But when he heard th' affront the fellow gave, If one, through Nature's bounty or his lord's, F. This filthy simile, this beastly line 185 P. So does flattery mine: And all your courtly civet-cats can vent, Perfume to you, to me is excrement. But hear me further-Japhet, 'tis agreed, Writ not, and Chartres scarce could write or read, Ir. all the courts of Pindus guiltless quite; But pens can forge, my friend, that cannot write; And must no egg in Japhet's face be thrown, Because the deed he forg'd was not my own? Must never patriot then declaim at gin, Unless, good man! he has been fairly in? No zealous pastor blame a failing spouse, Without a staring reason on his brows? And each blaspheiner quite escape the rod, Because the insult's not on man, but God? Ask you what provocation I have had ? The strong antipathy of good to bad. When Truth or Virtue an affront endures, Th' affront is mine, my friend, and should be Mine, as a foe profest to false pretence, Who thinks a coxcomb's honour like his sense; Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind; And mine as man, who feel for all mankind. F. You're strangely proud. To all but heaven-directed hands deny'd, When black ambition stains a public cause, Not so, when, diadem'd with rays divine, Touch'd with the flame that breaks from Virtue's Her priestess Muse forbids the good to die, [shrine, And opes the temple of eternity. There, other trophies deck the truly brave, Yes, the last pen for Freedom let me draw, When Truth stands trembling on the edge of law; Here, last of Britons! let your names be read; Are none, none living? let me praise the dead, And for that cause which made your fathers shine, Fall by the votes of their degenerate line. F. Alas, alas! pray end what you began, And write next winter more Essays on Man. IMITATIONS OF HORACE. EPISTLE VII. IMITATED IN THE MANNER OF DR. SWIFT. yours."Tis true, my lord, I gave my word, P. So proud, I am no slave: Safe from the bar, the pulpit, and the throne, VARIATION. Ver. 185, in the MS. I grant it, sir; and further 'tis agreed, VARIATIONS. After ver. 227, in the MS. Where's now the star that lighted Charles to rise? QUINQUE dies tibi pollicitus me rure futurum, You humour me when I am sick, "The dog-days are no more the case." My lord, your favours well I know; But makes a difference in his thought Now this I'll say, you'll find in me That laugh'd down many a summer sun, Mæcenas, veniam: dum ficus prima calorque My bread, and independency!" So bought an annual-rent or two, And liv'd just as you see I do ; Near fifty, and without a wife, I trust that sinking fund, my life. Can I retrench? yes, mighty well, Shrink back to my paternal cell, A little house, with trees a-row, And, like its master, very low. There dy'd my father, no man's debtor, And there I'll die, nor worse nor better. To set this matter full before ye, Our old friend Swift will tell his story." "Harley, the nation's great support—” But you may read it, I stop short. THE LATTER PART OF SATIRE VI. | Chatting and laughing all-a-row, Repserat in cumeram frumenti: pastaque, rursus * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Parvum parva decent. mihi jam non regia Roma, Sed vacuum Tibur placet, aut imbelle Tarentum. Strenuus et fortis, causisque Philippus agendis Clarus, &c. O noctes cœnæque Deúm! quibus ipse meique, Ante larem proprium vescor, vernasque procaces Pasco libatis dapibus: cum, ut cuique libido est Siccat inæquales calices conviva. solutus See the first part in Swift's poeins, A neighbour's madness, or his spouse's, But something much more our concern, Our friend Dan Prior told (you know) May yield, God knows, to strong temptation. Legibus insanis: seu quis capit acria fortis 'Pocula; seu modicis uvescit lætius. ergo Serino oritur, non de villis domibusve alienis, [nos Nec male necne Lepos saltet: sed quod magis ad Pertinet, et nescire malum est, agitamus; utrumne Divitiis homines, an sint virtute beati : Quidve ad amicitias, usus rectumne, trahat nos: Et quæ sit natura boni, summumque quid ejus. Cervius hæc inter vicinus garrit aniles Ex re fabellas. si quis nam laudat Arelli Solicitas ignarus opes; sic incipit: