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sentiments, and the luxuriant richness of the images. I wish I could repeat the whole, but that, from the change of manners, is impoosible. The description of the bride is (half of it) as follows: the story is supposed to be told by one countryman to another:

Her finger was so small, the ring
Would not stay on, which they did bring;

It was too wide a peck :
And to say truth (for out it must)
It look'd like the great collar (just)

About our young colt's neck.

Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice, stole in and out,

As if they fear'd the light:
But oh! she dances such a way!
No sun upon an Easter-day

Is half so fine a sight.

Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No daisy makes comparison,

(Who sees them is undone)
For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Cath'rine pear,

(The side that's next the sun.)

Her lips were red; and one was thin,
Compar'd to that was next her chin ;

(Some bee had stung it newly)

But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face,
I durst no more upon them gaze,

Than on the sun in July.

Her mouth so small, when she does speak,
Thoud'st swear her teeth her words did break,

That they might passage get;
But she so handled still the matter,
They came as good as ours, or better,

And are not spent a whit."

There is to me in the whole of this delightful
performance a freshness and purity like the first
breath of morning. Its sportive irony never tres-
passes on modesty, though it sometimes (laughing)
threatens to do so! Suckling's Letters are full of
habitual gaiety and good sense. His Discourse
on Reason in Religion is well enough meant.
Though he excelled in the conversational style of
poetry, writing verse with the freedom and readi-
ness, vivacity and unconcern, with which he would
have talked on the most familiar and sprightly
topics, his peculiar powers deserted him in at-
tempting dramatic dialogue. His comedy of the
Goblins is equally defective in plot, wit, and na-
ture; it is a wretched list of exits and entrances,
and the whole business of the scene is taken up
in the unaccountable seizure, and equally unac-
countable escapes, of a number of
a band of robbers in the shape of goblins, who

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turn out to be noblemen and gentlemen in disguise. Suckling was not a Grub-street author ; or it might be said, that this play is like what he might have written after 'dreaming all night of duns and a spunging-house. His tragedies are no better : their titles are the most interesting part of them, Aglaura, Brennoralt, and the Sad One.

Cowley had more brilliancy of fancy and ingenuity of thought than Donne, with less pathos and sentiment. His mode of illustrating his ideas differs also from Donne's in this : that, whereas Donne is contented to analyse an image into its component elements, and resolve it into its most abstracted species ; Cowley first does this, indeed, but does not stop till he has fixed upon some other prominent example of the same general class of ideas, and forced them into a metaphorical union, by the medium of the generic definition. Tbus he says

“ The Phænix Pindar is a vast species alone."

He means to say that he stands by himself: he is then“ a vast species alone:" then by applying to this generality the principium individuationis, he becomes a Phænix, because the Phoenix is the only example of a species contained in an individual. Yet this is only a literal or metaphysical

coincidence: and literally and metaphysically speaking, Pindar was not a species by himself, but only seemed so by pre-eminence or excellence; that is, from qualities of mind appealing to and absorbing the imagination, and which, therefore, ought to be represented in poetical language, by some other obvious and palpable image exhibiting the same kind or degree of excellence in other things, as when Gray compares him to the Thebạn eagle,

Sailing with supreme dominion
Through the azure deep of air."

Again, be talks in the Motto, or Invocation to his Muse, of “ marching the Muse's Hannibal” into undiscovered regions. That is, he thinks first of being a leader in poetry, and then he immediately, by virtue of this abstraction, becomes a Hannibal ; though no two things can really be more unlike in all the associations belonging to them, than a leader of armies and a leader of the tuneful Nine. In like manner, he compares Bacon to Moses; for in his verses extremes are sure to meet. The Hymn to Light, which forms a perfect contrast to Milton's Invocation to Light, in the commencement of the third book of Paradise Lost, begins in the following manner :

« First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come

From the old negro's darksome womb!

Which, when it saw the lovely child,
The melancholy mass put on kind looks, and smil'd."

And soon after--

'Tis, I believe, this archery to show

That so much cost in colours thou,

And skill in painting, dost bestow,
Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heav'nly bow.

Swift as light thoughts their empty career run,

Thy race is finish'd when begun;

Let a post-angel start with thee,
And thou the goal of earth shalt reach as soon as he."

The conceits here are neither wit nor poetry; but a burlesque upon both, made up of a singular metaphorical jargon, verbal generalities, and physical analogies. Thus his calling Chaos, or Darkness, the old negro," would do for abuse or jest, but is too remote and degrading for serious poetry, and yet it is meant for such. The

is at best a nickname, and the smile on its face loses its beauty in such company. The making out the rainbow to be a species of heraldic painting, and converting an angel into a post-boy, shew the same rage for comparison; but such comparisons are as odious as they are unjust. Dr. Johnson has multiplied

6 old negro

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