Hail, Barde triumphantlborn in happier Day;
Immortal Steini of universal Praise
Oh may some park of your celestial Fire
The last, the meanest of your Jons inspire on

Essay on irt

EPISTOLA VII.

O

me

UINQUE dies tibi pollicitus me rare fu

turum,
Sextilem totum mendax defideror, atqui,
Si vivere vis fanum recteque valentem ;
Quam mihi das aegro, dabis aegrotare timenti,
Maecenas, veniam: dum ficus prima calorque
Designatorem decorat littoribus atris:
Dum pueris omnis pater, et matercula pallet;
Officiofaque fedulitas, et opella forenfis
Adducit febris, et testamenta resignat.
Quod fi bruma nives-Albanis illinet agris;
Ad mare descendet vates tuus, et fibi parcet,
Contractusque leget; te, dulcis amice, reviset
Cum Zephyris, fi concedes, et hirundine prima.

EPIST LE VII.

Imitated in the Manner of Dr. Swift.

'T

IS true, my Lord, I gave my word,

I would be with you, June the third ;
Chang'd it to August, and (in short)

Have kept it--- as you do at Court.
You humour me when I am fick,
Why not when I am splenetick?
In town, what Objects could I meet ?
The shops fhut up in ev'ry street,
And Fun'rals black’ning all the Doors,
And yet more melancholy Whores :

And what a duft in every place ? e

And a thin Court that wants your Face,

And Fevers raging up and down, > And W* and H** both in Town!

“ The Dog-days are no more the case.” 'Tis true, but Winter comes apace : Then southward let your bard retire, Hold out some Months ’twixt Sun and Fire, And you

shall see the first warm Weather, Me and the Butterflies together,

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