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the turn of their eyes, and the changes of their countenance, their sentiments of the objects before
them. I have indulged my silence to such an extravagance, that the few who are intimate with me, answer my smiles with concurrent sentences, and argue to the very point I shaked my head at, without my speaking. Will Honeycomb was very entertaining the other night at a play, to a gentleman who sat on his right hand, while I was at his left. The gentleman believing Will was talking to himself, when upon my looking with great approbation at a young thing in a box before us, he said, ‘I am quite of another opinion. She has, I will allow, a very pleasing aspect, but, methinks, that simplicity in her countenance is rather childish than innocent.” When I observed her a second time, he said, ‘I grant her dress is very becoming, but perhaps the merit of that choice is owing to her mother; for though,” continued he, “I allow a beauty to be as much to be commended for the elegance of her dress, as a wit for that of his lan. guage; yet if she has stolen the colour of her ri-bands from another, or had advice about her trimmings, I shall not allow her the praise of dress, any more than I would call a plagiary an author.” When I threw my eye towards the next woman to her, Will spoke what I looked, according to his romantic imagination, in the following manner: : Behold, you who dare, that charming virgin; behold the beauty of her person chastised by the innocence of her thoughts. Chastity, good-nature, and affability, are the graces that play in her countenance: she knows she is handsome, but she knows she is good. Conscious beauty adorned with conscious virtue! What a spirit is there in those eyes! What a bloom in that person How is the whole woman expressed in her appearance Her air has the beauty of motion, and her look the force of language.” It was prudence to turn away my eyes from this object, and therefore I turned them to the thoughtless creatures who nake up the lump of that sex, and move a knowing eye no more than the portraiture of insignificant people by ordinary painters, which are but pictures of pictures. Thus the working of my own mind is the gene. ral entertainment of my life; I never enter into the commerce of discourse with any but my particular friends, and not in public even with them. Such an habit has perhaps raised in me uncommon reflections; but this eifect I cannot communicate but by my writings. As my pleasures are almost wholly confined to those of the sight, I take it for a peculiar happiness, that I have always had an easy and familiar admittance to the fair sex. If I never praised or flattered, I never belied or contradicted them. As these compose half the world, and are, by the just complaisance and gallantry of our nation, the more powerful part of our people, } shall dedicate a considerable share of these my speculations to their service, and shall lead the young through all the becoming duties of virginity, marriage, and widowhood. When it is a woman's day, in my works, I shall endeavour at a style and air suitable to their understanding. When I say this, I must be understood to mean, that I shall not lower but exalt the subjects I treat upon. Dis. course for their entertainment, is not to be debased, but refined. A man may appear learned without talking sentences, as in his ordinary gesture he dis. covers he can dance, though he does not cut capers. In a word, I shall take it for the greatest glory of my work, if among reasonable women this paper
dows and realities ought not to be mixed together
filled with resemblances, and not with the things themselves.
scenes, and to crowd several parts of the stage
treat on matters which relate to females, as they are concerned to approach or fly from the other sex, or as they are tied to them by blood, interest, or affection. Upon this occasion I think it but reasonable to declare, that whatever skill I may have in speculation, I shall never betray what the eyes of lovers say to each other in my presence. At the same time I shall not think myself obliged by this promise to conceal any false protestations which I observe made by glances in public assemblies; but endeavour to make both sexes appear in their conduct what they are in their hearts. By this means, love, during the time of my specula. tions, shall be carried on with the same sincerity as any other affair of less consideration. As this is the greatest concern, men shall be from henceforth liable to the greatest reproach for misbehaviour in it. Falsehood in love shall hereafter bear a blacker aspect than infidelity in friendship, or villany in business. For this great and good end, all breaches against that noble passion, the cement of society, shall be severely examined. But this and all other matters loosely hinted at now, and in my former papers, shall have their proper place in my following discourses. The present writing is only to admonish the world, that they shall not find me an idle, but a busy Spectator.
ste ELE, R.
No 5. TUESDAY, MARCH 6, 1710-11.
