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This place, so fit for undisturbed repose,

All have sunk into oblivion; but Pope has preserved The god of sloth for his asylum chose;

his memory in various satirical allusions. Addison Upon a couch of down in these abodes,

extended his friendship to the Whig poet, whose Supine with folded arms, he thoughtless nods; private character was exemplary and irreproachable. Indulging dreams his godhead lull to ease,

Dr Johnson included Blackmore in his edition of With inurmurs of soft rills, and whispering trees: the poets, but restricted his publication of his works The poppy and each numbing plant dispense to the poem of Creation,' which, he said, wants Their drowsy virtue and dull indolence;

neither harmony of numbers, accuracy of thought, No passions interrupt his easy reign,

nor elegance of diction.' Blackmore died in 1729. No problems puzzle his lethargic brain :

The design of ‘Creation' was to demonstrate the But dark oblivion guards his peaceful bed,

existence of a Divine Eternal Mind. He recites the And lazy fogs hang lingering o'er his head.

proofs of a Deity from natural and physical phenoThe following is from a grandiloquent address by mena, and afterwards reviews the systems of the

Epicureans and the Fatalists, concluding with a Colocynthus, a keen apothecary :-

hymn to the Creator of the world. The piety of Could’st thou propose that we, the friends of fates, Blackmore is everywhere apparent in his writings; Who fill churchyards, and who unpeople states, but the genius of poetry too often evaporates amidst Who baffle nature, and dispose of lives,

his commonplace illustrations and prosing declaWhilst Russel, as we please, or starves or thrives, mation. One passage of Creation' (addressed to Should e'er submit to their despotic will,

the disciples of Lucretius) will suffice to show the Who out of consultation scarce can skill?

style of Blackmore, in its more select and improved The towering Alps shall sooner sink to vales, And leeches, in our glasses, swell to whales; Or Norwich trade in instruments of steel,

You ask us why the soil the thistle breeds; And Birmingham in stuffs and druggets deal ! Why its spontaneous birth are thorns and weeds ; Alleys at Wapping furnish us new modes,

Why for the harvest it the harrow needs! And Monmouth Street, Versailles, with riding-boods; The Author might a nobler world have made, The sick to the Hundreds in pale throngs repair,

In brighter dress the hills and vales arrayed, And change the Gravel-pits for Kentish air.

And all its face in flowery scenes displayed : Our properties must on our arms depend;

The glebe untilled might plenteous crops have bome, 'Tis next to conquer, bravely to defend.

And brought forth spicy groves instead of thorn : "Tis to the vulgar death too harsh appears ;

Rich fruit and flowers, without the gardener's pains, The ill we feel is only in our fears.

Might every hill have crowned, have honoured all the To die, is landing on some silent shore,

plains: Where billows never break, nor tempests roar:

This Nature might have boasted, had the Mind Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 'tis o’er.

Who formed the spacious universe designed The wise through thought the insults of death defy; That man, from labour free, as well as grief, The fools through blessed insensibility.

Should pass in lazy luxury his life. 'Tis what the guilty fear, the pious crave;

But he his creature gave a fertile soil, Sought by the wretch, and vanquished by the brave.

Fertile, but not without the owner's toil, It eases lovers, sets the captive free;

That some reward his industry should crown, And, though a tyrant, offers liberty.

And that his food in part might be his own.

But while insulting you arraign the land, Garth wrote the epilogue to Addison's tragedy of Ask why it wants the plough, or labourer's hand; Cato, which ends with the following pleasing lines :- Kind to the marble rocks, you ne'er complain Oh, may once more the happy age appear,

That they, without the sculptor's skill and pain, When words were artless, and the thoughts sincere; No perfect statue yield, no basse relieve, When gold and grandeur were unenvied things,

Or finished column for the palace give. And courts less coveted than groves and springs.

