Sitting, hopping, flutt'ring, fing,
And pay their tribute from the wing,
To fledge the fhafts that idle ly,
yet unfeather'd wait to fly.
'Tis thus, when spring renews the blocd,
They meet in ev'ry trembling wood,
And thrice they make the plumes agree,
And ev'ry dart they mount with three,
And ev'ry dart can boast a kind,
Which fuits each proper turn of mind.
From the tow'ring Eagle's plume
The gen'rous hearts accept their doom;
Shot by the peacock's painted eye
The vain and airy lovers dye :
For careful dames and frugal men,
The shafts are speckled by the her.
The Pyes and Parrots deck the darts,
When prattling wins the panting hearts:
When from the voice the paffions fpring,
The warbling Finch affords a wing:
Together, by the Sparrow stung,
Down fall the wanton and the young:
And fledg'd by Geefe the weapons fly,
When others love they know not why.
All this (as late I chanc'd to rove)
I learn'd in yonder waving grove.
And fee, fays Love, (who call'd me near)
How much I deal with Nature here,
How both support a proper part,
She gives the feather, I the dart :
Then ceafe for fouls averfe to figh,
If nature crofs you,
fo do I;
My weapon there unfeather'd flies,
And shakes and fhuffles through the skies.
But if the mutual charms I find
By which she links you, mind to mind;
They wing my shafts, I poize the darts,
And strike from both, through both your hearts.
AY Bacchus liking Eftcourt's wine,
A noble meal bespoke us;
And for the guests that were to dine,
Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus.
The God near Cupid drew his chair,
Near Comus, Jocus plac'd;
For Wine makes Love forget its care,
And Mirth exalts a feast.
The more to please the sprightly God,
Each fweet engaging Grace
Put on fome cloaths to come abroad,
And took a waiter's place.
Then Cupid nam'd at every glass
A lady of the sky;
While Bacchus fwore he'd drink the lass, And had it bumper-high.
Fat Comus tost his brimmers o'er,
And always got the moft;
Jocus took care to fill him more,
When-e'er he mifs'd the toaft.
They call'd, and drank at every touch;
He fill'd, and drank again;
And if the gods can take too much,
'Tis faid, they did fo then.
Gay Bacchus little Cupid ftung,
By reck'ning his deceits.
And Cupid mock'd his ftamm'ring tongue,
With all his stagg'ring gaits:
And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways,
And tales without a jeft;
While Comus call'd his witty plays
But waggeries at the best.
Such talk foon fet them all at odds;
And, had I Homer's pen,
I'd fing ye, how they drunk like gods,
And how they fought, like men.
To part the fray, the Graces fly,
Who make 'em foon agree;
Nay, had the furies felves been nigh,
They still were three to three.
Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up, gave him back his bow;
But kept fome darts to stir the cup,
Where fack and fugar flow.
Jocus took Comus' rofy crown,
And gayly wore the prize,
And thrice, in mirth, he pufh'd him down,
As thrice he ftrove to rife.
Then Cupid fought the myrtle grove,
Where Venus did recline,
And Venus close embracing Love,
They join'd to rail at wine,
And Comus loudly curfing wit,
Roll'd off to fome retreat,
Where boon companions gravely fit
In fat unweildy state.
Bacchus and Jocus, ftill behind,
For one fresh glass prepare;
They kifs, and are exceeding kind,
And vow to be fincere.
But part in time, whoever hear
This our inftructive fong;
For tho' fuch friendships may be dear,
They can't continue long,
'N Britain's ifle and Arthur's days,
When midnight Faeries daunc'd the maze,
Liv'd Edwin of the green,
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endow'd with courage, fenfe and truth,
Tho' badly fhap'd he been.
His mountain back mote well be faid
To measure height against his head,
And lift itself above:
Yet fpite of all that nature did
To make his uncouth form forbid,
This creature dar'd to love,
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