_Mov'd in the Orb, pleas'd with the Chimes, The foolish Creature thinks he climbs. Bus here or there, turn Wood or Wire He never gets two Inches higher. So fares it with those merry Blades, That frisk it under Pindus Shades. In noble Songs, and lofty Odes, They tread on Stars, and talk with gods; Still dancing in an airy Round, Still pleas'd with their own Verses Sound; Brought back how fast soe'er they go, Always aspiring, always low._ Agreeable Thoughts may be also reckon'd among the Natural, the Soft, and the Tender; all which in the general Acceptation, are also taken for Wit. This Speech of _Eve_'s to _Adam_ in the _Paradice Lost_, has an Agreeableness which cannot be match'd in the most Tender of our Lyrick or Elegiac Poets: _With thee conversing, I forget all Time, All Seasons and their Change, all please alike: Sweet is the Breath of Morn, her Rising sweet With Charm of earliest Birds, pleasant the Sun When first on this delightful Land he spreads His orient Beams, on Herb, Tree, Fruit and Flow'r, Glistring with Dew: Fragrant the fertile Earth After soft Show'rs, and sweet the Coming on Of grateful Evening mild: Then silent Night With this her solemn Bird, and this fair Moon, And these the Gems of Heaven, her starry Train. But neither Breath of Morn, when she ascends With Charm of earliest Birds; nor rising Sun On this delightful Land, nor Herb, Fruit, Flow'r, Glistring with Dew, nor Fragrance after Showers, Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night With this her solemn Bird; nor walk by Moon, Or glittering Star Light, without thee is sweet._ To speak poetically one would think every Verse was turn'd and polish'd by the _Loves_ and the _Graces_. Indeed all the Conversation between the first Bridegroom and his Bride, in this Poem, is exquisitely agreeable and tender, except the very Incident of the Fall. I take the Verses in _Waller_, address'd to _Amoret_, to be of the agreeable Kind: _Fair, that you may truly know What you unto_ Thyrsis _owe; I will tell you how I do_ Sacharissa _love, and you_. _Joy salutes me, when I set My blest Eyes on_ Amoret; _But with Wonder I am strook; While I on the Other look_. _If sweet_ Amoret _complains, I have Sense of all her Pains: But for_ Sacharissa _I Do not only grieve, but die._ &c. I could give many Instances of agreeable Thoughts but of _Dryden_'s Fables, especially that of _Cymon_ and _Iphigenia_, which had been taken notice of long enough before the _Spectator_ was thought of; and I do not think it fair, that he should engross all the _Beaux Endroits_, because he printed them first. The Rusticity of _Cymon_, and even his Stupidity, has something in it very agreeable in the Image, which is the pure Nature that we meet with there: