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The divine property of her first being.
To a degenerate and degraded state.
Second Brother. How charming is divine Philosophy!
Not harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo's lute,
And a perpetual feast of nectar'd sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns.
List, list; I hear
Some far off holloo break the silent air.
Second Brother. Methought so too; what should
Either some one like us night-founder'd here,
Or else some neighbour woodman, or, at worst,
Second Brother. Heaven keep my Sister. Again, and near!
Best draw, and stand upon our guard.
I'll halloo :
If he be friendly, he comes well; if not,
Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us.
[Enter the ATTENDANT SPIRIT, habited like a
That halloo I should know; what are you? speak; Come not too near, you fall on iron stakes else. Spirit. What voice is that? my young Lord? speak again.
Second Brother. O Brother, 'tis my father's shepherd, sure,
Elder Brother. Thyrsis? Whose artful strains have oft delay'd
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal,
And sweeten'd every muskrose of the dale?
How cam'st thou here, good swain? hath any ram
As a stray'd ewe, or to pursue the stealth
Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth,
Elder Brother. To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without blame,
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came.
Spirit Ay me unhappy! then my fears are true.
Elder Brother. What fears, good Thyrsis? Pr'y
thee briefly shew.
Spirit. I'll tell ye; 'tis not vain or fabulous
(Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance,)
What the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse, Storied of old in high immortal verse,
Of dire chimeras, and enchanted isles,
And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell;
By sly enticement gives his baneful cup,
With many murmurs mix'd, whose pleasing poison
Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl,
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers.
Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells,
To inveigle and invite the unwary sense
Till Fancy had her fill; but, ere a close,
Still, to be so displac'd. I was all ear,
And took in strains that might create a soul
And, O poor hapless nightingale, thought I,
But further know I not.
O night, and shades!
How are ye join'd with Hell in triple knot
Yes, and keep it still;
Lean on it safely; not a period
Shall be unsaid for me: Against the threats
Of malice, or for sorcery, or that power
Which erring Men call Chance, this I hold firm ;Virtue may be assail'd, but never hurt,
Surpriz'd by unjust force, but not enthrall'd;
Yea, even that, which mischief meant most harm,