To a new time; I'll meet you at your lodging, Or where you please: 'till then, Jove keep you, sir! Cris. Nay, gentle Horace, stay; I have it now. Hor. Yes, sir. Apollo, Hermes, Jupiter,

Look down upon me!

Cris.

Rich was thy hap, sweet dainty cap,
There to be placed;

[Aside.

Where thy smooth black, sleek white may smack,
And both be graced.

White is there usurp'd for her brow; her forehead and then sleek, as the parallel to smooth, that went before. A kind of paranomasie, or agnomination: do you conceive, sir?

Hor. Excellent. Troth, sir, I must be abrupt, and leave you.

Cris. Why, what haste hast thou? prithee, stay a little; thou shalt not go yet, by Phœbus. Hor. I shall not! what remedy? fie, how I sweat with suffering!

Cris. And then

Hor. Pray, sir, give me leave to wipe my

a little.

Cris. Yes, do, good Horace.

Hor. Thank you, sir.

Death! I must crave his leave to p― anon;
Or that I may go hence with half my teeth:
I am in some such fear. This tyranny

face

Is strange, to take mine ears up by commission,
(Whether I will or no,) and make them stalls
To his lewd solecisms, and worded trash.
Happy thou, bold Bolanus, now I say;

4 Happy thou, bold Polanus, &c.] This is the sense usually given, I believe, to these words,

"Felicem !"

"O te, Bolane, cerebri

But no one could shew more fretfulness and impatience than

Whose freedom, and impatience of this fellow,
Would, long ere this, have call'd him fool, and fool,
And rank and tedious fool! and have flung jests
As hard as stones, till thou hadst pelted him
Out of the place; whilst my tame modesty
Suffers my wit be made a solemn ass,
To bear his fopperies――

[Aside. Cris. Horace, thou art miserably affected to be gone, I see. But-prithee let's prove to enjoy thee a while. Thou hast no business, I assure me. Whither is thy journey directed, ha?

Hor. Sir, I am going to visit a friend that's

sick.

Cris. A friend! what is he; do not I know him?

Hor. No, sir, you do not know him; and 'tis not the worse for him.

Cris. What's his name? where is he lodged? Hor Where I shall be fearful to draw you out of your way, sir; a great way hence; pray, sir, let's part.

Cris. Nay, but where is't? I prithee say. Hor. On the far side of all Tyber yonder, by Cæsar's gardens."

Cris. O, that's my course directly; I am for you. Come go; why stand'st thou ?

Horace himself does. Surely the felicity of Bolanus must have consisted in an impenetrable, rather than a ticklish and tender scull: a comfortable indifference to all attacks; a good humoured stupidity that dosed over all impertinence; this, indeed, was to be envied.

In this speech, Horace has taken a line, by anticipation, from Juvenal:

"Ut liceat paucis cum dentibus inde reverti."

5 On the far side of all Tyber yonder, by Cæsar's gardens.] Had Shakspeare forgotten this, when, in Julius Cæsar, he placed the gardens on this side Tyber? or did he prefer the authority of North, to that of his old acquaintance?

Hor. Yes, sir: marry, the plague is in that part of the city; I had almost forgot to tell you,

sir.

Cris. Foh! it is no matter, I fear no pestilence; I have not offended Phoebus."

Hor. I have, it seems, or else this heavy scourge Could ne'er have lighted on me.

Cris. Come along.

Hor. I am to go down some half mile this way, sir, first, to speak with his physician; and from thence to his apothecary, where I shall stay the mixing of divers drugs.

Cris. Why, it's all one, I have nothing to do, and I love not to be idle; I'll bear thee company. How call'st thou the apothecary?

Hor. O that I knew a name would fright him now!—

Sir, Rhadamanthus, Rhadamanthus, sir.
There's one so call'd, is a just judge in hell,
And doth inflict strange vengeance on all those
That here on earth torment poor patient spirits.
Cris. He dwells at the Three Furies, by Janus's
temple.

Hor. Your pothecary does, sir.

Cris, Heart, I owe him money for sweetmeats, and he has laid to arrest me, I hear: but

Hor. Sir, I have made a most solemn vow, I will never bail any man.

Cris. Well thep, I'll swear, and speak him fair, if the worst come. But his name is Minos, not Rhadamanthus, Horace.

Hor. That may be, sir, I but guess'd at his name by his sign. But your Minos is a judge too, sir.

• I fear no pestilence; I have not offended Phabus.] Alluding to the plague sent by Apollo among the Grecians, on account of the insult offered to his priest.-Hom. II. lib. i. WHAL.

VOL. II.

G g

Cris. I protest to thee, Horace, (do but taste me once,) if I do know myself, and mine own virtues truly, thou wilt not make that esteem of Varius, or Virgil, or Tibullus, or any of 'em indeed, as now in thy ignorance thou dost; which I am content to forgive: I would fain see which of these could pen more verses in a day, or with more facility, than I; or that could court his mistress, kiss her hand, make better sport with her fan or her dog

Hor. I cannot bail you yet, sir.

Cris. Or that could move his body more gracefully, or dance better; you should see me, were it not in the street-

Hor. Nor yet.

Cris. Why, I have been a reveller, and at my cloth of silver suit, and my long stocking,' in my time, and will be again

Hor. If you may be trusted, sir.

Cris. And then, for my singing, Hermogenes himself envies me, that is your only master of music you have in Rome.

Hor. Is your mother living, sir?

Cris. Au! convert thy thoughts to somewhat else, I pray tl.ee.

Hor. You have much of the mother in you, sir: Your father is dead?

Cris. Ay, I thank Jove, and my grandfather

7 My long stocking.] In this age, the breeches, or, more properly, the drawers, with men of fashion, fell short of the knees, and the defect was supplied by long stockings, the tops of which were fastened under the drawers. This may be scen in most of the portraits of the times.

This is Whalley's note: he could scarcely be mistaken in what he represents as so common to be seen; and yet, before I read it, I always supposed the allusion to be to that kind of stocking which was drawn up very high, and then rolled back over the breeches, till it nea touched the knee.

too, and all my kinsfolks, and well composed in their urns.

Hor. The more their happiness, that rest in peace,

Free from the abundant torture of thy tongue: Would I were with them too!

Cris. What's that, Horace?

8

Hor. I now remember me, sir, of a sad fate · A cunning woman, one Sabella, sung, When in her urn she cast my destiny, I being but a child.

Cris. What was it, I pray thee?

Hor. She told me I should surely never perish By famine, poison, or the enemy's sword; The hectic fever, cough, or pleurisy,' Should never hurt me, nor the tardy gout: But in my time I should be once surprised By a strong tedious talker, that should vex And almost bring me to consumption: Therefore, if I were wise, she warn'd me shun All such long-winded monsters as my bane; For if I could but 'scape that one discourser, I might no doubt prove an old aged man.— By your leave, sir. [Going. Cris. Tut, tut; abandon this idle humour, 'tis nothing but melancholy. 'Fore Jove, now I think on't, I am to appear in court here, to answer to

one Sabella, sung, &c.] Jonson has followed Horace in his Epodes, and made a proper name of this adjective:

instat mihi fatum triste, Sabella

Quod puero cecinit divina mota anus urna. What follows is translated with considerable pleasantry and spirit.

9 The hectic fever, cough, or pleurisy.] These were disorders most incident to the climate of Italy: the pleurisy, or laterum dolor, we meet with frequently in classic authors; and it is now the most reigning disorder, during the summer months. WHAL.