Spectatum admissi risum teneatis "
Admitted to the sight, would yo not laugh 2
AN opera may be allowed to be extravagantly lavish in its decorations, as its only design is to gratify the senses, and keep up an indolent attention in the audience. Common sense however requires, that there should he nothing in the scenes and machines which may appear childish and absurd. How would the wits of King Charles's time have laughed, to have seen Nicolini exposed to a tempest in robes of ermine, and sailing in an open boat upon a sea of pasteboard What a field of raillery would they have been led into, had they been entertained with painted dragons spitting wild-fire, enchanted chariots drawn by Flanders mares, and real cascades in artificial landscapes? A little skill in criticism would inform us, that sha
in the same piece; and that the scenes which are designed as the representations of nature should be
If one would represent a wide champaign country filled with herds and flocks, it would be ridiculous to draw the country only upon the
with sheep and oxen. This is joining together inconsistencies, and making the decoration partly real, and partly imaginary. I would recommend what I have here said to the directors, as well as to the admirers, of our modern opera,
As I was walking in the streets about a fortnight ago, I saw an ordinary fellow carrying a cage full of little birds upon his shoulder; and, as I was wondering with myself what use he would put them to, he was met very luckily by an acquaintance, who had the same curiosity. Upon his asking him what he had upon his shoulder, he told him that he had been buying sparrows for the opera. Spar
may furnish tea-table talk. In order to it, I shall'
rows for the opera, says his friend, licking his lips,
shut, are they to be roasted! No, no, says the ...ther, they are to enter towards the end of the first act, and to fly about the stage. This strange dialogue awakened my curiosity so so, that I immediately bought the opera, by which Itins! perceived the sparrows were to act the on of singing birds in a delightful grove: though, on a nearer inquiry, I found the sparrows put the same trick upon the audience, that Sir Martin Mirill' practised upon his mistress; for though they flew insight, the music proceeded from a conteroffagelets and bird-calls, which were planted bound the scenes. At the same time I made this overy, I found, by the discourse of the actors, othere were great designs on foot for the impowment of the opera; that it had been proposed olk down a part of the wall, and to surprise to audience with a party of an hundred horse, ... that there was actually a project of bringing or New River into the house, to be employed in cousand water-works. This project, as I have or heard, is postponed till the summer season; when tisthought the coolness that proceeds from Ansalms and cascades will be more acceptable otestshing to people of quality. In the mean the to find out a more agreeable entertainment to he winter season, the opera of Rinaldo is tled withthunder and lightning, illuminations and works; which the audience may look upon hout catching cold, and indeed without much get of being burnt; for there are several ens filled with water, and ready to play at a utt's warning, in case any such accident should Fens. However, as I have a very great friend. for the owner of this theatre, I hope that he * oth wise enough to insure his house before would let this opera be acted in it. | sno wonder, that those scenes should be very ! sing, which were contrived by two poets of tent nations, and raised by two magicians of ent sexes, Armida (as we are told in the artent) was an Amazonian enchantress, and poor or Cassani (as we learn from the persons reoted) a Christian conjurer (J1ago Christiano). * Confess I am very much puzzled to find ** Amazon should be versed in the black art, * a good Christian, for such is the part of the on should deal with the devil. onsider the poet after the conjurers, I shall ‘You a taste of the Italian from the first lines
used by none but pedants in our own country; and at the same time fill their writings with such poor imaginations and conceits, as our youths are ashamed of, before they have been two years at the university. Some may be apt to think that it is the difference of genius which produces this difference in the works of the two nations ; but to show that there is nothing in this, if we look into the writings of the old Italians, such as Cicero and Virgil, we shall find that the English writers, in their way of thinking and expressing themselves, resemble those authors much more than the modern Italians pretend to do. And as for the poet himself, from whom the dreams of this opera” are taken, I must entirely agree with Monsieur Boileau, that one verse in Virgil is worth all the clinquant or tinsel of Tasso. . But to return to the sparrows; there have been so many to. of them let loose in this opera, that it is feared the house will never get rid of them; and that in other plays they may make their entrance in very wrong and improper scenes, so as to be seen flying in a lady’s bed-chamber, or perching upon a king's throne ; besides the inconveniencies which the heads of the audience may sometimes suffer from them. " I am credibly informed, that there was once a design of casting into an opera, the story of Whittington and his Cat,f and that in order to it, there had been got together a great quantity of mice; but Mr. Rich, the proprietor of the playhouse, very prudently considered that it would be impossible for the cat to kill them all, and that consequently the princes of the stage might be as much infested with mice, as the prince of the island was before the cat’s arrival upon it; for which reason he would not permit it to be acted in his house. And indeed I cannot blame him; for, as he said very well upon that occasion, I do not hear that any of the performers in our opera pretend to equal the famous pied piper, f who made all the mice of a great town in Germany follow his music, and by that means cleared the place of those little noxious animals. Before I dismiss this paper, I must inform my reader, that I hear there is a treaty on foot between London and Wises (who will be appointed gardeners of the playhouse) to furnish the opera of Itinaldo and Armida with an orange-grove; and that the next time it is acted, the singing birds will be personated by tom-tits : the undertakers
preface; ‘Eccoti, benigno lettore, un parto di **, these ben natodi not te, none però aborto * me ti farā conoscere figlio d'Apollo con * "osio di Parnasso.” “Behold, gentle othebirth of a few evenings, which, though he offspring of the night, is not the abortive ***, but will make itself known to be the Apollo, with a certain ray of Parnassus.” orwards proceeds to call Mynheer Handel "Poisofour age, and to acquaint us, in the *mity of style, that he composed this ** fortnight. Such are the wits to whose ***0ambitiously conform ourselves. The "**, the finest writers among the modern *Press themselves in such a florid form of “nd such tedious circumlocutions, as are
being resolved to spare neither pains nor money, for the gratification of the audience. AIDD is ON.
