NOTES ON DRYDEN's VIRGIL. In a Letter to a Friend. With an ESSAY on the same Poet. By Mr. MILBOURNE.  
Arma virum— Nun hoc spumosum & cortice pingui?  
Vt Ramale Vetus praegrandi subere coctum.  Pers. Sat. 1. 
Thus Translated by Mr. Dryden: 

Friend— What if I bring  
A Nobler Verse? Arms and the Man I sing.  
Pers. Why name you Virgil with such Fops as these?  
He's truly great, and must for ever please:  
Not Fierce, but Awful is his Manly Page;  
Bold is his Strength, but Sober is his Rage.    
Caedimus inque vicem praebemus cura Sagittis.  
LONDON, Printed for R. Clavill, at the Peacock, over against Fetter-lane-end, in Fleetstreet, 1698.   

NOTES ON DRYDEN's VIRGIL. In a Letter to a Friend.  
SIR,  
WHen the late Translation of Virgil first appeared in Public, you desired my Thoughts of it: The Task was not ingrateful; for though I never had any great Opinion of Mr. Dryden's Performances of that kind, yet I had so great a Respect for Virgil, as made every thing which might endenizen him, acceptable to me: I set therefore upon reading the Translation presently, and cast my Observations on it into Writing: But meeting with many Avocations, of which you are not ignorant, I have had since no Leisure to look over or complete them. Being at last Master of a little, I send them you; of what Weight they may appear to the Few, Time will show.  
And here, in the first place, I must needs own jacob Tonson's Ingenuity to be greater than the Translator's, who, in the Inscription of his fine Gay in the Front of the Book, calls it very honestly Dryden's Virgil, to let the Reader know, that this is not that Virgil so much admired in the Augustaean Age, an Author whom Mr. Dryden once thought Untranslatable, but a Virgil of another Stamp, of a courser Allay; a silly, impertinent, nonsensical Writer, of a various and uncertain Style, a mere Alexander Ross, or some body inferior to him; who could never have been known again in the Translation, if the Name of Virgil had not been bestowed upon him in large Characters in the Frontispiece and in the Running Title. Indeed, there's scarce the Magni Nominis Umbra to be met with in this Translation, which being fairly intimated by jacob, he needs add no more, but Si Populus vult decipi decipiatur.  
But Mr. Dryden himself, after some little v●litations and odd Compliments bestowed on my Lord Clifford and the E. of Chesterfield, shows his Triarii, and in a large Battle, with a Front of extraordinary Length, but not very Deep, in his Address to my Lord Marquis of Normanby; Mr. Dryden knew he had to do with a Critic of the First Rate in that Noble Lord; That he perfectly understood the Author, and his Translation, and therefore tried to tire him so with a very familiar indeed, but tedious and confused Epistle, as might, if possible, prevent his looking more nicely into the Translation: and doubtless if that Noble Lord had patience to read over such a Volume of Impertinence, Mr. Dryden might justly give him leave to damn all the rest of the Book.  
It may perhaps be worth the while to examine that Epistle a little, to see what Thoughts Mr. Dryden in it has of his own Performances, and the Intellectuals of others; though a Man must be very careful of his Movements, since a dreadfully barbarous, and unnatural Postscript lies behind in Ambuscade, and Heaven knows how many little Scribblers have fallen into the Hands of those merciless Monsters, to the perpetual Terror of such unthinking presumptuous Creatures. However I'll March as warily as I can, and being forewarned, may be perhaps forearmed too, till I have gone through what I designed, and you expected from me.  
After some Discourse of the Nature of an Epic Poem, He tells us, as he says, from Bossu, That Statius had a mind to try his Strength with Virgil on a particular Subject, as Funeral Games, as Virgil had with Homer: I have not Boss● by me, but if he talks so, he mistakes. Statius never pretended to come up to Virgil, much less to Wrestle a Fall with him in Heroics. Tu ne Divinum Aeneida tenta, sed longe sequere, & vestigia semper adora, was more agreeable to his Modesty. He might imitate Virgil without incurring the Name of that Capaneus of a Poet, which perhaps, may pass for a fine Thought, but indeed is Nonsense; nothing but Lightning could hinder Capaneus from entering Thebes in spite of all their Gods. Pray what hindered Statius from mateing Virgil? And Virgil can scarce be said to borrow any thing from Homer in this case, since his Games were of another Nature as 'twas fit they should have been, only his were Funeral Games as well as those of Homer, and might have been so, though he had never read the Grecians Poems.  
After a long Story about the Epic and Dramatic Poem, especially the Tragedy, He closes his Paragraph, with a Character of his own Tragedies, though he introduces it with a Reflection on the Lord Orrery, what ever that is, the rest is true on certain Experience. We can believe Achilles or Aeneas routed Armies in Homer, or Virgil. But, Ne Hercules contra duos in the Drama. This is coming to Confession for Almanzor. Afterwards He tells some more Truths of Himself, such as may perhaps make him a Hero, but of no perfect Virtue; However He's a Native of Parnassus, and bred up in the Study of its Fundamental Laws. Now if I'm not mistaken those are Monarchical, but Mr. D— since he received Mr. M—es stamp is of another Clan, a mere Renegado from Monarchy, Poetry, and good Sense. But let him praise himself, while we wonder at his Writings, and conclude with himself, That All are not Heroic Poets, I add, Nor fit to Translate them, who have assumed that lofty Title in Ancient or Modern Ages, or have been so esteemed by their partial or ignorant Admirers.  
They are not to be ranked among the three whom I have named, This passage is somewhat obscure, for whether he means Homer, Virgil, and Tasso, or Tasso, Spencer, and Milton, or speaks of three where he had named but two, only to burlesque Scripture, may be disputed. But why was not Mr. Cowley named as well as Spencer, or Milton, since Spencer's Fairy Queen is no more finished than Mr. Cowley's Davideis, I know those who have little of their own, condemn the Superfluity of his Wit, the Reason is their Unhappiness, not His? Those who have Wit may use it, and those who want it may be Angry: But I'd sooner yield to my Lord Bishop of Rochester's Character of that Beginning of the Davideis, That It's a better instance and beginning of a Divine Poem than he had ever yet seen in any Language, than submit to the Censorious Ignorance of our latter Scribblers.  
A Poet cannot speak too plain on the Stage— I'm afraid than a great many fine words in the Conquest of Granada, must be lost, such as Vivarambla, Mirador, Escapade etc. which may create some difficulties to Unhispaniolized Readers.  
That the Moral of the Aeneis is less Noble than that of the Ilias, I know no Reason to grant, That union among Confederates, or Little States, is necessary for the their support, and for their compassing any great or generous Designs, is a great Truth, and made good by the Ilias, is owned, That Piety to the Gods, Reverence to Parents, exact justice, and prudent Valour are necessary and effectual to carry Men thro' Difficulties, and as Noble a Truth and as clearly made out by the Aeneis, and is its great Moral must be owned too. That the Romans from thence should make an Inference, That they could not be happier than by a quiet Submission to the Conduct and Government of a Prince in whom all these Qualifications met, was reasonable; it was what the Poet designed, and what Augustus might have cause to value the Poem for, and, supposing it the great Moral, How comes Obedience to an excellent Prince to be a requisite inferior to that of Unity among little Confederates? Why should it be less Noble in an Englishman to be Loyal and Faithful to William the III. than for the seven Provinces to be true to their Uniting Leagues, in Opposition to the Spaniard, or the Princes of Germany against the Monarch of France? Tho we own Mr. D. may be a Republican now, it's but agreeable to his Character; from the Beginning he was an 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and I doubt not but he'ell continue so to the end of the Chapter; but his Argumeut to prove Virgil such, is as ridiculous as a Man could wish. The Verse out of the 8 th' Eneid proves it not Secretosque pios &c, (for so it should be written) Augustus himself would have Honoured Cato for his severe Virtue; but neither Virgil nor any other Wise Man would have admired him for his mistaken Republicanism; and had Virgil been suspected for such Principles, the very suspicion would have ruined what Mr. D. makes the great Moral of the Poem. But Virgil is not the only Person on whom Mr. D. has endeavoured to fix a Scandalous Character.  
For the Cause of Religion is but a modern Motive to Rebellion, invented by the Christian Priesthood refining on the Heathen. This is malicious enough, and would have been an Invention becoming Mr. Dryden's Wit, had he been unhappily admitted into Holy Orders; though for aught I know, his very Christianity may be questionable. But I'm afraid, Mr. D.'s a little out in his Chronology. His old Friend Lucretius tells him, Religio peperit scelerata atque impia facta, and might not Rebellion be reckoned among such kind of Actions, if he questions it, I'll show him some Instances of Rebellions under the pretence of Religion before Christianity was heard of; and since then, I have never heard of any sort of Christians, who have turned Religion into Rebellion, and Faith into Faction, but those of the Church of Rome, and their spawn of the Separation. Our Republicans are generally Atheists, and therefore though they are as ready for a Rebellion as Heart could wish, it can't be said to be under Pretence of Religion.  
He being murdered by his own Son. I wonder where Mr. Dryden met with that fine Piece of History? How many Sons had julius Caesar? And by which of his Wives had He this Barbarian of a Son who murdered Him? I have heard indeed, that when Brutus struck him, he cried out 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Caesar had been used to call him Son familiarly, and out of Kindness, but no body ever said He was Caesar's own Son: Now it's one of the Fundamental Laws of Parnassus to write True History. Therefore, if Mr. D. attempt any more, 
— Pimplaeum ascendere mentem  
Musae furcillis praecipitem ejicient.   
It would be a great Kindness to the World to give a good Evidence of the Truth of Virgil's Desire that his Aeneids should be burnt. I don't remember any of his Contemporaries mentioning it; and Sulpitius' Epigram, and those Verses fastened on Augustus, and the Story in Donatus are not exact enough to build our Credit upon in the Case.  
The Poetical Revenge he talks of was only fit for his Observation; a Critic would have been ashamed of it. Among Rowers, or Racers, or Archers, or Players at Whorlbats, if that Word may be used as English for the Latin Caestus, some must have been worsted; but Virgil endeavours to represent their Case tenderly; and either some extraordinary Misfortune, or some Machine is brought in to excuse the Loser; which needed not, had he made them such out of pique. Thus Dares was a Terror to every one, and could have been beaten by none but Entellus, who was a Match for a Demi-god.  
It's possible for a Courtier not to be a Knave, is a great Discovery, and an extraordinary Condescension. But what a Happiness is it, that Mr. D. can speak so freely as no Dutch Commentator could? Poor Scoundrels, silly illiterate Fellows they! What were the Heinsius' and Emmenessius' to Mr. Dryden? But one Poet may judge of another by himself. Excellent! Poet Squab, endued with Poet Maro's Spirit by a wonderful Metempsychosis, yet just before Virgil was no Knave. It was an ugly croaking kind of Vermin which would need swell to the Bulk of an Ox. He who'd burn a Collection of Mr. D's Works every Year to the Manes of Virgil, would be as just as He who sacrificed a Statius to Him: I'm sure they'd blush, if Souls were capable of it, at the Scandalous Parallel; but He can speak what the French durst not. Yet would not a French Army, with the P. of W. at the Head of it, be very welcome to Mr. D. and, without doubt, they'd make us all Free Subjects presently.  
Aeneas could not pretend to be Priam 's Heir by Lineal Succession. Heir, to what? Did He pretend to reign at Troy, to set up again for the Command of all Asia? No, but He, and a few more, advised by the Gods to put themselves under his Command, went to seek their Fortunes in another Country, from whence, tho' the Trojans had descended, God knows when, yet Priam, nor any Heir of his, had any thing to do there: But Mr. D. must be squinting at a Prince, who had no great Opinion of his Merit, and therefore gave the Laurel to another; and thus the Vengeance He defers is not forgotten. Yet, now I think on't, why should not Aeneas be Priam's Heir, since Mr. D. tells us in the very next Page, That He married the Heiress of the Crown. But how could that be, when here he observes, that Helenus and Atys Priam's Son and Grandson were still living? But these Great Wits have commonly very bad Memories, and must now and then, to throw dirt at Princes, or to wreak their Teen, be allowed to talk a little Nonsense.  
It was not for Nothing that Virgil made the Office of High Priest vacant by the Death of Pantheus for his Hero to succeed in it. Of this great Discovery Mr. D. says, If Commentators have not taken notice, he's sure they ought to have done it. Now I'm afraid Mr. D.'s a little too confident here; and I durst adventure much, that Virgil, that most judicious of Poets, had no such Thought in his Head: He says indeed, in the Person of Hector appearing to him in the Vision, Sacra suosque tibi commendat Roma Penates; and he tells us further of Hector, that presently after these Words, Manibus vittas, Vestamque potentem Aeternumque adytis effert penetralibus ignem. If by this Aeneas was made the Pontifex Maximus, it was not in the room of Pantheus, for He was yet living, and Aeneas meets Him soon after, and from him receives the lamentable Account of Simon's Villainy and Troy's Ruin; and Pantheus was then flying with his Gods and his Nephew to seek for Shelter; Pantheus then turns again, as it should seem, with Aeneas and others to try their utmost to drive off the Enemy; and Pantheus is killed-afterwards, in the very medley of War, when Aeneas had no time to look after his Gods; nor do we find him ever seeking for them; but when he returns home to carry off his Family, Anchises bears the Gods left at Home by Hector in the Vision before, along with them in their last Flight. Besides, Pantheus was particularly the Priest of Apollo, and not greater than Laocoon before, who was Neptune's Priest, of great Interest and Authority, and therefore made an Example of by angry Minerva; but Augustus, for whose Sake this deep Discovery was made, was the Chief Priest of all, not devoted to any one, but presiding over the Religious Ceremonies of all the Gods, and was no more Aeneas his Heir in this Office, than Aeneas had been the Heir of Pantheus.  
But Virgil makes Diomedes give him a higher Character for Strength and Courage. A higher Character than whom? It must be than Hector: Now Segrais was much wiser to omit this Observation, than Mr. D. to make it; for Virgil says no such thing; for though they were Ambo animis ambo insignes praestantibus armis. That expression makes them not equal by any means, two Men may be very Brave, very Valiant, and yet one more so than the other; and that very Addition of Hic pietate Prior; was but to bring the balance even, that Aeneas' piety, might make up the defects of his Fortitude, when compared with Hector. And it could not at all become Virgil to contradict Homer, who though he made Aeneas the second Champion of the Trojans, yet shows him every where inferior to Achilles, Ajax, and Diomedes; and even Hector himself was thought too weak for any of them. Diomedes therefore only compliments Aeneas, not as an over match for himself, but as a really great Man, whom they'd find it very hard to equal, though he were inferior to one who was too hard not only for Venus, but for Mars himself.  
Mr. D. next gives us ten Lines of Diomedes Speech, but prudently tells his Lord the Reason why he omitted the Translation. Because he had no Reason to desire he should see that, and the Original together. And this was a Favour he ought to have begged of every Man, for never, certainly was such an Original so barbarously abused before. Yet Mr. D. thinks, He has not succeeded ill in the version of those Lines: this is his old Distemper, admiring and glassing himself in the Mirror of his own Rhymes; but let us consider a little how he really has succeeded.  
We met in Fight, I know him to my cost; Virgil says not so, nor could Diomedes, they had met indeed in Battle, 
Iliad ●.  but Diomedes got no hurt, only Aeneas was struck down with a Massive Stone, and had died under Diomedes Hand, had not his Mother luckily saved him, this than was an absurd Addition without Sense or Reason.  
With what a whirling force his Lance he tossed. Did ever any one talk so before? Tossing intimates no extraordinary Violence in a thing which is aimed at a Mark, as a Lance is in Battle; Tossing in a Blanket, which the Translator deserves, indeed is somewhat a violent Motion upward, but downward it's very natural, as honest Sanco would have informed him; Tossing and Hurling, are very different, one infers Force and Rapidity, the other only a loser and more careless Impulse.  
Heavens what a Spring was in his Arm to throw! Is too Philosophical for an old Grecian General, and no way fit for a grave, old Prince, to say the Ambassadors of another, nor is it in Virgil.  
And rose at every blow: Wonderfully Heroical, and somewhat like honest Tyrrheus the Block-River.  
Two more his match in might. Is false Grammar.  
They would have changed the Fortune of the Fight. As if there had been but one Battle during the Siege of Troy; or as if that were a good Expression for the Fortune of the War.  
The War protracted, and the Siege delayed. Is very mean, and a little mistaken, the taking of Troy was delayed indeed by Hector and Aeneas, but not the Siege.  
Both brave alike, and equal in Command: Is intolerable, Aeneas was but a kind of Lieutenant General under Hector, not equal in Command with him, though I find Homer calling Aeneas, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and that before the Death of Priam.  
In pious Reverence to the Gods excelled. Mr. D. here forgets what he had rightly observed in his Dedication, That Piety in Aeneas was of a more extensive Importance, than only to have relation to the Gods, for it contains the whole Duty of Man towards his Country, and his Relations. Again, Aeneas was inferior in the Field to Hector, witness Hector's own Visionary Words to him. Si Troja dextrâ Defendi possent etiam hâc defensa fuissent, meaning his own, which if not true, had been indecent for the Ghost of so modest a Man as Hector was.  
This now is Mr. D's Great Success, Mr. Ogilby's must appear much better to an Impartial Reader, and what if that passage were thus Translated; 
We too have tried his javelins distant force,  
And Hand to Hand have stopped his dreadful course,  
We've seen how high he'd lift his mighty Shield,  
And how his Spear like Whirlwinds raked the Field,  
And had the Trojan spacious Bounds supplied  
Two more like him for daring Valour tried.  
War than had changed his Scene, and Greece had mourned  
In ruins, by the Trojan Arms overturned,  
The War was long, the tenth sad Year at last,  
On our Victorious Brows the Garland placed.  
Great Hector, Great Aeneas stopped the Tide,  
They two so long our utmost Force defied;  
Both brave, and both for Martial Deeds Renowned,  
The latter more with Godlike goodness Crowned.   
But an immediate Revelation dispenses with all duties of Morality: This is one of those excellent Doctrines Mr. D. would have propagated in the Church, had he once crept into Orders, his Divinity, and his Law is much alike, and were it sit to mingle Sacred Matters with his wretched stuff, the case of the Israelites would by no means fit his turn.  
Or the honesty of his Hero would be ill defended: It's wondrous Honesty indeed to be true to Whoring. Aeneas had trespassed against Morality, and because at Heaven's warning, he would not persist in it, he was scarce Honest; now methinks, he represents a Penitent, who's not so far master of himself, but that he'll still hanker after folly, and with much ado, and Heaven's warning and assistance, Subdues his Sensual Inclinations; but what's this to Mr. D.  
But possession having cooled his Love as it increased hers. Virgil hints at no such thing; He represents his Hero pleased with his too amorous Queen, busy both as a Husband, and a Lover, as well as a Statesman, or Magistrate: Not to be changed, but by a Divine Command, and even then Animum multo labefactus amore; so no natural mutability could have diverted his Affections, only pitying Heaven put a full stop to them.  
I think I may be judge of this, because I Translated both, i. e. Ovid's Epistle of Dido to Aeneas, and Virgil's Episode; Very great indeed! and it may be they are Translated a like, and that must evidence the wonderful Acumen of this assuming Judge. But it would be well if Mr. D. could ascertain the time or date of Ovids' Epistle, and demonstrate that the Aeneis was written before the Epistolae Heroidum; for if he fails here, Ovid was not so much out in his Measures as our Translator imagines.  
Mercury calls Aeneas, not only a Husband, but a fond Husband. Here Mr. D's Memory failed him again.  
Virgil makes the Intrigue between Dido, and Aeneas a Marriage, to make way for the divorce. This is one of Mr. D's Mysteries Revealed; Toland himself could not have cleared 'em better. But where, in the name of Folly, is the Divorce? If this be to be called one, there are many of our Modern Heroes of Mr. D's Cut, who have forsaken their Wives, but can get no Livia's, though they may Julia's.  
Ac veluti magno in Populo, etc. This is the first Similitude which Virgil makes in this Poem, True; but his Translator whose Wit is the very Quintessence of decency, has helped him to another. Then as an Eagle gripes his trembling Game, etc. and this where, according to his own Rules, it was by no means proper.  
If I desired to appear more Learned than I am, it had been as easy for me to have taken their Objections, and Solutions, as it is for a Country Parson to take the Expositions of the Fathers out of junius, and Tremellius. Very smart on my word! Mr. Bays has a spite to a Country Parson, because refused to be one, and it's plain he has met somewhere with the names of junius and Tremellius.  
How came the Cuisses to be worse tempered than the rest of his Armour? It may be they were not, but they had joints, which an Arrow's pile might find, or the wound might be more inward, this than needed no defence; nor is the Story of Virgil's designing his Aeneis to the Fire any more credible, than Maximus Planudes' account of Aesop's deformity.  
That 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 which they shed. This plainly shows how fit Mr. D— n may be to Translate Homer, a mistake in a single Letter might fall on the Printer well enough, but this word for 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 must be the Error of the Author; nor had he art enough to Correct it at the Press; This of the Gods, was so like our Common Blood, that it was not to be distinguished from it, but by Name and Colour. The Name indeed, is no great matter, but the Colour methinks is very considerable; and Alexander thought so, when a wound having convinced him of the folly of his Flatterers, who had almost raised him into a conceit, that he was a God, he bade them view his Blood, and see if it were like that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 which Homer attributes to his Deities.  
Non me tua turbida virtus terrent ait, for Turbida terrent dicta ferox. This I should not have taken notice of, but that it's repeated again soon after. It may be Mr. D. had another Copy, or thought to mend his Author, and how foolish must his Solemn Subintelligit appear to any one who reads the Text, Turnus had not valued the haughty words of Aeneas at all; he had too much of the Hero in him, but the Gods, and jupiter himself against him, were enough to daunt the boldest.  
jupiter ipse duas, etc. Mr. D's Critical Translation of Quem damnet labour, is as silly here, as in the Place he refers to, not but that others have made the same wise Interpretation, as well as he, but why may not those Lines bear this Metaphrase.  
Now Jove on high the Sacred Balance hung,  
I'th' Scales the Lots of both the Champions slung.  
That Heaven might read the last decrees of Fate,  
And whom rough War would sink with Death's eternal weight.  
I say, Turnus not only suffered her to carry him out of danger, but consented to it. For this, Mr. D. appeals to Turnus' words, which import no such thing, nor is the Supposition agreeable to his Character. Turnus was almost distracted with the affront of that Phantom of Aeneas, with which juno had carried him away before. And when juturna turned Charioteer, she threw Metiscus out of the Box, and assumed his shape, which had been needless, but that she had no mind to be known to her Brother; and this was no extraordinary matter for a Goddess to do, if Turnus did but once turn his Head; but now at last by her ing lorious Management, he finds her, and declares his suspicion of the tricks she had played before, for the Agnovi means no more, but I had some apprehension, or jealousy of such a thing; for had he been certain of it, he could as easily have dismounted before, and doubtless would have done it for his own Honour, his Mistress' security, and to avoid the Reproaches of Drances.  
I am the first Englishman perhaps, who made it his design to Copy him in his Numbers, his choice of Words, and his placing them for the sweetness of the Sound. Is boldly spoken, and doubtless ere long Dr. B— s will tell us, that his Address is as exactly designed to copy the purity, the simplicity, and elegance of Tully; and I think, the Poet and Orator have succeeded much alike; of which as to Mr. D. we shall have often occasion hereafter to take notice. But why should Mr. D. boast himself of having avoided the Caesura so much in translating, nay, in copying an Author, who added Gravity and Majesty to his own Works by a frequent, but judicious use of them. But thus Mr. D▪ boasts too in his Preface to his Translation of the First Book of Ovid's Metamorphoses; and his Boast is just like that of Schoolboys, who think they have done a mighty Feat, if they have made a few Golden Verses. It's true, soft and easy Lines might become Ovid's Epistles, or his Art of Love; they might be so in the Metamorphoses to a Fault, for that Book is generally more noble and lofty. But Virgil, who is all Great and Majestic, who never descends to little things, nor goes big with Fooleries, requires Strength of Lines, Weight of Words, and Closeness of Expression; not an ambling Muse, running on a Carpet Ground, and shod as lightly as a New-market Runner. And tho' we have a great many Consonants in our Language, yet withal we have such a Variety of Words Native and Adopted, or Tralatitious, that we may suit our Language to the Style and Matter of any Author whatsoever, and may make Caesura's, if not affected, beautiful and delightsom, and that Roughness they give may advance and not diminish Majesty.  
The Italians are forced upon the Caesura once or twice in every Line. This is like the rest of Mr. D.'s Critical Observations; Caesura's are not unfrequent in that Language; but I dare engage to point to many whole Stanza's in Tasso, and some Hundreds of Lines which have none.  
A Thousand Secrets of Versification he may learn from Virgil. True; but not from his Translator. Virgil is indeed the most absolute of Profane Poets; but if He had not a better Picture drawn of Him than this done by Mr. D.'s Pencil, he'd soon lose his Reputation.  
Whether the Aeneis took up Eleven Years of Virgil ' s time, or whether He thought it imperfect, is a moot Point; but, whether Mr. D. wants Four Years or not to correct his, is none; for I cannot think his Wit so much more fluent than his Masters; however we see here the Canis Festinans made good; and if the Subscribers any of them were too pressing, He has fitted them as they deserved, with a Translation as absurd as their Importunity.  
There is not, to the best of my remembrance, one Vowel gaping on another for want of a Caerura through the whole Poem. This made me open the Book at adventure, and Pages the 408, 9 I met with these two, Tell me, ye Trojans, for that Name you own— And what we seek of you, of us desired: And perhaps, A Heroic Poem, which Words begin this tedious Epistle, is not extremely Euphonical, tho' in Prose. But why may not such a thing be allowed. Methinks Virgil's Et succus pecori & lac subducitur agnis. Victor apud rapidum Simoenta sub Ilio alto. And Ovid's, O & de Latio, O & de gente Sabina, and many more sound very well: And nothing's more common in the Greek; nor does that in Tasso's first Stanza sound harshly, Molto egli opro col senno, & con la mano Molto soffri nel glorioso acquisto; nor is any thing commoner in French or Spanish: And whatever Mr. D. may think of it, some of as nice an Ear as himself can pass over such an Hiatus without complaining of the Discord.  
Tho deep, yet clear, etc. And why may not others have observed both the Sweetness and the Reason of the Sweetness of that Couplet? Is Mr. D. the only Man of Ear? Or can't others observe the Elegance of the Antitheses, the easy sliding of one Syllable into another, and the Quantities of English Syllables: I must believe, that no Man living can teach him to make smooth well-running Verses, who has not a Musical Ear; unless Mr. D. or some like him, would give us a new English Parnassus, where he might have smooth Fragments, and nothing required but Skill to tack 'em together. Certainly Mr. D. himself is not the smoothest of Poets, whatever he may value himself upon: I think my Lord Rochester was of that Opinion long since; and but that I have observed somewhat of his ungraceful Roughness elsewhere, I should think those, 
And seven long Years th' unhappy wand'ring Train  
Were tossed by Storms, and scattered through the Main.  Which last Phrase is but Nonsense. And again, 
O E'lus, for to thee the King of Heaven  
The Power of Tempest, and of Winds has given,  were far from smooth or well-sounding Rhimes. But I'm persuaded my Lord Normanby was very kind to Mr. D. and the English World, if he overruled the Poet's Itch of thrusting his Prosody out in Print; for he has so far saved his Credit and our Trouble.  
The Alexandrine Line, which we call, tho' improperly, the Pindaric; though sillily, he means sure; for none who understood any thing of Pindaric Poetry, could call that the Pindaric Line in contradistinction to Lines of other Measures: And since Mr. Spencer uses it to close his Stanza, without any Thought of Pindarizing in it, why should Mr. Cowley's using it give it that Name now. Nor indeed does the Nature of a Pindaric Poem show itself in the Irregularity of Measures, any more than a Chorus in Euripides, from the same Inequality, should be called a Pindaric.  
'Twas given to those who understand no better. Very civil! i. e. Mr. D. translated Virgil very foolishly for the sake of his foolish Readers. Thus he talks; yet I have heard some say, He did his best. I was loath to believe it. But however, some Readers may understand the Impertinency of his Translations.  
The Triumvir and Proscriber had descended to us in a more hideous Form, if the Emperor had not taken care to make Friends of Virgil and Horace. Well, I can't but tremble at our present King's Fate: Boast not, Great Prince, of all thy Martial Acquisitions; boast not of having given Check to the Grand Lovis; talk not of Namure, nor Ireland reduced, nor pretend to Thanksgivings for a Glorious Peace, for the terrible Mr. Bays is disobliged! What an unlucky thing was it to give his Laurel to a Shadwell or a Tate, whose drawn Pen is more fatal than that of Hipponax, and more terrible than a Luxemburg or Boufflers in the Head of a French veterane Army. Well, how his Majesty'll come off I know not, but 
Occursare capro, cornu ferit ille, caveto.   
Spencer wanted only to have read the Rules of Bossu. It's well if Virgil and Homer did not want 'em too; for it seems, if our French Critics may be believed, neither of 'em had the luck to write a true Heroic Poem. Mr. D. used to talk in Days of Yore, of an Heroic Poem to the Honour of Charles II. Had it ever been finished, doubtless Mr. Bossu's Rules would have appeared in every Line. It may be Sir R. B. had read 'em too, which gave so much Perfection to his late Heroic Undertake: But what will come of us, the poor Chiurma of the Empire of Parnassus, who have neither Knowledge nor a Genius?  
Mr. Le Clerc has made it out, that David 's Psalms were in as errand Rhyme as they are translated. Mr. Le Clerc's a Man of much Authority with some; but his Discovery in that Points far from new: The Psalms are some of 'em in Rhyme, some are not so; but where they are with, or without Rhyme, they are so far from that Meanness which Mr. D. would throw into their Character, that the meanest thing in the whole Sacred Book has more of true Poetic Fire in it, than ever He had from the Days of Oliver's Apotheosis, to those of Virgil in Macaronique.  
He who can write well in Rhyme, may write better in Blank Verse. We shall know that, when we see how much better Dryden's Homer will be than his Virgil.  
Perhaps I have as little Reason to complain of the difficulty of Rhyming as any Man except Quarles or Withers. They then, with our Incomparable Translator, make a Triumvirate of Rhymers, and great Ones too, (if that Phrase may pass with us, which was condemned in Ben johnson formerly.) But this extraordinary Facility is not so very apparent in Mr. D.'s Works, and I never heard he was a great Extempore Man.  
I'm afraid I have mistaken Virgil 's Sense more often and more grossly. Ne'er did Elvira make a truer Confession to her Spanish Friar. But how could one Poet mistake another so much. I'm afraid there was not so near a Relation between Virgil and Mr. D.'s Souls, as there was between Mr. D.'s and Mr. Oldham's. The Confession, whoever understands Virgil's Latin and Scheme, must acknowledge to be the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth. And so much must be said for the Honour of Mr. D.'s Veracity.  
Sorti Pater aequs utrique. Ruaeus thinks the word Pater is to be referred to Evander. And Ruaeus is right in his Judgement; for how could any Man in his right Senses, think Pallas should tell Turnus of Ioves' impartiality, a whim quite contrary to the notions Antiquity had of Fate. Fate might be impartial, though it were not unconcerned, for it's not Partiality to determine a dubious Matter where Fate itself requires a determination in the case; and, according to Mr. D's precedent Declaration, Jove can't control Fate; whence it's plain, that if Pater refers to jupiter, it's very impertinent. Turnus had said nothing to Pallas of jove, but wished his Father Evander had been present; and what more Noble Character could Pallas have given of his Father, than that the Honourable Victory, or the glorious death of his Son would be equally welcome News to him? And what could confirm Pallas' words more strongly than those of Evander, when he was brought home Dead?  
Quod si immatura manebat  
for'rs natum, caecis Volscorum millibus ante  
Ducentem in Latium Teneros cecidisse juvabit,  
As for Mr. D's Criticism on the other Verse, it's La Cerda's Notion before, and it's of no great consequence whether he or Servius be in the right.  
I say nothing of Sir John Denham, Mr. Waller, and Mr. Cowley, 'tis the utmost of my ambition to be thought their Equal. Thus the poor Frog would swell himself into an Ox, had any of them, especially Mr. Cowley, undertaken this work, we had had Virgil's sense and air running thro' the whole, and the Work would have been known by every Reader, without the Advertisement of the Running Title, where now we have false Criticism, mistaken Sense, intolerable Omissions, absurd Accretions; and indeed any thing rather than Virgil. I own it's harder to Translate Virgil through, than to Translate a single Book; yet because Mr. D. throws down his Glove to challenge any one in the 4th, 6th, and 8th Pastoral, and the 1st and 4th Georgic, besides several Books of the Aeneïs'; I have taken it up, and have Translated the 4th Pastoral, and 1st Georgic, and the 1st Pastoral into the bargain, and leave it to Segrais 3d sort of judges, to determine who has Translated Virgil so far best.  
Spencer, and Milton are nearest in English to Virgil, and Horace in the Latin. But which of them resembles Horace? Spencer aimed at an Heroic Poem, and so did Milton, (though neither of 'em with that success which might have been wished) but Horace never attempted such a thing as Mr. D. well observes before; unless either of them be remarkable for that Curiosa Felicitas, formerly admired in Horace; but Mr. D. knows his own meaning well enough, though I don't.  
My chief Ambition is to please those Readers, who have discernment enough to prefer Virgil before any other Poet in the Latin Tongue. The Ambition was good, but never did any Man fail worse than our Translator, for no Man can admire Virgil who can't understand him, nor can any Man who understands him be pleased with Mr. D's. Translation.  
The Mob Readers are but a sort of French Huguenots, or Dutch Boors. But how come these to be matched together? Huguenots are so called with some regard to their Religion. A Gate would not have given them a Title more than Others who went often in and out at it, had not they in particular made it their way to their Public Worship. But pray, what respect to that have Boors? If they have any, I must needs say, Mr. Dryden's a very fine Gentleman.  
As we hold there is a middle State of Souls. We, that is, we of the Church of Rome; for our Translator pretends to suck the Teats of of that Milk-white Hind, if any. Mr. D. then believes a Purgatory, and, as in duty bound, should have taken most pains with the 6 th' Book of the Aeneis, since there's the original Chart of that wonderful Place, and a better account of it, than those of all the Roman Champions together amount to; yet this Book is none of those he pretends to have succeeded best in. Heaven send him a good deliverance.  
Many Paedagogues, at School, Tutors at the Universities, and Gentleman's Governors in their Travels are the most positive Blockheads in the World. Well, it's time then, to pull down Schools to leave young Gentlemen to live at Random in our Universities, and abroad; or make Mr. D. Schoolmaster, Tutor, and Governor General to both Universities: What a glorious Manager would he prove? Obscure Authors, and old worn out Monuments would be as Intelligible to him as Virgil or Homer, and one Page of his English Prosodia, would teach 'em more than our Vossius' or Busby's, our Preston's, or Ellye's, or our Lassels, though jumbled altogether; and a little mooting upon the Magna Charta of Parnassus, under his Direction, would ruin all our Inns of Court for ever; but none's so bold as blind Bayard.  
But not being of God, as a Wit said formerly, they could not stand. By this it's plain Mr. D. is no Wit; for one of true Wit would be ashamed to Ridicule Scripture; and I'm pretty confident, this present Work of Mr. D 's is not of God; and for his Translation, the more a judicious Reader studies it, the worse he'll like it, and every time he takes it up, he'll discover some new Follies in it; nor indeed can any Applaud it now, or hereafter, but such as are born Vervecum in Patria crassoque sub aere. Whence I can only call it Impudence, not Innocence, or Conscience of merit which could make him Appeal to my Lord Marquis of Normanby.  
Virgil has given me the Example of Entellus. Mr. Waller had not lost his Poetic Fire at Mr. D's age, nor had the famous Cornaro, nor Sophocles, or Aeschylus. But woe to some little Skip-jack who dares stand in the heated old Champions way. Methinks, he looks like Colbrond swinging his heavy Club about his own Head, and threatening to sink poor Sir Guy at every stroke; well, I heartily pity the poor wretch; but if all his Teeth be dashed out for challenging such a demi Gorgon, who can help it! But if the air of the Country which produces Gold is never wholesome, there's some hope the old Spark may drop off, Poisoned by the Mercury of his own Brain, before the young Scoundrel be quite ruined.  
It rarely happens that a Verse of Monosyllables sounds Harmoniously. Yet in one very Modern Poem, I find no fewer than 4 as smooth as those he instances in, viz.  
Scorn all the Thoughts of such, and spurn the Ground,  
They saw them Storm vast Works which reached the Skies,  
He saw you thro' those Gates could force your way  
In Wars rough Storms, and in the Calms of Love.  
And I doubt not, but many hundreds of Lines made up of Monosyllables might be much more soft, and easy than those.  
Some things I have omitted, and some too I have added of my own. But by what Authority? A Man may Paraphrase, or a void a Literal Translation, and yet retain all the Author's Thoughts, and for Virgil, who has no false Thought in his whole Work, it's almost Sacrilege to Abridge him; and for the Additions. Heaven knows they are such as discover their Author too well, so mean, so trifling, so unbecoming the Majesty of Virgil, that they must be very Flegmatic Readers, who can forgive him. He has given Virgil's pure Gold so base an Alloy, that Cromwell's Broad Pieces, with which he cheated the Dutch, were much more tolerable.  
The Additions will seem (at least I have the Vanity to think so; and Mr. D.'s Vanity is not to be questioned) not stuck into him, but growing out of him. For an Instance of this we need go no farther than that in the first Aeneid, where juno says of Minerva 
— Ipsa 
Ver. 48.   
Illum expirantem transfixo pectore flammas  
Turbine corripuit, scopuloque infixit acuto.  Which Mr. D. thus Englishes: 
Then as an Eagle gripes the trembling Game,  
The Wretch yet Hissing with her Father's Flame,  
She strongly seized, and with a burning Wound  
Transfixed, and naked on a Rock she bound.  Meaning Ajax the Son of Oileus; which Nonsensical Fustian I'm persuaded none will say grew out of Virgil; whose Sense was more honestly expressed before the Days of D.'s Virgil in that Couplet.  
On pointed Rocks expiring Ajax dashed,  
His guilty flying Soul revenging Flames embraced.  
The Greeks, we know, were labouring many Hundreds of Years upon their Language before they brought it to Perfection. It may be so; but how does Mr. D. know it? How many Hundred Years was that Language cultivated before Homer's time, or that of Orpheus, or Linus, or Musaeus, of whom, if we have any Fragment, it's pure Greek; and we meet with nothing after Homer more polite than himself; tho' all the great Sophists and Orators were much his juniors. But a Man may be permitted to blunder in such things, who had never heard of Organs before St. Caecilia's time.  
The Word Pater, for Example, signifies not only a Father, but your Father, my Father, his or her Father, all in a word. From whence I'm convinced that some great Poets are as positive Blockheads as any little Pedagogue in the World: Pater signifies Father in general indeed, but is appropriated to none but by meus, tuus, suus; and so Father in English by mine, thine, hers, etc. and where those Pronouns are not expressed, they are to be understood, and are not included in Pater.  
The Thought concerning Ambergrease is very fine, and Mr. D. may pass for a Civet Cat, if he please, or a Catamountain, for me.  
I thought fit to keep as near my Author as I could, without losing all his Graces. To endeavour a Literal Translation might do so; but otherwise there's, to my Apprehension, more Danger of losing them by leaving him, than by keeping close to him.  
I shall not be wholly without Praise, if in some sort I may be allowed, etc. Yes certainly, if you have copied Virgil's Clearness, Purity, Easiness, and Magnificence after a very ill sort; for sure he can't be so much a Self-Flatterer, as to pretend to have shadowed any of those things. Nor can we imagine any more that Virgil with his own Original Faculties, had he lived now, or written in English, would have written as Mr. D. has done, than that he would have Fathered Maphaeus' Supplement, or Persius' Satyrs; and the very difference between that Esteem the Translation of Virgil and the Original have had, the Poets still living, proves their intrinsic Value, since none but a Bavius, a Maevius, or Bathyllus carped at Virgil, and none but such unthinking or unlearned Vermin admire his Translator.  
I am too much an Englishman to lose what my Ancestors have gained for me; i. e. Since acquaintance with such, whom he can never praise enough. Things are mightily altered with him since the Days of the Hind and Panther, and the Defence of the Strong Box Papers. Thus Tempora mutantur.  
Without being injurious to the Memory of our English Pindar. Quae supra nos nihil ad nos. Mr. Cowley's Genius was far above the Comprehension of so little a thing as Mr. D. for Figures to be bold, and Metaphors violent in Pindaric, proved that Ours knew what it was to write like him of Thebes, of which his Reprover has no Idea: His Language, perhaps, was not so fine as he could have made it; but He had no Royal Salary, no Encouragement to make him so nice about Words, tho' He has fewer Improprieties, and abundantly more Sense and Wit than those who find fault with him; and had he met with an Augustus or Maecenas, the English Virgil had scarce been inferior to the yet unparallelled Roman.  
I am confident our Poet never meant to leave him, or any other such a Precedent, i. e. of Hemistics, or Half Verses. Now I am confident of the contrary; and there is so much Beauty in every one of them, (that only excepted which Mr. D. has instanced in) the Sense goes on with so full and strong a Spirit, and that very Abruptness gives it such an Emphasis as is admirable and surprising. Whether Homer ever left any such is more than Mr. D. knows; He had an Aristarchus to perfect and correct what He thought needed it, and who was fit for the Work he undertook. None durst pretend to the same for Virgil; he wanted no Sense, and he had no Equal. The Story of his designing his Aeneis for the Fire is idle, a Fiction of the Pseudo-Donatus, another Planudes, more a Fabler than his pretended Aesop; nor do any of his Contemporaries mention any thing of it. Ovid, Propertius, Siliús, Martial Statius, Persius, mention it; the four last, tho' later, give it the Character of Divine and Excellent, but none wishes He had lived to perfect it; and the Story of his completing those two Hemistics in the 6th Aeneid, is as ridiculous; but all those sham's are of the same Original; nay, what if we should stumble at, Quem tibi jam Troja? What if it was, Peperit florente Creusa? What if it was left so to express Andromache's Passion? When she came to mention her dear native City, Tears forbade her, and a true Sense of Decency forbade the Poet to finish that Sentence; and tho' she recovers herself to inquire of Iülus soon again; yet, again too, at the loved Name of Hector she bursts into Tears, and can go no farther. This, to me, I must confess, signifies more than Donatus' Legend; and if Virgil's Half Verses are the Frogs and Serpents half kindled into Life (always allowing Equivocal Generation, which Mr. D. knows to a Tittle) Mr. D.'s full-lined Translation is the Lump of unformed unanimated Mud.  
The Leaders may be Heroes, but the Multitude must consist of common Men. Mr. D. would be very kind to point out to us his leading Verses. I make no doubt but they are Captains over Hundreds, and Captains over Fifties, and very few Companies double Officered.  
His Talk about the Difficulty of finding Words is Stuff, not worth regarding. Our English is now little, if at all inferior to the Latin. But Mr. D. wanted an Opportunity to let his Patron know he had some notice of the Public Difficulties about Money.  
For I think it is not so Sacred, as that not one jota must be added nor diminished on pain of an Anathema. Mr. D. then confesses that Virgil's Text is not Scripture; but if it were, his Church has such Guides as have more than once adventured upon that Anathema, and he a true Republican, Son of a Monarchical Church, has imitated them, having given his Author. Procrustes' Law, and cropped and stretched him every where as he thought fit.  
There is a Beauty of Sound in some Latin words, which is wholly lost in the French; I own it, but not so much in the English, our Language now can express Matters both with Majesty and softness; and I make no doubt, after all Mr. D's boast of his gift that way; a Man with much less noise, may Translate Virgil much more agreeably for Style and Sense, than he has done. But I must own, it's a more delicate Thought than ordinary, that Virgil's mollis amaracus, in a Grove on a Mountain top, should make us think of Roses and Lilies; but Thoughts are free.  
Aude, Hospes, contemnere opes, & te quoque dignum,  
Finge Deo.—  
What if thus Translated?  
Dare, noble Guest, to scorn all Wealth below,  
And as a God, a Godlike Virtue show!  
Lay by Virgil I beseech your Lordship, and all my better sort of judges, when you take up my Version. Is very reasonable Advice, for nothing can provoke any tolerable judge's Patience mo●● than to compare them together. But why must this great Book be called Virgil then, only to catch Gulls, and make them believe they hug a juno, when really they have no more than a Cloud or Shadow?  
False Critics may think I Latinize too much. And so may true Critics, but Mr. D. takes care to fix an ill Character before hand on all who condemn him, so that every one ventures on him at his Peril, and I among the rest.  
I carry not out the Treasure of the Nation which is never to Return. A designed Reflection on some of whom he would have it believed that they do so. But what I bring from Italy, I spend in England. Now we English are somewhat Jealous of Italian ware, we had so much of it a few Years since, that we cannot yet be very fond of it, especially when cooked by ill Hands.  
Every Man can't distinguish between Pedantry and Poetry; every Man therefore is not fit to Innovate. Mr. D. I hope is unexceptionable in the case, he understands the Fundamentals of Parnassus, and might with as good Right, as his Holiness does in Religious Matters, set up for Poetical Infallibility; he abases and distorts Common Words, and calls that Innovating; and who may say to him▪ What dost thou? What I have observed of him, is only endeavouring to taint our English with some Latin Idioms, which I'm afraid will die upon his Hands, or sink like Irish Money, and come to nothing.  
The Poet must first be certain that the word he would introduce, is beautiful in Latin. Well, it may be so, yet very Foolish in English; for instance, one of the Reasons of Juno's hate to the Trojans, was, Spretae injuria Formae; where the Expression is pure and Intelligible. Mr. D. Latinizes' in his Version, thus, And her Form disdained. Which is absurd, improper, and obscure; but this it is for one who can't distinguish between Pedantry, and Poetry, to pretend to Innovate.  
Mr. Congreve has done me the favour to Review the Aeneis, and to Compare my Version with the Original. This is to fix a Scandal upon Mr. Congreve, that the World might think him as Dull, and Inapprehensive as our Translator; doubtless if he Read it, he found many Faults in it, but it seems, he's none of the dangerous judges, if he might be permitted to make Comparisons; and had he Read it as a judge, he'd scarce have found five Lines together in the whole, which might have been called Virgil's.  
I only say, Virgil has avoided those Proprieties. Some think quite otherwise, and that he was extraordinary careful in that matter, and though such Words are not usual, yet, even Ladies may be sooner brought to understand things by them, which require them, than by other supposed plainer Words; and if Virgil wrote for all in General, Men of Art would have been apt to Censure him for Improprieties; but I confess I believe Gassendus or Mercator in Astronomy, Manesson or Vauban in Military Architecture, Monsieur—, or Mr. Evelyn, in Gardening, and Worlidge, or Markham in Husbandry, may have some Cant Words, as Mr. D. calls them, which Virgil was unacquainted with, but what he uses, aught as far as may be, to be so Translated.  
I have omitted the four Preliminary Lines, etc. Here Mr. D. sets up again for a very great Critic; And Ille ego, etc. must be flung away to the Dogs. But why so angry good Mr. Translator? If your old Friend Donatus be a credible Person, they are Virgil's, and pray, how long have you known better what became Virgil to Write, than he knew himself? And much better judges have concluded them to be his, and methinks, the very Air of 'em is inimitable and extremely suitable to the place they are in; beginning as low as his Tityre tu patulae, and rising by degrees in Style as the Works he refers to do, till at last he mounts high enough to join with his Arma virumque cano. His Vicina and arva are at no unusual distance, his quamvis avido, nothing like Affectation; and why should Horrentia be a Flatter Epithet here than in other places, as his Horrentia terga, and Horrentia lustra? Some Men, we see, will be wading out of their Depth: But he thinks Tucca and Varius rather Added, than Retrenched them, it's Ridiculous to imagine either; Virgil made them, and none else could have made 'em; he left 'em there himself, and none ever dared to remove 'em; and Virgil's own Judgement of 'em is more valuable than that of a Thousand Rat Critics put together.  
My Master needed not the Assistance of that Preliminary Poet. What Poet does he mean, Tucca or Varius? Then his English is very good; If any Body else, why is he not named? But, could not Virgil write well in the mean as well as in the sublime Style? Is it not Lawful for a Man to go up by steps to a noble Palace? And is not every Line of the decried four such a Step? Any Man, who had a true taste of Poetry, would find it presently; but a Palate long vitiated with Fustian Language can't relish Purity and Agreeableness. They'd be better Connected to what follows thus: 
I who but Piped on humble Reeds before,  
And then through Woods, and Groves, the Muses bore,  
Taught greedy Swains with Art to till the Field,  
And made lean Soils a weighty Burden yield;  
Now rise, and, soaring on a stronger Wing,  
Of Martial Deeds in lofty Numbers sing.   
I have done him less injury than any of his former Libelers. That may be questioned. Mr. Ogilby has given us more of Virgil, though he attempted it with the greatest disadvantages in the World. And Mr. Sandys on the first Aeneïd hasshown, that, would he have undertaken the whole, Mr. D's pains might have been superseded, and I hope the D. of Lauderdale's Friends will Publish his Works now as a Vindication of Virgil, from that Scandal Mr. D. has fixed on him.  
Since this long Piece of Impertinence is ad Clerum, I hope I shall meet with Mr. D's Pardon, if I have gone thro' it with that Rigour and Ill Nature which I use, when I hear such things; and Mr. D. may if he please, believe, that I'm not his Enemy, but cannot with Patience see either Priests or Poets Abused or Vilifyed.  
The Postscript has nothing worth observing at present, so I pass now to the Poem itself, where, if you find any thing Repeated which has been said already, you must Impute it to Mr. D. and his Friends, who by their Repetitions have given the occasion.  
It may seem strange for so great second-hand Critics as Mr. Dryden, or his Friends, to dream of Virgil's Bastardy, or his Mother's Relation to Quinctilius Varus, or to swallow the Fable of the occasion of Virgil's advancement, 
I have wronged my Author less, considering my Circumstances, than those who have attempted him before, either in our own, or any Modern Language. And though this Version is not void of Envy, yet it comforts me, that the Faults of others are not worth finding, mine are neither gross nor frequent etc. To Lord Clifford.  which the spurious Donatus gives us, but his own Ruaeus justly explodes; nor have his Predecessors in Criticism applied Virgil's 4th Eclogue to Augustus, but to Saloninus the Son of Pollio, if their Judgements are of any value. Arrius who possessed Virgil's House and Farm near Mantua, is said to be fierce of the Services he had rendered to Octavius, a very odd Phrase in English, and not to be Endenizened on the Recommendation of Mr. Dryden. The account given of Virgil's changing what he had Written in praise of Gallus into the Story of Aristaeus, is as unintelligible to me as an old Hieroglyphic, and not a little silly. I hope he'll on a Review, give it another Air, and at least make it Sense, if not Probable? The Reduction of the old Roman Story, to Virgil's Persons and Characters, is intolerably Ridiculous; nor is Servius' Authority sufficient to make Polydorus' Wood allusive to Romulus' Lance. Turnus' recess, Book 9th, is no more like that of Cocles, than Virgil's own over the Mincius; Nor Sinon's hiding himself, or rather his pretence to it (for it is only a shame Story) to that of Marius in the Marshes of Minturnae: Nor is Latinus' Character agreeable to that of Lepidus. The resemblance imagined between Tully, and Drances, is absurd, and the Biographers Censure of Agrippa Scandalous, and against the truth of History, Agrippa being one of the greatest Persons of his Age; and Monsieur de Scudery does him less wrong in the Character he bestows on him in Cleopatra, though Romantic, and French enough, than our Author in that senseless Idea he gives us of him. It's not to be wondered Critics took no notice of what Livy tells us of Martius, 'twas an idle Story, and Valerius Antias, or Fabius Pictor were not fit to lie in the Balance against Polybius, who generally represents them as Fabulous, Legendary Writers, and whose own Writings would give better Satisfaction to a Man of Virgil's exact judgement; and besides Homer had represented his Achilles with such a Flame on his Head. I wonder how the Gentleman came to know so exactly the former Bulk and great Reduction of the Aeneis; 
It was once twenty times bigger than he left it.  however it had been well if Mr. Dryden himself had taken a little more time to correct his Version. Some wise Men have thought Virgil correct enough, and that he designed very little, if any Alteration; and his very Hemistics are so graceful, that Mr. Cowley could scarce believe he ever designed to fill 'em up: Whoever compares the present Version with the Original, will conclude it infinitely below Virgil's Perfection, and would choose sooner to be the Author of the most dilute Episode in Virgil than of Mr. Dryden's whole Translation.  
In the Account of Virgil's Person, Manners, and Fortune, was ever any thing so Childish, as that Remark about the Word Mulier, being but once in the whole Aeneis, and that by way of Contempt? This the Index at the end of the Dauphin's Virgil told him; if he had but looked the Word Faemina, he'd have found that often used; and the Dux Faemina facti was not designed for a Slur upon Pygmalion's Sister, or the Widow of Sichaeus. Such another's that about the Death of Dido. Again, his own Dauphin's Virgil would have shown him how Nascimbaenus reconciles Aeneas and Deiphobus together, as well as Scaliger, Taubmannus, and others in Emmenessius' Edition. I'm afraid Pollio's Curious Pencil has drawn a False Line over that of Virgil; and, as for Lavinia her Submission to her Mother, seems to have influenced her more, than any Fancy to Turnus; tho' Youth, Beauty, Valour, and Acquaintance were as pressing Motives, as the precarious Interpretation of an ambiguous Oracle. Virgil and Mr. Waller deserve an Honourable Character for the Chastity of their Muses: If other Men's Poetry were to be reduced to the same Modesty, a great part of them would fall under the Sponge.  
And had Mr. Dryden, and the rest of our wretched Play-wrights of late Years, filled their Poems with genuine sober Wit instead of Obscenity and Immorality, our Youth, nay, our Elder Gentry and Nobility, nay, the whole Nation, had made a more considerable Figure in the World; not to mention our Religion, in which, God be thanked, they pretend to no Interest; Religion is a Micaiah to our Hectoring Debauchees, and they hate it because it never prophecies Good concerning them: But they're a kind of Vermin beneath the Dignity of a satire, in that respect; it's too severe to lash 'em for what they know nothing of. Let's try 'em in their own Profession with good Mr. Dryden, their vir gregis ipse caper, in the Head of 'em, and see if their Poetry be any more brillant than their Morals.  
It's an effect of an Ill Memory to think Virgil left his Aeneis so imperfect, and yet never said too little nor too much, the very Observation has cleared the Writer of any such Imputation; but if his unfinished Works be so admirable, what would they have been, had they had his last Hand?  
Hic illius arma, Hic currus fuit. The rest is none of Virgil's: How knows the Gentleman that? 
A Man ought to be well assured of his own Abilities, before he attacks a Line of an established Reputation.  Or what does he mean by the rest? Is it the latter Hemistick, then he'd make Virgil sick of his Translator's Disease, and now and then write a little Nonsense; if he'd exclude the next verse too, by what Authority pray? The Sense is apposite, the Verse Majestic, the Style true Virgil, and the Critic indefensible for an ipse dixit signifies little now a days. But he adds a pretty Fable of one whom he calls Abienus, if it be not the Printer's Fault. He has been sometimes called Anianus, Anienus, and Abidnus, but never Abienus. His Name was really Avienus, a considerable Poet, contemporary with the Great Theodosius. This Writer He says, turned Virgil into iambics. But had he been of so nice a taste as he pretends, he'd have found both the Name of Avienus false written in Ruaeus and in Emmenessius, and the Name of the Author by him travesteeed in jambics mistaken. 
Aeneid. lib. 10. v. 388.  Servius, according to Emmenessius' Edition, says, He turned all Virgil into iambics; but our Author says, He turned all Livy so too, which was a tedious Work, but not so impertinent as to have metamorphosed Virgil in that manner. Vossius, 
Vossius de Poetis Latinis, p. 56. De Historicis Latinis, l. 11. c. 19 Hoffman in Avieno.  a better Critics owns his Pains with Livy, so does Hoffman too, both appeal to this very place of Virgil, referred to in the Margin; our Author takes his Notion about Livy from the same Writers; and yet Servius, in the place referred to, names not Livy but Virgil. This might have persuaded him, that either the Copyist or the Corrector had given us in that, or it may be some other modern Editions, Virgil for Livy, which the better Editions of Servius knew nothing of.  

