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 Jove; Grim Pluto smil'd; all Hell look'd gay; Happy, as we were Yesterday.