What pious care my ghastful lid shall close?
What decent hand my frozen limbs compose?
O happy shepherd, free from anxious pains,
Who now art wandering in the sighing plains
Of blest Elysium; where in myrtle groves
Enamour'd ghosts bemoan their former loves.
Open, thou silent grave; for lo! I come
To meet Menaleas in the fragrant gloom;
There shall my bosom burn with friendship's flame,
The same our passion, and our fate the same;
There, like two nightingales on neighbouring boughs,
Alternate strains shall mourn our frustrate vows.
But if cold Death should close Parthenia's eye,
And should her beauteous form come gliding by;
Friendship would soon in jealons fear be lost,
And kindling hate pursue thy rival ghost.

SCENE II.

Lycidas, Dione in a shepherd's habit.

TYCIDAS

Hah! who comes here? Turn hence, be timely wise;
Trust not thy safety to Parthenia's eyes.

As from the bearing falcon flies the dove,
So, wing'd with fear, Parthenia flies from love.

DIONE.

If in these vales the fatal beauty stray,
From the cold marble rise; let's haste away.
Why lie you panting, like the smitten deer?
Trust not the dangers which you bid me fear.

LYCIDAS.

Bid the lur'd lark, whom tangling nets surprise,
On soaring pinion rove the spacious skies;
Bid the cag'd linnet range the leafy grove;
Then bid my captive heart get loose from love.
The snares of Death are o'er me. Hence! beware!
Lest you should see her, and, like me, despair.

DIONE.

No. Let her come; and seek this vale's recess,
In all the beauteous negligence of dress;
Though Cupid send a shaft in every glance,
Though all the Graces in her step advance,
My heart can stand it all. Be firm, my breast;
Th' ensnaring oath, the broken vow detest:
That flame, which other charms have power to move,
O give it not the sacred name of love!
'Tis perjury, fraud, and meditated lics.
Love's seated in the soul, and never dies.
What then avail her charms? My constant heart
Shall gaze secure, and mock a second dart.

LYCIDAS.

But you, perhaps, a happier fate have found,
And the same hand that gave, now heals the wound
Or art thou left abandon'd and forlorn,

A wretch, like me, the sport of pride and scorn?

DIONE.

O tell me, shepherd, hath thy faithless maid, False to her vow, thy flatter'd hope betray'd? Did her smooth speech engage thee to believe? Did she protest and swear, and then deceive? Such are the pangs I feel!

LYCIDAS.

-The haughty fair Contemns my sufferings, and disdains to hear. Let meaner beauties, learn'd in female snares, Entice the swain with half-consenting airs;

What pious care my ghastful lid shall close?
What decent hand my frozen limbs compose?
O happy shepherd, free from anxious pains,
Who now art wandering in the sighing plains
Of blest Elysium; where in myrtle groves
Enamour'd ghosts bemoan their former loves.
Open, thou silent grave; for lo! I come
To meet Menalcas in the fragrant gloom;
There shall my bosom burn with friendship's flame,
The same our passion, and our fate the same;
There, like two nightingales on neighbouring boughs,
Alternate strains shall mourn our frustrate vows.
But if cold Death should close Parthenia's eye,
And should her beauteous form come gliding by;
Friendship would soon in jealous fear be lost,
And kindling hate pursue thy rival ghost.

No. Let her come; and seek this vale's recess,
In all the beauteous negligence of dress;
Though Cupid send a shaft in every glance,
Though all the Graces in her step advance,
My heart can stand it all. Be firm, my breast;
Th' ensnaring oath, the broken vow detest:
That flame, which other charms have power to move,
O give it not the sacred name of love!
'Tis perjury, fraud, and meditated lics.
Love's seated in the soul, and never dies.
What then avail her charms? My constant heart
Shall gaze secure, and mock a second dart.

LYCIDAS.

But you, perhaps, a happier fate have found,
And the same hand that gave, now heals the wound.
Or art thou left abandon'd and forlorn,

A wretch, like me, the sport of pride and scorn?

DIONE.

O tell me, shepherd, hath thy faithless maid, False to her vow, thy flatter'd hope betray'd? Did her smooth speech engage thee to believe? Did she protest and swear, and then deceive? Such are the pangs I feel!

LYCIDAS.

-The haughty fair Contemns my sufferings, and disdains to hear. Let meaner beauties, learn'd in female snares, Entice the swain with half-consenting airs;

Go then, Alexis; seek the scornful maid,
In tender aloquence my sufferings plead;
Of slighted passion you the pangs have known;
O judge my secret anguish by your own!

DIONE.

