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And Pleasure's porter was devis’d to be,
Thus being entred, they behold around
Strow'd with pleafaunce, whose faire graffie ground Mantled with green, and goodly beatifide With all the ornaments of Floraes pride,
Wherewith her mother Art, as half in scorne
Did deck her, and 100 lavishly adorne,
Thereto the heavens alway joviall,
Ne suffer'd florme nor frost on them to fall,
T'affli&t the creatures which therein did dwell;
Gently attempred and dispos’d so well,
A giant-babe, her selfe for griefe did kill; Or the Theffalian Tempe, where of yore
Faire Daphne Phæbus' heart with love did gore,
Or Ida, where the Gods lov’d to repaire,
Or sweet Parnasse, the haunt of muses faire ;
With boughes and branches, which did broad dilate Their clafping armes, in wanton wreathings intricate,
So fashioned a porch with rare divise,
Whose bunches hanging downe, seem'd to entice
As freely offering to be gathered :
Some as the rubine, laughing sweetly red,
And them amongst, some were of burnicht gold,
Which did themselves emongst the leaves enfold,
Did bow adown as over-burthened.
There the most dainty paradise on ground, It self doth offer to his sober eye,
In which all pleasures plentioufly abound, And none does other happiness envie :
The painted flowres, the trees upshooting hie.
The dales for shade, the hills for breathing place;
aggrace, The art which wrought it all appeared in no places.
One would have thought (fo cunningly the rude And scorned parts were mingled with the fine)
That Nature had for wantonness ensude. Art, and that Art at Nature did repine ; So ftriveing each the other to undermine,
Each did the other's worke more beautify :
So all agreed through sweet diversitie,
And in the midst of all, a fountaine stood, Of richest fubstance that on earth might be, So
pure and shiny, that the silver flood Through every channel running, one might see ; Moft goodly it with pure imageree
Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes,
To fly about, playing their wanton toy.es,
And over all, of purest gold, was spred. A tray le of ivie in its native hew :
For the rich metall was so coloured, That wight that did not well advised view,
Would surely deem it to be ivie true :
Lowe his lascivious armes adowne did creepg
Their sleccie flowres they tenderly did steepe,
Infinite freames continually did well
The which into an ample laver fell,
Whofe depth exceeded not three cubits height,
All pav'd beneath with jasper shining bright
And all the margent round about was set
Tho funny beames, which on the billows bet, And those which therein bathed, mote offend.
Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, being the Prologue to
P. HUT, shut the door, good John ! fatigued I said,
Tye up the knocker ; say I'm fick, I'm dead.
What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide ?
Is there a Parson, much bemus’d in beer,
Stanza when he should engrofs ?