His rofy Wreath was dropt not long before,
Borne by the Tide of Wine, and floating on the Floor. His empty Can, with Ears half worn away,
Was hung on high, to boast the Triumph of the Day. i (Dryd. Virg.
Behold, and liften, while the Fair
Breaks in fweet Sounds the willing Air;
And with her own Breath fans the Fire,
Which her bright Eyes do first inspire :
What Reafon can that Love controul,
Which more than one Way courts the Soul?
So when a flash of Lightning falls
On our Abodes, the Danger calls:
For human Aid, which hopes the Flame
To conquer, tho' from Heav'n it came.
But if the Winds with that conspire,
Men frive not, but deplore the Fire,
While I listen to thy Voice,
Chloris! I feel my Life decay;
That powerful Noife
Calls my flitting Soul away.
Oh! fupprefs the magick Sound,
Which deftroys without a Wound.
Peace Chloris! Peace! or finging, die,
That together you and I
To Heav'n may go:
For all we know,
Of what the Blessed do above,
Is that they fing, and that they love.
Chloe your felf you fo excel,
While you vouchfafe to breathe my Thought;
That, like a Spirit, with this Spell
Of my own Teaching, I am caught.
That Eagle's Fate and mine are one,
Who, on the Shaft that made him die,
Efpy' a Feather of his own,
With which he wont to foar fo high
Had Eccho with fo fweet a Grace
Narciffus loud Complaint's return'd,
Not for Reflexion of his Face,
But of his Voice the Boy had burn'd.
(Wall, To a Lady that fung a Song of his composing.}
So now to Guyon, as he passed by,
Their pleafant tunes they fweetly thus applide;
O thou fair Son of gentle Faery,
That art in mighty Armes moft magnifide
Above all Knights, that ever Battell tride,
O turne thy rudder hitherward awhile:
Here may thy ftorme-beat Veffel fafely ride :
This is the port of rest from troublous toile
The World's fweet Inn, from pain and wearifome
(turmoyle.
With that the rolling Sea refounding foft,
In his big base them firtly answered,
And on the Rock the waves breaking aloft,
A folemne mean unto them measured,
The whiles sweet Zephyrus loud whifteled
His trebble, a ftrange kind of harmonie
Which Guyon fenfes foftly tickeled,
Thefeus condemned to endless Sleep by law,
And fifty Sisters water in leaky Veffels draw. Spen.
So when that Foreft they had paffed well,
A little Cottage farre away they Spide,
To which they drew, ere night upon them fell;
And entring in, found none therein abide,
But an old Woman fitting there befide,
Upon the ground in ragged rude attire,
With filthy locks about her scattered wide,
Gnawing her nayles for felnefs and for ire,
And there out fucking venim to her parts intire.
A foule and loathly creature fure in fight,
And in conditions to be loath'd no lefs:
For thee was ftuft with rancour and defpight Up to the throat; that oft with bitterness It forth would break, and gush in great excess, Pouring out ftreames of poyfon and of gall, Gainft all that truth or vertue doe profeffe; Whome the with leefings lewdly did mifcall, And wickedly back-bite: Her name men Slander
Her nature is, all goodness to abuse,
And caufelefs crimes continually to frame;
With which the guiltless perfons may accufe,
And steale away the crown of their good name :
Ne ever Knight so bold, ne ever Dame
So chaft and loyall liv'd, but the would ftrive
With forged cause them falfely to defamé :
Ne ever thing was done fo well alive,
But the with blame would blot, and of due praise (deprive. Her words were not as common words are ment, T'exprefs the meaning of the inward minde; But noifome breath, and poys'nous spirit fent
From inward parts, with cancard malice lin ́d,
And breathed forth with blaft of bitter winde;
Which pafling through the eares, would pearce the
(heart,
And wound the Soul it felf with grief unkind
For, like the ftings of Afpes, that kill with smart,
Her fpightfull wards did prick and wound the inner
(part. Spen.
Near the Cimmerians, in his dark Abode,
Deep in a Cavern dwells the drowsy God ;
Who rules the Night by Vifions with a Nod.
Whofe gloomy Manfion, nor the rifing Sun,
Nor fetting vifits, nor the lightfom Moon;
But lazy Vapours round the Region fly,
Perpetual Twilight, and a doubtful Sky.
No crowing Cock does there his Wings display,
Nor with his horny Bill provoke the Day:
No watchful Dogs, nor the more wakeful Geefe,
Difturb with nightly Noife the facred. Peace.
No Beaft of Nature, nor the tame are nigh,
Nor Tres with Tempests rock'd, nor human Cry.
But fafe Repofe without an Air of Breath
Dwells here, and a dumb Quiet next to Death.
An Arm of Lethe with a gentle Flow
Arifing upward from the Rock below,
The Palace moats, and o'er the Pebbles creeps,
And with foft Murmurs calls the coming Sleeps.
Around its Entry nodding Poppies grow, [
And all cool Simples that fweer Rest below.
Night from the Plants their fleepy Virtue drains,
And paffing fheds it on the filent Plains :
No Door there was th' unguarded House to keep,
Or creaking Hinges turn'd to break his Sleep.
But in the gloomy Court was rais'd a Bed,
Stuff'd with black Plumes, and on an Ebon Sted,
Black was the Cov ring too, where lay the God,
And flept fupine, his Limbs, difplay'd abroad:
About his Head fantastick Visions Ay,
Which various Images of Things fupply,
And mock their Forms, the Leaves on Trees not more,
Nor bearded Ears in Fields, nor Sands upon the Shore.
O facred Reft!
Sweet pleafing Sleep! of all the Powers the best !
O Peace of Mind! Repairer of Decay!
Whose Balms renew the Limbs to Labours of the Day,
Care funs thy soft Approach,and fullen flies away.
(Dryd. Virg.
The weary World's best Med'cine, Sleep!
It shuts thofe Wounds where injur'd Lovers weep,
And flies Oppreffors to relieve th' Oppreft.
It loves the Cottage, and from Court abstains;
It fills the Seaman, tho' the Storm be high;
Frees the griev❜d Captive in his clofeft Chains;
Stops Want's loud Mouth,and blinds the treach'rous Spy.
(Dav. Gond.
Sleep, that locks up the Senfes from their Care;
The Death of each Days Life: tir'd Nature's Bath!
Balm of hurt Minds, great Nature's fecond Course,
Death's Counterfeit.
Chief Nourisher in Life's Feast.
O Sleep, O gentle Sleep!
how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my Eye-lids down,
And fteep my Senfes in Forgetfulness?
Why rather, Sleep, ly'ft thou in fmoaky Cribs,
Upon uneafy Pallads ftretching thee,
And hufh'd with buzzing Night fly'ft to thy Slumber,
Tham in the perfum'd Chambers of the Great,
Under the Canopies of coftly State,
And lull'd with Sounds of fweereft Melody?
O thou dull God! why ly'st thou with the Vile
In loathfome Beds, and leav'ft the kingly Couch?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy Mast,
Seal up the Ship-Boy's Eyes, and rock his Brains,
In Cradle of the rude imperious Surge,
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