Some new pieces never before publish'd by the author of the Satyrs upon the Jesuites.

Paraphrase upon HORACE. BOOK I. ODE XXXI.

Quid dedicatum poscit Apollinem Vatea? &c.—

1.

WHat does the Poet's modest Wish re∣quire? What Boon does he of gracious Heav'n desire? Not the large Corps of Esham's goodly Soil, Which tire the Mower's, and the Reaper's toil; Not the soft Flocks, on hilly Cotswold fed, Nor Lemster Fields with living Fleeces clad: He does not ask the Grounds, where gentle Thames, Or Severn spread their fat'ning Streams.

Where they with wanton windings play, And eat their widen'd Banks insensibly away: He does not ask the Wealth of Lombard-street, Which Consciences, and Souls are pawn'd to got. Nor those exhaustless Mines of Gold, Which Guinny and Peru in their rich bosoms hold.

2.

Let those that live in the Canary Isles, On which indulgent Nature ever smiles, Take pleasure in their plenteous Vintages, And from the juicy Grape its racy Liquor press: Let wealthy Merchants, when they Dine, Run o're their costly names of Wine, Their Chests of Florence, and their Mont-Alchine. Their Mants, Champagns, Chablees, Frontiniacks tell, Their Aums of Hock, of Backrag and Moselle: He envies not their Luxury Which they with so much pains, and danger buy:

For which so many Storms, and Wrecks they bear, For which they pass the Streights so oft each year, And scape so narrowly the Bondage of Argier.

3.

He wants no Cyprus Birds, nor Ortolans, Nor Dainties fetch'd from far to please his Sense, Cheap wholsom Herbs content his frugal Board. The food of unsaln Innocence, Which the mean'st Village Garden does afford: Grant him, kind Heav'n, the sum of his desires, What Nature, not what Luxury requires: He only does a Competency claim, And, when he has it, wit to use the same: Grant him sound Health, impair'd by no Dis∣ease, Nor by his own Excess: Let him in strength of Mind, and Body live. •…•…ut not his Reason, nor his Sense survive:

His Age (if Age he e're must live to see) Let it from want, Contempt, and Care be free. But not from Mirth, and the delights of Poetry, Grant him but this, he's amply satisfi'd, And scorns whatever Fate can give beside.