The cave with moss and branches I'll adorn,
And cheerful fit, to wait my lord's return:
And, when thou frequent bring'ft the fmitten deer
(For feldom, archers fay, thy arrows err),
I'll fetch quick fuel from the neighbouring wood,
And ftrike the sparkling flint, and drefs the food;
With humble duty, and officious haste,

I'll cull the furtheft mead for thy repast;
The choiceft herbs I to thy board will bring,
And draw thy water from the freshest spring:
And, when at night with weary toil oppreft,
Soft flumbers thou enjoy'st, and wholesome rest;
Watchful I'll guard thee, and with midnight prayer
Weary the Gods to keep thee in their care;
And joyous afk, at morn's returning ray,
If thou haft health, and I may bless the day.
My thoughts fhall fix, my latest wish depend,
On thee, guide, guardian, kinfman, father, friend:
By all thefe facred names be Henry known
To Emma's heart; and grateful let him own
That she, of all mankind, could love but him alone!

HENR

ENRY.

Vainly thou tell'ft me, what the woman's care
Shall in the wildnefs of the wood prepare:
Thou, ere thou goest, unhappiest of thy kind,
Muft leave the habit and the fex behind.
No longer fhall thy comely treffes break
In flowing ringlets on thy fnowy neck;
Or fit behind thy head, an ample round,
In graceful braids with various ribbon bound:

No longer fhall the bodice aptly lac'd,
From thy full bofom to thy flender waist,
That air and harmony of shape express,
Fine by degrees, and beautifully lefs:
Nor fhall thy lower garments artful plait,
From thy fair fide dependent to thy feet,
Arm their chaste beauties with a modest pride,
And double every charm they seek to hide.
Th' ambrofial plenty of thy shining air,
Cropt off and loft, scarce lower than thy ear
Shall ftand uncouth: a horfeman's coat shall hide
Thy taper shape, and comeliness of fide:
The fhort trunk-hose shall shew thy foot and knee
Licentious, and to common eye-fight free:
And, with a bolder stride and looser air,
Mingled with men, a man thou must appear.

Nor folitude, nor gentle peace of mind,
Miftaken maid, fhalt thou in forefts find:
'Tis long fince Cynthia and her train were there,
Or guardian Gods made innocence their care.
Vagrants and outlaws fhall offend thy view:
For fuch must be my friends, a hideous crew
By adverfe fortune mix'd in focial ill,
Train'd to affault, and difciplin'd to kill:
Their common loves, a lewd abandon'd pack,
The beadle's lafh ftill flagrant on their back :
By floth corrupted, by diforder fed,
Made bold by want, and prostitute for bread:
With fuch muft Emma hunt the tedious day,
Affift their violence, and divide their prey:

With fuch she must return at setting light,
Though not partaker, witnefs of their night.
Thy ear, inur'd to charitable founds

And pitying love, must feel the hateful wounds
Of jeft obfcene and vulgar ribaldry,

The ill-bred question, and the lewd reply;
Brought by long habitude from bad to worse,
Must hear the frequent oath, the direful curse,
That lateft weapon of the wretches' war,
And blafphemy, fad comrade of despair.

Now, Emma, now the laft reflection make,
What thou would't follow, what thou must forfake:
By our ill-omen'd ftars, and adverfe Heaven,
No middle object to thy choice is given.
Or yield thy virtue, to attain thy love;

Or leave a banish'd man, condemn'd in woods to rove.

O grief of heart! that our unhappy fates
Force thee to fuffer what thy honour hates :
Mix thee amongst the bad; or make thee run
Too near the paths which Virtue bids thee shun.
Yet with her Henry ftill let Emma go;
With him abhor the vice, but share the woe:
And fure my little heart can never err
Amidst the worst, if Henry ftill be there.
Our outward act is prompted from within ;
And from the finner's mind proceeds the fin:
By her own choice free Virtue is approv'd;
Nor by the force of outward objects mov❜d.

Who

Who has affay'd no danger, gains no praise.
In a small ifle, amidst the wideft feas,
Triumphant Conftancy has fix'd her feat:
In vain the Syrens fing, the tempefts beat:
Their flattery she rejects, nor fears their threat.
For thee alone these little charms I dreft:
Condemn'd them, or abfolv'd them by thy teft.
In comely figure rang'd my jewels fhone,
Or negligently plac'd for thee alone:

For thee again they shall be laid afide;
The woman, Henry, shall put off her pride
For thee my clothes, my fex, exchang'd for thee,
I'll mingle with the people's wretched lee;
O line extreme of human infamy!

Wanting the fciffars, with thefe hands I'll tear
(If that obftructs my flight) this load of hair.
Black foot, or yellow walnut, fhall difgrace
This little red and white of Emma's face.
Thefe nails with scratches fhall deform my breast,
Left by my look or colour be exprefs'd

The mark of aught high-born, or ever better dress'd.

Yet in this commerce, under this disguise,
Let me be grateful ftill to Henry's eyes ;
Loft to the world, let me to him be known:
My fate I can abfolve, if he shall own

That, leaving all mankind, I love but him alone.

O wildeft thought of an abandon'd mind! Name, habit, parents, woman, left behind,

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Ev'n honour dubious, thou preferr'ft to go
Wild to the woods with me: faid Emma fo?
Or did I dream what Emma never faid?
O guilty error! and O wretched maid!
Whofe roving fancy would refolve the fame
With him, who next fhould tempt her easy fame ;
And blow with empty words the susceptible flame.
Now why should doubtful terms thy mind perplex ?
Confefs thy frailty, and avow the sex :

No longer loose defire for conftant love

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Mistake; but say, 'tis Man with whom thou long'ft to

rove.

EMMA.

Are there not poifons, racks, and flames, and fwords; That Emma thus muft die by Henry's words? Yet what could fwords or poison, racks or flame, But mangle and disjoint this brittle frame!

More fatal Henry's words; they murder Emma's fame.

And fall thefe fayings from that gentle tongue,
Where civil speech and foft perfuafion hung;
Whofe artful sweetness and harmonious strain,
Courting my grace, yet courting it in vain,
Call'd fighs, and tears, and wishes, to its aid;
And, whilst it Henry's glowing flame convey'd,
Still blam'd the coldness of the Nut-brown Maid?
Let envious jealousy and canker'd spite
Produce my actions to fevereft light,
And tax my open day, or secret night.

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