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It was that fatal and perfidious Bark . \ - '-- . • Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, That funk so low that Sacred head of thine.'

Next Camus, reverend Sire, went footing slow. His Mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscrib'd with woe. Ah! Who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge? Last came, and last did go, The Pilot of the Galilean lake Two massy Keys he bore of metals twain, (The Golden opes, the Iron (huts amain) He shook his Miter'd locks, and stern bespake, How well could I have spar'd for thee, young swain, Anow of such as for their bellies fake Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold? Of other care they little reck'ning make, That how to scramble at the (hearers feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest j £h0\d Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to A Sheep-hook, or have learn'd ought else the least That to the faithful Herdman's Art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are

And

I And when they list, their lean and flashy Songs I Grate on their scrannel Pipes of wretched straw, f The hungry Sheep look up, and are not fed,

But fwoll'n with wind, and the rank mist they draw, I Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim Wools with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing fed, But that two-handed Engine at the door, Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more. 1 Return Alpheus^ the dread voice is past, That shrunk thy streams 5 Return Sicilian Muse, And cast the Vales, and bid them hither cast Their 3ells, and Flourets of a thousand hues. • Ye Valleys low where the mild whispers use, Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing brooks On whose fresh lap the swart Star sparely looks, Throw hither all your quaint enameli'd eyes, That on the green terf fuck the honied showers, And purple all the Ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe Primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted Crow-toe, and pale Geslamine The white Pink, and the Panne freak with jeat, The glowing Violet,

Thr The Musk-rose and the well attir'd Woodbine,

With Cowslips wan that hang the pensive head>

And every flower that fad embroidery wears,

Bid Amarantus all his beauty shed,

And Daffadillies fill their Cups with tears*

To strew the Laureat Hersc where Lycid lies.

For so to interpose a little ease,

Let our frail thoughts daily with false surmise.

Ay me! Whilst thee the shores, and sounding Seas

Wash far away, where e'er thy bones are hurl'd,

Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides}

Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide

Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous World j

Or whether thou to our moist vows deny'd,

Sleep'st by the Fable of Bellerus old

Where the great Vision of the guarded Mount

Looks toward Naymancos and Boyona's hold j

Look home-ward Angel now and melt with ruth.

And, O ye DolpbinSi waft the helpless youth.

Weep no more, woful Shepherds weep no more, For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watry floar j -; So links the day-star in the Ocean bed,

And

And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new spangled Ore,
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:
So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves,
Where other groves, and other streams along,
With NeBar pure his oozy Locks he laves
And hears the unexpressive nuptial Song,
In the blest Kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,
In solemn troops, and sweet Societies
That Sing, and Singing in their Glory move, t
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now,' Lycidas, the Shepherds weep no more$
Henceforth thou art the Genius of the more,
In thy large recompence, and (halt be good
To all that wander in that perillous flood.

Thus fang the uncouth Swain to th' Okcs and rills*
While the still morn went out with Sandals gray,
He touch'd the tender stops of various Quills,
With eager thought warbling his Dorick lay:
And now the Sun had stretch'd out all the Hills,
And now was dropt into the Western Bay}

• As At last he rose, and twitch'd his Mantle blew:

To morrow to fresh Woods, and Pastures new.

L Allegro.

T TEnce loathed Melancholy

Of Cerberus, and blackest midnight born, In Stygian Cave forlorne, [holy 'Mongst horrid shapes, and (hrieks and sights un

Find out some uncouth cell, r •

[wings,

Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous 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 ycleap'd Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two Sister Graces more
To Ivy-crowned Bacchus borej

Or

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