Yet if from hills unlaboured figures came, Love then shall only mourn when truth complains, Man might have ease enjoyed, though never fame. And constancy feel transport in his chains ;

You may the world of more defect upbraid, Sighs with success their own soft language tell,

That other works by Nature are unmade : And eyes shall utter what the lips conceal:

That she did nerer, at her own expense, Virtue again to its bright station climb,

A palace rear, and in magnificence And beauty fear no eneny but time;

Out-rival art, to grace the stately rooms; The fair shall listen to desert alone,

That she no castle builds, no lofty domes.
And every Lucia find a Cato's son.

Had Nature's hand these various works prepared,
What thoughtful care, what labour had been spared ?
But then no realm would one great master show,
No Phidias Greece, and Rome no Angelo.

With equal reason, too, you might demand
Sir Richard BLACKMORE was one of the most Why boats and ships require the artist's hand;
fortunate physicians, and the most persecuted poets, Why generous Nature did not these provide,
of this period. He was born of a good family in To pass the standing lake, or flowing tide ?
Wiltshire, and took the degree of M.A. at Oxford

You say the hills, which high in air arise, in 1676. He was in extensive medical practice, was Harbour in clouds, and mingle with the skies, knighted by King William III., and afterwards That earth's dishonour and encumbering load, made censor of the college of physicians. In 1695, Of many spacious regions man defraud; be published Prince Arthur, an epic poem, which he For beasts and birds of prey a desolate abode. says he wrote amidst the duties of his profession, in But can the objector no convenience find coffeehouses, or in passing up and down the streets! In mountains, hills, and rocks, which gird and bind Dryden, whom he had attacked for licentiousness, The mighty frame, that else would be disjoined ? satirised him for writing to the rumbling of his Do not those heaps the raging tide restrain, chariot-wheels.' Blackruore continued writing, and And for the dome afford the marble rein! published a series of epic poems on King Alfred, Does not the rivers from the mountains flow, Queen Elizabeth, the Redeemer, the Creation, &c. And bring down riches to the vale below ?



See how the torrent rolls the golden sand

The vast leviathan wants room to play, From the high ridges to the flatter land.

And spout his waters in the face of day. The lofty lines abound with endless store

The starving wolves along the main sea prowl,
Of mineral treasure and metallic ore.

And to the moon in icy valleys howl.
O'er many a shining league the level main
Here spreads itself into a glassy plain:

There solid billows of enormous size,
Among the Whig poets of the day, whom Pope's Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise.
enmity raised to temporary importance, was AMBROSE And yet but lately have I seen, even here,
Philips (1671-1749). He was a native of Leices. The winter in a lovely dress appear,
tershire, educated at Cambridge, and patronised by Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow,
the Whig government of George I. He was a com-

Or winds begun through hazy skies to blow: missioner of the collieries, held some appointments At evening a keen eastern breeze arose, in Ireland, and sat for the county of Armagh in the And the descending rain unsullied froze. Irish House of Commons. The works of Philips Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, consist of three plays, some miscellaneous poems, The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view translations, and pastorals. The latter were pub- The face of nature in a rich disguise, lished in the same miscellany with those of Pope, And brightened every object to my eyes : and were injudiciously praised by Tickell as the For every shrub, and every blade of grass, finest in the English language. Pope resented this and every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass ; unjust depreciation of his own poetry by an ironical In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show, paper in the Guardian, calculated to make Philips While through the ice the crimson berries glow. appear ridiculous. Ambrose felt the satire keenly, The thick-sprung reeds, which watery marshes yield, and even vowed to take personal vengeance on his Seemned polished lances in a hostile field. adversary, by whipping him with a rod in Button's The stag, in limpid currents, with surprise coffeehouse. A paper war ensued, and Pope im- The spreading oak, the beech, and towering pine

Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise : mortalised Philips as

Glazed over, in the freezing ether shine, The bard whom pilfered pastorals renown,

The frighted birds the rattling branches shun, Who turns a Persian tale for half-a-crown;

Which wave and glitter in the distant sun. Just writes to make his barrenness appear,

When, if a sudden gust of wind arise, And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a-year. The brittle forest into atoms flies ;

The pastorals are certainly poor enough; but The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends, Philips was an elegant versifier, and Goldsmith has And in a spangled shower the prospect ends : eulogised part of his epistle to Lord Dorset, as •in- Or, if a southern gale the region warm, comparably fine.'

