COLIN AND PHOEBE. (No. 603).

I.

"My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent,
When Phoebe went with me wherever I went;
Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast;
Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest!
But now she is gone, and has left me behind,
What a marvellous change on a sudden I find!
When things were as fine as could possibly be,
I thought 'twas the spring; but, alas! it was she.

11.

"With such a companion, to tend a few sheep,
To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep:
I was so good-humour'd, so cheerful and gay,
My heart was as light as a feather all day.
But now I so cross and so peevish am grown,
So strangely uneasy as never was known.

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 Phœbe 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 Phoebe and I were as joyful as they,

How pleasant their sporting, how happy their time, When spring, love, and beauty were all in their prime ! But now in their frolics when by me they pass,

I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass;

Be still then,' I cry; for it makes me quite mad

To see you so merry, while I am so sad.'

Come wagging his tail to my fair-one and me;
And Phoebe was pleas'd too, and to my dog said,
'Come hither, poor fellow!' and patted his head.
But now, when he 's fawning, I with a sour look
Cry Sirrah!' and give him a blow with my crook :

And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe's away?

VI.

"When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen!
How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green!
What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade,
The corn-fields and hedges, and every thing made!
But now she has left me, though all are still there,
They none of them now so delightful appear:
"Twas nought but the magic, I find, of her eyes
Made so many beautiful prospects arise.

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VII.

Sweet music went with us both all the wood through, The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too;

Winds over us whisper'd, flocks by us did bleat,
And chirp' went the grasshopper under our feet.
But now she is absent, though still they sing on,
The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone:
Her voice in the concert, as now I have found,
Gave everything else its agreeable sound.

VIII.

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue ?

Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?
Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you drest

And made yourselves fine for,-a place on her breast; You put on your colours to pleasure her eye,

To be pluck'd by her hand, on her bosom to die.

IX.

"How slowly Time creeps till my Phœbe 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 power that hears me complain,
Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain?

To be cured thou must, Colin, thy passion remove;
But what swain is so silly to live without love?
No, Deity, bid the dear nymph to return,
For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn.
Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair:
Take heed, all ye swains, how ye love one so fair."

DR. BYROM.

ON EMBROIDERY. (No. 606).

"MR. SPECTATOR,

"I have a couple of nieces under my direction, who so often run gadding abroad that I do not know where to have them. Their dress, their tea, and their visits take up all their time, and they go to bed as tired with doing nothing, as I am after quilting a whole petticoat. The only time they are not idle is while they read your SPECTATORS; which being dedicated to the interests of virtue, I desire you to recommend the long neglected art of needle-work. Those hours which in this age are thrown away in dress, play, visits and the like, were employed, in my time, in writing out receipts, or working beds, chairs, and hangings for the family. For my part, I have plied my needle these fifty years, and by my good will would never have it out of my hand. It grieves my heart to see a couple of proud idle flirts

sipping their tea, for a whole afternoon, in a room hung round with the industry of their great-grandmother. Pray, sir, take the laudable mystery of embroidery into your serious consideration; and as you have a great deal of the virtue of the last age in you, continue your endeavours to reform the present. I am, &c."

In obedience to the commands of my venerable correspondent, I have duly weighed this important subject, and promise myself, from the arguments here laid down, that all the fine ladies of England will be ready, as soon as their mourning is over, to appear covered with the work of their own hands.

What a delightful entertainment must it be to the fair sex, whom their native modesty and the tenderness of men towards them exempt from public business, to pass their hours in imitating fruits and flowers, and transplanting all the beauties of nature into their own dress, or raising a new creation in their closets and apartments! How pleasing is the amusement of walking among the shades and groves planted by themselves, in surveying heroes slain by their needle, or little Cupids which they have brought into the world without pain!

This is, methinks, the most proper way wherein a lady can show a fine genius, and I cannot forbear wishing that several writers of that sex had chosen to apply themselves rather to tapestry than rhyme. Your pastoral poetesses may vent their fancy in rural landscapes, and place despairing shepherds under silken willows, or drown them in a stream of mohair. The heroic writers may work up battles as successfully, and inflame them with gold, or stain them with crimson. Even those who have only a turn to a song or an epigram, may put many valuable stitches into a purse, and crowd a thousand graces into a pair of garters. If I may, without breach of good manners, imagine that any pretty creature is void of genius, and would perform her part herein but very awkwardly, I must nevertheless insist upon her working, if it be only to keep her out of harm's way.

Another argument for busying good women in works of

fancy, is because it takes them off from scandal, the usual attendant of tea-table and all other inactive scenes of life. While they are forming their birds and beasts, their neighbours will be allowed to be the fathers of their own children: and whig and tory will be but seldom mentioned where the great dispute is, whether blue or red is the most proper colour. How much greater glory would Sophronia do the general, if she would choose rather to work the battle of Blenheim in tapestry, than signalise herself with so much vehemence against those who are Frenchmen in their hearts.

A third reason that I shall mention, is the profit that is brought to the family where these pretty arts are encouraged. It is manifest that this way of life not only keeps fair ladies from running out into expenses, but is at the same time an actual improvement. How memorable would that matron be, who shall have it inscribed upon her monument, "that she wrought out the whole Bible in tapestry, and died in a good old age, after having covered three hundred yards of wall in the mansion-house!"

The premises being considered, I humbly submit the following proposals to all mothers in Great Britain :—

I. That no young virgin whatsoever be allowed to receive the addresses of her first lover, but in a suit of her own embroidering.

II. That before every fresh servant she be obliged to appear in a new stomacher at least.

III. That no one be actually married till she hath the child-bed, pillows, &c., ready stitched, as likewise the mantle for the boy quite finished.

These laws, if I mistake not, would effectually restore the decayed art of needle-work, and make the virgins of Great Britain exceedingly nimble-fingered in their business.