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TIMOLUS.

'Tis well remark'd, and on experience founded. I do remember that my fister Ida

(Whenas on her own shadowy mount we met,
To celebrate the birth-day of the Spring,
And th' orgies of the May) wou'd oft recount
The rage of the indignant goddeffes,
When fhepherd Paris to the Cyprian queen,
With hand obfequious gave the golden toy.

Heav'n's queen, the fister and the wife of Jove,
Rag'd like a feeble mortal; fall'n fhe feem'd,
Her deity in human passions loft :
Ev'n Wisdom's goddess, jealous of her form,
Deem'd her own attribute her fecond virtue.
Both vow'd and fought revenge.

AGNO.

If fuch the fate

Of him who judg'd aright, what must be his
Who shall mistake the cause? for much I doubt

The skill of Midas, fince his fatal wish :

Which Bacchus heard, and curs'd him with the gift.
Yet grant him wife, to err is human ftill,

And mortal is the confequence.

MELINOE.

Most true.

Besides, I fear him partial; for with Pan

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He tends the sheep-walks all the live-long day,
And on the braky lawn to the fhrill pipe
In aukward gambols he affects to dance,
Or tumbles to the tabor---'tis not likely
That fuch an umpire fhou'd be equitable,
Unless he guess at justice.

TIMOLUS.

Soft---no more---

'Tis ours to wifh for Pan, and fear from Phœbus,
Whofe near approach I hear: Ye ftately cedars
Forth from your fummits bow your awful heads,
And reverence the gods. Let my whole mountain tremble,
Not with a fearful, but religious awe,

And holiness of horror. You, ye winds,

That make soft, folemn mufic 'mongst the leaves,

Be all to ftillnefs hufh'd; and thou their echo
Liften, and hold thy peace; for fee they come.

SCENE opens, and difcovers Apollo, attended by
Clio and Melpomene, on the right hand of Midas,
and Pan on the left, whom Timolus, with Agno and
Melinoe, join.

MIDAS.

Begin, celeftial candidates for praise,

Begin the tuneful conteft: I, mean while,

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With heedful notice and attention meet,

Will weigh your merits, and decide your cause.

APOLLO.

From Jove begin the rapturous fong,
To him our earliest lays belong,

We are his offspring all;

'Twas he, whofe looks fupremely bright,
Smil'd darkfome chaos into light,

And fram'd this glorious ball.

PAN.

Sylvanus, in his shadowy grove,
The feat of rural peace and love,
Attends my Doric lays;

By th' altar on the myrtle mount,

Where plays the wood-nymph's favourite fount,
I'll celebrate his praise.

CLIO.

Parnaffus, where's thy boasted height,

Where, Pegasus, thy fire and flight,

Where all your thoughts fo bold and free,
Ye daughters of Mnemofyne ?

If Pan o'er Phoebus can prevail,

And the great god of verfe fhou'd fail?

AGNO.

From nature's works, and nature's laws,

We find delight, and feek applaufe;

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The prattling streams and zephyrs bland,'
And fragrant flow'rs by zephyrs fann'd,
The level lawns and buxom bow'rs,
Speak Nature and her works are ours.
MELPOMENE.

What were all your fragrant bow'rs,
Splendid days, and happy hours,
Spring's verdant robe, fair Flora's blush,
And all the poets of the bush ?
What the paintings of the grove,
Rural mufic, mirth and love?
Life and ev'ry joy wou'd pall,
If Phœbus fhone not on you all.
MELINOE.

We chant to Phœbus, king of day,
The morning and the evening lay.
But Pan, each fatyre, nymph and fawn,
Adore as laureat of the lawn;

From peevish March to joyous June

He keeps our restless fouls in tune,
Without his oaten reed and fong,

Phoebus, thy days wou'd feem too long..
APOLLO.

Am I not he, who prefcious from on high,
Sends a long look thro' all futurity?
Am I not he, to whom alone belong
The powers of Med'cine, Melody and Song?

Diffufely

Diffufely lib'ral, as divinely bright,

Eye of the universe and fire of light.

PAN.

O'er cots and vales, and every fhepherd fwain,
Inpeaceable pre-eminence I reign;

With pipe on plain, and nymph in fecret grove,
The day is music, and the night is love.

I bleft with these, nor envy nor defire

Thy gaudy chariot, or thy golden lyre.

CLIO.

Soon as the dawn difpels the dark,
Illuftrious Phœbus 'gins t' appear,
Proclaimed by the herald lark,

And ever-wakeful chanticleer,
The Perfian pays his morning vow,
And all the turban'd eafterns bow.
AGNO.

Soon as the evening fhades advance,
And the gilt glow-worn glitters fair,
For ruftic gambol, gibe and dance,
Fawns, nymphs and dryads all prepare,
Pan fhall his fwains from toil relieve,
And rule the revels of the eve.

MELPOMENE.

In numbers as fmooth as Callirhoe's stream,

Glide the filver-ton'd verfe when Apollo's the theme;

While

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