Who careless, now, of int'reft, fame, or fate,
Perhaps forgets that OXFORD e'er was great;
Or deeming meanest what we greatest call,
Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall.

And fure if ought below the feats divine
Can touch immortals, 'tis a foul like thine:
A foul fupreme, in each hard instance try'd,
Above all pain, all anger, and all pride,
The rage of power, the blast of public breath,
The luft of lucre, and the dread of death.

In vain to defarts thy retreat is made;
The mufe attends thee to the filent shade:
'Tis her's, the brave man's latest steps to trace,
Re-judge his acts, and dignify difgrace.
When int'reft calls off all her fneaking train,
When all th' oblig'd defert, and all the vain;
She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell,
When the last ling'ring friend has bid farewel.
Ev'n now she shades thy ev'ning walk with bays,
(No hireling fhe, no prostitute to praise)
Ev'n now, obfervant of the parting ray,
Eyes the calm fun-fet of thy various day,
Thro' fortune's cloud one truly great can fee,
Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he.

A. POPE.

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1

A Fairy Tale, in the ancient English Style.

PAGE I
11, 12, 13

15, 17

The Vigil of Venus, written in the time of Julius Caefar,

and by fome ascribed to Catullus.

Battle of the Frogs and Mice.

To Mr. Pope.

Part of the first Canto of the Rape of the Lock, with a

Tranflation in Leonine Verfe, after the manner of the

antient Monks.

Health; an Eclogue.

20

29

43

62

66

69

The Life of Zoilus. To which is prefixed a Preface

WHAT antient times (thofe times we fancy wife)

WHAT

Have left on long record of Woman's rife, What morals teach it, and what fables hide, What author wrote it, how that author dy'd, All these I fing. In Greece they fram'd the tale (In Greece, 'twas thought a Woman might be frail. Ye modern beauties! where the poet drew His fofteft pencil, think he dreamt of you; And warn'd by him, ye wanton pens, beware How Heav'n's concern'd to vindicate the fair. The cafe was Hefiod's; he the fable writ; Some think with meaning, fome with idle wit: Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please; I wave the contest, and commence the lays.

In days of yore, (no matter where or when, 'Twas ere the low creation fwarm'd with men) That one Prometheus, fprung of heav'nly birth, (Our author's fong can witness) liv'd on earth.

A

He carv'd the turf to mold a manly frame,
And ftole from Jove his animating flame.
The fly contrivance o'er Olympus ran,
When thus the monarch of the stars began.

Oh vers'd in arts! whofe daring thoughts afpire To kindle clay with never dying fire!

Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine;

The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine:
And fuch a gift, a vengeance fo defign'd,

As fuits the counsel of a God to find;
A pleafing bofom cheat, a fpecious ill,
Which felt thy curse, yet covet still to feel.

He faid, and Vulcan strait the fire commands,
To temper mortar with etherial hands;
In fuch a fhape to mold a rising fair,
As virgin-goddeffes are proud to wear;
To make her eyes with diamond-water shine,
And form her organs for a voice divine.
'Twas thus the fire ordain'd; the pow'r obey'd;
And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made;
The faireft, fofteft, fweetest frame beneath,
Now made to feem, now more than seem, to breath.

As Vulcan ends, the chearful Queen of Charms Clafp'd the new panting creature in her arms; From that embrace a fine complexion spread, Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red. Then in a kifs fhe breath'd her various arts, Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts;