EPIGRAM 63. BOOK III.

AS you are one, Sir HARRY, prythee tell us,
What gave you all the name of pretty fellows?
A pretty fellow's head is comb'd with care
In separate curls, and perfumes scent his hair;
He hums soft love-songs with affected ease,
And twists his form in attitudes to please!
At ALMACK's each subscription-night appears,
And whispers scandal in her Grace's ears;
Crams ill-spelt billet-dour with flames and darts,
Or steals with tender sighs unwary hearts;
At dinner must not be approach'd too nigh,
For if his clothes were rumpled, he would die :

EPIG. 63. LIB. III.

COTILE, bellus homo es, dicunt hoc, Cotile, multi,
Audio: sed quid sit, dic mihi, bellus homo?
Bellus homo est flexo qui digerit ordine crines:
Balsama qui semper, cinnama semper olet:

Cantica qui Nili, qui Gaditana susurrat:
Qui movet in varios brachia volsa modos:

Inter fœmineas tota qui luce cathedras

Desidet, atque aliqua semper in aure sonat: Qui legit hinc, illinc missas, scribitque tabellas: Pallia vicini qui refugit cubiti:

Knows when the Marquis first had Lady B,
And beats Lord L. in genealogy.

Enough, Sir HARRY!-'tis Herculean work;
I vow to GOD, I'd rather be a Turk.

EPIGRAM 26. BOOK III.

NATURE and Art have lavish'd ev'ry charm
On thy proud mansion, and thy fertile farm:
Thy cellar's stor❜d with wines, thy bags with pelf:
Sole taster, sole proprietor, thyself!

Yet though in knowledge thou alone would'st shine,
And wit, thou sayst, exclusively is thine;

That ev'ry thing is thine, I can't agree ;

Thy wife, for instance-her we share with thee!

Qui scit, quam quis amet, qui per convivia currit:
Hirpini veteres qui bene novit avos.

Quid narras? hoc est, hoc est, homo, Cotile, bellus?
Res petricosa est, Cotile, bellus homo.

EPIG. 26. LIB. III.

PRÆDIA solus habes, et solus, Candide, nummos:
Aurea solus habes, myrrhina solus habes:
Massica solus habes, et Opimî Cæcuba solus:

Et cor solus habes, solus et ingenium.
Omnia solus habes: hoc me puto velle

negare:

Uxorem sed habes, Candide, cum populo.

EPIGRAM II. BOOK VI.

THOUGH Friendship once was deem'd a sacred vow,
Where's PYLADES, and where ORESTES now?
They are no more! but if it do not strike,

Learn, SAM, the cause from me—they far'd alike.
From the same cup and dish, they drank and ate;
Betwixt us two the difference how great!
You dine on turtle, I on mutton-stew,
Yet I'm as great an epicure as you.

You're richly dress'd, in thread-bare coat I go;
When out at elbows, can I like a beau ?
Love that you may be lov'd,-ORESTES be;
you will find a PYLADES in me.

And

EPIG. 11. LIB. VI.

QUOD non sit Pylades hoc tempore, non sit Orestes,
Miraris? Pylades, Marce, bibebat idem.

Nec melior paniş, turdusve dabatur Oresti:
Sed par, atque eadem cœna duobus erat.
Tu Lucrina voras: me pascit aquosa Peloris,
Non minus ingenua est et mihi, Marce, gula.
Te Cadmæa Tyros, me pinguis Gallia vestit:
Vis te purpureum, Marce, sagatus amem?
Ut præstem Pyladem, aliquis mihi præstet Orestem :
Hoc non fit verbis; Marce, ut ameris, ama.

EPIGRAM 48. BOOK VI.

TIS not with wit you entertain your guests; Your good things are your dinners, not your jests.

EPIGRAM 67. BOOK II.

WITH a' How do you do?' in the park, or the street, You accost me, NICANOR, whenever we meet.

But as you at your bank have your trade to pursue,

To meet me so often,-pray how do you do?

EPIGRAM 41. BOOK V.

VENUS you paint, Minerva you admire,
Yet wonder that your picture wanted fire.

EPIG. 48. LIB. VI.

QUOD tam grande sophos clamat tibi turba togata:
Non tu, Pomponi, cœna diserta tua est.

EPIG. 67. LIB. II.

OCCURRIS quocunque loco mihi, Posthume, clamas
Protinus, et prima est hæc tua vox, quid agis?

Hoc, si me decies una conveneris hora,

Dicis. Habes puto tu, Posthume, nil quod agas.

EPIG. 41. LIB. V.

PINXISTI Venerem: colis, Artemidore, Minervam,
Et miraris, opus displicuisse tuum?

BOOK II. EPIGRAM 19.

YOU think me happy when I'm ask'd to dine,
And more than happy, if a guest of thine:
But he, to whom your dinner is a treat,
Must be the veriest beggar in the street!

EPIGRAM 40. BOOK VI.

WHEN, LYCE, you were young and fair,
I felt love's warm desire;

Now SOPHY, as these sighs declare,

Has set my heart on fire.

What she is now, you cannot be;
But 'twill be SOPHY's turn,

In your sad fate, her own to see,

EPIG. 19. LIB. II.

FELICEM fieri credis me, Zoile, cœna:
Felicem cœna, Zoile, deinde tua?
Debet Aricino conviva recumbere clivo,
Quem tua felicem, Zoile, cœna facit.

EPIG. 40. LIB. VI.

FŒMINA præferri potuit tibi nulla, Lycori,
Præferri Glyceræ fœmina nulla potest.

Hæc erit hoc, quod tu: tu non potes esse, quod hæc est.
Tempora quid faciunt! hanc volo, te volui.