Imatges de pÓgina
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QU IL

CA,

A Country-House of Dr. Sheridan,

In no very good Repair,

L

Where the

supposed Author and some of his Friends Spent a Summer in the Year 1725. • ET me thy properties explain,

A rotten cabbin dropping rain ; Chimnies with scorn rejecting smoak; Stool, tables, chairs, and bedsteds broke. Here elements have lost their uses, Air ripens not, nor earth produces; In vain we make poor Sheelah * toil, Fire will not roast, nor water boil. Through all the valleys, hills and plains, The goddess Want in triumph reigns: And her chief officers of state, Sloth, Dirt, and Theft around her wait.

An Irish name.

HORACE,

HORACE O DE XIV. BOOK I. .

E

Paraphrased, and inscribed to IRELAND.

Written in the Year 1725-6.

THE INSCRIPTION.

Poor floating ille, tost on ill-fortune's waves,
Ordain'd by fate to be the land of Javes;
Shall moving Delos now deep-rooted stand:
Thou, fix'd of old, be now the moving land?
Although the metaphor be worn and stale,
Betwixt a state, and vessel under fail;
Let me suppose thee for a ship a-while,
And thus address thee in the sailor's Jlyle:

I.

UNHAPPY ship, thou art return'd

in vain : New waves shall drive thee to the deep Look to thyself, and be no more the sport 2. Of giddy winds, but make some friendly

again.

1. O navis, referent in mare te novi

Fluctus.

Look

port. 3. Loft are thy oars, that us’d thy course to

guide, Like faithful counsellors on either side. 4. Thy mast, which like some aged patriot

stood
The single pillar for his country's good,
To lead thee, as a staff directs the blind,
Behold it cracks by yon rough castern

wind. 5. Your cables burst, and you must quickly

feel The waves impetuous enter at your

keel. Thus, commonwealths receive a foreign

yoke, When the strong cords of union once

are broke.

4.

2.- Fortiter occuta
Portum :
Nudum remigio latus.

Malus celeri saucius Africo.
5.-

-Ac fine funibus
Vix durare carince
Pclint imperiosius
A quor?

6. Torn

6. Torn by a sudden tempest is thy fail,

Expanded to invite a milder.gale.

Aswhen some writer in a public cause, His pen to save, a sinking nation draws, While all is calm, his arguments prevail; The people's voice expands his paper fail; 'Till pow'r, discharging all her formy

bags, Flutters the feeble pamphlet into rags. The nation scar'd, the author dooin'd to

death, Whofondly put his trust in pop’lar breath.

A larger sacrifice in vain you vow; 7. There's not a pow'rabove will help you

now :

A nation thus, who oft heaven's call

neglects, In vain from injur'd heaven reliefexpects.

8.

'Twill not avail, when they strong sides

are broke,
That thy descent is from the British oak;
6. Non tibi sunt integra lintea.
7: Non Dii, quos iterum pressa voces malo.
8. Quamvis pontica pinus;

Sylvæ filia nobilis.
Vol. VII.

H

Org

Or, when your name, your family you

boast,
From fleets triumphant o'er the Gallic

coast.
Such was Ierne's claim, as just as thine,
Her sons descended from the British line;
Her matchless fons, whose valour still

remains
On French records for twenty long cam-

paigns : Yet from an empress now a captive

grown, She sav'd Britannia's rights, and lost her

Own.

9. In fhips decay'd no mariner confides,

Lur'd by the gilded stern and painted

sides;

Yet at a ball unthinking fools delight
In the gay trappings of a birth-day

night:
They on the gold brocades and fattins

rav'd, And quite forgot their country was en

flav'd.

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10. Dear

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