By rage of barbarous Huns and Goths;
By Bentley’s notes, my deadliest foes,
By Creech’s[3] rhymes, and Dunster’s[4] prose;
I found my boasted wit and fire
In their rude hands almost expire: 
Yet still they but in vain assail’d;
For, had their violence prevail’d,
And in a blast destroy’d my frame,
They would have partly miss’d their aim;
Since all my spirit in thy page
Defies the Vandals of this age. 
’Tis yours to save these small remains
From future pedant’s muddy brains,
And fix my long uncertain fate,
You best know how—­“which way?”—­TRANSLATE.

[Footnote 1:  This ingenious young gentleman was unfortunately murdered in Italy.—­Scott.]

[Footnote 2:  See verses to the Earl of Peterborough, ante, p. 48.—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 3:  The translator and editor of Lucretius and Horace.—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 4:  Who put forth, in 1710, the “Satyrs and Epistles of Horace, done into English,” of which a second edition was published in 1717, with the addition of the “Art of Poetry.”  His versions were well satirized by the wits of the time, one of whom, Dr. T. Francklin, wrote: 
  “O’er Tibur’s swan the Muses wept in vain,
  And mourned their bard by cruel Dunster slain.”
Dict.  Nat.  Biog.—­W.  E. B.]

EPIGRAM BY MR. BOWYER INTENDED TO BE PLACED UNDER THE HEAD OF GULLIVER. 1733

“Here learn from moral truth and wit refined,
How vice and folly have debased mankind;
Strong sense and humour arm in virtue’s cause;
Thus her great votary vindicates her laws: 
While bold and free the glowing colours strike;
Blame not the picture, if the picture’s like.”

ON PSYCHE[1]

At two afternoon for our Psyche inquire,
Her tea-kettle’s on, and her smock at the fire: 
So loitering, so active; so busy, so idle;
Which has she most need of, a spur or a bridle? 
Thus a greyhound outruns the whole pack in a race,
Yet would rather be hang’d than he’d leave a warm place. 
She gives you such plenty, it puts you in pain;
But ever with prudence takes care of the main. 
To please you, she knows how to choose a nice bit;
For her taste is almost as refined as her wit. 
To oblige a good friend, she will trace every market,
It would do your heart good, to see how she will cark it. 
Yet beware of her arts; for, it plainly appears,
She saves half her victuals, by feeding your ears.

[Footnote 1:  Mrs. Sican, a very ingenious lady, mother to the author of the “Verses” with Pine’s Horace; and a favourite with Swift and Stella.—­W.  E. B.]

THE DEAN AND DUKE 1734