Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 1.pdf/167

Apollo check'd my Pride; and bade me feed5
My fatning Flocks, nor dare beyond the Reed.
Admonish'd thus, while every Pen prepares
To write thy Praises, Varus, and thy Wars,
My Past'ral Muse her humble Tribute brings;
And yet not wholly uninspir'd she sings.10
For all who read, and reading, not disdain
These rural Poems, and their lowly Strain,
The name of Varus, oft inscrib'd shall see,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
In every Grove, and every vocal Tree;
And all the Silvan reign shall sing of thee:15
Thy Name, to Phœbus and the Muses known,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Shall in the front of every Page be shown;
For he who sings thy Praise, secures his own.
Proceed, my Muse: Two Satyrs, on the ground,
Stretch'd at his Ease, their Syre Silenus found.20
Dos'd with his fumes, and heavy with his Load,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
They found him snoring in his dark abode;
And seiz'd with youthful Arms the drunken God.
His rosie Wreath was dropt not long before,
Born by the tide of Wine, and floating on the floor.25
His empty Can, with Ears half worn away,
Was hung on high, to boast the triumph of the day.
Invaded thus, for want of better bands,
His Garland they unstring, and bind his hands:
For by the fraudful God deluded long,30
They now resolve to have their promis'd Song.