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Lib. IV. Ode 3. HORACE.

(1)

UEM tu, Melpomene, femel Nafcentem placido lumine videris, Illum non labor iftmius

(3) Clarabit pugilem, non equus impiger

Curru ducet Achaico

(2) Victorem, neque res bellica deliis
Ornatum foliis ducem
Oftendet capitolio.

(4) Sed quæ Tibur aquæ fertile perfluunt,
Et fpiffe nemorum coma,
Fingent aolio carmine nobilem.
Roma principis urbium
Dignatur foboles inter amabiles
(5) Vatum penere me choros,

Et jam dente minus mordeor invido.
O! teftudinis aureæ

(6) Dulcem que ftrepitum, Pieri, temperas,
(7) O! mutis quoque pifcibus
Donatura cygni, fi libeat, fonum!
(7) Totum hoc muneris tui eft,
Quod monftror digito prætereuntium,
Romana fidicen Lyra:

(7) Quod fpire et placeo, fi placeo, otuum eft.

IMITATE D.

(1) THE youth, whofe birth the fifters twain
Who o'er the fock and buskin reign,
View with propitious eye;

Will at their altars always ferve,
Will never from their dictates swerve,
Their flave will live and die.

Bleft

Bleft in his lot for other things,
The pride of wealth, the pow'r of kings,
He offers up no pray'rs ;
(2) Heroes, unenvying can fee,
Not Pruffia's king defires to be,
Or any king---but theirs.

(3) The rapid fteed he'll ne'er beftride,
With lords for wagers proud to ride,
Newmarket plains adorning ;
At Arthur's he takes no delight,
To pass at dice the fleepless night,
And be undone by morning.

In fenates he feeks not to fit,

2

And hear, amaz'd, perfuafive Pitt
Govern the high debate;
In Westminster's long-founding hall
He ne'er expects a ferjeant's call,
Nor hopes to rival Pratt.
Though minifters can places give
To thofe who in their creed believe,
No fuch he puts his truft in;
Content, in tatters though he goes,
Content to want a pair of fhoes,

So he but wear the buskin.
Him, if his fire to mercer binds,
He gives the indentures, to the winds,
Difdaining to fell camblet;
(4) Away he hies to Drury-lane,
Calls his old father Royal Dane,

And thinks himself prince Hamlet.
(5) Where Garrick with judicious art
Charms ev'ry ear, wins ev'ry heart,
And ads like one infpir'd;
There the fond youth puts in his claim,
Afpires to reach his mighty fame,
And be, like him, admir'd.

Like him, whofe skill upon the stage
(6) Can make the dulleft fcenes engage,
And thousands come to hear 'em :
(6) He e'en to s could spirit give,
Nine tedious nights could make them live,
Without him who could bear 'em.

Fulf

Full many a youth and many a maid,
(7) Whofe name in play-houfe bills difplay'd,
Shine proudly through the town;
(7) Their tragic rage, their comic ease,
Derive from him; and if they please,
(2) They pleafe from him alone.

R. B.

BEAUTY nad FASHION. AREPARTEE.

Mille habet ornatus, mille decenter habet.

SAYS Beauty to Fafbion, as they fat at the toilette,
"If I give you a charm, you furely will spoil it;
When you take it in hand, there's fuch murth'ring and mangling,
'Tis fo metamorphos'd by your fiddling and fangling,
That I fcarce know my own, when I meet it again,
Such changelings you make, both of women and men.

To confirm what I fay, look at Phryne, or Phillis,
I'm fure that I give 'em good rofes and lillies :
Now what have you done?---Let the world be the judge:
Why you daub 'em all over with cold cream and rouge,
That, like Thibe in Ovid, one cannot come at 'em,
Unless thro' a mud-wall of paint and pomatum.

And as to your dress, one would think you iuite mad,
From the head to the heel it is all masquerade;
With your flounces and furbelows, facks, trollopees,
Now fweeping the ground, and now up to your knees,
Your pinking, and crimping, and chevaux de frize,
And all the fantaftical cuts of the mode,
You look like a bedlamite, ragged and proud!