Cui regia parent Armenta & late custodia credita campo, Aen. l. 7. not the 9 v. 4885.  The same Learned Gentleman has found old Tyrrhus' King Latinus his Herdsman and Forester or Ranger a very Noble Employment, and has dubbed him Master of the Horse, an Honour the poor Block-river little dreamt of; nor can it easily be guessed who construed Virgil's Account of him for our Author; unless a little Pique against the Unwarlike Dutch, made him wish every Master of the Horse might be reduced to cleave Blocks for his Livelihood.  
As for the Magnae spes altera Romae, the Gentleman would have done well to have referred us to his other ancient Author; for Ruaeus and others explode the Fancy, and if it lie under the just Imputation of an Achronism, a wise Man would not be too fond of it: If his Author be Servius, he might borrow from Donatus, whom Mr. D. supposes the real Author of Virgil's Life, 
Anno 360.  Servius flourishing in the 5th. Donatus in the 4th Century. 
Anno 410.   
Whether Latin be only a corrupt Dialect of Greek, with the Critics leave, may bear a Question.  
After the great Encomiums of his clawing Friends, enter Mr. Dryden himself in his, supposed, Immortal Strain; whose Performance, whether it answers their Hyperboles or not, is the Subject of our next Enquiry.  
Before we proceed to a Critical Examination of the Translation, it may be fit to lay down some Axioms, as we suppose they will be acknowledged, with respect to the necessary Qualifications of him who undertakes to naturalise a good Poet, and to make him pleasant and useful to the unlearned Reader.  
1. It's necessary the Translator should understand the Author he undertakes and be acquainted, in some measure, with the Customs and Usages of that Country, which the Original more particularly respects.  
2. It's necessary he should have a right taste of the Poet's Genius and Character, so as to endeavour to write as chastely and purely, in as clear and noble a Style as the Author; where he's lax and profuse, to indulge himself in a greater Liberty; where he's concise and short, to keep within the same Bounds; where he's grave and Majestic, not to be soft and trifling; or where he's low and easy, not to stalk in Buskins.  
3. The Translator should be able to distinguish exactly between the Low, the Mean, and the Sublime Style, and adapt the Language he translates into, to all the varieties observable in the Original.  
4. It's necessary he should give us the true Sense and meaning of his Author, if he knows it, that he who understands not the Original, may be sure yet that he knows the Author's Mind, has his true genuine Thoughts, and not the Interpolations of another. That especially where the Author says neither too little, nor too much, the Interpreter should neither clip his Sterling, nor give it worthless Bulk and Weight with the Additional Alloy of his own base Metal. And,  
5. He should make his Author speak so in a Modern Language, as he could reasonably conclude he would have spoken if now living, and writing on the same Subjects, and maintaining the same Characters he had taken up before.  
These seem to be undeniably necessary Qualifications in a good Translator; how our Author has observed 'em may be doubted; but passing by the smaller, which are innumerable, we shall only animadvert on his more notorious and indefensible Errors.  

ECLOGUE, I.  
FOR never can I deem him less than God. Namque erit ille mihi semper Deus, relates not to Tityrus' Opinion of Augustus, that he'd really believe him to be a God, whom he knew to be none; but that he'd respect him as if he were so, and pay, those Honours belonging to real a Deity, to him.  
He gave my Kine. 
Ver. 11.  An obscure Latinism, for, He permits my Kine to wander about the Pastures in safety, and me to play what I please on my Rural Pipe; which the Translation scarce expresses.  
I admire, 
Ver. 13.  That while the raging Sword, and wasteful Fire Destroy the wretched Neighbourhood around, 
See our Author himself.  No Hostile Arms approach your happy Ground. A Senseless Paraphrase of— Undique totis usque adeo turbatur agris. 
The time is come—  The Soldiers neither Murdered the Shepherds of Cremona, or Mantua, 
When the grim Capt. in a surly Tone,  by whom are meant the Inhabitants of those places in general; nor were they so silly as to burn the Houses they were to Live in themselves, 
Cries out, Pack up ye Rascals, & be gone.  they turned 'em indeed out of Doors, seized their Lands and kept 'em, and that was disturbance enough, and which Tiryus was by the favour of Augustus delivered from. 
Ecl. 9   
Heic inter densas corylos modo namque Gemellos. 
Ver. 20.   
Spem gregis, ah silice in nuda connixa reliquit.  
Who Yeaning on the Rocks has left her Young. The Emphasis quite lost, with the Circumstances most moving among the Shepherds, and the Sense mistaken.  
And the Hoarse Raven on the blasted Bough. 
Ver. 25.  A Raven is Corvus, not Cornix, and Tully might have taught him to distinguish between the Cough or Daw, and the Raven, and shown the import of Virgil's Sinistra Cornix. Quid Augur? 
De Divinat. l. 1. c. 39  cur á dextrâ Corvus, á sinistrâ Cornix faciat Ratum? And the Cornix is what the Raven is not Avis inauspicatoe garrulitatis: and Cava Ilex, is not the blasted Bough.  

〈◊〉 41.  Till then a helpless, hopeless, homely Swain. Impertinent all! But for good Sense sake, why homely Swain? Was Virgil turned Beau, all Periwig, and Steenkirk when he had once got to Rome? or what Methods of Artificial Handsomeness had honest Tityrus, still knowable by his old Friend, taken up? It would be too hard to find the Poet's sense in the next four Lines.  

Ver. 48.  To see your Mistress mourn. Was it Galatea, or Amaryllis?  

Ver. 63.  And graciously decreed, etc. Augustus' Oracle is quite lost, which in the Original carries an extraordinary Majesty and Emphasis along with it.  

Ver. 68  A Stony Harvest. Not Virgil, and too bold a figure for a Shepherd, and the present Poem.  
Fortunate Senex, hic inter flumina nota, Et fonttes sacros, frigus captabis opacum, were not worth our Translators notice.  

Ver. 87.  And some to far Oaxis shall be sold. Et rapidum Cretae veniemus Oaxem. And does any History talk of the Soldiers Selling the old Possessors for Slaves; And how far from the Text are the following Lines?  

Ver. 100  Now let me graft my Pears, and prune my Vine.  
Virgil's meaning is only Go, poor Melibus, graft thy Pears, etc. if thou canst, but alas! thou hast none to exercise thy pains upon. The following Lines are mere Confusion, and as far as possible from the beauty of Virgil's connected Thoughts. 
Ver. 110, etc.  Could never grow out of Virgil's Ground.  
And Boughs shall Wove a Covering for your Head. 
Ver. 116.  A very pretty Compliment, and which Virgil had not Address enough to think of.   

ECLOGUE II.  
YOung Corydon, etc. Virgil calls Alexis Delicias Domini. 
Ver. 1.  Why not his Translator? The next two Lines are far short of Virgil's Sense, and the following are of the same strain.  
And Thestylis, wild Thyme, and Garlic beats. But could the Translator imagine Virgil meant no more? 
Ver. 9  Garlic and Thyme would have given the poor Harvest Men a mighty Refreshment; even an ordinary Commentator would have let him know that Garlic and Thyme, were only some of the Ingredients of the Moretum, a savoury Pudding, nourishing and healthful to the Labourers.  
The creaking Locusts. Why Man! the Grasshoppers are the Musicians of the Harvest, not the Locusts; 
Ver. 13.  and are meant by the Cicadae. Locusts I doubt make but an odd kind of Music. The following verse, sure should have been Ovid's not Virgil's.  
White Lillyes lie neglected on the Plain, Whilst dusky Hyacinths for use remain. 
Ver. 21, 22  Besides the poorness of the Traduction, who taught Mr. D. that Lilies were so useless, or that Ligustra signified Lilies? Martial would have told him of the Maid who was whiter Argento, 
Lib. 1. Ep. 116.  
Lib. 8. Ep. 28.  nive, lilio, ligustro? And he Compliments another Lilia tu vincis nec ad huc delapsa Ligustra. The Ligustra were doubtless, the Blossoms of some Tree. Pliny tells us, the Cyprus in Egypt, is by some thought to be the Ligustrum of Italy, 
Plin. Hist. Nat. l. 12. c. 24.  whose Flowers may be sweet in their Native Soil, but degenerate in another.  
Amphion sung not sweeter to his Herd When summoned Stones the Theban Turret reared. 
Ver. 29.30.  Were the Stones than his Herd? Or did not Mr D. talk of the Theban Walls, because he knew not what Actaeus Aracynthus meant: This to make use of his own Witicism, is to traduce Virgil indeed.  

Ver. 40.  Or perhaps contend with Pan. Virgil had more Judgement than to make his Shepherds contend for Mastery with their God; but when Mr. D. represented Alexis and Corydon, his Thoughts were big with his own Maximin: The next Lines are as wide of Virgil, as of good Sense.  
Nor scorns the Pipe. For Nec te poeniteat, etc. Mr, 
Ver. 43.  D. sencelesly applies that to Pan, which Virgil makes Corydon say to Alexis; and so to Talk coherently.  

Ver. 45.  Corydon's Pipe was not made with seven smooth joints, but with seven Reeds of an unequal length joined together, somewhat like the lesser Pipe of a small Organ.  
Two Kids that, for, which, but false Grammar is so common with him, it's not worth notice.  
I found by chance, 
Ver. 51.  and to my Fold conveyed. i e. I stole 'em, Virgil meant, he found them in a dangerous Place, near the Den of some Beast of Prey; so as he ventured his Life for 'em, 
Ver. 52.  which would render the present more valuable. Virgil 's Capreoli would have been little Goats, whose Age yet was more distinguishable by their Marks, than by their Size. Sparsis etiam nunc pellibus albo.  
Alexis is represented as a young Shepherd, 
Ver. 53.  and the Goats would serve for somewhat better than to play with.  
To make amends for his former neglect; Mr. D. now tells us, They were both fleckt with White, the true Arcadian strain; what Virgil gave then as a mark of their Age, our Poet makes a mark of their Breed; 
Ver. 55.  a very considerable discovery! It's a wonder he did not derive 'em from the Goats, in whose Watering-Troughs jacob laid the peeled Rods. But nemo Mortalium, etc.  
The next ten Lines are so wild a Translation of Virgil as is intolerable; the sweet smelling Daffodil, the Pansy, the Purple Spring, because it brings on pale Violets, and Marsh Marigolds are such a medley of Flowers, as would fright Virgil, if he were to see 'em put down for his; nor would he own that Ovidian Conclusion where, at least, there's too much.  

Ver. 90.  Towers are for Gods. A very grave Sentence; but pray, for what kind of Gods?  
The wanton Kid the Browse, Excellent for Florentem Cytisum, 
Ver. 92.  etc.  

Ver. 93.  Alexis thou art chased by Corydon. A very noble Expression.  

Ver. 95.99.  See from a far the Fields no longer smoke, Cool Breezes now the raging Heats remove. The Scene is now to be removed to jamaica or Barbadoes, which Virgil's honest Shepherds ne'er thought of. The following three Lines are wonderfully agreeable to Homespun Corydon. Doubtless Mr. D. when he wrote 'em, thought himself courting a Town Miss, and had a mind to show all his Improvements by Court Conversation.  
In this whole Eclogue our Translator has kept himself at such a distance from his Author, that it's plain, he did not or would not understand him, nor can he be so much a Suffaenus to himself, as to imagine, Virgil, had he been now living, would have represented a Shepherd, though of the true Arcadian strain so injudiciously. He has made Virgil think otherwise than he did, whether better or no, I leave to their Judgements who understand the Original.   

ECLOGUE III.  

Ver. 1.  HO Groom! a very Elegant Title for a Shepherd! but I confess, Mr. D. is not without Authority, for so H. C. in his Popish Courant Jan. 24 th' 78/9. Translates Non ego Romuleâ miror quod pastor in Urbe Sceptra gerat; Pastor conditor Urbis erat. It's nothing strange a Sheperd Reigns in Rome; For he that built it, was a Shepherd's Groom. While he Neaera Courts, 
Ver. 4.5.  and Courts in vain. A mistake, for she was their c●●mon Friend, and Aegon was only afraid Menalcas should have more of her Company than himself.  
Of Grass and Fodder thou defrau'dst the Dams. for Et succus pecori. 
Ver. 6.  Ruaeus teaches him better than to construe it so absurdly.  
Yet when I crept the Hedges of the Leys. 
Ver. 15.  Pure Nonsense! and stole the Stays. Better and better.  
Beneath yond ancient Oak. 
Ver. 17.  Ad veteres fagos. well guest however. When the fair Boy received the gift of Right. Et cum vidisti puero donata dolebas. If this bened Translation, pray what is?  
What Nonsense would the Fool thy Master prate. 
Ver. 21.  Quid domini facient? We use to say, Saying and Doing, are two things.  
When thou his Knave. 
Ver. 21.  Mr. D. has heard of Paul the Knave of jesus Christ; and if I mistake not, I have read some Plays said to be written by john Dryden, Servant to His Majesty; however it's a most profound Quibble.  
Ask, 
Ver. 22.  Damon, ask if he the Debt denies; I think he dares not; if he does, he lies. Here's Dametas grown a mere Almanzor. The Lie no Man can bear. But is not this an admirable Construction of— Et mihi Damon Ipse fatebatur, sed reddere posse negabat? i. e. He durst not deliver it, because of his Master's Interest, or without his leave.  

Ver. 34.  Thou Booby. Stoo him Bays! Now I fancy, Virgil intended to expose some dull Poet for a mere Ballad Singer, Toning out, o Hone o Hone! with sad Lines, and a dismal voice, and that indeed, his Compositions, though very mean, were like the present Translation, Licenced and Entered according to Order. Mr. D. is of another Mind, and says, He tickled the Crowd with a Straw.  

Ver. 40  My brindled Heifer. Now since Mr. D. was at liberty to make it of any Colour, why was it not my Milk-white Heifer, that we might have known it was of the true Roman strain? But why, her Beestning never fail? the Dairy Maid at Denham Court, would have told him, they are Beestning but for three or four Days after Calving; afterwards they are Strokings; but it was a most miraculous Heifer, which had her brimming Pails full of either, especially when she had suckled two Calves before; but if her Stroke were so plentiful, what would her full Bag have given?  
A cursed she, who rules my Hen-peckt Sire, Menalcas says no such thing, 
Ver. 48, 49.  who does the Translator mean? Altar and Haedos. And once she takes the Tale of all the Lambs, Well Construed again!  
Two Bowls I have. Now here I durst say my Brindled Heifer, 
Ver. 55.  that our Translator made 'em two, because Virgil calls 'em Pocula in the Plural Number, and carries it quite thro' Menalcas' Speech, 
Lavinaque venit litora.  but by Neuters Plural to signify a single thing is not unusual, and Damaetas, to run him down, tells him, he indeed has duo Pocula, i. e. He was resolved to overmatch him in every thing, for he treats him altogether in Scorn, though it comes to a Wager at last.  
The Lids are Ivy— Bowls don't use to have Lids, 
Ver. 55.  unless Alcimedon had the way of making Tunbridge Ware, and I dare say, Menalcas' had not so much as a loose Cover; the word Superaddita, I'm afraid made Mr. D. think of a Lid. Grapes in clusters lurk beneath, is like the Fellow looking out of the Window who was to draw in his Head, if any body looked at him; I'm desperately afraid Mr. D. read it Celatum. For the whole description of the Bowl, Ruaeus, if consulted, would have set him somewhat righter.  
The Kimbo Handles seem with Bearsfoot Carved. 
Ver. 69.  Nonsense again,  
Where Orpheus on his Lyre laments his Love; 
Ver. 69, 70.  With Beasts encompassed, and a dancing Grove. Mere trifling, and unsuitable to Virgil, and his Shepherd's Character.  
Menalcas rather than be thought a Coward, 
Ver. 74, 75.  comes to Damaetas' terms in Virgil. Veniam quocunque ●●ocaris; but does not brag like a Child, this, Ruaeus would have shown our Translator, but he forgets all that.  
And Nature has accomplished all the Spring. 
Ver. 84.  Admirable!  

V. 39, etc.  Me Phoebus loves, for Him my blushing Hyacynths and my Bays I keep. The rest is the Translators, and impertinently stuck to Virgil.  

Ver. 97.  With pelted Fruit, etc. I thought Galatea had pelted him with Apples. Mr. Dryden thought the Apples were pelted, not the Man.  
Then tripping to the Woods— for Et fugit ad salices.  

Ver. 105.  I saw two Stock-doves billing, and e'er long will take the Nest. But does their Billing show where their Nest is? Virgil's Damaetas observed where their Nest was, Mr. D. only their Gesture.  

Ver. 107.  Ten ruddy Wildings, i. e. Crabs; a Noble Present! And doubtless the Aurea Mala of the Hesperidos were no better. And stood on Tiptoes reaching from the Ground, i. e. to get at the Wildings: But where says Virgil or Ruaeus so?  

Ver. 111.  The lovely Maid lay panting in my Arms, etc. where's nothing of Virgil's Spirit or Pastoral Style, but pure Ovid, or somewhat loser than he.  

Ver. 120.  At Sheering time. Cum faciam vitula pro frugibus.  

Ver. 135.  A Bull be bred With spurning Heels and with a butting Head. This, I'm sure, is no Commentary on the Poet's Meaning, nor is it Intelligible to a mere English Reader, nor, as translated, is it any just Repartee to Damaetas.  

Ver. 138.  Let Myrrh instead of Thorn his Fences fill. Amomum is by some thought to be the Herb Nightshade, by some the Rose of jerusalem, by some of jericho, by some 'tis thought to be Cinnamon, only Mr. D. has found it out to be Myrrh. But why Myrrh to make a Fence? Damaetas would have Pollio his Friend so happy, as that his very Bushes should bear the sweetest Flowers, or the richest Spices; but neither Plants like Hemlock, nor Odoriferous Flowers, nor sweet Gums, were ever fit to make Hedges with; our Translator was certainly here in a Dream, or worse.  
Who hates not living Bavius, 
Ver. 140.  i. e. N. T. let him be Dead, Maevius, i. e. T. S. damned to love thy Works and thee. And why are not either of 'em as commendable as a Bathyllus or a Chaerilus, or one past the fumbling Age of Poetry?  
join Dog-Foxes in the Yoke. 
Ver. 143.  How come Mr. D. to know that Virgil meant Dog-Foxes? Or why must Mulgeat Hircos be rendered, Sheer the Swine. Methinks it had been better, let him, like Waltham 's Calf, go nine Mile to suck a Bull, as they do who read this dear Translation for Virgil.  
Is a lewd ridiculous Translation: 
Ver. 144, 5.  So what Menalcas says afterwards, and what Damaetas returns is so far from the Text, as the silliest Priest in England would have been ashamed of.  
Destroys the Groom. 
Ver. 155▪  I'm afraid Mr. D. will hardly show us the Country in England where the Shepherd's Boy is styled the Groom; but he's in love with the Word, and I have given him an Authority for it before.  

V. 158.  What Magic has bewitched the woolly Dams? Why none at all, Man! They were the Lambs which looked as if they had sucked sheir Dams through a Hurdle; i. e. they were overlooked by some Witch.  

Ver. 160.  Is more a Riddle than Virgil's.  
The whole Eclogue is viciously translated, that a Man could scarcely pass one Line without Censure; and Mr. D. seems in general to have no Notion of Virgil's Air or Sense, but fixes any thing on him which himself thinks fit, lops off his best Thoughts; and though his Lines are smother, his Sense is not better, or more plain than Ogylby's so much decried.   

