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Then round a beam a running noose she ty'd,
And, fasten'd by the neck, obscenely dy'd.
Soon as the fatal news by Fame was blown,
And to her dames and to her daughter known;
The sad Lavinia rends her yellow hair,
And rosy cheeks; the rest her sorrow share:
With shrieks the palace rings, and madness and
The spreading rumour fills the public place;
Confusion, fear, distraction, and disgrace,
And silent shame, are seen in every face.
Latinus tears his garments as he goes,
Both for his public and his private woes:
With filth his venerable beard besmears,
And sordid dust deforms his silver hairs.
And much he blames the softness of his mind,
Obnoxious to the charms of womankind, [sign'd:
And soon reduc'd to change, what he so well de-
To break the solemn league so long desir'd,
Nor finish what his fates, and those of Troy, re-
Now Turnus rolls aloof o'er empty plains,
And here and there some straggling foes he gleans.
His flying coursers please him less and less,
Asham'd of easy fight, and cheap success.
Thus half contented, anxious in his mind,
The distant cries come driving in the wind;
Shouts from the walls, but shouts in murmurs
A jarring mixture, and a boding sound. [drown'd;
"Alas!" said he, "what mean these dismal cries?
What doleful clamours from the town arise ?"
Confus'd he stops, and backward pulls the reins:
She, who the driver's office now sustains,
Replies: "Neglect, my lord, these new alarms;
Here fight, and urge the fortune of your arms:
There want not others to defend the wall,
If by your rival's hand th' Italians fall.
So shall your fatal sword his friends oppress,
In honour equal, equal in success."
To this, the prince: "O sister! (for I knew
The peace infring'd, proceeded first from you)
I knew you when you mingled first in fight,
And now in vain you would deceive my sight:
Why, goddess, this unprofitable care?
Who sent you down from Heaven, involv'd in air?
Your share of mortal sorrows to sustain,
And see your brother bleeding on the plain?
For to what power can Turnus have recourse,
Or how resist his fate's prevailing force?
These eyes beheld Murranus bite the ground.
Mighty the man, and mighty was the wound.
I heard my dearest friend, with dying breath,
My name invoking to revenge his death:
Brave Ufens fell with honour on the place:
To shun the shameful sight of my disgrace.
On earth supine, a manly corpse he lies:
His rest and armour are the victor's prize.
Then.shall I see Laurentum in a flame,
Which only wanted to complete my shame?
How will the Latins hoot their champion's flight!
How Drances will insult, and point them to the
Is death so hard to bear? Ye gods below,
(Since those above so small compassion show)
Receive a soul unsully'd yet with shame,
Which not belies my great forefather's name."
He said: and while he spoke, with flying speed,
Came Sages, urging on his foamy steed;
Fixt on his wounded face a shaft he bore,
And, seeking Turnus, sent his voice before:
With arms invests, with flames invades the town:
The brands are toss'd on high: the winds conspire
To drive along the deluge of the fire:
All eyes are fixt on you; your foes rejoice;
Ev'n the king staggers, and suspends his choice.
Doubts to deliver, or defend the town;
Whom to reject, or whom to call his son.
The queen, on whom your utmost hopes were plac'd,
Herself suborning death, has breath'd her last.
'Tis true, Messapus, fearless of his fate,
With fierce Atinas' aid, defends the gate:
On every side surrounded by the foe;
The more they kill, the greater numbers grow;
An iron harvest mounts, and still remains to mow.
You, far aloof from your unshaken bands,
Your rolling chariot drive o'er empty sands."
Stupid he sat, his eyes on earth declin'd,
And various cares revolving in his mind:
Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast,
And sorrow, mixt with shame, his soul oppress'd;
Aud conscious worth lay labouring in his thought:
And love, by jealousy, to madness wrought.
By slow degrees his reason drove away
The mists of passion, and resum'd her sway.