And by degrees unbind the wintry charm, A fragment Sappho, translated by Philips, is

The traveller a miry country sees, poetical gem so brilliant, that Warton thought Addi- And journeys sad beneath the dropping trees :

Like some deluded peasant, Merlin leads son must have assisted in its composition :

Through fragrant bowers, and through delicious mends, Blessed as the immortal gods is he,

While here enchanted gardens to him rise, The youth who fondly sits by thee,

And airy fabrics there attract his eyes, And hears and sees thee all the while,

His wandering feet the magic paths pursue, Softly speak and sweetly smile.

And, while he thinks the fair illusion true,

The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air, 'Twas this deprived my soul of rest,

And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear : And raised such tumults in my breast;

A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
For while I gazed in transport tossed,

And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns.
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
My bosom glowed ; the subtle flame

The First Pastoral.
Ran quickly through my vital frame;

O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.

If we, O Dorset ! quit the city-throng,

To meditate in shades the rural song,
In dewy damps my limbs were chilled,
My blood with gentle horrors thrilled ;

By your command, be present; and, o bring
My feeble pulse forgot to play ;

The Muse along! The Muse to you shall sing I fainted, sunk, and died away.

Her influence, Buckhurst, let me there obtain,
And I forgive the famed Sicilian swain.

Begin.-In unluxurious times of yore,
Epistle to the Earl of Dorset.

When flocks and herds were no inglorious store,
COPENHAGEN, March 9, 1709.

Lobbin, a shepherd boy, one evening fair,

As western winds had cooled the sultry air, From frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow, His numbered sheep within the fold now pent, From streams which northern winds forbid to flow, Thus plained him of his dreary discontent; What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring, Beneath a hoary poplar's whispering boughs, Or how, so near the pole, attempt to sing ?

He, solitary, sat, to breathe his vows. The hoary winter here conceals from sight

Venting the tender anguish of his heart,
All pleasing objects which to verse invite.

As passion taught, in accents free of art;
The hills and dales, and the delightful woods, And little did he hope, while, night by night,
The flowery plains, and silver-streaming floods, His sighs were lavished thus ón Lucy bright.
By snow disguised, in bright confusion lie,

• Ah! well-a-day, how long must í endure And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye.

This pining pain? Or who shall speed my cure ! No gentle-breathing breeze prepares the spring, Fond love no cure will have, seek no repose, No birds within the desert region sing.

Delights in grief, nor any measure knows : The ships, unmoved, the boisterous winds defy, And now the moon begins in clouds to rise; While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly.

The brightening stars increase within the skies;


The winds are hushed; the dews distil; and sleep How would the crook beseem thy lily hand!
Hath closed the eyelids of my weary sheep:

How would my younglings round thee gazing stand! I only, with the prowling wolf, constrained

Ah, witless younglings! gaze not on her eye:
All night to wake: with hunger he is pained, Thence all my sorrow; thence the death I die.
And I with love. His hunger he may tame;

Oh, killing beauty! and oh, sore desire!
But who can quench, 0 cruel love! thy flame? Must then my sufferings but with life expire !
Whilom did I, all as this poplar fair,

Though blossoms every year the trees adorn,
Upraise my heedless head, then void of care,

Spring after spring 1 wither, nipt with scorn : 'Mong rustic routs the chief for wanton game; Nor trow I when this bitter blast will end, Nor could they merry make, till Lobbin came. Or if yon stars will e'er my vows befriend. Who better seen than I in shepherd's arts,

Sleep, sleep, my flock; for happy ye may take To please the lads, and win the lasses' hearts? Sweet nightly rest, though still your master wake.' How deftly, to mine oaten reed so sweet,

Now to the waning moon the nightingale, Wont they upon the green to shift their feet ! In slender warblings, tuned her piteous tale. And, wearied in the dance, how would they yearn The love-sick shepherd, listening, felt relief, Some well-devised tale from me to learn ?

