their Patron. Horace here pleads the Cause of his Contemporaries, first against the Tafte of the Town, whofe humour it was to magnify the Authors of the preceding Age; fecondly against the Court and Nobility, who encouraged only the Writers for the Theatre; and lastly against the Emperor himself, who had conceived them of little Ufe to the Government. He fhews (by a View of the Progrefs of Learning, and the Change of Taste among the Romans) that the Introduction of the Polite Arts of Greece had given the Writers of his Time great advantages over their Predeceffors; that their Morals were much improved, and the licence of thofe ancient Poets reftrained that Satire and Comedy were become more just and useful; that whatever extravagances were left on the Stage, were owing to the Ill Tafte of the Nobility; that Poets, under due Regulations, were in many refpects useful to the State; and concludes, that it was upon them the Emperor himself muft depend, for his fame with Posterity.
We may farther learn from this Epiftle, that Horace made his Court to this Great Prince, by writing with a decent Freedom towards him, with a just Contempt of his low Flatterers, and with a manly Regard to his own Character.
HILE you, great Patron of Mankind! a fuftain
The balanc'd World, and open all the Main;
Your Country, chief, in Arms abroad defend;
At Home, with Morals, Arts, and Laws amend;
b How shall the Mufe, from fuch a Monarch, steal
An hour, and not defraud the Public Weal?
e Edward and Henry, now the Boaft of Fame,
And virtuous Alfred, a more d facred Name,
After a Life of generous toils endur'd,
The Gaul subdued, or Property secur'd,
Ambition humbled, mighty cities storm'd,
Or Laws establish'd, and the world reform'd;
U M tot a fuftineas et tanta negotia folus,
Res Italas armis tuteris, moribus ornes,
Legibus emendes; in publica commoda, peccem,
Si longo fermone morer tua tempora, Caefar.
Romulus, et Liber pater, et cum Caftore Pollux,
Post ingentia facta, & Deorum in templa recepti,
Dum terras hominumque colunt genus, afpera bella
Componunt, agros adfignant, oppida condunt;
• Clos'd their long Glories with a figh, to find
Th' unwilling Gratitude of bafe mankind!
All human Virtue, to its latest breath,
Finds Envy never conquer'd, but by Death.
The great Alcides, every Labour past,
Had ftill this Monfter to fubdue at laft.
g Sure fate of all, beneath whofe rifing ray
Each ftar of meaner merit fades away!
Opprefs'd we feel the beam directly beat,
Thofe Suns of Glory please not till they fet.
To thee, the World its present homage pays,
The Harveft early, but mature the praife:
Great Friend of Liberty! in Kings a Name
Above all Greek, above all Roman Fame*:
Whofe Word is Truth, as facred and rever'd,
i As Heaven's own Oracles from Altars heard.
Wonder of Kings! like whom, to mortal eyes
* None e'er has rifen, and none e'er fhall rife.
e Ploravere fuis non refpondere favorem
Speratum meritis, diram qui contudit Hydram,
Notaque fatali portenta labore fubegit,
Comperit invidiam fupremo fine domari,
8 Urit enim fulgore fuo, qui praegravat artes
Infra fe pofitas: extinctus amabitur idem.
h Praefenti tibi maturos largimur honores,
i Jurandafque tuum per numen ponimus aras,
* Nil oriturum alias, nil ortum tale fatentes.
Sed tuus hoc populus fapiens et justus in uno,
* Te noftris ducibus, te Graiis anteførendo,
Juft in one inftance, be it yet confeft
Your People, Sir, are partial in the rest:
Foes to all living worth except your own,
And Advocates for folly dead and gone.
Authors, like coins, grow dear as they grow old; 35
It is the ruft we value, not the gold.
1 Chaucer's worst ribaldry is learn'd by rote,
And beaftly Skelton heads of houfes quote:
One likes no language but the Faery Queen;
A Scot will fight for Chrift's Kirk o' the Green : 40
And each true Briton is to Ben fo civil,
m He fwears the Mufes met him at the Devil.
Though justlyn Greece her eldeft fons admires,
Why should not we be wiser than our fires?
Caetera nequaquam fimili ratione modoque
Aeftimat; et, nifi quae terris femota fuifque
Temporibus defuncta videt, faftidit et odit:
1 Sic fautor veterum, et tabulas peccare vetantes
Quas bis quinque viri fanxerunt, foedera regum,
Vel Gabiis vel cum rigidis aequata Sabinis,
Pontificum libros, annofa volumina Vatum,
m Dictitet Albano Mufas in monte locutas.
Si, quia Graiorum funt antiquiffima quaeque
Scripta vel optima, Romani penfantur eadem
Scriptores trutina; non eft quod multa loquamur
Nil intra eft oleam, nil extra eft in nuce duri.
Venimus ad fummum fortunae: pingimus, atque
In every Public Virtue we excell;
We build, we paint, we fing, we dance as well,
And learned Athens to our art must stoop,
Could the behold us tumbling through a hoop.
If a Time improve our Wits as well as Wine,
Say at what age a Poet grows divine?
Shall we, or fhall we not, account him fo,
Who dy'd, perhaps, an hundred years ago?
End all difpute; and fix the year precife
When British bards begin t' immortalize?
"Who lafts a century can have no flaw,
"I hold that Wit a Claffic, good in law."
Suppofe he wants a year, will you compound?
And fhall we deem hims Ancient, right and found,
Or damn to all eternity at once,
At ninety-nine, a Modern and a Dunce?
"We shall not quarrel for a year or two;
"By courtesy of England, he may do."
Pfallimus, et p luctamur Achivis doctius unctis.
Si meliora dies, ut vina, poemata reddit;
Scire velim, chartis pretium quotus arroget annus.
Scriptor ab hinc annos centum qui decidit, inter
Perfectos veterefque referri debet, an inter
Viles atque novos? excludat jurgia finis.
Eft vetus atque probus. centum qui perficit annos.
Quid? qui deperiit minor uno menfe vel anno,
Inter quos referendus erit? veterefne poetas,
An quos et praefens et poftera refpuat aetas?
Ifte quidem veteres inter ponetur & honefte,
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