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! The sweet-tongued Murray near her side attends; 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. AUSTIN DOBSON. FROM 'THE SHEPHERD'S WEEK.' Ah, Colin! canst thou leave thy Sweetheart true! What I have done for thee will Cic❜ly do? Will she thy linen wash or hosen darn, And knit thee gloves made of her own-spun yarn? A BALLAD. [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, Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean, 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 All melancholy lying, Thus wailed she for her dear; She bowed her head, and died. THE HARE WITH MANY FRIENDS. Friendship, like love, is but a name, A Hare, who, in a civil way, 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; Till, fainting in the public way, For all your friends are in the rear.' She next the stately Bull implored; You know, all other things give place. The Goat remarked her pulse was high, Her languid head, her heavy eye; 'My back,' says he, 'may do you harm; |