The odes & Satyrs of Horace, that have been done into English by the most eminent hands; With his Art of poetry...To this ed. is added several Odes never before published

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1717 Excerpt: ... from this Light'ning's Force secure my Head; Nor will I lift it up so high,, As in the violent Meteor's way to lye. Wealth for its Power do we honour and adore? The Things we hate, 111 Tate and Death, hive more. IV. From Towns and Courts, Camps of the Rich and Great, The vast Xerxean Army, I retreat; And to the small Lacmick Forces fly, Which hold the Streights of Poverty, Cellars and Granaries in vain we sill With all the bounteous Summer's Store, If the Mind thirst and hunger still, The poor rich Man's emphatically poor. Slave to the Things we too much prize, We Masters grow of all that we despise. V. A Field of Corn, a Fountain, and a Wood, Is all the Wealth by Nature understood. The Monarch on whom sertile Nile bestows All that which grateful Earth can bear, Deceives himself, if he suppose That more than this falls to his share. Whatever an Estate does beyond this afford, Is not a Rent paid to the Lord: But is a Tax illegal and unjust, Exacted from it by the Tyrant Lust. Much will always nothing be, To him who much desires. Thrice happy he, To whom the wise Indulgency of Heav,n, With sparing Hand, but just enough has given. Part of the 19th Ode, beginning at Prudens FutU ri Temporis Exitum, rjfe. paraphrase. By Dr. P 0 P E. In the Second Miscellany, Page 13. 'X1 H E wary Gods lock up in Cells of Night--Future Events, and laugh at Morals here, If they to pry into 'em take Delight, If they too much presume, or too much sear. O Man! For thy short Time below, Enjoy thy self, and what the Gods bestow: Unequal Fortunes here below are fhar'd, Lise to a River's Course may justly be compar'd: Sometimes within its Bed, Without an angry Curl or Wave, From the Spring-head It gently glides to the Ocean, its Grave: Then unawares, upon a sudden Rain, It madly overflo...