>5*3* fix Liferis | C. K. OGDEN ' < t 4 I (. or<:< < r LONDON : PRINTED FOR. JOHN MILLER, 25, BOW - STREET, COVENT GARDEN; AND JOHN BALLANTVNK AND CO., EDINBURGH. 1813. SRLE URI) PREFACE. IKE following Imitations of the Odes of Horace were originally written without any regard to regularity of succession. Many of them made their first appearance in a month* ly publication, and the Odes best calculated to illustrate the topic of the day were, from time to time, pressed into the service. They are now classed and drilled afresh : new troops, drafted from the Roman battalion, have raised them to their proper complement, and HORACE IN LONDON is in readiness to take the field. The reader will not fail to discover one inconvenience to which the desultory mode of warfare adopted by i.hese Iambic maraud crs, on their first enrollment, subjects .them VI when serving in their present disciplined ar- ray. Events are recorded without any regard to chronological succession. Thus the se- cond O. P. War is deprecated in the ode " O navis referent" before the commemoration of the first, in the ode, " Motum er Metello consule civicum" with a few other anachro- nisms of equal moment. But inasmuch as light poetry and grave history do not often boast the same readers, and as the authors did not undertake to present to the public a poet- ical Annual Register, it is to be hoped the ob- jection will not be held fatal. In their presen^ inroad on Parnassus, it will be found that the authors have prudently abstained from its more elevated regions ; they entertain the same opinion of the Roman Bard, in his higher flights, that he entertained of the Theban, and if the merit of familiar gaiety be awarded to them, they will have won all that they as- pired to gain. Had the Authors of REJECTED ADDRESSES listened to the voice of Prudence, they would VII have sat silent under the laurels they recently purloined from the brows of their betters, rather than have proved by advancing in pro- pria persona into the Parnassian lists, how much easier a task it is to ridicule good poetry, than to write it. In thus throwing down the gauntlet, they may doubtless be complimented on their valour; but valour is composed of two parts. " The worser half," surnamed fool hardiness, was the property of ihe lean Knigbt of La Mancha; " the best part of valour, dis- cretion" was emblazoned on the shield of the huge Knight of Eastcheap, and his cautious quaker-like followers, from that good day to the present, have thriven and grown as fat upon it as himself. Which of the two halves falls to the lot of the Imitators of Horace, is too obvious to require mentioning. The fact seems to be, that the God of Song has insti- gated the authors of Rejected Addresses to the present publication, as an amende honorable for the liberties they lately took with his per- sonal property; stealing laurel being an of- Ylll fence as contrary to the poetical statute in that case made and provided, as it is dero- gatory to the privilege, and against the peace of our Lord Apollo, his crown and dignity. CONTENTS. Pagt Introductory Dialogue . . .1 Book I Ode 1, To John Bull Esq. . . 15 CXie II, Hurly Burly! . . 18 Ode III, The Baronet's Yacht . . 23 Oile IV, Brighton . . .26 Ode V, The Jilt . . .29 Ode VI, Walter Scott . . 32 Ode VII, The Ousted Treasurer . 34 Ode VIII, To Huntingdon, the Preacher . 37 Oie I\, Winter . . .40 Ode X, Tributary Stanzas to Grimaldi the Clown . . .42 O.!e XI, Fortune Telling To Laura . 44 Ode MI, To Einanuel Swedenborg . 46 Ode XIII, The Jealous Lover . . 55 OJeXIV, To Mr Kemble, Exhorting him to give up tlie Tier of Private Boxes . . .57 Ode XV, Tlie Parthenon. On the Dilapi- dation of the Temp'e of Mi- nerva at Athens . 5f X CONTENTS. Page Book I. Ode XVI, The Edinburgh Reviewers . 63 Ode XVII, The Welsh Cottage. To Laura 65 Ode XVIII, Merry and Wise. To Lord Wellington . . 68 Ode XIX, Pleasing Petulance . . 70 Ode XX, The Bard'i Banquet. To George Colman the Younger . 27 Ode XXII, The Bailiff . . 74 OdeXXIlI, Cupid's Invitation . 7 Ode XX IV, Home Tooke's Epitaph . 78 Ode XXV, My Godwin! . . 80 Ode XXVI, The Straw Bonnet . . 83 Ode XX VII, The Bumper Toast . 85 Ode XX VIII, Lucretius and Dr. Busby . 87 OJe XX IX, The Termagant. To Lucy . 90 Odo XXX, Private Boxes. Written during the first O. P. War . 92 Ode XXXI, To Apollo . .94 Ode XXXII, To the Comic Muse . 96 Ode XXXI 1 1, Cross Purposes . . 98 Ode XXXIV, CcelehsinSearchofa Wife 100 Ode XXXV, To Fortune . 102 Ode XXX VI, The Gaol Deli very . 106 Ode XXXVH, Lob's Pound. The Poet re- joiceth in the return of Tranquillity, after the Im- prisonment of Sir Francis Burdett in the Tower 109 CONTENTS. XI Pag* Book I. Ode XXXVIII, The Bill of Fare . 118 Book II. Ode I, The First O. P. War. To Mr. Kemble 114 Ode II, To the Wanstead Lucullus . 117 Ode III, Philosophic Enjoyment. To H. R. Esq. . . . 119 Ode IV, The Actress . . 128 Ode V, The Unfledged Muse . . 125 Ode VI, The Classic Villa . . 127 Ode VII, An old Acquaintance . 130 Ode VIII, To Mrs. Mary Anne Clarke . 133 Ode IX, The Young Widow . . 136 Ode X, To Romeo, on his late Fall from his Curricle . . . 139 Ode XI, The Quidnunc . . 141 Ode XI I, Miss Puff. To Horace in Rome 144 Ode XIII, The Stock Jobber's Lament 147 Ode XIV, To any Great Man . . 150 Ode XV, New Buildings . . 153 Ode XVI, Wit on the Wing . . 156 Ode XVII, Penny Wise and Pound Foolish 161 Ode XVIII, The Unanswerable Query 164 Ode XIX, Cobbett . . 