He ceas'd reclining with attentive Head, When thus the glorious God of Combats faid. Nor Pallas, Jove! tho' Pallas take the Field, With all the Terrors of her hiffing Shield, Nor Mars himself, tho' Mars in Armour bright Afcend his Car, and wheel amidst the Fight; Not these can drive the defp'rate Mouse afar, Or change the Fortunes of the bleeding War. Let all go forth, all Heav'n in Arms arise,

Or launch thy own red Thunder from the Skies. Such ardent Bolts as flew that wond'rous Day, When Heaps of Titans mix'd with Mountains lay, When all the Giant-Race enormous fell,

And huge Enceladus was hurl'd to Hell.

'Twas thus th' Armipotent advis'd the Gods, When from his Throne the Cloud-Compeller nods,

Deep lengthning Thunders run from Pole to Pole,
Olympus trembles as the Thunders roll.

Then fwift he whirls the brandish'd Bolt around,
And headlong darts it at the diftant Ground;
The Bolt difcharg'd inwrap'd with Light'ning flies,
And rends its flaming Paffage thro' the Skies,
Then Earth's Inhabitants, the Nibblers, shake:
And Frogs, the Dwellers in the Waters, quake.
Yet ftill the Mice advance their dread Design,
And the last Danger threats the croaking Line,
'Till Jove, that inly mourn'd the Loss they bore,
With frange Affistants fill'd the frighted Shore.

Pour'd from the neighb'ring Strand, deform'd
to View,

They march, a fudden unexpected Crew!
Strong Sutes of Armor round their Bodies close,
Which, like thick Anvils,blunt the Force of Blows;

In wheeling Marches turn'd oblique they go; With Harpy Claws their Limbs divide below; Fell Sheers the Paffage to their Mouth command; From out the Flesh their Bones by Nature stand Broad fpread their Backs, their fhining Shoulders

rife;

Unnumber'd Joints diftort their lengthen'd Thighs;
With nervous Cords their Hands are firmly brac'd;
Their round black Eye-balls in their Bofom plac'd;
On eight long Feet the wond'rous Warriors tread;
And either End alike fupplies a Head.

Thefe, mortal Wits to call the Crabs, agree;
The Gods have other Names for things than we.

Now where the Jointures from their Loins depend, The Heroes Tails with fev'ring Grafps they rend. Here, fhort of Feet, depriv'd the Pow'r to fly, There, without Hands, upon the Field they lie.

Wrench'd from their Holds, and fcatter'd all

around,

The bended Lances heap the cumber'd Ground. Helpless Amazement, Fear pursuing Fear,

And mad Confufion thro' their Hoft

appear :

O'er the wild Waste with headlong Flight they go, Or creep conceal'd in vaulted Holes below.

But down Olympus to the Western Seas
Far-fhooting Phebus drove with fainter Rays;
And a whole War (fo Jove ordain'd) begun,
Was fought, and ceas'd, in one revolving Sun,

To

To Mr. P OPE.

O praife, yet ftill with due Respect to praise,

T°

A Bard triumphant in immortal Bays,

The Learn'd to fhow, the Senfible commend,
Yet ftill preserve the Province of the Friend,
What Life, what Vigour, muft the Lines require ?
What Mufick tune them? what Affection fire?

O might thy Genius in my Bofom fhine! Thou shouldst not fail of Numbers worthy thine, The brightest Ancients might at once agree To fing within my Lays, and fing of thee.

Horace