Pleased with so sweet a partner in his grief, For many songs and tales of mirth had I,

Till, by degrees, her notes and silent night
To chase the loitering sun adown the sky:

To slumbers soft his heavy heart invite.
But ah! since Lucy coy deep-wrought her spite
Within my heart, unmindful of delight,
The jolly grooms I fly, and, all alone,
To rocks and woods pour forth my fruitless moan.

The Italian opera and English pastorals—both Oh! quit thy wonted scorn, relentless fair,

sources of fashionable and poetical affectation-were Ere, lingering long, I perish through despair.

driven out of the field at this time by the easy, indoHad Rosalind been mistress of my mind,

lent, good-humoured John Gay, who seems to have Though not so fair, she would have proved more kind. been the most artless and the best-beloved of all the O think, unwitting maid, while yet is time,

Pope and Swift circle of wits and poets. Gay was How flying years impair thy youthful prime! Thy virgin bloom will not for ever stay, And flowers, though left ungathered, will decay : The flowers, anew, returning seasons bring! But beauty faded has no second spring. My words are wind! She, deaf to all my cries, Takes pleasure in the mischief of her eyes. Like frisking heifer, loose in flowery meads, She gads where'er her roving fancy leads; Yet still from me. Ah me! the tiresome chase! Shy as the fawn, she flies my fond embrace. She flies, indeed, but ever leaves behind, Fly where she will, her likeness in my mind. No cruel purpose in my speed I bear; 'Tis only love; and love why should'st thou fear? What idle fears a maiden breast alarm! Stay, simple girl ; a lover cannot harm; Two sportive kidlings, both fair-flecked, I rear, Whose shooting horns like tender buds appear : A lambkin too, of spotless fleece, I breed, And teach the fondling from my hand to feed : Nor will I cease betimes to cull the fields Of every dewy sweet the morning yields : From early spring to autumn late shalt thou Receive gay girlonds, blooming o'er thy brow: And when—but why these unavailing pains? The gifts alike, and giver, she disdains; And now, left heiress of the glen, she'll deem Me, landless lad, unworthy her esteem; Yet was she born, like me, of shepherd-sire, And I may fields and lowing herds acquire. 0! would my gifts but win her wanton heart, Or could I half the warmth I feel impart, How would I wander, every day, to find The choice of wildings, blushing through the rind !

born at Barnstaple, in Devonshire, in 1688. He was For glossy plums how lightsome climb the tree,

of the ancient family of the Le Gays of Oxford and How risk the vengeance of the thrifty bee.

Devonshire; but his father being in reduced circumOr, if thou deign to live a shepherdess, Thou Lobbin's flock, and Lobbin shall possess ;

stances, the poet was put apprentice to a silk-mercer

in the Strand, London. He disliked this mercenary And fair ny flock, nor yet uncomely 1, If liquid fountains flatter not; and why

employment, and at length obtained his discharge

from his master. Should liquid fountains flatter us, yet show

In 1711, he published his Rural

Sports, a descriptive poem, dedicated to Pope, in The bordering flowers less beauteous than they grow?

which we may trace his joy at being emancipated O come, my love ! nor think the employment mean, The dams to milk, and little lambkins wean;

from the drudgery of a shop :To drive afield, by morn, the fattening ewes,

But I, who ne'er was blessed by Fortune's hand, Ere the warm sun drink up the coolly dews;

Nor brightened ploughshares in paternal land; While with my pipe, and with my voice, I cheer Long in the noisy town have been immured, Each hour, and through the day detain thine ear. Respired its smoke, and all its cares endured.

