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Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek. Or call up him that left half told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball, and of Algarffe, And who had Canace to wife, That own'd the vertuous Ring and Glass, And of the wondrous Horse of Brass, On which the Tartar King did ride; And if ought else, great Bards beside, In lage and solemn tunes have sung, Of Turneys and of Trophies hung; Of Forests, and Inchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear, Thus night oft sec me in thy pale career, Till civil-suited Morn appear, Not trickt and frounc't as she was wont, With the Attick Boy to hunt, But Cherchef'c in a comely Cloud, While rocking Winds are Piping loud, Or user'd with a lower still, When the guft hath blown his fill, Ending on the russling Leaves, With minute drops from off the Eaves. And when the Sun begins to fling His Aaring beams, me Goddess bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves Of Pine, or monumental Oake, Where the rude Ax with hcayed (troke,
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in close covert by some Brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from Day's garith eie,
While the Bee with Honied thie,
That at her fiowry work doth ling,
And the Waters murinuring
With such confort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-featherd Sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream,
Wave at his wings in Airy Atream
Of lively portrature display'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid.
And as I wake, sweet mufick breath
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by fome spirit to mortals good,
Or th'unseen Genius of the Wood.
But let my due feet never fail,
To walk the studious Cloysters pale,
And love the high embowed Rouf,
With antick Pillårs mafiy proof,
And foried Windows richly dight,
Casting a dimm religious lighi.
There let the pealing Organ blow,
To the full votc'd Quire below,
In Service high, and Anthems clear,
As may with Tweetness, through mine ear,
Diffolve me into extasies,
And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The Hairy Gown and Molly Cell,
Where I may Git and rightly spell
Of every Star that Heav'n doth thew,
And every Herb that Gps the dew ;
Till old experience do attain
To something like Prophetic strain.
These pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choose to live.
Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess
Dowager of Derby at Harefield, by fome Noble
Persons of her Family, who appear on the Scene
in Paftoral Habit, naving toward the seat of
State, with this Song
Ook Nymphs, and Shepherds look,
What sudden blaze of Majesty
Is that which we from hence descry
Too divine to be mistook:
This this is the
To whom our vows and wishes bend,
Here our folemn search hath end.
Fame that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erst so lavish and profuse,
We may justly now accuse
of detraction from her praise,
Less than half we find expreft,
Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark what radiant state the (preds,
In circle round her fining throne,
Shooting her beams fike Gilver threds,
This this is the alone,
Sitting like a Goddess bright,
In the center of her light.
Might the the wise Latuna be,
Or the towred Eybele,
Mother of a hundred gods ;
Juno dares not give her odds;
Who had thought this clime had held
A deity so 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 see bright honour sparkle through your eyes: of famous Arcady. ye are, and sprung Of that renowned food, so often lung, Divine Alpheus, who by secret Nuce, Stole under Seas to meet his Arethufe; And ye che breathing Roses of the Wood, Fair Gilver-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 service will comply
To further this night's glad folemnity;
And lead ye where ye may more near behold
What hallow-searching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft amidst these ibades alone
Have fat to wonder at, and gaze upon:
For know by lot from Jove I am the pow's
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 save from nightly ill,
Of noisom winds, and blasting vapours chill.
And from the Boughs brusa off the evil dew,
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blew,
Or what the cross dire looking Planet (mites,
Or hurtful Worm with canker'd venom bites.
When Eev’ning gray doth rise, I fetch my round
Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground,
And early ere the odorous breath of morn
Awakes the slumbring leaves, or taffeld horn
Shakes the high thicket, hafte I all about,
Number my ranks, and visit every sprout
With puissant words, and murmurs made to bless,
But elle in deep of night when drowsiness
Hath lockt up mortal sense, then liften I
To the celestial Sirens harmony,