the figure is lost, and a foolish and impertinent representation comes in its place; an ordinary dewy morning might fill the laurels and shrubs with Mr. D.’s tears, though Gallus had not been concerned in it.

And yet the queen of beauty blest his bed—­

“Here Mr. D. comes with his ugly patch upon a beautiful face:  what had the queen of beauty to do here?  Lycoris did not despise her lover for his meanness, but because she had a mind to be a Catholic whore.  Gallus was of quality, but her spark a poor inferior fellow.  And yet the queen of beauty, etc., would have followed there very well, but not where wanton Mr. D. has fixt her.”

  Flushed were his cheeks, and glowing were his eyes.

“This character is fitter for one that is drunk than one in an amazement, and is a thought unbecoming Virgil.”

  And for thy rival, tempts the raging sea,
  The forms of horrid war, and heaven’s inclemency.

“Lycoris, doubtless, was a jilting baggage, but why should Mr. D. belie her?  Virgil talks nothing of her going to sea, and perhaps she had a mind to be only a camp laundress, which office she might be advanced to without going to sea:  ‘the forms of horrid war,’ for horrida castra, is incomparable.”

      his brows, a country crown
  Of fennel, and of nodding lilies drown,

“is a very odd figure:  Sylvanus had swinging brows to drown such a crown as that, i.e. to make it invisible, to swallow it up; if it be a country crown, drown his brows, it is false English.”

  The meads are sooner drunk with morning dews.

“Rivi signifies no such thing; but then, that bees should be drunk with flowery shrubs, or goats be drunk with brouze, for drunk’s the verb, is a very quaint thought.”

After much more to the same purpose, Milbourne thus introduces his own version of the first Eclogue, with a confidence worthy of a better cause:—­“That Mr. Dryden might be satisfied that I’d offer no foul play, nor find faults in him, without giving him an opportunity of retaliation, I have subjoined another metaphrase or translation of the first and fourth pastoral, which I desire may be read with his by the original.

TITYRUS.

ECLOGUE I.

Mel. Beneath a spreading beech you, Tityrus, lie, And country songs to humble reeds apply; We our sweet fields, our native country fly, We leave our country; you in shades may lie, And Amaryllis fair and blythe proclaim, And make the woods repeat her buxom name.

Tit. O Melibaeus! ’twas a bounteous God, These peaceful play-days on our muse bestowed; At least, he’st alway be a God to me; My lambs shall oft his grateful offerings be.  Thou seest, he lets my herds securely stray, And me at pleasure on my pipe to play.

Mel. Your peace I don’t with looks of envy view, But I admire your happy state,