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Diseases with her ftrong convulfions reign,
And deities, not known before to pain,
Are now with apoplectic feizures flain :

Hence flow our forrows, hence increase our fears,
Each humble plant does drop her filver tears.
Ye tender lambs, ftray not fo faft away,

To weep and mourn let us together stay :
O'er all the universe let it be spread,

That now the fhepherd of the flock is dead.
The royal Pan, that shepherd of the sheep,
He, who to leave his flock did dying weep,
Is gone, ah gone! ne'er to return from Death's
eternal fleep!

Begin, Damela, let thy numbers fly
Aloft where the foft milky way does lie;
Mopfus, who Daphnis to the ftars did fing,
Shall join with you, and thither waft our king.
Play gently on your reeds a mournful strain,
And tell in notes, through all th' Arcadian plain,
The royal Pan, the fhepherd of the sheep,

He, who to leave his flock did dying weep,

Is gone, ah gone! ne'er to return from Death's eternal fleep.

CON

POE M S

B Y

RICHARD DUKE, M. A.

G

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