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May 7, 1767.
No. 123. |
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Messrs.
Printers, by giving the following a Place in your Paper
you’ll oblige a constant Reader.
A Translation of Mr.
Voltaire’s Epistle to Cardinal Querini (inserted
in No. 116 of your Gazette)
who
insisted on his presenting him with an Ode on the Roman
Chatholick Church, to which he had made some Presents.
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Well then! you’d have me
chaunt the Praises
Of
that devoted sacred Pile,
On which all Berlin wond’ring gazes?
I laud your gen’rous Deeds, and smile.
How can I, on the Banks of Sprey,
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In
an unfaithful sceptick Land,
Which from Rome’s Laws doth vaunting stray,
Obey your positive Command?
To Cardinals, how make’t my Choice.
To raise my dedicated Voice?
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Remote
from Sion’s sacred Hill,
Like a good Chatholick I mourn;
My Prince an Heretick is still,
No Hopes, alas! of his Return!
Void of all Devotion, he,
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When
he to Pluto’s Realms descends,
With some Emotion ’tis I see,
Will Tully call and Plato Friends,
And the great Aristides too,
With Marc Aurelius full in View.
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These
famous Genii, ’tis well known,
To Tartarus were long since hurl’d,
That he’ll be damn’d like them, ’tis shown,
Since he lives like them in the World.
But what grieves me the most of all,
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Is
to behold him so intent
On what some Toleration call,
On that enormous Sin so bent.
Indeed I quake right out with Fear,
To see Men from all Quarters come,
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The
Turk, the Jew, the Quaker queer,
Geneva’s Sons, with those of Rome:
All he receives, such is his Plan,
Provided he’s an honest Man.
To make his Wickedness complete,
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He’s
had the Art to ridicule;
That sacred and inhuman Heat
Practis’d in Persecution’s School,
To the Enthusiast known so well,
Though laugh’d at by the Infidel.
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Great
Cardinal, what can I do,
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(A
useless Chamberlain) tho’ civil,
Who serve a Prince (alas! ’tis true)
Proscrib’d and harden’d thus in Evil?
You! whose elevated Brow,
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With
a red Hat adorn’d, displays
The Honour to your Learning due,
A Brow encircled too with Bays;
Who tread the Steps which Horace trod,
Through Paths so rugged and uneven,
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And
who, like Austin, serve your God,
Mounting at once Parnass’ and Heaven.
’Tis yours to instruct and please
Wherever you display your Merit;
Oh then! Sir,
give yourself no Ease,
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’Til
you’ve brought over this choice Spirit!
And our Lord’s Grace (which when you write
Shines in your Works in various Places)
We shall not scruple to unite
With the good Homer’s triple Graces. |
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