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Of CERBERUS and blackest midnight born,

In stygian cave forlorn, ’Mongst horrid Mapes, and frieks, and fights

unholy, Find out fome uncouth cell, Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings,

And the night-raven sings ; There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks,

As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desart ever dwell.
But come, thou goddess, fair and free,
In heav'n 'yclep'd EUPHROSÝNE,
And by men, heart-easing MIRTH,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth,
With two sister graces more,
To ivy-crowned BACCHUS bore :
Or whether (as some lages fing)
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 buxorn, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful JOLLITY,
Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nosis and becks, and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on HEBE's cheek,
And love to live in dimple seek;
SPORT, that wrinkl’d 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, fweet 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-tow'r in the lies,
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 twist'd 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 Numb’ring morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill:
Some time walking not unseen,
By edge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right againft the eaftern gate,
Where the great fun begins his state,
Rob’d in flames and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight,
While the ploughman near at hand
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milk-maid singeth blithe,
And the mower wets his fcythe,
And ev'ry shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight inine eye hath caught new pleasures,
Whilii the landscape round it measures,
Ruffet lawns and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do firay,
Mountains on whole barren breali
The lab’ring clouds do often reft,
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 neighb’ring eyes.
Hard by a cottage chimney Imokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where CORYDON and THYRSIS met,
Are at their sav'ry dinner set,
Of herbs and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ;
And then in haste her bow'r she leaves
With THESTYlis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,
To the tann'd hay-cock in the mead.
Soinetimes 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;

young and old come forth to play
On a fun-fhine holy-day,
Till the live-long day-light fail;
Then to the spicy 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 by the friar's lanthorn led;
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat,
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn,
That ten day-lab’rers could not end;
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whisp'ring winds foon lull'datleep.

Tower'd 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 fiore 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 faffron robe, and taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and re

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 on,
Or sweetest SHAKSPEARE, fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in loft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting foul 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 foul of harmony;
That ORPHEUS' self may heave his head
From golden Number on a bed
Of heapt Elysian flow’rs, and hear
Such firains 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.

MELANCHOLY. HENCE, vain deluding joys,

The brood of folly, without father bred,

How little you befted,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys !

Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy Shapes possess,

As thick and numberleis As the gay'motes that people the sun-beams,

Or likeliest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of MORPHEUs' train. But hail, thou goddess, fage and holy! Hail, divineft 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 sister might befeem, Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that ftrove To set her beauties praise above The sea nymphs, and their pow’rs offended: Yet thou art high'r far descended, The bright-hair'd vesta long of yore To solitary SATURN bore; His daughter she (in SATURN's reign, Such mixture was not held a stain,) Oft in glimmering bow'rs and glades Ile met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of JOVE, Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, Sober, stedfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train, And fable stole of Cyprus’ lawn, Over thy decent shoulders drawn ; Come, but keep thy wonted state, With even step and musing gait,

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