If he could make such agents wholly free, I not dispute, the point's too high for me; For Heaven's unfathom'd power what man can sound,

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Or put to his omnipotence a bound?
He made us to his image, all agree;
That image is the soul, and that must be,
Or not the Maker's image, or be free.
But whether it were better man had been
By nature bound to good, not free to sin,
I waive, for fear of splitting on a rock.
The tale I tell is only of a cock;
Who had not run the hazard of his life,
Had he believed his dream, and not his wife:
For women, with a mischief to their kind,
Pervert, with bad advice, our better mind.
A woman's counsel brought us first to woe,
And made her man his paradise forego,
Where at heart's ease he lived; and might have
been

As free from sorrow as he was from sin.
For what the devil had their sex to do,
That, born to folly, they presumed to know,
And could not see the serpent in the grass?
But I myself presume, and let it pass.

Silence in times of suffering is the best,
"Tis dangerous to disturb an hornet's nest.
In other authors you may find enough,
But all they say of dames is idle stuff.
Legends of lying wits together bound,

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The wife of Bath would throw 'em to the ground; 570
These are the words of Chanticleer, not mine,
I honour dames, and think their sex divine.
Now to continue what my tale begun;
Lay Madame Partlet basking in the sun,
Breast-high in sand: her sisters, in a row,
Enjoy'd the beams above, the warmth below.
The cock, that of his flesh was ever free,
Sung merrier than the mermaid in the sea:
And so befel, that as he cast his eye
Among the coleworts on a butterfly,
He saw false Reynard where he lay full low:
I need not swear he had no list to crow:
But cried, cock, cock, and gave a sudden start,
As sore dismay'd and frighted at his heart.
For birds and beasts, inform'd by Nature, know
Kinds opposite to theirs, and fly their foe.
So Chanticleer, who never saw a fox,

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I hope, my lord, said he, I not offend:
Are you afraid of me, that am your friend
I were a beast indeed to do you wrong,
I, who have loved and honour'd you so long:
Stay, gentle Sir, nor take a false alarm,
For on my soul I never meant you harm.
I come no spy, nor as a traitor press,

To learn the secrets of your soft recess :
Far be from Reynard so profane a thought,
But by the sweetness of your voice was brought:
For, as I bid my beads, by chance I heard
The song as of an angel in the yard;

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A song that would have charm'd the infernal gods,
And banish'd horror from the dark abodes:
Had Orpheus sung it in the nether sphere,
So much the hymn had pleased the tyrant's ear,
The wife had been detain'd, to keep the husband
there.

My lord, your sire familiarly I knew,
A peer deserving such a son as you:

He, with your lady-mother, (whom Heaven

rest)

Has often graced my house, and been my guest:
To view his living features does me good,
For I am your poor neighbour in the wood;
And in my cottage should be proud to see
The worthy heir of my friend's family.

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But since I speak of singing, let me say, As with an upright heart I safely may, That, save yourself, there breathes not on the ground

One like your father for a silver sound. So sweetly would he wake the winter-day, That matrons to the church mistook their way, And thought they heard the merry organ play. And he to raise his voice with artful care, (What will not beaux attempt to please the fair?)

On tiptoe stood to sing with greater strength,
And stretch'd his comely neck at all the length:
And while he strain'd his voice to pierce the skies,
As saints in raptures use, would shut his eyes,
That the sound striving through the narrow
throat,

His winking might avail to mend the note.
By this, in song, he never had his peer,
From sweet Cecilia down to Chanticleer;
Not Maro's muse, who sung the mighty man,
Nor Pindar's heavenly lyre, nor Horace when a

swan.

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Your ancestors proceed from race divine:
From Brennus and Belinus is your line;
Who gave to sovereign Rome such loud alarms,
That ev'n the priests were not excused from arms.
Besides, a famous monk of modern times
Has left of cocks recorded in his rhymes,
That of a parish priest the son and heir,
(When sons of priests were from the proverb clear)
Affronted once a cock of noble kind,
And either lamed his legs, or struck him blind;
For which the clerk his father was disgraced, 645
And in his benefice another placed.

Now sing, my lord, if not for love of me,
Yet for the sake of sweet Saint Charity;
Make hills, and dales, and earth, and heaven rejoice,
And emulate your father's angel-voice.

