To Mr. FOX, written at FLORENCE. In Imitation of HORACE, Ode 4. Book 2. John Hervey, Baron of Ickworth Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.003 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. III. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 187-189. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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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. 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 .