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The ftarving Sheep refufe to feed,

They bleat their innocent Souls out into Air;
The faithful Dogs lie gasping by them there:

(Cowl.

Th'aftonish'd Shepherd weeps, and breaks his tuneful Reed.
MUSE.

Go, the rich Chariot inftantly prepare;

The Queen, my Mufe, will take the Air:

Unruly Fancy with ftrong Judgment trace,
Put in the nimble-footed Wit,

Smooth-pac'd Eloquence joyn with it:
Sound Memory with young Invention place,
Harness all the winged Race:

Let the Poftilion Nature mount,
The Coachman Art be set ;

And let the airy Footmen, running all befide,\
Make a long Row of goodly Pride.

Figures, Conceits, Raptures and Sentences,
In a well-worded Drefs;

And innocent Loves, and pleasant Truths, and artful Lies,
In all their gawdy Liveries.

Mount, glorious Queen! thy trav'lling Throne,
And bid put on

For long, tho' chearful is the Way,

And Life, alas! allows but one ill Winter's Day:
Where never Foot of Man, nor Hoof of Beaft
The Paffage prefs'd;
Where never Fish did fly,

And with fhort filver Wings cut the low liquid Sky;
Where Bird, with painted Oar, did ne'er
Row thro' the tracklefs Ocean of the Air.
Where never yet did pry

The bufy Morning's curious Eye,

The Wheels of thy bold Coach pass quick and free,
And all's an open Road to thee:

Whatever God did fay,

Is all thy plain and smooth uninterrupted Way.
Nay, ev'n beyond his Works thy Voyages are known,
Thou haft Ten thousand Worlds too of thy own.
Thou fpeak'ft, great Queen, in the fame Stile as He ;
And a new World leaps forth when thou fay'ft, Let it be.
Thou fathom'ft the deep Gulph of Ages paft,

And canft pluck up with Eafe,

The Years which thou doft please;

Like fhipwreck'd Treasures, by rude Tempefts caft
Long fince into the Sea,

Brought up again to Light and publick Ufe by thee.

Nor

Nor doft thou only dive fo low,
But fly,

With an unweary'd Wing, the other Way as high:
Where Fates among the Stars do grow,

There into the close Nefts of Time doft peep,
And there with piercing Eye,

Thro' the firm Shell, and the thick White doft fpy
Times to come a forming lye,

Close in their facred Secundine afleep;

Till hatch'd by the Sun's vital Heat,
Which o'er them yet does brooding fit,
They Life and Motion get:

And ripe at laft with vig'rous Might

Break thro' the Shell, and take their everlasting Flight.
And fure we may

The fame too of the Prefent fay,

If Paft and Future Times do thee obey:

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Thou ftop'ft this Current, and doft make

The running River fettle, like a Lake;

Thy certain Hand holds faft this flipp'ry Snake.
The Fruit which does fo quickly wafte,
Men scarce can see it, much less taste,

Thou comfiteft in Sweets to make it last.
This fhining Piece of Ice,
Which melts fo foon away,
With the Sun's Ray;

Thy Verfe does folidate and chryftallize,
Till it a lafting Mirrour be:

Nay, thy immortal Rhyme

Makes this one fhort Point of Time

To fill up half the Orb of round Eternity.

Invocations of the Muses.

Now e'er we venture to unfold
Atchievements fo refolv'd and bold,
We fhould, as learned Poets. use,
Invoke th'Affiftance of fome Muse:
We think 'tis no great matter which;
'They're all alike; yet we fhall pitch
On one that fits our purpofe moft,
Whom therefore thus we do accoft.

Queen of all harmonious Things!
Dancing Words, and fpeaking Strings;
What God, what Hero wilt thou fing?

What happy Man to equal Glories bring?

Begin, begin thy noble Choice;

And let the Hills around reflect the Image of thy Voice.

Cowl.

Hu

(Cowl, Pind.

Now

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Now Erato, thy Poet's Mind inspire,
And fill his Soul with thy celestial Fire.

And now the mighty Labour is begun,
Ye Muses, open all your Helicon :

For well you know, and can record alone,

Dryd. Virg.

(Virg

What Fame to future Times conveys but darkly down. Dryd.

Ye Muses, ever fair, and ever young,
Affift my Numbers, and infpire my Song.
For you in finging martial Facts excel;
You best remember, and alone can tell.
Defcend from Heav'n, Urania! by that Name
If rightly thou art call'd, whofe Voice divine
Foll'wing, above th'Olympian Hill I foar ;
Above the Flight of Pegafean Wing:

The Meaning, not the Name I call; for thou
Nor of the Mufes Nine, nor on the Top.
Of old Olympus dwell'ft; but heav'nly-born,
Before the Hills appear'd, or Fountains flow'd,
Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse ;
Wisdom, thy Sifter; and with her didft play
In Prefence of th'Almighty Father, pleas'd
With thy celeftial Song: Up-led by thee
Into the Heav'n of Heav'ns I have prefum'd,
An earthly Gueft, and drawn Empyreal Air,
Thy Temp'ring: With like Safety guided down
Return me to my native Element:

Left from this flying Steed unrein'd, (as once
Bellerophon, tho' from a lower Clime)

Difmounted, on th' Aleian Field I fall,
Erroneous, there to wander, and forlorn.

Half yet remains unfung, but narrower bound
Within the visible diurnal Sphere;

Standing on Earth, not rapt above the Pole,
More fafe I fing with mortal Voice, unchang'd
To hoarfe or mute; tho' fall'n on evil Days,
On evil Days tho' fall'n and evil Tongues;
In Darkness, and with Dangers compafs'd round,
And Sollitude: Yet not alone, while thou
Vifit'ft my Slumbers nightly, or when Morn
Purples the Eaft; ftill govern thou my Song,
Urania, and fit Audience find, tho' few:
But drive far off the barb'rous Diffonance
Of Bacchus and his Revellers, the Race
Of that wild Rout that tore the Thracian Bard
In Rhodope; where Woods and Rocks had Ears
To Rapture, till the favage Clamour drown'd
Both Harp and Voice; nor could the Mufe defend

Dryd. Virg.

Her

Her Son. So fail not thou, who thee implores:
For thou art heav'nly, fhe an empty Dream.

Thou that with Ale or viler Liquors,
Didft infpire Withers, Pryn, and Vickars,
And force them, tho' it were in Spight
Of Nature, and their Stars, to write;
Who, as we find in fullen Writs,
And cross-grain'd Works of modern Wits,
With Vanity, Opinion, Want,
The Wonder of the Ignorant,
The Praifes of the Author, pen'd
B'himself, or Wit-infuring Friend,
The Itch of Picture in the Front,
With Bays, and wicked Rhyme upon't,
All that is left o'th'forked Hill,
To make Men fcribble without Skill;
Canft make a Poet fpite of Fate,
And teach all People to tranflate;
Tho' out of Languages in which
They understand no Part of Speech:
Affift me but this once I implore,
And I fhall trouble thee no more.

MUSICK. See Lute, Lyre, Poetry, Singing.
Tell me, O Mufe! (for thou, or none, canft tell)
The myftick Pow'rs, that in bleft Numbers dwell
At first a various unform'd Hint we find
Rife in fome God-like Poet's fertile Mind,
Till all the Parts and Words their Places take;
And with juft Marches Verse and Mufick make.
Such was God's Poem, this World's new Essay;
So wild and rude in its firft Draught it lay:
Th'ungovern'd Parts no Correfpondence knew,
And artless War from thwarting Motions grew,
Till they to Number and fix'd Rules were brought
By the eternal Mind's poetick Thought:
Water and Air he for the Tenour chofe,
Earth made the Bafe, the Treble Flame arofe:
To th'active Moon a quick brisk Stroke he gave,
To Saturn's String a Touch more foft and grave:
The Motions ftrait, and round, and swift, and flow,
And fhort, and long, were mix'd and woven fo,
Did in fuch artful Figures fmoothly fall,

As made this decent meafur'd Dance of All.
And this is Mufick.

From Harmony, from Heav'nly Harmony,
This univerfal Frame began :

From Harmony to Harmony

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Thro' all the Compafs of the Notes it ran,
The Diapafon closing full in Man.

But Man may justly tuneful Strains admire,
His Soul is Mufick, and his Breast a Lyre.
A Lyre, which while its various Notes agree,
Enjoys the Sweet of its own Harmony.
In us rough Hatred with foft Love is joyn'd,
And sprightly Hope with grov'ling Fear combin'd,
To form the Parts of our harmonious Mind.
What ravishes the Soul, what charms the Ear,
Is Musick, tho' a various Dress it wear.
Beauty is Musick too, tho' in Difguife,

Too fine to touch the Ear, it ftrikes the Eyes,

And thro' 'em to the Soul the filent Stroke conveys. "Tis Mufick Heavenly, fuch as in a Sphere,

Dryd.

}

}

We only can admire, but cannot hear.

Nor is the Pow'r of Numbers less below;

By them all Humours yield, all Paffions bow,

And ftubborn Crowds are chang'd, yet know not how.

}

}

Let other Arts in fenfless Matter reign,

Mimick in Brafs, or with mix'd Juices ftain;
Mufick, the mighty Artist, Man can rule,
As long as it has Numbers, he a Soul,

As much as Man can those mean Arts controul:
If Mufick be the Food of Love, play on:
That Strain again: It had a dying Fall :
Oh! It came o'er my Ear like a fweet Sound,
That breaths upon a Bank of Violets,
Stealing and giving Odour.

Shak. Twelfth Night

Mufick has Charms to footh a favage Breast,
To foften Rocks, and bend a knotty Oak:
I've read that things inanimate have mov'd,
And, as with living Souls, have been inform'd

By Magick Numbers, and perfwafive Sound. Cong. Mourn, Bride
Let there be Mufick! Let the Mafter touch

The fprightly String, and foftly-breathing Flute;
Till Harmony rowze ev'ry gentle Paffion!
Teach the cold Maid to lofe her Fears in Love,
And the fierce Youth to languish at her Feet.
Begin! Ev'n Age it felf is cheer'd with Mufick,

It wakes a glad Remembrance of our Youth,

Calls back paft Joys, and warms us into Tranfport. Row.Fair Pen. Twas at the Royal Feaft for Perfia won,

By, Philip's warlike Son;

Aloft in awful State
The God-like Heroe fate,
On his Imperial Throne.

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