V.

The wretch who, prefs'd beneath a load of cares,
And labouring with continual woes, despairs,
If thy kind warmth does his chill'd sense invade,
From earth he rears his drooping head,

Reviv'd by thee, he ceases now to mourn;
His flying cares give way to haste,

And to the god resign his breast,

Where hopes of better days, and better things return.

VI.

The labouring hind, who with hard toil and pains,
Amidft his wants, a wretched life maintains
If thy rich juice his homely supper crown,
Hot with thy fires, and bolder grown,
Of kings, and of their arbitrary power,
And how by impious arms they reign,
Fiercely he talks with rude disdain,

And vows to be a flave, to be a wretch, no more.

VII.

Fair Queen of Love, and thou great God of Wine,

Hear every grace, and all ye powers divine,

All that to mirth and friendship do incline,
Crown this aufpicious Cask, and happy night,
With all things that can give delight;
Be every care and anxious thought away ;
Ye tapers ftill be bright and clear,

Rival the moon, and each pale star,

Wing}

Your beams shall yield to none, but his who brings

the day.
5

HORACE,

ON

HORACE, BOOK IV. ODE I.

TO

VENUS.

NCE more the Queen of Love invades my breaft Late, with long eafe and peaceful pleasures bleft; Spare, fpare the wretch, that ftill has been thy flave, And let my former service have

The merit to protect me to the grave.

Much am I chang'd from what I once have been,
When under Cynera the good and fair,
With joy I did thy fetters wear,

Blefs'd in the gentle fway of an indulgent queen.
Stiff and unequal to the labour now,

With pain iny neck beneath thy yoke I bow.
Why dost thou urge me still to bear? Oh! why
Doft thou not much rather fly

To youthful breafts, to mirth and gaiety?
Go, bid thy fwans their gloffy wings expand,
And fwiftly through the yielding air

To Damon thee their goddess bear,

Worthy to be thy flave, and fit for thy command.
Noble, and graceful, witty, gay, and young,
Joy in his heart, love on his charmirg tongue.
Skill'd in a thousand soft prevailing arts,
With wondrous force the youth imparts
Thy power to unexperienc'd virgins hearts.
Far fhall he ftretch the bounds of thy command;
And if thou fhalt his wishes blefs,

Beyond his rivals with fuccefs,

In gold and marble fhall thy ftatues ftand.

}

}

Beneath

Beneath the facred shade of Odel's wood,
Or on the banks of Oufe's gentle flood,
With odorous beams a temple he fhall raise,
For ever facred to thy praife,

Till the fair stream, and wood, and love itself decays,
There while rich incenfe on thy altar burns,
Thy votaries, the nymphs and fwains,

In melting foft harmonious strains,

}

Mix'd with the fofter flutes, shall tell their flames by

turns.

As love and beauty with the light are born,

So with the day thy honours shall return ;
Some lovely youth, pair'd with a blushing maid,
A troop of either fex fhall lead,

And twice the Salian measures round thy altar tread.

Thus with an equal empire o'er the light,

The Queen of Love, and God of Wit,

Together rife, together fit:

But, goddess, do thou stay, and bless alone the night.
There may'ft thou reign, while I forget to love;
No more falfe beauty fhall my passion move;

Nor fhall my fond believing heart be led,
By mutual vows and oaths betray'd,

To hope for truth from the protesting maid.

With love the sprightly joys of wine are fled;
The rofes too fhall wither now,

That us'd to fhade and crown my brow,

And round my chearful temples fragrant odours fled. But tell me, Cynthia, fay, bewitching fair,

What mean these fighs? why fteals this falling tear?

And

And when my ftruggling thoughts for paffage ftrove, Why did my tongue refufe to move;

Tell me can this be any thing but love?

Still with the night my dreams my griefs renew,

Still the is prefent to my eyes,

And still in vain I, as he flies,

O'er woods, and plains, and feas, the fcornful maid purfue.

HORACE, BOOK I. EPISTLE IV. IMITATED.

T

то

RICHARD THORNHILL, ESQ.

'HORNHILL, whom doubly to my heart commend The critic's art, and candour of a friend,

Say what thou doft in thy retirement find,

Worthy the labours of thy active mind;
Whether the tragic Mufe infpires thy thought,
To emulate what moving Otway wrote;

Or whether to the covert of fome grove

Thou and thy thoughts do from the world remove,
Where to thyself thou all those rules dost show,
That good men ought to practise, or wife know.
For fure thy mafs of men is no dull clay,
But well-inform'd with the celeftial ray.
The bounteous gods, to thee compleatly kind,
In a fair frame inclos'd thy fairer mind;

And

Who fought the duel with Sir Cholmondley Deering.

And though they did profufely wealth bestow,
They gave thee the true use of wealth to know.
Could ev'n the nurfe wish for her darling boy
A happiness which thou dost not enjoy :
What can her fond ambition ask beyond
A foul by wisdom's nobleft precepts crown'd?
To this fair speech, and happy utterance join'd,
T'unlock the fecret treasures of the mind,
And make the bleffing common to mankind.
On these let health and reputation wait,
The favour of the virtuous and the great:
A table chearfully and cleanly fpread,
Stranger alike to riot and to need :

Such an eftate as no extremes may know,

A free and just disdain for all things else below.
Amidst uncertain hopes, and anxious cares,
Tumultuous ftrife, and miferable fears,
Prepare for all events thy conftant breast,
And let each day be to thee as thy last.
That morning's dawn will with new pleasure rise,
Whofe light shall unexpected bless thy eyes.

Me, when to town in winter you repair,

Battening in eafe you 'll find, fleek, fresh, and fair;
Me, who have learn'd from Epicurus' lore,
To snatch the bleffings of the flying hour,
Whom every Friday at the Vine* you'll find
His true difciple, and your faithful friend.

* A Tavern in Long-Acre.

THE