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Or, in a mortgage, prove a Lawyer's fare;
Or, in a jointure, vanish from the heir ; 17@
Or in pure' equity (the case not clear)
The Chanc'ry takes your rents for twenty year:
At beft, it falls to some ® ungracious son,
Who cries, “My father's damn'd, and all's my own.
Shades, that to Bacon could retreat afford,

175
Become the portion of a booby Lord;
And Hemsley, once proud Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a Scriv'ner or a city Knight.

Let lands and houses have what Lords they will, Let Us be fix'd, and our own masters still. 180

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in the concluding part, obliged him to diversify the sentiment. They are equally noble: but Horace's is expressed with the greater force.

THE

FIRST EPISTLE

OF THE

FIRST BOOK

OF

HORACE.

EPISTOLA I.

RIMA diete mihi, summa dicende camcna,

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Spe&tatum fatis, et donatum jam rude, quaeris,

Maecenas, iteram antiquo me includere ludo. !

Non eadem eft actas, non mens. Veianius, armis

Herculis ad poftem fixis, latet abditus agro;

Ne popolum extrema toties exoret ærenas

''Eft mihi purgatam crebro qui personet aurem;

Solves fenescentem mature sanus equum, ne

Peccet ad extremum ridendus; et ilia ducat.

Nunc itaque et versus, et caetera ludicra pono:

Vzr. 16. You limp, like Blackmore on a Lord Mayor's borse, The fame of this heavy Poct, however problematical elsewhere, was universally received in the City of London. His vesfification is bere cxa&ly described : 'dift, and not strong; Aately and

EPISTLE I.

.

To L. BOLINGBROKE.

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T. JOHN, whose love indulg'd my labours paft,

Matures my present, and shall bound my lak/ Why will you break the Sabbath of my days ? Now fick alike of Envy and of Praise. Public too long, ah let me hide my Age!

5 See Modeft · Cibber now has left the Stage: Our Gen'rals now, retir'd to their Estates, Hang their old Trophies o'er the Garden gates, ln Life's cool Ev'ning satiate of Applause, Nor * fond of bleeding, ev'n in BRUNSWICK's cause,

FA voice there is, that whispers in my ear, II ('Tis Reason's voice, which sometimes one can hear) s Friend Pope! be prudent, let your & Muse take

- breath, " And never gallop Pegasus to death; Left ftiff, and stately, void of fire or force, “ You limp, like Blackmore on a Lord Mayor's

“ horse." Farewell then Verse and Love, and ev'ry Toy, The Rhymes and Rattles of the Man or Boy;

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yet dull, like the sober and low-paced Animal generally employed w mount the Lord Mayor and therefore' here humouroully opposed to Pegalus.

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