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Whom universal nature did lament,
When by the rout that made the hideous roar,
His goary vifage down the stream was sent,
Down the fwift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ?
Alas! What boots it with inceffant care
To tend the homely flighted fhepherd's trade,
And ftrictly meditate the thankless Muse ?
Were it not better done as others use,
To fport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair?
Fame is the fpur that the clear fpi'rit doth raise 70
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To fcorn delights, and live laborious days;
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find,
And think to burst out into fudden blaze,
Comes the blind Fury with th' abhorred fhears, 75
And flits the thin fpun life. But not the praife,
Phoebus reply'd, and touch'd my trembling ears;
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil,
Nor in the glift'ring foil

Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies,
But lives and spreads aloft by thofe pure eyes,
And perfect witnefs of all-judging Jove;
As he pronounces laftly on each deed,
Of so much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed.
O fountain Arethufe, and thou honor'd flood, 85
Smooth-fliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds,
That strain I heard was of a higher mood:
But now my oat proceeds,

And liftens to the herald of the fea

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That came in Neptune's plea;

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He afk'd the waves, and afk'd the fellon winds,
What hard mishap bath doom'd this gentle swain ?
And question'd every guft of rugged winds
That blows from off each beaked promontory;
They knew not of his story,

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And

And fage Hippotades their anfwer brings,
That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd,
The air was calm, and on the level brine
Sleek Panope with all her fifters play'd.
It was that fatal and perfidious bark

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Built in th' eclipfe, and rigg'd with curfes dark, That funk fo low that facred head of thine.

Next Camus, reverend fire, went footing flow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet fedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 105 Like to that fanguin flow'r infcrib'd with woe. Ah! Who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge? Laft came, and last did go,

The pilot of the Galilean lake,

Two massy keys he bore of metals twain,
(The golden opes, the iron fhuts amain)
He fhook his miter'd locks, and ftern befpake,
How well could I have fpar'd for thee, young fwain,
Enow of fuch as for their bellies fake

Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold? 115
Of other care they little reck'ning make,
Than how to fcramble at the fhearers feaft,
And shove away the worthy bidden gueft; [hold
Blind mouths! that scarce themfelves know how to
A fheep-hook, or have learn'd ought elfe the leaftTM
That to the faithful herdman's art belongs!"
What recks it them? What need they? They are fped
And when they lift, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on their fcrannel pipes of wretched straw;
The hungry fheep look up, and are not fed, 125
But fwoll'n with wind, and the rank mift they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion fpread :
Befides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing faid,
But that two-handed engin at the door
Stands ready to fmite once, and ímite no more.

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Return

Return Alpheus, the dread voice is past,
That fhrunk thy ftreams; return Sicilian Mufe,
And call the vales, and bid them hither caft
Their bells, and flourets of a thousand hues. 135
Ye Valleys low, where the mild whispers ufe
Of fhades, and wanton winds, and gufhing brooks,
On whofe fresh lap the fwart star sparely looks,
Throw hither all your quaint enamel'd eyes,
That on the green turf fuck the honied fhowers,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 140
Bring the rathe primrose that forfaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jeffamine,
The white pink, and the panfy freakt with jet,
The glowing violet,

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The mufk-rofe, and the well-attir'd woodbine,
With cowflips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flow'r that fad embroidery wears :
Bid amarantus all his beauty fhed,
And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To ftrow the laureat herse where Lycid lies.
For fo to interpose a little ease,

Let our frail thoughts dally with falfe furmife.
Ay me! Whilst thee the fhores, and founding feas
Wafh far away, where'er thy bones are huri'd, 155
Whether beyond the ftormy Hebrides,

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;

Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide
Vifit'ft the bottom of the monftrous world:
Or whether thou to our moist vows deny'd,
Sleep'ft by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vifion of the guarded mount
Looks tow'ard Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward Angel now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth.

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Weep no more, woful Shepherds, weep no more,
For Lycidas your forrow is not dead,
Sunk though he be beneath the watry floor;

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So finks the day-ftar in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,
And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky :
So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear might of him that walk'd the waves,
Where other groves and other ftreams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song,
In the bleft kingdoms meek of joy and love.
There entertain him all the Saints above,
In folemn troops, and fweet focieties,
That fing, and finging in their glory move,
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the fhepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the genius of the fhore,
In thy large recompenfe, and fhalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

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Thus fang the uncouth fwain to th' oaks and rills, While the ftill morn went out with fandals gray, He touch'd the tender ftops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: And now the fun had stretch'd out all the hills, 190 And now was dropt into the western bay ; At laft he rofe, and twitch'd his mantle blue : To morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new,

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XVIII,

XVIII.

On the new forcers of confcience under the Long PARLAMENT.

BE

Ecaufe
you have thrown off your Prelate Lord,
And with ftiff vows renoune'd his Liturgy
To feife the widow'd whore Plurality

From them whofe fin ye envied, not abhorr d, Dare ye for this adjure the civil fword

S

To force our consciences that Christ set free, f And ride us with a claffic hierarchy Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rotherford ? Men whofe life, learning, faith and pure intent Would have been held in high esteem with Paul, Muft now be nam'd and printed Heretics By fhallow Edwards and Scotch what d'ye call But we do hope to find out all your tricks, Your plots and packing worfe than those of Trent,

That fo the Parlament May with their wholfome and preventive fhears 16 Clip your phylacteries, though bauk your ears, And fuccour our juft fears, When they fhall read this clearly in your charge, New Prefbyter is but Old Priest writ large.

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The