enough to make a graſshopper. When the ſhepherd boy on Ida piped his ſheep down the withered paſtures, did he imagine that he ſhould carry off the fair bride of Sparta, as the prize of love? And what was Sir Anchiſes more than you? Yet he was preferred, by the faireſt goddeſs in heaven, before the ſturdy god of war; and the mortal warrior diſmounted the immortal leader of armies. Thus did the phyſician philoſophize away my ſorrows: his words inſinuated themſelves, with the ſmoothneſs of oil, into my boſom; and, for me, they were more balſamic and ſalutary than all the apothecary’s ſtores. Soon after my recovery I applied myſelf to the old trade, and there were now ſome ſigns as if fortune was in better humour. Theophraſtus became my boſom friend, the confidant and broker of my amour. The fair Zoe eluded the vigilance of her ſpies, I was able to overleap the brazen walls of my former difficulties,‘and