ECLOGUE IU.  
THis Eclogue is of a piece with the rest of Mr. D.'s; and as to the Subject of it, it would puzzle a good Critic to reconcile Mr. D.'s Prefatory Talk, Ruaeus his Preface, and the Argument His Friends gave him for it together. But let who will compose that Quarrel, let's see what the Version is.  
To find no Fault with the Absurd Translation of the Four first Lines.  

Ver. 5.  The last Great Age foretold by Sacred Rhimes, Renews it's finished Course. What can Mr. Translator mean by that? Why this great Age was now but coming, not past, and beginning again? Virgil knew better than to think that the great Platonic Year was past when he wrote; but here was now beginning a now, a better, and a happier Season than had been formerly known since the Golden Age. He calls ●it the last Age; if the last be finished it can't be renewed again, if it be renewed it was not the last; nor can a Quibble excuse the Nonsense, nor prove what follows, And mighty Years begun, From the first Orb in radiant Circles run, any thing but glittering Nonsense.  
The Father, 
Ver. 16.  etc. A poor Version of Te Duce siqua manent sceleris vestigia nostri Irrita, etc. The whole Design of this Eclogue has been much controverted. After what has been said by Blondel, Boxhorne, Galaeus, and many great Men of our own, it seems to me, that Virgil, acquainted with ancient Prophecies, reflected on and repeated oft in his Time, concerning an Universal King to be born in the East, or in judaea, (for that Talk was sometimes more particular, sometimes more general) was wil●ing to divert the Course of those Prophecies, and make the Romans look at Home for what they expected from Abroad. Whether they were ●he Sibylline Prophecies, (many of which may ●e Authentic, whatsoever yet has been said against them) or the more Authentic jewish Prophecies, then read in many places; I doubt not but Virgil designed all to the Honour of his Patrons, in which, I believe, he was not inspired; but though not inspired, he might be ●o far directed by an unknown Influence, and limited by a Superintending Providence as to ●mass such things together in this particular Poem, as would be ridiculous when applied to any, but jesus the Son of God, the Saviour of the World. To Him these very Verses belong, and were penned by Virgil in an ambiguous manner, equally applicable to Pollio's Son or Nephew, or Augustus; and were construed, at that time, by that Notion they had of the Writer, whose Person and Inclinations is oftentimes the best Comment upon his Work.  

Ver. 18.  The Son shall lead the Life of Gods, is very short of, He shall be Partaker of the Divine Life, which is the true Sense of the Poet's Words.  

V. 23, 4, 5.  All mere trifling to the Original; where the very Verses seem to smile, as well as the promised, Garlands on the Newborn Infant.  

Ver. 30.  Each common Bush shall Syrian Roses wear. No sure, Myrrh not Roses; Mr. D. ought not to change the Signification of Words at his own Pleasure.  

Ver. 35.  The knotted Oak shall Showers of Honey weep▪ And through the melted Grass the Liquid Gold shall creep. Thus one's for Sense, the other for Convenience, as our Friend Hudibras has it.  

Ver. 42.  Another Argos, I'm afraid is something more than a Typographical Error.  

Ver. 51.  Nor Wool shall in dissembled Colours shine▪ Why, Man, the Divers Colours are real not dissembled; no, not so much as mere various modifications of Light; but Virgil means, th● most beauteous Colours Wool could wear should 〈◊〉 Natural, not Artificial, as the following Verses show.  
Beneath his Pompous Fleece shall proudly sweat, 
Ver. 55, 6.  And under Tyrian Robes the Lambs shall blea●, i. e. They shall all be Kings, or Noblemen at least, and appear always in their Parliament Robes. But is this to Translate Virgil, whose Thoughts are always just, and Expressions proper?  
Mature in Years, 
Ver. 59  for Aderit jam tempus; as if the Expression referred not to the World, but to the Child; which the very next Passage corrects.  
See to their Base restored Earth, 
Ver. 63.  Seas, and Air, And joyful Ages from behind in crowding Ranks appear. Nothing at all to the purpose, but to put one in mind of— Was not he a Rascal? etc.  
The frowning Infant's Doom is read. 
Ver. 77▪  Cui non risere Parents. Through the whole of this Eclogue a Man may look for Virgil in Virgil, and not be able to find him.   

ECLOGUE V.  
IT's always accounted unlucky to stumble in the beginning of a Work; 
Ver. 1.  yet here our Translator begins to the Tune of Fauste, precor gelidâ, etc. Since on the Downs our Flocks together feed; which is a very fine Thought. And why was not the Design of their Sitting down in the Shade mentioned? They who read the Original understand it; they who pretend to interpret the Poet should express it.  

Ver. 5.  What Mr. D. gave our Poet before, he takes away quite in these four Lines, and that for false English too. It seems, tho' a very good Catholic, as doubtless he is, he never read the Catholic Father's Book De Majoritate & Obedienti●.  

Ver. 7.  Or will you to the cooler Cave succeed? This is one of the Latinisms Mr. D. pretends to boast of, and a silly one it is. Succeed is confined in our Language to another Sense or two, and won't be naturalised to this, tho' Mr. D. should bring the Bill into the Parliament of Poets.  
— Now bring the Swain, Whose Voice you boast, 
Ver. 20.  and let him try the Strain. This shows the Translator's Folly, who talked of Amyntas' before, which Menalcas meant not; but that no other Shepherd among 'em had so fine a Vein of Poetry, or made such fine Songs as Amyntas; and the Canendo afterwards is to be interpreted the same way; and here Mopsus promises to sing his Elegy on Daphnis, and challenges Menalcas to bring in Amyntas to perform any thing like it; and, in return, Menalcas compliments Mopsus not for his Voice, for his Talon was Calamos inflare leves, but for his Poetry.  
No more, but sit and hear the promised Lay, The gloomy Grotto makes a doubtful day. 
Ver. 25.  An admirable Paraphrase on Sed tu desine plura, puer: successimus antro.  
The Lifeless Parent, his wretched Limbs embraced Accusing all the Gods, 
V. 34, etc.  and every Star. The rest is all D's, who indeed, makes Virgil's Poem look like Damaetas' Armour, patched with any thing he could gather from the lower Form of Poets. And if Rome was the Parent, the description's nothing but absurdity; besides, how could the Lifeless Parent embrace the dead Corpse, or accuse the Gods? The Proverb seems true generally, that Mortui non mordent.  
The Lybian Lions hear, 
Ver. 42.  and hearing roar. Let Ogylby show a Nobler Line, if he can.  
And Holy Revels for his Reeling Train. 
Ver. 46.  A very pretty Circumstance in commendation of a deceased Hero, and from a sober Poet; but the Translator puts in a little Burlesque now and then, for a Ragout for his cheated Subscribers.  
And so to the 55th is an impertinent and unseasonable Illustration of Virgil's neat Eulogy on Daphnis. 
Ver. 50.   
And softly let the running Waters glide. 
Ver. 62.  Another of Mr. D's sweet smelling Daffodils, who for Virgil's short, yet Noble Epitaph, has given us a loose, unnerved one of his own; it can be no Capital Crime, after so Celebrated a Trifler, to render it thus; 
Daphnis the Shepherd I to Heaven renowned,  
Fair was my Flock, myself with fairer Beauties crowned.   
O Heavenly Poet! 
Ver. 69.  Here Mr. D. shows his own carelessness before, and confirms my Observation, that it was not the voice, but the Poetry, for which Mopsus was so much admired.  
It's not the Character of Shepherds to be oppressed with Cares, 
Ver. 71, 72.  and Virgil never thought of the Sylvan Shade, but the green Grass, which its better sleeping in on a Sunny Bank, than under a Shade, the Grass being sweeter there, and the Steam of the Earth more wholesome.  
Your Lays are next to his, and claim the second Praise. 
Ver. 77.78.  Alter ab illo signifies, not one inferior, or of the second Rank, but another such an one, or equal to him, nor is Servius' Authority good to the contrary.  
For Daphnis was so good to love what e'er was mine. 
Ver 81.  Menalcas' compliment to Mopsus is spoiled before, and here he does not say, Daphnis loved what e'er was mine, but he loved me, which a Man may do, without loving all the failures of his Friend: And if Mr. D. had any thoughts of King Charles II. tho he had all the sweetness of Nature a mere Man was capable of, he had too much Wit to like every thing that was his.  

Ver. 86, 87, 89.  Should we allow Candidus to signify, the Guest of Heaven, which it does not, but has a nobler Emphasis, what means the Translator by his viewing the Starry Skies in the Milky way; sure it's an odd kind of Hypallage. Now whether Daphnis looked upward or downward for this fine Vision, Virgil makes him see the Stars below him, Mr. D. the rolling Year, for so he construes Sidera, to the best of my apprehension; and doubtless, that's a very fine Sight, and a mighty surprise to his wondering Eyes.  
The Purple Spring adorns the various Ground. Virgil could never have reached so fine, 
Ver. 91.  and so very agreeable a Thought.  
Nor Birds the Springs fear. 
Ver. 94.  This Mr. D. added, to let us know he understood how to catch Woodcocks.  
For Daphnis Reigns above, 
Ver. 95, 6.  and deals from thence His Mother's milder Beams and peaceful Influence. Who does the Translator mean by Caesar's Mother, if Daphnis was Caesar? Was it Aurelia, the Daughter of Caius Catta, who makes a very small Figure in History? Or was it Venus? If so, she should have been his Grandmother at least? Or was not his Head full of Aeneas, whose Mother Venus indeed was▪ as he thinks Virgil's Head was when he wrote this Eclogue? And is not the whole a pretty Paraphrase of Amat Bonus otia Daphnis?  
The Shrubs partake of Humane Voice. 
Ver. 98.  But why Humane? Can any thing be more absurd? The Poet never thought of it. And not only Profane Writers, but Scripture it self, calls upon all the parts of the Universe to praise God; but they never dreamt of their doing it in a Humane Voice.  
Assenting Nature with a gracious▪ Nod Proclaims him. 
Ver. 99  That's a very new way of Proclaiming a God; the gracious Nod belongs to jove, as the supreme among the Poetical Gods; to ascribe what belongs to him to Nature, is to make Nature superior to a God, and therefore to condescend very far, when she allows her gracious Nod to the new dubbed Divinity.  
On each is offered Annual Sacrifice. 
Ver. 121.  Where does Mr. Translator find that? The following Lines are senseless and idle: Virgil talks nothing of what the Priests should offer, but what he'd offer himself; Two Bowls of New Milk, and two of fresh Oil.  
Damaetas shall perform the Rites Divine. Was Damaetas then a Priest? 
Ver. 113.  If not, what had he to do with Divine Rights? If he was, why should Menalcas only mention his Singing in the Text? What Aegon was to do, the same was the Task of Damaetas, but Aegon was to Sing Hymns to Daphnis, not to play the Priest; therefore Damaetas was only to sing. Mr. D. quite forgot the following Vow, Haec tibi semper erunt—  

Ver. 121.  And Locusts feed on Dew. Where did Mr. D. ever hear of Locusts feeding on Dew? Scripture, if he troubled that much, would have taught him better, Germany sometimes, and several parts of Africa very frequently find it otherwise; but Mr. D. is fond of Translating Cicadae Locusts, which in our Poet, always signify Grasshoppers, of whom, for aught we know, the observation of their feeding on Dew, may be true.  

Ver. 126.  Tho Damnabis tu quoque votis, may pass well in Latin, yet a pretence to Translate it literally in English, is ridiculous, when the plain meaning is, thou too shalt oblige Men, or hold them fast to the performance of their Vows by the awe of thy Divine Power.  

Ver. 136.  And had the judge been just, had won the Prize. An Addition directly contrary to Virgil's notion of Palaemon, and that Opinion Rhemnius Palaemon had of himself upon account of Virgil's naming him as a judge between the contending Shepherds, therefore this did not grow out of him. The Paraphrase on the last three Verses is more loose, and trifling than Ovid would have offered at in the greatest Luxuriancy of his Fancy.   

ECLOGUE VI.  
NOR blushed the Doric Muse to dwell in Mantuan Plains. 
Ver. 2.  But why must Sylvae signify the Mantuan Plains? Or why the Doric Muse? Did Virgil ever write in the Doric Dialect, as Theocritus had done? Who would imagine the Translator had ever read his Author? The first is every whit as wide too from the Author's Sense.  
— Nor dare beyond the Reed. 
Ver. 6.  A very clear Expression, and extremely agreeable to deductum dicere carmen.  
— And reading not disdain. 
Ver. 11.  Si quis tamen haec quoque, si quis Captus amore leget. The Translation's admirable English, and very much to the purpose.  
The Name of Varus oft inscribed shall see In every Grove, 
Ver. 13.  and every vocal Tree. Virgil says nothing of inscribing, nor would Mr. D. had he but considered his own Epithet? for why should the Tree be vocal upon which the Name would be inscribed? It ought to be vocal to sing a Name, as Virgil says, but the dumbest Tree in all the wood, might serve well enough to carry an Inscription.  

Ver. 15.  And all the Sylvan Reign. I have heard Mr. D. was once a Westminster Scholar. Dr. Busbie I doubt, would have whipped a Boy for Paraphrasing omne nemus so Childishly. The three next verses are worthy of Mr. D. but unworthy of his admirable Author.  

Ver. 19  Mr. D. was Nominum asperitate deterritus. And therefore lets Chromis and Mnasylus pass, but where did he find that Silenus was their Sire; if he were, his drunkenness would not excuse their Rudeness to bind their Sire for an old Song.  

Ver. 25.  Born by the Tide of Wine, and floating on the Floor. Was ever so senseless, a Thought? How scaped the old Toper from drowning in his own Spew? And what a dull Soul was poor Virgil? This is to make him talk better than be ever thought before; but see the Luxuriancy of Wit! The very next Couplet gives us as fine a touch with relation to his empty Can, his Gravis Cantharus, (for he's now for his Statuimus, i. e. abrogamus) with the unusual Ornament of two Ears; 'Twas hung on high to boast the Triumph of the Day. I suppose it was made out of some Vocal Tree, and had an Epinition inscribed on it.  

Ver. 33.  The fairest Nais, for Nymph, that it might be the more intelligible; and soon after, He finds the Fraud, injudiciously for He finds the Trick; for there was no Fraud in their binding him, and painting his Face.  
'Twas Impudence to find A sleeping God, 
Ver. 38, 39  'tis Sacrilege to bind. Silenus' was no God, but a Demi-god, which is more than can be said of our unparallelled Translator. But where did he find that pretty Notion of Impudence and Sacrilege? Virgil says only, 
Satis est potuisse videri.  It was favour enough to them that they had seen him, intimating there was no need of more; if he was willing to be seen, they need not question his Willingness to satisfy them in other Particulars: But what's the pretended Version to all this?  
Not by Haemonian Hills, etc. Unquestionably true, 
Ver. 46.  the Hills were very silent all of them; yet if they had any Nodding Forests upon them, there be somewhat of a Noise among them, a leading up the Brawls, or so; but where's Virgil?  
He sung how Seas, 
Ver. 50, etc.  etc. Fell through the mighty Void, and in their Fall Were blindly gathered in this goodly Ball. Ruaeus and others, to whom Mr. D. is blindly gathered, suppose Silenus an Epicurean Philosopher, his full Gut, his empty Can, his Tipsy brain, and his abominable Spewing, I suppose, were their Evidences: But how shall we reconcile Mr. D. and his Friends, the Prefacers to these Pastorals, who, with a great deal of judgement deny the matter, and argue better from Silenus' Words, than from his Posture. Mr. D. is Epicure entire in his Sense of Virgil; but where says Virgil himself, that the Seeds of all things fell through the mighty Void? If they fell through it, they fell from some place or Ubi without it, which was their Terminus à quo, and into some place without or beneath it again, which was the Terminus ad quem: And pray what Philosophy is this? But, In their Fall they were blindly gathered, i. e. by Fortune, commonly called Blind. The Seeds of things than were passive, Fortune was active; and what's capable of acting, must have an Existence; therefore Fortune had a Being before the Seeds of all things, which is a great Honour to Her Divinity. But Virgil says the Semina were, per inane coacta, Gathered together, but not by chance, or blindly, but by some really powerful Agent; they did not fall-thro' the void, but were amassed in it. Now if they were gathered together, they did not gather themselves together, their concourse was not Fortuitous; if they were managed by some superior Power, that Power could not be a Name, a Title, a Chimaera, but must be a Real, Alwise, and All-Powerful Being, that is, God, who if he were the Agent, in gathering the Seeds of things together, Epicurus' Hypothesis falls: And if Virgil instructs us thus, Virgil was not, in this Eclogue, a Promoter of the Epicurean Philosophy; and for Mr. D. though his Sentiments may be very suspicious, if he has any, it's plain he's no Master of his Notion, nor so much of Expression, as he pretends to; for what means he by being blindly gathered? to jumble together by chance, or fall together Blindly, may be allowed, but to be gathered blindly together is pure Nonsense. 
Ver. 64.   
Prometheus' theft, 
Ver. 74.  and Jove 's avenging Rage. An obscure innuendo for Virgil's plain Declaration of the punishment of Prometheus.  
Tho tender and untried, the Yoke they feared. Meaning the Bull, as in the following Verses, but Virgil applied those to the Praetides, who in a Melancholic Madness, fansyed themselves Heifers; who though they were afraid of the Yoke, and felt often for their Horns, yet were not so much Brutes, 
Ver. 79.  as to look out for a Bull: And must we say, Mr. D. understood Virgil?  
He thro' the Forest Roves, And roars with Anguish for his absent Loves. Just contrary to Virgil, who aggravates the misery of Pasiphae, from this very consideration, that the Bull was wholly insensible of her Amours, Lived careless as Brutus' commonly do, and took up with any she among the Herd, without thinking of his Lady Mistress; and Mr. Dryden takes a civil care to confute himself, in the very next Lines.  
Mr. D. to show his Complaisance for the fair Sex, says, what Virgil, whom, yet his Translator represents as a Woman-hater, scorned to do, and what's really False. Mr. D. must not measure all by his own. Virtue, for aught I know, may survive among some of that Sex, when Men have quite lost it.  
How each arising Alder now appears, And o'er the Po distils her Gummy Tears. 
Ver. 91.  But do Alders distil Gum? 
Some indeed says they were changed into Alders, but they say nothing of the Gum.  What Arborist told him so, Virgil uses Alnus for Populus; but his Translator has no such Liberty, except when he has a mind to add a fine Line only to expose himself.  

Ver. 96.  And Linus thus their Gratitude expressed. For what? Wherein had Gallus been such a Benefactor to them? And what has the Good Man done with Divino Carmine Pastor Floribus atque Apio crines ornatus amaro? Was Virgil's Muse so dull, that Mr. D. could make nothing of it? But, to make amends for what's wanting here, he mistakes Hesiod soon after for Orpheus, Who with his Pipe of old had Charmed the Savage Train, for we hear of no such thing by Hesiod.  

Ver. 101.2, 3, 4.  What Mr. D. meant here I know not, I'm sure he Translates not Virgil, unless among his several Editions, he has some Copy very wide of Ours.  

Ver. 105.  Why should I sing the double Scylla 's Fate? There were two Scylla's indeed, One the Daughter of Phorcus, the other of Nisus. But Ruaeus thinks Virgil speaks of but one, and his Text agrees with his Comment, but which of the two means Mr. D. by The beauteous Maid deformed? What English Reader will know whose Fleet was devoured by her? Virgil leaves neither of these things really Ambiguous, but his Interpreter leaves both so, that the whole may be the plainer.  

Ver. 113.  And how in Fields the Lapwing Tereus reigns. Lapwings are no royal Birds, nor can they pretend to the same command which Tereus had in his Country. And Virgil takes no notice of Philomela's Music, but of her Cookery, in which she joined with Progne, v. Ovid Metam. l. 6.  
Had taught the Laurels and the Spartan Flood. 
Ver. 118.  Virgil says no such thing, but the River Eurotas had heard Phoebus sing such things, and the Banks being covered with Laurels, the River taught those Laurels the same Songs which she had heard. The other 7 Lines are such Stuff, so full a mistake of Virgil's Sense, and debauch his Fancy so scandalously, as Ogylby would have been ashamed of.   

ECLOGUE VII.  
BEneath a Holm. 
Ver. 1.  Sub Ilice, under an Oak of a particular kind indeed, and such as is common in Italy.  
The Father of my Flock. 
Ver. 8.  Mr. D. seems very fond of this Catachresis in several places, as in the former Eclogue, The Husband of the Herd, but such Figures, tho' graceful in the Original are absurd in the Version, and not to be endured.  
Here wanton Mincius winds along the Meads— again. 
Ver. 15.  And see from you old Oak that, for which▪ mates the Skies, both mere Drydenisms, or ungraceful Impertinencies; besides the Swarms did not rise from the Tree, but ●umm'd in it, as in the Hive in a still, warm Evening.  
To house and feed by Hand my weaning Lambs. 
Ver. 21.  Another as bad. Virgil's saying is, they were not at hand to take 'em from their Dams, and shut 'em up when they had sucked enough, nor has he any thing about their draining the Dams, which after good lugging by the Lambs, could not Strut much.  

Ver. 25.  Alternos Musae meminisse volebant, is quite sunk.  

Ver. 27.9.  Your Muses ever fair and ever young— With all, my Codrus, O inspire my Breast, the first Silly, the last Nonsense.  

Ver. 38. — Fence my Brows with Annulets of Bays, Baccare frontem Cingite. There may be some dispute about what kind of Plant Baccar is, but Mr. D.'s the first I believe who makes it Bays, which, tho' they might be good against Thunder, supposing Laurel and Bays, Synonymous, are no Specific against Witchcraft, or Fascination.  

Ver. 42.  (The first Essay of Arms untried before,) Mr. D. will be adding without Sense or Reason; Virgil intimates nothing of all this. I observe, he's mighty fond of his Parian Stone or Marble, which yet the Poet mentions only once as I remember, in his Aeneids; but the Translator would have it look as if Virgil or Theocritus had never heard of any other Marble but that. Thy Legs in Buskins with a purple Band, is an Original.  

Ver. 52.  Here the Translator's mad, every Line betrays his Stupidity; first Galatea comes in with her Silver Feet, a very fine Epithet, and the right meaning of Nerine. Tall as a Poplar, taper as the Bowl; because they say, Man's a Tree inverted, I suppose by this, Galatea was one of Mrs. Behn's She-Giants, and the fitter Mistress for that handsome Gentleman Polyphemus; but what's all this to the Poets Haederâ formosior albâ? The next is a most exquisite Paraphrase of Si qua tui Corydonis habet ' te cura, venito. But than follows a Flower, Come when my lated Sheep at Night return. I suppose Corydon's Oxen had undergone the Noble Experiment of transfusion, and so were become Sheep. Now such a wonderful Operation might Crown the silent Hours, and stop the rising Morn; if that pretty verse has any meaning in it.  
Here Mr. D. resolves to outdo his Author, 
Ver. 51.  and Thyrsis, to aggravate his Uglyness, must be black as Night, and what's much stranger, Deformed like him, who chaws Sardinian Herbage to contract his jaws. Sardinian Herbage, is a very general Word; and sure all the Herbs in Sardinia were not of a malignant Nature; or did ever any Man eat 'em only that his jaws might be contracted? Naturalists talk of a Plant in Sardinia, of which, whosoever pretended to eat, was presently taken with a Fit of Laughter, in which he Died: Thyrsis wishes that he might be as nauseous, or bitter to his Mistress, and consequently as odious as that Plant to those who knew of it, if he did not think that Day longer than a Year, in which she was absent; how close Mr. D. comes to this Sense! In the next Lines in the Poet, Thyrsis rates his Bullocks home, that his Mistress might come to him. Mr. D. will have the Bullocks Sheep still, and will talk absurdly, while his Author gives him good Sense.  

Ver. 66.7.  Ye Mossy Springs inviting easy Sleep, Ye Trees whose leafy shade those Mossy Fountains keep; How much nearer is Mr. Ogylby to Virgil. Ye Mossy Springs and Grass more soft than Sleep, and verdant Boughs which you with Shadows keep, but they're both out in— jam laeto turgent in palmite gemmae, for the Gemmae are neither Grapes nor Blossoms▪ But those Budds which put out from the Stock at every joint, and shoot out into those annual Branches which bear the Grapes.  

Ver. 70.  With heapy Fires. A Senseless Expression.  

Ver. 80.  Nor withering Vines their jucy Vintage yield, which is far from Virgil's meaning in Liber pampineas invidit collibus umbras, i. e. Bacchus envies the Hillocks, those shady Vines which used to cover them, and what's that to the Vintage? Mr. Ogylby much better. And Bacchus viny Shades denies the Hills. The words are not so well placed, but his meaning is the same with Virgil's, which the others is not.  

Ver. 84.  Those Seven Lines are the best I have yet met with in Seven Eclogues, and they come nearest to Virgil's, but they are run out to a luxurious length, quite beneath Virgil's closeness and majesty. They'd have looked pretty well in Ovid, but they are too light here.  
Abies in Montibus altis. 
Ver. 94.  Is blown quite away, which Ogylby found room for in four Lines, but Mr. D. could not crowd into six.  
I've heard, 
Ver. 96.  for Haec Memini. And Thyrsis you contend in vain. The Apostrophe is extremely ungraceful, and the following Verses unjustifiable from any thing which Virgil says.   

ECLOGUE VIII.  
MR. D. somewhere tells us, that the Preface to the Pastorals, the Essay before the Georgics, and the Arguments, were done by some Friends of his. I don't find his Friends infallible, though somewhat less mistaken than himself: But since they were so kind, it had been civil in Mr. D. to have read what they had Written; it might have made his own Sense better, and have cleared his Understanding, in some Particulars. Among others, in the beginning of this Pastoral, where he talks of.  
The Mournful Muse of two despairing Swains, 
Ver. 1.  i. e. Damon, and a certain Old Witch, as he represents her. Damon, indeed complains of the falsehood of his Love in preferring his Rival to himself, but Alphesibaeus only represents the Conjurations of an Old Woman, to reconcile a Young giddyheaded Fellow to her own decrepit Passions, and what was there in all this to cast honest Alphesibaeus into despair? Nay, and himself in his Epistle to my Lord Clifford, says, The former part is the complaint and despair of a forsaken Lover, the latter a Charm of an Enchantress, to renew a lost Affection; but nothing can be more pleasant than  

Ver. 2.  The Love rejected, and the Lovers Pains, which aggravates his former mistake. And  

Ver. 4.  The Rivers stood on Heaps, and stopped the running Flood, which is so exquisite a piece of Nonsense, as his famous Hind and Panther can scarce furnish us with. By the Rivers he can't mean the Gods of the Rivers: They could no more stand on Heaps, than Gods meet with Gods, and justle in the Dark; if not them, than he must by Rivers mean the running Floods, which is a kind of a Bull too; but allowing that all the favour imaginable, the noble Verse will amount to this, the Rivers stood on heaps and stopped the Rivers, this it is, to have a great Genius. Not to observe the false English, for if the Rivers in the Plural Number stopped any thing, they must stop the Floods in the same Number, unless there were some Rivers which had no Streams, and this Mr. D. in days of Yore might have learned at Westminster. The Sixth Verse is only a dull Repetition of the former Nonsense, which perhaps he mistook for a Beauty, not having the Conduct of the Infallible Hind.  

Ver. 7, 8.  Thou for whom thy Rome prepares, the ready Triumph of thy finished Wars. If the Triumph were ready, why were they now to prepare it? The Complaint as designed by Mr. D. had been fitter for Augustus, than Pollio, for whom, had it been a suitable Speech, Virgil would scarce have left it for him to make.  
In Numbers like to thine could I Rehearse Thy lofty Tragic Scenes, 
Ver. 13, 14, 15, 16.  thy laboured verse, The World another Sophocles in thee, Another Homer should behold in me. All this is Heavenly wide from Virgil's sense; it may be, Mr. D. who has always some unfathomable thought in his Head, designed these Lines as a Court to some of his old Patrons; but it was a high kick to pretend to be a Homer to any body, (though I don't remember Homer ever wrote any thing in praise of Sophocles,) since Mr. D. by his Flatterers, nay, by the best Critic in England, can be thought to resemble him in nothing but his blindness, which is no fiction here.  
Thine was my earliest Muse, 
Ver. 1●.  my latest shall be thine. Virgil's is, A te Principium, tibi desinet— meaning the present Eclogue should begin with him, and end to his Honour. His Traducer makes him a Liar, for the Aeneids, Virgil 's last Work, say nothing of Pollio as I remember.  
And wildly staring upwards, 
Ver. 22.  thus inveighed Against the conscious Gods, and cursed the cruel Maid. What a Maximin of a Shepherd have we here? This it is to have a Brain full of Blasphemous Ideas; the Chastest of Poets must be Polluted, rather than a little Atheistic flight smothered. Why, Mr. Translator distinguished not the Dialogists by their Names, is beyond my dull Apprehension.  

Ver. 30.  Begin my Flute— I'm afraid there were no Flutes in use, among either the Sicilian or Italian Shepherds; if they are mentioned at the Dedication of Nabuchadnezzar 's Image, that won't help the matter.  

Ver. 33.  They hear the Hinds, etc. Hinds are Husbandmen, such as follow the Blow, or labour in the Harvest, not Shepherds, and therefore Pan, not their God.  

Ver. 39  Shall see the Hound and Hind their thirst assuage, Promiscuous at the Spring— Why not as well as the Hind and Panther lodge together in one Cell?  

Ver. 40.  For him thou hast refused my browzing Herd. For Goats, a very pretty Figure! as if none browse but Goats, or as if their browzing were a great Circumstance to their Commendation, especially in a hard Winter; but why was the Fistula left out, unless, because Fistula and Tibia would not both signify the Flute? And I conclude, the Tibiae pares dextrae & sinistrae in the Inscriptions of Terence's Comedies, were not Flutes. But the Music in those Days of Pastorals, was generally more valued than the Flock, and it may be Damon's Complaint is grounded on this, that Mopsus was Richer indeed, had greater Flocks, but was a Fool of a Poet, in comparison with himself. Nay, Mr. Dryden almost acknowledges this himself, in that pretty Supplement of his Unhappy Damon— sighs, and sings in vain.  
The callow Down began to clothe my Chin. 
Ver. 57  On my word 'twas very early to have a buding Beard at Twelve: Love begins sometimes among Children, and by their Mutual Familiarity advances with their Years. But perhaps a precoce Beard may be a Symptom of an early Wit. Here's not a word of Nisa's gathering Apples with her Mother, but only gathering Crabs with Damon, a scurvy Omen of what followed: but for a Diamond of Virgil's, Mr. D. thrusts into our Hands a Pibble of his own, as any who compares this Period with the Original, will observe. Then soarce the bending Branches I could win, Is an Incomparable Phrase, for I could but just reach 'em. This is to honour our Mother-tongue.  
Poor Virgil's so curtailed by his Interpreter, 
Ver. 60.  that in this Period he could never know himself, mean as my Poetry is, I'm tempted to give that Divine Poet this Translation, at least more agreeable to his way of speaking than Mr. D's D' O●ly.  
Now, now I know thee Love! Thy Birth must be  
On horrid Tmaros, or cold Rhodope,  
Or in the inmost Libya's dismal wild,  
Hideous with threatening Rocks, and Sand untilled,  
No Humane Blood e'er filled thy Barbarous Veins.  
Begin, my Pipe, with me, begin Maenalian strains.  
Nay, the despised Mr. Ogylby's more pardonable here, than our Quondam Laureate. Now the Spirit of Translation's on me, I'd venture one step farther.  
Dire Love the Mother's tender Heart subdued,  
And in her children's Blood, her Hands embrued;  
Ah cruel! ah unnatural Mother she!  
Was she more cruel, or more wicked he?  
His wicked, hers a cruel part remains.  
Begin, my Pipe, with me begin Maenalian strains.  

Ver. 68  Alien of Birth, Usurper of the Plains. There Convenience went first, the Sense follows.  

Ver. 70.  Old Doting Nature, change thy Course anew. As if Nature had changed her Course formerly, and now was civilly desired to do so again for a poor despairing Swain. But why should Mr. D. rail at Nature, just as an Unitarian would at the Church, when Virgil's Damon had nothing to say to her.  

Ver. 75.  And hooting Owls contend with Swans in Skill. For Skill they're much alike, nay, the Owl has the advantage, as Practising most; indeed, those who have heard 'em both, think the Swan may have somewhat the sweeter voice.  

Ver. 78.  Or, oh! Let Nature cease, and Chaos Reign. And there's Convenience before Sense again, and a little Nonsense too, unless Mr. D. reflects on an old Harmonious Gentleman, whose Government, Milton describes Book II. But I'm persuaded Virgil, who had never read Paradise lost, knew nothing of him. The Old Poet's Chaos was quite another thing.  

Ver. 82.  Farewell, ye secret Woods and shady Groves, Haunts of my Youth, and Conscious of my Loves. A pretty Paraphrase on Vivite Sylvae, but such as wherein Virgil's Character is entirely lost.  
Rehearse his Friend's Complaint, 
Ver. 88  and mighty Magic verse. Complaint was to carry on his initial Mistake, that the whole might be of a piece, according to honest Horace's directions. But what's meant by Alphesibaeus' mighty Magic verse? Is that the English of non omnia possumus omnes? I can't think the Shepherd was a Conjurer, but only Personated a Witch for a while, without designing to bring any Mistress of his own, over House tops, and Woods, and Seas, to his own Arms on a Broom-staff.  
'Tis done, we want but verse. 
Ver. 91.  Why Carmina signifies not verses here, but a set Form of Words to be made use of, by which all the Magic Operation, might become effectual. Mr. D. I know, is acquainted with good Authors, and perhaps, may have met with Fulgurita sesquiamocca terincta leponta infernonida Utribosca, etc. (some Copies read it otherwise.) but this will do with a due Preparation, if used in a cold Morning, with one Stocking on, the other off, and wholly Fasting, But whether those words make a verse or no, I leave to Mr. D. to find out. He seems more sensible in the very next words, where he makes Carmina, Charms, though the following Lines be but a very lame Version of Ducite ab urbe domum, etc.  
Pale Phoebe drawn by verse, from Heaven descends. 
Ver. 95.  I don't believe all the verses which Mr. Dryden ever made, and he has in his time, made a world of Thundering Lines, could ever show us this Miracle: Nay, I don't believe that verse, quà verse will do the Feat. The very same Charms which changed Ulysses' Companions, may do great-things: But Charms are not necessary in verse, as Mr. D. may find in Cornelius Agrippa's Occult Philosophy.  

Ver. 97, 99  Verse breaks the Ground, and penetrates the Brake, Verse fires the frozen Veins— Now could I almost Recant my precedent Talk; this is certainly Conjuring— Latet Anguis— That penetrating the Brake, is to me unintelligible, and may be like Abracadabra for aught I know. I can't tell what verse may fire the Frozen veins, whether Mr. D's Translation of a Period in Lucretius, which I remember I once saw; such are a Hellish kind of Charms indeed, and its pity but the Conjurers should meet with his Lot, who Congregating all the Serpents in a Country into one Ditch, was by one of 'em drawn into the Ditch and devoured among them.  

Ver. 103.  Thrice bind about his thrice devoted Head.— Hence it's plain that the Translator's a more through-paced Conjurer than his Master.  

Ver. 115.  Crumble the Sacred Mole.— Is this Interpreting his Author, or making him less Intelligible? How much will an Ingenious Lady, but not much acquainted with the old Methods of Witchcraft and Sacrificing, Edify by that Appellative, the Sacred Mole? The plain meaning Ogylby calls it a Cake, and such it was, though of a particular Composition.  
— Thus Daphnis burn away, 
Ver. 118.  This Laurel is his Fate— But if Daphnis melted away as that burnt, he'd be quickly wasted to nothing, and could only come to her as Almahide promised to come to her Spark Almanzor, and Embrace her only with empty Arms, as a great Author has it.  
While I so scorn his Love— How's that? 
Ver. 127.  As the Bull scorns the Heifer. Virgil intimates no such thing, but her seeking for one in vain. And so the Enchanters would have Daphnis in Love, so as she, by playing at Bopeep with him, may inflame him with the greater violence of Love; which down right scorn would not be so likely to effect.  
And from the Roots to tear the standing Corn, 
Ver. 143, 4.  Which whirled a loft to distant Fields is born. Not to observe the word Necromancer for Necromancer, as one fit to Translate Homer, would have called him, if Mr. D. meant the same here as Virgil did, it's a very odd way of Expressing it. The Romans who believed Magic could Transplant one Man's standing Corn into another's Ground, where the Corn should be shill standing and growing, had a very ancient Law against such Practices; Neve alienam Segetem pellexeris. But that Law speaks as if the Magician had some wheadling Trick to persuade the Corn to remove to another Quarter; as the Romans when they had a design on some Enemy-Cities Tutelar God; but this whirling it aloft, seems no very proper way to make it grow, but lie on heaps in the designed Field.  

Ver. 150.  Break out ye smothered Fires, and kindle smothered Love! What can Mr. D. mean by this? Was throwing Ashes into the Brook the way to make 'em break out into a Flame? It was the way to smother Fire indeed, but hardly to kindle it; It's mere Riddle, nor can the precedent or consequent Words explain it. Mr. D. is here again at his Godlike Verse, but there being so much of Ceremony in Magical Operations, the Gods were supposed concurrent willingly, or by force with the Magician's design. Now Daphnis is complained of as neither regarding the Gods themselves, nor those Charms, not those Verses, in which their particular and extraordinary Influences are concerned; the Witch I conclude, was no great Poet, what e'er Mr. D. is.  

Ver. 154.  The waking Ashes rise, and round our Altars play: No, but the Ashes of themselves burst out into a trembling Flame, which blazed round the Altar, but these were not the Ashes thrown into the Brook, but what continued about the Altar unremoved.  
Run to the Threshold, Amaryllis, hark! Our Hylax opens and begins to bark. 
Ver. 155.  Now Virgil's Witch sent Amaryllis on no such silly Errand, but listened herself. Hylax opened, i. e. he Barked, and began to Bark, which is very Emphatical.  
— May Lovers what they Wish believe; Or Dream their Wishes, 
Ver. 157, 8.  and those Dreams deceive Is a very perplexed Illustration of a plain Question.— An qui amant ipsi sibi somnia fingunt?  
He comes, 
Ver. 160.  he runs, he leaps to my designing Arms. Doubtless, he was wondrous fond of his old Lady, but they say, Those who are brought any whither by Magical Powers, look more like Dogs who have burnt their Tails, than such a brisk Fellow, as Mr. D. here represents. But he, who (to indulge a Lewd Thought) Translates Parcite, ab urbe venit, jam parcite carmina, Daphnis; in this manner, may make any thing of any thing, and be fit to Translate Pindar Twenty Years hence.   

