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A. Gool friend, forbear! you deal in dangerous Why did I write? what sin to me unknown things,

Divp'd me in ink, my parents', or my own?
I'd never name queens, ministers, or kings; As yet a child, nor yet a fool to Fame,
Keep close to ears, and those let asses prick, I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
Tis nothing-P. Nothing? if they bite and kick? I left no calling for this idle trade,
Out with it, Duncjad ! let the secret pass,

No duty broke, no father disobey'd;

130 That secret to each foul, that he's an ass : 80 The Muse but serv'd to ease some friend, not wife; The truth once told (and wherefore should we lie?) To help me through this long disease, my life; The queen of Mirias slept, and so may 1.

To second, Arbuthnot! thy art and care, You think this cruel ? Take it for a rule,

And teach, the being you preserv'd, to bear. No creature smarts so little as a fool.

But why then publish ? Granville the polite, Let peais of langhtrr, Codrus ! round thee break, And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write; Thou unconcern'd canst hear the mighty crack: Well-natur'd Garth infiam'd with early praise, Pit, box, and gallery, in convulsions hurld, And Congreve lov'd, and Swift endur'd my lays; Thou stand'st inshook amidst a bursting world. The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read, Whoshames a scribbler? Break one cobweb through, Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head, 140 He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew : 90 And St. John's self (great Dry len's friend before) Destroy his fib or sophistry, in vain,

With open arms receiv'd one poet more. The creature's at nis dirty work again,

Hapny my studies, when by these approv'd! Thron'd on the centre of his thin designs,

Happier their author, when by these belov'd! Proud of a vast extent of finnsy lines !

Proin these the world will judge of men and books, Whom have I hurt? has poet yet, or peer,

Not from the Burnets, Ollmixons, and Cooks. Lost the arch'd eyebrow, or Parnassian sneer? Soft were my numbers: who could take offence And has not Colly still his lord, and whore? While pure description held the place of sense? His butchers Henley, his free-masons Moor? Like gentle Fanny's was my flowery theme, Does not one table Barills still admit?

99 A painted mistress, or a purling stream. 150 Still to one bishop Philips seems a wit? (fend, Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill; Still Sappho 4. Hold'; for Go-l's sake--you'll of I wish'd the man a dinner, and sate still. No names-be calm-learn prudence of a friend: Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret; I too could write, and I ain twice as tall;

I never answer'd, I was not in debt. But foes like these-P. One flatterer's worse than all. If want provok’d, or ma iness made them print, Of all mad creatures, if the learn'd are right, I waz'd no war with Bedlam or the Mint. It is the slaver kills, and not the bite.

Did some more sober critic come abroad; A fool quite angry is uite innocent :

If wrong, I smild; if right, I kiss'd the rod. Alas! 'tis ten times worse when they repent.

Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence, One dedicates in high heroi: prose,

Aní all they want is spirit, taste, and sense.

160 And ridicules beyond a hundred foes:

110 | Commas and points they set exactly right, One from all Grub.street will my fame defend, And 'twere a sin to rob thern of their mite. Anil, more abusive, calls himself my friend. Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel grac'd these ribalds, This prints my letters, that expects a bribe, From slashing Bentley down to piilling Tibalds : And others roar aloud,

Subscribe, subscribe !" Each wight, who reads not, and but scans and spells, There are, who to my person pay their court : Fach wori-catcher, that lives on syllables, I cough like Horace, and, though lean, am short. Ev'n sucia small critics some regard may claim, Ammon's great son one sboulder had too high, Preserv'd in Milton's or in Shakespeare's name. Such Ovi-l's nose, and,“ Sir! you have an eye !" Pretty! in amber to observe the forins Go on, obliging creature, make me see

Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms! All that disgrac'd my betters, met in me. 120 The things we know are neither rich nor rare, 171 Say for my comfort, languishing in bed,

But wonder how the devil they got there. “ Just so iminertal Marv held his head;"

Were others angry: I excus'd them too; Ani when I die, be aire you let me know

Well might they rage, I gave them but their due. Great Homer dy'd three thousand years ago.

A man's true merit 'tis not hard to find;
But each man's secret standard in his mind,

That casting-weight pride adds to emptiness,

This, who can gratify? for who can guess?
Ver. 111, in the MS.