Olim Rusticus urbanum murem mus paupere fertur Accepisse cavo, veterem vetus hospes amicum; Asper, et attentus quæsitis; ut tamen arctum Solveret hospitiis animuin, quid multa? neque illi Sepositi ciceris, nec longæ invidit avenæ : Aridum et ore ferens acinum, semesaque lardi Frusta dedit, cupiens varia fastidia cœna Vincere tangentis male singula dente superbo: Cum pater ipse domus palea porrectus in horna Esset ador loliumque, dapis meliora relinquens. Tandem urbanus ad hunc; quid te juvat, inquit, Prærupti nemoris patientem vivere dorso? [amice, Vin' tu homines urbemque feris præponere sylvis Carpe viam (mihi crede) comes: terrestria quando Mortales animas vivunt sortita, neque ulla est, Aut magno aut parvo, leti fuga, quo, bone, circa, Dum licet, in rebus jucundis vive beatus: Vive memor quam sis ævi brevis. Hæc ubi dicta Away they came, through thick and thin, Behold the place, where if a poet He stuffs and swills, and stuffs again. "I'm quite asham'd-'tis mighty rude To eat so much-but all's so good. I have a thousand thanks to giveMy lord alone knows how to live." No sooner said, but from the ball Rush chaplain, butler, dogs and all: "A rat, a rat! clap to the door”— The cat comes bouncing on the floor. O for the heart of Homer's mice, Or gods to save them in a trice! (It was by Providence they think, For your damn'd stucco has no chink.) "An't please your honour," quoth the peasant, "This same dessert is not so pleasant: Give me again my hollow tree, A crust of bread, and liberty!" BOOK IV. ODE I. TO VENUS. AGAIN? new tumults in my breast? Ah spare me, Venus! let me, let me rest! Agrestem pepulere, domo levis exsilit: inde Ambo propositum peragunt iter, urbis aventes Mania nocturni subrepere. jamque tenebat Nox medium cœli spatium, cum ponit uterque In locuplete domo vestigia: rubro ubi cocco Tincta super lectos canderet vestis eburnos ; Multaque de magna superessent fercula cœna, Quæ procul extructis inerant hesterna canistris. Ergo ubi purpurea porrectum in veste locavit Agrestem; veluti succinctus cursitat hospes, Continuatque dapes : nec non verniliter ipsis Fungitur officiis, prælambens omne quod affert. Ille cubans gaudet mutata sorte, bonisque Rebus agit lætum convivam: cum subito ingens Valvarum strepitus lectis excussit utrumque. Currere per totum pavidi conclave; magisque Exanimes trepidare, simul domus alta molossis Personuit canibus. tum rusticus, Haud mihi vita Est opus hac, ait, et valeas: me sylva, cavusque Tutus ab insidiis tenui solabitur ervo. AD VENERIM. INTERMISSA, Venus, diu Rursus bella moves? parce precor, precor. I am not now, alas! the man As in the gentle reign of my queen Anne. Ah sound no more thy soft alarms, Nor circle sober fifty with thy charms! Mother too fierce of dear desires! Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires. To number five direct your doves, [loves; There spread round Murray all your blooming Noble and young, who strikes the heart With every sprightly, every decent part; Equal, the injur'd to defend, To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend. He, with a hundred arts refin'd, Shall stretch thy conquests over half the kind: To him each rival shall submit, Make but his riches equal to his wit. Then shall thy form the marble grace, (Thy Grecian form) and Chloe lend the face; His house, embosom'd in the grove, Sacred to social life and social love, Shall glitter o'er the pendant green, Where Thames reflects the visionary scene: Thither the silver-sounding lyres Shall call the smiling Loves, and young Desires; There, every Grace and Muse shall throng, Exalt the dance, or animate the song ; There youths and nymphs, in consort gay, Shall hail the rising, close the parting day. With me, alas! those joys are o'er ; For me the vernal garlands bloom no more. Adieu! fond hope of mutual fire, The still-believing, still renew'd desire; Adieu! the heart-expanding bowl, And all the kind deceivers of the soul! But why? ah tell me, ah too dear! Steals down my cheek th' involuntary tear? Why words so flowing, thoughts so free, Stop, or turn nonsense, at one glance of thee } Non sum qualis eram bona Sub regno Cynaræ. desine,dulcium Mater