TO thee, dear rover, and thy vanquish'd friends,
The health she wants, thy gentle Chloe sends;
Though much you suffer, think I suffer more,
Worse than an exile on my native shore.
Companions in your master's flight you roam,
Unenvy'd by your haughty foes at home;
For-ever near the royal out-law's side,
You share his fortunes, and his hopes divide;
On glorious schemes, and thoughts of empire dwell,
And with imaginary titles swell.