The bard whom pilfer'd pastorals renown, For song, for silence some expect a bribe : Who turns a Persian tale for half a crown, 180 And others roar alond, " Subscribe, subscribe !" Just writes to make his barrenness appear, (year; Tiine, praise, or mon«y, is the least they crave; And strains from hard-bound brains, eight lines a Yet each declares the other fool or knave.

He, who, still wanting, though he lives on theft, After ver. 12.4, in the MS.


Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left:

And he, who, now to sense, now nonsense leaning, But, friend, this shape, which you and Curll'adCarrie not from Ammon's son, but from my sire";

Means not, but blunders round about a meaning : And for my bead, if you'll the truth excuse,

And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad, I had it from my mother', not the Muse.

It is wot poetry, but prose run niad : Happy, if he, in when these fiailties join'd,

All these, my inodest satire bad translate, Had heir'd as well the virtues of the mind.

And own’d that nine such poets made a Tate. 190

llow did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe! Curll set up his head for a sign.

Anil sweir, not Addison bimself was safe. ? His father was crooked.

Peace to all such ! but were there one whose fires His mother was much afflicted with headachs. True genius kindies, and fair fame inspires ;

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Blest with each talent and each art to please, Or simple pride for flattery makes demands, And born to write, converse, and live with ease : May dunce by dunce he whistled off my hands! Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,

Blest be the great! for those they take away, Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne, And those they left me; for they left me Gay: View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes, Left me to see neglected genius bloom, And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise; 200 Neglected die, and tell it on his tomb: Damu with faint praise, assent with civil leer, Of all thy blameless life the sole return And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; My verse, and Queensberry weeping o'er thy um! Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,

Oh let me live my own, and die so too! 261 Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;

(To live and die is all I have to do :) Alike reserv'd to blame, or to commend,

Maintain a poet's dignity and ease, A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend ;

And see what friends, and read what books I please: Dreading ev'n fonls by flatterers besieg'd,

Above a patron, though I condescend And so obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd ;

Sometimes to call a minister my friend. Like Cato, give his little senate laws,

I was not born for courts or great affairs : And sit attentive to his own applause; 210 I pay my debts, believe, and say my prayers ; While wits and templars every sentence raise, Can sleep without a poem in my head, And wonder with a foolish face of praise

Nor know, if Dennis be alive or dead. 270 Who but must laugh, if such a man there be ? Why am I ask'd what next shall see the light? Who would not weep, if Atticus were he!

Heavens ! was I born for nothing but to write ? What though my name stood rubric on the walls, Has life no joys for me? or (to be grave) Or plaster'd posts, with claps, in capitals ? Have I no friend to serve, no soul to save ? Or smoaking forth, a hundred hawkers load, “ I found him close with Swift-Indeed? no doubt On wings of winds came Aying all abroad? (Cries prating Balbus) something will come out." I sought no homage from the race that write; 'Tis all in vain, deny it as I will, I kept, like Asian inonarchs, from their sight : 220 No, such a genius never can lie still;" Poems I heeded (now berhym'd so long)

And then for mine obligingly mistakes No inore than thou, great George! a birth-day song. The first lampoon sir Will or Bubo makes. 280 I ne'er with wits or witlings pass'd my days, Poor, guiltless I! and can I choose but smile, To spread about the itch of verse and praise ; When every coxcomb knows me by my style? Nor like a puppy, daggled through the town, Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, To fetch and carry sing-song up and down; That tends to make one worthy man my foe, Nor at rehearsals sweat, and mouth'd, and cry'd, Give virtue scandal, innocence a fear, With handkerchief and orange at my side!

Or from the soft-ey'd virgin steal a tear ! But, sick of fops, and poetry, and prate,

But he who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace, To Bufo left the whole Castalian state. 230 Insults fall'n worth, or beauty in distress, Proud as Apollo on his forked hill,

Who loves a lie, lame slander helps about, Sate full-blown Bufo, puff'd by every quill; Who writes a libel, or who copies out:

290 Fed with soft dedication all day long,

That fop, whose pride affects a patron's name, Horace and he went hand in hand in song.

Yet absent, wounds an author's honest fame : His library (where busts of poets dead

Who can your merit selfishly approve, And a true Pindar stood without a head)

And show the sense of it without the love ; Receiv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race,

Who has the vanity to call you friend,
Who first his judgment ask’al, and then a place; Yet wants the honour, injur'd, to defend ;
Much they extoll'd his pictures, much his seat, Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say.
And flatter'd every day, and some days eat; 240 And, if he lie not, must at least betray:
Till, grown more frugal in his riper days,
He paid some bards with port, and some with praise,

To some a dry rehearsal was assign'd,
And others (harder still) he paid in kind.

