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Gay Bacchus little Cupid ftung,

By reckoning his deceits; And Cupid mock'd his stammering tongue,

With all his staggering gaits :
And Jocus drollid on Comus' ways,

And tales without a jeft;
While Comus callid his witty plays

But waggeries at bef.
Such talk foon set them all at odds;

And had I Homer's pen,
I'd fing ye, how they drank like Gods,

And how they fought like Men.
To part the fray, the Graces fly,

Who make them soon agree :
Nay, had the Furies felves been nigh,

They still were three to three.
Bacchus appeasid, rais'd Cupid up,

him back his bow;
But kept some darts to stir the cup,

Where fack and sugar flow. Jocus took Comus' rosy crown,

And gayly wore the prize,
And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down,

As thrice he strove to rise.
Then Cupid fought the myrtle grove,

Where Venus did recline ;
And Venus close embracing Love,

They join'd to rail at wine.

And Comus loudly cursing wit,

Roll'd off to some retreat ;
Where boon companions gravely fit

In fat unwieldy ftate.
Bacchus and Jocus still behind,

For one fresh glass prepare ;
They kiss, and are exceeding kind,

And vow to be fincere.
But part in time, whoever hear

This our instructive song ;
For though such friendships may be dear,

They can't continue long,




Britain's isle, and Arthur's days,
When midnight Fairies daunc'd the maze,

Liv'd Edwin of the Green;
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth,
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,

Though badly shap'd he'd been.
His mountain back mote well be said,
To measure height against his head,

And lift itself above;
Yet, spite of all that Nature did
To make his uncouth form forbid,

This creature dar'd to love.

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes,
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize,

Could ladies look within ;
But one Sir Topaz dress’d with art,
And, if a shape could win a heart,

He had a shape to win.

Edwin, if right I read my song,
With slighted paffion pac'd along

All in the moony light;
'Twas near an old enchanted court,
Where sportive fairies made resort

To revel out the night.

His heart was drear, his hope was cross’d, 'Twas late, 't was far, the path was lost

That reach'd the neighbour-town; With weary steps he quits the shades, Resolv'd, the darkling dome he treads,

And drops his limbs adown.

But fcant he lays him on the floor,
When hollow winds remove the door,

And trembling rocks the ground:
And, well I ween to count aright,
At once a hundred tapers light

On all the walls around.

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Now founding tongues affail his ear,
Now sounding feet approachen neař,

And now the sounds increase :

And from the corner where he lay
He sees a train profusely gay

Come prankling o'er the place.

But (trust me, Gentles !) never yet
Was dight a masquing half so neat,

Or half so rich before;
The country lent the sweet perfumes,
The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes,

The town its filken store,

Now whilft he gaz'd, a gallant drest
In flaunting robes above the rest,

With awful accent cry'd ;
What mortal of a wretched mind,
Whose fighs infect the balmy wind,

Has here presum’d to hide ?
At this the swain, whose venturous soul
No fears of magic art control,

Advanc'd in open fight;
“ Nor have I cause of dreed, he said,
“ Who view, by no presumption led,

“ Your revels of the night. 'Twas grief, for scorn of faithful love, “ Which made my steps unweeting rove

“ Amid the nightly dew.“ 'T is well, the gallant cries again, 66 We fairies never injure men

" Who dare to tell us true.

“ Exalt thy love-dejected heart,
“ Be mine the talk, or ere we part,

“ To make thee grief resign; “ Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce ; • Whilft I with Mab, my partner, daunce,

" Be little Mable thine."

He spoke, and all a sudden there
Light music floats in wanton air ;

The monarch leads the queen :
The reft their fairy partners found :
And Mable trimly tript the ground

With Edwin of the Green.

The dauncing past, the board was laid,
And fiker such a feast was made,

As heart and lip desire,
Withouten hands the dishes fly,
The glasses with a wish come nigh,

And with a wish retire.

But, now to please the fairy king,
Full every deal they laugh and fing,

And antic feats devise ;
Some wind and tumble like an ape,
And other some transmute their shape

In Edwin's wondering eyes.

Till one at last, that Robin hight,
Renown'd for pinching maids by night,
Has bent him



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