ECLOGUE IX.  
THE time is come I never thought to see, 
Ver. 1.  etc. Here's Nonsense, and a gross mistake of the Poet's meaning, but Mr. D. must be pardoned for it, since it's the blunder of Servius, and the rest of the Commentators, who follow him, among the rest Ruaeus; yet the very Argument of the Eclogue might have taught him, and Mr. D. better. Virgil comes by Authority from Augustus to re-enter upon his Lands, and escapes very narrowly with his Life: He flies to Rome again for protection, but leaves his Servant, whom Moeris here represents, to Cicurate and Mollify the Temper of the present Usurper, lest those left behind should incur the same danger; Moeris goes trembling, but in haste, with his two Kids to atone him, whom Lycidas meets with, and asks him whither, not whether so fast; to whom with respect to Dangers past, Moeris answers, O Lycidas thus far we have scaped alive; O that (what we never feared) a Stranger, in possession of our Farm, should say, these Lands are mine, away you who tilled them before, where should follow an Exclamation! And thus both the Grammar and Reason stand good, which, according to the common Interpretation of it, are both in jeopardy.  

Ver. 7. — Pack up ye Rascals— Veteres migrate coloni. Now whether Veteres coloni signify Rascals, I leave to our honest Yeomen and Farmers to determine.  

Ver. 8.  Kicked out, we set the best Face on't we could, Mr. D. could not leave Virgil here for the sake of a soft, sweet sounding Verse, but, tho' we should allow Victi signifies kicked out, no Dictionary in the World would teach him to Construe, Contristari, to set a good Face on the Matter.  

Ver. 11.  That from the sloping Mountain to the Vale, And doddered Oak, and all the Banks along, This is Mr. D's. Terrar of Virgil 's Lands, by which abuttals, were Virgil alive again, he'd never be able to find 'em out. Virgil, who had better Skill in these Matters, makes the foot of the Mountain its boundary on one part, and an old doted Beech, which Mr. D. calls a doddered Oak, on the other, and the River to wash the side of it, and these might be known again, so long as in being, and would be very intelligible Landmarks  

Ver. 19.20.  And had not Phoebus warned me by the Croak Of an old Raven from a Hollow Oak— To pass by his Plump of trembling Fowl, which can't be applied to Chaonian Doves, and his Sousing Eagle, which I believe he never met with in Latham, why is Phoebus brought in here? It was the Sinistra Cornix, which he will have again to be a Croaking Raven, (for he hates to commit a single Fault) not Phoebus, which warned him; however the cava Ilex is not the blasted Bough, but the hollow Oak, for which I hope we are obliged to his second Thoughts; The next two Lines both in Virgil and his Translator, confirm my Observation on the— Vivi pervenimus.  
Can never pass for a just Translation of Virgil's 17 and 18. 
Ver. 23, 4.  What Lycidas speaks here, through the whole Period, is such an abuse of the Text, as is unpardonable; there's not a Line of Virgil's in it— Who rehearse The Waters gliding in a smother Verse? Is downright Nonsense, And— Tend my Herd— Goats are not a Herd, but a Flock— But for Heaven's sake who taught Mr. D. to Translate Caper, the Libyan Ridgil? I have read somewhere of Goats in Libya, as big as Oxen, but were Arius, or Milienus Toro, or Claudius of that Country? Or does Mr. D. know what a Ridgil or Ridgling is? This Verse was only a warning jargon, to have a care of him who had got possession of his Lands, because of the danger his Life would be in from his Fury; but a Ridgling, or Goat, or Ram, which has but one Testicle, perhaps mayn't be so furious a Creature as Virgil represents him, nor is such an imperfect Animal fit to be the Husband of the Herd. Ogylby's Translation gives these Verses much better, Thus, 
Could any barbarous Monster use such spite?  
With thee Menalcas farewell all delight.  
Who'll sing to Nymphs? Who'll strew the Earth with Flowers?  
Or shelter silver Springs with shady Bowers?  
Or write such Verse as late I snatched from thee,  
When thou our Amaryllis wentest too see.  
Till I return, my Goats, dear Tityrus, feed  
(The way is short) and Water if they need.  
But as you drive 'em take especial care,  
Of the He-Goat (for he will strike) beware.   
Here at least we have something like Virgil, but nothing of that kind in Mr. D.  

V. 36.7, 8.  To show what he means by Rhymes stronger pinioned than Swans, Mr. D. gives us that impertinent Fustian, they— shall soaring bear above Th' immortal gift of Gratitude to Jove, which does not grow out of his Author.  

Ver. 42.  And Trees to Goats their willing Branches bend, this is one of Mr. D's. fine Thoughts, without any ground from his Author; for Gabble afterwards I suppose he meant Gaggle. Another Impertinence we have, v. 54— Where Nightingales their Lovesick Dittys sing, where the Epithet's very improper, Nightingales Sing Mournful, not Lovesick Dittys, Philomela had no occasion for them.  

Ver. 6●. 4:  Why, Daphnis, dost thou search in old Records, To know the Seasons when the Stars arise? What Records does he mean, Lily's or Gadbury's? Virgil mentions indeed the old rising Stars, or Constellations, as not worth observing when the julium Sidus appeared so bright above the rest, tho' perhaps it was no more than a Comet after all.  
Mr. D. describes his own Case appositely enough, 
Ver. 70— 75.  and would he but, for the sake of that acknowledged Truth, have forborn this unhappy Translation, he had saved, in some measure, his Friends Purses, and his own Reputation.  
Hushed Winds, 
Ver. 80.  the topmost Branches scarcely bend, As if thy tuneful Song they did attend, this is running division upon a Word farther than 'twill bear, but this Caprificus must burst out, or Mr. D. were undone.  
Or if e'er Night the gathering Clouds we fear, 
Ver. 88  A Song will help the beating Storm to bear— A Song than it seems is better than a Dipped Hat and Cloak, it's pity but Mr. D. had a Patent for making these Weather-fencing Songs; it would make him some Compensation for the loss of his Laurel. But, for all this gay flourish, Virgil meant no more than this, that if they were afraid of a Shower yet before Night, a merry Song would make 'em go nimbly enough to scape it, in order to which he makes Lycidas offer Moeris very civilly to carry his Burden for him.  
The Conclusion of this Eclogue, fares like the rest, and the whole looks like rich Tissue, covered so thick with Copper-lace, that the Ground can't be seen for't.   

ECLOGUE X.  
THis Eclogue is Translated in a Strain too luscious and effeminate for Virgil, who might bemoan his Friend, but does it in a noble and a manly Style, which Mr. Ogylby answers better than Mr. D. whose Paraphrase looks like one of Mrs. Behns', when some body had turned the Original into English Prose before.  

Ver. 19 etc.  Where Virgil says, Lauri & myricae fleuêre, the Figures beautiful where Mr. D. says, the Laurel stands in Tears, And hung with humid Pearls the lowly Shrub appears, the Figure is lost, and a foolish and impertinent Representation comes in its place; an ordinary Dewy Morning might fill the Laurels and Shrubs with Mr. D's. Tears, tho' Gallus had not been concerned in it.  

Ver. 27.  And yet the Queen of Beauty blest his Bed— Here Mr. D. comes with his ugly patch upon a beautiful Face: What had the Queen of Beauty to do here, Lycoris did not despise her Lover for his meanness, but because she had a mind to be a Catholic Whore. Gallus was of Quality, but her Spark a poor inferior Fellow. And yet the Queen of Beauty, etc. would have followed there very well, but not where want on Mr. D. has fixed her.  
Flushed were his Cheeks, 
Ver. 32.  and glowing were his Eyes. This Character is fitter for one that's Drunk, than one in an Amazement, and is a Thought unbecoming Virgil.  
And for thy Rival, 
Ver. 35.  tempts the raging Sea, The forms of horrid War, and Heaven's Inclemency. Lycoris doubtless, was a jilting Baggage, but why should Mr. D. belie her? Virgil talks nothing of her going to Sea, and perhaps she had a mind to be only a Camp Laundress, which Office she might be advanced to without going to Sea: The forms of horrid War, for horrida castra, is incomparable.  
— His Brows, 
Ver. 37, 38.  a Country Crown of Fennel, and of nodding Lilies drown. Is a very odd Figure: Sylvanus had swinging Brows to drown such a Crown as that, i. e. to make it Invisible, to swallow it up; if it be a Country Crown drown his Brows, it's false English.  
The Meads are sooner drunk with Morning Dews. 
Ver. 43, 44  Rivi signifies no such thing; but then, that Bees should be drunk with Flowery Shrubs, or Goats be drunk with Browse, for Drunk's the Verb, is a very acquaint Thought.  
So sad a Song is only worthy you. 
Ver. 50.  Is a most exact Translation of soli cantare periti Arcades— which no body can deny.  
Tho Phyllis 's brown— etc. 
Ver. 57, 61.  Is all so silly, and beside the Cushion, and the last so lewd, and unbecoming Virgil 's Chastity and Modesty, as is unpardonable.  
As you are Beauteous, 
Ver. 65.  were you half so true, Here could I Live, and Love, and only Dye with you. Virgil makes not Gallus talk so dubiously; he's fond of Lycoris, and is for Dying with her, without reserve; if she were but with him, he'd be satisfied without so nice an inquisition into her Loyalty: The latter Line I'm afraid was borrowed from an Ode in the Gentleman's journal.  

Ver. 68  And strive in Winter Camps— Gallus talks of no such things.  

Ver. 73.  Those are not Limbs for Icicles to tear. How delicate or course soever the Limbs of Lycoris might be Icicles seldom tear 'em; I have heard indeed of one, whose Throat was cut with an Icicle; but never of any rent or torn with them.  

Ver. 79.  And as the Rind extends— No it should be as the Letters extend, and grow larger on the Rind, so let our Love's increase.  

Ver. 88, 89, 90, 91.  Is turning Virgil into Ovid, and running loser than Ovid himself would do.  

Ver. 94.  Or Italy 's indulgent Heaven forego— What had Italy to do here? Or where would Mr. D. fix his Scene?  

Ver. 98.  In Hell, and Earth, and Seas, and Heaven above. Is all Tautology, when that best Translated Line in all the Eclogues follows, Love Conquers all, and we must yield to Love; the precedent Line was only for convenience of Rhyme.  

Ver. 104, 5.  The Song because inspired by you shall shine, And Gallus will approve, because 'tis mine. Which is a Conclusion not agreeable to Virgil's modesty; and far from— Vos haec facietis maxima Gallo.  
As Alders in the Spring their Bowls extend, 
Ver. 108, 9  And heave so fiercely, that the Bark they rend. Is mere Fustian, and false in Thought, and Resemblance, and false in Fact, and absurd in Expression.   

That Mr. Dryden might be satisfied that I'd offer no foul Play, nor find Faults in him, without giving him an opportunity of Retaliation, I have subjoined another Metaphrase or Translation of the I. and IV. Pastoral, which I desire may be read with his by the Original.  

Tityrus, ECLOGUE I.  Melib. 
BEneath a spreading Beech, you Tityrus lie,  
And Country Songs to humble Reeds apply;  
We our sweet Fields, our Native Country fly,  
We leave our Country; you in Shades may lie,  
And Amaryllis Fair and Blithe Proclaim,  
And make the Woods repeat her buxom Name.  Ti. 
O Melibaeus! 'twas a bounteous God  
These Peaceful Play-days on our Muse bestowed;  
At least, he'st always be a God to me;  
My Lambs shall oft his grateful Offerings be.  
Thou seest, he lets my Herds securely stray,  
And me at Pleasure on my Pipe to play.  Me. 
Your Peace I done't with Looks of Envy view,  
But I admire your happy state, and you.  
In all our Farms severe Distraction reigns,  
No ancient Owner, there in peace remains.  
Sick I, with much ado, my Goats can drive,  
This, Tityrus, I scarce can lead alive;  
On the bare Stones, among yond Hazles passed  
Just now, alas! her hopeful Twins she cast.  
Yet, had not all on's dull and senseless been,  
We'd long agone this coming Struck foreseen.  
Oft did the blasted Oaks our Fate unfold,  
And boding Coughs from hollow Trees foretold.  
But say, good Tityrus! tell me who's the God,  
Who Peace, so lost to us, on you bestowed?  Ti. 
Troth Melibaeus, I, a Homespun Clown,  
Thought that called Rome, just like our Neighbouring Town,  
Where Thou and I were wont to drive our Sheep,  
And Mercats with our Suckling Lambs to keep.  
So little Whelps like bigger Dogs I'd known,  
Kids like their Dams, but not so largely grown;  
Thus little Things, I'd oft with Great compare:  
But Rome o'ertops all other Towns as far  
As Cypress Groves the Fields of bending Brome,  Me. 
But what great cause could make you visit Rome?  Ti. 
Sweet Liberty, which, as I lazing lay,  
Looked on my Dullness with a Gracious Ray,  
Smiled on a Head just white with Aged Snow,  
And came at last, though all her Steps were slow.  
Nor have I sighed for Galatea more  
Since Amaryllis in my Heart I wore.  
It's true, while fast in Galatea's Chain,  
My Liberty, I little hoped to gain.  
Unwashed my Flocks, my Herd at random strayed,  
And though I all my Offerings duly paid  
With Cheese of purest Cream; I still might come  
Empty from her ingrateful Mercats home.  Me. 
Oft had I wondered, Galatea, why  
Thou Prayd'st to Heaven with such a doleful cry.  
I wondered oft the meaning, why so long  
Thy Apples on the Trees ungathered hung;  
'Twas all for Tityrus; their absent Lord  
The Groves, the Springs, the very Shrubs deplored.  Ti. 
What should I do? I could not break my Chain,  
Nor Gods so good in all our Country Gain.  
But here, my Friend, I saw that Youth Divine,  
To whom each Month my grateful Altars shine;  
His Oracle that Godlike Language spoke,  
Feed on your Bullocks, Lads, your Oxen Yoke.  Me. 
Happy old Man! you then your Farm may keep,  
Lands large enough, though craggy part and steep,  
And slimy Marrome all the Marshes spread;  
Your Flocks may be in usual Pastures fed.  
No scabby Neighbours shall disturb them there,  
Nor they a taint from their Infection fear.  
Happy old Man! Cool gentle Breezes you  
Here, by known Streams, and Sacred Springs pursue.  
You Sallow Hedge which parts the Neighbouring Field,  
Will to your Bees abundant Pastures yield.  
Drawn by whose pretty murmurs, silent Sleep  
Oft o'er your weary Eyes will calmly creep.  
From Bushy Rocks the Linnet sweetly sing,  
Whose Notes to you, the Tuneful Air shall bring,  
While your loved Cooing Stock-Doves round you groan;  
And from the lofty Elm, the sighing Turtles moan.  Ti. 
First, then shall Stags along the Welkin feed,  
Or flying Seas, desert their scaly Breed.  
The wand'ring Parthian first shall drink the Soan,  
And Germany on Tigris Banks be shown;  
Each Nation through the others Bounds shall fly,  
E'er his loved Image in my Breast shall die.  Me. 
But we, alas! the World must wander over,  
Some to the farthest Africk's thirsty Shore;  
Or toward Inhospitable Scythia's Cold,  
Or where Oaxis rapid Streams are rolled.  
Nay, some quite thrust from all our civil World,  
Must on the savage British Coasts be hurled.  
Ah! Could I hope, when tedious years are past,  
To see my loved, my Native Soil at last!  
Once more my poor Thatched Cottage Roofs admire,  
And ne'er to greater Royalties aspire?  
Must barbarous Troops our laboured Tilth employ?  
Cursed Soldiers all our hopeful Crops enjoy?  
See what sad Fruits our Civil Discord yields,  
For whose blessed use, we Tilled our fruitful Fields.  
Go, Wretch! Ah could it be! in artful Lines,  
Go Graft thy Pears, and Prune thy straggling Vines.  
Be gone my once dear happy Flock, be gone!  
No more shall I in mossy Grotts alone,  
Streak out at ease, and see you clambering go,  
Hang over the Rocks, and crop the Shrubs below.  
No more, alas! you'll hear my Country Strains,  
No more be fed by me along the Plains;  
Nor shall I lead where Milky Trefoil grows,  
Nor where you'd on the bitter Sallows browse.  Ti. 
Yet, here however, Lodge with me to Night,  
I can but to a Levy Couch invite.  
I've mellow Fruit, and downy Chestnuts here,  
Green Cheese, and such, make up our Country Cheer.  
And see yond Village Chimney's smoking all,  
And longer Shadows nor from lofty Mountains fall.   

PASTORAL IU. Or Pollio. A Poem rising somewhat above the Shepherd 's Strain, and somewhat imitated in the Translation.  
TAke now my Rustic Muse a Nobler flight!  
All won't in Trees, and lowly Shrubs delight.  
If Woods, we'll sing, those very Woods must be  
Advanced to suit a Consul's Dignity.  
Now the Cumaean Prophecy's fulfilled,  
And rolling Years more happy Ages yield.  
Now comes the Virgin, whose soft Smiles presage  
Another Saturn's Reign, a Golden Age.  
Now from kind Heaven descends a Godlike Race,  
May thy chaste Hands the coming Infant grace,  
In whose blessed Time's Hell's stubborn Brood shall cease,  
And Heavenly Virtue fill the World with Peace!  
His Birth, Lucina's greatest Work remains,  
Be kind! in him, thy own Apollo Reigns;  
Since, Pollio! thy auspicious Year came in,  
The glorious Age, the mighty Months begin.  
If any taint of former Gild remains,  
Thy happy Hand shall Purge the Crimson Stains.  
The World no more their black Effects shall fear,  
When thou thy Standard in their Front shalt rear.  
He'll live a God, and Saints, and Angels see,  
And he again their dearest Object be;  
And with his Father's Might immensely Crowned,  
The World he'll manage in a Peace profound.  
To thee, sweet Boy, the Soil untilled shall bring,  
And at thy Feet, her little Beauties fling;  
Fox-Gloves, and creeping Ivy every where,  
And Nile's gay Bean, with smiling jasmines bear.  
Flocks scarce shall drag their weighty Udders home,  
And Herds unscared by Lions, freely roam.  
Thy Cradle shall with fragrant Blossoms spring,  
The Poisonous Serpent lose her fatal Sting.  
No Venom more, shall juicy Plants disclose,  
And every Hedge shall bear the Syrian Rose.  
But as the Youth his mighty Father's Deeds,  
The Hero's praise, and Virtues Nature reads.  
The Self-sown Crop shall load the ripening Field,  
And roughest Thorns their purple Clusters yield.  
The hardest Oaks shall sweat with tastful Dew,  
And Honey still the Golden Drops renew.  
Yet shall some steps of ancient Frauds remain,  
And some shall try the rolling Seas again;  
Some shall their Towns with lofty Walls surround,  
And some with Furrows break the harmless Ground.  
Tiphys shall live, and Argo float again,  
And waft selected Heroes o'er the Main.  
New Wars shall rise, and great Achilles' rage  
Once more against the Trojan Walls engage.  
But when firm Age, thy Manly strength shall show,  
The daring Sailor shall the Seas forego;  
Merchants shall send abroad their Ships no more,  
But every thing shall every Country store.  
Untilled the Corn, unpruned the Vines shall grow,  
Rough Hinds discharge their Bullocks from the Plough.  
No artful Colours shall the Wool disguise,  
But on the Rams a lovely Purple rise.  
A deep laid Crimson all their Fleeces line,  
And sucking Lambs with Native Scarlet shine.  
May such blessed Ages from our Distaff flow!  
The Fates, with one Consent, determine so,  
And cried, So ever happy, ever go!  
Offspring of Heaven! great Jove's immortal Son!  
It's time to put thy destined Honours on.  
See the vast World beneath its Pressures reel,  
Seas, Earth, and Heaven, the strong Convulsions feel!  
Look yet again on Nature's smiling Face.  
How All with joys the rising Age embrace!  
O might I live but long enough to raise  
Notes fit to sing thy Acts unbounded praise!  
Then Thracian Orpheus, Linus then shall yield,  
And to my nobler Muse resign the Field.  
Tho here the Mother, there the lovely Sire,  
Calliope, and Phoebus raise the Fire,  
And Orpheus she, and he his Linus breast inspire,  
Should Pan himself attempt my soaring Muse,  
And for his judge his dear Arcadia choose;  
Pan in his loved Arcadia's sense should be,  
And in his own, inferior far to me.  
Begin, sweet Babe! thy Sacred Birth to show,  
And with soft smiles, thy lovely Mother know!  
For thee, her Womb ten tedious Months before,  
Ten tedious Months the Qualms of Breeding bore:  
But where no joy the cloudy Parent shows,  
That Child, his Guest, no favouring God will choose,  
And every Goddess will his luckless Bed refuse.    

Notes on the Georgics.  
VIrgil's Georgics, are called by Mr. Dryden, The best Poem of the best Poet. Of his own performance, he says in this what's true of all the rest, I have too much injured my great Author, 
Epist. to Earl of Chesterfield.  I would have Translated him, but fear, according to the literal French and Italian Phrases I have traduced him: and this Acknowledgement is true, for never was Poet so abused, nor Mankind so imposed on, by a Name before. Virgil I know, is not the easiest Author in the World to Interpret; But Veteranes in Poetry, at least, should have sense enough to know— Quid valeant humeri, quid ferre recusent: A Camel, they say, will take no more, when he finds his Burden sufficient for his Strength: But there's another Beast which crouches under all, without Reluctance. Mr. D. may Plead Want and Poverty, and many a sorry Meal, to excuse his Attempt; but his Belly here, was neither Magister Artis, nor Ingenij largitor, however, it forced him, negatas sequi voces. And Etsi dolosi spes refulserit nummi, the Man must be too weak, who, with respect to our present Translator, Cantare credat Pegaseium melos. But methinks, Mr. D. is soon weary of his humble Talk, and for aught I know, may desire to be understood so, That the Glean of his Ephraim, 
Ibid.  in comparison with others, will surpass the Vintage of Abiezer. I hope, he means not that the Produce of his more than fumbling Age is more valuable, than the vigorous Writings of others, in their undeclining Years; that would grate too hard upon Mr. Cr. and Mr. Con. the former of which, has used the World better in his Lucretius and Manilius, than ever Mr. D. could in his best Translations; but he means, this Performance of his old Age, is to be preferred before the voluminous trifles of his greener Years. Now, I must confess, Mr. D. was never the Favourite of my judgement, there appeared always somewhat forced and unnatural to me in his finest Pieces, which his own extravagantly censorious, and injudicious Humour rendered the more notorious; but this Virgil is far the worst of all, a Poem neither tolerable when Read alone, nor when compared with what he calls, or few would believe, was the Original; but this will be more apparent afterwards. I'm some what concerned to see Mr. D. still Railing at the Court, what, though he lost the Laurel; Must it follow, that the Court's a place of Forgetfulness, at the best, for well-deservers? Have not his own Morals been a little infected with that Air, as he represents it? Or is Good Life now his task indeed? 
Ibid.  I'm afraid, however he might be first cheated himself, it's no extraordinary Moral accomplishment, to endeavour to recover his losses, by learning to cheat others. But can a good, unchanged Catholic talk of losing a Maidenhead in a Cloister? Is he relapsing to the Spanish Friar? Constancy then, must never be the Motto of his Arms. It's an odd Compliment to his Patron, That God had bestowed good Sense on his Lordship, but he had bestowed good Learning upon himself. I thought, Learning always came from the same Almighty Hand, who gives the Sense and Apprehension. What has any Man which he has not received? It's very hard, that Mr. D. should represent his Patron less Religious than himself; who thankfully acknowledges to the Almighty Power, the Assistance he had given him in the Beginning, the Prosecution, and Conclusion of his present Studies; which, therefore I conclude, he thinks, more happily performed, than he could have promised to himself. But this Rapture, perhaps, was soon after Saul had seen the Vision, and therefore aught to be passed over.  
The Essay on Georgics, it seems, is not Mr. D's, yet, whoever was the Author, since by appearing before his Work, he lays himself open to the Reader's censures; he must not take it ill, if I among others, presume to observe what I think an Error in't, such is the definition of a Georgic. A Georgic is some part of the Science of Husbandry, put into a pleasing dress, and set off with all the Beauties and Embellishmeuts of Poetry. Now this is a good Account of the Georgic, as already Written by Hesiod or Virgil, because they have written Georgics in Verse, and set 'em off with admirable Beauties. But a true Georgic, that is, an exact Art of Husbandry, might be as well delivered in Prose, and without any Ornament, as the Moral Rules of Pythagoras, or Epictetus; and Varro wrote Georgics as truly, though not so pleasantly as Virgil.   

GEORGIC I.  

Ver. 1.  WHat makes a plenteous Harvest, when to turn, The fruitful Soil, and when to sow the Corn— It's unlucky, they say, to stumble at the Threshold, but what has a plenteous Harvest to do here? Virgil would not pretend to prescribe Rules for that which depends not on the Husbandman's Care, but the disposition of Heaven altogether. Indeed, the plenteous Crop depends somewhat on the good Method of Tillage, and where the LandsLands ill Manured, the Corn, without a Miracle, can be but indifferent, but the Harvest may be good, which is its properest Epithet, though the Husbandman's Skill were never so indifferent. The next Sentence is too literal, and when to Plough had been Virgil's meaning, and Intellegible to every Body; and when to sow the Corn, is a needless addition.  
The care of Sheep, 
Ver. 3.  of Oxen, and of Kine. And when to geld the Lambs, and sheer the Swine▪ would as well have fallen under the Cura boum, quis cultus habendo sit Pecori; as Mr. D's deduction of particulars.  
The Birth and Genius of the fruitful Bee, I Sing Maecenas, 
Ver. 5.  and I Sing to thee— But where did Experientia ever signify Birth and Genius? Or what ground was there for such a Figure in this place? How much more Manly is Mr. Ogylby's Version. 
What makes rich Grounds, in what Celestial Signs,  
'Tis good to Plough, and Mary Elms with Vines.  
What best fits Cattle, what with Sheep agrees,  
And several Arts improving frugal Bees, I Sing Maecenas.  Which four Lines, though faulty enough, are yet much more to the purpose than Mr. D's six.  
From Fields and Mountains to my Song repair. For Patrium linquens Nemus, 
Ver. 22.  saltusque Lycaei— Very well explained!  

Ver. 23, 24.  Inventor Pallas, of the fa●●ing Oil, Thou Founder of the Plough, and Ploughman's Toil! Written as if these had both been Pallas' invention. The Plough-man's Toil's impertinent.  

Ver. 25. — The Shroud-like Cypress— Why Shroud-like? Is a Cypress pulled up by the Roots, which the Sculpture in the last Eclogue fills Sylvanus' Hand with so very like a Shroud? Or did not Mr. D. think of that kind of Cypress used often for Scarves and Hatbands at Funerals formerly, or for Widow's Vails, etc. if so, 'twas a deep good Thought.  

Ver. 26. — That wear the Rural Honours, and increase the Year— What's meant by increasing the Year? Did the Gods or Goddesses add more Mouths, or Days, or Hours to it? Or how can Arva tueri— signify to wear Rural Honours? Is this to Translate, or abuse an Author? The next Couplet are borrowed from Ogylby, I suppose, because less to the purpose than ordinary.  

Ver. 33.  The Patron of the World, and Rome 's peculiar Guard— Idle, and none of Virgil's, no more than the Sense of the precedent Couplet; so again, he Interpolates Virgil with that and the round Circle of the Year to guide Powerful of Blessings, which thou strewest around. A ridiculous Latinism, and an Impertinent Addition; indeed the whole Period is but one piece of Absurdity and Nonsense, as those who lay it with the Original must find.  

Ver. 42, 43.  And Neptune shall resign the Fasces of the Sea. Was he Consul or Dictator there? And watery Virgins for thy Bed shall strive. Both absurd Interpolations.  
Where in the void of Heaven a place is free. 
Ver. 47, 48.  Ah happy D— n. were that place for thee! But where is that void? Or what does our Translator mean by it? He knows what Ovid says, God did to prevent such a void in Heaven, perhaps, this was then forgotten: But Virgil talks more sensibly.  
The Scorpion ready to receive thy Laws. 
Ver. 49.  No, he would not then have gotten out of his way so fast.  
The Proserpina affects her silent Seat— What made her then so angry with Ascalaphus, 
Ver. 56.  for preventing her return? She was now mused to Patience under the determinations of Fate, rather than fond of her Residence.  
Pity the Poets, 
Ver. 61, 2, 3.  and the Ploughman's cares, Interest thy Greatness in our mean Affairs. And use thyself betimes to hear our Prayers. Which is such a wretched Perversion of Virgil's Noble Thought as Vicars would have blushed at; but Mr. Ogylby makes us some amends, by his better Lines. 
O wheresoever thou art, from thence incline,  
And grant Assistance to my bold Design!  
Pity with me, poor husbandmen's affairs,  
And now, as if Translated, hear our Prayers.  This is Sense, and to the purpose: the other, poor mistaken Stuff.  

Ver. 67.  And Streams yet new, from Precipices run. An Interpolation, but no Beauty.  

Ver. 70.  And Goad him till he groans beneath his toil. Ridiculous, and far from Virgil's meaning.  

Ver. 83.  A fourth with Grass unbidden decks the Ground. Virgil says nothing of such a fourth kind of Soil; but tells us another, which, with Mr. D. is the third kind Bears Fruit Trees well, and good Grass, without particular Cultivation; and indeed, Land which is good for Fruit-Trees, is good for Grass too, though the spreading of the Trees sour the Grass in time.  

Ver. 86.  And soft Idume weeps her odorous Tears. Now, in the Name of Poetry, what does Mr. D. mean by that fine Verse? How come molles Sabaei to signify soft Idume, and sua thura, her Odorous Tears? How much more Honestly, says Mr. Ogylby with his Author. India sends Ivory, Sabaea Gums.  

Ver. 91.  This is the Original Contract— Pray, between what Parties?  

Ver. 03, 04. — When Deucalion hurled His Mother's Entrails on the Desert World— But, why Entrails? Themis' Oracle, was Ossaque post tergum magnae jactate Parentis. And Men were— Ind durum Genus— Stones being as Bones to the Earth; but the Entrails never carried any such Omen with them— The Entrails, or Bowels, are sometimes named for compassion, and tenderness; and had the Oracle named Entrails, instead of Bones, it would have puzzled Deucalion, as much as his Wife. Had Mr. D. read King Arthur, 
K. Arth. l. 8.  he might have met with a Story of one Pyrrhus, and his Wife, who, perhaps, might have tossed his Mother's Entrails; but Deucalion and his Wife acted more sensibly.  
— Only scar The surface, 
Ver. 100  and but lightly print the share. What Stuff's this to Virgil's Manly Sense, or Mr. Ogylby's? To break a shallow Furrow will suffice?  
Least wicked Weeds the Corn should overrun In watery Soils, 
Ver. 103.  or lest the barren Sand Should suck the Moisture from the thirsty Land— Virgil talks nothing of any watery Soil; and Weeds will grow in the dry Soil as well as any; but a light Ploughing in a proper Season, helps, in some measure, to kill the Weeds, as laying it Fallow rots the common Surface. But what Weed does he mean, which should Virgil's rule is, You should Blow but shallow, lest the water should run off too much from the Sandy Ground which needs it most therefore, in deep, moist Grounds Good-Husbands, lay their Ridges high to drain them, in light Sandy Ground they lay them low, to keep them as moist as possible; but what excellent Rules for Husbandry Mr. D. would give?  
Both these unhappy Soils, 
Ver. 106.  etc. These four Lines are so very absurd, and his mentioning a Sabbath in a Roman Profane Author, so impertinent, as a Wise Man would forswear Translating, who understood Sense, and his Author no better,  

Ver. 110.  The Faults and Blunders are so thick here, that they must be seen by every Body; he breaks all the Sense of any Rules of Husbandry, as indeed, wholly ignorant of the Matter. But for his stalks of Lupins, (a stubborn Wood,) I wonder whether that Parenthesis be the English for Fragiles Calamos, or Sylvam sonantem? I hope, the next Edition will inform us rightly.  

Ver. 115.  And sleepy Poppies harmful Harvests yield. Poppies indeed, do no good in the Corn, but none make a Harvest of 'em but Apothecaries, or those who distil compound Waters; and they are gone every where, long before Harvest: Virgil talks quite otherwise.  

Ver. 118. — Sordid ashes— Cinerem immundum, I take, to signify Soot, a thing of excellent use in Barren Grounds, and where they are overrun with Moss.  

Ver. 121.  And Earth Manured, not Idle, though at Rest. For Nec nulla interea est inaratae gratia terrae, a Riddle for a plain Axiom.  

Ver. 122.  Mr. D's Account of Devonshiring Land, is somewhat darker than his Author; but his pretty Fancy of new Stringing the Veins: for— Astringit venas biantes, is so fine a Pun, as makes amends for the mistakes all-a-round.  

Ver. 138.  Who smooths with Harrows, or who pounds with Rakes The crumbling Clods— These are strange things, and what Virgil never meant. Crates, sometimes signifies an Harrow indeed, but Vimineae Crates, methinks, looks more like what I've seen made use of in a new Ground to smooth it, viz. A Heap of large Bushes, with a piece of heavy Wood on them, to keep them close, which has succeeded very well. To pound with Rakes, is certainly, a very odd Idea of the use of that Instrument, a Pestle is fitter for that Work; indeed, I have seen a kind of Rake with short, broad, flat Iron-teeths, and a heavy Head, called a Clotting Rake, with which, they scatter their Mole-warps, Cowdung, and that of Horses, and break them to pieces, but that's commonly in Mowing Grounds. Virgil in all probability, meant those Iron Forks, like what they empty Dung-Carts with; with which, in several Countries, they tear up the Strong Soil which was laid Follow, Turf by Turf, which they call, Breaking of Fallow, and tends much to the mellowing of the toughest Grounds. And this is most used, where the Ridges are laid so high as makes cross Ploughing, in some measure, impracticable.  
For a moist Summer, 
Ver. 145.  and a Winter dry— Here indeed, Mr. D. errs with the Multitude, who certainly mistake Virgil; for there are few wet Summers which are extraordinary desirable; and a cold, pinching Winter is generally best, for both Trees and Corn, provided, it be but Snowy too; and there's a Solstice in Winter as well as Summer; in which a great deal of Rain is expected by our Husbandmen, and much wished for, to fill the Dikes, which followed with Frosts, and large Snows, tends much to the security of the following Crop: Indeed a dusty March, if we'll count March a Winter Month, is very kindly, after which, if April be but wet, the Husbandman can dispense with a dry time for most of the following Months, and few Lands are endamaged by it. 
Hist. Nat. l. 17. c. 2.  Pliny therefore rejects Virgil's Rule, though in the same Country, if it be Interpreted, as Commonly it is. And, perhaps, none of Virgil's Commentators have been Husbandmen enough to give us his right meaning. For my part, I think, that mentioned before, the most Rational; and should be ready to Interpret Hibernus Pulvis— by March Dust, of which our Country Proverb says, A Peck is worth a King's Ransom. But I leave the Matter to the ultimate decision of better judgements. Yet must think Mr. D's Paraphrase in the next Couplet, very strange, That Winter Drought rewards the Peasant's pain, And brood's indulgent on the buried Grain.  

Ver. 151.  Mr. D. changes Virgil's way of Speaking for a much worse— Cover it with speed, i. e. Harrow it, which every body does. Before the surly Clod resists the Rake. Fields are not Raked, but Gardens, and breaking the pliant Furrows, is mere Cant, and signifies just nothing.  

Ver. 159. — On the Mountain's brow, undams his Watery stores— But where was it ever heard of, that Farmers kept treasures of Water on the tops, or brows of Mountains? Springs sometimes rise at the Feet of Mountains, sometimes out of their sides: and Virgil means no more than, They gather it in Pools on the upper Grounds, from whence into the Plains are oftimes seen considerable Cliffs or Falls. Capt. Knox in his History of Ceylon, gives us a fine Idea of this Husbandry, in his Account of the sowing and managing of Rice, though that needs more Water than any other Grain.  
E'er yet the aspiring Offspring of the Grain, 
Ver. 167.  O'ertops the Ridges of the Furrowed Plain. Are Verses very brillant, and mere sparkling Nonsense.  
Too large a Beverage to the Drunken Field— Carries the Figure too high, 
Ver. 170.  which in the Poet is agreeable, and modest. The following six Lines, are a Fustian Paraphrase of a judicious Representation.  
Mr. D. Paraphrases Three excellent Lines of Virgil with no fewer than eight of his own, 
Ver. 183.  wherein, he belies old Father jupiter, while he makes him the Inventor of the Ploughshare, and of Handicrafts, and Arts; and gives us a very impertinent Idea of the Silver Age.  
Which only Turfs and Greene's for Altars found. 
Ver. 192.  This Line, I'm sure, Virgil gave no hint of, nor is it at all pertinent to the Matter in Hand, besides, by Mr. D's leave, cutting Turf is as much wounding the Earth as Ploughing, if it make the Body as sore to flay it, as to gash it with a Knife or Sword.  
And shook from Oaken Leaves the liquid Gold— For Honey, 
Ver. 200.  but who'd imagine the Translator meant so, but that the Original guides him to it? Which must needs give great satisfaction to the mere English Reader; after all, what's Mr. D's Sense in this line? Virgil means, jupiter took away that Honey with which, the leaves of every Tree, not the Oak only, flowed in the Golden Age.  

