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Hard by, a cottage chimney fmokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrfis met,
Are at their favoury dinner set
Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dreffes;
And then in hafte her bower fhe leaves,
With Theftylis to bind the fheaves;
Or if the earlier feafon lead
To the tann'd hay-cock in the mead.
Sometimes with fecure 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 fhade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a funshine holiday,

Till the live-long day-light fail;
Then to the fpicy nut-brown ale,
With ftories told of many a feat,
How fairy Mab the junkets eat;
She was pinch'd, and pull'd, fhe faid,
And he, by friar's lanthorn led,

Tells how the drudging Goblin fwet
To earn his cream-bowl duly fet,
When in one night, ere glimpfe of morn,
His fhadowy flail hath thresh'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,
Basks at the fire his hairy ftrength,


And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his mattin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds foon lull'd asleep.
Tow'red cities please us then,
And the bufy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With ftore of ladies, whofe 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, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feaft, and revelry,
With mask and antique pageantry,
Such fights as youthful poets dream,
On fummer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonfon's learned fock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespear, Fancy's Child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.

And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in foft 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 fouls of Harmony;

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That Orpheus' felf may heave his head
From golden flumber on a bed
Of heapt Elyfian flowers, and hear
Such ftrains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite fet free
His half-regain'd Eurydice.

Thefe delights if thou canft give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live.


ENCE 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 fome idle brain,

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



As the gay motes that people the fun-beams, Or likeft hovering dreams,

The fickle penfioners of Morpheus' train. But hail, thou Goddefs, fage and holy, Hail divineft Melancholy,

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Whofe faintly visage is too bright

To hit the fenfe of human fight,


And therefore to our weaker view,
O'erlaid with black, ftaid Wifdom's hue;
Black, but fuch as in efteem,

Prince Memnon's fifter might be feem,

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Or that starr'd Ethiope queen that strove
To fet her beauties praise above

The fea nymphs, and their powers offended:
Yet thou art higher far defcended;
Thee bright hair'd Vefta, long of yore,
To folitary Saturn bore;

His daughter the (in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain)
Oft in glimmering bowers, and glades
He met her, and in fecret fhades
Of woody Ida's inmoft grove,
While yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come, penfive nun, devout and pure,

Sober, ftedfaft, and demure,

All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And fable ftole of cypress lawn,
Over thy decent fhoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wonted ftate,
With even step, and mufing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy wrapt foul fitting in thine eyes:
There, held in holy paffion ftill,
Forget thyfelf to marble, till
With a fad leaden downward caft,
Thou fix them on the earth as faft:
And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Faft, that oft with Gods doth diet,
And hear the Muses in a ring,
Aye round about Jove's altar fing;
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ;


But first, and chiefeft, 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 fong,
In her fweeteft, faddeft plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke,
Gently o'er the accuftom'd oak;
Sweet bird that fhun'ft the noife of folly,
Moft mufical, moft melancholy!
Thee, chaun trefs, oft the woods among,
I woo to hear thy evening fong:
And miffing thee, I walk unfeen
On the dry fmooth-fhaven green,
To behold the wand'ring moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led aftray
Through the heaven's wide pathlefs 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 Curfew found,
Over fome wide-water'd fhore,
Swinging flow with fullen roar.

Or if the air will not permit,
Some ftill 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,


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