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And scorn your dying fighs?

Strephon.

O yes, O yes; I'll love, I'll love her still,
And ay the more I'm pain'd, the more I will.
'Tis not becaufe fhe hates, that she allows
Me to be thus beat down and crush'd with woes.
'Tis not because she's pleas'd, and smiles to fee
Her faithful lover plung'd in mifery.

Oh no she's acted by fome nobler views,
And in disguise a higher end pursues.
She knows, that if it were allow'd to me
To taste her pleasures, and her beauties fee,
'Ere by experience I had felt and known,
What 'tis to leave her, and her love difown:
How foon I'd wander, and like others rove,
And run in queft of fome inferior love.
Therefore the lets me feel the misery,
The mighty killing piercing woe, to be
One minute abfent from her, that I may
Find what a hell it is to go aftray.

Thus when I've breath'd and groan'd a while below,
And fwim'd to her thro' fuch a fea of woe,

I won't prefume to wander thus again,

Nor let inferior beauties me detain,

Tie down my paffions, and my foul en chain.

O therefore ftrike, and wound, and pierce me thro',
And crufh my panting heart at every blow.
Rack me with new found tortures, fill the bowl,
The bittereft bowls of woe, and let my foul
Be fill'd and cramm'd, and burst with agonies,
With cruel pains and piercing miferies.

All
you fhall gain by this, I'll love the more,
My flame shall still burn brighter than before.
I'll pant and long, and eagerly aspire
Still to afcend, and fly, and mount the high'r,
The more I feel what 'tis to breathe below,
Forfake Urania, and a-wand'ring go.

Cofmelia's nymphs.

We're loft, we're loft! alas! where fhall we run?
Behold the fearful fcene that's now begun.
A fecret hand has rais'd the proftrate swain,
Reach'd from above, and pull'd him up again.

Be

Behold, behold! the vaulted heavens divide,
And a bright fet of arms falls by his fide.
A crested helmet does inclofe his head,
And o'er his breast a plate of gold is spread.
Within his hands he waves a flaming fhield,
And thus accouter'd he does range the field.
What fhall we do to fhun his furious blows,
And fly the dreadful tide of direful woes ?

Cofmelia.

Call Damon here, that brave and daring swain ;
His looks will calm the youth again.

very

Cause him prepare for battle, make him sheath
His hideous limbs in all the arms of death.
In rav'ning lion's hue let him appear,
Or in the shape of fome enraged bear,
And o'er the plains stretch out his tawny paw,
That fo the beardless youth may stand in awe.
Damon, an infernal spirit.
When you employ my fword, I'm ftill at hand,
And cannot disobey when you command:
Only I think 'tis not the safest way,

To try with open arms to force his stay.
For fhould Urania know what we intend,
Whole wing'd battalia's to his aid she'd fend.
Therefore fome secret stratagems I'll chufe,
Some hidden wiles I'll unobferved use,
To court him near you, lure him gently on,
Till with fome downy steps, unheard, unknown,
You fteal into his foul, and make him all
your own.

Cofmelia.

Speak on, dear Damon, tell what 'tis you'll do:
My hope and confidence is plac'd in you.

Dæmon.

Time was when I lay in Urania's arms,
Raptur'd and ecstasy'd with all her charins,
Into her palace when I did refort,

And learn'd the fspeech and fashions of her court.
And ever fince I can myself difguife,

Like fome wing'd meffenger of Paradise.
Well then, dear nymph, in hafte I will pursue,
And counterfeit their garb and language too.

Then

Then with this magic-potion in my hand,
I'll call upon the youth, and bid him stand.
When e're he ftops, I will present this draught,
And tell 'tis from the fair Urania brought,
A cordial fhe prepar'd for him to day,
Left he fall fpent and breathless on the way.
He fhan't perceive the plot, till once his foul
Begin to stagger with the gufty bowl.
Then I'll difarm, and strip the feeble fwain,
And bring him back into your arms again :
Only acquaint me in what cave he lyes,
To what untrod retirement now he flies.
Cofmelia's nymphs.

Far from the plain, in yonder gloomy fhade,
Beneath fome vaulted hollow he is laid.
You'll know the place by his repeated groans,
For there he spends his days in fighs and moans.
Dæmon.

