PROLOGUE.
Counts every victim for my bow too mean,
Except a courtier, or a King, or Queen;
And bids me send my scouts, my menial loves,
To skulk in cottages, and range in groves.
But though I'm playful, and of youthful mien
(Sure joyous love should in it's god be seen)
She shall not guide my province in her way;
I am a deity, I know my sway,
Know to my awful ensigns what I owe,
The torch omnipotent, the golden bow.
Except a courtier, or a King, or Queen;
And bids me send my scouts, my menial loves,
To skulk in cottages, and range in groves.
But though I'm playful, and of youthful mien
(Sure joyous love should in it's god be seen)
She shall not guide my province in her way;
I am a deity, I know my sway,
Know to my awful ensigns what I owe,
The torch omnipotent, the golden bow.
For this I often court the peaceful plain,
Nor can a mother's prayers my fight restrain;
Tired with a capital's parade, and noise,
I fly for refuge to Arcadia's joys:
There am I pleased to see plain nature live;
Olympus only purer sweets can give:
There do I visit undistorted life———
———No rank diseases, no chagrin, no strife;
There to extend my power, well-pleased I aim,
And shed a lambent, not a scorching flame;
There I can act upon my genuine plan,
And, like a god, promote the good of man.
Nor can a mother's prayers my fight restrain;
Tired with a capital's parade, and noise,
I fly for refuge to Arcadia's joys:
There am I pleased to see plain nature live;
Olympus only purer sweets can give:
There do I visit undistorted life———
———No rank diseases, no chagrin, no strife;
There to extend my power, well-pleased I aim,
And shed a lambent, not a scorching flame;
There I can act upon my genuine plan,
And, like a god, promote the good of man.
Thus when I chuse in person to maintain
O'er fields, and villages my peaceful reign;
My mother, ever bent on some great aim,
Too haughty to inspire a rural flame,
To call me to her aid, from paltry views,
The vagrant rebel oft in vain persues;
And promises to those who find her boy,
The rapturous kiss, or more extatic joy.
Mistaken Venus! is not mine the power,
As well as thine, to bless the tender hour?
O'er fields, and villages my peaceful reign;
My mother, ever bent on some great aim,
Too haughty to inspire a rural flame,
To call me to her aid, from paltry views,
The vagrant rebel oft in vain persues;
And promises to those who find her boy,
The rapturous kiss, or more extatic joy.
Mistaken Venus! is not mine the power,
As well as thine, to bless the tender hour?
To
