From other fhades hath wean'd my wandring mind; Spenser.
Tell me, what wants me here to work delight?
The fimple air, the gentle warbling wind,
So calm, fo cool, as no where else, I find;
The grally ground with dainty daifies dight, 1)
The bramble bufh, where birds of every kind
To th' water's fall their tunes attemper right.

COL. O happy Hobbinol, I bless thy state,
That Paradife haft found which Adam loft:
Here wander may the flock early and late,
Withouten dread of wolves to been ytoft; 2)
Thy lovely lays here mayft thou freely boast:
But I, unhappy Man! whom cruel Fate
And angry gods pursue from coast to coaft,
Can no where find to fhroud my luk clefs pate.

HOв. Then if by me thou lift advised be,
Forfake the foil that fo doth thee bewitch;
Leave me those hills where harbrough nis 3) to fee,
Nor holly-bush, nor brere, nor winding ditch;
And to the dales refort, where fhepherds rich,
And fruitful flocks, been every where to fee:
Here no night-ravens lodge, more black than pitch,
Nor elvifh ghofts, nor ghaftly owls do flee;

But friendly Fairies, met with many Graces,
And lightfoot Nymphs, can chace the lingring
Night.

With hydeguies 4) and trimly trodden traces,
Whilft fifters Nine, which dwell on Parnafs' hight,
Do make them mufick for their mere delight;
And Pan himself to kifs their cryftal faces,

Will pipe and daunce, when Phoebe fhineth bright:
Such peerless pleasures have we in these places.

COL. And I, whilft youth and course of care

lefs years

Cc3

Did

Spenser. Did let me walk withouten links of love,
In fuch delights did joy amongst my peers,
But riper age fuch pleasures doth reprove.
My fancy eke 5) from former follies move
To ftayed fteps; for time in paffing wears
(As garments doen, which wexen 6) old above)
And draweth new delights with hoary years.

Tho' couth I fing of love, and tune my pipe
Unto my plaintive pleas in verfes made;
Tho' would I feek for queen-apples unripe,
To give my Rofalind, and in fommer fhade.
Dight gawdy girlonds was my common trade,
To cron her golden locks; but years more ripe,
And lofs of here, whofe love as life I wayde, 7)
Those weary wanton toys away did wipe.

HOB. Colin, to hear thy rimes and roundelays,
Which thou wert wont on wafteful hills to fing,
I more delight than lark in fommer days,
Whofe eccho made the neighbour groves to ring,
And taught the birds, which in the lower fpring
Did fhroud in fhady leaves from funny rays,
Frame to thy fong their cheerful cheriping,
Or hold their peace, for fhame of thy fweet lays.

I faw Calliope with Mufes moe, 8)

Soon as thy oaten pipe began to found,
Their ivory lutes and tamburins forgo,

And from the fountain, where they fat around,
Ren after haftily thy filver found;

But when they came where thou thy fkill did
Show

They drew aback, as half with fhame confound,
Shepherd to fee them in their art out-go.

COL. Of Mufes, Hobbinol I con no skill,
For they been daughters of the highest Jove,
And holden fcorn of homely fhepherd's quill;

5) alfo. 6) grew. 7) efteem'd. 8) more.

For

Spenser.'

For fith 9). I heard that Pan with Phoebus ftrove,
Which him to much rebuke and danger drove,
I never lift prefume to Parnafs' hill,

But piping low in fhade of lowly grove,
I play to pleale myfelf, albeit 10) ill.

Nought weigh I who my fong doth praife for bla

me,

Ne 11) ftrife to win renown, or pafs the reft:
With Shepherd fits not follow flying Fame,
But feed his Flock in fields where falls him beft.
I wote 12) my rimes been rough and rudely dreft;
The fitter they, my careful cafe to frame:
Enough is me to paint out my unreft,
And pour my piteous plaints out in the fame.

The god of fhepherds, Tityrus, is dead,
Who taught me homely as I can to make;
Ne, whilft he lived, was the fovereign head
Of Shepherds all that been with love ytake:
Well couth he wail his woes, and lightly flake
The flames which love within his heart had bred,
And tell us merry tales to keep us wake,
The while our fheep about us safely fed.

Now dead he is, and lieth wrapt in lead,
(O! why fhould Death on him fuch outrage fhow
And all his paffing fkill with him is fled,
The fame whereof doth daily greater grow.
But if on me fome little drops would flow
Of that the spring was in his learned head,
I foon would learn thefe woods to wail my woe,
And teach the trees their trickling tears to shed,

Then fhould my plaints, cauf'd of difcourtefee,
As meffengers of this my painful plight,
Fly to my love wherever that she be,
And pierce her heart with point of worthy wight,
As fhe deferves, that wrought fo deadly spight.

9) fince. 10) although it be. 11) Nor. 12) I know.

Spenfer. And thou, Menalcas, that by treachery

Didft underfong 13) my lafs to wax fo light,
Should't well be known for fuch thy villany.

But fince I am not as I wish I were,

Ye gentle fhepherds, which your flock do feed,
Whether on hills, or dales, or other where,
Bear witness all of this fo wicked deed,

And tell the lafs, whofe flowre is woxe a weed,
And faultlefs faith is turn'd to faithless fear,
That the the trueft fhepherd's heart made bleed
That lives on earth, and loved her most dear.

HOB. O careful Colin, I lament thy cafe;
Thy tears would make the hardest flint to flow!
Ah! faithlefs Rofalind, and void of grace,
That art the root of all this rueful woe!
But now is time, I guess, homeward to go:
Then rife, ye bleffed Flocks! and home apace,
Left night with stealing fteps do you foreflo,
And wet your tender lambs that by you trace.
13) attempt by indirect means.

Am

Ambrose Philips.

(Dieser Dichter wurde in der Grafschaft Leicester um das Jahr 1673 geboren, und starb zu London, 1749. Der Beifall, welchen seine Schäfergedichte bei ihrer ersten Ers scheinung in England erhielten, wurde gar, sehr durch die ironische Vergleichung vermindert, welche Pope im 40ften Blatte der Wochenschrift, The Guardian, zwischen ihnen und den feinigen, dem ersten Anschein nach zum Nachtheil der legtern, anstellte. Und Philips fehlte allerdings in dem Bestreben, seine Schäfer, ihre Gesinnungen und Sprache, die Scene der Handlung, die Gegenstände der Beschreibung und des Gesprächs, der wirklichen Naturso nahe als möglich zu bringen; und verfiel dadurch nicht selten ins Gemeine, Platte und Abgeschmackte. Ohne Zweifel aber ließ sich Pos pe durch Eigenliebe zur Ungerechtigkeit gegen diesen Dichter verleiten, der wenigstens stellenweise nicht ohne Verdienst ist. Das schönste unter seinen übrigen Gedichten ist eine von Koppenhagen aus im J. 1709 an den Grafen Dorset gerich tete poetische Epistel, die Steele, als ein sehr mahlerisches Winterstuck, mit verdientem Lobe, in der zwölften Nummer des Tatler zuerst bekannt machte.)

Ambrose
Philips.

Mico.

This place may feem for Shepherds leisure made,
So lovingly these elms unite their shade.

Th' ambitious woodbine, how it climbs, to breath
Its balmy fweets around on all beneath!

The ground with grafs of cheerful green befpread,
Thro' which the fpringing flow'r up-rears its head.
Lo here the king-cup, of a golden hue,

Medlyd with daifies white, and endive blue.
Hark how the gaudy goldfinch, and the thrush,
With tuneful warblings fill that bramble-bush!