Ner red, nor eke the white,
Was wanting to invite,

Nor coral lips that pout;
But, oh! in vain she tries,
With darts to arm those eyes
That dimly squint about.
With order and with care,
Her pyramid of hair

Sublimely mounts the sky; And, that she might prevail, She bolster'd up her tail, With rumps three stories high. With many a rich perfume, She purify'd her room,

As there was need, no doubt;
For on these warm occasions,
Offensive exhalations

Are apt to fly about.
On beds of roses lying,
Expecting, wishing, dying,
Thus languish'd for her love
The Cyprian queen of old,
As merry bards have told,
All in a myrtle grove.
In pale of mother church,
She fondly hop'd to lurch,
But, ah me! hop'd in vain;
No doctor could be found,
Who this her case profound

Durst venture to explain.
At length a youth full smart,
Who oft by magic art
Had div'd in many a hole;
Or kilderkin, or tun,
Or hogshead, 'twas all one,
He'd sound it with his pole.
His art, and eke his face,
So suited to her case,

Engag'd her love-sick heart;
Quoth she, my pretty Diver,
With thee I'll live for ever,

And from thee never part. For thee my bloom reviving, For thee fresh charms arising, Shall melt thee into joy; Nor doubt, my pretty sweeting, Ere nine months are compleating, To see a bonny boy.

As ye have seen, no doubt,

A candle when just out,

In flames break forth again;
So shone this widow bright,
All blazing in despight

Of threescore years and ten.

CANIDIA'S EPITHALAMIUM.

UPON THE SAME.

TIME as malevolent, as old,

To blast Canidia's face,

(Which once 'twas rapture to behold) With wrinkles and disgrace.

Not so in blooming beauty bright,
Each envying virgin's pattern,

She reign'd with undisputed right

A priestess of St. Cattern 1.

Each sprightly soph, each brawny thrum,
Spent his first runnings here;

And hoary doctors dribbling come,
To languish and despair.

Low at her feet the prostrate arts
Their humble homage pay;
To her the tyrant of their hearts,
Each bard directs his lay..

But now, when impotent to please,
Alas! she would be doing;
Reversing Nature's wise decrees,
She goes herself a-wooing.

Though brib'd with all her pelf, the swain
Most aukwardly complies;

Press'd to bear arms, he serves in pain,
Or from his colours flies.

So does an ivy, green when old,
And sprouting in decay,

In juiceless, joyless arms infold
A sapling young and gay.
The thriving plant, if better join'd,
Would emulate the skies;

But, to that wither'd trunk confin'd,
Grows sickly, pines, and dies.

HUNTING-SONG.

BEHOLD, my friend, the rosy-finger'd Morn,

With blushes on her face
Peeps o'er yon azure hill;

Rich gems the trees enchase,
Pearls from each bush distil,

Arise, arise, and hail the light new-born.

Hark! hark! the merry horn calls, come away:
Quit, quit thy downy bed;

Break from Amynta's arms;
Oh! let it ne'er be said,

That all, that all her charms,

Though she 's as Venus fair, can tempt thy stay.

Perplex thy soul no more with cares below,

For what will pelf avail !

Thy courser paws the ground,
Each beagle cocks his tail,

They spend their mouths around,

While health, and pleasure, smiles on every brow.

Try, huntsmen, all the brakes, spread all the plain,
Now, now, she 's gone away,
Strip, strip, with speed pursue;
The jocund god of day,

Who fain our sport would view,

See, see, he flogs his fiery steeds in vain.

Pour down, like a flood from the hills, brave boys,
On the wings of the wind

The merry beagles fly;
Dull Sorrow lags behind :

Ye shrill echoes, reply;

Catch each flying sound, and double our joys.

Ye rocks, woods, and caves, our music repeat:
The bright spheres thus above,

A gay refulgent train,

1 She was bar-keeper at the Cattern-wheel in Oxford,

Harmoniously move,

O'er yon celestial plain

Like us whirl along, in concert so sweet.

Now Puss threads the brakes, and heavily flies,
At the head of the pack
Old Fidler bears the bell,
Every foil he hunts back,

And aloud rings her knell,

Till, forc'd into view, she pants, and she dies.
In life's dull round thus we toil and we sweat;
Diseases, grief, and pain,
An implacable crew,
While we double in vain,
Unrelenting pursue,

Till, quite hunted down, we yield with regret.
This moment is ours, come live while ye may,
What 's decreed by dark Fate

Is not in our own power,
Since to morrow 's too late,

Take the present kind hour:

With wine cheer the night, as sports bless the day.

