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The story told, Sir Topaz mov'd,
To see the revel scene;
All on the gloomy plain.
As there he bides, it so befel,
A shaking seiz'd the wall:
Aud music fills the hall.
But certes, solely sunk with woe,
His spirits in him dye;
“ A man is near, A mortal passion, cleeped fear,
Hangs flagging in the sky."
With that, Sir Topaz, hapless youth! In accents falt'ring, ay for ruth,
Intreats them pity graunt; “For als be been a mister wight Betray'd by wand'ring in the night
To tread the circled haunt."
“Ah Losell vile!” at once they roar; (* And little skill'd of fairie lore,
Thy cause to come we know: Now has thy kestrell courage fell; And fairies, siuce a lye you tell,
Are free to work thee woe.”
Then Will, wlio bears the wispy fire
The captive upward flung;
Where whilome Edward hung.
The revel now proceeds apace,
They sit, they drink, and eat;
'Till all the rout retreat.
By this the stars began to wink,
And down ydrops the knight;
Beyond the length of night.
Chill, dark, alone, adreed he lay, 'Till up the welkin rose the day,
Then deem'd the dole was o'er: But wot ye well his barder lot? His seely back the hunch had got
Which Edwin lost afore.
This tale a Sybil-nurse ared;
And when the tale was done, “Thus some are born, my son,” she cries, "With base impediments to rise,
And some are born with none.
“But virtue can itself advance
By fortune seem'd design'd:
Upon th' unworthy mind."
'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia woul,
By Philip's warlike son:
On his imperial throne:
Happy, happy, happy pair!
Timotheus plac'd on high
Amid the tuneful quire,
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky,
And heav'nly joys inspire.
The song began from Jove;
When he to fair Olympia press’d,
With ravish'd ears
Affects to nod,
The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung;
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young:
He shows his honest face.
Bacchus ever fair and young,