of windows have done frequent execution upon the sex. But there is no set of these male charmers who make their way more successfully, than those who had gained themselves a name for intrigue, and have ruined the greatest number of reputations. There is a strange curiosity in the female world to be acquainted with the dear man who has been loved by others, and to know what it is that makes him so agreeable. His reputation does more than half his business. Every one that is ambitious of being a woman of fashion, looks out for opportunities of being in his company; so that to use the old proverb, "when his name is up he may lie a-bed." 'I was very sensible of the great advantage of being a man of importance upon these occasions on the day of the king's entry, when I was seated in a balcony behind a cluster of very pretty country ladies, who had one of these showy gentlemen in the midst of them. The first trick I caught him at was bowing to several persons of quality whom he did not know; nay he had the impudence to hem at a blue garter who had a finer equipage than ordinary, and seemed a little concerned at the impertinent huzzas of the mob, that hindered his friend from taking notice of him. There was indeed one who pulled off his hat to him, and upon the ladies asking who it was, he told them, it was a foreign minister that he had been very merry with the night before; whereas in truth, it was the city common-hunt. 'He was never at a loss when he was asked any person's name, though he seldom knew any one under a peer. He found dukes and earls among the aldermen, very good-natured fellows among the privycounsellors, with two or three agreeable old rakes among the bishops and judges. In short, I collected from his whole discourse, that he was acquainted with every body, and knew no body. At the same time, I am mistaken if he did not that day make more advances in the affections of his mistress, who sat near him, than he could have done in half a year's courtship. 'Ovid has finely touched this method of making love, which I shall here give my reader in Mr. Dryden's translation.' Page the eleventh. Thus love in theatres did first improve, Nor need is there of talking on the hand, Nor nods, nor signs, which lovers understand; Enquire whose chariot this, and whose that horse; Suit all your inclinations to her mind: Like what she likes, from thence your court begin, Again, page the sixteenth. O when will come the day by heav'n design'd, Invent new names of things unknown before No. DCIII. WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 6. Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducita Daphnim. ..Restore my charms, My ling'ring Daphnis to my longing arms. VIRG. 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. I. 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, And my heart........I am sure it weighs more than a pound. III. The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among; Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phebe was there, 'Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear: But now she is absent, I walk by its side, And still as it murmurs do nothing but chide; Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain? Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain. IV. When my lambkins around me would oftentimes play, And when Phebe and I were as joyful as they, How pleasant their sporting, how happy their time, I fling at their fleeces an handful of grass; V. My dog I was ever well pleased to see VI. When walking with Phebe, what sights have I seen! How fair was the flow'r, how fresh was the green? What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade, The corn-fields and hedges, and ev'ry thing made! But now she has left me, though all are still there, They none of 'em now so delightful appear: 'Twas nought but the magic, I find, of her eyes, Made so many beautiful prospects arise. VII. Sweet music went with us both all the wood through, VIII. Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue? Does ought of its sweetness the blossom beguile ? IX. How slowly time creeps, till my Phebe return! While amidst the soft Zephyr's cool breezes I burn; Methinks if I knew whereabouts he would tread, I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the lead, Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear, And rest so much longer for't when she is here. Ah Colin! old Time is full of delay, Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst say. X. Will no pitying pow'r that hears me complain, To be cur'd, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove; |