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Never on verfe did his wild thoughts employ,
To paint the horrid scene of burning Troy,
Like Nero, who, to raise his fancy higher,
And finish the great work, fct Rome on fire.
Such crimes make treafon juft, and might compel
Virginius, Vindex, Galba, to rebel;

For what could Nero's felf have acted worse
To aggravate the wretched nation's curfe?

Thefe are the bleft endowments, ftudies, arts,
Which exercife our mighty Emperor's parts;
Such frolicks with his roving genius fuit,
On foreign theatres to prostitute

His voice and honour, for the poor renown
Of putting all the Grecian actors down,
And winning at a wake their parsley-crown,
Let this triumphal chaplet find some place
Among the other trophies of thy race;
By the Domitii's ftatues fhall be laid

The habit and the mask in which you play'd
Antigone's, or bold Thyestes' part,

(While your

wild nature little wanted art)
And on the marble pillar shall be hung
The lute to which the Royal Madman fung.
Who, Catiline, can boast a nobler line

Yet

To fet

Than thy lewd friend Cethegus's, and thine?
you took arms,
and did by night confpire
your houfes and our gods on fire
(An enterprize which might indeed become
Cur enemies, the Gauls, not fons of Rome,

Το

To recompenfe whose barbarous intent

Pitch'd fhirts would be too mild a punishment) :
But Tully, our wife conful, watch'd the blow,
With care discover'd, and difarm'd the foe;
Tully, the humble mushroom, fcarcely known,
The lowly native of a country town

(Who till of late could never reach the height
Of being honour'd as a Roman knight),
Throughout the trembling city plac'd a guard,
Dealing an equal share to every ward,

And by the peaceful robe got more renown
Within our walls, than young Octavius won
By victories at Actium, or the plain
Of Theffaly, difcolour'd by the flain:
Him therefore Rome in gratitude decreed
The Father of his Country, which he freed.
Marius (another conful we admire)

In the fame village born, firft plow'd for hire;
His next advance was to the foldier's trade,
Where, if he did not nimbly ply the spade,
His furly officer ne'er fail'd to crack
His knotty cudgel on his tougher back:
Yet he alone fecur'd the tottering state,

Withstood the Cimbrians, and redeem'd our fate :
So when the eagles to their quarry

flew

(Who never fuch a goodly banquet knew)
Only a fecond laurel did adorn

His colleague Catulus, though nobly born;
He fhar'd the pride of the triumphal bay,
But Marius won the glory of the day.

From

From a mean stock the pious Decii came,
Small their eftates, and vulgar was their name;
Yet fuch their viriues, that their lofs alone
For Rome and all our legions did atone;

;

Their country's doom they by their own retriev'd,
Themselves more worth than all the host they fav'd.
The last good king whom willing Rome obey'd,
Was the poor offspring of a captive maid
Yet he those robes of empire juftly bore,
Which Romulus, our facred founder, wore:
Nicely he gain'd, and well poffeft the throne,
Not for his father's merit, but his own,
And reign'd, himself a family alone.

When Tarquin, his proud fucceffor, was quell'd, And with him Luft and Tyranny expell'd,

The confuls fons (who, for their country's good,
And to inhance the honour of their blood,
Should have afferted what their father won,
And, to confirm that liberty, have done

Actions which Cocles might have wish'd his own;
What might to Mutius wonderful appear,
And what bold Clelia might with envy hear)
Open'd the gates, endeavouring to restore
Their banish'd king, and arbitrary power:
Whilft a poor flave, with scarce a name, betray'd
The horrid ills thefe well-born rogues had laid;
Who therefore for their treafon justly bore
The rods and ax, ne'er us'd in Rome before.
If you have strength Achilles' arms to bear,
And courage to fuftain a ten years war;

}

Though

Though foul Therfites got thee, thou shalt be
More lov'd by all, and more esteem'd by me,
Than if by chance you from fome hero came,
In nothing like your father but his name.

Boast then your blood, and your long lineage ftretch As high as Rome, and its great founders reach; You'll find, in thefe hereditary tales,

Your ancestors the scum of broken jails;
And Romulus, your honour's ancient fource,
But a poor fhepherd's boy, or fomething worse.

HORACE.

BOOK III. ODE VII.

IMITATE D.

I.

DEAR Molly, why fo oft in tears?

Why all these jealoufies and fears.

For thy bold Son of Thunder?

Have patience till we've conquer'd France,
Thy closet shall be ftor'd with Nantz;
Ye ladies like fuch plunder.

II.

Before Toulon thy yoke-mate lies,
Where all the live-long night he fighs
For thee in loufy cabin:

And though the Captain's Chloe cries,
" 'Tis I, dear Bully, pr'ythee rife",
He will not let the drab in.

III. But

III.

But fhe, the cunning'st jade alive,

Says, 'tis the ready way to thrive,

By sharing female bounties:
And, if he'll be but kind one night,
She vows he fhall be dubb'd a knight,
When fhe is made a countefs.

IV.

Then tells of smooth young pages whipp'd,
Cashier'd, and of their liveries stripp'd;
Who late to peers belonging,

Are nightly now compell'd to trudge
With links, because they would not drudge
To fave their ladies longing.

V.

But Val the eunuch cannot be

A colder cavalier than he,

In all fuch love-adventures :

Then pray do you, dear Molly, take
Some Chriftian care, and do not break
Your conjugal indentures.

VI.

Bellair! (who does not Bellair know?
The wit, the beauty, and the beau)
Gives out, he loves you dearly:
And many a nymph attack'd with fighs,
And foft impertinence and noise,

Full oft has beat a parley.

VII. But

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