Sylvæ, or, The second part of Poetical miscellanies

LIB. III. ELEGY IX.

NOw Ceres Feast is come, the Trees are blown And my Corinna now must lye alone. And why, Good Ceres, must thy Feast destroy, Man's chief Delight, and why disturb his Joy?

The World esteems you Bountiful and Good You led us from the Field, and from the Wood, And gave us fruitful Corn, and wholsom food. Till then poor wretched Man on Acorns fed; Oaks gave Him Meat, and flowry fields a Bed. First Ceres made our Wheat and Barley grow, And taught us how to Plow and how to Mow: Who then can think that she designs to prove Our Piety, by Coldness in our Love? Or make poor Lovers sigh, Lament, and groan, Or charge her Votaries to lye alone? For Ceres, tho' she loves the fruitful fields, Yet sometimes feels the force of Love, and yields: This Crete can witness, (Crete not alwayes lyes,) Crete that nurs'd Iove, and heard his infant Cryes, There He was suckled that now rules the Skyes. That Iove his Education there receiv'd, Will raise her fawe, and make her be believ'd:

Nay she her self will never strive to hide Her Love, 'tis too well known to be deny'd: She saw young Iasius in the Cretan Grove Pursue the Deer, she saw, and fell in Love. She then perceiv'd, when first she felt the fire, On this side Modesty, on that Desire; Desire prevail'd, and then the field grew dry, The Farmer lost his Crop, and knew not why; When he had toyl'd, manur'd his Grounds, & plow'd, Harrow'd his Fields, and broke his Clods, and sow'd, No Corn appear'd, none to reward his Pain, His Labour and his Wishes were in vain. For Ceres wandred in the Woods and Groves, And often heard, and often told her Loves: Then Crete alone a fruitful Summer knew, Where e'er the Goddess came, a Harvest grew. Ida was grey with Corn, the furious Bore Grew fat with Wheat, and wondred at the Store:

The Cretans wish'd that such all years would prove, They wish'd that Ceres would be long in Love. Well then, since then 'twas hard for you to ly All night alone, why at your Feast must I? Why must I mourn when you rejoyce to know Your Daughter safe, and Queen of all below? 'Tis Holy day, and calls for Wine and Love, Come let's the heigth of Mirth and Humour prove, These Gifts will please our Master Pow'rs above.