sæva Cupidinum, Circa lustra decem fiectere mollibus Jam durum imperiis: abi Quo blandæ juvenum te revocant preces. Tempestivius in domum Paulli, purpureis ales oloribus, Commissabere Maximi; Si torrere jecur quæris idoneum, Namque et nobilis, et decens, Et pro solicitis non tacitus reis, Et centum puer artium, Late signa feret militiæ tuæ. Et, quandoque potentior Largis muneribus riserit æmuli, Albanos prope te lacus Ponet marmoream sub trabe citrea. Illic plurima naribus Duces thura; lyraque et Berecynthia Delectabere tibia Mixtis carminibus, non sine fistula. Illic bis pueri die Numen cum teneris virginibus tuum Laudantes, pede candido In morem Salium ter quatient humum. Me nec femina, nec puer Jam, nec spes animi credula mutui, Nec certare juvat mero, Nec vincire uovis templa floribus. Bed car, heu! Ligurine, cur Manat rara meas lacryma per genas? Thee, dress'd in Fancy's airy beam, Absent I follow through th' extended dream; Now, now I cease, I clasp thy charms, And now you burst (ah cruel!) from my arms! And swiftly shoot along the Mall, Or softly glide by the canal. Now shown by Cynthia's silver ray, And now on rolling waters snatch'd away. Cur facunda parum decoro Inter verba cadit lingua silentio ? Nocturnis te ego somniis Jam captum teneo, jam voluerem sequor Te per gramina Martii Campi, te per aquas, dure, volubiles. PART OF THE NINTH ODE OF THE FOURTH LEST воок. A FRAGMENT. you should think that verse shall die, Nor pensive Cowley's moral lay- And those, new heavens and systems fram'd Vain was the chief's, the sage's pride! They had no poet, and they died: MISCELLANIES. ON RECEIVING FROM THE RIGHT HON. LAEK A STANDISH AND TWO PENS. Yes, I behold th' Athenian queen Ne forte credas interitura, quæ Longe sonantem natus ad Aufidum Non ante vulgatas per artes Verba loquor socianda chordis; Non, si priores Mæonius tenet Sedes Homerus, Pindaricæ latent Ceæque, et Alcæi minaces Stesichorique graves Camena: Nec si quid olim lusit Anacreon, Delevit ætas: spirat adhuc amor, Vivuntque commissi calores Folia fidibus puellæ. Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona Multi; sed omnes illacrymabiles Urgentur ignotique louga Nocte, carent quia vate sacre. Secure the radiant weapons wield; This golden lance shall guard desert, And if a vice dares keep the field, This steel shall stab it to the heart." Aw'd, on my bended knees I fell, Receiv'd the weapons of the sky; And dipp'd them in the sable well, The fount of fame or infamy. "What well? what weapon?" (Flavia cries) "A standish, steel and golden pen! It came from Bertrand's, not the skies; "But, friend, take heed whom you attack; And run, on ivory, so glib, As not to stick at fool or ass, Nor stop at flattery or fib. "Athenian queen! and sober charms! I tell you, fool, there's nothing in't : 'Tis Venus, Venus gives these arms; In Dryden's Virgil see the print. "Come, if you'll be a quiet soul, That dares tell neither truth nor lies, I'll list you in the harmless roll Of those that sing of these poor eyes.” EPISTLE TO ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD AND EARL SENT TO THE EARL OF OXFORD WITH DR. PARNELL'S Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear, And sure, if aught below the seats divine Can touch immortals, 'tis a soul like thine: A soul supreme, in each hard instance try'd, Above all pain, and passion, and all pride, The rage of power, the blast of public breath, The lust of lucre, and the dread of Death. In vain to deserts thy retreat is made; The Muse attends thee to thy silent shade: 'Tis her's, the brave inan's latest steps to trace, Re-judge his acts, and dignify disgrace. When interest calls off all her sneaking train, EPISTLE TO JAMES CRAGGS, ES2. SECRETARY OF STATE IN THE YEAR 1720. A SOUL as full of worth, as void of pride, And strikes a blush through frontless flattery: EPISTLE TO MR. JERVAS, WITH MR. DRYDEN'S TRANSLATION OF FRESNOY'S ART OF PAINTING. This Epistle, and the two following, were written some years before the rest, and originally printed in 1717. THIS verse be thine, my friend, nor thou refuse Sinit with the love of sister-arts we came, Rome's pompous glories rising to our thought! |