ODE XLIII.
[Walke noe more in those Sweet Shades]
1
Walke noe more in those Sweet Shades,
Where Roses canopie your Heads;
And the fragrant violet spreads,
A purple Tapistrie;
Where all the Qvire had wont to Sing
Their earlie notes; and everie thing
Was pleasure to entrance a King,
Beyond his Destinie.
Ah! now noe more,
Frequent those Shades, you knew or loved before.
2
Goe to the horrid vale of Care,
And tread the Maze of your owne Feare;
There grow noe Bayes nor mirtles there,
But the Sad dismall Yeiugh.
Day birds are banishéd this grove,
The monstrous Batt alone doth rove;
And the dire Screich-owle, percht above
Your over-clouded Brow;
Shall make you Sad
Beyond the Cause of Sorrow which you had.
3
There, horrid Croakings sound; and sad
Accents of Death,—vntimelie made,—
Rend humane Eares; oh! Dismall Shade,
Why am I curst to Chuse
In thy Sad Alleyes to weare out
My Youth? in all my Ioyes forgot.
To thy vnhappie walkes I brought
A more vnhappie Muse;
But a Muse fitt
To ioyne with thy Inhabitants, and Sitt
4
Vpon the Bankes of thy Sad Poole,
Where Frogs and loathsome Toads doe houle;
Where all their Spaune, with yellings foule,
Fill the corrupted Ayre.
To these, my Accents well may Suite;
My harsher grones will strike 'em mute;
And teach 'em to draw ruder out,
Deeper, and worse by farre;
For they are free
Of that ranke venome which imposthumes Mee.
5
With these, then, will I ioyne my verse;
And everie Accent vnto theirs
Shall double grones. Let me reherse
Noe more the tunéd Lay,
To liveing waters; bid Farewell
To all the Silver birds, which dwell
Vpon their Streams: and never tell
Of my owne Devia.
Farewell to all
Wee Ioy, or Peace, or Light, or Pleasure call.
