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A dragon's fiery form bely'd the God :
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode,

When he to fair Olympia press'd,
And stamp'd an image of himself, a sov’reign of the world.

The liftning crowd admire the lofty found;

A present deity they shout around,
A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound:

With ravish'd ears
The monarch hears,
Affumes the god,

Affeats to nod,
And seems to thake the spheres.

The praise of Bacchus then, the sweet musician sung &

Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young :
The jolly god in triumph comes;
Sound' the trumpets, beat the drums;
Flush'd with a purple grace

He shews his honeft face.
Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes !

Bacchus ever fair and young,
Drinking joys did first ordain :
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure;

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure;

Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain ;

Fought all his battles o'er again;
And thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he sew the Naine

The master saw the madness rise ; His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;


And while he heav'n and earth defy'd
Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.
He chose a mournful muse
Soft pity to infuse:
He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate,
Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n,
Fall'n from his high eftate,

And welt'ring in his blood :
Deserted at his utmost need,
By those his former bounty fed,
On the bare earth expos'd he lies,
With not a friend to close his eyes.

With downçast look the joyless victor fate,
Revolving in his alter'd soul
The various turns of fate below;
And now and then a figh he stole;
And tears began to flow,

The mighty master smil'd, to fee
That love was in the next degree:
'Twas but a kindred found to move ;
For pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet in Lydian measures,
Soon he footh'd his soul to pleasures.
War he sung is toil and trouble ;
Honour but an empty bubble;

Never ending, still beginning,
Fighting still, and still destroying:

If the world be worth thy winning,
Think, o, think it worth enjoying !

Lovely Thais fits befide thee,

Take the good the gods provide thee.
The many rend the skies with loud applause ;
So love was crown'd, but music won the cause,
The prince, unable to conceal his pain,

Gaz'd on the fair
Who caus'd his care,
And figh'd and look'd, figh'd and look d,

Sigh'd and look'd, and figh'd again;
At length, with love and wine at once opprefs’d,
The vanquish'd victor funk upon her breast.

Now strike the golden lyre again ;
And louder yet, and yet a louder strain,
Break his bands of sleep afunder,
And rouze him, like a rattling peal of thunder,

Hark, hark, the horrid found
Has rais'd up his head;
As awak'd from the dead,

And amaz'd, he staręs around.
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries,

See the furies arise,
See the snakes that they rear,

How they hiss in the air,
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghaftly band,

Each a torch in his hand,
Thefe are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were sain,

And unbury'd remain
Inglorious on the plain ;
Give the vengeance due
To the valiant crew :

Behold Behold how they tofs their torches on high,

How they point to the Persian abodes,
And glittring temples of their hostile gods !

The Princes applaud, with a furious joy ;
And the King seiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to destroy ;
Thais led the

To light him to his prey,
And, like another Heleri, fired another Troy.

Thus, long ago,
Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow,
While organs yet were mute ;
Timotheus to his breathing flute

And founding lyre,
Could fwell the soul to rage, or kindle foft desire.

At last divine Cecilia came,

Inveatress of the vocal frame;
The sweet enthufiaf, frem her facred store,

Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds,

And added length to folemn founds,
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before,

Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown;
He rais'd a mortal to the skies;
She drew'an angel down:


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Lately published, printed in the same Manner, with Flates;

Price 55. in Boards,


EXERCISES in ELOCUTION: Selected from the best AŬTHORS. Being a SEQUEL

to the SPEAKER.


Printed for J. JOHNSON, St. Paul's Church-Yard,

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