Hen. Vainly thou tell'st me what the woman's care
Shall in the wildness of the wood prepare:
Thou, ere thou goest, unhappiest of thy kind,
Must leave the habit and the sex behind.
No longer shall thy comely tresses break
In flowing ringlets on thy snowy neck,
Or sit behind thy head, an ample round,
In graceful breeds, with various ribbon bound;
No longer shall the bodice, aptly lac'd
From thy full bosom to thy slender waist,
That air and harmony of shape express,
Fine by degrees, and beautifully less;
Nor shall thy lower garments' artful plait,
From thy fair side dependent to thy feet,
Arm their chaste beauties with a modest pride,
And double every charm they seek to hide.
The' ambrosial plenty of thy shining hair
Cropt off and lost, scarce lower than thy ear
Shall stand uncouth; a horseman's coat shall hide
Thy taper shape, and comeliness of side;
The short trunk-hose shall show thy foot and knee
Licentious, and to common eyesight free;
And with a bolder stride and looser air,
Mingled with men, a man thou must appear.
Nor solitude, nor gentle peace of mind,
Mistaken maid, shalt thou in forests find:
"Tis long since Cynthia and her train were there,
Or guardian gods made innocence their care:
Vagrants and outlaws shall offend thy view,
For such must be my friends; a hideous crew,
By adverse fortune mix'd in social ill,
Train'd to assault, and disciplin'd to kill;
Their common loves a lewd abandon'd pack;
The beadle's lash still flagrant on their back;
By sloth corrupted, by disorder fed,

Made bold by want, and prostitute for bread:
With such must Emma hunt the tedious day,
Assist their violence and divide their prey;
With such she must return at setting light,
Though not partaker, witness of their night.

Thy ear, inur'd to charitable sounds

And pitying love, must feel the hateful wounds Of jest obscene 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 latest weapon of the wretches' war,
And blasphemy, sad comrade of despair.
Now, Emma, now the last reflection make,
What thou wouldst follow, what thou must forsake :
By our ill-omen'd stars and adverse heaven,
No middle object to thy choice is given:
Or yield thy virtue to attain thy love,

Or leave a banish'd măn, condemn'd in woods to rove.
Emma. O grief of heart! that our unhappy fates
Force thee to suffer 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 still let Emma go;
With him abhor the vice, but share the woe:
And sure my little heart can never err
Amidst the worst, if Henry still be there.

Our outward act is prompted from within,
And from the sinner's mind proceeds the sin :
By her own choice free Virtue is approv'd,
Nor by the force of outward objects mov'd;
Who has assay'd no danger, gains no praise:
In a small isle, amidst the widest seas,
Triumphant Constancy has fix'd her seat;
In vain the syrens sing, the tempests beat:
Their flattery she rejects, nor fears their threat.

For thee alone these little charms I dress'd,
Condemn'd them, or absolv'd them, by thy test:
In comely figure rang'd, my jewels shone,
Or negligently plac'd, for thee alone:
For thee again they shall be laid aside;

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

P2

Wanting the scissars, with these hands I'll tear
(If that obstructs my flight) this load of hair:
Black soot or yellow walnut shall disgrace
This little red and white of Emma's face:
These nails with scratches shall deform my breast,
Lest by my look or colour be express'd
The mark ofaught high-born,orever better dress'd.
Yet in this commerce, under this disguise,
Let me be grateful still to Henry's eyes;
Lost to the world, let me to him be known;
My fate I can absolve, if he shall own.

}

That, leaving all mankind, I love but him alone..
Hen. O wildest thought of an abandon'd mind!
Name, habit, parents, woman, left behind,
Even honour dubious, thou preferr'st to go
Wild to the woods with me. Said Emma so?
Or did I dream what Emma never said?
O guilty error! and O wretched maid!
Whose roving fancy would resolve the same
With him who next should tempt her easy fame,
And blow with empty words the susceptible flame.
Now why should doubtful terms thy mind perplex?
Confess thy frailty, and avow thy sex:

No longer loose desire for constant love

Mistake, but say, 'tis man with whom thou long'st

to rove.

