joined to such striking instances. Thus, in Aureng-Zebe, I from this hour Affume the right of man's defpotic pow'r. Man is by nature form'd your fex's head. Which is palpably taken from Samson Agonistes. Therefore God's univerfal law Gave to the man defpotic pow'r Over his female in due awe; Nor from that right to part an hour. I may perhaps appear too minute in my obfervations, when I place this line of Dryden's tragedy: That prefent fervice, which you vaunt, afford In comparison with the following from Milton's; Boaft not of what thou wouldst have done, but do What then thou wouldst. But the fameness of the expreffion, as well as of the thought, plainly point out the imitation in the following: AURENG-ZEBE. Quite otherwife my mind foretells my fate: Short is my life. Thefe thoughts are but your melancholy's food. SAMSON AGONISTES. All otherwife to me my thoughts portend, And I fhall fhortly be with them that reft. From humours black. Nor can it be doubted but that Milton's fimile, with head declin'd, Like a fair flow'r furcharg'd with dew, the weeps, Gave Dryden the hint of his : Your head declin'd (as hiding grief from view) In this fame play, Dryden fomewhere calls wives "cleaving mischiefs ;" an expreffion no where made use of, as I remember, but in Milton's tragedy. THE St. James's Magazine. For NOVEMBER, 1762. The EPHESIAN MATRON, A TA L E. Imitated from LA FONTAINE, in which his Measure and Manner are attempted, I By Mr. C. DENIS. F ever tale was hackt about, Than gay PETRONIUS faid before? I'll make them no reply, For there would be no end. To trike out fomething new I'll try. X For For as my guide and mafter fomewhere writes, Her name we are not told; That can adorn the mind and face, In vulgar phrase as one would tell, And people flock'd from far and near A husband and a wife that lov'd fo well: Nipp'd all their budding Joys. The flow'r that blooms at morn, at evening dies, Each was the other's only care. The doctor or disease, Imports us not; he dy'd; and in his will : But But all this goodness heighten'd more Such fighs the fetch'd, fuch trickling drops fhe fhed, To offer comfort or relief, Was like a hone to sharpen grief. It was refolv'd, and down fhe went And die for friendship, as her dame for love; As often happens in fuch plight, Whether she could or no. Muft needs of courfe abate: For oh! no comfort will she have, She might have poifon'd, hang'd, or drown'd, But that were doing things in hafte; So it was fixt no food to tafte; Till friendly hunger gnaw'd her from her pains. Still to the fatal purpose true, She raves again, again runs thro' The litany of grief. 'Twas ftars, and fate, and all that stuff, And tears, and fighs, and fobs enough. But to be brief, She did her part e'en to excell; If true diftrefs can act fo well. Not diftant far from where our mourners wept, But in a different shape: Or only murder, or a rape, That brought him there, Is not my business to declare. In chains he hung, a terror to all those Yet this affords us no relief; For on each road exprerience fhews A guard |