Then, rising on his car, he turn'd his look,
And saw the town involv'd in fire and smoke.
A wooden tower with flames already blaz'd,
Which his own hands on beams and rafters rais'd;
And bridges laid above to join the space;
And wheels below to roll from place to place.
Sister, the fates have vanquish'd let us go
The way which Heaven and my hard fortune show.
The fight is fixt: nor shall the branded name
Of a base coward blot your brother's fame,
Death is my choice: but suffer me to try
My force, and vent my rage before I die."
He said, and, leaping down, without delay,
Thro' crowds of scatter'd foes he freed his way.
Striding, he pass'd, impetuous as the wind,
And left the grieving goddess far behind.
As when a fragment from a mountain torn
By raging tempests, or by torrents borne,
Or sapp'd by time, or loosen'd from the roots,
Prone through the void the rocky ruin shoots,
Rolling from crag to crag, from steep to steep;
Down sink at once, the shepherds and their sheep;
Involv'd alike, they rush to nether ground,
Stunn'd with the shock, they fall, and stunn'd from
So Turnus, hasting headlong to the town,
Shouldering and shoving, bore the squadrons down.
Still pressing onward, to the walls he drew,
Where shafts, and spears, and darts, promiscuous
And sanguine streams the slippery ground embrue.
First stretching out his arm, in sign of peace,
He cries aloud, to make the combat cease:
"Rutulians, hold, and Latin troops, retire;
The fight is mine, and me the gods require.
'Tis just that I should vindicate alone
The broken truce, or for the breach atone.
This day shall free from wars th' Ausonian state;
Or finish my misfortunes in my fate."
Both armies from their bloody work desist:
And, bearing backward, form a spacious list.
The Trojan hero, who receiv'd from fame
The welcome sound, and heard the champion's name,
Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls,
Greedy of war, where greater glory calls.
He springs to tight, exulting in his force;
His jointed armour rattles in the course.
Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows,
Or father Appenine, when, white with snows,
His head divine, obscure in clouds he hides,
And shakes the sounding forest on his sides.
The nations, overaw'd, surcease the fight,
Immoveable their bodies, fixt their sight:
Ev'n Death stands still; nor from above they throw
Their darts, nor drive their battering rams below.
In silent order either army stands;
And drop their swords, unknowing, from their hands.
Th' Ausonian king beholds, with wondering sight, Two mighty champions match'd in single fight, Born under climes remote, and brought by fate With swords to try their titles to the state.
Now, in clos'd field, each other from afar They view; and, rushing on, begin the war. They lanch their spears, then hand to hand they meet;
The trembling soil resounds beneath their feet: Their bucklers clash; thick blows descend from high,
And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly. Courage conspires with chance; and both engage With equal fortune yet, and mutual rage.
As when two bulls for their fair female fight,
In Sila's shades, or on Taburnus' height;
With horns adverse they meet: the keeper flies:
Mute-stands the herd, the heifers roll their eyes,
And wait th' event; which victor they shall bear,
And who shall be the lord, to rule the lusty year :
With rage of love the jealous rivals burn,
And push for push, and wound for wound, return :
Their dewlaps gor'd, their sides are lav'd in blood:
Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow through
Such was the combat in the listed ground;
So clash their swords, and so their shields resound.
Jove sets the beam; in either scale he lays
The champion's fate, and each exactly weighs.
On this side life, and lucky chance ascends;
Loaded with death, that other scale descends,
Rais'd on the stretch, young Turnus aims a blow
Full on the helm of his unguarded foe:
Shrill shouts and clamours ring on either side:
As hopes and fears their panting hearts divide.
But all in pieces flies the traitor sword,
And, in the middle stroke, deserts his lord.
Now its but death, or flight: disarm'd he flies,
When in his hand an unknown hilt he spies.
Fame says that Turnus, when his steeds he join'd,
Hurrying to war, disorder'd in his mind,
Snatch'd the first weapon which his haste could find.
