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There are revenging Gods, proud Nymphs, there are,
And injur'd Love is Heav'ns peculiar care.
Begin with me, my Flute, begin such strains,
As Pan our Patron taught th' Arcadian Swains.
Early I walk'd one Morn with careless thought,
Your Mother you into our Garden brought,
And ruddy wildings round the Hedges fought;
The fairest Fruit, and glittering all with Dew,
(The Boughs were high, but yet) I reach'd for you:
I came, I faw, I gaz'd my heart away, [aftray.
Me, and my Flocks, and all my Life that minute led
Begin with me, my Flute, begin fuch ftrains,
As Pan our Patron taught th' Arcadian Swains.
Now Love I know you, for my felf, too late:
But Shepherds take ye warning by my Fate.
Truft not this flattering Voice, or smiling Face,
A Canibal, or born in rocky Thrace,

Not one of us, nor like the British Race,
She-Wolves gave fuck to the pernicious Boy,
The Shepherds he, they do the Flocks deftroy.
Begin with me, my Flute, begin fuch ftrains,
As Pan our Patron taught th' Arcadian Swains.
Mischief is all his fport; at his Commands,
In her Son's Blood Medea bath'd her hands;
A fad unnatural Mother fhe, 'tis true,
But Love, that cruelty the learn'd of you.

Begin with me, my Flute, begin fuch strains,
As Pan our Patron taught th' Arcadian Swains.
Nature which with this dotage hath begun,
Now into all extravagance will run:

The Tamarisk bright Amber shall diftil,

And the coarfe Elder bear foft Daffadil.

Shortly the Screech-Owl, with her boading Throat,
The Swans fhall Rival in their dying Note,
S---- and O-----the Bays fhall claim,

And equal Dr---- and Rof----'s Fame.

Begin with me, my Flute, begin fuch trains, As Pan our Patron taught th' Arcadian Swains.

May the Work fink with me! farewel ye Groves,
Haunts of my Youth, and Confcious of my Loves:
Down from the Precipice my felf I'll caft,
Accept this prefent Nifa---'tis my last.

Then cease, my Flute, for ever cease, thy ftrains,
Bid a fad filence through th' Arcadian Plains.

The NINTH ECLOGUE.

By Mr. DRYDEN.

When Virgil by the favour of Auguftus had recover'd his Patrimony near Mantua, and went in hope to take poffeffion, he was in danger to be flain by Arius the Centurion, to whom thefe Lands were affign'd by the Emperour in Reward of his Service against Brutus and Caffius. This Eclogue therefore is fill'd with Complaints of his hard Usage; and the Perfons introduc'd, are the Bayliff of Virgil, and his Friend.

H

LTCIDAS. MOERIS.

LTCID AS.

O, Morris! whither on thy way fo faft?
This leads to Town.

O Lycidas at laft

MOERIS.

The time is come, I never thought to fee,
(Strange Revolution for my Farm and me)
When the grim Captain in a furly tone
Cries out, Pack up ye Rafcals and be gone.
Kick'd out, we fet the beft face on't we cou'd,
And these two Kids, t' appease his angry Mood
I bear, of which the Devil give him good.

M

LTCID A S.

Good Gods, I heard a quite contrary Tale;
That from the floaping Mountain to the Vale,
And dodder'd Oak, and all the Banks along,
Menalcas fav'd his Fortune with a Song.

MOERI S.

Such was the News, indeed; but Songs and Rhimes
Prevail as much, in these hard iron Times,
As would a plume of trembling Fowl, that rife
Against an Eagle foufing from the Skies.
And had not Phoebus warn'd me by the croak
Of an old Raven from a hollow Qak,
To fhun debate, Menalcas had been flain,
And Moeris not furviv'd him to complain.
LTCID A S.

Now Heaven defend!-could barbarous rage prevail
So far, the facred Mufes to affail?

