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A Satyr on the modern Translators. Odi imitatores servum pecus, &c.
SInce the united cunning of the Stage,
Has balk'd the hireling Drudges of the Age:
Since Betterton of late so thrifty's grown,
Revives old Plays, or wisely acts his own:
Thumb'd Rider with a Catalogue of Rhimes,
Makes the compleatest Poet of our times:
Those who with nine months toil had spol'd a Play,
In hopes of eating at a full Third day,
Justly despairing longer to sustain
A craving Stomach from an empty Brain,
Have left Stage-practice, chang'd their old Vocations,
Attoning for bad Plays, with worse Translations,
And like old Sternhold with laborious spite,
Burlesque what nobler Muses better write:
Thus while they for their causes only seem
To change the Channel, they corrupt the Stream.
So breaking Vintners to increase their Wine,
With nauseous Drugs debauch the generous Vine:
So barren Gipsies for recruit are said,
With Strangers Issue to maintain the Trade;
But lest the fair Bantling should be known,
A daubing Walnut makes him all their own.
In the head of this Gang too John Dryden appears,
But to save the Town-censure and lessen his Fears,
Joyn'd with a Spark whose title makes me civil,
For Scandalum Magnatum is the Devil;
Such mighty thoughts from Ovid's Letters flow,
That the Translation is a work for two;
Who in one Copy joyn'd their shame have shewn,
Since T—e could spoil so many tho' alone:
My Lord I thought so generous would prove,
To scorn a Rival in affairs of Love: