Guard me, good angels! cry'd the gentle May, Pray Heav'n, this magic work the proper way! Alas, my love! 'tis certain, could you see, You ne'er had us'd these killing words to me: 775 So help me, fates, as 'tis no perfect sight, But some faint glimm'ring of a doubtful light. What I have said (quoth he) I must maintain, For by th' immortal pow'rs it seem'd too plainBy all those pow'rs, some frenzy seiz'd your mind, (Reply'd the dame) are these the thanks I find? Wretch that I am, that e'er I was so kind! She said; a rising sigh express'd her woe, The ready tears apace began to flow, And as they fell she wip'd from either eye The drops (for women, when they list, can cry). The Knight was touch'd; and in his looks ap

pear'd

780

785

791

Signs of remorse, while thus his spouse he cheer'd:
Madam, 'tis
past, and my short anger o'er !
Come down, and vex your tender heart no more;
Excuse me, dear, if aught amiss was said,
For, on my soul, amends shall soon be made:
Let my repentance your forgiveness draw,
By Heaven, I swore but what I thought I saw.
Ah my lov'd lord! 'twas much unkind (she cry'd)
On bare suspicion thus to treat your bride.
But till your sight's establish'd, for a while,
Imperfect objects may your sense beguile.

796

Thus when from sleep we first our eyes display,
The balls are wounded with the piercing ray, 800
And dusky vapours rise, and intercept the day:

So just recov'ring from the shades of night,

Your swimming eyes are drunk with sudden light, Strange phantoms dance around, and skim before your sight.

Then, Sir, be cautious, nor too rashly deem;

Heav'n knows how seldom things are what they

seem;

805

809

Consult your reason, and you soon shall find
'Twas you were jealous, not your wife unkind:
Jove ne'er spoke oracle more true than this,
None judge so wrong as those who think amiss.
With that she leap'd into her Lord's embrace
With well-dissembled virtue in her face.
He hugg'd her close, and kiss'd her o'er and o'er,
Disturb'd with doubts and jealousies no more:
Both, pleas'd and bless'd, renew'd their mutual vows,
A fruitful wife, and a believing spouse.
816

Thus ends our tale, whose moral next to make,
Let all wise husbands hence example take;
And pray, to crown the pleasure of their lives,
To be so well deluded by their wives.

820

THE first dawnings of polite literature in Italy are found in tale-writing and fables.

To produce, and carry on with probability and decorum, a series of events, is the most difficult work of invention; and if we were minutely to examine the popular stories of every nation, we should be amazed to find how few circumstances have been ever invented. Facts and events have been indeed varied and modified; but totally new facts have not been created. The writers of the old romances, from whom Ariosto and Spenser have borrowed so largely, are supposed to have had copious imaginations; but may they not be indebted, for their invulnerable heroes, their monsters, their enchantments, their gardens of pleasure, their winged steeds, and the like, to the Echidna, to the Circe, to the Medea, to the Achilles, to the Syrens, to the Harpies, to the Phryxus, and the Bellerophon, of the ancients? The cave of Polypheme might furnish out the ideas of their giants, and Andromeda might give occasion for stories of distressed damsels on the point of being devoured by dragons, and delivered at such a critical season by their favourite Knights. Some faint traditions of the ancients might have been kept glimmering and alive during the whole barbarous ages, as they are called; and it is not impossible but these have been the parents of the Genii in the Eastern and the Fairies in the Western world. To say that Amadis and Sir Tristan have a classical foundation, may, at first sight, appear paradoxical; but if the subject were examined to the bottom, I am inclined to think, that the wildest chimeras in those books of chivalry, with which Don Quixote's library was furnished, would be found to have a close connexion with ancient mythology.

We of this nation have been remarkably barren in our inventions of facts; we have been chiefly borrowers in this species of composition, as the plots of our most applauded tragedies and comedies may witness, which have generally been taken from the novels of the Italians and Spaniards.

THE WIFE OF BATH:

HER PROLOGUE.

FROM CHAUCER.