We beg one Hour of Death, that neither she
With Widow's Tears may live to bury me,
Nor weeping I with wither'd Arms may bear
My breathless Baucis to the Sepulcher.
The Godheads sign their Suit. They run their Race
In the same Tenour all th' appointed Space:
Then, when their Hour was come, while they relate
These past Adventures at the Temple Gate,
Old Baucis is by old Philemon seen
Sprouting with sudden Leaves of spritely Green:
Old Baucis look'd where old Philemon stood,
And saw his lengthen'd Arms a sprouting Wood:
New Roots their fasten'd Feet begin to bind,
Their Bodies stiffen in a rising Rind:
Then, ere the Bark above their Shoulders grew,
They give, and take at once their last Adieu.
At once, Farewel, O faithful Spouse they said;
At once th' incroaching Rinds their closing Lips invade.
Ev'n yet, an ancient Tyanæan shows
A spreading Oak, that near a Linden grows;
The Neighbourhood confirm the Prodigy,
Grave Men, not vain of Tongue, or like to lie.
I saw my self the Garlands on their Boughs,
And Tablets hung for Gifts of granted Vows;
And off'ring fresher up, with pious Pray'r,
The Good, said I, are God's peculiar Care,
And such as honour Heav'n, shall heav'nly Honour share.
Continu'd by Mr. Vernon.
The Changes of Proteus.
He ceas'd in his Relation to proceed,
Whilst all admir'd the Author and the Deed;
But Theseus most, inquisitive to know
From Gods what wondrous Alterations grow.
