Lest some quick Lyncist with a piercing eye,
Should the young footsteps of a truth espy,
Yet something, I confess, was born of late
40Which makes me age it with an ancient date,
But let no antic-hunter post to Stow,
To trace out truth upon his even snow.
Annals are dumb of such and such a lord,
Nor of our amorous pair speak half a word,
Monastic writs do not Bellama limn,
Nor abbey-rolls do teem a line of him,