After ver. 270, in the MS.
Dryden alone (what wonder ?) came not nigh, Friendships from youth I sought, and seek them
Dryden alone escap'd this judging eye :

still: But still the great have kindness in reserve,

Fame, like the wind, may breathe where'er it He help'd to bury whom he help'd to starve.

will. May some choice patron bless each grey goose The world I knew, but made it not my school, quill!

And in a course of flattery liv'd no fool.
May every Bavius have lis Bufo still ! 250
So when a statesman wants a day's defence,

After ver. 282, in the MS.
Or envy holds a whole week's war with sense,

P. What if I sing Augustus, great and good?
A. You did so lately, was it understood ?

Be nice no more, but, with a mouth profound,

As rumbling Dennis or a Norfolk hound; After rer. 208, in the MS.

With George and Frederic roughen every verse, Who, if two wits on rival thernes contest,

Then smooth up all, and Caroline rebearse. Approves of each, but likes ihe worst the best.

P. No the high task to lift up kings to gods, Allading to Mr. Pope's and Tickell's Translation of

Leave to court sermons, and to bith day odes. the first Book of the Iliad.

On themes like these, superior far to thine, After ver. 234, in the MS.

let laurel'd Cibber and great Arnal shine. Tu barus reciting he rouchsaf'd a nod,

Wing write at all A. Yes, silence if you keep, And snuid their sucesise like a gracious goda The town, the court, the wits, the duuces weep;

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Who to the dean and silver bell can swear,

Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit, And sees at Cannons what was never there; 300 Sappho can tell you how this man was bit:. Who reads but with a lust to misapply,

This dreaded sat'rist Dennis will confess 370 Make satire a lampoon, and fiction lie.

Foe to his pride but friend to his distress: A lash like mine no hon, st man shall dread, So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door, But all such babbling blockheads in his stead. Has drunk with Cibber, nay has rhym'd for Moor.

Let Sporus tremble-A. What? that thing of silk, Full ten years slander'd, did he once reply? Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk? Three thousand suns went down on Welsted's lie. Satire of sense, alas ! can Sporus feel?

To please his mistress one aspers'd his life; Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?

He lash'd himn not, but let her be his wife: P. Yet let me tap this bug with gilded wings, Let Budgell charge low Grub-street on his quill, *This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings ; And write u hate'er he pleas'd, except his will; Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, 311 Let the two Curlls of town and court, abuse 380 Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys : His father, mother, body, soul, and Muse. So well-bred spaniels civilly delight

Yet why? that father held it for a rule, In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. It was a sin to call our neighbour fool : Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,

That harmless mother thought no wife a whore: As shallow streams run dimpling all the way. Hear this and spare his family, James Moore; Whether in florid impotence he speaks,

Unspotted names, and memorable long; And as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks; If there be force in virtue, or in song. Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad,

Of gentle blood (part shed in Honour's cause, Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad, 320 While yet in Britain Honour had applause) In puns, or polities, or tales, or lies,

Each parent sprung-A. What fortune, pray Or spite, or smut, or rhyines, or blasphemies.

P. Their own,

390 His wit all see-saw, between that and this, And better got, than Bestia's from the throne. Now high, now low, now master up, now miss,

Born to no pride, inheriting no strife, And he himself one vile Antithesis.

Nor marrying discord in a noble wife, Amphibious thing! that, acting either part, Stranger to civil and religious rage, The trifling head! or the corrupted heart,

The good man walk'd innoxious through his age. Fop at the toilet, flatterer at the board,

No courts he saw, no suits would ever try, Now trips a lady, and now struts a lord.

Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lie. Ere's tempter thus the Rabbins have exprest, 330 I'nlearn'd, he knc-w no schoolinan's subtle art, A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest.

