
A Scene of Triumph and Revenge to me.
As in this Grove I took my last Farewel,
As on this very spot of Earth I fell,

168 unrepenting] Editors till Christie wrongly give unrepented

183 open'd] Some editors wrongly give open

his way,

Nor pall'd his new Design with long delay;
But of his Train a trusty Servant sent,
To call his Friends together at his Tent.
They came, and usual Salutations paid,
With Words premeditated thus he said:
What you have often counsell'd, to remove
My vain pursuit of unregarded Love;
By Thrift my sinking Fortune to repair,
Tho' late, yet is at last become my Care: 240
My Heart shall be my own; my vast Expence
Reduc'd to bounds, by timely Providence:
This only I require; invite for me
Honoria, with her Father's Family,
Her Friends, and mine; the Cause I shall
display,

On Friday next, for that's th' appointed Day.

Well pleas'd were all his Friends, the Task was light;

The Father, Mother, Daughter they invite

The Gallants, to protect the Ladies right, Their Fauchions brandish'd at the grisly Spright;

And grip'd her Flanks, and oft essay'd their Jaws in Blood.

Last came the Fellon on the Sable Steed, Arm'd with his naked Sword, and urg'd his Dogs to speed:

She ran, and cry'd; her Flight directlybent,

(A Guest unbidden) to the fatal Tent, The Scene of Death, and Place ordain'd for Punishment.

Loud was the Noise, aghast was every Guest, The Women shriek'd, the Men forsook the Feast;

The Hounds at nearer distance hoarsely) bay'd;

The Hunter close pursu'd the visionary Maid,

280

She rent the Heav'n with loud Laments, imploring Aid.

Then on the Crowd he cast a furious Look, And wither'd all their Strength before he strook :

Back on your Lives; let be, said he, my Prey,

And let my Vengeance take the destin'd way. Vain are your Arms, and vainer your Defence,

Against th' eternal Doom of Providence : 290 Mine is th' ungrateful Maid by Ileav'n design'd:

Mercy she would not give, nor Mercy shall she find.

At this the former Tale again he told With thund'ring Tone, and dreadful to behold:

Sunk were their Ilearts with Horror of the Crime,

Nor needed to be warn'd a second time, But bore each other back; some knew they Face,

And all had heard the much lamented Case Of him who fell for Love, and this the fatal