L Y C I D A S. 459 A (beep-hook, or have learn'd ought elfe the leaft 12o That to the faithful herdman's art belongs ! - 'What reeks it them! What need they ? They are fped ; And when they lilt, their lean and flaIlly longs Grate on their fcrannel pipes of wretched thaw ; The hungry fheep look up, and are not fed, 725 But fwoll'n with wind, and the rank mia they draw, Rot inwardly, and foul contagion fpread Beficies what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing 'aid, But that two-handed engine at the door 130 Stands ready to fmite once, and fmite no more. Return Alpheus, the dread voice is patt, That fbrunk thy fireams ; return Sicilian Mufe, And call the vales, and bid them hither caft Their bells, and flourets of a thoufand hues. 135 Ye valleys low, where the mild whilpers ufe Of fhades, and wanton winds, and guibing brooks, On whole frefh lap the fwart aar fparely looks, Throw hither all your quaint enamerd eyes, That on the green turf luck the honied (bowers, 140 And purple all the ground with vernal flowors. Bring the rathe prix that forfaken dies,. The tufted crow-toe, and pale jeffamine, The white pink, and the panfy freakt with jet, The glowing violet, 145 The mufk-role, and the well-attir'd woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the penfive head, And every flower that fad embroidery wears: Bid amarantus all his beauty (bed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, iso To firow the laureat herfe where Lycid lies. For fo to interpthe a little eafe, Let our frail thoughts daily with falfe furmife. Ay mel Whila thee the fhores, and founding feas Wafh )1
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