161 Ode XX, The Lyrical Lackey . .178 HORACE IN LONDON. INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. SCENE, The Ivory Gate on the Confines of the Shades. HORACE. AUTHOR. Horace. Friend, I have a favour to ask of you. Author. If the granting it redound to my ad- vantage, I have too much generosity to refuse compliance : name it. Horace. I dislike Francis's Translation of mj Odes. Author. I hate Duncombe's. Horace. And I think Boscawen's might be improved. Will you undertake a new version ? Author. Upon what terms ? Horace. The prospect, if successful, of univer- sal applause ; the Reviews will dub you head rhymer of a rhyming age. An engraver maj B 2 HORACE IN LONDON. scratch a kit-cat likeness of you to scare the foot passengers in Pall Mall. You will be asked to dinner once in your life by each of the wealthy would-be Maecenases that start up as numerous* and almost as empty, as Queen Anne's churches, and will be tolerably sure of a niche among the Martyrs of Pindus in Poet's Corner. " Exegi Monumentum, &c." What think you of that ? Author. Tempting offers, I confess. Horace. You agree, then. Author. No. Horace. No ! Quare non ? Author. For two reasons. Horace. Name them. Author. Your demerits and my own. Horace. My demerits ! ha, ha, hah ! you and I are the last people whose demerits can gratify the malice of the critics. Author. Why so ? Horace. Because you hare written so little as to be beneath their notice, while I have written so much as to be above their envy. If Quintus lloratius Flaccus, the friend of Augustus, and the favourite of the Muses, may be so bold as to question one whose propensity to fish in troubled INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. 3 waters ought to condemn him to a large goblet of Sadak's waters of oblivion, may I beg you to elu- cidate the expression of " your demerits and my own." Author. Certainly ; and first of the last, namely, myself Horace. I am all attention proceed. Author. To translate your Odes with propriety would require almost as much talent as to write them. If, indeed, the blue-coated youth in Guild- hall, who must laugh in his sleeve, notwithstanding the tightness of it, at the thoughts of the revolu- tions he effects, should dub me lord of twenty thousand pounds, my friends would convince me that I possessed abilities more than equal to the task. At present they give me credit for little money, and of course for little wit. Horace, They are right : of what use is the one, in your commercial clime, unless it procure the other ? Author. Besides, who in his senses would write what nobody reads ? How many farthings do the good folks of London care about Vitellius, and Crassus, and Maecenas ; Lydia, Thaliarchus, and Mount Soracte ? Every one of them a mere caput B 2 4 HORACE IN LONDON. mortuum, believe me ; and as to the groves of th ancients, they have all become hollow trees for pedant owls to roost in. Horace. Envy, by the Gods! My works have delighted all ages. Author. Life, says Shakespeare, consists of seven ages ; and you are apt to be discarded after the second. I -remember you of old, when I was " Creeping like snail unwillingly to school," and in revenge for the many prosodial stripes your confounded " Maecenas atavis edite rcgibus" brought upon me, I made a solemn vow to cast you into the Ocean in usuni Delphini, at my very first trip to Margate. In keeping my oath I lost my Horace, and have washed my hands of you ever since. Horace. You do me and yourself injustice. Do not jest at the expence of truth. Pray what book is this? " Quinti lloratii Flacci Opera," as I live ! Oh, flattering eulogium! Author. Not altogether so flattering, for this naturally leads me to the other head of my dis- course : your demerits. Horace. Aye, now you'll be puzzled. " Nori ego paucis ollendar maculis." INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. 5 Author. The quotation is from yourself: if you are wise keep it to yourself. Let us open your book, and pitch upon an ode at a venture, as sai- lors dip for salt pork. Horace. Sortes Horatianae ! agreed. Author. What hare we here? " Integer vitae scelerisque purus." Aye, this ode has been much admired by the shoal of learned Ignoramuses who can find nothing bad in a man's book when he's dead, and nothing good when he's alive ; and yet in my opinion it is little better than downright nonsense. Horace. Oh monstrous ! how, pray ? Author. You set out at your full speed, like a Sunday apprentice on a hack horse, with a pranc- ing moral precept, that a virtuous man needs no other armour than conscious integrity. This is a sentiment of which Addison, Hervey, Hugh Kelly, or Mr. Drake himself need not have been ashamed : and if put into the mouth of a Drury Lane actor, accompanied by a fierce look, a thump on the left breast, and a semi-circular strut, in the long in. terval between green curtain and foot lights, would gain the happy votary of Thespis three rounds of applause. Thus far in safety: but halt! we ar O HORACE IN LONDON. come to a turnpike. The next thing is an illustra- tion of this sublime and novel position. Horace. Very well, Sir, pray go on. Author. One naturally expects the example to be Cato or Brutus, Wilkes, Burdett, Gale Jonts, or some such Patriot ; but how are our expecta- tions gratified ? You proceed to say, that while you were singing the praises of Miss Lalage, (a lady, I presume, whose beauty was even greater than her modesty,) you met a wolf, who took to his heels at the sight of you. Tray, most doughty sir, of what was he afraid ? Not of your valour, if he had heard of your " Relicta non beae per- muhi." Your moral qualities, putting Madam Lalage out of the question, were not perceptible to the eyes of a wolf, and you admit that your person was unprotected by any weapon. Ilomcc. Excellent! this would be provoking to any but an Epicure converted to Stoicism. Pray linish your exhortation. Author. Your conclusion is worthy your precept and illustration ; namely, that in whatever part of the globe you may chance to be placed, you will persist in singing the praises of the aforesaid J,a- lage, although her only merit seems to have been INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. 