EPISTLE

VII.

Imitated in the Manner of Dr. SWIFT.

"T!

IS true, my Lord, I gave my word,
I would be with you, June the third;
Chang'd it to Auguft, and (in fhort)
Have kept it as you do at Court.
You humour me when I am fick,
Why not when I am splenetick ?
In town, what Objects could I meet?
The shops fhut up in every street,

And Funerals blackening all the Doors,
And yet more melancholy Whores:
And what a dust in every place ?
And a thin Court that wants your Face,
And Fevers raging up and down,

And W* and H** both in Town!

Uinque dies tibi pollicitus me rure futurum,
Sextilem totum mendax defideror. atqui,
Si me vivere vis fanum recteque valentem;
Quam mihi das aegro, dabis aegrotare timenti,
Maecenas, veniam: dum ficus prima calorque
Defignatorum decorat lictoribus atris :
Dum pueris omnis pater, et matercula pallet;
Officiofaque fedulitas, et opella forenfis
Adducit febres, et testamenta resignat.

"The dog-days are no more the cafe."

'Tis true, but Winter comes apacę :

Then fouthward let your Bard retire,

Hold out fome Months 'twixt Sun and Fire,
And you fhall fee the first warm Weather,
Me and the Butterflies together.

My Lord, your Favours well I know;
"Tis with Diftinction you beftow;
And not to every one that comes,
Juft as a Scotsman does his Plums.
"Pray take them, Sir-Enough's a Feaft:
"Eat fome, and pocket up the reft"-
What rob your Boys? thofe pretty rogues!
"No, Sir, you'll leave them to the Hogs."
Thus Fools with Compliments befiege ye,
Contriving never to oblige ye.

Scatter your

favours on a Fop,

Ingratitude's the certain crop;

Quod fi bruma nives Albanis illinet agris ;
Ad mare defcendet vates tuus, et fibi parcet,
Contractufque leget; te, dulcis amice, revifet
Cum Zephyris, fi concedes, et hirundine prima.
Non, quo more pyris vesci Calaber jubet hofpes.
Tu me fecifti locupletem. Vefcere fodes.
Jam fatis eft. At tu quantumvis tolle. Benigne.
Non invifa feres pueris munufcula parvis.
Tam teneor dono, quam fi dimittar onuftus.
Ut libet: haec porcis hodie comedenda relinques.
Prodigus et ftultus donat quae fpernit et odit;

wherefore,

And 'tis but juft, I'll tell you
You give the things you never care for.
A wife man always is or fhou'd

Be mighty ready to do good;

But makes a difference in his thought
Betwixt a Guinea and a Groat.

Now this I'll fay, you'll find in me
A fafe Companion and a free;
But if you'd have me always near-
A word, pray, in your Honour's ear.
I hope it is your Refolution

To give me back my Constitution!

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Haec feges ingratos tulit et feret omnibus annis.
Vir bonus et fapiens, dignis ait esse paratum !
Nec tamen ignorat, quid diftent aera lupinis ?
Dignum praeftabo me, etiam pro laude merentis.
Quod fi me noles ufquam difcedere; reddes
Forte latus, nigros angufta fronte capillos:
Reddes dulce loqui: reddes ridere decorum, et
Inter vina fugam Cynarae moerere protervae.
Forte per anguftam tenuis vulpecula rimam
Repferat in cumeram frumenti: pastaque, rurfus
Ire foras pleno tendebat corpore fruftra,

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A Weazel once made shift to flink
In at a Corn-loft through a Chink ;
But having amply ftuff'd his skin,
Could not get out as he got in;
Which one belonging to the House
('Twas not a Man, it was a Moufe)
Obferving, cry'd, "You 'fcape not fo,
"Lean as you came, Sir, you muft
go."
Sir, you may spare your Application,
I'm no fuch Beast, nor his Relation;
Nor one that Temperance advance,
Cramm'd to the Throat with Ortolans:
Extremely ready to refign

All that may make me none of mine.
South-fea Subscriptions take who please,
Leave me but Liberty and Ease.

'Twas what I faid to Craggs and Child,
Who prais'd my Modesty, and smil❜d.
Give me, I cry'd, (enough for me)
My Bread, and Independency!
So bought an Annual-rent or two,

Cui muftela procul, Si vis, ait, effugere iftine;
Macra cavum repetes ar&tum, quem macra subisti.
Hac ego fi compellar imagine, cuncta refigno;
Nec fomnum plebis laudo fatur altilium, nec
Otia divitiis Arabum liberrima muto.
Saepe verecundum laudasti: Rexque, Paterque
Audifti coram, nec verbo parcius abfens :

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Near

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 worfe nor better.
To fet this matter full before ye,

Our old friend Swift will tell his Story.
"Harley, the nation's great fupport—”
But you may read it, I stop short.

Infpice, fi poffum donata reponere laetus.

Parvum parva decent. mihi jam non regia Roma,
Sed vacuum Tibur placet, aut imbelle Tarentum.
Strenuus et fortis, caufifque Philippus agendis
Clarus, &c.