The Odes, Satyrs, and Epistles of Horace Done into English. Selections. English. 1688. Horace. 1684 Approx. 580 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 205 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2006-02 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A44471 Wing H2774A ESTC R216475 99828206 99828206 32633 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A44471) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 32633) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 1949:2) The Odes, Satyrs, and Epistles of Horace Done into English. Selections. English. 1688. Horace. Creech, Thomas, 1659-1700. [16], 183, [1], 369-432, 449-480, 465-570, [4] p., [2] plates printed for Jacob Tonson, and sold by Tim. Goodwin at the Maiden-head against St. Dunstans Church in Fleetstreet, London : 1684. "To the very much esteemed John Dryden, Esq." signed by the translator, Thomas Creech. Text continuous despite pagination. With two final advertisment leaves (for Jacob Tonson) at end. A variant has an engraving of two figures and a winged child on the verso of A, and pagination: [14], 183, [1], 369-432, 449-570 p.; the text is the same. Reproduction of the original in the Bodleian Library. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Latin poetry -- Translations into English -- Early works to 1800. 2005-07 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2005-08 Apex CoVantage Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2005-10 Jonathan Blaney Sampled and proofread 2005-10 Jonathan Blaney Text and markup reviewed and edited 2006-01 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion Non usitatâ nec tenui ferar Pennâ biformis per liquidum aethere Vates M Burghers delin . et sculp . THE ODES , SATYRS , AND EPISTLES OF HORACE . Done into English . Qui cupit optatam Cursu contingere metam , Multa Tulit fecitque Puer : — LONDON , Printed for Jacob Tonson , and Sold by Tim. Goodwin at the Maiden-head against St. Dunstans Church in Fleetstreet , 1684. To the very much Esteemed JOHN DRYDEN , Esq . 'T Is pretended by every one that chooseth a Patron , that either the Worth or good Nature of the Person hath determined him to that choice ; He professeth that He hath very mean thoughts of his own performance , and so stands in need of a Protector : He begs a Name whose Luster might shed some Reputation on his Work , or else hath been oblig'd , and bound in gratitude to make this publick acknowledgment of the goodness of the Man. How eminently . You Sir , are endow'd with the first qualification of a Patron every one knows too well to need information ; and where can this trifle find a Corner that hath not been fill'd with Mr. Dryden's name ? 'T is You , Sir , that have advanc'd our Dramatick to its height , and show'd that Epick Poetry is not confin'd to Italy and Greece : That You are honored by the best , and envy'd by others , proclaims Excellency and Worth ; For True Honor is built only upon perfection And Envy , as it is as sharp sighted , so 't is as soaring as an Eagle , and who ever saw it stoop at a Sparrow or a Wren ? And that Candor and Goodness have the greatest share in your Composition , I dare appeal to every one whom You have any way honored with your Conversation ; These so fill your Mind , that there is no room left for Pride , or any disobliging quality : This appears from the Encouragement You are ready to give any tolerable attempts , and reach out a helping hand to all those who endeavour to climb that height where You are already seated : E'en this own̄ its completion to those smiles which You condescended to bestow upon some parts of it , and now ventures to appear a second time where at first it found a favourable Entertainment : 'T is Horace , Sir , whom You have thought worthy your Study and Imitation , that flys to You for Protection , and perhaps will beg it against the Injuries I my self have done him ; You Sir are best acquainted with the difficulties of the Undertaking , can most easily discover , and as easily pardon the defects of SIR , Your most Obliged Humble Servant , Thomas Creech . Oxon. All Souls Coll. May 25 th . 1684. Preface . QUintilian in the First Book of his Institutions instructs the Young Orator what to read , and after Homer and Virgil are chiefly commended to his Study ; He tells him , That considerable improvement may be made from the Lyrick Poets , but there is great Care to be taken in the choice , some select parts only out of each Author to be permitted Youths : And he says particularly of Horace , That He would not have all in Him interpreted : What He means by Interpretation , is evident to every one that understands the Extent of the word , and the Antients Method of instructing : and why this Caution is restrain'd to the Odes , and not apply'd to the Satyrs as well , since the reason upon which He fixes it seems common to both must be taken from the design and subject matter of the Poems ; To describe and reform a vitious man , necessarily requires some expressions which an Ode can never want : The Paint which an Artist uses must be agreeable to the Piece which He designs ; Satyr is to instruct , and that supposeth a knowledge and discovery of the Crime ; Whilst Odes are made only to delight and please , and therefore every thing in them that justly offends is unpardonable . In our Common Schools this Rule of Quintilian is grievously neglected , all is permitted to every Eye , and laid open to the dullest sight by the most shameful Notes that can be pen'd : You may see a Grammarian with a demure mouth cry out , O Foedum ! at a loose expression , and yet presently fill a Page with a more fulsom explication ; and the design of all his pains is only to indulge a petulant Humor , or assist the lazy Ignorance of the common Instructors of our Youth : If any should reckon this amongst the considerable Causes of the Corruptions of our Manners , certainly all those would assent , who see that a Stream will be foul when the Fountain it self is muddy : Nor is this a single opinion , as is evident from their happy industry , who have corrected some of our Authors , and sent them abroad naked , and uncorrupted with forreign Notes ; This Method as it spares the Modesty of the Youth , so it must be a considerable improvement to his Parts , since his Mind and Memory , and not only his Eye must be employ'd : I am bound thankfully to acknowledg the Pious Care of Mr. Thomas Curganven , now of Shirburn in Dorsetshire , in this matter , He did not want , or if he had , His Vertue and Industry had contemn'd , such helps , having searcht into the Secrets of the Classicks , and being an excellent Example of unweary'd Diligence , and regular Carriage to All under his Tuition : To his Instruction I owe what at present I understand of these Books , and to his Rules my hopes of future Attainments : The same Principles made me Cautious of some Odes , tho I have past by three more upon a different account . This just debt being paid to my Honored Instructer , the part that concerns my self , Reader , will give Thee little trouble : I cannot choose but smile now and then to think that I who have not Musick enough to understand one Note , and too little ill Nature ( for that is commonly thought a necessary ingredient ) to be a Satyrist , should venture upon Horace : 'T is certain our Language is not Capable of the numbers of the Poet , and therefore if the Sense of the Author is deliver'd , the variety of Expression kept , ( which I must despair of after Quintilian hath assur'd us that he is most happily bold in his words ) and his Fancy not debas'd , ( for I cannot think my self able to improve Horace ) 't is all that can be expected from a Version ; This the Admirable Cowly consider'd when he undertook Pindar , and hath drawn a short and full Apology for the like undertakings : We must consider , says He , the great difference of time betwixt his Age , and ours : which changes , as in Pictures , at least the Colors of Poetry ; the no less difference betwixt the Religions and Customs of our Countrys , a Thousand particularities of Places , Persons and Manners , which do but confusedly appear to our Eyes at this distance ; and lastly ( which were enough alone for my purpose ) we must consider that our Ears are Strangers to the Musick of his numbers , which sometimes , ( especially in Songs and Odes ) almost without any thing else makes an excellent Poet : 'T is true he improves this consideration , and urges it as concluding against all strict and faithful versions ; in which I must beg leave to dissent , thinking it better to convey down the Learning of the Antients , than their empty sound suited to the present times , and show the Age their whole substance , rather than their thin Ghost imbody'd with some light Air of my own : As for ill Nature , Horace requires none , nay disclaims it in a Satyrist ; his sharpest touches , if we believe both himself , and those that best understood him , are innocent Waggery , admissus circum praecordia ludit , He endeavours to laugh men out of their Vices , and doth not lance or cauterize the sores , but tickles till He heals ; and how much this method surpasses the rougher handling , every one may imagine who knows that 't is more grievous to any man to be Ridicul'd than beaten ; and who is there that would not rather appear in Company with a black Eye , than a smutted Face ? Some few advis'd me to turn the Satyrs to our own Times , they said that Rome was now rivall'd in her Vices , and Parallels for Hypocrisie , Profaneness , Avarice and the like were easie to be found ; But those Crimes are much out of my acquaintance , and since the Character is the same whoever the Person is , I am not so fond of being hated as to make any disobliging applications : Such pains would look like an impertinent labor to find a dunghill , only that I might satisfy an unaccountable humor of dirting one Man's Face , and bespattering another : Some have taken this way , and the ill-Nature of the World hath conspir'd to think their rudeness Wit ; All their smartness proceeds from a sharp Humor in their Body , which falls into their Pen , and if it drops upon a Man's Reputation that is as bright and solid as polisht Steel , it sullys it presently , and eats thro . Such are never lov'd , or prais'd , but shun'd and fear'd , like Mad-Dogs , for their Teeth and Foam ; and are excellently represented by Luca's Basilisk , Who drives all other Serpents from the Plains , And all alone in the vast Desart reigns . What I have borrow'd from others , if ever I have stock enough , I will honestly endeavour to repay ; But the debt which I have contracted from my Lord Roscommon is so vast , that I shall never be able to discharge ; To his admirable Version I must gratefully acknowledge , That I owe the sence , and the best lines in the Art of Poetry . THE ODES OF HORACE . The First Book . ODE I. To MECAENAS . Several Men have several Delights , Lyrick Poetry is his . MECAENAS born of Royal Blood , My joy , my guard , and sweetest good ; Some love with rapid wheels to raise Olympian dust , and gather praise ; Where Races won , and Palms bestow'd , Do lift a King into a God : And some in high Commands are proud , That great preferment of the Crowd ; Blown by their breath the Bubble flies Gaz'd at a while ; then breaks and dies : Another ploughs his Fathers Fields , His Barn holds all that Lybia yields ; And hopes of Wealth and Worlds of Gain , Shall never tempt him from the Plain ; Or draw his fearful Soul to ride In feeble Ships , and stem the Tide : The Merchants tost in angry Seas , That praise their fields , and quiet ease , Yet rigg their tatter'd Ships once more , Untaught , unable to be poor : Some underneath a Myrtle shade , Or by smooth Springs supinely laid , With Mirth , and Wine , and wanton Play , Contract the business of the Day : Shrill Trumpet 's sounds and noisy Wars , That Mothers hate , please other Ears : The Hunter doth his ease forgoe , He lies abroad in Frost , in Snow ; He soon forgets his pleasing Wife , And all the soft delights of Life , Whilst faithful Hounds a Deer pursue , Or have a raging Bore in view : The purling streams and shady grove The Nymphs and Satyrs dance , and Love , Green Ivy Crowns that only spread Fresh Honors round a learned head , Shall raise my Name above the Crowd , And lift me up into a God ; If Muses kind shall string my Lyre , Or Tune my Pipe , and heats inspire : If You , my Lord , approve my vein , And count me ' mongst the Lyrick train , Secure from Death I 'le proudly rise And hide my head in lofty Skies . ODE II. To AUGUSTUS . Rome hath smarted for killing Caesar , and all their Hopes are in Augustus . ENough of Thunder , mighty Jove , Enough thy flaming Arm has thrown , Enough hath torn the sacred Grove , Enough amaz'd the frighted Town : Lest Purrha's age return'd they fear'd Strange Age , when from the former floods Old Proteus drove his scaly Herd To visit Hills , and glide in Woods : The Fishes hung on lofty boughs , Those Seats well known to Doves before , The spreading Waves snatcht trembling Does , They swam , and look't in vain for shore . We saw swoln Tiber backward flow , And from the Tuscan waves retire ; The Monuments of Kings o'rethrow , And hiss in Vesta's sacred fire : Whilst He too too Uxorious flood Swoln big with fury cuts along The left-hand banks , though Jove withstood , To right Complaining Ilia's wrong . The Youth shall hear that impious steel Against our selves we madly drew , Which better haughty Medes should feel , The Youth our faults have left but few . What God to prop the falling State Shall we invoke with earnest Prayers ? How shall our Virgins soften fate , And weary Vesta's deafned Ears ? And whom to expiate Caesar's blood Will Jove appoint ? Apollo come , O're thy bright shoulders cast a cloud , And kindly succour guilty Rome . Or Venus fair , whom Joys attend , Whom Youth flies round , and smiling Grace ; Or Father Mars at last descend , And pity thy decaying Race . Oh long , too long thy fierce delight Hath glutted Thee , whom Wars do please With Darts and Spears , and stern in fight The frightful Moors unlearn'd in ease . Or whether chang'd to Mortal Eys You seem a Youth , Kind winged God , Nor dost the friendly name despise Of the Avenger of our Caesar's blood . Oh Late may You return to Jove , May quiet Days extend thy reign , Nor vext at Us in hast remove To visit happy seats again . Our Empires Father , Prince , and Guide , In Triumphs live ; Nor let the Medes Proud in our Spoyls , unpunisht ride Whilst Mighty Caesar bravely leads . ODE III. To VIRGIL , Taking a Voyage to Athens . SO may kind Venus guide thy Sails , So Helen's Brothers shining Stars , Secure thee from thy fears : So Eol loose the Southern gales , And all the other Winds controul ; As Thou dost waft my Virgil o're , And land him on the Attick shore ; Preserving half my Soul. His Heart was Brass , who first did dare In feeble Ships to stem the Seas , Who weeping Hyades And Monsters saw , nor stoop't to bear . Who saw the headlong Whirlwinds fight , And South-winds rage , that best can raise Or smooth the Adriatick Seas , Nor dy'd at such a sight . What Face of Death can move his fears , That saw with an undaunted Eye Vast Rocks and Waves as high : And could restrain his flowing tears ? In vain the Gods designd , in vain , In vain they did the Lands divide By an unfriendly Tide , If impious Ships can cross the Main . Man forc't by an imperious Will , Do's make all hast to be undone , And very eagerly rush on To court forbidden Ill. Prometheus brought Celestial fire , Which first by wicked Arts He stole , To give his Clay a Soul , And kindle this absurd desire . But Vengeance soon pursu'd deceit , For thence began an unknown disease , Thence cruel Feavers first did seize , And took their fatal Heat . Then lazy Death did mend her pace , Our Life contracted to a span , Death came in hast on Man , And stopt his yet unfinisht race . With Wings which Nature's Laws deny , First Doedalus did boldly dare To beat the Empty Air , And wander thro the liquid Sky . Thro Hell the fierce Alcides ran , He scorn'd the stubborn chains of Fate , And rudely broke the Brazen Gate ; Nought is too hard for Man. Grown Giants in Impiety , Our Impious folly dares the Sky , We dare assault Jove's glorious Throne , Nor , still averse to his command , Will we permit his lifted Hand To lay his Thunder down . ODE IV. He adviseth his Friend to live merrily . SHarp Winter Melts , Favonius spreads his wing , A pleasing change , and bears the Spring : Dry Ships drawn down from stocks now plow the Main , And spread their greedy Sails again : Nor Stalls the Ox , nor Fires the Clowns delight , And Fields have lost their hoary white : The Nymphs and Graces joyn'd through flowry Meads By Moon-light dance , and Venus leads : Whilst labouring Cyclops furious Vulcan tires , And heats their Forge with raging fires : Now crown'd with Myrtle , crown'd with rising Flowers From loosned Fields drive easie hours ; A Lamb to Faunus , if he most approves A Kid , a Kid must stain the Groves : With equal foot , Rich friend , impartial Fate Knocks at the Cottage , and the Palace Gate : Life's span forbids Thee to extend thy Cares , And stretch thy Hopes beyond thy Years : Night soon will seize , and , You must quickly go To story'd Ghosts , and Pluto's house below , Where once arriv'd , adieu to Wine and Love , And all the soft Delights above : No Feasts , where Thee the happy Lot may place The Just Disposer of the Glass : No Lycidas , no fair surprizing Boy , Or to admire , or to enjoy : No Lycidas , who now our Youth do's charm , And soon shall all our Virgins warm . ODE V. He rejoyces at his deliverance from his bewitching Mistriss . WHat tender Youth upon a Rosy bed With Odours flowing round his head Shall ruffle Thee , and loose a heart ? For what fond Youth wilt Thou prepare The lovely Mazes of thy Hair , And spread Charms neat without the help of Art ? How oft unhappy shall he grieve to find The fickle baseness of your Mind ? When he that ne're felt storms before Shall see black Heaven spread o're with Clouds , And threatning Tempests toss the Floods , Whilst Helpless He in vain looks back for Shore . Now fondly , now He rifles all thy Charms , He wantons in thy pleasing Arms And boasts his happiness Compleat : He thinks that You will alwaies prove As fair , and constant to his Love ; And knows not how , how soon those smiles may cheat . Ah wretched those who love , yet ne're did try The smiling treachery of thy Eye ! But I 'me secure , my danger 's o're , My Table shows the Cloaths I vow'd When midst the storm to please the God I have hung up , and now am safe on shore . ODE VI. To AGRIPPA . Varius may record his great Actions , but Love must be the subject of his Songs . THee great in Arms shall Varius sing , In Conduct wise and bold in fight ; What Conquests under your Command , The Legions wan by Sea and Land , The same shall boldly write With quils that dropt from lofty Homer's wing : My tender Verse must Wars refuse ; Spears , Trophys , and the armed field , The fierce Pelides haughty rage That still prest forward to engage , And knew not how to yield , Are things too weighty for my feeble Muse : Strict Modesty confines my Tongue , And shame forbids me to disgrace A subject high , so near divine As mighty Caesar's praise and thine , And your great names debase By the officious meanness of a Song : For who in worthy strains can write Mars dreadful in his Iron Coat ? Or show the black Merione In Trojan dust severely gay ? Or how Tydides fought By Pallas aid , and matcht the Gods in fight ? I sing soft Boys and Virgin 's Wars , How soon they smile , how angry soon With close par'd nails , and tender tooth They all invade the ruffling Youth ; Thus urge my frolick on And bid farewell , a long farewel to Cares . ODE VII . He commends Plancus his Seat , and adviseth him to enjoy his Life . SOme Mytelen , or famous Rhodes will praise , Or two-sea'd Corinth's honor raise ; Some Thebes for Bacchus fam'd in sounding strains , Or flowry Tempe's open Plains : Some fill their lasting Verse with high renown Of Virgin Pallas learned town ; And whilst they studiously their praise bestow , To All prefer the Olive bough : To honor Juno , Argos some proclaim , Or raise Mycaene , high in fame ; Not patient Sparta , Tempe's fruitful Fields , Nor all that fat Larissa yields , Can raise my fancy ; no , I all contemn Compar'd to fair Albunea's stream ; My water'd Orchards , headlong Anio's flood , Or quiet Tibur's shady wood : As fair South-winds will brush the Clouds away , Nor alwaies brood a rainy day , So Plancus , You , what ever life you lead , Or play at home in Tybur's shade , Or fill the shining Camp , and lead the War , With Wine still wisely end thy Care : When Teucer fled distrest by angry fate , His Country , and his Father's hate , With poplar Crowns He grac't his drunken head , And thus to drooping Friends he said , What ever Chance , the kinder Parent sends , Wee 'l bravely bear my noble Friends : Adieu fond Care , despairing fears be gone Whilst Teucer guides , and leads you on : Unerring Phoebus says our hands shall raise A City in another place , Another Salamis : Cheer , rouze your force , For We have often suffer'd worse : Drink briskly round , dispell all cloudy sorrow , Drink round , Wee 'l plow the Deep to morrow . ODE VIII . To LYDIA , Who had made Lybaris Effeminate . TEll , Lydia , tell me this , By all the Gods I do conjure Thee tell Why Thou wilt ruine Lybaris By loving of the Youth too well : Why doth He hate the Plain That can endure the fury of the Skies , The burning Sun , the Wind and Rain : By Nature fitted for the Prize ? Why now refuse to ride Amidst his Equals , and with graceful force The fury of his Coarser guide , And bravely sit the manag'd Horse ? Why Yellow Tyber's stream Doth He now hate ? why fear to touch the flood , And why the shining Oyl contemn With greater care than Viper's blood ? Why do his Arms no more Look black with blows and honourable scars Which once with just applause He bore , When Fame attended on his Wars ? So justly prais'd for Art , So fam'd for strength , when thro the wondring throng Beyond the bounds he threw the Dart , Which swiftly bore his praise along . Why doth he now lie hid , As once complying with his Mother's fears The Great , the Brave Achilles did , Lest Manly dress should force him on to Wars ? ODE IX . He adviseth his Friend to live merrily . SEE how the Hills are white with Snow , The Seas are rough , the Woods are tost , The Trees beneath their burthen bow , And purling streams are bound in frost . Dissolve the Cold with noble Wine , Dear Friend , and make a rouzing fire , ' Gainst Cold without , and Care within , Let both with equal force conspire . With all things else , come , trust the Gods , Who when they shall a calm restore , And still the storms that toss the floods ; Old Oaks , and Ashes shake no more . All Cares , and Fears are fond and vain , Fly vexing thoughts of dark to-morrow ; What Chance scores up , count perfect gain , And banish business , banish sorrow . Whilst Thou art green , and gay , and Young , E're dull Age comes , and strength decays , Let mirth , and humor , dance , and song Be all the trouble of thy days . The Court , the Mall , the Park , and Stage , With eager thoughts of Love pursue ; Gay Evening whispers fit thy Age , And be to Assignation true . Now Love to hear the hiding Maid , Whom Youth hath fir'd , and Beauty charms By her own tittering laugh betray'd , And forc'd into her Lover's Arms. Go dally with thy wanton Miss , And from the Willing seeming Coy , Or force a Ring , or steal a Kiss ; For Age will come , and then farewel to joy . ODE X. In praise of Mercury . SWeet smooth-tongu'd God , wise Atlas Son , Whose Voice did mould Mens flinty hearts , Just risen from their Parent stone , By softning Musick , and instructing Arts. Thee , Thee my Muse shall gladly sing Thee Post of Heaven , and Guard of Hell ; First Mover of the charming string ; By waggish Thievery cunning to conceal . Unless you would restore the Cows Whilst with his voice He dar'd the Child , And threatned with his angry brows , Now He had lost his Bow , Apollo smil'd . Rich Priam with a Pious hast Whilst You did guide his trembling feet , Thessalian fires securely past ; The Camp , and proud Atrides haughty Fleet. You gently guide the Pious Souls To happy Seats ; Your golden rod The flitting Troop controuls ; O lov'd , Above , Below , by every God. ODE XI . He adviseth his Friend to live merrily , and take no Care for to morrow . AH do not strive too much to know My dear Luconoe , What the kind Gods design to do VVith Me and Thee . Ah do not You consult the Stars , Contented bear thy doom , Rather than thus increase thy fears For what will come : Whether they 'l give one Winter more , Or else make this thy last ; Which breaks the Waves on Tyrrhene shore With many a blast , Be Wise , and Drink ; cut off long Cares From thy contracted Span , Nor stretch extensive hopes and fears Beyond a Man : E'en whil'st we speak the Envious time Doth make swift hast away , Then seize the present , use thy prime , Nor trust another Day . ODE XII . To AUGUSTUS . WHat Man , what Hero , stately Muse , Wilt thou deliver down to Fame ? What God for thy great Subject choose ? And make the wanton Echo sport his Name O're Helicon's resounding Grove , O're Pindus , or cold Hoemus hill ? Whence list'ning Woods did gladly move And throng'd to hear sweet Orpheus wondrous quill . He by his Mothers art could bind The headlong fury of the floods ; Allay rough storms , appease the wind , And loose from their fixt roots the dancing woods . Whom first ? shall I creating Jove With pious duty gladly sing , That guides below , and rules above , The great Disposer , and the mighty King ? Than He none greater , next him none That can be , is , or was : Supreme he singly fills the Throne ; Yet Pallas is allow'd the nearest place . Thy praises , Bacchus , bold in VVar , My willing Muse will gladly show , And , Virgin , Thee whom Tygers fear ; And Phoebus dreadful for unerring Bow. Alcides Acts my Muse must write , And Leda's Sons ; one fam'd for Horse , And one in close and handy fight Of haughty bravery , and of noble force . When both their Stars at once appear , The Winds are husht , they rage no more ; ( It is their Will ) the Skies are clear , And Waves roul softly by the quiet shore . Shall Romulus stand next to These ? Or furious Tarquin's haughty reign ? Or , Numa's Laws and pious Peace ? Or Cato's noble fall , and fierce disdain ? The Scauri next , the Great , the Good ? Or Regulus his constant Truth ? Or Paulus prodigal of his blood VVhen Hannibal o'rethrew the Roman Youth ? Or shall I sing in lasting Verse Fabricius Mind too great for Gold ? Or else rough Curius Praise reherse In conduct prudent , and in action bold ? Him and Camillus fam'd for War , In a poor house , and mean estate Want poorly bred on hardy fare , And made them strong to prop Rome's sinking Fate . Marcellus like an Oak doth rise , And Julius Caesar's light appears As in fair Nights and smiling Skies The beauteous Moon amid'st the meaner Stars . Great Saturn's Off-spring , mighty Jove , Whose greatest care is Caesar's fate ; Serenely You may reign above , VVhilst here Augustus keeps the second state . And whether He in triumph leads The Parthians that on Latium prest ; Or beats the Indians and the Medes , And spoils the distant Nations of the East , He less than Thou , rules all below , Whilst Thy hot Wheels may shake the Clouds , And dreadful Thunder fiercely throw On Groves prophan'd , and on unhallow'd Woods . ODE XIII . His Jealousie occasions his disquiet . VVHen Lydia praises Damon's Charms , His rosy Neck , and waxen Arms , His Air , and rowling Ey ; My Mind scarce thinks on what it does , My sickly Colour comes and goes ; I rage , I burn , I dy : I lose my former vital Grace , And tears steal softly down my face ; Cold feeble Sweats begin , Cold feeble Sweats that plainly show How fierce the Flame , and yet how slow That melts my Soul within : I rage to see thy Shoulder stand , Or snowy Breast by drunken hand Too lovingly unkind ; Or when the ruffling Amorous youth Hath prest thy Lips with eager Tooth , And left a Mark behind : Coy Lydia , all thy hopes are vain Still to endure the pleasing pain Of a surprizing Kiss , Which Venus doth in Nectar steep , And hangs upon the balmy Lip , To draw us on to Bliss . Thrice happy They , that free from strife Maintain a Love as long as life ; Whose fixt and bending vows , No intervening Jealousie , No Fears and no Debates untye ; And Death alone can loose . ODE XIV . To the Common-wealth which was now ready to engage in another Civil War. ANd shall the raging Waves again Bear Thee back into the Main ! Oh what dost do ! put close to shore , And never trust the Ocean more : Thy Oars are gon , and Southern blasts Have rent thy Sails , and torn thy Masts ; Nor without tackling can'st thou brave The violent fury of the Wave : Thy Stern is gone , thy Gods are lost , And thou hast none to hear thy cry , When thou on dangerous Shelves art tost , When Billows rage , and Winds are high : Thô thou art built of noble Wood , And gay as ever cut the Flood ; Alas ! 't is but an empty Name , Nor will the Seas regard thy Fame : What fearful Seaman dares rely On Gilded Sterns when Winds are high ? Vain show , not fit to sail but please , An easie prev to angry Seas : Tho often , Thou hast safely past , Thou ow'st a sport to Winds at last : Oh lately Thou my grief and fear , And now my fresh and present Care , Take heed , and fly the flattering Seas Between the shining Cyclades . ODE XV. Nereus sings the Fall of Troy occasion'd by Paris 's Rape of Helen . VVHen faithless Paris stole away , And carry'd Helen thro the Sea ; Then Nereus still'd the Wind : He quieted the angry Seas , And lull'd the Billows into ease , Ease to the Lovers hast unkind . Whilst thus he sang , Thou carry'st home Thine own , false Youth and Country's doom ; VVhom Greeks shall fetch again VVith all their force ; and all combine To break that wicked Match of thine , And Ancient Priam's noble reign . VVhat labor , ah ! what dust and heat ! And how the Men , and Horses sweat ! Ah Troy what Fates engage ! E'en furious Pallas now prepares Her Helmet and her Shield for VVars ; Her dreadful Chariot , and her Rage . In vain shalt thou thy safety place In Venus aid , and paint thy face ; In vain adorn thy hair ; In vain thy feeble Harp shalt move , And sing soft tales of easie Love , To please the wanton and the fair . In vain shalt Thou avoid thy Foe , The winged Dart , and Cretan Bow , Things grievous to thy joys : In vain with grief shalt fear to view Stout Ajax eager to pursue , And strive to fly the hated noise . But ah too late , ah much too late Thou shalt endure the stroak of Fate , And find the Gods are just : Too late Thou shalt deserv'dly feel The force of the revenging steel , And soyl th' Adulterous locks in dust . Dost Thou not see grave Nestor's age , And fierce Ulysses wilely rage , The ruine of thy State ? Nor Teucer's brave undaunted force Nor Stheneleus that drives his Horse As furious and as fast as Fate ? Ah Thou shalt see Merione In Trojan dust severely gay ; And fierce Tydides rave ; Look how he frowns , and roves about To find the Feeble Paris out ; Tydides , as his Father brave . These feeble Paris thou shalt fly As trembling Does whose fears espy A Lion in a Grove ; They leave their Herbs , with panting Breath , They strive to shun pursuing Death ; Was this thy Promise to Thy Love ! Achilles angry for a Wrong Shall Troyes approaching Fate prolong ; But after certain years Thessalian Flames and Grecian Fire Shall o're the proudest Piles aspire : And fill the Matrons Eyes with Tears : ODE XVI . A Recantation for a Copy of Iambicks written on a young Lady . OH Daughter fair , of greater Charms Than those with which thy Mother warms , My guilty Verses how you please Destroy , in Flames ( thô scarce so hot As that fierce rage with which I wrote ) Or in the angry Seas . Not Cybele such heat inspires Ne're Phoebus with such raging fires His Prophet's Soul possess 't , Not Bacchus self can raise a Man Half so much as Anger can When once it burns the Breast : Not Tears nor Kindness can asswage , Nor Force nor Danger curb the rage , It ventures boldly on ; It scorns to be confin'd by Jove , Or all the Thund'ring Powers above , But by its boundless self alone . When Bold Prometheus first began , As Story goes , to make a Man From every thing He snatcht a part To furnish out his Clay And to compleat his rude essay , And plac't a Lions fury in the Heart . 'T was Rage that made the Brothers hate , Rage wrought Thyestes wond'rous fate ; 'T was Rage that kill'd the Child ; That fed the Father with the Son , And when it saw the mighty Mischief done , Stood by , and ( what was strange ) it smil'd . 'T is that that raises all our Wars , And brings our Dangers and our Fears , When the insulting Foe Whil'st Anger burns , and Rage prevails O're Town and Cities ruin'd Walls Doth draw the heavy Plough . Then curb thy Anger charming Maid , That once my heedless Youth betray'd , It rais'd a deadly flame ; And hurry'd on my thought-less Muse In swift Iambicks to abuse And wanton with thy fame . But now I do repent the wrong , And now compose a softer Song To make Thee just amends : Recant the Errors of my Youth , And swear those scandals were not Truth ; So You and I be friends . ODE XVII . He Commends his Country Seat , and invites his Mistriss thither . SWift Faunus oft Lyceum leaves behind , And to my pleasing Farm retreats ; And from the Summer heats Defends my Goats , and from the rainy wind . O're Vales , o're craggy Rocks , and Hills they stray , Seek flowry Thyme , and safely brouze And wanton in the boughs ; Nor fear an angry Serpent in the way . No lurking Venom swells the harmless mould , The Kids are safe , the tender Lambs Lie bleating by their Dams , Nor hear the Evening Wolves grin round the fold . Soft rural Lays thro every Vally sound ; By low Ustica's purling Spring The Shepherds pipe and sing , Whilst from the even Rocks the tunes rebound . Kind Heaven defends my soft aboads , I live the Gods peculiar Care , Secure and free from fear ; My Songs and my Devotion please the Gods. Here naked Truth , Love , Peace , good Nature reign , And here to Thee shall Plenty flow , And all her Riches show To raise the honor of the quiet Plain . Here crooked Vales afford a cool retreat ; Or underneath an Arbor's shade For Love and Pleasure made , Thou shalt avoid the Dog-Star's raging heat ; And sweetly sing the harmless Wars of Love , How , chast Penelope's desires , And wanton Circe's fires With various heats for one Ulysses strove : At Noon with Wine the fiery beams asswage Beneath a shade on beds of Grass ; And take a Chirping glass , But never drink till Mirth boils up to rage . Ne're fear thy old Gallant , He 's far away , He shall not see , nor seize , nor tear Thy Chaplet from thy Hair ; We shall have leisure , and have room to play . ODE XVIII . Wine moderately taken cheers the Mind , but too much makes men mad . DEar Varus urge thy wise design , And chiefly plant the noble Vine In Tibur's fertile shade , Or round Catilles Wall , The sober Dotards Cares invade , And numerous mischiefs wait on all . Pale Cares are rude , And must intrude Untill forgetful Cups go round ; And who in drink doth prate of Wars , Of Want , or State affairs ? Each head is free , and busie thoughts are drown'd ; But Mirth , and Women , Sport , and Play Is all the trouble of the Day . But lest thy growing Mirth surpass The moderate freedom of a merry glass ; Think on the Centaurs blood , Think how those Beasts did fight , With Wine and G , ore their Tables flow'd ; And then command thy Appetite . What wild desires , What Madness fires The Thracian Bruits ; how fierce a God , When Drunken They all Right and Just Do measure by their Lust , And eagerly rush on to brawls and blood ? Attending Death strikes every Guest , And none survive the fatal Feast . Submitting to thy easie yoke I 'le freely use , but ne'r provoke Thy rage , obliging God ; Nor shall my Tongue reveal To the prophane and common Crowd The mysteries thy boughs conceal : Preserve my Age From drunken Rage Which blind Self-love does still attend , With Vanity which loves to spread Her Plumes , and raise her Head Above the Common level of her Friend ; With these with an uneven pace Walks broaken Faith which lets all Secrets pass , Much more transparent than a glass . ODE XIX . To GLYCERA . He confesseth his Love. THe cruel Mother of Desires And wanton Youth reproves , And bids me rais'd by Bacchus Fires Restore my self to my forsaken Loves : Fair Glycera my wish provokes More white than polisht Marble Stone , Inviting coy , and slippery looks , Coy looks , too slippery to be gaz'd upon . Now Venus leaves her Cyprian Seats , And fills my Soul with all her heats ; Bids me not mind the Parthian force , When dreadful on his Flying Horse He makes his proud , and conquering retreats . All that I think on must be Love ; Bring Wine , my Boys , an Altar rear , A tender Lamb perhaps may move ; And make the angry Goddess less severe . ODE XX. He invites Mecaenas to take a Bottle of Wine at his house . POor Sabine Wine in Cups as poor Is all my present store ; 'T was bottled then , when You , my Lord , In crowded Theaters ador'd Smooth Tyber's Banks around Return'd the joyful sound , And babling Eccho's the glad shouts restor'd . Rich Casks from the Colenian Vine , Or smooth Caecubian Wine Your Cellar store ; but meaner juice Contented I must humbly use ; My Cups the Formian Hill Nor the Falernian fill ; 'T is Wealth 's great priviledge to be profuse . ODE XXI . He exhorts the Boys and Maids to sing Apollo 's and Diana 's praise . YE tender Maids Diana sing ; Apollo Praise Ye rising Boys , And both to equal Honors bring ; Latone too whom mighty Jove Did deeply love , And show the pious duty of your joys . Diana sing , Diana loves The purling Springs that softly flow , The pleasing Woods and quiet Groves That shady Erymanthus bears , Or Cragis rears , Or in cold Algidum but slowly grow . Ye Males with equal Songs reherse The flowry Tempe's open Air , Or sing with an immortal Verse Fair Delos Isle , the happy Earth That gave him birth : His charming Harp , his Bow , and graceful Hair. He by your Pious Vows o'rcome Pale Famine , and rough Wars shall drive From Caesar , and his happy Rome , And make those raging Plagues infest The distant West : Whilst we in wanton Peace and Plenty live . ODE XXII . Nothing will hurt a good innocent Man , and a faithful Lover . A Man unstain'd , and pure from Sin , No Quiver fraught with poyson'd Heads , No Africk Javelin needs , He has a Guard and Arms within : Whether o're Syrtes wandring sands , Or bruitish Caucasus He goes , Or where Hydaspes flows And swiftly cuts the savage Lands : Of late , when Cares forsook my head , I stray'd and Sang i th' Sabine Grove My Lalage , my Love , A Woolf saw me unarm'd , and fled : A Beast so large did never roar i th' Daunian Woods , and fright the Swains , Nor in her burning Plains The Lyons Dry-Nurse Africk bore : So place me where no Sun appears , Or wrapt in Clouds or drown'd in tears ; Where Woods with whirling Tempests tost : Where no relieving Summers breeze Does murmur thro the Trees , But all lyes bound and fixt in Frost . Or place me where the scorching Sun With beams too near , doth burn the Zone , Yet fearless there I 'le gladly rove , Let frowning , or let smiling Fate Or Curse , or Bless my State Sweet smiling Lalage I 'le always love . ODE XXIII . He tells his young Mistriss that she is now of Age , and need not be affraid of him . YOu fly me , Maid , as tender Fawns Seek absent Dams in deep despair ; O're craggy Rocks , o're Woods and Lawns , And idly fear at every breath of Air. If Winds do whistle thrô the Grove , Or ruffle Vin●s ; they quickly start , If Lizzards in a Bramble move , An Icy trembling runs thrô every part . Not Tyger I or angry Bore Pursue Thee , Chloe , to destroy , Attend thy Mother's heels no more Now grown mature for Man , and ripe for Joy. ODE XXIV . He comforts Virgil Mourning for the Death of his Friend . ANd who can grieve too much ? what time shall end Our mourning for so dear a Friend ? Melpomene whom Jove hath blest With melting Voice , and mournful Tongue , And with a Harp above the rest Hath grac't ; begin the Melancholly Song . And doth eternal Sleep close Varus Eyes ? How soon our Pride and Glory dyes ! And where will equal Justice find , Where steddy Faith and naked Truth So generous , and so great a Mind ? And where an Equal to the falling Youth ? To be bewail'd by all the Good , the Just He fell ; by you , dear Virgil , most ; By you , who now dost mourn in vain , By Pious you , who idely pray To have thy Varus back again ; He was not lent Thee for a longer stay . Could you with foster touch than Orpheus move The Harp that drew the list'ning Grove , The Grove that danc't to Tunes he play'd ; Yet Blood and Bones would scarce return , Nor Flesh to cloath the empty shade , The Shade that once lay naked in the Urn. Which Mercury , a hard uneasie God To open Fate , with frightful Rod Hath driven thrô the gloomy Air , And shut amongst the Shades of Night : 'T is hard : but when We needs must bear , Enduring Patience makes the Burthen light . ODE XXV . He insults over his Mistriss Lydia , now grown Old. HA , Ha! Thy Trade at last is done , And all thy wanton Lovers gone ! No sighing Youths attend thy State , There 's no such rattling at thy dore As Heretofore ; And now thy Threshold loves thy quiet Gate . Now you may rest secure from noise , And sadly dream of former joys ; You seldom hear despairing Sighs , My Lydia rests in soft delight All the long night , Whil'st here her faithful Lover pines , and dyes . Now , now 't is thine , thy turn to moan The haughty wantons all alone : Now to a shady Grove retire , Whilst Winds as cold as thy dull Age Do fiercely rage And cool the poor remainders of thy fire . When Lust as fierce as Mares desires Thy ulcerous Heart and Liver fires , Then Thou shalt mourn , but mourn in vain , That wanton Youth seeks blooming Charms , And greener arms ; Whilst longing Age still meets with cold disdain . Then thou shalt think on sweets before , And dye at the despairing thought , No more . ODE XXVI . He desires his Muse to commend his Friend Lamia . I , I , the Muses merry Friend Deliver all my busie Cares Unto the wanton VVind ; What Tyrant of the North Leads dreadful Armies forth Secure alone , and laugh at others fears . Sweet Muse that dost delight to sing In strains to Roman Ears unknown , And tast the Virgin spring ; Trace o're the shady Bowers , And gather sweetest flowers ; And wreath my Lamia , wreath a noble Crown . What Honors I without thy Aid Bestow to grace my Friends , are vain ; My Crowns will quickly fade : You , Muse , and all the Nine should raise In new Alcaïcks Lamia's praise , And make him live in an unusual strain . ODE XXVII . He adviseth his Friends not to quarrel in their drink . AMidst our Cups for mirth design'd To fight and quarrel , suits Rough Thracian Brutes ; But not the sober temper of a Friend . This Savage Humor , Sirs , forbear , And free the modest God From brawls and blood ; And let your Humor , as your Wine , be clear . How Cups and Swords do disagree ! Then give your fighting o're , And brawl no more ; But sit , and keep your Elbows down like me . If you will have the glass go round , Then tell from what fair Eys The Arrow flies ; What Beauty makes Thee Happy in a wound . Not tell ! nay then the Glass remove , VVhat ever Charms ensnare Thy Heart , are fair ; You never sin in a dishonest Love. Tell boldly , tell thy generous flame , This is no leaky Ear ; Nor what I hear Shall my loose Tongue pour out to common fame . Unhappy Youth ! doth She surprize ? And have her Flames possess 't Thy burning Breast ? Thou didst deserve a dart from kinder Eyes . Undone ! for no Thessalian Charms Nor e'en the winged Horse Can break her force , And free Thee from this strange Chimera's Arms. ODE XXVIII . Architas a Mathematician being Shipwrack't , is represented begging a Seaman to Bury him , and denouncing Vengeance on him if he neglects his Request . A Narrow Grave by the Matinian Shore Confines Thee now , and thou can'st have no more , Ah learn'd Architas , ah how small for Thee Whose wond'rous Mind could measure Earth and Sea ! What Sands make up the Shore minutely teach , And count as far as Number 's self could reach ! What did it profit that thy nimble Soul Had travell'd Heaven , and oft ran round the Pole , Pursu'd the motions of the rowling Light When Death came on , and spread a gloomy Night ! Wise Tantalus the guest of Gods is dead , And on strange wings the chang'd Tithonus fled : Jove's Friend just Minos hath resign'd his Breath , And Wise Pythagoras felt a second Death ; Althô his Trojan Shield , and former State Did prove his Soul above the force of Fate ; Withdrew the Mind from Death's black conquering hand , And left but Skin and Bones at Fate 's Command ; In thy Opinion He did most excell , Discover'd Truth , and follow'd Nature well : But once o're all long Night her shades will spread , And all must walk the Valleys of the Dead : Some Rage spurs on , and Death attends in Wars ; The Sea destroys the greedy Marriners : The Young and Old confus'd by Numbers fall , And Death with equal hand doth strike at all : A boysterous Storm my feeble tackling tore , And lest one naked on th' Illyrian shore : But , Seaman , pray be just , put near the Land , Bestow a Grave , and hide my Limbs in Sand : So may the threat'ning East winds spare the Floods , And idely spend their Rage on Hills and Woods ; Whilst you ride safely ; so from every Shore May Gain flow in , and feed thy growing Store : May Jove and Neptune soft Tarentum's Guard Conspire to Bless , and joyn in one Reward : Perhaps you scorn , and are design'dly base , Thy Crime shall Dam thy undeserving Race ; Thy Pride , vain Man , shall on thy self return , Thou naked lie , and be the Publick scorn : My Prayers shall mount , and pull just Vengeance down , No Offerings shall release , now Vows attone : Thô hasty now , driven by a prosperous gale , ( 'T is quickly done ) thrice strew the sand , and sail . ODE XXIX . To ICCIUS . A Philosopher who had left his study , and was resolv'd to go to War. YOu envy , Iccius , the Arabian's store , Their pretious Gums , and Ivory beds , And art resolv'd for War ; For fierce Sabean Kings ne're fought before , And dreadful Medes Your scourges knit , and Roman Chains prepare . What lovely Virgin when her Lover's kill'd Shall wait on Thee , and call Thee Lord ? What perfum'd Royal Boy To shoot in 's Fathers Bow exactly skill'd , Attend thy board ; And serve Thy pleasure in another joy ? Who now dares say that streams must flow From Mountains tops to Vales below , And not to th' Springs return ? Or who deny but Tyber's wondrous stream May Hills contemn , And swiftly roul back to his lofty Urn ? When You can change for Shield , and Sword , and Dart , And the base Drudgery of Wars , VVhat e're contentment brings Panoetus VVorks , thy costly Books of Art And Plato's cares ; Tho once I 'me sure You promis'd better things . ODE XXX . He begs Venus to come to the Temple which his Glycera had prepar'd . KInd Venus leave the Paphian Isle , And live with Glycera a while ; A noble Temple she prepares , VVith Incense sweet thine Altars smoak , Thy presence numerous Vows invoak ; She calls Thee with a thousand Prayers . The Graces with their Zones unloos'd , The Nymphs their beauties all expos'd From every Spring , and every Plain ; Thy powerful , hot , and winged Boy , And Youth that 's dull without thy joy , And Mercury compose thy Train . ODE XXXI . The Poet's Wish . VVHat will the Poet beg to day From Phoebus in his hallow'd Shrine , For what doth He design to Pray , Whil'st thus He pours his Holy Wine ? Not fat Sardinia's fruitful Crops , Nor Flocks that hot Calabria feeds , Nor Gold , nor Ivory raise his Hopes ; Those toys He neither loves , nor needs . Not those rich Fields where Lyris runs With quiet Streams , and wanton play , The smoothest of the Ocean's Sons , And gently eats his easie way . Let him that Has one , Prune his Vine , The Merchant now come safe to Land In golden Gobblets quaff the Wine His Syrian Wares and Voyage gain'd . He chiefest Darling of the Gods , For twice a year He plows the Main , He rides the Proud Atlantick Floods , And yet makes safe returns again ! Me Chicory and Olives feed , Me loos'ning Mallows nobly feast , They give what Nature's wants can need , And kindly fill the easie Guest . A Mind to use my present Store With Health and Life , but not so long As brings Contempt , or cramps my Song ; Grant this Apollo , and I ask no more . ODE XXXII . To his Harp , whose assistance he desires . IF underneath a Myrtle shade , When free from Business , I have play'd What may this year , and more command ; Begin , sweet Harp , a Roman strain , Those Measures and those Tunes maintain First struck by great Alcerus noble Hand . He fierce in Arms , yet mid'st his Cares , When Dangers press't , and noisy Wars , And stain'd his charming Harp with Blood ; Or when He stem'd the angry Seas , Or when arriv'd He sate at ease , And laught at all the Fury of the Flood : The Muses He in sounding Verse Would Sing , and Venus Praise reherse , With her attending wanton Boy : Or Lyco's Face surprizing fair , With lovely Eyes , and Auborn Hair , By Nature fitted to entice to Joy. Great Phoebus Glory , Phoebus Love , And welcome to the Feasts of Jove ; Thou great Reliever of my Care ; When e're I beg thy Aid , attend ; Assist the Verses of thy Friend , And tune my Songs for Mighty Caesar's Ear. ODE XXXIII . He Comforts his Friend who had ill success in his Amours . COme dry thine Eys , and cease to mourn , Think not too much on Glycera's scorn : Let no complaining Songs proclaim , That she , regardless of her Vows , Her wanton smiles bestows Upon a later , and a meaner flame . Lycoris fair for Cyrus burns , She loves , but meets no kind returns ; Ill-natur'd Pholöe Cyrus Charms , But sooner shall the Lambs agree With cruel VVolves , than she Shall take so base a Wanton in her Arms. Thus Venus sports , the Rich , the Base , Unlike in Fortune , and in Face To disagreeing Love provokes ; VVhen cruelly jocose She ties the fatal noose , And binds Unequals to the brazen Yokes . This is the Fate that all must prove , The sure unhappiness of Love ; VVhilst fairer Virgins did adore And courted Me , I Myrtal woo'd As rough as Adria's flood That bends the Creeks of the Calabrian shore . ODE XXXIV . He resolves to be religious , and follow Epicurus 's Philosophy no more . I That but seldom did adore , I that no God but pleasure knew , VVhilst mad Philosophy did blind , And Epicurus fool'd my Mind ; Must keep that impious Course no more ; But turn my Sails , and steer anew . For Angry Jove with mighty force , Whilst all the Skies were bright and clear , Shot thro the Heaven with pointed flame , And shook the Universal frame ; He lately drove his thund'ring Horse And flaming Chariot thro the Air. This shook the Earth and wandring streams , This noise disturb'd the quiet Dead ; Thro muddy Styx , thro all beneath , And thro the shady VValks of Death Quick Lightning shot unusual beams ; The Ghosts beheld the Light , and fled . He brings the most obscure to light , And robs the Glorious of a Crown ; Now tumbles down the mighty Proud And makes them know there is a God ; Now kicks the lofty into night , And seats the Peasant in a Throne . ODE XXXV . To Fortune , whom he Celebrates , and begs to preserve Caesar . GReat Goddess , Antium's guardian Power , Whose force is strong and quick to raise The lowest to the highest place ; Or with a wond'rous fall To bring the haughty lower ; And turn proud Triumphs to a Funeral . The labouring Swain thy Aid implores , His Prayers are mixt of Fear and Hope On Thee depending for his Crop ; Thee Merchants Thee confess VVhen far remov'd from Shores , And bow to Thee the Mistress of the Seas . To thee their Vows rough Germans pay , To Thee the wandring Scythians bend , Thee mighty Rome proclaims a friend : And for their Tyrant Sons The barbarous Mothers pray To thee , the greatest Guardian of their Thrones : They bend , they vow , and still they fear Lest you should kick their Empire down And cloud the glory of their Crown ; They fear that you would raise The lazy Crowd to War , And break their Empire , or confine their Praise . Necessity still stalks before , And leads the way with poys'nous breath , And all the Instruments of Death ; Sharp Swords , and VVheels and Racks That flow with putrid gore Her brazen hand to fright the Nations shakes . Sure Hope , and Friendship cloath'd in white Attend on Thee , they still remain The chiefest Glories of thy Train ; Thô you inrag'd retreat And with a hasty flight , Thy Garment chang'd , forsake the falling Great . But the base Crowd , the Perjur'd Whore , And when the Casks of Wine are dry , The false Pretenders quickly fly ; They all refuse to bend With the declining Poor And take the heavy yoke to ease their Friend . Preserve Great Caesar , Caesar leads To distant Britan , guide his Fate , And keep the Glory of our State , The youth that must infest VVith Arms the haughty Medes ; And scatter Fears and Slavery thrô the Fast . I blush at the dishonest show , I die to see the VVounds and Scars Those Glorys of our Civil VVars ; What Sins , a Cursed Age Were VVe afraid to do , And what hath scap't the fury of our rage ? VVhat dread of Heaven , or fears of Hell Could stop the Impious daring hand ? And was not every shrine prophan'd ! Oh wouldst Thou quickly whet Our impious blunted steel To fight the bold Arabian , and the Gete . ODE XXXVI . A Welcome to his dear Friend Lamia . 