Lady. WHAT! Virgil in London ?-'twill never go down He'll meet but a sorry reception in town; His manners are coarse, and his language, you know Author. Not a stroke of ill-nature, All sober hilarity, good-humour'd satire ; My Muse, no prim quakeress, straight, and tightlac'd Will, I hope, prove a nymph to your Ladyship's taste. Lady. But why thus confine your poetical rage? Give scope to your talents, and write for the stage; 'Tis a second-hand task o'er the classics to pore, And Virgil has had his translators before. Author. The Stage!-'twere in vain for your poet to try, No half-witted melo-dramatist am I. Lady. Write a poem in Erse Author. And provoke the Reviews! What! rival the chaste Caledonian Muse? Lady. Then conjure up Spirits, and boldly advance A champion for fame in the field of Romance; Try Politics-they've been the fashion of late!Turn critic-but ne'er condescend to translate. Author. Though pedants may rail, though the learned may frown, Still Virgil shall make his appearance in town. A masquerade, pic-nic, a grand city ball, A Carlton House fête, or a squeeze at Vauxhall, The play-house, the park, and occasional news, Shall furnish right popular themes for his Muse. How like you the thought? Lady. Why, the subject is witty, "Tis a novel idea, and exceedingly pretty! For Virgil to sing, when he travels from home, The fashions of London as well as of Rome.- Author. Ye Critics! before whose tribunal severe, As a dutiful bard, I am bound to appear; And spare him the smarts of your critical knives! If sometimes, a truant from classical rules, His muse take a license unknown to the schools, Reflect, Alma-mater is nothing to him, A laughing disciple of frolic and whim; Nor scalp a poor author for trifles like these, Who strives to amuse, and whose aim is to please. ECLOGUE I. THE RETIRED CITIZEN TO HIS FRIEND IN TOWN. Fortunate Senex, hic inter flumina nota, VIRGIL, ECLOGA I. WHILE you, M-, fond of noise and strife, Content with Mopsa, your enamour'd bride, Let sordid misers ev'ry art employ Let them, good folks! forsake the town in droves, And idly stray through Dandelion's groves, Or, proud to show a daughter's clumsy air, For wealth, the most desir'd of earthly things, Is only useful for the joys it brings; And let me never tauntingly be told I simply barter'd happiness for gold. ere gouty ills, a direful train, Let me, Disturb my rest, and rack my joints with pain, K |