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 cafe profound

Durst venture to explain.
At length a youth full fmart,
Who oft by magic art

Had div'd in many a hole;
Or kilderkin, or tun,
Or hogfhead, 'twas all one,
He'd found it with his pole.
His art, and eke his face,
So fuited to her cafe,

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

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

As ye have seen, no doubt,
A candle when just out,

In flames break forth again;
So fhone this widow bright,
All blazing in defpight

Of threescore years and ten.

CANIDIA'S EPITHALAMIUM.

UPON THE SAME.

TIME as malevolent, as old,

To blaft. Canidia's face,

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

Not fo in blooming beauty bright,
Each envying virgin's pattern,
She reign'd with undifputed right
A* priestess of St. Cattern.

Each sprightly foph, each brawny thrum,
Spent his firf runnings here;
And hoary doctors dribbling come,
To languish and despair.

Low at her feet the proftrate arts
Their humble homage pay;
To her the tyrant of their hearts,
Each bard directs his lay.
But now, when impotent to please,
Alas! fhe would be doing;
Reverfing nature's wife decrees,
She goes herself a-wooing.

Though brib'd with all her pelf, the swain
Moft awkwardly complies;

Prefs'd to bear arms, he ferves in pain,
Or from his colours flies.

So does an ivy, green when old,

And fprouting in decay;

In juiceless, joyless arms infold

A sapling young and gay. The thriving plant, if better join'd, Would emulate the fkies; But, to that wither'd trunk confin'd, Grows fickly, pines, and dies.

HUNTING-SONG.

BEHOLD, my friend, the rofy-finger'd more,
With blushes on her face,

Peeps o'er yon azure hill;
Rich gems the trees cnchase,

Pearls from each bush distil,

Arife, arife, and hail the light new-born.
Hark! hark! the merry horn calls, Come away:
Quit, quit the 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 foul no more with cares below,
For what will pelf avail!

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

They spend their mouths around,

While health, and pleasure, fmiles on every brow.
Try, huntsmen, all the brakes, spread all the plain,
Now, now, fhe's gone away,

Strip, ftrip, with speed pursue;
The jocund god of day,

Who fain our fport would view,

See, fee, he flogs his fiery fteeds in vain.

Pour down, like a flood from the hills, brave boys

On the wings of the wind
The merry beagles fly;
Dull forrow lags behind:
Ye fhrill echoes, rèply;

Catch each flying found, and double our joys.

Ye rocks, woods, and caves, our music repeat :
The bright spheres thus above,
A gay refulgent train,
Harmoniously move,

O'er yon celeftial plain

Like us whirl along, in concert so sweet.

Now Pufs 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, the pants, and the 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 purfue,

Till, quite hunted down, we yield with regret.

This moment is ours, come live while we may,
What's decreed by dark fate

Is not in our own power,
Since to-morrow's too late,
Take the prefent kind hour:

A TRANSLATION OF HORACE, EP. X.

Horace recommends a Country Life, and diffuades bis
Friend from Ambition and Avarice.

HEALTH to my friend loft in the fmoky town,
From him who breathes in country air alone,
In all things elfe thy foul and mine are one;
And like two aged long acquainted doves,

The fame our mutual hate, the fame our mutual loves,

Clofe, and fecure, you keep your lazy neft,
My wandering thoughts won't let my pinions reft:
O'er rocks, feas, woods, I take my wanton flight,
And each new object charms with new delight,
To fay no more, my friend, I live, and reign,
Lord of myself: I've broke the fervile chain,
Shook off with fcorn the trifles you defire,
All the vain empty nothings fops admire.
Thus the lean flave of fome fat pamper'd priest
With greedy eyes at first views each luxurious

feaft;

But, quickly cloy'd, now he no more can eat Their godly viands, and their holy meat: Wifely ambitious to be free and poor, Longs for the homely fcraps he loth'd before. Seek'st thou a place where nature is observ'd, And cooler reafon may be mildly heard; To rural fhades let thy calm foul retreat, hefe are th' Elyfian fields, this is the happy feat, 'roof against winter's cold, and fummer's heat, lere no invidious care thy peace annoys, leep undisturb'd, uninterrupted joys; our marble pavements with difgrace muft yield o each smooth plain, and gay enamel'd field: our muddy aqueducts can ne'er compare Vith country ftreams, more pure than city air ur yew and bays enclos'd in pots ye prize, nd mimic little beauties we defpife. he rofe and woodbine marble walls fupport, folly and ivy deck the gaudy court: ut yet in vain all shifts the artist tries, he difcontented twig but pines away and dies. he houfe ye praife that a large profpect yields, nd view with longing eyes the pleasure of the fields;

is thus ye own, thus tacitly confefs,

;

h' inimitable charms the peaceful country bless. vain from nature's rules we blindly stray, nd push th' uneafy monitrix away: ill the returns, nor lets our confcience reft, it night and day inculcates what is beft,

ir trueft friend, though an unwelcome gueft S

foon th' unfkilful fool that's blind enough, call rich Indian damask Norwich ftuff, all become rich by trade, as he be wife, hofe partial foul and undifcerning eyes u't at first fight, and at each tranfient view, unguifh good from bad, or falíc from true. = that too high exalts his giddy head

en fortune fmiles, if the jilt frowns, is dead : afpiring fool, big with his haughty boat, he most abject wretch when all his hopes are loft. loofe to all the world, nor aught admire, .e worthless toys too fondly we defire;