"Twas not the fated sword his father bore;
But that his charioteer Metiscus wore.
This, while the Trojans fled, the toughness held;
But vain against the great Vulcanian shield.
The mortal-temper'd steel deceiv'd his band:
The shiver'd fragments shone amid the sand.
Surpris'd with fear, he fled along the field;
And now forthright, and now in orbits, wheel'd.
For here the Trojan troops the list surround;
And there the pass is clos'd with pools and marshy
Ancas hastens, though with heavier pace,
His wound,.so newly knit, retards the chase:
And oft his trembling knees their aid refuse,
Yet pressing foot by foot his foe pursues.
Thus, when a fearful stag is clos'd around
With crimson toils, or in a river found;
High on the bank the deep-mouth'd hound appears;
Still opening, following still, where'er he steers:
The persecuted creature to and fro,
Turns here and there, to 'scape his Umbrian foe:
Steep is th' ascent, and if he gains the land,
The purple death is pitch'd along the strand:
His eager foe, determin'd to the chase,
Stretch'd at his length, gains ground at every pace:
Now to his beamy head he makes his way,
And now he holds, or thinks he holds, his prey:
Just at the pinch the stag springs out with fear,
He bites the wind, and fills his sounding jaws with
The rocks, the lakes, the meadows, ring with cries; The mortal tumult mounts, and thunders in the skies.
Thus flies the Daunian prince: and, flying, blames His tardy troops: and, calling by their names, Demands his trusty sword. The Trojan threats The realm with ruin, and their ancient seats To lay in ashes, if they dare supply, With arms or aid, his vanquish'd enemy: Thus menacing, he still pursues the course With vigour, though diminish'd of his force. Ten times, already, round the listed place One chief had fled, and t' other given the chase: No trivial prize is play'd; for on the life Or death of Turnus, now depends the strife. Within the space an olive-tree had stood, A sacred shade, a venerable wood, For vows to Faunus paid, the Latins' guardian god. Here hung the vests, and tablets were engrav'd, Of sinking mariners from shipwreck say'd. With heedless hands the Trojans fell'd the tree, To make the ground enclos'd for combat free. Deep in the root, whether by fate, or chance, Or erring haste, the Trojan drove his lance: [free Then stoop'd, and tugg'd with force immense, to Th' encumber'd spear from the tenacious tree: That whom his fainting limbs pursued in vain, His flying weapon might from far attain.
Confus'd with fear, bereft with human aid, Then Turnus to the gods, and first to Faunus pray'd:
"O Faunus, pity, and, thou mother Earth,
Where I, thy foster-son, receiv'd my birth,
Hold fast the steel; if my religious hand
Your plant has honour'd, which your foes profan'd;
Propitious hear my pious prayer!" He said,
Nor with successless vows invok'd the aid.
Th' incumbent hero wrench'd, and pull'd, and
But still the stubborn earth the steel detain'd.
Juturna took her timè: and, while in vain
He strove, assum'd Metiscus' form again:
And, in that imitated shape, restor'd,
To the despairing prince, his Daunian sword.
The queen of love, who, with disdain and grief,
Saw the bold nymph afford this prompt relief;
T' assert her offspring with a greater deed,
From the tough root the lingering weapon freed.
Once more erect, the rival chiefs advance;
One trusts the sword, and one the pointed lance:
And both resolv'd, alike, to try their fatal chance.
Meantime imperial Jove to Juno spoke,
Who from a shining cloud beheld the shock:
"What new arrest, O queen of Heaven!" is sent
To stop the fates now labouring in th' event,
What further hopes are left thee to pursue?
Divine Eneas (and thou know'st it too)
Free-doom'd to these celestial seats is due.
What more attempts for Turnus can be made,
That thus thou lingerest in this lonely shade!
Is it becoming of the due respect,
And awful honour of a god elect,
A wound unworthy of our state to feel;
Patient of human hands, and earthly steel?
