University of Virginia Library

EPIGRAMS.

[Good statesman, be wise, and spend not your blood]

Good statesman, be wise, and spend not your blood,
No need of gaol, gibbet, or fetter;
To die for our country I own very good,
To live for our country much better.

[Lest your own praise should chance to die]

Lest your own praise should chance to die,
Nor enter fame's large portal,
On sculptured stones you place it high,
—But stones are not immortal.

[A Friar, who solac'd a rogue with God's love]

A Friar, who solac'd a rogue with God's love,
Assur'd him, that night he should sup it above;
Honest pluck-purse replies, an it may please your grace,
'Tis fast-day with me, would you sup in my place!

EPIGRAM FROM CATULLUS. TRANSLATED.

I hate, and love, nor know the reason why,
But this I know, I feel it and I die.

LUCAN'S CELEBRATED LINE TRANSLATED.

The partial Gods espous'd the victor side,
The conquer'd party Cato chose, and died.

[You pay a French barber for putting a tooth in]

You pay a French barber for putting a tooth in,
Which Nature has kindly pluck'd out for nothing.

[Iron trunk for your gold, iron bars to keep it faster]

Iron trunk for your gold, iron bars to keep it faster,
Iron gates, iron roof, and iron too the master.

LINES

Written on a blank leaf of Swift's Works.

While in morocco modern authors shine,
Pompously dull, and most absurdly fine;
While ev'n my pages own the printer's pain,
His skill to strengthen trifles us'd in vain;
Lo! with bad type, brown paper, bound in calf,
Dean, Drapier, Gulliver, and Bickerstaff!

[You say, good Richard, though you rhime so well]

You say, good Richard, though you rhime so well,
The publishers exclaim, your book won't sell!
I'll tell you, Dick, you rail at dunces, look!
And none but dunces ever read your book.

[Fortune, I say, is no unequal whore]

Fortune, I say, is no unequal whore,
Fears to the rich she gives, and promise to the poor.

[Time destroys all things below, or above]

Time destroys all things below, or above,
And we destroy time, so we're equal, by Jove.

[“Thou shalt not steal,” good counsellor, be still]

“Thou shalt not steal,” good counsellor, be still;
“Thou shalt not murder,” doctor, spare thy pill.

[One God, two bibles, three great signs adore]

One God, two bibles, three great signs adore,
Add faith, thou infidel, and make up four.

ODE TO A MOUSE.

Say, gentle vermin, art thou smit
With curious love of classic wit?
Else, why so slily creep along,
Enamour'd, nibbling sacred song;
Else why in poet's trunk intrude,
Where nought remains but tuneful food:
If oh! perchance, in thy small size,
(Tremendous foe!) some critic lies;
John Dennis, once of voice supreme,
Now dwindled to a sweeter scream,
If so, forbear the charming prey,
Critic, or mouse, away! away!

TO THE SAME.

While Homer and Horace provide you a feast,
You've mangled my poems, odsbud where's your taste?

[Acteon his dogs eat, bones, body, and all]

Acteon his dogs eat, bones, body, and all,
But his horns are yet to be seen at Guildhall.

EPIGRAMMA BIDERMANI. IMITATED.

The fearless saint, inviolably chaste,
Bold trial! o'er the burning ploughshare past:
When the red torture kiss'd her hallow'd heel,
The fire, and not the foot, then learn'd to feel.

J. SCALIGER'S EPIGRAM On the sonnets of Petrarch.

IMITATED.

Petrarch! how bright a flame illum'd thy breast!
Unrival'd wit in smoothest numbers drest.
Nor the sweet Muse, nor yet the maid belov'd,
Were coy, but both alike thy suit approv'd;
Methinks, while I peruse the charming strain,
Apollo wooes his Daphne o'er again.
To number, to add, or to multiply more,
Old miser avails not in thy sad contrition;
To give thee some zest with thy ill-gotten store,
Then pri'thee, lean penitent, learn division.