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Gently the waters flowing,
The winds now ceas’d their blowing,
In filence listening to his tuneful lay.
Around the bark's sea-beaten fide,

The facred dolphin play'd,
And sportive dash'd the briny tide :
The joyous omen soon the bard survey'd,
Nor feard with bolder leap to try the watry way.

On his scaly back now riding,
O'er the curling billow gliding,
Again with bold triumphant hand

He bade the notes aspire,

Again to joy attun’d the lyre,
Forgot each danger past, and reach'd secure the land.

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HORACE, Book II. Ode II.

Quid bellicofus Cantaber, &c.

Imitated by Lord B-H.

-PAUL to Faz.

I.

With idle fears of France or Spain,
Or any thing that's foreign :
What can Bavaria do to us,
What Pruflia's monarch, or the Russ,

Or e'en prince Charles of Lorrain ?

II. Let

II.
Let us be cheerful whilft we can,
And lengthen out the short-liv’d spang

Enjoying every hour,
The moon itself we fee decay,
Beauty's the worse for every day,
And so 's the sweetest Aower.

III.
How oft, dear Faz, have we been told,
That Paul and Faz are both grown old,

By young and wanton lasses ?
Then, fince our time is now so short,
Let us enjoy the only sport
Of toffing off our glasses,

IV.
From White's we'll move th' expensive scene,
And steal away to Richmond Green;

There free from noise and riat,
Polly each morn shall fill our tea,
Spead bread and butter.

and then we Each night get drunk in quiet.

V.
Unless perchance earl L comes,
As noisy as a dozen drums,

And makes an horrid pother;
Else might we quiet sit and quaff,
And gently chat, and gayly laugh

At this and that and t'other.

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VI.
Br- shall settle what's to pay,
Adjust accompts by algebra ;

I'll always order dinner
Br tho' solemn, yet is sly,
And leers at Poll with roguish eye
To make the girl a sinner.

VII.
Powell, d'ye hear, let's have the ham,
Some chickens and a chine of lamb -

And what else ? - let's see-look ye-
Br must have his damn'd boullie,
B fattens on his fricaffee
I'll have my water-suchy.

VIII,
When dinner comes we'll drink about,
No matter who is in, or out,

'Till wine or sleep o’ertake us ;
Each man may nod, or nap, or wink,
And when it is our turn to drink,
Our neighbour then shall wake us.

IX.
Thus let us live in soft retreat,
Nor envy, nor despise the great,

Submit to pay our taxes ;
With

peace or war be well content, 'Till eas'd by a good parliament,

'Till Scroop his hand relaxes. Vol. VI,

R

X. Never

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X.
Never enquire about the Rhine ;
But fill your glass, and drink your wine;

Hope things may mend in Flanders :
The Dutch we know are good allies,
So are they all with subfidies,
And we have choice commanders.

XI.
Then here's the King, God bless his grace,
Tho' neither you nor I have place,

He hath many a fage adviser ;
And yet no treason's sure in this,
Let who will take the pray'r amiss,

God fend 'em all much wifer.

******************************

A

PANEGYRICon ALE.

Mea nec Falernæ
Temperant vites, neque Formiani
Pocula colles.

HOR.
By T. W*****
ALM of my cares, sweet folace of my toils,

Hail, juice benignant ! o'er the coftly cups
Of riot-stirring wine, unwholfome draught,
Let Pride's loose sons prolong the wasteful night:
My sober ev'ning let the tankard bless,
With toaft imbrown'd, and fragrant nutmeg fraught,

While

,

While the rich draught with oft repeated whiffs
Tobacco mild improves : divine repaft!
Where no crude furfeit, or intemperate joys
Of lawless Bacchus reign: but o'er my foul
A calm Lethean creeps : in drowsy trance
Each thought fubfides, and sweet oblivion wraps
My peaceful brain, as if the magic rod
Of leaden Morpheus o'er mine eyes had shed
Its opiate influence. What tho' sore ills
Oppress, dire want of chill-dispelling coals,
Or cheerful candle, fave the makeweight’s gleam
Hap'ly remaining; heart-rejoicing ale
Cheers the fad scene, and every want supplies.

Meantime not mindless of the daily talk
Of tutor fage, upon the learned leaves
Of deep Smiglecius much I meditate ;
While ale inspires, and lends her kindred aid
The thought-perplexing labour to pursue,
Sweet Helicon of logic! But if friends
Congenial call me from the toilfome page,
To pot-house I repair, the sacred haunt,
Where, Ale, thy votaries in full resort
Hold rites nocturnal. In capacious chair
Of monumental oak, and antique mould,
That long has stood the rage of conquering Time
Inviolate, (not in more ample seat
Smokes rofy justices when th' important cause,
Whether of henroost or of mirthful rape,

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