No single character had e'er been shown, In every piece, a coxcomb that was new. But now our British theatre can boast Drolls of all kinds, a vast unthinking host! Fruitful of folly and of vice, it shows [beaux; Cuckolds, and cits, and bawds, and pimps, and Rough country knights are found of ev'ry shire, Of every fashion gentle fops appear; And punks of different characters we meet Our modern wits are forced to pick and cull, They search the Town, and beat about the Park, new, The other more refined, she comes from France; Rescue, like courteous knights, the nymph from danger, And kindly treat, like well-bred men, the stranger, EPILOGUE TO THE BRITISH ENCHANTERS. 1706. WHEN Orpheus tuned his lyre with pleasing woe, That this night's strains the same success may find, But howsoe'er, to please your wandering eyes, Bright objects disappear and brighter rise, There's none can make amends for lost delight, While from that circle we divert your sight. TRANSLATIONS. HORACE, BOOK III. ODE III. Augustus had a design to rebuild Troy, and make it the metropolis of the Roman empire: having closetted several Senators on the project, Horace is supposed to have written the following Ode on this occasion. THE man resolved, and steady to his trust, May the rude rabble's insolence despise, Their senseless clamours and tumultuous cries; The tyrant's fierceness he beguiles, And the stern brow and the harsh voice defies, And with superior greatness smiles. Not the rough whirlwind that deforms Adria's black gulf, and vexes it with storms, The stubborn virtue of his soul can move, Nor the red arm of angry Jove, That flings the thunder from the sky, And gives it rage to roar, and strength to fly. Should the whole frame of Nature round him In ruin and confusion hurl'd, [break, He, unconcern'd, would hear the mighty crack, And stand secure amidst a falling world. Such were the godlike arts that led Bright Pollux to the bless'd abodes; Such did for great Alcides plead, And gain'd a place among the gods, Where now Augustus, mix'd with heroes, lies, And to his lips the nectar bowl applies; His ruddy lips the purple tincture show, And with immortal stains divinely glow. By arts like these did young Lyæus rise, His tigers drew him to the skies; Wild from the desert, and unbroke, In vain they foam'd, in vain they stared, In vain their eyes with fury glared; [yoke. He tamed them to the lash, and bent them to the Such were the paths that Rome's great founder When in a whirlwind snatch'd on high He shook off dull mortality, And lost the monarch in the god. [trod Bright Juno then her awful silence broke, Lay heavy on her head, and sunk her to the dust, To my resentment, and Minerva's rage, The guilty king and the whole people fell. And now the long-protracted wars are o'er, The soft adulterer shines no more; No more does Hector's force the Trojans shield, That drove whole armies back, and singly clear'd the field. 'My vengeance sated, I at length resign To Mars his offspring of the Trojan line: Advanced to godhead let him rise, And take his station in the skies, But far be Rome from Troy disjoin'd; • Still let the cursed detested place, Where Priam lies, and Priam's faithless race, And frisk upon the tombs of kings. May tigers there, and all the savage kind, Her brinded whelps securely lay, Or, couch'd, in dreadful slumbers waste the day. |