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Summer drouth, or singed air
Never scorch thy tresses fair,
Nor wet October's torrent flood 940
Thy molten crystal fill with mud;
May thy billows roll ashore
The beryl, and the golden ore;
May thy lofty head be crown'd
With many a tow'r and terras round, 945
And here and there thy banks upon
With groves of myrrhe, and cinnamon.
Come, Lady, while Heav'n lends us grace, Let us fly this cursed place,
Lest the sorcerer us entice 950
With some other new device.
Through this gloomy covert wide, 955
And no*t many furlongs thence
His wish'd presence, and beside 960
All the swains that near abide,
Come let us haste, the stars grow high,
The Scene changes, presenting Ludlow town and the President's cajlle; then come in country dancers, after them the attendent Spirit, with the two Brothers and the Lady.
Other trippings to be trod
This second Song presents them to their Father and Mother.
Noble Lord, and Lady bright,
I have brought ye new delight,
Here behold so goodly grown
Three fair branches of your own;
Heav'n hath timely try'd their youth, 980
Their faith, their patience, and their truth,
And sent them here through hard assays With a crown of deathless praise,
To triumph in victorious dance O'er sensual folly, and intemperance. 985
The The dances ended, the Spirit epiloguizes. Sadly sits th' Assyrian queen;
Spir. To the ocean now I fly,
But far above in spangled sheen
Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc'd,
Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranc'd, 1015
After her wand'ring labors long,
Till free consent the Gods among
Make her his eternal bride,
And from her fair unspotted side
Two blissful twins are to be born, 1020
Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.
But now my task is smoothly done, I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earth's end, Where the bow'd welkin flow doth bend, 1025 And from thence can soar as soon To the corners of the moon.
Mortals that would follow me, . .
Love Virtue, she alone is free,
Higher than the sphery chime;
In this monody the author bewails a learned friend, unfortunately drown d in his passage from Chefler on the Irifh seas, 1637, and by occasion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their highth.
YET once more, O ye Laurels, and once more
Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, 15
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring,
With lucky words favor my destin'd urn, 20
And as he passes turn,