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I have a thousand thanks to give-
My Lord alone knows how to live.”
No sooner said, but from the hall

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!

215 (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,

220 A crust of bread, and liberty!”





INTERMISSA, Venus, diu,

Rursus bella moves ? parce, precor, precor Non sum qualis eram bonæ

Sub regno Cynaræ. Desine, dulcium Mater sæva Cupidinum,

Circa lustra decem flectere mollibus Jam durum imperiis. Abi

Quò blandæ juvenum te revocant preces. Tempestiviùs in domum

Pauli, purpureis ales oloribus,
Commissabere Maximi,

Si torrere jecur quæris idoneum.
Namque et nobilis, et decens,

solicitis non tacitus reis,




AGAIN? new tumults in my breast ?

Ah spare me, Venus ! let me, let me rest! I am not now, alas! the man

As in the gentle reign of my Queen Anne. Ah sound no more thy soft alarms,

5 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, There spread round Murray all your blooming loves;

10 Noble and young, who strikes the heart

With every sprightly, every decent part; Equal, the injured to defend,

To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend.


* This, and the unfinished imitation of the ninth Ode of the fourth Book which follows, shew as happy a vein for managing the Odes of Horace as the Epistles.

Warburton. It may be worth observing, that the measure Pope has here chosen, is precisely the same that Ben Jonson used in a translation of this very Ode; folio,

Warton. Ver. 9. Number fide,] The number of Murray's lodgings in King's Bench Walks.


P. 268.

Et centum puer artium,

Latè signa feret militiæ tuæ. Et quandoque potentior

Largis muneribus riserit æmuli, Albanos prope te lacus

Ponet marmoream sub trabe citrea. Illîc plurima naribus

Duces thura; lyrąèque et Berecynthiæ Delectabere tibia

Mistis carminibus, non sine fistula. Illîc bis pueri die

Numen cum teneris virginibus tuum Laudantes, pede candido';

In morem Saliûm ter quatient humum. Me nec foemina, nec pueri ini,,?

Jam, nec spes animi credula mutui, Nec certare juvat mero, visit

Nec vincire novis tempora floribus.
Sed cur, heu! Ligurine, cur

Manat rara meas lacryma per genas ?
Cur facunda parum decoro
Inter verba cadit lingua silentio ?

NOTES. Ver. 18. Make but his riches, &c.] Seward has an anecdote of Lord Mansfield, respecting the difficulties of his early life; I know not what foundation there is for it. He says, that Murray, acquainting Lord Foley, that he feared he must give up the law, and go into orders, on account of his slender income; Lord Foley generously requested his acceptance of two hundred pounds ayear.

Bowles. Ver. 21. His house, &c.] This alludes to Mr. Murray's intention at one time of taking the lease of Pope's house and grounds at Twickenham, before he became so distinguished. Bowles.

He, with a hundred arts refined,

15 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: 20 His house, embosom'd in the grove,

Sacred to social life and social love, Shall glitter o'er the pendent green,

Where Thames reflects the visionary scene: Thither the silver-sounding lyres

25 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. 30 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,

35 And all the kind deceivers of the soul ! But why? ah tell me, ah too dear!

Steals down my cheek the involuntary tear? Why words so flowing, thoughts so free,

Stop, or turn nonsense, at one glance of thee? Thee, dressid in fancy's airy beam,

Absent I follow through the extended dream; Now, now I seize, I clasp thy charms,

And now you burst (ah cruel!) from my arms;

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