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 That brow this bottome glade, whence night by night He and his montrous rout are heard to howle Like tabl'd wolves, or tigers at their prey Doing abhorred rites to Hecate In their obcured haunts of inmot bowres. Yet have they many baits, and guilefull pells T'inveigle, and invite th'unwarie ene Of them that pae unweeting by the way. This evening late by then the chewing flocks Had ta'ne their upper on the avourie herbe Of Knot-gras dew-beprent, and were in fold I ate me downe to watch upon a bank With ivie canopied, and interwove With flaunting hony-uckle, and began Wrapt in a pleaing fit of melancholy To meditate my rural mintrelie Till fancie had her fill, but ere a cloe The wonted roare was up amidt the woods, And filld the aire with barbarous dionance At which I ceas't, and liten'd them a while Till an unuuall top of udden ilence Gave repit to the drowie frighted teeds That draw the litter of cloe-curtain'd leepe. At lat a oft, and olemne breathing ound Roe like a teame of rich ditill'd Perfumes And tole upon the aire, that even Silence Was tooke e're he was ware, and wih't he might Deny her nature, and be never more Still to be o diplac't. I was all eare, And took in trains that might create a oule Vnder the ribs of Death, but ô ere long Too well I did perceive it was the voice Rh