Be call'd to Court to plan some work divine,
As once for Louis, Boileau and Racine.

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Yet think, great sir (so many virtues shown)
Ah! think what poet best may make them known;
Or choose at least some minister of
grace,
Fit to bestow the Laureat's weighty place.
Charles, to late times to be transmitted fair,
Assign'd his figure to Bernini's care; - 381
And great Nassau to Kneller's hand decreed,
To fix him graceful on the bounding steed;
So well in paint and stone they judg'd of merit.
But kings in wit may want discerning spirit: 385
The hero William, and the martyr Charles,
One knighted Blackmore, and one pension'd
Quarles;

Which made old Ben, and surly Dennis swear,
No Lord's anointed, but a Russian bear."

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Not with such majesty, such bold relief, The forms august of king, or conquʼring chief, E'er swell'd on marble, as in verse have shin'd (In polish'd verse) the manners and the mind. Oh! could I mount on the Mæonian wing, Your arms, your actions, your repose, to sing! What seas you travers'd, and what fields you fought!

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Your country's peace how oft, how dearly bought!
How barb'rous rage subsided at your word,
And nations wonder'd, while they dropp'd the
sword!

How, when you nodded, o'er the land and deep Peace stole her wing, and wrapp'd the world in

sleep,

Till earth's extremes your mediation own, And Asia's tyrants tremble at your throneverse, alas!

But

And I'm not us'd to

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your majesty disdains; The zeal of fools offends at any time, panegyric strains. 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 I bite. A vile encomium doubly ridicules: There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools. If true, a woeful 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 (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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HORACE, BOOK II. EPIST. II.

IMITATED.

Ludentis speciem dabit, et torquebitur.

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:

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His French is pure; his voice too—you shall

• hear :

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 honor wrong. Take him with all his virtues, on my word;

His whole ambition was to serve a lord.

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But, sir, to you with what would I not part? 15 • Though faith, I fear 'twill 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.' 20 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, 25
And punish'd him that put it in his way.

Consider 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 ? 30
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 35-
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.
'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) 45
'Go on, my friend,' he cry'd, see yonder walls!
'Advance and conquer! go where glory calls!
'More honors, more rewards, attend the brave."

40.

Don't you remember what reply he gave ?
D'ye think me, noble Gen'ral! such a sot? 50
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,

The better art, to know the good from bad; 55 (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, 60
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.
For right hereditary, tax'd and fin'd,
He stuck to poverty with peace of mind;
And me the Muses help to undergo it,
Convict a Papist he, and I a poet.

But, (thanks to Homer) since I live and thrive,
Indebted to no prince or peer alive,

Sure I should want the care of ten Monros,
If I would scribble rather than repose.

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Years foll'wing years steal something ev'ry day, At last they steal us from ourselves away; In one, our frolics, one, amusements end, In one, a mistress drops, in one, a friend. This subtle thief of life, this paltry time, What will it leave me, if it snatch my rhyme?

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