Horace in London Consisting of imitations of the first two books of the odes of Horace. By the authors of the rejected addresses, or the new theatrum poetarum [Horace and James Smith] |
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VI. | ODE VI. THE CLASSIC VILLA.
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Horace in London | ||
127
ODE VI. THE CLASSIC VILLA.
Septimi, Gades aditure mecum.
Muse, at whose gate I've oft times knock'd,
In fancy's dream thy charms caressing;
Whose maid my dignity has shock'd
As oft, by answering, Sir, she's dressing.
In fancy's dream thy charms caressing;
Whose maid my dignity has shock'd
As oft, by answering, Sir, she's dressing.
O'er my last lay thy gold dust shake,
A guinea for each line I spin is
The lowest farthing I can take;
The whole will cost three thousand guineas.
A guinea for each line I spin is
The lowest farthing I can take;
The whole will cost three thousand guineas.
Then let me write from youth to age,
And when the critics dub me Crassus,
With a low bow I'll quit the stage,
And sport a villa near Parnassus.
And when the critics dub me Crassus,
With a low bow I'll quit the stage,
And sport a villa near Parnassus.
128
Safe from adversity's attacks,
There let me quaff from Phœbus' chalice,
In a snug house, like trusty Mac's,
Adjoining to my sovereign's palace.
There let me quaff from Phœbus' chalice,
In a snug house, like trusty Mac's,
Adjoining to my sovereign's palace.
But if the envious fates refuse,
And dub my tuneful swan a raven,
Pack thy portmanteau, injured muse,
And seek with me Britannia's haven.
And dub my tuneful swan a raven,
Pack thy portmanteau, injured muse,
And seek with me Britannia's haven.
A lane near Cripplegate extends,
Grub Street 'tis call'd, the London Pindus,
Where, but that Bards are seldom friends,
Bards might shake hands from adverse windows.
Grub Street 'tis call'd, the London Pindus,
Where, but that Bards are seldom friends,
Bards might shake hands from adverse windows.
There Thyrsis tunes his oaten reed,
(Nought oaten else to make him merry)
There grave Virginia smokes her weed,
And Juniper distils his berry.
(Nought oaten else to make him merry)
There grave Virginia smokes her weed,
And Juniper distils his berry.
All loftier tenants I discard,
I soar to catch Apollo's favour;
The attic floor shall prop the bard,
And attic salt his porridge savour.
I soar to catch Apollo's favour;
The attic floor shall prop the bard,
And attic salt his porridge savour.
129
And when the poet's goal I reach,
With body lean and tunic shabby,
Chaunt, widow'd muse, my dying speech,
And shroud my ashes in the abbey.
With body lean and tunic shabby,
Chaunt, widow'd muse, my dying speech,
And shroud my ashes in the abbey.
Horace in London | ||