Then be not jealous, friend: for why? My lady marchioness is nigh, To see I ne'er should hurt ye; Besides you know full well that I Am turn'd of five-and-forty. THE RECONCILEMENT BETWEEN JACOB TONSON AND MR. CONGREVE. AN IMITATION OF HORACE, BOOK III. ODE IX. TONSON. WHILE at my house in Fleet-street once you lay, While in your early days of reputation, TONSON. I'm in with captain Vanburgh at the present, A most sweet-natur'd gentleman, and pleasant; He writes your comedies, draws schemes, and models, And builds dukes' houses upon very odd hills: CONGREVE. Temple and Delaval are now my party, Men that are tam Mercurio both quam Marte; And though for them I shal! scarce go to Heaven, Yet I can drink with them six nights in seven. TONSON. What if from Van's dear arms I should retire, And once more warm my bunnians at your fire; If I to Bow-street should invite you home, And set a bed up in my dining room, Tell me, dear Mr. Congreve, would you come? CONGREVE. Though the gay sailor, and the gentle knight, Where ten times more my joy and heart's delight, Though civil persons they, you ruder were, And had more humours than a dancing-bear; Yet for your sake I'd bid them both adieu, And live and die, dear Bob, with only you. HORACE BOOK III. ODE XXI. HAIL, gentle cask, whose venerable head With hoary down and ancient dust o'er-spread, Proclaims, that since the vine first brought thee Old age has added to thy worth. [forth Whether the sprightly juice thou dost contain, Thy votaries will to wit and love, Or senseless noise and lewdness move, Or sleep, the cure of these and every other pain. 1 The dialect of the elder Tonson. Sir Richard Temple, afterwards lord Cobham. 3 Jacob's term for his corns. Since to some day propitious and great, To my Corvinus' health thou shalt go round, And longer age would bring decay) [drown'd. Till every anxious thought in the rich stream be To thee my friend his roughness shall submit, And Socrates himself a while forget. Thus when old Cato would sometimes unbend The rugged stiffness of his mind, Stern and severe, the stoic quafi`d his bowl, His frozen virtue felt the charm, And soon grew pleas'd, and soon grew warm, And bless'd the sprightly power that cheer'd his gloomy soul. [free. With kind constraint ill-nature thou dost bend, And to his fellow-fops toasts the abandon'd maid. [turn; His flying cares give way to haste, The labouring hind, who with hard toil and pains, And how by impious arms they reign, Fair queen of love, and thou great god of wine, HORACE BOOK IV. ODE I. TO VENUS. ONCE more the queen of love invades my breast The merit to protect me to the grave. Bless'd in the gentle sway of an indulgent queer. Stiff and unequal to the labour now, With pain my neck beneath thy yoke I bow. To youthful breasts, to mirth and gaiety? Noble, and graceful, witty, gay, and young, Far shall he stretch the bounds of thy command; In gold and marble shall thy statues stand. Beneath the sacred shade of Odel's wood, [cays. Say what thou dost in thy retirement find, Such an estate as no extremes may know, Mix'd with their softer flutes, shall tell their Tumultuous strife, and miserable fears, flames by turns. As love and beauty with the light are born, And twice the Salian measures round thy altar tread. [night. But, goddess, do thou stay, and bless alone the That us'd to shade and crown my brow, [shed. O'er woods, and plains, and seas, the scornful HORACE, BOOK I. EPISTLE IV. IMITATED. THORNHILL, whom doubly to my heart commend, Who fought the duel with sir Cholmondley THE UNION. The warlike thistle's arms, a sure defence to thee." ON CONTENTMENT. DONE FROM THE LATIN OF J. GERHARD'. Have wisely from those envy'd heights declin'd, ON THE LAST JUDGMENT, AND THE HAPPINESS OF THE SAINTS IN HEAVEN. In that bless'd day, from every part, the just, The reverend sires with pleasure shall we greet, Ah, Colin, thy hopes are in vain, Thy pipe and thy laurel resign; Thy false-one inclines to a swain, Whose music is sweeter than thine. "And you, my companions so dear, Who sorrow to see me betray'd, Whatever I suffer, forbear, Forbear to accuse the false maid. Though through the wide world I should range, 'Tis in vain from my fortune to fly; 'Twas hers to be false and to change, 'Tis mine to be constant and die. "If while my hard fate I sustain, In her breast any pity is found, Let her come with the nymphs of the plain, And see me laid low in the ground. The last humble boon that I crave, Is to shade me with cypress and yew; And when she looks down on my grave, Let her own that her shepherd was true. "Then to her new love let her go, And deck her in golden array, Be finest at every fine show, And frolic it all the long day; While Colin, forgotten and gone, No more shall be talk'd of, or seen, Unless when beneath the pale Moon, His ghost shall glide over the green." COLIN'S COMPLAINT. A SONG, TO THE TUNE OF "GRIM KING OF THE GHOSTS." DESPAIRING beside a clear stream, A shepherd forsaken was laid; And while a false nymph was his theme, To his sighs with a sigh did reply; Thus sadly complaining, he cry'd, "How foolish was I to believe She could doat on so lowly a clown, So kind and so constant would prove; "What though I have skill to complain, REPLY, BY ANOTHER HAND. YE winds, to whom Colin