The Fifth ODE of the Fourth Book
HORACE Imitated.
Addrefs'd to Sir R. WALPOLE in Norfolk.
Born to do thy Country Good,
Thou Guardian of thy Native Land, 'Tis Time to leave the peaceful Wood,
And re-affume thy high Command.
Return, and by thy Counsels bless
The Realm with Plenty and with Peace.
O come! and with thy Presence bring
More Joy to the exulting Croud,
Than the returning Sun in Spring;
While all their Wish proclaim aloud,
That thy refulgent Glories may
Shine brighter than the brighteft Day,
As Mothers, who an only Heir
O'er stormy Seas expecting home,
Do daily to the Shore repair,
With Eyes that long to fee him come :
More warm their Wishes cannot be,
Than ours, O Walpole, are for thee:
I
FOR thee, from whose propitious Toil
The lab'ring Swain in fafety dwells,
For thee, by whom this happy Ifle
In Riches and in Trade excels;
Quiet at Home thy Cares bestow,
And Peace abroad to thee we owe.
BLESSINGS from all upon thee wait,
With thee our Morning Prayers refound,
Grown gayer as the Night grows late,
Thus to thy Health the Glass is crown'd,
May Succefs all thy Schemes attend,
And may thy Fortune know no End.
EHOLD! Ambitious of the British Bays,
C-BB-R and DUCK contend in Rival Lays: But, gentle COLLEY should thy Verse prevail, Thou haft no Fence, alas against his Flail; Wherefore thy Claim refign, allow his Right, For Duck can Threfb, you know, as well as write.
OW happy is he, born or taught,
That ferveth not another's Will;
Whose Armour is his honeft Thought,
And fimple Truth his highest Skill.
WHOSE Paffions not his Mafters are,
Whose Soul is still prepar'd for Death;
Unty'd unto the World, with Care
Of Princes Love, or vulgar Breath.
Who hath his Life from Rumour freed,
Whofe Confcience is his ftrong Retreat;
Whofe State can neither Flatterers feed,
Nor Ruin make Accufers great.
WHO envieth none, whom Chance doth raise,
Or Vice, who never understood,
How deepest Wounds are given with Praise,
Nor Rules of State, but Rules of Good.
WHO God doth late and early pray,
More of his Grace, than Gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless Day,
With a well chofen Book or Friend.
THIS Man is free from fervile Bonds,
Of Hope to rife, or fear to fall:
Free of himself, tho' not of Lands,
And having Nothing, yet hath All.
STEPHEN DUC K,
To the Reverend Dr. CLARKE, Prebendary of Winchester.
On a Good Confcience.
THE nobleft Good, is fure a peaceful Mind;
The best that Heaven can give, and Mortals find;
It ev'n in Chains can fet the Pris'ner free,
"Tis fure, a Spark of the Divinity:
It vifibly fits smiling on the Mien,
And forms an Aspect cheerful and ferene,
Smooths the contracted Brow, and joys the Heart within.
O bleffed Gift of Heav'n! may'ft thou abide
With me, altho' I'm robb'd of all befide.
Thou art a God fuperlative on Earth;
My Armour whilft alive, and Shield in Death.
While guilty and defpairing Mortals go,
Oppreft with Horror, and involv'd in Woe,
And wait, and fear the dire impending Fate,
Anticipating of their evil State,
Which is (to make Damnation more compleat)
The leffer Hell, in Paffage to the Great.
Bold and intrepid the Good Man appears,
And, as he knows no Evil, none he fears:
A conftant Calm reigns in his quiet Breaft
He never is by fervile Fear opprest,
Arm'd with himself he always walks at rest.
Thus, o'er the Lybian Plains a Lion goes,
Conscious of his own Strength, fecure from Foes;
While meaner Beasts in fecret trembling lay,
And hourly fear they fhall become a Prey.
The RETALIATION.
To a young Lady who received a Kifs as an Affront,
at a City Vifit.
JNG Civiana, gay and fair,
Known for her Wit, and well-bred Air,
A Vifit made one Day;
Where Cymon with an aukward Mien,
Unluckily for him, came in,
His Folly to betrary.
HE bow'd and scrap'd, ne'er took his Chair,
But wou'd all round falute the Fair,
Not only those he knew;
The Vifited; but the gay Belle,.
Their Vifiter: ah, fhame to tell!
The Blockhead kifs'd her too.
AND what was worse, or was as bad,
The reft, by his example led,
Repeated the Affront;
The Lafs did her Refentment fhew,
She fnapt her Fan, fhe bent her Brow,
Such Rudeness, fie upon't!
FAIR-one, while yet your Anger burns,
If Cymon to the place returns,
As foon no doubt he will;
Be there with twenty Virgins more,
For Kiffes three, inflict threefcore,
You can't use him too ill.
Do, at the self-fame time and place,
That all may witness his Disgrace,
Repeat the Punishment.
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