7 that of keeping the wolf from the door. A most desirable quality, I admit, in the mistress of a Grub Street poet, but of little use to the well fed favorite of Augustus. Horace. Ha, ha, hah ! You see I bear your ill- natured critique with the most perfect good hu- mour ; but zounds ! sir, do you mean to assert ? Author. No I am only pointing out the incon- sistency of your own assertions, particularly when you prove your good humour by a " zounds ! sir." Horace. Well, well, it's natural to forget one's a Stoic, when the least thing happens to provoke one. To let you into a secret, that ode was writ- ten at three distinct periods : the first part in a lucid interval of temperance : the second when I was half seas over in a cask of Falernian, and the third when I was solus cum sola with the Goddess of my Idolatry. Author. Be it so : we will now do what I have threatened to do half my life, turn over a new leaf. Horace. Agreed, here's something solemn. *' Parcus deoruin cultor et infrequens." Author. In this ode you tell us that you had hi. therto been a very wicked fellow, snapping your fingers at Jupiter, and never visiting his tempi* HORACE IN LONDON. except in a shower of rain ; in short, a complete Roman Bunyan ; but that you had lately seen your errors, and were enrolled in the regiment of the true Faith. Braro ! Pegasus at full speed again. Now comes the reason of this miraculous conver- sion. *' I was overtaken," you say, " by a ter- rible storm of thunder and lightening, and Jupiter is so powerful lie can do what he pleases." In- deed ! a wonderful event, and a wonderful disco- very ! I cannot help quoting in your teeth tht words of your best modern imitator. What woeful stuff this madrigal would he In some starved hackney sonnetteer or me; But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens, how the sense refines ! Before his saorrd name flies every fault, And each exalted stanza teems with thought. Horace. Upon my word, sir, I hare been accus- tomed to Author. Less truth and more complaisance. I know it ; but as long as I possess eyes of my own, I will not borrow a pair of pedant spectacles from any University in the Universe. Then again you INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. are always cramming that confounded Falcrniati down the throats of your readers. Continually hob and nobbing. " Nunc est bibendum, quo me Eac- che rapis :" at every page : and telling us that if we would be favorites of Venus we must sacrifice to Bacchus : a position of which the very porter in Macbeth has sober sense enough to prove the fal- sity. Horace. Very pretty, sir, very pretty indeed ! bnt I see your aim, sir. You suspect me to be one of the genus irritabile. Author. No I don't : I am certain of it, I have therefore pleasure in bearing testimony to the ex- cellence of your Satires and Epistles. There you are unrivalled. Horace. My dear sir, I did not mean to dispute your judgment in every thing. You think my Satires and Epistles Author. As much above my present praise, as they are foreign to my present purpose. It is your odes of which we are now treating. A verbal translation of them I will not attempt. Horace. Then I may take my departure to the Elysian Fields. Son of Maia, order round my barge ! B J 10 HORACE INT LONDON. Author. Stop, a thought has struck me. What say you to a work entitled " HORACE IN LONDON," consisting of parodies and imitations of your odes ? Converting the Amphitheatre into Drury Lane, Maecenas into Lord Such a one, the Palatine Mount into Tower Hill, and in short, writing as I suppose you would have written, had you lived in these times, and in the metropolis of Great Britain. Horace. An excellent thought ! It will insure me an increase of readers. A man milliner will enter Hyde Park who would flv from the Campus Martius, and a citizen may be enticed up Highgate Hill, who would turn with disdain from Mount Soracte, because there is no ordinary on Sunday on the top of it. Author. Such is my plan. As long as you are pointed and witty, I shall fe< d my Pegasus at the same manger. When you are flat, prosaic, and insipid, (which, under favor, you sometimes are, especially at your conclusions, where you ought to be most epigrammatic, witness your " Animumque reddas" " immeritamque vestem'' " Mercurius- que &c. &c.") I shall take the liberty of starting from the course, and being as pointed and poetical as I please. INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. 