No language, but the language of the heart. Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will By nature honest, by experience wise;

100 trust,

Healthy by temperance, and by exercise ; Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust. His life, thongh long, to sickness past unknown, Not Fortune's worshipper, nor Fashion's fool,

His death was instant, and without a groan. Not Lucre's marlman, nor Ambition's tool,

O grant me thus to live, and thus to die ! Not proud, nor sers ile; be one poet's praise, Who sprung from kings shall know less joy than I. That, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly ways: O friend ! may each domestic bliss be thine ! That fiattery, ev'ry to kings, he held a shame, Be no unpleasing melancholy mine : And thought a licin verse or prose the same;

Me, let the tender office long engage,

410 That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long, 340 To rock the cradle of reposing age, But stoop'd to Truth, and moraliz'd his song :

With lenient arts extend a momer's breath, That not for fame, but Virtue's better end, Make languor smile, a d smooth the bed of death, He stood the furious foe, the timid friend,

Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, The damuing critic, half approving wit,

And keep a while one parent from the sky! The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit ;

On cares like these if length of days attend, Laugh'd at the loss of friends he never had,

May Heaven, to bless those days, preserve my friend, The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad; Preserve him social, cheerful, and serene, The distant threats of vengeance on his head, And just as rich as when he serv'd a queen ! The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed ;

A. Whether that blessings be deny'd or given, The tale reviv'd, the lie so oft o'erthrown, 350 | Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heaven. Th'imputed trash, and dulness not his own; The morals blackend when the writings 'scape,

VARIATIONS. The libel'd person and the pictur'd shape;

Ver. 368, in the MS. Abuse, on all he lovd, or lov'd him, spread,

Once, and but once, his heedless youth was bit, A friend in exile, or a father dead;

And lik'd that dangerous thing, a female uit ; The whisper, that, to greatness still too near, Safe as he thought, though all the prudent chid; Perhaps, yet vibratıs on his sovereign's ear- He writ no libels, but iny lady dit: Welcome for tbee, fair Virtue! all the past : Great odds in amorous or poetic game, For ther, fair Virtue! welcome ey'n the last !

Where woman's is the sin, and man's the shame. A. But why insult the poor, atfront the great? P. A knave's a knave, to me, in every state: (360 After ver. 405, in the MS. Alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail,

And of myself, too, something must I say? Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail;

Take then this verse, the trifle of a day. A hireling seribbler, or a hireling peer,

And if it live, it lives but to comiend knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire;

The man whose heart has ne'er for got a friend, If on a pilloy or near a throne,

Or head, an author; critic, yet polite, He gain his prince's ear, or lose his own.

Aud friend to learning, yet too wise to write.

Besides, he deemed it more modest to give there name of iinitations to his satire, than, like Des. préaux, to give the name of satires to imitations.




The occasion of publishing these imitations was
the clamour raised on some of my epistles. An

P. There are (I scarce can think it, but am tolds answer from Horace was both inore full, and of

1 There are, to whom my satire seems too bold : more dignity, tnan any I could have made in iny

Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough, own person ; and the example of much greater

And something said of Chartres much too rough. freedom in so eminent a divine as Dr. Dome,

2 The lines are weak, another's pleas'd to say, seemed a proof with what indignation and con

Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day. tempt a Christian may treat vice or folly, in Timorous by nature, of the rich in awe, ever so low, or ever so bigh a station Both these

3 I come to council learned in the law : authors were acceptable to the princes and mi

You'll give me, like a friend both sage and free, nisters under whoin they lived. The satires of Advice; and (as you use) without a fee. Dr. Donne I versified, at the desire of the earl of

F. 4 I'd write no more. Oxford while he was ford treasurer, and of the

P. Not write? but then I think, duke of Shrewsbury, who had been secretary of

5 And for my soul I cannot sleep a wink. state: neither of whom lovked upon a satire on

I nod in company, I wake at night, vicious courts as any reflection on those they

Fools rush into my head, and so I write.

F. You could not do a worse thing for your life. served in. And indeed there is not in the world a greater ermur, than that which fools are so apt Why, if the nights seem tedious—take a wife : to fall into, and knaves with good reason to en

6 Or rather truly, if your point be rest, courage, the mistaking a satirist for a libeller ;

Lettuce and cowslip wine; Probatum est. whereas to a true satirist nothing is so odious as a

But talk with Celsus, Celsus will advise libeller, for the same reason as to a man truly · Or, if you needs must write, write Cæsar's praise,

Hartshorn, or something that shall close your eyes. virtuous nothing is so hateful as a hypocrite.

* You'll gain at least a knighthood, or the bays. Uni æquus virtuti atque ejus amicis.