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The cock was pleased to hear him speak so fair, And proud beside, as solar people are; Nor could the treason from the truth descry, So was he ravish'd with this flattery:

Ye princes, raised by poets to the gods, And Alexander'd up in lying odes, Believe not every flattering knave's report, There 's many a Reynard lurking in the court; And he shall be received with more regard, And listen'd to, than modest truth is heard. This Chanticleer, of whom the story sings, Stood high upon his toes, and clapp'd his wings; Then stretch'd his neck, and wink'd with both his eyes,

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Ambitious as he sought the Olympic prize.
But while he pain'd himself to raise his note,
False Reynard rush'd, and caught him by the
throat.

Then on his back he laid the precious load,
And sought his wonted shelter of the wood;
Swiftly he made his way, the mischief done,
Of all unheeded, and pursued by none.

Alas, what stay is there in human state,
Or who can shun inevitable fate?
The doom was written, the decree was pass'd,
Ere the foundations of the world were cast!
In Aries though the sun exalted stood,
His patron-planet to procure his good;
Yet Saturn was his mortal foe, and he,
In Libra raised, opposed the same degree:
The rays both good and bad, of equal power,
Each thwarting other, made a mingled hour.

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On Friday morn he dreamt this direful dream,

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Cross to the worthy native, in his scheme!
Ah blissful Venus, goddess of delight,
How could'st thou suffer thy devoted knight
On thy own day to fall by foe oppress'd,
The wight of all the world who served thee best?
Who, true to love, was all for recreation,
And minded not the work of propagation.
Gaufride, who could'st so well in rhyme complain
The death of Richard with an arrow slain,
Why had not I thy muse, or thou my heart,
To sing this heavy dirge with equal art!
That I like thee on Friday might complain;
For on that day was Cœur de Lion slain.
Not louder cries, when Ilium was in flames,
Were sent to heaven by woful Trojan dames,
When Pyrrhus toss'd on high his burnish'd blade,
And offer'd Priam to his father's shade,
Than for the cock the widow'd poultry made.
Fair Partlet first, when he was borne from sight,
With sovereign shrieks bewail'd her captive
knight:

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Far louder than the Carthaginian wife,
When Asdrubal her husband lost his life,
When she beheld the smouldering flames ascend,
And all the Punic glories at an end:
Willing into the fires she plunged her head,
With greater ease than others seek their bed.
Not more aghast the matrons of renown,
When tyrant Nero burn'd the imperial town,
Shriek'd for the downfal in a doleful cry,

For which their guiltless lords were doom'd to die.

Now to my story I return again:

The trembling widow, and her daughters twain,
This woful cackling cry with horror heard,
Of those distracted damsels in the yard:

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And lay within the very jaws of death; | Yet in this agony his fancy wrought, And fear supplied him with this happy thought: Your's is the prize, victorious prince, said he, The vicar my defeat, and all the village see. Enjoy your friendly fortune while you may, And bid the churls that envy you the prey Call back their mongrel curs, and cease their cry. See, fools, the shelter of the wood is nigh, And Chanticleer in your despite shall die, He shall be pluck'd and eaten to the bone.

765

"Tis well advised, in faith it shall be done; This Reynard said: but as the word he spoke, The prisoner with a spring from prison broke: Then stretch'd his feather'd fans with all his might, 770

And to the neighbouring maple wing'd his flight. Whom when the traitor safe on tree beheld, He cursed the gods, with shame and sorrow fill'd;

Ver. 724. The fox, the wicked for,] In the fables of all ages the fox makes a conspicuous figure. The fable of the Fox and the Grapes has been by severe critics thought unnatural. Mr. Dodsley, in his sensible Dissertation on Fable, has mentioned it as such; because this is an animal that does not prey on this sort of fruit: but this is a mistake; for Hasselquist describes the foxes destroying the vineyards in his travels; they are mentioned as hurting vineyards in Solomon's Songs; and in the first Idyllium of Theocritus, in that beautiful description of the vessel (not enp, as it is called,) and which is one of the most picturesque descriptions in any author, ancient or modern whatever and far beyond Virgil's cup. Dr. J. WARTON.

