Mortals that would follow me, Love Virtue, fhe alone is free, She can teach you how to climb Higher than the sphery chime; Or if Virtue feeble were, Heav'n itself would ftoop to her. 1020 XVII. LY CI XVII. LYCI DA S. In this monody the author bewails a learned friend *, unfortunately drown'd in his paffage from Chester on the Irish feas, 1637, and by occafion foretels the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their highth. Y ET once more, O ye Laurels, and once more Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 10 Begin then, Sifters of the facred well, 15 That from beneath the feat of Jove doth spring, * Mr. Edward King, fon of Sir John King Secretary for Ireland, a fellow-collegian and intimate friend of our author. Hence Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse, So may fome gentle Muse With lucky words favor my deftin'd urn, And bid fair peace be to my fable shroud. 20 25 30 Tow'ard Heav'n's defcent had flop'd his weftering wheel. Mean while the rural ditties were not mute, Temper'd to the oaten flute, Rough Satyrs danc'd, and Fauns with cloven heel But O the heavy change, now thou art gone, 35 Now thou art gone, and never must return! The willows, and the hazel copfes green, Shall now no more be seen, Fanning their joyous leaves to thy foft lays. As killing as the canker to the rofe, 45 Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or gay Or froft to flowers, that their wardrobe wear, Such, Lycidas, thy lofs to fhepherds' ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Clos'd o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard stream: Had ye been there, for what could that have done? When by the rout that made the hideous roar, 55 60 65 And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done, as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the fhade, Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spi’rit doth raise M ༡༠ 75 Fame Fame is no plant that grows on mortal foil, Set off to th' world, nor in broad rumor lies, Of fo much fame in Heav'n expect thy meed. O fountain Arethufe, and thou honor'd flood, 85 Smooth-fliding Mincius, crown'd with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood: But now my oat proceeds, And liftens to the herald of the fea That came in Neptune's plea; He afk'd the waves, and afk'd the fellon winds, And fage Hippotades their answer brings, Built in th' eclipfe, and rigg'd with curfes dark, 90 95 100 Next Camus, reverend fire, went footing flow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet fedge, Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that fanguin flower infcrib'd with woe. Ah! who hath reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge? Laft came, and lạft did go, 105 The |