Ye fhady woods, unmantle and disclose

That filent grove where Strephon does repofe.

Strephon.

Who's this that calls? whofe this that dare moleft
My calm retreat, and thus invade my reft?

Dæmon.

A wing'd ambaffador that has to day,

From bright Urania's court cut out his way.
She faw what mighty griefs, what woes and pains
You felt of late in yonder diftant plains.
When with fuch threats Cofmelia did purfue,
And vomit out her wrath and rage at you.
Therefore I was dispatch'd in hafte to give
This fmall, this soft elixir to revive
Your drooping fpirits, left they should decay,
And to Cofmelia's rage you fall a prey.
Voice from above.

Ah! neither touch nor tafte; the magic bowl
Will foon benumb and stupify your foul:
Death's in the cup, 'tis an empois'ned draught
Cofmelia has prepar'd, and Demon brought.

Strephon.

Be gone, thou wretch'd and treach'rous; fhall I prove
Like thee, regardless of Urania's love?

No,

No, I'd not tempt her to one little frown,
Tho' earth and all its blifs fhould be my own.
For if I thought this curfed heart could prove
Untouch'd and unaffected with her love,
I'd tear it from my breast, it should not beat.
Along my empty'd veins another heat.
Go tell your dame Cofmelia that I fcorn,
And all her puny flighted offers spurn.

Tho' earth's whole pleasures were at her command,
And fhe could grafp the poles within her hand,
And squeeze them dry of blifs, then in one bowl
Reach out the grand quinteffence to my foul,
I'd fcorn the dreggy potion, as too mean,
And for a heav'n-born foul, too base, and too terrene.

A PARAPHRASE on the 148th Pfalm.

By the Earl of Rofcommon, written at Twelve Years of Age.

Azure vaults! O crystal sky!

The world's transparent canopy,
Break your long filence, and let mortals know
With what contempt you look on things below.
Wing'd squadrons of the God of war,
Who conquer wherefoe'er you are,

Let echoing anthems make his praises known
On earth his footstool, as in heav'n his throne.
Great eye of all, whofe glorious ray
Rules the bright empire of the day,
O praise his name, without whofe purer light
Thou hadst been hid in an abyss of night.

Ye moon and planets, who dispense
By God's command your influence,
Refign to him, as your Creator, due,
That veneration which men pay to you.
Fairest as well as firft of things,
From whom all joy, all beauty fprings,
O praife th' Almighty ruler of the globe,
Who useth thee for his imperial robe.

Praise

Praise him ye loud harmonious spheres,
Whofe facred stamp all nature bears,

Who did all forms from the rude chaos draw,
And whofe command is th' univerfal law.
Ye watry mountains of the sky,
And you fo far above our eye,
Vaft ever-moving orbs exalt his name,
Who gave its being to your glorious frame.
Ye dragons, whofe contagious breath
Peoples the dark retreats of death,
Change your fierce hiffing into joyful fong,
And praise your Maker with your forked tongue.
Praise him ye monfters of the deep,

That in the fea's vaft bofom fleep,
At whofe command the foaming billows rore,
Yet know their limits, tremble and adore.
Ye mifts and vapours, hail and fnow,
And you who thro' the concave blow,
Swift executors of his holy word,

Whirlwinds and tempefts, praise th' Almighty Lord.
Mountains, who to your Maker's view
Seem less than mole-hills do to you,
Remember how, when firft Jehovah ipoke,
All heav'n was fire, and Sinai hid in smoke.
Praise him sweet offspring of the ground
With heav'nly nectar yearly crown'd,
And
ye tall cedars celebrate his praise,

That in his temple facred altars raise.
Idle musicians of the spring,

Whose only care's to love and fing,

Fly thro' the world, and let your trembling throat
Praife your Creator with the fweetest note.
Praife him each favage furious beast,
That on his ftores do daily feast,

And you tame flaves of the laborious plow,
Your weary knees to your Creator bow.
Majestic monarchs, mortal gods,
Whose pow'r hath here no periods,
May all attempts against your crown be vain,
But still remember by whofe pow'r you reign.

Let

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