Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what Love did feek.
Or call up him that left half told
The ftory of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarfife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That own'd the vertuous Ring and Glass,
And of the wondrous Horfe of Brafs,
On which the Tartar King did ride;
And if ought elfe, great Bards befide,
In fage and folemn tunes have fung,
Of Turneys and of Trophies hung;
Of Forefts, 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 he was wont,
With the Attick Boy to hunt,
But Cherchef't in a comely Cloud,
While rocking Winds are Piping loud,
Or usher'd with a shower ftill,
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 Goddefs bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And fhadows brown that Sylvan loves
Of Pine, or monumental Oake,
Where the rude Ax with heaved stroke,
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt,
There in clofe covert by fome Brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day's garish eie,
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 fome ftrange myfterious dream,
Wave at his wings in Airy ftream
Of lively portráture display'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid.
And as I'wake, fweet mufick breath
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by fome fpirit to mortals good,
Or th'unfeen Genius of the Wood.
But let my due feet never fail,
To walk the ftudious Cloysters pale,
And love the high embowed Roof,
With antick Pillars maffy proof,
And ftoried Windows richly dight,
Cafting a dimm religious light.
There let the pealing Organ blow,
To the full voic'd Quire below,
In Service high, and Anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Diffolve me into extafies,
And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at laft my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The Hairy Gown and Molly Cell,
Where I may fit and rightly fpell
Of every Star that Heav'n doth fhew,
And every Herb that fips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like Prophetic strain.
These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose 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 feat of State, with this Song.
Ook Nymphs, and Shepherds look,
What fudden blaze of Majesty
Is that which we from hence descry
Too divine to be mistook:
To whom our vows and wishes bend, our folemn fearch hath end.
Fame that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erft fo lavish and profufe,
We may juftly now accuse
Of detraction from her praife,
Less than half we find expreft,
Envy bid conceal the reft.
Mark what radiant ftate the fpreds,
In circle round her fhining throne,
Shooting her beams like Gilver 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 unparalel'd?
As they come forward, the Genius of the Wood ap pears, and turning toward them, speaks.
Gen. Stay gentle Swains, for though in this disguise,
I fee bright honour sparkle through your eyes?
Of famous Arcady ye are, and fprung
Of that renowned flood, fo often fung,
Divine Alpheus, who by fecret fluce,
Stole under Seas to meet his Arethufe;
And ye the breathing Rofes of the Wood,
Fair filver-buskin'd Nymphs as great and good,
I know this quest of yours, and free intent
Was all in honour and devotion ment
To the great Mistress of yon princely fhrine,
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,
And with all helpful fervice will comply
To further this night's glad folemnity;
And lead ye where ye may more near behold
What shallow-fearching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft amidst these fhades alone
Have fat to wonder at, and gaze upon:
For know by lot from Jove I am the pow'r
Of this fair Wood, and live in Oak'n bow'r,
To nurse the Saplings tall, and curl the grove
With Ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove.
And all my Plants I fave from nightly ill,
Of noisom winds, and blafting vapours chill.
And from the Boughs brush off the evil dew,
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blew,
Or what the cross dire-looking Planet fmites,
Or hurtful Worm with canker'd venom bites.
When Eev'ning gray doth rife, I fetch my round
Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground,
And early ere the odorous breath of morn
Awakes the flumbring leaves, or taffeld horn
Shakes the high thicket, hafte I all about,
Number my ranks, and vifit every fprout
With puiffant words, and murmurs made to blefs,
But elfe in deep of night when drowsiness
Hath lockt up mortal fenfe, then liften I
To the celeftial Sirens harmony,
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