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And all inferior beauteous things, Like the laborious bee, For little drops of honey flee, And there with humble sweets contents her industry.

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NOT winds to voyagers at sea,
Nor showers to earth more necessary be
(Heaven's vital seed cast on the womb of earth
To give the fruitful year a birth)
Than Verse to Virtue; which can do
The midwife's office and the nurse's too;
It feeds it strongly, and it clothes it gay,
And, when it dies, with comely pride
Embalms it, and erects a pyramid
That never will decay
Till heaven itself shall melt away,
And nought behind it stay.

Begin the song, and strike the living lyre;
Lo! how the years to come, a numerous and well-
fitted quire,
All hand in hand do decently advance,
And to my song with smooth and equal measures
Whilst the dance lasts, how long soe'er it be,
My musick's voice shall bear it company;

Till all gentle notes be drown'd
In the last trumpet's dreadful sound:

That to the spheres themselves shall silence bring,
Untune the universal string:
Then all the wide-extended sky,
And all th’ harmonious worlds on high,
And Virgil's sacred work, shall die;

And he himself shall see in one fire shine

Rich Nature's ancient Troy, though built by hands


Whom thunder's dismal noise, And all that prophets and apostles louder spake, And all the creatures' plain conspiring voice, Could not, whilst they liv'd, awake, This mightier sound shall make When dead to arise ; And open tombs, and open eyes, To the long sluggards of five thousand years This mightier sound shall make its hearers ears. Then shall the scatter'd atoms crowding come Back to their ancient home ; Some from birds, from fishes some ; Some from earth, and some from seas; Some from beasts, and some from trees; Some descend from clouds on high, Some from metals upwards fly, And, where th’ attending soul naked and shivering stands, Meet, salute, and join their hands;

As dispers'd soldiers, at the trumpet’s call,
Haste to their colours all.
Unhappy most, like tortur'd men,
Their joints new set, to be new-rack'd again,
To mountains they for shelter pray,
The mountains shake, and run about no less con-
fus’d than they.

Stop, stop, my Muse ! allay thy vigorous heat,
Kindled at a hint so great;
Hold thy Pindarick Pegasus closely in,
Which does to rage begin,
And this steep hill would gallop up with violent
course ;
"Tis an unruly and a hard-mouth'd horse,
Fierce and unbroken yet,
Impatient of the spur or bit;
Now prances stately, and anon flies o'er the place;
Disdains the servile law of any settled pace,
Conscious and proud of his own natural force.
"T will no unskilful touch endure,
But flings writer and reader too, that sits not sure.


GO, the rich chariot instantly prepare ;
The Queen, my Muse, will take the air:
Unruly Fancy with strong Judgment trace;
Put in nimble-footed Wit,
Smooth-pac’d Eloquence join with it;
Sound Memory with young Invention place;
Harness all the winged race.
Let the postillion Nature mount, and let
The coachman Art be set;
And let the airy footmen, running all beside,
Make a long row of goodly pride,
Figures, Conceits, Raptures, and Sentences,
In a well-worded dress;
And innocent Loves, and pleasant Truths, and use-
ful Lyes,
In all their gaudy liveries.
Mount, glorious Queen! thy travelling throne,
And bid it to put on ;
For long, though cheerful, is the way,
And life, alas! allows but one ill winter's day.

Where never foot of man, or hoof of beast,
The passage press'd ; -
Where never fish did fly,
And with short silver wings cut the low liquid sky;
Where bird with painted oars did ne'er
Row through the trackless ocean of the air;

Where never yet did pry The busy morning's curious eye; The wheels of thy bold coach pass quick and free, And all’s an open road to thee! Whatever God did Say, Is all thy plain and smooth uninterrupted way! Nay, ev'n beyond his works thy voyages are known, Thou 'hast thousand worlds too of thine own. Thou speak'st, great Queen 1 in the same style as He ; And a new world leaps forth when thou say'st, “Let it be.”

Thou fathom'st the deep gulf of ages past,
And canst pluck up with ease
The years which thou dost please;
Like shipwreck'd treasures, by rude tempests cast
Long since into the sea,
Brought up again to light and publick use by thee.
Nor dost thou only dive so low,
But fly
With an unwearied wing the other way on high,
Where Fates among the stars do grow;
There into the close nests of Time dost peep,
And there, with piercing eye,
Through the firm shell and the thick white, dost
Years to come a-forming lie,
Close in their sacred secundine asleep,
Till, hatch'd by the sun's vital heat,

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