3 Lucanus an Appulus, anceps, &c.] Horace here humorously imitates the Manner of Lucilius.

Taken in

any other Senfe, this will appear a flat and infipid Digrellion. SANADON.

Hic ftylus baud petet ultro

Quemquam animantem.]

The true Character of Horace's ironical Apology is to this Purpose: Nature has given all Creatures the • Means of Offence and Defence: The Wolf has Teeth, the Bull has Horns, and I have a Talent for Satire.' And at the fame Time that he vindicates his Claim to this his natural Weapon, Satire, he shows its moral Use ; it was to oppofe to the noxious Qualities which Nature had given Cervius for informing, Canidia for peifoning, and Turius for paffing Sentence. The Turn of this ludicrous Argumentation is fine and delicaté. WARBURTON.

5

Seu me tranquilla fenectus.] Horace was then about Forty-four.

6

mitis fapientia Lali.] Lælius was furna med the Wife, and is often mentioned by Cicero with Applrufe.

7 difcindi. With their Robes ungirt, or in Dibabile; but I think it is to be understood metapharically.

8 Cum magnis vixisse invita fatebitur ufque

Invidia.]

To have pleafed great Men, according to Horace, is a Praife; but not to have flattered them, and yet not have displeased them, is a greater. POPE.

9 Horace here alludes to the known Fable of the File and the Viper.

10 Efto, fi quis mala ; fed bona fi quis, &c.] He quibbles on the Word mala, wicked. The Law understands by it abusive, or defamatory; but he takes it for dull and fupil, without Art and Spirit.

The

The SAME SATIRE Imitated.

By Mr. POPE.

TO WILLIAM FORTESCUE, Ef;*

POET.

THERE are (I fearce can think it, but am told)
There are to whom mySatire feems too bold:
Scarce to wife Peter complaifant enough,
And fomething faid of Chartres much too rough.
The Lines are weak, another's pleas'd to fay,
Lord Fanny fpins a thousand such a Day.
Timorous by Nature, of the Rich in Awe,
I come to Counfel learned in the Law:

You'll give me, like a Friend both fage and free,
Advice; and (as you use) without a Fee.

I'd write no more.

FRIEND.

POET.

Not write! But then I think;
And for my Soul I cannot fleep a Wink.
I nod in Company, I wake at Night,
Fools rush into my Head, and fo I write.
FRIEND.

You could not do a worfe thing for your Life.
Why, if the Nights seem tedious, take a Wife :

* Afterwards Mafter of the Rolls.

Or

Or rather, truly, if your Point be Reft,
Lettuce and Cowflip Wine; Probatum eft.
But talk with Celfus, Celfus will advise

Hartshorn, or fomething that will clofe your Eyes. Or, if you needs muft write, write Cafar's Praife, You'll gain at least a Knighthood, or the Bays.

fierce,

POET.

What! like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough and [Verse, With Arms, and George, and Brunswick crowd the Rend with tremendous Sound your Ears afunder, With Gun, Drum, Trumpet, Blunderbufs, and Thunder?

Or nobly wild, with Budgell's Fire and Force,
Paint Angels trembling round his falling Horfe?
FRIEND.

Then all your Mufe's fofter Arts display,
Let Carolina smooth the tuneful Lay,
Lull with Amelia's liquid Name the Nine,
And fweetly flow through all the Royal Line.
POET.

Alas! few Verfes touch their nicer Ear;

They scarce can bear their Laureate twice a Year :
And justly Cæfar fcorns the Poet's Lays;
It is to History he trufts for Praise.

FRIEND.

Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it ftill,

Than ridicule all Taste, blafpheme Quadrille,

Abufe

Abuse the City's best good Friends in Metre, And laugh at Peers that put their Trust in Peter, Ev'n those you touch not, hate you.

РОЕТ.

What should ail them!

FRIEND.

A hundred smart in Timon and in Balaam :

The fewer still you name, you wound the more s Bond is but one, but Harpax is a Score.

РОЕТ.

Each Mortal has his Pleasure; none deny
Scarfdale his Bottle, Darty his Ham-pye:
Ridotta fips and dances, till the fee

The doubling Luftres dance as well as she:
F----- loves the Senate, Hockley-hole his Brother,
Like in all else as one Egg to another.
I love to pour out all myself, as plain
As downright Shippen, or as old Montagne :
In them, as certain to be lov'd as feen,
The Soul ftood forth, nor kept aThought within s
In me what Spots (for Spots I have) appear,
Will prove at least the Medium must be clear.
In this impartial Glass, my Muse intends
Fair to expose myself, my Foes, my Friends;
Publish the prefent Age; but where my Text
Is Vice too high, reserve it for the next :
My Foes fhall wish my Life a longer Date,
And every Friend the lefs lament my Fate.

My

My Head and Heart thus flowing thro' my Quill,
Verfe-man or Profe-man, term me which youwill,
Papist or Proteftant, or both between,
Like good Erafmus in an honest Mean,
In Moderation placing all my Glory,
While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory.
Satire's my Weapon, but I'm too difcreet
To run a muck, and tilt at all I meet;
I only wear it in a Land of Hectors,
Thieves, Supercargoes, Sharpers and Directors.
Save but our Army, and let Jove incrust

Swords, Pikes, and Guns with everlasting Rust!
Peace is my dear Delight -

101

not Fleury's more; But touch me, and no Minister fo fore. Whoe'er offends, at fome unlucky Time Slides into Verfe, and hitches in a Rhyme, Sacred to Ridicule his whole Life long, And the fad Burthen of fome merry Song.

Slander or Poifon dread from Delia's Rage, Hard Words or hanging, if your Judge be Page. Its proper Power to hurt each Creature feels; Bulls aim their Horns, and Affes lift their Heels; 'Tis a Bear's Talent not to kick, but hug; And no Man wonders he's not ftung by Pug. So drink with Walters, or with Chartres eat, They'll never poison you, they'll only cheat.

Then, learned Sir (to cut the Matter fhort) Whate'er my Fate, or well or ill at Court,

Whether