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Shame for his folly, sorrow out of time,
For plotting an unprofitable crime;
Yet mastering both, the artificer of lies
Renews the assault, and his last battery tries.
Though I, said he, did ne'er in thought offend,
How justly may my lord suspect his friend?
The appearance is against me, I confess,
Who seemingly have put you in distress:
You, if your goodness does not plead my cause,
May think I broke all hospitable laws,
To bear you from your palace-yard by might,
And put your noble person in a fright:
This, since you take it ill, I must repent,
Though Heaven can witness, with no bad intent
I practised it, to make you taste your cheer
With double pleasure, first prepared by fear.
So loyal subjects often seize their prince,
Forced (for his good) to seeming violence,
Yet mean his sacred person not the least offence.
Descend; so help me Jove, as you shall find
That Reynard comes of no dissembling kind.

785

Nay, quoth the cock; but I beshrew us both,

If I believe a saint upon his oath :

An honest man may take a knave's advice,
But idiots only may be cozen'd twice:
Once warn'd is well bewared; no flattering lies

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In this plain fable you the effect may see Of negligence, and fond credulity: And learn besides of flatterers to beware, Then most pernicious when they speak too fair. The cock and fox, the fool and knave imply; The truth is moral, though the tale a lie. Who spoke in parables, I dare not say; But sure he knew it was a pleasing way, Sound sense, by plain example, to convey. And in a heathen author we may find, That pleasure with instruction should be join'd; So take the corn, and leave the chaff behind.

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 clothe the year:]
"Inque novos soles andent se gramina tuto

Credere, nec metuit surgentes pampinus Austros."
JOHN WARTON.

Ver. 11. Make the green blood to dance within their veins:] An expression perfectly Ovidian.

"Omnia tunc florent: tunc est nova temporis ætas:

Et nova de gravido palmite gemma tumet.
Et modo formatis amicitur vitibus arbos:
Prodit et in summum seminis herba solum."

Ovid's Fasti, lib. 1, 150. JOHN WARTON.

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 the 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 turn'd my weary side. but still in vain,
Though 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 dried away the balmy dew:
Seas would be pools, without the brushing air, 30

35

40

To curl the waves; and sure some little caro
Should weary nature so, to make her want repair.
When Chanticleer 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.
Straight as a line in beauteous order stood
Of oaks unshorn a venerable wood;
Fresh was the grass beneath, and every 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 every 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 received a like delight,
Enchanting music, and a charming sight.
On Philomel I fix'd my whole desire;
And listen'd for the queen of all the quire;
Fain would I hear her heavenly voice to sing;
And wanted yet an omen to the spring.

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every tree,

At distance planted in a due degree,]
"In which were okes great, streight as a line,
Under the which the grasse so fresh of hew
Was newly sprong, and an eight foot or nine
Every tree well fro his fellow grew,
With branches brode, lade with leves new,
That sprongen out ayen the sunne shene,
Some very red, and some, a glad light grene."
Chaucer, Fl. and L. st. 5.
"Omnia sint paribus numeris dimensa viarum,
Non animum modo uti pascat prospectus inanem:
Sed quia non aliter vires dabit omnibus æquas
Terra, neque in vacuum poterunt se extendere rami."
Georg. ii. 284.
"Quid enim illo quincunce speciosius est, qui in
quamcunque partem spectaveris rectus est?"
Cic. de Senect. 17.

"Not distant far, a length of colonnade
Invites us. Monument of ancient taste,
Now scorn'd, but worthy of a better fate.
Our fathers knew the value of a screen
From sultry suns; and in their shaded walks
And long protracted bowers, enjoy'd at noon
The gloom and coolness of declining day.

Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn
Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice,
That yet a remnant of your race survives.
How airy and how light the graceful arch,
Yet awful as the consecrated roof
Re-echoing pious anthems! while beneath
The chequer'd earth seems restless as a flood
Brush'd by the wind. So sportive is the light
Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance,
Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick,
And darkening and enlightening, as the leaves
Play wanton, every moment every spot."-Cowper.
JOHN WARTON.

