WHOEVER expects a Paraphrase of Horace, or a faithful Copy of his genius, or manner of writing, in these IMITATIONS, will be much disappointed. Our Author ufes the Roman Poet for little more than his canvas: And if the old defign or colouring chance to fuit his purpose, it is well; if not, he employs his own, without fcruple or ceremony. Hence it is, he is fo frequently ferious where Horace is in jeft; and at ease where Horace is difturbed. In a word, he regulates his movements no further on his Original, than was neceffary for his Concurrence in promoting their common plan of Reformation of manners.

Had it been his purpose merely to paraphrafe an ancient Satirift, he had hardly made choice of Horace : with whom, as a Poet, he held little in common, befides a comprehenfive knowledge of life and manners, and a certain curious felicity of expreffion, which confifts in ufing the fimpleft language with dignity, and the most ornamented, with eafe. For the reft, his harmony and ftrength of numbers, his force and fplendor of colouring, his gravity and fublimity of fentiment, would have rather led him to another model. Nor was his temper lefs unlike that of Horace, than his talents. What Horace would only fmile at, Mr. Pope would treat with the grave feverity of Perfius: and what Mr. Pope would ftrike with the cauftic lightning of Juvenal, Horace would content himself in turning into ridicule.

If it be asked then, why he took any body at all to imitate, he has informed us in his Advertisement: To which we may add, that this fort of Imitations, which are of the nature of Parodies, adds reflected grace and fplendor on original wit. Befides, he deemed it more modeft to give the name of Imitations to his Satires, than, like Defpreaux, to give the name of Satires to Imitations.

BOOK

BOOK II.

SATIRE I.

P.

To Mr. FORTESCUE.

THERE are (I fearce can think it, but am told)

a There are, to whom my Satire feems too bold:

Scarce to wife Peter complaifant enough,

And fomething faid of Chartres much too rough.
The lines are weak, another's pleas'd to say,
Lord Fanny fpins a thousand fuch a day.
Timorous by nature, of the Rich in awe,

I come to Council learned in the Law:
You'll give me, like a friend both fage and free,
Advice; and (as you use) without a Fee.

F. d I'd write no more.

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HORATIUS.

P. Not

TREBATIUS.

HORATIUS.

SUNT quibus in Satira videar nimis acer, et ultra

Legem tendere opus; b fine nervis altera, quidquid
Compofui, pars effe putat, fimilefque meorum
Mille die verfus deduci poffe. c Trebati,

Quid faciam? praefcribe.

Td Quiefcas.

H. Ne faciam, inquis,

Omnino verfus ?

T. Aio.

P. Not write? but then I think,

• And for my soul I cannot sleep a wink.

I nod in company, I wake at night,

Fools rush into my head, and so I write.

F. You could not do a worse thing for your life. 15 Why, if the nights feem tedious-take a wife : f Or rather truly, if your point be rest, Lettuce and cowflip wine; "Probatum eft." But talk with Celfus, Celfus will advise

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Hartshorn, or fomething that thall close your eyes. g Or, if you needs must write, write Cæfar's Praise, h You'll gain at least a Knighthood, or the Bays. P. What? like Siri Richard, rumbling, rough, and

fierce,

With Arms and George and Brunswick crowd the

verfe,

Rend with tremendous found your ears afunder,

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With Gun, Drum, Trumpet, Blunderbuss, and Thun

der?

H. Peream male, fi non

Optimum erat: everum nequeo dormire.

T. f Ter uncti

Tranfnanto Tiberim, fomno quibus est opus
Irriguumve mero sub noctem corpus habento.
8 Aut fi tantus amor scribendi te rapit, aude
Cæfaris invicti res dicere, h multa laborum
Praemia laturus.

H. Cupidum, Pater optime, vires
neque enim quivis horrentia pilis

Deficiunt: i

alto;

Or

Or nobly wild, with Budgell's fire and force,
Paint Angels trembling round his falling Horse?

F. k Then all your Mufe's fofter art display,
Let Carolina fmooth the tuneful lay,
Lull with Amelia's liquid name the Nine,

And sweetly flow through all the Royal Line.
P. Alas! few verfes touch their nicer ear;
They scarce can bear their Laureate twice a year;
And justly Cæfar fcorns the Poet's lays,
It is to History he trufts for Praise.

F. m Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it still,
Than ridicule all Tafte, blafpheme Quadrille,
Abuse the City's best good men in metre,

And laugh at Peers that put their trust in Peter. n Ev'n thofe you touch not, hate you.

P. What should ail them?

F. A hundred fmart in Timon and in Balaam :

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The

Agmina, nec fracta pereuntes cufpide Gallos,
Aut labentis equo defcribat vulnera Parthi.

T. Attamen et juftum poteras et fcribere fortem, Scipiadam ut fapiens Lucilius.

H. Haud mihi deero,

Cum res ipfa feret: nifi dextro tempore, Flacci
Verba per attentam non ibunt Cæfaris aurem :
Cui male fi palpere, recalcitrat undique tutus.
T. m Quanto rectius hoc, quam trifti lædere verfu
Pantolabum fcurram, Nomentanumve nepotem ?

"Cum fibi quifque timet, quamquam eft intactus, et odit.

The fewer ftill you name, you wound the more;
Bond is but one, but Harpax is a score.

P. Each mortal has his pleasure: none deny Scarfdale his Bottle, Darty his Ham-pye;

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Ridotta fips and dances, till fhe fee

The doubling Luftres dance as fast as she;

p F— loves the Senate, Hockleyhole his brother,
Like in all else, as one Egg to another.

I love to pour out all myself, as plain
As downright Shippen, or as old Montagne :
In them, as certain to be lov'd as seen,

The Soul stood forth, nor kept a thought within;
In me what spots (for spots I have) appear,
Will prove at least the Medium must be clear.
In this impartial glass, my Muse intends
Fair to expose myself, my foes, my friends;
Publish the present age; but where my text
Is Vice too high, reserve it for the next:
My foes shall with my life a longer date,
And every friend the less lament my fate.

H. Quid faciam ? faltat Milonius, ut femel icto
Acceffit fervor capiti, numerusque lucernis.

p Caftor gaudet equis; ovo prognatus eodem,
Pugnis. quot capitum vivunt, totidem ftudiorum
Millia. q me pedibus delectat claudere verba,
Lucili ritu, noftrûm melioris utroque.

Ille velut fidis arcana fodalibus olim

Credebat libris; neque, fi male gefferat, ufquam,

Decurrens alio, neque fi bene; quo fit, ut omnis

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My