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III

Let him alone, with what he made,
To toss and turn the World below;
At his command the storms invade ;

The winds by his Commission blow;
Till with a Nod he bids 'em cease,

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Secure those golden early joyes,

That Youth unsowr'd with sorrow bears,
E're with'ring time the taste destroyes,
With sickness and unwieldy years!
For active sports, for pleasing rest,

And then the Calm returns, and all is This is the time to be possest;

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The laugh that guides thee to the mark, When the kind Nymph wou'd coyness feign, And hides but to be found again;

These, these are joyes the Gods for Youth ordain.

THE TWENTY-NINTH ODE OF THE THIRD BOOK OF HORACE; PARAPHRASED IN PINDARICK VERSE, AND INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. LAURENCE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

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THE SECOND EPODE OF HORACE.

How happy in his low degree,
How rich in humble Poverty, is he,
Who leads a quiet country life!
Discharg'd of business, void of strife,
And from the gripeing Scrivener free.
(Thus, e're the Seeds of Vice were sown,
Liv'd Men in better Ages born,
Who Plow'd, with Oxen of their own,
Their small paternal field of Corn.)
Nor Trumpets summon him to War

Nor drums disturb his morning Sleep, Nor knows he Merchants gainful care, Nor fears the dangers of the deep. The clamours of contentious Law,

And Court and state, he wisely shuns, Nor brib'd with hopes, nor dar'd

awe,

To servile Salutations runs ;

But either to the clasping Vine

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Does the supporting Poplar Wed,
Or with his pruneing hook disjoyn
Unbearing Branches from their Head,
And grafts more happy in their stead:
Or climbing to a hilly steep,

He views his Herds in Vales afar,
Or Sheers his overburden'd Sheep,
Or mead for cooling drink prepares
Of Virgin honey in the Jars.
Or in the now declining year,

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When bounteous Autumn rears his head, He joyes to pull the ripen'd Pear, 30

And clustring Grapes with purple spread. The fairest of his fruit he serves, Priapus thy rewards: Sylvanus too his part deserves,

Whose care the fences guards. Sometimes beneath an ancient Oak, Or on the matted grass he lies: No God of Sleep he need invoke ;

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But when the blast of Winter blows,
And hoary frost inverts the year,
Into the naked Woods he goes,
And seeks the tusky Boar to rear,
With well mouth'd hounds and pointed
Spear.

Or spreads his subtile Nets from sight
With twinckling glasses to betray
The Larkes that in the Meshes light,
Or makes the fearful Hare his prey.
Amidst his harmless easie joys

No anxious care invades his health,
Nor Love his peace of mind destroys,
Nor wicked avarice of Wealth.
But if a chast and pleasing Wife,
To ease the business of his Life,
Divides with him his houshold care,
Such as the Sabine Matrons were,
Such as the swift Apulians Bride,
Sunburnt and Swarthy tho' she be,
Will fire for Winter Nights provide,
And without noise will oversee

His Children and his Family,
And order all things till he come,
Sweaty and overlabour'd, home;
If she in pens his Flocks will fold,

And then produce her Dairy store,
With Wine to drive away the cold,
And unbought dainties of the poor;
Not Oysters of the Lucrine Lake
My sober appetite wou'd wish,
Nor Turbet, or the Foreign Fish
That rowling Tempests overtake,
And hither waft the costly dish.
Not Heathpout, or the rarer Bird,

Which Phasis, or Ionia yields,
More pleasing morsels wou'd afford
Than the fat Olives of my fields;
Than Shards or Mallows for the pot,
That keep the loosen'd Body sound
Or than the Lamb, that falls by Lot,
To the just Guardian of my ground.
Amidst these feasts of happy Swains,
The jolly Shepheard smiles to see
His flock returning from the Plains;
The farmer is as pleas'd as he,
To view his Oxen, sweating smoak,
Bear on their Necks the loosen'd Yoke :