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Fatigued at last, a calm retreat I chose,

So, when a general bids the martial train And soothed my barassed mind with sweet repose, Spread their encampment o'er the spacious plain, Where fields, and shades, and the refreshing clime Thick-rising tents a canvass city build, Inspire the sylvan song, and prompt my rhyme. And the loud dice resound through all the field. Next year, Gay obtained the appointment of domestic In 1713, Gay brought out a comedy entitled The secretary to the Duchess of Monmouth, on which Wife of Bath; but it failed of success. His friends he was cordially congratulated by Pope, who took were anxious in his behalf, and next year (July 1714), a warm interest in his fortunes. His next work was he writes with joy to Pope— Since you went out his Shepherd's Week, in Six Pastorals, written to of the town, my Lord Clarendon was appointed throw ridicule on those of Ambrose Philips; but envoy-extraordinary to Hanover, in the room of containing so much genuine comic humour, and en- Lord Paget; and by making use of those friends, tertaining pictures of country life, that they became which I entirely owe to you, he has accepted me for popular, not as satires, but on account of their in- his secretary:' The poet accordingly quitted his trinsic merits, as affording “a prospect of his own situation in the Monmouth family, and accompanied country.' In an address to the courteous reader,' Lord Clarendon on his embassy. He seems, how. Gay says, “Thou wilt not find my shepherdesses ever, to have held it only for about two months; for idly piping on oaten reeds, but milking the kine, on the 23d of September of the same year, Pope tying up the sheaves; or, if the hogs are astray, welcomes him to his native soil, and counsels him, driving them to their styes. My shepherd gathereth now that the queen was dead, to write something none other nosegays but what are the growth of our on the king, or prince, or princess. Gay was an own fields; he sleepeth not under myrtle shades, anxious expectant of court favour, and he coniplied but under a hedge; nor doth he vigilantly defend with Pope's request. He wrote a poem on the prinhis flock from wolves, because there are none. This cess, and the royal family went to see his play of matter-of-fact view of rural life has been admirably What D’ye Call It? produced shortly after his return followed by Crabbe, with a moral aim and effect to from Hanover, in 1714. The piece was eminently which Gay never aspired. About this time the successful; and Gay was stimulated to another drapoet also produced his Trivia, or the Art of Walking matic attempt of a similar nature, entitled Three the Streets of London, and The Fan, a poem in three Hours After Marriage. Some personal satire and books. The former of these is in the mock-heroic indecent dialogues in this piece, together with the style, in which he was assisted by Swift, and gives improbability of the plot, sealed its fate with the a graphic account of the dangers and impediments public. It soon fell into disgrace; and its author then encountered in traversing the narrow, crowded, being afraid that Pope and Arbuthnot would suffer ill-lighted, and vice-infested thoroughfares of the injury from their supposed connexion with it, took metropolis. His paintings of city life are in the all the shame on himself.' Gay was silent and Dutch style, low and familiar, but correctly and dejected for some time; but in 1720 he published forcibly drawn. The following sketch of the fre- his poems by subscription, and realised a sum of quenters of book-stalls in the streets may still be £1000. He received, also, a present of South-Sea stock, verified :

and was supposed to be worth £20,000, all of which

he lost by the explosion of that famous delusion. Volumes on sheltered stalls expanded lie,

This serious calamity to one fond of finery in dress And various science lures the learned eye;

and living only prompted to further literary exerThe bending shelves with ponderous scholiasts groan, tion. In 1724, Gay brought out another drama, And deep divines, to modern shops unknown; The Captives, which was acted with moderate sucHere, like the bee, that on industrious wing

cess; and in 1726 he wrote a volume of fables, Collects the various odours of the spring,

designed for the special improvement of the Duke Walkers at leisure learning's flowers may spoil, of Cumberland, who certainly did not learn mercy Nor watch the wasting of the inidnight oil;

or humanity from them. The accession of the May morals snatch from Plutarch's tattered page, prince and princess to the throne seemed to augur A mildewed Bacon, or Statgyra's sage:

well for the fortunes of Gay; but he was only Here sauntering 'prentices o'er Otway weep,

offered the situation of gentleman usher to one of O'er Congreve smile, or over D'Urfey sleep ;

