92
SWIFT'S POEMS.
Thus in a sea of folly tost,125
My choicest hours of life are lost;
Yet always wishing to retreat,
O, could I see my country seat!
There leaning near a gentle brook,
Sleep, or peruse some ancient book;130
And there in sweet oblivion drown
Those cares that haunt the court and town[1].
THE AUTHOR UPON HIMSELF. 1713.
[A few of the first lines are wanting.]
******
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***By an old pursu'd,
A crazy prelate[2], and a royal prude[3];
- ↑ Thus far was translated by Dr. Swift in 1714. The remaining part of the ode was afterward added by Mr. Pope; in whose Works the whole is printed. See Dr. Warton's edition, vol. VI, p. 13.
- ↑ Dr. John Sharpe, who, for some unbecoming reflections in his sermons had been suspended May 14, 1686, was raised from the deanery of Canterbury to the archbishoprick of York, July 5, 1691; and died Feb. 2, 1712-13. According to Dr. Swift's account, the archbishop had represented him to the queen as a person that was not a Christian; a great lady had supported the aspersion; and the queen upon such assurances had given away a bishoprick contrary to her majesty's first intentions [which were in favour of Swift.] Orrery.
- ↑ Queen Anne.
125. Perditur hæc inter misero lux, non sine votis,
O rus, quando ego te aspiciam? quandoque licebit
Nunc veterum libris, nunc somno, et inertibus horis,
Ducere solicitæ jucunda oblivia vitæ?
O quando faba Pythagoræ cognata, simulque
Uncta satis pingui ponentur oluscula lardo?
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