"Here from the Gallinarian wood they come,
"As if they had prepar'd a feaft at Rome;
"Irons took up for chains in every place,

"That we may fear, left country tools be scarce.
Happy the days that our forefathers spent,
"When Rome with one small prison was content."
Had I but time, I would more reafons fhow,
But time is wanting, for the fun grows low;
So friend, farewel, and when you're weary grown,
Of all the toils and vices of the town;
When willing to divert your labouring mind
At your Aquinus, prithee, be fo kind,
As then to fend for me, I'll hasten down,
And help you lash the vices of the town.

HORACE,

HORACE, Book II. ODE XIV.

Ad POSTUMU M.

Eheu! fugaces, Poftume, Postume, &c.*

ALAS, my friend! what shall we say?

Time fteals infenfibly away,

Nor piety, nor gold, can bribe a moment's stay; Wrinkled old age is very near,

And Death will foon in all its ghaftly forms appear:
Nor can you ere procure delay,

No, tho' you burn whole hecatombs a day,
And folemn vows to grifly Pluto pay;
Th' inexorable king, that ftops his ears
At mortals dying prayers,

And ftands unmov'd by fad complaining tears;
He who Geryon's treble bulk contains,

And Tityus' carcafe too, that lies

Vaftly extended on his dusky plains,

Surrounded by the ftream that furly Charon plies; The stream, o'er which we all must go,

Kings and humble peasants too.

In vain we are from bloody battles free,

And all the dangers of the fea,

In vain autumnal blafts we fear,
The dull and dangerous season of the year:
For 't wont be long ere we must go

Down to the melancholy fhades below,
And black Cocytus muddy waters view,
With all the infernal crew;

There shall we fee the Danaids weary toil,
And Sifyphus himself bemoan,
Damn'd to th' eternal rolling stone,

Which urg'd and labour'd up the hill, does quick récoil.

Your house, and land, and loving wife,
The dear and fading joys of life,

Muft all be left behind:

Your goodly ranks of trees must be refign'd,
None but the mournful cypress fhall you have,
To follow its dead mafter to the

grave.

Then shall your spendthrift heir

Waste what you've got by pains and care, The jolly spark will fet the barrels free, From iron clamps, from lock and key, And drink the good old wine,

Drink till the drunken pavement shine, With as rich juice as ever facred priest Drunk at his holy father's confecrated feaft.

HORACE,

HORACE, BOOK I. ODE XI.

To LEUCO NO E.

Tu ne quæfieris (fcire nefas) quem mihi, quem tibi, &c.

GIVE o'er, Leuconoë, give o’er,

And fearch the book of fate no more;
'Tis not, alas, for you to know,
How fate has order'd all below;
How, when, or where, the gods defign
To end thy merry life or mine:
Study no ftar-clerk's calculations,
Lilly, nor none of his relations.
But learn to bear without regret
The common lot of human state;
Whether Jove gives another year,
Or whether not, you needn't care;
Come pierce the cask, and draw the wine,
The sprightly liquor of the vine,
Quick fill a bumper, drink it off,
The time we have is fhort enough;
Hang all your hopes of long delay,
The wheels of time admit no stay,
But ever haftily roll on,

Even while we speak an age is gone';
P 3

Enjoy

Enjoy the present smiling hour,

Truft not the next, for that's in fortune's pow'r.

HORACE, Book II. ODE XI.

To 2 HIRPINUS.

Quid bellicofus Cantaber, & Scythes, &c.

BE not too careful, honest friend, to know,
What the plotting Scythians do;

Let 'em fall by the ears, let 'em fcuffle and jar,
I'd ne'er be disturb'd with their quarrelsome war.
I'd ne'er be afraid, my good fellow, for why?
You've enough to live merry withal till you die.

The thread of life is foft and thinly wrought;
And wears away, and flies as fwift as thought:
Your youthful vigour, fmooth and gay,
Flies fwift and vanishes away,

And comely beauty will not, cannot stay.

Deform'd old age comes next, and frights
Lafcivious love away,

Difturb'd with weary, watchful nights,

And rack'd with pains by day.

The flow'rs are fragrant, but they fade in time,

}

Those short-liv'd things are quickly past their prime.

The