Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Or call up him that left half told
The ftory of Cambufcan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarfife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That own'd the vertuous Ring and Glass,
And of the wondrous Horse of Brass,
On which the Tartar King did ride;
And if ought elfe great Bards beside
In fage and folemn tunes have fung,
Of Turneys and of Trophies hung;
Of Forests, and Inchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear,
Thus Night oft fee me in thy pale career,
"Till civil-fuited Morn appear,
Not trickt and frounc't as fhe was wont,
With the Attick Boy to hunt,
But Cherchef't in a comely Cloud,
While rocking Winds are piping loud,
Or ufher'd with a shower still,
When the guft hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rufsling Leaves,
With minute drops from off the Eaves.
And when the Sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me Goddess bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves
Of Pine, or monumental Oak,
Where the rude Ax with heaved ftroke
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in close covert by fome Brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day's gairish eye,
While the Bee with honied thie,
That at her flowry work doth fing,
And the Waters murmuring
With fuch confort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy stream
Of lively portraiture difplay'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid,
And as I wake, fweet mufick breath
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or th' unfeen Genius of the Wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the ftudious Cloyster's pale,
And love the high embowed Roof,
With antick Pillars maffy proof,
And ftoried Windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing Organ blow,
To the full-voiced Quire below,
In Service high, and Anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Diffolve me into ecftafies,
And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy Gown and moffy Cell,
Where I may fit, and rightly spell
Of every Star that Heav'n doth fhew,
And every Herb that fips the dew;
'Till old experience do attain
To fomething like Prophetic strain.
These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choofe to live.
ARCADES.
Part of an Entertainment prefented to the Countess Dowager of Derby at Harefield, by fome Noble Perfons of her Family, who appear on the Scene in Paftoral Habit, moving toward the Seat of State, with this Song.
I. SONG,
OOK Nymphs, and Shepherds look,
What fudden blaze of Majesty
Is that which we from hence defcry,
Too divine to be mistook:
To whom our vows and wishes bend,
Here our folemn search hath end.
Fame, that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse,
We may justly now accuse
Of detraction from her praise:
Lefs than half we find expreft,
Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark what radiant state she spreads,
In circle round her fhining throne,
Shooting her beams like filver threds,
This, this is the alone,
Sitting like a Goddess bright,
In the center of her light.
Might the the wife Latona be,
Or the towred Cybele,
Mother of a hundred gods;
Juno dares not give her odds.
Who had thought this clime had held
A Deity fo unparallel'd?
As they come forward, the Genius of the Wood appears, and turning toward them, Speaks.
Tay gentle Swains, for tho' in this difguife,
I fee bright honour sparkle through your
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