Ver▪ 202.  And from the Rivers made the Wine retire— Ovid says jam Flumina Nectaris ibant— Of the Golden Age, Wine ran down in mighty Rivers. But Mr. D. speaks, as if Wine and Water had run down the same Stream, and now the Wine was racked off, and the Water left in a thin condition.  

Ver▪ 205.  And force the Veins of clashing Flints to Expire The lurking Seeds of that Celestial Fire. Now, I think, the way of striking Fire was not by Flints against Flints, but against Steel, which way was certainly, very certain and Ancient, the other but casual. Expire, is a very Catachrestical word here too: But why Fire struck from Flints, should be called Celestial, I can't so much as guests.  
Then first on Seas the hollowed Alder swum. Here Mr. D. stumbles a second time at Alnus, 
Ver. 207.  Virgil uses it for any Tree used in Shipping, but Mr. D. will scarce find a real Alder ever made use of for Sea-service.  

Ver. 213.  Drags in the Deep— Yes, and in the Shallows too, as well as Casting-Nets, but as for the other Nets Virgil mentions, they are for the Sea, and Baits were hung on Hooks, which is not Virgil's, but Mr. D's own discovery.  
— And sounding Axes. But why that Epithet to Axes. 
Ver. 215  Argutae serrae, might be Englished sounding Saws, but I question whether Ferri rigour, signifies Axes at all— For wedges first did yielding Wood invade— A very silly Catachresis. This, and the following Verse, are wonderfully beautified by the Dids, and the next is so Elegant a Version of Virgil's noble Sense, that a Man would think Mr. D. when he undertook Virgil, was very rich, and above need, or very Idle?  
First, 
Ver. 219, 220.  Ceres taught the Ground with Grain to sow, And armed with Iron Shares the crooked Plough. It may be so; but Virgil says, only, she taught Men to Blow.  
And unblessed Oats, 
Ver. 229.  and Darnel domineers. Pray, what are Oats unblessed? Is that the real meaning of Steriles avenae? Or is that Line good English, not to mention the immediately precedent Rhymes?  
— And with an Iron War Of Rakes and Harrows, 
Ver. 232.  the proud Foes expelled. Iron War, distant War, etc. Are Expressions our Translator's wonderfully fond of; and yet, as he uses 'em, they are generally mere Nonsense: And if poor Elkanah, or any of the Fifth Rate Scribblers had used the word Foes, unless in a jewish Story, Mr. D. before his fumbling Age, would have been very severe upon 'em.  
— The Boughs that shade. 
Ver. 235.  For, which is false Grammar; but what Mr. D for all his dormant Rules, is frequently guilty of.  
And shake for Food the long abandoned Oak. 
Ver. 238.  A dull, toothless Translation of an Emphatical Sarcasm.  
— What Arms they wield, 
Ver. 239, 240.  who labour Tillage, and the furrowed Field— Would puzzle a Dutch Commentator to make Sense of.  

Ver. 243. — The towering height of Wagons. What kind of Wagons are those so lofty? That which Madam Star, and her Comic Brigade road in, was not so very lofty; nor have the Ancient Poets given that of Ceres any Gigantic Dimensions.  

Ver. 245. — And the Flail— I'm afraid, they were not used in Virgil's Days, nor perhaps Hurdles. I'll not be too positive, but I'm sure, the Protestant Flails of a more Modern Invention, and those who introduced 'em first, were for Excercising us with an Iron War.  

Ver. 247, 8.  These all must be prepared. When Mr. D. writ this Couplet, I suppose, Virgil was quite out of his Head.  

Ver. 252, 3.  On either side the Head produce an Ear, And sink a Socket for the shining share— A very pretty Rule, if Mr. D. would illustrate it with a short Note, and a particular Five Guinea Sculpture in the next Edition. The next Couplet are too short for the full Sense of Virgil's three Latin Verses.  

Ver. 258.  Delve of convenient depth your Threshing Floor. Virgil 's Area, signifies the whole Barn-Floor: But, why Delve it deep? the Poet teaches how to Consolidate the Floor, so as other Vermin mayn't delve in it, but I can't find that he teaches the Husbandman any such Art.  

Ver. 264.  For sundry Foes the Rural Realm surround— i. e. The Barn-floor a true Royaume d' Yvitot; for Virgil is here, wholly contriving to secure that again Chinks and Weeds, and Mice or Rats, and Moles, and Toads; all which, I've seen troublesome in an ill wrought Floor; besides the Pest of Weevels, not Weasels and Pismires, and which, a due care will admirably prevent.  
For gathered Grain the blind labourous Mole In winding Mazes works her hidden Hole— Moles generally work straight forward, 
Ver. 267.  and their common Roads are in a line; when they work irregularly, it's in pursuit of Worms and Vermine, on which they feed, and not on Grain. But a Molewarp as it's mischievous in the Field, it's more so in the Floor.  
The Glebe will answer to the Sylvan Reign. 
Ver. 274.  Virgil bids his Farmer observe the Almonds when in Blossom, if they set well, if they do, the Years Crop is like to be good; but Mr. Dryden drops Virgil's Rule, and gives us a piece of Senseless jargonry in the room of it.  
But if a Wood— And Straw will be thy store. 
Ver. 276.  These four lines are as ridiculous a Paraphrase of Virgil as could have been contrived; and the Hinds vexing the Threshing-Floor, is a very fine Figure.  
— And some their Seed in Caldrons boil. 
Ver. 280▪  Was certainly, only for a Rhyme to Oil; but is such a piece of Husbandry as never took place any where, but in the Translator's brain; to soak the Seed in warm Liquor may be admitted of, but boiling would soon destroy the Radical Virtue of the fairest Seed; but above all, this boiling, is a very odd way to drain the Exuberant juice. Why the Hulls which appear larger than the lank Kernel within requires, should be called flattering husks, may be a reasonable Quaere.  

Ver. 297, 8.  But when Astrea 's balance hung on high, Betwixt the Nights and Days divides the Sky. i e. All the Year round; for Night and Day divides it always, but not equally; Virgil referred to the Aequinox, but Mr. D. gives no intimation of any such thing; and indeed, without looking into the Original, sometimes as a Comment, the Translator's text would be wholly unintelligible.  

Ver. 301.  Till cold December Rain's no great Impediment; but it's Frost and Snow which gives Midwinter Virgil's Epithet of intractable.  

Ver. 367. — In full career, The Bull beats down the Barriers of the Year. Now would I fain know what Court Lady, who could not read the Original, or what Ploughman could find out Mr. D's meaning here? What are the Barriers of the Year? Pindar never used so bold or senseless a Figure. The Sun's Horses, indeed, battered the Barriers of the Morning with their heels; but they are supposed in a Stable accommodated with Barriers to check the passage of the unruly Brutes, as Ovid tells us; but Virgil talks nothing to that purpose. Again, what does he mean by Argos, in the next Line? Argos was a famous Town in Greece; but the Ship fixed in Heaven, is called Argô, not Argos, as Mr. D's Dictionary may teach him, or his Friend Ruaeus' Notes.  
Let Maja with her Sister's first descend. 
Ver. 310  This is to explain Ignotum per Ignotius; and I make no doubt, but Court Ladies, and honest Boors would as soon find out what Virgil means by his Eoae Atlantides, as what Mr. D. understands by Maja and her Sisters. Other Poets have made use of the former name for the Pleyades, but his Periphrasis is wholly New. Such another admirable elucidation, that is, upon Ariadne's Crown, is the following Verse. And here I cannot but observe by the way, That it's the great Fault of Mr. Sandys in his Translation of Ovid's Metamorphosis, that his work needs a Comment as much as Ovid himself ever did, perhaps more. The design of a Translation, is to make the Author as intelligible to those who understand only that Language into which the Translation's made, as the Original was to those who used it as their Mother-Tongue. Now if Arcadian, or Sicilian, or Mantuan Shepherds, were Men of such excellent Accomplishments, as Mr. D, represents 'em; no doubt but they understood Theocritus' Greek, and Virgil's Latin in his Bucolics and Georgics, perfectly well; and Virgil took his technical words rather from them, than they from him. And it's as little to be doubted, but that all things mentioned in the Aeneids were perfectly understood at Court; and the Ladies only needed one to rehearse that Poem, to them with a just Accent, and a regular Cadence, and they'd comprehend the whole with all the delight and satisfaction imaginable. But Mr. D. writes for the use of our English Yeomanry, as well as our Court Ladies, to whom all his Pastoral and Husbandry will sound like Heathen Greek; and those, who, by the advantages of better Education, are capable of reading Virgil's Original, must comprehend his Translator worst of all. And though I have so good an Opinion of the Ladies of our English Court, as to think their Understandings much finer than Mr. D. would wish them; yet I'm certain, they can never learn much by Mr. D's obscure Version, and incomprehensible Nonsense; I'm afraid, he presumed a little too much upon the weakness of some, while he complemented the sharpness of others Intellectuals; and placed his greatest security in a confidence, that well sounding Rhymes might put off disguised and miserably abused Matter; and that few would either trouble themselves to examine his Translation rigorously, or compare it, at leisure, with the Original. To me it's the most disagreeable diversion I ever undertook; for, I hate to be bilked where I have laid out for a good Crib; or to get a Translation to clear my understanding, which leaves me more at a loss than I was before.  

Ver. 313. — A listless lazy Crop— What manner of Crop's that? So Lentil's lean afterwards, unless he designed it for a pun; and vile Vetches; vile in English, is never taken in the same Sense as Vilis in Latin; and Mr. D. knows that, though his Virgil can't pretend to be so, some things may be very good, and very cheap too.  
The growth of Egypt, 
Ver. 317.  or the Kidney Bean. That or spoils all, for if we may believe our Botanists, the Kidney Bean is what Virgil meant by his Lens Peleusiaca. 
See Rays Herb. p. 884. etc.  The slow Waggoner too, would almost puzzle an Almanac Maker.  
Five Girdles bind the Skies— What an odd Idea of the upper Region would common Farmers take from this fine Figure? 
Ver. 322.  And how do these Girdles bind the Skies? Would ever any Man, who pretended to take off the Cosmical and Heliacal rising or setting of the Stars, talk of five Heaven-binding Girdles?  
And cross their limits cut a sloping way. 
Ver. 328.  i e. Cross the limits of the two temperate Zones. But what strange Astronomy is this? What Sphere ever represented the Zodiac as crossing the limits of the temperate Zone? It cuts or crosses the Aequator twice, indeed, but only touches the Tropics. Or whoever called the Zodiac, a sloping way? But Poëtis quid libet audendi— shall be Mr. D's Motto, though it should reach to picking of Pockets.  
Two Poles turn round the Globe— For, 
Ver. 330.  The Globe truns round two Poles. A very pretty Figure in English. And I question whether the Snake or Dragon glides round the Pole, though Mr. D. makes Virgil say so, nolens volens.  
The Bears are not by the Poets, 
Ver. 335.  said to abhor the Sea, but to be forbidden it, at Juno's request; and Virgil makes 'em still afraid of her jealousy, and consequently of setting in it.  

Ver. 324.  And when on us she breathes the living Light. Can never be screwed out of Virgil's aut ubi primus equis Oriens afflavit anhelis— The Tapers of the Night— A Phrase borrowed out of the English Parnassus.  

Ver. 346.  Or when to fell the Furzes— We sometimes talk of felling Timber, but never of Furzes before; they are obliged to Mr. D. for the Honour he has done 'em. And spread the flying Canvas for the Fleet. What is there in that of Virgil, or of tolerable sense, or expression? And what Stars arise, how extremely fine! Had poor Elkanah talked so, he'd have heard of it on both sides his Head; but that veniam corvis—  

Ver. 352.  Let him forecast his work— Maturare, is not to forecast, but to act deliberately, and do that throughly, which, when fair weather calls the Husbandman abroad, must have been huddled up in haste, and in a worse fashion; and this Mr. D. could not but see, by the work mentioned in the next lines; the shining share, he is very fond of.  

Ver. 360. — Or air the Corn, Or grinded Grain between two Marbles turn. Besides that very modish word grinded, where does Virgil talk of airing the Corn? Ruaeus would have taught him better sense, and his own little, might have taught him that cold wet weather was not fit for that work. And where did Mr. D. ever read of Marble Millstones, for, those I suppose he means? And if the Grain be grinded, what need it be turned between the Marbles? Could Mr. D. read Virgil, and Translate it thus?  
The Meads to water. 
Ver. 364.  For Rivos deducere. Translated the clean contrary way.  
— And steep In wholesome Water-falls the woolly Sheep— But why in Water-falls? 
Ver. 365.  Are those proper washing places? Does any Body ever wash Sheep just below London-bridge? And pray, how long must a woolly Sheep lie asteep in the Water-fall before he's drowned? For I never heard of any living thing steeped for a cure.  
— Pale Pluto— An Epithet no way belonging to him, 
Ver. 373.  who is every where represented as black; indeed, Commentators very ridiculously make Orcus, here to signify Plato. And so a day unlucky, as 'twas the Birthday of a God, and one of the first rank too, which is absurd; but Orcus, means the Hell of the Poets, such as Virgil describes in his 6th Aeneid: and even Christians themselves, (could they assign it,) might esteem that day accursed, which first kindled the flames of eternal Hell.  
And armed against the Skies the Sons of Earth. 
Ver, 374.  Virgil says no such thing; he says only the Giants were born on that day; not that they made their attempt on Heaven as soon as they were born; or watched for their Birth-days return, as a lucky time to begin a Rebellion in.  
To scale the steepy battlements of Jove. 
Ver. 376.  Is a very odd way of speaking; the battlements of Heaven some have, by too bold a figure, talked of, but none of jove before our Poetical Enceladus.  

Ver. 381.  Then Weavers stretch your stays upon the waif. If it were not mere jargonry, would be Nuts to the Spittle-field-Weavers, and they'd buy Mr. D's Virgil rather than Gadbury or Partridge, if his Rule would hold good.  

Ver. 385.  Virgil advises like one who understands business, to mow stubble or Haulm in the Night, or before Sun-rise, not because of coolness or rain, which would make mowing very uncomfortable; but because of the dew which following the Scyth, makes it work the better, Mr. D. has quit lost the Rule.  

Ver. 390.  To work by Night, and rake the Winter fire. i e. they rake up the fire in a Winter Night, and then set up to work till Cock-crowing; a very pretty way to keep themselves warm, but none of the best Husbandry or Housewifry; for those must go to bed sooner who work all day hard, and must rise early. But what a pleasant employment Mr. D. has found for the good Man, to sharpen Torches? If any such Trees, as they say are found under ground in Lancashire, and other places, were common in Italy, the sharpening of Torches might mean something; but Virgil means no more than making of Matches, things of more use, and which good Husbands and Housewives generally do at idle times.  

Ver. 397.  Virgil's direction is lost again, who tells us, that the heat of the day is best to Reap in, and to tread the Corn out in, or to pass the Wheel over it, because it then is dry, and leaves the husk best; for which, Mr. D. only tells us of the Day light, as if that were enough, whether it were hot or cold, or wet or dry.  
For lazy winter numbs the labouring Hand. 
Ver. 402,  Is a very odd reason why the Swain should Plough and Sow naked; but Virgil teaches him, not to be afraid of stripping to work in Summer, that his work may be the sooner over; for winter or cold weather's no proper time for such work.  
The four lines are good, 
Ver. 403, etc.  but not Virgil's, nor much better, as I take it.  
For Mast of Oak your Father's homely Food. 
Ver. 410.  True, but why that here? They are advised to beat down Mast for their Swine, not for their own eating.  
— And so hunt the Hare. 
Ver. 414.  What, when the fleecy Snow new clothes the wood. (Which by the way, is as mere Fustian as any thing in Silvester's Dubartas.) Huntsmen will tell him, there's no hunting when the Snow lies upon the Ground; but it's tracing Hares which our Poet means, which Farmers are more used to, than hunting; as they are more used to Slings than Bows, which is Mr. D's own silly Invention.  
Now sing we stormy Stars, 
Ver. 419.  when Autumn weighs the Year— Who could imagine that Mr. D. had considered his Author? Or where can Virgil afford so fine a Thought as that last? In the whole Account of the storms in Spring and Harvest, Ogylby outdoes Mr. D. in representing Virgil's Thoughts, as far as Mr. D. would pretend to outdo honest Vicars.  

Ver. 427. — The Farmer now secure of fear, Sends in the Swains to spoil the finished Year. What fear does Mr. D. mean which the Farmer should be secure of, (Not to take notice of the senseless Latinism) he'd do well to tell us in the next Edition; but for sense sake, who ever, before our Rhymer, called Reaping spoiling of the finished Year; the two next lines are his own, and tend much to the eclaircissement of the Matter.  

Ver. 434. etc.  And whirled aloft the lighter stubble born, With such a force, the flying wrack is driven, And such a Winter wears the face of Heaven. Have neither Virgil's, nor any thing of common sense in 'em; and the order of the words is ridiculous.  

Ver. 437. — Whole sheets of slucey Rain— Is a Metaphor well carried on, and finely worded.  

Ver. 444, etc.  The Father of the Gods his Glory shrouds, Involved in Tempests, and a Night of Clouds. This said of Phoebus, had been tolerable, though far from his Author, but of jove it's pure Nonsense. By fits he deals his fiery Bolts about. By what fits? Has jove his freaks? Or is he troubled with Cramps or Convulsions? He must be more than half an Atheist, who talks so childishly of him, whom he calls the Father of the Gods. The 443 long line is of the same Batch.  

Ver. 448.  Earth-falls, etc. Here doubtless, Mr. D. was in a Rapture; and, whereas poor Virgil was flat and lifeless, he's resolved to show us how he would or should have written, if he had lived now, and fallen under Mr. D's discipline.— And flying Beasts in Forests seek abode. Is a line of most charming sense, and sweetness.  
— When cheerful hours awake the Spring, 
Ver. 463, 4.  and Spring awake the Flowers. A delicate Ovidian Interpolation, and becomes Virgil as a patched Coat would a Prince.  
On the green Turf thy careless Limbs display. 
Ver. 465.  A very mannerly way of Devotion, which Virgil was a stranger to.  
— The Silken Ground, 
Ver. 468.  Is very pretty Ground indeed, and could Mr. D. but show us where it is, it might, for aught I know, ruin the East-India Company more than all the Petitions of the Weavers. But Mr. D. has heard of Carpet Ground, and scorned that common word, Silk was for him. With milder Beams the Sun securely shines. It seems then, his Empire was in danger when his Beams were too sultry; the world might have abdicated him for his fierceness, but now he was mild, he might shine securely; he has been very safe in that respect, for 4 or 5 Years last passed.— And luscious are the Wines. Is not the meaning of mollissima vina.  
Thus in the Spring— I would not brow beat Devotion in a Choir of Clowns, 
Ver. 477.  as Mr. D. very gently styles 'em; but Virgil here, talks only of Devotion at the time of Harvest, before Men begin to Reap, which very few do in the Spring.  

Ver. 480. — His hollow Temples. Old Horses and Oxen are very hollow about the Temples, but Men done't ordinarily sink there so very much; I hope, Mr. D. won't allege the cava Tempora— ascribed to Turnus, in the 9th Aeneid, if he does, I'm ruined for a Critic, and there's no more to be said.  

Ver. 490.  The working Seas advance to wash the Shore. So they do every rising Tide, and what shall the Ploughman learn from Mr. D's Diagnosticks?  

Ver. 492.  And mountains whistle to the murmuring floods. Is a Silken line, and doubtless, tickled the Author's fancy extremely; but it's very wide of— Aridus altis montibus audiri fragor; or if fragor be whistling, it's like that of some of the Natives of Tenarif, who'll whistle so loud, as to be heard 5 or 6 Miles; beside, Virgil does not talk of murmuring, but roaring Floods, and murmuring Woods; and that's somewhat more natural than this of the Translator.  

Ver. 496.  And stretching to the Covert. Virgil only says they make to shore.  

Ver. 499.  And mounting upward with erected flight, Gains on the Skies, and soars above the sight. What manner of flight is that which is called an erected flight? I don't remember it in all Latham, or the Gentleman's Recreation; this description is mere Fustian, and a wretched Thought fobbed upon the World for Virgil, when he'd have scorned it.  

Ver. 508, 9, 10, etc.  Are all a loose Paraphrase, liker Ovid again than Virgil. The East and West meeting on their Frontiers, and crashing the Clouds. All pretty stuff, but light and unfixt, as the floating Feathers.  
— And sails above the Storm. 
Ver. 516.  Which is scarce true in fact, and if it were, is not said by Virgil.  
Qu. Whether Croaking be the Characteristic of a loquacious crew? 
Ver. 521.   
Huge flocks of rising Rooks forsake their Food, 
Ver. 525.  And crying, seek the shelter of the Wood This is no more than they do every Night, therefore Virgil means something else.  
And stem the Stream to meet the promised Rain. 
Ver. 532.  As if they would not meet the Rain as well Swimming down as up Stream; or as if Virgil had, like his Translator, talked idly.  
And in the sockets Oily Bubbles dance. 
Ver. 538.  Virgil means the wick gets a cap, as those who look after your Sea lights call it, which sometimes covers the whole, sometimes multiplies out of the sides, in a figure somewhat like Mushrooms.  
Here we have several Nonsense lines together— The Moon adorns As with unborrowed Be●●s, 
Ver. 541.  her sharpened Horns. Now, how that is, who can tell us? The filmy Gossamer now flits no more; i. e. the things like Cobwebs don't fly about in the Air; but their flying about is a sign of dry weather, and such Signs, Virgil is here speaking of; so that if Virgil had meant his words of those flying Meteors his Translator had contradicted him; which he adventures to do more than once— Nor Halcyons bask on the short Sunny shore. Why the short Sunny shore? I can't divine, unless it be for the sweet sounding ss; the Original talks not of its being short. Virgil mentions Scylla and Nisus, 
Ver. 549, etc.  a Story well known to the Romans; but what English Swain would know that he meant the Lark and Hobby; if at least that be the meaning of it; but the Translator wants a Servius too; if any can make sense of the closing line— And thus the Purple Hair is dearly paid, I shall be their very Humble Servant.  

Ver. 557.  Then thrice the Ravens rend the liquid Air Is a wild Construing of Ingeminant liquidas voces— Their callow Case too, is a choice Flower.  

Ver. 564. — As Man who Destiny controls— What has that to do here, where the Poet speaks of Ravens understanding the Determinations of Fate better than other Creatures? Besides, Mr. D. knows, jove himself can't control Destiny, much less can Men.  

Ver. 569.  Composed by Calms, and Discomposed by Winds. But that's not to the purpose, how they are affected by the weather now in being, but how they are affected before, with a change of weather near at Hand. They feel a Storm, or fair weather coming, though at a distance, which the Poet here debates on.  

Ver. 570.  From hence the Cows exult, and frisking Lambs rejoice. The Ravens are quite forgot then, and the Cows put in, pro Arbitrio, to mend Virgil.  

Ver. 572.  And the short Year of the revolving Moon. This is to let us know that Mr. D. has heard of Lunary Years, else Virgil gave him no temptation to mention 'em.  
Here Mr. D. drops his Author, 
Ver. 586.  because he was full of hard Names. So again after Ver. 588. I hope, he won't plead Horace's Rule, Et quae desperes tractata nitescere posse relinquas.  
Or if thro' Mists he shoots his sullen Beams, 
Ver. 591, 2.  Frugal of Light in loose and straggling Streams. This is to come up to Virgil's Majesty, which Mr. D. thinks he has done in this Book, or no where; but whether it be a just Interpretation of— Medioque refugerit orbe, let the learned World judge. If he flies to those, Aut ubi sub lucem densa inter nubila sese Diversi erumpent radii— He perverts Virgil's Rule, who, ended his Sentence at the former line; and here begun a new Observation on the Prognostics from the Sun, of Hail.  
When ridgy Roofs and Tiles can scarce avail, 
Ver. 599.  To bar the ruin of the rattling Hail. What ruins are here meant? Or what greater mischief would a violent Hail do if the Roof were laid open, than when it's Tiled, or has a Ridgy Roof? But what's all this to his Author, who is not concerned for the Tiles, but for the Grapes, which suffer by such violent Storms?  
— What Madman then would venture o'er the Frith? 
Ver. 613. — Was Virgil then acquainted with Scotland? Or had he heard of Edenburg Frith, or Solway Frith? If Mr. D. would have brought the whole Poem down to our present Age, and Modified his Author, as the Ingenious Sir R. L' Estrange has done by his Don Quevedo, this had been well enough; but to have it only here and there, is Aping Philips' senseless Don Quixot.  

Ver. 621.  Quaere, Whether Vesper serus, signify both the late Even, for Evening, and the early Morn? Or whether Operta Bella be open Wars?  

Ver. 629.  And pitied Rome, when Rome in Caesar fell. Virgil says nothing like that, and Mr. D. once Condemned, as well he might, his own Verse concerning Lausus, and uttered by his Father Mezentius, When Lausus died I was already slain, As trifling, and beneath the Gravity and Majesty of Virgil; but he begins now, repuerascere, and must be pardoned for fooling.  

Ver. 630.  In Iron Clouds— What Clouds are they? Mr. Cowley never used so forced a Figure in his most daring Pindariques; and obscura Ferrugo never was Construed an Iron Cloud before.  

Ver. 632.  Nor was the Fact foretold by him alone, Nature herself stood forth and seconded the Sun. This is one of Mr. D's Native Flights; for which, he owes nothing to Virgil. But how comes the Sun to be no part of Nature or not within the Verge? Or else what does he mean by Nature? but perhaps, we shall know more of his mind in the next Edition.  

Ver. 638.  In Germane Skies afar. Is not English.  

Ver. 641.  And from their Summits shook the eternal Snow. Is another of Mr. D's fine Thoughts, tacked to Virgil, like the Badge of a Parish Pensioner on his sleeve, not to honour, but expose him.  

Ver. 644.  In silent Groves dumb Sheep and Oxen spoke. i e. They were dumb before they spoke, but not when or after they did so; but where did Mr. D. read that they spoke in Groves? Strange voices, indeed, of more than mortal Men were heard in the Groves; but the Translator's Eyes failed him.  
And Holy Sweat from Brazen Idols fell. 
Ver. 648.  This is Burlesquing his Author; for if the Statue, or figure be an Idol, the sweat can hardly be holy; indeed his Milk white Hind has told us fine Stories of Idols which have been in such holy sweats; if he alludes to them, we are satisfied.  
The King of Floods— Without his proper Name, 
Ver. 649.  may be an Utopian River for aught any body knows, or may be ascribed ad libitum; but Virgil meant a particular River, and named it, for a Prodigy without a place where it was, is a shame.  
Red Meteors run along the aethereal space, 
Ver. 657.  Stars disappeared, and Comets took their place. Welfare an honest Roman Miracle Monger! Mr. D. thought Virgil had not Prodigies enough, so he adds to the Tale, and adds one, which is a swinger— That the Stars disappeared, and Comets took their places; if such a sight would not fright the World, nothing would.  
Amazed at antique Titles on the Stones. 
Ver. 666.  As if there had been Tombs or Monuments, Stonehenges set up in the Pharsalian and Philippic Fields, which is a very fine fancy. But why should an antique Title amaze any body? Curious Men will go far to see 'em, and generally return from 'em sober enough, and not half so much as Men of sense would be, to see a flattering Inscription, equal Mr. D. to Denham, Waller, or Cowley.  

Ver. 683.  The Plain no Pasture to the Flock affords— This ridiculous line was put to make up the Rhyme for the next; for there was Pasturage enough, if anythink was wanting, it was Flocks and Herds to graze on 'em. Virgil thought fit to omit this grave observation.  

Ver. 685. — Euphrates her soft Offspring Arms. The Parthians were not the Offspring of Euphrates, nor ever charged with Effoeminacy before; the Romans found 'em a Company of rough hardy Fellows, and not to be Conquered by their whole Power. But the Rhine rebellowing is so fine an Expression, as ought not to be slipped, Mr. D, uses the word rebellowing several times, and it's a very full-mouthed, nonsensical word, and will never be owned by any who pretend to good English, but to apply his new fangled word to the Rhyne's, not a bold figure, but a Bull.  

Ver. 690.  If Servius be in the right, Mr. D. is out in making a Similitude of Virgil's Three last lines. But Mr. D. has said enough to baffle his own Version in his Note on the first Georgic, wherein he pretends to the honour of a new discovery, though unjustly, of a great Compliment to Augustus in those lines; the Observation's good, though not his, but he has entirely spoiled it, and made that which was well in his Note, impertinent in his Translation.   

GEORGIC II.  
MR. D. in his second line Translates Bacche in the Poet, 
Ver. 2, 4.  by Generous Vines, which is well done, the sense being made true and intelligible by that means, but, as if he had repent of a wise thing once done, The Tarde crescens Oliva, is rendered Minerva's Tree; the Original every Body understands, the Version very few of those for whom Virgil wrote, as well as for the Ladies at Court.  
— And drink at every Poor— Is an admirable flight; 
Ver. 12.  Bacchus then must have been laid asleep in the Must, as the Sheep before in the Water-falls, or the Pores would scarce inbibe the Liquors; at least, where Virgil would have been content the jolly God should have been but over Shoes, Mr. D. was resolved to dowse him over Head and Ears.  
Principio arboribus varia est natura creandis. Was a dull line, and not worthy to be taken notice of by Mr. D's exalted Genius.  
Herculean Poplar— That Epithet was judiciously added, 
Ver. 18.  that every one might know what Virgil meant by Populus. I suppose, Populus Alcidae gratissima was in his Thoughts, and his Translation answers it very nicely.  
Thus Elms, 
V. 24, 5, 6.  and thus the savage Cherry grows— Is false Grammar: But why savage Cherries? As if only the wild grew so, (the savage is an uncouth Epithet for a Tree.) Yet we have often seen the tame Cherry shoot in the same manner. Mr. D. as if he were in a Paroxysm of false English, adds, Thus the green Bays that binds the Poet's brows, Shoots and is sheltered by the Mother's Boughs. Where, either it should be Bay, and not Bays, unless Mr. D. be in love with the Title, or it should be— Which bind the Poet's brows, shoot and are sheltered.  

Ver. 28. — And all the Sylvan Reign. This Phrase is one of the Elegantiae Drydenianae, frequently affected, and downright Nonsense.  

Ver. 34.  And the dry Poles produce a living Race. If this be not wondrous to behold, (which was well infarced by Mr. D.) pray, tell us what is? I can't think that Virgil had any thoughts of Aaron's Rod, the only instance of the Kind. Green Poles may do something, but dry Poles are no more prolific than dry Brains.  

Ver. 35.  Some bow their Vines which buried in the Plain, Their tops in distant Arches rise again. This is a fine account of laying Vines; but Virgil never mentions them in particular, because several Trees may be increased so as the Mulberry, Goosberry, Currant, etc.  

Ver. 37. — The Labourer cuts young slips— The Gardener at Denham Court would have taught him otherwise, and that slips and cuttings are very different things; slips being so called, from being slipped from a larger Stem, and which are generally apt, if rightly ordered, to take Root than Cuttings are.  

Ver. 39, 40.  Even stumps of Olives barred of Leaves and dead, Revive, and oft redeem their withered Head— Here Mr. D. has me at a terrible advantage, for here grows the Mirabile dictu, which he has inarched on another Stock; and here Virgil talks of lignum siccum, or a dry stick shooting again; yet, on better Thoughts, the danger is not extreme, and I may live another Year. Virgil's account is this, That pieces of Olive Suckers, or Young Shoots cut at uncertain lengths, as a Foot, more or less, though grown a little dry, and sapless on the outside; yet opened a little to the pith, (that being still sound and green) if buried flatwise, or Horizontally in a moist warm Ground will shoot; but how it may redeem the withered Head, is another Quaere.  
With Insolence invade a foreign Tree. 
Ver. 42.  Is very dexterously expressed, and gives a great Idea of Graffing; but— with Insolence, is in Latin, Impune, by which Translation, Mr. D. gives us an excellent Moral, i. e. That impunity in fooling, makes the Coxcomb insolent.  
Thus were the Hind and Panther Calved of old,  
S●●m Coin put off for true Imperial Gold,  
And Squab the Lewd appeared with envied Pulpits bold.  
— The ruddy Cornel bears the Plum. 
Ver. 44. — For Lapidosa rubescere Corna, is exact as possible; for it's plain, the Cornel bears a ruddy Fruit before the Plum's graffed on it.  
— The learned Gardener. 
Ver. 45.  This is by way of Compliment to his Agricolae, whom he had called by all the ugly Names he could think of before.  

Ver. 50.  But Cultivate the Genius of the Ground— Here are several Couplets very wildly Translated, and without any regard to the Genius of the Poet; but this is a choice Flower, and with a good Comment, perhaps, the learned Gardener might make somewhat of it.  

Ver. 53.  The virtues of the several Soils I sing— That's not Virgil's Subject there, it had been the Subject of the former Book, and he was now upon the nature of Trees; but this is Mr. D's own impertinence, which he's generally sick of, both in his additions and deductions; so afterwards, Inspire thy Poet, and thy Poem crown, a ridiculous Interpolation; but his Head's always running upon the Bays.  

Ver. 58. — And breezes from the Shore. Breezes are from the Sea, and of little use for Sailing; only the Prince of Oranges sailing Chariot, might make some use of 'em.  

Ver. 65.  Nor will I tyre thy Patience with a train of Preface— Virgil then, showed a greater respect to his Maecenas, than Mr. D to his Patron, my Lord Marquis of Normanby, whom, he has assaulted with such a fardel of impertinencies, as nothing, but Dotage could excuse.  

Ver. 70, 72. — Makes a Manly Birth— Change their savage mind— Here, weak Eyes see Trees walking as Men; else, what absurd Catachreses are these, to talk of a Manly Birth of Trees, and of their savage minds? for, their mind is false English; And Mr. D. knows, One may change his Mind, though he does not change his Nature; Animus Sylvestris, signifies, only their wild Nature, which is an easy figure.  
— Trees sprung from barren Roots, 
Ver. 75.  In open Fields transplanted, bear their Fruits. Pray, what Fruits are those which a barren Tree bears? Virgil's Sense is handsomely given us by Mr. Ogylby— 
So those which spring from Roots like profit yield,  
If you transplant them to the open Field.  For Virgil teaches his Farmers, that as wild Fruit Trees, for those he speaks of, are corrected by Graffing, so Suckers from the Roots of other Trees which are barren, while growing there, come to bear, when transplanted into the open Air. 
But now the branching Parents leafy shade  
Makes them not bear, or what they bear to fade.  All which, Mr. D. wonderfully Illustrates, by those profound lines; for where they grow, the Native Energy (is not that some occult quality?) turns all into the substance of the Tree, starves and destroys the Fruit, is only made for brawny bulk▪ a swinging figure that, and for a barren shade.  
— A sullen Tree— A most Emphatic Epithet, 
Ver. 81.  if a Man knew why it was given.  
The generous flavour lost, the Fruits decay, 
Ver. 83, 4.  And savage Grapes are made the Birds ignoble Prey— But Mr. D. knows, all Fruits have not a generous flavour; and Virgil names only Apples and Grapes; which, therefore Mr. Ogylby thus gives us more Correctly— 
Apples in time grow wild, and lose their taste,  
And Vines harsh clusters bear for Birds to waste.  For let Mr. D. say what he pleases, savage Grapes, is a very silly Expression.  

Ver. 86. — And in ranks reclaim— For cogere in suleum, or to set in good Ground, and, then Mr. D. adds a Rule of his own, Well must the Ground be dug and better dressed, New soil to make and meliorate the rest. How much more Manly is Mr. Ogylby?  
All labour ask, and covering in rich soil,  
And must be conquered with much art and toil.  

Ver. 89.  Old Stakes of Olive Trees in Plants revive. Is Nonsense; but of this before. By the same method Paphian Myrtles live— Is a mistake, and contrary to Virgil; and here our two Translators Ogylby, and Dryden, are at vie who should Translatet heir Author the more absurdly— And Paphian Myrtle springs from solid Oak— Solido Paphiae de robore Myrtus, Which is literal Nonsense; but Virgil's sense is, that the Myrtles increase, by large pieces stuck into a good Ground, as we propagate Willows in moist Ground.  

Ver. 91.  And noble Vines by propagation live. So do all other Trees, for if they were not propagated, they'd soon be destroyed; but it seems, Mr. D. could not distinguish between Propagatio, and Propago— ginis— which signifies a layer of a Vine, by which, it's generally Propagated.  

Ver. 92, 3.  From Roots hard Hazles— No doubt of it, and all other Trees, for they seldom grow, but from their Roots; but Virgil's meaning is, Hazles are propagated from Seedlings, or young Plants, raised from the Nut, The Ash, from young Plants from the Kays, and the shady Poplar, of which Hercules made his Ghirland, and the Oak of jupiter Dodonaeus, and the lofty Palm, and the Pine or Fir, designed to try its Fortunes on the Sea; all these are increased by such seedlings, and not from Cions, (which are for Graffing,) as Mr. D. ignorantly talks.  
The thin leaved Arbute Hazle. 
Ver. 96.  Here, Mr. D's misled by Ruaeus, who misunderstanding the Arbutus, made horrida signify thin-leaved; but Virgil's sense is, The true Nut is graffed on the prickly Thorn; And this I remember, I've met with, in some Books of Gardening, though denied to be successful in our Soil. And here I can't but observe how Mr. D. abounds with his That's, Dids and Does, etc. the former, generally false Grammar, the latter, in him, a polite Writer, one, who has regulated his Mother Tongue beyond the Denham's, and Waller's, and Cowley's, mere botching.  
— To bud, to graft, and to inoculate. Mr. D. will be adding to his Author only to betray his own ignorance. 
Ver. 103.  Virgil mentions Graffing and Inoculating only, and Budding and Inoculating are the same thing; Inarching is an Invention of a later date.  
— Where tender Rinds disclose their shooting Gems, 
Ver. 105.  a swelling knot there grows— This again is quite beside his Author: what Mr. D. calls Gems, is not quite so intelligible in English as in the Latin; but those Gems are the swelling knots, under which knots Virgil, contrary to Modern Practice, would have the incision made, which is commonly double, one downwards, the other cross, for the better raising the bark, to admit the shield of the Bud to be inserted. Ruaeus talks of an Inoculation, which is but another kind of Graffing, between the Bark and the Trunk, which is now pretty common; and his Emplastratio resembles our Budding, as I have seen a piece of the Bark taken quite off from the Stock sometimes square, sometimes triangular, to which the Shield of the Bud being exactly sitted, it has taken very well.  

