Next at Cocceius' farm we're treated,
Above the Caudian tavern feated ;
His kind and hospitable board

With choice of wholesome food was stored.
Now, O ye Nine, infpire my lays!
To nobler themes my fancy raise !
Two combatants, who fcorn to yield
The noify, tongue-difputed field,
Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim
A poet's tribute to their fame;
Cicirrus of true Ofcian breed,
Sarmentus, who was never freed,
But ran away.

We don't defame him;

His lady lives, and still may claim him.
Thus dignified, in harder fray

These champions their keen wit display,
And firft Sarmentus led the way.

"Thy locks," quoth he, "fo rough and coarse,
Look like the mane of fome wild horse."
We laugh: Cicirrus undismay'd—

"Have at you!"-cries, and shakes his head. ""Tis well," Sarmentus fays, "you've loft That horn your forehead once could boast; Since, maim'd and mangled as you are, You feem to butt." A hideous scar

Improved, ('tis true,) with double grace

The native horrors of his face.
Well. After much jocofely faid
Of his grim front, so fiery red,
(For carbuncles had blotched it o'er,
As ufual on Campania's fhore)

"Give us," he cried, "fince you're fo big,

A fample of the Cyclops' jig!

Your fhanks methinks no bufkins afk,
Nor does your phiz require a mask."
To this Cicirrus: "In return

Of you, Sir, now I fain would learn,
When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave,
Your chains you to the Lares gave.
For though a scrivener's right you claim,
Your lady's title is the fame.

But what could make you run away,
Since, pigmy as you are, each day
A fingle pound of bread would quite
O'erpower your puny appetite?"

Thus joked the champions, while we laugh'd,
And many a cheerful bumper quaff'd.
To Beneventum next we fteer;

Where our good hoft by over care
In roafting thrushes lean as mice
Had almost fallen a facrifice.
The kitchen foon was all on fire,
And to the roof the flames afpire;
There might you see each man and master
Striving, amidsft this fad difafter,

To fave the fupper. Then they came
With speed enough to quench the flame.
From hence we first at distance fee
The Apulian hills, well known to me,
Parch'd by the fultry western blast;
And which we never should have past,
Had not Trivicus by the way
Received us at the clofe of day.
But each was forced at entering here

For more of smoke than fire was feen-
The hearth was piled with logs fo green.
From hence in chaifes we were carried
Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried
At a small town, whofe name my verse
(So barbarous is it) can't rehearse.
Know it you may by many a fign,
Water is dearer far than wine.
There bread is deem'd fuch dainty fare,
That every prudent traveller

His wallet loads with many a crust;
For at Canufium you might just
As well attempt to gnaw a stone
As think to get a morfel down:
That too with fcanty ftreams is fed;
Its founder was brave Diomed.

Good Varius (ah, that friends must part!)
Here left us all with aching heart.
At Rubi we arrived that day,

Well jaded by the length of way,

And fure poor mortals ne'er were wetter:
Next day no weather could be better;
No roads fo bad; we fcarce could crawl
Along to fishy Barium's wall.

The Egnatians next, who by the rules
Of common fense are knaves or fools,
Made all our fides with laughter heave,
Since we with them muft needs believe
That incenfe in their temples burns,
And without fire to afhes turns.
To circumcifion's bigots tell

Such tales! for me, I know full well
That in high heaven, unmoved by care,
The Gods eternal quiet fhare :

Nor can I deem their spleen the cause,
Why fickle Nature breaks her laws.
Brundufium laft we reach: and there
Stop short the Muse and Traveller.

1759.

THE NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

The Defcription of an Impertinent. Adapted to the prefent times, 1759.

AUNTERING along the street one day,
On trifles musing by the way—
Up fteps a free familiar wight,

(I fcarcely knew the man by fight.)

Carlos," he cried, "

Gad, I rejoice to meet

your hand, my dear,
you here!

Pray Heaven I fee you well?" "So fo;
E'en well enough as times now go.
The fame good wifhes, Sir, to you."
Finding he still purfued me close-
"Sir, you have business I suppose."

My business, Sir, is quickly done, 'Tis but to make my merit known.

Sir, I have read"-" O learned Sir,
You and your learning I revere.”
Then fweating with anxiety,
And fadly longing to get free,
Gods, how I fcamper'd, fcuffled for't,
Ran, halted, ran again, stopp'd short,
Beckon'd my boy, and pull'd him near,
And whisper'd nothing in his ear.

Teafed with his loofe unjointed chat"What street is this? What house is that?" O Harlow, how I envied thee

Thy unabash'd effrontery,

Who dareft a foe with freedom blame,

And call a coxcomb by his name!
When I return'd him anfwer none,

Obligingly the fool ran on,

"I see you're dismally distreff'd,
Would give the world to be released,
But by your leave, Sir, I fhall ftill
Stick to your skirts, do what

you will. Pray which way does your journey tend?"

O, 'tis a tedious way, my friend;

Across the Thames, the Lord knows where, I would not trouble you fo far."

"Well, I'm at leifure to attend you."

Are you?" thought I, "the De'il befriend you." No afs with double panniers rack'd, Oppreff'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd, E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull As I, nor half fo like a fool.

Sir, I know little of myself, (Proceeds the pert conceited elf)