Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose; Every thing is spoilt by use: Where's the cheek that doth not fade, Where's the eye, however blue, 70 Doth not weary? Where's the face At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Fell her kirtle to her feet, While she held the goblet sweet, 75 80 85 And Jove grew languid. - Break the mesh. 90 Of the Fancy's silken leash; Quickly break her prison-string And such joys as these she'll bring. Let the winged Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home. ODE. BARDS of Passion and of Mirth, 5 With the whisper of heaven's trees Brows'd by none but Dian's fawns; Thus ye live on high, and then Of their sorrows and delights; Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Ye have souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new! ΙΟ 15 20 25 330 35 40 ROBIN HOOD. To a Friend. No! those days are gone away, No, the bugle sounds no more, Past the heath and up the hill; On the fairest time of June Down beside the pasture Trent; 5 ΙΟ 15 20 25 30 |