Sooth'd with the found the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again; And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he flew the flain. The mafter faw the madness rise; His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; Soft pity to infuse : He fung Darius great and good, And welt'ring in his blood; Re Revolving in his alter'd foul The various turns of chance below; CHORUS. Revolving in his alter'd foul The various turns of chance below ; V. The mighty master smil'd, to see Softly fweet, in Lydian measures, Never ending, ftill beginning, Gaz'd on the fair Who caus'd his care, And figh'd and look'd, figh'd and look'd, At length, with love and wine at once opprefs'd, CHO CHORU S. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Who caus'd his care, And figh'd and look'd, figh'd and look'd, Now ftrike the golden lyre again: A louder yet, and yet a louder ftrain. And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder, Hark, hark, the horrid found Has rais'd up his head : As awak'd from the dead, Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arife: See the fnakes that they rear, How they hifs in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Behold a ghaftly-band, Each a torch in his hand! Those are Grecian ghofts, that in battle were flain, And unbury'd remain Give the vengeance due Behold how they tofs their torches on high, And the king feiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy; To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy CHORU S. And the king feix'd a flambeau with zeal to deftroy; To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy. VII. Thus, long ago, Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, Could swell the foul to rage, or kindle soft defire. And added length to folemn founds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before, Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown; He rais'd a mortal to the skies; She drew an angel down. Grand CHORUS. At laft, divine Cecilia came, Inventrefs of the vocal frame; The freet enthufiaft, from her facred ftore, Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, And added length to folemn sounds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Or both divide the crown; He rais'd a mortal to the fkies; THE THE SECULAR MAS QUE!, Janus. C Enter Janus. Hronos, Chronos, mend thy pace, Around the radiant belt has run In his revolving race. Behold, behold, the goal in fight, Spread thy fans, and wing thy flight. Enter Chronos, with a Scythe in his hand, and a globe on his back; which he fets down at his entrance. Chronos. Weary, weary of my weight, Let me, let me drop my freight, And leave the world behind. I could not bear, Another year, The load of human kind Enter Momus laughing.` Momus. Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! well haft thou done To lay down thy pack, And lighten thy back, The world was a fool, e'er fince it begun, And fince neither Janus nor Chronos, nor I, Can hinder the crimes, Or mend the bad times, 'Tis better to laugh than to cry. Cho. of all three. 'Tis better to laugh than to cry. 1 This Mafque, with the fong of a scholar and his mistress, was performed in 1700, for the author's benefit, with the play of the Pilgrim, with alterations by Sir John Vanbrugh, his fortune and health being at that time in a declining ftate. Janus. |