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CHRYSES, Priest of Apollo, brings Presents to the Grecian Princes, to ransom his Daughter Chryscis, who was Prisoner in the Fleet. Agamemnon, the General, whose Captive and Mistress the young Lady was, refuses to deliver her, threatens the Venerable Old Man, and dismisses him with Contumely.-The Priest craves Vengeance of his God; who sends a Plague among the Greeks: which occasions Achilles, their Great Champion, to summon a Council of the Chief Officers: He encourages Calchas, the High Priest and Prophet, to tell the Reason, why the Gods were so much incensed against them.-Calchas is fearful of provoking Agamemnon, till Achilles engages to protect him: Then, embolden'd by the Heroe, he accuses the General as the Cause of all, by detaining the Fair Captive, and refusing the Presents offer'd for her Ransom. By this Proceeding, Agamemnon is oblig'd, against his Will, to restore Chryseis, with Gifts, that he might appease the Wrath of Phoebus; but at the same time, to revenge himself on Achilles, sends to seize his Slave Briseis. Achilles, thus affronted, complains to his Mother Thetis; and begs her to revenge his Injury, not only on the General, but on all the Army, by giving Victory to the Trojans, till the ungrateful King became sensible of his Injustice. At the same time, he retires from the Camp into his Ships, and withdraws

THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAS. The text from the original edition of 1700. The text is given with fair accuracy in most editions. In the original there are some obvious misprints and some false stops.

his aid from his Countrymen. Thetis prefers her Son's Petition to Jupiter, who grants her Sute. Juno suspects her Errand, and quarrels with her Husband, for his Grant; till Vulcan reconciles his Parents with a Bowl of Nectar, and sends them peaceably to Bed.

THE wrath of Peleus Son, O Muse, resound; Whose dire Effects the Grecian Army found: And many a Heroe, King, and hardy Knight,

Were sent, in early Youth, to Shades of Night:

Their Limbs a Prey to Dogs and Vultures made;

So was the Sov'reign Will of Jove obey'd: From that ill-omen'd Ilour when Strife begun, Betwixt Atrides Great, and Thetis God-like Son.

What Pow'r provok'd, and for what Cause, relate,

Sow'd, in their Breasts, the Seeds of stern

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Bare was his hoary Head; one holy Hand 21 Held forth his Laurel Crown, and one his Sceptre of Command.

His Suit was common; but above the rest, To both the Brother-Princes thus address'd: Ye Sons of Atreus, and ye Grecian Pow'rs, So may the Gods who dwell in Heav'nly Bow'rs

Succeed your Siege, accord the Vows you make,

And give you Troys Imperial Town to take; So, by their happy Conduct, may you come With Conquest back to your sweet Native Home; 30

As you receive the Ransom which I bring, (Respecting Jove, and the far-shooting King,)

And break my Daughters Bonds, at my desire;

And glad with her Return her grieving Sire. With Shouts of loud Acclaim the Greeks decree

To take the Gifts, to set the Damsel free.
The King of Men alone with Fury burn'd;
And haughty, these opprobrious Words
return'd:

Hence, Holy Dotard, and avoid my Sight,
E'er Evil intercept thy tardy Flight:
Nor dare to tread this interdicted Strand,
Lest not that idle Sceptre in thy Hand,
Nor thy God's Crown, my vow'd Revenge
withstand.

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The God nine Days the Greeks at Rovers kill'd,

Nine Days the Camp with Fun'ral Fires was fill'd;

The tenth, Achilles, by the Queens Command,

Who bears Heav'ns awful Sceptre in her Hand,

80 A Council summon'd: for the Goddess griev'd

Her favour'd Hoast shou'd perish unreliev'd. The Kings assembled, soon their Chief inclose;

Then from his Seat the Goddess-born arose, And thus undaunted spoke: What now remains,

But that once more we tempt the watry Plains,

And wandring homeward, seek our Safety hence,

In Flight at least if we can find Defence?

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