English

AD PYRRHAM

What lady-like youth in his wild aberrations
Is putting cologne on his brow?
For whom are the puffs and the blond transformations?
I wonder who's kissing you now.

Tee hee! I must laugh when I think of his finish,
Not wise to your ways and your rep.
Ha! ha! how his fancy for you will diminish!
I know, for I'm Jonathan Hep.

Cool, within the Grotto toying,
Soft, on scatter'd roses laid,
What young bud art thou destroying?
Why, to day, those charms display'd?

Trimly plain, in subtle sweetness,
What fond heart is, here, beset?
Why, with negligent completeness,
Loosely curls that tressy net?

Soon, by sufferings, taught to know thee,
O! ye changeful Gods! he crys,
Too, too light, thy falsehoods show thee,
Late, the fond believer's wife:

Then, with foolish wonder, starting,

Horatius: Lib I C ARM . V

W HAT gentle youth, my lovely fair one, say,
With sweets perfumed, now courts thee to the bower,
Where glows with lustre red the rose of May,
To form thy couch in love's enchanting hour?

By zephyrs waved, why does thy loose hair sweep
In simple curls around thy polished brow?
The wretch that loves thee now too soon shall weep
Thy faithless beauty and thy broken vow.

Who , fair Pyrrha, wins thy graces?
What gay youth imprints a kiss?
Or in roseate groves embraces
Urging thee to amorous bliss?

To delude to your caresses
What young rake, or wanton blade ,
Do you bind your golden tresses,
In plain elegance arrayed?

Soon the unhappy youth, deploring,
Shall lament thy proud disdain;
Thus, the winds, tempestuous roaring,

1.

Tell me, Pyrrha, what fine youth.
All perfum'd and crown'd with roses,
To thy chamber thee pursu'th,
And thy wanton arm encloses?

2.

What is he thou now hast got,
Whose more long and golden tresses
Into many a curious knot
Thy more curious finger dresses?

3.

How much will he wail his trust,
And, forsook, begin to wonder,
When black winds shall billows thrust,

" Solvitur acris hyems grata vice veris," &c.

Sharp winter now dissolved, the linnets sing,
The grateful breath of pleasing Zephyrs bring
The welcome joys of long desired spring.

The gallies now for open sea prepare,
The herds forsake their stalls for balmy air,
The fields adorn'd with green th'approaching sun declare.

In shining nights the charming Venus leads
Her troop of Graces, and her lovely maids
Who gaily trip the ground in myrtle shades.

The blazing forge her husband Vulcan heats,

TRANSLATED .

Maecenas! whose high lineage springs
From a long race of ancient kings,
Patron and friend! thy honour'd name
At once is my defence and fame.
There are who with fond transport praise
The chariot thund'ring in the race,
Where conquest won and palms bestow'd
Lift the proud mortal to a god.
The man who courts the people's voice,
And dotes on offices and noise,
Or they who till the peaceful fields,

Hail then ye daring few! who proudly soar
Through paths by mortal eye unview'd before!
From earth and all her humble scenes who rise
To search the extended mansions of the skies.
If firm his breast who first undaunted gave
His fragile vessel to the stormy wave,
How much superior he! whose buoyant car
Borne through the strife of elemental war,
Driven by the veering wind's uncertain tide,
No helm to steer him, and no oar to guide,
See Earth's stupendous regions spread below,
To hillocks shrunk the mountains loftiest brow.

With all a woman's virtues but the pox,
Fufidia thrives in money, land, and stocks:
For int'rest, ten per cent her constant rate is;
Her body? hopeful heirs may have it gratis.
She turns her very sister to a job,
And, in the happy minute, picks your fob:
Yet starves herself, so little her own friend,
And thirsts and hungers only at one end:
A self-tormentor, worse than (in the play)
The wretch, whose av'rice drove his son away.
But why all this? I'll tell you, 'tis my theme:

The Tribe of Templars, Play'rs, Apothecaries,
Pimps, Poets, Wits, Lord Fanny's, Lady Mary's,
And all the Court in tears, and half the Town,
Lament dear charming Oldfield, dead and gone!
Engaging Oldfield! who, with grace and ease,
Could join the Arts, to ruin, and to please.
Not so, who of ten thousand gull'd her Knight,
Then ask'd ten thousand for a second Night:
The Gallant too, to whom she paid it down,
Liv'd to refuse that Mistress half a crown.