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You faid the fame; and are you difcontent
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 purse 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 such a desperate 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 praife, and fome 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.

e Luculli miles collecta viatica multis
Aerumnis, laffus dum noctu ftertit, ad assem
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 begun
To read in Greek the wrath of Peleus' fon.
Besides, my Father taught me from a lad,
The better art to know the good from bad:
(And little fure imported to remove,
To hunt for Truth in Maudlin's learned grove.)
But knottier points we knew not half fo well,
Depriv'd us foon of our paternal Cell;


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 nocuisset 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 aeftus in arma,
Caefaris Augufti non refponfura lacertis.



And certain Laws, by fufferers thought unjust,
Deny'd all posts of profit or of trust:
Hopes after hopes of pious Papists fail'd,
While mighty William's thundering arm prevail'd.
For Right Hereditary tax'd and fin'd,

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

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

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

g Years following years, steal something every day,
At laft they steal us from ourselves away;
In one our Frolics, one Amusements end,
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,
That turn'd ten thousand verses, now ftands ftill?

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 versus ?
g Singula de nobis anni praedantur euntes;
Eripuere jocos, venerem, convivia, ludum;
Tendunt extorquere poemata. quid faciam vis?







h But after all, what would you have me
When out of twenty I can please not two;
When this Heroics only deigns to praife,
Sharp Satire that, and that Pindaric lays?
One likes the Pheasant's wing, and one the leg;
The vulgar boil, the learned roaft an egg.
Hard task! to hit the palate of such guests,
When Oldfield loves, what Dartinéuf detests.
i But grant I may relapse, for want of grace,
Again to rhyme: can London be the place?'
Who there his Mufe, or felf, or foul attends,




In crouds, and courts, law, business, feasts, and friends? My counsel fends to execute a deed :

A Poet begs me I will hear him read:

In Palace-yard at nine you'll find me there-
At ten for certain, Sir, in Bloomsbury square-
Before the Lords at twelve my Caufe comes on-
There's a Rehearfal, Sir, exact at one.→→→



Denique non omnes eadem mirantur amantque.
Carmine tu gaudes: hic delectatur iambís;
Ille Bionéis fermonibus, et fale nigro.

Tres mihi convivae prope diffentire videntur,
Pofcentes vario multum diverfa palato.

Quid dem ? quid non dem ? renuis quod tu, jubet alter :
Quod petis, id fane eft invifum acidumque duobus.

i Praeter caetera me Romaene poemata cenfes Scribere poffe, inter tot curas totque labores ? Hic fponfum vocat, hic auditum fcripta, relictis Omnibus officiis: cubat hic in colle Quirini,

"Oh but a Wit can study in the streets,

"And raise his mind above the mob he meets."
Not quite fo well however as one ought;
A hackney-coach may chance to spoil a thought;
And then a nodding beam, or pig of lead,
God knows, may hurt the very ablest head.
Have you not seen, at Guildhall's narrow pass,
Two Aldermen dispute it with an Ass?
And Peers give way, exalted as they are,
Ev'n to their own S-r-v-nce in a Car?


Hic extremo in Aventino; vifendus uterque.



k Go, lofty Poet! and in fuch a croud,
Sing thy fonorous verse-but not aloud.
Alas! to Grottoes and to Groves we run,
To ease and filence, every Mufe's fon :
Blackmore himself, for any grand effort,
Would drink and doze at Tooting or Earl's-Court.
How fhall I rhyme in this eternal roar?

How match the bards whom none e'er match'd before?

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Intervalla vides humane commoda.
"Purae funt plateae, nihil ut meditantibus obftet.'
Feftinat calidus mulis gerulifque redemtor :

Torquet nunc lapidem, nunc ingens machina tignum.
Triftia robuftis luctantur funera plauftris :
Hac rabiofa fugit canis, hac lutulenta ruit fus.
k I nunc, et verfus tecum meditare canoros.
Scriptorum chorus omnis amat nemus, et fugit urbes,
Rite cliens Bacchi, fomno gaudentis et umbra.

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