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There held in holy paffion still,
Forget thyfelf to marble, till
With a fad leaden downward caft
Thou fix them on the earth as fait :
And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Faft, that oft with Gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring
Ay round about Jove's altar fing :
And add to these retired Leifure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ;
But firft, 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 th' accustom'd oak;
Sweet bird that fhunn'ft the noise of folly,
Moft musical, most melancholy!
Thee chauntress oft the woods among
I woo to hear thy even-fong;
And miffing thee, I walk unfeen
On the dry finooth-fhaven green,
To behold the wand'ring moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led aftray
Through the Heav'n's wide pathlefs way,
And oft, as if her head the bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft on a plat of rifing ground,
I hear the far-off Curfeu found,
Over fome wide-water'd fhore,
Swinging flow with fullen roar;

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Or if the air will not permit,
Some still 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,
Or the belman's droufy charm,
To blefs the doors from nightly harm:
Or let my lamp at midnight hour,
Be feen in fome high lonely tow'r,
Where I may oft out-watch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere
The fpirit of Plato to unfold
What worlds, or what vaft regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forfook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook:
And of thofe Demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
hath a true conlent
With planet, or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous tragedy
In fcepter'd pall come fweeping by,
Prefenting Thebes, or Pelops line,
Or the tale of Troy divine,
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage.
But, O fad Virgin, that thy power
Might raise Mufæus from his bower,
Or bid the foul of Orpheus fing
Such notes, as warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what love did seek.
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambufcan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarfife,
And who had Canace to wife,

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That own'd the virtuous ring and glass,
And of the wondrous horfe of brass,
On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if ought elfe great bards beside
In fage and folemn tunes have fung,
Of turneys and of trophies hung,
Of forefts, and inchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus night oft fee me in thy pale carreer,
Till civil-fuited morn appear,


Not trickt and frounet as fhe was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kercheft in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ufher'd with a fhower ftill,
When the guft hath blown his fill,
Ending on the ruflling leaves,
With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the fun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me Goddefs bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude ax with heaved ftroke
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt,
There in clofe covert by fome brook,
Where no profaner eye may lock,
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honied thie,
That at her flow'ry work doth fing,
And the waters murmuring
With fuch confort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather'd fleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in aery stream









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Of lively portraiture difplay'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid.


And as I wake, fweet mufic breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by fome Spirit to mortals good,
Or th' unfeen Genius of the wood.
But let
my due feet never fail

To walk the ftudious cloyfters pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antic pillars maffy proof,
And ftoried windows richly dight,
Cafting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full voic'd quire below,
In fervice high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Diffolve me into extafies,

And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at laft
my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and moffy cell,
Where I may fit and rightly spell
Of every ftar that Heav'n doth fhew,
And every herb that fips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To fomething like prophetic ftrain.
Thefe pleasures Melancholy give,
And I with thee will choofe to live.









Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby at Harefield, by fome noble perfons of her family, who appear on the scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the feat of ftate, with this Song.

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1. SONG.


OOK Nymphs, and Shepherds look,
What fudden blaze of majesty
Is that which we from hence defcry,
Too divine to be mistook :

This, this is the

To whom our vows and wishes bend;
Here our folemn fearch hath end.


Fame, that her high worth to raise,
Seem'd erft fo lavish and profufe,
We may juftly now accufe
Of detraction from her praife;
Less than half we find exprcft,
Envy bid conceal the rest.

Mark what radiant ftate fhe spreads,
In circle round her fhining throne,
Shooting her beams like filver threads
This, this is she alone,

Sitting like a Goddefs bright,
In the center of her light.

Might the the wife Latona be,
Or the towred Cybele,

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