11 Horace. Rather say as you can. Author. Good Agreed. And I moreover give you fair notice, that as I shall have lame meta- phors enough of my own to answer for, I will not be accountable for yours. Horace. Mine ! Where will you find them ? Author. Not at the first dip, perhaps, but cer- tainly without any very tedious search, voyons ! Book I, Ode 27. What have we here ? Quanta laboras in Charyldi ! Digne, puer, meliore^amma. An intermixture of fire and water, which in mo- dern days would create more than one sort of hiss. Horace. That I confess was an oversight. Author. I wish all your commentators had done the same ; they would have saved themselves and us a world of fatigue ; but what commentator would not rather set a thousand modem readers to sleep, than acknowledge one Homeric nod in an ancient writer ? Horace. I will overlook all your faults if you will but cease your criticisms, and give a specimen of your performance. IS HORACE IN LONDON. Author. On those conditions you may turn im- mediately to the next page. Now then thou peer- less poet, thou real Roman pearl, not to be adul- terated by all the rinegar in critical Christendom, *' let's to't like French Falconers," or rather, like English tillers, London is the scene of our poeti- cal tournament. Be thou the Achilles of the Lists, the Patroclus I ; and if perchance I hurl a spear sharp enough to provoke the retort courteous, do thou bestride me, and balancing thy shield of half a ton troy weight over my head, swear that the offence proceeded from the original Latin. Horace. Which you will publish of course. Author. Not 1 indeed. Horace. Not publish my Latin ! Author. No, I tell you. Scholars will always possess the means of immediate reference to th original, and the unlearned will not think my page the more lively for being encumbered with a dead language. Horace. Not publish my Latin ! ! Author. No, I repeat, except the first line. Horace. If that be the case, I have only to utter this parting prophecy. The moment the dark hambers of your brain cease to be enlightened by INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. IS the presence of my Roman lamp, good night to all your brilliant hopes; and though I shall march back to Elysium with all the slow dignity of the last of the Romans, trust me, I shall go off much quicker than the first of your editions. [Exeunt severally,} 15 BOOK I. ODE I. Maecenas atavis edite regibus. To John Bull, E*tj. DREAD Sir! half human, half divine, Descended from a lengthen'd line Of heroes famed in story Of Ocean undisputed lord ; Of Europe and her recreant horde The " riddle, jest and glory." What various sports attract your sons ! Some to Hyde Park escape from duns, In curricle or tandem : In dusty clouds envelop'd quite, Like Jove, who from Olympus height. Hurls thunderbolts at random. 16 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I, One draws his gold from Lombard Street, Amongst the Lords to buy a seat, The Lord knows why or wherefore : Another, give him rural sports, And crouded cities, splendid courts, He not a jot will care for. The merchant, baulk'd by Boreas, venti His idle anger, and laments Some luckless speculation : Of ease, and Clapham Common talks, But soon on Gresham's murmuring walks Resumes his daily station. This makes the jolly God his theme, In claret drowns Aurora's beam, And riots with the friskers : That a dragoon, delights in arms, And thoughtless of Mamma's alarms, Sports high.heel'd boots and whiskers. ODE I. JOHN BULL. 17 The hunter quits his bed at five, The fox or timorous deer to drive Down precipices horrid, And carries home, returning late } A trophy for his amorous mate, The antleri on his forehead t MQ toil and case alternate share, Books, and the converse of the fair, (To see is to adore 'em 5) With these and London for my home, I envy not the joys of Rome, The Circus or the Forum ! If you, great Sir, will deign to vot For Horace, in his London coat, Nor check my classic fury ; Great Magog of the lyric train, I'll mount to kiss the Muses twain, Who face the Gods of Drurj. 18 HORACE IK LONDON. BOOK I. ODE II. I1URLY BURLY! Jam satis trrris nivis, atque dir . ! the dog has had his day, The cat has mew'd her hour : Th' imprison'd Gale is blown away, Burdctt has fled the Tower. The nation fear'd those scenes of woe, So fatal thirty years ago, When dreading neither axe nor rope, An outward Christian, inward Jew, Fierce Gordon led th' enthusiast crew To persecute the Pope. ODE II. HURLY BURLY. 19 Oh fatal and disastrous year ! When oyster-vending dames, Made London's train bands disappear, And wrapp'd her walls in flames : The chimney sweep assail'd the shop, The 'prentice climb'd the chimney top, Impunity made cowards bold : While Plutus in his last retreat, Stood trembling in Threadneedle Street, And hugg'd his bags of gold. We saw the mob, like Oceans' flood, By howling tempests driven, Assail the King's dragoons with mud, And menace old St. Stephen. Again they rage, the bird is flown ; Sir Francis, aw'd by Whitbrcad's frown, To father Thames commits his fate : In secret the uxorious tide, Safe bears him to the Surrey side. To join his anxious mate. 2O HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I, From street to street Bellona runs, In dark blue ribbons clad : To hear the tale, our sober sons Will think their fathers mad. What power can awe the impending Gaul, What psalm avert Britannia's fall, What sacred tabbies stop the evil ? Has Southcott, in her straw built cell, No talisman, no mutter'd spell, To drive away the Devil ? Ah no! for still from south to north, Sedition swells the gale ! Come then, at folly's call, roll forth, Ye tubs to faction's whale. Come, JVinsor's lamp, I'ulito's apes, Come //auVic, thou peer of many capes, Pearl. button'd and drab. coated spark ! And thou, the dame of wicked wit, Hound whom the infant houxt- k flit, Come, mighty Mi&trcss Clurke. DE II. I1URLY BURLY. And thou, great saint, at humour's call, Joy of the rabble, come ! Whose praise the Sinithfield muses bawl, With rattle, horn, and drum. When Saturnalian sports draw near, Three days in each revolving year, ''1 is thine to load the frolic hours : Heed not, dread sir, thy loss of skin. Thy jocund revelry and din Have made us jump from ours. Come, too, Metidoza, foe to ham, \A hose fame no bruise can sully ; Come, wary Crib, Batavian Sam, And last, not least, come Gully. Assuming the dictator's seat, Late to thy Plough in Carey Street, Return to end thy halcyon days : Long may'st thou rally, hit, and stop, And may no envious Newgate-drop Put out thy glory's blaze. 