All Greece shall flock from far, my games to see;
The whorlboat, and the rapid race, shall be
Reserv'd for Cæsar, and ordain'd by me.
Myself, with olive crown'd, the gifts will bear.
E'en now methinks the public shouts I hear;
The passing pageants and the pomps appear.
I to the temple will conduct the crew,
The sacrifice and sacrificers view.

From thence return, attended with my train,

Where the proud theatres disclose the scene,

Which interwoven Britons seem to raise,

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And shew the triumph which their shame dis

plays.

High o'er the gate, in elephant and gold,

The crowd shall Cæsar's Indian war behold:

The Nile shall flow beneath; and, on the side,
His shatter'd ships on brazen pillars ride.

Next him Niphates, with inverted urn,

And dropping sedge, shall his Armenia mourn;

And Asian cities in our triumph borne.

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With backward bows the Parthians shall be there, And, spurring from the fight, confess their fear.

A double wreath shall crown our Cæsar's brows

Two diff'ring trophies, from two diff'rent foes.
Europe with Afric in his fame shall join;
But neither shore his conquests shall confine.
The Parian marble there shall seem to move

In breathing statues, not unworthy Jove,
Resembling heroes, whose ætherial root
Is Jove himself, and Cæsar is the fruit.
Tros and his race the sculptor shall employ ;
And he the god who built the walls of Troy.
Envy herself at last, grown pale and dumb,
(By Cæsar combated and overcome)

Shall give her hands, and fear the curling snakes
Of lashing Furies, and the burning lakes;
The pains of famish'd Tantalus shall feel,

And Sisyphus, that labours up the hill

The rolling rock in vain; and curst Ixion's wheel.

Meantime we must pursue the silvan lands

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(Th' abode of nymphs), untouch'd by former hands: For such Mæcenas are thy hard commands.

Without thee, nothing lofty can I sing.

Come then, and, with thyself, thy genius bring,

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With which inspir'd, I brook no dull delay:
Citharon loudly calls me to my way;

Thy hounds, Täyg'tus, open, and pursue their prey. High Epidaurus urges on my speed,

Fam'd for his hills, and for his horses' breed:

From hills and dales the cheerful cries rebound;
For Echo hunts along, and propagates the sound.
A time will come, when my maturer Muse,
In Cæsar's wars, a nobler theme shall choose,

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And through more ages bear my sovereign's praise, Than have from Tithon past to Cæsar's days.

The gen'rous youth, who, studious of the prize, The race of running coursers multiplies,

Or to the plough the sturdy bullock breeds,

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May know that from the dam the worth of each

proceeds.

The mother cow must wear a low'ring look,
Sour-headed, strongly neck'd, to bear the yoke.
Her double dewlap from her chin descends,
And at her thighs the pond'rous burden ends.
Long are her sides, and large; her limbs are great;
Rough are her ears, and broad her horny feet.

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Her colour shining black, but fleck'd with white;
She tosses from the yoke; provokes the fight:
She rises in her gait, is free from fears,

And in her face a bull's resemblance bears:

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Her ample forehead with a star is crown'd;
And with her length of tail she sweeps the

ground.

The bull's insult at four she may sustain;

But, after ten, from nuptial rites refrain.

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Six seasons use; but then release the cow,

Unfit for love, and for the lab'ring plough.

Now, while their youth is fill'd with kindly fire, Submit thy females to the lusty sire:

Watch the quick motions of the frisking tail;
Then serve their fury with the rushing male,
Indulging pleasure lest the breed should fail.
In youth alone, unhappy mortals live;
But, ah! the mighty bliss is fugitive:
Discolour'd sickness, anxious labour, come,

And

age, and death's inexorable doom.

Yearly thy herds in vigour will impair.

Recruit and mend them with thy yearly care:

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Still propagate; for still they fall away:
'Tis prudence to prevent th' entire decay.

Like diligence requires the courser's race,

In early choice, and for a longer space.

The colt, that for a stallion is design'd,
By sure presages shews his gen'rous kind:
Of able body, sound of limb and wind,

Upright he walks, on pasterns firm and straight;

His motions easy; prancing in his gait;

The first to lead the way, to tempt the flood,

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To pass the bridge unknown, nor fear the trembling

wood;

Dauntless at empty noises; lofty neck'd;
Sharp-headed, barrel-belly'd, broadly back'd;
Brawny his chest, and deep; his colour gray;
For beauty, dappled; or the brightest bay:
Faint white and dun will scarce the rearing pay.

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The fiery courser, when he hears from far 130 The sprightly trumpets, and the shouts of war, Pricks up his ears; and, trembling with delight, Shifts place, and paws, and hopes the promis'd fight.