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Now deep in alhes sinks the myrtle bow'r,
O'er beds of flow'rs fulphureous torrents roar;
And exil'd demi-gods their ruin'd seats deplore.
E ladies that live in the city or town,
Fair Winton or Alreśford fo fine and so gay; And ye neat country'laffes' in clean linen gown, As neat and as blithe and as pretty as they : Come away itrait to Ovington, for you can't think What a charming new walk there is made on the Link.
Look how lovely the prospect, the meadows how green,
The fields and the woods, in the vale or the hill:
The trees, and the cottage that peeps out between,
The clear stream that runs bubbling in many a rill,
That will fhow your fair face as you stand on the brink,
And murmurs moft sweetly all under the Link.
How pleasant the morning, how clear the blue sky,
pure the fresh air, and how healthy the place !
Your heart goes a pit-a-pit light as a fly,
And the blood circles briskly, and glows in your face :
Wou'd you paint your fair cheekswiththeroscand thepiak!
Throw your walhes away, take a walk on the Link.
After dinner the 'squire ere the ladies retreat,
Marches off with some friends that will ply the brick glass;
Gives us liquor enough, and a good pleasant feat,
And damn your fine taste, and your finical lass:
Al fresco, my lads, we'll carouse and we'll drink,
Take your bottle each man, and away to the Link.
Not fo gentle Collin, whom love holds in thrall,
To Molly he steals all in silence away;
And when nought can be heard but the rude water-fall,
And the woodbine breathes sweetest at close of the day,
He takes her soft hand, and he tips her the wink,
Come, my dear, let us take a cool walk on the Link.
But, Oye fair maidens, be sure have a care,
Nor lay yourselves open to love's cruel dart;
Of the hour and the place and the season beware,
And guard well each passage that leads to your heart;
Sly Cupid will steal in at some little chink,
walk in the evening too late on the Link.
Ye poets so lofty, who love to retire
From the noise of the town to the stream and the wood;
Who in epics or tragics, with marvellous fire,
Utter sounds by mere' mortals not well understood :
Here mouthe your loud strain, and here ply pen and ink,
Quit Parnaffus and Pindas, and come to the Link.
And come you, who for thought are at little expence,
Who indite gentle pastoral, ballad, or song ;
You fee with smooth numbers, and not too much fense,
How the verses run easy and glibly along ;
And the rhime at the close how it falls with a clink,
So kind are the Muses that sport on the Link.
In the seventh Canto of the Legend of Chastity, in Spenser's
Fairy Queen, the Squire of Dames tells Satyrane, that by order of his mistress Columbel (after having served the ladies for a year) he was sent out a second time, not to return till he could find three hundred women incapable of yielding to any temptation. The bad success he met with in the course of three years, which is slightly touch'd upon by Spenser, is the foundation of the following poem.
HARD is the heart that never
knew to love,
ARD is the heart that never knew to love,
Ne felt the pleasing anguish of desire.
Ye British maids, more fair than Venus' dove,
alone I tune my
Adopt me, nymphs, receive me in your quire,
Make me your bard; for that is all my care:
Then shall I envy not that aged fire,
Who doth for court his annual song prepare :
I lever myrtle wreath than Kesar's laurel wear.
Think not because I write of Columbel
I thence would blait the sex with impious tale ;
Transactions vile of foreign tronds I tell,
Ne 'gainst a British female would I rail
For all the wealth that rolls on Indian grail.
Here, beauty, truth, and chastity are found:
Eleonora here, with vifage pale,
Did fuck che poison from her Edward's wound,
And Anna's nuptial faith shall fond for aye renown'd.
See the fair fwans on Thamis lovely tide,
The which do trim their pennons filver bright,
In Mining ranks they down the waters ride;
Oft have mine eyes devour'd the gallant fight.
Then caft thy looks, with wonder and delight,
Where yon sweet nymphe enjoy the ev'ning air,
Some daunce along the green, like fairies light,
Some flow'rets call to deck their flowing hair; [fair. Then tell me, soothly, swain, which fight thou deem'it molt
To you, bright stars, that sparkle on our ille,
I give my life, my fortune, and my fame;
For my whole guerdon grant me but a smile,
A smile from you is all I hope or claim;
Nor age's ice my ardent zeal shall tame,
life's end I shall your names adore, Not hermits' bosoms feel so pure a flame,
Warm’d by approval I more high shall faar:
Receive my humble lays, my heart was yours before.
Should you consent, I'll quit my fhepherd's grey,
And don more graceful and more costly gear,
My crook and ferip I'll throw with scorn away,
And in a samite garment ftreit appear.
Farewell, ye groves, which once I held so dear;
Farewell, ye glens, I other joys pursue;
Then shall the world your matchless pow'r revere,
And own what wonders your sweet fmiles can do,
That could a fimple clown into a bard transmew.