A TRANSLATION OF HORACE, EP. X.

HORACE RECOMMENDS A COUNTRY LIFE, AND DISSUADES HIS FRIEND FROM AMBITION AND AVARICE.

HEALTH to my friend lost in the smoky town,
From him who breathes in country air alone,
In all things else thy soul and mine are one;
And like two aged long acquainted doves, [loves.
The same our mutual hate, the same our mutual
Close, and secure, you keep your lazy nest,
My wandering thoughts won't let my pinions rest:
O'er rocks, seas, woods, I take my wanton flight,
And each new object charms with new delight.
To say no more, my friend, I live, and reign,
Lord of myself: I 've broke the servile chain,
Shook off with scorn the trifles you desire,
All the vain empty nothings fops admire..
Thus the lean slave of some fat pamper'd priest
With greedy eyes at first views each luxurious feast;
But, quickly cloy'd, now he no more can eat
Their godly viands, and their holy meat:
Wisely ambitious to be free and poor,
Longs for the homely scraps he loath'd hefore.
Seek'st thou a place where Nature is observ'd,
And cooler Reason may be mildly heard;
To rural shades let thy calm soul retreat,
These are th' Elysian fields, this is the happy seat,
Proof against winter's cold, and summer's heat.
Here no invidious care thy peace annoys,
Sleep undistu b'd, uninterrupted joys;
Your marble pavement with disgrace must yield
To each smooth plain and gay enamel'd field:
Your muddy aqueducts can ne'er compare
With courty streams, more pure than city air;
Our yew and bays enclos'd in pots ye prize,
And mimic little beauties we despise.
The rose and woodbine marble walls support,
Holly and y deck the gaudy court:
Ent yet in vain all shifts the artist tries,

The disentented twig but pines away and dies.
The house ve praise that a large prospect yields,
And view with longing eyes the pleasure of the fields;

'Tis thus ye own, thus tacitly confess,
Th' inimitable charms the peaceful country bless.
In vain from Nature's rules we blindly stray,
And push th' uneasy monitrix away:
Still she returns, nor lets our conscience rest,
But night and day inculcates what is best,
Our truest friend, though an unwelcome guest.
As soon th' unskilful fool that's blind enough,
To call rich Indian damask Norwich stuff,
Shall become rich by trade; as he be wise,
Whose partial soul and undiscerning eyes
Can't at first sight, and at each transient view,
Distinguish good from bad, or false from true.
He that too high exalts his giddy head
When Fortune smiles, if the jilt frowns, is dead:
Th' aspiring fool, big with his haughty boast,
Is the most abject wretch when all his hopes are lost.
Sit loose to all the world. nor aught admire,
These worthless toys too fondly we desire;
Since when the darling's ravish'd from our heart,
The pleasure's over-balanc'd by the smart.
Confine thy thoughts, and bound thy loose desires,
For thrifty Nature no great cost requires:
A healthful body, and thy mistress kind,
An humble cot, and a more humble mind:
These once enjoy'd, the world is all thy own,
From thy poor cell despise the ottering throne,
And wakeful monarchs in a bed of down.
The stag well arm'd, and with unequal force,
From fruitful meadows chas'd the conquer'd horse;
The haughty beast that stomach'd the disgrace,
In meaner pastures not content to graze,
Receives the bit, and man's assistance prays.
His false confederate still rode boldly on;
The conquest gair'd, and many trophies won,
In vain the beast curs'd his perfidious aid,
He plung'd, he rear'd, but nothing could persuade
The rider from his back, or bridle from his head.
Just so the wretch that greedily aspires,
Unable to content his wild desires;
Dreading the fatal thought of being poor,
Loses a prize worth all his golden ore,
The happy freedom he enjoy'd before.
About him still th' uneasy load he bears,
Spurr'd on with fruitless hopes, and curb'd with anx-
ious fears.

The man whose fortunes fit not to his mind,
The way to true content shall never find;
If the shoe pinch, or if it prove too wide,
In that he walks in pain, in this he treads aside.
But you, my friend, in calm contentment live,
Always well pleas'd with what the gods shall give;
Tyrant of fools, the wise man's drudge and slave;
Let not base shining pelf thy mind deprave,
And me reprove if I si all crave for more,
Or seem the least uneasy to be poor.
This much I write, merry, and free from care,
And nothing covet, but thy presence here.

