Roab'd in Flames, and Amber light,
The Clouds in thousand Liveries dight,
While the Plow-man near at hand,
Whistles o'er the Furrow'd Land,
And the Milkmaid fingeth blithe,
And the Mower whets his fithe,
And every Shepherd tells his tale
Under the Hawthorn in the dale.
Streight mine
eye hath caught new pleasures Whilft the Lantskip round it measures,
Ruffet Lawns, and Fallows Gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whofe barren breast
The labouring Clouds do often rest, 23:
Meadows trim with Daifies pide,
Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide.
Towers and Battlements it fees
Bofom'd high in tufted Trees,
Where perhaps fome beauty lies,
The Cynofure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes.on
From betwixt two aged Okes,
Where Corydon and Thyrfis met,
Are at their favoury dinner fet
Of Herbs, and other Country Messes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses
And then in hafte her Bower fhe leaves,
With Theftylis to bind the Sheaves;
Or if the earlier Seafon lead
To the tann'd Haycock in the Mead,
Sometimes with fecure delight
The up-land Hamlets will invite,
When the merry Bells ring round,
And the jocond rebecks found
To many a Youth, and many a Maid,
Dancing in the Chequer'd fhade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a Sunshine Holy-day,
Till the live-long day-light fail,
Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How Fairy Mab the junkets eat,
She was pincht, and pull'd fhe faid,
And by the Friars Lanthorn led
Tells how the drudging Goblin fwet,
To earn his Cream-bowle duly fet,
When in one night, e'er glimps of morn,
His shadowy Flale hath thresh'd the Corn,
That ten day-labourers could not end,
Then lies him down the Lubbar Fend.
And stretch'd out all the Chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;
And Crop-full out of doors he flings,
E'er the first Cock his Mattin rings.
Thus done the Tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering Winds foon lull'd asleep.
Towred Cities please us then,
And the bufie humm of men,
Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
In weeds of Peace high triumphs hold,
With store of Ladies, whose bright Eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prise,
Of Wit, or Arms, while both contend
To win her Grace, whom all commend,
There let Hymen oft appear
In Saffron robe, with Taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask, and antique Pageantry,
Such fights as Youthful Poets dream
On Summer Eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod Stage anon,
If Johnson's learned Stock be on,
Or fweetest Shakespear's fancy's child,
Warble his native Wood-notes wild,
And ever against eating Cares,
Lap me in foft Lydian Aires
Married to immortal verfe"
Such as the meeting Soul may pierce
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running
Untwisting all the chains that ty
The hidden Soul of harmony.
That Orpheus felf may heave his head
From Golden flumber on a Bed
Of heapt Elyfian flowers, and hear
Such ftreins as would have won the ear
Of Pluto, to have quite fet free
His half regain'd Eurydice.
These delights, if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live.
The brood of folly without father bred,
you bested,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys, Dwell in fome idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes poffefs, As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that People the Sun Beams, Or likeft hovering dreams
The fickle Penfioners of Morpheus train,
But hail thou Goddefs, fage and holy, maklu
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