III.

But fhe, the cunning'ft 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 he 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

VII.

But, pretty turtle, when the blade
Shall come with amorous ferenade,
Soon from the window rate him:
But if reproof will not prevail,
And he perchance attempt to fcale
Discharge the jordan at him.

HORACE. BOOK IV. ODE IX;

I.

ERSES immortal as my bays I fing,

VE

When fuited to my trembling ftring:

When by ftrange art both voice and lyre agree
To make one pleafing harmony.

All poets are by their blind captain led,

(For none e'er had the facrilegious pride

To tear the well-plac'd laurel from his aged head.)
Yet Pindar's rolling dithyrambic tide

Hath still this praise, that none presume to fly
Like him, but flag too low, or foar too high.
Still does Stefichorus's tongue

Sing sweeter than the bird which on it hung.
Anacreon n'er too old can grow,

Love from every verse does flow;
Still Sappho's ftrings do feem to move,
Inftructing all her fex to love.

II. Golden

II.

Golden rings of flowing hair

More than Helen did enfnare;
Others a prince's grandeur did admire,
And, wondering, melted to defire.
Not only skilful Teucer knew

To direct arrows from the bended yew.
Troy more than once did fall,

Though hireling gods rebuilt its nodding wall.

Was Sthenelus the only valiant he,

A fubject fit for lasting poetry?

Was Hector that prodigious man alone,

Who, to fave others lives, expos'd his own?

Was only he fo brave to dare his fate,

And be the pillar of a tottering state?
No; others bury'd in oblivion lie,
As filent as their grave,
Because no charitable poet gave
Their well-deserved immortality.

III.

Virtue with floth, and cowards with the brave,
Are level'd in th' impartial grave,

If they no poet have.

But I will lay my music by,

And bid the mournful strings in filence lie;

Unless my fongs begin and end with you,
To whom my strings, to whom my fongs, are due.
No pride does with your rifing honours grow,
You meekly look on fuppliant crowds below.

Should

Should fortune change your happy state,
You could admire, yet envy not, the great.
Your equal hand holds an unbias'd scale,

Where no rich vices, gilded baits, prevail:
You with a generous honefty defpife

What all the meaner world fo dearly prize:
Nor does your virtue disappear,

With the fmall circle of one fhort-liv'd year:
Others, like comets, vifit and away;

Your luftre, great as theirs, finds no decay,
But with the conftant Sun makes an eternal day.

IV.

We barbarously call those bleft,

Who are of largeft tenements poffeft,

Whilft fwelling coffers break their owner's reft.
More truly happy thofe, who can

Govern that little empire, Man;

Bridle their paffions and direct their will

Through all the glittering paths of charming ill;
Who fpend their treafure freely as 'twas given
By the large bounty of indulgent heaven;
Who, in a fixt unalterable state,

Smile at the doubtful tide of Fate,

And fcorn alike her friendship and her hate;
Who poifon lefs than falfhood fear,

Loth to purchase life fo dear;

}

}

But kindly for their friend embrace cold Death,
And feal their country's love with their departing breath.

TRANSLATION of the following VERSE from LUCA N.

"Victrix caufa Diis placuit, fed victa Catoni."

The Gods and Cato did in this divide,
They choose the conquering, he the conquer'd fide.

TO MR. EDMUND SMIT H.

Μ'

UN, rarely credit Common Fame,
Unheeded let her praise or blame ;
As whimfies guide the goffip tattles
Of wits, of beauties, and of battles;
To-day the warrior's brow fhe crowns,
For naval spoils, and taken towns;
To-morrow all her fpite fhe rallies,
And votes the victor to the gallies.

Nor in her vifits can the spare
The reputation of the fair.

For inftance:-Chloe's bloom did boaft
A while to be the reigning toast;
Lean hectic sparks abandon'd bohea,
And in beer-glaffes pledg'd to Chloe :
What fops of figure did fhe bring
To the Front-boxes and the Ring?
While nymphs of quality look fullen,
As breeding wives, or moulting pullen.