Let me again bring on the stage
A monarch of a former age.
Edgar, the peaceable, we'll view,
Whom I'll delineate anew.
Compos'd of good, compos'd of evil,
Medley of man, of saint, of devil;
A little mortal, rather quaint;
A murderer, whore-monger, and saint;
Who understood the practice well
Of keeping fair with heaven and hell;
Who forty-seven houses boasted
(That monks and nuns might be accosted),
Built by himself, at various times;
But quite forgot to name the crimes
Which first induc'd him to begin,
Nor mentions he, for each, what sin.

Abbeys, of ev'ry size, he built,
To cover ev'ry size of guilt.
Whatever sin he should commit,
Could make a plaster just to fit.
Should he a trifling oath let go,
He'd patch a stone or two, or so;
And when the crime's not quite so small,
'Twas balanc'd by an abbey wall;
Or, when he chose a girl to ravish,
A nunnery hid a trick so knavish.
The moment he debauch'd a daughter,
Began t'atone with brick and mortar.
If murder in his wrath appear'd,
A noble monastery he rear'd.
He sinn'd and built, and sinn'd again;
The building made repentance vain:
This keeps the sinner's balance even,
And quits, exactly, scores with heaven.
He's heir to that divine abode,
For not a spiritual groat he ow'd.
If Peter won't unlock the door,
He ought to hold the keys no more.
Whene'er a pretty girl was seen,
He tried to make her wh--e, or queen;
And as the latter were but few,
Left many a lovely lass to rue;
Left many a parent, with wet eye,
And many a worthy nymph to sigh.
For virtue, in those times, was known,
Except we look about the throne.

A noble Earl, respected well,
In Hampshire liv'd, old stories tell;
Among his first possessions, stood
A daughter, beautiful and good;
Who never did, as authors say,
Nor shew'd a wish, to go astray.
This lady, elevated, fair,
Could not escape the monarch's ear;
His minions, knowing his desire,
Assist in blowing up the fire.
Such minions hover near a crown,
To start the game the King runs down.

The charms of this bright nymph, oft told,
Excite a love of baser mould.
Resolv'd, he'll all delays give over,
And take a journey to Andover.
Happy the monarch, we think still,
Who's power to do whate'er he will.
But then that joy is not full quite,
Except whate'er he does is right.

He saw the noble Earl's abode,
Who view'd him as a demi-god;
He saw the daughter young and fair,
Deported with a modest air.
His passions grew, the fire was fed,
The lady's order'd to his bed!
When both shall enter, King and ruin;
To houses it portends un-doing.
The state of laws we justly weep,
When what's our own we cannot keep.

The Countess, with distressing fears,
Approach'd her Sovereign Lord with tears;
With words of pity, aspect wild,
She pleaded for her ruin'd child.
But did a Prince, when passion's high,
Ever regard a tear or sigh!
To weakness he'd become a dupe
If e'er he gave a trifle up.
She might as well to winds complain;
Her intercessions were in vain.

The family, in deep dismay,
Knew not to act, nor yet to say.
Through Edgar only they're distress'd,
Who held the power to make them bless'd.
For self we've happiness in view
Why don't we give it others too?
For, if we let our neighbours share,
We only give what we can spare;
And while to them we grant the boon,
'Tis an addition to our own.
We may, should desp'rate case appear,
Leave it to WOMAN to get clear.
How many wives have made good shift
To free the husband at dead lift!

The Countess call'd the kitchen wench
That she the royal fire might quench.
Nearly the size, at transient view,
Appear'd the figure of the two;
Told her King Edgar lately said,
That she must lead her to his bed.
Her conduct must not be absurd,
And charg'd her not to speak a word:
But should the King a question ask;
To deal in whispers was her task.
'Be steady to mind what I say,
And rise before 'tis break of day.
If you're not up before the sun,
Your morning's work will not be done.
Obey, and you'll be much respected,
If not, you're sure to be neglected.'
A small reward was given then,
Which brought a promise back again.
Reward amounting to some cost,
Unequal still to virtue lost.

The King in bed. The night was hush;
The darkness sav'd the damsel's blush.
The lovers pass'd the night with glee;
Edgar was pleas'd--and so was she.

The morning came, serene the skies,
Sol, and the wench, attempt to rise.
The King to let her go was loth,
Although he'd reasons against both:
For love, 'tis said, is oft begun,
Much better by the moon than sun.

She told him plain, 'she could not stay,
Because much work before her lay,
Which must be done in haste,' she said
'Before her mistress rose from bed;
Or, she was sure to have her hire,
The fat would all be in the fire.'

The sovereign view'd her as she lay,
But found her chang'd since yesterday.
Some small vexation it might bring--
A woman over-reach'd a King!

Upon reflection, he thought best
To turn deception to a jest.
The wench had pleasures to bestow;
He'd not consent to let her go.
'Twas only, if he'd his desire,
Raising his abbey three feet higher.

How long they lay, how long caress,
The muse can neither tell nor guess;
But 'twas till so much time was gone,
Her morning's work could not be done.
'She wish'd he'd try her fault to hide,
Or else her lady'd sorely chide.
'Twould foul disgrace upon him bring,
If the companion of a King,
Who serv'd him out of pure respect,
Should suffer for a small neglect;
Besides, 'twould have an oddish look,
Should she be beaten by the cook,
Who was with royal favours bless'd,
Whom the first Sovereign had caress'd.'

The King, before he left the bed,
Sound reason saw in all she said.

The man who loses his last shilling,
Must bear such jokes as he's unwilling;
But, should he then a guinea find
Against the joker turns the wind,
So Edgar, having lost his case,
Resolv'd to treat it with good grace,
To bear the loss without disdain,
As by the kitchen wench he'd gain.

He took her for his concubine,
And she, in splendour, learn'd to shine.
In luxury saw many a day,
In royal sun-shine blaz'd away.
She thought of servitude no more;
Look'd down on those she fear'd before;
While they, their humble suit prefer,
To gain a point look up to her;
Well pleas'd that fate had plac'd her there,
And sav'd their daughter from a snare.

She held the reigns in Edgar's heart
'Till bright Elfrida got the start.