'T Is pious Duty now to praise With Incense , Songs and sacred Lays , And with a promis'd Heifers blood My Numida's kind guardian God : Who safely now return'd again From the remotest Parts of Spain , To thronging Friends on every side A thousand Kisses does divide ; But Dearest Lamia most receives , And takes as gladly as He gives : Their equal Love at School began , Both the same Race of Vertue ran ; And both at once grew up to Man : Be every Head with Garlands Crownd , And let the flowing Bowl go round : Let fading Lillys and the Rose Their Beauty , and their smells disclose , Let long-liv'd Parsly grace the Feast , And gently cool the heated Guest : Then all on Beauteous Damalis Shall lose their gloating wanton Eyes ; But her no Charms no Nods shall move , And none divide her from her Love ; She shall imbrace her young Gallant As twining Ivy clasps the growing Plant : ODE XXXVII . On Caesar 's Victory over Antony and Cleopatra . NOw now t is time to dance and play , And drink , and frollick all the Day ; T is time , my Friends , to banish Care ; And costly Feasts with thankful Hearts prepare , In hallow'd shrines , and make the Gods your Guests : 'T was Treason once to Sport a Flash , And Sin to Pierce the Noble Cash , Whilst nought but boading Fears were seen For Ills to come , When Egypts haughty Queen With wither'd Eunuchs threat'ned mighty Rome : A Woman vain , whose hopes could rise To such Impossibilities ! A Woman Drunk with sweet success ; Whom smiling Fate Had brought to dare no less Then Caesar's Fortune , and the Roman State. But soon her Pride to Fears retir'd When all her Ships were sunk or fir'd ; And real dread possest her mind , When Caesar's Oars Did press so close behind And bore his Navy to the frighted Shores. ( As Hawks pursue the trembling Doves , Thro open Fields or shady Groves . Or as swift Huntsmen chace the Deer Thro Thracian Plains That fly as wing'd with fear ) To bring the fatal Monster into Chains . But She design'd a Nobler Fate , And falling would appear as great As when She singly fill'd the Throne , No fears betray'd , Nor fled to Coasts unknown To live secure , or meanly beg for Aid : Her falling Throne with smiling look She boldly saw ; she dar'd provoke Fierce Serpents rough with Poys'nous trains . To dart their Tongue , And fill her dying Veins ; Grown furious now on Death resolv'd so long : The stout Liburnian Ships , the Fame And lasting glory of her Shame She envy'd ; she a Soul too Proud , Too haughty to be seen Amongst the private Crowd , And grace a Triumph less than Egypt's Queen . ODE XXXVIII . He tells his Boy that he should not take too much careabout his Entertainments . I Hate , my Boy , I deeply hate The useless Persian Pomp and State ; Crowns wrought with too much Art displease ; Forbear to seek the blushing Rose , Or where the Beauteous , Lilly grows , Such toil disturbs our ease : A negligent and simple dress Thoughts free from Cares will most express ; Thy Front , my Boy , thy Front , and mine A Myrtle Crown will best become Whilst I sit , and quaff at Home Beneath my shady Vine . The End of the first Book . ODES The Second Book . ODE I. To POLLIO . He desires him to forbear writing Tragedies till He had settled the State. SAD Prisoners Guard , and Glory of the Bar The Senate's Oracle , and great in War , Whose Faith and Vertue all proclaim ; To whom the German Triumph won Eternal Fame , And never fading Glories of a Crown : The Grounds and Vices of our Wars , Our Civil Dangers , and our Fears , The sport of Chance , and turns of Fate , And Impious Arms that flow'd With yet unexpiated blood ; The great Triumvirate , And their Leagues Fatal to the Roman State ; A dangerous Work you write ; and tread O're Flames by treacherous Ashes hid ; Yet this you write , and give to Fame A lasting Monument of our Fathers Shame : But hold thy Mourning Muse , forbear To tread the crowded Theater , Till Quiet spread o're State Affairs . Shall lend Thee time for meaner Cares ; And then inspir'd with Tragick rage Return to the forsaken Stage And mourn the Faults , and Follies of the Age : Methinks the Trumpet 's threatning Sound Disturbs our rest with fierce Alarms And from the shining Arms A dreadful lightning spreads around ; It darts pale fear through every Eye The Horses start , and trembling Riders flie : Methinks the Warlike Captains shouts are heard , With sordid Dust how Gloriously besmear'd ! In Blood I see the Souldiers roul , I see the World obey , All yield , and own great Caesar's sway beside the stubborn Cato's haughty Soul : Juno , and Africk's Guardian Power , That left their ruin'd Seats before , Unable to revenge their fall ; Hath now on Rome return'd disgrace , And offer'd up the Victor's race To great Jugurtha's Ghost , and Hannibal : What Land is free , what Plain Not Fatt'ned by the Roman Slain ? What cannot witness by the Graves it shows Our Empire 's fall , whose Noise is spread O're Persia and the distant Mede The Sport and Laughter of our smiling Foes ? What Lake unstain'd before Not knows our War , and swells with Latian Gore ? What Sea 's not dy'd ? on what unhappy Flood On what remoter Coast Have not our Youth been lost Grown Impiously Prodigal of their Blood ? Enough , my Muse , Complaints forbear , With me to shady Grots retire , Thy Mourning cease , divert thy Care ; And there with softer touches move thy Lyre : ODE II. The free and generous only are the happy Men. DEar Friend whose generous thoughts despise The creeping Fears of Avarice , How Silver looks , how mean and base , How much below the common Brass , Unless a Moderate use refine , A value give and make it shine ? Kind Proculeius , just and good , In Fame as Noble as in Blood , Who with a Father's care did grant Supplies and eas'd his Brother's Want , Long long shall live ; surviving Fame On lasting Wings shall bear his Name . That Man a wider Empire gains That his own craving wish restrains , Than he whose Sword and wide Command , Joyn distant Spain and Libya's Sand , Than if they did his Arms obey , And either Carthage own his sway : The Dropsies still by Drink increase , In Rain are all our hopes of ease ; The Jaws are dry , the Thrist remains Until the fatal Humors cease ; Until the cause of the Disease Shall leave the swoln and craving Veins : Phraates fixt in Cyrus Throne , Ador'd like Persia's rising Sun , True sence that scorns the Peoples test Ne're ranks amongst the happy Blest ; From cheats of Words the Crowd she brings To real Estimate of things : To him she gives , to him alone The Laurel , and the lasting Throne Whose Eyes can unconcern'd behold . The darling heaps of shining Gold ; Whose mind doth never Wealth pursue , Nor turn to take a second view : ODE III. He adviseth his Friend Delius to be content , and live merrily . AN even mind in every State , Amidst the Frowns and Smiles of Fate , Dear mortal Delius always show ; Let not too much of cloudy Fear , Nor too intemperate joys appear Or to contract , or to extend thy Brow : Whether thy dull unhappy Years Run slowly clog'd with Hopes and Fears , And sit too heavy on thy Soul ; Or whether crown'd on Beds of Flowers Mirth softly drives thy easy hours And cheers thy Spirits with the choicest Bowl : Where Poplars white the lofty Pine And Myrtles friendly Branches joyn , And hospitable shades compose ; Where near a purling Spring doth glide In winding Streams , and softly chide The interrupting Pebble as it flows . There bring thy Wine ; thy Odors spread , Let fading Roses crown thy Head , Whilst Wealth , and Age and Life will bear ; For you must leave your Groves , your House , And Farm where yellow Tiber flows ; And thy heap'd Wealth shall fill thy greedy Heir : For whether sprung from Royal Blood , Or from themeanest of the Crowd ; 'T is all a Case , for nought can save ; The Hand of Fate doth strike at all , And thou art surely doom'd to fall , A Sacrifice to the impartial Grave : Our Lots are cast , Fate shakes the Urn , And each mans Lot must take his turn some soon leap out , and some more late : But still 't is sure each Mortals Lot Will doom his Soul to Charon's Boat , To bear th' eternal Banishment of Fate . ODE IV. To Xanthias Phoceus who fell in Love with his Captive . DEar Xanthias t is a faulty shame , Blush not to own a Noble flame Rais'd by thy Captives Charms ; The fair Brisëis once could move Achilles stubborn Soul to Love , And force the haughty Heroe to her Arms : Tecmessa's Charms subdu'd her Lord , And Conquering Ajax soon ador'd ; By fair Cassandra's Eyes When Hector fell , and left his Troy To weary Greeks an easy Prey , E'en midst his Triumph great Atrides dies : See what a Beauteous Majesty , And how commanding is her Eye , Her look proclaims her State ; She Mourns , she Mourns , a Royal Race , And Parents equal to her Face , And grieves to see so strange a whirl of Fate : Ne're think her , Friend , of Common Blood ; Nor sprung from the dishonest Crow'd A mind so bravely bold , So chast as to resist the Arts That take the mean unguarded Hearts , The force of pressing Youth , and Charms of Gold : Her Face , her Neck , her Breast and Arms I praise not taken with her Charms ; Suspitious thoughts remove ; Let almost forty feeble Years Secure thy mind from jealous fears , And tell that Horace is too old for Love : ODE V. To his Friend in Love with a young Girl . THy Heifer , Friend , is hardly broak , Her neck uneasy to the Yoke ; She cannot draw the Plough , nor bear The weight of the obliging Steer : In flowry Meads is her delight , Those charm her Tast and please her sight : Or else she flies the burning Beams To quench her Thirst in cooler Streams ; Or with the Calves thro Pastures plays , And wantons all her easy days : Forbear , design no hasty Rape On such a green , untimely Grape : Soon ruddy Autumn will produce Plump Clusters , ripe , and fit to use : She now that flies , shall then pursue , She now that 's courted doat on you : For Age whirls on , and every year It takes from Thee it adds to Her : Soon Lalage , shall soon proclaim Her love , nor blush to own her Flame : Lov'd more , for she more kindly warms Than Phloe coy , or Cloris Charms , So pure her Breast , so fair a White As in a clear and smiling Night , In quiet Floods the Silver Moon Or Cretan Gyges never Shone ; Who , plac't amongst the Maids , defies A skilful Stranger 's praying Eys ; So smooth his doubtful looks appear , So loose to Womanish his Hair : ODE VI. To SEPTIMIUS . He wishes for a quiet retreat in his Old Age. SEptimius that wouldst stem the Main , And go with me to distant Spain ; To fierce Cantabrians never broak , As yet unlearn'd to bear our Yoke : And Syrtes Sands , where th' Ocean roars , And rowling Waves wash swarthy Moors ; May Tibur's Walls the Tuscan Seat Afford my Age a safe retreat , Oh! there , now tir'd with Wars and Seas , May I enjoy a happy Ease ! If Fate denies this small Desire , My hasty steps shall soon retire Where smooth Galesus cuts his way ; Around whos 's Banks , white Fleeces play And felt Phalantus easy sway : Oh how those little Plains do please , how fit for Happiness and Ease ! Where Honey fills the Combs , and strives With fair Hymettu's sweetest Hives : Where Olives from the fruitful Soil , Nor yield to the Venafrian Oyl : Where Springs are long , and Winters mild , Nor hoary Frost deforms the Field ; Where Bacchus friendly Mountains spread , And Almon rears his fruitful Head ; Where choicest Grapes in Clusters twine , Nor envy the Falernian Vine : These happy Seats must us receive , There you and I , dear Friend , must live , Till Death's approaching hands surprize , And close thy Poet Horace Eyes ; Then you a little Tomb shall rear , And cool my Ashes with a Pious tear : ODE VII . A Welcome to his Friend Pompy . DEar Pompy that hast often try'd Whilst once we fought on Brutus side How near pale Death rough Wars attends ; What Genius now hath sent Thee home , And who restor'd Thee back to Rome , Pompy , the best of all my Friends ? With whom in Mirth and Wine and Play , Whilst sweetest Roses Crown'd my Head , and did their Fragrant Odors spread ; I often broak the lingring Day : The bloody Wars , Philippy's Field Ignobly having lost my Shield , With thee I saw , secure from Wound ; I saw the flight , when haughty Proud To Caesar's stronger vertue bow'd , And basely bit the bloody ground : Me Mercury secur'd from Fears , He kindly wrapt me up in Night , And sav'd me from the dangerous fight , But Thee the Tide bore back to Wars : Now then restor'd to ease and rest , Pay Jove thy thanks and promis'd Feast , Now tir'd with Wars , from danger free Beneath my cool and pleasing shade On flowry Beds supinely laid Enjoy the Casks design'd for Thee : See here they stand , these Bowls employ , Forgetful Wine profusely pour , From largest Shells rich Oyntments shour , There 's no extream in real joy : Who Parsly twines , or Myrtle Boughs To grace our Mirth , and shade our Brows ? Who Crowns prepares for every Guest ? Whom will the happy Dye design The just disposer of the Wine , And great Controuler of the Feast ? Let Mirth , and Joy , and Wine attend , I must be Mad , I must appear As wild as the mad Thracians are ; 'T is decent at the welcome of a Friend : ODE VIII . To his forsworn Mistriss . BArine did revenge or'take , And blast as oft as you deceive ; Were but one Nail , one Tooth more black , Thy Vows I would at last believe : But still more fair , more bright thy Face , More Crowds of Lovers flock to view , As each false Oath procur'd a grace And tempted Thee to prove untrue : It profits Thee to be forsworn By all that other Mortals fear , Th' eternal Gods , thy Mothers Urn , By whirling Heaven , and every Star : The merry Nymphs approve thy Arts , And Venus fair forgives thy Wiles , And Cupid , sharpning flaming Darts On bloody Whetstones , gently smiles : Besides new Slaves still flock to Thee , And happy He that takes the Chain ; And those that threaten to be free Forgive the jilt , and serve again : Thee still the thrifty Father fears , And Mothers for their wanton Boys . New Brides lest you detain their Dears , And rob them of their promis'd joys : ODE IX . He adviseth his Friend to grieve no more for dead Mystes . NOt always Snow and Hail and Rain Descend , and beat the fruitful Plain ; Not ruffling Storms still toss the Caspian Floods : Not every Month doth lazy Frost Bind up the Armenian Coast Nor furious Storms still vex the groaning Woods : Call'd forth by Spring 's enlivening Breez The Leaves return to naked Trees ; But you , dear Friend , still mourn in Weeping strains Lost Mystis ; when Noon burns the Skies When night comes on , or when it flies No change appears , Thy love and Grief remains : Yet Aged Nestor dry'd his Tears , His Grief was shorter than his Years ; Nor did he still his dying Son bewail : His Sisters , and the Trojan Train , And Priam wept , but smil'd again , Nor always mourn'd young Troylus hasty fall . Thy soft Complaints at last forbear , Let Mirth succeed , and Smiles appear Let 's sing , and Caesar be our lofty Theme ; How rough Niphates Hills obey , And Tigris bound by Caesar's sway Less furious grows , and rouls a milder stream : The Scythians now with broken Bows Confin'd to their own Frost and Snows Have cool'd the raging fury of their Pride ; In narrow bounds with nimble force They ride their fierce impetuous Horse , And view with longing Eyes the Roman side . ODE X. A middle Estate of Life is the best . WIse they , that with a cautious fear Not always thro the Ocean Steer , Nor , whilst they think the Winds will roar , Do thrust too near the rocky Shore : To those that choose the golden Mean : The Waves are smooth , the Skies serene ; They want the baseness of the Poors retreat , And envy'd Houses of the Great : Storms often vex the lofty Oak , High Mountains seel the Thunder's stroak ; And lofty Towers , when Storms prevail , Are ruin'd with a greater fall : A Breast prepar'd in either State Or sears or hopes a change of Fate ; 'T is Jove the same that Winter brings And melts the Frost by pleasing Springs : Tho Fortune now contracts her Brow , And frowns ; yet 't will not still be so : Apollo sometimes Mirth pursues His Harp awakes his sleepy Muse , Nor always bends his threatning Bow : When Fortune sends a Stormy Wind Then show a brave and present Mind , And when with too indulgent Gales She swells too much , then furl thy Sails . ODE XI . He adviseth his Friend to live Merrily . WHat fierce Cantabrians , what the Scythians dare , Make , Friend , no object of thy care ; Whilst raging Floods , and Adria's Tide Confine their force , and arms divide , Secure we laugh at all the threats of War : Let no concern , no cares for Life approach , It lasts not long , and asks not much ; But see our years do swiftly move , Our Nimble Youth and Beauty fades , Dry Age with Cares will crowd our Heads : And leave no room for easy Rest and Love : Spring Flowers not always equal Beauties wear , Nor Moons with equal Beams appear As when at full they brightly shin'd ; Then why should you disturb your Mind So much too narrow for eternal Care ? Why underneath a pleasing Myrtle shade On flowry Banks supinely laid , Are we so slow to speed a Day ; And whilst grey Hairs are crown'd with Rose , Or odorous Oyl our Heads o'reflows Drink all our Troubles and our Cares away ? Brisk Bacchus soon will sordid Cares refine , And make dull Melancholly shine ; What Boy waits there , what Boy to bring Some cooler Streams from yonder Spring To quench the fury of my flaming Wine ? What ready Servant waits to call my Miss , And who coy Lyde will entice ? Bid Lyde come , we are in hast ; Bid Lyde come , her harp prepare , Like Spartans loosely bind her hair ; For Love may Ebb , and then her time is past . ODE XII . To MECAENAS . Wars and Battles are not a Subject fit for his Muse , but Love and Lycimnia he can Sing . THe stout Numantines lingring fall , The Romans Scourge dire Hannibal , No more , my Learned Lord , require , No more the rough Sicilian Flood Dy'd deep with Carthaginian Blood , To fit to the soft Measures of the Lyre : Nor Centaurs eager to engage , Nor fierce Hylaeus Drunken rage , Nor Giants tam'd by Hercules Who dar'd to reach old Saturn's Crown , Who dar'd to storm his shining Throne And break the quiet of eternal Ease : And you , my Lord , with equal flights Great Caesar's Wars , and conqu'ring Fights Shall better tell in lasting Prose ; And how in Triumph Caesar led The Persian and the haughty Mede , And scatter'd Slavery midst his threatning Foes : My Muse bids me imploy my Verse , And soft Lycymnia's Songs rehearse ; She bids me all her Charms improve , Her taking Air , her shining Eyes , By Nature fitted to surprize ; And mind still faithful to thy mutual Love : Lycimnia fair , the Pride of Rome , How well her Charms and Arts become ! How movingly her Beauty pleads , When toying she and richly drest At Great Diana's solemn Feast , Begins the Dance , and leads the Beauteous Maids ? For what Achemenes possest , And for the Wealth of all the East , Youl l you , my Lord , exchange your Fair ? Youl l you , my Lord , for all the Gold The stuft Arabians houses hold Exchange one braid of sweet Lycimnia's hair ? When e're her head she gently moves , To take the earnest of her Loves A blamy Kiss ; or else denies With easy forwardness , which shows That She is more content to lose Than He that begs to win the Prize ; Or when She runs to snatch an eager Kiss . ODE XIII . Upon a Tree that was like to fall upon him as he was walking in his Field . A Fatal Star did then command The Skies , and guide his impious hand Who planted Thee , to the disgrace Of 's Farm , and ruin of his Race : 'T is certain He his Father kill'd , He slew , and fed upon his Child , He Stab'd his Friend before his God And Stain'd the Image with his Blood : To him Medea's Arts were known , The whole World's Sins he made his own , Who first disgrac't my Field with Thee , Thou impious Stock , thou cursed Tree , Thou cursed Tree whose hasty fall Design'd thy Master's Funeral : What each should fly is seldom known , We unprovided are undone : The Waves that foam round Thracian Shores Are dreaded by the swarthy Moors , They think cold Death doth use to trace The Snow and Frozen Hills of Thrace , Nor fear it from a warmer place : The Roman dreads the Darts , the Force , And Conquering flights of Parthian Horse : The Roman Chains the Parthian fears , Their steddy Troops , and weighty Spears : Yet Death when Arm'd with a Disease From other Parts will rudely seize , She comes unlookt for , sweeps away Unthinking Nations in a Day , And huddles up her easy Prey : How near had I , how nearly seen The Kingdom of the swarthy Queen ? Judge Aeacus , the story'd Grove , The seat of Piety and Love : And Sappho who in humble strains Of her base Country-men complains , In sweetest tunes proclaims her Love , But mourns at her reproach above : Alcaeus too whose golden strings VVith manlier strokes sound greater things ; He tells the dangers and the fears Of Flights , of Sailing , and of VVars : VVith silent rever'nce Ghosts admire The wondrous fury of his Lyre : The Vulgar Shades throng most to hear Of Kings depos'd , of feats of VVar , And Drink them with a greedy Ear : No wonder this , Hell 's furious Guard With silent wonder stood and heard ; His Ears lay down , and , whilst he play'd , A hollow Grin his joy betray'd : No Hiss was heard , the Furies Snakes Lay husht , and quiet on their necks : Delight did torn Prometheus seize , The sound deceiv'd him into ease ; And Tantalus felt soft repose , Unheeded now the bending Boughs Hang o're his Lips and Water flows : Nor did the fierce Orion care To hunt his Lyon , or his flying Bear. ODE XIV . Life is short , and Death unavoidable . THe whirling year , Ah Friend ! the whirling year Rouls on apace ; And soon shall wrinkles plough thy wither'd Face : In vain you wast your Pious breath , No prayers can stay , no vows defer The swift approach of Age , and conqu'ring Death : No , tho ten thousand Oxen stain'd his Shrines With sacred Blood , Shouldst thou appease the inexorable God : He opens , and he shuts the Grave ; Geryon's triple Soul confines , And stubborn Gyges with the Stygian Wave : That fatal Wave that must be past by all , The Rich , the Poor Are doom'd alike to view the Stygian Shore ; The Knaves and Fools , the Wise and Just , The Kings as well as Clowns must fall ; And undistinguisht lie with meaner dust : In vain we all retreat from dangerous War , And live in ease ; In vain we shun the rage of angry Seas : The burning Fevers Autumn brings In vain we fly , and idly fear The Plagues that South-winds bear on sickly Wings : For all the Stygian Waves are doom'd to pass , We all must go And view Cocytus wandring Streams below : We all must see the lasting Chains That hold curst Danaus his Race , And Sisyphus condemn'd to endless pains : Thy Children must be left , thy Lands and House , Thy pleasing Wife , That happy Comfort and Delight of Life ; Of all the Trees thy hands restor'd None but the Cypress hated Boughs Shall follow their short-liv'd decaying Lord : The Wines you keep so close thy worthier Heir shall soon possess , And wast midst wanton Luxury and Ease ; Much nobler Wine the squandring Youth Shall spill and costlier Feasts prepare , Than ever pleas'd a Pamper'd Abbots Tooth . ODE XV. On the Luxury of the Age. OUr Squares still rise , our fields decrease , And now the Ploughs must rust in ease ; New Motes are dug , large Ponds we make That Rival e'en the Lucrine Lake : Round lofty Firrs weak Ivy twines , Unmarry'd Plains profusely spread A useless melancholly Shade O're larger Fields than marry'd Elms and Vines : Our Beds of Roses , Myrtle Bowers And all the Luxury of Flowers Their fruitless Shades and Smells afford : They now those fruitful grounds possess Where Olives rose with vast Increase , And with great Bounty fed the former Lord : Thick Laurells plac't by purling Streams Shut out the Mid-days burning Beams And give us shade to drink and play ; Was this by Romulus allow'd ? Was this the way our Fathers show'd To rise to Empire , and extend our sway ? No , then each single Man's Estate Was small , the Publick Stock was great , The Publick-Weal imploy'd their Care ; No private Man profusely Skill'd Did then his large Piazza's build To take cool Breezes of the Northern Air : The little Hut their Father's House The Laws forbad them to refuse , But live content in mean Aboads ; Enjoyning all their Shrines and Towns To build with new and costly Stones , To grace their Country , and to please their Gods. ODE XVI . The contented Man the most happy . FOr ease the Seaman asks the Gods When tost in the Egaean Floods ; When darkness spreads to heighten fears , And not one friendly Star appears : For ease the Warlike Thracians plead , The Persian and the quiver'd Mede ; For ease too precious to be sold For costly Gems , or bought with Gold : For neither Power nor Wealth controul The sad disorders of the Soul , Nor yet remove the Cares that wait About the Palace of the Great : Blest he with little , on whose thrifty Board That Salt still shines that call'd his Father Lord , No vexing fears his Breast can seize , No sordid Lust will break his ease : Why these extended Cares , and Strife , And trouble for so short a Life ? VVhy do we ply our Sails and Oars , And fondly visit forreign Shores ? Can he that flies his Country find That he can leave himself behind ? " For baneful Care will still prevail , " And overtake us under sail ; It dogs the Horseman close behind , More swift than Roes , or Stormy Wind : A man contented with his present doom Hates to look on for what 's to come ; With mirth he sweetens bitter Fate ; There is no perfect happy State : The stout Achilles dy'd in hast , Long Age did old Tithonus wast ; Those years swift time denies to Thee Perhaps his hand shall reach to me : Round Thee ten thousand Heifers low , Stout Oxen bend beneath thy Plow ; In his gilt Coach neigh generous Mares , The Purple dies what e're he wears . A Farm as large as my desire With some few heats of Lyrick fire On me hath stubborn Fate bestow'd , With Pride enough to Scorn the Crowd : ODE XVII . To MECAENAS . He is resolv'd not to survive him , and congratulates his Recovery . VVHy am I kill'd with thy Complaint ? 'T is more than any God will grant , 'T is more , my Lord , than I can bear ; That you on whom my hopes rely , That you my great support should dy , And leave thy Melancholly Horace here : Did you my better half decay For what should I , the other , stay ? What comfort could compose my Mind When neither whole , nor yet so dear I should be doom'd to linger here , And feel my worser part still left behind ? The same black Day shall seize on both , It is a fixt , and Solemn Oath , Wee 'l go , I 've Sworn , We both will go ; Tho you may first begin the Race , I 'le follow with a nimble pace , And joyn you e're you reach the Waves below : Did fierce Chimera dart her fire , To make my frighted Soul retire , Yet still I would attend you State ; Tho hundred handed Gyas Rose , In vain should all his strength oppose , For Justice bids , and 't is approv'd by Fate : What ever Star did at my Birth prevail , Whether my Fate was weigh'd in Libra's Scale , Or Fatal Scorpio's Beams did shine ; Or Capricorn's disturbing Rays Those Tyrants of the Western Seas , 'T is Strange how much your Stars consent with mine : From Saturn's fatal influence Jove's milder Rays were your defence , He clog'd the Wings of hasty Death ; When thrice with an auspicious voice The States of Rome proclaim'd their joys , And with their own supply'd their fading Breath : My Head had felt a falling Oak , But Faunus did divert the stroak ; Faunus , the Witts kind guardian God , The Shrine you vow'd the Gods prepare , Let offer'd Bulls reward their Care : For me a Lamb shall shed his meaner Blood. ODE XVIII . Against Covetousness . NOr Ivory , nor Indian Stuff , Nor Gold adorns my gawdy Roof ; No Cedar Beams press costly Stone From Quarries of the torrid Zone , Where burning Rayes the Marble mould , And joyn the Mass with flowing Gold : Nor yet have I an Heir unknown E're seiz'd on Attalus his Throne ; No honest Clients hang my Rooms With Purple stretcht on Tyrian Looms : But yet I make a fair pretence To Honesty and Innocence , And store of Wit , and these compleat , And make me sought to by the great : This is my Wealth , This all my Store , Content I ask the Gods no more ; Nor my great Friends : O bounteous Fate , How happy in my mean Estate ! Days push on Days with equal pace , New Moons still hast to the decrease , But you e'en whilst the Bell doth toll , And sadly warn thy flying Soul Rich Stones provide , large Piles you rear , Unmindful of your Sepulcher : Thy Moles , and thy incroaching Mounds Remove thy floods to streighter bounds , For greedy you would seem but poor Confin'd by Nature's narrow Shore : Nay more you leap the Sacred bounds And seize your meaner Clients Grounds ; No Fence too high , no Ditch too deep For Wealthy Injury to leap : Expell'd by greedy Avarice The Wife with her dear Husband flies , With all her Gods , ( too weak defence For Poor and injur'd Innocence , They suffer in the common harms ) And sordid Infants in her Arms : Yet after all this toyl and heat , This Fraud and Treachery to be great , The last retreat the Rich must have , The last and surest , is the Grave : What wouldst thou more ? to Swains and Lords An equal Room just Earth affords , Nor does she take a Prince's Bones With greater Rev'rence than a Clowns : Ne're surly Charon brib'd with Gold Brings back the Cunning or the Bold ; Nor will He waft Prometheus o're And land him on the living Shore : Proud Tantalus and all his Line , Tho Kings , His lasting Chains confine ; And whether we his aid Implore Or not , He 's ready still to ease the Poor , Free him from want , and place him on the happy Shore : ODE XIX . In praise of Bacchus . BOrn out by an unusual rage I saw ( believe it future Age ) Where Bacchus taught the Nymphs a Song , In distant Vales ; from every Wood With prickt-up Ears the Satyrs stood , And smiling Fauns compos'd a list'ning throng : Evae ! new fear disturbs my Soul , With troubled joy my Passions roul Whilst full of the impetuous God : Evae ! spare , mighty Liber , spare , Urge not the violent rage too far : Spare , Liber , dreadful with thy angry Rod : Now boldly I can speak thy Praise , Rehearse the stubborn Thyades , Too fierce to bear the easy Yoke : Thy streams of Wine , thy milky Spring , And in repeated Numbers Sing Distilling Honey from the melting Oak : Thy happy Bride's refulgent Hairs , That grace the Skies with brighter Stars ; What Fate the Impious Theban strook , How Aunt and Mother strangely tore The trampling Wolf , and rooting Bore ; And fierce Lycurgus falling by his hook : Indus and Ganges own thy sway , And Thee the barbarous Seas obey , You flush't o're craggy Mountains lead , O're Hills and Dales , o're Springs and Lakes The Thracian Rout , whilst harmless Snakes In innocent folds twine round each drunken Head. When impious Giants climb'd on high , And dar'd to storm thy Fathers Sky ; Thy single hand secur'd his Crown : You with a Lyons dreadful Jaws And frightful Nails retriev'd the Cause , Bold Rhetus quell'd and sav'd the falling Throne : Tho much more us'd to soft delight , Unfit , unable for a fight You once were thought , and doom'd to ease : Yet when your Heat and Vertue rose , What fury seiz'd your haughty Foes ? How equally inclin'd to Wars and Peace ? When beauteous with your gawdy horn You did from Hells black Shades return , Thee Cerberus saw , and show'd the Way ; He wagg'd his Tail , grew wondrous kind , He lickt thy Feet , he fawn'd and whin'd ; Nor did one grin an impious rage betray : ODE XX. He promiseth himself immortal Fame . NO weak , no common Wing shall bear My rising Body thro the Air ; Now chang'd I upward go ; I 'le grovel here on Earth no more , More high than Envy's self can soar , I leave Mortality and things below : Not Me , not Me , the meanly Born , Whom the proud Fools and haughty scorn , Not Me shall Death controul : Not I , whom you I know not what , Mecaenas , call , will yield to Fate : Nor shall the Stygian Waves confine my Soul : Rough Skin o're both my Legs is spread , And shining Feathers Crown my Head ; Above I 'me turn'd a Swan : O're both my Hands light Plumes do spring , My Arm is chang'd into a Wing , And now I move with greater speed than Man : On stronger , and on swifter Wing , Than Icarus fled , I rise and Sing : A sounding Bird I soar , I 'le see the distant Northern Pole I 'le see the Southern Billows roul , And spread my Wings o're Bosphorus groaning Shore . My Songs shall to the Colchian Ears , And German that conceals his fears Of Roman Troops be known : The Moors , and in my numerous Verse The Scythians Skill'd shall Songs rehearse : The Spaniard too , and He that drinks the Rhone . Mourn not , no friendly drops must fall , No sighs attend my Funeral , Those Common Deaths may crave : Let no disgraceful Grief appear , Nor damp my Glory with a Tear : And spare the useless Honors of a Grave . The End of the Second Book . HORACE'S ODES . Book the Third . ODE I. Not Wealth or Honor , but Peace and Quietness makes a happy Life . BEgon , begon , I hate ye all Both you great Vulgar , and you small ; Nor Mysteries , Prophane , behold : To Boys and Maids unstain'd with Crimes The Muses Priest in Sacred Rhimes Doth unknown Songs , and wondrous Truths unfold : The awful Kings o're Nations sway , Their Subjects tremble and obey ; The Kings themselves are rul'd by Jove , Who broak the Giants Pride , and won Eternal safety to his Throne And by his powerful Nod doth all things move : One man doth larger Fields possess , One stands more fair for Offices , The drudging Darling of the Crowd Whilst One his Manners , or his Friends , Or his Obsequious Train commends , And One in Fame is greater , or in Blood : Yet equal Death doth strike at all , The haughty Great , and humble Small , She strikes with an impartial Hand ; She shakes the vast capacious Urn , And each Man's Lot must take his turn ; Thro every glass she presses equal Sand : Whilst Swords hung o're proud Damocles , Not all the Tyrant's sweets could please : Not Musicks Airs could calm his Breast : The black remembrance of his faults Still crowding back upon his thoughts , Disturb'd and rob'd his troubled Soul of rest . But humble quiet ne're flies o're The lowly Cottage of the Poor : The pleasing Shade and purling Streams She loves to haunt , she loves the Plains , And cheers the Plough-man loos'd from Pains With still Security , and easy Dreams : He that desires but what 's enough Against the force of Fate is proof : Unstain'd He lives , and pure from Sin : Let violent Tempests break the Woods , And angry Whirlwinds toss the Floods ; He still hath Quiet , and a Calm within . Let Hail his ripening Olives beat , Or let them shrink with too much heat , His barren Field deceive his hopes ; Or let his naked Trees complain Of too much Drought , or too much Rain ; Or Frost untimely nip his rising Crops : Now still our stately Squares encrease , The Fish will find their Ocean less ; The Moles thrown in extend the Shoar ; The Lord grown weary of the Land Now builds upon the Ocean's Sand ; And scorns the Bounds that Nature fixt before . But Fear , and Melancholly Cares attend , And where the Master climbs , ascend ; They soon o'retake his flying Mind : Born on by the same nimble gales They press the Poop where e're He sails , And when he rides black Care sits close behind . Well then , since neither Gold , nor Gain , Can quiet bring or fears restrain ; Since Purple bright as shining Stars Can ne're dispel our Cloudy Cares ; Since all the Spices of the East Can never calm our troubled Breast , Why should I madly toyl to raise On envy'd Pillars Palaces ? Why spend my time , and wast my health ? Why should I strive to change my Field , And those delights my Farm can yield , For larger Lands , and more disturbing Wealth ? ODE II. Youth must be bred in Wars and Want , and taught to be Religious . LEt vigorous Boys be train'd to bear The streights of Poverty in War ; Be hardly bred , improve thy Force , And bravely gall the Parthian Horse ; And let the Persians tremble at his Spear : And let him live , and lie abroad Mid'st Dangers , Slaughters , Fears , and Blood ; Be tost with all the Storms of Fate , And hard'ned up to prop the State ; His Country save , and rise into a God : Him from their Walls , when fierce in War , Let Tyrants Mothers view , and fear ; And let their Brides despairing sigh Ah may not my unskilful Spouse That furious Lion madly rouse , How fierce He drives , and how our Armies fly ! He nobly Bleeds , he bravely Dies That falls his Countries Sacrifice ; The flying Youth swift Fate o're takes It strikes them thro the trembling backs , And runs too fast for nimble Cowardice . Vertue , unlearn'd to bear the base And shameful baffle of disgrace , Nor takes , nor quits the tottering Throne , As fickle Crowds shall smile or frown ; Nor from their wavering Breath receives the place : True Vertue that unbarrs the Skie To those that are too brave to Die , Thro wondrous ways doth upward go , Scorns the base Earth and Crowd below ; And with a soaring Wing still mounts on high : And just Rewards the Gods decree For fair , obedient Piety ; Not He that scorns or scoffs His God , Or blabs his Mysteries abroad , Shall live in the same House , or sail with me : Oft Jove doth heedless Thunder throw , And mix the Good and Bad below : But lame Revenge still stalks behind , Do's slowly dodg the guilty mind , And only stays to take the surer blow : ODE IV. To the Muses acknowledging their Power and Kindness . DEscend , my Muse , compose a long A pleasing and a grateful Song , Or to the Pipe or sounding Flute , Or gently move Apollo's Lute : D' ye hear ? or airy frenzy cheat My mind , well pleas'd with the deceit ? I seem to hear , I seem to move And wander thro the happy Grove Where smooth Springs flow , and murmuring Breez Do's wanton thro the waving Trees : In lofty Vultur's rising grounds Without my Nurse Apulia's bounds When young , and tir'd with sport and play , And bound with pleasing sleep I lay , Doves cover'd me with myrtle boughs And with soft murmurs sweetned my repose : A wonder this , and strange to all That liv'd in fat Ferenti's Vale ; High Acherontia , Bantine groves Admir'd the kindness of the Doves : 'T was strange that I midst Thorny Brakes , Secure from Bears and creeping Snakes Should lie so long ; that Doves should spread The Sacred Laurel round my Head , And I a Child not fear the Woods The Care and Darling of the Gods : Yours , Muses , yours , I live your Care On Sabine Hills , or cold Praeneste's Air : Or whether watry Baiae please , Or wanton Tibur lulls me into ease : Because your Springs , your Sport , and Grove Are all the objects of my Love ; When Brutus lost Philippi's Field , I safely fled , and scorn'd my Shield , 'T was Sin to guard or to defend By mortal Arms the Muses Friend : By you the proud Sicilian Rock I brav'd , and scap't the cursed Oak : Whilst you my feeble Ship shall guide , I 'le singly stem the proudest Tide ; I 'le travel thro the farthest East , Where never Mortal foot hath prest ; Britans Inhospitable Flood And Thracians pleas'd with Horses Blood , On Scythian Sands I 'le boldly tread , And stoutly see the quiver'd Mede : When Caesar , great as all our Hopes , In Towns hath hid his weary Troops , You cheer his Soul , you soften Cares , And ease the harsh fatigue of Wars : You , Kind , instruct him how to live , Give good advice , and joy to give : We know , we know how mighty Jove ( Whose guiding Nod rules all above , Who governs with an equal hand The raging Sea , and quiet Land ; Whose easy and Almighty sway The Gods , and Ghosts , and all obey ; ) With Thunder strook bold Titans down , And beat their fury from his Throne ; We know how impious Giants fell From climbing Heaven to deepest Hell : That horrid Troop , those impious Bands , Relying on their numerous hands , Whilst they on Mountains climb'd on high Spread no small terror thro the Sky ; And shady Pelion , rais'd above The high Olympus , frighted Jove : But how could Brawny Mimas rise , How large Porphyrion's frightful size Against the Thunder of the Skies ? How bold Typhaeus aim a stroak , How impious Encel dart his Oak ? Too weak their force , and soon repell'd By Virgin Pallas sounding Shield : Here Vulcan fought , a greedy God , On that side Matron Juno stood ; And Phoebus there , a dreadful Foe Still arm'd with an unerring Bow : Who loves to haunt the Lycian Woods , And in the pure Castalian Floods Wash his loose locks ; who Songs inspires , And fills his Priests with pleasing fires , On Patara and Delos Fame Bestows , and takes from both a Name . Rash force by its own weight must fall , But Pious strength will still prevail ; For such the Gods assist , and bless , But hate a mighty Wickedness . Proud Gyges proves this fatal truth , And hot Orion's lawless youth , E'en Virgin Pallas scarce could scape The Lustful fury of a Rape ; 'Till her Bow reach't him , whilst He strove , With fiercer Darts than those of Love : The Earth on her own Monster thrown Now mourns the ruin of her Son , She grieves that her proud Children fell By Thunder strook to deepest Hell : Nor do hot Aetna's flames decay , Yet cannot eat the load away : Hot Tytius Liver , Vulturs tear , They watch as soon as parts appear , And seize them streight ; the Doom was just , He punisht in the seat of Lust ; Wrath waits on Sin , three hundred Chains Perithous bind in endless pains . ODE V. To AUGUSTUS . Praising him for enlarging their Empire , and discommending Crassus 's Souldiers which draws on the Story of Regulus . HIs Thund'ring proves that mighty Jove With wondrous Force rules all above , And now as mighty Actions show That Caesar is a God below ; O're British Shores our Empires spread , Our Arms have reacht the haughty Mede : Could Crassus Souldiers lead their lives , So meanly yokt to barbarous Wives ? Could they grow old ( degenerate race , Inverted Souls , and Rome's disgrace ? ) In Hostile Arms , the Mede obey And fight for a Barbarians pay ? Forget their Rites , their Name , and Blood , Whilst Jove was safe , and Rome yet stood ! Wise Regulus did this prevent , He scorn'd base Terms that Carthage sent , Nor would he e're by his advice Tempt future Age to Cowardice : He knew that Vertues Crowns would fade Unless the Captive Youth were made Unpittied Preys to barbarous Foes , And bore the Slavery they chose . I saw , said He , our Eagles shine And basely fill a Punick shrine , With hanging Wings our fears upbraid By which they were so soon betray'd : I saw how Coward Armies stood , And yield without a drop of Blood ; I saw when they their Arms resign'd , Their Slavish Hands drawn back behind , I saw our Free-men bound led home , Bound Conquer'd Citizens of Rome ! Their Gates unbar'd , they plough'd the soyl Which Roman Troops did lately spoyl : Redeem'd perhaps more free from fear More fierce they shall return to War , More bold , more careful of their Fame ; You add new losses to your shame : Wool once infected with a stain Ne're takes it's Native white again : And when true Vertue falls , it lies , Prest down , and never cares to rise : If trembling Does when freed from Snares Will fight , then He 'l forget his fears Then He 'l be stout who basely chose To trust the Treachery of his Foes : He , He no doubt , will brave appear , And beat them in another War , Whose Arms could tamely bear the Cords And Whips of domineering Lords , Who sold his precious Liberty For meaner Life , and fear'd to Die : Resolv'd for Life He did not know To which he should his safety owe His Roman Courage or his Fear , And mixt dishonest Peace and War ; Oh shame ! Great Carthage ! rais'd more high On the Disgrace of Italy ! His Wives chast Kiss , his pratling Boys The former Partners of his joys , Now grown a Slave , thrown down by Fate , And less'ned from his former State He shun'd ; with manly modesty On Earth he cast his stubborn Eye Whilst thus by strange advice He fought , And fixt the wavering Senate's Vote ; Then thro his weeping Friends He ran In hast , a glorious banisht man : What Cords and Wheels , what Racks , and Chains , What lingring Tortures for his Pains The Barbarous Hangmen made , He knew ; And hightning Fame told more than true : Yet He his Wife and Boys remov'd , His hindring Friends , and all he lov'd , And thro the Crow'd he made his way That wept , and beg'd a longer stay ; As free as if when Term was done , And Suits at end , He left the Town , From Business and from Cares retreat To the cool pleasures of a Country Seat. ODE VII . To ASTERIA . He tells her that her absent Husband is Constant , and adviseth her to have a care of her solliciting Neighbour . ANd why does fair Asteria mourn ? And why despair of his return ? The first Spring Winds shall thy Dear Love restore , Soft Gales shall waft the charming Youth Of constant and unshaken truth With Wealthy lading to the Roman Shore : He 's driven to a distant Coast , Whilst Winter binds the Floods with Frost ; Sleep grows a Stranger to his Eyes : He mourns in melancholly Creeks , Whilst falling Tears freez on his Cheeks , And lengthens out the lingring Night with sighs : Whilst some from Chiloë strive to move And draw him to another Love ; They tell the fury of her Flame ; They tell how melted in thy Fires The miserable Maid expires , And use all Arts that Treacherous Wit can frame : They tell how Phaedra's treacherous Tears Did urge believing Proetus Fears , And with what Lustful heat she strove ; What Crimes she feign'd to hasten on The Death of chast Bellerophon , And take sharp vengeance for her slighted Love : How neer chast Peleus reacht his Fate And felt the force of Woman's hate , Whilst from Hyppolite He fled ; A Thousand tales , those Bawds to Vice They still force on him , to entice Or fright him to despairing Chloe's Bed : In vain , in vain , He hears no more Than Rocks when Winds and Waters roar ; Nor owns the Conquest of her Eyes : But , fair , take heed , and guard your Heart , And let not fond Eunipe's Art Steal in , and your unguarded Soul surprize . Tho none with equal manly force In Mars his Field can guide his Horse , Tho none appears so brave in Arms ; Tho none with equal Art divides The headlong force of Tiber's Tides , Yet scorn the winning beauty of his Charms : Shut all your doors at Evening's shade , Nor when you hear a Serenade Look down with a regarding Eye : Although he vows , and mourns his pains , And calls Thee cruel , and complains ; Be cruel Still , and more and more deny . ODE VIII . To MECAENAS . Whom He invites to an Entertainment which He made for joy of his deliverance from the falling Tree . VVHat I , a Batchelor , intend My learned Lord , and noble Friend , In Mars his Calends you admire ; What mean those Flowers that Crown my Head , The Coals on green-turf Altars laid Where in small Censures thankful sweets expire : To Bacchus pleasing Feasts I vow'd , And a White Goat's attoning Blood , When I had scap't the falling Oak : This day , as years run round , a Feast , Shall pierce my Casks ; and claim the best , That long stor'd up hath drank digesting Smoak : Drink , drink , let numerous Cups extend The Life of thy deliver'd Friend , Cups large as thy extensive joys : Let watching Tapers chase the Night , Till rising Morn restore the light ; Let mirth attend , and banish Strife and Noise . Forget , forget thy publick Cares , And take no thought for state Affairs , We hear the German Troops o're thrown ; The Medes now hate their Former Lords , They fight , nor yet expect our Swords ; But sadly conquer for us with their own : Our ancient Foe the Pride of Spain The fierce Cantabrian takes the Chain , Tho late , at last He 's forc't to yield : The Parthians fly , the Scythians now Their Arrows break , unstring their Bow , And are resolv'd to quit the fatal Field : Neglect the various turns of State , The sports of Chance , or nods of Fate , Grown private watch not o're Affairs ; But smile , and eagerly receive The Goods the present time can give ; And leave behind the Grave Fatigue of Cares . ODE IX . A Dialogue between Horace and Lydia . WHilst I was welcome to your Heart , In which no happier Youth had part , And full of more prevailing Charms Threw round your neck his dearer Arms ; I flourisht richer , and more blest Than the great Monarch of the East . Lydia . Whilst all thy Soul with me was fill'd , Nor Lydia did to Chloe yield , Lydia the celebrated Name , The only Theme of Verse and Fame , I flourisht more than she renown'd Whose Godlike Son our Rome did found : Horace . Me Chloe now , whom every Muse And every Grace adorn , subdues ; For whom I 'de gladly die to save Her dearer Beautys from the Grave : Lydia . Me lovely Calais doth fire With mutual flames of fierce desire , For whom I twice would die to save His Youth more precious from the Grave : Horace . What if our former Loves return And our first fires again should burn , If Chloe's banisht to make way For the forsaken Lydia ? Lydia . Tho He is shining as a Star , Constant , and Kind as he is Fair ; Though light as Cork , rough as the Sea , Yet I would Live , would Die with Thee Duke . ODE X. He tells Lyde that perhaps He shall not always be able to endure her Scorn . DId Lyde Drink cold Tanais Flood , A Scythians Bride that fed on Blood ; Yet would you grieve to see the Kind , The constant Horace grasp the Floor , Extended by thy cruel Door , Expos'd toth ' fury of the Native Wind. Dost hear what Tempests beat thy Gate ? How all rush on as arm'd with Fate ? And how thy pleasing Groves are tost ? With what severe and piercing light The Moon and Stars now guild the Night , And glaze the scatter'd Snow with hoary Frost ? Thy haughty Pride and Scorn remove , Ingrate and Enemy to Love ; My passions Tide may ebb again ; No Scythian Mother brought Thee forth , And hardned by the freezing North , That ardent Lovers thus should court in vain . If all my Prayers and Gifts are weak , Nor violent paleness of my Cheek The Lover's Livery , can move ; If that thy Husband scorns thy Charms , And takes a Songstress to his Arms , Can n're provoke Thee to my firmer Love. O stiff as Oaks to warm desire Too hard to burn in my soft Fire , As fierce as Snakes on Lybian Shore ; Tho now my patient side can bear Thy Door , the Rain , and piercing Air , Yet time will come when 't will endure no more . ODE XI . To Mercury , and his Shell , whom He desires to move Lyde , and tells the Story of Danaus 's Daughters : SWeet Mercury ( for taught by you The listning Stones Amphion drew ) And pleasing Shell , well skill'd to raise From seven stretcht strings the sweetest Lays ; Once mute , but now a Friend to Feasts , To cheer the Gods , and Rich-mens guests , Play Tunes , as may provoke to hear E'en Lydes coy denying Ear. She like a Colt frisks o're the Plain , A Rider hates , nor takes the Rein ; Unable yet to bear the force And strength of the obliging Horse : You Tigers , you the listning Woods Can draw and stop the rapid Floods , E'en Cerberus thy force confest , Well-pleas'd He lay , and lull'd in rest , Tho thousand hissing Serpents spread And guard around his horrid Head , And Gore foam'd round his tripple Tongue He gently list'ned to thy Song : Ixion , Tytius heard below , And smil'd but with a gloomy Brow : The leaky Tub a while was dry , And Danaus Race stood idle by , Whilst thy harmonious Tunes did please They smil'd at their unusual ease ; Begin sweet Lays , let Lyde hear What Crimes they did , what Pains they bear , Tell how their Tub can nought retain , But still gives space for idle pain ; How Vengeance comes , tho moving slow , And strikes the guilty Souls below : They could , ( could Hell contrive a blacker deed ) Their Husbands stab , and smile to see them bleed : But one more Worthy of the Name of Wife The hopes and end of every Virgin 's Life , Her perjur'd Father bravely disobey'd , And lives thro future Age a glorious Maid : With Love and Pity in her look She wakt her Spouse , and thus she spoke , Fly , fly , lest Fate should seize thy breath , And sleep be lengthned into Death : Fly , fly , thy unexpected Fate , My Sisters Rage , and Fathers Hate , Like Lionesses on a Steer They grin , and tear , ah me ! they tear : More tender I 'le not strike the blow , Nor keep Thee from a fiercer Foe : Me let me Father load with Chains , Joyn Wit and Cruelty in Pains ; Me let him send to Lybian Shores , Mid'st Poysnous Snakes , and swarthy Moors , For saving you , I 'le gladly bear , Nor show I 'me Woman by a Tear : Fly , fly , dear Partner of my Bed , Whilst Night can hide , and Venus lead , Fly , fly , let happy Omens wait , And guide Thee thro gloomy Fate ; Remember me , and o're my Grave Write this in a complaining Epitaph : ODE XII . He congratulates Neobule 's Happiness who lov'd a deserving Man. 'T Is hard to be deny'd to prove The soft Delights of pleasing Love , 'T is hard to be deny'd to play , And with sweet Wine wash Cares away , Still to be tost with doubting fear Lest angry Friends should prove severe , And with sharp chidings wound our Ear. Young wanton Cupid's Darts and Bow Have forc't thy Spindle from Thee now , Thy Wool , and all Minerva's toyls Are charming Hebre's Beauties spoyls ; He lives thy minds continual Theme , And you can think on nought but him ; Hebre , a Youth of Manly force , None sits so well the manag'd Horse ; Bellerophon would strive in vain To guide with so gentile a Rein : In all He shows a Manly grace , In Cuffing stout and swift in Race , When His oyl'd Arms have cut the Flood In swimming strong ; He takes the Wood , Thro Plains pursues the flying Doe , And shoots with an unerring Bow ; Or else for Bores His Toyls He sets , And takes them foaming in his Nets . ODE XII . To His pleasant Spring . BLundusia's Spring more clear than Glass , That bubbles thro the rising Grass : Thee Wine should sweeten , Crowns adorn , But now a wanton Ridgling dies A Pious humble Sacrifice , His flowing blood shall Paint the rising Morn : With budding Horns He dares to fight ; His fury hastens to delight ; Courage with Love together grows : In vain , in vain ; His wanton Blood Shall surely stain thy cooler Flood , And pay the mighty Debt his Master owes : The furious Dog-Stars burning Beams In vain attempt thy living Streams , In vain they strike thy Sacred Deep ; You yield delightful liquid Snow To Oxen wearied with the Plow , And cool the thirsty Heat of wandring Sleep : You rankt shall be midst noble Springs , And high in Fame , whilst Horace Sings , The shady Beech that rising grows Where , by great Neptune's Trident strook A Passage opens thro the Rock And whence thy prattling Stream of Water flows . ODE XIV . He resolves to be merry at Caesars return . CAesar , who like Alcides , Rome , Did march to bring the Laurel home , Bought with his Death ; from distant Spain Is now return'd in Peace again : Let Caesar's Queen , with one content With Pious thanks just Gods present ; His Sister too , as bright in Charms And great as Caesar in his Arms : And you whose Sons kind Fates restore With humble modesty adore ; Ye smiling Maids , ye Girls and Boys And you that tast the Marriage joys , With Mirth salute our Conquering Lord , Nor drop one inauspicious Word . This Day , to me a real Feast , Black Cares shall banish from my Breast : I 'le fear no Tumults , fear no Pains , Nor violent Death , whilst Caesar Reigns : Boy bring me Oyl , and Crowns prepare , And Wine that knew the Marsian War , If any Cask could hidden lie From wondring Spartacus his Eye : Bid sweet Neoer a spread her Charms , And hast to fly into my Arms , But if the Cursed Porter stay , And ask Thee questions ; Come away : Now Snowy time hath coold my rage , I am not eager to engage , But yet I know when I was wont To storm at such a rude affront ; Whilst Youth was warm , but Love is cold , And I can bear now I am old . ODE XV. He adviseth an Old Woman to be Modest . THou Wife of Ibycus the Poor , Forbear , and toy in Love no more , Confine thy Lust and end thy shame , Nor strive to blaze with dying flame : Now near to Death that comes but slow , Now Thou art stepping down below : Sport not amongst the Blooming Maids But think on Ghosts , and empty Shades : What suits with Pholoe in her bloom , Gray Chloris will not Thee become , A Bed is different from a Tomb : Thy Daughter with a better Grace Tho wrinkles plough her wither'd Face , Might burn , and rage , break Young Men's doors , And wast the Relicks of her hours ; Let Nothus Love force her to play Like wanton Kids i th' heat of May ; Lucerian Wool with Purple stain'd Not Harps become thy wither'd hand , The Purple Rosy Crowns disgrace The Earthy paleness of thy Face ; And Drink until the Hogshead 's dry , Then suck the dreggs , no blood will fly To thy pale Cheek , nor softness to thy Eye . ODE XVI . All things obey Gold. ATower of Brass , Gates strong and barr'd , And watchful Dogs suspicious Guard From creeping Night Adulterers , That fought imprison'd Danae's Bed , Might have secur'd one Maiden-Head ; And freed the old Acrisius from his fears : But Jove and Venus soon betray'd The jealous Guardian of the Maid , They knew the way to take the hold ; They knew the Pass must open lie To every hand and every Eye , When Jove himself was Bribe , and turn'd to Gold : Gold loves to break through Gates and Barrs , It is the Thunderbolt of Warrs ; It flies thro Walls , and breaks a way , By Gold the Argive Augur fell , It taught the Children to rebel , And made the Wife her fatal Lord betray : When Engines , and when Arts do fail , The golden Wedg can cleave the Wall ; Gold Philip's Rival Kings o'rethrew ; Rough Sea-men , stubborn as the Flood And angry Seas that they have Plow'd , Bribes quickly snare , and easily subdue : Care still attends encreasing store , And craving Appetite for more ; Mecaenas , Honor of our Knights , How justly was thy Friend afraid To raise his too conspicuous Head And soar too lofty , and to envy'd heights ? Those that do much themselves deny , Receive more blessings from the Sky : I love a mean , and safe retreat ; And naked now with hast retire To Humble Those who nought desire ; And joy to leave the Party of the Great : In my scorn'd Farm a greater Lord Than if my crowded Barns were stor'd With all the stout Appulian reaps ; Than if to Me Pactolus ran And roul'd in flowing Tides of gain , Whilst I was Poor amidst my mighty heaps , A purling Spring , a shady Grove To raise my Song , and ease my Love , My Farm that ne're deceives my hopes Make me seem happier to the Wise , Tho not to base and vulgar Eyes , Than He that boasts his Fruitful Lyha's Crops : Tho no Calabrian Bees do give Their grateful Tribute to my Hive , No Wines by Rich Compania sent In my Ignoble Casks ferment ; No Flocks in Gallick Plains grow Fat , Yet I am free from pinching want , And beg'd I more , my Lord would grant ; And to my Wishes equal my Estate : But now more safe , and more securely blest Than if my Hand grasp't East and West : He , that asks much , must still want more ; Happy , to whom Indulgent Heaven Enough , and sparingly hath given , And made his Mind as narrow as his Store . ODE XVII . He adviseth his noble Friend Aelius Lamias to live merrily . GReat Sir from ancient Lamus Sprung , As noble a descent , as long ; ( From Him , the Spring , thy generous Blood In undisturbed Streams has flow'd ; From him the Lamias took their name , And swell the Annals of our Fame , Thy generous Blood rould nobly down From him that fill'd the Formian Throne Where swoln with Rain , swift Liris roars , And washes fair Marica's Shores , A Potent Scepter grac't his Hand , And measur'd out a wide Command ) To morrow furious Winds shall spread The troubled Shore with useless Weed , And fill the Woods with scatter'd Leaves , Unless the cawing Crow deceives , The Crow that still foretells a Rain And Storm , and never caws in vain : Now Pile thy Wood whilst sound and dry , To morrow morn a Pig shall die , And Wine shall cheer thy Slaves and Thee , From Country Toyl , and Business free , And all enjoy a short liv'd Liberty . ODE XVIII . To FAUNUS . Whose Favour and Protection He desires . FAunus that flying Nymphs pursues , And Courts as oft as they refuse , If Yearly Ridglings stain thy Grove , If the large Bowl the Friend of Love , Still flows with Wine ; if Prayers invoke , And thy old Shrines with Odors smoak , Defend my Fields , and sunny Farm , And keep my tender Flocks from harm : Or'e grassy Plains the wanton Flocks , The Village with their idle Ox , Sport o're the Fields , all finely drest When cold December doth restore thy Feast : The Lambs midst ravenous Wolves repose , The Wood to thee spreads rustick Boughs , The Ditcher with his Country Jugg , Then smiles to Dance where once he dugg . ODE XIX . A merry Ode to his Friend who was a Student . HOw many years divide Old Inachus and Codrus Reign Who for his Country bravely dy'd , You seek with mighty pain , These are the idle Labors of thy Brain . Old Aeacus you can derive from Jove , And tell what mighty Kin he had above , You all the Trojan Wars can write , But never mind what Wine will cost , Who make a Feast , and who invite , And who a Fire prepares at Night Now Winter spreads the Fields with hoary Frost . A Glass ! come fill me to the rising Moon , To Midnight , and to Morning one ; Wee 'l never part whilst Stars do shine ; Forget thy Books , those idle Dreams , Fill round , Three Bowls or Nine Are sober Jollity's extreams . He that th' uneven Muses loves , With Three times Three his heat improves , A staring Poet , rais'd by every Bowl ; The sober Grace with th' naked two , Afraid of Brawls , but Three allow , And only cheer , but never heat the Soul : I must be Mad , what means the Flute ? Why hangs the Pipe and silent Lute ? I hate a niggard , quickly spread The sweetest Roses round my Head ; Let Lycus hear the roaring noise , And she the Neighbouring Miss That doth his feeble Love despise , And let them pine , and envy at our joys : Thee Beauteous with thy bushy Hair , And like the brightest Evening Star Ripe Chloë seeks with warm desires ; Whilst I a dull expecting Fop Still linger on with lazy hope , And slowly melt in Glycera's tormenting Fires . ODE XX. He adviseth his Friend not to strive to part a Lover and his Mistriss . DOst see what Dangers must attend , Thy Pious Duty to thy Friend ; 'T is hard to rob a Tygress of her Young : Ah bafled , Thou shalt soon retreat , And midst the shame of a defeat Unequal Foe confess her force too strong . When she with Fury rais'd shall move Thro throngs of Youth that offer Love , And strive to win her Heart ; to seize the Fair ; Then shall we see who wins the Day , And who shall seize the Beauteous Prey , And in Nearchus have the greatest share : Whilst you your winged Arrows draw , She whets her Teeth , and spreads her paw ; Whilst he that must bestow the Prize Sits unconcern'd with gloting Eyes ; On all around his Amorous glances spread , His perfum'd loose and wanton Hair , Permitting to the waving Air , As sweet as Nireus or as Ganymed . ODE XXII . He Dedicates his Pine to Diana . KInd Guardian of my Hills and Grove Who thrice implor'd dost hear , and save The teeming Women from the Grave , Great here on Earth , in Hell , and great Above . This Tree be thine that long hath stood To shade my House ; as Years roul round A Bore that Aims a side-ways wound Shall Yearly stain the Trunk with offer'd Blood. ODE XXIII . Innocence pleases Heaven more than Sacrifice . A Fat and costly Sacrifice Is not the welcom'st Tribute to the Skys , They 'r more delighted with the small expence Of Honesty and Innocence . Let rustick Phydile prepare At each new Moon an humble Prayer , And at her old Penates Shrine Pour one small bowl of Country Wine , And stain their Altars with a greedy Swine ; No scorching Winds shall blast her fruit , Her Corn be free from barren smut ; Nor let her darling Children fear The shivering Agues of the dying Year . The Sacrifice Albanian Pastures feed , Or Snowy Algidum's cold Mountains breed ' Midst fruitful Oaks a pamper'd Beast , Shall stain the Axes of the Priest : But why should You profusely try With slaughter'd Flocks to bribe the Sky , Since Myrtle Crowns , and from the neighbouring Flood Few sprinkled drops shall please the God More than whole Rivers of their offer'd blood ? If with an unpolluted hand , Which neither Blood nor wicked Arts have stain'd , A little Meal and Salt you bring 'T will prove a more prevailing Offering Than all the Spices of the Eastern King. ODE XXIV . Nothing can secure a Man from Death , And Covetousness is the Root of all Evil. THough You had all the Spice and Gold Arabia sweats , and the rich Indies hold ; Tho You extend Your Palaces O're the Tyrrhene , and Pontick Seas ; When strong Necessity Shall fix her Adamantine hooks on Thee , When she shall drag away The trembling melancholy Prey , Not all thy Wealth shall save Thy Mind from fear , or body from the grave . Happier the wandring Scythians live , Who all their house in one small Waggon drive , Where no unequal bounds Do parcel out the Land in private grounds , The Corn grows freely for the Common good ; And when one Year their Fields they plow'd , They sit at Ease , whilst others toyl , And equal pains manure the Publick Soil . There all the Cups the Step-dames hands present To unsuspecting Heirs are innocent : No Wife confiding on her Dower , Or rich Gallant usurps her Husband's Power ; None there a lawless sway pretends , Her Portion is the vertue of her Friends , And cautious Modesty That closer draws the marriage tye , They fear to sin , or sinning doom'd to dye . He that would prize his Country's good , And stop the Issue of our Civil blood ; He that would stand in Brass as fixt as Fate , Be nam'd the Father of the State ; Let him restrain this Brutal rage : A glorious Man in future age ! Since Envious We despise Vertue when present , when it flyes Stand and gaze after it with longing Eyes ! But sad Complaints are vain , Vice only yields to pain , Her Sword strict Justice needs must draw , And cut it off by necessary Law ; And what are Laws ! State Pageantry ! Unless obey'd With the same reverence they were made , Unless our Manners and the Rules agree ! The Merchants dare to cut the Line , Where beams still boyl the Metal in the Mine , Nor can the frigid Coast That lyes bound up with lazy Frost , Nor all the Snow and Northern Ice , E're cool the Sailer's flaming Avarice ; In feeble Ships they dare to ride And boldly stem the highest Tide , When scarce three inches them and Death divide , For Poverty that great disgrace Still drives them on the vicious race ; Whilst Vertue 's Paths that lead on high Untrod and unfrequented lie , Few think it worth their while to climb the Sky . To Jove's great Shrine let Romans bring Their Wealth , a grateful Offering ; For those that thus their Treasures spend , Just blessings Crown , and joyful shouts attend : Or in the Neighbouring flood Let 's cast our Jewels and our Gold , For which we have our Vertue sold , Our Gold the dear-bought cause of all our blood : Wealth , form'd near Hell , when here on Earth Brings up the cursed Region of its birth . If we repent , and hate the Crimes And Follies of our own and Father's times , We must root out the very seeds of Sin , And plant new Vertue in ; The Soil is soft , and if manur'd with care , And manly Arts , may bear A fruitful Crop , Vertue may sprout again , And with a Vast encrease reward the Tiller's pain . Our Nobles Sons with an unequal force Now scarce can sit the Manag'd Horse , They Hate the Ring , nor dare to ride the Course : But Cards , unlawful Dice , And all the mysteries of Vice That Greece e're taught , or Rome improv'd they know , For these they nobler Deeds forgoe ; These are their Arts , their chief delights , The Pleasures of their days , and study of their nights . Mean while their perjur'd Fathers cheat , Grow grey in base Oppression , and Deceit ; To their best Friends their Oaths are Snares , Whilst at the vast Expence Of Honesty and Innocence , They Heap up Wealth for their unworthy Heirs . Their Stores encrease , and yet , I know not what , Still they do something want , Which neither pains can get , nor Heav'n can grant , To swell their Narrow to a full Estate . ODE XXVI . Now being grown Old , he bids farewel to Love. ONce I was gay , and great in Charms , Success still waited on my Arms , In Venus Battles bravely stout , I fought , and conquer'd when I fought : But now my Arms and wanton Lyre Whose tunes could spread Harmonious fire , Whose moving stroaks could soon impart Soft wishes to the tender heart , My Torches , Leavers , Darts and Bows That broak the Doors that did oppose , That did all Obstacles remove , Which hindred my pursuit of Love , In Venus Shrine unheeded lie With all my Love's Artillery : Great Goddess who o're Cyprus reigns , And scorching Memphis burning Plains , Let coy and scornful Chlöe know The fury of thy Cupid's Bow ; And let her smart for her disdain , Enflame her Breast , and I shall love again . ODE XXVIII . To Lyde , On Neptune 's Festival . VVHat should I do at Neptune's Feast , What better should my thoughts employ , What should I do but treat my guest , And show the greatness of my Joy ? Wine , Lyde , Wine ; storm sober Sense , My Bowl is strong , and that will make a weak defence . Do'st see how half the day is past ? And yet as if wing'd Time would stay , You still the precious minutes wast ; And lead me on with slow delay . Wine , Lyde , Wine ; to raise my flame , Old lusty Wine , and seal'd with Bibulus's name . I 'le sing great Neptune bound by Rocks , I 'le sing the Nereids Sea-green hair ; And how they sit , and spread their locks To tempt the greedy Mariner : You to your Harp Latona sing , And Cynthia's Arrows shot from an unerring string . Both her who drawn by murmuring Doves To Paphos guides with silken strings , Whilst Cupids wait , and wanton Loves Fan their warm Mother with their wings : Just songs and thanks shall praise the Night , For lingring Long , and giving space for gay delight . ODE XXIX . He invites Mecaenas to an Entertainment . MY noble Lord of Royal Blood , That from the Tuscan Monarchs flow'd , I have a Cask ne're pierc'd before ; My Garlands wreath'd , my Crowns are made , My Roses pluckt to grace thy head ; As fair and sweet as e're Praeneste bore . Make hast , my Lord , and break away From all the Shackles of delay , From watry Tibur's Fields retreat : Let not low Aesula delight , Nor let her Vales detain thy sight , Or Parricide Telegonus his Seat. From thy disgusting Plenty fly , Thy Palace leave that mounts on high And hides her head in bending Clouds ; Admire no more ( but quickly come ) The Wealth , the noise , and smoak of Rome , That happy Mansion of our future Gods. Changes have often pleas'd the Great , And in a Cell a homely treat ; But sweet and good , and cleanly drest , Tho no rich Hangings grace the Rooms , Or Purple wrought in Tyrian Looms , Have smooth'd a careful brow , and calm'd a troubled breast . The Dog 's and Lion's fury rise , With doubled beams they scorch the Skys ; The Swains retire to mid-day dreams : The bleating Flocks avoid the heat , And to the Springs and Shades retreat ; And not one breath of Air curles o're the Streams . Whilst You still watch the turns of Fate , The careful guardian of our State ; Intent on what the Mede prepares : What leads the quiver'd Persian forth , What moves the Bactrian , and the North , Are the distracting Objects of thy Cares . Future Events Wise Providence Hath hid in Night from humane Sence , To narrow bounds our search confin'd : And laughs to see proud Mortals try To fathom deep Eternity With the short Line and Plummet of their Mind . Those Joys the present Hours produce Take thankfully , my Lord , and use ; All other things like Rivers flow , In their own Channels thro the Plain They fall into the Tuscan Main , And bless the Country as they go : When Rain hath rais'd the quiet Floods , Whilst Neighbouring Mountains all around Are fill'd , and Eccho with the sound , They whirl the eaten Rocks and Woods , And drown the growing Labors of the Plow . He 's Master of himself alone , He lives , that makes each day his own : He lives that can distinctly say It is enough , for I have liv'd to day : Let Jove to morrow smiling rise , Or let dark Clouds spread o're the Skys : He cannot make the pleasures void Nor sower the sweets I have enjoy'd , Nor call that back which winged hours have born away . Still Fortune plays at fast and loose , And still maliciously jocose , Her cruel sport she urges on ; Now smiles on me , on Me bestows , And then upon another throwes Vast heaps of Wealth , and takes them back as soon . When e're she stays with what she brings I 'me pleas'd , but when she shakes her Wings , I streight resign my just pretence ; I give her back her fading Gold : My self in my Vertue fold , And live content with Want and Innocence . When spreading Sails rough Tempests tear , I make no lamentable Prayer ; I do not bargain with the Gods , Nor offer costly Sacrifice To save my precious Tyrian dys From Adding Riches to the Greedy Floods . E'en ' midst these Storms I 'le safely ride , My Bark shall stem the highest Tide ; Tho Tempests toss , and th' Ocean raves , Castor shall gather gentle Gales , And Pollux fill my spreading Sails , And bear me safe thro the Aegean Waves . ODE XXX . He promiseth himself Eternity . 'T Is finish't ; I have rais'd a Monument More strong than Brass , and of a vast extent : Higher than Egypt's statelyest Pyramid , That costly Monument of Kingly Pride ; As High as Heaven the top , as Earth the Basis wide : Which eating showers , nor North wind 's seeble blast , Nor whirling Time , nor flight of Years can wast : Whole Horace shall not dye , his Songs shall save The greatest portion from the greedy Grave : Still fresh I 'le grow , still green in future praise , Till Time is lost , and Rome it self decays ; Till the chief Priest and silent Maid no more Ascend the Capitol , and Jove adore : Where violent Aufid rouls thro humble Plains , And where scorch'd Daunus rul'd the labouring Swains , There shall my fame resound , there all shall cry 'T was I , the great from mean descent , 't was I That first did dare to bind the Grecian Song , And unknown numbers in the Roman tongue : Muse take thy Merits due , and proudly raise Thy Head , and gladly Crown my Brows with Bays . The End of the Third Book . ODES . Book the Fourth . ODE I. To VENUS . 1. He is now grown Old and unfit for Love. 2. Desires her to go and visit Young Paulus . 3. Yet He still thinks on his lovely Boy Ligurine . 1. LOng interrupted War Thou Venus dost again renew , And former hate pursue ; Oh spare , for Pitty , Venus , spare . I am not what I was In lovely Cynera's easy Reign When heat warm'd every Vein , And manly Beauty filld my Face . Cease Queen of soft Desires To bend my Mind grown stiff with Age , And fifty years engage To crackle in thy wanton Fires . But Youth and Beauty hear , Go where their tender wishes call , And let their sighs prevail ; Go free young Virgins of their fear . 2. There is a Noble game , In Paulus House , go drive thy Doves , And revel with thy Loves , His Heart deserves thy choicest Flame : For He is great in Charms , The chiefest Honor of the Bar , He 'l make successful War , And spread the Glory of thy Arms : When He the lovely smiles , When he the happy Man shall prove , And win by naked Love His giving Rivals costly spoyls ; Of Cedar grac't with Gold , A stately Pile shall proudly rise As glorious as the Skies , And thy blest Image gladly hold ; Before Thee thrice a day With Incense sweet thy Shrine shall smoke , And Boys and Maids invoke , And dance , and praise Thee as they pray ; In wanton order move , Whilst Pipe , and Flute , and charming Lyre Compose the joyful Quire , And naked all , and fit for Love. No Maids , no wanton Boys , No Empty hopes of mutual Love My feeble passions move , Or quicken my dead Soul to joys : E'en Crowns and VVine displease , I cannot roar and drink all Night , Old Age doth cramp Delight , And lead me down to lazy Ease : 3. But Ah! what 's this my Dear ! Dear Ligurine , ah tell me why These drops forsake my Eye , And tender sighs fan every tear . Why doth my flowing Tongue In unbecoming silence fall ? And why do sighs prevail , And in the midst surprise my Song ? Thee , Thee , my lovely Boy , Now now I clasp , and now in Dreams Pursue o're Fields , and Streams ; Thee , Thee , my Dear , my flying Joy. ODE II. To ANTONIUS JULUS . 1. None can imitate Pindar . 2. Commends Antony , and proposes Caesar 's Actions as a fit subject for his Muse . 1. HE that to equal Pindar trys , With Waxen wings he vainly flys Too near exalted Fame ; And must expect a Fate like his Who fell , and gave the Sea a name . As violent Rivers swoln with Rain , Break o're the neighbouring fruitful Plain With an impetuous stream ; So Pindar doth all Banks disdain , And overflows the highest Theme . In all He doth deserve the Crown Whether He rushes boldly on , And rouls new words along ; Through lawless Dytherambicks thrown ; Or Thunders in a looser Song : Or Gods , or Gods next Kindred Kings , In mighty numbers mighty things , Or valiant Heroes names That kill'd the Centaurs , nobly sings , And quench'd the fierce Chimaera's flames . Or praised him that swiftly rode , And Crown'd return'd almost a God From the Olympian race ; Or Verses on the Brave bestow'd , More sounding and more strong than Brass . Or softly sings with pious grief A Youth snatcht from his weeping Wife , And bears their names on high , Their vertuous manners pleasant life , And doth forbid their Loves to dye . The Theban Swan vast whirls of Air Thro highest Regions swiftly bear When he designs to rise , When He his lofty head doth rear And shoots it thro the Cloudy Skies . I like a Bee with toil and pain Fly humbly o're the flowry Plain , And with a busy tongue The little Sweets my Labors gain , I work at last into a Song . 2. But You shall sing in higher strains What Conquests mighty Caesar gains , How great his Pomp appears , When justly Crown'd he leads in Chains The German Trophies of his Wars . Greater than him no Age can know , Nor , if they would , the Gods bestow ; No , they can bless no more If they their bounty strove to show , And would the Golden Age restore : Then thou shalt sing our feasting days , Our City's Joy , and publick Plays At Caesar's wisht return : Then thou shalt sing how strife decays , And Courts their peaceful Clients mourn . And there if any patient Ear My Muses feeble Song will hear My voice shall sound thro Rome : Thee , Sun , I 'le sing , Thee , lovely fair ; Thee , Thee I 'le praise when Caesar's come : As you great Poet march along From every Heart and every Tongue A joyful sound shall move , Io Triumph be the Song , VVhilst Incense smoaks to Gods above : Ten fair large Bulls , ten lusty Cows Must dy to pay thy richer Vows ; Of my small stock of Kine A Calf just wean'd now Youthful grows In Pastures fat to fall for mine : Unus'd to push doth wildly run , And as the third-days rising Moon So bend his tender horns ; All over Red , but where alone A milky spot his front adorns . ODE III. To his Muse . By her favor he gets immortal Reputation . AT whose blest birth propitious rays The Muses shed , on whom they smile No dusty Isthmian game Shall stoutest of the Ring proclaim , Or to reward his toyl Wreath Ivy Crowns , or grace his head with Bays . Nor Victor , Laurel round his Brows , In an Achean Chariot ride : No glorious feats of War His happy Skill , and Arms declare When He hath broke the pride , And baffled dreadful threats of haughty Foes . But fruitful Tibur's shady Groves , It s pleasant Springs and purling Streams , Shall raise a lasting name , And set him high in sounding same , For Lyric Verse the noblest Themes , Great as his Mind , and various as his Loves . Rome Empress of the Nation 's Writes , Writes me amongst the Lyrick Train ; And hence I Honor raise , Immortal Love and lasting praise Secure from fears , and pain , For sharp-tooth'd Envy now but faintly bites . Sweet Muse that tun'st the charming Lyre , And draw'st soft sounds from stubborn string , That can'st the Envious please And soften fury into ease , Teach silent Fish to sing , And tunes as sweet as dying Swans inspire . 'T is thine , sweet Muse , thy gift alone , That as I walk all cry 't is He ; That warms with Lyrick fire , 'T is He that tunes the Roman Lyre ; And that I please , I own , Suppose I please , I have it all from Thee . ODE V. GReat Hero's Son , Rome's gratious Lord , How long shall we thy absence mourn ! Thy promis'd self at last afford , Rome's sacred Senate begs : Return . Great Sir restore your Country light ; When your auspitious beams arise , Just as in Spring , the Sun 's more bright , And fairer days smile o're the Skys . As tender Mothers wait their Sons Whom Storms have tost above a Year , And every nimble day that runs They load with vows , and pious fear , They ne're their Eys from th' Shores remove , Longing to see their Sons restor'd ; Thus Rome , inspir'd with Loyal Love , Expects her great , her gracious Lord. The Ox doth safely Pastur● trace , And fruitful Ceres fills our Plains , The Merchant sails o're quiet Seas , And unstain'd Faith , and Vertue reigns . No base Adultry stains our Race , Strickt Law hath tam'd that spotted Vice ; The Child can show his Father's face ; Pain waits on Sin , and checks its rise . Who doth the dreadful Germans fear The Scythian Rage , or Parthian Bow , Or Who the threatning Spaniards War , Whilst Caesar lives , and rules below ? In his own Hills each sets his Sun ; To Widow Elms he leads his Vine , And chearful , when his toyls are done , Invokes Thee o're a Glass of Wine : To Thee our Prayers , and Wines do flow To Thee the Author of our Peace , As much as grateful Greece can show , To Castor , or great Hercules : Long may You live , your days be fair , Bestow long Feasts , and long Delight ; This is our sober morning Prayer , And these our drunken Vows at Night . ODE VI. To Apollo and Diana . GReat God , whom Niobe's Race did know A sharp revenger of a haughty Tongue , Whom Lustful Titus wrong Provokt to draw his fatal Bow ; And stout Achilles found too great a Foe . Tho fierce in Arms , tho Thetis Son , Tho Death did wait upon his Sword , and Fear , Attended on his Spear ; Tho wretched Troy almost or'e thrown Confest his force , He bow'd to Thee alone . Like Oaks which biting Axes wound , Or Cypress tall which furious Storms divide He spread his ruin wide : He felt the fatal Dart , He groan'd And hid his noble Head in Trojan ground : Not He in great Minerva's Horse Had cheated Troy , and Priam's heedless Court Dissolv'd in Wine and Sport ; But hot , and deaf to all remorse Had fiercely storm'd our Walls with open force : And when strong Fates had Troy or'come Too savage He , ah ! ah ! with Grecian Flames Had burnt the breeding Dames , And in their Mothers burning Womb , Poor harmless Infants found a hated Tomb : But your kind Prayers , and Venus Face Prevail'd on Fate , made angry Juno kind , And bent Jove's mighty mind To grant a more auspicious place To raise a Town for great Aeneas Race : Fain'd Artist on the Muses Lyre , That bath'st thy yellow Locks in Zanthus Flood , Sweet , smooth-fac't charming God , Improve the rage thou didst inspire , Encrease my heat and still preserve my Fire : From Phoebus all my fancy came , 'T was Phoebus first that taught me how to sing , And strike the speaking string ; He Art inspir'd , He rais'd my Fame , And gave the glory of a Poet's name : You noble Maids , and noble Boys , The chast Diana's chiefest care below , Whose dreadful Darts and Bow , Fierce Tygers fear ; observe my voice , Observe the measures of the publick joys : Just praises give Latona's Son ; And sing the Moon with her encreasing light The beauteous Queen of Night , Kind to our Fruits , and swift alone To turn the headlong Months , and whirl 'em down . When Marriage bands confine thy Love Then boast , as years brought round the Feast , I plaid The Tunes that Horace made ; I sang his Verse ; and This did prove A pleasing Tribute to the Gods above . ODE VII . To MANLIUS TORQUATUS . The Spring coming on , from the consideration of our frail State , He invites him to be merry . THe Snows are gone , and Grass returns again , New Leaves adorn the Widow Trees The unswoln Streams their narrow banks contain , And softly role to quiet Seas : The decent Nymphs with smiling Graces joyn'd , Now naked dance i' th' open Air They frolick , dance , nor do they fear the Wind That gently wantons thro their Hair. The nimble hour that turns the Circling Year And swiftly whirls the pleasing Day , Forewarns Thee to be Mortal in thy Care Nor cramp thy Life with long delay : The Spring the Winter , Summer wasts the Spring , And Summers beauty's quickly lost , When drunken Autumn spreads her drooping Wing And next cold Winter creeps in Frost . The Moon t is true her Monthly loss repairs , She streight renews her borrow'd light ; But when black Death hath turn'd our shining years , There follows one Eternal Night . When we shall view the gloomy Stygian Shore , And walk amongst the mighty Dead Where Tullus , where Aeneas went before : We shall be Dust , and empty shade : Who knows if stubborn Fate will prove so kind , And joyn to this another day ? What e're is for thy greedy Heir design'd , Will slip his Hands , and fly away : When thou art gone , and Minos Sentence read , Torquatus there is no return , Thy Fame , nor all thy learned Tongue can plead , Nor goodness shall unseal the Urn : For Chast Hyppolytus Diana strives , She strives , but ah ! she strives in vain ; Nor Theseus Care , and Pious force reprieves , Nor breaks his Dear Perithous Chain . ODE VIII . To Marcus Censorinus . Verse is the best and most lasting Present that a Man can send his Friend . I Would be kind , I would bestow Dear Censorine , on all I know , Plate , Statues , Brass prepar'd ; Or Bowls the stoutest Greeks reward : On You my Friend , and half my heart , Some curious Piece of noble Art ; Could I the famous Works command Of Scopa's or Parrhasius hand , One skill'd in Stone , and one in Paint To frame a Man , or make a Saint : The Art declar'd the frame divine , And God appear'd in every Line . But I am poor , and your Estate Too large for these , your Soul too great To want such Toys : but You delight In noble Verse , and I can write ; I 'me rich in these , can please a Friend , And show the worth of what I send : Not stately Pillars rais'd in Brass , Nor Stones inscrib'd with publick Praise , Tho such new Heat and Vigor give , And make the buried Heroes live ; The hasty flight , the wondrous fall , And threats thrown back on Hannibal , Not Impious Carthage bright in flames , His praise , who came increas't in Names From conquer'd Africk , Vertues show With half the Glory Verse can do : If Books were dumb , what small Regard Would Vertue meet , what mean Reward ? And who had Rome's great Founder known Tho sprung from Mars , tho Ilia's Son , If envious silence had with-held , His great Deserts , and Fame conceal'd ? From Shades below , and gloomy Night By Poet's power , and force of Wit Good Eack freed , serenely reigns A Mighty King in happy Plains : The Muse forbids great worth to dye ; On whom she will bestows the Sky : Thus Great Alcides carves the Feast With Jove himself , a noble Guest : Thus shining Castor kindly saves A feeble Ship in roughest Waves ; And Bacchus , crown'd with Ivy , hears Our modest Vows , and speeds our Prayers . ODE IX . To LOLLIUS . His Songs shall never dye ; and he is resolv'd to make his Friend Lollius his Name live for ever . VAin fear to think those Words will dye Which born by Aufid's whirling stream , With unknown Art I first did try In Lyric numbers joyn'd With charming strings to bind , And gently raise my noble Theme . Tho King in Verse great Homer reigns , And doth Equality refuse ; Yet Pindar lives in lofty strains , Alcoeus nobly charms , The Coean Lyrick warms With grave Stesichorus stately Muse : We read Anacreon's wanton toys ; Whilst they our passions gently move , No Envy blasts , no Age destroys ; And Sappho's charming Lyre Preserves her soft desire , And tunes our ravisht Souls to Love. Not only Helen's Heart was fir'd , When basely careless of her fame She Paris Princely Train admir'd , His Curls surprizing grace , His