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Some held him kin to that abhorred race,

Which beav'n's high tower's with mad emprize



And fome his cruel lynage did ytrace.

From fell Erynnis join'd in Pluto's dire embrace.


But he, perdy, far other tale did feign,

And claim'd alliaunce with the fifters nine;
And deem'd himself (what deems not pride fo vain?)
The peerless paragon of wit divine,
Vaunting that ev'ry foe fhould rue its tine.
Right doughty wight! yet, footh, withouten fmart,
All powerless fell the lofel's fhafts malign:
'Tis vertue's arm to wield wit's heav'nly dart,
Point its keen barb with force, and fend it to the beart,


One only impe he had, Paftora hight,
Whofe fweet amenaunce pleas'd each fhepherd's eye:
Yet pleas'd fhe not bafe Lycon's evil spright,
Tho blame in her not malice moten Spy,
Clear, without fpot, as fummer's cloudless sky.
Hence poets feign'd, Lycean Pan array'd

In Lycon's form, enflam'd with paffion high,
Deceiv'd her mother in the covert glade;
And from the fol'n embrace yfprong the beav'nly


V. Thus


Thus fabling they mean while the damfel fair A fhepherd youth remark'd, as o'er the plain She deffly pac'd elong fo debonair:

Seem'd fhe as one of Dian's chofen train. Full many a fond excufe he knew to feign, In fweet converfe to while with her the day,

'Till love unwares his beedlefs heart did gain. Nor dempt be, fimple wight, no mortal may The blinded God once barbour'd, when he lift, forefay.

VI. Now much be meditates if yet to speak, And now refolves his paffion to conceal : But fure, quoth be, my feely heart will break If aye I fmother what I aye muft feel. At length by hope embolden'd to reveal, The lab'ring fecret dropped from his tong. Whiles frequent fingults check'd his faltring tale, In modeft wife her bead Paftora hong: For never maid more chafte infpired fhepherd's fong.


What needs me to recount in long detail


The tender parley which thefe lemans held: How oft he vow'd his love her ne'er fhould fail ;

How oft the Stream from forth her eyne out-

Doubting if conftancy yet ever dwell'd
In beart of youthful wight: fuffice to know,
·Each rifing doubt be in her bofome quell'd.
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So parted they, more blithsome both, I trow: For rankling love conceal'd, me feems, is deadly woe


Eftfoons to Lycon fwift the youth did fare,

(Lagg'd ever youth when Cupid urg'd his way?) And ftraight his gentle purpofe did declare, And footh the mount'naunce of his herds difplay. Ne Lycon meant bis fuiten to forefay: "Be thine Paftora (quoth the masker fly). "And twice two thousand sheep her dow'r "Shall pay,"

Beat then the lover's heart with joyaunce high; Ne dempt that aught his bliss could now betray, Ne guess'd that foul deceit in Lycon's bosome lay. IX.

So forth be yode to feek his rev'rend fire; (The good Euphemes fhepherds him did call) How fweet Paftora did his bofome fire,



Her worth, her promis'd flocks, he tolden all. Ab! nere, my fon, let Lycon thee enthrall, (Reply'd the fage, in wife experience old)

"Smooth is his tong, but full of guile withal, "In promife faithlefs, and in vaunting bold: "Ne ever lamb of his will bleat within thy fold." Xe

With words prophetick thus Euphemes fpake : And fat confirm'd what wisdom thus foretold. Full many a mean devife did Lycon make, The hoped day of fpoufal to with-bold,



Framing new trains when nought mote ferve bis old.

Nath lefs he vow'd, Cyllene, cloud-topt bill, Should fooner down the lowly delve be roll'd, Than he his plighted promife nould fulfill: But when, perdy, or where, the caitive fayen nill.


Whiles thus the tedious funs had journey'd round Ne ought mote now the lovers hearts divide, Ne truft was there, ne truth in Lycon found;

The maid with matron Juno for her guide, The youth by Concord led, in fecret hy'd To Hymen's facred fane: The boneft deed [ty'd. Each god approv'd, and close the bands were Certes, till happier moments should fucceed, No prying eyne they ween'd their emprize mote areed.


But preying eyne of Lycon 'twas in vain

(Right practick in disguise) to hope beware. He trac'd their covert fteps to Hymen's fane,

And joy'd to find them in his long-laid fnare. Algates, in femblaunt ire, be 'gan to fwear,

And roaren loud as in difpleafaunce high; Then out be burlen forth his daughter fair, Forelore, the boufeless child of mifery, Expos'd to killing cold, and pinching penury.

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Ab! whether now fhall fad Paftora wend,
To want abandon'd and by wrongs oppreft?
Who fhall the wretched out-caft's teen befriend?
Live's mercy then, if not in parent's breaft?
Yes, MERCY lives, the gentle goddess bleft,

At Jove's right hand, to Jove for ever dear, Aye at his feet fhe pleads the caufe diftreft,

To forrow's plaints fhe turns his equal ear, And wafts to heav'n's star-throne fair vertue's filent



Twas SH E that bade Euphemes quell each thought,

That well mote rife to check his gen'rous aid. The high the torts which Lycon him bad wrought, Tho few the flocks his humble pastures fed; When as be learn'd Paftora's hapless fted,

His breaft bumane with wonted pity flows. He op'd his gates, the naked exile led

Beneath his roof: a decent drapet throws O'er ber cold limbs, and footbs her undeserved woes.


Now loud-tongu'd Rumour bruited round the tale: Th' aftonied fwains uneath could credence give, That in Arcadia's unambitious vale

A faytor falfe as Lycon e'er did live.


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