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May thy lofty head be crown'd

With many a tow'r and terras round,
And here and there thy banks upon
With groves of myrrhe, and cinnamon.
Come, Lady, while Heav'n lends us grace,
Let us fly this curfed place,
Left the forcerer us entice
With fome other new device.
Not a waste, or needlefs found,
Till we come to holier ground;
I fhall be your faithful guide
Through this gloomy covert wide,
And not many furlongs thence
Is your Father's refidence,
Where this night are met in ftate
Many a friend to gratulate
His with'd prefence, and befide
All the fwains that near abide,
With jigs, and rural dance refort;
We shall catch them at their fport,
And our fudden coming there
Will double all their mirth and chear;
Come let us haste, the stars grow high,
But night fits monarch yet in the mid sky.






The Scene changes, prefenting Ludlow town and the Prefident's caftle; then come in country dancers, after them the attendent Spirit, with the two Brothers and the Lady.


SPIR. Back, Shepherds, back, enough your play,
Till next fun-fhine holiday;
Here be without duck or nod
Other trippings to be trod



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Of lighter toes, and fuch court guise
As Mercury did first devise
With the mincing Dryades
On the lawns, and on the leas.


This fecond Song prefents them to their Father

and Mother.

Noble Lord, and Lady bright,
I have brought ye new delight,
Here behold fo goodly grown
Three fair branches of your own;
Heav'n hath timely try'd their youth,
Their faith, their patience, and their truth,
And fent them here through hard assays
With a crown of deathless praise,

To triumph in victorious dance
O'er fenfual folly, and intemperance.

The dances ended, the Spirit epiloguizes.

SPIR. To the ocean now I fly,
And those happy climes that lie
Where day never fhuts his eye,
Up in the broad fields of the sky:
There I fuck the liquid air
All amidst the gardens fair
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three
That fing about the golden tree :
Along the crifped fhades and bowers
Revels the spruce and jocond Spring,
The Graces, and the rofy-bofom'd Hours,
Thither all their bounties bring;
That there eternal Summer dwells,
And weft-winds with musky wing
About the cedarn alleys fling





990 Nard

Nard and Caffia's balmy fmells.
Iris there with humid bow
Waters the odorous banks, that blow
Flowers of more mingled hue
Than her purfled fcarf can fhew,
And drenches with Elyfian dew
(Lift mortals, if your ears be true)
Beds of hyacinth and roses,
Where young Adonis oft repofes,
Waxing well of his deep wound
In flumber foft, and on the ground
Sadly fits th' Affyrian queen;
But far above in fpangled theen
Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc'd,
Holds his dear Pfyche fweet intranc'd,
After her wand'ring labors long,
Till free confent the Gods among
Make her his eternal bride,
And from her fair unfpotted fide
Two blissful twins are to be born,
Youth and Joy; fo Jove hath fworn.
But now my task is fmoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run
Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bow'd welkin flow doth bend,
And from thence can foar as foon
To the corners of the moon.

Mortals that would follow me,
Love Virtue, fhe alone is free,
She can teach ye how to clime
Higher than the sphery chime;
Or if Virtue feeble were,
Heav'n itself would stoop to her.

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In this monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drown'din his paffage from Chester on the Irish feas, 1637. and by occafion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their highth.


ET once more, Oye Laurels, and once more Ye Myrtles brown, with Ivy never fere, 1 come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc'd fingers rude

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
Bitter constraint, and fad occafion dear,
Compels me to difturb your feafon due :
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,
Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer:
Who would not fing for Lycidas? he knew
Himself to fing, and build the lofty rhime.
He must not flote upon his watry bier
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind,
Without the meed of fome melodious tear.

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Begin then, Sifters of the facred well, That from beneath the feat of Jove doth fpring, Begin, and fomewhat loudly fweep the ftring. Hence with denial vain, and coy excufe, So may fome gentle Muse With lucky words favor my deftin'd urn, And as he paffes turn, And bid fair peace be to my fable shroud. For we were nurft upon the felf-fame hill, Fed the fame flock by fountain, shade, and rill.


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Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd 25 Under the opening eye-lids of the morn, We drove a field, and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her fultry horn, Batt'ning our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the ftar that rofe, at evening, bright, 30 Tow'ard Heaven's defcent had flop'd his weft'ring Mean while the rural ditties were not mute, [wheel. Temper'd to th' oaten flute,

Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad found would not be absent long, 35 And old Ďamætas lov'd to hear our fong.

But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and defert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes mourn.


The willows, and the hazel copfes green,
Shall now no more be seen,

Fanning their joyous leaves to thy foft lays.
As killing as the canker to the rofe,


Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze,
Or frost to flow'rs, that their gay
wardrobe wear,
When first the white-thorn blows;
Such, Lycidas, thy lofs to fhepherds ear.
Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorfelefs deep
Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?
For neither were ye playing on the steep,
Where your old Bards, the famous Druids, lie,
Nor on the fhaggy top of Mona high,


Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard stream: 55 Ay me! I fondly dream

Had ye been there, for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Mufe herself for her inchanting son,


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