THE MISER'S SPEECH.

FROM HORACE, EPOD. II.

Happy the man, who, free from care, Manures his own paternal fields, Content, as his wise fathers were, T'enjoy the crop his labour yields:

Chaste emblem of the mariage-bed,
Or prunes the too luxuant Loughs,
And grafts more happy in their stead.
Or hears the lowing herds from far,
That fatten on the fruitful plains,
And ponders with delightful care,

The prospect of his future gains.

Or shears his sheep that round him graze,
And droop beneath their curling loads ;
Or plunders his laborious bees

Of balmy nectar, drink of gods!
His chearful head when Autumn rears,
And bending boughs reward his pains,
Joyous he plucks the luscious pears,

The purple grape his finger stains.
Each honest heart 's a welcome guest,
With tempting fruit his tables glow,
The gods are bidden to the feast,

To share the blessings they bestow. Under an oak's protecting shade,

In flowery meads profusely gay, Supine he leans his peaceful head,

And gently loiters life away.

The vocal streams that murmuring flow,
Or from their springs complaining creep,
The birds that chirp on every bough,

Invite his yielding eyes to sleep.
But, when bleak storms and lowering Jove
Now sadden the declining year,
Through every thicket, every grove,
Swift he pursues the flying deer.

With deep-hung hounds he sweeps the plains;
The hills, the vallies, smoak around:

The woods repeat his pleasing pains,
And Echo propagates the sound.

Or, push'd by his victorious spear,
The grisly boar before him flies,
Betray'd by his prevailing fear

Into the toils, the monster dies.
His towering falcon mounts the skies,
And cuts through clouds his liquid way;
Or else with sly deceit he tries

To make the lesser game his prey.
Who, thus possess'd of solid joy,
Would Love, that idle imp, adore?
Cloe 's coquet, Myrtilla 's coy,
And Phyllis is a perjur'd whore.
Adieu, fantastic idle flame!
Give me a profitable wife,
A careful, but obliging dame,
To soften all the toils of life:
Who shall with tender care provide,
Against her weary spouse return,
With plenty see his board supply'd,
And make the crackling billets burn:
VOL. XI.

And while his men and maids repair
To fold his sheep, to milk his kine,
With unbought dainties feast her dear,
And treat him with domestic wine.

I view with pity and disdain

The costly trifles coxcombs boast,
Their Bourdeaux, Burgundy, Champaign,
Though sparkling with the brightest toast.
Pleas'd with sound manufacture more,
Than all the stum the knaves impose,
When the vain cully treats his whore,

At Brawn's, the Mitre, or the Rose.
Let fops their sickly palates please,
With luxury's expensive store,
And feast each virulent disease

With dainties from a foreign shore.
I, whom my little farm supplies,
Richly on Nature's bounty live;
The only happy are the wise,

Content is all the gods can give.
While thus on wholesome cates I feast,
Oh! with what rapture I behold
My flocks in comely order haste

T'enrich with soil the barren fold!
The languid ox approaches slow,

To share the food his labours earn;
Painful he tugs th' inverted plough,
Nor hunger quickens his return.
My wanton swains, uncouthly gay,
About my smiling hearth delight,
To sweeten the laborious day,

By many a merry tale at night.
Thus spoke old Gripe, when bottles thres
Of Burton ale, and sea-coal fire,
Unlock'd his breast: resolv'd to be
A generous, honest, country squire.
That very night his money lent,

On bond, or mortgage, he call'd in,
With lawful use of six per cent:
Next morn, he put it out at ten.

For prog and plunder scour'd the plains, Some French Gens d'Armes surpris'd, and beat And brought their trumpeter in chains.

In doleful plight, th' unhappy bard
For quarter begg'd on bended knee,
Pity, Messieurs! In truth tis hard
To kill a harmless enemy.
"These hands, of slaughter innocent,
Ne'er brandish'd the destructive sword,
To you or yours no hurt I meant,

O take a poor musician's word."

But the stern foe, with generous rage, "Scoundrel "" reply'd, "thou first shalt die,

Who, urging others to engage,

From fame and danger basely fly.

Р

"The brave by law of arms we spare, Thou by the hangman shalt expire;

'Tis just, and not at all severe,

To stop the breath that blew the fire.

FABLE II.

THE BALD-PATED WELSHMAN, AND THe fly.

