The hook the bore, inftead of Cynthia's fpear,
To lop the growth of the luxuriant year,
To decent form the lawlefs fhoots to bring,
And teach th' obedient branches where to fpring.
Now the cleft rind inferted graffs receives,

And yields an offspring more than nature gives;
Now fliding ftreams the thirsty plants renew,
And feed their fibres with reviving dwe.
These cares alone her virgin breaft employ,
Averfe from Venus and the nuptial joy;
Her private orchards, wall'd on ev'ry fide,
To lawless fylvans all access deny'd.

How oft' the fatyrs and the wanton fawns,
Who haunt the forefts, or frequent the lawns,
The God whofe enfign fcares the birds of prey,
And old Silenus, youthful in decay,

Employ'd their wiles and unavailing care,
To pass the fences, and furprize the fair?
Like these Vertumnus, own'd his faithful flame,
Like these, rejected by the fcornful dame.
To gain her fight, a thousand forms he wears,
And first a reaper from the field appears,
Sweating he walks, while loads of golden grain
O'ercharge the fhoulders of the feeming swain.
F

Oft

Oft' o'er his back a crooked scythe is laid,

And wreaths of hay his fun-burn'd temples fhade;

Oft' in his harden'd hand a goad he bears,

Like one who late unyok'd the fweating steers.
Sometimes his pruning-hook corrects the vines,
And the loofe ftragglers to their ranks confines.
Now gath'ring what the bounteous year allows,
He pulls ripe apples from the bending boughs.
A foldier now, he with his fword appears;
A fisher next, his trembling angle bears;
Each shape he varies, and each art he tries,
On her bright charms to feast his longing eyes.
A female form at laft Vertumnus wears,
With all the marks of rev'rend age appears,
His temples thinly spread with filver hairs:
Propp'd on his staff, and stooping as he goes,
A painted mitre fhades his furrow'd brows.
The God, in this decrepit form array'd,
The gardens enter'd and the fruits furvey'd,
And "happy you! (he thus addreft the maid)
Whofe charms as far all other nymphs out-shine,

"As others gardens are excell'd by thine!
Then kifs'd the fair; (his kiffes warmer grow
Than fuch as women on their fex bestow.)

Then plac'd befide her on the flow'ry ground,
Beheld the trees with Autumn's bounty crown'd.
An elm was near, to whofe embraces led,
The curling vine her fwelling clufters fpread;
He view'd their twining branches with delight,
And prais'd the beauty of the pleafing fight.

Yet this tall elm, but for his vine (he faid)
Had ftood neglected, and a barren fhade;
And this fair vine, but that her arms furround
Her marry'd elm, had crept along the ground.
Ah beauteous mind, let this example move
Your mind, averfe from all the joys of love.
Deign to be lov'd, and ev'ry heart fubdue!

What nymph cou'd e'er attract fuch crowds as you
Not the whofe beauty urg'd the Centaurs arms,
Ulyffes' Queen, nor Helen's fatal charms.
Ev'n now, when filent fcorn is all they gain,
A thousand court you, tho' they court in vain,
A thousand fylvans, demigods, and gods,

That haunt our inountains and our Alban woods.
But if you'll profper, mark what I advise,
Whom age, and long experience render wife,

And one whofe tender care is far above
All that thefe lovers ever felt of love,

(Far more than e'er can by your felf be guest)
Fix on Vertumnus, and reject the rest.
For his firm faith I dare engage my own;
Scarce to himself, himself is better known.
To diftant lands Vertumnus never roves;
Like you, contented with his native groves;
Nor at first fight, like most, admires the fair;
For you he lives, and you alone shall share
His laft affection, as his early care.

Befides, he's lovely far above the reft,
With youth immortal, and with beauty bleft.
Add, that he varies ev'ry fhape with ease,
And tries all forms, that may Pomona please.
But what should moft excite a mutual flame,
Your rural cares, and pleafures, are the fame.
To him your orchards early fruits are due,
(A pleafing off'ring when 'tis made by you;)
He values thefe; but yet (alas) complains,
That still the best and dearest gift remains:
Not the fair fruit that on yon' branches glows
With that ripe red th' autumnal fun bestows;
Nor taftful herbs that in these gardens rife,
Which the kind foil with milky fap fupplies;

You, only you, can move the God's defire:
Oh crown fo conftant and so pure a fire!
Let foft compaffion touch your gentle mind;
Think, 'tis Vertumnus begs you to be kind!
So may no froft, when early buds appear,
Destroy the promife of the youthful year;
Nor winds, when firft your florid orchard blows,
Shake the light bloffoms from their blafted boughs!
This when the various God had urg'd in vain,
He ftrait affum'd his native form again;

Such, and fo bright an aspect now he bears,
As when thro' clouds th' emerging fun appears,
And thence exerting his refulgent ray,

Difpells the darkness, and reveals the day.
Force he prepar'd, but check'd the rafh defign';
For when, appearing in a form divine,
The nymph furveys him, and beholds the grace
Of charming features, and a youthful face,
In her foft breaft confenting paffions move,
And the warm maid confefs'd a mutual love.