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Now much he meditates if yet to speak,

And now refolves his passion to conceal : • But fure,' quoth he, my feely heart will break,

. If aye I fmother what I aye must feel !!

At length, by hope embolden'd to reveal,
The labouring secret dropped from his tong.

Whiles frequent fingults check'd his falt'ring tale,
In modeft wise her head Pastora hong:
For never maid more chalte inspired shepherd's fong.

What needs me to recount, in long detail,

The tender parley which these lemans held? How oft he vow'd his love her ne'er fhould fail;

How oft the stream from forth her eyne outwell’d,

Doubting if constancy yet ever dwellid ::
In heart of youthful wight. Suffice to know,

Each rising doubt he in her bofom quell'a.
So parted they, more blithfome both, I trow:
For rankling love conceal'd, me feems, is deadly woe.

Eftfoons to Lycon swift the youth did fare,

(Lagg'd ever youth when Cupid urg'd his way?) And straight his gentle purpose did declare,

And sooth the mount'naunce of his herds display;

Ne Lycon meant his suiten to forefay : • Be thine, Paftora,' quoth the maker fly,

• And twice two thousand sheep her dower shall pay:"". Beat then the lover's heart with joyaunce high;

Ne dempt that aught his blifs could now betray, Ne guess'd that foul deceit in Lycon's bosome lay.

So forth he yode to seek his reverend fire ;

(The good Euphormius, shepherds him did call) How sweet Paftora did his bosome fire !

Her worth, her-promis'd flocks, he tolden all.

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• Ah! nere, my son, let Lycon thee enthrall;" Reply'd the fage, in wife experience old;

· Smooth is his tongue, but full of guile withal, • In promise faithless, and in vaunting bold: Ne ever lamb of his will bleat within thy fold.'

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With words prophetick thus Euphormius spake:

And fact confirm'd what wisdom thus foretold. Full many a mean devise did Lycon make,

The hoped day of spousal to with-hold,

Framing new trains when nought mote serve his oldu
Nath'less he vow'd, Cyllene cloud-topt hill

Should fooner down the lowly delve be rollid,
Than he his plighted promise nould fulfil:
But when, perdy, or where, the caitive fayen nill.

Whiles thus the tedious suns had journey'd round,

Ne ought mote now the lovers hearts divide, Ne trust was there, ne truth in Lycon found ;

The maid with matron Juno for her guide,

The youth by Concord led, in secret hy'd
To Hymen's facred fane: the hottest deed

Each god approv'd, and close the bands weré ty'd;
Certes, till happier moments should fucceed,
No prying eyne they ween'd their emprize mote areed.

But prying eyne of Lycoq 'twas in vain

(Right practick in disguise) to hope beware. He trac'd their covert fteps to Hymen's fane,

And joy'd to find them in his long-laid snare.

Algates, in semblaunt ire, he'gan to fwear, And roaren loud as in difpleafaunce high ;

Then out he hurlen forth his daughter fair, Forelore, the houseless child of Misery, Expos'd to killing cold, and pinching penury.


Ah! whither now shall sad Pastora wend,

To want abandon'd and by wrongs opprefs'd ? Who shall the wretched out-cast's teen befriend?

Lives Mercy then, if not in parent's breaft?

Yes, Mercy lives, the gentle goddess blefs'd, At Jove's right-hand, to Jove for ever dear;

Aye at his feet the pleads the cause distress'd, To forrow's plaints the turns his equal ear, And wafts to heaven's ftar-throne fair Virtue's sitent tear.

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'Twas she that bade Euphormius quell each thought,

That well mote rise to check his Tho' high the torts which Lycon him had wrought,

Tho' few the flocks his hamble pastures fed,

When as he learn'd Pastora's hapless sted,
His breast humane with wonted pity flows;

He op'd his gates, the naked exile led
Beneath his roof, a decent drapet throws
O'er her cold limbs, and soothes her undeserved woes.

Now loud-tongu'd Rúmor bruited round the tale ;

Th’aftonied fwains uneath could credence give, That in Arcadia's unambitious vale

A faytor falle as Lycon e'er did live:

But Jove (who in high heaven does mortals prive, And every deed in golden ballance weighs)

To earth his faming charret baden drive,
And down descends, enwrapt in peerless blaze,
To deal forth guerdon meet to good and evil ways.

Where Eurymanthus, crown'd with many a wood,

His filver stream through daify'd vales does lead, Stretch'd on the flowery marge, in reckless mood,

Proud Lycon fought by charm of jocund reed

To lull the dire remorse of tortious deed;
Him Jove accosts, in reverend semblaunce dight

Of good Euphormius, and 'gan mild areed
Of compact oft confirm’d, of fay yplight,
Of nature's tender tye, of facred rule of right.

With lofty eyne, half loth to look so low,

Him Lycon view'd, and with swol'n furquedry 'Gan rudaly treat his sacred eld; when now

Forth stood the God confefs'd that rules the sky,
In sudden sheen of drad divinity :
And · Know, false man,' the lord of thunders said,

Not unobserv'd by Heaven's all-persent eye

Thy cruel deeds ; nor shall be unappay'd. « Go! be in form that best beseems thy thews, array'd.'

Whiles yet he spake th'affrayed trembling wight

Transmew'd to blatant beast, with hideous howl Rush'd headlong forth, in well-deserved plight,

'Midtt dragons, minotaurs, and fiends, to prowl ;

A wolf in form, as erst a wolf in soul!
To Pholvë, forest wild, he hy'd away,

The horrid haunt of favage monsters foul :
There helpless innocence is still his prey,
Thief of the bleating fold, and thepherd's dire dismay.

Tho' Jove to good Euphormius' cot did wend,

Where peaceful dwelt the man of virtue high,
Each fhepherd's praise, and eke each shepherd's friend,

In every act of sweet humanity ;

Him Jove approaching in mild majesty,
Greeted all hail ! then bade him join the throng

Of glitt'rand lights that gild the glowing sky:
There shepherd's nightly view his orb yhong,
Where bright he shines eterne, the brightest stars emong.






AREWEL that liberty our fathers gave ;

In vain they gave, their fons receiv'd in vain !
I saw Neæra; and, her instant slave,

Tho' born a Briton, hugg'd the servile chain,

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Her usage well repays my coward heart !

Meanly she triumphs in her lover's shame;
No healing joy relieves his constant smart,

No smile of love rewards the loss of fame.

Oh! that, to feel these killing pangs no more,

On Scythian hills I lay, a fenfeless stone!
Was fix'd a rock amidst the wat’ry roar,

And in the vast Atlantick stood alone!

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Adieu, ye Muses-or my passion aid;

Why should I loiter by your idle spring?
My humble voice would move one only maid,

And the contemns the trifles which I sing !

I do not ask the lofty Epick ftrain,

Nor strive to paint the wonders of the sphere:
I only sing one cruel maid to gain-

Adieu, ye Muses, if she will not hear!

No more in useless innocence I'll pine:

Since guilty presents win the greedy fair,
I'll tear it's honours from the broken shrine

But.chiefly thine, O Venus, will I tear.

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