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Nature and art in all their charms combin'd,
And all Elysium to one view confin'd!
No farther could imagination roam,

Till Vanbrook fram'd and Marlbro' rais'd the dome.
Ten thousand pangs my anxious bosom tear,
When drown'd in tears I see th' imploring fair;
When bards less soft the moving words supply,
A seeming justice dooms the nymph to die;
But here she begs, nor can she beg in vain,
(In dirges thus expiring swans complain)
Each verse so swells, expressive of her woes,
And ev'ry tear in lines so mournful flows;
We, spite of fame, her fate revers'd believe,
O'erlook her crimes, and think she ought to live.
Let joy transport fair Rosamonda's shade,
And wreaths of myrtle crown the lovely maid.
While now perhaps with Dido's ghost she roves,
And hears and tells the story of their loves,
Alike they mourn, alike they bless their fate,
Since love, which made them wretched, makes them

Nor longer that relentless doom bemoan,
Which gain'd a Virgil and an Addison.

Accept, great monarch of the British lays,
The tribute song a humble subject pays.
So tries the artless lark her early flight,
And soars to hail the god of verse and light.
Unrival'd as thy merit be thy fame,
And thy own laurels shade thy envy'd name:
Thy name, the boast of all the tuneful choir,
Shall tremble on the strings of ev'ry lyre;

While the charm'd reader with thy thought complies,
Feels corresponding joys or sorrows rise,
And views thy Rosamond with Henry's eyes.





SIR TRUSTY, Keeper of the Bower. PAGE.





GRIDELINE, Wife to Sir Trusty.

Guardian Angels, &c.


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WHAT place is here!
What scenes appear!
Where'er I turn my eyes,
All around

Enchanted ground

And soft Elysiums rise:

Flow'ry mountains,

Mossy fountains,

Shady woods,

Crystal floods,

With wild variety surprise.

"As o'er the hollow vaults we walk,
A hundred echoes round us talk:

From hill to hill the voice is tost,

Rocks rebounding,

Caves resounding,

Not a single word is lost."


There gentle Rosamond immured
Lives from the world and you secured.

* Alluding to the famous Echo in Woodstock Park.


Curse on the name! I faint, I die,
With secret pangs of jealousy-


There does the pensive beauty mourn,
And languish for her lord's return.



Death and confusion! I'm too slow— [Aside. Show me the happy mansion, show

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No more! the happy mansion show
That holds this lovely, guilty foe.
My wrath, like that of heav'n, shall rise,
And blast her in her paradise.


"Behold on yonder rising ground The bower that wanders

In meanders,

Ever bending,

Never ending,

Glades on glades,

Shades in shades,

Running an eternal round.


In such an endless maze I rove,
Lost in labyrinths of love.

My breast with hoarded vengeance burns,
While fear and rage

With hope engage,

And rule my wav'ring soul by turns.


The path yon verdant field divides,

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