22 HORACE JN LONDON. BOOK I. While amateurs, for fame athirst, Entwine with ardent TOWS The laurel wreath at Moulsey Hurst, Around thy batter'd brows, If any sheriff dare to wield His wand to clear th' embattled field, Stand forth, and down the gauntlet fling ; With frequent fists the intruder check, Or grasp his chain.encircled neck, Aiuly/i him from the ring. 23 ODE III. THE BARONETS YACHT. Sic te Diva potens Cypri. DEAR Venus, quit Idalia's lawn, In Cyprian car by turtles drawn, At Neptune's sea-green footstool fawn, And make him, willy nitty ; Sweet oil upon the waters pour, And thus the venturous YACHT restore, That carried off from ThaneCs shore, My soul's best half Sin BILLY. He surely view'd in looking-glass, A nose of copper, cheek of brass, Who thus in feeble yacht could pass Within the range of cannons : 24 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I. When hostile squadroni beat the hoof, And citizens won't keep aloof, Hat, boot, and stocking water-proof, I reckon sine qua nons. That hardy mortal knows not fear, \Yho ventures out from Ramsgate Pier, And as the Gallic cliffs draw near, \Vith careless eye looks at 'em But bolder he himself who coops In his own little bark, nor sloops To heed the quizzing of the troops, Led by the EAUI. OF CHATHAM. In vain shall Neptune's prudent tide, Old Kent from Picardy divide; Sir William's boat in painted pride, Unites the coasts again, He undulates on Ocean's swell, Like her who rules Idalia's dell, Drawn by a turtle in a shell* Triumphant o'er the main. This marine delicacy was said to be suspended to tke prow of the \achu ODE in. THE BARONET'S YACHT. 25 What wonders all the papers fill ! With rockets now the foe we kill, We burrow under Highgate Hill, Each day outdoes the other. See through Pall Mall each lovely lass, By night illuminated pass, While WINSOR lights, with flame of gas, Home to Ki*g's Place his mother. In parachute by way of change, With Garnerin in air we range, Surpassing all the wonders strange That e'er Mnnchausen told us. Great Jupiter ! for mercy's sake, Me to a cooler planet take, Fx)r at this rate we soon shall make The world too hot to hold us ! HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I. ODE IV. BRIGHTON. SoIvUur acris li veins grata vice veris. .N ow fruitful autumn lifts his suu.burnt head, The slighted Park few cambric muslins whiten, The dry machines revisit Ocean's bed, And Horace quits awhile the town for Brighton. The cit foregoes his box at Turnham Green, To pick up health and shells with Amphitrite, Pleasure's frail daughters trip along the Steyne, Ltd by the dame the Greeks call Aphrodite. Phoebus, the tanner, plies his fiery trade, The graceful nymphs ascend Juclea's ponies, Scale the west diff, or visit the parade, While poor papa in town a patient drone is. N ODE IV. BRIGHTON. 27 Loose trowsers snatch the wreath from pantaloons ; Nankeen of late were worn the sultry weather in; But now, (so will the Prince's Light Dragoons,) White jean have triumph'd o'er their Indian bre- thren. Here with choice food earth smiles and ocean yawns, Intent alike to please the London glutton, This, for our breakfast proffers shrimps and prawns, That, for our dinner, South-down lamb and mutton. Yet here, as elsewhere, death impartial reigns, Visits alike the cot and the Pavilion, And for a bribe, with equal scorn disdains My half a crown, and Barings half a million. Alas ! how short the span of human pride ! Time flics, and hope's romantic schemes are un- done; Cosweller's coach, that carries four inside, Waits to take back the unwilling bard to London. Ve circulating novelists, adieu ! Long envious cords my black portmanteau -tighten; Billiards, begone ! avaunt, illegal loo ! Farewell old Ocean's bauble, glittering Brighton i c 2 58 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK T, Long shalt thou laugh thine enemies to scorn, Proud as Phoenicia, queen of watering places ! Boys yet unbreech'd, and virgins yet unborn, On thy bleak downs shall tan their blooming faces. ODE V. THE JILT. Quis multa gracilis te puer in n>M. SAY, Lucy, what enamour'd spark Now sports thee through the gazing Park In new barouche or tandem ; And, as infatuation leads, Permits his reason and his steeds To run their course at random ? Fond youth, those braids of ebon hair, Which to a face already fair Impart a lustre fairer ; Those locks which now invite to love, Soon unconfin'd and false shall prove, And changeful as the wearer. 3f> HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK. I. Unpractised in a woman's guile, Thon think'st. perchance, her halcyon smite Portends unruffled quiet : That, eyer charming, fond and mild, No wanton thoughts, or passions wild, Within her soul can riot. Alas ! how often shalt thou mourn, ^If nymphs like her. so soon forsworn, Be worth a moment's trouble,) How quickly own, with sad surprise, The paradise that bless'd thine eyes Was painted on a bubble. In her accommodating creed A lord will always supersede A commoner's embraces : His lordship's lore contents the fair, Until enabled to ensnare A nobler prize his Grace's! ODE V. THE JILT. 31 Unhappy are the youths who gaze, Who feel her beauty's maddening blaze, And trust to what she utters ! For me, by sad experience wise, At rosy cheeks or sparkling eyes, My heart no longer flutters. Chamber'd in Albany, I view On every side a jovial crew Of Benedictine neighbours. I sip my coffee, read the news, I own no mistress but the muse, And she repays my labours. And should some brat her love bespeak, (Though illegitimate and weak As these unpolish'd verses ;) A father's joys shall still be mine, Without the fear of parish fine, Bills, beadles, quacks, or nursos. 