would inculcate; and lashes some particular vice or folly (an art with which our lampooners are not much acquainted). But our poet being defirous to reform his own age, but not daring to attempt it by an overt-act of naming living perfons, inveighs only against those who were infamous in the times immediately preceding his, whereby he not only gives a fair warning to great men, that their memory lies at the mercy of future poets and historians, but also, with a finer ftroke of his pen, brands even the living, and perfonates them under dead mens names.

I have avoided as much as I could poffibly the borrowed learning of marginal notes and illuftrations, and for that reafons have tranflated this fatire somewhat largely. And freely own (if it be a fault) that I have likewise omitted most of the proper names, because I thought they would not much edify the reader. To conclude, if in two or three places I have deferted all the commentators, it is because they first deferted my author, or at leaft have left him in fo much obfcurity, that too much room is left for gueffing.

TILL shall I hear, and never quit the score,

ST

Stunn'd with hoarfe Codrus' Thefeid, o'er and o'er ?

Shall this man's elegies and t 'other's play
Unpunish'd 'murder a long summer's day?
Huge Telephus, a formidable page,

Cries vengeance; and Oreftes' bulky rage

Unfatisfy'd

Unfatisfy'd with margins closely writ,
Foams o'er the covers, and not finish'd yet.
No man can take a more familiar note

Of his own home, than I of Vulcan's grot,
Or Mars his grove, or hollow winds that blow
From Ætna's top, or tortur'd ghosts below.
I know by rote the fam'd exploits of Greece;
The Centaurs' fury, and the golden fleece;
Through the thick fhades th' eternal fcribbler bauls,
And fhades the ftatues on their pedestals.

The best and worft on the fame theme employs
His Mufe, and plagues us with an equal noise.
Provok'd by these incorrigible fools,

I left declaiming in pedantic fchools;

Where, with men-boys, I ftrove to get renown,
Advifing Sylla to a private gown.

But, fince the world with writing is poffeft,

I'll verfify in fpite; and do my best,
To make as much wafte paper as the reft.
But why I lift aloft the Satire's rod,

And tread the path which fam'd Lucilius trod,
Attend the caufes which my Mufe have led:
When faplefs eunuchs mount the marriage-bed,
When mannish Mevia, that two handed whore,
Aftride on horfe-back hunts the Tufcan boar,
When all our lords are by his wealth outvy'd,
Whose razor on my callow beard was try'd;
When I behold the fpawn of conquer'd Nile,
Crifpinus, both in birth and manners vile,

Pacing in pomp, with cloak of Tyrian dye,
Chang'd oft a-day for needlefs luxury;
And finding oft occafion to be fann'd,
Ambitious to produce his lady-hand;

Charg'd with light summer-rings his fingers fweat,
Unable to fupport a gem of weight:
Such fulfom objects meeting every where,
'Tis hard to write, but harder to forbear.
To view fo lewd a town, and to refrain,
What hoops of iron could my fpleen contain !
When pleading Matho, borne abroad for air,
With his fat paunch fills his new-fafhion'd chair,
And, after him, the wretch in pomp convey'd,
Whofe evidence his lord and friend betray'd,
And but the wifh'd occafion does attend,
From the poor nobles the last spoils to rend,
Whom ev'n fpies dread as their fuperior fiend,
And bribe with prefents; or, when presents fail,
They fend their prostituted wives for bail
When night-performance holds the place of merit,
And brawn and back the next of kin disherit;
For fuch good parts are in preferment's way,
The rich old madam never fails to pay
Her legacies, by nature's ftandard given,
One gains an ounce, another gains eleven:
A dear-bought bargain, all things duly weigh'd,
For which their thrice-concocted blood is paid.
With looks as wan, as he who in the brake
At unawares has trode upon a snake ;

:

Or

Or play'd at Lyons a declaiming prize,
For which the vanquish'd rhetorician dies.
What indignation boils within my veins,
When perjur'd guardians, proud with impious
gains,

Choak up the streets, too narrow for their trains!
Whofe wards, by want betray'd, to crimes are led'
Too foul to name, too fulfom to be read!

When he who pill'd his province fcapes the laws,
And keeps his money, though he loft his caufe:
His fine begg'd off, contemns his infamy,
Can rife at twelve, and get him drunk ere three:
Enjoys his exile, and, condemn'd in vain,
Leaves thee, prevailing province, to complain?
Such villainies rouz'd Horace into wrath :
And 'tis more noble to purfue his path,
Than an old tale of Diomede repeat,
Or labouring after Hercules to fweat,
Or wandering in the winding maze of Crete;
Or with the winged fmith aloft to fly,

Or fluttering perish with his foolish boy.

With what impatience muft the Muse behold The wife, by her procuring husband fold! For though the law makes null th' adulterer's deed Of lands to her, the cuckold may succeed; Who his taught eyes up to the cieling throws, And fleeps all over but his wakeful nose. When he dares hope a colonel's command, Whofe courfers kept, ran out his father's land;

Who,

Who yet a stripling, Nero's chariot drove,
Whirl'd o'er the ftreets, while his vain master strove
With boasted art to please his eunuch-love.

Would it not make a modeft author dare
To draw his table-book within the fquare,
And fill with notes, when, lolling at his ease,
Mæcenas-like, the happy rogue he sees
Borne by fix weary'd flaves in open view,
Who cancel'd an old will, and forg'd a new :
Made wealthy at the fmall expence of figning
With a wet feal, and a fresh interlining?
The lady, next, requires a lafhing line,
Who fqueez'd a toad into her husband's wine:
So well the fashionable medicine thrives,
That now 'tis practis'd ev'n by country wives:
Poisoning, without regard of fame or fear:
And spotted corpfe are frequent on the bier.
Would't thou to honours and preferments climb?
Be bold in mischief, dare fome mighty crime,
Which dungeons, death, or banishment deferves:
For virtue is but drily prais'd, and starves.
Great men, to great crimes, owe their plate embost,
Fair palaces, and furniture of cost;

And high commands: a fneaking fin is loft.
Who can behold that rank old letcher keep
His fon's corrupted wife, and hope to fleep?
Or that male-harlot, or that unfledg'd boy,
Eager to fin, before he can enjoy ?

If nature could not, anger would indite
Such woful stuff as I or Shadwell write.

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