Ver. 109.  In whose moist Womb the admitted Infant grows. Is a luscicus Ovidianism, beneath the Majesty of our Author.  

Ver. 111.  We make a deep Incision in the Tree. For Finditur in solidum cuneis via— Is very well Construed, and very Edifying to the learned Gardener, to show his judgement, in whose Art, he talks in the next Lines of Slips for Cions.  

Ver. 113.  The battening Bastard shoots again, and grows— The battening Bastard, is a dirty Expression, disagreeable to Virgil's modesty, to the Gardener's Language, and Common Sense; the next Couplet, are pitiful creeping lines, which a good Poet had been ashamed of.  

V. 118, etc.  We have as egregious a Specimen of the Translator's ignorance, as we could wish for; Virgil tells us, That Elms, and Willows, and Lotus' and Cretan Cypresses, are every one, kinds of Trees, which contain several sorts under them, agreeing in the same name, or that there are several kinds of Elms, several of Willows, etc. but where has Mr. D. any thing which can bear this Sense, or indeed, any? And what a whim is his Funeral Cypress, rising like a Shroud? A foolery, which he repeats here, as if he were fond of it.  
Fat Olive Trees, 
Ver. 122.  etc. This proves what was Virgil's sense before; for Olive Trees, though all of the same name, bear different kinds of Berries, some of that kind called Orchades, or Berries indented, or as we see a Peach is on one side, some that called Radij, or long, lank Olives, both which, seem to be properest for the Table; some bear those called Pausia, or such which are fitter to press for their Oil. Mr. D. has left his English Reader to interpret, and find out the kinds of this Fruit, for himself, if he can; and he must be a learned Gardiner indeed, who can learn any thing from his Version.  
Unlike are Bergamots, 
Ver. 12●.  and Pounder Pears. No doubt of it; but what's that to Virgil's Crustumiis, Syriisque pyris, gravibusque volemis. Ruaeus, it's true, taught this, but Ruaeus blunders; the Bergamot is so called, from Bergamo, a Town on this side the Po, Crustumi●m, is a Town near the Tiber, whose Pears Virgil names; the Syrian Pears are no Bergamots, by the same Rules, and the Volemi are a kind of Pear somewhat answering the figure of a Gourd, and, as some affirm, is more like to be the Bon Chretien, or the Gourd Pear; for, I think, I have met with a kind of large Pear called by that name, from its shape.  

Ver. 128.  Nor our Italian Vines produce, etc. Is false English; the shape of all Grapes, so far as I've seen or read, is the same.  
The Thasian Vines in richer Soils abound, The Mareotic grow in barren Ground. 
Ver. 131.  Ruaeus, and Mr. D. both contradict Virgil here; for it's the Mareotic which requires the fat, heavy Soil, the Thasian, the light, as any one who considers the Latin well, and the nature of the thing, must observe. Mr. D. takes no notice of his Author's observing both these kinds to be white.  

Ver. 332.  The Psythian Grape we dry. It's very dubious whether that be Virgil's meaning— Lagaean juice will stammering Tongues, and staggering Feet produce— Is such stuff, as is intolerable; Virgil says, there's a dusky brown kind of Grape, of a very subtle juice, which soon weakens the Feet, and ties the Tongue; but who can make this sense out of the Translation? Ogylby's infinitely beyond this— Lagaeos strong, Which soon will try your Feet, and tie your Tongue.  

Ver. 134.  Rathe ripe are some of later kind, Of Golden some, and some of Purple rind. This Couplet was made only to bring in the fine Northern Phrase, Rathe ripe, else it's false, and none of Virgil's; He says, only some Grapes are of a Purple colour, and early Ripe. Grapes of a Golden rind, I'm afraid, are great rarities.  

Ver. 136.  Raethean Grape. I suppose, is an error of the Press; but the next should be Inferior only to Falernian Wine— For that's Virgil's sense.  
The Amminean many a Consulship survives, 
Ver. 138.  And longer than the Lydian Vintage lives, Or high Phanaeus King of Chian growth— Was ever so absurd a piece of Nonsense, called Translating a Noble Author? Virgil says, There are a kind of Grapes, called Amminean, from their place of growth, which yield Wine of a very strong body, to which, that growing about Mount Tmolus in Lydia, and that about Mount Phanaeus in Chios, though itself, the King of Wines, must yield, as must that of the smaller white Grape, which Grape, yet yields the most, and the most lasting Wine of all others; but who can make this sense out of Mr. D's jargonry?  
The Rhodian in 2. Services is poured to Jove— A ridiculous blunder; 
Ver. 144.  but, which almost all the Commentators have stumbled on; only they talk of setting Grapes on the Table among other Fruit, for a second Course. Mr. D. will have it, Wine poured on the Altar (I suppose, for a second Service.) But Virgil says, only, It was acceptable at Tables, and to the favourable Gods; and this answers that other reading best Rhodia sicmensis & dijs servata secundis, Secundis belonging to Dijs, and not Mensis, as Philargyrius only could observe.  
Nor must Bumasthus his old Honours lose, 
Ver. 146.  In length and largeness like the Dugs of Cows. A Grape this of a very strange figure; the Grape, indeed, may be named from the Cow's Teat, but not for length, but for largeness, and fullness of juice, and this agrees well enough with Pliny's account of it.  

Ver. 155.  The Sallow loves the watery Grounds and low— Not always; for it loves the Banks of Rivers, as Virgil says, and Ditches which are wet, but not low.  

Ver. 156.  The Marshes Alders— Alders love boggy and moorish Ground, indented with Trenches and Water cuts. The Rocky Clift, is not the meaning Saxosi montis.  

Ver. 158.  The baleful Yeugh to Northern blasts assigns. But how comes this in here, which his Author has placed better Virgil's Littora, are only the sides of Rivers, not the salt Beach.  

Ver. 160.  Regard the extremest, etc. Is very clear and elegant, instead of See then the utmost, etc.  

Ver. 165.  Balm slowly trickles thro' the bleeding Veins Of happy shrubs in Idumaean Plains. Our Botanists, indeed, say the Shrub yields its Gummy juice, both by incision by others, and by a natural Exudation; which last, Virgil mentions only, but says nothing of the place where it grows, which gave opportunity to Mr. D. to show his Skill in Blunder; for Idumaea has it not, Arabia Foelix is its Native Country; to Palestine is only adventitious, and Cultivated in Gardens, as josephus, and Pliny, and others, inform us.  

Ver. 167.  — For Medicine good— That's out of Ruaeus' Notes; not out of his Author.  

Ver. 168.  With aethiop's hoary Trees, and woolly Wood Where Virgil speaks of Woods among the Aethiopians hoary with soft Wool, which, I suppose were only the Cotton Trees, now very well known.  
— And how the Seres spin their Fleecy Forests in a slender twine— Did the Seres then spin whole Trees? 
Ver. 170.  So Mr. D. would make us think, but this means only that the Seres drew out the inner Barks of a certain Tree which was spun like Wool, and woven; of this kind, are our present Bengals, and spun and woven by the same People; for Emmenessius' Fancy that the Chineses were known to the Ancients, by the name of Seres; and the Siamites, by that of Sinae, is altogether groundless.  
Who mixing wicked Weeds with Words impure— But, 
Ver. 179.  how can Words and Weeds be mingled together? Virgil means, they mingle Herbs, or the juices of Herbs of a venomous nature, and mutter Charms over them, as Witches are supposed to do, And Virgil makes his to do in his Pharmaceutria— The Fate of Envied Orphans would procure— I think, those are not called Orphans, who have Fathers alive; but Stepmother's commonly are most spiteful against such.  
Mr. D. here ascribes that to the Flowers, 
Ver. 183.  which Virgil ascribes to the Leaves, and takes no notice at all of them.  
With which the Medes to labouring Age bequeath new Lungs. 
Ver. 185.  I doubt, Mr. D's mistaken here, and that no recipe can make new Lungs, and perhaps, shortness of Breath mayn't always rise from the Corruption of them.  

Ver. 191.  Nor any Foreign Earth of greater name— An impertinent Addition, for Rhymes sake.  

Ver. 200.  The warrior Horse here bred, is taught to train. Virgil says nothing of that, but that the warlike Horse runs at liberty about the Fields,  

Ver. 202. — Whose waves— prepares. False Grammar only for Rhyme.  

Ver. 210. — Or is, when known, refused— This, with the preceding verse, is either No sense, or no English.  

Ver. 212.  Or raised on such a spiry volume ride— Is nonsensical fustian; and ver. 215, 17, 22. Hills that— Seas that— Mound that— For which, but there's nothing commoner than this false Construction, as has been observed before.  

Ver. 214.  Their costly labour, and stupendous frame. What does Mr. D. mean by the stupendous frames of Cities and their costly Labour? Virgil by the operum laborem, means their vast Amphitheatres theatres, Guglia's. Aqueducts, and the like Public, Magnificent, or useful Works.  

Ver. 217.  Our twofold Seas— Is a very odd Phrase; we talk of our four Seas, but few would call them fourfold Seas, unless they were Seas of fire, Air, Earth and Water, or however, consisting of different Materials— The rest is Apocryphal.  

Ver. 228.  For veins of Silver, and for Ore of Gold— But why were the veins of Brass forgotten?  

Ver. 236. — And greater Scipio 's double Name. This is another of the Elegantiae Drydenianae, and perhaps, may have some meaning in it; but it lies very deep.  
— Their fertility. 
Ver. 248.  Instead of, What kind of Trees their Nature will best agree with.  
Yet this suffices the Palladian Plant. 
Ver. 252.  Here Virgil honestly names the Olive Tree, that his Readers might know his meaning; but Mr. D's Prudence, has left his learned Gardener to find out, if he can, what the Palladian Plant is Virgil too says the Grounds above named delight in Olive Woods, as being the best for that use; our Translator, it suffices, it makes a sorry shift, or will serve with much ado; and a Soil which wants all Succour, is a very perspicuous expression.  
— Wild Olive shoots— Seedlings are never called Shoots by learned gardiner's. 
Ver. 254.   
Then when the bloated Tuscan blows his Horn, 
Ver. 268.  And reeking Entrails are in Chargers born. Here's somewhat of the Horn sticks in Mr. D's Head, which his Author has not the least hint of. The Tuscans used to play on their Pipes, it may be, what we call Flageolets, at the time of Sacrificing, their Pipes were made either of Box or Ivory; but, we don't use to talk of Ivory Horns nor Boxes Horns; but perhaps, he read for want of his Spectacles, in some Commentator, Tubicen, for Tibicen— Reeking Entrails, are such as are newly taken out of the Belly of a Beast just killed; but Virgil speaks of fumantia exta— Smoking Entrails, or such as have been just boiled, and come off the fire, and from thence, are returned to the Altar.  

Ver. 271.  Or Goats that, for which, graze the Field, and burn it bare. Ridiculous, and quite beside Virgil's purpose, who reflects not on the Goats, as burning up the Fields, for then, no Pasture would be fit for them, but as mischievous to all manner of Trees, where they can come at their Barks, for their bite kills the Trees; which, though the Latins may express by Uro, is not well interpreted by burning with us.  

Ver. 274. — Swans sail down the watery Road. A choice Phrase, above Virgil's reach!  

Ver. 276.  There Crystal Streams perpetual tenor keep— Perpetual tenor, is a choice Phrase too, and used, as I remember, by Mr. D. in the beginning of Ovid's Metamorphosis, and there with as little sense as here.  

Ver. 278.  For what the Day devours, the Nightly Due Shall to the Morn in Pearly drops renew— A very pleasant mistake! Virgil commends the Fertility of the Mantuan Plains, because the Grass grows so fast, that what the Flocks had eaten down by Day, would by the next Morning, by assistance of the Night's moisture, be grown as high again as it was before. Mr. D. thinks that as much as the Sun should waste the Springs by Day, the Night Dew should make up again by Morning; which is an evidence of a very quick Apprehension.  

Ver. 282.  For Ploughing is an imitative toil, Resembling Nature in an easy Soil. Is an admirable elucidation of Virgil's sense; that by Ploughing, we imitate Nature, i. e. endeavour to make some Lands mellow, as she has done others.  
Scarce dewy Beverage for the Bees provides. 
Ver. 294.  Ruaeus, and reason shows, that Virgil by Rorem, meant not Dew, but Rosemarine, meaning such poor Land scarce bears so much as Flowers for the Bees to suck on.  
— The Food of Snakes. 
Ver. 295.  That's not the meaning of Nigris exesa Chelydris Creta— But that Chalky Ground is often pierced full of holes by Water and other Snakes, which Holes they make not for Food, but for Lodging; but Mr. D. speaks as if the crumbling Stones too, which, yet would prove but a hard Diet, were Snakes meat. 
Ver. 306.   
Such large increase Vesuvian Nola yields. Mr. D. it seems, was resolved to cross his Author, and to give Nola a place where Agellius, ridiculously tells us, Virgil had dashed it out; this is certainly, not doing right to him; but one comfort is, Mr. D. has made it Nonsense, for it was not Nola, but the Field about Nola, which yielded the large increase, and Virgil teaches him to speak so, in the beginning of the same verse.  
And such a Country could Acerra boast, 
Ver. 307.  Till Clanius overflowed th' unhappy Coast— No, the overflowing of Clanius made the Soil rich, and the richer it was, yet the more it endangered Acerra with its Inundations.  
I teach the next, 
Ver. 309.  etc. Here Mr. D. contracts four admirable lines of Virgil into two, and scarce sense of his own, which, I'd rather Translate thus; 
Of Moulds I'll now the various temper show,  
If you the heavy or the light would know,  
That for your Bread's the best, and this for Wine,  
Corn loves the heavy, but the light the Vine.   

Ver. 318. — If sullen Earth repines Within its native Mansion to retire, And stays without a heap of heavy mire, Is a mere heap of absurdities; the first Periphrasis an obscure Version of Virgil's clean Expressions. But suppose the Earth dug out of a Hole won't go all in again, but makes a little rising, must that needs be mire? Mire commonly lies in Holes, not on Hills, unless in London-streets, by the assistance of the Scavenger.  

Ver. 327.  This truth by sure experiment is tried— What truth does Mr. Translator mean here? That salt Earth is neither fit for Vines nor Corn— Virgil says nothing to that purpose, nor can any of the Experiments he mentions, declare that; the Poet only shows how, or by what Signs you may distinguish salt and ill tempered Earth from other kinds; and perhaps, our Salt-Petre-Men, and their method of working is the best Comment on Virgil's discourse.  

Ver. 329. — Such toiling Peasants twine When through straight passages they strain their Wine. Here we should have a Poeta loquitur, meaning Mr. Bays, for his Author always talks more to purpose; however, the Idea is fine, and those who cure the Wines in France, or elsewhere, will edify much by it.  
In this close Vessel— I believe this is the first time that ever a Colendar was called a close vessel; 
Ver. 331.  the good Woman when she took the Colendar for the Chamber-pot, would have been glad to have found it so. But why should salt Land be called accursed, unless Mr. D. thinks there was no salt Ground, but what was about the Dead Sea? Beside, salt Marshes are often very fruitful, and though not so good for Corn, excellent for Pasturage, therefore not accursed.  
And by the bitter taste, 
Ver. 334.  etc. A wretched Version of Two of Virgil's excellent lines!  
— The meager kind— Is a new Epithet for a poor soil, 
Ver. 336.  and all poor soil won't crumble into dust, therefore Virgil talks not of it.  
The heavier Earth is by her weight betrayed, 
Ver. 343.  The lighter in the poising hand is weighed— The first line is truth, the second, Nonsense. Had Mr. D. said, Light Earth and heavy, are by weight betrayed, though betrayed be but a scurvy word, it had been Virgil's sense; but we had wanted the fine Rhyme tagged too it.  
With furrows deep which cast a rising Mound— Is a verse with no meaning in it, 
Ver. 353.  much less Virgil's, whose advice here is, to fix your Vineyards on the side of Hills, and to open them with trenches, for the better mellowing of the Soil for the future Plantation  
The Clods exposed to winter winds will bake— Well, 
Ver. 354.  but baking is the way to prevent Putrefaction or mellowing, and consequently, to spoil the Ground.  

Ver. 366.  So strong is Custom, such Effects can use In tender Souls of pliant Plants produce. How soft are the Expressions; and how supra Maronian the figures! But what effects does he mean? for preparing a Nursery of an Homogemeal Nature, and planting 'em in a parallel to their Original situation, are the effects of Care, not of Custom. Virgil's true sense is not to be understood Morally, but Physically, and amounts to this, So much of advantage arises from keeping Plants still to the same usage they met with, when they were young and tender, which, neither Mr. D. nor his Commentators have hit on.  

Ver. 368.  Choose next a Province for thy Vineyards reign, etc. Mere fustian, therefore, be sure, none of Virgil's, who, only bids his Farmer see whether the Hills or the Plains are like to agree best with the designed Vineyard; for, though Virgil recommends the sides, as the most Eligible where their situation's good, yet if the sides of Hills in my Ground lie exposed to blasting or pinching Winds, and a falling Sun, I must be content with a Vineyard on the flat, as more likely to do well than the former.  

Ver. 374.  Extend thy loose Battalions, etc. Here Mr. D. like one of the Forlorn-hope, is running upon the Enemy at random, and spoiling a beautiful Similitude, by beginning it before the time; and yet, what he puts in front, has no kind of Cohaerence with that of Virgil, which follows, after; Virgil shows the Quincuncial Order, some think the Square two, as the best to Plant the Ordines, 
See Lipsius de Militiâ Romanâ. L. 4. Dial. 1. where he descants on these very lines of Virgil.  or Rows of Vines in, on Hill sides; but how either one or other can be picked out of Mr. D's jargonry, no body can find.  
And move to meet their Foes— Here Mr. D. will, 
Ver. 380.  as usual, be wiser than his Author. Virgil shows us an Army Embattled standing still, and facing the Enemy, whose posture then, resembles that which he would have Vines Planted in; but I believe Mr. D. never heard of a Vineyard moving, though he may of Macduff's besieging Dunsinnane Castle, or of the Kentish Parade, to meet William the Conqueror.  
And equal Mars, 
Ver. 384.  like an impartial Lord, Leaves all to fortune, and the dint of Sword. Is by no means Virgil's sense, which, perhaps, may be better expressed thus; 
As when Embattled Troops expect a Charge,  
And the Battalions all their Fronts enlarge;  
Stand to their Arms, and with a Martial Grace,  
In Ranks unmoved th' opposing Army face,  
While yet, they for the fatal Signal stay,  
And waving Arms the glittering Fields display;  
And fickle Mars to neither part retains,  
But hovers dubious o'er the dreadful Plains;  
So let your Vines at equal distance stand,  
Not that your Eye the Prospect may command▪  
But that each Plant alike may taste the Ground,  
And freely throw their spreading Branches round.  Which lines, if I'm not too much mistaken, give us a much fairer view of the Poet's meaning, than Mr. D's tedious and impertinent Paraphrase.  

Ver. 389.  That their extremest lines may scarce embrace, Is inexplicable Nonsense.  

Ver. 392.  But for the Ground itself this only way— Instead of, For that, without which its false English, with which, it's like R. Wisdom's strains.  

Ver. 397.  Not to the rest of Plants— Plants comprehend all things growing from the Ground, even Roots and Flowers; but Virgil plainly distinguishes between Vines and Trees, as if the former were only to be reckoned among Shrubs So that Mr. D's Translation's only a proof of his Ignorance.  

Ver. 400.  And next the lower Skies a Bed profound. Whether Nebuchadnezzar's Tree was the Aeschylus, or any kind of Oak, I know not; but this which Mr. D. describes, and which his Author would have been scared at the thoughts of, must be at least as high as that he dreams of; for the lower Skies must be those over the Heads of our Antipodes; but if the Roots of Mr. D's Oak must reach next those Skies, they must strike thro', and beyond the Centre at least, and that's a great way, and very answerable to a Tree, whose top reaches up to Heaven, without a figure.  
And Lives of mortal Men contend in vain— With what? 
Ver. 406.  Where's the sense and Grammar of this line? Or where can Mr. D. find a Parallel expression?  
Full in the midst of his own strength, 
Ver. 407.  etc. is all fustian, absurd figures, neither suitable to Virgil's Character nor sense. What if this whole Sentence were Translated thus?  
If you how deep to plant your vines would know,  
Vines, though but shallow set, will kindly grow:  
But solid Trees a deeper Graft require;  
So the huge Oak, whose scaring tops aspire  
To touch the Clouds, with taper Roots will go  
Downward as deep, to reach the shades below.  
Hence it unshocked with Winter storms remains,  
Or sudden Whirlwinds, or impetuous Rains;  
Outlasts a tedious Course of Humane Lives,  
And a long long Posterity survives;  
Spreads out its Boughs, and mighty Arms around,  
The Father Trunk itself, with a vast Ombrage crowned.  
Nor Prune with blunted Knife the Progeny— Of what? 
Ver. 413.  Or who ever, before our Translator, called the Suckers of a Vine, the Progeny? Or used that word absolutely? And who could pick out Virgil's meaning from this Translation? Which, advises the Farmer to take his Layers neither from among the top Branches of the Vine, nor from among the lower Suckers, but from the middle Branches, which are the strongest, and the best; but not to hurt them with a blunt Knife, when he lays them; which, by the way, shows what Virgil meant by his Malâ falce. Eclog. 3. ver. 10.  

Ver. 415.  For sparkling fire from Hinds unwary Hands, Is often scattered o'er their unctuous Rinds. How was it possible Mr. D. should stumble upon so absurd a Fancy? Or why should— sub Cartice— signify, o'er the Rinds? But was it ever known, that Farmers planted wild Olives among their vines, and scattered fire among 'em, which presently set the green Trees a blazing? Or did Virgil's Farmers take Tobacco, from which, we know what mischiefs have sometimes happened? Or did the Link-Boys of those days knock their Links against the Olive Trees, and so set them on fire? Had but Mr. D. looked a little into his Commentators, he'd have found there, a Quotation from Aristotle de Coelo, l. 2. and Thucydides, l. 2. and from his Friend Lucretius, lib. 5. which would have taught him, that Trees by rubbing one against another in a wind, have been set afire, which must lurk under the Bark, by the galling of which it's raised, for a while, till it breaks out by the continual agitation of the wind, and spreads ruins among the Trees; and this is what Virgil meant and forewarned his Farmers of.  

Ver. 419. — It crackles in the leaves— In other places, Mr. Translator out- rants his Author, and loads us with bombastic stuff; here he dwindles into nothing, and talks of crackling in the leaves, where Virgil, who knew how to soar in season, tells us of the Flame— Frondes elapsus in altas Ingentem caelo sonitum dedit. As creeping and insipid are his next lines.  
Of the long Files destroys the beauteous Form— Here Mr. D's gotten again into his Ranks and Files, 
Ver. 423.  where no Soldiers are permitted to straggle from their Band, so fond is he of a silly Thought, and of Burlesquing his Author.  
But the wild Olive shoots, 
Ver. 427.  and shades the ingrateful Plain— A Plain than it must be, whether the Vineyard be on a Hill-side or in a Bottom; take the whole Sentence thus Translated: 
Let not your Vineyards face the falling Sun,  
Nor sow rough Hazles where your Vines should run;  
Nor take the utmost Tendrils of the Vine,  
And the poor Suckers from the Roots decline▪  
But draw your Layers from the Trunk below,  
Those soon familiar with the Soil will grow:  
But ne'er with rough-edged Knives the Branches wound,  
Nor let wild Olive Plants infect the Ground.  
Oft, when their Work the thoughtless Farmer's leave,  
Their fretting Boughs an inward Fire conceive,  
Which, hugged beneath the Oily Rind, grows strong,  
And grasps the Body as it creeps along,  
Till mounting through the crackling Leaves, at last  
The flame breaks upward with a thundering Blast.  
Feeds on the Boughs, the lofty tops commands,  
While wrapped in flames the blazing Forest stands,  
And hurls dark Clouds of Smoke against the Skies;  
But chiefly, if a sudden Tempest rise,  
Break on the Woods, and every blast engage  
To add new furies to the Conqueror's rage.  
Thus should a Vineyard fall, the Sapless Roots  
No more could flourish with their former Shoots;  
No Pruner's Art could make the Branches rise,  
Nor could the Soil advance the like supplies,  
But self-sown bitter Olives soon would reign  
O'er all the Vineyard, and their Ground maintain.   
This, whatever the Verse may be, I'm sure's more agreeable to Virgil's sense than Mr. D's.  

Ver. 430.  When Winter Frosts constrain the Field with cold, The fainty Roots can take no steady hold— This I'm certain does not grow out of Virgil. To constrain the Field, is Nonsense; and Virgil talks not of the faintness of the Roots, but the hardness of the Ground.  

Ver. 432.  But when the Golden Spring reveals the Year. Ver Rubens is not the Golden Spring; and to reveal the Year, is Nonsense.  

Ver. 437.  Or Capricorn admits the Winter's Sun— is mere stuff, and not related to Virgil.  

Ver. 439.  The Womb of Earth the Genial Seed receives— It had been better to have said, Then Earth's rich Womb, etc. but receives, is not the sense of poscunt; and if Mr. D. does not, I do know that ask and receiving are two things.  
And mixing his large Limbs with hers— gives us a very strange Idea of Almighty jove. 
Ver. 442.  When Metamorphosed for an Amour, he might have well-set Limbs; but, when he influences the Earth, the figure's ridiculous.  
— The Western Spirit— for Tepentes aurae Zephyri, 
Ver. 447.  as if Spirits were only Airy Bodies, which, perhaps, may be the Translator's Philosophy; or as if Aura signified Spirit, or Spirit were a fine way of expressing the Morning Air or Wind.  
And on the Faith of the new Sun relies. 
Ver. 452.  Virgil speaks somewhat toward this, concerning the Grass; Mr. D. will mend him, by applying it to the Vines; but his Fancy adds no great Beauty to his Author— Nec metuit surgentes pampinus Austros, Aut actum coelo magnis Aquilonibus imbrem, were beneath Mr. D's regards— or the swerving Vines on the tall Elms prevail, quite bewildered me; but if Mr. D. means the Vines crept up the tall Elms, then it's plain they did not swerve. However, the Phrase is delicate.  
They spread their Gems the genial warmth to share, 
Ver. 455.  And boldly trust their Buds in open Air— Gems, as Mr. D. calls 'em, are Buds, or those little round Puts on the Vine which shoot into Branches; the Frondes are the leaves afterwards rising from those Branches.  
In this soft Season, &c is so perverse a Translation, 
Ver. 457.  as his own Mac-flecno would scarce have been guilty of; but by Translating Crediderim in Virgil, by, so sweet Poets sing, seems to intiate, that he'd have every body believe what he writes, since he has set up for a sweet-singer— In prime of all the Year, and holiday of Spring— is unintelligible Fustian. From hence to the 474 Verse, he comes no nearer Virgil, than a Colt would do to a windmill; but his observation, That Man at the first Creation, was made of Stones, (from whence, Virgil had good reason to call him Ferrea Progenies,) is an Original.  

Ver. 475. — And dung with hot Manure— An admirable Hypallage for Manure with hot dung.  

Ver. 476.  These 4 lines would move a Stoick's Spleen. Virgil bids his Farmer lay Stones, or Shells in the Ground about the Roots of his Trees, that by their hollowness the water may the more easily moisten the Roots, and invigorate the Plants, All which, is an Operation under ground. Mr. D. supposes it would rise in Dews from among the stones to water the Shoots above ground, which is a very fine Speculation, and I hope, our great Planters will thank him for it.  

Ver. 492. — To raise their forky Head, for Heads is false English; and to set it off the better, Virgil by Furcas bicornes, means forked Poles, or Crotches to support the Vines. Mr. D. thought the Vines themselves, had forked Heads, which argued a very clear Apprehension. The same good English he gives us again, l. 498. While they spread Their springing Leaves, and lift their Infant Head.  

Ver. 500 — Childhood and Nursling, are Boyish Figures when applied to Plants. Nor exercise thy Rage on newborn Life; silly and impertinent.  
— Crop luxuriant stragglers, 
Ver. 504.  nor be loath To strip the Branches of their Leafy growth. Virgil only means, If the Leaves be too thick within, and hinder the Sun, and Air's influence too much, you must not cut the inner Branches with the Knife, but thin the Leaves with your Hand; which I could never have found out by Mr. D's Version.  
— Disobedient Boughs— Beyond their Ranks— The Lawless Troops which Discipline disclaim, 
Ver. 507, 8, 9  don't grow out of Virgil, but out of a shallow Brain.  
Virgil talks of his Indignae Hyemes; 
Ver. 517.  Mr. D's Noddle runs upon unworthy Browse, far enough from the Poet's meaning.  
Nor Dog-days parching Heat, 
Ver. 520.  which splits the Rocks— is a new Thought, and far above Virgil's reach.  
When Earthen Images adorn the Pine, 
Ver. 536.  And there are hung on high, in Honour of the Vine— I hope, none will think this is the meaning of Virgil's Oscilla ex altâ suspendunt mollia pinu. Nor can I agree with Ruaeus' Interpreting Oscilla, by little Earthen Images; since the mollia are an odd Epithet for them, nor is there any reason to understand Mobilia by Mollia, the Translation's too Catechrestical; but Mollia Oscilla seem to be Effeminate disguises, or Masques, which, after their ridiculous Bacchanalian Mummeries, they hung up in remembrance of those Games, wherein, they used such looseness. Whereas, as Mr. D. goes on at ver 540. to Translate, as if the Images of Bacchus were hung up like Kings-Fishers in Country Kitchins, to show which way the wind sits; were it true, the Wind would turn the Pendulous Image every way, and every Field by that means, would be blest. But Virgil means, that which way soever the God himself, not his little Image, turns his jolly Countenance, or nods his Head in token of Favour, (which Favour was only attainable by offering the appointed Sacrifices at the appointed time) there the Vineyards would thrive and multiply.  

Ver. 546.  Whose offered Entrails shall his Crime reproach, And drop their fatness from the Hazle broach— is very obscure, and not the English of Pinguiaque in verubus torrebimus exta colurnis; where, pinguia exta shows the goodness required in the Sacrifice, that it should be well fed, and the Entrails white, but if the fat were never so little, when roasted on the Hazle Spit, or broiled on the Broach, (to humour the Translator) it might drip away.  

Ver. 550.  For thrice at least in compass of the Year Thy Vineyard must employ the sturdy Steer— Mistake upon mistake! Virgil does not say, thrice at least, but, very often; so terque quaterque, signifies as every Schoolboy knows; nor must Steers be brought in to Plough among well rooted Vines; but the Ground must be dug with broad-tined Forks, to prevent hurting the Vine Roots, and must be carefully stirred, to mellow the soil, and to give the Root-Fibres liberty.  
— The Leaves to thin that (for which) suck the vital moisture of the Vine. 
Ver. 555.  Not at all, but to give the Clusters Air to ripen.  
— In the lowest Months, 
Ver. 558.  when Storms have shed From Vines the hairy honours of their Head— What are the lowest Months! Or in what Country is that Phrase used? I thought too the Vines, not the Storms, had shed their Leaves; their Head is false English, and, pray, what are the Hairy honours of the Vines Head? At this rate, I'm afraid, Sylvester's woods Periwiged with Snow, must be no more Fustian.  
— To commend excess, 
Ver. 570.  is absurd, and not countenanced by his Author, in the least.  
— The Shrubs of prickly Thorn, 
Ver. 572.  suppose it sense, are very unfit to bind Vines with. But Butcher's Broom is used in Italy, 
V. Raij Hist. Plant. l. 13. c. 12.  and very fit for that work, it growing Densis viminibus, lentis, fractuque contumacibus, etc.  
Nor when thy tender Trees at length are bound, 
Ver. 576.  is the third Rhyme, but neither ends the sense, nor the Period; nor does ver. 579. do it.  
Insulting o'er the toils, 
Ver. 581, 4.  etc. An absurd Phrase, and not growing out of Virgil; and their joys are unsincere; false, for any Man's joys may be very hearty and real for what's past, though he have a return of work afterwards.  
— But fixed below Rejoice in open air, 
Ver. 588.  and unconcernedly grow— Quite beside his Author's sense, who only asserts, Olive Trees are very hardy when they have drawn good Root, and are used to, or seasoned in the weather.  

Ver. 593.  Soft Peace they figure, and sweet Plenty bring— is none of Virgil's sense. Hoc pinguem & placitam paci nutritor olivam. i e. Therefore plant the fat Olive, which is the Emblem of Peace, indeed, but not of Plenty, nor do those things always go together, nor does Virgil teach any here to sing Hymns to Pallas.  

Ver. 599.  Till with the ruddy freight the bending Branches groan. The precedent lines are but so many mistakes of his Author; and this line he applies to Apple Trees, which Virgil applies to those, which Mr. D. very Elegantly calls Trees of Nature.  

Ver. 602.  Vile Shrubs are shorn for browse— is very pleasant; what Virgil calls elsewhere, Florentem cytisum, can't be so very vile a Shrub; but why shorn or cut for browse, for so Ru●eus Interprets tondentur? cattle browse on the tender twigs when growing, If those Shoots are cut off, there's no browzing for them, nor is it browzing to eat 'em when cut off, if they could, any more than to eat Hay is grazing.  

Ver. 603. — The towering height Of Unctucus Trees are Torches for the Night. A very fine Periphrasis for tall Trees afford Flambeaux Staves, and maintain Fires in the Night, and give light. By Mr. D's way of expressing it, a Man would think his Unctuous Trees were made natural Beacons, and fired as they grew, to make Illuminations; and the towering height— are— is very good English.  

Ver. 614.  Narycian Woods of Pitch— Tho Virgil might call them, Picis lucos; yet his Interpreter should have called 'em Fir, or Pitch Trees; a Wood or Grove of Pitch or Rosin, sounds very oddly in English.— Whose gloomy shade Is for retreat of thoughtful Muses made— is an impertinent flourish of the Translator.  
Even cold Caucasean Rocks with Trees are spread, 
Ver. 618.  And wear green Forests on their hilly Head— is to explain Virgil's words, Barren Woods, or Woods without Fruit grow on the top of Caucasus, and their Head is exquisite Grammar.  
Tho shent their Leaves— What's the English of that? 
Ver. 621.  Our Western People when they say, We shall be shent, mean, They shall be chidden; but what means Mr. D.?  
Cypress provides for Spokes and Wheels for Wains— I wonder in what Country? 
Ver. 624.  Or how the Translator came to think his Author talked so? For, he says, The Woods in general afforded such; but Cedars and Cypresses were for wainscoting, and ceiling Houses; nor are all kinds of Wood for Keels of Ships, as any Shipwright will inform him; so Myrtles and Cornels both make javelins or Spears, not Shafts or Arrows, light Wood making them best. And Yeagh and Bow, is just Brains and Stairs; and it may be Kerve, v. 632. is but a new fangled word; though we know there is a Kerf made in sawing Timber.  
Wine urged to lawless Lusts the Centauris train— I find then the Lapitha are out of Mr. D's favour, 
Ver. 627.  sure they were Williamites, and therefore forgotten; but Virgil and Ovid, both remember them, as concerned as far as the other in Pirithous's wedding-feast, and the unhappy Consequences.  

Ver. 647, 8, 9, 50.  These four lines are all spurious, Excrescences of the Translator's Brain, and as just as his Thoughts commonly are. The Giants at Guild-Hall, doubtless, put him in mind of his threatening Statues, unless he Dreamt of those which came to supper with Don juan, in the Libertine. His Persian Arras is very acquaint too; and, I suppose, the Town of Arras, since our late Wars, has taken shelter under the Wings of Casbeen, or Ispahan; or it may be, Babylon was the Ancient Name of Arras; for I'm sure, Mr. D. had some reason for that Epithet, and the rest is as plain as the Nose on a Man's Face, that in Persian Arras— Vests thro' their shady Fold, good Grammar again! Betray the streaks of ill dissembled Gold. This had certainly turned my Stomach, but, that reading Mr. Cowley's admirable Paraphrase on this Encomium of the Country Life, settled my brain again, and made me sleep without the trouble of the Night Mare. I pass by his foolish Alteration of Virgil's whole Scheme.  

Ver. 659.60.  Unvexed with Quarrels— This is an impertinent tautology; we had it in 640 before, and Virgil gives us nothing like it.  

Ver. 671.  From hence, Astraea took her flight, and here The prints of her departing steps appear— This was stolen from Mr. Cowley, and therefore, good.  
— Free from Cares and Strife— The same ungrounded tautology again. 
Ver. 686.   
Nor, 
Ver. 707.  when contending Kindred tear the Crown, Will set up one, or pull another down— But a Republican will pull both down; and of such, we have now, too many.  
The Senate's mad Decrees he never saw— This is a Flirt at our Parliaments too, 
Ver. 718.  and should the Reflection be just, it's besides his Text quite; the Populi Tabularia were the Chancery Court, and the Rolls, where, what we seek for, I fear to no purpose, a public Registry of Lands, etc. was kept.  
With Wars and Taxes others wast their own— Still girding at the Public Management; 
Ver. 727.  and yet, not unwilling that the French King, while he kept his Honour, should have put the three Kingdoms to greater Charges.  
I● an extravagant Paraphrase, 
Ver. 745, 53.  of two full lines, and not at all the advantage of the sense; besides, the transposition of the Original's beautiful Order.  
The Vines liquid Harvest Baked in the Sunshine of ascending Fields— whatever Retrospect the Translator may pretend to, 
Ver. 753.  is Fustian Nonsense.  
And winter fruits are mellowed in the frosts— is a new discovery, 
Ver. 758.  and the Farmer commonly takes care to prevent the frosts affecting his fruit, for rottenness, not a grateful mellowness, commonly succeeds it.  
— Kids with budding Horns prepared— is an elegancy, 
Ver. 765.  Valla or Buc●●● were never acquainted with; such another is that 772. The Herdsmen provoke his Health, i. e. they drink his Health in a round.  