517
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 loofe defires,
For thrifty nature no great coft requires:
A healthy body, and thy miftrefs kind,
A humble cot, and a more humble mind:
Thefe once enjoy'd, the world is all thy own,
From thy poor cell defpife the tottering throne,
And wakeful monarchs in a bed of down.
The ftag well-arm'd, and with unequal force,
From fruitful meadows chas'd the conquer'd horfege
The haughty beast that stomach'd the difgrace,
In meaner paftures not content to graze,
Receives the bit, and man's alliance prays.
The conqueft gain'd, and many trophies won,
His falfe confederate ftill rode boldly on;
In vain the beast curs'd his perfidious aid,
He plung'd, he rear'd, but nothing could per-
fuade

The rider from his back, or bridle from his head.,
Juft fo the wretch that greedily afpires,
Unable to content his wild defires;
Dreading the fatal thought of being poor,
Lofes a prize worth all his golden ore,
The happy freedom he enjoy'd before.
About him ftill th' uneafy load he bears,
Spurr'd on with fruitless hopes, and curb'd with
anxious fears,

The man whofe fortune fit not to his mind,
The way to true content fhall never find;
If the fhoe pinch, or if it prove too wide,
In that he walks in pain, in this he treads afide.
But you, my friend, in calm contentment live,
Always well pleas'd with what the god, shall give;
Let not bafe fhining pelf thy mind deprave,
Tyrant of fools, the wife man's drudge and flave;
And me reprove if I fhall crave for more,
Or feem the leaft uneafy to be poor.
Thus much I write, merry, and free from care,
And nothing covet, but thy prefence here.

THE MISER'S SPEECH.

Or fhears his fheep that round him graze,
Ard droop beneath their curling loads;
Or plunders his laborious bees

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

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

To fhare the bleflings they beflow.
Under an oak's protecting fhade,
In flowery meads profufely 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 fleep.
But, when bleak ftorms and lowering Jove
Now fadden the declining year,
Through every thicket, every grove,
Swift he purfues the flying deer.

With deep hung hounds he fweeps the plains;
The hills, the vallies, fmoke around:
The woods repeat his pleafing pains,
And echo propagates the found.
Or, pufh'd by his victorious fpear,
The grifly 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 fly deccit he tries

his prey.

To make the leffer
game
Who, thus poffefs'd of folid joy,
Would love, that idle imp, adore?
Clee'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 foften all the toils of life:
Who shall with tender care provide,
Against het weary fpouse return,
With plenty fee his board supply'd,
And make the crackling billets burn:
And while his men and maids repair

To fold his fheep, to milk his kine,
With unbought dainties feat her dear,
And treat him with domeftic wine.

I view with pity and difdain

The coftly trifles coxcombs boast, Their Bourdeaux, Burgundy, Champaign, Though sparkling with the brightest toast. Pleas'd with found manufacture more,

Than all the ftum the knaves impofe, When the vain cully treats his whore, At Brawn's, the Mitre, or the Role.

Let fops their fickly palates please,
With luxury's expenfive ftore,
And feast each virulent disease
With dainties from a foreign shore.
I, whom my little farm fupplies,
Richly on nature's bounty live;
The only happy are the wife,

1

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 hafte T'enrich with foil the barren fold! The languid ox approaches flow,

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

By many a merry tale at night. Thus fpoke old Gripe, when bottles three Of Burton ale, and fea-coal fire, Unlock'd his breast; refolv'd to be

A generous, honeft, country 'íquire. That very night his money lent,

On bond, or mortgage, he call'd in, ` With lawful ufe of fix per cent.

Next morn, he put it out at ten.

FABLE I.

The Captive Trumpeter.

Quo non præftantior alter

"Are ciere viros, Martemque accendere cantu.

A PARTY of huffars of late

VIRG.

For prog and plunder fcour'd the plains, Some French Gens d' Armes furpris'd, and be And brought their trumpeter in chains.

In doleful plight, th' unhappy bard For quarter begg'd on bended knee, Pity, Meffieurs! In truth 'tis hard To kill a harmless enemy. Thefe hands, of flaughter innocent, Ne'er brandifh'd the deftructive 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 fhalt dies Who, urging others to engage,

From fame and danger bafely fly.
The brave by law of arms we fpare,
Thou by the hangman fhalt expire;
'Tis juft, and not at all fevere,

To stop the breath that blew the fire.
FABLE IL

[mer

The bald-pated Welfhman, and the Fly. Qui non moderabitur iræ, "Infectum volet effe, dolor quod fuaferit "Dum pœnas odio per vim feftinat inulto."

