If I should translate it Sweet Marjoram, as the word signifies; the Reader would think I had mistaken Virgil: For those Village-words, as I may call them, gives us a mean Idea of the thing; but the Sound of the Latin is so much more pleasing, by the just mixture of the Vowels with the Consonants, that it raises our Fancies, to conceive somewhat more Noble than a common Herb; and to spread Roses under him, and strew Lillies over him; a Bed not unworthy the Grandson of the Goddess.
If I cannot Copy his Harmonious Numbers, how shall I imitate his noble Flights; where his Thoughts and Words are equally sublime?
Quem quisquis studet æmulari,
Cæratis ope Dedalaeâ
Nititur pennis, vitreo daturus
Nomina ponto.
What Modern Language, or what Poet can express the Majestick Beauty of this one Verse amongst a thousand others!
Aude Hospes contemnere opes, & te quoque dignum
Finge Deo.
For my part I am lost in the admiration of it: I contemn the World, when I think on it, and my self when I Translate it.
Lay by Virgil, I beseech your Lordship, and all my better sort of Judges, when you take up my Version, and it will appear a passable Beauty, when the Original Muse is absent: But like Spencer's false Florimel made of Snow, it melts and vanishes when the true one comes in sight. I will not excuse but justify my self for one pretended Crime, with which I am liable to be charg'd
