But to my tale:--Some sages have defined 440 Pleasure the sovereign bliss of humankind: Our knight (who studied much, we may suppose) Derived his high philosophy from those; For, like a prince, he bore the vast expense Of lavish pomp, and proud magnificence: His house was stately, his retinue gay, Large was his train, and gorgeous his array. His spacious garden, made to yield to none, Was compass'd round with walls of solid stone; Priapus could not half describe the grace 450 (Though god of gardens) of this charming place: A place to tire the rambling wits of France In long descriptions, and exceed romance: Enough to shame the gentlest bard that sings Of painted meadows, and of purling springs. Full in the centre of the flowery ground A crystal fountain spread its streams around, The fruitful banks with verdant laurels crown'd. About this spring (if ancient fame say true) The dapper elves their moonlight sports pursue: 460 Their pigmy king, and little fairy queen, In circling dances gamboll'd on the green, While tuneful sprites a merry concert made, And airy music warbled through the shade. Hither the noble knight would oft repair, (His scene of pleasure, and peculiar care): For this he held it dear, and always bore The silver key that lock'd the garden door. To this sweet place, in summer's sultry heat, He used from noise and business to retreat: 470 And here in dalliance spend the livelong day, _Solus cum sola_, with his sprightly May: For whate'er work was undischarged abed, The duteous knight in this fair garden sped. But ah! what mortal lives of bliss secure? How short a space our worldly joys endure! O Fortune! fair, like all thy treacherous kind, But faithless still, and wavering as the wind! O painted monster, form'd mankind to cheat With pleasing poison, and with soft deceit! 480 This rich, this amorous, venerable knight, Amidst his ease, his solace, and delight, Struck blind by thee, resigns his days to grief, And calls on death, the wretch's last relief. The rage of jealousy then seized his mind, For much he fear'd the faith of womankind. His wife, not suffer'd from his side to stray, Was captive kept; he watch'd her night and day, Abridged her pleasures, and confined her sway. Full oft in tears did hapless May complain, 490 And sigh'd full oft; but sigh'd and wept in vain: She look'd on Damian with a lover's eye; For oh, 'twas fix'd; she must possess or die! Nor less impatience vex'd her amorous squire, Wild with delay, and burning with desire. Watch'd as she was, yet could he not refrain By secret writing to disclose his pain; The dame by signs reveal'd her kind intent, Till both were conscious what each other meant. Ah! gentle knight, what would thy eyes avail, 500 Though they could see as far as ships can sail? 'Tis better, sure, when blind, deceived to be, Than be deluded when a man can see!