Ver. 773.  The Groom his fellow Groom at Butts defies, And bends his Bow, and levels with his Eyes. As this shows Mr D. a complete Archer, so it's a very good Account of shooting at a Prize fixed on the top of a Pole, which Virgil speaks of only, which he mentions again, at the Funeral Games for Anchises, and which, several Nations practice to this Day; we may be satisfied by this, that Mr. D's sometimes very cautious, and will not Altum sapere.  

Ver. 779. — From whom the austere Hetrurian virtue rose— What, from Romulus and Remus? that's new! It's true, Mr. D. out of his vast unknown Treasury, sometimes furnishes us with an odd piece of Antiquity, very great, and very surprising. It's the extreme unhappiness of Graevius and Gr●novius, that they're unacquainted with him.  
This Description of the Country Life, is Mr. D's Masterpiece, or at least, the most pardonable of any thing we have met with yet; but whosoever reads the Original, and Mr. Cowley's Translation, and this together, will easily find the difference between Tissue and Tinsel, the plain, unaffectedly clear Sense of Mr. Cowley, and the glaring, taudry, superficial Dress of Mr. Dryden. One understood, and studied his Author, and by a strange Sympathy of Humour, Copied him justly; the other, had little of Virgil's Genius, and only studied himself, and therefore wrote like himself, and almost, has lost the Character of his incomparable, pretended Master.   

BOOK III. Of the GEORGICS.  
WE are now entering a new Field, and examining a piece of Mr. D's Younger Labours, where to spare our own trouble, and the Reader's expense, our Observations will be fewer, whether his faults be so or not. Mr. D. ought to look for more severity than other Men, since he values himself above all Mankind, and is the most unmerciful in his own Reflections on others; which, considering his own obnoxious State, and how little he was able formerly, when his Blood ran high, to defend himself against Mr. Settle, was extreme Imprudence; but we lie open to his Exceptions too, and therefore, need not beg any Pardon.  
Where cooling Streams invite the Flocks to drink— Is a Patch on a Face which needed it not; 
Ver. 21.  Virgil thought not of it, no more than of that impertinent Parenthesis. Ver. 26.  
A Hundred Coursers from the Goal will drive— Read your Author again, 
Ver. 27.  good Mr. D. and count upon your Fingers, and see if Centum quadrijugi currus, are not drawn by above 100 Horses; for Coursers, is a very senseless word there. I'm almost certain, those words could not mean single Horse Caleshes; but, so I remember, some positive Pedants have thought a Hecatomb was but 25 Oxen, but they had some reason, for 25 Oxen might have a 100 feet among them.  

Ver. 31. — Shall be reserved for Caesar, and Ordained by Me— is quite beside the Cushion.  

Ver. 37.  From thence return attended with my train— Thank you, good john Hopkins!  

Ver. 40.  And show their Triumph which their shame displays— Speaking of the Britons, whom Mr. D. very learnedly calls Britain's, as if it had been so great a shame for a little Island, under a great many petty Kings of different Interests, to be worsted by the Veterane united Armies of the Roman Empire; or as if solido Elephanto in Latin, were intelligibly Translated by simple Elephant in English.  

Ver. 44.  His shattered Ships on brazen Pillars ride— Very well guessed however, and a clear Evidence how one Poet understands another by Inspiration. Virgil promises, in a fit of Poetic Grandeur, that he'll erect lofty Pillars, cast of the brazen Beaks of Ships, taken from the Egyptians, alluding to the four brazen Pillars so cast by Augustus' Orders, after the Reduction of Egypt. And has not Mr. D. given this sense very clearly? Nor, does he show less discretion in talking of Niphates with inverted Urn, and dropping Sedge; when Virgil talks of the same Mountain, which Horace, on a like occasion, calls rigidum Niphaten, which Epithet, though there is a River of the same name, and rising, as they say, out of that very Mountain, can properly be applied only to such a Mountain, as that part of the Taurus, which is so called is.  
With backward Bows the Parthians shall be there, 
Ver. 48.  Virgil's sense is, The Parthians shall be represented there, who confide in their flight, and in their way of shooting backward, which is just the same. So immediately, he makes Augustus' two Trophies to be recovered from Europe and Afric, which really were meant from Asia and Britain; which argues good skill in Geography. But neither Shore his Conquests shall confine; is an absurd addition; but above all, for clean Paraphrase, and Noble Figures, the next six lines are Non-pareils, unless equalled by the closeness of the six following.  
Come then, 
Ver. 71.  and with thyself thy Genius bring— as if en age segnes Rumpe moras, were spoken to Maecenas, which is only applicable to his own Muse.  
Sour Headed, strongly Necked— Virgil says, 
Ver. 88  big Headed, and long Necked, but so small a difference breaks no squares; but, I suppose, he was thinking of the Manchegan Hero's Triumphal Cage, drawn A la mode d' Espagne, when he would have the Cow's strong Necked for the Yoke. But what he means by rising in her Gate, and being free from fears, I believe, few Farmers understand, whatever the Ladies may.  
Watch the quick motions of the frisking Tail— that's a new Diagnostic of the Translator's own 
Ver. 105.  Experience; Damaetas thought such a thing an ill Omen.  

Ver. 122. — And prancing in his Gate, for Et mollia crura reponit, nicely Translated! and to tempt the Flood, is a very good English Phrase; but attempt it, had been better. And Argutum Caput, is rather a lean than a sharp Head, if jockeys mistake not.  

Ver. 132. — And trembling with Delight, no, he trembles with Rage, and all his other motions show it; but I'm afraid, the double Chined Horse must be a Monster.  

Ver. 140.  He bears his Rider headlong on the Foe— (to pass the foregoing line,) is the character, not of a Horse well trained for War, and well Man'd, but of a fiery Steed, under a Clinias, or a Damaetas, or a Man of Mr. D 's own Courage; but it's such a Commendation, as Virgil would never have given him, and Virgil's next line, would be enough to confute this Translation.  

Ver. 149. — Saturn turned Horse, etc. Ran up the ridges of the Rocks amain— It was a very strange Beast indeed, and Pacolet's could not have much outdone him; but it's a little unlucky, that Virgil knew not one word of all this. Virgil, good Man! thought that He filled Mount Pelion with his Neighing— Mr. D. says no, it was the Plain, the reason must be, He durst not Neigh as he run up the Rocks, for fear of making a false step, and breaking his Neck. It's a wonder Mother Ops did not discover the Traitor by his strange scampering.  
These are a lewd Illustration of the most modest Expressions of a chaste Poet, 
Ver. 155 60.  who would blush, were he alive again, to see himself Painted in so filthy a Dress.  
The flying Chariot kindles in the Course— is absurd Nonsense; 
Ver. 170.  but instead of farther Criticism on these 12 lines, take them thus; 
Have you not seen, when Chariots lightly wheeled  
Start from their Stands, and rush along the Field.  
How the brisk Drivers pant with Hopes and Fears,  
And each with eager cries his Horses cheers.  
They stretch, and cut, and reach to give the Reins,  
While the hot Axis smokes along the Plains;  
Now they run smooth, now jump, and mounting high,  
Rake thro' the Air, and seem to touch the Sky.  
No stay, nor rest! while Sandy Tempests rise,  
And they who strain, the foremost toward the Prize  
Grow wet with Foam, and Breath of those behind,  
Such eager thirst of Praise inflames the meanest Mind.   
To stop, 
Ver. 183, 4  to fly, the Rules of War to know, To obey the Rider, and to dare the Foe— The Lapithae were fine Gentlemen, and Mr. D. an excellent Panegyrist; but these excellencies are wholly new Discoveries, which, Virgil not knowing of, would sooner have ascribed to the Centauris, than the Lapithae. The next four lines are strangely wide from the Text.  

Ver. 207.  For all's too little for the craving kind— is so lewd an illation, and this whole Period is so scandalously Translated, and beside his Author, as might justly strike the Book out of every modest Hand.  

Ver. 218.  For fear the rankness— etc. here Mr. D's mad after his old Lucretian Episode, and what Virgil expresses with the greatest purity, he vitiates, and makes wholly obscene and detestable, when all Virgil's meaning is only, that the Mare too rank fed, especially with Grass, won't take so well as one dry fed, and in a lower Condition; which every Horse-breeder knows.  

Ver. 231. — Where Nature shall provide green Grass, and fattening Clover— this is somewhat extraordinary in Forests, and what his Author forgot.  

Ver. 235. — With holly green— Virgil says,— ilicibus virentem—  

Ver. 34●.  Tanagrus hastens thence, and leaves his Channels dry— Risum teneatis— Virgil says, The roar of Cattle bitten by the Breeze reaches the very Skies, and makes the woods, and dry banks of Tanagrus, a Winter Torrent, but dry in Summer, Echo again, Mr. D. supposes the Brook runs away frighted at the noise, which is extremely Poetical.  

Ver. 261.  Set him betimes to School, and let him be Instructed in the Rules of Husbandry— these, and the following lines, would put a Man beside all patience; certainly, Mr. D. wanted this care himself; but if Calves must go to School while their Youth is flexible and green, nor have seen the bad Examples of the World; and the stubborn Children must begin to be broke early. St. Francis for my Money! Unless the Translator thinks he can do wonders in the Case.  
Thy flattering Method on the Youth pursue, 
Ver. 270, 5  Joined with his Schoolfellows by two and two— E'er the Licentious Youth be thus restrained, Or Moral Precepts on their Minds have gained— all this of Calves still! Sure, Calves thus Educated, would make excellent Poets; I'm sure some Poets for want of it, have proved mere Brutes,  
Who filled the Pail with Beestning of the Cow— Well remembered again, 
Ver. 288.  Mr. Bays, this comes of not going to School to learn the Country Trade.  
And let him clashing Whips in Stables hear— is beyond question, 
Ver. 292.  the meaning of— Stabulo fraenos audire sonantes. So again,— Et plausae sonitum cervicis amare— Make him understand The loud applauses of his Master's Hand. Is not this, exquisite Interpreting? To which, may be added— Inscius aevi— very well explained— Guiltless of Arms—  
It's an endless work to mark the Absurdities of this Translation, yet, who can forbear observing how Mr. D. Translates— spumas aget ore cruentas—  
Sustains the goring Spurs— but who can 
Ver. 316.  guests why he Translates— Belgica vel molli melius feret esseda collo— Or, bred to Belgian Wagons leads the way, Untired at Night, and cheerful all the Day?  

Ver. 360.  His Horns, yet soar, he tries against a Tree, And Meditates his absent Enemy— is ridiculous Nonsense, and all this Battle of Bulls so impertinently varied from his admirable Author, as if he designed an abuse, not a Translation of him; and though Virgil might say in Latin— Signa movet— meaning,— He marches forward, could any Man of sense remember what he was speaking of, and say, A Bull, single too, moves his Camp? It's a wonderful Honour to our English Tongue, to have a topping Author write thus.  

Ver. 376.  The secret joys, etc.— This, and several following lines show how hard it is for an inveterate Debauchee to be modest, and what care ought to be taken of such as pretend to Translate Latin Authors, who it seems, creep under the shelter of their Author's Names to instill Filthiness, and Obscoenity into the Minds of such who can't command the Originals; the Faults are too many to be noted.  

Ver. 399.  The sleepy Lecher shuts his little Eyes, About his churning Chaps the frothy Bubbles rise— Virgil has nothing like this, and every word in it is ridiculous. The Boar while he's grinding and rooting, can't be very sleepy, Love commonly keeps the Lover awake. Shuts his little Eyes— that is, for Sleeping or Meditation; for why mayn't Boars have as good Morals as the best educated Calves in the World? But the Chaps must churn in the Dream, or else the Pigsnyes must be awake again; and for the frothy bubbles, they must rise from the Churn, and, must needs be extraordinary indications of violent Love. The Sluices of the Sky were open spread— is another very sensible Expression, and much to Virgil's purpose.  
But far above the rest, 
Ver 419.  etc.— here again our Translator runs at random, indulging his own lewd Fancy, and neglecting his Text.  
But when they seem exhausted swell the Pail— Never, 
Ver. 484.  certainly, has any Man met with such Cows and she Goats as Mr. D. Their dugs are inexhaustible, and the least of 'em would almost make a Chedder Cheese at a Meal. But Camelots' made of Goat's hair is a Bull, and neither private Sentinels, nor Mariners are much troubled with Camelot Cloaks.  
In depth of Winter to defend the Snow— is a particular way of speaking, 
Ver. 495.  which Mr. D. much delights in; and to defend the Snow, is indeed, to defend from the Snow, which is a Phrase as clear as the Sun at Midnight.  
— Produce in open Air Both Flocks, 
Ver. 502.  and send 'em to their Summer fare— needs not to be reflected on, but as the English to In saltus utrumque Gregem atque in pascua mittes.  
Before the Sun, 
Ver. 50●.  while Hesperus appears— what can that mean? Hesperus appears presently after Sunset; but that can't be the Poet's meaning, but it's Lucifer, as Virgil calls him, which appears before the Sun in the Morning, and which, follows in the rear of the departing Stars, as Ovid; and while he shines, and before the Sun's up, the Dew lies in deed upon the Grass; but it's plain, Mr. D. knows no difference between the Evening and the Morning Star.  

Ver. 522.  When Linnets fill the Woods, etc. Mr. D. will defend himself here by his Friend Ruaeus, and other Dutch Commentators, yet Servius hints at the Nightingale; and since the Poet is describing the Evening when Linnets are all hushed, Common Sense would have taught him, that Virgil could mean no Bird but the Nightingale, and this, a judicious Translator would easily have observed.  

Ver. 556. — The Ice an Hostry now for Wagons— which, if it answer Virgil's— Hospita Plaustris, is a very considerable Discovery, and is somewhat beyond the Thames, during Blanket Fair; so again,— And thence By weight the solid Portions they dispense, is not Virgil's— Et totae solidam in glaciem vertere lacunae.  

Ver. 566.  The starving Cattle perish in their Stalls— by no means; they are stalled to prevent it, for, there they are warm, and their Keepers find means to give 'em Fodder, though the Snow be very deep.  

Ver. 571. — Or makes a distant War with Dogs— can never be the sense of— non agitant immissis Canibus— Mr. D. here mentions several Implements of Hunting, which Virgil names not, but takes no notice of— Puniceaeve agitant pavidos formidine pinnae— was it because it was insignificant, or because, he really did not understand it?  
— Such are the cold Ryphaean race, 
Ver. 586.  and such The savage Scythian, and Unwarlike Dutch— Pray, what difference must we put between the Ryphaean race and the Scythian, since the Ryphaean Mountains are in Scythia? And what temptation could Mr. D. have, to attack the Dutch in their Winter Quarters? Was it because they are of the same Flegmatic and Unwarlike Temper with himself? Of all Persons, a Roman Writer would never have called the Batavians unwarlike, and they'd rarely mention 'em without Honour. And Mr. D. should have remembered he was now Translating the great Master of Decency among the Romans, and not Advice to a Painter. The Batavians are Celebrated by the Romans, both for their Fidelity, and their Valour. And those who are acquainted with the Story of their Recess from Spain, must own, either that the Spaniards were mere Cowards, and Men of no spirits, or that the Dutch were not so unwarlike as our Malcontent would make 'em. And the Camps of Prince Maurice, and Prince Henry Frederic, were the Schools of Mars, where most of the great Commanders of the last Age were brought up in the Art of War; and perhaps, His present Majesty, the Heir of those Martial Princes, has let the World see that his Countrymen can fight; nor have our Naval Broils proved 'em altogether unwarlike, for it's possible Men may be stout Soldiers, and cunning Merchants at the same time; but however, they must be with our Translator, rude Barbarians, dressed in the skins of Beasts, Bears, and Foxes. I remember Report talked such things of some of that unwarlike Crew who came over with the Prince of Orange, but the same report said they were Swisses and Laplanders, which frighted some very unwarlike People.  

Ver. 608. — And to the Taste restore the savour of the Salt— for Et salis occultum referunt in lacte saporem— Does not such an Interpretation show an extraordinary acumen?  

Ver. 610.  Some, when the Kids the Dams too deeply drain, With Gags and Muzles their soft Mouths restrain— This is Mr. D's sense. Virgil's is, When it's time to wean the Kids, some put a prickly Muzzle on their Noses, which hurting the Dam, she'll let 'em suck no more; but for Gagging 'em, that's a new Device; as new a way of speaking is that of— Pursuing the fear of flying Hares with the cries of Hounds, and To rouse from their Dens the bristled rage of Boars; which, shows too no great skill in Hunting But I must remember, Mr. D. long since, rejected cant Words, and terms of Art.  

Ver. 631. — And shunning Heavens broad Eye, Coelum does not signify that broad thing. But the English Parnassus is a very good help sometimes. And Snakes familiar to the Heath succeed, Disclose their Eggs, and near the Chimney breed— this, beside that superfine Phrase of succeeding to the Hearth— is nihil ad Iphicli boves. I don't remember that the Italians had Chimneys in their neat Houses, nor in their Sheepcoats, nor did they live in Virgil's days, as they had done under the Government of old Satur's beard. 
— Cum frigida parvas  
Praeberet spelunca domos, ignemque laremque  
Et pecus & dominos communi clauderet umbrâ.  juven. satire 6. which Mr. D. thus scantily Translates— 
When in a narrow Cave, their common shade,  
The Sheep, the Shepherds, and their Gods were laid.  And which, was thus paraphrased by a former Hand; 
'Twas when whole Families and Gods were found  
Nestled in little Burrows under ground;  
When Hall and Kitchen were one nasty hole,  
Where Men and Swine in common dirt might roll—  But these Days are now past; and therefore, Mr. D's Version's unseasonable, and childish.  
Or with hard Stones demolish from afar His haughty Crest, 
Ver. 640.  the seat of all the War— is a strange kind of Language; and sure, that demolish is a Cant word, and very oddly applied; but by the seat of all the War, I suppose, Mr. D. means the place where all the danger springs; now that's the Mouth, not the Crest, for, I think, the venom seldom lies there, but about the Teeth; now if the Teeth be demolished, the Adder will soon be Crestfallen, I make no doubt; but what demolishing it means, I confess, I know not; nor do I believe, that when a wounded Adder, or Snake hides his Head— he leaves exposed to blows his Back and battered Sides— any longer than needs must.  
— Forgets to rear The hopes of Poison for the following Year— is all fustian again, 
Ver. 668.  and extravagant; for though the Portuguese Snake may fly off his Nest at a Man, or for thirst may go a great way off, and be very dangerous to all he meets, it does not follow at all, that he must leave his Brood; such a Thought could never have grown out of Virgil, and looks but scurvily now its stuck to him.  

Ver. 673.  When the raw Rain has pierced 'em to the quick, Or searching Frosts have eaten thro' the Skin— where Virgil teaches his Shepherd, that the scab breeds in his Flocks, either in moist slabby weather, or in severe frosts, either of which affect 'em to the quick. But for that, when burning Icicles are lodged within, it's an Original; and if the Court Ladies can't understand it better than your Shepherds and Farmers, it will pass for exquisite Nonsense; however, burning Icicles will always be admired.  

Ver. 681.  And their Flock's Father— his usual Periphrasis for the Ram. Forced from high to leap— false English, and which, that he might have been all of a piece, should have been— whom in Floods they steep— and that had been better Rhyme too— Swims down the Stream, and plunges in the deep— now durst I lay a jacobus, that if the Father of the Flock be forced to leap from high, he'll plunge in the deep before he swims down the Stream— so that this is an egregious Hysteron Proteron. But if Mr. D. stands to see Sheep washed in a River, he'll find they are not only thrown in from high, but that Men are fain to take somewhat more pains with 'em, and if after washing, they are left to swim down the Stream, it's only for a convenient Landing place.  
Virgil's Medicine for the Scab among Sheep, 
Ver. 683.  is a Composition of Lees of Oil, Mercury, Flower of Brimstone, Rosin, Bees-wax, Squills, Helebore; for which, now a-days, they take Tobacco stalks, and Pitch— for these, Mr. D. orders, Mothered Oil, Founts where living Sulphurs boil, The Scum that swims on molten Silver, fat Pitch, black Bitumen, the wanton labour of the Bees, with Hellebore and Squills deep rooted in the Seas— Quaere, who's the better Leech, and more intelligible Author? Add to this,— The secret Vice is fed— for alitur vitium, as if vitium in Latin were of no larger a signification, than vice in English, and you have an excellent Doctor and Interpreter together.  
Virgil for the Fever in Sheep, 
Ver. 700.  advises— Inter ima ferire pedis venam— i. e. says, Servius, to Breath a vein on the top of the Foot, or between the Nails. Mr. D. advises to breathe a vein underneath the Foot, so he construed his Author; but what part of the Hoof, pray, do the veins lie in in Horses, Kine, Goats, or Sheep?  

Ver. 709.  Revenge the Crime, and take the traitor's Head— but, why is it a Crime for a Sheep to be sick? Or how comes the sick Creature to be a Traitor? Or why must he lose his Head? These Questions, I confess, are to me unanswerable, to kill one which is diseased to prevent Contagion, is good, but Shepherds very seldom turn Headsmen. But this agrees well enough with the Nation of Sheep, because Virgil calls 'em gentem, which shows a deep reach; and with the Shepherds happy Reigns— for Regna Pastorum— Dr. Busbie would never have pardoned such Construing.  

Ver. 722. — The dumb Creation— i. e. Trees, unless they happen to be vocal; Earth, unless there be some Aetnaean Rupture in it, Sea, Sky, Stars, yet Virgil talks nothing of these; but Birds and Beasts are not the dumb Creation, unless every thing be so which can't speak with Humane voice. Birds and Beasts have a Language of their own, which they mutually understand, and are as noisy, and as rational too as some Men. Again, whence comes that difference between tame cattle, and the Beasts of Nature? Are tame cattle monsters, or unnatural Products? But this is the jauntee way of writing.  

Ver. 731.  Converting into Bane the kindly juice Ordained by Nature for a better use; is the exact sense of— Omniaque in se ossa minutatim morbo collopsa trahebat.  

Ver. 737. — By the holy Butcher— This becomes Mr. D. and doubtless, is the true English of such a sacerdos as he would have made, had he been admitted, but in it he shows his respect, not to Pagan Priests, whom prehaps, in many cases, it might be proper enough to ridicule, but to all, for with him the Priests of all Religions are the same.  
Or the black Poison stained the sandy Floor— not to take notice of Mr. D's ignorance in Heathen Sacred Rites, 
Ver. 742.  it's plain, he takes jejunâ sanie— to signify black Poison, and he's the first, and I hope, will be the last who understands it so.  
And render their sweet Souls— Dulces Animas— well Construed again! 
Ver. 744.  These, doubtless, were some of those well educated moral Calves, of whom, Mr. D. gave us so fine an account before.  
— And rugged are his Hairs— never was any thing more insipid, 
Ver. 752.  than this Noble part of the III. Georgic, as Mr. D. has given it us; among the rest, he says, rugged are his Hairs. Virgil says, his skin grows hard; which is a very different thing. But it seems, this Distemper sublimes the brutal Nature of the Horse, so as he comes to groan with Manly moans; I suppose, he means moans of such Men as were Originated from Deucalion's Mother's Bowels, which I have shown before, must make 'em of a very soft temper.  
Which timely taken opeed his closing jaws, 
Ver. 764▪  Virgil's sense is, that When this Pestilence first began, a Drench of Wine proved very good for the sick Beast. But the Pest spreading the Disease was altered, and what had been Physic before, now became the grand incentives of the Distemper, adding fury to the inward flame; but he thought nothing of giving the Dose sooner or later, for that made no difference. I wish too, Mr. D. would give us some application of l 768, 9 Ye Gods to better Fate good Men dispose, And turn that impious Error on our Foes; I doubt not, but it will be very diverting.  

Ver. 771.  The Steer studious of Tillage, and the crooked Plough— this too must have come of those Calves of liberal Education, mentioned before.  

Ver. 774.  The Clown who cursing Providence repines— Must every one than who's sad, repine, and curse Providence? It becomes a Republican Atheist well enough, or one who has lost the Bays to do so; but Virgil's Farmers had better Manners.  

Ver. 781.  His Eyes are settled in a stupid Peace— A dull Nonsensical way of saying,— A heavy dulness hangs upon his Eyes.  
Thus have I gone thro' this III. Book, noting a few of almost numberless Faults in English, in sense, in his Author's meaning, and in propriety of Expression; and can't but wonder that any Man, who could not but he Conscious of his own unfitness for it, should go to amuse the learned World with such an undertaking. A Man ought to value his Reputation more than his Money, and not to hope, that those, who can read for themselves, will be imposed upon, merely by a Partially, and unseasonably celebrated Name.   

BOOK IV. Of the GEORGICS.  
THis again is one of Mr. D's laboured Pieces, and which, he values himself upon, where, if I meet with fewer blunders, I shall be very glad for his, and for the Readers, and for my own sake; for I know but of one thing more Nauseous to a wise Man, than to find fault; and that is, to meet with any one who has so many to find. But to the Book itself.  
— Before the busy Shop— Mr. D. resembles the Bees-hive to as many things as the famous Preacher did Meditation. 
Ver. 26.  Here in a few lines it's their Station, their City, their place of Trade, their Mansion, their Shop, and doubtless, it's resembled to many more things afterwards; but with such a Copia, as Virgil would have been no ways pleased with.  
— As the cold Congeals into a lump of liquid Gold— Who'd think this liquid Gold were mere Honey? 
Ver. 49.  Or where's any Author whoever called it by that Name? Virgil's our Text, and it's best keeping to him.  
— The niceness of their Nose— false Grammar for Noses. 
Ver. 67.  Such another incoherent verse is that, And doubled Images of voice rebound. Which, if any one can make sense of, with the precedent, or subsequent Lines, they'll oblige me.  
The winged Nation wanders thro' the Skies— This supposes Bees very high flyers, 
Ver. 73.  which really they are not, and therefore, Virgil says nothing like it.  

Ver. 77. — Drunk with secret joy— for Nescio quâ dulcedine laetae; and for Progeniem nidosque fovent, the Paraphrase is wonderful; Their young Succession all their cares employ, They breed▪ they brood, Instruct and educate, And make Provision for the future State. These Bees than are brought up at the same Academy, where the Calves were in the former Book under Tutor D— n, but I'm afraid, in the issue, they'll prove Anti-Republicans.  

Ver. 87.  Then Milfoil beat, and Honeysuckles pound— this is not Virgil's Recipe, and any Country Housewife could have taught him, that Balm and Honywort, are the proper Herbs to daub a Hive with, not the Ground to which you'll draw the Swarm; and so our Botanists interpret Melisphylla and Cerinthe. 
V. Raium de Plan.  And mix with tinkling Brass the Cymbal's droning found— is a very singular way of speaking. Should these have been beaten and pounded too?  

Ver. ●90.  Straight to their ancient Cells recalled from air, The reconciled Deserters will repair— what a strange Idea has the Translator of the management of Bees? Housewives will tell him, they don't try to reduce the Swarms to the old, but to new Hives. The old stock turn 'em out for want of room, and they put 'em into new-Hives to increase 'em; so that I have known an old stock, in a kindly Year, throw out two good Swarms and a Cast, which makes 'em multiply apace, else the smothering of their Bees, which is easier than driving, would quickly ruin the Bee-Merchant.  
With shouts, 
Ver. 98.  the Coward's courage they excite— Here Mr. D. enlarges violently, and gives us a glorious Representation of the Bee-war, far beyond his Author; and yet methinks, Virgil talks very handsomely too; but he knew not any thing of the shouting of Bees, nor could he distinguish which of the Bees were Foot, which Horse, and which Dragoons, nor between the Light Horse, and those heavy Armed; nor had he any notice of an Order of Knighthood among 'em, and knew nothing of the Bannerets, these have been discoveries of later Ages; and Mr. D. has honoured us with a very exact account of them. Thus too, he runs riot from ver. 122 to 130, and beyond his Author's design, carries on the Fray till it's scarce worth while to part 'em. But if one only can reign— What will become of our new Republicans?  
And like their grizly Prince appears his gloomy Race— As if all the rest of the Bees were bred by him, 
Ver. 145.  which is much to his Honour— But, we may observe, Mr. D. here talks of the Lawful King, and some Usurper; Virgil makes that Lawful King merely Elective at the will of the Bee-Master, whose Judgement interposing quite beside any Right of Succession, makes a Lawful, when a good, and abdicates an ill-looked, i. e. a bad King; I would not have Mr. D. misapply it, but it gives us a somewhat particular notion of Legal Royalty.  
Qu. Whether Falx saligna, signifies a Lath-Sword?  

Ver. 215.  And tame to Plums the sourness of the Sloes— This is such a piece of Husbandry and Elegancy, and rises so naturally from Virgil's words, as may be justly admired, but is really inimitable; it's a way of meliorating Fruits, by Graffing beyond any Experiments of my Lord Bacon. Nor less valuable is that, Each has a certain home, a several stall; All is the States, the State provides for all. Ver. 228. Which savours too much of Republicanism.  

Ver. 232.  Some o'er the Public Magazine preside— is a Thought so extremely ridiculous, as none but Mr. D. could have stumbled on; nor could any but he, have dreamt of Bees making use of Narcissus leaves, in building of their Combs.  

Ver. 238.  Some nurse the future Nation of the Hive— Virgil says— Aliae, spem gentis, adultos Educunt foetus— This looks as if it had another meaning; but Ruaeus interprets it just as wisely as Mr. D. and both without any reason; when the true sense is, Some lead out and exercise the young Bees; i. e. that they may know how, and where to feed themselves, to work, and to gather Honey, and Wax against the time they're too set up for themselves. And this is proper to be done for the Foetus adulti, who are past Nursing, when called by that name; and every Body must know the difference between Educere and Educare.  

Ver. 239. — Some Purge the Grout— I confess my ignorance of what Mr. D. means by that Employment; Virgil forgot it, and I have not Butler by me; but upon this, I find our Translator fell fast asleep, and quite slipped those admirable Lines.— Sunt, quibus ad Portas cecidit custodia sorti: Inque vicem speculantur aquas & nubila Coeli, Aut onera accipiunt venientum— What if they were thus Translated?  
Some by their Lots before the Portal ply,  
Some view the Clouds, and watch the changing Sky,  
Unload their wearied Mates; and jointly strive  
From lazy Drones to clear the thrifty Hive. But for the Bees being stung with Envy, and therefore, I suppose, working the harder, it's the Genuine Product of Mr. D's own Brain.  
Subdued in Fire the Stubborn Metal lies— 
Ver. 247.  is neither Poetical, nor proper English, nor telerable sense; nor does the Translator mend in those.— Huge flakes of flames expire, With Tongues they turn the Steel and vex it in the Fire. And when he tells us the Employment of the Elder Bees, he's as ridiculous as possible; but he's beyond measure exact in the Names of Plants and Flowers, which his Author mentions; and those two, The hollow murmurs of their Evening Bells Dismiss the sleepy Swains, and toll 'em to their Cells— ver. 276. are Originals.  
— Their modest Appetites, is Grammar; 
Ver. 288.  but Their Heroic Mind— Their strength, are false English; and to talk of their not using Womankind, is absurd; and the rage of Honey, ver. 299. is a Nonsensical Latinism.  

Ver. 313.  The King presides, etc. are all impertinent, and silly Excursions, an affectation of fine Thoughts without reason, and without any Countenance of his Author.  

Ver. 326. — And kindles as he goes— is what I can make no sense of; if it refer to God, here made the Soul of the World, He kindles, must be understood passively, for he is kindled, and what sense it will have then, I know not; if it refers to the several parts of the Creation, it must mean his influence kindles them in an active sense, which is an odd way of speaking, and would require a larger Commentary than I'm at leisure for; it may be, this Translation may express Virgil's meaning more clearly.  
Such wondrous Signs, and Instances of old  
Made Men renowned, for Sacred Wisdom, hold  
That Bees were by Ethereal Fires inflamed,  
And Portions of th' eternal Essence claimed.  
God might thro' all the parts of Nature move,  
Thro Earth and Seas, and Heavens vast Orbs above;  
Hence Flocks, Herds, Men, and all the Savage Crew,  
Their Lives from that Immortal Substance drew;  
All when dissolved, to this return at last,  
Not into nothings Inexistence cast;  
But live the Life of Stars; are always bright,  
And always beamed with indefective Light.  

Ver. 340. — When their Choir surveys, The Scorpion mend his pace— such English as a Man would hardly look for, from a Master of our Language.  
And break the Waxen Walls to save the State— Virgil says, 
Ver. 351.  Take away the empty Combs to prevent Vermin harbouring in 'em. And here he pursues a Metaphor till it grows nauseous.  
— Or Wasps infest the Camp— Every Dictionary, 
Ver. 358.  I believe, would have satisfied Mr. D. that Crabrones are Hornets, not Wasps.  
These four lines, 
Ver. 363.  in which, Virgil talks of the care of the Bees to recover their own ruins and losses, Mr. D. absurdly enough, applies to the Bee-Masters; but he writes for the Ladies, not for use.  
— And shagged is their Hair— A singul●r Observation, 
Ver. 371.  but which, the Farmer could scarcely have made without a Microscope; and I'm afraid that line, Their Friends attend the Hearse, the next Relations Mourn— is all Apocryphal, and as wide from truth and his Text, is the following line.  
With such a Tempest thro' the Skies they steer— is an absurd sense added to the Poet, 
Ver. 447.  who makes them appear thick, as a stormy Shower in the Summer; but never thought of their driving like a Tempest, which had been such an Idea of their first rising, as would have been hist at by Augustus and Maecenas, and the Roman Ladies. And such a form the winged Squadron bear, is applicable to nothing which went before.  
On Peneus banks he stood— is false measure; 
Ver. 453.  it's not Pe-neus with two Syllables, but Pe-ne-us with three, and the penultima long, as any Poet would have showed him.  

Ver. 459.  The third by him, and thee from Heavens high King— Who could imagine Mr. D. a Denizon of Parnassus, who could not find out the difference between two and three upon his Fingers? 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. Il. 1.  Apollo was the Son of jupiter, by Latona, as Homer shows, Aristaeus was the Son of Apollo, by Clymene; therefore but the second from his Heavens high King; but, perhaps, he was thinking of— A jove tertius Ajax, and fansyed Aristaeus a Grecian Commander, which might bring his Thoughts to a dislocation.  

Ver. 462.  Why didst thou me, unhappy me, create? This, I doubt, is the first time that any Mother was said to have Created her Child; I hope Mr. D. may know some difference between Generation and Creation, or his Theology, and Philosophy, must run very low.  

Ver. 482. — And clad in particoloured Cloth— i. e. according to the high mode of our English Ladies; but it was the worst Fashion which could have been thought of, for those who lived under water, and could not get from their Lodgings but thro' the Flood. Had Mr. D. here erred with his Author, he had been excusable; but this was mere whimsy and indefensible. Mr. D. it seems, was better acquainted with these Nymphs than his Author; and therefore has sixth Characters on them all, or else he took 'em from some, whose Names, if known, would doubtless, be very diverting.  
But Are●husa leaping from her bed— is a very new thought, 
Ver. 498.  nor could I have believed the Ladies lay spinning a bed, had not Mr. D. found it out; I think Knoting was not quite so ancient, or it had been a more agreeable business for such lazy Lasses.  
— His careless Mother— says Mr. D.— Tua maxima cura— says Virgil; 
Ver. 504.  both respecting the same Aristaeus.— Upraiding Heaven from whence his Lineage came, And cruel calls the Gods— this addition both abuses Aristaeus, and Virgil.  
— Conduct him here— is false English, 
Ver. 510.  for Conduct him hither. Qu. Whether— jubet— signifies, She waved her hand on either side.  
He hears the crackling sound of Coral Woods— is wild enough, 
Ver. 521.  and from the Original distant enough; but why Coral Woods? Ruaeus thinks, Virgil meant only Weeds and Bul-rushes growing in the bottoms of Rivers. And Mr. D. should have remembered, he was here discovering a River's Head; now Coral is no growth of Rivers, but of the Sea, and therefore, was by no means to have been mentioned here.  
And rub his Temples with fine Towels dry— is a very smooth verse; 
Ver. 542.  but since he was washed all over, why were his Temples only rubbed dry? It's not intimated in— Tonsisque ferunt mantilia villis— There must be some Mystery in it, if a Man could but find it out.  
Mr. D. talks of two Bowls, 
Ver. 547.  and afterwards of this to the Ocean, this to the Nymphs, which is all stuff; in their Libations but one was used, and when one, the Principal, had sprinkled a few drops on the Altar or Table, and had drunk first, the same Bowl went from Hand to Hand, as may be seen in that Feast which Dido makes to Aeneas.  

Ver. 551.  She sprinkled thrice with Wine the Vestal Fire— is an intolerable Anachronism. Vesta here signifies, the Fire itself, not the Fire as kept to the honour of that Goddess which was an Institution of Numa Pompilius, as we learn both from Livy, and Plutarch.  

Ver. 571. — The wily Wizard— a very civil, and a very sensible Expression of him, whom he calls both a Prophet and a God before. For unconstrained he nothing tells for nought, Nor is with Prayers, or Bribes, or Flattery bought, is all Riddle, and past my understanding.  

Ver. 595. — Beware to strain his Fetters— is a fine new way of speaking, and worthy of the Inventor.  

Ver. 599.  With Nectar she her Son anoints— No, it was with Ambrosia, Virgil says, and there's as much difference between them, as between Meat and Drink, for neither of 'em are like true nappy Ale; which of our two Authors now should be chiefly credited? He breathed of Heaven, and look above a Man; is bombastick impertinence, in which, it's certain, Mr. D. does not creep servilely after sense, a thing, which he condemned long since.  

