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ON TIME.

To be set on a clock case.

FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;

So little is our loss,

So little is thy gain.

For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,

And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd;

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss

With an individual kiss;

And joy shall overtake us as a flood;

When every thing that is sincerely good

And perfectly divine,

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ΙΟ

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With Truth, and Peace, and Love shall ever shine

About the supreme throne

Of him, t' whose happy-making sight alone,

When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall climb,
Then all this earthy grossness quit,

Attir'd with stars, we shall for ever sit,

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee,

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[O Time.

AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'ns joy,
Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds; and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce;
And to our high-rais'd phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure content,
Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne
To him that sits thereon;

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With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee,
Where the bright seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted angel trumpets blow;
And the cherubic host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires;

With those just spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms

Singing everlastingly:

That we on Earth with undiscording voice

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May rightly answer that melodious noise;

As once we did, till disproportion'd sin

Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair music that all creatures made

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To their great Lord; whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood

In first obedience, and their state of good.

O may we soon again renew that song,

And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To his celestial consort us unite,

To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light.

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SONG ON MAY MORNING.

Now the bright morning-star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowry May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth and youth, and warm desire;
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing;
Thus we salute thee with our early song,

And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

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SONNET II.

TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray
Warbl'st at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May;
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love; O if Jove's will
Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh:
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why;
Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

ΤΟ

L'ALLEGRO.

HENCE loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born,

In Stygian cave forlorn;

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy: Find out some uncouth cell,

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Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings,

And the night-raven sings;

There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks,

As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.

But come thou goddess fair and free,

In Heav'n yclep'd Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth;
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;

ΙΟ

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Or whether (as some sager sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,

As he met her once a-Maying,
There on beds of violets blue,

And fresh-blown roses washt in dew,
Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,

Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as ye go
On the light fantastic toe;

And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew:
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine.

While the cock with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before.
Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbring morn,

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From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill.
Some time walking, not unseen,
By hedge-row elms on hillocks green;
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great sun begins his state,
Rob'd in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight.
While the ploughman near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land;
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his sithe;
And every shepherd tells his tale

Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilst the landscape round it measures;

Russet lawns, and fallows gray,

Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees;
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks;
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set

Of herbs, and other country messes,

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or if the earlier season lead

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To the tann'd haycock in the mead.
Sometimes with secure delight

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The up-land hamlets will invite;

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