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Thrice sacred Powers! (if sacred Powers there be
Whose milde aspect engyrland Poesie)
Yee happy Sisters of the learned Spring,
Whose heauenly notes the Woods are rauishing!
Braue Thespian Maidens, at whose charming layes
Each Mosse-thrumb'd Mountaine bends, each Current playes!
Piërian Singers! O yee blessed Muses!
Who as a Iem too deare the world refuses!
Whose truest louers neuer clip with age,
O be propitious in my Pilgrimage!
Dwell on my lines! and till the last sand fall,
Run hand in hand with my weake Pastorall!
Cause euery coupling cadence flow in blisses,
And fill the world with enuy of such kisses.
Make all the rarest Beauties of our Clyme,
That deigne a sweet looke on my younger ryme,
To linger on each lines inticing graces,
As on their Louers lips and chaste imbraces!