Already in their caufe they are o'ercome:
Subject them too, by force of arms, to Rome.
Great father Mars with greater Cæfar join,
To give a profperous omen to your line :
One of you is, and one fhall be divine.
I prophefy you fhall, you fhall o'ercome :
My verfe fhall bring you back in triumph home.
Speak in my verfe, exhort to loud alarms:
O were my numbers equal to your arms!
Then would I fing the Parthians overthrow;
Their fhot averfe fent from a flying bòw :
The Parthians, who already flying fight,
Already give an omen of their flight.

O when will come the day, by heaven defign'd,
When thou, the best and fairest of mankind,
Drawn by white horfes fhalt in triumph ride,
With conquer'd flaves attending on thy fide;
Slaves, that no longer can be fafe in flight;
O glorious object, O furprizing fight,

O day of public joy; too good to end in night!
On fuch a day, if thou, and, next to thee,
Some beauty fits, the fpectacle to see :
If the enquire the names of conquer'd kings,
Of mountains, rivers, and their hidden springs,
Anfwer to all thou know'ft; and, if need be,
Of things unknown feem to speak knowingly :
This is Euphrates, crown'd with reeds; and there
Flows the fwift Tigris with his fea-green hair.
Invent new names of things unknown before;
Call this Armenia, that the Cafpian shore ;

P 2

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Call

Call this a Mede, and that a Parthian youth;
Talk probably; no matter for the truth.

In feafts, as at our fhows, new means abound;
More pleasure there, than that of wine, is found.
The Paphian Goddess there her ambush lays;
And Love betwixt the horns of Bacchus plays;
Defires increase at every fwelling draught;
Brisk vapours add new vigour to the thought.
There Cupid's purple wings no flight afford;
But, wet with wine, he flutters on the board.
He shakes his pinions, but he cannot move;
Fix'd he remains, and turns a maudlin Love.
Wine warms the blood, and makes the fpirits flow;
Care flies, and wrinkles from the forehead go:
Exalts the poor, invigorates the weak ;

Gives mirth and laughter, and a rofy cheek.
Bold truths it fpeaks; and spoken, dares maintain;
And brings our old fimplicity again.

Love fparkles in the cup, and fills it higher :
Wine feeds the flames, and fuel adds to fire.
But choose no miftrefs in thy drunken fit;
Wine gilds too much their beauties and their wit.
Nor trust thy judgment when the tapers dance;
But fober, and by day, thy fuit advance.
By day-light Paris judg'd the beauteous three;
And for the faireft did the prize decree.
Night is a cheat, and all deformities
Are hid or leffen'd in her dark disguise.
The fun's fair light each error will confefs,
In face, in fhape, in jewels, and in drefs.

Why name I every place where youths abound? 'Tis lofs of time, and a too fruitful ground.

The Baian baths, where ships at anchor ride,
And wholfome ftreams from fulphur fountains glide;
Where wounded youths are by experience taught,
The waters are lefs healthful than they thought.
Or Dian's fane, which near the suburb lies,
Where priests, for their promotion, fight a prize.
That maiden Goddess is Love's mortal foe,
And much from her his fubjects undergo.

Thus far the fportful Muse, with myrtle bound,
Has fung where lovely laffes may be found.
Now let me fing, how the who wounds your mind,
With art, may be to cure your wounds inclin'd.
Young nobles, to my laws attention lend:
And all you vulgar of my fchool attend.

First then believe, all women may be won;
Attempt with confidence, the work is done.
The grafshopper shall firft forbear to fing
In fummer feafon, or the birds in spring;
Than women can refift your flattering skill:
Ev'n fhe will yield, who swears she never will.
To fecret pleasure both the sexes move;
But women moft, who moft diffemble love.
'Twere beft for us, if they would first declare,
Avow their paffion, and fubmit to prayer.
The cow, by lowing, tells the bull her flame :
The neighing mare invites her ftallion to the game.
Man is more temperate in his luft than they,
And, more than women, can his paffion sway.

Biblis, we know, did first her love declare,
And had recourfe to death in her despair.
Her brother fhe, her father Myrrha fought,
And lov'd, but lov'd not as a daughter ought.
Now from a tree fhe tills her odorous tears,
Which yet the name, of her who fhed them bears.
In Ida's fhady vale a bull appear'd,

White as the fnow, the fairest of the herd;
A beauty-fpot of black there only rose,
Betwixt his equal horns and ample brows:
The love and wifh of all the Cretan cows.
The queen beheld him as his head he rear'd;
And envy'd every leap he gave the herd.
A fecret fire fhe nourish'd in her breast,
And hated every heifer he carefs'd.

A story known, and known for true, I tell;

Nor Crete, though lying, can the truth conceal.
She cut him grafs (fo much can Love command);
She ftrok'd, he fed him with her royal hand:
Was pleas'd in paftures with the herd to roam;
And Minos by the bull was overcome.

Ceafe, queen, with gems t' adorn thy beauteous brows; The monarch of thy heart no jewel knows.

Nor in thy glafs compofe thy looks and eyes:

Secure from all thy charms thy lover lies:
Yet truft thy mirror, when it tells thee truc;
Thou art no heifer to allure his view.

Soon wouldst thou quit thy royal diadem
To thy fair rivals, to be horn'd like them.

If Minos pleafe, no lover feek to find;
If not, at least feek one of human kind.

The wretched queen the Cretan court forfakes;
In woods and wilds her habitation makes:
She curfes every beauteous cow the fees;

Ah, why doft thou my lord and master please!
And think'ft, ungrateful creature as thou art,
With frisking aukwardly, to gain his heart!
She said, and straight commands, with frowning look,
To put her, undeferving, to the yoke;

Or feigns fome holy rites of facrifice,

And fees her rival's death with joyful eyes:
Then, when the bloody prieft has done his part,
Pleas'd in her hand she holds the beating heart;
Nor from a fcornful taunt can fcarce refrain;
Go, fool, and strive to please my love again.
Now fhe would be Europa, Io now

(One bore a bull, and one was made a cow).
Yet fhe at laft her brutal blifs obtain'd,
And in a wooden cow the bull fuftain'd;
Fill'd with his feed, accomplish'd her defire;
Till by his form the fon betray'd the fire.

If Atreus' wife to inceft had not run,
(But, ah, how hard it is to love but one!)
His courfers Phoebus had not driven away,
To fhun that fight, and interrupt the day.
Thy daughter, Nifus, pull'd thy purple hair,
And barking fea-dogs yet her bowels tear.
At fea and land Atrides fav'd his life,
Yet fell a prey to his adulterous wife.