"It came from Bertrand's, not the skies; it you to write again.

"I gave

"But, Friend! take heed whom you attack; "You'll bring a House (I mean of peers), "Red, blue, and green, nay, white and black, "L—and all about your ears. "You'd write as smooth again on glass, "And run on ivory so glib, "As not to stick at fool or ass, "Nor stop at flattery or fib. "Athenian Queen! and sober charms! "I tell ye, fool! there's nothing in't : "'Tis Venus, Venus gives these arms; "In Dryden's Virgil see the print. "Come, if you'll be a quiet soul,

"That dares tell neither truth nor lies, "I'll list you in the harmless roll

"Of those that sing of these poor eyes.”

THE FOURTH EPISTLE OF

THE FIRST

BOOK OF HORACE'S EPISTLES*.

A Modern Imitation.

SAY + St. John, who alone peruse

With candid eye, the mimic Muse,

*This satire on Lord Bolingbroke, and the praise bestowed on him in a letter to Mr. Richardson, where Mr. Pope says,

The sons shall blush their fathers were his foes.'

being so contradictory, probably occasioned the former to be suppressed. S.

+ Ad ALBIUM TIBULLUM,

Albi, nostrorum sermonum candide judex,
POPE. VOL. III.

What schemes of politics, or laws,
In Gallic land the patriot draws!
Is then a greater work in hand,
Than all the tomes of Haines's band?
'Or shoots he folly as it flies?
'Or catches manners as they rise *.”
Or urg'd by unquench'd native heat,
+ Does St. John Greenwich sports repeat?
Where (emulous of Chartres fame)
Ev'n Chartres' self is scarce a name.
To you the all-envy'd gift of heav'n
Th' indulgent gods unask'd have given
A form complete in every part,
And, to enjoy the gift, the art.

What could a tender mother's care
Wish better to her favorite heir,
Than wit, and fame, and lucky hours,
A stock of health, and golden show'rs,
And graceful fluency of speech,
Precepts before unknown to teach.
Amidst thy various ebbs of fear,
And gleaming hope, and black despair;

Quid nunc te dicam facere in regione Pedana? Scribere, quod Cassi Parmensis opuscula vincat! The lines here quoted occur in the Essay on Man. +A'n tacitum silvas inter reptare salubres?

Di tibi formam

Di tibi divitias dederant, artemque fruendi.

Quid voveat dulci nutricula maju alumno, Quam sapere, et fari posset quæ sentiat, et cui Gratia, fama, valetudo contingat abunde,

-non deficiente crumena?

Inter spem, curamque, timores intere et iras.

4

Yet, let thy friend this truth impart,
A truth I tell with bleeding heart;
(In justice for your labors past)
That every day shall be your last,
* That every hour, your life renew,
Is to your injur❜d country due.
In spite of fears, of mercy, spite,
My genius still must rail, and write.
Haste to thy Twickenham's safe retreat,
And mingle with the grumbling great,
There, half devour'd by spleen, you'll find
The rhyming bubbler of mankind;
There (objects of our mutual hate)
We'll ridicule both church and state.

TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE +.

I.

IN beauty or wit,

No mortal as yet

To question your empire has dar'd;
But men of discerning

Have thought that in learning,

To yield to a lady was hard.

* Omnem crede diem tibi dilucisse supremum, Me pinguem, et nitidum bene curata cute vises, Cum ridere voles Epicuri di grege porcum.

†This panegyric on Lady M. W. Montague might have been suppressed by Mr. Pope, on account of her having satirized him in her verses to the imitator of Horace; which abuse he returned in the first satire of the second book of Horace.

From furious, Sappho scarce a milder fate, 'P-d by her love, or libell'd by her hate.

II.

Impertinent schools

With musty dull rules,

Have reading to females deny'd,
So papists refuse

The Bible to use,

Lest flocks should be wise as their guides.

1.1.

'Twas a woman at first

(Indeed she was curst)

In knowledge that tasted delight,
And sages agree

The laws should decree

To the first of possessors the right,

IV.

Then bravely, fair dame,

Resume the old claim,

Which to your whole sex does belong; And let men receive,

From a second bright Eve,

The knowledge of right, and of wrong.

V.

But if the first Eve

Hard doom did receive,

When only one apple had she,

What a punishment new,

Shall be found out for you,

Who tasting, have robb'd the whole tree,

PROLOGUE

TO SOPHONISBA,

By Pope and Mallet*.

WHEN Learning after the long Gothic night

Fair o'er the western world, resum'd its light
With wits arising, Sophonisba rose ;

The Tragic Muse, returning, wept her woes.
With her the Italian scene first learn'd to glow,
And the first tears for her were taught to flow,
Her charms the Gallic Muses next inspir'd,
Corneille himself saw, wonder'd, and was fir’d.

What foreign theatres with pride have shewn,
Britain by juster title, makes her own.
When Freedom is the cause, 'tis hers to fight,
And her's, when Freedom is the theme, to write.
For this a British author bids again

The heroine rise, to grace the British scene.
Here, as in life, she breathes her genuine flame:
She asks, what bosom has not felt the same?
Asks of the British youth-Is silence there?
She dares to ask it of the British fair.

To night, our home-spun author would be true,
At once, to nature, history, and you.
Well pleas'd to give our neighbours due applause,
He owns their learning, but disdains their laws.

I have been told by Savage, that of the Prologue to Sophonisba, the first part was written by Pope, who could not be persuaded to finish it; and that the concluding lines were written by Mallet. Dr. Johnson.