Or seems it just, the sister should restore
A second sword, when one was lost before,
And arm a conquer'd wretch against his conqueror?
For what without thy knowledge and avow,
Nay, more, thy dictate, durst Juturna do?
At last, in deference to my love, forbear
To lodge within thy soul this anxious care:
Reclin'd upon my breast, thy grief unload;
Who should relieve the goddess but the god?
Now, all things to their utmost issue tend;
Push'd by the fates to their appointed end:
While leave was giv'n thee, and a lawful hour
For vengeance, wrath, and unresisted power:
Tost on the seas thou could'st thy foes distress,
And driven ashore, with hostile arms oppress :
Deform the royal house, and from the side
Of the just bridegroom, tear the plighted bride:
"Now cease at my command." The thunderer
And, with dejected eyes, this answer Juno made:
Because your dread decree too well I knew;
From Turnus and from Earth unwilling I withdrew.
Else should you not behold me here alone,
Involv'd in empty clouds, my friends bemoan;
But, girt with vengeful flames, in open sight,
Engag'd against my foes in mortal fight.
'Tis true, Juturna mingled in the strife
By my command, to save her brother's life,
At least to try but by the Stygian lake,
(The most religious oath the gods can take)
With this restriction, not to bend the bow,
Or toss the spear, or trembling dart to throw.
And now resign'd to your superior might,
And tir'd with fruitless toils, I loath the fight.
This let me beg (and this no fates withstand)
Both for myself, and for your father's land;
That when the nuptial bed shall bind the peace,
(Which I, since you ordain, consent to bless)
The laws of either nation be the same;
But let the Latins still retain their name:
Speak the same language which they spoke before;
Wear the same habits which their grandsires wore :
Call them not Trojans: perish the renown
And name of Troy with that detested town;
Latium be Latium still; let Alba reign,
And Rome's immortal majesty remain."
Then thus the founder of mankind replies
(Unruffled was his front, serene his eyes):
"Can Saturn's issue, and Heaven's other heir,
Such endless anger in her bosom bear?
Be mistress, and your full desires obtain :
But quench the choler you foment in vain.
From ancient blood th' Ausonian people sprung,
Shall keep their name, their habit, and their tongue.
The Trojans to their customs shall be ty'd,
I will, myself, their common rites provide;
The natives shall command, the foreigners subside.
All shall be Latium: Troy without a name:
And her lost suns forget from whence they came.
From blood so mixt, a pious race shall flow;
Equal to gods, excelling all below.
No nation more respect to you shall pay,
Or greater offerings on your altars lay."
Juno consents, well pleas'd that her desires
Had found success, and from the clouds retires.
The peace thus made, the thunderer next pre-
To force the watery goddess from the wars. [pares
Deep in the dismal regions, void of light,
Three daughters at a birth were born to Night:
These their brown mother, brooding on her care,
Indulg'd with windy wings to fit in air; [hair.
With serpents girt alike, and crown'd with hissing
In Heaven the Diræ call'd, and still at hand,
Before the throne of angry Jove they stand,
His ministers of wrath; and ready still
The minds of mortal men with fears to fill;
Whene'er the moody sire, to wreak his hate
On realms, or towns, deserving of their fate,
Hurls down diseases, death, and deadly care,
And terrifies the guilty world with war.
One sister-plague of these from Heaven he sent,
To fright Juturna with a dire portent.
The pest comes whirling down: by far more slow
Springs the swift arrow from the Parthian bow,
Or Cydon yew; when traversing the skies,
And drench'd in poisonous juice, the sure destruc-
With such a sudden and unseen a flight,
Shot through the clouds the daughter of the night.
Soon as the field enclos'd she had in view,
And from afar her destin'd quarry knew:
Contracted to the boding bird she turns,
Which haunts the ruin'd piles, and hallow'd urns,
And beats about the tombs with nightly wings';
Where songs obscene on sepulchres she sings.