Then of late you're fo fickle, that few people mind
For my part, I never can tell where to find you:
Now dreft in a cap, now naked in none,
Now loofe in a mob, now close in a Joan;
Without handkerchief now, and now buried in ruff,
Now plain as a Quaker, now all of a puff:
Now a fhape in neat stays, now a flattern in jumps,
Now high in French heels, now low in your pumps :
Now monstrous in hoop, now trapifh, and walking
With your petticoats clung to your heels, like a maulkin;
'Like the cock on the tower, that fhews you the weather,
You are hardly the fame for two days together."

Thus Beauty begun, and Mifs Fashion reply'd,
"Who does moft for the fex ?-Let it fairly be try'd,
And they that look round 'em will presently fee,
They're much lefs beholden to you than to me:
I grant it, indeed, mighty favours you boaft,
But how scanty your favours, how scarce is a toaft ?

you;

TIE.

A shape,

A fhape, a complexion, you confer now and then,
But to one that you give, you refuse it to ten ;
In one you fucceed, in another you fail,
Here your rofe is too red, there your lilly's too pale;
Or fome feature or other is always amifs:
And pray, let me know, when you finish'd a piece,
But what I was oblig❜d to correct, or touch over,
Or you never would have either husband or lover?
For I hope, my fair lady, you do not forget,
Though you find the thread, that 'tis I make the net;
And fay what you please, it must be allow'd,
That a woman is nothing, unless a-la-mode;
Neglected the lives, and no beauty avails,
For what is a fhip without rigging or fails?
Like the diamonds when rough, are the charms you
But mine is the fetting and polishing too.

bestow;

Your nymphs, with their fhapes, their complexions, and features,
What are they without me, but poor aukward creatures?
The route, the affembly, the playhouse will tell,
"Tis I form the beau, and I finish the belle :
"Tis by me that these beauties must all be supply'd,
Which Time has withdrawn, or which you have deny'd:
Impartial to all, did not I lend my aid,
Both Venus and Cupid might throw up their trade,
And even your ladyship die an old maid.”

}

The PUPPET SHOW.

From the pofthumous Volumes of the Writings of the late Dr. SWIFT, and his Friends, lately published.

VOL. V.

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Thus Dædalus, and Ovid too,

That man's a blockhead have confeft;
Powel and Stretch * the hint pursue,
Life is a farce, the world a jeft.

The fame great truth South-fea hath prov'd
On that fam'd theatre, the alley,
Where thousands by directors mov'd

Are now fad monuments of folly.
What Momus was of old to Jove,

The fame a barlequin is now ; The former was buffoon above,

The latter is a punch below. This fleeting scene is but aftage,

Where various images appear, In different parts of youth and age,

Alike the prince and peafant fhare. Some draw our eyes by being great,

Falfe pomp conceals mere wood within, And legiflators rang'd in ftate

Are oft but wisdom in machine.

A ftock may chance to wear a crown,
And timber as a lord take place;
A ftatue may put on a frown,

And cheat us with a thinking face.
Others are blindly led away,

And made to act for ends unknown, By the mere spring of wires they play,

And fpeak in language not their own. Too oft, alas! a fcolding wife

Ufurps a jolly fellow's throne; And many drink the cup of life,

Mix'd and imbitter'd by a Joan. In short, whatever men purfue

Of pleasure, folly, war, or love; This mimic race brings all to view,

Alike they drefs, they talk, they move. Go on, great Stretch, with artful hand,

Mortals to please and to deride; And when death breaks thy vital band,

Thou shalt put on a puppet's pride. Thou fhalt in puny wood be fhewn,

Thy image fhall preferve thy fame;
Ages to come thy worth fhall own,

Point at thy limbs, and tell thy name.
*Two puppet-show men.

Tell

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