32 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I. ODE VI. WJLTER SCOTT. Scriberis Vario fortis, et host i urn. O CHIVALRY, thy gallant reign, In prancing epic-ballad strain, Let Walter Scott indite ; Chaunting the deeds inspir'd by thee, When red. cross knights arm'd cap. a. pee, Rode at the ring full gallantly, Or triumph'd in the fight. For me, I strive not, by my fay, To imitate the minstrel's /ay, Tracing the Palmer on his way, Through Scottish bourn and brake : Unform'd for hero's deeds, I shun The strain of lordly Marmion^ Or Lady oj the Lake. QDE VI. WALTER SCOTT. 33 My modest muse, unskill'd in flight* Of Caledonia's border knights, Forbears their glories to rehearse In peaceful unpresuming verse. Who can describe with honours due Of northern clans the endless crew, Creating endless war ? Unnumber'd Macs^ of accent rude, The Gordon^ Home, and Huntley brood, Graemes, Fosters, Fcnvsicks^ who pursued The amorous Lochinvar. Whether or not I feel love's pain, I love the light accustom'd strain. I sing no feast in hall so gay, Save that upon my Lord Mayor's Day ; Record no arrow's fatal flight, Save Cupid's, feather'd with delight, And shoot alone my bloodless darts, From beauty's eyes to lover's hearts. 5 40 HORACE IN ION DON. BOOK I. ODE VII. THE OUSTED TREASURER. Laudubunt alii claram Rhodon. To Harry Esq. SOME talk of Betterton and Booth, And some abore all praise, forsootb, Extol their Idol Garrick ; f )thers will other names rehearse, And celebrate their praise in Terse, Familiar or Pindaric. With me not Barrymore's small note, Nor Betty's gently whispering throat, Nor Righi's manly quarer, Nor Mundon's freedom from grimace, Nor Dignum's bold expressive face, Are half so much iu favor, ODE VII. THE OUSTED TREASURER. 35 As jovial Cooke, whose thirsty soul Qu ill's inspiration from the bowl Whene'er his spirits falter : His grief and joy, his love and ire, Are born of Bacchus, and their fire Is stolen from his altar. So, Harry, whether doom'd to roam In banner'd camps, or lounge at home In Twickenham's shady bovvers, Drink, and corroding cares resign, Drink and illume with sparkling wine, Life's dark and stormy hours. From Somerset's beloved house Where lazy treasurers carouse When Bardolph was ejected, His nose with purple blossoms crown'dj 'Tis said he call'd his friends around* And thus their grief corrected. 36 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I. Oh, ousted elves ! companions boon ! May Fortune's wheel revolving soon, Prove kinder than our master : Let us but stick together still, With Sherry's luck and Sherry's skill We yet may brave disaster. For knovr, my friends, the Prince has sworfl. Although these sinecures be torn Away from our pretensions, That in some dear uncertain hour, A future Somerset shall shower On us its posts and pensions. Ye whose stout hearts would ne'er submit To all the eloquence of Pitt, Fired with the love of places, Drink deep and banish care and woe, To-morrow we are doom'd to know, Short commons and long faces. 37 ODE VIII. To HUNTINGDON, the Preacher. Lydia die per omnes. BY those locks so lank and sable, Which adown thy shoulders hang, By thy phiz right lamentable, And thy humming nasal twang ; Huntingdon, thou queer fanatic, Tell me why thy love and grace, Thus invade my servant's attic, To unlit him for his place. For the new light ever pining, Thomas groans, and hums and ha's ; But alas ! the light is shining, Only through his lanthorn jaws. 38 HORACE IN LOXDOy. BOOK I, May-pole pranks and fiddle scrapers In his eye sight change their hue, Lowering Athanasian vapours, Cloud his brain with devils blue. From his fellows far asunder, Tom enjoys his morning stare : Works are but a heathen blunder ; Faith alone has po^er to save. From young Hal the tavern waiter, Oft the boxing prize he'd carry ; Now the pious gladiator, Wrestles only with Old Harry. Potent once at quoits and cricket, Head erect and heart elate, Now, alas ! he heeds no wicket, Save John Bunyan's wuket gate. As some clown in listing season, Blinds himself to shun the ranks ; Tom, because he blinds his reason, Thinks to play his pious prank*. Audi or of ilic I *j 1 .Vriiiis Tr oo-rcfs _ 1L3: =^=2^- i^ ODE VIII* TO HUNTINGDON. 39 But if such his holy rage is Let it be its own reward ; I'll no longer pay his wages ; Me he serves not, but the Lord. 40 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I, ODE IX. WINTER. Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum Soracte. &EE Richmoed is clad in a mantle of snow; The woods that o'ershadow'd the hill, Now bend with their load, while the river belovr, In musical murmurs forgetting to How, Stands mournfully frozen and still. Who cares for the winter ! my sun beams shall shine Serene from a register stove ; With two or three jolly companions to dine, And two or three bottles of generous wine, The rest I relinquish to Jove. HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I. ODE IX. " VIDES UT ALTA," &c. BY JOVE, how the snow has been falling, And loading the trees in the squares ; We'll look out our skates for to-morrow, I know that the Serpentine bears. I call this uncommonly cozy, Put coals on, we'll have up " one more " Ah, JOHN, will you bring up another, The red seal. You like '34? We leave all the rest to Dame Fortune, You know my philosophy well, What care we for storms on the ocean For penny-a-liners to tell ; And little we'll reck of to-morrow As long as it brings us the dance, And keeps the grey hair from our whiskers, And gives us the maiden's soft glance. We'll ride in the Row that's called Rotten, When spring brings the season once more And wander in Kensington Gardens, And whisper of love told before ; And then at the ball in the evening, Pretending to treasure the flower, We'll gain one more trophy of conquest, And throw it away in an hour. ODE IX. WINTER. 