VER. 15. The Queen, urbo gives foft Wihes Birth.] Cicero reckons up four Venus's; the first, the Daughter of Calum; the fecond, Cupid's Mother, who fprung from the Foam of the Sea ; the third, Jupiter and Dione's Daughter, who marry'd Vulcan; and the fourth, Tyr, or Aftarte, who was the Wife of Adonis.

VER. 16. With Comus, God of feftal Mirth.] Comus was the God of Revelling: Philoftratus, in his third Book of Pictures, reprefents him young and handfome, red-fac'd by drinking, with a lighted Flambeau in his Hand, which he holds to the Ground as if to burn his Legs with it: He is wreath'd with Flowers, and furrounded with Feaftings and Pleasures.

VER. 3.

The Queen who gives soft Wishes Birth,
With Comus, God of Feftal Mirth,
(The feftal God to old Men dear)
Come wing'd with Joy to revel here.

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L

OVE's awful God, fair Venus' Son, Compell'd me once with him to run. His Hand a Whip of Hyacinths grac❜d, With which he urg'd my tim'rous Haste.

Away

VER. 3. His Hand a Whip of Hyacinths grac'd.] The Hyacinth is fabled to have fprung from the Blood of Hyacinthus the Son of Amyclas, who was belov'd by Apollo, and flain by him as they were playing together at Coits, thro' the Jealoufy of Zephyrus, who blew the Coit of Apollo at Hyacinth's Head, to revenge the Slights he had received from him. Taxcoin fác♪O, will also fignify a Wand of a Purple or Hyacinthian Colour.

The Defign of the Poet is to fhew us the irresistible Nature of Love, who can force Obedience with the flightest Weapons, a Flower being as potent in his Hand as a Bow and Arrows. A late celebrated Writer of our own has apply'd this Truth in the following elegant

manner.

C 3

Flavia

Διὰ δ ̓ ὀξέων μ' ἀναύρων,

Ξυλόχων τε καὶ φαράγγων,
Τροχάονα πειρεν ύδρα.
Keadin 3 piros axers
Ανέβαινε, καν απέσθω.
Ὁ δ ̓ Ἔρως μέτωπα σείων
Απαλοῖς πτεροίσιν, είπε,
Σὺ γὰ ἐ δύνῃ φιλῆσαι.

Flavia the leaft and flightest Toy
Can with refiftless Art employ:

ΙΟ

ΩΔΗ

This Fan, in meaner Hands, would prove
An Engine of fmall Force in Love;

Yet She, with graceful Air and Mien,
Not to be told, or fafely feen,
Directs its wanton Motions fo,
That it wounds more than Cupid's Bow;
Gives Coolnefs to the matchlefs Dame,
To ev'ry other Breast a Flame.

VER. 7 & 8. Till midft our Flight, a Serpent's Sting
Set all my trembling Soul on Wing.]
His being sung by the Serpent, was to punish him for
his Infenfibility. To contend with Love, is nothing but
Vanity and Self-Torture..

VER, 11 & 12.

How long muft I reprove? When will you, Rebel, learn to love!] By this Expreffion Cupid would intimate, that if he had

fubmitted

Away we cours'd, thro' foaming Floods, O'er rocky Steeps, thro' fhady Woods; Till 'midst our Flight, a Serpent's Sting Set all my trembling Soul on Wing.

When Cupid flying to my Aid,

With downy Pinions fann'd my Head,
And cry'd, How long must I reprove?
When will you, Rebel, learn to love!

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10

ODE

fubmitted fooner, he fhould have fuffered lefs. And the Facility with which he heal'd Anacreon, informs us, that the Pleasures of Love easily make us forget the Pains of Expectation.

Mr. Longepierre quotes an ancient Epigram in his Remarks on this Ode, which very much refembles the Turn of it, tho' the Fiction is different.

Lecto compofitus, vix prima filentia noctis
Carpebam, & fomno lumina vita dabam:
Cum me favus Amor prenfum, furfumque capillis
Excitat, & lacerum pervigilare jubet.

Tu Famulus meus, inquit, ames cùm mille puellas,
Solus, Io, folus dure jacere potes?
Exilio, & pedibus nudis, tunicaque foluta,
Omne iter impedio, nullum iter expedio.
Nunc propero; nunc ire piget; rurfumque redire
Pænitet; & pudor eft ftare via media.
Ecce tacent voces Hominum ftrepitufque Ferarum,
Et volucrum cantus, turbaque fida canum,

C 4

Solus

Ω Δ Η

Εἰς τὸ ἑαυτὸ ὄνειρον.

ΔΙΑ νυκτὸς ἐγκαθούδων
Αλιπορφύροις τάπησι,
ΓεγανυμΘ. Λυαίῳ,
Ἐδόκεν ἄκροισι ταρσοῖς
Δρόμον ὠκὺν ἐκτανύειν,
Μετὰ παρθένων αθύρων
Ἐπεκερτόμεν ἢ παΐδες

Απαλώτεροι Λυαίο,

H'.

5

Δακέτ

Solus ego ex cunctis paveo fomnumque torumque,
Et fequor imperium, ferve Cupido, tuum.

With fofteft Down, and fofter Silence bleft,
I just began to welcome balmy Reft;
When cruel Love the Joys of Sleep deny'd,

And pulled my Hair, and thus upbraiding cry'd.
Thou figh'ft to make a thousand Nymphs thy own,
And dar'it thou, Rebel, dar'it thou lie alone ?
In Hafte I rife, half-dreft, and bare-foot run
A thoufand different Ways, purfuing none.

One