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EPISTOLA I.

RIMA dicte mihi, fumma dicende camena,

PRIM

b Spectatum fatis, et donatum jam rude, quaeris,

Maecenas, iterum antiquo me includere ludo.

C

Non eadem est aetas, non mens. © Veianius, armis

• Herculis ad poftem fixis, latet abditus agro;

Ne populum extrema toties exoret arena.

f Eft mihi purgatam crebro qui personet aurem ;

Solve fenefcentem mature fanus equum, ne

Peccet ad extremum ridendus, et ilia ducat,

NOTES.

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 occafional stroke of Satire on ill-placed ornaments. He has more openly ridiculed them in his Epifle on Tafte.

EPISTLE I.

ST

To L. BOLINGBROKE.

Ꭲ. . JOHN, whofe love indulg'd my labours past, 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.

b

Public too long, ah let me hide my Age!

See Modeft Cibber now has left the Stage:

d

Our Gen❜rals now, retir'd to their Eftates,

Hang their old Trophies o'er the Garden gates,
In Life's cool Ev'ning fatiate of Applause,

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II

Nore 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

"breath,

"And never gallop Pegafus to death;

NOTES.

Mufe take

"Load fome vain Church with old theatric ftate,
"Turn Arcs of Triumph to a garden gate.

VER. 10. ev'n in Brunswick's cause.] In the former Editions it was, Britain's caufe. But the terms are fynony

mous.

1

h

Nunc itaque et 1 verfus, et caetera ludicra pono:

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

k

hoc fum:

Condo, et compono, quae mox depromere poffim.

Ac ne forte roges, 1 quo me duce, quo Lare tuter:

Nullius addictus jurare in verba magiftri,

" Quo me cunque rapit tempeftas, deferor befpes.

n

Nunc agilis fio, et merfor " civilibus undis,

Virtutis verae cuftos, rigidufque fatelles:

*

Nunc in Ariftippi P furtim praecepta relabor,

Et mihi res, non me rebus, fubjungere conor.

4 Ut nox longa, quibus mentitur amica; diesque

* Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et ftatus, et res. P.

NOTES.

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

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