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The Fourth Epistle of the First Book of HORACE's



AY, St. John, who alone perufe

With candid eye, the mimick muse,
What schemes of politics, or laws,
In Gallic lands the patriot draws!
Is then a greater work in hand,
Then all the tomes of Haine's band?
"Or fhoots 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' felf is fcarce a name.



"Albi, noftrorum fermonum candide judex,
Quid nunc te dicam facere in regione Pedana ?
Scribere, quod Caffi Parmenfis opuscula vincat ?”
VER. 10. Does St. John Greenwich, &c.]

"An tacitam filvas inter reptare falubres?"



The Fourth Epifile] This fatire on Lord Bolingbroke, and the praise bestowed on him in a letter to Mr. Richardson, where Mr. Pope fays,

"Their fons fhall blush their fathers were his foes;" being so contradictory, probably occafioned the former to be fuppreffed.

VER. 1. Say, &c.]

To you (th' all-envy'd gift of Heav'n)
Th' indulgent gods, unafk'd, have giv'n
A form complete in ev'ry part,
And, to enjoy that gift, the art.

What could a tender mother's care
Wish better, to her fav'rite heir,
Than wit, and fame, and lucky hours,
A stock of health, and golden fhow'rs,
And graceful fluency of speech,
Precepts before unknown to teach?

Amidst thy various ebbs of fear;
And gleaming hope, and black despair,
Yet let thy friend this truth impart,
A truth I tell with bleeding heart,
(In justice for your labours paft)
That ev'ry day fhall be your last;

VER. 13. To you, &c.]


"Di tibi formam,
Di tibi divitias dederant, artemque fruendi.”

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VER. 17. What could, &c.]


Quid voveat dulci nutricula majus alumno,
Quam fapere, et fari poffet quæ fentiat, et cui
Gratia, fama, valetudo contingat abunde,
non deficiente crumena?"

VER. 23. Amidft, &c.]

"Inter fpem, curamque, timores inter et iras." VER. 28. That every day, &c.] "Omnem crede diem tibi diluxiffe fupremum.

Me pinguem, et nitidum bene curata cute vises,
Cum ridere voles Epicuri de grege porcum."

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That ev'ry hour

you life renew

Is to your injur❜d country due.

In fpight of fears, of mercy spight,
My genius ftill muft rail, and write.
Haste to thy Twick'nham's fafe 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.



A Fragment, attributed by fome to Mr. POPE, and by others to Mr. CONGREVE. It has however been feen in the Hand-writing of the former.


HAT are the falling rills, the pendant shades,
The morning bow'rs, the evening colonnades,
But foft receffes for th' uneafy mind

To figh unheard in, to the paffing wind!
So the struck deer, in fome fequefter'd part,
Lies down to die (the arrow in his heart)
There hid in fhades, and wafting day by day,
Inly he bleeds, and pants his foul away.


Verfes left by Mr. POPE, on his lying in the fame Bed which WILMOT, the celebrated Earl of ROCHESTER, Лlept in, at Adderbury, then belonging to the Duke of ARGYLE, July 9th, 1739.

ITH no poetic ardour fir'd

I press the bed where Wilmot lay;
That here he lov'd, or here expir'd,
Begets no numbers grave, or gay.

But in thy roof, Argyle, are bred

Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie Stretch'd out in honour's nobler bed, Beneath a nobler roof-the sky.

Such flames as high in patriots burn,
Yet stoop to bless a child or wife;
And fuch as wicked kings may mourn,
When freedom is more dear than life.

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