And Pleasure's porter was devis'd to be,
Holding a ftaffe in hand for more formalities

Thus being entred, they behold around

A large and fpatious plaine on ev'ry fide

Strow'd with pleasaunce, 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 Of niggard Nature, like a pompous bride,

Did deck her, and too lavishly adorne,

When forth from virgin bowre fhe comes in th' early

morne.

Thereto the heavens alway joviall,

Lookt on them lovely, ftill in ftedfast state,

Ne fuffer'd florme nor froft on them to fall,

Their tender buds or leaves to violate,

Nor fcorching heat, nor cold intemperate,

T'affli&t the creatures which therein did dwell ;

But the milde air with feafon moderate

Gently attempted and difpos'd fo well,

That fill it breathed forth sweet spirit and whole fome fmell,

More fweet and wholesome than the pleasant hill

Of Rhodope, on which the nymph that bore
A giant-babe, her felfe for griefe did kill;
Or the Theffalian Tempe, where of yore

Faire

Faire Daphne Phæbus' heart with love did gore,
Or Ida, where the Gods lov'd to repaire,
When-ever they their heavenly bowres forlore;
Or fweet Parnaffe, the haunt of muses faire ;
Or Eden, if that aught with Eden mote compare.

Till that he came unto another gate,

No gate, but like one, being goodly dight

With boughes and branches, which did broad dilate

Their clasping armes, in wanton wreathings intricate.
So fashioned a porch with rare divife,
Archt over head with an embracing vine,

Whose bunches hanging downe, feem'd to entice
All paffers by to tafte their lufhious wine,
And did themselves into their hands incline,
As freely offering to be gathered:

Some deep empurpled as the hyacint,

Some as the rubine, laughing sweetly red,
Some like faire emerauldes not yet ripened,

And them amongft, fome were of burnifht gold,
So made by art, to beautifie the rest,

Which did themselves emongst the leaves enfold,
As lurking from the view of covetous gueft,
That the weak boughes, with fo rich load oppreft,
Did bow adown as over-burthened.

There the most dainty paradife on

It felf doth offer to his fober eye,

ground,

In which all pleafures plentioufly abound, And none does other happiness envie :

The

The painted flowres, the trees upfhooting hie.
The dales for fhade, the hills for breathing place,
The trembling groves, the cryftall running by;
And that which all fair works doth most aggrace,
The art which wrought it all appeared in no place..

One would have thought (fo cunningly the rude-
And fcorned parts were mingled with the fine);
That Nature had for wantonnefs enfude.
Art, and that Art at Nature did repine;
So ftriveing each the other to undermine,
Each did the other's worke more beautify:
So differing both in willes, agreed in fine:
So all agreed through sweet diversitie,
This garden to adorne with all varietie..

And in the midft of all, a fountaine flood,
Of richest fubftance that on earth might be,
So pure and shiny, that the filver flood
Through every channel running, one might see ;
Moft goodly it with pure imageree

Was over-wrought, and fhapes of naked boyes,
Of which some seem'd with lively jollitee

To fly about, playing their wanton toyes,

Whiles others did themselves embay in liquid joyes..

And over all, of pureft gold, was fpred.

A trayle of ivie in its native hew:

For the rich metall was fo coloured,

That wight that did not well advifed view,

Would

Would furely deem it to be ivie true :
Lowe his lafcivious armes adowne did creep,
That themfelves dipping in the filver dew,
Their fleecie flowres they tenderly did steepe,
Which drops of cryftall feem'd for wantonnefs to
weépe.

Infinite freames continually did well
Out of this fountaine, fweet and fair to fee,
The which into an ample laver fell,

And shortly grew to fo great quantitie,
That like a little lake it feem'd to bee:

Whofe depth exceeded not three cubits height,
That through the waves one might the bottom fee,
All pav'd beneath with jafper fhining bright
That feem'd the fountaine in that fea did fayle upright
And all the margent round about was fet

With fhady lawrell-trees, thence to defend

Tho funny beames, which on the billows bet, And those which therein bathed, mote offend.

Epifile

P.

Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, being the Prologue to

SHUT,

HUT, fhut the door, good John! fatigued I faid,
Tye up the knocker; fay I'm fick, I'm dead.

The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,

All Bedlam, or Parnaffus is let out:

Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide ?
They pierce my thickets, thro' my grot they glide;
By land, by water, they renew the charge;
They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.
No place is facred, not the Church is free,
'E'en Sunday fhines no Sabbath-day to me:
Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme,
Happy! to catch me juft at Dinner-time.

Is there a Parfon, much bemus'd in beer,
A maudlin Poetefs, a rhyming Peer,

A Clerk, foredoom'd his father's foul to cross,
Who pens a Stanza when he should engrofs?
Is there, who, lock'd from ink and paper, fcrawls
With defp'rate charcoal round his darken'd walls P
All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble ftrain
Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.

Arthur, whofe giddy fon neglects the laws,
Imputes to me and my danin'd works the caufe:

Poor