Dress , his Art , his Face , And lewdly fed her lawless Flame . Not Teucer first drew fatal Bows ; Not Troy but once felt Grecian rage ; Not only Stheneleus brav'd his Foes , The great first-born of Fame , That fought , and overcame And lives in Verse to future Age. Not Hector first the glory won Of bravely spending Royal Blood To guard his hopes , his darling Son ; Nor first profuse of Life To save a Vertuous Wife And do his dying Country good . Before that Age a thousand liv'd , And sent surprising Glories forth , But none the silent Grave surviv'd ; In Night their Splendor's gone , They fell , unmourn'd , unknown ; Because no Verse embalms their Worth. What worth doth lazy floth excel , If 't is withheld from sounding Fame ? Thy Glories I will loudly tell , And in immortal Verse Thy living praise reherse , Nor suffer Age to wast thy Name : A Generous Mind in Action bold , Wise in debate , in Council grave , Too strong for all-attracting Gold : Let Fortune frown or smile Thy soul is constant still , In either State 't is great and brave : Not Consul only for one Year , But still the Chair as oft obtain'd As equal justice rul'd the Bar , As oft as Crimes accus'd , And guilty Bribes refus'd With haughty look she nobly Reign'd : Believe not those that Lands possess And shining heaps of useless Ore The only Lords of Happiness , But rather those that know For what kind Fates bestow , And have the Art to use the Store : That have the generous skill to bear The hated weight of Poverty Who more than Death will baseness fear , Who nobly to desend Their Country or their Friend Embrace their Fate , and gladly dye . ODE X. To scornful LIGURINE . Age will come , Beauty wast , and then he will be sorry for his present Pride . AH lovely yet , and great in Charms , Ah coy , and flying from my Arms ! When an unlook't for Beard shall hide And scatter'd hairs spread o're thy Pride ; When all those wanton Curls shall fall , Thy Rosy Color yield to Pale , Thy Cheeks grow wan , thy Body pine , And leave a different Ligurine , Ah thou shalt say , when e're the glass Shall show Thee quite another Face , Ah whilst I was a vigorous Boy , Why did I not this Mind enjoy ! Or since I now so freely burn Why won't my former Face return ! ODE XI . To PHYLLIS . On Mecaenas his Birth Day , He invites her to a Feast . I Keep some Casks of racy Wines Full nine years old ; to Crown thy hair My Parsly grows ; my Ivy twines , To grace thy head , and make Thee fair : My Rooms well furnish'd joy proclaim , My Altar Crown'd with Sacred Wood And Vervine chast , expects her Lamb , And thirsts to drink the promis'd Blood. All hands at work , my Boys and Maids With busy hast the Feast prepare , My Torches raise their trembling Heads And roll dark Volumes thro the Air : But now to tell what joys to Night I call Thee to ; I keep the Ide That April's Month the choice delight Of Sea-born Venus doth divide : A Day of Joy and Mirth appears , And almost dearer than my own ; It shuts Mecaenas former years , And brings another gently on : That Telephus whom you desire A richer Maid , and Beauty gains Young , Wanton , Gay , and full of fire , And holds him fast in pleasing Chains : Burnt Phaëton checks hopes too high , From Heaven by dreadful Thunder thrown ; And Pegasus refus'd to fly And threw his mortal Rider down : The Phillis stop thy rising Flame , And all ambitious thoughts remove , 'T is Sin to hunt too great a Game , And fly at an unequal Love : Come , come , my last , my dearest Miss , The last I can I must adore ; No Face shall e're provoke a Kiss ; And other Beauty warm no more : Come learn , my Dear , some pleasing Song , Which you with a surprising Air Might warble o're your charming Tongue ; For Songs are good to lessen Care : ODE XII . To VIRGIL . He describes the Spring , and invites him to Supper . THe soft Companions of the Spring The gentle Thracian Gales Spread o're the Earth their flowry Wing , And swell the greedy Merchants Sails : The Streams not swoln with melted Snow In fair Meanders play , To quiet Seas they smoothly flow , And gently eat their easy way . The Swallow with the Spring returns , And as she builds her Nest , Her murder'd Itys sadly mourns And sighs , and beats her troubled Breast . The swallow Athens lasting shame , For tho her Cause was just , Her Breast conceiv'd a lawless flame , And ill reveng'd the Tyrant's Lust . The Swain whilst Flocks securely feed Sits down , and sweetly plays , He softly blows his Oaten Reed , And pleaseth Pan with rural Lays : The Season , Virgil , brings us thirst ; And if you Mirth design VVith Noble youths , bring Oyntment first , And I 'le provide Thee racy VVine : For one small Box of Oyntment brought I will a Cask prepare , 'T is strong to tame a lofty thought , Check hopes , and wash down bitter Care. Now if you 'l make a joyful Guest I 'le not , as Nobles do , Bear all the Charges of the Feast But must expect a share from you . Think Life is short , forget thy fears , And eager thoughts of Gain , Short Folly mix with graver Cares , 'T is decent sometimes to be vain . ODE XIII . To LYCE. He insults over her now she is grown old . THe Gods have heard , Lyce , the Gods have heard The Gods have heard my Prayer , As I have wish'd , and you have feard , Your'e old , yet would be counted fair : You toy , you impudently drink to raise Your lazy dull desire , You strive to highten to a blaze VVith your cold breath the dying fire . In vain , 't is all in vain , coy Cupid flys , A better Seat He seeks , In young soft Chloe's Face he lyes , And gently wantons in her Cheeks : Coy he flies o're dry Oaks , he scorns thy Face , Because a furrow'd Brow And hollow Eyes thy form disgrace , And o're thy head Age scatters Snow . Nor can thy costly dress the Eastern Shore VVith all the Gems it bears Thy former lovely Youth restore , Nor bring thee back thy scatter'd Years , Those Years which the Eternal wheel hath spun , And drawn beyond thy Prime , Thro which swift Day hath nimbly run And shut in known Records of Time. VVhere is that Beauty , where that charming Air , That shape , that Amorous Play , Oh what hast thou of her ! of Her ! VVhos 's every look did Love inspire , VVhos 's every breathing fan'd my fire , And stole me from my self away ! To lovely Cynera's Face set next in Fame For all that can surprize , For all those Arts that raise a Flame , And kindly feed it at our Eyes ; But hasty Fate cut charming Cynera short , That Fate that now prepares Old Lyce , old as Daws for sport , And scorn as grievous as her Years . When our hot Youths shall come , and laugh to see The Torch that burnt before ; And kindled aged Lechery , To Ashes fall'n , and warm no more . ODE XIV . To AUGUSTUS . That His Deserts are much greater than any Rewards Rome can bestow . HOw can the Senate's , how the People's care , Tho All with gifts that swell with honors strive , A lasting Monument prepare To make thy glory live , And thy great Name thro future Ages bear ! O greatest Prince the circling Sun can view ! Whom stout Vindilici unlearn'd in fear , From glorious Conquests lately knew How great He is in VVar , And felt that all that Fame had told was true . Brave Drusus led thy conquering Legions on , And fierce Genauns a stubborn Nation broak ; The furious Brenni's force o'rethrown Now gladly take the Yoke , The Glory of their Slavery proudly own . Strong Castles fixt on Mountains vastly high , Almost as high as his aspiring thought , VVith a repeated Victory Thrown down ; He climb'd and fought Where Fear or winged Hope scarce dar'd to fly . Next Elder Nero great in Arms appear'd , And Rhoeti fought ; A sight for Gods to see VVhat slaughters broak their Souls prepar'd For Death with Liberty , And led the Conqueror to high Reward . As raging VVinds with an impetuous Course When stormy Stars assist , do toss the flood , So fierce He breaks thro armed force , Thro Darts and streams of blood And threatning flames He spurs his eager Horse : As branched Aufidus doth Moles disdain , And thro Apulian Fields doth whirl his VVaves , VVhen rais'd by Snow or swoln with Rain , Against his Banks He raves , And threatens Floods to all the fruitful Plain . Thus Claudius violent did in Arms appear , No Bands , no barbarous Troops his force could stay , The Front , the Body , and the Rear Secure he swept away , And o're the Field He scatter'd dreadful War : Whilst You your Forces , You your Counsel lent , What mortal Courage could his Arms oppose ? VVhen to his Aid your Gods you sent , He thunder'd on his Foes , And threw among them Slavery as He went. Since suppliant Egypt in her empty Throne Receiv'd Thee Lord , the Fates that strive to bless , Thy Title to the Empire own By fifteen Years Success ; And still increase the Glory of thy Crown . The fierce Cantabrian not to be o'recome Before thy Arms , the Indian and the Mede , The wandring Scythians lurk at home , And Thee they wisely dread ; O present guard of Italy and Rome ! The Waves that beat the British monstrous shore , Cold Ister , Nile , and Tanais rapid stream , Fierce Spaniards now rebel no more , And Gauls that death contem Lay down their Arms , and quietly adore . ODE XV. He praiseth Augustus . WHen I would sing of noble Fights , Of Lofty things in lofty flights ; Kind Phoebus Harp my Temples strook , The trembling strings in Consort shook , And answer'd to the tunes he spoak : Thy Ship is weak , he said , forbear , And tempt not raging Seas too far . Thy Age , great Caesar , gracious Lord , Hath Plenty to our Fields restor'd : Proud Parthians captive Arms resign To Mighty Jove's and Caesar's Shrine . Now noisy VVars and Tumults cease , And Janus Temple 's barr'd by Peace : Wild Lust is bound in modest chains , And Licence feels just order's reins : Strict Vertue rules , good Laws command ; And banisht Sin forsakes the Land : You all those generous Arts renew , By which our Infant Empire grew ; By which her Fame spread vastly wide , And carry'd in Majestick pride From East to West serenely shone , As far and glorious as the Sun. Whilst Caesar lives and rules in Peace , No Civil VVars shall break our Ease , No Rage that fatal Swords prepares , And hurries wretched Towns to VVars : Not cruel Getes tho bath'd in blood , Not those by Tanais faithless stood , Not those that drink Danubius Stream Shall glorious Caesar's Laws contem : We on our Feast , and working days ' Midst jovial Cups will gladly praise ; Our Pious Wives , and pratling Boys Shall first the Gods with humble voice , And then with Pipes and sounding Verse The Heroes noble Acts reherse ; Anchises , Troy our Songs shall grace , And brave Aeneas Venus happy race . The End of the Fourth Book . EPODES . EPODE I. MY Lord , my best , and dearest Friend , The chiefest Bulwark of the State ; In tall Liburnian Ships defend Great Caesar's Cause , and prop his Fate . Before his danger thrust your own : But what shall He that breaths in You , That scorns to live when You are gone , What shall forsaken Horace do ? Shall I sit down and take my Ease ? But without You what joys delight ? Or steel my softness , stem the Seas , Or bolder grow , and dare to fight ? Or shall I arm my feeble breast , And wait on You thro Alpine Snow , Or farthest Regions of the West , Where Caesar bids the Valiant go ? You ask why thus I boldly press , And what should feeble I do there , My fear , My Lord , will be the less ; For absence still increases fear . Thus Birds on Wing are most affraid That Snakes will come when they 're away , Tho present they 're too weak to aid , And save the easy Callow prey . I would be stout , discard my fears , The greatest dangers bravely prove , And venture this or other Wars In hopes , my Lord , to keep your Love. But not to have more Oxen groan Beneath my Plows , nor feed more Swains ; Nor yet as Heat or Cold comes on , To drive my Sheep to other Plains : Not to enlarge my Country Seat , Or get vast heaps of shining Ore ; Your bounty , Sir , hath made me great , And furnish'd with sufficient store . I do not heaps of Gold desire , To hide , and have no heart to use , As Chremes did ; nor Wealth require On baser Lusts to be profuse . EPODE II. The Pleasures of a Country and retir'd Life . HAppy the Man beyond pretence , ( Such was the State of innocence ) That loose from Care , from business free , From griping Debts and Usury , Contented in an humble Fate VVith his own Oxen Ploughs his own Estate : No early Trumpet breaks his ease , He doth not dread the angry Seas : He flies the Bar , from noise retreats , And shuns the Nobles haughty Seats . But Marrigeable Vines he leads To lusty Oaks , and kindly VVeds : Or carelessly in Vallies strays And smiles to see his Oxen graze : He prunes his Vines , or grafts his Trees ; Or sheers his Sheep or takes his Bees ; From Combs well prest his Honey flows Almost as sweet as his repose : Or when the mellow Autumn rears His Fruitful Head he gathers Pears , Or Purple Grapes , and these reward VVith pleasing gifts his Holy Guard ; Thee , Sylvian , and , Priapus Thee A Tribute fills from every Tree : Now smiles beneath a Myrtle shade On flowry Banks supinely laid , VVhilst neer his Head there creeps a Spring , And the free Birds around him sing : Or Fountains with their murmuring Streams Invite to short , and easy Dreams : Or when cold Jove hath turn'd the Year , And Rain and Snow and Frost appear , He takes his Hounds , strong toyls he setts , And drives fierce Bores to secret Netts . Or springs Tiles in every Bush , To take the Black-bird and the Thrush : Or Fearful Hare , or stranger Crane All sweet rewards do cheer his pain . Who midst these pleasing joys does bear , The numerous ills of Love and Fear ? In Towns the Tyrant passions Reign , And spread their Cares , but fly the Plain , But if a Wife more chast than Fair , ( Such as the ancient Sabines were , Such as the Brown Apulian Dame , Of moderate Face , and honest Fame ) With equal Care , his Care shall meet , And keep the House and Children sweet ; Against He comes provide a Fire ; As pure and warm as her desire : And with an Honest chearful smile Receive him weary from his toyl : Pen up her self , and Milk the Kine , Then draw a Pot of Country Wine , And streight with what her Fields afford Doth furnish out an easy board : I would not change for all the State And costly trouble of the Great ; Their Oysters , Trouts , and all the store Of Luxury would take no more ; Their Fish that catering Storms , to please Their Palate , toss from Eastern Seas , The Pheasant , Patridge , Quail and Teal Would not go down , nor tast as well As Olives pluckt from laden Boughs , Or Sorrel that in Pasture grows ; Or Mallows sweet extreamly good For Bodies bound poor wholsom Food , Or Lambkins kil'd a sheering Beast : Or rescu'd from a greedy Beast : Amidst these dainties , Oh the vast delight To see fed Sheep come home at Night ! To hear the weary Oxen low And almost tir'd trail back the Plow ! To see my merry Clowns carouse , And swarm about my cleanly House ! This Alpius said , the fam'd , and known , The griping Userer of the Town , Resolv'd to leave his Cares and Strife And quickly lead a Country Life , One week He call'd his Money in , The next He lent it out agen : EPODE III. To MECAENAS . He shows his dislike to an Onion that made him sick . IF any , let 's suppose so damn'd a Rage Forget their Duty and their Age ; And eager to enjoy the whole Estate , With impious hands shall hasten Fate , And their old Fathers coming Death prevent , Let Onions be their Punishment . O Reapers Stomachs ! Ah! what Poyson Reigns , What secret fire runs o're my Veins ? Hath Viper's blood , or hath Canidia's breath Blown o're my Meat , and mingled Death ? When Jason did Medea's fancy move , And she fixt on him for a Love , Before the rest , she gave him this to tame The fiery Bulls , and quench their Flame ; By Presents dipt in this Creusa dy'd , And Jason mourn'd his promis'd Bride : Such furious heat as rages o're my Veins N'ere scorcht the dry Apulian Plains , Nor did the flaming Poysnous gift infest With half such Heat Alcides Breast : My merry Lord if e're you tast of this May every Maid deny a Kiss ; But stop her Mouth , cry foh ! refuse delight , And ne're lie near Thee all the Night . EPODE IV. To Vulteius Mena , a Freed-Man of Pompey . AS much as Lambs with Wolves agree , So much , base Sot , do I with thee ; With Spanish whips thy Sides are torn , Thy Legs with heavy shackles worn : Tho Fortune smiles and swells thy Mind , It gilds , but cannot change the Kind : Do'st see when Thou with ruffling Gown Do'st sweep the Mall , how many frown , How each that views Thee , screws his Face , And justly scorns the gawdy Ass ! He lately whipt at the Carts tail , The very scandal of the Jayl , Now vastly rich a mighty Spark In Coach and Six flys o're the Park : At Plays he takes the Box , in spight Of Otho's Law , a doughty Knight ! What Honor is 't to free the Waves From Pyrates rage , and tame the Slaves , What honor can attend the VVar Where He a Captain claims a share ? EPODE V. Against the Witch Canidia , where he discovers the Cruelty and Baseness of such Creatures . BUt O what ever God dost fill the Sky , And rule the Earth and Men below , What means that rout ? and why Each Fury bends on me an angry brow ? By all thy brood , if e're Lucina came , To real Births , and eas'd thy throws ; By Honor 's useless name , By Jove that sees , and will revenge my Woes . Why doth that Stepdame's frown affright ? That rage thy gastly form disgrace ? A hunted Tyger's spight , And grinning fury sit upon thy Face ? Thus sadly spake the naked lovely Child , Which e'en a Thracian's Soul might move , Make raging fury mild And in a flinty Bosom kindle love : Canidia , Serpents wreath'd her shaggy brow , Appear'd , and these Commands she gave ; A Funeral Cypress Bough , And a wild Fig-tree rooted from a Grave ; A Scritch-Owls Feather , Eggs besmear'd with blood Of croaking Frogs , a Tyger's paws , A swelling angry Toad , And Bones snatcht from a hungry Bitches jaws : Each powerful Herb that in Iberia springs To raise strong Love , or Anger tame , And all that Colchos brings , Go mix , and burn them in a Magick Flame . Whilst ready Sagana from beechen Cup Pour'd Stygian Water o're the Floors , Her hair an end stood up Like Hedg-hogs bristles , or a running Bores : But hardned Veja deaf to all remorse A little Grave had quickly made ; She rais'd her feeble force , And joy'd to sweat , and groan upon the Spade : Where fixt Chin-deep the power unhappy guest By looking on his meat must dye , Whilst they renew the Feast , And He stands famisht , feeding at his Eye : That His dry Marrow , and his raging Heart When his weak Senses fail may prove Fit for their Magick Art , And make Ingredients for a Cup of Love : All thought that lustful Floria too was one That came to view the horrid sight , She that can charm the Moon And force the Stars from their fixt seats of light : Here fierce Canidia whilst her unpar'd Nail She gnaw'd with an envenom'd Tooth , Oh what did she conceal ! What horrid words broak from her impious mouth ! Thou Night , thou Moon and all Ye meaner lights That charm dull Mortals into sleep , And when our sacred Rites Are done , an undisturbed silence keep ; Assist me now with all your strength and rage , That I might pay the debts I owe , Your greatest force engage To wreak my spight on my unhappy Foe ; Whilst cruel Beasts asleep in Woods are safe , Let the Saburran Mastiffs bark , ( 'T will make the Neighbours laugh ) At the old Leacher creeping in the dark : When fierce desire hath raging fury bred Then let him walk as Lusts perswade With Oyntment round his Head As strong as e " re my skilful hands have made : Ah! what 's the matter ! where 's the Power of Charms Which fierce Medea once did prove , When with these conquering Arms She furiously reveng'd her injur'd Love ! When with a Garment lin'd with secret flame ( What will not jealous rage inspire ? ) She burnt the lovely Dame , And wrapt false Jason's youthful Bride in fire ! Ah! sure no powerful Herb hath scap't my sight , In shady Groves or purling Streams ; And yet He sleeps all night , No wanton Miss disturbs him e'en in Dreams : Ah! Ah , some Witch more skilful sets Thee free , Unhappy Varus , doom'd to ill , Thou shalt return to Me ; I 'le force Thee back by an unusual skill : With unresisted Art I 'le bind thy Soul , No Charms shall then thy mind restore ; I 'le mix a stronger Bowl , And urge Thee still as Thou dost scorn the more : First Heaven shall downward , Earth shall upward move And to the Center Stars retire ; E'er thou shalt cease to Love , Or burn like Brimstone in a smoaky Fire : The injur'd Boy inrag'd no longer strove To soften them by mournful Prayer And gentle pitty move , But spoak these dying words in deep despair : Poor Charms too weak to alter Humane Fate , And hinder Plagues from rage Divine ; No Blood shall expiate So solemn , and so great a Curse as mine . When I am dead then I 'le a Ghost by Night With crooked Nails your jaws invade , At every turn affright ; For that 's the force and fury of a Shade . Then will I sit upon your fearful Breast , And there my dreadful watches keep ; Disturb approaching rest , And drive away the lazy hand of Sleep . Thro every Street the Crowd in eager hast Shall brain the ugly Hags with Stones , And when Death comes at last , The Crows shall scatter , Wolves shall break your Bones : And this my Parents ( ah they must survive , And seek in vain , and mourn for Me ) Tho many years they grieve , Grown gray in Tears , shall live and smile to see . EPODE VI. Against Cassius Severus a very scurrilous and abusive Rhymer . BAse coward Curr when harmless strangers come , You snarl and bark about the Room ; But when a fierce and shagged Wolf appears , How soon you whine , and hang your Ears ! Come , make at me , if you resolve to fight , For I have Teeth , and dare to bite : The generous Mastiff I of Noble sense The careful Shepherd's kind defense ; With Ears an-end thro Snow and Frost pursue What ever Beast I have in view : When Thou the Woods with frightful sounds has shook Thou leap'st for every little Brook : Take heed , take heed , to Rogues a deadly Foe I 'me still prepar'd to strike the blow ; As sharp as fierce Archilochus his Song Like Hipponax revenge a wrong ; If any malice wounds my Fame , shall I Like a poor Child sit down and cry ? EPODE VII . To His Citizens that are ready to engage in another Civil War. WHere , Mad men , where ? where , so averse to Peace Your rusty Swords that slept in ease Why drawn ? What hath not every Country flow'd And every Sea with Roman Blood ? Not to pursue your angry Fathers hate , And urge proud Carthage rival Fate , Nor make the untoucht Britans Slaves to Rome And lead them chain'd in Triumph home ; But what the Parthians often pray to view These Arms are now prepar'd to do : Against your self , ah me ! you raise them all , And Rome by her own hand must fall : E'en Wolves are to more gentle thoughts inclin'd And prey but on another kind : What is it Madness , is it stupid Rage That doth the brutal Arms engage ? Or is it Sin ? speak , not one word will come ; 'T is cruel Fate that urges Rome : Since Remus fell about thy rising Walls His loud-tongued blood for Vengeance calls ; The Issue then began , and still hath flow'd , For Blood must be reveng'd with Blood EPODE IX . To MECAENAS . He wishes for the good News of Caesar 's Victory over Mark Antony , that they might be merry as formerly , when Sextus Pompejus was overthrown . VVHen will the happy morning come , And bring the welcom News to Rome , That I , my Lord , with you may Dine , And in your stately House Full Bowls carouse , Preserv'd for this expected Joy , of racy Wine ! Where Pipes shall joyn the speaking string , And tuneful Voices gladly sing , As you , my Lord , and I have done ; When Pompy turn'd his Head And basely fled Confessing Caesar's Fortune greater than his own : His flaming Ships blaz'd o're the Wave ; Whilst flying by the light they gave , He left those Chains which faithless He Had loos'd from servile Hands , And threatned Bands To happy Rome , by Caesar's Will , and Nature free : A Roman ( who will credit give VVhat future Age this truth receive ? ) Turn'd Woman's Slave with servile Hands A Common Souldier bears The drudgery of Wars , And can endure her wither'd Eunuchs base Commands : Amidst the Arms , dishonest sight ! The Sun that view'd withdrew the Light , As once at curst Thyestes Feast ; As 't were asham'd to see The Canopy And the great Roman lolling on a Woman's Breast . Io Triumphe , break delay , Why doth the golden Chariot stay ? And not the promis'd Oxen fall ? Io Triumphe bring The greatest King , The Common good , the comfort , and the joy of All : Jugurtha's Wars , and Noble Toyls Ne're show'd his Equal grac'd with Spoyls ; Nor Conquer'd Africk sent to Rome , Altho his lasting Name Is great in Fame , And ruin'd Carthage lies to make his noble Tomb : Where will the conquer'd Roman fly From Caesar's Hand , and Caesar's Eye ? What will the Conquer'd Roman do ? What Winds , what servile Gales Will swell his Sails , That on his Master Caesar's may so freely blow ? More Bowls and larger Bowls my Boy , As large as my extensive joy , Let Mirth advance my good design ; 'T is sweet to ease my Cares For Caesar's Wars , And drown all Melancholly thoughts in noble Wine . EPODE X. He wishes Maevius the Poet may be Shipwrackt . THat cursed Ship that stinking Maevius bore With an ill Omen left the Shore ; South-wind , besure , you raise the swelling Tides And stoutly beat her feeble sides , You East-wind turn the Sea and break the Oars , And whirl her Sails to distant shores , The North-wind rage as when he tears the Woods On lofty Hills , and toss the Floods : No Friendly Star shine thro the Cloudy Night But sad Orion's watry light : Hah ! let him now no smoother Waves enjoy Than those that tost the Greeks from Troy , When Pallas hatred from the flaming Town On wicked Ajax Ship was thrown . Hah ! Hah ! what sweat shall from thy Seamen flow , And what Death-pale spread o're thy Brow ! What Woman's crys , and what unmanly Tears What vows to Jove's relentless Ears ! VVhen South-winds rattling o're th' Ionian Tide Shall beat thy Ship , and break her side Then if I see thee spread a dainty dish To hungry Fowl , and greedy Fish , A Goat and Lamb shall then my Vows perform , And both shall die to think the Storm . EPODE XI . To PETTIUS . Love hinders him from Writing any more . AH I have lost my old delight , Now Muse can now my fancy move , My Rhymes displease , I hate to write , Now I am very deep in Love : Love that doth still my Heart surprize , And single me from constant game , From Boys and Maidens charming Eyes He thro my Marrow scatters Flame . Three Stormy VVinters now have shook The leavy Honor from the Tree , Since I disdain'd Inachia's Yoke , And dar'd to set my passion free . Oh what a Town-talk then was I , How Fopps did wanton , with my Fame , And ( when I think on 't how I die ) All ridicul'd my foolish Flame ! Oh how it grates to mind the Feasts Where thoughtful silence seem'd to prove , And a deep sigh would tell the Guests That Poet Horace was in Love ! When Wine unlockt my easy Soul How often I with sighs have told The Poor Man's Wit could not controul The giving Rival's mighty Gold ! Yet , Faith , if vext my rage will rise , And when these hated Chains are broak , I 'le leave these dull complaints , be wise , And scorn to take another Yoke . Yet after this was stoutly said , And constant I resolv'd to hate ; My heedless Feet my mind betray'd , And brought Me to the usual Gate : That cruel Gate , and us'd to scorn , VVhere I have layn , and layn deny'd ; VVhere I whole tedious Nights have born And craz'd my Health , and bruis'd my Side . Lycestris now of greater Charms Than all that grace proud VVomankind , Doth gently force me to his Arms ; VVith pleasing Bands he draws my Mind : And now let my free Friends advise , Or let them blame ; 't is all in vain , Too feeble they to break the tyes VVhen Love and Beauty make the Chain . Of freedom I must still despair , Unless some Maid or lovely Boy With killing looks , and Charming hair , Shall draw me to another joy . EPODE XIII . He adviseth his Friends to pass their time merrily . DArk Clouds have thickned all the Sky , And Jove descends in Rain ; With frightful noise rough Storms do fly Thro Seas and Woods , and humble Plain . My noble Friends the Day perswades , Come , come , let 's use the Day ; Whilst we are strong , e're Age invades , Let Mirth our coming years delay : Put briskly round the noble Wine , And leave the rest to Fate , Jove , chance , will make the Evening shine , And bring it to a clearer State : Now , now your fragrant Odors spread , Your merry Harps prepare ; 'T is time to cleanse my aking Head , And purge my drooping thoughts from Care. Thus Chiron sang in lofty strain And taught Achilles Youth ; Great Thetis Son , the pride of Man , Observe , I tell Thee fatal truth : Thee , Thee for Troy the Gods design Where Simois streams do play , Scamander's thro the Vallies twine And softly eat their easy way : And there thy thread of Life must end Drawn o're the Trojan Plain , In vain her Waves shall Thetis send To bear Thee back to Greece again : Therefore , Great Son , my Precepts hear ; Let Mirth , and Wine , and Sport , And merry Talk divert thy Care , And make Life pleasant since 't is short . EPODE XIV . To MECAENAS . Love hinders him from making the Iambicks which He had so often promis'd . YOu ask , My Lord , why lazy sloth hath spread A dark oblivion o're my Head ; As I had drank forgetful Lethe's Stream ; And this is your continual Theme ; This the Complaint I am Condemn'd to hear , Like Death it pierces thro my Ear : A God forbids me , ( ah ! a cruel God Regardless , Sir , of what I vow'd ) ( To other things my easy Mind he drew ) To finish what I promis'd you : Thus soft Anachrean for Bathyllus burn'd , And oft his Love he sadly mourn'd : He to his Harp did various grief reherse , And wept in an unpolisht Verse : E'en , Sir , you Love , but if no brighter Flame Burnt Troy , caress thy lovely Dame : By Phyrne , ah ! thy Horace is undone , False , fair , and not content with one . EPODE XV. To NEAERA . He complains of breach of Promise . 'T Was Mid-night , and the rising Moon Amongst the lesser Stars serenely shone , When you the false , the Perjur'd you Devoutly Swore you would be always true : Scarce half so close doth Ivy twine Round Oakes , as you did then your Arms in mine : As long as Wolves pursue the Sheep , As long as Winter Storms shall toss the deep : As long as wanton Gales shall move Apollo's Locks , so long shall be my Love. Perjur'd Neaera false as Hell , Yet fair as Heaven , and ah belov'd too well , How shalt thou mourn at my disdain ! For sure if Horace be but half a Man , He 'l scorn to bear repeated slights , Nor tamely see his Rival's happy Nights ; But with an equal Flame pursue A Face as fair , tho not so false as you : And know when I begin to hate , I 'le ne're be kind , I am as fixt as Fate : And Thou , the Blest , who'ere thou art The fancy'd happy Master of her Heart ; That dost thy Conquests proudly boast , And Triumph'st in the spoils that I have lost , Tho Thou art rich as Misers Dreams , And tho Pactolus brought Thee all his Streams , Tho Fam'd Pythagoras Arts be thine , Thy Face more fair than Nireus , half Divine ; Yet thou shalt mourn to find that she Doth prove as false as once to Me , And then 't will be my turn to laugh at Thee . EPODE XVI . To the People of Rome . He adviseth them to leave the Town , which He thinks doom'd to Civil Wars . NOw Civil VVars do wast another Age , And Rome must fall by her own rage ; What neighbouring Marsi with an envious Hand , What threatning Porsen's Thuscan Band , Fierce Spartaeus , and Capua's rival Fate , The force of all the German State ; What in unsetled times the faithless Gaul , The Mother-hated Hannibal , Could not destroy , We , VVe , an impious Brood Devoted still , and doom'd to Blood , Shall ruin now by force of Civil VVars , And leave our Towns to VVolves and Bears : Ah me ! the barbarous Horse with sounding Feet Shall tread our Graves , and beat our Street , And madly , scatter , Oh too proud ! unjust ! Rome's glorious Founder's quiet dust ! Perhaps the most , or better part would know VVhat way to shun the falling blow , I like that way the Phoceans once have gone ; They all forsook their cursed Town , And did their Lands , their Fields and Shrines restore To ravenous VVolf and angry Bore : Let 's go , let 's go , and seek a place to live Where Chance directs , or Wind shall drive : Agreed ? or do's some better Course appear ? Come let 's imbark the Omen's fair : But first let 's swear wee 'l then return again When Rocks shall float upon the Main , When lowly Po shall pour his Crystal Urn O're Alpine Tops then VVe 'l return ; When Appennine runs out , and cuts the Floods , When nimble Dolphins graze in VVoods , VVhen wondrous Lust strange kinds shall strangely joyn , Fierce Tygers leap the willing Kine , The fearless Does shall court the Lyon's Love And cruel Hawks gallant the Dove : VVhen Goats grown smooth shall leave the flowry Plain , And dive and wanton in the Main : To this , and such as cut off sweet return VVhen we have all devoutly sworn , Let 's go Curst Town , but let the soft and base , Still stick to their unhappy place : You Men of worth unmanly grief give o're And nimbly pass the Thuscan Shore , The Ocean waits , and in smooth calmness smiles , Let 's go and seek the happy Isles , VVhere Fields untill'd a Yearly Harvest bear And Vines undress'd bloom all the Year : VVhere Olives ne're the Farmers hopes do mock , And ripe figs grace their proper Stock : There Hony flows from Oaks , from lofty Hills , VVith murmuring pace the Fountain trills , There Goats uncall'd return from fruithful Vales And bring stretcht Duggs to fill the Pails : No Bear grinns round the Fold , No Lambs He shakes ; No Field swells there with poysnous Snakes : More we shall wonder on the happy Plain ; The VVatry East descends in Rain , Yet so as to refresh , not drown the Fields , The temperate Glebe full Harvest yields ; No heat annoys , the Ruler of the Gods From Plagues secures these blest Abodes : Here Jason never fixt swift Argos Oars , Nor base Medea toucht these Shores ; Ne're Cadmus came when forc't by angry Fates , Nor stout Ulysses weary Mates : No rot here Reigns , no Star here taints the Meads , And poysnous Heat unkindly sheds ; VVhen Jove allay'd the golden Age with Brass , For Pious men He kept this place : Now Iron hardens the old Brazen Age , And Fraud grows up , and Wars , and Rage , And every Ill , I press a quick retreat , And show the good , the happy seat . EPODE XVII . To CANIDIA . He confesseth Her Magick Power , and begs pardon for abusing Her. NOw , now thy Power I Conquer'd own , And humbly beg by Pluto's Throne , By Powers below , by Proserpine , by fierce Diana's angry shrine , By all those Charms that can remove ; And call down Stars from Seats above , Recall thy stroak , thy Charms forbear , Spare me at last , Canidia , spare : Achilles Teleph nobly spar'd , Tho with his Mysian Bands He VVarr'd : Tho boldly He oppos'd His Fate , And buoy'd the sinking Trojan State : Stout Hector doom'd to Beasts a Prey The Trojan Matrons bore away VVhen Priam midst the Grecian Fleet Had fall'n at proud Achilles Feet : By Circe's leave Ulysses Men Receiv'd their former shapes agen ; Their Limbs , their Minds , and Voice restor'd , They spoke , not grunted to their Lord : Enough , enough hath vext my Soul , O Tar's and Tinker's lovely Trull ! My Youth , my rosy Cheeks are gone , And left pale Skin stretcht o're the Bone : My Head grows white , it feels thy Bane , No Ease doth lay me down from Pain , Dayes urge the Nights , and Nights the Dayes , Yet my swoln Heart can find no Ease : Now I 'me convinc't , 't is now confest Thy force hath reacht my troubled Breast : Now I 'me convinc't by wondrous Harms My Head is split with Magick Charms : My slow Belief I sadly Mourn ; VVhat more ? O Earth , O Floods , I burn ! Not half the Heat Alcides bore VVhen fir'd by Nessus Poysnous Gore : Not half the Heat in Aetna Reigns , That scorches o're my boyling Veins : Yet still you heat till I 'me calcin'd To Dust , and scatter'd by the Wind : What end of Pain ? What hope for ease : Speak , Speak , I 'le suffer what you please , I 'me eager to avoid my Fate And satisfie at any rate ; A Hundred Bulls shall pay their blood , Or Lying Verse proclaim Thee good ; Chast , Modest , Just , thou shalt appear , And walk midst Stars a glorious Star : Great Castor vext at Helen's wrong With blindness pay'd the railing Song ; Yet Prayers prevail'd , He heard his Cries , And soon restor'd the Poets Eyes : And now forget my curst Offence , Restore ( thou canst ) my perish'd sence , O nobly Born and nobly Bred , Thou ne're hadst skill to raise the Dead , Unbind the Poor Mans quiet Urn Or make his shivering Soul return ; Nor scatter Ashes o're a Tomb ; As chast as fruitful is thy Womb , And e're thy Child-bed Cloaths are clean , Strange Breeder Thou art well agen . CANIDIA 's Answer . I 'Me deaf , I 'me deaf , thou beg'st in vain ; Rocks beaten by the raging Main , Not half so deaf will sooner hear The naked sinking Mariner : Could'st Thou Cotytto's Rites reprove , Disclose my Mysteries of Love , Could Censuring you my Tricks proclaim , And fill the Country with my Fame ? At all my Arts prophanely laugh , Yet clare to fancy to be safe ? In vain thou shalt , in vain inrich With precious Gifts the famous Witch ; In vain strong Drugs and Charms require ; Fate shall be slow to thy desire : Wretch , hated Life shall still remain That thou might'st bear new racks of Pain : False Tantalus doth beg for rest Deluded by the hanging Feast . Condemn'd the griping Vultur's Prey Prometheus begs a dying Day : Poor Sisyphus would fix his Stone But Jove forbids it to be done . Now thou from Towers shalt madly fall , Now run thy Head against a Wall ; And tir'd at last with squeamish pain Shalt tye the noose , but tye in vain : Then on thy neck I 'le bravely ride , And make Thee bend beneath my Pride : Shall I that can when e're I please Wast men by waxen Images ? Shall I that can , as thou hast known , ( Curst prying Thou ! ) eclipse the Moon , Drawn down the Stars from Seats above And mix a furious Cup of Love , Shall powerful I now grieve to see My force too weak to baffle Thee ? The End of the Epodes . M Burghers sculp . SATYRS . BOOK I. The Heads of the first Satyr . ( 1. ) Against the general Discontent of Mankind , none being content with his own Condition , still thinking his Neighbour happier , and yet would refuse to change with him . ( 2. ) Against Covetousness . ( 3. ) That the Covetous is the most discontented . 1. WHence comes , my Lord , this general discontent ? Why All dislike the State that Chance hath sent , Or their own Choice procur'd ? why All repent ? The weary Souldier now grown old in Wars , With bleeding Eyes looks o're his Wounds and Scars ; Curse that E're I the trade of War began , Ah me ! the Merchant is a happy Man : The Merchant , when the Waves and Winds are high , Crys , happy happy Men at Arms ; for why , You fight , and streight comes Death , or joyful Victory . The Lawyer that 's disturb'd before 't is light By restless Clients , or that wakes all night , Grows sick ; and when He finds his rest is gone , Crys , happy Farmers that can sleep till Noon : The weary Client thinks the Lawyer blest , And craves a City Life , for that 's the best . So many Instances in every state , That mourn their own , but praise their Neighbours fate , 'T would tire even bawling Fabius to relate . But to be short , see I 'le adjust the Thing : Suppose some God should say I 'le please you now , You Lawyer leave the Bar and take the Plough ; You Souldier too shall be a Merchant made , Go , Go , and follow each his proper trade : How ? what refuse ? and discontented still ? And yet They may be happy if They will. Now would not this vex Jove , and make him rage ? Hath he not reason now to scourge the Age ? And puff and swear He 'd never hear again ? No , They should vow , and pray , but pray in vain : Yet not to laugh , and let my Muse be loose , As 't were my whole design to be jocose , Altho I may be grave when not morose : And mirth commends , and makes our Precepts take , Thus Teachers bribe their Boys with Figs and Cake To mind their books ; these Things deserve to have A serious handling : Come now let 's be grave : 2. The Souldier fights , the busy Tradesman cheats , And finds a thousand tricks and choice deceits ; The heavy Plough contents the labouring Hind , The Merchant strives with every Tide and Wind ; And all this Toyl to get vast heaps of Gold , That They might live at Ease when they are old : When they have gotten store for numerous years , They may be free from Want , and from its fears : As the Small Ant ( for she instructs the Man , And preaches Labor ) gathers all she can , " And brings it to increase her heap at home " Against the Winter which she knows will come : For when that comes she creeps abroad no more , But lyes at home , and feasts upon her store . But neither Heat , nor Cold , nor Wars restrain , Nor Dangers fright Thee from purfuit of gain ; Only that Thou may'st be the richest Man : What pleasure is 't with busy toyl and care To gather heaps of Gold to hide with fear , Tho under ground scarce safe we think it there ? Why , should I spend one Cross 't would still wast on , 'T would all run out , and I should be undone ; Why prethee what is 't good for till 't is gone ? In thy vast Barns great stores of Corn do ly , Yet thou canst eat perhaps no more than I : The Slaves that bear the weighty Flasks of bread , With small and barly Loafs are hardly fed . They sweat 't is true , and with the burthen groan , But eat no more than He that carrys none : Besides , what difference prethee is't to Me That feed no more than Nature's Luxury , To plough three thousand Acres or but Three ? Oh but 't is sweet to take from Barns well stor'd ; What , if You take no more than mine afford ? Mine but half full ? why dost Thou praise thine My small one is as good as thy great store . ( more ? If you would fill a Cup come tell me why , Why not from this small Spring that runs hard by , As well as from that yonder rowling Flood , Since this will give enough , and quite as good ? For Hence whilst eager on their useless prey The rapid stream whirls them and Banks away : He that seeks but enough , is free from fear , His Life is safe , and all his water clear : But most are lost in a Confounded Cheat , ( great They would have more , for when their Wealth is They think their Worth as much as their Estate : Well then , what must we do to such a one ? Why , let him , 't is his Will to be undone : Since He , as the Athenian Chuff , will cry The People hiss me , True , but what care I ? Let the poor fools hiss me where e're I come , I bless my self to see my bags at home : Poor wretched Tantalus , as Storys tell , ( And that 's the worst , the Cursed'st Plague in Hell ) Stands up chin deep in an o're flowing Bowl , But cannot drink one drop to save his Soul : ( free ? What dost Thou laugh ? and think that Thou art Fool change the Name , the Story 's told of Thee : Thou watchest o're thy heaps , yet ' midst thy store Thou' rt almost starv'd for Want , and still art poor : You fear to touch as if You rob'd a Saint , And use no more than if 't were Gold in paint : You only know how Wealth may be abus'd , Not what 't is good for , how it can be us'd ; 'T will buy Thee Bread , 't will buy Thee Herbs , and What ever Nature's Luxury can want : ( grant But now to watch all day , and wake all night , Fear Thieves and Fire , and be in constant fright , If These are Goods , if these are a delight : I am content , Heavens grant me sleep and ease , If These are Goods , I would be poor of These : Ay , but suppose I should be sick ; what then ? Why then the richest are the happyest men : Then are the great advantages of Wealth , 'T will make the Doctor ride , and bring me health : 'T will get a Friend that may condole My pain , And tell me that I shall do well again : 'T will get a Nurse , a Purge , and save my Life , And keep me well for my dear Friends and Wife : Prethee fond fool for this ne're vex thy Head , For she and all that know Thee wish Thee dead : And reason good , since you your Gold prefer To all your Friends , your Children , and to Her : How then canst Thou expect that They should prove So kind to Thee , when Thou deserv'st no Love ? Why , to be Covetous yet keep thy Friends , That Chance or that indulgent Nature sends ; It is a foolish hope , absurd and vain , As his , to teach an Ass to take the rein And freely run a race upon the Plain . Well , fix a bound at last to thy Estate ; And then leave off when Thou hast gotten that ; And let not , as Thou dost encrease thy store , Thy fears rise too that Thou shalt once be poor . Act not Uvidius , ( come , the Story 's short , The tale is tragick , yet 't is pretty sport ) A Rogue as rich as if He had a Mine , He did not tell , but measure heaps of Coin : And yet so close , he went as meanly clad As any thread-bare Servant that he had ; His Shoes still clouted , and He always cry'd , That He shou'd starve for want before he dy'd : Him his Whore snapt , and with a lusty blow ( Well struck I'faith ) she cleft the slave in Two : What then must I spend all ? No , that 's as bad : There 's something betwixt staring and stark mad : Why still to the Extreams You madly run , For when I chide Thee for a greedy Clown , I do not bid Thee spend , and be undone : No , there are bounds when Nature did begin Then fixt , and all is Good that lyes within , And all without on either side is Sin. 3. But to return to that where I began , Is none so pleas'd as the rich greedy Man ? Is none like him contented with his state , But rather praise and crave another's sate ? When others Cows do give more milk than his Is He not vext ? doth He not pine at this ? Doth He compare himself , and doth he see That almost all are poorer far than He ? Doth He not strive to raise his vast Estate ? Be richer now than this Man , now than that ? Yet richer still appear as He goes on , And those He must Excel , or Nothing 's done . Just as our Racers when They run the Course , Still keep their Eye upon the foremost Horse , And strive to out-strip him ; but never mind The lazy distanc't Jade that lags behind : Hence 't is searce any thinks his state is blest , Nor when Death calls like a contented Guest Will rise from Life , and lay him down to rest : But stay , enough , and lest mine seems as long As Crispin's tedious Books , I 'le hold my Tongue . SATYR II. The Heads of the second Satyr . 1. Men keep no mean , as He confirms by Examples . 2. He lashes the Adulterers . 