Thus lessen'd in her form, with frightful cries
The fury round unhappy Turnus flies,
Flaps on his shield, and flutters o'er his eyes.
A lazy chillness crept along his blood,
Chok'd was his voice, his hair with horrour stood.
Juturna from afar beheld her fly,
And knew th' ill omen, by her screaming cry,
And stridour of her wing. Amaz'd with fear,
Her beauteous breast she beat, and rent her flowing
"Ah me," she cries, "in this unequal strife,
What can thy sister more to save thy life!
Weak as I am, can I, alas! contend
In arins, with that inexorable fiend!
Now, now, I quit the field! forbear to fright
My tender soul, ye baleful birds of night!
The lashing of your wings I know too well:
The sounding flight, and funeral screams of Hell!
These are the gifts you bring from haughty Jove,
The worthy recompense of ravish'd love!
Did he for this exempt my life from fate?
O bard conditions of immortal state!
Though born to death, not privileg❜d to die,
But forc'd to bear impos'd eternity!
Take back your envious bribes, and let me go
Companion to my brother's ghost below!
The joys are vanish'd: nothing now remains
Of life immortal, but immortal pains.
What earth will open her devouring womb,
To rest a weary goddess in the tomb!"
She drew a length of sighs; nor more she said,
But in her azure mantle wrapp'd her head:
Then plung'd into her stream, with deep despair,
And her last sobs came bubbling up in air.
Now stern Eneas waves his weighty spear Against his foe, and thus upbraids his fear:
What farther subterfuge can Turnus find? What empty hopes are harbour'd in his mind? 'Tis not thy swiftness can secure thy flight: Not with their feet, but hands, the valiant fight. Vary thy shape in thousand forms, and dare What skill and courage can attempt in war: Wish for the wings of wind to mount the sky; Or hid within the hollow Earth to lie."
The champion shook his head, and made this short reply:
"No threats of thine my manly mind can move :
"Tis hostile Heaven I dread; and partial Jove."
He said no more; but, with a sigh, repress'd
The mighty sorrow in his swelling breast.
Then, as he roll'd his troubled eyes around,
An antique stone he saw; the common bound
Of neighbouring fields, and barrier of the ground:
So vast, that twelve strong men of modern days
Th' enormous weight from earth could hardly raise.
He heav'd it at a lift: and, pois'd on high,
Ran, staggering on, against his enemy.
But so disorder'd, that he scarcely knew
His way; or what unwieldy weight he threw.
His knocking knees are bent beneath the load;
And shivering cold congeals his vital blood.
The stone drops from his arms; and falling short,
For want of vigour, mocks his vain effort.
And as, when heavy sleep has clos'd the sight,
The sickly fancy labours in the night:
We seem to run; and destitute of force,
Our sinking limbs forsake us in the course:
In vain we heave for breath; in vain we cry:
The nerves unbrac'd their usual strength deny,
And on the tongue the faultering accents die:
So Turnus far'd, whatever means he try'd,
All force of arms, and points of art employ'd,
The fury flew athwart, and made th' endeavour
A thousand various thoughts his soul confound:
He star'd about; nor aid nor issue found:
His own men stop the pass, and his own walls
Once more he pauses, and looks out again;
And seeks the goddess charioteer in vain.
Trembling, he views the thundering chief advance,
And brandishing aloft the deadly lance:
Amaz'd he cowers beneath his conquering foe,
Forgets to ward, and waits the coming blow.
Astonish'd while he stands, and fixt with fear,
Aim'd at his shield he sees th' impending spear.
The hero measur'd first, with narrow view,
The destin'd mark and, rising as he threw,
With its full swing the fatal weapon flew.
Not with less rage the rattling thunder falls,
Or stones from battering engines break the walls:
Swift as a whirlwind, from an arm so strong,
The lance drove on; and bore the death along.
