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Or rather Metis, in despite,
Has by some art destroy'd my sight.

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Fair charmer, I no more shall see
The sun, nor, what's more cruel, thee."

*

*

Stood fond Moria quite distress'd,
She clapt her hands, she smote her breast;
She sighs *

* sinks down, and, cold as clay, Kisses his feet, and faints away.

At length her pulse begun to beat,
And life renews its genial heat;
Her heaving lungs expanded play,
Again her eyes behold the day.

1

Bright charmer!” cries the God, “your grief
Distracts, but gives me no relief;
Try to assist me: quick arise,
And couch this film which veils my eyes:
Here, take this dart, raze off, with care,
This speck, and lay the pupil bare."

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While grief and shame her face o'erspread,
Upon her knee she lean'd his head;
Then points the dart, and with her hands
The crystal rooted film expands;
But oh! the rack was so intense,
So twing'd the nerve, and shock'd the sense,

He begg'd her, yelling with despair,
The fruitless torture to forbear.

Withal the little subtle dart
Quick through his eye so pierc'd his heart,
Enkindling there such raging fires;

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They made the God his nymph adore,
And, fond to dotage, love her more.
His pain abates, but this fresh flame
So shoots into his vital frame,

He, drunk with love and joy, forgets
His blindness and his mother's threats.

My life!” says he, “ I here discard
For this distress the least regard ;
Methinks I feel

my

flames renew; My life's not only yours—but you ; While, like a graft fed by the tree, I live absorbed and sunk in thee.

*

Lend me your hand; a God shall bear,
Unmov'd, those woes which mortals share.
Yes! since the evil I endure
Is past thy art and mine to cure,
Thou now o'er me and men shalt reignir

Unchang'd as fate, the world shall find,
While Folly's faithful l'll be kind;
And ages yet unborn shall see
How firm my soul is link'd to thee.

*

*

VOL. IV.

U

Thus the gay hours delightful Ay,
Till Folly's own good hour draws nigh,
When, twing'd and pain'd, her labour came,
She sends for many a Carian dame;
By great Lucina's help and theirs,
To ease the burthen which she bears.
Great was her danger; for the fright
She took when Cupid lost his sight,
And the dread horror of her crime,
Had made her come before her time :
Yet blest with what she thought a treasure,
A girl at last was born, call'd Pleasure,
Of a weak, sickly, tender make,
Tall, thin, and slender as a rake;
So slight, it scarce would handling bear,
Fainting in spite of Folly's care:
For, as the sensitive plant, it seem'd
To shrink at every touch, and scream'd
Like mandrakes, when their tender shoots
Are torn upwards by the roots.

Withal it had the loveliest face,
With such enchanting mien and grace,
No infant destin'd for a toast
Could such a set of features boast.

Could Venus see it, they believ'd
Her favour might be yet retriev'd.

*

Full of these views, their harness'd doves
Bear them from Caria's fragrant groves,

And though o'ertaken by the night,
Safely near Paphos they alight;
There, in a villa hous'd, they sent
To Venus with a compliment,
On a gilt card, ill spelt, and writ
With modern cant and awkward wit,
To tell her they were come to pay
Their duty, and they hop'd to stay.

*

Venus, with much entreaty, permits her Son to introduce his

Mistress and Child to her. The sight of the beautiful infant Pleasure completes her reconcilement. As the apprehension of the Lovers, however, is not yet quieted respecting the anger of the Celestials, Venus appeaseš the lamentations of Folly, and prepares to set out for Olympus, whither Metis had gone before to prefer her suit against her betrayer and her rival,

Venus, distracted with their cries,

“ Come, dry your tears," says she, “ I'll try
My interest yet in yonder sky:
Make ready straight my car and doves;
Get on your riding coats and gloves:
Although my power may prove but faint,
When weigh'd with Metis's complaint,
And all my eloquence too weak,
When injur'd Wisdom comes to speak,
Yet these poor charms perhaps may plead
With Jove, unless your doom's decreed."

They reach'd, each storm and danger past,
The mansions of the Gods at last.

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Love's cause already was come on,
And Metis had in form begun
A huge philippic on her son,
Alarm'd with this, in baste they dress'd,
And Venus on her

snowy

breast
The magic cestus secret plac'd,
And walk'd, with heavenly glory grac'd.
Love follow'd with his brilliant girl,
Trick'd out with jewels, lace, and pearl;
Within her fostring arms convey'd,
Pleasure her infant charms display'd;
When, all perfum'd with civet, came
Where Jove in judgment sat supreme;
There they heard Metis just concluding
A long harangue of Love's eluding
The Powers above, and all the vows
He swore, of making her his spouse.

Venus, in reply to Metis, addresses Jove in her Son's behalf, and

pleads for permitting Moria to be his bride,

She' ceas'd—the cestus did the rest,
And rous'd soft pity in his breast :

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