Who then fhou'd fing the Nymphs, or who rehearse
The Waters gliding in a smoother Verfe!
Or Amaryllis praise that Heavenly Lay,
That shorten'd as we went, our tedious way;
O Tityrus, tend my Herd and fee them fed,
To Morning Paftures, Evening Waters led :
And 'ware the Libyan Ridgil's butting Head.
MOERIS.-

Or what unfinish'd He to Varus read;

Thy name, O Varus (if the kinder Pow'rs
Preferve our Plains, and fhield the Mantuan Tow'rs,
Obnoxious by Cremona's neighb'ring Crime,)
The Wings of Swans, and stronger pinion'd Rhyme,
Shall raise aloft, and foaring bear above.
Th' immortal Gift of gratitude to Jove.

LTCIDA S.

Sing on, fing on, for I can ne'er be cloy'd,
So may thy Swarms the baleful Eugh avoid :
So may thy Cows their burden'd Bags diftend,
And Trees to Goats their willing Branches bend;
Mean as I am, yet have the Muses made
Me free, a Member of the tuneful Trade:

At least the Shepherds feem to like my Lays,
But I difcern their flattery from their praise :

I nor to Cinna's Ears, nor Varus dare aspire; [Quire. But gabble like a Goose, amidst the Swan-like MOERIS.

'Tis what I have been conning in my Mind: Nor are they Verses of a vulgar kind.

Come Galatea, come, the Seas forfake,

What pleasures can the Tides with their hoarse murmurs make?

See on the Shore inhabits purple Spring;

Where Nightingales their Love-fick ditty fing; See Meads with purling Streams, with Flow'rs the Ground,

The Grottoes cool, with fhady Poplars crown'd, And creeping Vines to Arbours weav'd around; Come then and leave the Waves tumultuous roar, Let the wild furges vainly beat the Shore.

LTCID A S.

Or that fweet Song I heard with fuch delight;.
The fame you fung alone one ftarry Night;
The tune I ftill retain, but not the words.
MOERIS.

Why, Daphnis, doft thou search in old Records,
To know the seasons when the Stars arife:
See Cafar's Lamp is lighted in the Skies:
The Star, whofe Rays the blufhing Grapes adorn,
And swell the kindly ripening Ears of Corn.
Under this influence, graft the tender Shoot;
Thy Childrens Children shall enjoy the Fruit.
The reft I have forgot, for Cares and Time
Change all things, and untune my Soul to Rhime:
I cou'd have once fung down a Summer's Sun,
But now the Chime of Poetry is done.

My Voice grows hoarfe; I feel the Notes decay,
As if the Wolves had seen me firft to day.
But these, and more than I to mind can bring,
Menalcas has not yet forgot to fing.

LICIDA S.

Thy faint Excufes but inflame me more;
And now the Waves roul filent to the fhore.
Husht Winds the topmost branches scarcely bend,
As if the tuneful Song they did attend:
Already we have half our way o'ercome;
Far off I can difcern Bianor's Tomb;

Here, where the Labourers hands have form'd a Bow't
Of wreathing Trees, in finging wafte an hour.
Reft here thy weary Limbs, thy Kids lay down,
We've day before us, yet to reach the Town:
Or if e're night the gathering Clouds we fear,
A Song will help the beating ftorm to bear.
And that thou may'ft not be too late abroad,
Sing, and I'll eafe thy thoulders of thy load.
MOERIS.

Ceafe to entreat me, let us mind our way;
Another Song requires another day..
When good Menalcas comes, if he rejoice,
And find a friend at Court, I'll find a voice.

The TENTH ECLOGUE.

GALLUS.

English'd by Mr. Stafford.

Sicilian Nymph, affift my mournful ftrains;

The laft I fing in Rural Notes to Swains:
Grant then a Verse fo tender and so true,
As even Lycoris may with pity view:

Who can deny a Verfe to Grief and Gallus due!
So, when thy waters pafs beneath the Tide,
Secure from briny mixture may they glide.
Begin my Gallus Love and hapless Vows;
While, on the tender Twigs the Cattel browz:
Nothing is deaf; Woods liften while we fing,
And ecchoing Groves refound, and Mountains ring.

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