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A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace

With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition
  

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Epist. V. To Torquatus.
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287

Epist. V. To Torquatus.

If, dear Torquatus, you can kindly deign
To lie on Beds, of simple Form and plain,
Where Herbs alone shall be your frugal Feast,
At Evening I expect you for my Guest.
Nor old, I own, nor excellent, my Wine,
Of five Years Vintage, and a marshy Vine;
If you have better, bring th' enlivening Chear,
Or, from an humble Friend, this Summons bear.
Bright shines my Hearth, my Furniture is clean,
With Joy my courtly Guest to entertain:
Then leave the Hope, that, wing'd with Folly, flies;
Leave the mean Quarrels, that from Wealth arise;
Leave the litigious Bar, for Cæsar's Birth
Proclaims the festal Hour of Ease and Mirth,

289

While social Converse, and sincere Delight,
Shall stretch, beyond its Length, the Summer's Night.
Say, what are Fortune's Gifts, if I'm denied
Their chearful Use? for nearly are allied
The Madman, and the Fool, whose sordid Care
Makes himself poor, but to enrich his Heir.
Give me to drink, and, crown'd with Flowers, despise
The grave Disgrace of being thought unwise.
What cannot Wine perform? It brings to Light
The secret Soul; it bids the Coward fight;
Gives Being to our Hopes, and from our Hearts
Drives the dull Sorrow, and inspires new Arts.
Whom hath not an inspiring Bumper taught
A Flow of Words, and Loftiness of Thought?
Even in th' oppressive Grasp of Poverty
It can enlarge, and bid the Wretch be free.
Chearful my usual Task I undertake
(Nor a mean Figure in my Office make)
That no foul Linen wrinkle up the Nose,
That every Plate with bright Reflexion shows
My Guest his Face; that none, when Life grows gay,
The social Hour of Confidence betray.
That all in equal Friendship may unite,
Your Butra and Septicius I'll invite,
And, if he's not engag'd to better Chear,
Or a kind Girl, Sabinus shall be here.

291

Still there is Room, and yet the Summer's Heat
May prove offensive, if the Croud be great:
But write me word, how many you desire,
Then instant from the busy World retire,
And while your studious Clients fill the Hall,
Slip out at the Back-door, and bilk them all.