complains, In ditties so sad and so sweet, Believe me, the shepherd but feigns He's wretched to show he has wit. No charmer like Colin can move, And this is some pretty new art; Ah! Colin's a juggler in love, And likes to play tricks with my heart, When he will, he can sigh and look pale, Ah! Colin has every pace: The willow my rover prefers To the breast, where he once beg'd to lie, And the stream, that he swells with his tears, Are rivals belov'd more than 1. His head my fond bosom would bear, And my heart would soon beat him to rest; Let the swain that is slighted despair, But Colin is only in jest ; No death the deceiver designs, Let the maid that is ruin'd despair; For Colin but dies in his lines, And gives himself that modish air. Can shepherds, bred far from the court, Beware of so fatal a game; A face that is fairer than mine. SONG ON A FINE WOMAN WHO HAD A DULL HUSBAND. Ab! then I will break my lov'd crook, To thee I'll bequeath all my sheep, And die in the much-favour'd brook, Where Colin does now sit and weep: Then mourn the sad fate that you gave, In sonnets so smooth and divine; Perhaps, I may rise from my grave, To hear such soft music as thine. Of the violet, daisy, and rose, The heart's-ease, the lily, and pink, Did thy fingers a garland compose, And crown'd by the rivulet's brink; How oft, my dear swain, did I swear, How much my fond love did admire Thy verses thy shape, and thy air, Though deck'd in thy rural attire! Your sheep-hook you rul'd with such art, That all your small subjects obey'd; And still you reign'd king of this heart, Whose passion you falsely upbraid; How often, my swain, have I said, Thy arms are a palace to me, Oh! what are the sparks of the town, I freely would leave beds of down, For thy breast on a bed of new hay: Then, Colin, return once again, Again make me happy in love, Let me find thee a faithful true swain, And as constant a nymph I will prove. EPIGRAM ON A LADY WHO SHED HER WATER AT SEEING THE TRAGEDY OF CATO; OCCASIONED BY AN EPIGRAM ON A LADY WHO WEPT AT IT. MECENAS. 475 VERSES OCCASIONED BY THE HONOURS CONFER- PHOEBUS and Cæsar once conspir'd to grace The god of wit, who taught him first to sing, And tune high numbers to the vocal string, With jealous eyes beheld the bounteous king. ON THE PRINCE OF WALES's, then regENT, APPEARING AT THE FIRE IN SPRING-GARDEN, 1726. THY guardian, blest Britannia, scorns to sleep, WHILST maudlin Whigs deplore their Cato's fate, Tyrants on blazing towns may smile with joy; He knows, to save, is greater than destroy. SONG ON À FINE WOMAN WHO HAD A DULL HUSBAND. WHEN on fair Celia's eyes I gaze, And bless their light divine; I stand confounded with amaze, On one vile clod of earth she seems Which kindles not at those bright beams, Lost and bewilder'd with the thought, Thus some, who have the stars survey'd, To think those glorious lamps were made To light Tom-fool to bed. OCCASIONED BY HIS FIRST VISIT TO LADY WARWICK, HEARING that Chloe's bower crown'd I went, and found 'twas as they said, That every thing look'd fresh and fair; Her herds in flowery pastures stray'd, Delightful was the green-wood shade, And gently breath'd the balmy air. Uneasy grown within my breast, Which pain'd me sore and broke my rest : "Some noxious vapour sure," I said, "From this unwholesome soil must rise; Some secret venom is convey'd Or from this field, or from that shade, Soon as the skilful Leach beheld The change that in my health was grown: "Blame not," he cry'd," nor wood nor field; Diseases which such symptoms yield, Proceed from Chloe's eyes alone. "Alike she kills in every air, The coldest breast her beauties warm; The place had never done you harm." STANZAS TO LADY WARWICK. ON MR. ADDISON'S GOING TO IRELAND. YE gods and Nereid nymphs who rule the sea! Who chain loud storms, and still the raging main! With care the gentle Lycidas convey, And bring the faithful lover safe again. When Albion's shore with cheerless heart he left, Ah, fairest maid! whom, as I well divine, The righteous gods his just reward ordain; For his return thy pious wishes join, That thou at length may'st pay him for his pain. And since his love does thine alone pursue, And shun thy sex's inclination, change. When artful wit shall speak thy beauty's praise; When harmony shall thy soft soul surprise, Sooth all thy senses, and thy passions raise: Amidst whatever various joys appear, Yet breathe one sigh, for one sad minute mourn; Nor let thy heart know one delight sincere, Till thy own truest Lycidas return. THE VISIT. Wir and beauty t' other day, THE CONTENTED SHEPHERD. TO MRS. AD As on a summer's day In the greenwood shade I lay, And as she passed by "And dost thou nothing heed, What Pan our god has decreed; What a prize to day Shall be given away, "There's not a single swain Of all this fruitful plain, But with hopes and fears "Shall another maiden shine In brighter array than thine? Up, up, dull swain, Tune thy pipe once again, And make the garland mine." "Alas! my love," he cry'd, "What avails this courtly pride? Since thy dear desert Is written in my heart What is all the world beside? "To me thou art more gay, Than the nymphs of our green, "What though my fortune frown, And deny thee a silken gown; 1 Afterwards the celebrated lady Harvey 2 Afterwards his wife. |