1. THe Players , Pimps , and Hectors of the Town , The Rooks , the Gamesters , all lament and moan For their Tigellius that is dead and gone : For He was a free Soul , a Prodigal , He had a fair Estate , and spent it all : Others t' avoid that Name refuse to spend One single Cross upon a needy Friend ; Their heaps are Sacred , and they spare their Gold , Altho he dyes for Want , and starves with Cold : Now if you take the first to task , and say , Why dost Thou squander thy Estate away ? Why wast thy Ancient Lands on Paltry guests , And borrow Money to maintain thy Feasts ? He answers streight , I hate to be confin'd , I have no sordid , nor a narrow Mind ; No , I a free and generous humor love ; And this some discommend , and some approve . Fusidius rich in Money out at Use , And Lands , yet fears to be esteem'd profuse ; For five times double He would Sums ingage , And sues Young Heirs when newly come of Age : The greatest Prodigals He presses most , And lends them Money till their Lands are lost . Who when He hears all this would not complain , Good God! yet thus He damns himself for gain : " And one would scarce believe a Man for Pelf " Should be so great an Enemy to himself : That He in Terence when His Son was gone , Tho He laments , and crys He is undone , The most unhappy Man the Sun can see , Yet liv'd not half so bad a Life as He : And all this proves whil'st Fools one Vice condemn They run into the Opposite Extream : Malthin with Gowns below his heels is grac't , Another Humorist tucks them to his wast : Rufillus smells like any Civet Cat , Gorgonius like a Goat , or worse than that : Men keep no Mean ; One , when his Blood boils o're , Will take a Matron only for his Whore , Whil'st others all but common Jades refuse , They fly the sober Whores , and rake the Stews : A certain famous Bully of the Town When He did leave the Stews , was often known To use old Cato's words , Go bravely on : Here our hot Youths should come to cool their flame , And never use the marry'd City Dame : But Cupien says , I 'le not be prais'd for this , That Cupien that admires a Matron Miss . 2. Now you that wish these base Adulterers ill , And Punishment as bad as is their Will ; Must needs be pleas'd to hear my Muse explain What small delight they with great danger gain , And how their Pleasure 's sadly mixt with Pain : For one found faulty with another's Wife Must from a Window leap to save his life : Another's finely kickt and jilted too , Or taken , bribes the Slaves to let him go : Another's kic kt into the Common Shore , There stifled , and a thousand Mischiefs more , Another's Guelt , his Dancing days are gone , And All but Galba say 't was justly done . But come let 's see now how the Matter falls , Is 't safer trading with the Abigals , Whom Salust so admires , and so adores , As much as those that use the marry'd Whores ? Now did not this Man make his gifts too great , But fit , and equal to his small Estate : He might be counted kind , preserve his Name , Not ruine his Estate , nor lose his Fame : But what cares He for this ? He boasts alone He knows no Matron , and He tempts not one : Or as Marsaeus whom a jilting Whore An Actress hath undone , and made him Poor : Methinks , says He , I lead a civil Life , I never meddle with another's Wife : Ay , but with Whores and Players ; and by that Thy Fame is ruin'd more than thy Estate : Is it enough to say , when faults are done , I did it not with such or such a one ; And not take Care to shun the Action still , The Action that 's intrinsecally ill , And scandalous in its self ? to wast thy Time , Thy Fame , or thy Estate is such a Crime , 'T is bad on whomsoe're you lose it all , Or Matron , Common-Whore , or Abigal : Young Villius He to Sylla's Daughter kind , Almost a Son in Law , so oft He sin'd Poor wretch , thus cheated , smarted o're and o're ; Being soundly beaten , stab'd , kickt out of Door , Whil'st poor Longarenus clasp't the jilting Whore : Suppose his Whore-Pipe now being vext at this , Should ask him , did I want a Noble Miss , A Whore of Quality to cool my Flame ? No , I had been content with meaner Game : What answer could be given ? what be said ? Only , forsooth , She was a Noble Maid : But how much better Nature's Laws provide , How great the gifts bestow'd , how small deny'd ? If you distinguish well , if well design , No things forbidden with the granted joyn : Is it all one ? can you no difference see Whether the Fault be in the Things , or Thee ? Then tempt no Matrons , for suppose you gain , The Sweet is little , but immense the Pain : 'T is true her costly Jewels court our Eye , But yet She 's not more soft , more plump her thigh , No , tho such Gems as soft Cerinthus wore , She does no better than a trading Whore : Besides , her Trade is fair , I like it well , She freely shows what e're She has to sell : And you may turn her , and view every part , And see that all is Nature , and not Art : She does not show her best to tempt the Eye , And strive to cover a Deformity , All 's seen , and if you like it , you may buy : Our Jockys , when a Horse is set to sale , Take off the Covering-Cloaths , and look on all ; Lest by a well-shap't Neck and cleanly made The greedy Chapman be at last betray'd , And buys a spavin'd or a founder'd Jade : This care is good , thus when you choose a Lass , Be not too Eagle-ey'd to view a grace ; And blind as Hypsea is to spy a fault , For such as judge by halves are often caught : How neat her Arm and Leg ! 't is true , but stay , Her Wast is short , Nose long , her Feet are splay . Besides , a Matron's Face is seen alone But Kate's that Female Bully of the Town , For all the rest is cover'd with the Gown : But if you 'ld tast , for that doth raise thy heat , A Dainty but forbidden Dish of Meat : There are a thousand stops , a thousand spyes , A Chamber-maid , a Foot-boys curious Eyes , These must be fee'd , and each will claim his share , Besides a Gown doth hide the precious Ware : But now a trading Girl is freely show'd , You see her Naked , or almost as good ; Her Coats are thin , and you may fairly try If strait her Wast , Feet Good , if plump her Thigh , There 's free admission to the Chapman's Eye : Wou'd you be cheated ? the Occasion 's fair , Since you would buy before you see the Ware. As Hunters trace their Hares thro frost & snow , Like not the Flesh as well as others do , As if they caught it only to bestow : Just so my Love , it scorns an easie prey , But hotly follows that that flyes away : What can'st Thou think that this mean Verse can tame Thy wild Desires , that this can quench thy Flame ? And doth not Nature steddy Rules ordain , Fixt Laws which should thy wildest wish contain , And which divide the solid Goods from vain ? Doth She not tell , what she would have supply'd , And what She cannot bear to be deny'd ? When Thirst doth burn thy Throat , and call for ease , Will nothing but a golden Goblet please ? And when thy Hunger bites , and fain would eat , Is all refus'd but rare , and dainty meat ? Or when thy Lust calls for a speedy Joy , And Thou hast ready a mean Girl or Boy , What wilt thou rather burn than those employ ? I 'm of another Mind , I 'm not so nice , I love a Miss that comes at easie Price : And says , Yes , when my Husband 's out of Doors , Or , Sir , One Guiney more , and I am yours : Says Philodem let patient Eunuchs Court Such formal Ladies , I 'm for quicker Sport : I love a Miss that flies into my Arms , And sets at easie rate her tempting Charms , Let her be strait and fair , of comely grace , And let her bring no more than Nature's face : Whil'st we embrace , whil'st She my Arms doth fill , She 's my Egeria , or what e're I will : Then I 'le fear nothing , for no harm can come , No jealous Husband is returning home , No Doors broke open , or the Servants rais'd , Whil'st She poor Wretch starts from my Arms amaz'd , And with a guilty shriek crys I 'm undone , Oh now I 'm caught , and all my Joynture's gone ; ( For that 's the Punishment of marry'd Whores ) Whil'st I poor guilty Rogue sneak out of Dores , Unbutton'd , and barefoot , to shun the Shame , And save my Purse , my Flesh , or else my Fame : Then leave the marry'd Women , be advis'd , 'T is sad , ask Fabius else , to be surpris'd . SATYR III. The Heads of the Third Satyr . ( 1. ) He lashes Tigellius a Songster , an Enemy of his , and a most unsettled Fellow . ( 2. ) Those that quickly spy others faults , but cannot see their own . ( 3. ) Faults of Friends should he extenuated . ( 4. ) Against the Stoicks Opinion that all Faults are equal . 1. AMongst their Friends our Songsters all agree Of this one fault , not one of them is free ; Ask them to Sing you cannot have a Note , No , they have gotten Cold , or a soare Throat : But unrequested then They strain their Voice , And trouble all the Company with their Noise : This humour hath Tigellius often shown ; If by his Father's Friendship and his own Caesar , that could Command , did beg a Song ; 'T was all in vain , He might have held his Tongue : Yet take him in the vein , and He would sing From Morn till Night , a Health to Charles our King : Sometimes to squeaking Treble his voice would raise , Then sink again into the deepest Base : A most unsettled fellow , He would run As if He fled a Robber , or a Dun ; And streight as in Procession gravely go , Now with two hundred Servants , now but Two : Sometimes He 'd talk of Heroes , and of Kings , In mighty swelling Numbers mighty Things : And then again , let gracious Fortune give A little Meat and Drink enough to live : Let her a Coat to keep out Cold present , Altho 't is thick and course , yet I 'm content : Yet give this sparing thing , this moderate , This Man of mean desires a vast Estate , In Nine days time 't is every Penny gone , And He 's grown Poor again , and is undone : He wakes all Night to Sing , to Drink , and Play , Then goes to Bed , and snores it all the Day : No Mans designs like his do disagree , None lives so contrary to himself as He. 2. Ay , but says One , have you no fault like this ? Yes , Sir , I have , Perhaps as great as his : When Menius rail'd at Novius , how , says One , Do'st know thy self , or think thy faults unknown ? Ay , but says Menius , I forgive my Own : This is a foolish , and a wicked Love , And such as sharpest Satyrs should reprove , When thou art Blind and Senseless to thine own , How do'st thou see thy Friend's Disease so soon : That scarce a Serpent can so quickly spy , Nor any Eagle hath so good an Eye . Well then go on , pursue thy mean design , As Thou do'st find their faults , so They will thine ; Perhaps He 's pettish , and He 's apt to rage , He cannot bear the Railery of the Age , Perhaps he doth not wear his Cloaths gentile , His Shoe is not well made , nor sits it well : He may be flouted , and be jeer'd for this ; Yet He 's an honest Man as any is : He is thy Friend , and tho the Case be foul , It holds a Learned , and a Noble Soul. Lastly , look o're thy self with strictest Care , And see what seeds of Vice are rooted there , What Nature plants , and what ill Customs bear . This search is good , for a neglected Field , Or Thorns , or useless Fern will quickly yield . 3. Well , let us bring our selves at last to this , As ardent Lovers when they Court a Miss ; Or spy no faults , or love those faults they spy , Thus Agne's Polypus pleas'd Balbine's Eye ; I wish this Error in our Friendship reign'd , Or had the credit of a Vertue gain'd , As Fathers hide Sons faults or else commend , We should excuse the failures of our Friend : A Father that hath got a Squint-ey'd Boy Crys what a pretty Cast adorns my joy ! And calls his dwarfish Son that 's often sick , As that Abortive Sisyphus , his Chick : Is one too Close ? be tender of his fame , And call him thrifty , 't is the softer Name : If He will brag too much , if He is vain , Then say he is a brisk , and merry Man : If He will rage , if he will rudely flout , Then say He is a downright Friend , and stout : If He will huff , his Airy Soul commend , And this I think will get , and keep a Friend : But We unkindly and perversely nice , Do turn their very Vertues into Vice : If any lives a sober honest life , Puts up Affronts , and shuns disturbing Strise , A mean , we streight exclaim , and Chicken Soul : And one that 's slow , We call a thick-scull'd Fool : Another in these evidencing Times When Envy loads our Honest Men with Crimes , Lives unsuspected , and with prudent Art He keeps himself secure on every part . Instead of Wise , of Provident , and Grave , Oh He 's a Cunning and a Crafty Knave : If any man ( as I have often done To you Mecaenas , and now freely own ) Impertinent Discourse or Questions brings , Or jogs Another whil'st He reads or sings , Or sits a musing upon other things : We streight grow Mad , we 'l hear no just defence ; Pox , He 's a Dolt , He wants even Common Sense ; What Customs , ah ! what Rules have Men design'd ? And how unjust , and to themselves unkind ! There 's none but hath some fault , and he 's the best , Most Vertuous he , that 's spotted with the least : A kind good natur'd Friend that strives to prove And know the Man that he intends to love , And weighs my Vertues , and my Faults , 't is just ( If happily my Vertues prove the most , ) To let that Scale go down ; and if on this He 'l be a Friend , I 'le bate some things amiss , And make the same allowance in weighing his : For those that would not have their Sores offend , Must not disgust the Pimples of their Friend : And 't is but just , that he that hopes to find A Pardon for his Faults , should be as kind , And give the like , and with a willing mind . 4. But now since Passion 's rooted in our Souls , As other faults that stick so close to Fools ; Why doth not Reason poise and mend our thoughts ? And see our rage proportion'd to the faults : When Supper 's done a Slave removes the Dish , And spills the Broth , or else le ts fall the Fish ; Now should the Master stab the Slave for this , He would be thought more mad then Labeo is : But how more mad are we , and more severe ! Our Friends but little , and but seldom Erre , ( And such small Faults good Natures ne're resent ; They sin as Men must do , and may repent . ) But yet for this we hate , for this we shun , As Bankrupts , Risio , the notorious Dun ; Who , when the Calends come , severely sues , And if the Debtor doth not pay the Use , He 's clapt in Jayl , and hears a tedious Bill , A killing Scroll , Item , and Item still : My Friend got drunk , perhaps hath foul'd my bed , Or bruis'd a Cup by neat Evander made , Or snacht away a Chicken from my Plate , And must I love my Friend the less for that ? What should I do then if he prov'd unjust , Refus'd to bayl me , Thiev'd or broke his Trust ? Those that hold Vices equal seem distress't , When leaving Sophistry they come toth ' Test : This Fancy doth with Law and Custom fight , And Interest too , that spring of Just and Right : When Man first crept from Mother Earth's cold Womb , He was a miserable Thing , and dumb ; Then they for Acorns fought , and shady Cave , With Nails , then Clubs , the Weapons Nature gave : And next with Swords which sad convenience found , And malice taught them they were fit to wound : Till Words and Names for Things , and Laws began , And civiliz'd the bruitish Creature Man : Then they built Towns , and settled Right and Just , And Laws to curb our Rapine , and our Lust ; For long e're Helen's time a thousand dy'd , Then thousands fought to get a beauteous Bride : But unrecorded fell , like Beasts they stray'd , Each caught his willing Female and enjoy'd : Till one more strong kill'd him , and was preferr'd , Just as the greatest Bull amongst the Herd : Look o're the Word 's old Records , there 's the Cause . 'T was fear of wrong that made us make our Laws : By Naked Nature ne're was understood What 's Just and Right , as what is Bad and Good , What fit and what unfit for Flesh and Bood : Nor Reason shews to break a Garden Hedge , Should be as great a Crime as Sacriledge : Let Rules be fixt that may our Rage contain , And punish faults with a Proportion'd pain : And do not flea him , do not run him through , That only doth deserve a kick or two : For I ne're fear that Thou wilt prove too kind , To too much Pity vitiously inclin'd , That can'st hold Vices Equal , and believe To Rob's no greater Crime than 't is to Thieve ; And who would punish all with equal hand If Thou wer 't King , and had'st the full Command : If he that 's wise and skilful in his Trade , Tho but a Cobler , must be neatly made , Be rich , be fair , be handsome and a King ; Why do'st Thou wish for 't since Thou hast the Thing ? But what Chrysippus said Thou dost not know , No wise Man yet did ever make a shoe And yet the Cobler's a wise Man ; how so ? Why , as Hermogenes , tho He holds his Tongue , Is skill'd in Musick and can set a Song ; And suffling Alfen though he lost his Awl , And threw away his Last , and shut his Stall ; And broak his Threads , yet was a Cobler still ; Thus every Tradesman if he hath but skill Is wise , and therefore only King : but stay , Unless you use your Club , with wanton play The waggish Boys will pluck thy formal Beard , Thou shalt be kickt , derided , scorn'd and jeer'd , Till thou do'st burst when Rage or Envy Stings , And snarl thou greatest King of mighty Kings . In short , whilst Thou a King shalt walk in State , And only foolish Crispin on Thee wait , To get a farthing Bath , I nobly live , The Faults I Fool commit , my friends forgive , And I as easily will pardon theirs , And so I 'le live secure , and free from Cares , A happier Private Man , Than Thou a King. SATYR IV. The Heads of the Fourth Satyr . ( 1. ) Lucilius was bitter but uncorrect . ( 2. ) Few read Satyrs , because they know they deserve the reproof . ( 3. ) Whether Satyr be a Species of Poetry . ( 4. ) A defence of his own Writings . ( 5. ) The manner how his Father bred him to Vertue . 1. CRatin and Eupolis that lash't the Age , Those old Comedian Furies of the Stage ; If they were to describe a vile , unjust , And cheating Knave , or scourge a Lawless Lust ; Or other Crimes ; regardless of his Fame They show'd the Man , and boldly told his Name ; This is Lucilius's way , He follows those , His Wit the same , but other numbers chose ; I grant he was a sharp and ready Wit , But rude and uncorrect in all he writ : This was his fault , He hastily would rhyme ( As if 't were such a wondrous thing in him ) Two hundred tedious lines in one hours time : Yet when with force his muddy fancy flow'd , Some few pure Streams appear'd amongst the mud : In writing much 't is true his Parts excell , Too lazy for the task of writing well : But grant that rare , what then ? Crispinus says You talk of writing , Sir , You claim the Bays , Come on Sir Critick , You shall have your fill , ( The wager be as little as you will ) Here 's Pen and Ink , and Time and Place , let 's try Which can write most and fastest , You or I : Thanks Heaven that made me slow , and gave a Pe● That writes but little , and but now and then : But you , like Bellows , till the Gold 's refin'd , Are puffing still , and all but empty wind . 2. Fannius was happy , whom the publick praise Preferr'd to Phoebus shrine , and Crown'd with Bays : But few read mine , and few my Books delight , And I scarce dare to publish what I write : Few like this way , for most know well enough , That they deserve , and fear my just reproof : Take any at a venture midst the Crowd , And you shall find him covetous or proud , One marry'd Whores , another Boys desires , One Silver 's white , and Alpius Brass admires : Another runs from East to West to cheat , Like Dust by Whirlwinds tost thro storms of Fate , And all to keep or better his Estate : All these hate Poets , these do fear our Rhimes , Look he 's stark mad , they cry , fly , fly betimes ; He spares no Friend , He will abuse the best , So he may laugh himself and have his Jest : And then what e're He writes flies o're the Town , To Pimps , to Hectors , and to Gamesters shown , To every one He meets He tells the Tale , Old Senseless Fops , Old Women , Boys and All : Now hear what may for t'other side be shown ; 3. First , I 'me no Poet , for to make me one 'T is not enough to fetter words in Rhyme , And make a tedious and a jingling Chyme ; And chiefly since my numerous feet enclose Such plain familiar Talk , and almost Prose ; No , He alone can claim that name that writes With Fancy High , and bold and daring flights , And sings as nobly as His Hero fights . And therefore some do doubt , ( though some allow ) If Comedy be Poetry or no , Because it wants that Spirit , Flame , and Force , And bate the numbers , 't is but plain discourse : Yet often there the careful Fathers rage , They storm , and swear , and crack the trembling Stage , A Rogue , a Dog , I 'le kick him out of Door ; When his young Stripling courts a Jilting Whore , And slights a noble Match ; or stow'd with drink , E'en whilst 't is day , He Sails behind his Link : And would not Pompon , were his Father here , Expect as harsh a check , and as severe ? Well then 't is not enough to keep due time , Observe just feet , and put plain words in Rhyme ; For break the Numbers , and the Verse affords But common angry talk , and usual words : Thus take what I , or what Lucilius writes , Tho now and then it Storms , and sometimes bites , Invert the Order and the Words transpose , No sign , as when you change ( When violent Wars Had burst their Brazen Gates , and broke the Bars : ) Of Poetry appears , 't is naked Prose . 4. But now enough , another Time shall show If 't is a part of Poetry or no : But now I will enquire how Men should hate This way of writing Satyr , and for what : Capri and Sulce , those Terrors of the Jayl , Both hoarse with pleading walk the Common-Hall , Their green Bags stusst with Bills , Indictments , Breves , A mighty Terror those to Knaves and Thieves ; But yet an honest Man that keeps his Oath , Nor robs nor steals , may safely scorn them both : If Thou' rt a Thief , as Coele and Byrrhus are , I 'me not like Sulce or Capri , why do'st fear , And why dread me ? My Book 's not set to Sale , Thumb'd by the Rabble upon every Stall , The Rascal scum , Hermogenes and All : I seldom do rehearse , and when I do , I 'me forc't because my Friends will have it so : But then in private , to my Friends alone , Not every where , nor yet to every one : Thousands i' th' publick Market-place recite , And trouble all they meet with what they write : Nay whilst they Bath , They studiously rehearse , The Eccho's raise the Voice and grace the Verse : Thus act our Fops , and without fear or wit , Never considering if the Season's fit , Or time convenient : Well , but what you write Doth hurt Mens fame , that 's your perverse delight : Why this to me ? Doth any Friend of mine Boldly affirm that this is my design ? He that himself shall blame his absent Friends , Or hears them scandaliz'd , and not defends , Sports with their Fame , and speaks what e're He can , And only to be thought a Witty Man , Tells Tales , and brings his Friend in dis-esteem , That Man 's a Knave , besure beware of him : Set Twelve to Supper , one above the rest Takes all the talk , and breaks a scurvy Jest On all , except the Master of the Feast : At last on him , when frequent Cups begin , T' unlock his Soul , and show the spight within : Yet him you count a Wag , a merry Soul , A pleasant , innocent , and harmless Droll : But if I smile perchance , if I presume To laugh because Rufillus doth perfume , That Female Man ; or nasty Gorgon note For studied filthiness , and smell of Goat : My smiles are Satyrs , and what e're I write , In me 't is all detraction , and 't is spight : In common Talk , as we have often done , If we discourse how Petil stole the Crown ; And you , as you are wont , his Cause defend , He hath a kindness for me , He 's my Friend , My old Acquaintance He , He is indeed , And faith I 'me glad at heart that He is freed ; And yet I wonder how He ' scapt ; 't is right , This , this is base detraction , this is spight : This , If I know my self , ne're relisht me , My Books from this , I 'me sure my Mind is free , But if some things appear jocosely writ , This you must pardon , this you must permit . 5. For my good Father did instruct me so , And by Examples taught me how to know What was unfit , and what was fit to do : For when He tutor'd and advis'd to thrift , And live content with that which He had left : Mark Byrrhus , he would say , and Alpi 's Son , How poor They live , now They are both undone ! Two fit examples by unhappy Fates , To fright young Heirs from spending their Estates : When He would fright me from a lawless Love , And Whores , He said , Young Horace do not prove Like Sectan , do not lead so loose a Life , And seek stoln joys , and with another's Wife ; Use what the Laws permit , and be advis'd , Trebonius got no credit when surpriz'd : Philosophers perhaps may show the Cause , And talk of Reason and of Nature's Laws , Why some things should be hated , some admir'd , And why avoided some , and some desir'd , But 't is enough for me to form thy mind , And leave it to the Ancients rules inclin'd , And whilst Thou want'st a Tutor , keep thy Name And manners spotless , and preserve thy Fame ; For when a Man , then thou must walk alone , No prudent care to guide Thee but thy own : Thus he advis'd ; What e're He 'd have me do , He says , Look such a one doth so and so ; And sets a Worthy Man before my Eyes , And when he would forbid a Thing , He crys , Is not this bad when such and such a One Is scandaliz'd for 't over all the Town ? Unruly Patients when They chance to hear Their Neighbour's lately dead , begin to fear , Grow orderly and check their Appetite ; So others ill repute do often fright Young Men from following Vice and false delight : Hence 't is that sound from greater faults I live , But small , and such as Friends may well forgive , I grant I have ; yet even those grow less By my own Care , or by my Friends advice ; For when I lye or when I walk alone , I usually revolve what I have done ; This may be better'd sure , and this commend , And make me greater , and a pleasant Friend : Sure this is bad , and this is not well done ; What shall I act like such and such a one ? All this I use to think on when alone : At leasure times I write my foolish thoughts , And this is one of Those my little faults , Which if you won't forgive , but prove severe , A Band of Poets to my Aid I 'll rear , ( For we can make a Band ) and like the Jews I 'le force you take that side you now refuse . SATYR V. The Heads of the Fifth Satyr . ( 1. ) A Description of his journey to Brundusium , with all the various occurrences in the way . FRom stately Rome I walkt a little way , And reacht Aricia first , and there I lay ; My Company as good as Man could seek , The Lawyer Heliodore a Learned Greek : Then Forum Apii , that 's a paltry Town , With Tars and Pedlars throng'd , and those alone ; We made two days on 't hither , tho most but one ; For to quick Travellers 't is a tedious road , But if you walk but slow 't is pretty good : Here ' cause the water did corrode the Tast , And hurt the Stomach , I resolv'd to fast ; And envy'd those that Sup't , now Night appears And o're the Heaven spreads shades , and twinkling Stars : And then the Boys and Tars began to roar , A Boat , a Boat , so ho , you Son of a Whore , Pox , Thou wilt sink the Boat , enough , no more : And whilst They take the Fare we were to pay , And tye the Mule , a whole hour slips away : The Boat was full of Fleas , and those molest , And croaking Frogs all night disturb'd our rest : The Mule-man and the Boat-man sate up late , Both drunk , and sang a Catch of merry Kate : At last the weary Mule-man rolls to Bed , With fiery Eyes , swoln Guts , and aking head : The Boat-man too resolv'd to work no more , But ty'd his Mule to graze along the shore , Then fell asleep , and there all night doth snore : And now the Sun climb'd o're the Eastern Hill , And show'd the Day , but yet our Boat stood still ; Till one , a surly fellow , leapt from far , And back and side He cudgel'd drowzy Tar : This made him work and follow our Command , And so at ten a Clock we came to Land : Feronia was the place , and there we Dine ; Thence three miles farther to another Inn : My kind Mecaenas was to meet me there , With good Cocceius sent on great Affair , On Embassies , 't was their delightful toyl To make new Friends , and Enemies reconcile : And here because my travelling did inflame , I drest my Eyes , mean while Mecaenas came , Cocceius , Capito , and Fronto — That Fronto delicate in mind and face , And great with Antony as any was : At little Fundi we refus'd to bait , But laught at proud Aufidiu's Pomp and State ; A Scrivener lately , now with Mace and Gown He huffs , and proudly Lords it o're the Town : To Formiae next ; There Capito meat affords , Murena Lodging , so we liv'd like Lords : The next day was a happy joyful day , For then at Sinuessa on our way , Plotinus , Virgil , Varius too attends , All worthy Men , and my obliging Friends : Oh how did we embrace ! What shouts we gave ! A Friend 's the dearest thing a Man can have : Next night near Campan's Bridge our Stage was good , And there we Lodg'd , and as the Custom stood The Villagers presented Salt and Wood : Next Stage was Capua , there we made a stay , We came betimes , Mecaenas went to play , Virgil and I to Bed , my Eyes were sore , His stomach sick , and so we both forbore : And next we reach't Cocceius Farm at night ; A pleasant Seat , and stor'd with all delight : But now assist my Muse , and now relate How two base fellows quarrell'd , and for what : But first their Pedigree ; the generous , brave , And valiant Messius was a Noble Knave , An Oscian born ; Sarmentus was a Slave : Thus nobly born these Two , and nobly bred Began the Brawl , And first Sarmentus said , Faith Messius Thou art like an untam'd Horse ; We laugh ; Well , well , says Messius , take your Course , And shakes his head ; Oh were thy horns not gone , How thou wouldst push , since now when thou hast none Thou threatnest so ? but that 's a scurvy place , Those plaguy Scars thy brisly front disgrace . And then breaks many a jest upon his face : On every Pimple , and on every Wart , And bids him Mimick Polyphem ; No Art , No Vizor thou dost need , for thou art rough , And Nature 's given Thee ugliness enough . This Messius stomachs , and replies again , Well , Sir , when will you Consecrate the Chain You vow'd the Lares ? now you 're mighty proud , A Scribe , yet still your Ladies claim is good : But why I wonder should'st Thou run away ? A poor thin-gutted Rogue ; sure he might stay That feasted on an half-penny Loaf a day . This made our Supper pleasant , thence we rod To Beneventum , there our Inn was good : But whilst our sedulous Host makes too much hast To roast our Meat , and makes too strong a blast , He had almost been burnt , the Chimny fir'd , And flames as hungry to the Roofs aspir'd : Then hungry We , and all our Servants came To save the Meat and House , and quench the flame : Next day the known Appulian Mountains rise , Which hot Atabulus scorches as He flies : To pass these Hills had prov'd too great a toyl , But small Trevicum gave us rest a while , We staid , quite blinded in a smoaky house , For all They had to burn was leaves and boughs : Here I poor Noddy half the night or more Expected a sorsworn , a jilting Whore , At last dull sleep did blunt my keen desire , His lazy hand spread o're , and check't my fire : But then some wanton Dreams , too loose to tell , Supply'd her place , and did the feat as well : Thence four and twenty Miles in four hours time , To a small place whose name wo'nt stand in Rhyme : But yet by Signs 't is very eas'ly known : First then , the Water 's scarce o're all the Town ; The cheapest Thing that Nature hath bestow'd Here 's dearly sold ; the Bread is very good : This oft the wary Traveller approves , And when He parts , He fills his Bag with Loaves : For none Canusium yields but gristy Bread , This Town was built by Valiant Diomed , The Nymphs averse , 't is like the former , poor , Nor can it boast one Quart of Water more : Here Varius left us , but appear'd to be Concern'd to part , and all as much as He : Next night we reach 't to Rubi , there we lay , All very weary , for the tedious way Was dirty , and besides it rain'd all day : Next Morn the Sky was fair , the Weather good As far as Bari's Town , but worse the Road : Here we had sport enough , and cause to smile , For some that would our easie Faith beguile , Would needs perswade that in their Sacred Quire Sweet Incence burns without the help of fire : Ay , let the Jews believe it if they please , Not I , I know the Gods must live at ease : Nor when strong Nature doth some wonders show , Can I believe They meddle here below : Hence to Brundusium , there I left my Friends , And so my Story and my Journey Ends. SATYR VI. To MECAENAS . ( 1. ) He commends him for looking on the Excellencies , not the Families , of Men. ( 2. ) Against Pride . ( 3. ) His acquaintance with Mecaenas . ( 4. ) How his Father bred him . ( 5. ) That he is very well contented with his small Estate . 1. BEcause thy Veins are fill'd with Royal Blood , Thy Birth is Noble , Family as good As all Hetruria boasts , you are not proud : Because thy Ancestors did Armies guide , Kings by thy Fathers and thy Mothers side , Thou dost not slight a Man of mean Degree , As most Men use to do , for instance , Me , Whose Father was a Slave , and lately Free : For you believe , and you are right in This , No matter whence He comes , but what He is : No matter if his Race be low , his blood Be mean , if but his Mind be great and good : Before King Tully's time , by Birth a Slave , A thousand Men of mean descent were brave , And fill'd the Honors that the People gave : But Noble Laevin though Valerias Son ( By whose wise Conduct this great State begun , When Tarquin They , the lofty and the Proud , Expell'd ) was never valu'd by the Crowd : The Crowd those Common Slaves to empty Fame , That more than the Deserts regard the Name , Dazled with Family and gawdy shows : Then what should We , what We the Wise propose , We that are thought a different Kind from Those ? But at Elections grant the Crowd refuse Ignoble Decius , and Levinus chuse ; And grant the surly Censor Appius scorn , And shove me off , because but meanly born Or else deserv'dly ' cause I would be brave , And seek a finer skin than Nature gave : Yet Glory's shining Chariot swiftly draws With equal Whirl the Noble and the Base : 2. What profit was it , Tully , to resume Thy once lost Honors , spread thy gawdy Plume And be a Tribune ? Thence more hate began , More Envy rose than when a Private Man : For when a Fool shall make a mighty stir , Swagger and huff in Golden Chain and Fur ; All Eyes streight turn to the unusual State , And studiously enquire , what Fellow 's that ? What Family ? As one that shows a face Pox't , Meager , Pale , and such as Barrus has , Yet would be handsome thought . Where e're He goes The Ladies cry , look how the fellow shows , And streight examine his Leg , his Calf and Nose . Thus when one thrusts himself upon the State , And cries , Come I 'll sustain the Nation 's weight , The Empire and Religion be my Care , I 'll manage all : This makes the People stare , This makes them ask what is He , whence came He ? What was his Mother ? Of what Family ? Or is He base , his Sire of mean Degree ? And what shall base-born you , Sir , rule the Law , Lord it o're Citizens , and hang and draw ? My Collegue Novius , Sir , is mean to me , He 's what my Father was , a Slave made Free. What then , doth that enoble all thy blood , Make Thee Messala , Paulus , or as good ? Yet did two hundred Drays , and all the Crowd Of two great Funerals meet , He bawls so loud That He would drown the Horns and Trumpets Noise ; This pleases , we are taken with his Voice : 3. But to my self the Son of a Free'd-Man , — Whom Envious Eyes and Envious Tongues pursue , Because , My Lord , I am belov'd by you : But once because I had a good Command , And as a Tribune led a Roman Band : The cause unlike , for those that may pretend To envy me , for Honours Chance can send , Yet may not be displeas'd that you 're my friend : Since neither Fancy nor the Pop'lar Voice , But prudent Care , and Worth doth guide your choice : And , Sir , this happiness I dare not own Was Chance , for 't was not Chance that made me Known : For Virgil did commend me to your Grace , And Varius often told you what I was : When sent for , Sir , in few and broken words , In such as Infant Modesty affords , I did not tell you my Descent was great , I did not say I had a vast Estate , But what I was ; and your Reply was short , As 't is your Custom ; so I left the Court , And to my fields retir'd ; at nine months end You sent for me , and bad me be your Friend : And this I think is great , this makes me proud , That I pleas'd you , who know what 's bad from good , By Vertue , not by Nobleness of Blood : 4. If only little stains do spot my Soul , ( As perfect Beauties often have a Mole ) Tho I 'me Secure and free from all the foul : If none on me can truly fix disgrace , If I am neither Covetous , nor Base ; If innocent my life , if ( to commend My self ) I live belov'd by every Friend : I thank my Father for 't , for He being poor , His Farm but small , the usual ways forbore ; He did not send me to Sir Fabius School To teach me Arts , and make me great by rule : Such as our Great-mens Sons and Nobles seek , With Book in hand , and Satchel round their Neck , And meanly pay their Master by the Week . But first He boldly brought me up to Town , To see those ways , and make those Arts my own , Which every Knight and Noble taught his Son : So well attended , and so richly drest I walkt thro Rome , that those that view'd me , guest I was a Man of Wealth , a Knight at least . Himself my carefull'st Guardian watcht me still , In short , He so supprest the growth of ill , That ( Vertue 's hight ) not only kept me pure From vitious Deeds , but ill repute secure : Nor did He fear the Censuring World should blame His high designs , or I be damn'd with shame , If after all his Cost I should be made A Common Cryer , or a meaner Trade ; Or else , as He himself , have poorly liv'd A mean Excise-man , nor should I have griev'd : I owe more thanks , and more respect for this , Nor shall I e're , whatever Fops advise , Repent of such a Father if I 'me wise . Therefore as Others when the haughty scorn , 'T was not our fault we were not nobly born , I do no say , nor mind those meaner cares ; My words and thoughts are different far from theirs . 5. For should kind Nature bid my Soul retire , Go back to Birth , and chuse a Noble Sire , As great as Thought could frame , or Pride desire ; Content with those I have , let others choose , I would the Noble and the Great refuse : And this is foolish , this a wild design I' th' Crowd's Opinion , Wise perhaps in thine , Because I love my ease , with prudent care , And shun a weight who am not us'd to bear : For streight my small Estate I must enlarge , Salute more Men , and live at greater charge , Companions get , lest I , in Field or Town , The noble I , be seen to walk alone : More Grooms and Horses keep , a Coach beside , And all the costly Vanities of Pride : Now on my bob-tail'd Mule all gall'd and sore , My Wallet galls behind , my Spurs before ; I ride when e're I will , I ride at ease As far as soft Terentum if I please ; None , as of Tully's baseness , shall of mine complain , On whom , when Praetor , as a noble Train , In the Tiburtine way five Boys did wait , And bore a stool and flask of Wine in State : I live , Sir Noble , I can justly boast Better than you , and happier far than most : I walk alone where e're my fancies lead , And busie ask the price of Herbs and Bread : Thro cheating Rome about the close of day I freely walk , I go to Church and pray , Then home , where I shall find a sparing Treat , And three small pretty Boys bring up the Meat : Just by a White-stone-Table stands to bear Two Pots , one Cup , and equal to my fare A Cruise and Platter , all poor Earthen Ware. And then I go to bed , and take my rest , No guilty Conscience frets , no Cares molest , No sad remembrance of my former Crimes ; No Suits to bid me be at Court betimes : Where Marsya's Statue stands , and fears to brook The fury of the younger Novius look : " I sleep till Ten , then walk , or read a while , " Or write for pleasure , ' noint my self with Oyl , Not such as Natta pours , the rich , the base , Who robs the dying Lamps to grease his face . But when that heat invites to cooler streams , I bath , and fly the fury of the beams ; I eat not greedily , but just enough To stay my stomach , and keep hunger off ; This is their life who are unloos'd from fears , Weighty Ambition , and its vexing Cares : This comforts me , this more contentment brings , Then if my Birth were high , my Race were Kings . SATYR VII . A Scolding Law-suit between Persius and Rupilius , sur-nam'd The King. HOw mungrel Persius paid Rupilius off , Sur-nam'd the King , that banish't railing Huff , And gave him Quid for Quo , I think is known To all the Blind and Barbers shops in Town : This Persius rich half Asia did molest With Law-suits , and the King amongst the rest : Bold , Impudent He was , and still at strife , And as malicious as the King for 's Life . Haughty , and such a bitter Rogue to rail , That Piso hardly could blow wind in 's Tail : But to return , when nought could calm their rage , ( For so 't is still when Two great Souls engage : ) Thus in Achilles and in Hector's strife , Their Emulation was as long as life ; Because they both were brave , their minds were great , Their courage equal , and alike their heat ; But when two Cowards , or unequal Foes , As when soft Glaucus Diomed did oppose , The weaker yields unable to defend , And gives the other bribes to be his Friend . When Brutus Asia rul'd , this railing Pair , Not by th and Bacchus were a Match so fair , Began their Suit ; away to Court they run Both hot , and gaz'd at both by every one . Persius begins and doth the Cause explain , ( We laugh , and as He speaks we laugh again ) And praiseth Brutus much , and all his Train : He calls him Asia's Sun , a glorious thing , And all were Stars benign except the King ; The Dog-Star He , that Star that poison yields , And sheds malicious Influence o're our fields . Thus heedlesly he still pursu'd his Theme , As fierce and muddy as a Winters Stream . The King enrag'd at this , and swoln with hate , Empties his Stomach straight in Billingsgate ; The finest Rhetorick the World hath known , The very inside of a Bawling Clown . But Persius netled with his sharp replies , At last , Brutus , since Thou art wont , He cries , To murther Kings ; for Heavens sake why not This ? For this would prove a good and great design , Brutus , this ought to be an act of thine . SATYR VIII . The Heads of the Eighth Satyr . ( 1. ) Priapus tells how He came to be a God. ( 2. ) Discourses how the Witches come at Night and trouble him . ( 3. ) Discovers their Ceremonies . 1. LOng time I lay a useless Piece of Wood , Till Artists doubtful for what the Log was good , A Stool , or God ; resolved to make a God : So I was made , my Form the Log receives , A mighty Terror I to Birds and Thieves : My Hook and my vast Pole the Thieves affright , And keep the Garden safe from Rogues by night : My gastly Head is Crown'd with staring Reed , To fright the Sparrows from the new-sown Seed ; 2. This Plat where now I stand was heretofore A Common Place of Burial for the Poor , Here by the Common Beadle of the Town The Poorer sort , and Spendthrifts Corps were thrown , They got this Plat when they had spent their own . A thousand Foot in length , three hundred broad As the Inscription shows , by Will bestow'd For Publick Use , and for the Common Good. But now where only frightful Bones were seen , That Checkred with a gastly White the Green , Mecaenas built a Summers soft retreat : The Air is Good , and 't is a pretty Seat. And now I take but very little Care , For Thieves and Birds that come and rifle here ; The troublesome Witches vex me more then They , Those Wretches I can never drive away : For when the Moon is up , each comes and pulls Her pois'nous Herbs , or gathers Bones and Skulls . 3. I oft have seen the Hag Canidia there , Bare-foot , Her Coat tuck 't short , and loose her Hair : With elder Sagana , I saw them run , ( They both were gastly , pale to look upon . ) I heard them howl , and saw the furious Witch , Whilst with her Nails she scrap't a little Ditch , Then tear black Lambs , and pour in all the Blood , And call the hungry Ghosts to take their Food , The Ghosts that were to tell her what she wou'd . Of Wool and Wax they made two Images , Which the bewitch't and Witches Forms express , The Wool the greater , to torment the less : The Wax was to be whipt , and seem'd to bow , And there stood cringing as it fear'd the blow . One Hecate invokes with dreadful Pray'r , And one Tisiphone , and streight They hear Black Serpents hiss and Hell-hounds barking there . The Moon skulk't streight , and as afraid to view This gastly sight , behind the Tombs withdrew . Now if I lye let Birds disdain my Reed , And come and Perch , and dung upon my Head : Let me be spit , let me be piss't upon By all the Rogues and Rascals of the Town : Why should I mention all I saw or heard ? How in their Ditch They hid a Tyger's Beard ; And Serpent's Tooth : how with a squeaking Voice The Witch and Ghost discours't ? how harsh the Noise ? How by slow Fires the Waxen Form did wast : And frighted I reveng'd my self at last . For loud , as a blown Bladder when 't is broak , I stoutly farted from my Arse of Oak ; The frighted Witches start and drop for fear Canidia Teeth , and Sagana false Hair ; Away their Charms and pois'nous Herbs were thrown , Each takes her ambling Switch , and hasts to Town , It would have made you split to see Them run . SATYR IX . The Description of an Impertinent Fop that plagued Horace in his walk . AS I was walking through the streets of Rome , And musing on I know not what nor whom , A Fop came up , by name scarce known to me , He seiz'd my hand , and cry'd , Dear Sir how d' ye : I thank you , pretty well as times go now ; All happiness : I wish the same to you : But when He follow'd me , I turn'd and cry'd , What farther business , Sir ? And He reply'd , What don't you know me Sir ? No faith : What no ? Come Horace now you jest , I 'me sure you do ; Why I 'me a Scholar : Sir , I 'me glad of that , 'T will make me prize you at a higher rate : Uneasie thus , and eager to be gone , Sometimes I walkt but slow , now faster on , My Foot-boy whisper'd now , and now I stopt , Now turn'd about , still Sweating till I dropt : Ten thousand times I softly curst my Fate , And envy'd deaf Bolanus happy State : Whilst He , Eternal Clack , of all we meet Said something , praising Houses , Town , and Street : But when He saw me so uneasie grown , And answer nothing ; Sir , you would be gone , But faith , Dear Sir , We must not part so soon ; I love your Company , I 'le follow still , I must make one , Dear Sir , go where you will : 'T is too much trouble for you , I design Beyond the Bridge , to see a friend of mine Unknown to you , your kind attendance spare , It will be rude to trouble you so far : Sir I 'me at leasure , I have time to spend , And I can walk I 'me sure to serve a friend : I 'le go : And thus when no release appears , Like an o'reladen Ass I hung my Ears . Then He , Sir , If I don't mistake my Parts , Not Varius Wit , nor Viscus great Deserts Can claim your friendship half so much as mine ; Which of the Wits can write so smooth a line , Which more than I , or which with greater ease ? 