Nought could his seven-fold shield the prince avail,
Nor aught beneath his arms the coat of mail;
It piere'd through all; and, with a grisly wound,
Transfix'd his thigh, and doubled him to ground.
With greans the Latins rend the vaulted sky:
Woods, hills, and valleys, to the voice reply.
Now low on carth the lofty chief is laid,
With eyes cast upwards, and with arms display'd;
And recreant thus to the proud victor pray'd:
"I know my death deserv'd, nor hope to live:
Use what the gods and thy good fortune give.
Yet think oh think, if mercy may be shown,
(Thou hadst a father once, and hadst a son);
Pity my sire, now sinking to the grave;
And, for Anchises' sake, old Daunus save!
Or, if they vow'd revenge, pursue my death;
Give to my friends my body void of breath!
The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life;
Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife;
Against a yielded man, 'tis mean ig oble strife."
In deep suspence the Trojan seem'd to stand;
And, just appear'd to strike, repress'd his hand.
He roll'd his eyes, and every moment felt
His manly soul with more compassion melt.
When, casting down a casual glance, he spy'd
The golden belt that glitter'd on his side:
The fatal spoils which haughty Turnus tore
From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore.
Then, rous'd anew to wrath, he loudly cries
(Flames, while he spoke, came flashing from his
"Traitor, dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend, Clad, as thou art, in trophies of my friend? To his sad soul a grateful offering go; 'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow." He rais'd his arm aloft; and at the word, Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword. The streaming blood distain'd his arms around, And the disdainful soul came rushing through the wound.
WHAT Virgil wrote in the vigour of his age, in plenty and at ease, I have undertaken to trans late in my declining years: struggling with wants, oppressed with sickness, curbed in my genius, liable to be misconstrued in all I write; and my judges, if they are not very equitable, already prejudiced against me, by the lying character which has been given them of my morals. Yet, steady to my principles, and not dispirited with my afflictions, I have, by the blessing of God on my endeavours, overcome all difficulties; and, in some measure, acquitted myself of the debt which I owed the public, when I undertook this work. In the first place, therefore, I thankfully acknow ledge to the Almighty Power, the assistance he has given me in the beginning, the prosecution, and conclusion of my present studies, which are more happily performed, than I could have promised to myself, when I laboured under such discouragements. For what I have done, imperfect as it is, for want of health and leisure to correct it, will be judged in after-ages, and possibly in the present, to be no dishonour to my native country; whose language and poetry would be more esteemed abroad, if they were better understood. Somewhat (give me leave to say) I have added to both of them, in the choice of words, and harmony of numbers, which were wanting, especially the last, in all our poets, even in those who, being endued with genius, yet have not cultivated their mother-tongue with sufficient care; or, relying on the beauty of their thoughts, have judged the ornament of words, and sweetness of sound, unnecessary. One is for raking in Chaucer (out English Ennius) for antiquated words, which are never to be revived, but when sound or significancy is wanting in the present language. many of his deserve not this redemption, af
more than the crowds of men who daily die, or are slain for sixpence in a battle, merit to be restored to life, if a wish could revive them. Others have no ear for verse, nor choice of words, no distinction of thoughts; but mingle farthings with their gold to make up the sum. Here is a field of satire opened to me: but, since the Revolution, I have wholly renounced that talent. For who would give physic to the great, when he is uncalled, to do his patient no good, and endanger himself for his prescription? Neither am I ignorant, but I may justly be condemned for many of those faults, of which I have too liberally arraigned]
Cynthius aurem vellit, & admonuit.
shortest, and the most judicious. Fabrini I had also sent me from Italy; but either he understands Virgil but very imperfectly, or I have no knowledge of my author.
