Slaves that no longer can be safe in flight? day of public joy, too good to end in night! N° 603. WEDNESDAY, OCT. 6, 1714. Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnim. Restore, my charms, VIRG. Ecl. viii. 6 My lingering Daphnis to my longing arms. DRYDEN. THE following copy of verses comes from one of my correspondents, and has something in it so original that I do not much doubt but it will divert my readers *. *The Phœbe of this admired pastoral. was Joanna, the daughter of the very learned Dr. Richard Bentley, archdeacon and prebendary of Ely, regius professor and master of Trinity college, Cambridge, who died in 1742. She was afterwards married to Dr. Dennison Cumberland, bishop of Clonfert in Killaloe in Ireland, and grandson of Dr. Richard Cumberland, bishop of Peterborough. 'My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent, II. With such a companion, to tend a few sheep, My fair-one is gone, and my joys are all drown'd, The fountain that wont to run swiftly along, And still as it murmurs do nothing but chide. 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 their 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, v. My dog I was ever well pleased to see Come wagging his tail to my fair-one and me; And Phoebe 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 nought but the magic, I find, of her eyes, Made so many beautiful propects arise. VII. Sweet music went with us both all the wood thro', The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too; Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did bleat, And chirp went the grashopper 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 on her breast: You put on your colours to pleasure her eye, To be pluck'd by her hand, on her bosom to die. IX. 'How slowly time creeps, till my Phoebe return! While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn! Methinks if I knew where about he would tread, I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the lead. And rest so much longer for't when she is here. 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 cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove; N° 601. FRIDAY, OCTOBER 8, 1714. Tu ne quæsieris (scire nefas) quem mihi, quem tibi, Tentáris numeros Ah, do not strive too much to know: My dear Leuconoe, What the kind gods design to do, With me and thee. HOR. 1. Od. xi. 1. CREECH. THE desire of knowing future events is one of the strongest inclinations in the mind of man. Indeed an ability of foreseeing probable accidents is what, in the language of men, is called wisdom and prudence; but, not satisfied with the light that reason holds out, mankind hath endeavoured to penetrate more compendiously into futurity. Magic, oracles, omens, lucky hours, and the various arts of superstition, owe their rise to this powerful cause. As this principle is founded in self-love, every man is sure to be solicitous in the first place about his own fortune, the course of his life, and the time and manner of his death. If we consider that we are free agents, we shall discover the absurdity of such inquiries. One of our actions, which we might have performed or neglected, is the cause of another that succeeds it, and so the whole chain of life is linked together. Pain, poverty, or infamy, are the natural product of vi cious and imprudent acts, as the contrary blessings are of good ones; so that we cannot suppose our Jot to be determined without impiety. A great enhancement of pleasure arises from its being unex, |