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Come, gentle Eve, the friend of care,
Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night! Refresh me with a cooling breeze,
And cheer me with a lambent light. Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground
Her living carpet Nature spreads; Where the green bower, with roses crown'd,
In showers its fragrant foliage shedsa Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let mufick die along the grove ; Around the bowl let myrtles twine,
And every strain be tun'd to love. Come, Stella, queen of all my heart !
Come, born to fill its vast desires! Thy looks perpetual joys impart,
Thy voice perpetual love inspires. Whilst all my with and thine complete,
By turns we languish and we burn, Let fighing gales our sighs repeat,
Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return. Let me when nature calls to rest,
And blushing skies the morn foretell, Sink on the down of Stella's breast,
And bid the waking world farewell.
AN O D E. LAS! with swift and filent pace, Α'
Impatient time rolls on the year; The seasons change, and nature's face
Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe.
SCEN E XIII.
HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA.
MUSTAPHA TO MUR Z A.
MUST A PH A.
So fure the fall of greatness rais’d on crimes !
When haughty guilt exults with impious joy,
ARRY a Turk! a haughty, tyrant king !
Who thinks us women born to dress and fing To please his fancy !—see no other man ! Let him persuade me to it—if he can: Besides, he has fifty wives; and who can bear To have the fiftieth part her paltry share ?
'Tis true, the fellow 's handsome, strait, and tall; But how the devil should he please us all ! My swain is little-true-but, be it known, My pride's to have that little all my own. Men will be ever to their errors blind, Where woman's not allow'd to speak her mind I swear this Eastern pageantry is nonsense, And for one man-one wife's enough of conscience.
In vain proud man usurps what 's woman's due; For us alone, they honour's paths pursue : Inspir'd by us, they glory's heights ascend; Woman the source, the object, and the end. Tho' wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they receive, These all are trifles to what we can give. For us the statesman labours, hero fights, Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedious nights ; And, when blest peace has filenc'd war's alarıns, Receives his full reward in beauty's arms.
P R O L OG U E,
Before the MASQUE of COMUS.
Milton's Grand-Daughter *.
E patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame,
Whose gen’rous zeal, unbought by Aatt'ring rhymes,
At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
* See Vol. IX. p. 150.