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If e'er, by rebel deities oppreft,

• My aid reliev'd thee, grant this one request.

Since to short life my hapless fon was born, Do thou with fame the fcanty space adorn. • Punish the king of men, whofe lawless sway

Hath sham'd the youth, and feiz'd his destin'd prey. ← Awhile let Troy prevail, that Greece may grieve, • And doubled honours to my offspring give.'

She faid. The god vouchfaf'd not to reply. (A deep fufpence fat in his thoughtful eye) : Once more around his knees the goddess clung, And to foft accents form'd her artful tongue : Oh! fpeak. Or grant me, or deny my prayer. • Fear not to speak, what I am doom'd to bear; That I may know, if thou my prayer deny,. ← The most despis'd of all the gods am I,' With a deep figh the Thundering Power replies: To what a height will Juno's anger rife! • Still doth her voice before the gods upbraid My partial hand, that gives the Trojans aid. I grant thy fuit. But, hence! depart unfeen, • And fhun the fight of heaven's fufpicious queen. Believe my nod, the great, the certain fign, • When Jove propitious hears the powers divine; The fign that ratifies my high command,

That thus I will: and what I will fhall stand.' This faid, his kingly brow the fire inclin'd; The large black curls fell awful from behind, Thick fhadowing the ftern forehead of the god: Olympus trembled at th' almighty nod.

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The goddefs fmil'd: and, with a sudden leap,"-
From the high mountain plung'd into the deep.
But Jove repair'd to his celeftial towers :
And, as he rofe, up-rofe th' immortal powers.
In ranks, on either fide, th' affembly caft,
Bow'd down, and did obeifance as he pafs'd.

To him enthron'd (for whispering fhe had seen
Clofe at his knees the filver-footed queen,
Daughter of him, who, low beneath the tides,
Aged and hoary in the deep refides).

Big with invectives, Juno filence broke,
And thus, opprobrious, her refentments fpoke:
Falfe Jove! what goddess whispering did I see ?
O fond of counfels, ftill conceal'd from me!
To me, neglected, thou wilt ne'er impart
One fingle thought of thy close-cover'd heart.
To whom the Sire of gods and men reply'd ;
• Strive not to find, what I decree to hide.
Laborious were the fearch, and vain the ftrife,
Vain ev'n for thee, my fifter and my wife.
The thoughts and counfels, proper to declare,
Nor god nor mortal fhall before thee fhare:
But, what my fecret wisdom fhall ordain,
Think not to reach, for know the thought were vain.
Dread Saturn's fon, why fo fevere ?" replies

• The Goddess of the large majestic eyes.

Thy own dark thoughts at pleasure hide, or fhow;
Ne'er have I afk'd, nor now afpire to know.
Nor yet my fears are vain, nor came unfeen
To thy high throne the filver-footed queen,

• Daughter

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Daughter of him, who low beneath the tides
Aged and hoary in the deep refides.

Thy nod affures me fhe was not deny'd:

And Greece must perish for a madman's pride.'

To whom the god, whose hand the tempest forms, Drives clouds on clouds,andblackens heaven with storms, Thus wrathful answer'd: Doft thou still complain ? • Perplex'd for ever, and perplex'd in vain! • Should't thou disclose the dark event to come, • How wilt thou stop th' irrevocable doom !

This ferves the more to sharpen my difdain;
And woes foreseen but lengthen out thy pain.
Be filent then. Difpute not my command;
Nor tempt the force of this fuperior hand:
• Left all the gods, around thee leagu'd, engage
In vain to fhield thee from my kindled rage.'
Mute and abafh'd she fat without reply,
And downward turn'd her large majestic eye,
Nor further durft th' offended fire provoke :
The gods around him trembled, as he spoke.
When Vulcan, for his mother fore diftreft,
Turn'd orator, and thus his speech address'd; -
Hard is our fate, if men of mortal line

• Stir up

debate among the powers divine, If things on earth disturb the blest abodes, • And mar th' ambrofial banquet of the gods! Then let my mother once be rul'd by me,

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Though much more wife than I pretend to be:
Let me advife her filent to obey,

• And due submiffion to our father pay.

• Nor

Nor force again his gloomy rage to rise,
Ill-tim'd, and damp the revels of the skies.
For fhould he tofs her from th' Olympian hill,
• Who could resist the mighty monarch's will?
Then thou to love the Thunderer reconcile,
And tempt him kindly on us all to smile.'

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He faid and in his tottering hands up-bore A double goblet, fill'd, and foaming o'er.

Sit down, dear mother, with a heart content, • Nor urge a more difgraceful punishment, Which if great Jove inflict, poor I, dismay'd,. Muft ftand aloof, nor dare to give thee aid. Great Jove shall reign for ever, uncontrol'd: Remember, when I took thy part of old,

Caught by the heel he fwung me round on high, And headlong hurl'd me from th' ethereal sky : • From morn to noon I fell, from noon to night; Till pitch'd on Lemnos, a most piteous fight, The Sintians hardly could my breath recall, Giddy and gasping with the dreadful fall.

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She finil'd and, fmiling, her white arm display'd To reach the bowl her aukward fon convey'd.

From right to left the generous bowl he crown'd,
And dealt the rofy nectar fairly round.

The gods laugh'd out, unweary'd, as they spy'd
The busy skinker hop from fide to fide.

Thus, feafting to the full, they pass'd away,
In blissful banquets, all the live-long day.
Nor wanted melody. With heavenly art
The Mufes fung; each Mufe perform'd her part,

Alternate

Alternate warbling; while the golden lyre,
Touch'd by Apollo, led the vocal choir.
The fun at length declin'd, when every guest
Sought his bright palace, and withdrew to reft:
Each had his palace on th' Olympian hill,
A mafter-piece of Vulcan's matchless skill.
Ev'n he, the god, who heaven's great scepter fways,
And frowns amid the lightning's dreadful blaze,
His bed of state afcending, lay compos'd;
His eyes a fweet refreshing flumber clos'd:
And at his side, all glorious to behold,
Was Juno lodg'd in her alcove of gold.

TO THE EARL OF WARWICK, ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON.

F, dumb too long, the drooping Muse hath stay'd,
And left her debt to Addifon unpaid,

Blame not her filence, Warwick, but bemoan,
And judge, oh judge, my bosom by your own..
What mourner ever felt poetic fires!

Slow comes the verfe that real woe inspires:
Grief unaffected fuits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Can I forget the difmal night that gave
My foul's best part for ever to the grave!
How filent did his old companions tread,
By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead,
Through breathing statues, then unheeded things,
Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings!

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