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But verse, alas! your majesty disdains;
And I'm not us'd to panegyric strains.

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The zeal of fools offends at any time,

And, most of all, the zeal of fools in rhyme.
Besides, a fate attends on all I write,

That when I aim at praise, they say 31 bite.

A vile 4encomium doubly ridicules:

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There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools.
If true, a swoeful likeness; and if lies,
"Praise undeserv'd is scandal in disguise."
Well may he blush who gives it, or receives;
And when I flatter, let my dirty leaves

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(Like 'journals, odes, and such forgotten things, As Eusden, Philips, Settle, writ of kings)

Clothe spice, line trunks, or flutt'ring in a row,
Befringe the rails of Bedlam and Soho.

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Si, quantum cuperem, possem quoque; sed neque par-
Carmen majestas recipit tua, nec meus audet [vum
Rem tentare pudor, quam vires ferre recusent.
Sedulitas autem. 2stulte, quem diligit, urget;
Præcipue cum se numeris commendat et arte.
Discit enim citius, meminitque libentius illud
Quod quis 3deridet, quam quod probat et veneratur.
Nil moror 4officium quod me gravat; ac neque ficto
In Spejus vultu proponi cereus usquam,

Nec prave factis decorari versibus opto:
Ne crubeam pingui donatus munere, et una
Cum 7scriptore meo, capsa porrectus aperta,
Deferar in vicum vendentem thus et odores,
Et piper, et quidquid chartis amicitur ineptis.

IMITATED.

DEAR Col'nel, Cobham's and your country's friend! You love a verse; take such as I can send.

'A Frenchman comes, presents you with his boy, Bows and begins---" This lad, sir, is of Blois : "Observe his shape how clean! his locks how curl'd! "My only son, I'd have him see the world:

"His French is pure; his voice too---you shall hear :

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Sir, he's your slave for twenty pound a-year.

"Mere wax as yet, you fashion him with ease, "Your barber, cook, upholst'rer; what you please: "A perfect genius at an op'ra song--

"To say too much might do my honour wrong.

II

HOR. LIB. II. EPIST. II.

FLORE, bono claroque fidelis amice Neroni,

Si quis forte velit puerum tibi vendere natum Tibure vel Gabiis, et tecum sic agat: "Hic et "Candidus, et talos a vertice pulcher ad imos; "Fiet eritque tuus nummorum millibus octo; "Verna ministeriis ad nutus aptus heriles; "Literulis Græcis imbutus, idoneus arti "Cuilibet: argilla quidvis imitaberis uda : "Quin etiam canet indoctum, sed dulce bibenti. "Multa fidem promissa levant, ubi plenius æquo

"Take him with all his virtues, on my word;
"His whole ambition was to serve a lord.
"But, sir, to you with what would I not part?
"Tho' faith, I fear't will break his mother's heart.
"Once (and but once) I caught him in a lie,
"And then, unwhipp'd, he had the grace to cry:
"The fault he has I fairly shall reveal,
"(Could you o'erlook but that) it is, to steal.”

If, after this, you took the graceless lad,
Could you complain, my friend, he prov'd so bad?
Faith, in such case, if you should prosecute,
I think Sir Godfrey should decide the suit,
Who sent the thief that stole the cash away,
And punish'd him that put it in his way.

2Consider then, and judge me in this light;
I told you, when I went, I could not write;
You said the same; and are you discontent
With laws to which you gave your own assent?

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"Laudat venales, qui vult extrudere, merces. "Res urget me nulla:---semel hic cessavit; et (ut fit) "In scalis latuit metuens pendentis habenæ. "Des nummos, excepta nihil te si fuga lædat." Ille ferat pretium, pœnæ securus, opinor. Prudens emisti vitiosum; dicta tibi est lex; Insequeris tamen hunc, et lite moraris iniqua? 2Dixi me pigrum proficiscenti tibi; dixi Talibus officiis prope mancum: ne mea sævus Jurgares ad te quod epistola nulla veniret. Quid tum profeci, mecum facientia jura

Nay, worse, to ask for verse at such a time!

D'ye think me good for nothing but to rhyme?

In Anna's wars, a soldier, poor, and old,
Had dearly earn'd a little purse of gold;
Tir'd with a tedious march, one luckless night
He slept, (poor dog!) and lost it to a doit.
This put the man in such a desp❜rate mind,
Between revenge, and grief, and hunger join'd,
Against the foe, himself, and all mankind,
He leap'd the trenches, scal'd a castle wall,
Tore down a standard, took the fort and all.

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Prodigious well!" his great commander cry'd, Gave him much praise, and some reward beside. Next pleas'd his Excellence a town to batter; (Its name I know not, and 'tis no great matter) "Go on, my friend," he cry'd, see yonder walls! "Advance and conquer! go where glory calls!

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Si tamen attentas? quæreris super hoc etiam, quod Expectata tibi non mittam carmina mendax?

Luculli miles collecta viatica, multis

Ærumnis lassus dum noctu stertit, ad assem

:

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Perdiderat post hoc vehemens lupus, et sibi et hosti
Iratus pariter, jejunis dentibus acer,

Præsidium regale loco dejecit, ut aiunt,
Summe munito, et multarum divite rerum.
Clarus ob id factum, donis ornatur honestis,
Accipit et bis dena super sesteria nummum.
Forte sub hoc tempus castellum evertere prætor
Nescio quod cupiens, hortari cœpit eundem

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"More honours, more rewards, attend the brave."
Don't you remember what reply he gave?
"D'ye think me, noble Gen'ral! such a sot?
"Let him take castles who has ne'er a groat."
Bred up at home, full early I begun
To read in Greek the wrath of Peleus' son;
Besides, my father taught me from a lad,

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The better art, to know the good from bad;

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(And little sure imported to remove,

To hunt for truth in Maudlin's learned grove.)

But knottier points we knew not half so well,
Depriv'd us soon of our paternal cell;

And certain laws, by suff'rers thought unjust,

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Deny'd all posts of profit, or of trust;

Hopes after hopes of pious Papists fail'd,

While mighty William's thund'ring arm prevail'd.

Verbis, quæ timido quoque possent addere mentem.
"I bone, quo virtus tua te vocat; i pede fausto;
Grandia laturus meritorum præmia. quid stas ?”
Post hæc ille catus, quantumvis rusticus, " Ibit,
"Ibit eo, quo vis, qui zonam perdidit," inquit.
2 Romæ nutriri mihi contigit atque doceri,
Iratus Graiis quantum nocuisset Achilles.
Adjecere bonæ paulo plus artis Athenæ:
Scilicit ut possem curvo dignoscere rectum,
Atque inter silvas academi quærere verum.
Dura sed emovere loco me tempora grato;
Civilisque rudem belli tulit æstus in arma,
Cæsaris Augusti non responsura lacertis.

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