HORACE, ODE VIII. BOOK IV.

IMITATE D.

a

MUSE! were we rich in land, or stocks,
We'd fend Sir Fletcher a gold box;
Who lately, to the world's furprize,
Advis'd his Sovereign to be wife.
The zeal of cits fhou'd ne'er farpafs us,
We'd make him speaker of Parnaffus.
Or could I boaft the mimic eye
Ofb Townshend, or of Bunbury,
Whose art can catch, in comic guife,
"The manners living as they rife,"
And find it the fame eafy thing
To hit a Jollux or a king;
I'd hangings weave, in fancy's loom,
For Lady Norton's dreffing room.

But d

arts like thefe I don't pursue, Nor does Sir Fletcher heed virtù. Enough for me in these hard times,

When ev'ry thing is tax'd but rhymes,

To

Line 12. A Jollux.) A phrafe used by the bon ton for a fat parfon. See a fet of excellent Caricatures published by Bretherton, in New Bond-Street,

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Ver. 11. Guades carminibus.) The Imitator found himfelf obliged to deviate in this place a little further from his original, than perhaps the ftri& critic will tolerate. But as he was not quite so certain of Sir Fletcher's fondness for poetry, as Horace feems to have been about the tafte of Cenforinus, he thought it beft to exprefs himself with a modeft diffidence on that fubject.

f

To tag a few of these together:

Tho' I am quite uncertain, whether

My verfe will much rejoice the knight,
As great a store as I fet by't.

go

For verfe, (I'd have Sir Fletcher know it)
When written by a genuine poet,

Has more of meaning and intent,

h

Than modern acts of Parliament.

'Tis i fit and right, when heroes die,
The nation fhould a tomb supply;
Yet, not the votes of both the houses,
Without th' affiftance of the mufes,
Can give that permanence of fame
That heroes from their country claim.
And tell me pray, to our good King,
What fame our present broils can bring,
Ev'n

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fhould the Howes (which fome folks

doubt)

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What tho' Earl Temple got a name,

By making John the Painter peach
Himself, for Briftol's impious flame.

Will all the Jackals of Jack Ketch
Be proud to call the Peer their brother,
If Fame that bright tranfaction fmother?

A man, I know, may get a penfion
Without the mufe's intervention, ?
Yet what are penfions to the praise
Wrapt up in Caledonian lays ?

m

Say, Johnson! where had been " Fingal,
But for Macpherson's great affiftance ?
The chieftain had been nought at all,
A non-existing non-existence.

Firft plung'd, then pluck'd him from oblivion's

flood,

And bad him blufter at his ease,

Among the fruitful Hebrides.

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A