And Comus loudly curfing Wit,

Roll'd off to fome Retreat,

Where boon Companions gravely fit
In fat unweildy State.

Bacchus and focus, ftill behind,

For one fresh Glass prepare;

They kifs, and are exceeding kind,
And vow to be fincere.

But part in Time, whoever hear

This our inftructive Song;

For tho' fuch Friendships may be dear,

They can't continue long.

A

A

FAIRY TALE

IN THE

Ancient ENGLISH Style.

N Britain's Ifle and Arthur's days,

When Midnight Faeries daunc'd the Maze,

Liv'd Edwin of the Green;

Edwin, I wis, a gentle Youth,

Endow'd with Courage, Sense and Truth,
Tho' badly fhap'd he been.

His Mountain Back mote well be faid
To measure heigth against his Head,

And lift it self above:

Yet

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, Cou'd Ladies look within ;

But one Sir Topaz drefs'd with Art, And, if a Shape cou'd win a Heart, He had a Shape to win.

Edwin (if right I read my Song)
With flighted Paffion pac'd along
All in the Moony Light :

'Twas near an old enchaunted Court,

Where sportive Faeries made Resort

To revel out the Night.

His Heart was drear, his Hope was crofs'd,

"Twas late, 'twas farr, the Path was loft

That reach'd the Neighbour-Town ;

With weary Steps he quits the Shades,
Refolv'd the darkling Dome he treads,
And drops his Limbs adown.

But scant he lays him on the Floor,
When hollow Winds remove the Door,
A Trembling rocks the Ground:
And (well I ween to count aright)
At once an hundred Tapers light

On all the Walls around.

Now founding Tongues affail his Ear,
Now founding Feet approachen near,

And now the Sounds encrease,

And

And from the Corner where he lay
He fees a Train profufely gay

Come pranckling o'er the Place.

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

Or half fo rich before;

The Country lent the fweet Perfumes, The Sea the Pearl, the Sky the Plumes, The Town its filken Store.

Now whilst he gaz'd, a Gallant drest
In flaunting Robes above the reft,

With awfull Accent cry'd ;

What Mortall of a wretched Mind,
Whofe Sighs infect the balmy Wind,

Has here prefum'd to hide?