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M AS Q U E. Auriculas Afini Mida Rex habet. Juv.

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Timolus, Melince and Agno, two Wood-nymphs.


VEG NO, To-day we wear our acron crown,

SAS) The parsley wreath be thine ; it is moft meet
U S We grace the presence of these rival gods:
With all the honours of our woodland weeds.
Thine was the task, Melinoe, to prepare
The turf-built theatre, the boxen bow'r,
And all the sylvan scen’ry.


That task,
Sire of these shades, is done.' On yefter eve;
Aflifted by a thousand friendly fays,
While fav’ring Dian held her glitt’ring lamp,


We ply'd our nightly toils, nor ply'd we long,
For Art was not the mistress of our revels,
'Twas gentle Nature, whom we jointly woo’d;
She heard, and yielded to the forms we taught her,
Yet still remain’d herself.-----Simplicity,
Fair Nature's genuine daughter, was there too,
So foft, yet so magnificent of mien,
She shone all ornament without a gem.
The blithsome Flora, ever sweet and young,
Offer'd her various store : We culld a few
To robe, and recommend our darksome verdure,
But shund to be luxuriant.----


It was well.
Agno, thy looks are pensive: What dejects
Thy pleasure-painted aspect ? Sweetest nymph,
That ever trod the turf, or sought the shade,
Speak, nor conceal a thought.


King of the woods, I tremble for the royal arbiter. 'Tis hard to judge, whene'er the great contend, Sure to displease the vanquish’d: When such pow'rs Contest the laurel with such ardent strife, 'Tis not the sentence of fair equity, But 'tis their pleasure that is right or wrong.


'Tis well remark’d, and on experience founded.
I do remember that my sister Ida
(Whenas on her own shadowy mount we met,
To celebrate the birth-day of the Spring,
And th' orgies of the May) wou'd oft recount
The rage of the indignant goddesses,
When shepherd Paris to the Cyprian queen,
With hand obsequious gave the golden toy.
Heav'n's queen, the filter and the wife of Jove,
Rag'd like a feeble mortal; fall’n she seem'd,
Her deity in human passions loft :
Ev’n Wisdom's goddess, jealous of her form,
Deem'd her own attribute her second virtue.
Both vow'd and fought revenge.


If such the fate
Of him who judg'd aright, what must be his
Who shall mistake the cause? for much I doubt
The skill of Midas, since his fatal wish :
Which Bacchus heard, and curs’d him with the gift.
Yet grant him wise, to err is human still,
And mortal is the consequence.


Most true. Besides, I fear him partial; for with Pan



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