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In silence still this maiden meek

Her bitter taunts would bear, While oft adown her lovely cheek Would steal the falling tear.

In vain in humble sort she strove
Her fury to disarm :

As well the meekness of the dove
The bloody hawke might charm.

Her lord, of humour light and gay,
And innocent the while,
As oft as she came in his way,
Would on the damsell smile.

And oft before his lady's face,
As thinking her her friend,

He would the maiden's modest

grace

And comeliness commend.

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All which incens'd his lady so,

She burnt with wrath extreame;

At length the fire that long did glow,

Burst forth into a flame.

For on a day it so befell,

When he was gone from home, The lady all with rage did swell,

And to the damsell come.

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And charging her with great offence,
And many a grievous fault;

She bade her servants drag her thence,
Into a dismal vault,

That lay beneath the common-shore:
A dungeon dark and deep :
Where they were wont, in days of yore,
Offenders great to keep.

There never light of chearful day
Dispers'd the hideous gloom;

But dank and noisome vapours play

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Around the wretched room:

And adders, snakes, and toads therein,

As afterwards was known,

Long in this loathsome vault had bin,

And were to monsters grown.

Into this foul and fearful place,

The fair one innocent

Was cast, before her lady's face;

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Soon from their holes the vipers creep,

And fiercely her assail:

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A servant listning near the door,
Struck with her doleful noise,
Strait ran his lady to implore;
But she'll not hear his voice.

With bleeding heart he goes agen

To mark the maiden's groans ; And plainly hears, within the den,

How she herself bemoans.

Again he to his lady hies

With all the haste he may :

She into furious passion flies,

And orders him away.

Still back again does he return

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To hear her tender cries;

The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn;

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Which fill'd him with surprize.

In grief, and horror, and affright,

He listens at the walls;

But finding all was silent quite,

He to his lady calls.

Too sure, O lady, now quoth he,
Your cruelty hath sped;

Make hast, for shame, and come and see;

I fear the virgin's dead.

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She starts to hear her sudden fate,
And does with torches run:

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But all her haste was now too late,
For death his worst had done.

The door being open'd, strait they found

The virgin stretch'd along :

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Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round,

Which her to death had stung.

One round her legs, her thighs, her wast,

Had twined his fatal wreath :

The other close her neck embrac'd,
And stopt her gentle breath.

The snakes, being from her body thrust,
Their bellies were so fill'd,

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That with excess of blood they burst,

Thus with their prey were kill'd.

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The wicked lady, at this sight,

With horror strait ran mad;

So raving dy'd, as was most right, 'Cause she no pity had.

Let me advise you, ladies all,
Of jealousy beware:

It causeth many a one to fall,
And is the devil's snare.

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IX.

Jealousy, Tyrant of the Mind.

THIS song is by Dryden, being inserted in his TragiComedy of Love Triumphant, &c. On account of the subject, it is inserted here.

WHAT state of life can be so blest,
As love that warms the gentle brest;
Two souls in one: the same desire
To grant the bliss, and to require?
If in this heaven a hell we find,
Tis all from thee,

O Jealousie !

Thou tyrant, tyrant of the mind.

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