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Thy wound, yet not thy last and deadliest wound,
By this repulse receiv'd, and hold'st in Hell
No triumph; in all her gates Abaddon rues
Thy bold attempt; hereafter learn with awe
To dread the Son of God: He all unarm'd
Shall chace thee with the terror of his voice
From thy demoniac holds, possession foul,
Thee and thy legions; yelling they shall fly,
And beg to hide them in a herd of swine,
Lest he command them down into the deep
Bound, and to torment sent before their time.
Hail Son of the Most High, heir of both worlds,
Queller of Satan, on thy glorious work
Now enter, and begin to save mankind.

Thus they the Son of God our Saviour meck
Sung victor, and from heav'nly feast refresh'd
Brought on his way with joy; he unobserv'd
Home to his mother's house private return'd.








JENCE, loathed Melancholy

Of Cherberus, and blackest midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn

'Mong'st horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy, Find out some uncouth cell,

Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night raven sings;

There under Ebon shades, and low brow'd rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
Butcome thou goddess fair and free,
In Heav'n yclep'd Euphrosine,
And by men heart easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To ivy crowned Bacchus bore;
Or whether (as some sages sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephir with Aurora playing,

As he met her once a Maying.

There on beds of violets blue,

And fresh blown roses washt in dew,
Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,
So bucksome, blith, and debonair,
Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful jollity,

Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks and wreathed smiles,

Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek ;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides,
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,

And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honor due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew
To live with her and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free ;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watchtower in the skies,
Till the dapple dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spight of sorrow,
And at my window bid good moriow,
Through the sweet briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine.

While the cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of darkness thin;
And to the stack, or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before,
Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn
Clearly rouse the slumbring morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Some time walking not unseen
By bedge row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great sun begins his state,
Rob'd in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight-
While the plowman near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his sithe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight my eye hath caught new pleasures
While the landskip round it measures ;

Russet lawns, and fallows grey,
Where the nimble flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren breast
The laboring clouds do often rest,
Meadows trim'd with daisies pride,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide,
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighboring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savory dinner set

Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat handed Phillis dresses ;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or if the earlier season lead

To the tann'd haycock in the mead,
Sometimes with secure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade;
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holy day,

Till the livelong daylight fail,
Then to the spicy nutbrown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How fairy Mab the junkets eat;
She was pincht, and pull'd, she said,
And he by Friars lanthorn led;
Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat,
To earn his cream bowl duly set,
When in one night ere glimps of morn,
His shadowy flale hath thresh'd the corn
That ten day laborers could not end,
Then lies him down the lubber fiend :
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length;
Basks at the fire his hairy strength;

And crop full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep
By whispring winds soon lull'd asleep.
'Tow'red cities please us then,
And the busy hum 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 prize
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 sights as youthful Poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well trod stage anon,
If Johnson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, fancy's child,
Warble his native wood notes wild,
And ever against eating cares,

Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse

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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 tye

The hidden soul of harmony;

That Orpheus self may heave his head

From golden slumber on a bed

Of heapt Elysian flowers, and hear

Such strains as would have won the ear*

Of Pluto, to have quite set free

His half regain'd Eurydice.

These delights, if thou canst give,

Mirth, with thee I mean to live.

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