Ver. 605.  If any Man or Woman can explain the meaning of those three Verses concerning the Cave of Proteus, where heaps of Billows driven by Wind and Tide, In form of War their watery ranks divide, And there like Sentries set (a very Poetical word) without the mouth abide— or can show me how they grow out of Virgil's— Quo plurima vento Cogitur, inque sinus scindit sese unda reductos, I shall own myself their most Humble Servant.  
Herself involved in Clouds precipitates her flight— here Mr. D. very honestly contradicts his Author, 
Ver. 614.  who tells us only, that She stood at a distance muffled in a Cloud, indeed, to see the event, which answered the Character of a tender Mother. That some Copies read recessit, is not to the purpose, and is refuted by the Sequel of the Story, where, Cyrene is at hand to cheer up her Son daunted with Proteus 's terrible tale. Mr. D. says indeed, She returned to comfort him, ver. 769. But Virgil says nothing of returning, nor was Cyrene so great a Goddess, as to have known her Son's condition in a trice, if she had not been near, as appears by her insensibility and slowness to hear him when he came crying, to tell her his misfortunes.  
— They rolling spirit the bitter Sea; 
Ver. 622.  for Gens rorem dispersit amarum; the meanest Pedant in England, would have whipped a Lubber of Twelve for Construing so absurdly; what follows is of the same batch, Unweildily they wallow, first in Ooze, Then in the shady Covert seek repose. Whereas, Virgil says, The Sea Calves lay themselves down on the shore; and Navigators say, they choose the Sun to bask in when they sleep. The rest to 630, are mere Kim Kam.  

Ver. 638.  And wearies all his Miracles of Lies— It seems then, they were Roman Miracles. Convinced of Conquest, for Convinced that he was conquered, is a very acquaint Phrase.  

Ver. 642. — What madness could Provoke a mortal Man t' invade a sleeping God Mr. D. tacks this to his Author, and with his usual Success; for Aristaeus was a God too, though a Shepherd, as his Father had been; he was as Honourably descended as Proteus himself, and invoked as a God, by Virgil, in the beginning of his Georgics.  

Ver. 645.  Aristaeus' answer is in Virgil so apposite, and lively, in the Translation so dilute and insipid, that, it's intolerable to Compare 'em; but who would think that Aristaeus meant his Bees, by his perished People?  

Ver. 663.  Qu. Whether Ante Pedes, signifies, At her Heels?  

Ver. 667.  The Realms of Mars remurmured all around— What Realms were they?  

Ver. 727.  After abundance of extravagant additions to his Author, to show the Luxuriancy of his vanity, he adds,— He prays, he raves, all means in vain, he tries, With rage inflamed, astonished with surprise, But she returned no more to bless his longing Eyes— But, we must remember, it's Mr. D's Orpheus, not Virgil's, of whom, these things are said,  

Ver. 735. — In the leaky Sculler— i. e. I suppose, in Charon's lap; for the Boat is the Scull, the Waterman who rows, is the Sculler, as Mr. D. may learn every day at the Waterside.  
Whoever pleases to read Virgil's Latin in this Similitude of the Nightingale, 
Ver. 742.  with Mr. D's Version, will soon be sick of the latter, or else must have a very mean taste of Poetry.  
Alone he tempts the Floods, 
Ver. 751.  etc. Virgil, Solus lustrabat— quam bene conveniunt!  
On the glad Earth the Golden Age renews, 
Ver. 814.  And his great Father's path to Heaven pursues. This is one of Mr. D's Interpolations, and what it means, is not very plain. If by Augustus' Father, he means julius Caesar, his History's but indifferent; and no body ever passed that compliment on julius Caesar, That he had restored the Golden Age, or had much cultivated the Arts of Peace. Octavius did so indeed, but that was not pursuing his Father's way; in short, Mr. D. abuses 'em both, by affixing inconsistent Characters on them, and his Author, by presuming to teach him how to Court his Patrons.   

THus, Sir, at your Desire, I have gone through the Eclogues and Georgics, as Translated by Mr. D. and have been sufficiently wearied with the Task; I won't pretend to have been infallible in all my Observations, but as I think, I have rarely charged him where he was not guilty; so I can easily satisfy him, or you, that I let many pass, only, because they were too thick; and none can pass a Rational Censure on them, who reads not Virgil's Original, and Mr. D's. and these Remarks together. The Aeneids I design not to meddle with, at present, though the Faults in them, are innumerable, and such as convince me, that Mr. D. either did not, or would not understand his Author. After all, I'm not the Translator's enemy, but a Lover of Virgil for whom, if by showing the Errors of this Translation, I could procure an accurate one, I should think this time well spent. I cannot bear to see the best Poets, either Sacred or Profane, Burlesqued, or abused; and it's no ill Nature, but Zeal for their Honour, which makes me turn Critic; and I must thank Mr. D. that his Mistakes, have given me an opportuntiy to dive farther into Virgil's meaning, and to admire his beauties more than I had ever done before. If I have turned Mr. D's harsh words sometimes upon himself, he may remember, that besides his Brother Poets, he never spared a Clergyman, which perhaps, might make the Hands the rougher of  
Your Humble Servant.    

The I. Book of Virgil's Georgics made English.  
WHat makes the richest Tilth, beneath what Signs  
To Plough, and when to match your Elms and Vines?  
What care with Flocks and what with Herds agrees,  
And all the management of frugal Bees,  
I sing Maecenas! Ye immensely clear,  
Vast Orbs of Light which guide the rolling Year;  
Bacchus, and Mother Ceres, if by you  
We fattening Corn for hungry Mast pursue,  
If taught by you, we first the cluster pressed,  
And thin cold streams with sprightly juice refreshed.  
Ye Fawns the present Numen of the Field,  
Wood Nymphs and Fawns, your kind assistance yield,  
Your gifts I sing! And thou, at whose feared stroke  
From rending Earth the fiery Courser broke,  
Great Neptune, O assist my artful Song!  
And thou to whom the Woods and Groves belong,  
Whose Snowy Heifers on her flowery Plains  
In mighty Herds the Caean Isle maintains!  
Pan, happy Shepherd, if thy cares Divine,  
E'er to improve thy Moenalus incline;  
Leave thy Lycaean Wood and Native Grove,  
And with thy lucky smiles our work approve!  
Be Pallas too, sweet Oils Inventor, kind;  
And he, who first the crooked Plough designed!  
Sylvanus, God of all the Woods appear,  
whose Hands a new drawn tender Cypress bear!  
Ye Gods and Goddesses who e'er with Love,  
Would guard our Pastures, and our Fields improve!  
You, who new Plants from unsown Lands supply;  
And with condensing Clouds obscure the Sky,  
And drop 'em softly thence in fruitful Showers,  
Assist my Enterprise, ye gentler Powers!  
And thou great Caesar! Tho we know not yet  
Among what Gods thou'lt fix thy lofty Seat,  
Whether thou'lt be the kind Tutelar God  
Of thy own Rome; or with thy awful nod,  
Guide the vast World, while thy great Hand shall bear,  
The Fruits and Seasons of the turning Year,  
And thy bright Brows thy Mother's Myrtles wear:  
Whether thou'lt all the boundless Ocean sway,  
And Seamen only to thyself shall pray,  
Thule, the Farthest Island kneel to thee,  
And, that thou may'st her Son by Marriage be,  
Tethys will for the happy Purchase yield  
To make a Dowry of her watery Field;  
Whether thou'lt add to Heaven a brighter Sign,  
And o'er the Summer Months serenely shine;  
Where between Cancer and Erigone,  
There yet remains a spacious Room for thee.  
Where the hot Scorpion too his Arms declines,  
And more to thee than half his Arch resigns;  
What e'er thou'lt be; for sure the Realms below  
No just pretence to thy Command can show:  
No such Ambition sways thy vast desires,  
Tho Greece her own Elysian Fields admires.  
And now at last, contented Proserpina  
Can all her Mother's earnest Prayers decline.  
What e'er thou'lt be, O, guide our gentle course,  
And with thy smiles our bold attempts enforce;  
With me th' unknowing Rustics wants relieve,  
And though on Earth our sacred vows receive!  
In early Spring, when first the melting Snow  
Begins from Mountains hoary tops to flow,  
And western Gales dissolve the Frozen Soil,  
Then let my Bullocks first begin their toil.  
Groan at the weighty Plough, and make the Share  
With constant work a cheerful brightness wear!  
That Soil must gratify the greediest Swains,  
Which Summer twice, and Winter twice sustains.  
Ground turned so much, with heavy Crops defies  
Barns narrow walls, and in huge Stacks must rise.  
But e'er the Plough a Field unpractised tries,  
First let's observe, beneath what Winds it lies,  
What Air it's in, hot, dry, or moist, or cold,  
It's former Crops, and how Manured of old;  
What Fruit the Land will bear, and what refuse,  
Some better Grain, some nobler Vines produce;  
Some are for Fruits, and native Pastures best:  
Hence T'molus is with fragrant Saffron blest.  
India with Ivory, the World supplies,  
Which Incense from the soft Sabaean buys,  
In Steel for Trade the hot Sinopian toils;  
And Pontus sells the fetid Beavers spoils;  
Epirus is for fleetest Mares renowned,  
Oft with the famed Olympic Garlands crowned.  
Nature of old these lasting Sanctions made,  
And certain Tasks on certain Countries laid,  
E'er since Deucalion stones behind him threw,  
And made Man's stubborn Race the World renew.  
Go to then straight, and at the Years first Hand,  
Let sturdy Oxen turn the fruitful Land;  
And let the dusty Summer's Sun digest  
The sloping Turf with inward fatness blest.  
But if the Soil be poor when Charles' Wain  
In Autumn rises, let the wary Swain  
The Land with shallow Furrows slightly Blow  
Here left a Crop of baneful Weeds should grow,  
And choke the Corn, there lest the moisture drained,  
A scorching Drought should burn the barren Sand.  
Sometimes a new reaped Field recovers best  
When left unplowed each other Year to rest;  
Else, when the Sign is changed sow Broad-Corn there,  
Where Pulse had flourished the preceding Year,  
Where the thin Vetch, and bitter Lupins grew,  
The stalks Ploughed in the mellowed Soil renew.  
So oft the Noblest Crops of Wheat we find,  
Where those dry Husks stood rattling in the wind.  
But hungry Flax, and Oats exhaust the Field,  
And Poppies, which forgetful Slumbers yield.  
Yet still that cure's the easiest, and the best,  
To leave the Ground each other Year at rest.  
Rich fattening Dung on Glebe half spent bestow,  
And Mossy Lands with Sooty Ashes sow.  
It's oft proved good the barren Fields to fire,  
Where Haum and Leaves, and crackling Flames conspire;  
Whether their inward warmth the ground relieves,  
And fattening Food, and secret vigour gives;  
Or flames against the barren parts prevail,  
And off the useless moisture quite exhale;  
Or finds new ways, and clears exhausted Pores,  
And freer Sap to springing Plants restores;  
Or bakes the Glebe▪ and stops its gaping Veins  
Against th' untimely flows of soaking Rains;  
Or to secure it from the fierce extremes  
Of Winter's cold, or Summer's furious Beams.  
He too improves his new laid Lands who breaks  
The tough unbearing Clods with sturdy Rakes,  
Then lays 'em smooth with weighty twisted Thorns.  
Kind Ceres too, his pains with wealth adorns,  
Who, where the Leys are low, cross Plows the Lands,  
And stirs 'em oft, and every Clod commands.  
Such careful Tillage makes the Mysians boast,  
Their wondrous Crops, when on the Phrygian Coast,  
Fair Ida her astonished Brows can raise,  
When she the monstrous growth beneath surveys.  
I'll pass those by, who, when they're newly sown,  
Straight Harrow all the crumbling Ridges down;  
Then all the Plains from Neighbouring Rivers flow,  
When all for want of moisture languid grow.  
Or from some higher Grounds by gentle dreins,  
Draw down embodied Waters o'er the Plains;  
Which o'er the Stones their chiding murmurs yield,  
And cool the thirst of all the neighbouring Field.  
What should I mention those who, when the blade  
Makes all the Leys diffuse an even shade,  
Lest too too weighty Ears the stalk should crown,  
Let in their Sheep and feed the rankness down.  
Or when the glutted Fields have drunk at large,  
With double Ploughs th' excessive wets discharge;  
Chiefly in Vernal Months, when every Flood  
Breaks o'er its Banks, and spreads the Fields with mud;  
And every swamp a standing Water shows,  
And moisture warm, and noxious vapour spews.  
Thus ' when the busy Men and Oxen toil  
To turn, and manage, and improve the Soil.  
Sometimes th' improving Soil, of hurt complains,  
By greedy Wild-Geese, and destructive Cranes,  
And from wild Chichory, whose noxious shade,  
And bitter Roots the forward Crops invade.  
Great jove himself first clogged our Lives with Pains,  
Taught Tillage, and repaid our Art with gains.  
He whetted Humane Wits with studious care;  
Nor would his Reign a lazy temper bear;  
Before his Government no careful Swains  
Ploughed up the Field, or measured o'er the Plains,  
No Balks, no Mounds the proper Owners showed,  
But all in Common, Golden Plenty flowed.  
What from unwounded Earth by Nature sprung  
Into their Arms a blessed abundance flung.  
jove made the gloomy Serpents poisonous grow,  
Wolves ravenous, and Storms at Sea to blow.  
No more the sweets from dropping Branches flowed,  
No more the flames at wholesome distance glowed,  
No Rivers now with native Nectar swelled,  
But all their Lives by sleights and practice held.  
For new Inventions now their thoughts they strained,  
And Art by slow degrees perfection gained.  
He made them get their Bread with restless pains,  
And force their fire from flints obscurer veins.  
Then hollowed Trees the Rivers wondering bore,  
And Seamen first presumed to quit the shore,  
The Stars in various Constellations threw,  
And all their names, and all their numbers knew.  
And could fit times for Voyages declare  
From Pleiad's, Hyad's, and the Northern Bear.  
Bird-lime and Springs, then for Birds were found.  
And Hounds to draw the spacious Forests round.  
With jagged Spears the largest Brooks they tried,  
And let long Nets drive down the briny Tide.  
Beside the Wedge, they'd thro' the Timber draw  
The well edged Axe, and plated ringing Saw.  
Then various Arts in various ways appeared  
And want extreme, which nothing sharper feared,  
With indefatigable pains renewed,  
Forced every bar, and every stop subdued.  
When common Trees, and sacred Groves denied  
Their Mast, and Jove's blessed Oaks no more supplied.  
Kind Ceres first the Share and Coulter showed,  
And Men by her Divine Instruction Ploughed.  
Yet troubles soon attacked their labours there,  
And Blite, and mildew blacked the weightless Ear.  
Now the wild Teazle starves our hopeful Fields,  
Thistles and Thorns, the richest surface yields.  
And where a Golden Crop had rarely failed,  
There Darnel soon, and barren Oats prevailed.  
And now, unless with restless Rakes and Hoes,  
You Brakes and Briars, and springing Weeds oppose,  
Shout off the Birds, and lop the shady rows,  
Till the free Air thro' every quarter flows,  
And beg, and pray for seasonable Rain,  
You'll look on others rising Stacks in vain;  
In vain you'll envy their Industrious Care,  
And must to Woods again for wretched Mast repair.  
Now will we teach the Tools which Farmers need  
When ever they'd House their Crops, or sow their Seed;  
A Ploughshare, Coulter, and a weighty Beam,  
A slow-paced Cart, and Gears to fix the Team,  
Such Ceres kind, once taught her Host to make,  
The Sledge, the Tumbril, and the weighty Rake.  
And if you'd be for Husbandry renowned,  
Tools yet more mean must in your Yards be found,  
Implements of the pliant Osier made,  
Sieves, Riddles, Fans with turning Canvas made,  
Or on the Knees of toiling Thresher's played.  
Now search the Woods some crooked Elm to find,  
Or for a Plough-Beam force it to your mind,  
Give it Eight Foot in length, and double Ears  
Of Iron toothed, to fix the toiling Steers.  
Then some fair Beech, or Teil in season fell,  
Which for a lightsome Yoke, and Staff excel.  
And for a Plough-Stail take a smoke-dryed Oak,  
To check the Wheels, and guide the Coulters' stroke.  
Here, could I many ancient Rules declare,  
Unless you scorn the Country's meaner care.  
To make your Barn a solid Floor assume,  
Forge Dust and common Earth, and binding Loom,  
Temper and mix 'em well, till firmer grown,  
You roll 'em levelly with a ponderous Stone.  
Then won't it crumble, nor the creeping weed,  
Nor other Pests of Corn about it breed;  
Else Mice in it, and Rats will build their Nests,  
And plenty fill the little progging Beasts.  
There dark Eyed Moles will cast, and loathsome Toads  
Lurk in their holes, and Vermin swarm by loads.  
Weevils the largest heaps of Grain infest,  
And Ants with fears of future wants possessed.  
Then watch the time when budding Almonds show,  
And tender Twigs with fragrant Blossoms bow.  
If thick the Fruit, and thin the Leaves appear,  
'Twill prove a sultry, but a plenteous Year;  
But if the Leaves above the Fruit abound,  
The Sheaves will be but lank, and empty found.  
I've seen the subtle Farmer, wisely sure,  
His Seed with Lees of Oil, and Nitre cure:  
That Art your Seed in weight and bulk improves,  
And all the Vermin of the Field removes;  
But when it's nicely culled, and plump, and fair,  
And steeped, and warmed with all his utmost care.  
'Twill soon degenerate, till with Art renewed,  
Culled over, and still with double care pursued.  
Thus all things suffer in their fatal course,  
Change every day, and every day grow worse.  
So when a Man with restless toils and pains,  
Rows up the Stream, and ground but slowly gains;  
If he but slacks his Arms a while, he's gone,  
And in the rapid Stream is hurried headlong down.  
Besides, the Farmer with a curious Eye,  
Should watch the various motions of the Sky;  
On Charles' Wain his Observations make,  
And on the rising Kids, and glittering Snake,  
As those who venture on a stormy Sea,  
And near Abydos take their dangerous way.  
When Libra balances the Day with Night,  
And parts the Globe with equal shades and light,  
Then Yoke your Oxen, Swains, your Barley sow,  
Till Winter's cold extreme, and churlish grow.  
Then Harrow in your Flax and Poppy-seed,  
And ply your busy Ploughs with early speed.  
Sow Beans in Spring, and in a mellow Soil,  
Clover and Millet ask your Annual toil.  
When first bright Taurus' Golden Horns appear,  
And setting Sirius, shows the rising Year.  
But if with Ryes and Wheats, you'll sow the Field,  
And none but Grains which solid substance yield.  
First let the Pleyades a Morning's set,  
And the bright Crown before the Sun retreat  
Before you sow, or trust the Field Manured,  
With all those hopes your yearly toils insured.  
Some can't indeed, for the right season stay,  
Whose greedy hopes as wretched Crops repay.  
But if you'd common Tares or Vetches sow,  
Or any pains on Egypt's Pulse bestow,  
Boots set the proper season shows,  
And the wise Swain from thence, to middle▪ Winter sows.  
The Times and Seasons that we thus might know,  
The Sphere by certain Lines is parted so,  
That through Twelve Heavenly Signs the Golden Sun  
Might Yearly with commanding Influence run.  
Five Climates the superior Skies divide,  
One with eternal heats and scorchings fried,  
From which the two extremes on either Hand,  
Horrid with Ice, and gloomy Tempests stand.  
The Two between Ioves condescending Grace  
Made Habitable for our Mortal Race;  
Through them the Zodiac cuts its Oblique way,  
Whence Twelve bright Signs the lower World survey.  
And since to us the Scythian Mountains rise,  
Beneath our feet the Southern Circle lies;  
O'er us the Freezing Constellations roll,  
And our Horizon views the Northern Pole.  
The Southern sinks to those dark deeps below  
Where Ghosts reside and Stygian waters flow.  
O'er us the monstrous winding Serpent glides,  
And like some Flood the neighbouring Bears divides.  
The Bears by jealous Juno's fury scared,  
And from the cooling Ocean's waves debarred.  
Some think there Reigns impenetrable Night,  
And Clouds repel the smallest Gleams of light.  
Or that with us when cheerful Light decays,  
There Phosphorus his Morning Beams displays;  
And the gay Sun's hot Car that Hemisphere surveys.  
Hence, we before the various seasons know,  
And when to Reap the Fields, and when to Sow.  
When with our nimble Boats at Sea to ply,  
Where Warlike Fleets with Canvas Wings may fly,  
When Timber may be kindly felled, and be  
From Sap, and penetrating Vermin free.  
Nor do we watch the moving Signs in vain  
How they alike thro' all the Quarter's Reign.  
When Frost and Storm the busy Swain confines,  
He then at leisure various Works designs;  
At leisure ends, which in a clearer Sky  
He'd hurry over, or too confusedly ply.  
One Plates anew, or files his blunted Shares,  
Or for his cattle hollow Troughs prepares,  
Brands them, or Figures out his Sacks for Corn,  
Another sharpens Stakes, or Forks if worn;  
Makes ready Twigs with which his Vines he binds,  
Or nimble Skeps with pliant Osiers winds.  
Then's time to grind your Corn, your Batch to bake;  
Some Liberties on holidays we take;  
Some work, all Laws of Gods and Men permit  
On those great Days; no wise Religion yet  
Forbade the Boor his flooded Fields to drain,  
Or mend his Fences to secure his Grain.  
To burn the Thorns, or greedy Birds t' allure,  
Or sickly Sheep in wholesome Streams to cure.  
Oft too he drives his slow-paced Ass to Town  
With Oil, or mellow Apples loaded down;  
Which, there he trucks for necessary things,  
And Pitch, and Rosin home, and Millstones brings.  
The Silver Moon too with her powerful Rays  
Marks out th' unlucky, and auspicious Days,  
On her Fifth Day ne'er stir the Fruitful Earth,  
Then Hell and Hellish Furies took their Birth.  
On that cursed Day Earth with a hideous roar  
Caeus, Briareus, and Typheous bore.  
At Heaven's bright Realms the Brother monsters flew,  
And Ossa thrice on staggering Pelion threw,  
Thrice huge Olympus from the Centre torn,  
Was to the top of groaning Ossa born.  
Thrice angry jove impetuous Lightnings hurled,  
Rushed down the three-piled Hills, and save the Starry World.  
Next to the Tenth the Seventh's a Lucky Day,  
To prove your Bullocks, and your Vines to lay;  
Or warp your Pieces; on the Ninth you'll be  
Safe in your Journeys, and from Padders free.  
Some Business in the Night may best be done,  
Or e'er the Dawn leads up the rising Sun.  
Night's best to Cut your Haum, your Meads to Mow,  
While to the Scythe the dewy Vapours flow.  
I'th' Chimney Corner one a Winter Nights  
Makes Matches, while his Wife with Songs delights  
His Ears, and makes the cheerful hours consume,  
Or with her nimble Shuttle plies the Loom.  
Else he boils up his Must with gentle Fire,  
And makes superfluous Particles retire;  
And ever as the rising scum appears,  
He with a Bough the foaming Copper clears.  
But Mid-days heat best reaps the burdened Fields,  
And Mid-days heat the fairest Flooring yields.  
Sow then, and Blow when the kind season's warm,  
And though you strip to work you'll catch no harm.  
But he some Rest in lazy Winter gains,  
And reaps the Fruits of all his former pains.  
From House to House the jolly Farmer's feast,  
With easy Thoughts, and honest plenty blest.  
As Seamen when their Ships have made their Port,  
Put out their Wast-cloaths and dissolve in sport.  
Yet then beat Acorns down, your Olives clear,  
Get what your Bays, and Purple Myrtles bear.  
When Earth lies covered over with driving Snow,  
And Rivers scarce beneath their Ice can flow.  
The Swain for greedy Cranes his Springs sets,  
And for the Stag extends his Toils and Nets;  
Or traces to their Fourms the listening Hares,  
Or else his Balearian sling prepares.  
With mighty force he whirls it round his Head,  
And strikes the game with glowing Bullets dead.  
What should I sing, what Constellations Reign,  
What Storms in Autumn sweep along the Plain?  
The Farmer's work when days in length decline  
And Summer Beams with fainter Furies shine,  
Or when wet Spring rolls hurrying towards an end,  
And bearded Ears o'er all the Fields ascend,  
And Milky Grains the swelling Husks extend?  
Oft have I seen the gathering Vapours jar,  
And full grown Winds commence a fatal War,  
Then when the Reapers plied the Golden Field,  
And Mowers made the crackling Barlies yield.  
I've seen the storm tear up the standing Corn,  
The weighty heaps on rapid Whirlwinds born,  
And Stalks, and Ears like horrid Tempests fly,  
Spread far and wide, and darken all the Sky.  
Oft have I seen prodigious Spouts ascend,  
And gathering Clouds their heavy Wings extend,  
Till Heaven all black with gloomy Tempests grown,  
Seas thro' the Air at once rushed tumbling down,  
Drenched all the cheerful Harvest, drowned the Field,  
The slimy Dikes, and low sunk Rivers filled,  
Till the swelled Waters o'er their Bounders flowed,  
And Seas, enraged with foaming Whirlwinds glowed.  
Nay, jove himself, in that unnatural Night  
With ruddy Bolts enhanced the dismal fright.  
shocked the wide World, with hideous Thunders roar,  
Till Savage Forests Herds could bear no more,  
In Humane hearts dejecting Terrors reigned,  
While he stern Lightnings with a fatal Hand  
At Rhodope, and lofty Athos hurled,  
And flames around the glowing Mountains whirled;  
And pouring Rains and Storms embodied more,  
Made the Woods reel, and dashed the founding shore.  
For fear of this, observe the Months and Signs,  
Which way old Saturn's frigid Orb inclines,  
See in what secret Roads bright Mercury,  
Northward or Southward wanders thro' the Sky.  
But above all, the bounteous Gods adore  
Thy Tilth once past, of all thy Yearly store  
A cheerful Sacrifice to Ceres bring,  
When sinking Winter greets the rising Spring,  
When fatted Calves, and racy Wines delight,  
And shady Hills to wholesome sleeps invite,  
Then let the merry Youth to Ceres' bow,  
And with thyself, to her their service vow.  
New Wines with Milk and Honey Sacrifice,  
And let your Prayers before her Altars rise.  
Led then the Consecrated Heifer round,  
Thrice let her trace the pious Farmer's Ground.  
Let all the jolly Lads her steps attend,  
And that she may with happy smiles descend.  
To humble Cells let all the Jovial Crew  
The Goddess with her loudest Prayers pursue,  
Nor let the Sickle touch the ripened Corn  
Till all the Swains with Oaken Wreaths adorn  
Their cheerful Brows, and in an Antic Dance,  
Her mighty Name with sacred Hymns advance.  
And, that we might by certain Signs descry  
Heats, Rains, and ev'ry Wind which rakes the Sky.  
Great jove himself, the changing Moons decreed,  
To show what Wether every Month should breed,  
What Signs raised Southern storms, and when the Swain  
Should near their Stalls his grazing Herds retain.  
When Storms are brewing from an unseen cause,  
A Billow breaks at Sea with mighty flaws.  
The lofty Hills with crackling noises sound,  
And rising Murmurs roll the Forests round,  
And hollow groans from distant Cliffs rebound.  
The Ship may then expect an angry Sky,  
When off from Sea the Gulls directly fly,  
And with a sudden Clamour stretch to shore,  
And Fen-ducks wanton all the Meadows over;  
Or when the Hern his watery haunt forsakes,  
And o'er some Cloud his Airy Passage makes.  
Oft you may see before a Storm can rise  
Bright Starlike Meteors shoot along the Skies,  
And where they pass thro' shades of darksome Night,  
A glittering Tract drawn out of Silver light.  
See Chaff, or Leaves as nimbly whisking round,  
And stillest Lakes with floating Feathers crowned.  
But if a Northern dreadful Tempest roars,  
Or East, or Western Gusts assault the Shores;  
High Floods o'er all the Country Banks prevail,  
The cautious Seaman furls the dripping Sail.  
Nor yet can sudden Flaws the Swain surprise,  
Who reads Prognostics with attentive Eyes;  
If he'll observe the soaring Crane aspire,  
And from the Vale, before the Storm, retire.  
He'll oft the Bullocks spacious Nostrils find  
Tossed toward the Skies, and snuffing up the Wind.  
He'll see the prattling Swallow skim the Lake,  
Or croaking Frogs their old complain make;  
The busy Ants their ancient Lodgments fly,  
Drag out their Eggs, and narrow Tracts apply.  
Vast Bows suck up the Rain, and noisy Crows  
Scared early home, a threatening Change disclose.  
The Fowls which haunt the Seas, and those which near  
Ca●ster's Banks and Marshy Pools appear,  
Dip down their Heads, and toss the wavy Dew  
High o'er their Shoulders, and their Mates pursue.  
Run back and forward, and with Gesture gay  
Wash wildly, and along the Waters play.  
The boding Coughs aloud the Rains implore,  
And stately stalk along the Sandy shore.  
Thus too, the merry Maids who Nightly spin  
Their carded Wools, can see the change begin,  
While from their Lamps the glittering sparkles rise,  
And round the Wick a sooty Capping lies.  
By Signs as sure, the cunning Swain descries  
Fair Wether breaking thro' the louring Skies.  
Then all the Stars shoot out with brisker gleams,  
And the bright Moon returns her Brother's Beams  
With sharper Horns; no fleecy Clouds appear  
Aloft, no Halcyons, to the Ocean dear,  
Bask with their open Wings along the shore,  
And nasty Swine their Litter toss no more;  
But Fogs descend, and belly toward the Plain,  
And when the Sun sinks down beneath the Main,  
From some loan Turrets melancholic height  
Owls hollow shrilly thro' the silent Night.  
The royal Hobby cuts the liquid Air,  
And the poor Lark still rues the Purple hair;  
Where e'er the wretched Lark for shelter flies,  
Her cruel Sire pursues her through the Skies,  
Where e'er the cruel Hobby cuts the Skies,  
Away the trembling Lark for shelter flies▪  
Then oft the Raven with a hollow noise  
More deep than usual, strains his croaking voice  
They meet in Flocks with uncouth blithness gay,  
Hop thro' the fluttering Leaves, and loosely play,  
And to their dear loved Nests, and young at last  
Return before the driving Storms are past.  
Not that I think they're blest with Nobler Sense,  
Or know more nicely what the Fates dispense.  
But when the Wether, and the various Air  
Their tempers change, and what before was rare,  
Condensed appears beneath a Cloudy Sky,  
Or Dense grows rarer when the Seasons dry;  
They with the changing Wether change their Sense,  
And flying Clouds their Bosoms influence.  
Hence thro' the Fields we hear the cheerful Choir,  
The joyous Ravens croaks, the Cattles freaks admire.  
If from the rapid Sun your Rules you'll take,  
Or from the Moons sequacious Circles make;  
To morrows Grey will ne'er delude your sight,  
Nor the false Calmness of the sliding Night.  
When first the Moon's declining Beams renew,  
If then her Horns obscure, and gloomy show,  
Thick weighty Clouds are gathering in the Wind,  
And all's to wet by Sea and Land inclined.  
But if her Cheeks a Virgin blush diffuse,  
Winds, stormy Winds the blushing Moon foreshews.  
If four days old she brightly mounts the Skies,  
The Farmer thence unfailing Signs descries.  
If bright and sharp her Silver Horns appear,  
That, and the following Days will all be clear.  
No Winds, no heavy Rains will clog the Sky,  
But the expiring Months serenely die.  
Then Sailors safe a shore, their Vows shall pay,  
And Offerings on the sacred Altars lay,  
To Panope their grateful Sacrifice,  
To Glaucus and to kind Palaemon rise.  
Observe the Sun too, watch his rising Signs,  
And how he toward his watery Couch declines.  
The Sun's Prognostics all are plain and clear,  
Both when he mounts, and when the Stars appear;  
If with a spotted Limb he climbs the Skies,  
Or Masques in Clouds, or half his Beams denies,  
Then look for Showers and for a Southern wind,  
To Plants and Herds a moist unwholesome kind.  
If when he rises first his languid Beams  
Break thro' the gathered Clouds with watery Gleams.  
Or if the Morning leaves her Saffron Bed,  
Her faded Cheeks with deadly paleness spread,  
What rattling storms of Hail their looks attend?  
What Leaves can then their tender Grapes defend?  
Your Observations yet are surer far  
When down Heaven's steep he drives his burning Carr;  
His Brows oft change then with a various hue,  
And Winds his Red, and Rains his Black pursue.  
If gloomy spots mix with his ruddy Flame,  
All mighty Winds, and mighty Rains proclaim.  
With such a Sky I'd never quit the shore,  
Be drilled to Sea, or once my Boat unmoore.  
But if his Rise unclouded Beams display,  
And with unclouded Beams he close the Day,  
Fear neither Rains nor Winds, the North than moves,  
Drives off the Clouds, and rustles thro' the Groves  
In short, the Farmer by the Sun may know  
Whence Clouds will rise, or gentle Gales will blow,  
What Storms the Watery South designs to bring,  
What Wether from the falling Night may spring,  
For who'd with false Prognostics charge the Sun?  
He warns us oft of Mischiefs scarce begun;  
Foreshows blind Insurrections, unfledged jars,  
Fermenting Treacheries, and brooding Wars.  
He pitied Rome when murdered Caesar died,  
And to the World his cheerful Beams denied,  
Behind a gloomy Scurf obscured his light,  
And Godless Men feared an Eternal Night.  
'Twas then the Time when Seas, and Air, and Earth,  
Contrived to give prodigious Monsters birth.  
Dark Heaven on that Inhuman Action scowled,  
And Dogs obscene in every Quarter howled;  
Illboding Schriech-Owls with their ominous Notes,  
Screamed thro' the Day, and stretched their fatefull Throats.  
Hot Aetna burst his fiery bounds below,  
And made Sicilia's Fields with Sulphur glow,  
Made melted Rocks in livid Torrents roll,  
And shot vast fiery Globes against the Pole.  
Th' affrighted Germans heard the dismal sound  
Of clanking Arms which marched the Welkin round.  
The Snowy Alps with uncouth tremble reeled,  
And silent Groves prodigious voices filled.  
Pale meager Ghosts broke from the rending Tomb,  
And glaring, stalked thro' Night's obscurer gloom.  
Brutes (horrid strange!) with Humane Language spoke,  
And staggering Earth her shattered Surface broke.  
Swift Brooks a passage to their Streams denied,  
And quite forgot the Seas attending Tide;  
Big with their Tears the sacred Marbles stood,  
And sweeting Statues dropped a Sanguine Flood.  
Po, Prince of Streams, with uncouth madness swelled,  
Bore down the Groves, and Forests headlong felled,  
At once drowned all the Fields, and Herds and Stalls,  
Hurried with violent fury to his dreadful falls.  
Beast's Livers all with boding Lines were Veined,  
And bloody Springs their Streams with Gore distained.  
Th' unpeopled Streets were filled with hideous sounds,  
And howling Wolves there took their Midnight rounds.  
Lightnings ne'er shot so thick from Cloudless Skies,  
Nor such portentous Comets plagued our Eyes  
Philippi then a grieved Spectator stood,  
And saw her Fields overflowed with streams of Blood.  
While Roman Troops in War with Romans closed,  
And Friends their Friends with equal Arms opposed▪  
Heaven angry, thought it worth its while once more  
T' enrich the barren soils with Roman Gore▪  
To glut the wide Pharsalian Fields around,  
And the large Plains by lofty Haemus crowned.  
The time shall come, when as the toiling Swains  
With crooked Plows shall furrow up the Plains▪  
They'll find our Spears with eating Rust consumed,  
And hollow Helmets long in Earth inhumed,  
And Pigmy Heirs shall with amazement see  
The mighty Bones of their Gigantic Ancestry.  
Ye kindred Gods who o'er great Rome preside,  
Quirinus too to all the Gods allied!  
And Mother Vesta, whose protecting Hand  
Makes Tiber flow, and Rome triumphant stand.  
O let this one, this gallant Youth remain,  
And the vast ruins of the World sustain!  
Enough of Blood for Perjuries we've paid  
To Woes by false Laomedon betrayed.  
To us the Gods, Great Caesar! envy thee,  
And all thy Triumphs here with Envy see▪  
They grudge to see a wretched Age, oppressed  
With Lawless Gild, by such a Guardian blest.  
For all our lower World's involved in Blood,  
And horrid Sins with impious Art pursued▪  
The Plough lies rusting by, the Soldiers scorn,  
The Fields uncultivated, wild, forlorn.  
New Swords of Scyths, the Martial Farmers make,  
And armed, their desolated Lands forsake.  
Euphrates sounds with marching Troops from far,  
And nearer Germany renews the War.  
All Leagues are broke, and Civil Wars divide  
Cities by all the nearest Bonds allied.  
We see this All in dire confusions hurled,  
And Tyrant Mars rage thro' an Impious World.  
The fiery Coursers rushing from the Stand  
Fly out, and scorn the Charloteers command.  
In vain he draws the Bit, along the Plains  
The headstrong Horses scour, and scorn the sounding Reins.  
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
PAge 6. line 20. for. read, p. 7. l. 15. after Davides? l. 22. after his d? p. 8. l. 4. d. the. l. 19 after for, p. 19 r. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. p. 13. l. 6. r. Sin●●'s. p. 15. l. 25. after say, add to. p. 20. l. 13. r. terrat. l. 18. r. subintelligitur. p. 22. l. 21. r. Racer. p. 23. l. 23. r. Caes●ra. p. 28. l. 25. r. Teveros. p. 38. l. 24. r. abuses. p. 54. l. ult. r. Pipes. p. 63. l. 13. r. Gallaeus. p. 101. l. 17. r. Y●npu●. l. 12. r. d. good. p. 111. l. 13 r. The. l. 16. f. mu●'d, r. inur'd. p. 113. l. 17. f. weed, r. sand. p. 125. l. 25. r. turns. p. 134. l. 14. f. case, r. c●re. p. 138. l. 1. ●f. much, r. surprised. p. 186. l. 30. f. Heath▪ r. Hearth. p. 219. l. 31. r. When. p. 221. l. 10. r. saved.  
Many more Errors in the Pointing, the Reader will observe, and Correct himself.