Ship
wherein it was aboard was stranded at the mouth of the _Tyber_, and
the Men were unable to move it, till _Claudia_, a Virgin, but
suspected of Unchastity, by a slight Pull hawled it in. The Story is
told in the fourth Book of the _Fasti_.

'Parent of Gods, began the weeping Fair,
Reward or punish, but oh! hear my Pray'r.
If Lewdness e'er defil'd my Virgin Bloom,
From Heav'n with Justice I receive my Doom;
But if my Honour yet has known no Stain,
Thou, Goddess, thou my Innocence maintain;
Thou, whom the nicest Rules of Goodness sway'd,
Vouchsafe to follow an unblemish'd Maid.
She spoke, and touch'd the Cord with glad Surprize,
(The truth was witness'd by ten thousand Eyes)
The pitying Goddess easily comply'd,
Follow'd in triumph, and adorn'd her Guide;
While_ Claudia, _blushing still far past Disgrace,
March'd silent on with a slow solemn Pace:
Nor yet from some was all Distrust remov'd,
Tho' Heav'n such Virtue by such Wonders prov'd.'

I am, Sir,
Your very humble Servant,
_Philagnotes_.

_Mr_. SPECTATOR,

'You will oblige a languishing Lover, if you will please to print the
enclosed Verses in your next Paper. If you remember the
_Metamorphosis_, you know _Procris_, the fond Wife of _Cephalus_, is
said to have made her Husband, who delighted in the Sports of the
Wood, a Present of an unerring Javelin. In process of time he was so
much in the Forest, that his Lady suspected he was pursuing some
Nymph, under the pretence of following a Chace more innocent. Under
this Suspicion she hid herself among the Trees, to observe his
Motions. While she lay conceal'd, her Husband, tired with the Labour
of Hunting, came within her hearing. As he was fainting with Heat, he
cried out, _Aura veni; Oh charming Air approach_.

'The unfortunate Wife, taking the Word _Air_ to be the name of a
Woman, began to move among the Bushes; and the Husband believing it a
Deer, threw his Javelin and kill'd her. This History painted on a Fan,
which I presented to a Lady, gave occasion to my growing poetical.

'Come gentle Air! th'_ AEolian _Shepherd said,
While_ Procris _panted in the secret Shade;
Come gentle Air! the fairer_ Delia _cries,
While at her Feet her Swain expiring lies.
Lo the glad Gales o'er all her Beauties stray,
Breathe on her Lips, and in her Bosom play.
In_ Delia's _Hand