And if, to honour Britain he be led,
He fings a 'prentice bold, in londs profane,
Who, all unarm'd, did ftrike two lions dead,
Tore forth their favage hearts, and did a princess wed.
But hark! the bag-pipe fummons to the green,
The jocund bag-pipe, that awaketh sport;
The blithefome laffes, as the morning sheen,
Around the flower-crown'd may-pole quick refort;
The gods of pleasure here have fix'd their court.
Quick on the wing the flying moment seize,
Nor build up ample schemes, for life is fhort,
Short as the whifper of the paffing breeze.
Yet, ah! in vain I preach
mine heart is ill at ease.
yon * fnubby oak's extended fhade
Safe let me hide me from the eye of day; Nor fhall the dog-star this retreat invade,
As thro' the heavens he speeds his burning way:
The fultry lion rages for his prey.
Ah Phoebus, quench thy wild destroying fire,
Each flower, each shrub doth fink beneath thy ray,
Save the fresh laurel, that shall ne'er expire.
The leaves that crown a bard may brave celestial ire.
Or fhall I hie to mine own hermitage,
Round which the wanton vine her arms doth wind,
There may I lonely turn the facred page,
Improve my reafon, and amend my mind;
Here 'gainst life's ills a remedy I find.
An hundred flowers emboss the verdant ground;
A little brook doth my sweet cottage bind,
Its waters yield a melancholy found,
And footh to study deep, or lull to fleep profound.
The playful infect hopping in the grafs
Doth tire the hearer with his fonnet fhrill;
The pool-fprung gnat on founding wing doth pafs, And on the ramping fteed doth fuck his fill;
Ah me, can little creatures work fuch ill!
The patient cow doth, to efchew the heat,
Her body fteep within the neighbouring rill;
And while the lambs in fainter voices bleat, [weet.
Their mothers hang the head, in doleful plight I
* Rechless of seasons, see the lufty fwains
Along the meadow fpread the tawny hay;
The maidens too undaunted seek the plains,
Ne fear to fhow their faces to the ray;
But all the honeft badge of toil display.
See how they mould the haycock's rifing head;
While wanton Colin, full of amorous play,
Down throweth Sufan, who doth fhriek for dread.
Fear not thou canst be hurt upon so foft a bed.
At length the fun doth haften to repose,
And all the vault of heaven is streak'd with light; In flamy gold the ruddy welkin glows,
And, for the noon-day heat, our pains doth + quite, For all is calm, ferene, and paffing bright. Favonius gentle fkims along the grove,
And sheds fweet odours from his pennons light. The little bat in giddy orbs doth rove, [eyed love. And loud the fcreech-owl fhrieks, to rouse her blue
Menalcas came to tafte the evening gale,
His cheeks impurpled with the rose of youth;
He won each damfel with his piteous tale,
They thought they liften'd to the words of truth,
Yet their belief did work them muchel * ruth.
His oaths were light as goffimer, or air,
His tongue was poisonous as an afpic's tooth.
Ah! cease to promise joy, and give despair:
'Tis brave to fmite the foe; 'tis bafe to wrong the fair.
The gentle Thyrfis, mild as opening morn,
Came to the lawn, and Marian there was found,
Marian whom many huswife arts adorn,
Right well fhe knew the apple to furround
With dulcet cruft; and Thomalin renown'd
For + prow atchievements in the wrestling-ring;
He held at nought the vantage of the ground,
But prone to earth the hardiest wight would fling;
Such was Alcides erft, if poets || footh do fing.
From tree-crown'd hill, from flower-enamel'd vale,
The mild inhabitants in crouds appear
To tread a measure; while night's regent pale
Doth thro' the sky her filver chariot fteer, [clear,
Whofe lucid wheels were deck'd with dew-drops
The which, like pearls, defcended on the plain.
Now every youth doth clasp his mistress dear,
And every nymph rewards her constant swain.
Thrice happy he who loves, and is belov'd again.
Hardy, valiant.
Truth.
EE jolly Autumn, clad in hunter's green,
Sin wholefome "lufty-hed doth mount the sphere,
A leafy girlond binds her temples sheen,
Inftudded richly with the spiky ear.
Her right hand bears a vine-incircled spear,
Such as the crew did wield whom Bacchus lad,
When to the Ganges he his course did steer;
And in her left a bugle-horn fhe had, [right glad.
On which the † eft did blow, and made the heart
In flow proceffion moves the tottering wain,
The fun-burnt hinds their finish'd toil ‡ enfue;
Now in the barn they house the glittering grain,
And there the cries of "harveft home" renew,
The honest farmer doth his friends || falew ;
And them with jugs of ale his wife doth treat,
Which, for that purpose, she at home did brew;
They laugh, they sport, and homely jefts repeat,
Then fmack their laffes lips, their lips as honey fweet.
On every hill the purple-blufhing vine
Beneath her leaves her racy fruit doth hide :
§ Albe she pour not floods of foaming wine,
Yet are we not potations bland denied ;
*Vigor. Often. Follow. Salute. Altho'.
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