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Vivitur parvo bene, cui paternum
4 Alas! he is not half so bless'd
As those who 've liberty and rest,
And dine on beans and bacon.
5 Why should we then to London run,
And quit our cheerful country sun
For bus'ness, dirt, and smoke? 5 Sole mutamus? patriæ quis exul
Can we, by changing place and air,
Ourselves get rid of, or our care?
In troth, 't is all a joke. 6 Scandit æratas vitiosa naves Cura ; nec turmas equitum relinquit,
6 Care climbs proud ships of mightiest force,
And mounts behind the general's horse,
Outstrips hussars and pandours;
Swifter than clouds before the wind,
Or Cope' before th' Highlanders.
7 A man, when once he's safely chose, 8 Parte beatum.
Should laugh at all his threat'ning foes,
Nor think of future evil: 9 Abstulit clarum cita mors Achillem;
Each good has its attendant ill; 10 Longa Tithonum minuit senectus;
8 A seat is no bad thing, but still
Elections are the devil.
9 Its gifts, with hand impartial, Heav'a . 11 Te greges centum, Siculæque circùm
Divides : to Orford it was giv'n
To die in full-blown glory; 12 Tum apta quadrigis equa; te bis Afro
10 To Bath indeed a longer date, Murice tinctæ.
But then with unrelenting hate
Pursu'd by Whig and Tory. Vestiunt lanæ : 13 mihi parva rura et 14 Spiritum Graiæ tenuem Camænæ
11 The gods to you with bounteous hand Parca non mendax dedit, et malignum
Have granted seats, and parks, and land; Spernere vulgus.
Brocades and silks you wear;
Whirl on your gilded car.
With broad-cloth on my shoulders,
I mean who a' n't freeholders.
I General Cope, in the year 1745, had made a very precipitate retreat, before the rebel army, froin Preston Panns to Edinburgh.
TO THE SAME.
HORATII LIB. IV. OD. VIII,
1. Donarem pateras grataque commodus,
Censorine, meis æra sodalibus:
Quas aut Parrhasius protulit aut Scopas 3 Hic saxo, liquidis ille coloribus
Solers nunc hominein ponere, nunc deum.
1 Did but kind fate to me impart
Wealth equal to my gen'rous heart,
A token of my love, I'd send;
Should be consign’d to friends at Wrest.
To you, well knowing what you like,
A curious bronze, or bust antique.
TO THE HON. MISS YORKE...CHLOE TO STREPHON.
609 con Sed non hæc mihi vis: nec tibi talium
4 Bit since these gifts exceed my power, Res est aut animus deliciarum egens.
And you, who need not wish for more, Gaudes carminibus, carmina possumus
Already bless'd with all that 's fine,
Are pleas'd with verse, though such as mine;
I'll make my presents all in rhymes;
Like them I'll set their value forth.
6 Non incisa notis marmora publicis,
Per quæ spiritus et vita redit bonis
Laudes, quam Calabræ Pierides: neque, 7 Si chartæ siieant quod bene feceris,
Mercedem tuleris. 8 Quid foret Iliæ
6 Not monumental brass or stones,
The guardians of heroic bones,
As can the labours of the Muse.
With you your virtues all must die,
How wise, how good, was lady Grey.
Of him who built imperial Rome?
Say, would you use that very pow'r
You from her fondness claim, To ruin, in one fatal hour,
A life of spotless fame?
Ah ! cease, my dear, to do an ill,
Because perhaps you may;. But rather try your utmost skill
To save me, than betray.
Be von yourself my virtue's guard,
Defend, and not pursue;
To fight with love and you.
Cease, Sally, thy charms to expand,
All thy arts and thy witchcraft forbear, Hide those eyes, hide that neck and that hand,
And those sweet flowing tresses of hair.
Oh! torture me not, for love's sake,
With the smirk of those delicate lips, With that head's dear significant shake,
And the toss of the hoop and the hips.
Oh! sight still more fatal! look there
O'er her tucker what murderers peep! So—now there 's an end of my care,
I shall never more eat, drink, or sleep.
Hap I, Pygmalion like, the pow'r
Her skin should be as lilies fair,
This for her form: now for her mind;
I'd bave her skill'd in ev'ry art
I'd have her to strict honour ty'd,
Some sparks of the poetic fire
D' you sing too? ah, mischievous thought!
Touch me, touch me not there any more; Who the Devil can 'scape being caught
In a trap that 's thus baited all o'er?
But why to advise shonld I try?
What nature ordains we must prove: You no more can belp charming, than I
Can help being charm’d, and in love.
When first I sought fair Cælia's love,
And ev'ry charm was new, I swore by all the gods above
To be for ever true.
But long in vain did I adore,
Long wept and sigh'd in vain, She still protested, vow'd, and swore,
She ne'er would ease my pain.
At last o'ercome she made me bless'd,
And yielded all her charms ; And I forsook her, when possess'd,
And fled to others' arms.
But let not this. dear Cælia, now
To rage thy breast incline; For wby, since you forgot your vow,
Should I remember mine?
TO A YOUNG LADY,
GOING TO THE WEST INDIES. For universal sway design'd
To distant realms Clorinda flies, And scorns, in one small isle confin'd,
To bound the conquests of her eyes.
From our cold climes to India's shore
But, fair-one, though these toils succeed, With cruel haste she wings her way,
Of conquest be not vain; 'To scorch their sultry plains still more,
Nor think o'er all the sealy breed And rob us of our only day.
Uopunish'd thus to reign. Whilst ev'ry streaming eye o'erflows
Remember, in a wat’ry glass With tender foods of parting tears,
His charms Narcissus spy'd, Thy breast, dear cause of all our woes,
When for his own bewitching face Alone unmov'd and gay appears.
The youth despair'd and dy'd. But still, if right the Muses tell,
No more then harmless fish insnare, The fated point of time is nigh,
No more such wiles pursue ; When grief shall that fair bosom swell,
Lest, whilst you baits for them prepare, And trickle from thy lovely eye.
Love finds out one for you.
Assur'd he meant Lucinda's charms,
To her th' infectious demon Nies; Her neck, her cheeks, her lips disarms, And of their lightning robs her eyes.
A LADY'S VOLUME OF TRAGEDIES. The Cyprian queen with cruel joy
Since thou, relentless maid, canst daily hear Beholds her rival's charms o'erthrown,
Thy slave's complaints without one sigh or tear, Nor doubts, like mortal fair, t'employ
Why beats thy breast, or thy bright eyes o’erflow Their ruins to augment her own.
At these imaginary scenes of woe?
Rather teach these to weep and that to heare, From out the spoils of ev'ry grace
At real pains themselves to thousands give; The goddess picks some glorious prize,
And if such pity to feigo'd love is due, Transplants the roses from her face,
Consider how much more you owe to true. And arms young Cupids from her eyes.
Poor Jenny, am'rous, young, and gay,
To nunn'ry dark retir'd;
She was by all admir'd.
Long had the mind of man with curious art
So beauteous Eve a while in Eden stray'd,
The lady abbess oft would cry,
Or prov'd an idle slattern;
Is sure a worthy pattern."
A pert young slut at length replies,
"T is that has made her such;
If we had seen as much."