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Now such as the beast was, even such was the rider,
ST WINIFRED'S WELL.
FROM THE SAME.
O’Er hills and o'er valleys uncouth and uneven,
her daughter ; Of which to saint Win, ere my vows I had paid, They said I should find a rare fricassée made.
JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER.
BORN 1630-DIED 1680.
NOTHING! thou elder brother ev'n to Shade,
Ere Time and Place were, Time and Place were
not, When primitive Nothing, Something straight be.
got, Then all proceeded from the great united—What.
Something, the general attribute of all,
Yet Something did thy mighty power command,
Matter, the wicked'st offspring of thy race,
With Form and Matter, Time and Place did join,
But turn-coat Time assists the foe in vain,
Though mysteries are barr’d from laic eyes,
Yet this of thee the wise may freely say,
Great Negative ! how vainly would the wise
Is, or is not, the two great ends of Fate,
When they have rack'd the politician's breast,
But Nothing, why does Something still permit,
Whilst weighty Something modestly abstains From princes' coffers, and from statemen's brains, And nothing there like stately Nothing reigns.
Nothing, who dwell'st with fools in grave disguise, For whom they reverend shapes and forms devise, Lawn sleeves, and furs, and gowns, when they
like thee look wise.
French truth, Dutch prowess, British policy,
The great man's gratitude to his best friend, Kings' promises, whores' vows, towards thee they
bend, Flow swiftly into thee, and in thee ever end.
CYMON AND IPHIGENIA. In that sweet isle where Venus keeps her court, And every Grace, and all the Loves, resort ; Where either sex is form’d of softer earth, And takes the bent of pleasure from her birth; There lived a Cyprian lord, above the rest Wise, wealthy, with a numerous issue bless'd.
But as no gift of fortune is sincere, Was only wanting in a worthy heir ; His eldest born, a goodly youth to view, Excell’d the rest in shape and outward shew ;
Fair, tall, his limbs with due proportion join’d,
His father, when he found his labour lost, And care employ'd that answer'd not the cost, Chose an ungrateful object to remove, And loath'd to see what nature made him love; So to his country farm the fool confined ; Rude work well suited with a rustic mind. Thus to the wilds the sturdy Cymon went, A squire among the swains, and pleased with
banishment. His corn and cattle were his only care, And his supreme delight, a country fair.
It happen'd on a summer's holiday, That to the green-wood shade he took his way ; For Cymon shunn'd the church, and used not
much to pray.