And, sad to see her sorrowfull constraint,
The kingly beast upon her gazing stood;
With pittie calmd, downe fell his angry mood.
At last, in close hart shutting up her payne,
Arose the Virgin borne of heavenly brood,
And to her snowy palfrey got agayne,

To seeke her strayed champion if she might attayne.

The lyon would not leave her desolate,
But with her went along, as a strong gard
Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard:
Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward;
And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent,
With humble service to her will prepard:
From her fayre eyes he took commandement,
And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.

UNA, RESCUED FROM SANSLOY BY THE WOOD-GODS, DWELLS WITH THEM

THE pitteous Mayden, carefull, comfortlesse,

Does throw out thrilling shriekes, and shrieking cryes;
The last vaine helpe of wemens great distresse,
And with loud plaintes impórtuneth the skyes;
That molten starres doe drop like weeping eyes;
And Phoebus, flying so most shamefull sight,
His blushing face in foggy cloud implyes,

And hydes for shame. What witt of mortall wight
Can now devise to quitt a thrall from such a plight?

Eternall Providence, exceeding thought,

Where none appeares can make her selfe a way:
A wondrous way it for this Lady wrought,
From lyons clawes to pluck the gryped pray.
Her shrill outcryes and shrieks so loud did bray,
That all the woodes and forestes did resownd:
A troupe of Faunes and Satyres far away
Within the wood were dauncing in a rownd,
Whiles old Sylvanus slept in shady arber sownd:

Who, when they heard that pitteous strained voice, In haste forsooke their rurall meriment, And ran towardes the far rebownded noyce, To weet what wight so loudly did lament. Unto the place they come incontinent: Whom when the raging Sarazin espyde, A rude, mishappen, monstrous rablement, Whose like he never saw, he durst not byde; But got his ready steed, and fast away gan ryde.

The wyld wood-gods, arrived in the place, There find the Virgin, doolfull, desolate, With ruffled rayments, and fayre blubbred face, As her outrageous foe had left her late; And trembling yet through feare of former hate: All stand amazed at so uncouth a sight, And gin to pittie her unhappie state; All stand astonied at her beautie bright, In their rude eyes unworthy of so wofull plight.

She, more amazd, in double dread doth dwell; And every tender part for feare does shake. As when a greedy wolfe, through honger fell, A seely lamb far from the flock does take, Of whom he meanes his bloody feast to make, A lyon spyes fast running towards him, The innocent pray in hast he does forsake; Which, quitt from death, yet quakes in every lim With chaunge of feare, to see the lyon looke so grim.

Such fearefull fitt assaid her trembling hart;
Ne word to speake, ne ioynt to move, she had.

The salvage nation feele her secret smart,
And read her sorrow in her count'nance sad;
Their frowning forheades, with rough hornes yclad
And rustick horror, all asyde doe lay;

And, gently grenning, shew a semblance glad
To comfort her; and, feare to put away,

Their backward-bent knees teach her humbly to obay.

The doubtfull Damzell dare not yet committ
Her single person to their barbarous truth;
But still twixt feare and hope amazd does sitt,
Late learnd what harme to hasty trust ensu'th:
They, in compassion of her tender youth
And wonder of her beautie soverayne,
Are wonne with pitty and unwonted ruth;

And, all prostráte upon the lowly playne,

Doe kisse her feete, and fawne on her with count'nance fayne.

Their harts she ghesseth by their humble guise,
And yieldes her to extremitie of time:

So from the ground she fearelesse doth arise,
And walketh forth without suspect of crime:
They, all as glad as birdes of ioyous Pryme,
Thence lead her forth, about her dauncing round,
Shouting, and singing all a shepheard's ryme;
And, with greene braunches strowing all the ground,
Do worship her as queene with olive girlond cround.

