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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, | 5 |
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, | |
And the night-raven sings; | |
There under ebon shades, and low-browd rocks, | |
As ragged as thy locks, | |
In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. | 10 |
But come, thou Goddess fair and free, | |
In heavn y-clepd Euphrosyne, | |
And by men, heart-easing Mirth, | |
Whom lovely Venus at a birth, | |
With two sister Graces more, | 15 |
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; | |
Or whether (as some sager sing) | |
The frolic wind that breathes the spring, | |
Zephyr with Aurora playing, | |
As he met her once a-Maying; | 20 |
There on beds of violets blue, | |
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, | |
Filld her with thee, a daughter fair, | |
So buxom, blithe, and debonair. | |
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee | 25 |
Jest, and youthful Jollity, | |
Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, | |
Nods, and Becks, and wreathèd Smiles, | |
Such as hang on Hebes cheek, | |
And love to live in dimple sleek; | 30 |
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 | 35 |
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty; | |
And if I give thee honor due, | |
Mirth, admit me of thy crew, | |
To live with her, and live with thee, | |
In unreprovèd pleasures free; | 40 |
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, | 45 |
And at my window bid good morrow, | |
Through the sweetbrier, or the vine, | |
Or the twisted eglantine: | |
While the cock with lively din | |
Scatters the rear of Darkness thin, | 50 |
And to the stack, or the barn-door, | |
Stoutly struts his dames before: | |
Oft listening how the hounds and horn | |
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, | |
From the side of some hoar hill, | 55 |
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, | 60 |
Robed in flames, and amber light, | |
The clouds in thousand liveries dight; | |
While the ploughman near at hand | |
Whistles oer the furrowed land, | |
And the milkmaid singeth blithe, | 65 |
And the mower whets his scythe, | |
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; | 70 |
Russet lawns, and fallows gray, | |
Where the nibbling flocks do stray; | |
Mountains, on whose barren breast | |
The laboring clouds do often rest; | |
Meadows trim with daisies pied, | 75 |
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; | |
Towers and battlements it sees | |
Bosomed high in tufted trees, | |
Where perhaps some beauty lies, | |
The cynosure of neighboring eyes; | 80 |
Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes, | |
From betwixt two aged oaks, | |
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, | |
Are at their savory dinner set | |
Of herbs, and other country messes, | 85 |
Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; | |
And then in haste her bowr she leaves, | |
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; | |
Or, if the earlier season lead, | |
To the tannd haycock in the mead. | 90 |
Sometimes with secure delight | |
The upland hamlets will invite, | |
When the merry bells ring round, | |
And the jocund rebecs sound | |
To many a youth, and many a maid, | 95 |
Dancing in the checkerd shade; | |
And young and old come forth to play | |
On a sunshine holiday, | |
Till the livelong daylight fail. | |
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, | 100 |
With stories told of many a feat, | |
How fairy Mab the junkets eat; | |
She was pincht and pulld, she said, | |
And he by friars lanthorn led, | |
Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat, | 105 |
To earn his cream-bowl duly set, | |
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, | |
His shadowy flail hath threshd the corn | |
That ten day-laborers could not end; | |
Then lies him down the lubbar fiend, | 110 |
And stretchd out all the chimneys length, | |
Basks at the fire his hairy strength, | |
And crop-full out of doors he flings, | |
Ere the first cock his matin rings. | |
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, | 115 |
By whispering winds soon lulld asleep. | |
Towerd cities please us then, | |
And the busy hum of men, | |
Where throngs of knights and barons bold | |
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, | 120 |
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes | |
Rain influence, and judge the prize | |
Of wit, or arms, while both contend | |
To win her grace whom all commend. | |
There let Hymen oft appear | 125 |
In saffron robe, with taper clear, | |
And pomp, and feast, and revelry, | |
With mask, and antique pageantry, | |
Such sights as youthful poets dream | |
On summer eves by haunted stream. | 130 |
Then to the well-trod stage anon, | |
If Jonsons learned sock be on, | |
Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancys child, | |
Warble his native wood-notes wild. | |
And ever against eating cares, | 135 |
Lap me in soft Lydian airs, | |
Married to immortal verse, | |
Such as the meeting soul may pierce, | |
In notes, with many a winding bout | |
Of linkèd sweetness long drawn out, | 140 |
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, | |
The melting voice through mazes running, | |
Untwisting all the chains that tie | |
The hidden soul of harmony; | |
That Orpheus self may heave his head | 145 |
From golden slumber on a bed | |
Of heapt Elysian flowers, and hear | |
Such strains as would have won the ear | |
Of Pluto, to have quite set free | |
His half regaind Eurydice. | 150 |
èThese delights if thou canst give, | |
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. | |
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