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Now haughty Romulus began his reign,
Who fell by thunder he afpir'd to feign.
Meek Acrota fucceeded to the crown;


From peace endeavouring, more than arms, renown,
To Aventinus well refign'd his throne.

The Mount on which he rul'd preferves his name,
And Procas wore the regal diadem.



A Hama dryad flourish'd in these days,
Her name Pomona, from her woodland race.
In garden culture none could fo excel,
Or form the pliant fouls of plants fo well;
Or to the fruit more generous flavours lend,
Or teach the trees with nobler loads to bend.
The Nymph frequented not the flattering stream,
Nor meads, the fubject of a virgin's dream ;
But to fuch joys her nursery did prefer,
Alone to tend her vegetable care.

A pruning-hook she carry'd in her hand,
And taught the ftragglers to obey cominand;
Left the licentious and unthrifty bough,
The too-indulgent parent should undo.
She fhows, how ftocks invite to their embrace
A graft, and naturalize a foreign race
To mend the falvage teint; and in its stead
Adopt new nature, and a nobler breed.

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Now hourly the observes her growing care, And guards their nonage from the bleaker air : Then opes her ftreaming fluices, to supply With flowing draughts her thirsty family.

Long had the labour'd to continue free
From chains of love, and nuptial tyranny ;
And, in her orchard's small extent immur'd,
Her vow'd virginity fhe ftill fecur'd.

Oft' would loofe Pan, and all the luftful train
Of fatyrs, tempt her innocence in vain.

Silenus, that old dotard, own'd a flame;

And he, that frights the thieves with ftratagem
Of sword, and fomething else too gross to name.
Vertumnus too pursued the maid no less;
But, with his rivals, fhar'd a like fuccefs.
To gain accefs, a thousand ways he tries;
Oft', in the hind, the lover would disguise.
The heedlefs lout comes fhambling on, and seems
Juft fweating from the labour of his teams.
Then, from the harvest, oft' the mimic fwain
Seems bending with a load of bearded grain.
Sometimes a dreffer of the vine he feigns,
And lawless tendrils to their bounds reftrains.
Sometimes his fword a foldier fhews; his rod,
An angler; ftill fo various is the God.
Now, in a forehead cloth, fome crone he fecms,
A ftaff fupplying the defect of limbs;
Admittance thus he gains; admires the store
Of faireft fruit; the fair poffeffor more;

Then greets her with a kiss: Th' unpractis'd dame
Admir'd a grandame kiss'd with fuch a flame.


Now, 'feated by her, he beholds a vine

Around an elm in amorous foldings twine.

If that fair elm, he cry'd, alone should stand,
No grapes would glow with gold, and tempt the hand;
Or, if that vine without her elm fhould grow,
'Twould creep a poor neglected fhrub below.

Be then, fair Nymph, by thefe examples led;
Nor fhun, for fancy'd fears, the nuptial bed.
Not fhe for whom the Lapithites took arms,
Nor Sparta's queen, could boast such heavenly charms.
And, if you would on woman's faith rely,

None can your choice direct fo well as I.
Though old, fo much Pomona I adore,
Scarce does the bright Vertumnus love her more.
'Tis your fair felf alone his breast inspires
With fofteft wifhes and unfoil'd defires.
Then fly all vulgar followers, and prove
The God of Seasons only worth your love:
On my affurance well you may repose;
Vertumnus fcarce Vertumnus better knows.
True to his choice, all loofer flames he flies;
Nor for new faces fashionably dies.
The charms of youth, and every fmiling grace,
Bloom in his features, and the God confefs.
Befides, he puts on every fhape at ease ;
But those the most that beft Pomona pleafe.
Still to oblige her is her lover's aim;
Their likings and averfions are the fame.
Not the fair fruit your burden'd branches bear,
Nor all the youthful product of the year,


Could bribe his choice; yourself alone can prove
A fit reward for fo refin'd a love.

Relent, fair nymph; and, with a kind regret,
Think 'tis Vertumnus weeping at your feet.
A tale attend, through Cyprus known, to prove
How Venus once reveng'd negle&ed love.




Iphis, of vulgar birth, by chance had view'd
Fair Anaxaretè of Teucer's blood.

Not long had he beheld the royal dame,
Ere the bright sparkle kindled into flame.
Oft' did he struggle with a just despair,
Unfix'd to afk, unable to forbear.

But Love, who flatters ftill his own disease,

Hopes all things will fucceed, he knows will please.
Where-e'er the fair-one haunts, he hovers there;
And feeks her confident with fighs, and prayer;
Or letters he conveys, that seldom prove
Succefslefs meffengers in suits of love.

Now fhivering at her gates the wretch appears,
And myrtle garlands on the columns rears,

Wet with a deluge of unbidden tears.


The nymph, more hard than rocks, more deaf than feas,
Derides his prayers; infults his agonies;
Arraigns of infolence th' afpiring fwain;
And takes a cruel pleafure in his pain.


Refolv'd at laft to finish his defpair,

He thus upbraids th' inexorable fair:

O Anaxarete, at last forget

The licence of a paffion indiscreet.
Now triumph, fince a welcome facrifice
Your flave prepares, to offer to your eyes.
My life, without reluctance, I refign;
That present beft can please a pride like thine.
But, O forbear to blast a flame fo bright,
Doom'd never to expire, but with the light.
And you, great powers, do justice to my name;
The hours, you take from life, restore to fame.

Then o'er the pofts, once hung with wreaths, he throws The ready cord, and fits the fatal noose;

For Death prepares; and, bounding from above,
At once the wretch concludes his life, and love.
E elong the people gather, and the dead
Is to his mourning mother's arms convey❜d.
Firft, like forme ghaftly ftatue, the appears;
Then bathes the breathlefs corfe in feas of tears,
And gives it to the pile; now, as the throng
Proceed in fad folemnity along,

To view the paffing pomp, the cruel fair
Haftes, and beholds her breathlefs lover there.
Struck with the fight, inanimate the feems;
Set are her eyes, and motionlefs her limbs:
Her features without fire, her colour gone,
And, like her heart, fhe hardens into ftone.
In Salamis the ftatue ftill is feen,
In the fam'd temple of the Cyprian queen.

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