'T is almost natural in me to please : Who can his limbs to softer motions bring ? Hermogenes might envy when I sing : And then he stopt a while , and I put in : Have you a Mother Sir , or any Kin That would be glad to see you ? I have none , For thanks kind Stars they all are dead and gone : Oh Happy They , and I the last remain , Come , pray Sir , quickly rid me of my pain ; For now the fatal hour , the time is come , The Midwife told me when she read my doom . She turn'd the Sieve , and said , Nor Sword , nor Cough , Nor Poison , Plague , nor Charms shall take him off : Nor the Catarrh , nor Flux , nor Pox destroy , But an Eternal Tongue shall kill the Boy , And therefore would He have his life be long , When grown a Man avoid a talking Tongue : By this 't was nine a Clock or somewhat past , And we to Vesta's Temple came at last . And there that day He had a Cause to hear , And was to lose his Suit or else appear . Come pray , Sir , as you love me stop a while , Faith Sir I cannot stand , nor have I skill In any Point , and I 'me oblig'd to go : Well then , What must I leave my Cause , or You ? Me by all means : No , hang me if I do : And so march't on ; and I ( with one too strong What Man can strive ? ) look't blank , and sneak't along . How doth Mecaenas ( thence his Chat began ) Affect you now ? You are the subt'lest Man : You make Hay whilst it shines , but take my word , To have another always near my Lord , And next to You in favour , would secure My Lord 's good Will , and make your Fortune sure : Fix me the Man , and let them do their best , I 'le lay my life on 't you shall rout the rest : Sir , you mistake , that 's not our Course of Life , We know no Jealousies , no Brawls , no Strife ; From all those ills our Patrons House is free , None ' cause more Learn'd or Wealthy troubles Me , We have our Stations , all their own pursue : 'T is strange , scarce credible : and yet 't is true : This whets my wish , I 'me eager for a place : I shall not rest till I am near his Grace : Pray stand my Friend , I 'me sure of good success , He may be wrought on if you please to press : But Sir , at first he is of hard access : Well , when Occasion serves , I 'le play my part , I 'le spare no cost and charge , try every Art , Hang on his Coach , wait on him , all I can , Bribe , Flatter , Cringe , but I 'me resolv'd to gain , 'T is only Labour , Sir , can raise a Man. As thus He talk't , a Friend of mine came by , Who knew the fellow's humour more than I. We stop't , and talk't a while , as How do'st do ? Whence came you , Sir , I pray ? and whither now ? Mean while I shrug'd , a thousand signs I show'd , I squeez'd his hand , and did what e're I cou'd , I nodded , cough't , and wink 't to let him see I stood in need of 's help to set me free ; He cruel Wag , tho knowing my intent , Pretended ignorance of all I mean't : I rag'd ; at last , A little while ago You had some business , pray let 's have it now : I mind it well , but , Sir , another day , My business calls me now a different way ; 'T is Holiday , I visit yonder shrine , And must not mix Prophane with things Divine : I don't mind Holidays ; but Sir I do , A little tender Conscienc'd , Sir , I vow , One of the Crowd , I go to Church and pray , Your pardon , Sir , we 'll talk another day : Did ever such unlucky Beams arise ! Ever so black a day ! unkind He flies , And leaves me gasping for a little life , Just at the mercy of the Butcher's knife : When lo his Adversary cry'd , Oh , Oh! Sir Raschal , have I caught you , whither now ? Pray Sir bear witness , gladly I consent , He 's forc't to Court , and I as freely went : The People Crowd and Shout ; but mid'st the strife I scap't , and so Apollo sav'd my Life . SATYR X. The Heads of the Tenth Satyr . ( 1. ) He maintains the censure he had given of Lucilius . ( 2. ) Discourses of Poetry . ( 3. ) Satyr is his proper Talent . ( 4. ) He is content with the praise of the best Judges . 1. WEll , Sir , I grant I said Lucilius Muse Is uncorrect , his way of Writing loose , " And who admires him so , what Friend of his " So blindly doats as to deny me This ? " And yet in the same Page I freely own , " His Wit as sharp as ever lash't the Town ; But This one sort of Excellence allow'd , Doth not infer that all the rest is good : " For on the same Account I might admit " Labenius Farce for Poems and for Wit. 2. Well then 't is not enough to please the Crowd , And make them laugh to prove the Poem good : Yet this I grant a sort of Excellence : He must be short , nor must He clog his sense With useless words , or make his Periods long , They must be smooth , and so glide o're the Tongue : And sometimes He must use a graver stile , And then jocose , and He must laugh a while . Now like an Orator , a Poet now ; Their different Vertues , and their Graces show , Now like a Gentleman whose fine discourse Design'dly easie is , and free from force , Instructive Mirth , and where a waggish sneer Doth nick the great Ones more then a severe : " This was the drift of all our Ancient Plays , " In this They may be follow'd , and with Praise But these Hermogenes ( those blundring heads ) Scarce knows ; and t'other Ape-face never reads : Poor thick-skull'd Sots that sing a Catch or two From Calvus , and that 's all that they can do . Ay , but He 's excellent ; for many times He mixes Greek with Latine in his Rhimes . Dull Sots to think that Poetry and Wit , Which e'en the Rhodian poor Pitholeon writ . Ay , but the Speech thus mixt is neat and fine , 'T is sweet like Latine mixt with Greekish Wine . But you Sir , that can't think this Censure true , But do●● on Lucill , I appeal to you , Only in Verse , or when you treat of Laws , Or plead suppose , Petillus desp'rate Cause ; Whilst Pode and Corvin eagerly accuse , Would you this mix't , this Mungrel Language use : As 't were forget your own , and Greek confound With Latine , like the Apulians double sound ? When I , a Latin , once design'd to write Greek Verses , Romulus appear'd at night ; 'T was after Twelve , the time when dreams are true , And said ; Why Horace , what do'st mean to do ? 'T is full as mad the Greeks vast heaps t' encrease , As 't is to carry Water to the Seas . Whilst swelling Alpin in his lofty way , Murders poor Memnon in his Barbarous Play ; Or awkerdly describes the head of Rhine ; This pleasant way of writing Satyr's mine . 'T is not for glory , nor to please the Age , Nor get the Bays , nor often tread the Stage . True Comedy Fondanus only writes , Pollio the Acts of Kings , and Noble Fights , Strong Epic-Poems Varius best can raise , And Virgil's happy Muse in Eclogues plays , Facetious , soft , and justly wins the Bays . In Satyrs I , which Varro try'd in vain , And others too , may have a happy strain : Yet than Lucillius less I freely own , I would not strive to blast his just renown , He wears and best deserves to wear the Crown . Ay , but I said his fancy muddy flow'd , And faulty Lines did oft exceed the good . Well Sir , and is e'en Homer all correct ? Is He , Sir Critic , free from all defect ? Doth not Lucillius Accius Rhimes accuse ? And blame our Ennius's correcter Muse ? For too much lightness oft his Rhimes deride , And when He talks of his own Verse , for Pride ? Then what 's the Reason that his friend repines , That when I read Lucilius looser lines , I try if 't is his Subject won't permit , More even Verse , or if 't is want of Wit ? But now if any is content to chime , And just put naked Words in Feet and Rhime , And write two hundred Lines in two hours time . As Cassius did , that full o're-flowing Tide Of Wit , and who was burnt , ( or fame hath ly'd ) With Piles of his own Papers when he dy'd . Well then suppose Lucilius was a Wit , His Vertue 's more than Faults in what He writ . Correcter than the Older Writers own , And that we Satyr owe to him alone , Satyr a Poem to the Greeks unknown . Yet did He now again new life Commence , He would correct , he would retrench his Sense , And pare off all that was not Excellence ; Take pains , and often when he Verses made , Would bite his Nails toth quick , and scratch his Head. When you design a lasting Piece , be wise , Amend , Correct , again , again Revise : Ne're seek the Crowd's unthinking praise , delight 4. ' That few , and Judges , read the Verse you write . Is 't thy Ambition mean unthinking Fool , To be a Classick thumb'd in every School ? That 's not my wish , for 't is enough for me , As hist Arbuscula was wont to say , Well well hiss on , for since I please the best , And those approve me well , I scorn the rest . Why should I vex to hear Pontitius blame My Poems , or Demetrius carp my Fame ? Or hungry Fannius at Tigellius Treat , Disgrace my Verse to get a little Meat ? Let Plotius , Varius , and Mecoenas love , Let Caesar , Virgil , Valgius all approve What I compose ; to these would I could joyn The Visci , and Messala's Learned Line , And Pollio , and some other Friends of mine , Whom I for modesty forbear to name , My good acquaintance all , and Men of Fame , Commend my Lines , and I should grieve to know They do not please Them , as I hope they do . I scorn Tigellius , and Demetrius noise , Dull Block-heads , let them Pipe among their Boys , And mind their Schools : Go Roger quickly run , Put this into my Book , and I have done . The End of the first Book of Satyrs . SATYRS . BOOK II. The Heads of the first Satyr . ( 1. ) He adviseth with his Friend what He shall write . ( 2. ) He concludes that his humour is for Satyr . ( 3. ) Will hurt none unprovok't . ( 4. ) No good Men have reason to be angry at Satyrists . 1. SOme Fancy I am bitter when I jeer Beyond the Rules of Satyr too severe ; Some that my Verse is dull and flat , and say , A Man may write a Thousand such a day . What shall I do Trebatius ? Why give o're , Thy scribling humor check , and write no more : The Counsel's good , and oh that I could choose , But I can't sleep for my unruly Muse : Why then ( for that will lay a rambling Head ) Go always tir'd , or else go drunk to Bed. Of if you needs must write , go raise thy Fame , By Caesar 's Wars , for that 's a noble Theme , And that will get Thee Wealth and an Esteem . I have the Will , but when I strive to fly , My Wing's too weak , nor can I rise so high . For 't is not every one can paint a War , How Iron Armies dreadful gay appear ; The Galli falling by a braver force , Or wounded Parthians tumbling from their Horse . Yet Thou , for such the wise Lucilius show'd Great Scipio , may'st describe him just and good : Well , when Occasion serves my Muse designs To try that way , but my unpolish't lines , Unless by chance a happy Time appears , Will never pass the judging Caesar's Ears , Whom if you try to stroak , He 's free from Pride , And kicks you off , secure on every side : And this is better than with railing Rhymes , To lash the faults and follies of the Times , Since all think they are hit , and all resent , And hate Thee , tho perhaps They are not meant . 2. What shall I do ? As most Men have their humours I have mine , Milonius Dances when He 's full of Wine : Pollux on Foot , on Horse-back Castor fights ; As many Men , so many their delights : I love to Rhyme , and have a railing Wit , And choose the way that wise Lucilius writ : He did to 's Book , as to a Trusty Friend , His secret Vertues , and his Faults Commend . And when a good or faulty deed was done , He trusted them with that , and them alone . And hence his Books do all his Life explain , As if we saw him live it o're again . This Man I imitate ; but what I am Faith I can't tell , nor know from whence I came ; For whether I my Birth t' Appulia owe , Or to Lucania , faith 't is hard to know , Since we Venusians live between these two ; Plac't here , as Tales of Ancient Fame relate , When the Sabelli bow'd to stronger Fate , On this side to secure the Roman State : Lest fierce Appulian or Lucanian Arms , Should take them unprovided for Alarms . 3. But yet this Pen of mine shall never wound If unprovok't , yet still I 'le keep my ground , Ready for all assaults , make this my guard , And stand on my defence , be still prepar'd , As with a Sword , yet sheath'd , and never draw Unless assaulted , to keep Rogues in Awe . Grant bounteous Heaven , Oh grant me welcome Peace , Oh grant this Sword of mine might rust in ease ! Let none hurt Peaceful Me with envious Tongue , For if he does , He shall repent the wrong : The warning's fair , his Vices shall be shown , And Life expos'd to all the Cens'ring Town ; Affronted Cervius threatens Suits of Law , Canidia Charms to keep her Foes in Awe . And Praetor Turius when he bears a grudge , If Thou shalt plead a Cause when He is Judge : Each fights with that with which he can prevail , And powerful Nature thus instructs us all . The Wolves with Teeth ; with Horns the Bulls begin : And whence , but from a secret Guide within ? Let Scoeva have ( for this he counts a wrong ) A Mother , that He thinks will live too long ; His pious Hand shall never wound her Heart , No wonder this , 't is not his proper Art. A Wolf ne're kicks , with Teeth a Bull ne're kills , But she shall take a Dose of poison'd Pills . In short then , whether I live long or no , Or Rich , or Poor , howe're my Fortunes go , Live here at Rome , or banish't take my flight , Whatever is my state of Life , I 'le write : Well , Sir , I see your Life then can'nt be long , Some great Ones , faith , will stop your railing Tongue . 4. How , Sir , Lucilius that did first ingage In writing Satyrs , and that lash't the Age , And strip't our Foplings of their Lyons skin , In which they look't so gay , all foul within . Did Loelius , or did Scipio hate his Muse ? Or storm , when He Metellus did abuse ? The Great-ones , and the Crowd did discommend , And valued Vertue only , and her Friend ? No , no , They treated him , and thought him good , And when remov'd from business , and the Crow'd , Would keep him Company , would laugh and jest , And sport until their little Meat was drest . What e're I am , altho I must submit To wise Lucilius , in Estate and Wit , Yet I with Great-ones live , this all confess , And envy , tho unwilling grants no less . And tho she thinks me soft , will find me tough , And break her Teeth , for I have strength enough ; I hope , Trebatius , this you grant is true , Yes , Sir , but 't is my pious Care for You , My Love that makes me give you this advice , Take heed of Scandal , Horace , and be wise . Well , Sir , if any scand'lously derides , Then let him suffer as the Law provides , If justly mighty Caesar is his Friend , He loves such Poems , and he will defend ; And thus if You a Man of spotless Fame , Shall lash another , that deserves the shame : And He grows mad , Indicts or Sues Thee for 't , The foolish Action shall be turn'd to sport ; He laugh't , and jeer'd at , You discharg'd the Court. SATYR II. The Heads of the Second Satyr . ( 1. ) The profit of a spare Diet. ( 2. ) The Difference between that and a sordid Table . ( 3. ) The advantages of it , in respect of Mind and Body . ( 4. ) Against Luxury . ( 5. ) Thrift , the best security against Fortune . 1. HOw great a Vertue 't is , how a great good , To live content , and with a little Food , ( These are not mine , but wise Ofellus Rules , An honest Man , but yet unlearn'd in Schools ) Learn not when full , or when a sumptuous Feast , With show and sight disturbs the eager Guest : Or else oppress and leave the easie mind , Averse to Good , and to ill Rules inclin'd , But seek with me , before that Thou hast din'd . And why this Caution ? If I can I 'le tell , Brib'd Judges ne're Examine Causes well : Go take some Exercise , pursue the Chace , Or Hunt , ride the great Horse , or run a Race , Handle the Roman Arms , those heavier far Than Groecian Toys , or else go throw the Bar ; Or play at Ball , be eager at the sport , And make thy Game seem pleasant , and but short . Now when this Exercise hath made Thee sweat , And rais'd thy Stomach , and thou fain would'st eat , Then scorn to tast unless 't is dainty Meat : When thirsty , scorn to drink , refuse to Dine , Unless Thou hast the best and racy Wine . Besides the Butler's gone abroad to play , No costly Fishes can be caught to day ; The Winds defend them , and the Seas are rough , Then Bread and Salt will please thee well enough . How so ? And prithee how can this be done ? Why Sir , the pleasure that 's in eating known , Is not i' th' Meat , but in thy self alone . Make Exercise thy Sawce , let that excite , For fleamy and a squeasy Appetite Nor Trout , nor Tench , nor Oysters can delight . Yet I shall scarce perswade our curious Men , Let me advise , and talk , and talk agen , Not to eat Peacock , rather than a Hen. For They are prejudic'd because the price Is great , and his gay Feathers please the Eyes : As if those made it better ; do'st Thou Feast On those prais'd Plumes ? And do those fill thy guest , Or doth it look as gawdy when 't is drest ? Then since Hens flesh is quite as good , 't is plain The Peacock is preferr'd for 's gawdy Train . But grant some difference here , yet how do'st know If this same Pike be River Fish or no ? Caught here in Tyber , or in open Seas , For Thou do'st make a difference too in these ; Mad Fool , thou praisest Mullets vastly great , Which thou must mash , e're thou canst dress or eat : The greatness pleases then , yet all dislike Some bigger Fish , and scorn the larger Pike : Pray what 's the Cause of this ? Oh! let me see , Perhaps because , as Nature's Laws Decree , One usually is small , the other great ; Men seldom hungry scorn the common Meat : But says the Glutton , I love a larger Fish , It looks so Noble in a Lordly Dish . But you moist Winds now hear , be kind and good , Corrupt their Meat , and taint their costly Food : Tho 't is but newly taken taint their Bore , And let their Rhombus stink e're brought to shore : When plenty too profuse in vain invites , And strives to raise the squeasy Appetites . When the full Glutton strives in vain to eat , And takes sharp Herbs before his dainty Meat . We do not always feed on Sole and Bore , But use cheap Eggs , and Olives midst our store , So greatest Feasts have something that is poor . First Gallio's Kitchin infamous did grow For dressing Sturgeon , 't was not long ago , What had the Sea then fewer Soles than now ? No , but the Soles did then securely rest , Then nothing did but Winds and Waves molest , And the poor Stork liv'd safely in his Nest : Until a Proetor taught us how to use These Things , and made us foolishly profuse : And so if one would bring new sorts of Food , And stoutly say , a roasted Moor-hen's good : Our Fops would imitate , and praise his skill , Our Fops that are so easie bent to ill . 2. A sordid Table , and a thrifty one , Ofellus thinks distinct , in vain they shun One Vice , that to the other madly run : Old Aviden , Surnam'd The Dog , eats Sloes , And Olives five years old , as bad as those . These are his Meat , and all the Wine He drinks Is eager still ; his Oyl corrupt , and stinks : And that ( when very fine , when neatly drest , And at a Birth-day , or a Marriage Feast , When He would be Profuse , and Prodigal ) He pours himself upon his little Cale : Well then , what would you have a Wise Man do ? What Table keep ? you have propos'd me Two ; And which , Sir , must I imitate of these ? The choice is hard , and it is hard to please . Sir , He lives well that keeps the middle State , And neither leans too much to this , nor that : Such when he bids his Slaves do this and this , And tasks them too , as every Master his , Will not be cruel as old Albutius is : Nor yet like Noevius when he makes a Feast , With costly Oyntment will He wash his guest , For that too is a fault , a vice at least : 3. Now learn what good attends a sparing Meal , What pleasure , and what profit : First thou' rt well , Thy Health improv'd , thy Body free from pain ; But now that Meat confus'd doth hurt a Man , Thou hast experience , and sufficient proof ; One single Dish did feed Thee well enough , Thy Stomach took it , but when boyl'd with stew'd , Flesh mix't with Fish , the indigested load Is turn'd to Gall or Flegm , and spoyls the Blood : Observe how sickly and how pale the Guests , How discompos'd they rise from sumptuous Feasts ? Besides , the Body by the wild excess , Enfeebled , doth the nobler Mind oppress , It clogs it , and it makes its motions dull , And fixes here the breath of Heaven , the Soul : The others go to Bed , just close their Eyes , Such little slumber Nature's wants supplies , Then vig'rous to their proper business rise . Yet Those can have their sparing Meals increast On Holidays , or when they treat a Guest , Or would indulge , and when they please to Feast . Besides , old Age will come , and that must crave , A softer treatment far than Youth should have : But Thou , when sickness comes , or feeble Age , In vain do'st hope , fond Youth , to calm their rage , By softer usage , since thou dost enjoy The softest , whilst a young and vig'rous Boy : The Ancients did commend their stinking Bores , Yet not but that their smell was good as Ours , But ' cause they thought it better far to stay , ( That was the thriftier , and the nobler way ) And keep it till their tardy Guest was come , Than eat it sweet , and by themselves at home : These , these were Heroes , these were generous Men , And Oh that Nature had produc'd me then : 4. Dost Thou regard thy Fame which charms our Ears , With softer Musick than the sweetest Airs ? Take heed , Luxurious Living ruins that , And wasts thy Name as much as thy Estate : It makes thy Neighbours angry , Friends distrust , And Thee thy self unto thy self unjust , When Thou shalt wish for Death , of all bereft ; And not enough to buy a Halter 's left : 'T is true , to some this is a just reproof , This may be said to Tarsius well enough ; But not to Me ; I am secure from fate , For my Revenue's large , my Wealth is great , Enough to keep three Kings , a vast Estate . Then is there no way else to spend thy Store ? Why since thou' rt Rich , is any good Man Poor ? Why are not ruin'd Fanes rebuilt ? And why Doth not thy Wealth thy Neighbours wants supply ? And hath thy Country this superfluous Coin ? What measure hath it from this heap of Thine ? Kind fortune still , forsooth , shall smile on Thee , O future sport unto thine Enemy ! And which is better able to endure Uncertain Chance ? And which lives most secure ? He that doth never Fortune's smiles distrust , But Pampers up himself , and feeds his Lust ? Or He that lives on little now , and spares ; And wisely when 't is Peace , provides for Wars ? But by one instance to confirm this Truth , I knew Ofellus when I was a youth ; Then He was Rich , yet ' midst his greatest Store He liv'd as now , since Rapine made him Poor : Now you may see him with his Wife and Son , Till that Estate for hire which was his own : He Ploughs , he Sweats , and stoutly digs for Bread , Contented still , and as he wrought , He said , On working Days I never us'd to eat But Cale and Bacon , that was all my Meat : But when an old and honest Friend of mine , Or else my welcome Neighbours came to dine ; When it was rainy , or my work was done , We feasted not on costly Fish from Town ; But took what I could easily provide From my own Field , a Pullet or a Kid : And then for second course some Grapes were prest , Or Nuts , or Figs , and that was all my Feast : And after this we drank a Health or two , As far as harmless sober mirth would go ; And then thank't Ceres for our present cheer , And beg'd a plenteous Crop the following year : And now let Fortune frown , I scorn her force , How can she make our way of living worse ? Have we not had enough since we grew poor , Have we liv'd worse , My Sons , then heretofore , Before a Stranger came , and seiz'd my store ? For Nature doth not Me or Him Create , The proper Lord of such and such Estate : He forc't us out , and doth possess my Plain ; Another cheat shall force him out again , Or quircks in Law , or when those fears are past , His long-liv'd Heir shall force him out at last : That which was once Ofellus Farm is gone , Now call'd Umbrena's , but 't is no Mans own : None hath the Property , it comes and goes , As merry Chance , or stubborn Fates dispose , As God thinks fit , and his firm Nods Decree , Now to be us'd by Others , now by Me : Then live Resolv'd , my Sons , refuse to yield , And when Fates press make Constancy your shield . SATYR III. The Heads of the Third Satyr . ( 1. ) The Stoicks chide him for his Laziness . ( 2. ) According to the Stoicks Opinion all are mad . ( 3. ) The Covetous are mad . ( 4. ) The Ambitious . ( 5. ) The Spend-thrifts . ( 6. ) Lovers . ( 7. ) The Superstitious . ( 8. ) Concerning his own humor . 1. YOU write so seldom , scarce four sheets a year , A lazy Writer , but a Judge severe ! Still mending , and revising every Line , Still vex't that after all thy Sleep and Wine , Yet nothing comes that doth appear to be Worth publick view : What will become of Thee ? You here at Winters first approach did come , And left the Mirth , and drunken Feasts of Rome : Then sober now write something as you vow'd , Write something that may make thy promise good Begin , nought comes , thou dost in vain accuse Thy Paper , Pen , and Ink , and angry Muse : And yet you seem'd to promise something great If e're you came to your warm Country Seat. Why comes Menander , Plato , Sophocles ? And why such Learned Company as These ? If Thou design'st to spend thy time in Ease ? What wilt Thou write no more to live exempt From Envy ? Blockhead Thou shalt meet Contempt The Siren sloth thou must resolve to shun , Or lose that Fame thy better life has won . Thanks , Damasippus , thou art grave , and wise , And let the Gods bestow ( 't is a small price ) A Barbar on thee for thy good advice : But how came you to know my mind so well ? Why once I Traded till my Stock was gone , And now I mind , as here I live in Town , Others concerns since I have lost my own . For heretofore I drove a mighty Trade In Ancient Pieces , knew what Piece was made By such an Artist , and could tell what part Was rudely drawn , and what agree'd with Art. Then sold them dear , I had the only skill To purchase Lands , and with Advantage still . And hence among the Crowd my Name was known , The Mercury , the Trader of the Town : All this I know , and wonder now to view The Change : Why , Sir , a fancy strangely New Hath cur'd the Old : Thus from another part , As Head or Side , pain falls into the Heart . 2. Thus this Lethargick sometimes leaves his Bed , In frantick fitt , and breaks the Doctor 's Head. Well , Sir , suppose You ben't as mad as He , And beat me too , be what you please to be . Good Sir , do not deceive your self , for You , And All , if what Stertinius says be true , Are mad : He taught me This when first He cheer'd My drooping Mind , and bad me wear this Beard . For when by Trading I was quite undone , Thither I went , Poor Fool , resolv'd to drown : But He stood by , and in a lucky time He cry'd , take heed Young Man , forbear the Crime , 'T is foolish modesty that makes Thee dread , Amongst Mad-men to be accounted Mad : For first inquire what madness is , and see If every Man be not as mad as Thee , Tho They pretend to be so grave and wise , Then go and hang thy self , that 's my advice . He who 's to Folly or to Vice inclin'd , Or whom dark Ignorance of Truth doth blind , The Stoicks call him mad ; thus every one , Whether he holds the Plough , or fills the Throne , Is counted mad , but their Wise-man alone . Some call Thee mad , but those that call Thee so , Observe , I 'le prove them quite as mad as You : As Men that lose their ways in Woods , divide ; Some go on this , and some on t'other side , The Error is the same , all miss the Road , Altho in different Quarters of the Wood. Thus as they call thee , think that thou art mad ; But those that call thee so are quite as bad . For first , one sort of madness is to fear , When nothing frights , and when no danger 's near ; As if when on an even Field he goes , He should complain that Flames and Rocks oppose . Others , altho through different ways They run , Are quite as Mad , for they rush boldly on , Thro Flames , and boisterous Seas to be undone . And tho his Mistress , Sister , Father , Wife Should cry , Ah Dear , be cautious of thy Life ; Look , there 's a Ditch , take heed : he hears no more Then drunken Furius did , when heretofore He acted Hecuba , a lazy drone , He fell asleep , and slept securely on , Nor could be wak't , tho Catien's voice did rage , And Mother , hear , I call thee , crack't the Stage : Now grant this Madness I design to show , If this Man's mad , then all the World is so . First Damasippus's mad , because he buys Old Statues , true , for what 's more plain than This ? Is he that trusts him sober ? grant he is : Suppose here take this Sum of Gold , I said , I never do expect to be repaid , Are you mad if you take it ? No , but more If you neglect this easie offer'd store . For twenty Bonds on cheating Nereus draw , 'T is not enough , add all the chains of Law Cicuta can invent to hold him fast , This Proteus will avoid these Bands at last ; This Proteus Debtor , for when e're you bring Your Action , he 's a Stone , or any thing , A Bore , a Bird , a Tree when e're he will , And thus deride your loss , and cheat your skill . Now if He 's mad that wasts , and sober He That gets , Petillus is more mad than Thee , Who trusts thee so , and lets his Stock decay , By lending more than you design to pay . Sit still and hear , those whom proud thoughts do swell , Those that look pale by loving Coin too well ; Whom Luxury Corrupts , or fancy'd fears Oppress , and empty superstitious Cares ; Or any other Vice disturbs , draw near , I 'le prove that all are mad , sit still , and hear . 3. First give the Covetous the largest Dose Of Hellebore , or rather let 's suppose That whole Anticyra is design'd for those . Saberius Heirs did write upon his Grave , How much He left , what Legacies he gave , Or were to give as He by Will allow'd , Two hundred Fencers to delight the Crow'd , And costly Treats as great as Arrus wou'd , And Corn as much as Afric yields a year : Now whether this be well , or ill , forbear To censure me , and be not too severe : For Saberus , I think , was wise enough To know that he deserv'd and fear'd reproof : What did He mean when He his Heir injoyn'd , To write on 's Tomb how much He left behind ? Why whilst he liv'd he thought the being Poor Was heinous , and avoided nothing more ; And should be guilty of a damn'd excess , If he had left behind one farthing less . For Honor , Vertue , Fame , and all Divine And Humane Things must follow lovely Coin ; And he that gets but that is any thing , What e're he please , Just , Valiant , Wise , a King. And this He thought , as vertuous Acts , would raise His Fame , and get him an Immortal praise . This was his thought of Wealth ; How far from this Did Aristippus think and do with his ? Who bad his Slaves , as He o're Lybia past , Leave all his Wealth , because it stopt his hast . Which was most mad ? Sir , that Example 's vain , That solves old doubts by raising more again . He that buys Harps , and throws his Wealth away On Pipes , yet never does design to play : He that buys Awls , and Lasts , yet doth not know , And ne're designs to try to make a Shoe. Or Ships , and Oars , yet is averse to Trade , All , and there 's Reason for 't , would count him Mad And what 's He better , that still strives for more , Still heaps up Wealth , yet cannot use the Store , But fears to touch , as if 't were Sacred Ore. He that all Night lyes stretcht on heaps of Wheat , And watches what he does not dare to eat , With Bill in hand ; yet after all this pain , Tho 't is his own , he cannot touch a Grain . But still on Haws , and bitter Herbs doth Dine ; And tho his Cellar 's stor'd with racy Wine , Drinks Vinegar ; and tho extreamly old , Yet lyes on Straw , or Flocks , and lyes acold ; Whilst his embroider'd Silks , and costly Cloaths , Lye rotting in his Chests , and feed the Moths . Yet few do think these mad , for most like These , Are sick and troubled with the same Disease : What dost thou keep it for thy squandring Boy , Or for thy Slave , old Chuff , and ne're enjoy ? He 'll drink it out , and prove a mad Gallant ? Or dost thou keep 't lest thou thy self should'st want ? Oh Fool ! how little would thy Money wast , If thou on better Cale and Oyl did'st feast ? Wore better Cloaths , and went more neatly drest ? If thou canst live upon this little Store , Why dost thou swear , and lye , and cheat for more ? And are you Sober ? If you walk't the Street , Throw Stones , and fight , and justle all you meet , Or stab your Slaves , you would be quickly known , Call'd Mad by every Boy and Girl i' th' Town . Now thou dost hang thy Wife , and now dost kill With Drugs thy Mother ; art thou Sober still ? For why ? Thou dost not do this impious deed , At Argos Town , nor dost thou make her bleed , With a sharp Sword , as mad Orestes did . And dost thou think Orestes , heretofore , After He stain'd his Sword in 's Mother's gore , Grew mad alone , and was not mad before ? Yet after that , when you suppose him Mad , What did he do ? And were his Actions bad ? What did He do , that you dare discommend ? He neither stab'd his Sister , nor his Friend , But only as his Frenzy forc't , did call One Rogue , the other Witch , and that was All. Opimius that old Chuff , and richly poor , Who wanted e'en the Wealth he had in store : That on Feast-days did meanest Wine provide In Earthen Jugs , and Lees on all beside ; Lay in a Lethargy , all hope was gone , And now his joyful Heir ran up and down , And seiz'd the Keys and Chests as all his own . This the kind Doctor saw , and this design He us'd for Cure , he brought a Table in , And order'd some to tumble o're his Coin : This rous'd him , Then he crys , Sir you 'r undone , Wake Sir , and Watch , or else your Money 's gone : Your Heirs will seize it : What whilst I 'me alive ? Then wake and show it , Sir , come , come revive . What must I do ? Eat , Sir , What are you loath ? Pray take this little Dish of Barley Broth. What doth it cost ? Not much upon my word , How much pray ? Why Two Groats : Two Groats Oh Lord ! 'T is the same thing to me to be undone By Thieves or Physick , Doctor I 'le have none . Who 's Sober ? He that 's not foolish , that 's my Rule . What is the Covetous ? Both Mad and Fool. Suppose I am not Covetous , am I Streight Sober ? No ; Why Sir ? I 'le tell thee why : Suppose the Doctor says , this Patient's Thighs Are free from pain , What may he therefore rise ? No , tho his Thighs are free , yet violent pains May vex his Side , his Kidneys , or his Brains . So this Man neither Covets , nor Forswears , He is not Perjur'd , let him thank his Stars ; But He is Lavish , he is Bold and Proud , Then to Anticyra let him cross the Flood : For 't is as great a fault to be profuse , As 't is to get , and keep , and never use . Opidius did , as S●ory goes , divide His Farms between his Sons before he dy'd ; And said , and as he said he gravely smil'd , My Aulus I observ'd thee from a Child ; And when I saw thee Careless of thy Toys , And free to give thy Nuts to other Boys : And you Tiberius tell them o're and o're , And hoard them up , and still encrease thy Store : I fear'd both mad , would different Vices chuse , And one be Covetous , and one Profuse . Therefore I charge you both by all that 's dear , As You my Blessing love , and Curses fear , That neither You encrease your small Estate , Nor You consume , but live content on that ; For that will all your proper wants supply , And Nature thinks enough as well as I. And lest You be Ambitious , hear my Oath , Observe , I leave this Curse upon you Both : He that of You shall be Aedilis first , Or else a Praetor , let him be accurst ; What would'st thou wast thy Wealth ? spend every Groat To Bribe the heedless Crowd , and get their Vote ? That when thy Fathers Lands , his Ancient Rent , And all the Money he hath left , is spent , Poor naked Mad-man , thou may'st only gain A Brazen Statue , or a gawdy Train : Or be as fam'd ( thus once the foolish Ass Would be a Lyon ) as great Agrippa was ? 4. Great Agamemnon , why did you forbid A Tomb for Ajax ? Why ? Because I did : I am a King , what I command is right , And just : Well , I a private Man Submit : Yet if I seem unjust , and too severe , Let any speak , and I will fairly hear . Great King , may'st thou a happy Reign enjoy , And have a safe return from Conquer'd Troy. And may I freely ask , and answer Thee ? Thou shalt , speak what Thou wilt , Thou may'st be free Then why doth Ajax , He the Stout , the Brave , And who so oft the Grecian Ships did save , Achilles Second rot without a Grave ? That joyful Troy and Priam laugh to see , That He , by whom their Youth , that mighty He Is now deny'd himself a Grave by Thee ? Why ? He slew Flocks of Sheep o're all the Field , And when in 's Frantic fits , he thought He kill'd , My Brother , Me , Ulysses ; and He smil'd ; And You , when You your lovely Daughter led To Sacrifice , and o're her weeping head You pour'd the Salt and Meal , was sober still ? Why not ? When Frantic Ajax strove to kill The Innocent Flocks , how was the Action ill ? He curst the both Atrides much 't is true , But never e'en upon Ulysses drew , Nor Wife , nor Innocent Son , nor Brother slew : But I to get a Wind appeas'd the God , To have my Navy Sail I offer'd blood . Thy own Blood Frantick , 't was that did Attone : My own , but yet not Frantic , tho my own : He that shall take apparent Good with Bad , Confus'dly mix't , must be accounted Mad. And 't is all one , whate're these Crimes begin , Whether 't is rage or folly makes him sin : Whilst Ajax kills the harmless flocks you blame , He 's mad , whilst Thou design'dly sin'st for fame , And empty Titles , art thou not a Fool ? Art Sober , whilst Ambition swells thy Soul ? If one should bear a Lamb about the Town , Allow her a Sedan , and gawdy Gown , Call her his Daughter , Slaves and Gold provide , And a stout Husband , for the Youthful Bride , The Law would seize that wealth he wildly spends , And give it to the care of Sober Friends . And He that kills his Daughter for a Lamb , Canst thou pretend him Sober ? Fye for shame . Then where there 's folly , greatest madness rules , And wicked Men must needs be frantick Fools ; He must be mad that Courts an empty Name , A very Bedlam He , that 's Slave to Fame . 5. Now next the Foolish Spend-thrift's case propose , That he is mad e'en common Reason shows ; The Squire when come of Age , He takes his Land , Amaz'd with Wealth , he sends his strict Command , Be 't known to All that I have an Estate , And therefore let the Pimps and Tradesmen wait To morrow Morning early at my Gate : What then ? A Thousand come at his desire , And thus the crafty Pimp bespeaks the Squire ; We 're proud to serve you , Sir , and all that 's Ours , Thrice noble Squire , send when you please 't is Yours And thus the easie Squire replies again , Good honest Men , you take a World of Pain : You watch in Snow to catch a Bore for Me , And You fish for Me in the boisterous Sea : Whilst I 'me a Drone unworthy this Estate , Therefore do You take this , and You take that ; And You these Farms , I freely give You These , That I may use thy Wife , when e're I please : A costly Gem from his Metella's Ear , Aesop's loose Son dissolv'd in Vinegar , And drank it down , and then profusely laugh't , To think he drank a Province at a draught . Was 't not as mad as to have thrown the Gem Into a Common-shore , or muddy Stream ? The Sons of Arrus , those of high renown , Those famous Bully-Brothers of the Town : The most agreeing Pair in every Vice , Still fed on Nightingales of costly price , And were those Mad or Sober , Fools or Wise ? 6. If any grown a Man delights to raise Dirt Pyes , and like a Child , at Push-pin plays . Yokes Rats and Mice unto a little Plough , And rides upon an Hobby-Horse , or so , Sure he is mad : now I can prove with ease , That Love is a more childish Thing than These : And 't is all one whether you Sport and Toy . Play wanton Tricks , as when a little Boy , Or court and labour for a jilting Miss , Grow Pale and Whine : For let me ask thee this , Canst thou , like Polemon reclaim'd , remove Thy foppish dress , those Symptoms of thy Love ; As He when drunk , and Garlands round his head , Chanc't once to hear the sober Stoick read , Asham'd he took his Garlands off , began Another Course , and grew a sober Man ? Offer an Apple to a peevish Boy , He will refuse it ; here my pretty Joy , Come prithee take it : No , Sir , I 'le have none ▪ Yet , if unoffer'd , he will beg for One. Like him 's the Lover , who hath ask't in vain , Doubting if e're he should return again : Altho deny'd , when he would gladly wait , Unask't , and linger at the hated Gate : Now she invites , and Swears she will be kind : What shall I go , or rather cure my Mind ? She shuts me out , then asks me to return . What shall I go ? No though she begs , I 'le scorn . But lo , his wiser Slave did thus reprove , Sir , Reason must be never us'd in Love : Its Laws unequal , and its Rul●s unfit For Love's a thing by Nature opposite To Common Reason , Common Sence , and Wit. All that 's in Love's unsteddy empty , vain , There 's War and Peace , and War and Peace again . Now He that strives to settle such as These , Meer things of Chance , and faithless as the Seas . He were as good design to be a Fo●l By Art and Wisdom , and be mad by Rule . And ' cause thy Nut ( a sign that thou shalt prove A happy Man , and Conqueror in thy Love ) Prest thro thy fingers , strikes the Roof above ; You leap for joy , unable to contain , Is that the Action of a sober Man ? And when the old , and so tho wiser grown , You prattle with her in a Childish Tone : Art thou not mad as He , that loves his Toys ? And plays at Push-pin with the little Boys ? To this add all the rage of wild desire , The Murders that attend this frantick fire ; Observe , poor Nerus lately struck his Miss , Then kill'd himself , what dost thou think of This ? Was this Man Frantick ? or will you allow That He was sober ? in his Wits like you ? Yet freely grant him guilty of a Sin ? To the same thing adapting words akin ? 7. A. Libertine , and old , ran every day To all the Temples in the Town to pray : Fasting he went , and he was neatly drest , His hands were clean , and he had one request : Grant ye kind Gods , grant I may always live , It is an easie thing for Iou to give . Now he that sold him , might have safely sworn , He 's sound both Wind and Limb as e're was born . But cheated , if He swore him sound in Soul And This Man too the Stoicks count a Fool. The Mother whose dear Son had lain opprest , With violent Quartan half a year at least ; Gets up betimes , and prays Thou mighty Jove , That dost Diseases bring , and dost remove , If thou wilt stop the Fits , restore my Joy , And spare the Body of my lovely Boy , At thy next Solemn Fast , kind mighty God I vow , and I will make my promise good , I 'le set him naked in cold Tiber's Flood . And now let Chance or Physick's strength release , Or Doctor 's care suppress the strong Disease , The Frantic Mother will perform her vow , And her weak Son into cold Tiber throw ; And this brings a Relapse and kills the Lad , And hath not Superstition made her mad ? All this Stertinius taught me as a Friend , That Eighth Wise-man ; and I my self defend By his learn'd Rules ; none vexes me in vain , Who calls me mad , I call him mad again : And He shall learn what He doth seldom mind , To see what a Fools Coat he wears behind . 8. Well Stoick , may you sell at dearer rate Your Merchandize , and get your lost Estate ; So You ( for there are many sorts ) explain What kind of madness 't is that heats my Brain , For sure methinks I am a sober Man. Do'st think Agave when she grasp't the head Of her own Son , thought she her self was mad ? Well then I 'me mad , 't is true , but fain would know , Oblige me Stoick once , and freely show What kind of Madness I 'me addicted to . Then learn , tho you are dwarfish , thin , and small , You raise your self to be accounted tall : Yet laugh when Turbo in his Arms appears , Look how he struts , and what a Port he bears ! Tho He hath far a greater bulk than Thee , And therefore art thou not as vain as He ? What e're Mecaenas does , and is it true , That He is Rivall'd by Pedantick you ? When the old Frog was gone by chance abroad , An Ox came by and on her young ones trod : One scap't , and told her that a mighty Beast , Had trod upon her young , and kill'd the rest : How big said she ? As big as I am now : And swells , Yes , yes , as big again as You : What bigger still ? And then she swells again , Yes bigger , bigger , and you strive in vain ; You 'l never be as big , altho you swell Untill you burst ; This Image fits thee well : And thus to prove thee Frantic all conspire , Now add thy Poems , that is Oyl to Fire , Those prove thee mad , if nothing else were shown ; If any Poet 's sober , thou art One. Thy malice I conceal , but why do'st wear A finer Suit than thy Estate will bear ; Hold Damasippus ; I forbear to shew Thy burning Lust , The greater Mad-man You , Spare me at last the Lesser of the Two. SATYR IV. The Argument of the Fourth Satyr . He makes Catius tell him the several Precepts that are to be observ'd in making a Feast , by this means showing these , that pride themselves in this Art , to be very ridiculous . WHence Catius pray ? and whither ? Sir I vow I wish I had , but I han't leisure now To tell my rules , the best that e're were known , Better than what Pythagoras has shown , Or Plato taught ; but Sir I must be gone : I must confess 't was rude Impertinence To interrupt a busy Man of Sense At such a time , but pardon the offence : For , Sir , what ever 't is you have forgot , You 'l mind again , and soon recall the thought ; Whether 't was fixt on Nature , or on Art ; For You are deeply skill'd in either part : I was considering how I should retain What I have learn'd , it asks a subtle brain , A Man of deep contrivance , sense , and thought , So fine the Precepts , and so finely wrought . His name , a Stranger , or a Roman tell , I 'le sing the Precepts , but the Man conceal : Choose Long Eggs still , for those are hard and sound , Cock Eggs , more white and sweeter than the round : The Cale that grows on Hills , or barren Fields , Is better far than what the Garden yields : Moist ground e'en Odcomb Plants will quickly spoyl , They tastless grow and watrish as the soil . Suppose a Friend an unexpected Guest Comes late , and You have nothing ready drest , Drown Hens in Wine , I learn't this Art at Court , 'T will make the flesh eat wonderfully short . The Meadow Mushrooms are the safer food , Poys'nous the rest , at least not half so good ; I 'le give him health , that when his Meals are done Eats juicy Mulberrys pluckt before the Sun Doth rise too high , and scorch with heat of Noon : Aufidius , thus says Story , us'd to take His Mornings draught of Hony mixt with Sack , This was ill done , with Liquors only mild , E're breakfast Empty Veins are safely fill'd , What e're some fancy , I have Cause to think Smooth Mead in Morning is the better drink : When bound too much , sweet Mallows quickly clear Thy Gutts from stoppage , and thy Mind from fear ; Or Cockle Fish , or Sorrel newly ripe , With Coan white wine sawce will ease the gripe , Better than the old Midwife Glister-pipe : The Shell-fish with the growing Moons encrease , Yet different sorts are found in different Seas ; All have not good : the Lucrine Shells exceed Those various Purples that soft Baja breed , Oysters low Crice , some Misenian Coasts And Scollops large soft . Tarent loudly boasts : Let none pretend to have an Art in Feasts Till He 's exact , and Critical in Tasts : 'T is vain for him to buy the dearest Fish , That after knows not how to cook the dish , What must be stew'd , what boyl'd will grace a Feast , And what the Stomach of the glutted Guest ; Make him forget his Belly 's full , restore Lost Appetite , and tempt him on to more . Bores fed on Acorns , caught in Umbria's Wood ; Bend down his dishes with their weighty load , That would avoid dull , mean , or tastless food : For no wise Palates the Laurentans choose , Vile meat and fat with plashy reeds and Ouze : Goats bred on Vines , not always dainty fare , Wise Palates choose the Wings of breeding Hare : What Fish of all the sorts , what Birds are best , And at what Age , and how they should be drest , Before the World saw me were hardly known , All those are pure inventions of my own . Some spend their time , and hope to gain applause For minding nothing but new Cates , and Sawce , But Men of Art must still their Cares divide , Not mind one thing , and neglect all beside , Nor whilst they 're curious in their Wine and Ale , Ne're heed what Oyl they pour upon their Cale : If full of Lees , if thick your Massick Wine , Set it abroad by Night 't will make it fine ; Take off those Smells that hurt the Nerves , and wast The Spirits ; Hemp-seed spoyls its proper tast : Those cheating Rogues , that when the Wine decays , With their Surrentine mix Falernian Lees , This dasht Wine quickly cleanse with Pidgeous Eggs , Those falling down precipitate the Dregs : You have drunk briskly , and your friend decays ; Then give him pickled Hearings , those will raise And whet his Stomach for another glass . For Lettice after Wine 's not half so good , It swims on drink , and makes the Stomach crude : When He 's too full , then Gammon's only fit , Sawsage provokes him to another bit ; If these won't do , of it He scorns them both , He may be whetted with a dish of Broth : To know both sorts of Broth , 't is worth your while , The Simple is compos'd of sweetest Oyl , This Oyly Wine , and Caviare only asks Such as grows mellow in Byzantian Casks : To this shred Herbs , with Safforn mixt , and boyl , And when 't is cool then add Venafrian Oyl : Some Grapes are best in Pots , all ways are try'd , In smoak the Aban Grape is better dry'd : This Grape with some sharp Sawce , round Plates to strew , With Salt and Pepper , I 'me the first that knew , And told it others , as I tell it you . 