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Of twenty hundred Englishmen
Now God be with him, faid our King,
I truft I have in my realm
Five hundred as good as he.
I have not any captain more,
Thus ended the hunting of Chevy-chace,
God fave the King, and bless the land
And grant henceforth, that foul debates
The dying Chriftian to his foul.
ITAL fpark of heav'nly flame! Quit, Oh quit this mortal frame : Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the blifs of dying! Ceafe, fond nature, ceafe thy ftrife, And let me languish into life..
Hark! they whifper; angels fay,
The world recedes; it difappears!
Excerpts from Thomson's SEASONS.
OME, gentle Spring, ethereal mildnefs,
And from the bofom of yon dropping cloud, While mufick wakes around, veil'd in a fhower Of fhadowing roses, on our planes defcend.
AND fee where furly, Winter paffes off, Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blafts His blafts obey, and quit the howling hill, The hatter'd forreft, and the ravag'd vale; While fofter gales fucceed; at whofe kind
Diffolving fnows in livid torrents loft,
At laft from Aries rolls the bounteous fun, And the bright Bull receives him. Then no
Th' expanfive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold;
Fleecy, and white, o'er all-furrounding heaven.
Lies in the furrow, loofen'd from the froft. There, unrefufing to the harness'd yoke, They lend their fhoulder, and begin their toil, Chear'd by the fimple fong, and foaring lark. Mean while, incumbent o'er the fhining fhare, The mafter leans, removes th' obftructed clay, Winds the whole work, and fidelong lays the glebe.
White, thro' the neighbouring fields the fower ftalks,
With measur'd ftep; and, liberal, throws the grain
Into the faithful bofom of the ground.
From the moift meadow to the wither'd
Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs,
In all the colours of the flushing year,
Lies yet a little embryo, unperceiv'd,
Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisom damps, Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields,
Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling drops
From the bent bush, as thro' the verdant maze
Of mingled bloffoms; where the raptur'd eye Hurries from joy, to joy.
* *. Even mountains, vales, And forests feem, impatient, to demandi The promis'd fweetness. Man fuperior walks Amid the glad creation, mufing praife, And looking lively gratitude. At laft, The clouds confign their treafures to the fields,
And, foftly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelufive drops, let all their moisture flow, In large effufion o'er the freshen'd world. The ftealing fhower is fcarce to patter heard, By fuch as wander thro' the foreft-walks, Beneath th' umbrageous multitude of leaves. But who can hold. the shade while heaven de fcends
In univerfal bounty, fhedding herbs,
And fruits, and flowers, on nature's ample lap?
Swift fancy fir'd anticipates their growth; And, while the milky nutriment diftills, Beholds the kindling country colour round.'
See, where the winding vale its lavish ftores,Irriguous, fpreads. See, how the lily drinks E e 2