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A B B O T.
* E pampera Abbot too, cries, he's a Saint

With daily Pray’rs and nightly Watchings faint:
His Aorid Looks, his vain Pretence deny,
And his steek Carcass gives his Boasts the Lye :
Soft Beds of Down his wanton Limbs infold,
In Gems he drinks, and eats on burnish'd Gold,
Luxurious Food devours with Priestly Gust,
While poinant Sauces keep alive his Luft.
Luft, -Avarice and Sloth, Revenge and Pride,
Are the blest Virtues of this Saintlike Guide. Anona

Look with a curious Eye all Europe round,
And thew one rich, one healthy Spot of Ground,
But there some Abby is, or else has been,
And there in Ruins their wife Choice is feen.
The Front of Heaven fome fpecious Tale will tell,
But the Back-Gate ftill opens into Hell.

Abrenice to a Lover is sure Death,
His Soul is in her, and so goes away.
Vol. IL




Absence is Hell, whence all true Joys are driven;
For in her Presence only is his Heaven,

Love reckons Hours for Months, and Days for Years, And ev'ry little Absence is an Age. Dryd. Amphit.

The tedious Hours move heavily away, And each long Minute seems a lazy Day. Ot. Cai. Mar.

For thee the bubling Springs appear'd to mourn, And whisp’ring Pines made Vows for thy Return.

(Dryd. Virg. When thy lov'd Sight shall bless my Eyes again, Then will I own I ought not to complain, Since that sweet Hour is worth whole Years of Pain.

(Rowe's Tamerl. I charge thee, loiter not, but hafte to bless me ; Think with what eager Hopes, what Rage I burn, For ev'ry tedious Minare how I mourn: Think how I call the cruel for thy Stay, And break my Heart with Grief for thy unkind Delay.

(Rowe's Ulys: Fly swift, ye Hours, you measure Time for me in 'Till you bring back Leonidas again :

(vain, Be Swifter now, and to redeem that Wrong, When he and I are met, be twice as long.

(Dryd. Mar. A-la-mode. While in divine Panthea's charming Eyes I view the naked Boy that basking lies I grow a God ! so bleft, so blest am I, With sacred Rapture and immortal Joy !

But, absent, if she shines no more,
And hides the Suns that I adore,
Strait, like a Wretch defpairing, I
Sigh, langiiish in the Shade, and die.
Oh! I were loft in endless Night,
If her bright Presence brought not Light ;
Then I revive, bleft as before :

The Gods themselves cannot be more ! Roch.
For Passion by long Absence does improve,
And makes that Rapture which before was Love. Step.

ADONIS's Garden.
But were it not that Time their Troubler is,
All that in this delightful Garden grows

Should happy be, and have immortal Bliss :
Fór here all Plenty and all Pleasure flowes,
And sweet Love gentle Fits emongst them throws,

Without fell Rancour, or fond Jealousie ;
Frankley each Paramour his Leman knows,

Each Bird his Mate ; ne any docs envie
Their goodly Merriment, and gay Felicicie.

There is continual Spring, and Harvest there Continual, both meeting at one Time :

For both the Boughes do laughing Blossoms beare, And with fresh Colours deck the wanton Prime, And eke at once the heavy. Trees they climb,

Which seem to labour under their Fruites Lode ;
The while the joyous Birds make their Pastime

Emongst the Aady Leaves, their sweet Abode,
And their true Love, without Suspicion, tell abrocle.

Right in the middest of that Paradife,
There stood a stately Mount, on whoes round Top

A gloomy Grove of Myrtle-Trees did rise,
Whoes shadie Boughs sharp Steele did never lop,
Nor wicked Beasts their tender Buds did crop;

But, like a Girlond, compassed the Hight, And from their fruitfull Sides sweet Gumes did drop,

That all the Ground with pretious Dew bedight, Threw forth most dainty Odours, and most fweet

(Delight, And, in the thickest Covert in that Shade, There was a pleasant Arbour, not by Art,

But of the Trees own Inclination made,
Which knitting their ranke Branches Part to Part,
With wanton Ivie-twine entaiļd athwart,


B 2

And Eglantine and Caprisfole emong, Fashion'd above within their inmoft Part, (throng,

That neither Phæbus Beames could through them Nor Æolus Tharp Blaft could work them any wrong.

And all about grew every Sort of Flowre,
To which fad Lovers were transform'd of Yore;

Fresh Hyacinthus, Phabus Paramoure,
And dearest Love;
Foolish Narcise, that likes the wat'ry Shore ;

Sad Amaranthis, 'made a Flowre but late ;
Sad Amaranthus, in whose purple Gore

Mesecmes I fee Amintas wretched Fate,
To whom {weet Poets Verse hath given endless Date.

[Spen. Fairy by
Egeon, when with Heav'n he ftrove,
Stood opposite in Arms to mighty Fove :
Mov'd all his hundred Hands; provok'd the War,
Defy'd the forky Lightning from afar:
At fifty Mouths his flaming Breath expires;
And Flash for Flash returns, and Fires for Fires :
In his right Hand as many Swords he wields,
And takes the Thunder on as many shields. Dryd. Virg.

Briarins calld in Heav'n, but mortal Men below By his terreftial Name Ægeon know. Dryd. Hom.

As when Don Æolus, in great Displeasure,
For Loss of his deare Love, by Neptune kent,

Sends forth the Winds out of his hidden Treasure,
U pon the Sea to wreak his fell Intent ;
They breaking forth with rude Unruliment,

From all four Parts of Heaven do rage full sore,
And toss the Deeps, and leave the Firmament,

And all the World confound with wide U prore,
As if, in Stead thereof, they Chaos would reflore.

[Spen. Fairy Que.


The God, who does in Caves constrain the Winds, Can with a Breath their clam'rous Rage appease ; They fear his Whistle, and forsake the Seas.

Yet once indulg'd, they sweep the Main," Deaf to the Call, or hearing hear in vain. They, bent on Mischief, bear the Waves before, And not content with Seas, insult the Shore ; When Ocean, Air, and Earth at once ingage, And rooted Forests Ay before their Rage : At once the clashing Clouds to Battel move, And Lightnings run across the fields above. In Times of Tempest they command alone, And he but fits precarious on the Throne. Dryd. Ovidi

Æolus, to whom the King of Heav'n The Pow'r of Tempests, and of Winds has giv'n: Whose Force alone their Fury can restrain, And smooth the Waves, or swell the troubled Main.

The Jailor of the Wind, Whose hoarse Commands his breathing Subjects. call; He boasts and blusters in his empty Hall, Dryd. Virg.

ÆT N A. Mount Ætna thence we spy, Known by the smoaky Flames which cloud the Sky: By Turns a pitchy Cloud The rowls on high ; By Turns hot Embers from her Entrails fly, And Flakes of mounting Flames that lick the Sky. Oft from her Bowels mally Rocks are thrown, And, thiver'd by the Force, come piece-meal down. Oft liquid Lakes of burning Sulphur flow, Fed from the fiery Springs that boil below. Enceladus, they say, transfix'd by Fore, With blafted Wings came tumbling from above; And where he fell, th’avenging Father drew This faming Hill, and on his Body threw : As often as he turns his weary Sides, He shakes the solid Ine, and Smoke the Heav'n hides.

(Dryd. Virg.

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