Long since the Summer laid Her lusty bravery down; The Autumn half is weighed, And BOREAS 'gins to frown: Since now I did behold Great BRUTE'S first builded town. Though in the utmost Peak, A while we do remain; Amongst the mountains bleak, Exposed to sleet and rain: No sport our hours shall break, To exercise our vein. What though bright PHŒBUS' beams Refresh the southern ground; And though the princely Thames With beauteous Nymphs abound; And by old Camber's streams Be many wonders found: Yet many rivers clear Here glide in silver swathes; And what of all most dear, Buxton's delicious baths, Strong ale, and noble cheer, T'assuage breem Winter's scathes. Those grim and horrid caves, Whose looks affright the day; Wherein nice Nature saves What she would not bewray: Our better leisure craves, And doth invite our Lay. In places far, or near, Or famous, or obscure; Where wholesome is the air, Or where the most impure; All times, and everywhere, The Muse is still in ure. ODE 8. [Illustration] Sing we the Rose! Than which no flower there grows Is sweeter; And aptly her compare With what in that is rare: A parallel none meeter. Or made posies, Of this that encloses Such blisses: That naturally flusheth, As she blusheth When she is robbed of kisses. Or if strewed, When with the morning dewed; Or stilling; Or how to sense exposed: All which in her enclosed, Each place with sweetness filling. That most renowned By Nature richly crowned With yellow; Of that delicious lair: And as pure her hair, Unto the same the fellow. Fearing of harm; Nature that flower doth arm From danger: The touch gives her offence, But with reverence Unto herself, a stranger. The red, or white, Or mixed, the sense delight, Beholding, In her complexion: All which perfection, Such harmony infolding, That divided, Ere it was decided Which most pure, Began the grievous War Of YORK and LANCASTER, That did many years endure. Conflicts as great As were in all that heat, I sustain: By her, as many hearts As men on either parts, That with her eyes hath slain. The Primrose flower, The first of FLORA'S bower Is placed: So is She first, as best: Though excellent the rest; All gracing, by none graced. ODE 9. [_A Skeltoniad._] [Illustration]