The story told, Sir Topaz mov'd, At close of eve he leaves his home, As there he bides, it so befel, The wind came rustling down a dell, A shaking seiz'd the wall: Up sprung the tapers as before, The fairies bragly foot the floor, But certes, solely sunk with woe, When Oberon crys, "A man is near, With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth! In accents falt'ring, ay for ruth, Intreats them pity graunt; "For als he been a mister wight Betray'd by wand'ring in the night To tread the circled haunt." N "Ah Losell vile!" at once they roar; "And little skill'd of fairie lore, Thy cause to come, we know: Now has thy kestrell courage fell; And fairies, since a lye you tell, Are free to work thee woe." Then Will, who bears the wispy fire There like a tortoise in a shop The revel now proceeds apace, They sit, they drink, and eat; By this the stars began to wink, For never spell by fairie laid With strong enchantment bound a glade Beyond the length of night. Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay, 'Till up the welkin rose the day, Then deem'd the dole was o'er: But wot ye well his harder lot? This tale a Sybil-nurse ared; She softly stroak'd my youngling head, "Thus some are born, my son," she cries, With base impediments to rise, And some are born with none. "But virtue can itself advance To what the fav'rite fools of chance Virtue can gain the odds of fate, And from itself shake off the weight "Ah Losell vile!" at once they roar; "And little skill'd of fairie lore, Thy cause to come, we know: Now has thy kestrell courage fell; And fairies, since a lye you tell, Are free to work thee woe." Then Will, who bears the wispy fire There like a tortoise in a shop The revel now proceeds apace, They sit, they drink, and eat; By this the stars began to wink, For never spell by fairie laid With strong enchantment bound a glade Beyond the length of night. Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay, 'Till up the welkin rose the day, Then deem'd the dole was o'er: But wot ye well his harder lot? This tale a Sybil-nurse ared; She softly stroak'd my youngling head, "Thus some are born, my son," she cries, With base impediments to rise, And some are born with none. "But virtue can itself advance To what the fav'rite fools of chance Virtue can gain the odds of fate, And from itself shake off the weight |