Volume Ii Part 42 (1/2)

_Ors_. Why, I will try to tell it thee --Methought I saw the Firmament divide, And all the Clouds, like Curtains, draw aside; The Sun in all his Glories, ne'er put on So bright a Ray, nor Heaven with more l.u.s.tre shon!

The Face of Heaven too bright for mortal Eye Appear'd, and none durst gaze upon't but I; In Jove's ill.u.s.trious Throne I only sat, Whilst all the lesser G.o.ds did round me wait; My Habit, such as cannot be exprest; Iris in all her various Colours drest, The Morning-Sun, nor Sun-declining Sky, Was half so beautiful, so gay, as I.

The brightest Stars in all Heaven's Canopy Were chosen out to make a Crown for me; With which methought they glorify'd my Brow, And in my Hand they plac'd the Thunder too; The World was mine, and thousands such as thou, Still as I moved, low to the Earth did bow; Like thronging Curls upon the wanton Sea, They strove, and were as numerous as they: Thither I soon descended in a Cloud; But in the midst of the adoring Croud, Almighty Woman at my Feet did bow, Adorn'd with Beauties more than Heaven can show: But one among the rest (for there were store) Whilst all did me, I did that one adore; She did unking me, and her wondrous Eyes Did all my Power and Thunder too despise; Her Smiles could calm me, and her Looks were Law; And when she frown'd, she kept my Soul in awe.

Oh, _Geron_, while I strive to tell the rest, I feel so strange a Pa.s.sion in my Breast, That though I only do relate a Dream, My Torments here would make it real seem.

_Ger_. 'Tis lucky that he takes it for a Dream. [Aside.

--Pray do not form Ideas in your Fancy, And suffer them to discompose your Thoughts.

_Ors_. In spite of your Philosophy, they make A strange Impression on me.

_Ger_. That's perfect Madness, Sir.

_Ors. Geron_, I will no longer be impos'd upon, But follow all the Dictates of my Reason.

--Come tell me, for thou hast not done so yet, How Nature made us; by what strange Devices.

Tell me where 'twas you lighted on me first; And how I came into thy dull Possession?

Thou say'st we are not born immortal, And I remember thou wert still as now, When I could hardly call upon thy Name, But as thou wouldst instruct my lisping Tongue; And when I ask'd thee who instructed thee, Thoud'st sigh, and say a Man out-worn by Age, And now laid in the Earth--but tell me, Geron, When time has wasted thee, for thou'rt decaying, Where shall I find some new-made Work of Nature, To teach those Precepts to, I've learnt of thee?

--Why art thou silent now?

_Ger_. You ought not, Sir, to pry into the hidden Secrets of the G.o.ds.

_Ors_. Come, tell not me of Secrets, nor of G.o.ds-- What is't thou studiest for, more new Devices?

Out with 'em--this Sulleness betrays thee; And I have been too long impos'd upon.

I find my self enlightened on a sudden, And ev'ry thing I see instructs my Reason; 'T has been enslav'd by thee--come, out without it.

_Ger_. I dare not, Sir.

_Ors_. Who is't thou fear'st?

_Ger_. The Anger of the G.o.ds, Who will not have their high Decrees reveal'd, Till they themselves unfold 'em in their Oracles.

_Ors_. What are those Oracles?

_Ger_. Heavenly Voices, Sir, that expound what's writ In the Eternal Book of Destiny.

_Ors_. I'll know what's writ in that eternal Book, Or let thee know what it contains of thee.

_Ger_. What will you do?

_Ors_. Throw thee into the Sea; by Jupiter, I will.

[_Offers to take him up_.

_Ger_. Stay, _Orsames_-- 'Tis true, I have Commands from _Cleomena_, But yet the Time is hardly ripe for the Design. [_Aside_.

_Ors_. Begin your Story--or, by Heaven--

_Ger_. I shall--When you consider who I am, With how much Care and Toil I've brought you up; How I have made my aged Arms your Cradle, And in my Bosom lull'd you to your rest; How when you wept, my Tears kept time with yours, And how your Smiles would dry again those Showers; You will believe 'tis my Concern for you, And not your Threats, makes me declare a Truth.

_Ors_. Forward, my dearest _Geron_, Whilst I as silent as a healthy Sleep, As growth of Flowers, or motion of the Air, Attend each long'd-for Syllable thou breath'st.

_Ger_. Be pleas'd to walk into the Garden, Sir, And there I'll tell you Wonders to ensue; But first, great Sir, your Pardon for the past.