Emma. Are there not poisons, racks, and flames,

and swords,

That Emma thus must die by Henry's words?
Yet what could swords or poison, racks or flame,
But mangle and disjoint this brittle frame !
More fatal Henry's words, they murder Emma's
fame.

And fall these sayings from that gentle tongue,
Where civil speech and soft persuasion hung?
Whose artful sweetness and harmonious strain,
Courting my grace, yet courting it in vain,
Call'd sighs, 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 severest light,
And tax my open day or secret night..
Did e'er my tongue speak my unguarded heart
The least inclin'd to play the wanton's part?
Did e'er my eye one inward thought reveal,
Which angels might not hear, and virgins tell?
And hast thou, Henry, in my conduct known

One fault, but that which I must ever own, ne

}

That I, of all mankind, have lov'd but thee alone?)
Hen. Vainly thou talk'st of loving me alone;
Each man is man, and all our sex is one:
False are our words, and fickle is our mind;
Nor in Love's ritual can we ever find
Vows made to last, or promises to bind.

}

By Nature prompted, and for empire made, Alike by strength or cunning we invade : When arm'd with rage we march against the foe, We lift the battle-ax and draw the bow; When fir'd with passion, we attack the fair, Delusive sighs and brittle vows we bear; Our falsehood and our arms have equal use, As they our conquest or delight produce. The foolish heart thou gav'st, again receive, The only boon departing Love can give. To be less wretched, be no longer true; What strives to fly thee, why shouldst thou pursue? Forget the present flame, indulge a new: Single the loveliest of the amorous youth; Ask for his vow, but hope not for his truth, The next man (and the next thou shalt believe) Will pawn his gods, intending to deceive; Will kneel, implore, persist, o'ercome, and leave., Hence let thy Cupid aim his arrows right; Be wise and false, shun trouble, seek delight; Change thou the first, nor wait thy lover's flight. "Why shouldst thou weep? let Nature judge our

case;

I saw thee young and fair; pursued the chase
Of youth and beauty: I another saw

Fairer and younger: yielding to the law

Of our all-ruling mother, I pursued

More youth, more beauty. Bless'd vicissitude!
My active heart still keeps its pristine flame;
The object alter'd, the desire the same.

This younger, fairer, pleads her rightful charms,
With present power compels me to her arms;
And much I fear from my subjected mind,
(If beauty's force to constant love can bind)
That years may roll ere in her turn the maid.
Shall weep the fury of my love decay'd,
And weeping follow me, as thou dost now,
With idle clamours of a broken vow.

Nor can the wildness of thy, wishes err

So wide to hope that thou may'st live with her: Love, well thou know'st, no partnership allows; Cupid, averse, rejects divided vows:

Then from thy foolish heart, vain maid, remove An useless sorrow and an ill-starr'd love,

And leave me, with the fair, at large in woods to

rove.

Emma. Are we in life through one great error led? Is each man perjur'd, and each nymph betray'd? Of the superior sex art thou the worst?

Am I of mine the most completely curst?
Yet let me go with thee, and going prove,
From what I will endure, how much I love.
This potent beauty, this triumphant fair,
This happy object of our different care,
Her let me follow; her let me attend,

A servant; (she may scorn the name of friend)
What she demands incessant I'll prepare ;
I'll weave her garlands, and I'll plait her hair:
My busy diligence shall deck her board,
(For there, at least, I may approach my lord)
And when her Henry's softer hours advise
His servant's absence, with dejected eyes
Far I'll recede, and sighs forbid to rise.

Yet when increasing grief brings slow disease,
And ebbing life, on terms severe as these,
Will have its little lamp no longer fed;
When Henry's mistress shows him Emma dead,