And lightning in his eyes; and flings
Among the elves, if mov'd, the stings
Of peltish* wasps; we'll know his guard;
"Kings though they're hated, will be fear'd."
Wine lead him on. Thus to a grove,

Sometimes devoted unto love,

Tinsell'd with twilight, he and they,
Led by the shine of snails, a way

Beat with their num'rous feet, which by
Many a neat perplexity,

Many a turn, and many a cross

Track, they redeem a bank of moss,
Spungy and swelling, and far more
Soft than the finset Lemstert ore,
Mildly dispark'ling like those fires
Which break from the injewell'd tires
Of curious brides, or like those mites
Of candied dew in moony nights:
Upon this convex all the flow'rs
Nature begets by th' sun, and showr's,
Are to a wild digestion brought;
As if Love's sampler here was wrought,
Or Cytherea's ceston, which
All with temptation doth bewitch.
Sweet airs move here, and more divine
Made by the breath of great-ey'd kine,
Who, as they low, impearl with milk
The four-leav'd grass, or moss-like silk.

* angry.-Phillips, in his World of Words, interprets to pelt, in one sense, "to be in a chafe, or fit of anger, to fret, fume." And Dr. Bevis, Eng. Dict, gives to pelt the signification of" heat, chafe, passion."

+ Leominster.

+ Or cestus.

The breath of monkies, met to mix
With musk-flies, are th' aromaticks
Which cense this arch; and here and there,
And farther off, and every-where
Throughout that brave mosaick yard,
Those picks or diamonds in the card,
With pips of hearts, of club, and spade,
Are here most neatly interlaid.

Many a counter, many a die
Half-rotten and without an eye,

Lies here about; and, for to pave
The excellency of this cave,

Squirrels', and children's teeth late shed,
Are neatly here inchequered

With brownest toadstones, and the gum
That shines upon the bluer plumb,
The nails fall'n off by whitflaws ;* art's
Wise hand enchasing here those warts,
Which we to others from ourselves
Sell, and brought hither by the elves.
The tempting mole, stol'n from the neck
Of the shy virgin, seems to deck
The holy entrance; where within
The room is hung with the blue skin
Of shifted snake, enfriez'd throughout
With eyes of peacocks' trains, and trout-
Flies curious wings; and these among
Those silver pence, that cut the tongue
Of the red infant, neatly hung.
'The glowworm's eyes, the shining scales
Of silv'ry fish, wheat-straws, the snail's
Soft candlelight, the kitling's eyne,
Corrupted wood, serve here for shine;

* The same with whitlow,

No glaring light of broad-fac'd day,
Or other over-radiant ray

Ransacks this room, but what weak beams
Can make reflected from these gems,

And multiply; such is the light,
But ever doubtful, day or night.
By this quaint taper-light he winds
His errors up; and now he finds
His moon-tann'd Mab as somewhat sick,
And, Love knows, tender as a chick.
Upon six plump dandelions high-
Rear'd lies her elvish majesty,

Whose woolly bubbles seem'd to drown
Her mabship in obedient down;
For either sheet was spread the caul
That doth the infant's face inthrall
When it is born, by some enstyl'd
The lucky omen of the child;

And next to these two blankets, o'er-
Cast of the finest gossamer;

And then a rug of carded wool,

Which, sponge-like, drinking in the dull

Light of the moon, seem'd to comply,*
Cloud-like, the dainty deity:

Thus soft she lies; and overhead

A spinner's circle is bespread

With cobweb curtains, from the roof

So neatly sunk, as that no proof
Of any tackling can declare

What gives it hanging in the air.

*This word would here seem to mean inwrap, envelop, a sense in which I have never before seen it used: yet, according to one of Skinner's derivations of it, from compli care, Lat. though not in his acceptation of the same; and according to Johnson's conjectured derivation from complier, or plier, Fr. it certainly may have such signification.

K

The king's undress'd; and now, upon
The gnat's watchword, the elves are gone.
And now the bed, and Mab possess'd
Of this great little kingly guest;

We'll nobly think, what's to be done

He'll do, no doubt.-This flax is spun.

CXLIV.

TO OENONE.

WHAT, Conscience, say, is it in thee,
When I a heart had one,

To take away that heart from me,
And to retain thy own?

For shame, or pity now incline

To play a loving part;
Either to send me kindly thine,
Or give me back my heart:

Covet not both; but if thou dost
Resolve to part with neither;
Why, yet to shew that thou art just,
Take me and mine together.

CXLV.

TO GROVES.

YE silent shades, whose each tree here

Some relick of a saint doth wear,

Who for some sweetheart's sake did prove The fire and martyrdom of love;

Here is the legend of those saints

That died for love, and their complaints; Their wounded hearts, and names, we find Encarv'd upon the leaves and rind.

Give way, give way to me, who come Scorch'd with the selfsame martyrdom; And have deserv'd as much, Love knows, As to be canoniz'd 'mongst those

Whose deeds, and deaths are written here Within your greeny calendar.

By all those virgins' fillets hung

Upon your boughs, and requiems sung
For saints and souls departed hence,
Here honour'd still with frankincense;
By all those tears that have been shed
As a drink-offering to the dead;
By all those trueloveknots, that be
With mottos carv'd on ev'ry tree;
By sweet saint Phillis, pity me;
By dear saint Iphis, and the rest
Of all those other saints now blest,
Me, me forsaken, here admit
Among your myrtles to be writ;

That my poor name may have the glory
To live remember'd in your story!

CXLVI.

EPITAPH UPON A VIRGIN.

HERE a solemn fast we keep :

While all beauty lies asleep,

Hush'd be all things; no noise here

But the toning of a tear,

Or a sigh of such as bring
Cowslips for her covering.