Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, It shall be still in Strictest measure eev'n, As ever in my great task Masters eye. S Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, Whose chance on these defenceless dores may sease, If ever deed of bonour did thee please, Guard them, and bim within protect from harms, He can requite thee, for he knows the charms That call Fame on such gentle acts as these, And be can spred thy Name o're Lands and Seas, What ever clime the Suns bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses Bowre, The great Emathian Conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when Temple and Towre Went to the ground: And the repeated air Of sad Electra's Poet had the power To save th' Athenian Walls from ruine bare. Lady that in the prime of earliest youth, Wisely bath shun'd the broad way and the green, That labour The better part with Mary and with Ruth, To fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light, Daughter to that good Earl, once President Arcades Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Darby at Harefield, by som Noble persons of her Family, who appear on the Scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat of State with this Song 1. Song Look Nymphs, and Shepherds look, To whom our vows and wishes bend, Fame that her high worth to raise, Sitting like a Goddes bright, Who bad thought this clime bad beld As they com forward, the genius of the Wood appears, and turning toward them, speaks. Gen. Stay gentle Swains, for though in this disguise, I see bright bonour sparkle through your eyes, Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung Of that renowned flood, so often sung, Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluse, Stole under Seas to meet his Arethuse; And ye the breathing Roses of the Wood, Fair silver-buskind Nymphs as great and good, I know this quest of yours, and free intent Was all in bonour and devotion ment To the great Mistres of yon princely shrine, Whom with low reverence I adore as mine, And with all belpful service will comply To further this nights glad solemnity; And lead ye where ye may more neer bebold What shallow-searching Fame bath left untold; Which I full oft amidst these shades alone Have sate to wonder at, and gaze upon: For know by lot from Jove I am the pour Of this fair Wood, and live in Oak'n bowr, To nurse the Saplings tall, and curl the grove With Ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove. And all my Plants I save from nightly ill, Of noisom winds, and blasting vapours chill. And from the Boughs brush off the evil dew, And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blew, Or what the cross dire-looking Planet smites, Or burtfull Worm with canker'd venom bites. |