THE SHEPHERD'S WEEK. IN SIX PASTORAL S. Thefe are Mr. Gay's principal performance. The were originally intended, I fuppose, as a bur lefque on thofe of Philips; but, perhaps without defigning it, he has hit the true spirit of paftoral poetry. In fact, he more resembles Theocritus than any other English paftoral writer whatfoever. There runs through the whole a strain of ruftic pleasantry which should ever distinguis this fpecies of compofition; but how far the antiquated expreffions used here may contribute to the humour, I will not determine; for my own part, I could wish the fimplicity were preserved, without recurring to fuch obfolete antiquity for the manner of expreffing it. MONDAY; MOND A Y; O R, THE SQUA BBLE. LOBBIN CLOUT, CUDDY, CLODDIPOLE. TH LOBBIN CLout. HY younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake, No thrufles fhrill the bramble bush forfake, No chirping lark the welkin fheen invokes, No damfel yet the fwelling udder ftrokes ; O'er yonder hill dees fcant the dawn appear, Then why does Cuddy leave his cott so rear? CUDDY. Ah Lobbin Clout! I ween, my plight is guest, If fwains belye not, thou haft prov'd the smart, LOBBIN CLOUT. Ah Blouzelind! I love thee more by half, Than does their fawns, or cows the new-fall'n calf: Woe worth the tongue! may blifters fore it gall, That names Buxoma Blouzelind withal. CUDDY. Hold, witlefs Lobbin Clout, I thee advise, That pricking corns foretold the gath'ring rain. LOBBIN CLOUT. See this tobacco-pouch, that's lin'd with hair, Made of the skin of sleekest fallow-deer. This pouch, that's ty'd with tape of reddest hue, I'll wager, that the prize shall be my due. CUDDY. CUDDY. Begin thy carrols, then, thou vaunting flouch; Be thine the oaken ftaff, or mine the pouch. LOBBIN CLOUT. My Blouzelinda is the blitheft lafs, CUDDY. My brown Buxoma is the featest maid, LOBBIN CLOUT. Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is near; Come, Blouzelinda, eafe thy fwain's defire, CUDDY. As with Buxoma, once, I work'd at hay, LOBBIN CLOUT. As Blouzelinda, in a gamefome mood, CUDDY. As my Buxoma, in a morning fair, LOBBIN CLOUT.] Leek to the Welch, to Dutchmen butter's dear, Of Irish swains potatoe is the chear; Oats, |