41 The oak bows its head in the hurricane's swell, Condemn'd in its glory to fall : The marigold dies unperceiv'd in the dell, Unable alike to retard or impel, The crisis assign'd to us all. Then banish to-morrow, its hopes and its fears ; To-day is the prize we have won : Ere surly old age in its wrinkles appears, With laughter and love, in your juvenile years Make sure of the days as they run. The park and the playhouse my presence shall greet, The opera yield its delight ; Catalani may charm me, but oh ! far more sweet, The musical voice of Laurdte when we meet In tete-d-ti'te concert at night. false looks of denial in vain would she fling, In vain to some corner be gone ; And if in our kisses I snatch off her ring, It is, to my fancy, a much better thing Than a kiss after putting one on 1 42 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I. ODE X. TRIBUTARY STANZAS to GRIMALDI THE CLOWN. Mercuri facunde, nepcs Atlantis. .r ACETIOUS mime ! thou enemy of gloom, Grandson of Momus, blithe and debonnalr, Who, aping Pan, with an inverted broom, Can'st brush the cobwebs from the brows of care. Our gallery Gods immortalize thy song ; Thy Newgate thefts impart ecstatic pleasure ; Thou bid'st a jew's-harp charm a Christian throng, A Gothic salt-box teem with attic treasure. When harlequin, his charmer to regain, Courts her embrace in many a queer disguise, The light of heels looks for his sword in vain,; Thy furtive fingers snatch the magic prize. ODE X. TO GRIMALDI. 43 The fabled egg from thee obtains its gold ; Thou set'st the mind from critic bondage loose. Where male and female cacklers, young and old, Birds of a feather, hail the sacred Goose. Eren pious souls, from Bunyans durance free, At Sadlers Wells applaud thy agile wit, Forget old Care while they remember thee, " Laugh the heart's laugh" and haunt the jovial pit. Long may'st thou guard the prize thy humour won, Long hold thy court in pantomimic state, And to the equipoise of English fun, Exalt the lowly, and bring down the great. 44 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I. ODE XI. FORTUNE TELLING. To Laura. Tu ne qna?sieris scire (nefas) quern mihi, quenxtibi. DEAR girl, from cabalistic lore, Seek not your fortunes to explore, Or find your destin'd lover : Nor horoscopes, nor starry skies, Nor flattering gypsey prophecies, Can e'er your fate discover. To Fortune's dreaded po\rer resign'd, Endure with philosophic mind, Her favour or her malice : Unmindful of your fntur*- doom, Of present life enjoy the bloom, And quaff from Pleasure's chalice. "LKT THE OLD ROMANY WOMAN TELL YOUB FORTUNE, DEARY." ODE XI. FORTUNE TELLING. 45 To-day the sunny hours dance by, Dispensing roses as they fly : O snatch them ! for to-morrow, Assail'd by tempests, drooping, dead, Perchance their flowers may only shed, The dewy tears of sorrow. Time flies Death threatens to destroy The wise condense life'* scatter'd joy Within a narrow measure : Then, Laura, bring the sparkling bowl, And let us yield the raptur'd soul, To laughter, love, and pleasure. 4rS HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I. ODE XII. To Emanuel Swedenborg. Quern vinim, aut lirroa, I yn'i vcl acri. VHAT mortal, or immortal wight, 'Man, dseraon, demigod, or sprite, My harp, shall break thy slumbers? Whom Echo o'er Boeotia's hill, And Aganippe's shady rill, Shall chaunt in sportive numbers ? Mine be e only throwing away his powder, if a sham one his life, was infatuated enough to fire at and kill the unfortunate pectre, for which he was capitally indicted, and we believe condemned to death, but afterwards pardoned. ODE XII. EMANUEL SWEDENBORO. 49 Who shall the mighty theme prolong ? O Clio, patroness of song, Say, what successor fit is, Whether GILES SCROGGINS next should come, Miss BAILEY, or old GAFFER THUMB, Who sang their own sad ditties. To louder Paeans swell the chord, Worthy the BIRD-BEHOLDING LORD, So prodigal of fable ; Who told us of the hunter sprite, That flogg'd itself the live long night, Then gallopp'd from the stable*. An uncomb'd girl surpass'd the peer, Offspring of poverty severe, In garret dark residing ; She gave to life the COCK LANE GHOST, A nation's eyes and ears engross'd, E'en JOHNSON'S skill deriding. iee the Letters attributed to Lord Lyttleton. O 50 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I. Old Scratch (if parsons tell us true,) With her found board and lodging too, And help'd her pranks to hide" well ; 'Till magistrates and bishops drove This modern Joan to shine above The minor cheats of Bridewell. O SWEDENBORG, the guardian friend Of ghostly wights, our prayers attend, And prosper COLTON'S glory :* Exalted let his genius shine, Second, great seer, alone to thine In spiritual story. * Our readers cannot have altogether forgotten the Samp- ford ghost, whose spirituality the Rev. Mr. Colton offered to prove by a wager, having previously received the depo- iitioiis of Messrs. Chave, Dodge, Moon, and Miss Sally, who were sworn upon a Greek Testament. The Tauntoo Courier commented with a good deal of sarcastic pleasantry upon the evidence adduced ; but the unearthly visitor was not to be exorcised by newspaper criticisms, and redoubled his formidable thumpings and bnmpir.gs. His comical freaks hart lately produced very tragical consequences; the Exeter ODE XII. EMANUEL SWEDENBORG. 