At fix, fir, if you please to come,
You'll find my master, fir, at home.
Tea, fays a critic, big with laughter,
Was found fame twenty ages after
Authors, before they write, fhould read.
"Tis very true; but we'll proceed.
And, fir, at present would you please
To leave your name—Fair maiden, yes.
Reach me that board. No fooner spoke
But done. With one judicious ftroke,
On the plain ground Apelles drew
A circle regularly true;
And will you please, fweet-heart, faid he,
To fhew your mafter this from me ?
By it he presently will know,
How painters write their names at Co.
He gave the pannel to the maid.
Smiling and court'fing, fir, fhe faid,
I fhall not fail to tell my master:
And, fir, for fear of all difafter,
I'll keep it my ownfelf: fafe bind,
Says the old proverb, and safe find.
So, fir, as fure as key or lock
Your fervant, fir-at fix a clock.
Again at fix Apelles came;
Found the fame prating civil dame.
Sir, that my master has been here,
Will by the board itfelf appears
If from the perfect line he found,
He has prefum'd to fwell the round,
Or colours on the draught to lay;
'Tis thus (he ordered me to fay)
Thus write the painters of this ifle :
Let thofe of Co remark the ftile.
She faid; and to his hand reftor'd
The rival pledge, the miffive board.
Upon the happy line were laid
Such obvious light, and eafy fhade;
That Paris' apple flood confeft,
Or Leda's egg, or Cloe's breast.
Apelles view'd the finish'd piece:
And live, faid he, the arts of Greece!
How e'er Protogenes and I
May in our rival talents vie ;
How e'er our works may have exprefs'd
Who trueft drew, or colour'd best ;
When he beheld my flowing line;
He found at leaft I could defign:
And from his artful round, I grant,
That he with perfect fkill can paint.
The dulleft genius cannot fail
To find the moral of my tale:
That the diftinguifh'd part of men.
With compass, pencil, fword, or pen,
Should in life's vifit leave their name,
In characters, which may proclaim,
That they with ardour ftrove to raise
At once their arts, and country's praise;
And in their working took great care,
That all was full, and round, and fair.
DEMOCRITUS, dear droll, revifit earth,
And with our follies glut thy heighten'd mirth
Sad Heraclitus, ferious wretch, return,
In louder grief our greater crimes to mourn.
Between you both I unconcern'd stand by :
Hurt, can I laugh
and honeft, need I cry?
To me 'twas giv'n to die: to thee 'tis given
To live: alas! one moment fets us even.
Mark! how impartial is the will of Heaven ?
UM ftudeo fungi fallentis munere vitæ,
Adfectoque viam fedibus Elyfiis,
Aretoa florens Sophiâ, Samiifque fuperbus
Difcipulis, animas morte carere cano.
These verses were written by Dr. Archibald Pitcairne, a celebrated Scotch physician, who died in the year 1713.
Has ego corporibus profugas ad fidera mitto;
Sideraque ingreffis otia blanda dico;
Qualia conveniunt divis, queis fata volebant.
Vitäi faciles molliter ire vias:
Vinaque Cœlicolis media inter gaudia, libo;
Et me quid majus fufpicor effe viro.
Sed fuerint nulli forfan, quos fpondeo, cœli ;
Nullaque fint Ditis numina, nulla Jovis:
Fabula fit terris agitur quæ vita relictis ;
Quique fuperftes, homo; qui nihil, efto Deus.
Attamen effe hilares, & inanes mittere curas
Proderit, ac vitæ commoditate frui,
Et feftos agitâffe dies, ævique fugacis
Tempora perpetuis detinuiffe jocis.
Walter Danifton was a fchoolmaster and Latin poet, very intimate with the author. The title, as given by Mr. Prior, is here retained, although in Dr. Pitcarne's works, printed at Edinburgh, 1727, it is intirely different, as are the first four lines of the poem. It does not with certainty appear whether the alterations were made by the author, or by his imitator. In the before-mentioned edition the poem begins in this manner :
JOANNIS SYLVII de feipfo carmen.
Dum brevis adnitor momentum fallere vitæ,
Et fomni æterni non nimis effe memor;
Demonftro quæ fit Sophiæ natura, quis hofpes
Pectoris ; atque animas poffe perire nego.
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