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of Theocritus.' 'Thou wilt not find my Shepherdesses,' says the author's proem, 'idly piping upon oaten Reeds, but milking the Kine, tying up the Sheaves, or, if the Hogs are astray, driving them to their Styes. My Shepherd gathereth none other Nosegays but what are the growth of our own Fields; he sleepeth not under Myrtle shades, but under a Hedge ; nor doth he vigilantly defend his Flocks from Wolves, because there are none.' Like Fielding's novel of Joseph Andrews, the execution of The Shepherd's Week was far superior to its avowed object of mere ridicule. In spite of their barbarous ‘Bumkinets' and 'Grubbinols, Gay's eclogues abound with interesting folk-lore and closely-studied rural pictures. We see the country-girl burning hazel-nuts to find her sweet-heart, or presenting the faithless Colin with a knife with a 'posy'on it, or playing ‘Hot Cockles,' or listening to Gillian of Croydon and Patient Grissel. There are also sly strokes of kindly satire, as when the shepherds are represented fencing the grave of Blouzelinda against the prospective inroads of the parson's horse and cow, which have the right of grazing in the churchyard; or when that dignitary, in consideration of the liberal sermon-fee,

"Spoke the Hour-glass in her praise-quite out.' These little touches (and there are a hundred more) makeous sure that we are reading no mere caricature ; but that the country-life of that age of Queen Anne, which her poet loyally declares to be the only ‘Golden Age,' is truly and faithfully brought before us.

The Shepherd's Week was followed by Trivia, for which, the preface tells us, the author received several hints from Swift, with whose City Shower it has affinities. It is a lively and humourous description of the London streets circa 1716, and has an antiquarian as well as a poetical value. The farce of The What d'ye Call It contains the musical ballad "'Twas when the seas were roaring,' which we quote. Gay's only other important work (for the Beggar's Opera does not come within our limits) is the Fables, which in 1726 he prepared for the edification of the young Duke of Cumberland. As a fabulist he is easy and colloquial ; and his work is distinguished by good-humour and goodsense ; but he fails to reach the happy negligence and the supreme art of La Fontaine. The Hare and many Friends is a fair sample of his manner; and it is of additional interest as being in some measure a personal utterance, though the records of his life show that, in spite of his disappointments of court favour, he seldom failed in finding a Monmouth or a Burlington to soothe his wounded feelings. Moreover, the profits from his works, which enabled him, in spite of losses, to die worth a considerable sum, could not have been inconsiderable.

The Fables are Gay's most extensive effort. His remaining works consist of Epistles, Town Eclogues, Tales, and Miscellaneous Pieces. The Epistles are sprightly and familiar. One of them, A Welcome from Greece, addressed to Pope on his having finished his translation of the Iliad, has an unexpected vivacity and lyric movement. It is in an ottava-rima earlier than Frere or Byron; and exhibits the poet's contemporaries assembling to greet him after his six years' toil. Prior, Congreve, Steele, Chandos, Bathurst,-few of the illustrious names of the age are absent. Nor are the other sex unrepresented : • What lady's that, to whom he gently bends ?

Who knows not her? ah! those are Wortley's eyes !
How art thou honoured, numbered with her friends!

For she distinguishes the good and wise.
The sweet-tongued Murray near her side attends;

Now to my heart the glance of Howard flies;
Now Hervey, fair of face, I mark full well,

With thee, Youth's youngest daughter, sweet Lepell.' As to Gay's Town Eclogues, they are neither better nor worse than Lady Mary's own; and probably had a like origin, ridicule of Ambrose Philips. His Tales have the indelicacy but not the grace of Prior's. Of his songs and ballads, that of Sweet William's Farewell to Black-Eyed Susan is too well-known to need description; and too great a favourite to be omitted from any anthology. Damon and Cupid and The Lady's Lamentation are other examples of that singing faculty which Gay possessed in so marked a degree, and which contributed so triumphantly to the success of the Beggar's Opera.



Ah, Colin ! canst thou leave thy Sweetheart true !
What I have done for thee will Çic’ly do ?
Will she thy linen wash or hosen darn,
And knit thee gloves made of her own-spun yarn ?
Will she with huswife's hand provide thy meat,
And every Sunday morn thy neckcloth plait ?
Which o'er thy kersey doublet spreading wide,
In service-time drew Cic'ly's eyes aside. .
If in the soil you guide the crooked share,
Your ly breakfast is my constant care ;
And when with even hand you strow the grain,
I fright the thievish rooks from off the plain.
In misling days when I my thresher heard,
With nappy beer I to the barn repaired ;
Lost in the music of the whirling flail,
To gaze on thee I left the smoking pail :
In harvest when the sun was mounted high,
My leathern bottle did thy drought supply;
Whene'er you mowed I followed with the rake,
And have full oft been sun-burnt for thy sake;
When in the welkin gathering showers were seen,
I lagged the last with Colin on the green ;
And when at eve returning with thy car,
Awaiting heard the jingling bells from far ;
Straight on the fire the sooty pot I placed,
To warm thy broth I burnt my hands for haste.
When hungry thou stoodst staring, like an oaf,
I sliced the luncheon from the barley loaf;
With crumbled bread I thickened well thy mess.
Ah, love me more, or love thy pottage less!


[From The What d’ye Call It.]

'Twas when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind; A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclined. Wide o'er the rolling billows

She cast a wistful look ; Her head was crowned with willows,

That tremble o'er the brook.

"Twelve months are gone and over,

And nine long tedious days. Why didst thou, venturous lover,

Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,

And let my lover rest :
Ah! what's thy troubled motion

To that within my breast ?

"The merchant, robbed of pleasure,

Sees tempests in despair ;
But what's the loss of treasure,

• To losing of my dear?
Should you some coast be laid on

Where gold and diamonds grow, You'd find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

' How can they say that nature

Has nothing made in vain ; Why then beneath the water,

Should hideous rocks remain ?

No eyes the rocks discover

That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wandering lover,

And leave the maid to weep.'

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All melancholy lying,

Thus wailed she for her dear ;
Repaid each blast with sighing,

Each billow with a tear.
When, o'er the white wave stooping

His floating corpse she spied ;
Then, like a lily drooping,

She bowed her head, and died.



Friendship, like love, is but a name,
\Unless to one you stint the flame.
The child whom many fathers share,
Hath seldom known a father's care.
'Tis thus in friendship; who depend
On many, rarely find a friend.

A Hare, who, in a civil way,
Complied with everything, like Gay,
Was known by all the bestial train,
Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain.
Her care was, never to offend,
And every creature was her friend.

As forth she went at early dawn,
To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,
Behind she hears the hunter's cries,
And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies :
She starts, she stops, she pants for breath ;
She hears the near advance of death ;
She doubles, to mislead the hound,
And measures back her mazy round ;

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