P. What? like sir' Richard, rumbling, rough,

and fierce,

With arms and George and Brunswick crowd the Whoever expects a paraphrase of Horace, or a

verse, faithful copy of his genius, or manner of writing,

Rend with tremendous sound your ears asunder, in these imitations, will be much disapp vinted. With gun, drum, trumpet, blunderbuss, and thunOur arıthor uses the Roman poet for little more der ? than his cauras : and if the old design or colour- | Or nobly wild, with Budgell's fire and force, ing chance to suit his purpose, it is well; if not, Paint angels trembling round his falling horse? hr emplovs liis own, without scruple or ceremony.

F. 10 Then all your Muse's softer art display, llence it is, he is so frequentiy serious where Ho- Let Carolina smooth the tuneful lay, race is in jest, axl at case where Horace is disturbed. In a word, he regulates his movements

HORATIUS. TREBATIUS. no further on his original, than was necessary for his concurrence in promoting their common plan Sunt quibus in satira videar nimis acer, et ultra of reformation of manners.

Had it been his purpose merely to paraphrase Legem tendere opus : sine nervis altera, quidquid an ancient satirist, he had hardly made choice of Composui, pars esse putat, similesque mcorum

Mille die versus deduci posse. 3 Trebati, Horace; with whom, as a poet, he held little in common, besides a comprehensive knowledge of Quid faciam ? præscribe.

T. * Quiescas. lite and manners, and a certain curious felicity of expression, which consists in using the simplest | Omnino versus ?

H. Ne faciam, inquis, language with dignity, and the most ornamented

T. Aio. with ease. For the rest, his harmony and strenrth

H. Peream male, si non of nunbers, his force and splendour of colouring,

Optimum erat: verum nequeo dormire. his gravity and sublimity of sentiment, would have

T. 6 Ter uneti rather led him to another morie). Nor was his

Transnanto Tiberim, somno quibus est opus alto; tenper less uniike that of Hurace, than his talents. What Horace would only smile at, Mr. Pope

Irrigumu ve mero sub noctein corpus habento.

; Aut si tantus amor scribendi te rapit, aude would treat with the grave severity of Persius;

Casaris invicti res dicere, è multa laborum an I what Mr. Pope would strike with the caustic

Præmia laturus. lightning of Juvenal, Horace would content him

H. Cupidum, pater optime, vires self in turning into ridicule.

Deficiunt : neque eniin ouiris horrentia pilis If it be ask::d then, why lie took any body at

Agmina, nec fracta puseuntes cuspide gallos, all to imitate, he has informed us in his adver

Aut labentis equo desi ribat vulnera Parthi. ti ement: To which we may adil, that this sort

T. 10 Attamen et justum poteras et scribere fortem, of initations, which are of the nature of parodies. Scipiadain ut sapiens Lucilins. adds reflected grace and splendour oa original wit.

H. Haud mihi deero


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Loll with Amelia's liquid name the Nine,

'I only wear it in a land of Hectors,
And sweetly flow through all the royal line. Thieves, supercargoes, sharpers, and directors.

P. · Alas! few verses touch their nicer ear; 2 Save but our army! and let Jove incrust
They scarce can bear their laureat twice a year; Swords, pikes, and guns, with everlasting rust!
And justly Cæsar scorns the poet's lays,

3 Peace is my dear delight—not Fleury's more: It is to history he trusts for praise.

But touch me, and no minister so sore.
F. ' Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it still, Whoe'er offends, at some unlucky time
Than ridicule all taste, blaspheme quadrille, * Slides into verse, and hitches-in a rhyme,
Abuse the city's best good men in metre,

Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
And laugh at peers that put their trust in Peter. And the sad burthen of some inerry soug.
3 Ev'n those you touch not, hate you.

5 Slander or poison dread from Delia's rage;
P. What should ail 'em ? Hard words or hanging, if your judge be Page.
F. A hundred smart in Timon and in Balaam : From furious Sappho scarce a milder fate,
The fewer still you name, you wound the more; P-x'd by her love, or libell'd by her bate.
Bond is but one, but Harpax is a score.

Its proper power to hurt, each creature feels; P. * Each mortal has his pleasure: none deny Bulls aim their horns, and asses lift their heels; Scarsdale his bottle, Darty his ham-pye;

'Tis a bear's talent not to kick, but hug ; Ridotta sips and dances, till she see

And no man wonders he's not stung by pug. The doubling lustres dance as fast as she;

? So drink with Walters, or with Chartres eat, SF- loves the senate, Hockleyhole his brother, They'll never poison you, they'll only cheat. Like in all else, as one egg to another.

