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at the accidents which had befallen me, as not knowing but a little stay in the place might have spoiled my Spectatons.

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My time, Oye Muses, was happily spent,
When I herbe went with me wherever I 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.

With such a companion, to tend a few sheep,
To rise np and play, or to lie down and sleep :
I was so good humour'd, so checrsul 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.

The fountain that wont to run sweetly along,
And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among ;
Thou know’st, little Cupid, is Phæbe was there,
"Iwas 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 cheersul, while I


in pain? Teace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain.


IV. When my lambkins around me would oftentimes play, And when Phæbe and I were as joyful as they, How pleasant their sporting, how happy their time, When spring, love, and beauty were all in their prime! But now in their frolics when by me they pass, I Aing 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.'


My dog I was ever well pleased to see
Come wagging his tail to my fair-one and me z
And Phæbe was pleas’d 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 Phæbe's away?

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VI. When walking with Phæbe, what sights have I seen I How fair was the flower, how fresh was the 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 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 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 agrecable sound.

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 drest
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.

How slowly Time creeps till my Phæbe return!
While amidst the soft Zephyr's cool breezes I born!
Methinks, if I knew wherсabouts he would tread,
I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the

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.

Will no pitying power that bears me complain,
Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain ?
To be cur'd thou must, Colin, thy passion removes
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.


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I have a couple of nieces under my direction, who so often run gadding abroad that I do not know where to have them. Their dress, their tea, and their visits take up all their time, and they go to bed as tired with doing nothing, as I am after quilting a whole petticoat. The only time they are not idle is while they read your SPECTATORS; which being dedicated to the interests of virtue, I desire you to recommend the long neglected art of necdle-work. Those hours which in this age are thrown away in dress, play, visits and the like, were employed, in my time, in writing out receipts, or working beds, chairs, and hangings for the family. For my part, I have plied my needle these fifty years, and by my good will would never have it out of my hand. It grieves my heart to see a couple of proud idle flirts sipping their tea, for a whole afternoon, in a room hung round with the industry of their great-grandmother. Pray, sir, take the laudable mystery of embroidery into your serious consideration; and as you have a great deal of the virtue of the last age


you, continue your endeavours to reform the present. I am, &c.'




In obedience to the comman is of my venerable respondent, I have duly weighed this important subject, and promise myself, from the arguments here laid down, that all the fine ladies of England will be ready, as soon as their mourning is over, to appear covered with the work of their own hands.

What a delightful entertainment must it be to the fair sex, whom their native modesty and the tenderness


of men towards them exempt from public business, to pass their hours in imitating fruits and flowers, and transplanting all the beauties of nature into their own drees, or raising a new creation in their closcts and apartments! How pleasing is the amusement of walking among the shad's and groves planted by themselves, in surveying heroes slain by their needle, or little Cupids which they have brought into the world without pain !

This is, muihinks, the most proper way wherein a lady can show a linegonius, and I cannot forbear wishing that several writers of that sex bad chosen to apply themsolves rather to tapestry than rhime. Your pastoral portesses inay vent their fancy in rural land-, scapes, and place de pairing shepherds under silken willows, or drown them in a stream of mohair. The heroic writers may work up battles as successfully, and inflame them with gold, or stain them wiih crimson. Even those who have only a turn to a song or an epigram may put many valuable stitches into a purse, and crowd a thousand graces into a pair of garters.

If I may, without brcach of good manners, imagine that any pretty crcature is void of genius, and would perform her part hiercin but very awkwardly, I must neveribcless insist upon her working, if it be only to keep her out of harm's way.

Anothier argument for busying good women in works of fancy, is because it takes them off from scai?dal, the usual attendant of tea-table and all other inactive scenes of life. While they are forming their birds and beasts, their neighbour will be allowed to be the fathers of their own children: and whig and tory will be but seldom mentioned where the great dispute is, whether blue or red is the most proper



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