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With Nectar pure his oozy Lock's he laves,
And hears the unexpreffive nuptial Song,
In the bleft Kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,
In folemn troops, and sweet Societies
That fing, and finging in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now Lycidas the Shepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the fhore,
In thy large recompenfe, and fhalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

Thus fang the uncouth Swain to th'Okes and
While the still morn went out with Sandals gray,
He touch'd the tender ftops of various Quills,
With eager thought warbling his Dorick lay:
And now the Sun had ftretch'd out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the Western Bay;
At last he rose, and twitch'd his Mantle blew :
To morrow to fresh Woods, and Paftures new.



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Il Penferofo.

ENCE vain deluding joyes,

The brood of folly without father bred, How little you befted,

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toyes;

Dwell in fome idle brain,

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes poffefs, As thick and numberless

As the gay motes that people the Sun Beams, Or likest hovering dreams

The fickle Penfioners of Morpheus train.
But hail thou Goddess, fage and holy,
Hail divineft Melancholy,

Whose Saintly visage is too bright
To hit the Sense of human fight;
And therefore to our weaker view,
Ore laid with black ftaid Wisdoms hue.
Black, but such as in esteem,
Prince Memnons fifter might befeem,
Or that starr'd Ethiope Queen that strove
To set her beauties praise above

The Sea Nymphs, and their powers offended,
Yet thou art higher far descended,
Thee bright-hair'd Vefta long of yore,
To folitary Saturn bore;



His daughter the (in Saturns raign,
Such mixture was not held a ftain)
Oft in glimmering Bowres, and glades
He met her, and in fecret fhades
Of woody Ida's inmoft grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Com penfive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, ftedfaft, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestick train,
And fable ftole of Cipres Lawn,
Over thy decent fhoulders drawn.
Com, but keep thy wonted ftate,
With eev'n step, and mufing gate,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt foul fitting in thine eyes:
There held in holy paffion ftill,
Forget thy felf to Marble, till
With a fad Leaden downward cast,
Thou fix them on the earth as fast.
And joyn with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Faft, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Mufes in a ring,

Ay round about Joves Altar fing.
And adde to these retired leasure,
That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure;
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring,
Him that yon foars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The Cherub Contemplation,
And the mute Silence hift along,
'Lefs Philomel will deign a Song,




In her sweetest, faddeft plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her Dragon yoke,
Gently o're th'accuftom'd Oke;

Sweet Bird that shunn'ft the noise of folly,
Moft mufical, most Melancholy!
Thee Chauntress oft the Woods among,
I woo to hear thy Even-Song;
And miffing thee, I walk unfeen
On the dry smooth-fhaven Green,
To behold the wandring Moon,
Riding neer her highest noon,
Like one that had bin led aftray
Through the Heav'ns wide pathles way;
And oft, as if her head fhe bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a Plat of rifing ground,
I hear the far-off Curfeu found,
Over fome wide-water'd shoar,
Swinging flow with fullen roar;
Or if the Ayr will not permit,
Som still removed place will fit,
Where glowing Embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all refort of mirth.

Save the Cricket on the hearth,

Or the Belmans drowfie charm,
To bless the dores from nightly harm:
Or let my Lamp at midnight hour,
Be seen in fome high lonely Towr,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unfphear




The spirit of Plato to unfold

What Worlds, or what vaft Regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forfook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of thofe Dæmons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true consent
With Planet, or with Element.
Som time let Gorgeous Tragedy
In Scepter'd Pall com fweeping by,
Presenting Thebs, or Pelops line,
Or the tale of Troy divine.
Or what (though rare) of later age,
Ennobled hath the Bufkind stage.
But, O fad Virgin, that thy power
Might raise Mufæus from his bower,
Or bid the foul of Orpheus fing
Such notes as warbled to the string,
Drew Iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what Love did feek.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambufcan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarfife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That own'd the vertuous Ring and Glafs,
And of the wondrous Hors of Brafs,
On which the Tartar King did ride;
And if ought els, great Bards befide,
In fage and folemn tunes have fung,
Of Turneys and of Trophies hung;
Of Forefts, and inchantments drear,
Where more is meant then meets the ear,

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