(_For the Mirror_.)
In ancienne tyme, and in a goodly towne, neare to Canterbury, sojourned
a ladie faire. She one nighte, in the absence of her lorde, leaned her
lovely arme upon a gentleman's, and walked in the fyldes. When
journeying far, she became afraide, and begged to returne. The
gentleman, with kyndest sayings and greate courtesey, retraced their
steps; when in this saide momente, this straynge occurrence came to
pass--ye raine descended, though the moone and millions of starres were
shyneing bryght. In journeying home, another straynge occurrence came to
pass; her coral lippes the gentleman's did meete in sweetest kyss. Thys
was not straynge at all; but that the moone, that still shone bryghte,
did in the momente hide herself behynde a cloude: this was straynge,
most passing straynge indeede. The ladie faire, who prayed to the
blessed Virgin, did to her confesseur this confession mayk, and her
confesseur with charitye impromptu wrote:--
"Whence came the rayne, when first with guileless heart
Further to walk she's lothe, and yet more lothe to part?
It was not rayne, but angels' pearly teares,
In pity dropt to soothe Eliza's feares.
Whence came the cloude that veil'd the orb of nighte,
When first her lippes she yielded to delyght?
It was not cloude, but whylst the world was hush,
Mercy put forthe her hande to hide Eliza's blush."