And all the way their merry pipes they sound, That all the woods with doubled eccho ring; And with their horned feet doe weare the ground, Leaping like wanton kids in pleasant Spring. So towards old Sylvanus they her bring; Who, with the noyse awaked, commeth out To weet the cause, his weake steps governing And aged limbs on cypresse stadle stout: And with an yvie twyne his waste is girt about.

Far off he wonders what them makes so glad, Or Bacchus merry fruit they did invent, Or Cybeles franticke rites have made them mad: They, drawing nigh, unto their god present That flowre of fayth and beautie excellent: The god himselfe, vewing that mirrhour rare, Stood long amazd, and burnt in his intent: His owne fayre Dryope now he thinkes not faire, And Pholoë fowle, when her to this he doth compaire.

The wood-borne people fall before her flat,
And worship her as goddesse of the wood;
And old Sylvanus selfe bethinkes not, what
To thinke of wight so fayre; but gazing stood
In doubt to deeme her borne of earthly brood:
Sometimes Dame Venus selfe he seemes to see;
But Venus never had so sober mood:
Sometimes Diana he her takes to be;

But misseth bow and shaftes, and buskins to her knee.

By vew of her he ginneth to revive
His ancient love, and dearest Cyparisse;
And calles to mind his pourtraiture alive,
How fayre he was, and yet not fayre to this;
And how he slew with glauncing dart amisse
A gentle hynd, the which the lovely boy
Did love as life, above all worldly blisse:
For griefe whereof the lad n'ould after ioy;
But pynd away in anguish and selfewild annoy.

The wooddy nymphes, faire Hamadryades,
Her to behold do thether runne apace;
And all the troupe of light-foot Naiades
Flocke all about to see her lovely face:
But, when they vewed have her heavenly grace,
They envy her in their malitious mind,

And fly away for feare of fowle disgrace:

But all the Satyres scorne their woody kind.

And henceforth nothing faire, but her, on earth they find.

Glad of such lucke, the luckelesse lucky Mayd
Did her content to please their feeble eyes;
And long time with that salvage people stayd,
To gather breath in many miseryes.

During which time her gentle wit she plyes,

To teach them truth, which worshipt her in vaine,
And made her th' image of idolatryes:

But, when their bootlesse zeale she did restrayne

From her own worship, they her asse would worship fayn.

RICHARD STEELE

SIR RICHARD STEELE.

A British author and dramatist. Born in Dublin, March, 1672; died at Llangunnor, Wales, September 1, 1729. Author of "The Christian Hero," "The Lying Lover" and "The Tender Husband." His reputation to-day rests on his work with Addison in the Tatler and Spectator, about half of the papers in them having been written by Steele.

(From "THE SPECTATOR")

THE ENVIOUS MAN

Di bene fecerunt, inopis me quodque pusilli
Finxerunt animi, raro et per pauca loquentis.

HOR. Sat. 4. l. I. v. 17.

Thank heav'n that made me of a humble mind;
To action little, less to words inclin'd!

OBSERVING one person behold another, who was an utter stranger to him, with a cast of his eye, which, methought, expressed an emotion of heart very different from what could be raised by an object so agreeable as the gentleman he looked at, I began to consider, not without some secret sorrow, the condition of an envious man. Some have fancied that envy has a certain magical force in it, and that the eyes of the envious have, by their fascination, blasted the enjoyments of the happy. Sir Francis Bacon says, Some have been so curious as to remark the times and seasons when the stroke of an envious eye is most effectually pernicious, and have observed that it has been when the person envied has been in any circumstance of glory and triumph. At such a time the mind of the prosperous man goes, as it were, abroad among things without him, and is more exposed to the malignity. But I shall not dwell upon speculation so abstracted as this, or repeat the many excellent things which one might collect out of authors upon this miserable affection; but, keeping in the road of common life, consider the envious man, with relation to these three heads, his pains, his reliefs, and his happiness.

The envious man is in pain upon all occasions which ought to give him pleasure. The relish of his life is inverted; and the objects which administer the highest satisfaction to those who