Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann'd Haycock in the Mead,
Some times with secure delight
The up-land Hamlets will invite,
When the merry Bells ring round,
And the jocond rebecks found
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the Chequer'd shade;
And young and old com forth to play
On a Sunshine Holyday,
Till the live-long day-light fail,
Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How Faery Mab the junkets eat,
She was pincht, and pulld she sed,
And by the Friars Lanthorn led
Tells how the drudging Goblin swet,
To ern his Cream-bowle duly set,
When in one night, ere glimps of morn,
His shadowy Flale hath thresh'd the Corn,
That ten day-labourers could not end,
Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend.
And stretch'd out all the Chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And Crop-full out of dores he flings,
Ere the first Cock his Mattin rings.
Thus done the Tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering Winds soon lulld alleep.
Towred Cities please us then,
And the busie humm of men,
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold,

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With store of Ladies, whose bright eies
Rain influence, and judge the prise,
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 eeves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Yonfons learned Sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespear fancies childe,
Warble his native Wood-notes wilde,
And ever against eating Cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian Aires,
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of lincked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running;
Untwisting all the chains that

ty The hidden soul of harmony. That Orpheus self may

heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heapt Elyfan flowres, and hear
Such streins as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite set free
His half regain'd Eurydice.
These delights, if thou canst give,
Mirth with thee, I mean to live.

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Arcades.

Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess

Dowager of Darby at Harefield, by some Noble Persons of her Family, who appear on the Scene in Pastoral Habit, moving toward the seat of State, with this Song

1. 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 she
To whom our vows and wishes bend,
Heer our solemn 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 then half we find exprest,

Envy bid conceal the rest.
Mark what radiant state The spreds,
In circle round her shining throne,
Shooting her beams like silver threds,
This this is she alone,

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Sitting like a Goddes bright,

In the center of her light.
Might she the wise Latona be,
Or the towred Cybele,
Mother of a hundred gods ;
Juno dare's not give her odds ;

Who had thought this clime had held

A deity so unparaleld ? As they com

forward, the Genius of the Wood appears,

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 flood, so often sung, Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluse, Stole under Seas to meet his Arethuse; And

ye the breathing Roses of the Wood,
Fair silver-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
Mistres of

yon princely shrine,
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine,
And with all helpful service will comply
To further this nights glad folemnity ;
And lead ye where ye may more near behold
What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft amidst these shades alone
Have fate to wonder at, and gaze upon :
For know by lot from Jove I am

the

powr Of this fair Wood, and live in Oak'n bowr, To nurse the Saplings tall, and curl the grove, With Ringlets quaint; and wanton windings wove.

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And all my Plants I save from nightly ill,
Of noisom winds, and blasting vapours chill.
And from the Boughs brush off the evil dew, 50
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blew,
Or what the cross dire-looking Planet smites,
Or hurtfull Worm with canker'd venom bites.
When Ev’ning gray doth rise, I fetch

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 tasfeld horn
Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about,
Number my ranks, and visit every sprout 59
With puissant words, and murmurs made to bless,
But els in deep of night when drowsines
Hath lock’t up mortal sense, then listen I
To the celestial Sirens harmony,
That fit upon the nine enfolded Sphears,
And sing to those that hold the vital shears,
And turn the Adamantine spindle round,
On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
Such sweet compulsion doth in musick ly,
To lull the daughters of Necessity,
And keep unsteddy Nature to her law,

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And the low world in measur'd motion draw
After the heavenly tune, which none can hear
Of human mould with gross unpurged ear;
And

yet such musick worthiest were to blaze
The peerles height of her immortal praise,
Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit,
If my inferior hand or voice could hit
Inimitable sounds, yet as we go,
What ere the skill of lesser gods can show,
I will assay, her worth to celebrate,

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