The laft Offices were perform'd by the Right Reverend Dr. Wilcox, Bishop of Rochefter, the Choir attending, and his Body was depofited in the South Crofs-Ile, over against Chaucer's Tomb.

There is erected to his Memory a fine Monument, by Ryfbrack; on which, according to his Defire, is put:

Life is a Jeft, and all Things fhow it ;
I thought so once, but now I know it.

A LITTLE BELOW.

Of Manners gentle, of Affections mild,
In Wit a Man, Simplicity, a Child;

With native Humour temp'ring virtuous Rage,
Form'd to delight at once and lafh the Age.
Above Temptation in a lo w Estate,
And uncorrupted, e'en among the Great.
A fafe Companion, and an eafy Friend,
Unblain'd thro' Life, lamented in thy End.
These are thy Honours! Not that here thy Buft,
Is mix'd with Heroes, or with Kings thy Duft:
But that the Worthy and the Good shall say,
striking their pensive Bosoms,-

Here lies Gay.

Here lie the Afhes of Mr. JOHN GAY:
The warmest Friend,
The gentleft Companion,
Who maintain'd,
Independency

In low Circumftances of Fortune;

Integrity,

In the midst of a corrupt Age;
And that equal Serenity of Mind,
Which confcious Goodness alone can give,
Thro' the whole Courfe of his Life.

Favourite

Favourite of the Mufes,

He was led by them to every elegant Art:
Refined in Tafte,

And fraught with Graces all his own.
In various Kinds of Poetry
Superior to many,

Inferior to none.

His Works continue to inspire
What his Example taught:

Contempt of Folly, however adorn'd;
Deteftation of Vice, however dignified;
Reverence for Virtue, however difgraced.
CHARLES and CATHARINE,
Duke and Dutchefs of Queensberry,
Who lov'd this excellent Perfon Living,
And Regret him Dead,

Have caus'd this Monument to be erected
To his Memory.

Now having decently interr'd Mr. Gay, we defire our Reader to prepare for what was before promis'd, that is, fome Difcourfe on Pastoral, taking Opportunity of Mr. Gay's Shepherd's Week, to make a Criticism thereon, not fuch as may only fhew our Knowledge of Defects, but of Beauty alfo. There have been always Criticks, and (fays a right noble and worthy one indeed) among a great many bad, fome good ones: But I believe there was never fuch an Age and Nation for that Humour as ours is at prefent. In fo great a Town as London there is always a little of the Plague in fome odd Corner or other; but fometimes 'tis epidemical, and fweeps all away. Juft so 'tis now with Criticifm, which without the leaft Diftinction spares no Body. That I mean, which is vented in Eating-houses, Coffee-houses, and Play

houses;

houses; and is nothing in the World but a Mixture of Ill-nature and Ignorance. But, the worft is, thefe bleak Winds are ever blafting our hopeful Bloffoms; for they hinder the modefteft and best Wits from writing; but, like Winds too, they can hardly hurt what is well ripened, and come forth: For 'tis almost infallible that a real good Thing will bear out itself, and get the better of all Oppofition. Time, therefore, in all Matters of Writing, is the only true Touchftone of Merit; which at lenghth will prevail over all the Folly and Faction imaginable.

As in old Rome, what made fuch excellent Orators above any fince, but the universal Endeavour of all Mankind then to be eloquent? So here, among fo many Criticks, 'tis impoffible but fome few muft be fitted by Nature for fuch an exact Judgment of Things; and it being fo much the Fashion, they cannot fail by Art and Practice to improve their Talent.

The Business of the Critick is mightily mistaken among us: For our Town-sparks think it confifts in nothing but finding Fault, which is but the least Half of their Work. Every Man who drinks his Pot, can judge a paultry Picture in an Alehoufe to be worth nothing; but how few can difcern the beft Touches, and judge of a good Collection!

When I meet with any Thing that deferves it, I approve it gladly, both for the Juftice of the Thing, and because I give fome Proof of my own Candour and Eafinefs of Humour, which, without Partiality, hath nothing of the Envy fo common now a-days even among our beft Wits. Yet perhaps this may proceed from a Sort of Vanity, of which I am as apt to fufpect myself guilty, as any Body; knowing fo well that all Sort of Writers, are too much inclin❜d to it.

However,

However, (be it from what Motive it may) the following is a Criticism chiefly, if not altogether, on the Praise-worthy Side of our Authors confidered, not proceeding from Envy of true Merit, nor Illnature in the Critick; therefore expect little except Comparison, Explanation, and bringing to light fome beautiful Paffages, in feveral great paftoral Poets, Mr. Pope, Mr. Gay, Mr. Philips, and in dramatick Paftoral, Taffo, Guarini, and our British, and much to be admir'd gentle Shepherd, Allan Ramfay.

There are four Sorts of Paftorals; the firft Sort is that which is wrote with an Eye to antient Arcadian Shephersd, and this rifes in the Stile, and affumes more poetical Liberty than otherways would be allowed to fimple Shepherd Swains; of this Sort are the Paftorals of Mr. Pope and Mr. Philips.

The fecond Sort keeps in View only modern Shepherds, fpeaking in more homely Guife, without the poetical Painting mentioned in the first, of this Kind are Mr. Gay's.

The third Sort is as either of thefe are manag'd by the Poet, and is the old Arcadian, or elfe the modern, and more natural Paftoral, either in Defcription, or Dialogue, of this Kind are fome of the Paftorals of each of the three Poets beforementioned.

The fourth Sort is pastoral Comedy, and this admits of Description, Dialogue, Accident, Incident, and Action, and is the greateft Perfection to which paftoral Poetry can be brought; of this Kind, is the Aminta of Taffo-The Faithful Shepherd of Guarini, and the Gentle Shepherd of Allan Ramfay. Boileau, in his Art of Poetry, has given very good Instruction to a pastoral Writer, in the following Lines, tranflated from the original French, by Sir William Soames, and afterwards revis'd by the great Mr. Dryden.

AS

A

S a fair Nymph, when rifing from her Bed, With sparkling Diamonds dreffes no ther Head; But without Gold, or Pearl, or coftly Scents, Gathers from neighb'ring Fields her Ornaments: Such, lovely in its Drefs, but plain withal, Ought to appear a perfect Paftoral: Its humble Method nothing has of fierce, But hates the rattling of a lofty Verse : There, native Beauty pleases, and excites, And never with harfh Sounds the Ear affrights. But in this Stile a Poet often spent,

In Rage throws by his rural Inftrument,

And vainly, (when disorder'd Thoughts abound,)
Amidft the Eclogue makes the Trumpet found:
Pan flies, alarm'd, into the neighb'ring Woods.
And frighted Naiads dive into the Floods.

Mr. Philips, who wrote his Paftorals before Mr. Pope, fays little concerning the Manner of writing, or of the Nature of this Sort of Poetry, which, for many Years before he took his rural Pipe in Hand, had been quite neglected; it is therefore, I think, a little strange, that on the Revival of paftoral Poetry in England, he should only fay:

Tis ftrange to think, in an Age so addicted to the Mufes, how Paftoral Poetry comes to be never fo much as thought upon; confidering efpecially, that it has been always accounted the moft confiderable. of the smaller Poems: Virgil and Spencer made ufe of it as a Prelude to heroick Poetry. But I fear the Innocency of the Subject makes it fo little inviting at prefent.

There is no Sort of Poetry, if well wrought, but gives Delight. And the Paftoral perhaps may boast

of