3 But now my former days retire,
And I'm by beauty caught,
The tender chains of sweet desire
Are fix'd upon my thought.
4 Ye nightingales! ye twisting pines!
Ye swains that haunt the grove !
Ye gentle echoes! breezy winds!
Ye close retreats of love!
5 With all of Nature, all of Art,
Assist the dear design;
Oh teach a young, unpractised heart
To make my Nancy mine.
6 The very thought of change I hate,
As much as of despair ;
Nor ever covet to be great,
Unless it be for her.
7 'Tis true, the passion in my mind
Is mix'd with soft distress;
Yet while the fair I love is kind,
I cannot wish it less.
WHEN Spring came on with fresh delight,
To cheer the soul, and charm the sight,
While easy breezes, softer rain,
And warmer suns salute the plain;
"Twas then, in yonder piny grove,
That Nature went to meet with Love.
Green was her robe, and green her wreath, 7 Where'er she trod, 'twas green beneath;
Where'er she turn'd, the pulses beat
With new recruits of genial heat;
And in her train the birds appear,
To match for all the coming year.
Raised on a bank, where daisies grew,
And violets intermix'd a blue,
She finds the boy she went to find;
A thousand pleasures wait behind,
Aside a thousand arrows lie,
But all, unfeather'd, wait to fly.
When they met, the dame and boy,
Dancing graces, idle joy,
Wanton smiles, and airy play,
Conspired to make the scene be gay;
Love pair'd the birds through all the grove,
And Nature bid them sing to Love,
Sitting, hopping, fluttering sing,
And pay their tribute from the wing,
To fledge the shafts that idly lie,
And, yet unfeather'd, wait to fly.
'Tis thus, when Spring renews the blood,
They meet in every trembling wood,
And thrice they make the plumes agree,
And every dart they mount with three,
And every dart can boast a kind,
Which suits each proper turn of mind.
From the towering eagle's plume
The generous hearts accept their doom;
Shot by the peacock's painted eye
The vain and airy lovers die :
For careful dames and frugal men,
The shafts are speckled by the hen :
The pies and parrots deck the darts,
When prattling wins the panting hearts:
When from the voice the passions spring,
The warbling finch affords a wing:
Together, by the sparrow stung,
Down fall the wanton and the young:
And fledged by geese the weapons fly,
When others love they know not why.
All this (as late I chanced to rove)
I learn'd in yonder waving grove.
And see, says Love, who call'd me near,
How much I deal with Nature here;
How both support a proper part,
She gives the feather, I the dart :
Then cease for souls averse to sigh,
If Nature cross ye, so do I;
My weapon there unfeather'd flies,
And shakes and shuffles through the skies.
But if the mutual charms I find
By which she links you, mind to mind,
They wing my shafts, I poise the darts,
And strike from both, through both your hearts.
1 Gay Bacchus liking Estcourt's wine,
A noble meal bespoke us;
And for the guests that were to dine,
Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus.
1 Estcourt:' Dick, a comedian and keeper of the Bumper Tavern-a companion of Addison, Steele, and the rest.
2 The god near Cupid drew his chair,
Near Comus, Jocus placed;
For wine makes Love forget its care,
And Mirth exalts a feast.
3 The more to please the sprightly god,
Each sweet engaging Grace
Put on some clothes to come abroad,
And took a waiter's place.
4 Then Cupid named at every glass A lady of the sky;
While Bacchus swore he 'd drink the lass, And did it bumper-high.
5 Fat Comus toss'd his brimmers o'er,
And always got the most;
Jocus took care to fill him more,
Whene'er he miss'd the toast.
6 They call'd, and drank at every touch;
He fill'd, and drank again;
And if the gods can take too much,
'Tis said they did so then.
7 Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung,
By reckoning his deceits;
And Cupid mock'd his stammering tongue,
With all his staggering gaits:
8 And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways,
And tales without a jest ;
While Comus call'd his witty plays
But waggeries at best.
9 Such talk soon set 'em all at odds;
And, had I Homer's pen,
I'd sing ye, how they drank like gods,
And how they fought like men.
10 To part the fray, the Graces fly,
Who make 'em soon agree;
Nay, had the Furies selves been nigh,
They still were three to three.
11 Bacchus appeased, raised Cupid up,
And gave him back his bow;
But kept some darts to stir the cup
Where sack and sugar flow.
12 Jocus took Comus' rosy crown,
And gaily wore the prize,
And thrice, in mirth, he push'd him down,
As thrice he strove to rise.
13 Then Cupid sought the myrtle grove,
Where Venus did recline ;
And Venus close embracing Love,
They join'd to rail at wine.
14 And Comus loudly cursing wit,
Roll'd off to some retreat,
Where boon companions gravely sit
In fat unwieldy state.
15 Bacchus and Jocus, still behind,
For one fresh glass prepare;
They kiss, and are exceeding kind,
And vow to be sincere.
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