life has been a continued opposition to your evil system; who has hated all cruelty, all fraud, all falseness; whose word has been sacred, whose honour inviolate; who has made the laws of his kingdom the rules of his government, and good faith and a regard for the liberty of mankind the principles of his conduct with respect to foreign powers; who reigns more absolutely now in the hearts of his people, and does greater things by the confidence they place in him, and by the efforts they make from the generous zeal of affection, than any monarch ever did, or ever will do, by all the arts of iniquity which you recommended.

DIALOGUE XIII.

VIRGIL—­HORACE—­MERCURY—­SCALIGER THE ELDER.

Virgil.—­My dear Horace, your company is my greatest delight, even in the Elysian Fields.  No wonder it was so when we lived together in Rome.  Never had man so genteel, so agreeable, so easy a wit, or a temper so pliant to the inclinations of others in the intercourse of society.  And then such integrity, such fidelity, such generosity in your nature!  A soul so free from all envy, so benevolent, so sincere, so placable in its anger, so warm and constant in its affections!  You were as necessary to Maecenas as he to Augustus.  Your conversation sweetened to him all the cares of his ministry; your gaiety cheered his drooping spirits; and your counsels assisted him when he wanted advice.  For you were capable, my dear Horace, of counselling statesmen.  Your sagacity, your discretion, your secrecy, your clear judgment in all affairs, recommended you to the confidence, not of Maecenas alone, but of Augustus himself; which you nobly made use of to serve your old friends of the republican party, and to confirm both the minister and the prince in their love of mild and moderate measures, yet with a severe restraint of licentiousness, the most dangerous enemy to the whole commonwealth under any form of government.

Horace.—­To be so praised by Virgil would have put me in Elysium while I was alive.  But I know your modesty will not suffer me, in return for these encomiums, to speak of your character.  Supposing it as perfect as your poems, you would think, as you did of them, that it wanted correction.

Virgil.—­Don’t talk of my modesty.  How much greater was yours, when you disclaimed the name of a poet, you whose odes are so noble, so harmonious, so sublime!

Horace.—­I felt myself too inferior to the dignity of that name.

Virgil.—­I think you did like Augustus, when he refused to accept the title of king, but kept all the power with which it was ever attended.  Even in your Epistles and Satires, where the poet was concealed, as much as he could be, you may properly be compared to a prince in disguise, or in his hours of familiarity with his intimate friends:  the pomp and majesty were let drop, but the greatness remained.