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Though all the pomp that glitters at his fide,
The golden belt, the clafp and quiver hide;
And though the torch appear a gleam of white,
That faintly fpots, and moves in hazy night,
Yet ftill they know the god, the general foe,
And threatning lift their airy hands below.
From hence they lead him where a myrtle food,
The faddeft myrtle in the mournful wood;
Devote to vex the gods, 'twas here before
Hell's awful Emprefs foft Adonis bore.
When the young hunter fcorn'd her graver air,
And only Venus warm'd his fhadow there.

Fix'd to the trunk the tender boy they bind,
They cord his feet beneath, his hands behind;
He mourns, but vainly mourns his angry fate,
For Beauty, ftill relentless, acts in hate.
Though no offence be done, no judge be nigh,
Love must be guilty by the common cry;
For all'are pleas'd, by partial Paffion led,
To fhift their follies on another's head.

Now fharp reproaches ring their fhrill alarms,
And all the heroines brandish all their arms;
heroine makes it her decree,
That Cupid fuffer juft the fame as the.

To fix the defperate halter one effay'd,

One feeks to wound him with an empty blade.
Some headlong hang the nodding rocks of air,
They fall in fancy, and he feels defpair.
Some tofs the hollow feas around his head

The feas that want a wave afford a dread).


Or shake the torch, the fparkling fury flies,
And flames that never burn'd afflict his eyes.

The mournful Myrrha burfts her rended womb,
And drowns his vifage in a moist perfume.
While others, feeming mild, advise to wound
With humorous pains by fly derifion found.
That prickling bodkins teach the blood to flow,
From whence the rofes firft begin to glow;
Or in their flames, to finge the boy prepare,
That all fhould chufe by wanton Fancy where.
The lovely Venus, with a bleeding breast,
She too fecurely through the circle preft,
Forgot the parent, urg'd his hafty fate,
And fpurr'd the female rage beyond debate;
O'er all her scenes of frailty swiftly runs,

Abfolves herself, and makes the crime her fon's,
That clafp'd in chains with Mars the chanc'd to lie,
A noted fable of the laughing sky;

That, from her love's intemperate heat,, began
Sicanian Eryx, born a favage man;

The loose Priapus, and the monfter-wight,
In whom the fexes shamefully unite.

Nor words fuffice the Goddess of the Fair,
She fnaps the rofy wreath that binds her hair;
Then on the God, who fear'd a fiercer woe,
Her hands, unpitying, dealt the frequent blow :
From all his tender skin a purple dew
The dreadful fcourges of the chaplet drew,
From whence the rofe, by Cupid ting'd before,
Now, doubly tinging, flames with luftre more.


Here ends their wrath, the parent seems severe,
The ftroke's unfit for little Love to bear;
To fave their foe the melting Beauties fly,
And, cruel Mother, fpare thy child, they cry.
To Love's account they plac'd their death of late,
And now transfer the fad account to Fate:

The Mother, pleas'd, beheld the ftorm affwage,
Thank'd the calm mourners, and difmifs'd her rage.
Thus Fancy, once in dufky fhade exprefs'd,
With empty terrors work'd the time of reft,
Where wretched Love endur'd a world of woe,
For all a Winter's length of night below.
'Then foar'd, as fleep diffolv'd, unchain'd away,
And through the Port of Ivory reach'd the day.
As, mindless of their rage, he slowly fails
On pinions cumber'd in the mifty vales;
(Ah, fool to light!) the Nymphs no more obey,
Nor was this region ever his to sway :

Caft in a deepen'd ring they close the plain,
And feize the god, reluctant all in vain.


WHERE waving pines the brows of Ida fhade,

The swain, young Paris, half supinely laid, Saw the loofe flocks through fhrubs unnumber'd rove, And, piping, call'd them to the gladded grove.

'Twas there he met the meffage of the skies,

That he, the Judge of Beauty, deal the prize. The meflage known; one Love with anxious mind To make his mother guard the time affign'd,


Drew forth her proud white fwans, and trac'd the pair
That wheel her chariot in the purple air:
A golden bow behind his fhoulder bends,
A golden quiver at his fide depends;
Pointing to these he nods, with fearless state,
And bids her fafely meet the grand debate.
Another Love proceeds, with anxious care,
To make his ivory fleek the fhining hair;
Moves the loose curls, and bids the forehead fhow,
In full expansion, all its native fnow.

A third enclafps the many-colour'd ceft,
And, rul'd by Fancy, fets the filver vest;
When, to her fons, with intermingled fighs,
The Goddefs of the rofy lips applies.

'Tis now, my darling boys, a time to show
The love you feel, the filial aids you owe:
Yet, would we think that any dar'd to strive
For charms, when Venus and her Love 's alive?
Or fhould the prize of Beauty be deny'd,
Has Beauty's Emprefs aught to boast beside ?
And, ting'd with poifon, pleafing while it harms,
My darts I trusted to your infant arms;

If, when your hands have arch'd the golden bow,
The World's great Ruler, bending, owns the blow,
Let no contending form invade my due,

Tall Juno's mien, nor Pallas eyes of blue.

But, grac'd with triumph, to the Paphian fhore
Your Venus-bears the palms of conqueft o'er;
And joyful fee my hundred altars there,
With coftly gums perfume the wanton air.



While thus the Cupids hear the Cyprian Dame,
The groves refounded where a Goddess came.
The warlike Pallas march'd with mighty ftride,
Her fhield forgot, her helmet laid afide.
Her hair unbound, in curls and order flow'd,
And Peace, or fomething like, her vifage fhew'd
So, with her eyes ferene, and hopeful hafte,
The long-ftretch'd alleys of the wood fhe trac'd
But, where the woods a fecond entrance found,
'With fcepter'd pomp and golden glory crown'd,
The ftately Juno ftalk'd, to reach the feat,
And hear the fentence in the last debate;
And long, feverely long, refent the grove;
In this, what boots it fhe 's the wife of Jove?
Armid with a grace at length, fecure to win,
The lovely Venus, fimiling, enters in ;

All fweet and fhining, near the youth fhe drew,
Her rofy neck ambrofial odours threw ;
The facred fcents diffus'd among the leaves,
Ran down the woods, and fill'd their hoary caves;
The charms, fo amorous all, and each fo great,
The conquer'd Judge no longer keeps his feat;
Opprefs'd with light, he drops his weary'd eyes,
And fears he should be thought to doubt the prize.


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