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Say what can more our tortured souls annoy, 17
DAMON. None, shepherd, none:
Then cease to chide my cares! And rather pity than restrain my tears; Those tears, my Damon, which I justly shed, To think how great my joys, how soon they fled; I told thee, friend, (now bless the shepherd's name, From whose dear care the kind occasion came.) That I, even I, might happily receive 30 The sacred wealth, which Heaven and Daphnis give: That I might see the lovely awful swain, Whose holy crosier guides our willing plain; Whose pleasing power and ruling goodness keep Our souls with equal care as we our sheep; Whose praise excites each lyre, employs each tongue; Whilst only he who caused, dislikes the song. To this great, humble, parting man I gained Access, and happy for an hour I reigned; Happy as new-formed man in paradise, 40 Ere sin debauched his inoffensive bliss; Happy as heroes after battles won, Prophets entranced, or monarchs on the throne; But (oh, my friend') those joys with Daphnis flew; To them these tributary tears are due.
Was he so humble then, those joys so vast?
WHEN crowding folks with strange ill faces
* Fleetwood Shepherd, a reputed wit of Charles the Second's court, and the author of several rhymes published in the miscellanies of the times.
And fair pretensions I have for’t,
* Mr Mun Stephen had been under secretary to Lord Sunderland when he held the post of secretary of state in the time of James II. A few years after the revolution, falling into a desponding state, he put an end to his life by cutting his throat.
All this you made me quit, to follow The sneaking whey-faced god Apollo; Sent me among a fiddling crew 5C, Of folks, I’d never seen nor knew, Calliope, and God knows who. To add no more invectives to it, You spoiled the youth to make a poet. In common justice, Sir, there's no man That makes the whore, but keeps the woman. Among all honest christian people, Whoe'er breaks limbs maintains the cripple.
The sum of all I have to say, Is, that you’d put me in some way; 60 And your petitioner shall pray—
There's one thing more I had almost slipped, But that may do as well in postscript: My friend Charles Montague's preferred; Nor would I have it long observed, That one mouse eats, while t'other's starved.
ON THE TAKING OF NAMUR.
THE town which Louis bought, Nassau reclaims,
ODE IN IMITATION OF HORACE, III. OD. II. WRITTEN IN 1692.
How long, deluded Albion, wilt thou lie
See the repenting isle awakes, Her vicious chains the generous goddess breaks; The fogs around her temples are dispelled; Abroad she looks, and sees armed Belgia stand Prepared to meet their common lord's command; 20 Her lions roaring by her side, her arrows in her hand. And, blushing to have been so long withheld, Weeps off her crime, and hastens to the field. Henceforth her youth shall be inured to bear Hazardous toil and active war; To march beneath the dog-star's raging heat, Patient of summer's drought, and martial sweat; And only grieve in winter's camps to find