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We find in you at laft'united grown.
You cannot be compar'd to one,
I muft, like him that painted Venus' face,
Their courting a retreat like you,
Your happy frame at once controlls
Let not old Rome boaft Fabius' fate,
You bought it at a cheaper rate; Nor has it left the ufual bloody scar, To fhew it coff its price in war, War! that mad game the world fo loves to play, And for it does fo dearly pay;
For though with lofs or victory a while
Fortune the gamefters does beguile, Yet at the laftthe box fweeps all away.
Only the laurel got by peace
Shoots to the earth and dies;
Nor ever green and flourishing 'twill laft,
About the head crown'd with these bays,
Nor, its triumphal cavalcade to grace,
Make up its folemn train with death; It melts the fword of war, yet keeps it in the fheath.
The wily fhifts of ftate, thofe jugglers tricks
Because the cords escape their eye,
Off fly the vizards and difcover all :
Look where the pully's ty'd above!
The thoughts of monarchs, and defigns of ftates!
What petty motives rule their fates!
How the mouse makes the mighty mountain shake!
The mighty mountain labours with its birth,
Scar'd at th' unheard-of prodigy,
See how they tremble! how they quake ! Out ftarts the little beaft, and mocks their idle. fears.
Then tell (dear fav'rite muse)
Take thy unwonted flight,
And on the terrace light.
See where the lies!
See how fhe rears her head,
And rolls about her dreadful eyes,
To drive all virtue out, or look it dead!
"Twas fure this bafilifk fent Temple thence,
And though as fome ('tis faid) for their de
Have worn a cafement o'er their skin,
up of virtue and transparent innocence ;
And almost got priority of fight,
He ne'er could overcome her quite,
(In pieces cut, the viper ftill did reunite)
Tillat laft, tir'd with lofs of time and ease, Refolv'd to give himself, as well as country,
Sing (belov'd mufe) the pleasures of retreat,
Shew the delights thy fifter nature yields,
Go publish o'er the plain
How mighty a profelyte you gain!
These are the paradifes of her own;
(The pegafus, like an unruly horse,
To the lov'd pafture where he us'd to feed,
Come from thy dear-lov'd ftreams,
Oft 'gainft her fountain does complain,
As loth to fee the hated court and
More than your predeceffor, Adam, knew;
Whatever moves our wonder, or our fport,
Whatever ferves for innocent emblems
of the court;
How that which we a kernel fee,
(Whose well-compacted forms escape the light, Unpierc'd by the blunt rays of fight)
Shall ere long grow into a tree,