Written for my Son, Upon Lady Santry’s Coming to School, to See Her Son, and Getting the Scholars a Play—Day.
So Ceres, lovely and divine,
Eager to see her Proserpine,
Blessing the Nations as she pass’d,
Reach’d the fell Tyrant’s Court at last;
Around her shot a Gleam of Light,
Diffusing Joy, dispelling Night;
And, whilst she gilds the dismal Gloom,
The Damn’d a—while forget their Doom;
The Danaids no longer fill;
And Sisyphus’s Stone stood still;
Ixion wonders why he strove,
With impious Arts, to rival Fove;
Grim Pluto smil’d; all Hell look’d gay;
Happy, as we were Yesterday.
