mens sont remplis d'equite;
Toujours tu prens plaisir a nous etre propice:
Mais j'ai tant fait de mal, que jamais ta bonte
Ne me pardonnera sans choquer ta Justice.
Ouy, mon Dieu, la grandeur de mon impiete
Ne laisse a ton pouvoir que le choix du suplice:
Ton interest s' oppose a ma felicite;
Et ta clemence meme attend que je perisse.
Contente ton desir puis qu'il t'est glorieux;
Offense toy des pleurs qui coulent de mes yeux;
Tonne, frappe, il est temps, rens moi guerre pour guerre.
J'adore en perissant la raison qui t'aigrit:
Mais dessus quel endroit tombera ton tonnerre,
Qui ne soit tout convert du sang de_ JESUS CHRIST.'

'If these Thoughts may be serviceable to you, I desire you would place
them in a proper Light, and am ever, with great Sincerity,'

_SIR_,

_Yours, &c_.

O.

[Footnote 1: _an_ in first reprint.]

[Footnote 2: Jacques Vallee Seigneur des Barreaux, born in Paris in
1602, was Counsellor of the Parliament of Paris, and gave up his charge
to devote himself to pleasure. He was famous for his songs and verses,
for his affability and generosity and irreligion. A few years before his
death he was converted, and wrote the pious sonnet given above, which
had been very widely praised and quoted. In his religious days he lived
secluded at Chalon sur Saone, where he died, in 1673.]

* * * * *

No. 514. Monday, October 20, [1] 1712. Steele.

'Me Parnassi deserta per ardua, dulcis
Raptat Amor; juvat ire jugis qua nulla priorum
Castaliam molle divertitur Orbita Clivo.'

Virg.

_Mr._ SPECTATOR,

'I came home a little later than usual the other Night, and not
finding my self inclined to sleep, I took up _Virgil_ to divert me
till I should be more disposed to Rest. He is the Author whom I always
chuse on such Occasions, no one writing in so divine, so harmonious,
nor so equal a Strain, which leaves the Mind composed, and softened
into an agreeable Melancholy; the Temper in which, of all others, I
chuse to close the Day. The Passages I turned to were those beautiful
Raptures in his _Georgicks_, where he professes himself entirely given
up to the Muses, and smit with the Love of Poetry, passionately
wishing to be transported to the cool Shades and Retirements of the
Mountain _Haemus_. I clos'd the Book and went to Bed. What I had just