# The records of Hamelen, an ancient city on the banks of the Weser, give an account of a strange accident which befel them, on the 26th of June, 1284.
“Being at that time much pestered with rats, which they coold by no means destroy, a stranger at last undertook is, on the promise of reward; and immediately taking a tare: and of: the rats followed his music to the river, where they were all drowned ; but, being denied his reward, he left the town in a rage, and threatened revenge: accordingly h. returned next year, and by the same music enticed most of the children of the town after him to the mouth of a great caye on the top of a neighbouring hill called Koppesberg, where he, and they entered, but were never more heard of In remembrance of this sad accident, the citizens, for many years after; dated all their public writings from the day they lost their children, as appears by many old deeds and records. They still call the street through which the children passed. Tabret Street; and at the mouth of the cave there is a monument
| of stone, with an *: in barbarous Latin verse, giving
* Rinaldo, an opera, by Aaron Hill. f See No. 14; and Tat. No. 78.
story, by which the citizens lost 130
* The queen's gardeners.
No 6 wed NESDAY, MARCH 7, 1710-11.
fredetant hoc grande nefas, et morte piandum, Si juvenis vetulo non assurreaeratJUV. Sat. xiii. 54.
*Twas impious then (so much was age rever'd)
t For youth to keep their seats when an old man appear'd. Y KNow no evil under the sun so great as the abuse of the understanding, and yet there is no one vice more common. It has diffused itself through both sexes, and all qualities of mankind; and there is hardly that person to be found, who is not more concerned for the reputation of wit and sense, than of honesty and virtue. But this unhappy affectation of being wise rather than honest, witty than good-natured, is the source of most of the ill habits of life. Such false impressions are owing to the abandoned writings of men of wit, and the awk
ward imitation of the rest of mankind.
For this reason Sir Roger was saying last night, that he was of opinion none but men of fine parts deserve to be hanged. The reflections of such men are so delicate upon all occurrences which they are concerned in, that they should be exposed to more than ordinary infamy and punishment, for offend. ing against such quick admonitions as their own souls give them, and blunting the fine edge of their minds in such a manner, that they are no more shocked at vice and folly than men of slower capa. cities. There is no greater monster in being, than a very ill man of great parts. He lives like a man in a palsy, with one side of him dead. While perhaps he enjoys the satisfaction of luxury, of wealth, of ambition, he has lost the taste of good-will, of friendship, of innocence. Scarecrow, the beggar in Lincoln’s-Inn Fields, who disabled himself in his 1.ght leg, and asks alms all day to get himself a warm supper and a trull at night, is not half so despicable a wretch as such a man of sense. The beggar has no relish above sensations; he finds rest more agreeable than motion; and while he has a warm fire and his doxy, never reflects that he deserves to be whipped. Every man who terminates his satisfactions and enjoyments within the supply of his own necessities and passions, is, says Sir Ro. ger, in my eye, as poor a rogue as Scarecrow. “But,’ continued he, “for the loss of public and
instead of that, you see, it is often subservient to it; and, as unaccountable as one would think it, a wise man is not always a good man.” This dege. neracy is not only the guilt of particular persons, but also at some times of a whole people; and perhaps it may appear upon examination, that the most polite ages are the least virtuous. This may be attributed to the folly of admitting wit and learning as merit in themselves, without considering the application of them. By this means it becomes a rule, not so much to regard what we do, as how we do it. But this false beauty will not pass upon men of honest minds, and true taste. Sir Richard Blackmore says, with as much good sense as virtue, “It is a mighty shame and dishonour to employ excellent faculties and abundance of wit, to humour and please men in their vices and follies. The great enemy of mankind, notwithstanding his wit and angelic faculties, is the most odious being in the whole creation.” He goes on soon af. ter to say very generously, that he undertook the writing of his poem,” “to rescue the Muses out of the hands of ravishers,to restore them to their sweet and chaste mansions, and to engage them in an em. ployment suitable to their dignity.’ This certainly ought to be the purpose of every man who appears in public; and whoever does not proceed upon that foundation, injures his country as fast as he succeeds in his studies. When modesty ceases to be the chief ornament of one sex, and integrity of the other, society is upon a wrong basis, and we shall be ever after without rules to guide our judgment in what is really becoming and ornamental. , Nature and reason direct one thing, passion and humour another. To follow the dictates of these two latter, is going into a road that is both endless and intricate; when we pursue the other, our passage is delightful, and what we aim at easily attainable. I do not doubt but England is at present as polite a nation as any in the world; but any man who thinks can easily see, that the affectation of being gay and in fashion has very near eaten up our good sense and our religion. is there anything sojust, as that mode and gallantry should be built upon exerting ourselves in what is proper and agreeable to the institutions of justice and piety among us? And yet is there anything more common, than that we run in perfect contradiction to them : All which is supported by no other pretension, than that it is
private virtue we are beholden to your men of fine parts forsooth : it is with them no matter what is done, so it be done with an air." But to me, who am so whimsical in a corrupt age as to act according to nature and reason, a selfish man, in the most shining circumstance and equipage, appears in the same condition with the fellow above mentioned, but more contemptible in proportion to what more he robs the public of, and enjoys above him. I lay it down therefore for a rule, that the whole man is to move together; that every action of any importance, is to have a prospect of public good; and that the general tendency of our indifferent actions ought to be j. to the dictates of reason, of religion, of good-breeding; without this, a man, as I have before hinted, is hopping instead of walking, he is not in his entire and proper mo. tion.” While the homest knight was thus bewildering himself in good starts, I looked attentively upon him, which made him, I thought, collect his mind a little. “What I am at,” says he, “is to represent, that I am of opinion, to polish our understandings, and neglect our manners, is of all things the most
done with what we call a good grace. Nothing ought to be held laudable or becoming, but what nature itself should prompt us to think so. Respect to all kind of superiors is founded, I think, upon instinct; and yet what is so ridiculous as age 2 I make this abrupt transition to the mention of this vice more than any other, in order to introduce a little story, which I think a pretty instance, that the most polite age is in danger of being the most vicious. ‘It happened at Athens, during a public representation of some play exhibited in honour of the commonwealth, that an old gentleman came too late for a place suitable to his age and quality. Many of the young gentlemen who observed the difficulty and confusion he was in, made signs to him that they would accommodate him if he came where they sat. The good man bustled through the crowd accordingly; but when he came to the seats to which he was invited, the jest was to sit close and expose him, as he stood, out of countenance, to the whole audience. The frolic went round the Athenian benches. But on those occasions there were also particular places assigned for
inexcusable. Reason should govern passion, but
origners. When the good man skulked towards he boxes appointed for the Lacedemonians, that lost people, more virtuous than polite, rose up .10aman, and with the greatest respect received , namong them. The Athenians being suddenly ched with a sense of the Spartan virtue,and their andegeneracy, gave a thunder of applause; and or old man cried out, “The Athenians underso what is good, but the Lacedemonians prac...it.”
