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Ode VI. Book II. Imitated,

EVIL, that with your friend would roam,

Far from your England's happier home,
Should e'es the Fates that friend detain
In gayer France, or graver Spain;

Know, all my wish is to retreat,
When age shall quench my youthful heat,
In Kentish shades sweet peace to find,
And leave the sons of care behind.

But fhould this pleasing hope be vain,
May I fair Windsor's seat attain,
Where Leddon's gentle waters glide,
And Alocks adorn its flowery fide.

I love

filent sades ;
Your russet lawns, and op?pipg glades,
With fam'd Italia's plains may vie
Your fertile fields, and healthful sky.

Here, let our eve of life be spent';
Here, friend shall live with friend content:
Here, in cold earth my limbs be laid ;
And here, thy generous tear be paid.


Book II. Ode XII. Translated,


HE wars of Nụmantia and Hannibal dire,

On land, or on ocean
Mæcenas, ne'er suited my peaceable lyre,

In subjects much softer delighting.

You love not of centaurs embattled to hear,

Nor of giants, a tale of such wonder, Who shook all the skies, made Jupiter fear,

'Till drove by Alcides and thunder.

In prose, my good patron, more nobly you write,

As your topic than there is much better, How Cæfar with glory can govern and fight,

z And lead haughty kings in his fetter.

Alone my gay Muse of Licinnia would fing,

The constant, good-natur'd, and pretty,
So graceful to dance with the maids in a ring,

So sparkling, fo merry, and witty.

While you play with her hair, that is carelessly curl'd,

While this way, now that way she twitches,
Of your teazing so kindly complaining, no world

Could bribe for one lock with its riches.


Thas bleft with the nymph, how transporting the joy!

Who whimsical, wanton, amuses; Who pleasingly forward, or prettily coy,

Oft snatches the kiss she refuses.

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To a LADY making a Pin-Basket,

By the Same,
HILE objects of a parent's care,

With joy your fond attention Share,
Madam, accept th' auspicious strain ;
Nor rife your beauteous work in vain,
Oft be your second race survey'd,
And oft a new pin-basket made.

When marriage was in all its glory,
So poets, madam, tell the story,
Ere Plutus damp'd love's purer flame,
Or Smithfield bargains had a name,
In heav'n a blooming youth and bride
At Hymen's altars were ally'd ;
When Cupid had his Psyché won,
And, all her deftin'd labours done,
The cruel Fates their rage relented,
And mamma Venus had confented.

At Jove's command, and Hermes' call,
The train appear'd to fill the hall,
And gods, and goddesses were dreft,
To do them honour, in their best.


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The little rogues now pass’d the row,
And look'd, and mov'd I don't know how,
And, ambling hand in hand, appear
Before the mighty thunderer.
Low at his throne they bent the knee ;
He smild the blushing pair to see,
Lay'd his tremendous bolt aside,
And strok'd their cheeks, and kiss'd the bride.

Says Juno, fince our Jove's so kind,
My dears, some present I must find,
In greatest pleasures, greatest dangers,
We and the sex were never strangers ;
With bounteous hand my gifts I spread
Presiding o'er the marriage-bed.
Soon, for the months are on the wing,
To you a daughter fair I bring,
And know, from this your nuptial morn
Shall Pleasure, smiling babe, be born.
But for the babe we must

prepare ;
That too shall be your Juno's care.
Apollo, from his golden lyre,
Shall first assist us with the wire ;
Vulcan shall make the silver pin.
The basket thus we shall begin,
Where we may put the child's array,
And get it ready by the day.
The nymphs themselves with flowers shall dress it,
Pallas shall weave, and I will bless it.


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By the Same.
ERST, in Cythera's facred fade,

When Venus clasp'd the god of war,
The laughing loves around them play'd,
One bore the shield, and one the spear,
The little warriors Cupid led,
The shining baldric grac'd his breast,
The mighty helmet o'er his head
Nodded its formidable creft.

Hence oft', to win some stubborn maid,
Still does the wanton God aliuine
The martial air, the gay cockade,
The sword, the shoulder-knot and plume,

Phyllis had long his power defy'd,
Refolv'd her conquests to maintain;
His fruitless art each poet try'd:
Each fhepherd tun'd his pipe in vain.
Till Cupid came, a captain bold :
Of trenches and of palifadoes
He talk'd ; and many a tale he told
Of battles, and of ambuscadoes.

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