'T is a grand fault to buy the dearest fish , And after crow'd them in too straight a dish : The Guests won't like to see one take the Cup , Who stole a Pidgeon , as He brought it up , With the same hand , for that will stain the place ; Nor yet to see old dust stick round the Glass : How little Beasoms cost ? how quickly bought ? Yet if not gotten , 't is a grievous Fault . Dost think it decent to neglect thy House , Or sweep the marble Floor with dirty boughs ? Dost think 't is handsom , for the Page to spread A dirty covering o're a Gawdy Bed , Forgetful still that since these things are mean , And such as All must have that would be clean , T is worse to want these , than such dainty meat Which only Luxury or Wealth can get : Learn'd Catius by the Gods I ask this boon , Where e're you go , Sir I must have it done , Pray bring me to this copious Spring of Truth , That I may heare it drop from his own mouth ; For though you talk , as if you understood His Precepts well , and knew the rules for Food , Yet from your Lips , I 'me sure they can't be known As well , as if I heard them from his own , Besides to see the Figure of the Man Would please me much , pray show me if you can , A sweet with which , blest you are almost cloy'd , And do not value , ' cause so oft enjoy'd ; But eager I to unknown Fountains press , To draw from thence the Rules of Happiness . SATYR V. The Heads of the Fifth Satyr . A Dialogue between Tiresias and Ulysses , where He instructs him , how to get an Estate . TIresias now indulge one favor more , And teach beside what thou hast taught before , How to regain my Wealth , now I 'me poor : Why do You smile ? Let me not beg in vain , Is 't not enough that you have scap't the Main , And safely come to Ithaca again ? Unerring Prophet , see as you fore-told , I am come home again , Grey , Wrinkled , Old , And Poor : my Wives Gallants have seiz'd my Gold : My Wealth is theirs , and what is Vertue worth Without a good Estate to set it forth ? Well then , since to be poor you fear and hate , In short learn how to get a good Estate . If thou dost light on any thing that 's rare , Send it thy old rich Neighbor , never spare , If He be rich and old , without an Heir : The first ripe Apples of thy choicest Tree Offer to him before thy Deity . The Rich Man must be reverenc't more than He. What tho He be a Villain , basely bred , Hath kill'd his Brother , or his Country fled : Yet wait upon him when he please to call , And when you meet him , cringe , and give the Wall. What would you have me cringe to every Slave ? At Troy I did not so my self behave : Contending always with the Great , the Brave : Then thou l't be poor . Well Sir , my mind I 'le force To suffer this : for I have suffer'd worse . But , prithee , tell me , for I wish to know Which way I may be rich , and quickly too : Then as I told , I 'le tell thee o're agen , Still strive to please , the old and wealthy Men. Try still to get into their Wills , secure Their Love , their Humors patiently endure ; Tho two or three discerning Eyes perceive The Hook , and fly the Bait , yet never leave : Others will bite when those sly Fops are gone , Still bait thy hook , and urge thy purpose on . If any Cause , or great or small be try'd , I 'le teach thee how to choose the better Side . Be sure to plead for him that 's childless , old , And rich , tho He is impudently bold , And sues his better , still pervert the Laws , And start new Quirks , and scorn the better Cause , And better Man , if He hath hopeful Boys To be his Hiers , or teeming Wife enjoys . Then Sir or Squire ( for Title hugely takes Grave softheads ) Me your Friend your Vertue makes , I know the Law , and have a ready Tongue , And rather , Sir , then you shall suffer wrong I 'le loose these Eyes ; My utmost Care be us'd That you be neither cheated nor abus'd . And you may take your pleasure , sit at ease , Ne're fear , I 'le pawn my Life for your success . Do you still mind this Cause , and that alone What ever weather 't is , or if , the Sun With Dog days beams cleaves e'en the marble Stone ; Or ( as fat Furius hath it ) all below Is Ice , and Jove o'respews the Alps with snow . Whilst one stands by , and jogs his Neighbor , see , How fine a Lawyer 's that , That , that is He , How useful to his Friends , and how He sweats , And Pleads ! This brings more Gudgeons to thy Nets . Besides , if any hath a sickly Hier And good Estate , then make thy Interest there , Lest courting childless Persons still , thy Arts appear . Creep gently in , untill your hopes you seize , Be second Heir , and rise by just degrees , And so if your young Boys disease prevails : Thou shalt have all : This method seldom fails . If any bids thee read his Will , deny ; Yet slyly with the corner of thy Eye Run quickly ore , the two or three first lines , ( There 's Reason for 't ) and see if He designs Thee the sole Hier , or else with many joyns . For time shall come , as years in order flow , When one a Scribe shall bob the gapeing Crow : What art thou mad , or dost design to see , If such abstruse discourse can puzle me ? Ulysses , what I sing shall be the state Of Things to come , I read the leaves of Fate , And distant Objects see in the event , Then prethee tell me , what that Riddle meant . When one , a Youth of Great Aenaeas Race , The Parthiane terror rules the Earth and Seas ; Coranus weary of a single Life , Takes chuff Nasica's stately maid to Wife ; Coranus then shall beg him to peruse The Will He makes , Nasica long refuse , At last consents , but what he reads , appears No Legacy to Him , and His , but Tears : Now if his Servants manage him ; commend , And make his greatest Favourite thy Friend , Besure be lavish in his praise , and then , When thou art gone , He 'l praise Thee o're again . This Method's good , but 't is the best design To storm the Man himself , and take him in . If He makes Verses tho extremely lewd , Admire , and swear his Fustian Rhymes are good , Or if He whores , besure his wish prevent , Let thy Penelope be freely sent : And dost thou think , that she the Wise , the Chast , Who all the numerous Woers Arts surpast , Will yield to him , and be a Whore at last ? Ay , those were artless Youths , they knew not how To treat , and rather came to eat then Woe ; So she was chast , but when she shall perceive , And share with Thee , the Presents He can give , Like Dogs once blooded , she will never leave . I 'le tell the true , and what I chanc't to know , A woman dy'd at Thebes not long ago ; And thus by Will She did injoyn her Heir , First oyl my Corps , and to the Sepulcher , Upon thy naked back my Body bear . This spake the Will , and this , as most believ'd , That she might then slip from him she contriv'd , For He was too observant whilst she liv'd : Do you be cautious still in your Address : Too often , or too seldom will displease , The grave Morose do hate a pratling Tongue , That speaks unask't , yet be not dumb too long : But , like arch Davus in the Play attend , Your neck awry , as fearful to offend : Still show the greatest Care that can be shown , More careful of his Life than of your own : When e're the Air is sharp besure to mind , And eagerly request him , pray be kind To your dear health , and me , nor trust the Wind. If throng'd , thrust Thou , and free him from the Throng , If talkative , endure his tedious Tongue : If he be vain , and loves his own dear praise , Be sure commend and high Encomiums raise , Still blow the Bladder never leave him off , Till He shall bless himself , and cry , enough : Now when he dyes , and frees thee from thy Care , Thy dreaming Hopes , and melancholly Fear , And broad awak't , you find that you are Heir : Then sigh , and is my dear Campanion gone ! Where shall I have so kind , so good a One ! If possible , your greatest Art imploy To shed some tears , 't is good to mask your joy : And if you are to make the Funeral , Be sure be noble , that will take with All : Or if thy fellow Heir 's a sickly Man , Then wheedle thus , and chouse him if you can : I want that ready Mony you can spare , And if you please , Sir you shall buy my share ; But hold fierce Pluto calls me back to Hell , And I can talk no more , good speed , farewell . SATYR VI. The Heads of the Sixth Satyr . ( 1. ) His moderate wishes . ( 2. ) The troubles of a City Life . ( 3. ) The Pleasures of the Country . ( 4. ) Little without fear , is best . 1. THese were my Prayers , and these my constant Vows , A pretty Seat , a Fountain near my House , A Garden , and a little Grove of Trees , 'T is well , the Gods have given more than these ; Enough kind Mercury , no more I crave , Only continue still , what now I have . If I am not profuse , and wast , or raise My moderat Fortune , by unlawful Ways . If I ne're wish , Oh that the Gods would yield , That Nook that spoyls the Figure of my Field : Or , oh that I a pot of Gold had found , As he who hir'd to Till anothers Ground , By the assistance of a lucky God Grew rich , and bought the very Land he plow'd . But if I live content , preserve my store , And be my Guard , as thou hast been before ; Defend my Cattle , and my Flocks , be kind , And fatten all I have , except my Mind : Then when I from the noisy Town retreat , And free from Bus'ness take my Country Seat : What shall I do but write , what Subject choose , But easy Satyr , and improve my Muse . Here no Ambition kills , no heavy Wind , Affects my Body and corrupts my Mind . To Fields the Gods long Life , and plenty gave , No sickly Autumns here inrich the Grave . 2. Old Father Janus ( thus the Gods decree ) We Men begin our Years and Toyl with Thee . With Thee my Verse , you hurry me to Town , To be a Witness , and I must be gone , Tho 't Snows , and Winter whirls the freezing day In shortest Circles , yet I must away . And then when my ungrateful task is done , Press thro the Crowd , and justle every One That doth not make me room , and thro 'em down , Whylst He that 's kick't , crys Plague ! and why so fast ? Pox ! What d' ye mean , and why in so much Hast ? When you run to my Lord , you scour the Street Press on , and kick and justle all you meet , And this I swear is pleasant , this is sweet ! But when I come a busy Crowd appears Of loud impertinent Petitioners , And their requests dance thick about my Ears , One begs that you would be at Court betime To morrow morning , and appear for him . The Scribes request , that I would get your Ear , About a public , new , and great Affair : Another crys , good Horace , get this Bill Sign'd by Mecoenas . If I can I will. But he seems discontent , and urges on , Nay , if you will , I 'me sure it may be done . 'T is eight Years since almost Mecoenas chose , And made me a Retainer to his House : Yet only such a One , as free from Care , He 'd sometimes take in 's Coach to take the Air , Talk common Talk , as how d' ye like the Play , The Fencers were well matcht , what news to day , The Morning 's cold , and we must have a Care , And such like common Things , as these appear , That may be trusted in a leaky Ear. Hence every day Men envy more my State , He at the Play with great Mecoenas sate , Or Bowl'd , cry all , He 's Fortunes darling Son , And thus the silly Chat runs o're the Town . Then all that meet me , come and ask the News , My Patience and my pretious Time abuse : Pray Sir ( For you so much at Court must know , ) D' ye hear what News from warlike Dacia ? No. Come , You 're a Wag. Pox take me if I do . Pray Sir , the Lands that Caesar vow'd to share , Amongst the Souldiers to reward the War , What must they be in Sicily or here ? When I profess my Ignorance , Morose They all imagine me , and plaguy close ; And thus I loose my days , but wish repeat , 3. Oh! When shall I enjoy my Country Seat ? Oh! when remov'd from noise to quiet Peace , Amidst my learned Books , my sleep and ease ; Whilst hours do smoothly flow and free from strife , Forget the Troubles of a busy Life ? Oh Beans Pythagoras his nearest kin , You lovely Herbs , and most delicious Chine When shall I see , when feed on you agen ? Oh sweet , Oh heavenly Feasts , where I and mine , Before my houshold Gods securely dine ; When I my self shall tast a dish of meat , Then give 't my wanton Slaves , and bid 'em eat : When all my Guests drink freely what they please , No Glass is mark't or fill'd , but more or less , As mirth invites ; No drunken Laws to force , And all the time is full of good discourse , We talk of no Mans Farms , or Wealth , or Skill , Or whether Caesar's Fool danc't well or ill . But we discourse , of what we ought to do , And what 't is fault and folly not to know ; As whether Wealth or Vertue brings a Man To happiness , or whether Leagues began From Interest or Right , what cheats the Crowd , And what is good , and what the greatest Good : 4. My Neighbor Gerrius , as the Matter falls , Mixes his merry , pat , instructive Tales : And thus for Instance , when by chance he hears Old Alpius wealth admir'd , tho full of Cares , He tells this Story . Once upon a Time , ( As Tales begin ) and in a moderate clime : A Country Mouse a City entertain'd , His old Acquaintance , and his special Friend , This Mouse was thrifty , yet would kindly Feast When time requir'd , and nobly treat his Guest : In short , now striving every way to please , He freely brought his hoarded Oats and Pease , His nibbled Bacon in his mouth he brings , His Apples and a thousand pretty things , His Nuts , his Grapes well-dry'd , and try'd his best , By choice variety to please his Guest . Who sate , and as affraid to hurt his mouth , Did nibble here and there with dainty Tooth : Whilst he lys by in straw , and Barley eats , Or Chaff ; and leaves his Guest the better Meats . At last the City Mouse , begins ; My Friend Pray how can You delight , how love to spend A Life in Woods , and this unwholsome Cave ? 'T is Melancholy , 't is so like a Grave . Now would you rather live in Town than here , And Mens converse , before the Woods prefer ; Come , go with me , I 'le get thee better Chear . Since all must dye , and must resign their Breath , Nor great , nor little is secure from Death ; Then spend thy days in Pleasure , Mirth and Sport. And live like One , that Minds his Life is short . These Words prevail'd upon the Country Mouse , So she grows jocand strait , and leaves the House , Longing for those fine things ; fō both go on , Eager whilst now 't was Night to reach the Town . 'T was Midnight full ; when now the Mice are com● They take a Rich Mans house , a stately Room , Where Purple Covering shone on Ivory Seats , And in the Pantry lay whole heaps of Meats , The sumptuous Relics of his noble treats . The City Mouse strait seats his country Guest On Cloath of State , and waits , and carves the Feast Course after Course , a thousand dainty Things , And like a Servant , tasts what e're he brings . The Country Mouse pleas'd with his Bed of State , And various dainties , blest his change of Fate . Feeds heartily , when lo the Servants come , And Dogs rush in and bark about the Room . Both start , both leave their Beds with eager hast , Both fly for Life , and hardly ' scape at last . Then says the Country Mouse , false Joys farewel , I do not like this Life , my quiet Cell Is better , I can feast and wanton there , On Chaff or Acorns , free from Noise and Fear . SATYR VII . The Heads of the Seventh Satyr . ( 1. ) A Servant instructs his Master , about his unsettledness in humour . ( 2. ) His Lust . ( 3. ) The vicious Man , the greatest Slave . 1. WEll Sir , I hear , and have some News to tell But I 'me affraid , you will not like it well From me your Slave : Who Davus is it you ? Davus the faithful Servant and the true , Davus that fancys that sufficient store , Which nature wants supplies , and ask no more ; Go to , and as our Ancient Laws decree , Use boldly thy December 's Liberty , Speak fairly what thou wilt , thou mayst be free . Some Men are constant in their Vice , and run The same Course still , and urge their purpose on : Some are unsteddy , various in a Trice , Now all for Vertue , and now all for Vice. Fop Priscus with himself doth disagree , Sometimes he wears no Rings , and sometimes three . He changes every hour his Cloaths and Gown , Now takes the best House , now the worst in Town , And there he goes as nasty as a Clown . Now studies hard at Athens , now does come , And turns a great Gallant , and whores at Rome , The most unsteddy , fickle Man on Earth , As if Vertumnus self had rul'd his Birth . Just opposite to him Vulturius stands , For he when the just Gout had lam'd his hands , Did hire a Boy , so much he lov'd the Vice , To take up for him , and to throw the Dice . He that is constant in his vicious race , Runs the same Course , and keeps an equal pace ; Is certainly not half so great a wretch , As He that now rides loose , and now on stretch . Well now you Rogue , suppose this railing true , What doth it mean ? Sir it reflects on you . How so you Rascal ? Sir you use to praise The Antients living , and commend their ways , Yet if some God would give you leave to choose , Or force you to the like , you would refuse . ' Cause you don't think that right you now commend , Or else are too unsteddy to defend , What once you thought ; you stick , and strive in vain From this deep mire to free your foot again : At Rome , Oh how you praise the country Air ! And fickly Rome commend , when you are here : If uninvited , Oh what dainty fare Your little Sallat yields , and free from Care ; These troublesome Lords at Rome invite me still , I go 't is true , but 't is against my will. And happy , happy me you use to say , That I have leave to Sup at home to day ; But if my Lord Mecoenas doth invite , Tho you are not to go before 't is Night ; Yet eager you by peep of day prepare , The house straight rings , So ho , Jack , Tom , whose there ? Who brings me Oyl , you Dogs , does no one hear ? My Lords waits for me ; then in hast you run , Whilst thy Retainers curse , when thou art gone : Well then , I grant a Feast 's , a powerful Charm , Oh the resistless force of Meat that 's warm , It leads me captive , and my Sense does seize , I 'me Glutton , Tospot , and what e're you please : So you but freely grant your Vice at least , As bad , altho in softer Terms 't is drest ; Suppose I 'me not so wise , as thee my Slave , Then cease to look so haughty and so brave , And do not rage , and do not break my head , Whilst I discourse what Crispin's Porter said : 2. You love Mens Wives , and I , my little Whores , Which is the greatest Fault now , mine or yours ? When Nature Fires , and they have quencht my flame ▪ I 'me satisfi'd , nor do I loose my Fame , Nor fear that they will Jilt , and entertain A wittier , richer , and a finer Man. But when you slily sneak abroad by night , Your Rings and all the Habit of a Knight , Thy Roman Garb thrown off ; from nobly brave You sink into the Figure of a Slave : A nasty Vail thrown o're thy fragrant Head , And softly brought to the Adulterous Bed , Are you not such a One as you appear ? When introduc't you shake and tremble there , Thy raging Lust disputing with thy Fear : What difference is it whether you engage To fight for hire , and bear the Victor's rage , Be cut and slash't and kill'd upon the Stage ? Or by the Conscious Chamber-Maid be prest Quite double , neck and heels into a Chest ? Hath not the injur'd Husband of the Whore To punish both a right and Lawful Power ? And will not all his fiercest rage be just On thee , that didst debauch her to thy Lust ? Yet she ne're changes Garb , nor shifts her place , Nor takes such pains to get the foul embrace ; Nor injures Heaven , nor swears such Oaths as you , Whilst the fond Creature doubts you 'l prove untrue . But wise you venture Slaves severest Fate , And to a Man enrag'd , and swoln with hate , Commit thy Fame , thy Life , and thy Estate . Hast thou escap't ? I hope the warning's fair , And you 'l prevent the like with greatest care , What nothing do ? What dost Thou strive to run , The same mad Course , and be once more undone ? 3. Oh! Slave so oft ! What Beast that breaks the Chain , Once free , will come and take the Clog again ? You say you 'r no Adulterer , nor I A Thief , because when some Observer's nigh , I leave your Plate , though with a longing Eye . Remove the danger and restraining force , And Nature loose will run an evil Course . Are you my Master ? you that do appear , A worse and greater Slave than me by far , Whom nothing can redeem from wretched fear ? Three stroaks of th' Praetor's Rod can make me free , Whilst Tyrant Passion still will Master Thee . Besides , If He 's a Vicar , as you please to phrase , ( This Reason's good ) that other Slaves obeys , Or fellow Slave ; Sir , I would gladly know What 't is that I am in respect of you ? For you , my Master , others basely serve , Like Puppets moving by anothers Nerve . Who then is free ? The Wise , that can controle , And Govern all the Passions of the Soul : Whom Poverty , nor Chains , no Death affright , And proof against the Charms of vain delight . Whom feeble Fortune strives in vain to wound , So closely gather'd in a perfect Round , And so exactly smooth'd by honest Arts , That nought without can stick upon the even Parts . Observe this Free-man's Character , and see If any part of it belongs to Thee : A Thousand Pound beg'd by thy costly Whore , And if deny'd , she turns thee out of Door , Throws Water in thy Face , then change her mind , And call thee back , and vow she will be kind . Now loose your Neck from this Ignoble Chain , And boldly say that you are free ; in vain , You can't , for Tyrant Lords thy Will controle , They prick thee on , and scourge thy wav'ring Soul. You , when you spend whole hours and trifle days , Whilst You upon a piece of Painting gaze : Why do not you commit as great a fault , As I that stare upon a meaner draught ? Admire how Janus and how Fulvius stand , In Fencing Postures , drawn by a rude hand , In Chalk or Char-coal Paint , and there they look As if they fought , and mov'd to shun the stroak : But I 'me call'd lazy Rogue , and beaten still , A Judge in Painting You , and Man of skill . If I but trivial Cakes delight to Eat , 'T is Gluttony , whilst your Luxurious Treat Is Vertue , for it shows your Mind is great . Why now to serve my Palate should it be , ( For I am whipt ) a greater Crime in Me , Than You ? Since thine 's more costly Luxury , Why then are you not scourg'd as well as I ? Because , perhaps , thy Feasts corrupt thy Blood , Diseases spring from thy Luxurious Food , And weakned Legs refuse the sickly Load . Doth that Boy sin that steals a Comb by night , To buy some Grapes to please his Appetite ? And is He faultless that when Lust Commands , To please his lavish Belly sells his Lands ? Besides all this , You with your self can't stay One Hour , nor rightly spend a leasure day , You like a Vagrant shun your self , design , Now by forgetful sleep , and now by Wine , To steal from Cares : Poor Slave ! In vain you try , Black Care pursues as fast as you can fly . Death ! Where 's my Stick ? Why so ? Death ! Where 's my Sword ? He 's mad , or else makes Verses : Dog , one word , One tittle more ! You censure my Designs ? Fly Rascal , fly , or thou shalt to the Mines . SATYR VIII . The Argument of the Eighth Satyr . A Description of a sordid Feast , with which one Fuscus Nasidenus Entertain'd them . HOw do you like rich Nasidenus cheer ? For when I thought last night to have you here , 'T was said , that e're since Noon you had been there . Troth never merrier ; Pray Sir grant my wish , And , if no trouble , what was the first Dish ? " The first Dish , Sir , was a Lucanian Bore , " Caught whilst the Wind was South , the Master swore , And round the brim lay Lettice to excite , And Betes to raise the lazy Appetite ; Anchove , Pickled-Herrings , mixt with these Lay Raddish , bitter Herbs , and Coan Lees. This Dish remov'd , two ready Servants come , One clean'd the Table , t'other swept the Room , And gather'd up the Relicts of the Feast , The Bones , and all that might offend the Guest : Just as at Ceres Feast th' Athenian Maid , Comes black Hydaspes bearing on his Head Large Falks of White , and Alcon Flasks of Red. Then says mine Host ; My Lord , if more than these You like another , call for what you please , My Cellar 's stor'd ; Poor Wealth , dishonest Pride , But prethee tell me who was there beside ? Sir , I sate first , and , stay , I think 't was so , Turinus next , Vibidius sate below , Next Balatro ; below him Porcius lyes , Porcius the merry'st archest Wag that is , To swoop whole Custards , and to swallow Pies . All uninvited , but as Lords are wont , Mecoenas brought them all on his account . Next above these Nomentan takes his place , He that could point at every hidden Sawce ; For we , the rest , on Fish and Fowl did feast , Concealing different from their proper tast . This streight appear'd , when by his luscious rules He carv'd for me th' untasted guts of Soles . And after to instruct me , gravely said , Figs pluck't before the Moon is full , look red ; But thro this difference would you nicely pry He 'l tell you more , He 's more expert than I. Mean while Vibidius in a jeering tone Crys ; Balatro , come prethee nothings done , Unless we drink him dry ; a Bigger Glass ; At that Death-pale spread o're our Fuscus face , For good stout drinkers He did chiefly fear , ' Cause such , when full , with greater freedom jeer ; Or ' cause hot Liquors pall the subtle tast , And so would spoyl the goodness of his feast : Yet on it goes , the Bowls are freely crown'd , And supernaculum the health goes round : The chiefest Guests the while few bumpers tost , They spar'd the Bottles , and the bleeding Host . Now comes midst swimming Shrimps a Lampry spread In a large Dish , and thus the Master said ; This Fish was caught when full of Spawn , ( that Course Is good ) for after Spawning's done , 't is worse : The Broth is made of Oyl , the best that flow'd From the Venafrian Press ; to make it good , Wine five years old , and Caviare I joyn , In boyling , Sirs , I use Italian wine , But when 't is boyl'd , with Pepper spic'd and drest With Vinegar , the Chain Pickle's best : To boyl green Rockets , with 't was never known Before my time , I 'me sure that Art 's my own . Salt water Crawfish first Cotillus stew'd , And kept them whole , for they are better food Then when i th' Shell , the Pickle makes them good . But whilst he talkt , and whilst He prais'd the Fish The Hangings tumbling down fell o're the Dish : Bringing black dust , as much , as Whirlwinds raise When nimble Storms sweep o're the dusty ways : We started all , and thought it worse than 't was , But when no harm appear'd , each kept his place : Our Host streight hung his head , He wept and sigh'd As if his darling Son had lately dy'd ; He had wept on , his Grief have known no end , But wise Nomentan thus reliev'd his Friend ; Unlucky Chance what God is so unkind , Thou lov'st to break the measures Man design'd ; Some bit their Napkins , yet could scarce forbear To laugh aloud , whilst with a bitter Sneer Crys jeering Balatro , Well , we strive in vain , 'T is the sad fate of Life , and none can gain By Labour , Fame that answers to their Pain . That ever I should prove so troublesome For one fine Treat , when I could dine at home ? That I should vex you to provide a Feast , To see your Broth well boyl'd , your Servants drest , Besides th' unlucky chance that waits on all , As if , as but just now , the Hangings fall ; The Footboy stumbling spoyl a costly fish , Or Plowman Servant trip and break the dish . But as in Captains oft ill chance reveals The Entertainers Wit , which good conceals ; Then says mine Host , Ah , may'st Thou still be blest , Thou art so good a Man , so kind a Guest : And calls for 's Shoes ; then you may quickly hear Divided whispers spread thro every Ear. No Play could ever please me half so well , But what you laught at after prethee tell : Whilst hot Vibidius with a waggish look Crys to the Servants , is the Bottle broak That I can get no Wine to this dry Feast ; And merry Balatro promotes the jest ; Mine Host comes in , and with a smiling face , About to mend by Art his late disgrace , His Servants following brought a Charger fill'd With one poor little Crane cut up and grill'd , Cover'd with Salt and Meal ; another brings Pluck't off and by themselves a Rabbets wings , For those , forfooth , when by themselves are best , And sweeter far than eaten with the rest : Then roasted Blackbirds Doves their rumps cut off , All pretty sorts of Meat , and sweet enough ; But he with long harangues to every guest Explain'd their Natures , how and why 't was drest ; Whom thus we punish'd , each Man left his seat , We fled the Banquet , and refus'd to eat ; As if the Witch Canidia's poysnous breath Had blown upon 't , and fill'd the Feast with Death . The End of the Second Book of Satyrs . EPISTLES . BOOK I. The Heads of the first Epistle . ( 1. ) He shews his desire for Philosophy . ( 2. ) 'T is to be preferr'd before all . ( 3. ) The People prefer Gold before Vertue . ( 4. ) Why He cannot agree with the Crowd . MY Lord Mecaenas whom I gladly choose , The first , and the last labour of my Muse ; Tho I have fought enough , and well before , And now dismist , have leave to fight no more : You strive to bring me on the Stage again ; My Age is not alike , unlike my Brain , Unlike my Mind , and now I write in Pain : The Fencer Vejan now grown weak with Age , Lives quietly at home , and leaves the Stage ; His Arms in great Alcides Temple plac't , Lest after all his former Glorys past , He worsted , meanly beg his life at last : And still methinks sounds thro my well purg'd Ear , A little voice , Fond Horace have a Care , And whilst 't is well release thy aged Horse , Lest when He runs but with unequal force , And stretches hard to win , He breaks his Wind , Derided , distanc't , basely lags behind : 1. And therefore all my trifling Songs adieu , I now design to seek what 's good and true , And that alone ; I scorn my wanton Muse , And lay up Precepts , such as I may use ; But if you ask me now what Sect I own , I swear a blind obedience unto none : But as the Tempest drives me so I Steer , This way or that , not setled any where : Sometimes an Active Life my Fancy draws , A strict observer of true Vertue 's Laws : Then gently slide to Aristippus School , And strive not to be rul'd by Things , but Rule : As Night to those their Mistress fails appears , As Days to Labourers , and as long the Years , When Jealous Mothers curb , to eager Heirs : So dull , and so ingrate my Time doth flow , Which hinders what I hope and wish to do : What done will profit Rich and Poor , what long Forborn , prove equal harm to Old and Young : Well , then I must content my self with this , Yours cannot be as good as Lynceus Eyes , What then , when Sore must I fit Cures despise ? You cannot Hope to have your Limbs as great As Glyco's , nor so strong and firmly set , Yet to prevent the Gout hast Thou no care ? What , if of farther progress you despair , 'T is somewhat surely to have gone thus far : Doth creeping Avarice thy mind engage ? Or doth it boyl with fiery Lust , and rage ? Why , there are Rules and Precepts that can Ease Thy Pain , and Cure great part of thy Disease : Or art Thou Vain ? Books yield a certain Spell , To stop thy Tumor ; You shall cease to swell , When you have read them thrice , and studied well : The Rash , the Lazy , Lover , none 's so wild , But may be tame , and may be wisely mild , If they consult true Vertue 's Rules with care , And lend to good advice a patient ear . 2. 'T is Vertue , Sir , to be but free from Vice , And the first step tow'rds being truly Wise Is to want folly ; You use all your skill , To shun what you suppose the greatest ill , A small Estate , or whilst you seek to gain An Office , a Repulse ; You spare no pain , You try your utmost Wit , and rack your Brain : You Sail to India , You forsake your ease , Thro raging Storms , thro Rocks and boisterous Seas , Thro Heat and Cold , and gather every Wind , To get more Wealth , and leave pale Want behind ; And yet thou wilt not take the pains to hear A wiser Man advise Thee how to Steer : Who kindly bids Thee check thy wild desire , And leave what Thou dost foolishly admire : What Wrestler that shall strive in every Town , At every Wake will scorn th' Olympian Crown ? Who doth not cheap and easie wreaths disdain ? And who would have a Crown without the Pain 3. The saying's true , and hath been often told , Silver 's more base than Gold , than Vertue Gold : O Romans , Romans , Gold must first be sought , Then Vertue , that 's worth but a second thought : This is the Tune of every Trading Fool , Old Men , and every Boy repeats this Rule , That with his Books and Satchel goes to School : If you have not Ten Thousand Pound in store , But want a Thousand or a little more , Tho you have Vertue , Constancy , and skill In Arts , thou shalt be thought a Common still : And yet our Boys another Tale will tell , And say , You shall be King if you do well ; Be this thy Guard , and this thy strong defence , A vertuous Heart , and unstain'd Innocence ; Not to be conscious of a shameful sin : Nor yet look pale for Scarlet Crimes within . Now prethee tell me which you think is best , Or Otho's Law , or this by Boys exprest , This Song which makes the Vertuous Man a King And which the Noble Ancients us'd to sing ? Which best adviseth , He that bids thee hate Thy Common rank , and get a vast Estate , Justly , if canst ; if not , at any rate ; Only that at a Play or Puppet Show , You may sit nearer by a Seat or two ? Or He that bids Thee Steer a Vertuous Course , And nobly scorn , proud feeble Fortune's force ? 4. Should the Crowd ask , why since I live in Town , Walk the same Streets with them , I do not own The same Opinion ? Why I don't approve , And hate the Things that they do hate and love ? My Answer must be what sly Reynard said To the old sickly Lion , I 'me afraid , Great King of Beasts , for all the treads I see Are to thy Den , none back , that frightens me : Thou art a Many-headed Monster , Rome , I know not what to imitate , or whom : Some love to Farm Revenues , others Bait With Gifts to catch a Widdows great Estate : Whilst others spread their Nets for wealthy Fools , And catch them , and secure the doating Shoals : Some by base Usury their Wealth increase : But grant that various Humors various please : Yet are They constant still , do they approve For one hours time together what They love ? For instance , If the wealthy Wanton says , This little Baiae is the pleasant'st place ; His hasty wishes no delays afford , And the Sea quickly sees her loving Lord : There if his fancy leads another way , As if a Sign from Heaven He must obey ; Come Work-men gather up your Tools , and drive To morrow to Theanum , there I 'le live : Doth He design to day to take a Wife ? No life , He cries , is like a single life : If not , He Swears the marry'd only blest ; What Chain can hold this varying Proteus fast ? What doth the Poor Man ? Laugh , he shifts his home , His Baths , His Barbers , and his eating Room , Or hires a paltry Sculler for a Groat , And spews like Nobles in their Pleasure-Boat : Suppose some blundering Barbers notch my hair And then I meet you , streight you smile and stare Or if my Gown is botch't , my Vest unfit , My Cloaths ill made , You laugh at such a sight : What when my Mind is with it self at strife , And disagrees in all the Course of Life ; When what it hated now , it now desires , What now it threw away , it now admires , Unsettled as the Sea , or flitting Air , It razes , builds , and changes round to square ; You count me mad in Fashion , you forbear To laugh , nor think I need a Doctor 's care ; Or Guardian from the Praetor , tho my Friend , On whom my Fortunes , and my Life depend , Who grieves if I but cut my Finger's end . In short , the Wise Man's less than Jove alone , For all is His , and He himself 's his own ; Rich , King of Kings , and of a Noble Stem , But chiefly well , unless when vex't with Flegm . EPISTLE II. The Heads of the Second Epistle . ( 1. ) He commends Homer to his Friend Lollius . ( 2. ) Delivers several Praecepts for a good Life . 1. WHilst you to plead at Rome , my Friend , remain , I here have read my Homer o're again : Who hath what 's base , what decent , just and good , Clearer than Crantor or Chrysippus show'd : My reasons for 't , if you have leisure , hear ; That Part that tells us how in tedious War , For Paris Lust , Greece strove with Phrygia , sings The Passions of the Crowd , and foolish Kings : Antenor thinks it best to end the Wars , And give back Helen ; wanton Paris Swears , He can't be happy if He lives alone , His Kingdom can't content when she is gone : Atrides and Achilles chide , and hate , And Nestor strives to cool the hot debate : One rob'd of what He eagerly desir'd , Was rais'd by Love ; but both by fury fir'd : He counsels both , and strives to make them Friends , The People suffer when the Prince offends : By Lust and Rage were thousand mischiefs done , By Pride and Treachery , in Camp and Town : And then what Courage , and what Wit can do , He usefully doth in Ulysses show ; Who , Troy o'rethrown , to many Countrys went , And strictly view'd their Towns and Government And whilst thro raging Seas He ventur'd home , Met thousand dangers , and did ovecome : Still careful of his Men He did advance , And safely stem'd the Waves of dang'rous Chance : The Sirens Songs , and Circe's Bowl you know , Which like his Mates had He but tasted too , Base and unthinking He had serv'd the Whore , In shape of nasty Dog , or mi'ry Bore : We are the Number , born to drink and eat , The Woers of Penelope , the spruce , the neat , The lazy Rascals ; and whose whole design , Was to get vicious pleasure , and be fine : Who thought it vertuous to sleep half the Day , And lull their Cares with Musick , Dance and Play. 2. Rogues rise before 't is light to kill and Thieve , Wilt Thou not wake to save thy self alive ? If now , when well , you will not leave your Ease , In vain you 'l try when prest with a Disease : And when you cannot sleep , except you read , And in good things employ your watchful head , Pale Treacherous Sins will swift approaches make , And Lust or Envy vex Thee whilst awake : For why , when any thing offends thy Eyes , Dost thou streight seek for ease , and streight advise Yet if it shall oppress thy Mind , endure The ills with Patience , and defer the Cure ? He that hath once begun a good design , Hath finish't half ; dare to be wise , begin : He that deferrs to live is like the Clown , Who waits , expecting till the River 's gone : But that still rouls its Streams , and will roul on . We seek for Wealth , a good and fruitful Wife , The pleasures , comforts , and supports of Life ; Our Woods are tam'd , and plough'd encrease our store ; He that hath got enough desires no more : Did ever Lands , or heaps of Silver ease The feav'rish Lord ? Or cool the hot Disease ? Or free his Mind from Cares , He must have health , He must be well , that would enjoy his wealth . He that desires or fears , diseas'd in mind , Wealth profits him as Pictures do the blind ; Plaisters the Gouty Feet ; and charming Airs And sweetest sounds the stuft and troubled Ears : The musty Vessels sour what they contain ; Scorn Pleasure , Pleasure hurts that 's bought with pain . The Greedy want , to Wishes fix an End ; The Envious pine at th' fatness of their Friend . The fiercest Tyrants never yet could find , A greater rack than Envy to the mind : The Man that doth too hastily engage , That is all fire , and cannot curb his rage , Baffles his own design , whilst weaker grown , With malice unreveng'd He strikes too soon : Anger 's a short frenzy , curb thy Soul , And check thy rage , which must be rul'd or rule : Use all thy Art , with all thy force restrain , And take the strongest Bitt , and firmest Rein : The Jocky trains the young and tender Horse , Whilst yet soft mouth'd He breeds him to the Course : The Whelp since when i' th' Hall He learn'd to bark At Bucks-skins stuff'd , now ranges o're the Park : Now , now , whilst young , with vertuous Rules begin ; Such holy Precepts now , and free from sin . What season'd first the Vessel keeps the Tast ; Now if you lag behind , or run too fast , I stay not for the slow , I mind my Race , Nor press on those that run a swifter pace . EPISTLE III. To his Friend Julius Florus . A familiar Epistle enquiring about several matters . MY Julius Florus , I would gladly hear , Where Claudius Caesar's kinsman kindles War ; Doth Thrace or Hebrus bound in Chains of Snow , Or doth the Hellespont , I wish to know , Or Asia's fruitful Fields detain you now ? What do the Wits design ? Who nobly dares , ( This I would know ) to write great Caesar's Wars : And who inspir'd with an unusual rage , Shall spread his Fights and Leagues thro future Age. And what doth Titius , He of growing Fame , Who doth not fear to drink of Pindar's Stream ? Who scorns known Springs and Lakes , that glorious He , And is He well , and doth He think of Me ? Doth He , the Muse propitious , nobly sing , And fit to Roman Harps the Theban string ? Or is he writing Plays , and treads the Stage , In murd'ring Verse , and swells with Tragick rage ? And how doth Celsus do ? Whom I still warn , as I have often done , To get some Stock , some riches of his own : And not from others labours kept for fame , In wise Apollo's Temple steal a name : Lest all the Birds should come , and claim their own , And th'Chough be his , when her stoln Plumes are gone . What do you do ? What will your Mind produce ? From what sweet Beds of Thyme suck pretious juice ? For you have Wit enough , your sence is great , And not deform'dly rough , but fine and neat , Whether with poynant Tongue you plead a Cause , Defend the Innocent , and teach the Laws : Or choose soft Numbers , and smooth Poetry , The chiefest Crown still justly waits on Thee . If You could leave those Cares that num thy Mind , Shake off thy fears , and leave the Clog behind , Then you would live as Wisdom's rules advise : This is the Work , the noble Study this , This rich and poor , should make their greatest care , If we would live secure , and free from fear , To honest Men , and to our Country dear . Pray write me whether , for I wish to know , You love Numenius , as you ought to do . Or if the former difference clos'd in vain , Was never fully cur'd , but breaks again . But you in whatsoever part you live , Whether 't is heat or rashness makes you strive , Both brave and hot , and , Oh! too dear , to prove How frail are all the bands of Brothers love : Where e're you now reside , return to Rome , I feed a Steer to offer when you come . EPISTLE IV. A familiar complement to his Friend Albius Tibullus . ALbus , the fairest Critic that I know , What shall I say that you are doing now ? In Pedan fields do you design to write , More great than Cassius , and with higher flight ? Or dost thou gravely walk the healthy Wood , Considering what befits the Wise and Good ? For You are not all Body , void of Mind , The Gods have given a Soul of Noble kind ; And Wealth and Skill enough to use thy Store : What could a Nurse for her dear Child wish more ? Than that He might be Sober whilst He lives , And able to express what He conceives : Enjoy the Love of all , and Fame and Health , And cleanly Diet , with sufficient Wealth ? Whilst mid'st strong hopes and fears thy time doth wast , Think every rising Sun will be thy last ; And so the grateful unexpected Hour Of Life prolong'd , when come , will please the more : Then come and see me , now grown plump and fine , When you would laugh at one of Epicurus Swine . EPISTLE V. To his Friend Torquatus . He invites his Friend to a small Collation . IF you can sit upon a paultry Seat , My Friend Torquatus , and endure to Eat A homely Dish , a Sallad all the Treat : Sir , I shall make a Feast , my Friends invite , And beg that you would Sup with me to Night . My Liquor flow'd from the Minturnian Vine , In Taurus Consulship , 't is Common Wine ; If you have better , let the Flasks be sent ; Or let what I , the Lord , provide content : My Servants sweep and furnish every Room , My Dishes all are cleans'd against you come : Forbear thy wanton hopes , and Toyl for gain , And Moschus Cause ; 't is all but idle Pain : To morrow Caesar's Birth-day comes , to give Release to Cares , and a small time to live . Then we may sleep till Noon , and gay delight , And merry talk prolong the Summer's Night . What is my Wealth , if I must always spare ? He that lives Poor , to leave a Wealthy Heir Is near a-kin to mad . I 'le drink and play , Enjoy my self , and fling my Gold away . I 'le frolic ( let the sparing be thought wise ) Content to be esteem'd a fool for this : What cannot drunkenness effect , 't is free of Secrets , and turns hope to certainty ; It pushes on the unarm'd Man to Wars , It frees the troubled mind from weighty Cares : It teaches Arts , it teaches how to think , And what Man is not Eloquent in 's Drink ? And who tho cramp't in narrow want's not free ? Now I 'le provide ( pray leave that task to me ) I 'me willing , and I 'me fit for such a Care ) Your Seats shall be as clean as any are ; Your Napkins good , no spot shall foul the Cloth , Whose sight might make you snuff your Nose , and loath . The Cups well scour'd , the modest Table grace , The dishes shine that you may see your face . None shall be there that shall have treacherous Ears , And carry o're our Threshold what he hears : And that thy Boon Companions may be fit , Septimius too , and Brutus I 'le invite : And if no dearer Miss , or better Feast , Holds Sabin , He shall make another Guest : I 've Room enough , and each may bring his Friends , But sweat at Tables too much throng'd offends : Pray send me word what time you will be here , How many Friends you 'l bring ; forget thy Care , And whilst thy Clients throng about thy Hall , Creep forth thro the Back-door , and bob 'em All. EPISTLE VI. To his Friend Numicus , where he shows the method to gain true happiness . NOt to admire , as most are wont to do , It is the only method that I know , To make Men happy , and to keep 'em so . Some view this glittering Sun , and glorious Stars , And all the various Seasons free from fears ; Well then , those Gifts of Earth the Gums and Gold , Which sweet Arabia , and the Indies hold , Applause and Office , that mistaken good , That great Preferment of the Roman Crowd ; When these are view'd with all their gawdy show , How calm should be our Thoughts , how smooth our Brow ! Now those that fear their Opposites , admire These Toys , as much as He that doth desire ; For both sides fear lest Things their Hopes deceive , And both at sudden disappointments grieve . Whether one joy or grieve , or hate or love , Or strive to shun , or eagerly approve , 'T is all alike if the Event appears , Or worse or better than He hopes or fears , He stands amaz'd with fix't and staring Eyes , His Limbs and Soul grow stiff at the surprise : The just will be unjust , wise void of Wit , That seek e'en Vertue more than what is fit : Now go , let Gold and Statues charm thine Eyes , Go , and admire thy Gems and Tyrian Dyes : Rejoyce that when you speak Men gape and wait ; Go to the Court betimes , and come home late ; Lest Mutius reap a greater Crop of Corn , For 't is unsit , since not so nobly born . Rather let him be wonder'd at by you , Than you by him , 't is better of the Two : Whatever's under Ground Age brings to light , And that will bury too , and hide the bright : When Appius way , and Grippa's Porch shall know , And see thee famous , Thou must walk below , As Numa , and as Ancus long ago . If vexing pains thy Sides , or Kidneys seize , Then seek some present Cure for thy Disease . Would'st thou live well ? Who not ? Then quickly strive , And now since Vertue only this can give , Then leave thy false delights , and that pursue : But if you think their wild Opinion true , ( As heedless Minds the vainest things approve ) That Words make Vertue just as Trees a Grove . Then follow Wealth , make that thy chiefest Care , See none forestall , and none ingross the Fair , Or bate the prizes of thy pretious Ware. Then get one Thousand Talents , then one more , And then Another , and then square the Store ; For by this Empress Wealth is all bestow'd , A rich and honest Wife , and every Good , As Beauty , Friends , and nobleness of Blood : The Rich and Monyed Man hath every grace , Perswasion in his Tongue , and Venus in his Face . The Cappadocian King is poor in Coin , Tho rich in Slaves , let not his way be Thine : Lucullus once desir'd to lend the Stage A Thousand Suits , says , How can I engage , So many Suits ? And yet I 'le quickly send , I 'le search my store , and see what I can lend : And streight writes word , I have five thousand good , And they might take as many as They wou'd . That 's an unfurnisht House , that Master poor , Which hath Things necessary , and no more , And whose Superfluous plenty not deceives , And scapes the Master's Eye , and profits Thieves . If Wealth can make Thee blest , and keep Thee so , Mind it the first , and the last Thing you do . If Offices , and all their gawdy Pride , Then buy a witty Slave to guard thy side ; To tell thee great Mens Names , and Nobles show , And warn Thee to bow Popularly low ; Sir , that 's a Lord , and this , Sir's such a One , He bears the greatest sway in all the Town : Unless you cringe and get his Voice , despair , His Vote disposes of the Consul 's Chair : Sir , as their Years require some Fathers call , Some Sons , and pleasantly adopt them all : If He lives well that eats well , come 't is light , Let 's go , led by our ruling Appetite . Let 's Fish and Hunt as Gargil us'd to do , Who every morning bad his Servants go , With Poles , and Nets , and Spears , and march along The well fill'd Market place , and busie throng . That One of many Mules might carry home , A Bore , that he had bought , thro gazing Rome . Let 's Bath e'en whilst the undigested load , Lyes crude , forgetting what is just and good : Fit to be wax't , Ulysses Mates outright , Who lov'd their Country less than base delight . If nothing , as Mimernus strives to prove , Can e're be pleasant without wanton Love ; Then live in wanton Love , thy Sport pursue , Let that employ thy pretious Time ; Adieu . If you know better Rules than these , be free , Impart them , but if not , use these with Me. EPISTLE VII . ( 1. ) He excuseth himself for not waiting on Mecaenas . ( 2. ) Commends his generosity . ( 3. ) His moderate desires . 