Argus himself, so cautious and so wise, Was overwatch'd, for all his hundred eyes: So many an honest husband may, 'tis known, Who, wisely, never thinks the case his own. The dame at last, by diligence and care, Procured the key her knight was wont to bear; She took the wards in wax before the fire, 510 And gave th' impression to the trusty squire. By means of this some wonder shall appear, Which, in due place and season, you may hear. Well sung sweet Ovid, in the days of yore, What slight is that which love will not explore? And Pyramus and Thisbe plainly show The feats true lovers, when they list, can do: Though watch'd and captive, yet in spite of all, They found the art of kissing through a wall. But now no longer from our tale to stray; 520 It happ'd, that once, upon a summer's day, Our reverend knight was urged to amorous play; He raised his spouse ere matin-bell was rung, And thus his morning canticle he sung: 'Awake, my love, disclose thy radiant eyes! Arise, my wife, my beauteous lady, rise! Hear how the doves with pensive notes complain, And in soft murmurs tell the trees their pain: The winter's past; the clouds and tempests fly; The sun adorns the fields, and brightens all the sky. 530 Fair without spot, whose every charming part My bosom wounds, and captivates my heart! Come, and in mutual pleasures let's engage, Joy of my life, and comfort of my age!' This heard, to Damian straight a sign she made To haste before; the gentle squire obey'd: Secret and undescried he took his way, And, ambush'd close, behind an arbour lay. It was not long ere January came, And hand in hand with him his lovely dame; 540 Blind as he was, not doubting all was sure, He turn'd the key, and made the gate secure. 'Here let us walk,' he said, 'observed by none, Conscious of pleasures to the world unknown: So may my soul have joy, as thou, my wife, Art far the dearest solace of my life; And rather would I choose, by heaven above! To die this instant, than to lose thy love. Reflect what truth was in my passion shown, When, unendow'd, I took thee for my own, 550 And sought no treasure but thy heart alone. Old as I am, and now deprived of sight, Whilst thou art faithful to thy own true knight, Nor age, nor blindness rob me of delight. Each other loss with patience I can bear, The loss of thee is what I only fear.