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O! where the rofy-bofom'd Hours, Fair VENUS' train appear, Disclose the long-expecting flow'rs,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
The untaught harmony of Spring :
Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Where'er the oak's thick branches ftretch
A broader, browner fhade;
Where'er the rude and mofs-grown becch
O'er-canopies the glade :
Befide fome water's rufhy brink
With me the Muse shall fit, and think
O'ercanopy'd with lufcious woodbine.
Shakefp. Midf. Night's Dream.
(At eafe reclin'd ̧ in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the Crowd, How low, how little are the Proud, How indigent the Great!
Still is the toiling hand of Care :
And float amid the liquid noon
**" Nare per æftatem liquidam
Virgil. Georg. lib. 4.
fporting with quick glance Shew to the fun their wav'd coats dropt with gold. Milton's Paradife Loft, book 7.