the glad theme I labour to rehearse,
In flowing numbers, and melodious verse,
Descend, immortal nine, my soul inspire,
Amid my bosom lavish all your fire,
While smiling _Phoebus_, owns the heavenly layes
And shades the poet with surrounding bayes.
But chief ye blooming nymphs of heavenly frame,
Who make the day with double glory flame,
In whose fair persons, art and nature vie,
On the young muse cast an auspicious eye:
Secure of fame, then shall the goddess sing,
And rise triumphant with a tow'ring wing,
Her tuneful notes wide-spreading all around,
The hills shall echo, and the vales resound.

"Soon as the morn in crimson robes array'd
With chearful beams dispels the flying shade,
While fragrant odours waft the air along,
And birds melodious chant their heavenly song,
And all the waste of heav'n with glory spread,
Wakes up the world, in sleep's embraces dead.
Then those whose dreams were on th' approaching day,
Prepare in splendid garbs to make their way
To that admired solemnity, whose date,
Tho' late begun, will last as long as fate.
And now the sprightly Fair approach the glass
To heighten every feature of the face.
They view the roses flush their glowing cheeks,
The snowy lillies towering round their necks,
Their rustling manteaus huddled on in haste,
They clasp with shining girdles round their waist.
Nor less the speed and care of every beau,
To shine in dress and swell the solemn show.
Thus clad, in careless order mixed by chance,
In haste they both along the streets advance:
'Till near the brink of _Charles's_ beauteous stream,
They stop, and think the lingering boat to blame.
Soon as the empty skiff salutes the shore,
In with impetuous haste they clustering pour,
The men the head, the stern the ladies grace,
And neighing horses fill the middle space.
Sunk deep, the boat floats slow the waves along,
And scarce contains the thickly crowded throng;
A gen'ral horror seizes on the fair,
While white-look'd cowards only not despair.
'Till rowed with care they reach th' opposing side,
Leap on the shore, and leave the threat'ning tide.
While to receive the pay the boatman stands,
And chinking pennys jingle in his hands.
Eager the sparks assault the waiting cars,
Fops meet with fops, and clash in civil wars.
Off fly the wigs, as mount their kicking heels,
The rudely bouncing head with anguish swells,
A c