That full of youthful blood, and fond of man,
She to the woodland with an exile ran.
Reflect, that lessen'd fame is ne'er regain'd,
And virgin-honour once, is always, stain'd:
Timely advis'd, the coming evil shun;
Better not do the deed, than weep it done :
No penance can absolve our guilty fame,

Nor tears, that wash out sin, can wash out shame: Then fly the sad effects of desperate love,

And leave a banish'd man through lonely woods to

rove.

Emma. Let Emma's hapless case be falsely told By the rash young or the ill-natur'd old; Let every tongue its various censures choose, Absolve with coldness, or with spite accuse; Fair Truth at last her radiant beams will raise, And Malice, vanquish'd, heightens Virtue's praise. Let then thy favour but indulge my flight, O! let my presence make thy travels light, And potent Venus shall exalt my name, Above the rumours of censorious Fame; Nor from that busy demon's restless power Will ever Emma other grace implore,

Than that this truth should to the world be known, That I, of all mankind, have lov'd but thee alone. Hen. But canst thou wield the sword, and bend the bow?

With active force repel the sturdy foe?

When the loud tumult speaks the battle nigh,
And winged deaths in whistling arrows fly,
Wilt thou, though wounded, yet undaunted stay,
Perform thy part, and share the dangerous day?
Then, as thy strength decays, thy heart will fail;
Thy limbs all trembling and thy cheeks all pale,
With fruitless sorrow thou, inglorious maid,
Wilt weep thy safety, by thy love betray'd;
Then to thy friend, by foes o'ercharg'd, deny
Thy little useless aid, and coward fly;

Then wilt thou curse the chance that made thee love
A banish'd man, condemn'd in lonely woods to rove.

Emma. With fatal certainty Thalestris knew To send the arrow from the twanging yew: And great in arms, and foremost in the war, Bonduca, brandish'd high the British spear: Could thirst of vengeance and desire of fame Excite the female breast with martial flame? And shall not Love's diviner power inspire More hardy virtue and more generous fire? Near thee, mistrust not, constant I'll abide, And fall or vanquish, fighting by thy side. Though my inferior strength may not allow That I should bear or draw the warrior bow, With ready hand I will the shaft supply, And joy to see thy victor-arrows fly. Touch'd in the battle by the hostile reed, Shouldst thou (but Heaven avert it!) shouldst thou bleed,

To stop the wounds my finest lawn I'd tear,

Wash them with tears, and wipe them with my hair;
Bless'd when my dangers and my toils have shown
That I, of all mankind, could love but thee alone.
Hen. But canst thou, tender Maid, canst thou
sustain

Afflictive want, or hunger's pressing pain?
Those limbs, in lawn and softest silk array'd,
From sunbeams guarded, and of winds afraid,
Can they bear angry Jove? can they resist
The parching Dog-star and the bleak North-east?
When, chill'd by adverse snows and beating rain,
We tread with weary steps the longsome plain;
When with hard toil we seek our evening food,
Berries and acorns, from the neighbouring wood,
And find among the cliffs no other house
But the thin covert of some gather'd boughs,
Wilt thou not then reluctant send thine eye
Around the dreary waste, and weeping try
(Though then, alas! that trial be too late)
To find thy father's hospitable gate,

And seats where Ease and Plenty brooding sate?.

Those seats whence,long-excluded,thou must mourn; That gate for ever barr'd to thy return;

Wilt thou not then bewail ill-fated love,

And hate a banish'd man, condemn'd in woods to rove?

Emma. Thy rise of fortune did I only wed, From its decline determin'd to recede; Did I but purpose to embark with thee On the smooth surface of a summer's sea, While gentle zephyrs play in prosperous gales, And Fortune's favour fills the swelling sails, But would forsake the ship and make the shore, When the winds whistle and the tempests roar? No, Henry, no one sacred oath has tied Our loves; one destiny our life shall guide, Nor wild, nor deep, our common way divide. When from the cave thou risest with the day, To beat the woods and rouse the bounding prey, The cave with moss and branches I'll adorn, And cheerful sit to wait my lord's return:

}

And when thou frequent bring'st the smitten deer,
(For seldom, archers say, thy arrows err)
I'll fetch quick fuel from the neighbouring wood,
And strike the sparkling flint, and dress the food
With humble duty and officious haste
I'll cull the furthest mead for thy repast;
The choicest herbs I to thy board will bring,
And draw thy water from the freshest spring:
And when at night, with weary toil oppress'd,
Soft slumbers 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 ask, at morn's returning ray,
If thou hast health, and I may bless the day.
My thoughts shall fix, my latest wish depend
On thee, guide, guardian, kinsman, father, friend:
By all these sacred names be Henry known
To Emma's heart; and, grateful, let him own
That she, of all mankind, could love but him alone.

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 man, 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:

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!