Hafty and hot; whofe peevish honour
Reveng'd each flight 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 fea at every pore:
At last, fuch infults to evade,

Sought the next tree's protecting fhade;
Where, as he lay diffolv'd in fweat,
And wip'd off many a rivulet,
Off in a pet the beaver flies,
And flaxen wig, time's beft difguife,

By which, folks of maturer ages

Vie with smooth beaux, and ladies pages:
Though 'twas a fecret rarely known,
Ill-natur'd age had cropt his crown,
Grubb'd all the covert up, and now
A large fmooth plain extends his brow.
Thus as he lay with nuinfkul bare;
And courted the refreshing air,
New perfecutions ftill appear,
A noify fly offends his ear.
Alas what man of parts and fenfe
Could bear fuch vile impertinence?
Yet fo difcourteous is our fate,
Fools always buz about the great.
This infect now, whofe active spight,
Teaz'd him with never-ceafing bite,
With fo 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 nofe, his eyes;
For now at laft, familiar grown,
He perch'd upon his worship's crown,
With teeth and claws his kin he tore,
And stuff'd himself with human gore.
At laft, in manners to excel,
Untrufs'd a point, fome authors tell.
But now what rhetoric could affuage
The furious 'fquire, ftark mad with rage?
Impatient at the foul difgrace,
From infect of fo mean a race;
And plotting vengeance on his foe,
With double fist he aims a blow:
The nimble fly efcap'd by flight,
And skip'd from this unequal fight.
Th' impending ftroke with all its weight
Fell on his own beloved pate.

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

FABLE III,

The Ant and the Fly.

"Quem res plus nimio delectavêre fecundæ, "Muratæ quatient."

THE careful ant that meanly fares,

And labours hardly to fupply,

With wholefome cates and homely tares,
His numerous working family;

Upon a vifit met one day

His coufin fly, in all his pride, A courtier infolent and gay,

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

To fuch 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 fcandal of fo mean a claim.

Friend Clodpate, know, 'tis not the mode
At court, to own fuch clowns as thee,
Nor is it civil to intrude

On flies of rank and quality.

I-who, in joy and indolence,

Converfe with monarchs and grandees, Regaling every nicer fenfe

With olios, foups, and fricaffees; Who kifs each beauty's balmy lip, Or gently buz into her ear, About her fnowy bofom skip,

HOR

And fometimes creep the Lord knows where! The ant, who could no longer bear

His coufin's infolence and pride, Tols'd up his head, and with an air

Of conscious worth, he thus reply'd: Vain infect! know, the time will come, When the court-fun no more fhall thine, When frofts thy gaudy limbs benumb,

And damps about thy wings fhall twine; When fome dark nafty hole fhall hide

And cover thy neglected head,
When all this lofty fwelling pride

Shall burft, and fhrink into a fhade:
Take heed, left fortune change the scene:
Some of thy brethren I remember,
In June have mighty princes been,

But begg'd their bread before December..

TowSER, of right Hockleian fire,
A dog of mettle and of fire,
With Urfin grim, an errant bear,
Maintain'd a long and dubious war:
Oft Urfin on his back was toft,
And Towfer many a collop loft;
Capricious fortune would declare,
Now for the dog, then for the bear.
Thus having try'd their courage fairly,
Brave Urfin first defir'd a parly;

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

While thee and I our hearts blood fpill,
They prudently their pockets fill;
Halloo us on with all their might,
To turn a penny by the fight.
If that's the cafe, return'd the bear,
'Tis time at laft to end the war;
Thou keep thy teeth, and I my claws,
To combat in a nobler caufe;
Sleep in a whole fkin, I advife,

And let them bleed, who gain the prize.

HOR.

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 fore,
A wretched Lazar lay distress'd;

A fwarm of flies his bleeding ulcers tore,
And on his putrid carcafe 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 fir, 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 fucceed.

MORAL.

The body politic must foon decay, When swarms of infects on its vitals prey; When blood-fuckers of state, a greedy brood, Feast on our wounds, and fatten with our blood. What must we do in this fevere distress? Come, doctor, give the patient fome redress: The quacks in politics a change advise, But cooler counfels fhould direct the wife. 'Tis hard, indeed; but better this, than worse; Miftaken bleffings prove the greatest curse. Alas! what would our bleeding country gain, If, when this viperous brood at last is flain, The teeming Hydra pullulates again; Seizes the prey with more voracious bite, To fatisfy his hungry appetite?

FABLE VII.

The Wolf and the Dog.

}

"Hunc ego per Syrtes, Libyæque extrema tri umphum

"Ducere maluerim, quam ter capitolia curru
"Scandere Pompeii, quam frangere colla Jugur.
“ thơ” Luc.

A PROWLING Wolf that fcour'd the plains,
To ease his hunger's griping pains;
Ragged as courtier in difgrace,
Hide-bound, and lean, and out of cafe ;
By chance a well-fed dog efpy'd,
And being kin, and near ally'd,

He civilly falutes the cur,

How do you, cuz? Your fervant, fir!
O happy friend! how gay thy mien !
How plump thy fides, how fleek thy skin!
Triumphant plenty fhines all o'er,
And the fat melts at every pore!