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When falling dews with fpangles deck'd the glade,
To these Pastorals, which are written agreeably to the tafte of antiquity, and the rules above prefcrib'd, we shall beg leave to fubjoin another that may be called a burlesque Pastoral, wherein the ingenious author, the late Mr. Gay, has ventur'd to deviate from the beaten road, and defcribed the fhepherds and ploughmen of our own time and country, instead of thofe of the Golden Age, to which the modern critics confine the paftoral. His fix Paftorals, which he calls the Shepherd's Week, are a beautiful and lively representation of the manners, cuftoms, and notions of our rufticks. We fhall infert the firft of them, entitled, The Squabble, wherein two clowns try to out-do each other in finging the praises of their sweet-hearts, leaving it to a third to determine the controverfy. The perfons names are Lobbin Clout, Cuddy, and Cloddipole.
Thy younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake;
Ah Lobbin Clout! I ween ‡, my plight is guest;
Ah Blouzelind! I love thee more behalf,
* Shining or bright sky.
Scarce. + Early. + Conceive.
Woe worth the tongue, may blifters fore it gall,
Hold, witlefs Lobbin Clout, I thee advife,. Left blifters fore on thy own tongue arise, Lo yonder Cloddipole, the blithfome swain, The wifeft lout of all the neighb'ring plain !' From Cloddipole we learnt to read the skies, To know when hail will fall,. or winds arife. He taught us erft * the heifer's tail to view, When stuck aloft, that show'rs would straight enfue: He first that useful fecret did explain,
That pricking corns foretold the gath'ring rain.
See this tobacco pouch, that's lin'd with hair,
Begin thy carrols then, thou vaunting flouch; Be thine the oaken ftaff, or mine the pouch.
My Blouzalinda is the blitheft lafs,
My brown Buxoma is the featest maid, That e'er at wake delightfome gambol play'd; Clean as young lambkins, or the goofe's down, And like the goldfinch in her funday gown. The witless lamb may sport upon the plain, The friking kid delight the gaping fwain ; The wanton calf may skip with many a bound, And my cur Tray play defteft* feats around: But neither lamb, nor kid, nor calf, nor Tray, Dance like Buxoma on the firft of May.
Sweet is my toil when Blouzalind is near ;
As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay, E'en noon-tide labour feem'd an holiday; And holidays, if haply fhe were gone, Like worky-days I with'd would foon be done. Eftfoons †, O fweet-heart kind, my love repay, And all the year fhall then be holiday.
As Blouzalinda, in a gamefome mood,
As my Buxoma, in a morning fair,
+ Very foon
I quaintly* ftole a kiss; at firft, 'tis true,
Leek to the Welch, to Dutchmen butter's dear,
In good roaft-beef my land-lord fticks his knife, The capon fat, delights his dainty wife; Pudding our parfon eats, the 'fquire loves hare, But white-pot thick, is my Buxoma's fare. While fhe loves white-pot, capon ne'er shall be, Nor hare, nor beef, nor pudding, food for me.
As once I play'd at blind-man's-buff, it hapt
As at bot-cockles once I laid me down,
On two near elms, the flacken'd cord I hung, Now high, now low, my Blouzelinda swung: With the rude wind her rumpled garment rofe, And show'd her taper leg, and scartlet hose.
Across the fallen oak, the plank I laid,
This riddle, Cuddy,. if, thou canft, explain;
Anfwer, thou carle, and judge this riddle right,
Forbear, contending louts, give o'er your strains;
To thefe we fhall fubjoin the following eclogue, or foliloquy, written by a lady; which contains a proper leffon to thofe of her own fex, who are fo weak as to value themfelves on that fading flower, beauty; and feems intended to recommend fomething more eftimable to their culture and confideration.--The ornaments of the mind are not so easily effaced as thofe of the body; and tho' beauty may captivate and fecure the affections for a time, yet a man of fenfe will never fo much efteem a fine wife, as a wife one.