< What think thou, Davus?"

Think I?-to be plain,

I think you trifling, and your Purpose vain.

Fear not her takings on, but rather dread
Her angry Slipper levell'd at your Head.

I warrant, Sir, she'll teach you to beware
Gnawing the Net, and struggling in the Snare.
Now, big you blufter, in heroic Strain;

Come one kind Line, you melt a Slave again.
• Well, 'tis a puzzling Circumstance, you cry;
• Shall I, my Heart! or fhall I not comply?
• But for one parting Look, no more, she sues:
And muft I this, this laft Request refuse?

Yes, of full Freedom, if you'd reign poffeft,

You must refuse, refuse this last Request.

350

355

360

Perf. Right, Davus! there's the Man, that happy he,

Whom, and whom only, I acknowledge free.

Who perfevere not, ftill are actual Slaves ;

Spite of the Wand an idle Lictor waves.

365

Next

Next of the tyrant Train, to feize thee waits

Ambition; and difplays her gilded Baits.

Enjoys he Freedom, who obeys her Laws?
Who follows eager, where the tempting draws?

Go, Slave! (for fuch thou art) quit Sleep and Ease!
Deal to the brangling Mob, thy Bribe of Pease!
With liberal Hand, thy Largeffes bestow,

Rich be the Feast, and fumptuous be the Show:

370

So (while they creep, and bask in noon-tide Heat) 375 Shall funny Seniors thy Applaufe repeat:

Give thee, for fleepless Nights, and anxious Days,

(O rare Amends!) a Dotard's chatty Praise.

But Herod's Feaft returns!-How chang'd thou art?

Now Superftition lords it o'er thy Heart.

Now Lamps with Violets deck'd, in Rows depend;

And from each Window greasy Clouds afcend;

Now the red Dish, within its circling Rim,
Beholds the Tail of fome poor Tunny swim.

380

Now

Now the white earthen Veffel fwells with Wine;
And thou, in Folly stand'ft prepar'd to join.
Strictly obfervant of the curtail'd Race,

Lo thee, with Anguish brooding on thy Face:
Pale turns thy Cheek, with idle empty Frights;

385

While thy Lips move, and mutter Jewish Rites.

390

Next, the black Ghost thy Mind with Horrors fills; And the crackt Egg-shell bodes a thousand Ills.

The blinkard Priestess awes, with timbrel'd Hand;

Fat Gelding-Priests, thy fervile Soul command.

Dire Ills, it feems! their Gods denounce in Rage; 395 And Garlick only, can their Gods afswage.

Thrice then, each Morn, (for thrice the Powers direct) Garlick thou nibbleft, with devout Respect.

But here I end: for, dictate as I will,

Blockheads there are, who must be Blockheads ftill. 400

Ver. 393. Prieftefs.] That is to fay, the Prieftefs of the Goddess Ifis: who may be seen described with her Timbrel, in Mr. Holid。 P. 246.

394. Priests.] Priefts of Cybele, the Phrygian Goddess,

Yer

Yes, fhou'd I vent in Camps these moral Strains,
How wou'd the Hero-Tribe applaud my Pains!

Each brawny Back, with Laughter ftrait wou'd shake;

Each noble Captain, this Reply wou'd make:

Jabber not, Friend! thy learned Jargon here:

• Do musty Morals fuit the martial Ear?

We prize not, we, with all their fenseless Sense,
A hundred Stoics at a hundred Pence.

405

The End of the fifth SATIRE.

4

SATIRA QUINTA.

Perfius. Atibus hic Mos eft, centum fibi pofcere V

Voces,

Centum Ora, et Linguas optare in Carmina centum:

Fabula feu moefto ponatur hianda Tragœdo,

Vulnera feu Parthi ducentis ab Inguine Ferrum.

Cornutus. Quorfum hæc? aut quantas robufti Carmi

nis offas

Ingeris, ut par fit centeno Gutture niti?

Grande locuturi, Nebulas Helicone legunto:

Si quibus aut Prognes, aut fi quibus Olla Thyefte
Fervebit, fæpe infulfo cœnanda Glyconi.

Tu neque anhelanti, coquitur dum Maffa Camino,
Folle premis Ventos: nec, claufo Murmure raucus,
Nefcio quid Tecum grave cornicaris ineptè:

Nec Scloppo tumidas intendis rumpere Buccas.

5