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And let fome ftrange mysterious dream
155 To walk the studious cloysters pale , And love the high embowed roof, With antick pillars mafly proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dimm religious light.
160 There let the pealing Organ blow, To the full voic'd Quire below, In service high , and antheins clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Diffolve me into extasies,
165 And bring all Heav'n before mine eyes; And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mofly Cell, Where I'may fit and rightly spell
170 Of every Star that Heav'n doth thew And every herb that fips the dew ;, Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain, These pleasures Melancholy give,
175 And I with thee will choose to lives
ARCA DE S. Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess dowager of Derby at Harefield, by some Noble Persons of her Family, who appear on the scene in Pastoral habit, moving toward the seat of State, with this song.
I. SON G.
What sudden blaze of Majesty
This this is the
Less than balf we find expreít,
Envy bid conceal the rest.
Sitting like a Goddess bright,
In the center of her light.
As they come forward, the Genius of the Wood appears ,
and turning toward them, Speaks. Tay gentle Swains, for though in this disguise ,
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes, Of famous Arcady ye are , and sprung Of that renowned flood, so often sung, Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluće,
5 Stole under Seas to meet his Arethuse; And ye the breathing roses of the wood, Fair filver-buskind Nymphs as great and good, I know this quest of yours, and free intent Was all in honour and devotion meant
io To the great Mistress of yon princely shrine, Whom with low reverence I adore as mine, And with all helpfull service will comply To further this night's glad folemnity; And lead ye where ye may, more near behold 15. What ihallow-searching Fame hath left untold; Which I full oft amidst these shades alone Have fat to wonder at, and gaze upon : For know by lot from Jove I am the pow'r Of this fair Wood, and live in oaken bow'r To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove With ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove. And all my plants I save from nightly ill, Of noisom winds, and blasting vapours chill. And from the boughs brush of the evil dew, 25 And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blew , Or what the cross dire-looking Planet smites , Or hurtful worin with canker'd venom bites. When ev’ning gray doth rise, I fetch my round Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground, 30 And carly ere the odorous breath of morn Awakes the flumbring leaves, or tasseld horn