And seized at once with wonder and delight,
Gazed all around me, new to the transporting sight.
'Twas bench'd with turf, and goodly to be seen, 66
The thick young grass arose in fresher green :
The mound was newly made, no sight could pass
Betwixt the nice partitions of the grass;
The well-united sods so closely lay;

And all around the shades defended it from day,
For sycamores with eglantine were spread,

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A hedge about the sides, a covering over head.
And so the fragrant briar was wove between,
The sycamore and flowers were mix'd with green,
That nature seem'd to vary the delight,
And satisfied at once the smell and sight.
The master workman of the bower 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 placed within it could espy:
But all that pass'd without with ease was seen,
As if nor fence nor tree was placed between.
'Twas border'd with a field; and some was plain 90
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.

85

I look'd and look'd, and still with new delight;
Such joy my soul, such pleasures all'd my sight:
And the fresh eglantine exhaled a breath,
Whose odours were of power to raise from death.
Nor sullen discontent, nor anxious care,
Even though brought thither, could inhabit there:
But thence they fled as from their mortal foe; 100
For this sweet place could only pleasure know.
Thus as I mused, 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 every bough:
A goldfinch there I saw with gaudy pride
Of painted plumes, that hopp'd from side to side,
Still pecking as she pass'd; and still she drew
The sweets from every flower, and suck'd the dew:
Sufficed at length, she warbled in her throat,
And tuned her voice to many a merry note,
But indistinct, and neither sweet nor clear,
Yet such as sooth'd my soul, and pleased my

ear.

Her short performance was no sooner tried,
When she I sought, the nightingale, replied:
So sweet, so shrill, so variously she sung,
That the grove echoed, and the valleys rung:
And I so ravish'd with her heavenly note,

I stood intranced, and had no room for thought,
But all o'erpower'd with ecstasy of bliss,
Was in a pleasing dream of paradise;

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At length I waked, and looking round the bower
Search'd every tree, and pried on every flower,
If any where 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 laurel spray.

Ver. 79.

125

built for Oberon;] Perhaps this anticipation, which is a deviation from the original, is not so judicious. JOHN WARTON.

S

130

135

Close by my side she sat, and fair in sight,
Full in a line, against her opposite;
Where stood with eglantine the laurel twined;
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 every 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 myself alone

140

Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown;
Pleasures which no where 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 the approaching sound
Of vocal music on the 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 issued from the grove behind
A fair assembly of the female kind.

A train less fair, as ancient fathers tell,
Seduced the sons of heaven to rebel.

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160

I pass their form, and every 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, 165
With rubies edged, and sapphires, swept the plain:
High on their heads, with jewels richly set,
Each lady wore a radiant coronet.
Beneath the circles, all the quire was graced
With chaplets green on their fair foreheads placed.

Ver. 132. On the green bank I sat, and listen'd long: (Sitting was more convenient for the song:)]

A deviation from the original, arising from the want of a rhyme, or his habitual carelessness. The original lines

are

for as for mine entent,

The birdis song was more convenient,
And more pleasant to me by many fold
Than mete or drink, or any other thing."

The design of her walking in the grove was to hear the nightingale, according to the notion expressed in Milton's elegant sonnet:

"O nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love." JOHN WARTON. Ver. 142. Single, and conscious to myself alone

Of pleasures to the excluded world unknown ;]
This is an improvement on the original. So Burton:
"By a brook side or wood so greene,
Unheard, unsought-for, and unseene."
JOHN WARTON.

Ver. 148. All suddenly I heard the approaching sound
Of vocal music on the enchanted ground:]

"Till, suddenly awaked, I hear
Strange whisper'd music in my ear."

By stature, and by beauty, mark'd their sovereign | queen.

185

She in the midst began with sober grace; Her servants' eyes were fix'd upon her face, And as she moved or turn'd, her motions view'd, Her measures kept, and step by step pursued 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 inclosed her brow, Plain without pomp, and rich without a show; A branch of Agnus castus in her hand She bore aloft (her sceptre of command); Admired, adored by all the circling crowd, For wheresoe'er she turn'd her face, they bow'd: And as she danced, a roundelay she sung, In honour of the laurel, ever young:

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She raised 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.

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At every close she made, the attending throug
Replied, and bore the burden of the song:
So just, so small, yet in so sweet a note,
It seem'd the music melted in the throat.
Thus dancing on, and singing as they danced,
They to the middle of the mead advanced,
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 awed, 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 observed, when from afar
I heard a sudden 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 flowers, 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 summer's day would 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 issued in white mantles dress'd:

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JOHN WARTton.

JOHN WARTON.