Had I the skill inconstant hearts to move,
My longing soul had never lost my love.
My feeble tongue, in these soft arts untry'd,
Can ill support the thuader of her pride;
When he shall bid me to thy bower repair,
How shall my trembling lips her threats declare!
How shall I tell thee that she could behold,
With brow serene, thy corse all pale and cold
Beat on the dashing billows? Should'st thou go
Where the tall hill o'erhangs the rocks below,
Near thee the tyrant could unpitying stand,
Nor call thee back, nor stretch a saving hand.
Wilt thou then still persist to tempt thy fate,
To feed her pride, and gratify her hate?

DIONE.

[Aside.

Deep then among the green-wood shades I'll rove,
And seek with weary'd pace thy wander'd love;
Prostrate I'll fall, and with incessant prayers
Hang on her knees, and bathe her feet with tears.
If sighs of pity can her ear incline,
(O Lycidas, my life is wrapt in thine!)
I'll charge her from thy voice to hear the tale;
Thy voice more sweet than notes along the vale
Breath'd from the warbling pipe: the moving strain
Shall stay her flight, and conquer her disdain.
Yet if she hear, should Love the message speed,
Then dies all hope;-then must Dione bleed.

LYCIDAS.

[Aside.

Hath he discern'd thee through the swain's disguise, And now alike thy love and friendship flies?

DIONE.

Yes, firm and faithful to the promise made,
I'll range each sunny hill, each lawn and glade.

LAURA.

'Tis Laura speaks. O calm your troubled mind.

DIONE.

Where shall my search this envy'd beauty find?
I'll go, my faithless shepherd's cause to plead,
And with my tears accuse the rival maid.
Yet, should her soften'd heart to love incline!

LAURA.

If those are all thy fears, Evander's thine.

DIONE.

Why should we both in sorrow waste our days?
If love unfeign'd my constant bosom sways,)
His happiness alone is all I prize,

And that is center'd in Parthenia's eyes.
Haste then, with earnest zeal her love implore,
To bless his hours-when thou shalt breathe no

more.

ACT III. SCENE I.

Dione lying on the ground by the side of a fountain.

DIONE.

HERE let me rest; and in the liquid glass
View with impartial look my fading face.
Why are Parthenia's striking beauties priz'd?.
And why Dione's weaker glance despis'd?
Nature in various moulds has beauty cast,
And form'd the feature for each different taste:
This sighs for golden locks and azure eyes;
That, for the gloss of sable tresses, dies.
Let all mankind these locks, these eyes detest,
So I were lovely in Evander's breast!
When o'er the garden's knot we cast our view,
While Summer paints the ground with various hue;
Some praise the gaudy tulip's streaky red,
And some the silver lily's bending head;
Some the jonquil in shining yellow drest,
And some the fring'd carnation's varied vest;
Some love the sober violet's purple dyes,
Thus beauty fares in different lovers' eyes.
But bright Parthenia like the rose appears,
She in all eyes superior lustre bears.

The skilful hunter with experienc'd care
Traces the doubles of the circling hare;
The subtle fox (who breathes the weary hound
O'er hills and plains) in distant brakes is found;
With ease we track swift hinds and skipping roes.
But who th' inconstant ways of woman knows?
They say, she wanders with the sylvan train,
And courts the native freedoms of the plain;
Shepherds explain their wish without offence,
Nor blush the nymphs;-for love is innocence.
O lead me where the rural youth retreat,
Where the slope hills the warbling voice repeat.
Perhaps on daisy'd turf reclines the maid,
And near her side some rival clown is laid.
Yet, yet I love her. O lost nymph, return,
Let not thy sire with tears incessant mourn;
Return, lost nymph; bid sorrow cease to flow,
And let Dione glad the house of woe.

-With storms of passion tost, When first he learnt bis vagrant child was lost, On the cold floor his trembling limbs he flung, And with thick blows his hollow bosom rung; Then up he started, and, with fixt surprise, Upon her picture threw his frantic eyes, While thus he cry'd: "In her my life was bound, Warm in each feature is her mother found! Perhaps despair has been her fatal guide, And now she floats upon the weeping tide; Or on the willow hung, with head reclin'd, All pale and cold she wavers in the wind. Did I not force her hence by harsh commands? Did not her soul abhor the nuptial bands?"

LAURA.

Teach not, ye sires, your daughters to rebel,
By counsel rein their wills, but ne'er compel.
CLEANTHES.
Ye duteous daughters, trust these tender guides;
Nor think a parent's breast the tyrant hides.

LAURA.

From either lid the scalding sorrows roll; The moving tale runs thrilling to my soul.

CLEANTHES,

Perhaps she wanders in the lonely woods,
Or on the sedgy borders of the floods;
Thou know'st each cottage, forest, hill, and vale,
And pebbled brook that winds along the dale.
Search each sequester'd dell to find the fair;
And just reward shall gratify thy care.

LAURA.

O ye kind boughs, protect the virgin's flight,
And guard Dione from his prying sight! [Aside.