Strephon.

All Nature mourns, the Skies relent in Showers; Hufh'd are the Birds, and clos'd the drooping Flowers: If Delia fmile, the Flowers begin to fpring, The Skies to brighten, and the Birds to fing.

Daphnis.

All Nature laughs, the Groves are fresh and fair, The Sun's mild Luftre warms the vital Air; If Sylvia fmiles new Glories gild the Shore, And vanquifh'd Nature feems to charm no more.

This laft Line has fo very remote Senfe, and is of fuch difficult Reading, that it is more like a ftrain'd Line in Heroick, than what it ought here to be, the Praife of a young Shepherdefs by a Swain. Think not, benign Reader, that we venture to find any Fault with thefe fine Verfes, all we intend, or would be thought to mean is, that they are misplac'd: In what Manner has Mr. Gay exprefs'd himself, who eft the Arcadian Plains, and draws his Scene of Action at home." chisek odz

My Blouzelinda is the blitheft Lafs,

Than Primrofe fweeter, or the Clover-grafs.
Fair is the King-cup that in Meadow blows,
Fair is the Dailie that befide her grows,
T'air is the Gillyflow'r of Gardens fweet vis
air is the Mary-gold for Pottage meet,
Butt Blouzelind's than Gillyflow'r more fair,
Than Daifie, Mary-gold, or King-cup rare.

Guddy.

My brown Buxoma is the featest Maid,
That e'er at Wake delightfome Gambol play'd.
Clean as young Lambkins or the Goofe's Down,
And like the Goldfinch in her Sunday Gown.
The witless Lamb may fport upon the Plain,
The frifking Kid delight the gaping Swain,
The wanton Calf may fkip with many a Bound,
And my Cur Tray play defteft Feats around:
But neither Lamb nor Kid, nor Calf nor Tray,
Dance like Buxoma on the first of May.

bSweet is my Toil when Blouzelind is near,
Of her bereft 'tis Winter all the Year.

With her no fultry Summer's Heat I know;
In Winter, when he's nigh, with Love I glow.
Come Blouzelinda, ease thy Swain's Defire,
My Summer's Shadow and my Winter's Fire !

Here is nothing but plain and fimple Nature; The Flowers, the Beafts, the Seafons, nothing out of their Sight, or Reach, nothing affected, but all in Character, and all beautifully fo.

Now coming to fpeak of the Dramatick Paftoral. Writers, and firft of Tao, we cannot help thinking, that his artful Manner of praifing the Beauty of Sylvia, by another Woman, as quoted in the 20th Page of the foregoing Volume, has fomething in it very mafterly, to which we refer, and proceed to Guarini, the other great Italian dramatick paftoral Poet, who makes his Faithful Shepherd speak of his Miftrefs's Beauty thus:

CRUDA

PAN

RUDA Amarilli, che col nome ancora
D'amar, ahi laffo, amaramente infegni.
Amarilli del candido liguftro

Più candida, e più bella:
Ma del'afpido fordo

E più forda, più fera, e più fugace:
Poiche col dirt offendo,

I'mi morrò tacendo :00

Mà grideran per me le piagge, e i monti,
E puefta felva, à cui

Si fpeffo il tuo bel nome
Di rifonare infegno :
Per me piangendo i fonti,
E mormorando i venti
Diranno i miei lamenti :
Parlerà nel mio volto

La Pietate, e'l dolore

Efe fia muta ogn'altra cofa, al fine
Parlerà il mio morire,

E ti dirà la morte il mio martire.

Which I have tranflated thus:

Ah Amarillis far more beautiful,

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And much more fair than are the whiteft Lillies
But than deaf Adders far more deaf and cruel:
Since I offend thee when I fpeak my Love,
My Tongue fhall never dare; but yet for me
Shall fpeak the Fields, the Mountains, and the
By me fo often taught to found thy Name: [Woods,
For me fhall Fountains weep, and murmuring Winds
Whisper out my Complaints; in my fad Face
Grief and Diftrefs fhall fpeak, and if at laft
All other Things are mute, even then my Death
Shall fpeak, and tell thee, that Love's Martyr dies.

I fhall speak with the more Pleafure on the next Poet; firft, as he is a Briton, next, that he has Beauties equal to the two great Italians mention'd before, and lastly, that I have the Pleasure of being the firft to point out to the Inhabitants of this Part of our Island, a Beauty that was conceiv'd and born in the North. Reader, be well aware, and defpife not the Diction of this paftoral Comedy of the Gentle Shepherd: It is a Dialect well adapted to the Subject, and has great Applaufe from very great Men, Mr. Pope preferr❜d it to any Paftoral in the Italian, except thofe wrote by Taffo and Guarini, and thou mayft understand, that Taffo was the Inventor of this Kind of Poely.

In this Paftoral of our Countryman, Mr. Allan Ramfay, are many cooth Words and Phrases, right worthy being brought into the Dialect fpoken by the moft polite, in this moft courtly Part of Britain; neither can we without Marvel, fee fo many Words borrow'd from France and other Countries, and grafted into our Speech, and fee our best Writers, and most courtly Speakers, neglect fo many well founding Expreffions and fignificant Words, as are to be found in our northern Dialect.

The other Poets we have quoted have brought in Shepherds praifing their belov'd Shepherdeffes, but Mr. Allan Ramfay introduces a Maiden praising and defcribing the Gentle Shepherd.

Peggy Patie to me is dearer than my Breath, But want of him I dread nae other (a) Skaith. There's nane of a' the Herds that tread the Green Has fic a Smile or fic twa glancing Een.

And then he speaks with fic a taking Art,

His Words they (b) thirle like Mufick thro' my Heart.

How

(a) Damage,

(b) Thrill.

How blithely can he fport, and gently rave,
And jeft at little Fears that fright the (a) Lave. V
Ilk Day that he's alone upon the Hill,

He reads fell Books that teach him meikle Skill.
He is but what need I fay that or this,

I'd spend a Month to tell you what he is!
In a' he fays or does, there's fie a Gate,
The reft feem Coofs compar'd with my dear Pate.

This Writer has with Mr. Gay left Arcadian Strains, and Plains, to which Stile the Reft keep, but then Taffo and Guarini as their Stile is Arcadian, their Scenes are in Arcady; what most difpleafethus is, when, as Mr. Philips in his third Paftoral keeps up to the Sicilian Stile, yet talks of Thomas and Britain."

Next to praifing and defcribing thofe that they love, generally paftoral Writers are fond of making young Lovers complain of their Love, and here Mr. Philips has done himfelf and our Language great Credit and Honour. Hear his charming Shepherd's Boy:

Ah well a Day! How long muft I endure This pining Pain? Or who fhall work my Cure? Fond Love no Cure will have; feeks no Repofe Delights in Grief; not any Meafure knows. And now the Moon begins in Clouds to rife; The twinkling Stars are lighted in the (b) Skies; The Winds are hufh'd; the Dews diftil; and Sleep With foft Embrace has feiz'd my weary Sheep. I only, with the prouling Wolf, conftrain'd All Night to wake. With Hunger is he pain❜d," And I with Love. His Hunger he may tame: But who in Love can flop the growing Flame? Whilome did I, all as this Poplar fair, Up-raife my heedlefs Head, devoid of Care,

Mong

(a) Reft,

(b) Boobies.":"