In green vine leaves he was right fitly clad; For other clothes he could not wear for heat: And on his head an ivy garland had, From under which fast trickled down the sweat: Still as he rode, he somewhat still did eat. And in his hand did bear a bouzing can, Of which he supt so oft, that on his seat His drunken corse he scarce upholden can; In shape and size more like a monster than a man." Or this of Lechery: "And next to him rode lustfull Lechery Upon a bearded goat, whose rugged hair And whaly eyes (the sign of jealousy) Was like the person's self whom he did bear: Who rough and black, and filthy did appear. Unseemly man to please fair lady's eye: Yet he of ladies oft was loved dear, When fairer faces were bid standen by: O! who does know the bent of woman's fantasy? In a green gown he clothed was full fair, Which underneath did hide his filthiness; And in his hand a burning heart he bare, Full of vain follies and new fangleness; For he was false and fraught with fickleness; And learned had to love with secret looks; And well could dance; and sing with ruefulness; And fortunes tell; and read in loving books; And thousand other ways to bait his fleshly hooks. Inconstant man that loved all he saw, And lusted after all that he did love; Ne would his looser life be tied to law; But joyed weak women's hearts to tempt and prove, If from their loyal loves he might them move." This is pretty plain-spoken. Mr. Southey says of Spenser: "------Yet not more sweet Than pure was he, and not more pure than wise; High priest of all the Muses' mysteries!" On the contrary, no one was more apt to pry into mysteries which do not strictly belong to the Muses. Of the same kind with the Procession of the Passions, as little obscure, and still more beautiful, is the Mask of Cupid, with his train of votaries: "The first was Fancy, like a lovely boy Of rare aspect, and beauty without peer; His garment neither was of silk nor say, But painted plumes in goodly order dight, Like as the sun-burnt Indians do array Their tawny bodies in their proudest plight: As those same plumes so seem'd he vain and light, That by his gait might easily appear; For still he far'd as dancing in delight, And in his hand a windy fan did bear That in the idle air he mov'd still here and there.