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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-humor'd, so cheerful and gay,
My heart was as light as a feather all day.
But now I so cross and so peevish am 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 were 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 a 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 at my fair one and me;
And Phœbe 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:
'Twas naught but the magic, I find, of her eyes,
Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

VII.

Sweet music went with us both all the wood through,
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 in her breast;
You put on your colors 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 ead.
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 cured, 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 part with your fair

THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other, briskly, by the hand;
Hark-ye, said he, 'tis an odd story this
About the Crows!--I don't know what it is,
Replied his friend.-No! I'm surprised at that;
Where I came from it is the common chat;
But you shall hear; an odd affair indeed!
And, that it happen'd, they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman, that lives not far from Change,
This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows.-
Impossible!-Nay, but it's really true;

I have it from good hands, and so may you.—
From whose, I pray?-So having named the man,
Straight to inquire his curious omrade ran.

Sir, did you tell-relating the affair

Yes, sir, I did: and if it's worth your care,
Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me,

But, by the by, 'twas two black crows, not three.-
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,
Whip, to the third, the virtuoso went;
Sir-and so forth-Why, yes; the thing is fact,
Though in regard to number, not exact;
It was not two black crows, 'twas only one,
The truth of that you may depend upon,
The gentleman himself told me the case-
Where may I find him?-Why, in such a place.
Away goes he, and having found him out,
Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt.

Then to his last informant he referr'd,

And begg'd to know, if true what he had heard?
Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?--Not I-
Bless me! how people propagate a lie!

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one;
And here, I find, all comes, at last, to none!
Did you say nothing of a crow at all?—
Crow-crow-perhaps I might, now I recall
The matter over-And, pray, sir, what was't?
Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last,
I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,
Something that was-as black, sir, as a crow.

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DR. WILLIAM KING, born at Stepney, in Middlesex, in 1685, "was known and esteemed," says his biographer, "by the first men of his time for wit and learning; and must be allowed to have been a polite scholar, an excellent orator, and an elegant and easy writer, both in Latin and English." He died in 1763, having sketched his own character in an elegant epitaph, in which, while he acknowledges his failings, he claims the praise of benevolence, temperance, and fortitude. The work by which he is now chiefly known is that from which the following extracts are taken-"Political and Literary Anecdotes of his own Times."

VIRGIL.

Most of the commentators on the Greek and Roman poets think it sufficient to explain their author, and to give us the various readings. Some few indeed have made us remark the excellency of the poet's plan, the elegance of his diction, and the propriety of his thoughts, at the same time pointing out as examples the most striking and beautiful descriptions. Ruæus, in his comment on Virgil, certainly excelled all his fellow-laborers, who were appointed to explain and publish a series of the Roman classics for the use of the Dauphin. His mythological, historical, and geo graphical notes are a great proof of his learning and diligence. But he hath not entered into the spirit of the author, and dis

played the great art and judgment of the poet, particularly his knowledge of men and manners. The learned Jesuit perhaps imagined that remarks of this sort were foreign to the employ ment of a commentator, or for some political reasons he might think proper to omit them. And yet, in my opinion, nothing could have been more instructive and entertaining, as his comment was chiefly designed for the use of a young prince. The Eneid furnishes us with many examples to the purpose I mention. However, that I may be the better understood, the follow ing remark will explain my meaning. In the beginning of the first book, Juno makes a visit to Eolus, and desires him to raise a storm and destroy the Trojan fleet, because she hated the whole nation on account of the judgment of Paris, or, as she was pleased to express herself, because the Trojans were her enemies. Gens inimica mihi, &c. Juno was conscious that she asked a god to oblige her by an act which was both unjust and cruel, and therefore she accompanied her request with the offer of Deiopeia, the most beautiful nymph in her train: a powerful bribe, and such as she imagined Eolus could not resist. She was not disappointed: Eolus accepted her offer, and executed her commands as far as he was able. What I have to observe here, in the first place, is the necessity of that short speech, in which Juno addresses her self to Eclus. She had no time to lose. The Trojan fleet was in the Tuscan sea, sailing with a fair wind, and in a few hours would probably have been in a safe harbor. Æolus therefore answered in as few words as the goddess had addressed herself to him. But his answer is very curious. He takes no notice of the offer of Deiopeia, for whom upon any other occasion he would have thanked Juno upon his knees. But now, when she was given and accepted by him as a bribe, and as the wages of cruelty and injustice, he endeavored by his answer to avoid that imputa tion, and pretended he had such a grateful sense of the favors which Juno had formerly conferred on him, when she introduced him to Jupiter's table, that it was his duty to obey her commands on all occasions:

"'Tis your's, great queen, replies the power, to lay

The task, and mine to listen and obey."

And thus insinuated even to Juno herself, that this was the sole motive of his ready compliance with her request. I am here put in mind of something similar which happened in Sir Robert Walpole's administration. He wanted to carry a question in the House of Commons, to which he knew there would be great opposition, and which was disliked by some of his own dependants. As he was passing through the Court of Requests, he met a mem

1 Tuns, O Regina, &c., Æn. i. 76.

ber of the contrary party, whose avar.ce he imagined would not reject a large bribe. He took him aside, and said, "Such a question comes on this day; give me your vote, and here is a bank bill of 20007. ;" which he put into his hands. The member made him this answer: "Sir Robert, you have lately served some of my particular friends; and when my wife was last at court the king was very gracious to her, which must have happened at your instance. I should therefore think myself very ungrateful (putting the bank bill into his pocket) if I were to refuse the favor you are now pleased to ask me.' This incident, if wrought up by a man of humor, would make a pleasant scene in a political farce. But to return to Virgil. The short conference between Juno and Æolus is a sufficient proof of the poet's excellent judg ment. It demonstrates his knowledge of the world, and more particularly his acquaintance with the customs and manners of a great prince's court. Hence we may learn, that a bribe, if it be large enough, and seasonably offered, will frequently overcome the virtue and resolution of persons of the highest rank, and that the power of love and beauty will sometimes corrupt a god, and compel him to discover a weakness unworthy of a man.

A REPARTEE.

A repartee, or a quick and witty answer to an insolent taunt, or to any ill-natured or ironical joke or question, is always well received (whether in a public assembly or a private company) by the persons who hear it, and gives a reputation to the man who makes it. Cicero, in one of his letters to Atticus, informs him of some reproaches, a kind of coarse raillery, which passed between himself and Clodius in the senate, and seems to exult and value himself much on his own repartees: though I do not think that this was one of Cicero's excellencies. Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester, when a certain bill was brought into the House of Lords, said, among other things, "that he prophesied last winter this bill would be attempted in the present session, and he was sorry to find that he had proved a true prophet." My Lord Coningsby, who spoke after the bishop, and always spoke in a passion, desired the House to remark, "that one of the Right Reverends had set himself forth as a prophet; but for his part he did not know what prophet to liken him to, unless to that furious prophet BALAAM, who was reproved by his own ass." The 1ishop, in a reply, with great wit and calmness, exposed this rude attack, concluding thus: "Since the noble Lord hath discovered in our manners such a similitude, I am well content to be compared to the prophet BALAAM: but, my Lords, I am at a loss how to make out the other part of the parallel: I am sure that I have been reproved by nobody but his Lordship."

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