Last on my list appears a match of love, 500 And one of virtue--happy may it prove!-- Sir Edward Archer is an amorous knight, And maidens chaste and lovely shun his sight; His bailiff's daughter suited much his taste, For Fanny Price was lovely and was chaste; To her the Knight with gentle looks drew near, And timid voice assumed, to banish fear.-- "Hope of my life, dear sovereign of my breast, Which, since I knew thee, knows not joy nor rest; Know, thou art all that my delighted eyes, 510 My fondest thoughts, my proudest wishes prize; And is that bosom--(what on earth so fair!) To cradle some coarse peasant's sprawling heir? To be that pillow which some surly swain May treat with scorn and agonize with pain? Art thou, sweet maid, a ploughman's wants to share, To dread his insult, to support his care; To hear his follies, his contempt to prove, And (oh! the torment!) to endure his love; Till want and deep regret those charms destroy, 520 That time would spare, if time were pass'd in joy? With him, in varied pains, from morn till night, Your hours shall pass, yourself a ruffian's right; Your softest bed shall be the knotted wool; Your purest drink the waters of the pool; Your sweetest food will but your life sustain, And your best pleasure be a rest from pain; While, through each year, as health and strength abate, You'll weep your woes and wonder at your fate; And cry, 'Behold, as life's last cares come on, 530 My burthens growing when my strength is gone!' "Now turn with me, and all the young desire, That taste can form, that fancy can require; All that excites enjoyment, or procures Wealth, health, respect, delight, and love, are yours: Sparkling, in cups of gold, your wines shall flow, Grace that fair hand, in that dear bosom glow; Fruits of each clime, and flowers, through all the year, Shall on your walls and in your walks appear; Where all, beholding, shall your praise repeat, 540 No fruit so tempting and no flower so sweet. The softest carpets in your rooms shall lie, Pictures of happiest loves shall meet your eye, And tallest mirrors, reaching to the floor, Shall show you all the object I adore; Who, by the hands of wealth and fashion dress'd, By slaves attended and by friends caress'd, Shall move, a wonder, through the public ways, And hear the whispers of adoring praise. Your female friends, though gayest of the gay, 550 Shall see you happy, and shall, sighing, say, While smother'd envy rises in the breast-- 'Oh! that we lived so beauteous and so bless'd!' "Come then, my mistress, and my wife; for she Who trusts my honour is the wife for me; Your slave, your husband, and your friend employ, In search of pleasures we may both enjoy." To this the damsel, meekly firm, replied: