their particular thoughts in the same light, whereby it will be obvious how much Philips hath the advantage. With what simplicity he introduces two shepherds singing alternately:

Hobb. Come, Rosalind, O come, for without thee
What pleasure can the country have for me.
Come, Rosalind, O come: My brinded kine,
My snowy sheep, my farm, and all, is thine.
Lang. Come, Rosalind, O come; here shady bowers,
Here are cool fountains, and here springing flow'rs.
Come, Rosalind; here ever let us stay,

And sweetly waste our live-long time away.'

Our other pastoral writer, in expressing the same thought, deviates into downright poetry.

Streph. In spring the fields, in autumn hills I love,
At morn the plains, at noon the shady grove,
But Delia always; forc'd from Delia's sight,
Nor plains at morn, nor groves at noon delight.
Daph. Sylvia's like autumn ripe, yet mild as May,
More bright than noon, yet fresh as early day;
Ev'n spring displeases when she shines not here:

But, blest with her, 'tis spring throughout the year:

In the first of these authors, two shepherds thus innocently describe the behaviour of their mis

tresses.

Hobb. As Marian bath'd, by chance I passed by ;
She blush'd, and at me cast a side-long eye:
Then swift beneath the crystal wave she try'd
Her beauteous form, but all in vain, to hide.
As I to cool me bath'd one sultry day,
Fond Lydia lurking in the sedges lay;

Lang.

The wanton laugh'd and seem'd in haste to fly;
Yet often stopp'd, and often turn'd her eye.'

The other modern (who it must be confessed hath a knack of versifying) hath it as follows:

Streph. Me gentle Delia beckons from the plain,

Then, hid in shades, eludes her eager swain;
But feigns a laugh, to see me search around,
And by that laugh the willing fair is found.

Daph. The sprightly Sylvia trips along the green;
She runs, but hopes she does not run unseen;
While a kind glance at her pursuer flies,

How much at variance are her feet and eyes!

There is nothing the writers of this kind of poetry are fonder of, than descriptions of pastoral presents. Philips says thus of a sheep-hook :

Of season'd elm; where studs of brass appear,
To speak the giver's name, the month, and year,
The hook of polish'd steel, the handle turn'd,
And richly by the graver's skill adorn'd.'

The other of a bowl embossed with figures:

where wanton ivy twines;

And swelling clusters bend the curling vines;
Four figures rising from the work appear,
The various seasons of the rolling year;
And what is that which binds the radiant sky,
Where twelve bright signs in beauteous order lie ?

The simplicity of the swain in this place, who forgets the name of the Zodiac, is no ill imitation of Virgil; but how much more plainly and unaffected would Philips have dressed this thought in his Doric ?

And what That height, which girds the Welkin sheen,
Where twelve gay signs in meet array are seen?

If the reader would indulge his curiosity any farther in the comparison of particulars, he may read the first pastoral of Philips with the second of his contemporary, and the fourth and sixth of the former, with the fourth and first of the latter; where several parallel places will occur to every

one.

Having now shown some parts, in which these two writers may be compared, it is a justice I owe

to Mr. Philips, to discover those in which no man can compare with him. First, that beautiful rusticity, of which I shall only produce two instances, out of a hundred not yet quoted:

O woful day! O day of woe, quoth he,
And woful I, who live the day to see?"

That simplicity of diction, the melancholy flowing of the numbers, the solemnity of this sound, and the easy turn of the words, in this dirge (to make use of our author's expression) are extremely elegant.

In another of his pastorals a shepherd utters a dirge not much inferior to the former, in the following lines:

Ah me the while! ah me, the luckless day!
Ah luckless lad, the rather might I say;

Ah silly I more silly than my sheep,

Which on the flow'ry plains I once did keep.'

How he still charms the ear with these artful-repetitions of the epithets; and how significant is the last verse! I defy the most common reader to repeat them without feeling some motions of compassion.

In the next place I shall rank his proverbs, in which I formerly observed he excels. For example,

A rolling stone is ever bare of moss;

And, to their cost, green years old proverbs cross.
He that late lies down, as late will rise,
And, sluggard-like, till noon-day snoring lies,
Against ill luck all cunning foresight fails;
Whether we sleep or wake it nought avails.

-Nor fear, from upright sentence,' wrong."

Lastly his elegant dialect, which alone might prove him the eldest born of Spenser, and our only true

Arcadian; I should think it proper for the several writers of pastoral, to confine themselves to their several counties: Spenser seems to have been of this opinion; for he hath laid the scene of one of his pastorals in Wales, where, with all the simplicity natural to that part of our island, one shepherd bids the other good-morrow in an unusual and elegant manner.

Diggon Davey, I bid hur God-day;
Or Diggon hur is, or I mis-say.

Diggon answers,

Hur was hur while it was day-light:

But now hur is a most wretched wight,' &c.

But the most beautiful example of this kind that I ever met with, is a very valuable piece which I chanced to find among some old manuscripts, entituled, A Pastoral Ballad; which I think, for its nature and simplicity, may (notwithstanding the modesty of the title) be allowed a perfect pastoral. It is composed in the Somersetshire dialect, and the names such as are proper to the country people. It may be observed, as a farther beauty of this pastoral, the words Nymph, Dryad, Naiad, Faun, Cupid, or Satyr, are not once mentioned through the whole. I shall make no apology for inserting some few lines of this excellent piece. Cicily breaks thus into the subject, as she is going a milking;

Cicily. Rager go vetch tha* kee, or else tha zun

Will quite be go, bevore c'have half a don.

Roger. Thou shouldst not ax ma tweece, but I've a be
To dreave our bull to bull tha parson's kee.'

It is to be observed, that this whole dialogue is formed upon the passion of jealousy; and his men

* That is the kine or cows.

tioning the parson's kine naturally revives the jealousy of the shepherdess Cicily, which she expresses as follows:

Cicily. Ah Rager, Rager, chez was zore avraid

When in yond vield you kiss'd tha parson's maid :

Is this the love that once to me you zed

When from tha wake thou broughtst me gingerbread ? Roger. Cicily thou charg'st me false I'll zwear to thee, Tha parson's maid is still a maid for me.'

In which answer of his are expressed at once that spirit of religion,' and that innocence of the golden age,' so necessary to be observed by ail writers of pastoral.

At the conclusion of this piece, the author reconciles the lovers, and ends the eclogue the most simply in the world :

So Rager parted vor to vetch tha kee,
And vor her bucket in went Cicily.'

I am loth to shew my fondness for antiquity so far as to prefer this ancient British author to our present English writers of pastoral; but I cannot avoid making this obvious remark, that both Spenser and Philips have hit into the same road with this old west country bard of ours.

After all that hath been said I hope none can think it any injustice to Mr. Pope, that I forbore to mention him as a pastoral-writer; since upon the whole he is of the same class with Moschus and Bion, whom we have excluded that rank; and of whose eclogues, as well as some of Virgil's, it may be said, that according to the description we have given of this sort of poetry, they are by no means pastorals, but something better.'