Tu cave Læthæo contingas ora liquore,
Et citò venturi fis memor, oro, viri
Te fequar obfcurum per iter : dux ibit eunti
Fidus amor, tenebras lampade difcutiens.
HEE, Pæta, Death's relentless hand
Cut off in earliest bloom:
Oh! had the fates for me ordain'd
To share an equal doom;
With joy this bufy world I'd leave,
This hated light refign,
To lay me in the peaceful grave
And be for ever thine :
Do thou, if Lethe court thy lip,
To tafte its ftream forbear:
Still in thy foul his image keep,
Who haftes to meet thee there.
Safe o'er the dark and dreary shore
In queft of thee I'll roam,
Love with his lamp fhall run before,
And break the circling gloom.
VERSES fent to Dean SWIFT on his Birth-day, with PINE'S Horace finely
[HORACE fpeaking.]
YOU'VE read, Sir, in poetic ftrain,
How Varus and the Mantuan fwain,
Have on my birth-day been invited
(But I was forc'd in verse to write it,)
Upon a plain repaft to dine,
And tafte my old Campanian wine;
But I, who all punctilio's hate,
Tho' long familiar with the great,
Nor glory in my reputation,
Am come without an invitation.
And tho' I'm us'd to right Falernian,
I'll deign for once to taste Iernian;
But fearing that you might difpute
(Had I put on a common fuit,)
My breeding and my politeffe,
I vifit in a birth-day drefs;
My coat of purest Turkey-red,
With gold embroid`ry richly spread ;
To which, I've fure as good pretenfions,
As Irish lords who ftarve on penfions.
What tho' proud minifters of state
Did at your antichamber wait ;
What tho' your Oxfords, and your St. Johns,
Have at your Levee paid attendance;
And Peterborough and great Ormond,
With many chiefs who now are dormant,
Have laid aside the general's staff
And public cares, with you to laugh;
Yet I fome friends as good can name,
Nor lefs the darling fons of fame;
For fure my Pollio and Mecenas
Were as good statesmen, Mr. Dean, as
Either your Bolingbroke or Harley,
Tho' they made Lewis beg a parley :
And as for Mordaunt your lov'd hero,
I'll match him with my Drufus Nero.
You'll boaft perhaps your fav'rite Pope,
But Virgil is as good I hope.
I own indeed I can't get any
To equal Helfham and Delany;
Since, Athens brought forth Socrates,
A Grecian Ifle Hippocrates;
Since, Tully liv'd before my time,
And Galen blefs'd another clime.
You'll plead perhaps to my request
To be admitted as a guest,
Your hearing's bad—but why such fears?
I speak to eyes, and not to ears;
And for that reason, wisely took
The form you fee me in, a book.
Attack'd, by flow devouring moths,
By rage
of barb'rous Huns and Goths;
By Bentley's notes, my deadlieft foes,
By Creeche's rhimes and Dunster's profe;
my boasted wit and fire
In their rude hands almost expire:
Yet ftill they but in vain affail'd,
For had their violence prevail'd,
And in a blast destroy'd my fame,
They wou'd have partly miss'd their aim ;
Since all my fpirit in thy page
Defies the Vandals of this age.
VERSES written in a GARDEN.
EE how that pair of billing doves
murmurs own their loves;
And heedless of cenforious eyes,
Pursue their unpolluted joys:
No fears of future want moleft
The downy quiet of their neft;
No int'reft join'd the happy pair,
Securely bleft in Nature's care,
While her dear dictates they pursue :
For conftancy is nature too.
Can all the doctrine of our schools,
Our maxims, our religious rules,
Can learning to our lives enfure
Virtue fo bright, or blifs fo pure?
The great Creator's happy ends,
Virtue and pleasure ever blends :
In vain the church and court have try'd
Th' united effence to divide ;
Alike they find their wild mistake,
The pedant prieft, and giddy rake.
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