The legacies of Tadius too are flown ;
All spent, and on the self-same errand gone.
How little then to my poor fhare will fall!
Little indeed; but yet that little's all.

Nor tell me, in a dying father's tone,
Be careful still of the main chance, my fon;
Put out thy principal in trusty hands:

Live on the ufe; and never dip thy lands:

But yet what's left for me? What 's left, my friend! Ask that again, and all the rest I spend.

Is not my fortunes at my own command?

Pour oil, and pour it with a plenteous hand,
Upon my fallads, boy: fhall I be fed

With fodden nettles, and a fing'd fow's head?
'Tis holiday; provide me better cheer;
'Tis holiday, and shall be round the year.
Shall I my houshold gods and genius cheat,
To make him rich, who grudges me my meat?
That he may loll at ease; and, pamper'd high,
When I am laid, may feed on giblet-pie?
And, when his throbbing luft extends the vein,
Have wherewithal his whores to entertain?
Shall I in homespun cloth be clad, that he
His paunch in triumph may before him fee?

Go, mifer, go; for lucre fell thy foul;

Truck wares for wares, and trudge from pole to pole:

That men may fay, when thou art dead and gone,

See what a vaft eftate he left his fon!

How

How large a family of brawny knaves,
Well fed, and fat as Cappadocian flaves!
Increase thy wealth, and double all thy store;
'Tis done: now double that, and fwell the score;
To every thousand add ten thousand more.
Then fay, Chryfippus, thou who would'st confine
Thy heap, where I fhall put an end to mine.

}

TRANSLATIONS FROM PERSIUS.

Prologue to the First Satire

308

Satire the First, in Dialogue betwixt the Poet and

The Fifth Satire, infcrib'd to the Rev. Dr. Busby

The Sixth Satire. To Cræfus Baffus, a Lyric

343

Poet

356

END OF DRYDEN'S POEMS.