1. IN five days time I promis'd You , My Lord , To be in Town — And yet all August past have broak my word ; But , Sir , if you design that I should live , Whilst now I fear I shall be sickly , give That pardon to me which you would allow , Suppose , My Lord , I were already so : Whilst Autumn burns , and Dog-stars beams do rage , Whilst all Diseases that attend on Age Are waiting now upon the Aged year , Whilst frequent Mourners in sad Pomp appear , And careful Parents for their Children fear . When each Officious Visit surely kills , It raiseth Feavers and unseals our Wills ; If Winter's sharp , and spreads the fields with Snows Down to the warm Sea side thy Poet goes , There study little , and take soft repose . And then when Spring returns , and Swallows come , I 'le see you , if you please , My Lord , at Rome : 2. Your kindness makes me rich , unlike to theirs Who thus invite their Guests to Eat their Pears . Come , pray Sir eat : Sir I 'me content with these ; Then pray , Sir , take as many as you please : Your little Boys will eat them tho but small , Thanks , Sir , as much as if I took them All : Then pray , Sir , take them , yet as you think fit , But all the Pears you leave my Hogs must eat : Fools only give what they do scorn and hate , This Seed still hath , and still will bear ingrate : But when the Wife Men and the good bestow , Tho They true worth , from bare pretences know , They tell you , you deserv'd it long ago . If you would have me still attend you train , Restore my Vigour and my Youth again : My curl'd black Locks spread o're my narrow face , Restore my merry talk , and smiling grace ; And make me fit again for Loves design , And t'mourn coy Cynera o're a glass of Wine . A hungry Fox when pincht for want of Meat Crept thro a little hole to heaps of Wheat , And there well fill'd he would return again Thro the same chink ; He strove , but strove in vain : 3. When lo the Weesel cry'd , absur'd design , Fox , you were thin and lean when you got in , And if you would get out be quite as thin . Is this apply'd to me ? I now restore The Gifts that came from You , and ask no more . The common People's sleep I do not praise , Cause full my self and sure of happy Days . Nor would I sell my freedom and my Ease , For rich Arabia , or the richer Seas . My Lord Mecoenas , you do oft admire And praise the Modesty of my desire , You King and Father I do oft confess , When present , and when absent speak no less : Now try if I can quietly resign What e're I have , be poor , and not repine : Telemachus said well , a barren place I rule , unfit for Horse , it yields no grass ; Nor is it spread into a spacious Plain . Atrides take your Presents back again : Mean Things do suit mean Men. Unmov'd I see Rome's Pomp and State , they are no Charms to Me. But unfrequented Tybur's quiet ease , The shady Plains , and soft Tarentum please . Philip the famous Lawyer coming home , ( And as He walk't the tedious streets of Rome ; Now old , complaining from his House to Court Did seem a tedious way , tho once but short ) He saw a spruce neat fellow of the Town Paring his Nails hard by , and all alone . Demetrius ( he then waited on his Lord ) Go quickly , run , enquire and bring me word , Who that Man is , what Trade , and what Estate , Who is his Patron , go , and tell me straight . He runs , comes back , and says ; the Man by Name , Vulteius Menas , spotless in his Fame , By Trade a Cryer , his Estate but small , Enough for Nature's Wants , and that 's his All. Now takes his Ease , and now his Game pursues , Knows how to get him Wealth , and how to use His Friends , his Equals , and his House his own ; And when his Bus'ness and his Cares are gone , He freely takes the pleasures of the Town . Well , I must talk with him , go streight invite , Go tell him He must Sup with me to night . He went , but Mena scarce believes the Boy , Silently wondering betwixt Fear and Joy : At last pleads business : What am I deny'd ? Yes he denys you out of Fear , or Pride : Next Morning early Philip chanc't to meet Ulteius , selling Toys about the Street . He comes up to him there , and kindly said , Good-morrow , first . Mena excus'd his Trade , The Clog that hindred that he did not wait This Morning early at his Worship's Gate ; And lastly that He had not seen him first . Says Philip , If you 'l Sup with me to night , I will forgive you : Sir , what you think fit : I 'le wait on you ; Then come at Three , he said ; Besure you come , now go , and mind your Trade . He came and Sup'd , and talk't , and well content , He thankt his Worship , and away he went. When after this he was observ'd to wait , And often come to tast the Treacherous Bait. Each Morn a Client , and a Guest at Noon ; One Feast when no Court business could be done ; His Patron ask't him to ride out a Town . He yields , and mounted on a stately Horse , He entertains him with a long discourse ; The Sabine healthy Air , and fruitful Field He praiseth ; Philip saw his drift and smil'd , And so to end the talk , and make more sport , He gives him , ( and to cut the Story short ) Lends him two hundred pounds ; and then persuades To buy a Farm , and leave his former Trades ; He takes the Counsel , buys , and leaves the Town , Puts off the modish Spark , and turns a Clown : Talks nothing but of Furrows and of Vines , Improvement of his Land , and such designs : He minds his Trees , and takes a World of Pain , Grows Grey upon his Cares , and thoughts of Gain ; But when his Sheep were lost he knew not how , His Goats Diseas'd , his Corn refus'd to grow , And labouring Oxen dy'd beneath the Plough : Vex't at the various loss , away He goes , At midnight in a rage to Philip's House ; When Philip saw him hastily appear , Deform'd and rough his Face , untrim'd his Hair ; Mena , says he , You spend Your self with Care. Good Patron , He cry'd out in wild affright , Pray call me Wretch , if you would call me right ; By Thee , by all that 's good , and all that 's dear , By all you Love , My Lord , and all you fear , I beg your pitty ; ease my vexing Pain , And turn me to my former Life again : He that hath once perceiv'd the treacherous Bait , And how his first excells his present State , Let Him return unto his former Care , And follow what He left ; 't is just and fair , By our own foot to measure what we are . EPISTLE VIII . To his Friend Celsus . He complains of the sickness of his Mind , and gives his Friend advice . GO prithee , Muse , my loving thoughts express , And wish my Celsus Health and good success : And if by chance He asks thee how I do , Tell him I make a noise , a gawdy show ; I promise mighty Things , I nobly strive ; Yet say what ill , unpleasant Life I live : Not cause the Hail doth break my Vines , or beat My Corn , nor cause my Olives shrink with heat ; Or Herds grow sickly in my Foreign Plain ; No , but because my Soul is vex't with Pain , ( The Body sound ) it is a sharp Disease , And yet I can't endure to hear of ease : I strom at my Physitian , hate my Friend , Because they strive to wake my drowsie Mind : What 's good I hate , and what will hurt approve , Unsettled still , and as wild fancies rove , At Tyber , Rome , at Rome I Tyber love . Then ask him how He doth with his Command , And how he pleaseth Claudius and his Band ; If He says well , then first be sure rejoice , And after with a small instructive voice Infuse this Precept at his list'ning Ear , We will bear You , as You Your Fortune bear . EPISTLE IX . He Commends his Friend Septimius to Claudius Nero. I Think my Friend , my Dear Septimius knew , How great an Interest , Sir , I have in You ; For He still asks and begs me as a Friend , He importunes me that I would Commend , And bring him to your Service ; He is fit For Nero's Train and Love , who does admit None but good Men , and Men of Sense and Wit. He thinks me Intimate , my Interest good , And more than I my self e're understood : I long deny'd , a thousand tricks I us'd , And urg'd a thousand things to be excus'd ; But fearing I should seem too shy , to own My Power with you , kind to my self alone , And scandals of a worser fault prevent , I 'me turn'd , my Lord , a modest Impudent , I boldly ask ; now if you dare Commend My boldness in the Service of my Friend , Accept Septimius , let him fill your Train , I promise him a stout and honest Man. EPISTLE X. To his Friend Fuscus Aristius . ( 1. ) Prefers the Country before the City . ( 2. ) The Covetous must be Slaves . ALL Health I lover of the Country send , To Fuscus the gay City's greatest Friend ; Brothers in all things else , what one approves , Or flies , the other likewise hates or loves , We Nod together like old acquainted Doves . And now we disagree in this alone , Our humors differ here ; you love the Town , And I the pleasant Plains , and purling Flood , The Groves , and mossy Banks , and shady Wood. In short , I Live , I Reign , since I 'me retir'd , From that which you as much as Heaven admir'd . " Like one at last from the Priests service fled , " Loathing the hony'd Cakes , I long for Bread : Do You a Life to Natures Rules design , And seek some fit Foundation to begin , Some Basis where this happy Frame to raise ? The quiet Countrey is the fittest place . Where is the Winter 's Cold more mild than here ? And when the Sun ascends , and burns the year , Where does a more delightful Wind asswage The furious Dog-stars , or the Lions rage ? Or where do envious Cares break fewer dreams ? Do Flowers shine less , or smell less sweet than Gems ? Are Streams more pure that Leaden Pipes convey , Than those fair Springs that with their wanton play , And gentle murmurs eat their easie Way ? E'en midst our Palaces we plant a Grove , And Gardens dress ; our Care shows what we love : That House is most esteem'd , He wisely builds That hath a Prospect to the open fields . Strive to expel strong Nature , 't is in vain , With doubled force she will return again , And conquering rise above the proud disdain . Not those that drive a Trade in Tyrian dyes , Yet know not Counterfeits , nor how to prize ; More vexing and more certain Cheats pursue , Than Those that can't distinguish false from True. Those whom the smiles of Fate too much delight , Their sudden Frowns more shake and more affright . What you admire , You will be loath to lose ; Greatness and Fortune's guilded snares refuse : " An humble Roof , plain Bed , and humble Board , " More clear and more untainted sweets afford , " Than all the Tumult of vain greatness brings , " To Kings , or the swoln Favourites of Kings : 2. Both fed together , till with injur'ous force , The stoutest Deer expell'd the weaker Horse : He beaten , flyes to Man to right his Cause , Begs help , and takes the Bridle in his Jaws . Yet tho He Conquer'd , tho He rul'd the Plain , He bore the Rider still , and felt the Rein. Thus the mean Wretch , that fearing to be poor , Doth sell his Liberty for meaner Ore : Must bear a Lord , He must be still a Slave , That cannot use the little Nature gave . Him whom his Wealth doth not exactly fit , Whose stores too closely , or too loosely sit , Like Shoes ill made and faulty , if too great They overturn , and pinch him if too strait . Content Aristus with thy present store , Thou wilt live wisely and not wish for more ; And let me prithee feel thy sharp reproof , If I shall strive for more than just enough . Money must rule , or must obey the Mind , More fit for Service than for Rule design'd : Behind Vacuna's Fane these lines I drew ; Well pleas'd with every thing , but wanting you . EPISTLE XI . To his Friend Bullatus , who had been Travelling ; That happiness may be had any where . BUllatus , how did pretty Samos show , Chios and stately Sardis , let me know , If They are such as Fame reports , or no ? Or can you find more pretty things at home ? Are all these places mean compar'd to Rome ? Or else doth some Attalian City please , Or Lebedus , where tir'd with boist'rous Seas , And tedious Roads , You first sat down to ease ? Now Desert Lebedus contains but few , And less than Gabii or Fidenoe knew . Yet there my days I with Content could spend , Forget , and be forgot by every Friend . There safe at shore see Winds and Storms engage , And smile from Land at distant Neptune's rage : But he that comes to Rome thro Rain and Mire , Would not live always by a Kitchin Fire . And he that 's cold commends not Baths and Heat , As if they made a happy life compleat . Nor ' cause Storms toss should'st thou straight seek thy ease , And sell thy Ship beyond Aegaean Seas . Fair Mytelene will prove as great a good To Men of sober Minds , as Tyber's Flood To Swimmers , when cold Winds severely blow , As Freeze in Summer , Silks in Frost and Snow . Whilst Fortune smiles , and gives Thee happy days , Chios at Rome , and absent Samos praise . Take thankfully those hours the Gods shall give ; Use whilst you may , and be not slow to live . For if 't is Reason , and not change of Air , That brings soft Rest , and frees our Souls from Care , Those that beyond Sea go shall sadly find , They change their Climate only , not their Mind . A busie idleness destroys our ease , We Ride and Sail to seek for happiness . Yet what we seek with every Tide and Wind , We can e'en here , or at Ulubra find , If we can have but a contented Mind . EPISTLE XII . 1. Desires his Friend Iccius to be content . 2. Commends Pompey Grosphus to him . 3. Tells how the Affairs in Italy stand . 1. IF You can use Agrippa's vast Estate , Which now you manage , 't is the height of Fate , Not Jove himself could give a greater store , Tho grown profuse ; my Friend complain no more , He that hath things for use is never poor . If Thou hast cleanly Food and Cloaths enough , What more than this can kingly Wealth bestow ? If at full Tables stor'd with dainty meat You can contain , and Herbs and Mallows eat , Thus thou wilt live , if prodigal of her store , The Golden Streams of Fortune guild Thee o're : ' Cause Mony cannot Natures stamp deface , And all things you below true Vertue place : Why should we wonder , is it strange to find , Democritus grown poorer , whilst his mind Was gone abroad , and left his Limbs behind ? Whilst You thro Clogs of gain can nobly climb , And midst dull Avarice think on Things Sublime ? What bounds the raging Sea , what rules the Year , Whether by their own force the Planets err , Or some Superior Guide ; what spreads the Night ? What hides the Moon ? What fills her face with Light ? What disagreeing Seeds of Things can make , The Stoicks or Empedocles mistake . Whatever Life you live , or Fishes drest , Or Leeks and Onions pill'd do make your Feast ? 2. Be kind , let Pompey Grosphius be your Guest . What he shall ask ( he 'll ask but little ) grant , Friends are in small esteem where good Men want . 3. But now to tell how Rome's Affairs stand , Cantabria yields to stout Agrippa's hand ; Armenia Claudius Nero's Courage feels , The haughty Parthian now to Caesar kneels : And Golden plenty with a bounteous hand , Rich Harvests freely scatters o're our Land. EPISTLE XIII . To his Friend Vinnius Asella about presenting his Books to Caesar . ASI advis'd you oft before you went , I beg Thee Vinnius now my Books present To Caesar , Seal'd ; when vexing Cares are fled , If well , if merry , if he asks to read : Lest over-busie in thy kind designs , You chose ill hours , and make him hate my lines : But if the Pack shall pinch Thee throw it down , Refuse to bear it , and the weight disown , Rather than having past the tedious Road , Thy Saddle shake , and strive to cast the Load ; And thus make good thy Father's Ancient Name , Be Ass indeed , a publick talk and shame : With all thy strength o're Lakes and Mountains run , And when those Streights are past you reach the Town , Take heed , and what you bring disclose to none : Be shy , and cautious , nor my Books proclaim , Nor bear them as a Rustick would a Lamb : Under thy Arm , as if thy hands were full , As drunken Pythia carries pilfer'd Wool : As when invited to his Landlord's house , A Country Tenant bears his Hat and Shoes : Proclaim not that you sweat those Lines to bear , Which will detain Great Caesar's Eyes and Ear ; Make all the hast my eager Wish requires , Farewell , take heed you Answer my desires . EPISTLE XIV . To his Steward , that He preferrs the Country before the City , and why . YOu Steward of my Woods and pleasant Plain , Which when I reach , I am my self again : Contemn'd by You , tho it hath kept alone , Five Ancient dwellers , and is often known , To send five Senators to Baria's Town . Come , now 't is Time , let 's see which of the Two , I from my Mind , or from my Pastures You , Can pluck Thorns best , and which is better Till'd , And which is better , Horace , or his Field : Tho Lamia's Piety , and mournful Care , That weeps his Brother's Fate detains me here : Yet still my Mind 's abroad , my Soul doth strive , To break the Bars and get free Room to live . I praise the Country , You the happy Town : He that loves others States dislikes his own : We blame the places , both deceiv'd and Fools , 'T is undeserv'd , the fault is in our Souls . Our Souls that are their own Companions still , And groan beneath their Native load of ill : In Town your wishes beg'd the Fields and Plain , A Farmer now You ask the Town again . I constant to my self part griev'd from home , When hated business forces me to Rome . We Two do very diff'rent Things admire , We widely disagree in our desire . What you call lonely Melancholly Seats , A Man of my Opinion , as he hates What you think fair , accounts them fine retreats . The Oyly Ord'narys the Stews do move Thy wishes for the Town , they raise thy Love : And ' cause my little Farm doth bear no Vine , But Frankincense , I see thy wild design : No neighbouring Tavern there to sell thee Wine . No wanton Songstress there to please thy Sense , And raise thy heavy Limbs into a Dance : Yet Thou dost Labour , thou dost Toyl and Sow , And break thy Fields , that never felt the Plough : Yet you take Care , you wash my bleating Flocks , And gather boughs to feed my weary'd Ox. And if the River run above the bound , Swoln big with Rain , you raise a stronger Mound , And teach it to forbear the Meadow ground . Now why these Things so differently appear To Us and what divides our Fancies , hear ; I that lov'd all the Frolicks of the Town , Curl'd powder'd Locks , a fine and gawdy Gown : That pleas'd coy Cynera without a price , That lov'd debauch , and courted every Vice , Now like short Suppers , and at civil hours , And sleep by purling Streams , on Banks of Flowers , Once to be wild is no such foul disgrace , But 't is so still to run the frantick Race : There on my Joys no Squint-ey'd Envious wait , None frowns , none looks askew , no secret hate , With venom'd Tooth doth bite . My Neighbours smile , To see me busie at my little Toil. But you had rather be remov'd to Town , That way your Mind and eager Wishes run : The City slaves , the while the Country love , And envy Thee , thy Garden , and thy Grove : The Ox the Saddle asks , the Ass the Plough , Let All ( that 's best ) pursue the Arts they know . EPISTLE XV. To his Friend Vala , inquiring what he can have in the place whither he designs to retire for his Health . DEar Vala prithee quickly send me word , What Velia , what Salernum can afford ; How hot the Winter ? If the Air be good , What manner'd Men live there ? and what 's the Road : ( True , my Physician tells me I may use The Bajan Baths , but those their help refuse , Because in Winter cooler Streams I choose . That I should leave their Groves , their Sulphurous Stream , So fam'd for curing knotty Gouts , contemn ; The whole Town mourns , and curses the Disease , That makes us seek the Clusian Springs for Ease : That makes us leave her Groves , her warmer Seat , For unfrequented Gaby's cool retreat . To change my Station now I must begin , And force my Horse beyond my usual Inn : So ho , where now the angry Riders say , And stifly pull the Rein , that 's not the way , I 'me not for Bay or Cume : then gently sooths , But bridled Horses Ears are in their mouths ) Which yields the most , and which the sweetest Grain , Whether they set out Tubs to catch the Rain , Or else have constant Springs , their Water clear , For I don 't like the Wine they fancy there : ( True , when at home , then any Drink will please , But when I go abroad to take my Ease , Enjoy Seas warmth , my thoughts from Cares reprieve , My Liquor must be good , if I would Live : Such as will fill my Veins with gen'rous fire , Bring certain hopes of Health , and thoughts inspire : Such as may make my wanton Wishes rise , And show me young and grateful to my Miss : ) Where most Hares run , most Bores infest the Plains , Which Sea most Oysters , which most Fish contains , That whilst I live I may be plump and gay ; You write me word , I 'le credit what you say : Menius when all his little Lands were gone , All loosely spent , and He a Man o' th' Town ; A Bully , at no certain board He Din'd , No house to lodge , but rail'd at Foe and Friend ; A bitter Rogue to Jeer , and sharp to Feign , Severe to Scandalize ; the very Bane And Ruine of the Shambles ; what He got He swallow'd ; all went down his greedy Throat . He when his Cheats not answer'd his desires , When little came from Fops , and bubbl'd Squires , Would feed on Guts , and on the vilest Meat , Swallowing as much as three large Bears could Eat ; And sober He , whilst thus he hardly far'd , Would have forsooth the Spend-thrifts Bellies sear'd : Yet the same Menius when his gains were more , And on his Gut he wasted all his Store , Turn'd all to Smoak and Ashes , us'd to cry , No wonder , faith , to see that Men feed high , When not the World a fairer sight can show , Than the large pickled Belly of a Sow : I 'me just like him , when poor , Oh how I love , The safe and little Store , and how approve ! When Rich , then those are blest , and only those , Whose stately House their hidden Treasure shows , None live so well , none take such soft repose . EPISTLE XVI . ( 1. ) To his Friend Quintus , a Description of his little Farm. ( 2. ) Advice concerning a happy life . 1. ASk me not , Quintus , what my Farm doth yield , Whether 't is Hay or Corn that crowns my Feild ; Elms cloath'd with Vines , or Fruit , or Olives rise , I 'le tell you what it is , and how it lies . A ridge of Hills a shady Rale divides , And takes the Suns kind Rays on both her sides ; The right hand opens to the rising day , The left hand gently takes the setting Ray ; You like the Clime : If every Hedge that grows Doth blush in Cornoils , or doth mourn in Sloes , If Beechen Groves and fruitful Oaks afford Meat for my Cattle , Shades for me their Lord , You 'd think Tarentum's pleasant Feilds remove To wait on me , and spread a shady Grove . A pleasant Spring , almost a River flows , Not Heber's Streams the Thracian Feilds inclose With waves more cool and clear ; The waters spread To purge the Stomach good , and cleanse the Head. These pleasant ( nay 't is true ) these sweet retreats , Preserve my Health amid'st the Summers Heats . 2. And you live well if what Fame says be true , For all admire , and Rome doth boast of you . She calls you happy , but , my Friend , I fear You more believe what others say you are , Than what you know your self : Esteem none happy but the Wise and Good. Nor when you 're flatter'd by the heedless Crowd That you look well , dissemble thy disease , Sit down to feast , and give it time to seize , Until it shakes , and thou canst eat no more : 'T is foolish shame to hide a fest'ring Sore . Suppose one speaks of Wars and noble Fights , And with these words thy empty Ears delights ; Jove who for You , and for the People cares Leaves still in doubt whose safety most prefers , The People Yours , or else the People's you , Dost see his praise is only Caesar's due ? Yet when they call the Good canst Thou agree ? Canst Thou consent that That belongs to Thee ? For you and I both love the Crowd should say That we are good , but what that gives to day , To morrow if it please it takes away : As when it Offices on Fools bestows , They call them back , and scorn the Man they chose : Lay down , t is ours They cry , I lay it down Poor naked Wretch , and griev'd depart , and frown : The same Crowd calls me Thief , they pass a vote That I 'me unchast , or cut my Fathers throat ; And with false Scandals bite me ; must I fear , Must I look pale for this ? or shed a tear ? False honors please , and false reports disgrace And trouble , Whom ? The vitious and the base : Who then is Good ? Why He that keeps the Laws , And antient Rites ; whose Word secures a Cause : Who reconciles his Neighbours , free from Strife , And seems to lead a fair and honest Life : Yet all his Neighbours know him base within , His outside 's fair , his inside's black with Sin. Suppose my Slave should say , I neither fly , Nor steal : Well , Thou hast thy reward say I , Thou art not Scourg'd , I never kill'd a Man , Well , Thou shalt not be hang'd , or torn with pain , But I am thristy , honest , good , and wise , Sabellus cannot grant it , nay denys : For crafty Foxes dread the secret Snare , The Kite and Hawk , altho the bait be fair , Yet never stoop where they suspect a Gin ; The Good for Vertue 's sake abhor a Sin. 'T is fear of Punishment restrains thy Will , Give leave , how eagerly would'st thou be ill ? Suppose you steal few Grains from stores of Wheat , The Loss , 't is true , is less , the Crime 's as great : The Man that 's honest in the Peoples Eyes , When e're He kills a costly Sacrifice , A Pig or Bull , and whilst his Vows are good , Apollo , Janus hear , he prays aloud . But murmurs softly , to be heard afraid , Good , Good Laverna hear me , grant me aid For such a Cheat , let all believe me Good , Let me seem just and honest to the Crowd , And o're my Cheats , and Forgeries spread a Cloud . How are the Covetous than Slaves more free , That basely stoop for every Pin they see I can't imagine . He that still doth crave Must fear , and He that fears must be a Slave ; For He hath lost his Arms , and basely fled , Left Vertues Camp , and all her Laws betray'd ; That 's eager to be rich , that strives for more , Goes on , and dyes beneath the weighty Store : Forbear to kill the Captive thou canst sell , His work will bring thee gain , He 'll serve Thee well : Whether He Tills thy Field , or Feeds thy Sheep , Or Sails , and Winters in the raging Deep : A Man that 's Good and Wise will boldly say , Well Pentheus King of Thebes , Why this delay ? Pray what must I expect ? What must I fear , What undeserv'd must I be forc't to bear ? I 'le take away thy Goods : My Flocks , my Land , You may , 't is subject all to Your Command : I 'le Chain and Rob Thee of thy Liberty , Ah God , when e're I please , will set me free , I think I know what these his words design , I 'le dye , of Things Death is the utmost Line . EPISTLE VII . Adviseth his Friend Scaeva to choose , and how to behave himself in the Great-Mens acquaintance . THo Scaeva Thou hast Wit enough to choose The Great-Mens favour , and art skill'd to use ; Yet hear what thy unskillful Friend can say , As if one Blind pretends to show the way ; Yet see a while if what is fairly shown Be good , and such as you may make your own : If you delight in Ease , and quiet joys , If ratling Coaches , and the Tavern 's noise Disturbs Thee , Scaeva , then refuse the Charms Of Greatness , live upon thy little Farms ; " For Pleasures do not follow only Wealth : " Nor lives He ill , that lives and dyes by stealth : But if you love to aim at nobler Ends , And would be able to assist your Friends , Live well thy self , and better thy Estate , Now thou art dry , go soak upon the Fat : If Aristippus patiently could Dine On Herbs , He would the Courts of Kings decline : If He that censures me knew how to use The Courts of Kings , He would his Herbs refuse : Now which of these you think is best declare ; Or else , my Junior you , with patience hear Why Aristippus humor 's best ; for thus He bob'd the Cynick , as the story goes : I for my self , to please the People you Break Jests ; my way 's the better of the Two : I do my Duty , free from fear or force ; To carry me the King provides a Horse , Whilst you beg scraps ; and tho you boast you live , And nothing want , art less than those that give : All Fortune fitted Aristippus well , Aiming at greater , pleas'd with what befell : But for the Cynick , I should think it strange , If He could look but comely in a change : The One will not expect a Purple Coat , But howsoever cloath'd , He walks about , Thro Court and Town , and with a decent Art , In either habit neatly acts his Part : But Purple , or a Gown of Cloth of Gold , The other hates , and He will dye with Cold , Unless you will his tatter'd Rags restore , Go give him Rags , and let the Fool be poor : To War , and Triumph's near Jove's glorious Throne , 'T is all Divine , 't is Caesar's work alone : To please the Great is not the smallest praise , Not all can go to Corinth now adays ; He never strives that doth despair to gain , Well , doth He bravely act that doth obtain ? Yet here or no where we may hope to find What we desire : By one the weight's declin'd , Too great for his small strength , and little mind : Another ventures , takes , and bears the same , Or Vertue is a show , an empty name , Or He that trys , walks right to Wealth and Fame . The Man that 's silent , nor proclaims his want , Gets more than him that makes a loud complaint : It differs whether fairly you receive , Or rudely snatch the things the Great can give , Yet that 's the chifest measure how to live : My Mother 's poor , my Farm's too mean to sell , And yet not yields enough to keep me well , My Niece a Portion wants , my Fortune 's low , He that says thus , He crys aloud , Bestow : And when He hath it , others rise and say , Divide the Booty , We will share the Prey ; But could the talking Crow in quiet eat , His Envy had been less , but more his Meat : A small retainer in a Noble's Train To fair Surrentum , that doth still complain , The Road is bad , it Rains , 't is very Cold ; My Chest is rifled , and I 've lost my Gold ; Does like the Jilting Whores that often mourn , Ah me ! my Garter's lost , my Hood is torn , Until at last unheeding the Complaint , We give no credit to their real want : A Man that hath been once abus'd grows shy , He views a Cripple with an heedless Eye ; Nor lends a helping hand , altho He Swears By Isis , soft'ning every Oath with Tears , Believe me I 'me no Cheat , and sadly crys , O Cruel , help the Lame : The Crowd replies , Go seek a Stranger to believe thy Lyes . EPISTLE XVIII . To his Friend Lollius . Advice to his Friend how to behave himself , and get the Love of all . FRee Lollius if I rightly hit thy mind , You will be always such as you pretend , Not prove a Flatterer , and profess a Friend : For Friends and faithless Flatterers differ more , Unliker than a Matron and a Whore. But stay my Friend there is another Vice Just opposite , and almost worse than this : A Clownish roughness , and unkindly close , Unfriendly , stiff , and peevishly morose ; Which doth commend her self and strive to please , With blackish Teeth , stretch't skin and Rustick dress , It prides its self , and would be thought to be Clean perfect Vertue , and meer Liberty . Vertue doth Vice , as two Extreams , divide , Drawn up from both , and leans to neither side . This headlong to obey at every Feast , To please the great Ones jeers the meaner Guest , The rich Man's Nod doth so severely dread , Corrects himself , and takes up what he said , As if you heard a trembling School-boy say His Part , or the Rehearsal of a Play. That strives for Trifles , and for Toys contends , He is in earnest , what He says , defends : That I should not be trusted right or wrong , Or be debarr'd the freedom of my Tongue ; And not bawl what I please ! To part with this I think another life too mean a price . The Question is , Pray what ? why which can boast Or Docilis or Cast of knowing most Or whether thro Numicum been't as good To fair Brundusium as the Appian road : Whom costly wenching , or a gawdy whore , Or whom the race , whom Dice makes quickly poor : Or who 's a Fop , and who perfumes his hair Or 's finer drest than his Estate will bear ; Who for meer thirst of Gold doth gather store , And who out of pure fear of being poor : Thy rich friend better stor'd in all defects And Vice than Thee , or hates Thee or corrects , And as good Mothers he will oft advise , I wish you 'd be more vertuous and more wise Than I my self am now , I vow I doe ; And faith , to speak the truth , most times 't is so . My wealth will lear my folly ( cease to strive With me ) Sir , you have scarce enough to live ; Contract your Vices Sir , forbear to vye You must not take so great a range as I. The Man Cutrapelus would have undone He streight presented with a gawdy gown , That He grown happy in his fine attire , Might take new hopes and raise his wishes higher , Forgoe his honest trade for easy Vice , Sleep on till noon , and follow Whores and Dice , Take money up , till he hath spent his All , And drives a Cart for bread , or rots in Jayl : Pry not thro Secrets ; What thou learn'st conceal Tho Wine and Anger rack Thee to reveal : Praise not thine own , or scorn thy friends delight ; Nor , when he 'd have thee hunt keep home and write . Thus Zethus once with his Amphion strove , Twin brothers , till at last they joyn'd their Love ; The softer harp grew mute , he left his quill , Amphion yielded to his Brother's will : Humor the great Ones , quick obedience yield To slight Commands , and when he takes the field With Nets , or Hawks , or Hounds , no sport refuse , Shake off thy lazy and ill-humor'd Muse : That Thou may'st eat at night what Thou hast Caught , And sup with them ; for this the Ancients taught , And this the Romans use , t is free from shame , 'T is good for life , and health , and gets Thee fame . Since thou art well in health , art strong to wound And fight the Bore , or to out-run the hound , None more genteil than You can cast a Spear , You know when you within the lists appear The Crouds all clap ; Nay e'en your tender Age Endur'd the Wars , and fierce Cantabrian rage , Your Captain He , the brave and the Divine , Who brought our Ensigns from the Parthian Shrine , Redeem'd our Fame , and what e're Land remains Resolves to make it feel the Roman Chains . But lest you part and no excuse can show , Altho I must confess what e're you do Is fit , and decent , and becoming You : Sometimes you toy at home , your Boats divide , A squadron stands drawn up on either side : By your direction fir'd with martial rage As in the Actian fight , the Boys ingage , With Souldiers fury , and with Souldiers art ; You one , your Brother leads the other part : Your Lake's rough Adria's flood , till one's or'ethrown , And sudden Victory doth the other Crown : He that thinks you agree with his design , Will clap with both his hands , and favor thine . But to advise you , if you want advice , Take heed of whom you speak , and what it is , Take heed to whom , avoid the busy Men , Fly the inquisitive , they 'l talk agen , And tell what you have said , a leaky Ear Can never hold what it shall chance to hear , 'T will run all out , and what you once let fall It flys , and t is impossible to recall ; If thy great friend keeps handsom Maid or Boy Be not in Love , and eager to enjoy , Lest He bestow that little gift to please , Or else deny , and highten thy disease . Praise none till well approv'd on sober thoughts , Lest after you should blush for others faults . You prais'd a Rascal , there you chanc't to err , Then don't defend him when his Crimes appear : But one approv'd when Scandals press , defend , Let him on Thee , and on thy Fame depend Whom envy bites , for thou may'st plainly see The danger will at last come o're to Thee : For your'e in danger when the Next's on fire , And Flames neglected often blaze the higher . To Court the Great-ones , and to sooth their Pride , Seems a sweet task to those that never try'd ; But those that have , know well that danger 's near , It is a ticklish point , and mixt with fear . Do you endeavour whilst you cut the Main , That no cross Storm should toss Thee back again , The Active hate the Dull , the Sad Jocose , The Dull the Active , Merry the Morose ; Stout Jolly Topers scorn the Sober Ass , They hate those fellows that refuse their Glass ; Altho they beg , altho they swear they dread The nightly fumes , fur'd mouth , and aching head : Put off all Clouds and Darkness from thy brow , Be Jolly , Gay , and Mirth and Humour show , For modest Men are oft thought cloudy Souls , And Men of little talk , ill natur'd Fools : In every state of Life besure of this , Read o're thy moral Books , consult the wise , How thou may'st live , how spend thine Age in Peace , Lest fierce desire , still poor , disturb thine Ease ; Or Fears should shake , or Cares thy Mind abuse , Or ardent hope for things of little use . If Arts do Vertue breed , or Nature send , What lessens Cares , what makes thy self thy Friend , What calms Thee , Honor , or admired Wealth ; Or close retirement , and a life by stealth . When I , my Friend , do go to take repose , At cold Medela , where Degentia flows ; Medela my belov'd , but little Town , With Cold and Frost all gray and wrinkled grown : For what do you imagine that I care ? What think , what make the subject of my prayer ? Let me have what I have , or somewhat less , 'T will still be great enough for happiness ; And that I may , if Heaven more years will give , Live to my self the time I have to live : Estate in Books , and Food to serve a year , Lest I should wavering hang 'twixt hope and fear : And this is all for which Mankind should pray , And beg of Jove who gives and takes away ; Let him but Life , and moderate Plenty find , And I 'le provide my self an happy mind . EPISTLE XIX . TO MECAENAS . 1. Of Poetry . 2. His own Excellencies . 3. Why not lik'd . 1. MY Lord , if what Cratinus says be right , Those Verses cannot live , those Lines delight , Which Water drinkers Pen , in vain they Write . For e're since Bacchus did in wild design , With Fauns and Satyrs half-mad Poets joyn , The Muses every morning smelt of Wine . From Homer's praise his love of Wine appears , And Ennius never dar'd to write of Wars Till heated well , let sober dotards choose The Plodding Law , but never tempt a Muse , This Law once made , the Poets streight begin , They drunk all night , all day they stunk of Wine : Suppose a Man the coursest Gown should wear , No Shoes , his Forehead rough , his look severe , And Ape great Cato in his Form and Dress ; Must He his Vertues and his Mind express ? Whilst dull Hyarbit wish't , and vainly strove To speak as smoothly , and as aptly move As sweet Timagenes , and reach his Arts , He overstrain'd himself , and broak his Parts : Examples Vice can imitate deceive : Should I by Chance , or a Disease be pale , The Sots would drink their bloodless Cummin all . Base Imitators , Slaves to others Wills , How oft you move my frowns , how oft my smiles ? 2. I trod new paths , to others feet unknown ; He that first ventures , leads the others on : I first the Romans keen Iambicks taught , In numerous smoothness , and in hight of thought , I match't Archilocus , I show'd the Age His numbers , but forbore his murdering rage . But lest you say that I fall short of fame , Because my Number 's his , my Verse the same ; The Saphick sweetens all his bitter vain , And grave Alcaick smooths his rougher strain : The subject's different , different the Designs , And tho thro all a vertuous freedom shines , With no black Lines he daubs , no envious breath Doth soil Mens same , or Rhyme a Spouse to death . This Verse ne're heard by Latine Ears before , I first discover'd from the Grecian store ; And this delights me now that I am known , And read for these inventions of my own . 3. Now would you know why our ungrateful Rome , Doth praise my Poems when with me at home , But flout abroad ; I 'le freely tell the Cause : I do not beg the empty Crowd's Applause : I do not often treat , nor do I send My old cast Suits , and bribe them to commend . I do not crowd to hear our Fops rehearse , Nor do I praise , and clap our Nobles Verse : I cannot run to every Pedant Fool , And beg that He would read my Book in 's School : Hence springs my Wo ; now if I say I fear , To bring dull Lines t' a crowded Theatre , And vaunt my Trifles , streight , You jeer , you cry , And keep your Verse alone for Caesar 's Eye : And proud you think that you alone can write Sweet hony lines , fine in thy own conceit : A tart reply to this I fear to give , Lest his sharp Nails should scratch me whilst I strive . I do not like the place I freely say , Forbear a while , let 's take another day ; For Jest dislike , Dislike Contention bears , Contention Hate , and Hate breeds dreadful Wars . THE CONCLUSION To his BOOK . I Know you long to visit every Stall , You would be neatly bound , and set to Sale ; The bars , that please the modest , trouble you , And you Commend , and Court the publick view , And mourn that you are hid , and seen by few . Go to the publick then , go where you strive , Tho thou wert not bred thus , or taught to live : There shall be no return when once thour' t gone , And thou wilt cry , Ah me ! What have I done ! What have I beg'd ! When one shall call thee dull , And squeeze Thee when his Belly 's quickly full . But now unless fond rage besots my mind , