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Not ftronger were of old the giant crew,
Who fought to pull high Jove from regal flate;
Tho' feeble wretch he seem'd, of fallow hue,
Certes, who bides his grafp will that encounter rue.

XXIII.

For whomfoe'er the villain takes in hand,
Their joints unknit, their finews melt apace,
As lithe they grow as any willow wand,
And of their vanifh'd force remains no trace:
So when a maiden fair, of modest grace,
In all her buxom blooming May of charms,
Is feized in fome lofel's hot embrace.

She waxeth very weakly as she warms,

Then, fighing, yields her up to love's delicious harms.
XXIV.

Wak'd by the crowd, flow from his hench arose
A comely full-spread porter, fwoln with sleep,
His calm, broad, thoughtlefs, afpeft breath'd repofe,
And in fweet torpor he was plunged deep,
Ne could himself from ceafelefs yawning keep ;
While o'er his eyes the drowfy liquor ran,
Thro' which his half-wak'd foul would faintly peep,
Then taking his black staff he call'd his man,

And rous'd himself as much as rouse himself he can.

The

XXV.

The lad leap'd lightly at his mafter's call:
He was, to weet, a little roguifh page,
Save fleep and play who minded nought at all,
Like moft the untaught ftriplings of his age.
This boy he kept each band to difengage,
Garters and buckles, tafk for him unfit,
But ill-becoming his grave personage,
And which his portly paunch would not permit,
So this fame limber page to all performed it.

XXVI.

Mean time the mafter-porter wide display'd
Great ftore of caps, of flippers, and of gowns,
Wherewith he those who enter'd in array'd,
Loofe as the breeze that plays along the downs,
And waves the fummer-woods when evening frowns.
O fair undrefs! beft drefs! it checks no vein,
But every flowing limb in pleasure drowns,

And heightens cafe with grace. This done, right fain,
Sir Porter fat him down, and turn'd to fleep again.

XXVII.

Thus cafy rob'd, they to the fountain sped,
That in the middle of the court up-threw
A ftream, high spouting from its liquid bed,
And falling back again in drizzly dew;

There each deep draughts, as deep he thirfted, drew.

It

It was a fountain of Nepenthe rare,

Whence, as Dan Homer fings, huge pleafaunce grew, And fweet oblivion of vile earthly care:

Fair glad fome waking thoughts, and joyous dreams more

XXVIII,... FONT. ve

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This rite perform'd, all inly pleas'd and ftill,
Withouten tromp, was proclamation made;
"Ye fons of Indolence! do what you will,
"And wander where you lift, thro' hall or glade ;
"Be no man's pleasure for another staid;
"Let each likes him beft his hours employ,

[fair.

And curs'd be he who minds his neighbour's trade! "Here dwells kind ease and unreproving joy "He little merits blifs who others can annoy.

XXIX.

Strait of thefe endlefs numbers, fwarming round,
As thick as idle motes in funny ray,

Not eftfoons in view was to be found,

one

But every man ftroll'd off his own glad way ;
Wide o'er this ample court's blank area,
With all the lodges that thereto pertain❜d,
No living creature could be feen to fträy,
While folitude and perfect filence reign'd,

So that to think you dreamt you almost was conftrain'd.

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XXX.

As when a fhepherd of the Hebrid-ifles,
Plac'd far amid the melancholy main,
(Whether it be lone fancy him beguiles,
Or that aerial beings fometimes deign
To ftand embodied to our fenfes plain)
Sees on the naked hill or valley low,
The whilft in ocean Phoebus dips his wain,
A vaft affembly moving to and fro,

Then all at once in air diffolves the wondrous fhow.

XXXI.

Ye Gods of Quiet, and of Sleep profound!
Whose foft dominion o'er this Castle sways,
And all the widely-filent places round,
Forgive me, if my trembling pen displays
What never yet was fung in mortal lays.
But how fhall I attempt fuch arduous ftring,
I who have spent my nights and nightly days
In this foul-deadening place, loose-loitering?
Ah! how fhall I for this uprear my moulted wing?

XXXII.

Come on, my Muse! nor floop to low despair,
Thou imp of Jove! touch'd by celeftial fire,
Thou yet fhalt fing of war and actions fair,
Which the bold fons of Britain will inspire ;
Of ancient bards thou yet fhalt fweep the lyre,

Vol. VI. 23.

B

Thou

Thou yet fhalt tread in Tragic pall the flage,
Paint love's enchanting woes, the hero's ire,
The fage's calm, the patriot's noble rage,
Dashing corruption down thro' every worthless age.

XXXIII.

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The doors, that knew no fhrill alarming bell,
Ne curfed knocker ply'd by villain's hand,
Self-open'd into halls, where who can tell,
What elegance and grandeur wide expand,
The pride of Turkey and of Perfia land ?
Soft quilts on quilts, on carpets carpets fpread,
And couches ftretch'd around in feemly band,
And endless pillows rife to prop the head;

So that each fpacious room was one full-fwelling bed.

XXXIV.

And every where huge cover'd tables flood,
With wines high flavour'd and rich viands crown'd;
Whatever fprightly juice or tafteful food,

On the green bosom of this earth are found,
And all old Ocean genders in his round:
Some hand unfeen thefe filently display'd,
E'en undemanded by a sign or sound ;
You need but wifh, and, inftantly obey'd,

Fair rang'd the dithes rofe, and thick the glaffes play'd.

Here

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