To
Mr.
FOX
,
written
at
FLORENCE
.
In
Imitation
of
HORACE
,
Ode
4.
Book
2.
By
the
late
Lord
H—Y
.
Septimi
,
Gades
aditure
mecum
.
Horace, Carmina
[2.6](http://data.perseus.org/citations/urn:cts:latinLit:phi0893.phi001.perseus-lat1:2.6).
THOU
dearest
youth
,
who
taught
me
first
to
know
What
pleasures
from
a
real
friendship
flow
,
Where
neither
interest
nor
design
have
part
,
But
all
the
warmth
is
native
of
the
heart
;
Thou
know'st
to
comfort
,
sooth
,
or
entertain
,
Joy
of
my
health
,
and
cordial
of
my
pain
.
When
life
seem'd
failing
on
her
latest
stage
,
And
fell
disease
anticipated
age
,
When
wasting
sickness
and
afflicted
pain
,
By
Esculapius'
sons
oppos'd
in
vain
;
Forc'd
me
reluctant
,
desperate
,
to
explore
A
warmer
sun
,
and
seek
a
milder
shore
;
Thy
steady
love
with
unexampled
truth
,
Forsook
each
gay
companion
of
thy
youth
,
Whate'er
the
prosp'rous
or
the
great
employs
,
Bus'ness
and
int'rest
,
and
love's
softer
joys
,
The
weary
steps
of
mis'ry
to
attend
,
To
share
distress
,
and
make
a
wretch
thy
friend
,
If
o'er
the
mountain's
snowy
height
we
stray
,
Where
Carthage
first
explor'd
the
vent'rous
way
;
Or
thro'
the
tainted
air
of
Rome's
parch'd
plains
,
Where
Want
resides
,
and
Superstition
reigns
;
Chearful
and
unrepining
,
still
you
bear
Each
dangerous
rigour
of
the
various
year
;
And
kindly
anxious
for
thy
friend
alone
,
Lament
his
suff'rings
and
forget
thy
own
.
Oh
!
would
kind
Heav'n
,
these
tedious
suff'rings
past
,
Permit
me
Ickworth
,
rest
,
and
health
at
last
,
In
that
lov'd
shade
,
my
youth's
delightful
seat
,
My
early
pleasure
,
and
my
late
retreat
,
Where
lavish
Nature's
favourite
blessings
flow
,
And
all
the
seasons
all
their
sweets
bestow
;
There
might
I
trifle
carelesly
away
The
milder
evening
of
life's
clouded
day
,
From
bus'ness
and
the
world's
intrusion
free
,
With
books
,
with
love
,
with
beauty
,
and
with
thee
;
No
farther
want
,
no
wish
yet
unpossess'd
Could
e'er
disturb
this
unambitious
breast
.
Let
those
who
Fortune's
shining
gifts
implore
,
Who
sue
for
glory
,
splendor
,
wealth
,
or
power
,
View
this
unactive
state
,
with
scornful
eyes
,
And
pleasures
they
can
never
taste
,
despise
;
Let
them
still
court
that
goddess'
falser
joys
,
Who
,
while
she
grants
their
pray'r
,
their
peace
destroys
.
I
envy
not
the
foremost
of
the
great
,
Not
Walpole's
self
,
directing
Europe's
fate
;
Still
let
him
load
Ambition's
thorny
shrine
,
Fame
be
his
portion
,
and
contentment
mine
.
But
if
the
gods
,
sinister
still
,
deny
To
live
in
Ickworth
,
let
me
there
but
die
;
Thy
hand
to
close
my
eyes
in
death's
long
night
,
Thy
image
to
attract
their
latest
sight
:
Then
to
the
grave
attend
thy
poet's
herse
,
And
love
his
mem'ry
as
you
lov'd
his
verse
.