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Leave these accurs’d; and to the Mountains Height
(Tiles of Gold. Then thus the Sire of Gods, with Look serene Speak thy Defire; thou only just of Men; And thou, O Woman, only worthy foundTo be with such a Man in marriage bound. A while they Whisper; then to Jove address’d,, Philemon thus prefers their joynt Request. We crave to serve before your Sacred Shrine, And offer at your Altars Rites Divine : And since not any Action of our Life, Has been polluted with Domestick Strife, We beg one Hour of Death; that neither she: With Widows Tears may live to bury me, Nor weeping I, with wither'd Arms may bear. My breathless Baucis to the Sepulcher.. The Godheads sign their suit. They run their Race In the fame Tenor all th' appointed Space:
Then, when their Hour was come, while they relate
Ev'n yet, an ancient Tyanaan shows
1. NOT Winds to Voyages at Sea,
Nor Shorper's to Earth moré necessary be, (Heaven's Vital Seed cast on the Womb of Earth
To give the fraitful Year å Birth)
can do The Midwifes Office, and the Nurses too; It feeds it strongly, and it clothes it gay,
And when it dyes, with comély pride
That never will decay
Begin the Song, and strike the Living Lyre;
Till all gentle Notes be drown'd
In the last Trumpets dreadful found.
Untune the Universal String,
And Virgil's Sacred Work shall die,
Could not whilst they lived awake
When Dead † arise,
And open Tombs, and open Eyes.
Back to their ancient Home,
Some from Metals upwards Ay,
(stands; Meet, Salute, and joyn their Hands. As disperst Soldiers at the Trumpets call.
Hafte to their Colours all.
Unhappy most, like tortur'd Men, Their Joints new set, to be new rack't again.
To Mountains they for fielter pray, The Mountains shake, and run about no less confusă
( than they,
Kindled at a Hint so great.
Which does to Rage begin, And this steep Hill would gallop up with violent courfe 'Tis an unruly and a Hard-Mouth'd Horse,
Fierce, and unbroken yet,
Now prances ftately, and anon flies o’re the Place,
'Twill no unskill'd Touch endure, But flings Writer and Reader too that fits not fure.
To Mr. G. Granville, on his Verses to the KING.
By Mr. Edmund Waller.
And shows a Genius so beyond his Years;. E A Judgment which cou'd make so fair a Choice,
high a Subject to employ his Voice : Still as it grows, how fiveetly will he fing The growing greatness of our matchless King?
To Mr. Waller.
By Mr. G. Granville. WHEN into Lybia the young Grecian canze,
To talk with Hammon, and confult for Fame; When from the facred Tripod where he stood, The Priest inspir'd, saluted him a God; Scarce such a Joy that haughty Victor knew, When own'd by Heaven, as I thus sung by yout.