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Woods and groves are of thy dressing,

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

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WHAT

ON SHAKESPEAR. 1630.
HAT needs my Shakespear for his honor'd

bones
The labor of an age in piled stones,
Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid,
Under a star-ypointing pyramid ?
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,

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What need'st thou fuch weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a live-long monument.
For whilst to th’ shame of flow-endevoring art
Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book
Those Delphic lines with deep impression took,
Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving,
Dost make us marble with too much conceiving;
And so fepulcher'd in such

pomp
doft lie,

IS That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.

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ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER.

.99

XI.
On the UNIVERSITY CARRIER ;
Who ficken'd in the time of his vacancy, being forbid

to go to London, by reason of the plague.
HER
TERE lies old Hobson ; Death hath broke his girt,

And here, alas, hath laid him in the dirt,
Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one,
He's here stuck in a llough, and overthrown.
'Twas such a shifter, that if truth were known, 5
Death was half glad when he had got him down;
For he had any time this ten years full
Dodg’d with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull.
And surely death could never have prevail'd,
Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd;
But lately finding him so long at home,
And thinking now his journey's end was come,
And that he had ta’en up his latest inn,
In the kind office of a chamberlin
Show'd him his room where he must lodge that night,
Pull’d off his boots, and took away the light:
If any ask for him, it shall be said,
Hobson has supt, and 's newly gone to bed.

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XII.

Another on the fame.

,

That he could never die while he could move;
So hung his destiny, never to rot
While he might ftill jog on and keep his trọt,

Made

H 2

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Made of sphere-metal, never to decay

5 Until his revolution was at stay. Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime 'Gainst old truth) motion number'd out his time: And, like an engin mov'd with wheel and weight, His principles being ceas'd, he ended strait. Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death, And too niuch breathing put him out of breath; Nor were it contradiction to affirm Too long vacation hasten d on his term. Merely to drive the time away he ficken'd,

15 Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quicken'd; Nay, quoth he, on his swooning bed out-stretch'd, If I mayn't carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetch'd, But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers, For one carrier put down to make fix bearers. Ease was his chief disease, and to judge right, He dy'd for heaviness that his cart went light: His leisure told him that his time was come, And lack of load made his life burdensome, That ev’n to his last breath (there be that say't) 25 As he were press’d to death, he cry'd, More weight! But had his doings lasted as they were, He had been an immortal carrier, Obedient to the moon he spent his date In course reciprocal, and had his fate Link'd to the mutual flowing of the seas, Yet (ftrange to think) his wain was his increase : His letters are deliver'd all and gone, Only remains this superscription.

L'ALLEGRO.

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XIII.

L'ALLEGRO.

H

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ENCE, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and fights unholy, Find out some uncouth cell,

5 Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven fings;

There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks, As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell,
But come, thou Goddess fair and free,
In Heav'n ycleap'd Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore ;
Or whether (as some sages sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying,
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew,
Fillid her with thee a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee

25 Jest and youthful Jollity,

Quips

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Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honor due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spite of forrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine :
While the cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before :
Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Chearly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of fome hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing thrill;

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