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innocence and fimplicity, which is common to other authors of Paftoral, he has one peculiar to himself; he compares human Life to the several Seasons, and at once expofes to his readers a view of the great and little worlds, in their various changes and aspects. Yet the fcrupulous divifion of his Paftorals into Months, has obliged him either to repeat the fame description, in other words, for three months together; or, when it was exhausted before, entirely to omit it: whence it comes to pass that some of his Eclogues (as the fixth, eighth, and tenth, for example) have nothing but their Titles to diftinguish them. The reafon is evident; because the year has not that variety in it to furnish every month with a particular defcription, as it may every feafon. Of the following Eclogues I fhall only fay, that thefe four comprehend all the fubjects which the Critics upon Theocritus and Virgil will allow to be fit for paftoral: That they have as much variety of defcription, in refpect of the feveral feafons, as Spenfer's: That, in order to add to this variety, the feveral times of the day are obferved, the rural employments in each feafon or time of day, and the rural scenes or places proper to fuch employments; not without fome regard to the feveral ages of man, and the different paffions proper to each age.

But after all, if they have any merit, it is to be attributed to fome good old Authors, whofe works as I had leisure to study, fo, I hope, I have not wanted care to imitate.

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IRST in these fields I try the sylvan strains,
Nor blush to sport on Windfor's blissful plains:
Fair Thames, flow gently from thy facred spring,
While on thy banks Sicilian Muses fing;
Let vernal airs through trembling ofiers play,
And Albion's cliffs refound the rural lay.

You that, too wife for pride, too good for power,
Enjoy the glory to be great no more,

And, carrying with you all the world can boast,
To all the world illustriously are loft!

O let my Mufe her slender reed inspire,
Till in your native fhades you tune the lyre:
So when the Nightingale to reft removes,
The Thrush may chant to the forsaken groves,
But charm'd to filence, liftens while fhe fings,
And all th' aërial audience clap their wings.

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Soon as the flocks shook off the nightly dews, Two Swains, whom Love kept wakeful, and the Muse,


Pour'd o'er the whitening vale their fleecy care,
Fresh as the morn, and as the feafon fair:
The dawn now blushing on the mountain's fide,
Thus Daphnis spoke, and Strephon thus reply'd.


Hear how the birds, on every bloomy fpray, With joyous music wake the dawning day! Why fit we mute, when early linnets fing, When warbling Philomel falutes the spring? Why fit we fad, when Phosphor fhines fo clear, And lavish Nature paints the purple year?


Sing then, and Damon shall attend the strain,
While yon' flow oxen turn the furrow'd plain.
Here the bright crocus and blue violet glow;
Here western winds on breathing roses blow.
I'll stake yon' lamb, that near the fountain plays,
And from the brink his dancing shade furveys.


And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twines,
And fwelling clusters bend the curling vines :
Four figures rifing from the work appear,
The various feafons of the rolling year;

And what is that, which binds the radiant sky,
Where twelve fair figns in beauteous order lie?








Ver. 34. The firft reading was,

And his own image from the bank furveys.

Ver. 36. And clusters lurk beneath the curling vines.


Then fing by turns, by turns the Mufes fing, Now hawthorns bloffom, now the daifies spring, Now leaves the trees, and flowers adorn the ground; Begin, the vales fhall every note rebound.


Infpire me, Phœbus, in my Delia's praise,
With Waller's ftrains, or Granville's moving lays!
A milk-white bull fhall at your altars stand,
That threats a fight, and fpurns the rifing fand.


O Love! for Sylvia let me gain the prize,
And make my tongue victorious as her eyes;
No lambs or fheep for victims I'll impart,
Thy victim, Love, fhall be the fhepherd's heart.


Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain, Then, hid in fhades, eludes her eager fwain; But feigns a laugh, to fee me fearch around, And by that laugh the willing fair is found.


The fprightly Sylvia trips along the green, She runs, but hopes fhe does not run unfeen; While a kind glance at her purfuer flies, How much at variance are her feet and eyes!


Ver. 49. Originally thus in the MS.

Pan, let my numbers equal Strephon's lays,
Of Parian ftone thy statue will I raife;
But if I conquer and augment my fold,
Thy Parian statue fhall be changed to gold.






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