so yesterday to dine with an old acquaintance, 11the misfortune to find his whole family very adjected. Upon asking him the occasion of told me that his wife had dreamt a strange am the night before, which they were afraid olded some misfortune to themselves or to their ten. At her coming into the room, 1 observed led melancholy in her countenance, which I have been troubled for, had I not heard whence it proceeded. We were no sooner own, but after having looked upon me a * while, ‘My dear,’ says she, turning to her old, 'you may now see the stranger that was to candle last might.” Soon after this, as they onto talk of family affairs, a little boy at the to end of the table told her, that he was to go join-hand on Thursday. ' Thursday” says she, child, if it please God, you shall not begin * Childermas-day; tell your writing-master Polay will be soon enough.” I was reflect: oth myself on the oddness of her fancy, and king that any body would establish it as a to use a day in every week. In the midst of of musings, she desired me to reach her a ot upon the point of my knife, which I did **trepidation and hurry of obedience, that drop by the way; at which she immedi'arted, and said it fell towards her. Upon oked very blank; and, observing the conof the whose table, began to consider myself, one confusion, as a person that had brought ser o the family. The lady, however, on; herself after a little space, said to lier of with a sigh, “My dear, misfortunes never sole.’ My friend, I found, acted but an Port at his table, and being a man of more to than understanding, thinks himself ofallin with all the passions and humours ofellow. “I)o not you remember, child,’ * 'that the pigeon-house fell the very after"orcoreless wench spilt the salt upon the - Yes,’ says he, “my dear, and the next *ght us an account of the battle of Al The reader may guess at the figure I *having done all this mischief. I dis. "To dinner as soon as I could, with my ournity; when, to my utter confusion, the o "Some quitting my knife and fork, and on across one another upon my plate, de" * I should humour her so far as to "ol of that figure, and place them side - o the absurdity was which I had
was some traditionary superstition in it; and therefore, in obedience to the lady of the house, I disposed of my knife and fork in two parallel lines, which is the figure I shall always lay them in for the future, though I do not know any reason for it. It is not difficult for a man to see that a person has conceived an aversion to him. For my own part, I quickly found, by the lady's looks, that she regarded me as a very odd kind of fellow, with an unfortunate aspect. For which reason. I took my leave immediately after dinner, and withdrew to my own lodgings. Upon my return home I fell into a profound contemplation on the evils that attend these superstitious follies of mankind; how they subject us to imaginary afflictions, and additional sorrows, that do not properly come within our lot. As if the natural calamities of life were not sufficient for it, we turn the most indifferent circumstances into misfortunes, and suffer as much from trifling accidents as from real evils. . I have known the shooting of a star spoil a night’s rest = and have seen a man in love grow pale, and lose his appetite, upon the plucking of a merrythoughtA screech-owl at midnight has alarmed a family more than a band of robbers; nay, the voice of a cricket hath struck more terror than the roaring of a lion. There is nothing so inconsiderable, which may not appear dreadful to an imagination that is filled with omens and prognostics. A rusty nail, or a crooked pin, shoot up into prodigies. I remember, I was once in a mixt assembly, that was full of noise and mirth, when on a sudden an old woman unluckily observed there were thirteen of us in company. The remark struck a panic: terror into several who were present, insomuch that one or two of the ladies were going to leave the room ; but a friend of mine, taking notice that one of our female companions was big with child, affirmed there were fourteen in the room, and that, instead of portending one of the company should die, it plainly foretold one of them should be bornHad not my friend found this expedient to break the omen, I question not but half the women in the company would have fallen sick that very night. An old maid that is troubled with the vapours, produces infinite disturbances of this kind among her friends and neighbours. I know a maiden aunt of a great family, who is one of these antiquated Sybils, that forebodes and prophecies from one end of the year to the other. She is always seeing apparitions, and hearing death-watches: and was the other day almost frighted out of her wits by the great house-dog that howled in the stable, at a time when she lay ill of the tooth-ach. Such an extravagant cast of mind engages multitudes of people, not only in impertinent terrors, but in supernumerary duties of life , and arises from that fear and ignorance which are natural to the soul of man. The horror with which we entertain the thoughts of death (or indeed of any future evil), and the uncertainty of its approach, fill a melancholy mind with innumerable apprehensions and suspicions, and consequently dispose it to the observation of such groundless prodigies and predictions. For as it is the chief concern of wise men to retrench the evils of life by the reasonings of philosophy; it is the employment of fools to multiply them by the sentiments of superstition. For my own part, I should be very much troubled were I endowed with this divining quality, though it should inform me truly of every ong
did not know, but I suppose there
!hat can befal me, I would not anticipate the C a-a‘I pronounced these words with such a languishing air, that I had some reason to conclude I had made a conquest. She told me that she hoped my
relish of any happiness, nor feel the weight of any misery, before it actually arrives. “I know but one way of fortifying my soul against these gloomy presages and terrors of mind, and that is, by securing to myself the friendship and protection of that Being who disposes of events, and governs futurity. He sees, at one view, the whole thread of my existence, not only that part of it which I have already passed through, but that which runs forward into all the depths of eternity When I lay me down to sleep, I recommend myself to his care : when I wake, I give myself up to his directions. Amidst all the evils that threaten me, I will look up to him for help, and question not but he will either avert them, or turn them to my advantage. Though I know neither the time nor the manner of the death I am to die, I am not at all solicitous about it; because I am sure that he knows them both, and that he will not fail to comfort and support me under thein.” ADD isox, C.
