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RIMA diete mihi, fumma dicende camena,

PRIMA dicke mihi, fumma dicende camena,

• Spectatum satis, et donatum jam rude, quaeriss

Maecenas, iterum antiquo me includere ludo.

Non eadem eft aetas, non mens. · Veianius, armis

Herculis ad partem fixis, latet abditus agro;

Ne populum extrema toties exoret arena.

* Eft mihi purgatam crebro qui personet aurem;

Solve * senescentem mature fanus equum, ne

Peccet ad extremum ridendus, et ilia ducat,


Ver. 3. Sabbath of my days?] i. e. The 49th year, the age of the Author.

Ver. 8. Hang their old Trophies o'er the Garden gates,] An occasional stroke of Satire on ill-placed ornaments. He has more openly ridiculed them in his Epiftle on Tafe.

E P I S T L E I.


T. John, whose love indulg'd my labours paft,

Matures my present, and shall bound my last ! Why will you break the Sabbath of my days? Now fick alike of Envy and of Praise. Public too long, ah let me hide my Age!

$ See Modeft Cibber now has left the Stage : Our Gen’rals now, retir'd to their Eftates, Hang their old Trophies o'er the Garden gates, In Life's cool Ev'ning satiate of Applause, Nor e fond of bleeding, ev’n in BRUNSWICK's cause.

f A Voice there is, that whispers in my ear, ('Tis Reason's voice, which sometimes one can hear) “ Friend Pope! be prudent, let your s Mufe take

breath, " And never gallop Pegasus to death;



“ Load some vain Church with old theatric state,

• Turn Arcs of Triumph to a garden gate. Ver. 10. et'n in Brunswick's cause.] In the former Editions it was, Britain's cause. But the terms are fynony.


Nunc itaque et hversus, et caetera ludicra pono:

Quid i verum atque decens, curo et rogo, et omnis in

hoc fum:

k Condo, et compono, quae mox depromere posfim.

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* Quo me cunque rapit tempestas, deferor bofpes.

Nunc agilis fio, et merfor a civilibus undis,

Virtutis verae cuftos, origidusque satelles :

Nunc in * Aristippi P furtim praecepta relabor,

Et mihi res, non me rebus, fubjungere conor.

9 Ut nox longa, quibus mentitur amica ; diesque

* Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et status, et res.



Ver. 16. You limp, like Blackmore on a Lord Mayor's horse. The fame of this heavy Poet, however problematical elsewhere, was universally received in the City of London. His versification is here exactly described : stiff,

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