WHOEVER expects a Paraphrafe of Horace, or a faithful Copy of his genius, or manner of writing, in these IMITATIONS, will be much difappointed. Our Author ufes the Roman Pcet for little more than his canvas: And if the old defign or colouring chance to fuit his purpofe, it is well; if not, he employs his own, without fcruple or ceremony. Hence it is, he is fo frequently ferious where Horace is in jeft; and at ease where Horace is difturbed. In a word, he regulates his movements no further on his Original, than was neceffary for his Concurrence in promoting their common plan of Reformation of manners.

Had it been his purpose merely to paraphrafe an ancient Satirift, he had hardly made choice of Horace : with whom, as a Poct, he held little in common, befides a comprehenfive knowledge of life and manners, and a certain curious felicity of expreffion, which confifts in ufing the fimpleft language with dignity, and the most ornamented, with eafe. For the reft, his harmony and ftrength of numbers, his force and fplendor of colouring, his gravity and fublimity of fentiment, would have rather led him to another model. Nor was his temper lefs unlike that of Horace, than his talents. What Horace would only fmile at, Mr. Pope would treat with the grave feverity of Perfius: and what Mr. Pope would frike with the cauftic lightning of Juvenal, Horace would content himself in turning into ridicule.

If it be asked then, why he took any body at all to imitate, he has informed us in his Advertisement: To which we may add, that this fort of Imitations, which are of the nature of Parodies, adds reflected grace and fplendor on original wit. Befides, he deemed it more modeft to give the name of Imitations to his Satires, than, like Defpreaux, to give the name of Satires to Imitations.

BOOK

BOOK II. SATIRE I.

To Mr. FORTESCUE.

THERE are (I fearce can think it, but am told)

P. THE

a There are, to whom my Satire seems too bold :

Scarce to wife Peter complaifant enough,

And fomething faid of Chaitres much too rough.
The lines are weak, another's pleas'd to fay,
Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day.
Timorous by nature, of the Rich in awe,

I come to Council learned in the Law:
You'll give me, like a friend both sage and free,
Advice; and (as you use) without a Fee.

F. d I'd write no more.

5

ΤΟ

P. Not

HORATIUS.

TREBATIUS.

HORATIUS.

2

SUNT quibus in Satira videar nimis acer, et ultra Legem tendere opus; b fine nervis altera, quidquid Compofui, pars effe putat, fimilefque meorum Mille die verfus deduci poffe. Trebati,

Quid faciam? praefcribe.

C

H. Ne faciam, inquis,

Omnino verfus ?

T. Aio.

P. Not write? but then I think,

• And for my foul I cannot fleep a wink.

I nod in company, I wake at night,

Fools rush into my head, and so I write.

F. You could not do a worfe thing for your life. 15 Why, if the nights feem tedious-take a wife : f Or rather truly, if your point be rest, Lettuce and cowflip wine; "Probatum est." But talk with Celfus, Celfus will advise

20

Hartshorn, or fomething that fhail clofe your eyes. g Or, if you needs must write, write Cæfar's Praise, h You'll gain at least a Knighthood, or the Bays. P. What? like Siri Richard, rumbling, rough, and

fierce,

With Arms and George and Brunswick crowd the

verse,

Rend with tremendous found your ears afunder, 25 With Gun, Drum, Trumpet, Blunderbuss, and Thun

der?

Or

H. Peream male, fi non

Optimum erat: everum nequeo dormire.

T. fTer uncti

Tranfnanto Tiberim, fomno quibus eft opus alto;
Irriguumve mero fub noctem corpus habento.
8 Aut fi tantus amor fcribendi te rapit, aude
Cæfaris invicti res dicere, h multa laborum
Praemia laturus.

H. Cupidum, Pater optime, vires
Deficiunt: neque enim quivis horrentia pilis

Or nobly wild, with Budgell's fire and force,
Paint Angels trembling round his falling Horse?

F. Then all your Mufe's fofter art display,
Let Carolina fmooth the tuneful lay,

Lull with Amelia's liquid name the Nine,

30

And sweetly flow through all the Royal Line.
P. Alas! few verses 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 Praife.

F. m Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it still, Than ridicule all Tafte, blafpheme Quadrille, Abuse the City's best good men in metre,

And laugh at Peers that put their truft in Peter. n Ev'n thofe you touch not, hate you.

P. What should ail them?

F. A hundred fmart in Timon and in Balaam :

55

40

The

Agmina, nec fracta pereuntes cufpide Gallos,
Aut labentis equo defcribat vulnera Parthi.

T. Attamen et juftum poteras et fcribere fortem, Scipiadam ut fapiens Lucilius.

H. Haud mihi decro,

Cum res ipfa feret: nifi dextro tempore, Flacci
Verba per attentam non ibunt Cæfaris aurem :
Cui male fi palpere, recalcitrat undique tutus.
T. Quanto rectius hoc, quam trifti lædere versu
Pantolabum fcurram, Nomentanumve nepotem ?

Cum fibi quifque timet, quamquam eft intactus, et odit.

The fewer ftill you name, you wound the more;
Bond is but one, but Harpax is a score.

P. Each mortal has his pleasure: none deny

45

Scarfdale his Bottle, Darty his Ham-pye;

Ridotta fips and dances, till she fee

The doubling Luftres dance as fast as she;
PF- loves the Senate, Hockleyhole his brother,
Like in all elfe, 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 a thought within;
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 present age; but where my text
Is Vice too high, referve it for the next:
My foes fhall with my life a longer date,
And every friend the less lament my fate.

H. Quid faciam? faltat Milonius, ut femel icto
Acceffit fervor capiti, numerufque lucernis.

p Caftor gaudet equis; ovo prognatus eodem,
Pugnis. quot capitum vivunt, totidem ftudiorum
Millia. q me pedibus delectat claudere verba,
Lucili ritu, noftrûm melioris utroque.

Ille velut fidis arcana fodalibus olim

Credebat libris; neque, fi male gefferat, ufquam,

Decurrens alio, neque fi bene; quo fit, ut omnis

50

55

60

My