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Or whether (as some sages sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying,
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew,
Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,
So bucksom, blithe, and debonair.

Harte thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jolity,
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek ;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter, holding both his fides,
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty ;
And, if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free ;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch tower in the skies,
'Till the dappled dawn doth rise ;
Then to come in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine :


While the cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before :
Oft liftning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill :
Sometime walking not unseen
By hedge-row elms, of hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great sun begins his state,
Rob’d in fames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight,
While the plough-man near at hand
Whilstles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milk-maid fingeth blithe,
And the mower whets his fcythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
Whilst the landskip round it meafures,
Ruffet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest,
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Towers and battlements it fees,
Bofom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps fome beauty lies
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes:

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Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrfis mct,
Are at their favoury dinner set
Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses ;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,
With Theftylis to bind the sheaves ;
Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann'd hay-cock in the mead.

Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite.
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks found
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade ;

and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday,
Till the live-long day-light fail ;
Then to the fpicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How fairy Mab the junkets eat ;
She was pinch’d, and pull'd, she said,
And he, by friar's lanthorn led,
Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly fet,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath thresb’d the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end ;
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Baiks at the fire his hairy strength,


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And cropful out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his mattin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds foon lulld afleep.

Tow'red cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while. both contend
To win her grace, whom all commend.
There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask and antique pageantry,
Such fights as youthful poets dream,
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson’s learned sock be

Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's Child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.

And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal versë,
Such as the meeting fonl may pierce,
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden fouls of Harmony;

O 3


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vain deluding joys,
The brood of Folly, without father bred?
How little you bested,

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!
Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless

As the gay motes that people the sun-beams,
Or likest hovering dreams,

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.
But hail, thou Goddess, fage and holy,
Hail divinest Melancholy,
Whose faintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human fight,
And therefore to our weaker view,
O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue ;
Black, but such as in esteem,
Prince Memnon's fifter might befeem,


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