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390

So well in paint and stone they judg'd of merit :
But kings in wit may want discerning spirit. 385
The hero William, and the martyr Charles,
One knighted Blackmore, and one pension's Quarles ;
Which made old Ben and surly Dennis swear,
" No Lord's anointed, but a Russian bear.”

Not with such majesty, such bold relief,
The forms august, of king, or conq’ring chief,
E’er swell'd on marble ; as in verse have shin'd
(In polish'd verse) the manners and the mind.
Oh! could I mount on the Mæonian wing,
Your arms, your actions, your repose to sing ! 395
What seas you travers’d, and what fields you fought !
Your country's peace, how oft, how dearly bought !
How barb'rous

rage

subsided at your word, And nations wonder'd while they dropp'd the sword ! How, when

you

nodded, o'er the land and deep, 400 Peace stole her wing, and wrapp'd the world in sleep; Till earth's extremes your

mediation own, And Asia's tyrants tremble at your throne But verse, alas ! your Majesty disdains ; And I'm not us'd to panegyric strains :

405 The, zeal of fools offends at

any

time,
But most of all, the zeal of fools in rhyme.
Besides, a fate attends on all I write,
That when I aim at praise, they say I bite.
A vile encomium doubly ridicules :

410 There's nothing blackens like the ink of fools.

415

If true, a woful likeness; and if lies,
6 Praise undeserv'd is scandal in disguise :”
Well may he blush who gives it, or receives ;
And when I flatter, let my dirty leaves
(Like journals, odes, and such forgotten things
As Eusden, Philips, Settle, writ of kings)
Cloath spice, line trunks, or Autt'ring in a row,
Befringe the rails of Bedlam and Soho,

THE SECOND EPISTLE

OF THE

SECOND BOOK OF HORACE..

DEAR Col’nel, COBHAM's and your country's
You love a verse, take such as I can send. [Friend!
A Frenchman comes, presents you with his boy,
Bows and begins-

—“ This lad, Sir, is of Blois : Observe his shape how clean ! his locks how curld!.

My only son, I'd have him see the world : 6

His French is pure ; his voice too-you shall hear. “ Sir, he's your slave, for twenty pound a year. 6 Mere wax as yet, you fashion him with ease, “ Your barber, cook, upholst'rer, what you please : “ A perfect genius at an op'ra-songTo say too much, might do my

honour

wrong. • Take him with all his virtues, on my word ; 6 His whole ambition was to serve a lord ; “ But, Sir, to you, with what would I not part? 15 “ Tho' faith, I fear, 'twill break his mother's heart.

II.

66 Once

Ver. 1. Dear Col’nel,] Addressed to Colonel Cotterell of Rousham near Oxford, the descendant of Sir Charles Cotterell, who, at the desire of Charles the First, translated Davila into English.

VER. 4. “ This lad, Sir, is of Blois :) A town in Beauce, where the French tongue is spoken great purity;

66

and are you

“ Once (and but once) I caught him in a lie,
“ And then, unwhipp’d, he had the grace to cry:
“ The fault he has I fairly shall reveal,

(Could you o'erlook but that), it is, to steal.” 20

If, after this, you took the graceless lad, Could you complain, my friend, he prov'd so bad? Faith, in such case, if you should prosecute, I think Sir Godfrey should decide the suit ; Who sent the thief that stole the cash away, 25 And punish'd him that put it in his way.

Consider then, and judge me in this light; I told you when I went, I could not write ; You said the same ;

discontent With laws, to which you gave your own assent ? 30 Nay worse, to ask for verse at such a time! D'ye think me good for nothing but to rhyme ?

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, 35 He slept, poor dog! and lost it, to a doit. This put the man in such a desp’rate 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 praise, and some reward beside.

Next VER. 24. I think Sir Godfrey] Sir Godfrey Knefler.

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