the young princesses, and considering this an insult, Pleased sempstresses the Lock’s famed Rape unfold; he rejected it. His genius proved his best patron. And Squirts* read Garth till apozems grow cold. In 1726, Swift came to England, and resided two

months with Pope at Twickenham. Among other The poet gives a lively and picturesque account plans, the dean of St Patrick suggested to Gay the of the great frost in London, when a fair was held idea of a Newgate pastoral, in which the characon the river Thames :

ters should be thieves and highwaymen, and the

Beggar's Opera was the result. When finished, the O, roving muse! recall that wondrous year When winter reigned in bleak Britannia's air;

two friends were doubtful of the success of the piece, When hoary Thames, with frosted oziers crowned,

but it was received with unbounded applause. The Was three long moons in icy fetters bound.

songs and music aided greatly its popularity, and The waterinan, forlorn, along the shore,

there was also the recommendation of political satire; Pensive reclines upon his useless oar:

for the quarrel between Peachum and Lockit was See harnessed steeds desert the stony town,

an allusion to a personal collision between Walpole And wander roads unstable not their own;

and his colleague, Lord Townsend. The spirit and Wheels o'er the hardened water smoothly glide,

variety of the piece, in which song and sentiment And raze with whitened tracks the slippery tide;

are so happily intermixed with vice and roguery, Here the fat cook piles high the blazing fire,

still render the “Beggar's Opera' a favourite with And scarce the spit can turn the steer entire;

the public; but as Gay has succeeded in making Booths sudden hide the Thames, long streets appear,

highwaymen agreca ble, and even attractive, it canAnd numerous games proclaim the crowded fair.

not be commended for its moral tendency. Of this

we suspect the Epicurean author thought little. The * Squirt is the name of an apothecary's boy in Garth's . Dis- opera had a run of sixty-three nights, and became pensary.'

the rage of town and country. Its success had also

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the effect of giving rise to the English opera, a spe- That Bowzy beus who could sweetly sing, cies of light comedy enlivened by songs and music, Or with the rosined bow torinent the string; which for a time supplanted the Italian opera, with That Bowzy beus who, with fingers' speed, all its exotic and elaborate graces. Gay tried a Could call soft warblings from the breathing reed; sequel to the · Beggar's Opera, under the title of That Bowzy beus who, with jocund tongue, Polly; but as it was supposed to contain sarcasms Ballads, and roundelays, and catches sung: on the court, the lord chamberlain prohibited its They loudly laugh to see the damsel's fright, representation. The poet had recourse to publica. And in disport surround the drunken wight. tion; and such was the zeal of his friends, and the Ah, Bowzybee, why didst thou stay so long? effect of party spirit, that while the ‘Beggar's Opera' The mugs were large, the drink was wondrous strong! realised for him only about £400, “Polly' produced Thou should'st have left the fair before 'twas night, a profit of £1100 or £1200. The Duchess of Marl- | But thou sat'st toping till the morning light. borough gave £100 as her subscription for a copy. Cicely, brisk maid, steps forth before the rout, Gay had now amassed £3000 by his writings, which And kissed with smacking lip the snoring lout he resolved to keep 'entire and sacred.' He was at (For custom says, “Whoe'er this venture prores, the same time received into the house of his kind For such a kiss demands a pair of gloves'). patrons the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry, with By her example Dorcas bolder grows, whom he spent the remainder of his life. His only And plays a tickling straw within his nose. literary occupation was composing additional fables, He rubs his nostril, and in wonted joke and corresponding occasionally with Pope and The sneering strains with stammering speech bespoke: Swift. A sudden attack of inflammatory fever To you, my lads, I'll sing my carols o'er; hurried him out of life in three days. He died on

As for the maids, I've something else in store. the 4th of December 1732. Pope's letter to Swift

No sooner 'gan he raise his tuneful song, announcing the event was indorsed by the latter : But lads and lasses round about him throng. On my dear friend Mr Gay's death. Received, Not ballad-singer placed above the crowd December 15th, but not read till the 20th, by an Sings with a note so shrilling sweet and loud; impulse foreboding some misfortune.' The friend- Nor parish-clerk, who calls the psalm so clear, ship of these eminent men seems to have been sin- Like Bowzybeus soothes the attentive ear. cere and tender; and nothing in the life of Swift is

Of nature's laws his carols first begun, more touching or honourable to his memory, than why the grave owl can never face the sun. those passages in his letters where the recollection For owls, as swains observe, detest the light, his deep though unavailing sorrow. Pope, always And how the closing coleworts upwards grow; of Gay melted his haughty stoicism, and awakened and only sing and seek their prey hy night.

