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With modest dignity she stood;
Fast down her lovely face

A stream of swelling sorrow flow'd,
A righteous cause to grace.

The tatter'd nurse, of aspect grum,
Look'd prouder still than poor,
With lofty airs inspir'd by-mum-
The queen of beggars, sure:


Mud was her dwelling, lean her plight,
Her life on heaths she led ;
With wreaths of turnip-tops bedight;
Her eyes were dull as lead.

VII. Yet thus the Caitiff, proud and poor, Our hero-judge address'd― "Thy fondness all to me assure,

"To me, who loves thee best.


"I am thy aged nurse, so kind, "Who ne'er did cross thy will;

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Thy wife to all thy charms is blind, "Perverse and thwarting still.


"Give me her clothes," (continued she), "With thy assistance soon

"Her costly robe may shine on me, "On her my rags be thrown.


"Seize on her store of boasted gold, "Which she with jealous fear "From thee still grudging would with-hold, "And trust it to my care."


This caught the judge's partial ear.
The lady of the isle

Spake next: "Thyself at least revere,
"And spurn this Caitiff vile.


"With thine my int' rest is the same, "For thee my sailors toil;

They for thy safety, pow'r, and fame,

"Enrich my spacious isle.

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"Think too upon thy solemn vow,

"When thou didst plight thy love, "Thou cam'st to save me; wilt thou now

"Thy self my ruin prove?


"How was I courted, how ador'd! "More happy as thy bride;

"For thee, my safeguard, love and lord, "I slighted all beside.


"Do thou still act a guardian's part, "Nor be thy love estrang'd;

"Treat me but kindly, and my heart “Shall e'er remain unchang'd.


"By thee abandon'd, must I bend "Beneath thy nurse's scorn? "No; live with me thyself, and send "To her thy youngest born.


"Let not her mud-built walls thy stay "Before my tow'rs invite;

"Do not, beyond my verdure gay, "In her brown heaths delight.


"Do not her dingy streams prefer "To all my rivers clear;

"Good Heavens! looks poverty in her "Than wealth in me more fair?"


The judge here lets his fury out,
Unable to contain ;

He frowns, he rolls his eyes about;
And to his wife began:


"If she be poor, I'll make her rich;
"Thy treasure she shall hold :
"Thou art a low, mechanic b-ch,

"Besides a cursed scold.


"My nurse is of imperial race,

66 By trade was never stain❜d : "What thou dost boast of is disgrace: "Nurse, thou thy cause hast gain'd."


Polite and candid, thus the judge:
His creatures watch his call,
To raise (alas!) this dirty drudge
On his fair Consort's fall.


Who first obeys th' unjust decree,
Regardless of his fame,

To spoil and rob with cruel glee
That lovely island-dame ?

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