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IMITATIONS OF HORACE.

EPISTLE VII.

Imitated in the Manner of Dr. Swift.

'fJMS true, my lord, I gave my word,

** I would be with you June the third;
Chang'd it to August, and (in short)
Have kept it—as you do at court.
You humour me when I am sick,
Why not when I am splenetic?
In town, what objects could I meet?
The shops shut up in ev'ry street.
And funerab blackening all the doors,
And yet more melancholy whores:
And what a dust in evrey place!
And a thin court that wants your face,
And fevers raging up and down,
And W* and H*» both in town!

* The dog-days are no more the case.'
'Tis true, but winter comes apace:
Then southward let your bard retire,
Hold out some months 'twiit sun and fire,
And you shall see, the first warm weather,
Me and the butterflies together.

My lord, your favours well I know;
Tis with distinction you bestow;

And not to ev'ry one that comes,

Just as A Scotsman does his plums.

* Pray lake them, sir—enough's a feast:

Eat some, and pocket up the rest'—

What, rob your boys? those pretty rogues!

. No, sir, yon'll leave them to the hogs.'

Thus fools with compliments besiege ye,

Contriving never to oblige ye.

Scatter your favours on a fop,

Ingratitnde's the certain crop;

And 'tis but just, I'll tell you wherefore,

You give the things you never care for.

A wise man always is or should

Be mighty ready to do good;

But makes a difference in his thought

Betwixt a guinea and a groat.

Now this I'll say, yon'll find in me A safe companion and a free; But if yon'd have me always near— A word, pray, in your honour's ear: I hope it is your resolution To give me back my constitution! The sprightly wit, the lively eye, Th' engaging smile, the gaiety. That langh'd down many a summer sunr And kept you up so oft till one; And aH that voluntary vein, As when Belinda rais'd my strain.

A weaael once made slrift to slink In at a corn-loft through a chink; But having amply stuff'd his skin. Could not get out as he got in; Which one belonging to the house ,CTwas not a man, it was a mouse) Observing, cried,1 You 'scape not so, Lean as you came, sir, you must go.'

Sir, you may spare your application, I'm no such beast, nor his relation; Vor one that temperance advance, Cramm'd to the throat with ortolans;

Extremely ready to resign

All that may make me none of mine.

South-sea subscriptions take who please,

Leave me but liberty and ease.

'Twas what I said to Craggs and Child,

Who prais'd my modesty, and smil'd.

* Give me,' I cried (enough for me),

'My bread, and independency!'

So bought an annual-rent or two.

And liv'd—-just as you see I do;

Near fifty, .and without a wife,

I trust that sinking fund, my life.

Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well,

Shrink back to my paternal cell,

A little house, with trees a-row.

And, like its master, very low.

There died my father, no man's debtor,

And there Til die, nor worse nor better.

To set this matter full before ye, Our old friend Swift will tell his story.

* Harley, the nation's great support—* But you may read it, I stop short.

THE LAT1TR PART OF SATIRE VI. B. II.*

OCHARMING noons! and nights divine!
Or when I sup, or when I dine,
My "friends above, my folks below,
Chatting and laughing all a-row.
The beans and bacon set before 'em.
The grace-cup serv'd with all decorum:
Each willing to be pleas'd, and please.
And ev'n the very dogs at ease!
Here no man prates of idle things.
How this or that Italian sings.

See the first part in Swift's Pocms.

A neighbour's madness, or his spouse's.
Or what's in either of the houses:
But something much more our concern,
And quite a scandal not to learn:
Which is the happier, or the wiser,
A man of merit, or a miser?
"Whether we ought to choose our friends,
For their owu worth, or our own ends?
What good, or better, we may call,
And what the very best of all?

Our friend, Dan Prior, told (you know)
A tale extremely *a propos:'
Name a town life, and in a trice
He had a story of two mice.
Once on a time (so runs the fable)
A country mouse, right hospitable,
Receiv'd a town mouse at his board,
Just as a farmer might a lord.
A frugal mouse, upon the whole,
Yet lov'd his friend, and had a soul.
Knew what was handsome, and would do't.
On just occasion, ' coute qui coute.'
He brought him bacon (nothing lean);
Pudding that might have pleas'd a dean;
Cheese, such as men in Suffolk make.
But wish'd it Stilton for his sake;
Yet, to his guest though no way sparing,
He eat himself the rind and paring.
Our courtier scarce could touch a bit,
But show'd his breeding and his wit;
He did his best to seem to eat,
And cried, * I vow yon're mighty neat.
But, lord, my friend, this savage scene!
For God's sake come, and live with men:
Consider, mice, like men, must die,
Both small and great, both you and I:
Then spend your life in joy and sport;
(This doctrine, friend, I learn'd at court).'

The veriest hermit in the nation May yield, God knows, to strong temptation. Ss

Away they came, through thick and thin,
To a tall house near Lincoln's-inn:
(' l'was on the night of a debate,
When all their lordships had sat late).

Behold the place, where if a poet
Shin'd in description, he might show it;
Tell how the moon-beam trembling falls.
And tips with silver all the walls;
Failadian walls, Venetian doors,
Gi otesco roofs, and stucco floors:
But let it (in a word) be said,
The moon was up, and men a-bed.
The napkins white, the carpet red;
The guests withdrawn had left the treat,
And down the mice sat, * tfite a. tele.'

Our courtierwalks from dish to dish,
Tastes for his friend of fowl and fish;
Tells all their names, lays down the law:

* Que ca est boo I Ah gofttez ca!
That jelly's rich, this malmsey healing,
Pray dip your whiskers and your tail in.'
Was ever such a happy swain f

He stuffs and swills, and stuffs again.

* I'm quite asham'd—*tis mighty rnde
To eat so much—but all's so good.

I have a thousand thanks to give—
My lord alone knows how to live.'
No sooner said, but from the hall
Kush chaplain, butler, dogs, and all:
'A rat, a cat! clap to the door'—
The cat comes bouncing on the floor.
O for the heart of Homer's mice,
Or gods to save them in a trice!
(It was by Providence they think,
Tor your damn'd stucco has no chink).

* An't please your honour,' qnoth the peasant, 'This same dessert is not so pleasant:

Give me again my hollow tree,
A crust of bread, and liberty !*

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