These Verses of Mr. _Waller_ are, methinks, as pretty as they are gallant: Phillis, _why should we delay Pleasures shorter than the Day! Cou'd we, which we never can, Stretch our Lives beyond their Span; Beauty like a Shadow flies, And our Youth before us dies. Or would Youth and Beauty stay, Love hath Wings, and will away. Love hath swifter Wings than Time,_ &c. Notice has been taken of the Prettiness of these Verses in _Dryden_'s Fable of the _Cock_ and the _Fox_. The _Cock_ speaks to his Wife Dame _Partlet_: ------------_See my Dear How lavish Nature hath adorn'd the Year; How the pale Primrose and the Violet spring, And Birds essay their Throats, disus'd to sing: All these are ours, and I with Pleasure see Man strutting on two Legs, and aping me._ Madam _Dacier_ takes Notice of a very pretty Circumstance in _Sappho_'s Hymn to _Venus_, translated into _Latin_ by _Catullus_, and into _English_ by Mr. _Philips_. _Thou once didst leave Almighty_ Jove, _And all the golden Roofs above: The Carre thy wanton Sparrows drew, Hov'ring in Air, they lightly flew. As to my Bow'r, they wing'd their Way I saw their quiv'ring Pinions play: The Birds dismist, while you remain, Bore back their empty Carre again._ The Circumstance that renders it so pretty, according to the _Critical Lady_, is _Venus_'s dismissing her Sparrows and her Carre, and shewing she did not intend to make _Sappho_ a Court-Visit, but to dwell with her some Time. There's another Ode of _Sappho_, which is preserved in _Longinus_, and translated by _Boileau_. It is in the sublime Kind, and shews the Violence of Love. _From Vein to Vein I feel a subtle Flame, When e'er I see thee, run thro' all my Frame: And as the Transport seizes on my Mind, I'm dumb, and neither Tongue nor Voice can find. A Mist of Pleasure o'er my Eyes is spread, I hear no more, and am to Reason dead; Pale, breathless, speechless, I expiring lie, I burn, I freeze, I tremble, and I die._ In the _Spectator_, Nº 388. is a Paraphrase on the second Chapter of _Solomon_'s Song. STANZA IV. _I faint, I dye, my lab'ring Breast Is with the mighty Weight of Love opprest. I feel the Fire possess my Heart, And Pain convey'd to ev'ry Part: Thro' all my Veins the Passion flyes, My feeble Soul forsakes its Place; A trembling Faintness seals my Eyes, And Paleness dwells upon my Face._ To descend again to the lower Kinds of Thinking, I shall conclude the Pretty with these Verses of Mr. _Prior_'s on the Squirrel in the Cage: