'He was never at a loss when he was asked any person's name, though he seldom knew any one under a peer. He found dukes and earls among the aldermen, very good-natured fellows among the privy-counsellors, with two or three agreeable old rakes among the bishops and judges.

In short, I collected from his whole discourse that he was acquainted with every body, and knew nobody. At the same time, I am mistaken if he did not that day make more advances in the affections of his mistress, who sat near him, than he could have done in half a year's courtship.

'Ovid has finely touched this method of making love, which I shall here give my reader in Mr. Dryden's translation:

Page the eleventh.

"Thus love in theatres did first improve,
And theatres are still the scenes of love;
Nor shun the chariots, and the courser's race;
The Circus is no inconvenient place.
Nor need is there of talking on the hand,
Nor nods, nor signs, which lovers understand;
But boldly next the fair your seat provide,
Close as you can to hers, and side by side:
Pleas'd or unpleas'd, no matter, crowding sit;
For so the laws of public shows permit.
Then find occasion to begin discourse,

Inquire whose chariot this, and whose that horse;
To whatsoever side she is inclin'd,

Suit all your inclinations to her mind :

Like what she likes, from thence your court begin,
And whom she favours wish that he may win."

"O when will come the day by heaven design'd, When thou, the best and fairest of mankind, Drawn by white horses, shalt in triumph ride, With conquer'd slaves attending on thy side;

Slaves that no longer can be safe in flight,
O glorious object! O surprising sight!
O day of public joy, too good to end in night!
On such a day, if thou and next to thee
Some beauty sits, the spectacle to see;
If she inquire the names of conquer'd kings,
Of mountains, rivers, and their hidden springs;
Answer to all thou know'st; and, if need be,
Of things unknown seem to speak knowingly:
This is Euphrates, crown'd with reeds: and there
Flows the swift Tigris, with his sea-green hair.
Invent new names of things unknown before;
Call this Armenia, that the Caspian shore;
Call this a Mede, and that a Parthian youth;
Talk probably; no matter for the truth."

N° 603. WEDNESDAY, OCT. 6, 1714,

Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnim.

Restore, my charms,

VIRG. Ecl. viii. 68.

My lingering Daphnis to my longing arms.

DRYDEN.

THE following copy of verses comes from one of my correspondents, and has something in it so original, that I do not much doubt but it will divert my readers.*

*The Phoebe of this admired pastoral was Joanna, the daughter of the very learned Dr. Richard Bentley, archdeacon ond prebendary of Ely, regius professor and master of Trinity College, Cambridge, who died in 1742. She was afterwards married to Dr. Dennison Cumberland, bishop of Clonfert in Killaloe in Ireland, and grandson of Dr. Richard Cumberland, bishop of Peterborough.

I.

'My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent,
When Phoebe went with me wherever 1 went ;
Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast:
Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest;
But now she is gone, and has left me behind;
What a marvellous change on a sudden I find!
When things were as fine as could possibly be,
I thought 'twas the spring; but, alas! it was she.

II.

'With such a companion, to tend a few sheep,
To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep,
I was so good-humour'd, so cheerful and gay,
My heart was as light as a feather all day.
But now I so cross and so peevish have grown,
So strangely uneasy as never was known,

My fair-one is gone, and my joys are all drown'd,

And my heart-I am sure it weighs more than a pound,

III.

"The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among; Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there, "Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear: But now she is absent I walk by its side, And still as it murmurs do nothing but chide. Must you be so cheerful while I go in pain?

Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain.

IV.

"When my lambkins around me would oftentimes play, And when Phoebe and I were as joyful as they,

How pleasant their sporting, how happy the time,

When spring, love, and beauty, were all in their prime!
But now in their frolics when by me they pass,

I fling at their fleeces an handful of grass:
Be still, then I cry; for it makes me quite mad,
To see you so merry while I am so sad.

V.

'My dog I was ever well pleased to see
Come wagging his tail to my fair-one and me;
And Phoebe was pleased too, and to my dog said,
Come hither, poor fellow; and patted his head.
But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look,
Cry, Sirrah! and give him a blow with my crook.
And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray
Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe's away?

VI.

When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen! How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green! What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade, The corn-fields and hedges, and every thing made! But now she has left me, though all are still there, They none of them now so delightful appear: Iwas nought but the magic, I find, of her eyes, Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

VII.

Sweet music went with us both all the wood thro', The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too; Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did bleat, And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet. But now she is absent, though still they sing on, The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone: Her voice in the concert, as now I have found, Gave every thing else its agreeable sound.

VIII.

'Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue? And where is the violet's beautiful blue?

Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?
Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you dress'd
And made yourselves fine for; a place on her breast;
You put on your colours to pleasure her eye,
To be pluck'd by her hand, on her bosom to die.

IX.

'How slowly Time creeps, till my Phœbe return! While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn! Methinks if I knew whereabouts he would tread,

I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the lead.

Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear,

And rest so much longer for't when she is here.
Ah, Colin! old Time is full of delay,

Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst say.

X.

"Will no pitying power that hears me complain, Or cure my disquiet or soften my pain?

To be cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove;
But what swain is so silly to live without love?
No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return,
For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn.
Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair!
Take heed, all ye swains, how ye love one so fair,'