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And breath'd from Marble Lungs.] How judiciously does our Poet furnish his Monarch with Lungs adapted to every thing about him

For had they been of meer Flesh and Blood, they must have thawd his Throne, his Coach, and his very Dominions, and forced the poor Prince to paddle in warm Water of his own making.

Swift from the Puff descends a faline Shower, The knitting Winds exert their utmoft Power. Why is the Shower faline? Because all Salts are cold, and as the Breath that proceeds from Marble Lungs must of consequence be cold, it may therefore be called saline. We are also to suppose the Monarch puffed away as fast as he could, so that he may be said to shower out his Breath.

The knitting Winds. ] Some other Copies have it knotting, which Burman prefers, as being a more genteel Employment than that of Knitting. But the Context will not bear it. The Allusion is to a Hole in a Stocking, to which the Hole in the Ice is compared; and therefore 'twas necessary that the Winds should be Masters of the Knitting-Needle to be able to repair the Breach,

In vain,-in vain-the lucid Footing gone,
The Youth is swallow'd in the broken Yawn.
Death from the Pool, rose grinning for the Prize.
March views the bony Form with frighted Eyes,
And from his Reach to reach his Brother flies.

Reader, didst thou ever see a long ghastly Figure of nothing but Bones with an Hour-glass and Sithe in his Hands, on a Country Tomb-stone, or before an old Ballad of Death and the Lady? If thou hast, then wilt thou easily perceive the Propriety of this Image, and conclude that March has Reason to have his Eyes frighted at the grinning, bony Form. Who

is

is meant by March, - fee my Note above on this Line.

March views. his vent'rous Feet, &c. and you will find that the Eye-brows were tortured then by Fear, as much as the Eyes are frighted here :

Yet from his Reach to reach his Brother flies.] How elegant is the Repetition of Reach ? 'Tis true, this is not so agreeable to the Common Way of Speaking ; for though I can say, Reach me hither such a Thing; yet you cannot say, No, I will reach it from your Reach. But fuch sublime Poets, as our Author, are above being confined within the narrow Limits of Sense.

The fractur'd Cover bursts beneath his Weight, " He sinks, the Waters round him circulate :

He finds the Bottom, o'er the liquid Strife

Rose up to kiss the Passages of Life. That-is, ere the Water - rose as high as his: Mouth. We are to suppose that the Water was very desirous of killing him, and fought with Itself about it; whence arose a liquid Strife.

Passages of Life.] · As Food is the Staff of Life, and passes in at the Mouth, through the Throat &c. they are elegantly called Passages of Life. Janus Doufa will have it, that by this Expression is meant the Passage behind, through which, says he, the Food passes out; and 'tis not expreflly determined by the Author whether he meant the Fore or the Back Door of Life." But it is scarce probable that the Water rose up no higher : nor would it be quite lo decent to say that the Water wanted to kiss his.

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Long in the muffled Firmament, the Rain
Belly'd the cloudy Spunges of the Main.

Belly's

Belly'd is certainly corrupt:

We 'Thould read, belyed; for the cloudy Spunges seemed to say,

we should have Rain; but the Kain would not come down, and therefore gave the Spünges the Lie. Or perhaps our Author, who is fond of Metaphors, wrote the Line thus :

Jelly'd i'th' cloudy Spunges, &c. that is, the Rain turned to a stiff Jelly, and consequently, could not flow in Drops. Either Reading is extremely just and elegant.

W-RB-RT-N. Cloudy Spunges of the Main.] This is a greeable to Philosophy: which teaches, that the Clouds (punge upon the Sea, till they have sucked their Beliy-full of Liquor, and then they are squeezed 'till they are dry again, which forms Rain. This Squeezing is Jove's Office, as is told by two Lines subsequent to these, in the Cotton MS. and which are certainly our Author's, who gives us in them another Source of Rain. [Which Jove refus'd thro' fine-ey'd Sieves to

squeeze,
Or from his Nose prolific Drops to sneeze.]

Lest falling, running to the Pool beneath,

Too high't Nould hold the Silver Snare of Death. But why Silver? Would not a Copper or Brass one, do as well ? But I never heard that Fishing-Nets were ever made of Metal. They are generally made of Packthread; but as Death was a Gentleman-Fisher he might use one made of Silk Twist, and therefore I'm inclined to think our Poet wrote, filken Snare; which I have accordingly restored. TH-B-ID.

What would the blockheadly Restorer be at ? He is caught in a Leaden Snare, I am sure. By Silver Snare the Poet means, pale or white; Silver being always an Emblem of that Colour. W-RB-RT-N.

The

The Poet very judic***y tälls us tha* ***tation of th* *** had bee*.

As there is but one Copy of these truly-valuable Notes, preserved in the Cotton Library, it is in vain to hope that this Hiatus valde Deflendus can ever be restored. For

-Quad nec Jovis ira, nec ignis,
Nec potuit ferrum, nec edax abolere Vetustas,
Heu! morsu tineæ potuere, et ridiculus mus.'
What nor offended Jove's avenging Ire,

Nor Gothic Arms, nor spreading Fire,
Nor Time's devouring Tooth could e’er annoy,

With envious Bite the lurking Moth,
The little Mouse could secretly destroy,
Than Time, or Jove more fell, or Fire, or Savage

Goth,

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SUA

AN

IN S P E C. T OR

NUMBER 66666,

The Man, that hath no Music in his Soul,
Nor is not mov'd with Concord of sweet Sounds,
Is fit for Treasons, Stratagems, and Spoils.
Let no such Man be trusted

SHAKESPEARE.

over a

AF
FTER I had chatted away an Hour or so

Dish of Coffee and Criticism at the Bedford, I went off in a Coranto, whipped into my Chariot, and drove away to the Concert in DeanStreet. When I had run over every pretty Face in that Assembly worth looking at, I directed my Coachman to go to the Theatre. I entered the right Hand Stage-box; a general Whisper went round the House: every Eye was fixed on my Person, though Barry was in one of the most tender and pathetic Parts of Othello. Presently after, the Music struck up: the Men of Fashion in the Boxes leered towards me with a Smile of Approbation : the Pretty dear Creatures fluttered their Fans at me: the City Gallants of the first Gallery perused me with a stare of Astonishment: and the peasant Inhabitants among the Gods looked as if they were asking one another, which is He?In the mean Time, the shrill Cry of Oranges and

Nonpareils,

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