theme with three only, one out of his Odes, the other out of his Satires, the third out of his Epistles, and shall forbear to collect the suffrages of all other poets, which may be found scattered up and down through all their writings, and especially in Martial’s. But I must not omit to make some excuse for the bold undertaking of my own unskilful pencil upon the beauties of a face that has been drawn before by so many great masters, especially that I should dare to do it in Latin verses (though of another kind) and have the confidence to translate them. I can only say that I love the matter, and that ought to cover, many faults; and that I run not to contend with those before me, but follow to applaud them.

Virg. Georg.

Virg. Georg

O fortunatus nimium, etc.

A TRANSLATION OUT OF VIRGIL.

Oh happy (if his happiness he knows) The country swain, on whom kind Heaven bestows At home all riches that wise Nature needs; Whom the just earth with easy plenty feeds. ’Tis true, no morning tide of clients comes, And fills the painted channels of his rooms, Adoring the rich figures, as they pass, In tapestry wrought, or cut in living brass; Nor is his wool superfluously dyed With the dear poison of Assyrian pride: Nor do Arabian perfumes vainly spoil The native use and sweetness of his oil. Instead of these, his calm and harmless life, Free from th’ alarms of fear, and storms of strife, Does with substantial blessedness abound, And the soft wings of peace cover him round: Through artless grots the murmuring waters glide; Thick trees both against heat and cold provide, From whence the birds salute him; and his ground With lowing herds, and bleating sheep does sound; And all the rivers, and the forests nigh, Both food and game and exercise supply. Here a well-hardened, active youth we see, Taught the great art of cheerful poverty. Here, in this place alone, there still do shine Some streaks of love, both human and divine; From hence Astræa took her flight, and here Still her last footsteps upon earth appear. ’Tis true, the first desire which does control All the inferior wheels that move my soul, Is, that the Muse me her high priest would make; Into her holiest scenes of 

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