-Qui non moderabitur iræ,

Infectum volet esse, dolor quod suaserit & mens,
Dum pœnas odio per vim festinat inulto.

A SQUIRE of Wales, whose blood ran higher
Than that of any other squire,

Hasty and hot; whose peevish honour
Reveng'd each slight was put upon her,
Upon a mountain's top one day
Expos'd to Sol's meridian ray;

He fum'd, he rav'd, he curs'd, he swore,
Exhal'd a sea at every pore:
At last, such insults to evade,
Sought the next tree's protecting shade;
Where, as he lay dissolv'd in sweat,
And wip'd off many a rivulet,
Off in a pet the beaver flies,
And flaxen wig, Time's best disguise,
By which, folks of maturer ages

Vie with smooth beaux, and ladies' pages:
Though 'twas a secret rarely known,
Ill-natur'd Age had cropt his crown,
Grubb'd all the covert up, and now
A large smooth plain extends his brow.
Thus as he lay with numskul bare,
And courted the refreshing air,
New persecutions still appear,
A noisy fly offends his ear,

Alas! what man of parts and sense
Could bear such vile impertinence?
Yet so discourteous is our fate,
Fools always buz about the great.
This insect now, whose active spite,
Teaz'd him with never-ceasing bite,
With so much judgment play'd his part,
He had him both in tierce and quart:
In vain with open hands he tries
To guard his ears, his nose, his eyes;
For now at last, familiar grown,
He perch'd upon his worship's crown,
With teeth and claws his skin he tore,
Aud stuff'd himself with human gore,
At last, in manners to excel,
Untruss'd a point, some authors tell.
But now what rhetoric could assuage
The furious squire, stark mad with rage?
Impatient at the foul disgrace,
From insect of so mean a race;
And plotting vengeance on his foe,
With double fist he aims a blow:

The nimble fly escap'd by flight,
And skip'd from this unequal fight.
Th' impending stroke with all its weight

Fell on his own beloved pate.

Hor.

Thus much he gain'd by this adventurous deed, He foul'd his fingers, and he broke his head.

MORAL

Let senates hence learn to preserve their state,
And scorn the fool, below their grave debate,
Who by th' unequal strife grows popular and great.

Let him buz on, with senseless rant defy
The wise, the good; yet still 'tis but a fly.
With puny foes the toil 's not worth the cost,
Where nothing can be gain'd, much may be lost:
Let cranes and pigmies in mock-war engage,
A prey beneath the generous eagle's rage.
True honour o'er the clouds sublimely wings;
Young Ammon scorns to run with less than kings,

FABLE III.

THE ANT AND THE FLY.

Quem res plus nimio delectavêre secundæ,
Mutatæ quatient.—

THE careful ant that meanly fares,

And labours hardly to supply,
With wholesome cates and homely tares,
His numerous working family;

Upon a visit met one day

His cousin fly, in all his pride, A courtier insolent and gay,

By Goody Maggot near ally'd:
The humble insect humbly bow'd,
And all his lowest congees paid,
Of an alliance wondrous proud

To such a huffing tearing blade.
The haughty fly look'd big, and swore

He knew him not, nor whence he came;
Huff'd much, and with impatience bore
The scandal of so mean a claim.
"Friend Clodpate, know, 'tis not the mode
At court, to own such clowns as thee,
Nor is it civil to intrude

On flies of rank and quality.

"I-who, in joy and indolence,

Converse with monarchs and grandees, Regaling every nicer sense

With clios, soups, and fricassees; "Who kiss each beauty's balmy lip,

Or gently buz into her ear, About her snowy bosom skip,

Hor.

And sometimes creep the lord knows where!" The ant, who could no longer bear

His cousin's insolence and pride, Toss'd up his head, and with an air

Of conscious worth, he thus reply'd; "Vain insect! know, the time will come,

When the court-sun no more shall shine,
When frosts thy gaudy limbs benumb,

And damps about thy wings shall twine;
"When some dark nasty hole shall hide
And cover thy neglected head,
When all this lofty swelling pride

Shall burst, and shrink into a shade: "Take heed, lest Fortune change the scene: Some of thy brethren I remember,

In June have mighty princes been,
But begg'd their bread before December."

MORAL.

This precious offspring of a t-d
Is first a pimp, and then a lord;
Ambitions to be great, not good,
Forgets his own dear flesh and blood.

Blind goddess! who delight'st in joke,
O fix him on thy lowest spoke;
And since the scoundrel is so vain,
Reduce him to his filth again.

