Divert him all ye pretty Solitudes, And give his Life some softning Interludes: That when his weari’d mind would be, From Noise and Rigid Bus’ness free; He may upon your Mossey Beds lye down, Where all is Gloomy, all is Shade, With some dear Shee, whom Nature made, To be possest by him alone; Where the soft tale of Love She breathes, Mixt with the rushing of the wind-blown leaves, The different Notes of Cheerful Birds, And distant Bleating of the Herds: Is Musick far more ravishing and sweet, Then all the Artful Sounds that please the noisey Great. VII. Mix thus your Toiles of Life with Joyes, And for the publick good, prolong your days: Instruct the World, the great Example prove, Of Honour, Friendship, Loyalty, and Love. And when your busier hours are done, And you with _Damon_ sit alone; _Damon_ the honest, brave and young; Whom we must Celebrate where you are sung, For you (by Sacred Friendship ty’d,) Love nor Fate can nere divide; When your agreeing thoughts shall backward run, Surveying all the Conquests you have won, The Swaines you’ave left, the sighing Maids undone; Try if you can a fatal prospect take, Think if you can a soft _Idea_ make: Of what we are, now you are gone, Of what we feel for _Celladon_. VIII. ‘Tis _Celladon_ the witty and the gay, That blest the Night, and cheer’d the world all Day: ‘Tis _Celladon_, to whom our Vows belong, And _Celladon_ the Subject of our Song. For whom the Nymphs would dress, the Swains rejoice, The praise of these, of those the choice; And if our Joyes were rais’d to this Excess, Our Pleasures by thy presence made so great: Some pittying God help thee to guess, (What fancy cannot well Express.) Our Languishments by thy Retreat; Pitty our Swaines, pitty our Virgins more, And let that pitty haste thee to our shore; And whilst on happy distant Coasts you are, Afford us all your sighs, and _Cesar_ all your care. On _a_ Juniper-Tree, _cut down to make_ Busks.