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On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if aught elfe, great bards befide,
In fage and folemn tunes have fung,
Of tourneys and of trophies hung,
Of forefts, and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear,
Thus night oft fee me in thy pale career,
Till civil-fuited Morn appear;

Not trick'd and frounc'd as she was wont,
With the Attic boy to hunt,

But kerchief'd in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ufher'd with a fhower ftill,
When the guft hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,

With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the fun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, Goddefs, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And fhadows brown that Sylvan loves
Of pine or monumental oak,

Where the rude ax with heaved ftroke,
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt..
There in close covert by fome brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honey'd thigh,
That at her flowery work doth fing,
And the waters murmuring
With fuch concert as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather'd fleep :

And

And let fome ftrange mysterious dream,
Wave at his wings in airy ftream
Of lively portraiture display'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid;

As I wake sweet mufic breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by fome fpirit to mortals good,
Or th' unfeen genius of the wood :
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the ftudious cloyfter's pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antique pillars' maffy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Cafting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow
To the full voiced quire below,
In fervice high, and anthems clear,
As may with fweetnefs, through mine ear
Diffolve me into ecftafies,

And bring all heav'n before mine eyes.

And may at last my weary age,
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and moffy cell,
Where I may fit and rightly spell
Of ev'ry ftar that heav'n doth fhew,
And ev'ry herb that fips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To fomething like prophetic ftrain.

These pleasures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will choose to live.

MILTON.

CHAP. XVIII. .

THE PROGRESS OF LIFE.

ALL the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players ;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts:
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurfe's arms:
And then the whining fchool-boy, with his fatchel,
And shining morning face, creeping, like fnail,
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his miftrefs' eye-brow. Then a foldier,
Full of ftrange oaths, and bearded like a pard,-
Jealous in honour, fudden and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the juftice,
In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d,

With eyes

fevere, and beard of formal cut, Full of wife faws and modern instances;

And fo he plays his part. The fixth age shifts
Into the lean and flipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on fide;
His youthful hose well fav'd, a world too wide
For his fhrunk fhank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes,
And whistles in his found. Laft fcene of all,
That ends this ftrange eventful history,
Is fecond childishness, and mere oblivion, -
Sans teeth, fans eyes, fans tafte, fans every thing.

SHAKESPEARE.

CHAP. XIX.

THE ENTRY OF BOLINGBROKE AND RICHARD

INTO LONDON.

DUKE AND DUCHESS OF YORK.、

DUCH. My lord, you told me you would tell the reft,

Y

When weeping made you break the ftory off,
Of our two coufins coming into London.
YORK. Where did I leave?

DUCH. At that fad stop, my lord,

Where rude mifgovern'd hands, from window-tops,
Threw duft and rubbish on king Richard's head.
YORK. Then, as I faid, the Duke great Bolingbroke!
Mounted upon a hot and fiery fteed,

Which his afpiring rider feem'd to know,

With flow, but ftately pace, kept on his course;
While all tongues cried, "God fave thee, Bolingbroke !"?
You would have thought the very windows fpake,

So many greedy looks of young and old
Through cafements darted their defiring eyes
Upon his vifage; and that all the walls
With painted imagʼry had faid at once,
Jefu preferve thee !-Welcome, Bolingbroke!
Whilst he, from one fide to the other turning,
Bare-headed, lower than his proud fteed's neck,
Bespoke them thus: I thank you countrymen ;
And thus ftill doing, thus he pass'd along.

DUCH. Alas! poor Richard, where rides he the while?
YORK. As in a theatre, the eyes of men,

After a well-grac'd actor leaves the stage,

Are

Are idly bent on him that enters next,

Thinking his prattle to be tedious:

Even fo, or with much more contempt, men's eyes
Did fcowl on Richard; no man cry'd, God fave him!
No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home:

But duft was thrown upon his facred head :
Which with fuch gentle forrow he shook off,
(His face still combating with tears and fmiles,
The badges of his grief and patience)

That had not God, for fome ftrong purpofe, fteel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And barbarism itself have pitied him.

But Heaven hath a hand in these events,

To whofe high will we bound our calm contents.

SHAKESPEARE

CHAP. XX.

LIFE.

EASON thus with life:

If I do lofe thee, I do lofe a thing

That none but fools would reck; a breath thou art,
Servile to all the fkiey influences,

That do this habitation, where thou keep'ft,
Hourly afflict merely thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'ft by thy flight to fhun,.

And yet runn'ft toward him fill. Thou art not noble ;
For all the accommodations that thou bear'st,
Are nurs'd by baseness: thou'rt by no means valiant ;
For thou doft fear the foft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy beft of reft is sleep,
And that thou oft provok'ft; yet grossly fear'st

Thy

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