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BOOK II.

EPISTLE II.

"Ludentis fpeciem dabit, & torquebitur." HoR.

DEAR

EAR Col'nel, Cobham's and your country's
Friend!

You love a Verfe, take fuch as I can fend.

b A Frenchman comes, prefents 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 fon, I'd have hina fee the world: "His French is pure; his Voice too-you fhall hear. "Sir, he's your flave, for twenty pound a year. "Mere wax as yet, you fashion him with ease, "Your Barber, Cook, Upholsterer, what you please: "A perfect genius at an Opera fong

"To fay too much, might do my honour wrong.

"Take

FL

EPISTOLA II.

LORE, bono claroque fidelis amice Neroni, b Si quis forte velit puerum tibi vendere natum Tibure vel Gabiis, et tecum fic agat: "Hic et "Candidus, et talos a vertice pulcher ad imos, "Fiet eritque tuus nummorum millibus octo; "Verna minifteriis ad nutus aptus heriles; "Litterulis Graecis imbutus, idoneus arti "Cuilibet argilla quidvis imitaberis uda:

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"Take him with all his virtues, on my word; "His whole ambition was to ferve a Lord: "But, Sir, to you, with what would I not part? "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 fhall reveal,

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(Could you o'erlook but that) it is, to steal."
c If, after this, you took the graceful lad,

Could you complain, my Friend, he prov'd fo bad?
Faith, in fuch case, if you should profecute,
I think Sir Godfrey fhould decide the fuit;
Who fent the Thief that stole the Cash, away,
And punish'd him that put it in his way.

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d Confider then, and judge me in this light; I told you when I went, I could not write;

You

"Quin etiam canet indoctum, sed dulce bibenti. "Multa fidem promiffa levant, ubi plenius aequo "Laudat venales, qui vult extrudere, merces. "Res urget me nulla: meo fum pauper in aere. "Nemo hoc mangonum faceret tibi: non temere a me

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Quivis ferret idem: femel hic ceffavit, et (ut fit)

"In fcalis latuit metuens pendentis habenae :
"Des nummos, excepta nihil te fi fuga laedit."

C

c Ille ferat pretium, poenae fecurus, opinor. Prudens emifti vitiofum: dicta tibi eft lex.

Infequeris tamen hunc, et lite moraris iniqua. • Dixi me pigrum proficifcenti tibi, dixi Talibus officiis prope mancum; ne mea faevus

You faid the fame; and are you discontent
With laws, to which you gave your own affent?
Nay worse, to ask for Verse at such a time!
D'ye think me good for nothing but to rhyme ?
e In Anna's Wars, a Soldier poor and old
Had dearly earn'd a little purfe of gold:
Tir'd with a tedious march, one luckless night,
He flept, poor dog! and loft it, to a doit.
This put the man in fuch a defperate mind,
Between revenge, and grief, and hunger join'd,
Against the foe, himself, and all mankind,
He leap'd the trenches, fcal'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 befide.
Next, pleas'd his Excellence a town to batter
(Its name I know not, and 'tis no great matter);

Jurgares ad te quod epiftola nulla veniret.
Quid tum profeci, mecum facientia jura

Si tamen attentas? quereris fuper hoc etiam, quod
Expectata tibi non mittam carmina mendax.

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45 "Go

e Luculli miles collecta viatica multis
Aerumnis, laffus dum noctu ftertit, ad affem
Perdiderat poft hoc vehemens lupus, et fibi et hofti
Iratus pariter, jejunis dentibus acer,

Praefidium regale loco dejecit, ut aiunt,
Summe munito, et multarum divite rerum.
Clarus ob id factum, donis ornatur honeftis,
Accipit et bis dena fuper feftertia nummûm.

"Go on, my Friend, (he cry'd) fee yonder walls!
"Advance and conquer! go where glory calls!
"More honours, more rewards, attend the brave."
Don't you remember what reply he gave?

“D'ye think me, noble General, such a Sot?
"Let him take castles who has ne'er a groat."
f Bred up at home, full early I begün
To read in Greek the wrath of Peleus' fon.
Befides, my Father taught me from a lad,
The better art to know the good from bad:
(And little fure imported to remove,

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

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

And

Forte fub hoc tempus caftellum evertere praetor
Nefcio quod cupiens, hortari coepit eundem
Verbis, quae timido quoque poffent addere mentem:
I, bone, quo virtus tua te vocat: i pede faufto,
Grandia laturus meritorum praemia: quid ftas?
Poft haec ille catus, quantumvis rufticus, “Ibit,
"Ibit eo, quo vis, qui zonam perdidit, inquit.”
f Romae nutriri mihi contigit, atque doceri,
Iratus Graiis quantum nocuiffet Achilles,
Adjecere bonae paulo plus artis Athenae:
Scilicet ut poffem curvo dignofcere rectum,
Atque inter fylvas Academi quaerere verum.
Dura fed emovere loco me tempora grato;
Civilifque rudem belli tulit aestus in arma,
Caefaris Augufti non refponfura lacertis.

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And certain Laws, by fufferers thought unjust,
Deny'd all posts of profit or of truft:

Hopes after hopes of pious Papifts fail'd,

While mighty William's thundering arm prevail'd.
For Right Hereditary tax'd and fin'd,

He ftuck to poverty with peace of mind;
And me, the Muses help'd to undergo it;
Convict a Papist he, and I a Poet.

But (thanks to Homer) fince I live and thrive,
Indebted to no Prince or Peer alive,

Sure I fhould want the care of ten Monroes,

If I would fcribble, rather than repose.

8 Years following years, steal fomething every day, At laft they steal us from ourselves away;

In one our Frolics, one Amusements end,

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In one a Mistress drops, in one a Friend:
This fubtle Thief of life, this paltry Time,
What will it leave me, if it fnatch my rhyme ?
If every wheel of that unweary'd Mill,

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That turn'd ten thousand verses, now stands still?

But

Unde fimul primum me demifere Philippi,
Decifis humilem pennis, inopemque paterni
Et laris et fundi, paupertas impulit audax
Ut verfus facerem: fed, quod non defit, habentem,
Quae poterunt unquam fatis expurgare cicutae,
Ni melius dormire putem, quam fcribere verfus ?
8 Singula de nobis anni praedantur euntes;
Eripuere jocos, venerem, convivia, ludum;
Tendunt extorquere poemata. quid faciam vis?

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