* siR, • I AM one of the directors of the society for the reformation of manners, and therefore think myself a proper person for your correspondence, I have thoroughly examined the present state of religion in Great Britain, and am able to acquaint you with the predominant vice of every markettown in the whole island. I can tell you the progress that virtue has made in all our cities, bo. roughs, and corporations; and know as well the evil practices that are committed in Berwick or Exeter, as what is done in my own family. In a word, sir, I have my correspondents in the remotest parts of the nation, who send me up punctual accounts from time to time of all the little irregulari. ties that fall under their notice in their several dis
tricts and divisions. “I am no less acquainted with the particular quarters and regions of this great town, than with the different parts and distributions of the whole nation. I can describe every parish by its imieties, and can tell you in which of our streets ewdness prevails; which gaming has taken the possession of, and where drunkenness has got the hetter of them both. When I am disposed to raise a fine for the poor, I know the lanes and alleys that are inhabited by common swearers. When I would encourage the hospital of Bridewell, and improve the hempen manufacture, I am very well acquainted with all the haunts and resorts of fe
male night-walkers. “After this short account of myself, I must let you know, that the design of this paper is to give wou information of a certain irregular assembly,
which I think falls very properly under your ob
servation, especially since the persons it is com. posed of are criminals too considerable for the anumadversions of our society. I mean, sir, the Midnight Mask, which has of late been frequently held in one of the most conspicuous parts of the town, and which I hear will be continued with additions and improvements.” As all the persons who compose this lawless assembly are masked, we dare not attack any of them in our way, lest we should send a woman of quality to Bridewell, or a peer of Great Britain to the Counter; be. sides that their numbers are so very great, that I am afraid they would be able to rout our whole fraternity, though we were accompanied with all our guard of constables. Both these reasons, which secure them from our authority, make them obnoxious to yours; as both their disguise and their numbers will give no particular person reason to think himself affronted by you. “If we are rightly informed, the rules that are observed by this new society are wonderfully contrived for the advancement of cuckoldom. The wo. men either come by themselves, or are introduced by friends who are obliged to quit them upon their first entrance, to the conversation of any body that addresses himself to them. There are several rooms where the parties may retire, and, if they please, show their faces by consent. Whispers, squeezes, nods, and embraces, are the innocent freedoms of . the place. In short, the whole design of this sibidinous assembly seems to terminate in assignations and intrigues; and I hope you will take effectual methods, by your public advice and admonitions, to . prevent such a promiscuous multitude of both sexes from meeting together in so clandestine a manner. I am “Your humable servant, ‘and fellow-labourer, • T. B."
Not long after the perusal of this letter I re- a ceived another upon the same subject; which, by the date and style of it, I take to be written by some young Templar :
Middle Temple, 1710-11. “sin,
“When a man has been guilty of any vice of folly, I think the best atonement he can make for it, is to warn others not to fall into the like. In order to this I must acquaint you, that some time in February last I went to the Tuesday’s masque' 'o' rade. Upon my first going in I was attacked by or half a dozen female quakers, who seemed willing to to adopt me for a brother; but, upon a nearer so examination, I found they were a sisterhood of coquettes, disguised in that precise habit. I was soon after taken out to dance, and, as I fancied, by a woman of the first quality, for she was very tall, and moved gracefully. As soon as the minuet was over, we ogled one another through our ot masks; and as I am very well read in Waller, or repeated to her the four following verses out of . his poem to Vandyke :
face was not akin to my tongue, and looking upo. her watch, I accidentally discovered the figure of a coronet on the back part of it. I was so trans
“The heedless lover does not know
* Sct Nos. 14 and 101.