FABLE IV.

THE WOLF, THE FOX, AND THE APE.

Clodius accusat Mochos, Catilina Cethegum.

THE wolf impeach'd the fox of theft,

The fox the charge deny'd;

To the grave ape the case was left,
In justice to decide.

Wise Pug with comely buttocks sate,
And nodded o'er the laws,
Distinguish'd well through the debate,
And thus adjudg'd the cause:

"The goods are stole, but not from thee, Two pickled rogues well met,

Thou shalt be hang'd for perjury,
He for an arrant cheat."

MORAL.

Hang both, judicious brute, 'twas bravely said,
May villains always to their ruin plead!
When knaves fall out, and spitefully accuse,
There's nothing like the reconciling noose.
O hemp the noblest gift propitious Heaven
To mortals with a bounteous hand has given,
To stop malicious breath, to end debate,
To prop the shaking throne, and purge the state.

FABLE V

THE DOG AND THE BEAR.

-Delirant reges, plectuntur Achivi, Seditione, dolis, scelere, atque libidine & irâ Iliacos intra muros, peccatur, & extra.

TOWSER, of right Hockleian sire,

A dog of mettle and of fire,
With Ursin grim, an errant bear,
Maintain❜d a long and dubious war:
Oft Ursin on his back was tost,
And Towser many a collop lost;
Capricious Fortune would declare,
Now for the dog, then for the bear.
Thus having try'd their couragé fairly,
Brave Ursin first desir'd a parly;

Hor.

"Stout combatant" (quoth he) whose might
I've felt in many a bloody fight,
Tell me the cause of all this pother,
And why we worry one another?
"That's a moot point," the cur reply'd,
"Our masters only can decide.

While thee and I our hearts blood spill,
They prudently their pockets fill ;
Halloo us on with all their might,
To turn a penny by the fight.'

"If that's the case," return'd the bear,
""Tis time at last to end the war;
Thou keep thy teeth, and I my claws,
To combat in a nobler cause;
Sleep in a whole skin, I advise,

And let them bleed, who gain the prize."

Juv.

MORAL.

Parties enrag'd on one another fall,
The butcher and the bear-ward pocket all.

FABLE VI.

THE WOUNDED MAN, AND THE SWARM OF FLIES.

E malis minimum

SQUALID with wounds, and many a gaping sore,
A wretched Lazar lay distress'd;

A swarm of flies his bleeding ulcers tore,
And ou his putrid carcass feast.

A courteous traveller, who pass'd that way,
And saw the vile Harpeian brood,
Offer'd his help the monstrous crew to slay,
That rioted on human blood.

"Ah! gentle sir," th' unhappy wretch reply'd, "Your well-meant charity refrain;

The angry Gods have that redress deny'd,
Your goodness would increase my pain.
"Fat, and full-fed, and with abundance cloy'd,
But now and then these tyrants feed;

But were, alas ! this pamper'd brood destroy'd,
The lean and hungry would succeed."

MORAL.

The body politic must soon decay,
When swarms of insects on its vitals prey;
When blood-suckers of state, a greedy brood,
Feast on our wounds, and fatten with our blood.
What must we do in this severe distress?
Come, doctor, give the patient some redress:
The quacks in politics a change advise,
But cooler counsels should direct the wise.
'Tis hard indeed; but better this, than worse;
Mistaken blessings prove the greatest curse.
Alas! what would our bleeding country gain,
If, when this viperous brood at last is slain,
The teeming Hydra pullulates again;
Seizes the prey with more voracious bite,
To satisfy his hungry appetite?

FABLE VII.

THE WOLF AND THE DOG.

Hunc ego per Syrtes, Libyæque extrema triumphum Ducere maluerim, quam ter capitolia curru Scandere Pompeii, quam frangere colla Jugurthæ.

A PROWLING Wolf that scour'd the plains,
To ease his hunger's griping pains;
Ragged as courtier in disgrace,
Hide-bound, and lean, and out of case;
By chance a well-fed dog espy'd,
And being kin, and near ally'd,
He civilly salutes the cur,

"How do you, cuz? Your servant, sir!
O happy friend! how gay thy mien !
How plump thy sides, how sleek thy skin!
Triumphant plenty shines all o'er,
And the fat melts at every pore!
While I, alas! decay'd and old,
With hunger pin'd, and stiff with cold,
With many a howl, and hideous groan,
Tell the relentless woods my mau.

Luc.