How turnips hide their swelling heads below, more affectionate, was equally grieved by the loss of

How Will-a-wisp misleads night-faring clowns him whom he has characterised as

O'er hills, and sinking bogs, and pathless downs.
Of manners gentle, of affections mild; Of stars he told that shoot with shining trail,
In wit a man, simplicity a child.

And of the glow-worm's light that gilds his tail. Gay was buried in Westminster abbey, where a He sung where woodcocks in the summer feed, handsome monument was erected to his memory by And in what climates they renew their breed the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry. The works (Some think to northern coasts their flight they tend, of this easy and loveable son of the muses have lost Or to the moon in midnight hours ascend); much of their popularity. He has the licentiousness, And how the drowsy bat and dormouse sleep;

Where swallows in the winter's scason keep, without the elegance, of Prior. His fables are still

, How nature does the puppy's eyelid close, however, the best we possess; and if they have Till the bright sun has nine times set and rose not the nationality or rich humour and archness of La Fontaine's, the subjects of them are light and For huntsmen by their long experience find, pleasing, and the versification always smooth and That puppies still nine rolling suns are blind). The Hare with Many Friends is doubtless For still new fairs before his eyes arose.

Now he goes on, and sings of fairs and shows, drawn from Gay's own experience. In the Court of How pedlers' stalls with glittering toys are laid, Death, he aims at a higher order of poetry, and mar- The various fairings of the country maid. shals his diseases dire' with a strong and gloomy Long silken laces hang upon the twine, power.

His song of Black-Eyed Susan, and the And rows of pins and amber bracelets shine; ballad beginning • Twas when the seas were roaring,' How the tight lass knives, combs, and scissors spies, are full of characteristic tenderness and lyrical me

And looks on thimbles with desiring eyes. lody. The latter is said by Cowper to have been Of lotteries next with tuneful note he told, the joint production of Arbuthnot, Swift, and Gay.

Where silver spoons are won, and rings of gold.

The lads and lasses trudge the street along, [The Country Ballad Singer.]

And all the fair is crowded in his song. [From The Shepherd's Week.]

The mountebank now treads the stage, and sells

His pills, his balsams, and his ague-spells; Sublimer strains, O rustic muse! prepare ;

Now o'er and o'er the nimble tumbler springs, Forget awhile the barn and dairy's care ;

And on the rope the venturous maiden swings; Thy homely voice to loftier numbers raise,

Jack Pudding, in his party-coloured jacket, The drunkard's flights require sonorous lays; Tosses the glove, and jokes at every packet. With Bowzybeus' songs exalt thy verse,

Of raree-shows he sung, and Punch's feats, While rocks and woods the various notes rehearse. Of pockets picked in crowds, and various cheats. 'Twas in the season when the reapers' toil

Then sad he sung 'The Children in the Wood,' Of the ripe harvest ‘gan to rid the soil ;

(Ah, barbarous uncle, stained with infant blood !) Wide through the field was seen a goodly rout, How blackberries they pluckel in deserts wild, Clean damsels bound the gathered sheaves about; And fearless at the glittering faulchion smiled; The lads with sharpened hook and sweating brow Their little corpse the robin-redbreasts found, Cut down the labours of the winter plough. * And strewed with pious bill the leaves around. When fast asleep they Bowzy beus spicd,

(Ah, gentle birds ! if this verse lasts so long, His hat and oaken staff lay close beside;

Your dames shall live for ever in my song.)


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