51 Whether the Sampford Ghost to seek, He bid the rustics swear in Greek, Chave's servant, wife, and TALLEY; Or whether, in the dead of night, The doors and windows fasten'd tight, He goes to dodge with Sally. jailor, a man remarkable for strength and courage, volun- teered to discover the juggle, and to pass a night in the haunted chamber. Armed with a s-\ord and bible, and illuminated by two large mould candles, (three to the pound,) he took his station, when at the " very witching time of night," the sword was violently wrenched from his hand, and the spectre served out to him a specimen of Molyneux'g right and left hits that would not have disgraced the sable hero himself. AH this while the assailant was invisible, and " the steel'd jailor, seldom the friend of man," was still less the friend of goblins; he was carried home in a sort of stupor, and expired a few days after. Upon another occasion, when the knockings under the floor were very loud and lively, an incredulous rustic took up one of the boards, and stood between the rafters, when the sounds instantly ceased ; * O, ho!" qmoth he, " have I found you out? I always said it was a lame story." But his triumph %vas short ; he wai aluted with such a thump on the sole of the foot, that he had a lame story of his own to carry home to his family, and the 52 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I. E'en Mr. MOON no light could shed, To tell who 'twas that shook the bed, And carried such a farce on, A ghost no doubt it was, for no man Would thump and kick a silly woman, To fright a sillier parson. knockings increased, as if resolved to eclipse the noise of Don Quixote's fulling mills. It is not long since an honest neighbour called on Mr. C. to laugh at his credulity, and rea- son him, if possible, out of what he called his nervous delu- sions, when lo! in the midst of their conversation a heavy step was heard descending the stairs; ''That is the ghost's step," said Mr C. drawing his chair close to his visitor. Thump! thump! thump! The door opens, footsteps are heard loud as of the ghost in Don Juan, though nougjt is visible; they seem to pass between the chairs, though touch- ing each other; the sceptic and his friend are unmolested, but the object of this unwelcome visit is soon manifested. Sally, or Molly, was at the side board ; they hear blows and screams, and when they had courage to approach the poor girl they found she had been gJteously belaboured about the shoulders, after which usual exercise of his spleen, perhaps to create an appetite, the hobgoblin " started like a guilty thing," and fled. ODE XII. EMANUEL SWEDENBORG. 53. O Swedenborg, thy fame is lost, COLTON has verified his ghost, By wagering a guinea : In vengeance thou thy wig shalt shake, And make the Taunton Courier quake, For proving him a ninny. The female sex engrosses the chief share of his pugilistic devoirs, for which he has satisfactorily accounted in replying to questions solemnly put to him both in Greek and Hebre\v, (which he has at his finger's ends) by divulging that he was murdered by his sister, and \\ill continue to persecute the sex until the offender is brought to condign punishment. Men he never molests, unless in self defence, and upon an invasion of his territory. Man traps have been set in the room for the purpose of catching his ghostly leg, and rat traps have been lavishly distributed over the bed, in the hope of snapping his spiritual fingers ; but he snaps his fingeis at his enemies, and understands trap too well to be caught by any human contrivance hitherto discovered. When rat traps fail, exorcising can hardly be expected to succeed, and he likes his present quarters too well to wish to be billetted upon the Red Sea. Thus stands the case at present; the ghost has baffled every attempt at an ejectment, and will probably continue to 54 HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I- frighten the men and belabour the women till he wear out his knuckles. Mr Colton has recently been to London, to require the aid of the ecclesiastical police, and has offered to frank down to Sarcpford any adventurer who will enter the lists with this airy bruiser, and fib him out of the ring. But this is idle; if fibbing would do he would have vanished long since. 55 ODE XIII. THE JEALOUS LOTER. Cum tu, I/ydia, Telephi. >V HEN those eyes, in azure splendour, Sparkle at a rival's fame ; When those lips, in accents tender, Breathe a hated rival's name ; Rous'd to scorn, or sunk in sadness, Passion rules without controul, Gloomy rage and jealous madness, Gnaw my heart and fire my soul. Tears that fall in copious showers, Inward fires too plainly speak ; Reason mourns her faded powers, Blushes tinge my conscious cheek. HORACE IN LONDON. BOOK I, When in dreams thy beauty's brightness Seems to aid my rival's bliss, And his lip thy bosom's whiteness Seems to sully with a kiss ; * ( Hold," I cry in passion's feyer, " Flames like his are born of wine ; (f Spurn the insolent deceiver, " Crush his hopes, and nourish mine. " Loosely he thy soul despises, " Aiming but thy charms toVin ; " He the glittering casket prizes, " I adore the gem within." Lawless love's a wand'ring rapour, Meteor of a heated brain ; Happy they who Cupid's taper Light at sacred Hymen's fan*. Erer joyous, never sated, As through life their course they steer, Heavenly bliss is antedated, Mutual love can find it here. r \\ * \ir<<< '(d f~<-~. ' 'I : c c '<' ( , '<-<\ < >< _r ' <<_<(_ <-jBC8CV .,.<-,< f << v C > >>