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Since to fome day propitious and great,
Juftly at first thou was design’d by fate;
This day, the happiest of thy many years,
With thee I will forget my cares : To my Corvinus' health thou shalt
go round, (Since thou art ripen'd for to-day,
And longer age would bring decay)
Tillevery anxious thought in the rich stream be drown'd.
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 quaff’d his bowl,
His frozen virtue felt the charm,
And foon grew pleas d, and soon grew warm, And bless’d the sprightly power that chear'd his glooiny soul.
IV. With kind constraint ill-nature thou dost bend, And mould the snarling cynic to a friend. The fage reserv'd, and fam’d for gravity, Finds all he knows fumm'd up in thee, And by thy power unlock’d, grows easy, gay, and free. The swain, who did some credulous nymph persuade
To grant him all, inspir’d by thee,
Devotes her to his vanity,
And to his fellow-fops toasts the abandon'd maid.
The wretch who, press’d beneath a load of caresyo
And labouring with continual woes, despairs,
If thy kind warmth does his chill'd sense invade,
From earth he rears his drooping head,
R-vivid by thee, he ceases now to mourn;
His flying cares give way to haste,
And to the god resign his breast, Where hopes of better days, and better things return.
VI. The labouring hind, who with hard toil and pains, Amidst his wants, a wretched life maintains s; If thy rich juice his homely supper crown,.. Hot with thy fires, and bolder grown, Of kings, and of their arbitrary power,
And how by impious arms they reign,
Fiercely he talks with rude disdain,
And vows to be a llave, to be a wretch, no more.
Fair Queen of Love, and thou great God of Wine,
Hear every grace, and all ye powers divine,
All that to mirth and friendship do incline,
Crown this auspicious Cask, and happy night,
With all things that can give delight;
Be every care and anxious thought away ;
Ye tapers still be bright and clear, Rival the moon, and each pale star, our beams Thall yield to none, but his who brings
TO V E N U S.
NCE more the Queen of Love invades
Late, with long ease and peaceful pleasures bleit;
Spare, spare the wretch, that still has been thy flave, ?
And let my former service have
The merit to protect me to the grave.
Much am I chang’d from what I once have been,
When under Cynera the good and fair,
With joy I did thy fetters wear,
Bless'd in the gentle sway of an indulgent queen.
Stiff and unequal to the labour now,
With pain iny neck beneath thy yoke I bow.
Why dost thou urge me still to bear ? Oh! why
Dost thou not much rather fly
To youthful breasts, to mirth and gaiety ?
Go, bid thy swans their glossy wings expand,
And swiftly through the yielding air
To Damon thee their goddess bear,
Worthy to be thy slave, and fit for thy command.
Noble, and graceful, witty, gay, and young,
Joy in his heart, love on his charmirg tongue.
Skill'd in a thousand soft prevailing arts,
With wondrous force the youth imparts
Thy power to unexperienc'd virgins hearts.
Far shall he stretch the bounds of thy command;
And if thou shalt his wishes bless,
Beyond his rivals with success,
In gold and marble shall thy statues stand.
Beneath the sacred shade of Odel's wood,
Or on the banks of Oufe’s gentle flood,
With odorous beams a temple he shall raise,
For ever sacred to thy praise,
Till the fair stream, and wood, and love itself decays,
There while rich incense on thy altar burns,
Thy votaries, the nymphs and swains,
In melting soft harmonious strains, Mix'd with the softer flutes, shall tell their frames by
As love and beauty with the light are born,
So with the day thy honours shall return;
Some lovely youth, pair'd with a blushing maid,
A troop of either sex shall lead,
And twice the Salian measures round thy altar tread.
Thus with an equal empire o'er the light,
The Queen of Love, and God of Wit,
Together rise, together fit:
But, goddess, do thou stay, and bless alone the night.
There may'st thou reign, while I forget to love ;
No more false beauty shall my passion move;
my fond believing heart be led,
By mutual vows and oaths betray'd,
To hope for truth from the protesting maid.
With love the sprightly joys of wine are fled;
The roses too shall wither now,
That us'd to Made and crown my brow, And round my chearful tennples fragrant odours shed. But tell me, Cynthia, say, bewitching fair, What mean these fighs ? why steals this falling tear ?
And when my ftruggling thoughts for paflage strove,
Why did my tongue refuse to move ;
Tell me can this be any thing but love?
Still with the night my dreams my griefs renew,
Still the is present to my eyes,
And still in vain I, as she flies, O’er woods, and plains, and seas, the scornful maid
HORACE, BOOK I. EPISTLE IV. IMITATED.
RICHARD THORNHILL, Ese*.
"HORNHILL, whom doubly to my heart commend
The critic's art, and candour of a friend,
Say what thou dost in thy retirement find,
Worthy the labours of thy active mind;
Whether the tragic Muse inspires thy thought,
To emulate what moving Otway wrote;
Or whether to the covert of some grove
Thou and thy thoughts do from the world remove,
Where to thyself thou all those rules doft show,
That good men ought to practise, or wise know.
For sure thy mass of men is no dull clay,
But well-inform’d with the celestial ray.
The bounteous gods, to thee compleatly kind,
In a fair frame inclos’d thy fairer mind;
* Who fought the duel with Sir Cholmondley Deering.