霜

They answer'd each according to her mind
To please herself, not all the female kind.
One was for wealth, another was for place;
Crones, old and ugly, wish'd a better face:
The widow's wish was oftentimes to wed;
The wanton maids were all for sport a-bed.
Some said the sex were pleased with handsome lies,
And some gross flattery loved without disguise;
Truth is, (says one) he seldom fails to win
Who flatters well, for that's our darling sin;
But long attendance, and a duteous mind,
Will work even with the wisest of the kind.'
One thought the sex's prime felicity

Was from the bonds of wedlock to be free:
Their pleasures, hours, and actions all their own,
And uncontrolled to give account to none.
Some wish a husband-fool; but such are curst,
For fools perverse of husbands are the worst:
All women would be counted chaste and wise,
Nor should our spouses see but with our eyes;
For fools will prate, and though they want the wit

To find close faults, yet open blots will hit:

Though better for their ease to hold their tongue,
For womankind was never in the wrong.

So noise ensues, and quarrels last for life;
The wife abhors the fool, the fool the wife.
And some men say that great delight have we,
To be for truth extolled, and secresy;
And constant in one purpose still to dwell;
And not our husband's counsel to reveal.
But that's a fable, for our sex is frail,
Inventing rather than not tell a tale.
Like leaky sieves no secrets we can hold,
Witness the famous tale that Ovid told.

'Midas the king, as in his book appears, By Phoebus was endow'd with ass's ears, Which under his long locks he well conceal'd, As monarchs vices must not be reveal'd, For fear the people have them in the wind, Who long ago were neither dumb nor blind; Nor apt to think from heaven their title springs, Since Jove and Mars left off begetting kings. This Midas knew; and durst communicate To none but to his wife, his ears of state: One must be trusted, and he thought her fit, As passing prudent, and a parlous wit. To this sagacious confessor he went, And told her what a gift the gods had sent: But told it under matrimonial seal, With strict injunction never to reveal. The secret heard, she plighted him her troth, (And sacred sure is every woman's oath) The royal malady should rest unknown, Both for her husband's honour and her own; But ne'ertheless she pined with discontent, The counsel rumbled till it found a vent. The thing she knew she was obliged to hide; By interest and by oath the wife was tied ; But if she told it not, the woman died. Loth to betray a husband and a prince, But she must burst, or blab: and no pretence Of honour tied her tongue from self-defence. A marshy ground commodiously was near; Thither she ran, and held her breath for fear, Lest if a word she spoke of any thing, That word might be the secret of the king. Thus full of counsel to the fen she went, Griped all the way, and longing for a vent.

Arrived, by pure necessity compell'd,
On her majestic marrow-bones she kneel'd :
Then to the water's brink she laid her head,
And, as a bittern bumps within a reed,
"To thee alone, (O lake!) she said, I tell,
(And, as thy queen, command thee to conceal)
Beneath his lock the king my husband wears
A goodly royal pair of ass's ears!".
Now I have eased my bosom of the pain,
Till the next longing fit return again.'

-

Thus through a woman was the secret known; Tell us, and in effect you tell the town. But to my tale:-The knight in heavy cheer, Wandering in vain had now consumed the year; One day was only left to solve the doubt, Yet knew no more than when he first set out. But home he must: and, as the' award had been, Yield up his body captive to the queen. In this despairing state he happ'd to ride, As fortune led him, by a forest side: Lonely the vale and full of horror stood, Brown with the shade of a religious wood; When full before him at the noon of night, (The moon was up and shot a gleamy light) He saw a quire of ladies in a round, That, featly footing, seem'd to skim the ground: Thus dancing hand in hand, so light they were, He knew not where they trod, on earth or air. At speed he drove, and came a sudden guest, In hope where many women were, at least Some one by chance might answer his request. But faster than his horse the ladies flew, And in a trice were vanish'd out of view.

One only hag remain'd: but fouler far
Than grandame apes in Indian forests are:
Against a wither'd oak she lean'd her weight,
Propp'd on her trusty staff, not half upright,
And dropp'd an awkard curt'sy to the knight.
Then said, What make you, sir, so late abroad
Without a guide, and this no beaten road?

Or want you aught that here you hope to find,
Or travel for some trouble in your mind?
The last I guess; and, if I read aright,
Those of our sex are bound to serve a knight:
Perhaps good counsel may your grief assuage,
Then tell your pain; for wisdom is in age.'

To this the knight; Good mother, would you know

The secret cause and spring of all my woe?
My life must with to-morrow's light expire,
Unless I tell what women most desire:
Now could you help me at this hard essay,
Or for your inborn goodness, or for pay;
Yours is my life, redeem'd by your advice,
Ask what you please, and I will pay the price.'
Plight me thy faith, (quoth she) that what I ask,
Thy danger over and perform'd the task,
That shalt thou give for hire of thy demand,
Here take thy oath, and seal it on my hand;
I warrant thee, on peril of my life,

Thy words shall please both widow, maid, and wife:
The proudest kerchief of the court shall rest
Well satisfied of what they love the best.'

More words there needed not, to move the knight To take her offer, and his truth to plight. With that she spread her mantle on the ground, And, first inquiring whither he was bound,