Being invited, by that worthy gentleman sir William Bowyer, to Denham-court, I translated the first Georgic at his house, and the greatest part of the last Æneid. A more friendly entertainment no man ever found. Nor wonder, therefore, if both those versions surpass the rest, and own the satisfaction I received in his converse, with whom I had the honour to be bred in Cambridge, and in the same college. The seventh Eneid was made English at Burleigh, the magnificent abode of the earl of Exeter: in a village belonging to his family I was born, and under his roof I endeavoured to make that neid appear in English with as much lustre as I could: though my author has not given the finishing strokes either to it, or to the eleventh, as I perhaps could prove in both; if I durst presume to criticise my mas
It is enough for me, if the government will let me pass unquestioned. In the mean time, I am obliged, in gratitude, to return my thanks to many of them, who have not only distinguished me from others of the same party, by a particular exception of grace; but, without considering the man, have been bountiful to the poet: have encouraged Virgil to speak such English as I could teach him, and reward his interpreter, for the pains he has taken, in bringing him over into Britain, by defraying the charges of his voyage. Even Cerberus, when he had received the sop, permitted Eneas to pass freely to Elysium. Had it been offered me, and I had refus'd it, yet still some gratitude is due to such who were willing to oblige me. But how much more to those from whom I have received the favours which they have offered to one of a different persuasion? amongst whom I cannot omit naming the earls of Derby and of Peterborough. To the first of these, I have not the honour to be known; and therefore his liberality was as much unexpected, as it was undeserved. The present earl of Peterborough has been pleased long since to accept the tenders of my service: his favours are so frequent to me, that I receive them almost by prescription. No difference of interests or opinion have been able to withdraw his protection from me and I might justly be condemned for the most unthankful of mankind, if I did not always preserve for him a most profound respect and inviolable gratitude. I must also add, that if the last Æneid shine among its fellows, it is owing to the commands of sir William Truinball, one of the principal secretaries of state, who recommended it, as his favourite, to my care; and, for his sake particularly, I have made it mine. For who would confess weariness, when he enjoined a fresh labour? I could not but invoke the assist-imitation of Virgil, than a version. That I have ance of a Muse, for this last office.
Extreinum hunc Arethusa:-
Negat quis carmina Gallo?
Neither am I to forget the noble present which was made me by Gilbert Dolben, esq. the worthy son of the late archbishop of York; who, when I began this work, enriched me with all the several editions of Virgil, and all the commentaries of those editions in Latin; amongst which, I could not but prefer the Dauphine's, as the last, the
By a letter from William Walsh, of Abberly, esq. (who has so long honoured me with his friendship, and who, without flattery, is the best critie of our nation) I have been informed, that his grace the duke of Shrewsbury has procured a printed copy of the Pastorals, Georgics, and six first Eneids, from my bookseller, and has read them in the country, together with my friend. This noble person having been pleased to give them a commendation, which I presume not to insert; has made me vain enough to boast of so great a favour, and to think I have succeeded beyond my hopes; the character of his excellent judgment, the acuteness of his wit, and his general knowledge of good letters, being known as well to all the world, as the sweetness of his disposition, his humanity, his easiness of access, and desire of obliging those who stand in need of his protection, are known to all who have approached him; and to me in particular, who have formerly had the honour of his conversation. Whoever has given the world the translation of part of the third Georgic, which he calls The Power of Love, has put me to sufficient pains to make my own not inferior to his: as my lord Roscommon's Silenus had formerly given me the same trouble. The most ingenious Mr. Addison, of Oxford, has also been as troublesome to me as the other two, and on the same account. After his bees, my latter swarm is scarcely worth the hiving. Mr. Cowley's Praise of a Country Life is excellent; but is rather an
recovered in some measure the health which I had lost by too much application to this work, is owing, next to God's mercy, to the skill and care of Dr. Guibbons and Dr. Hobbs, the two ornaments of their profession; whom I can only pay by this acknowledgment. The whole faculty has always been ready to oblige me: and the only one of them, who endeavoured to defame me, had it not in his power'.