3 Then, learned sir! (to cut the matter short) • I love to pour out all myself, as plain

Whate'er my fate, or well or ill at court;
As downright Shippen, or as old Montagne : Whether old-age, with faint but cheerful ray,
In them, as certain to be lov'd as seen,

Attends to gild the evening of my day,
The soul stood forth, nor kept a thought within ; Or Death's black wing already be display'd,
In me what spots (for spots I have) appear, To wrap me in the universal shade;
Will prove at least the medium must be clear. Whether the darken'd room to muse invite,
In this impartial glass, my Muse intends

Or whiten'd wall provoke the skewer to write:
Fair 10 expose myself, my foes, my friends ; In durance, exile, Bedlam, or the Mint,
Publish the present age; but where my text "Like Lee or Budgell, I will rhyme and print.
Is vice too high, reserve it for the next :

F. 1°Alas, young man! your days can ne'er be long, My foes shall wish my life a longer date,

In flower of age you perish for a song! And every friend the less lameni my fate. Plumns and directors, Shylock and his wife, My head and heart thus flowing through my quill, Will club their te ters, now, to take your life! ? Verseman or proseman, term me what you will, P." What? arm'd for Virtue when I point the pen, Papist or Protestant, or both between,

Brand the bold front of shameless guilty nien; Like good Erasmus in an honest mean,

Dash the proud gamester in his gilded car; In moderation placing all my glory,

Bare the mean heart that lurks beneath a star; While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory. Can there be wanting, to defend his cause,

* Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet Lights of the church, or guardians of the laws ? To run a-muck, and tilt at all I meet ;

Could pension'd Poileau lash in honest strain
Flatterers and bigots ev'n in Louis' reign?

Could laureate Dryden pimp and friar engage, Cum res ipsa feret : ' nisi dextro tempore, Flacci

Yet neither Charles nor James be in a rage ?
Verba per attentam non ibunt Cæsaris aurem :
Cui male si palpere, recalcitrat undique tutus.
T. ? Quanto rectius hoc, quam tristi lædere versu

· Tutus ab infestis latronibus ? ? O pater et rex Pantolabum scurram, Nomentanumve nepotem? Jupiter, nt per-at positum rubigine telum, 'Cum sibi quisque timet, quanquam est intactus, et Nec quisquam noceat 'eupido mihi pacis! at ille, odit.

Qui me commôrit, (me lius non tangere, clamo) H. Quid faejam? saltat Milonius, ut semel icto * Flebit, et insignis tota cantabitur urbe. Accessit fervor capiti, numerusque lucernis.

5 Cervius iratus leges minitatur et urnom ; Castor gaudet equis; ovo prognatus eodem, Canidia Albuti, quibus est inimica, venenum ; Pugnis. quot capitum vivunt, totidem studiorum (irande malum Turius, si quid se judice certes : Millia. " me pedibus delectat claudere verba, it, quo quisque valet, suspertos terreat, utque Lucili ritu, nostrum melioris utroque.

Imperitet hoc natura potens, sic collige mecum. Ille velut tidis arcana socialibus olim

Dente lupus, cornu taurus petit ; unde nisi intus Credebat Jibris ; neque, si male gesserat, usquam Monstratum ? 'Servæ vivacem crede nepoti Decurrens alio, neque si bene ; quo fit, ut omnis Matrem ; nil faciet sceleris pia dextra (mirum? Votiva pateat veluti descripta tabella

lit neque calce lupus quemquam, neque dente petit Vita senis. sequor hunc,' Lucanus an Appulus, an- Sed mala tollet anum vitiato melle cicuta. (bos) ceps :

3 Ne longum faciam : seu me tranquilla senectus (Nam Venusinus arat finem sub utrumque colonus, Fxpectat, seu Mors atris circumvolat alis ; Missus ad hoc, pulsis (vetus est ut faina) Sabellis; Dives, inops; Romæ, seu fors ita jusserit, exsul; Quo ne per vacuum Romano incurreret hostis ; • Quisquis erit vita, scribam, color. Sive quod Appula gens, seu quod Lucania bellum

T. 10( puer, nt sis
Incuteret violentaj : sed hic styl's haud petet ultro Vitalis metuo ; et majorum ne quis amicus
Quemquam animantem, et me veluti custodiet Frigore te feriat.

H. 11 Quid ? cum est Lucilius ausus Vagina tectus, quem cur destringere coner, Primus in hunc operis componere carmina mozemn,


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