[Footnote 27: 
  “Fertur Prometheus, addere principi
  Limo coactus particulam undique
      Desectam, et insani leonis
        Vim stomacho apposuisse nostro.” 
            HORAT., Carm. I, xvi.—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 28: 
  “——­ super et Garamantas et Indos,
  Proferet imperium; ——­
  ——­ jam nunc et Caspia regna
  Responsis horrent divom.” 
        Virg., Aen., vi.]

[Footnote 29: 
  “——­ genibus minor.”]

[Footnote 30:  Son of Aeneas, here representing Frederick, Prince of Wales, father of George III.—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 31: 
  “Unus qui nobis cunctando restituis rem.” 
        Virg., Aen., vi, 847.—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 32:  “Divisum imperium cum Jove Caesar habet.”]

VERSES SENT TO THE DEAN
ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, WITH PINE’S HORACE, FINELY BOUND. 
BY DR. J. SICAN[1]

(Horace speaking.)

You’ve read, sir, in poetic strain,
How Varus and the Mantuan swain
Have on my birth-day been invited,
(But I was forced in verse to write it,)
Upon a plain repast to dine,
And taste my old Campanian wine;
But I, who all punctilios hate,
Though long familiar with the great,
Nor glory in my reputation,
Am come without an invitation;
And, though I’m used to right Falernian,
I’ll deign for once to taste Iernian;
But fearing that you might dispute
(Had I put on my common suit)
My breeding and my politesse,
I visit in my birth-day dress: 
My coat of purest Turkey red,
With gold embroidery richly spread;
To which I’ve sure as good pretensions,
As Irish lords who starve on pensions. 
What though proud ministers of state
Did at your antichamber wait;
What though your Oxfords and your St. Johns,
Have at your levee paid attendance,
And Peterborough and great Ormond,
With many chiefs who now are dormant,
Have laid aside the general’s staff,
And public cares, with you to laugh;
Yet I some friends as good can name,
Nor less the darling sons of fame;
For sure my Pollio and Maecenas
Were as good statesmen, Mr. Dean, as
Either your Bolingbroke or Harley,
Though they made Lewis beg a parley;
And as for Mordaunt,[2] your loved hero,
I’ll match him with my Drusus Nero. 
You’ll boast, perhaps, your favourite Pope;
But Virgil is as good, I hope. 
I own indeed I can’t get any
To equal Helsham and Delany;
Since Athens brought forth Socrates,
A Grecian isle, Hippocrates;
Since Tully lived before my time,
And Galen bless’d another clime. 
  You’ll plead, perhaps, at my request,
To be admitted as a guest,
“Your hearing’s bad!”—­But why such fears? 
I speak to eyes, and not to ears;
And for that reason wisely took
The form you see me in, a book. 
Attack’d by slow devouring moths,