A short monk then with crown shaved o'er,
Said, "Madam, seek this man no more;
For I'm by false reports misled,
Or else your lover's long since dead."
What the monk insolently said
Made Thelema with rage grow red:
"Brother," said she, "I'd have you know
The man who has caused all my woe
Was made for me, and me alone,
He's in this world on which I'm thrown;
With me he'll live and die content,
I'm properly his element:
Who aught else told you, on my word,
Has said a thing that's most absurd."
This said, away the fair one ran,
Resolved to find the inconstant man.
"At Paris, where the wits abound,
Perhaps," said she, "he may be found,
The wits speak of him as a sage;"
One of them said: "You by our page,
Madam, perhaps have been misled;
When there of Macareus you read,
We spoke of one we never knew."
Then near she to the law-court drew,
Shutting her eyes, quick passed the fair,
"My love," she cried, "can't sure be there;
There's some attraction in the Court,
But who'd to this vile place resort?
Themis' black followers needs must prove
Eternal foes to him I love."
Fair Thelema at Rameau's shrine,
Where the muse utters strains divine,
148
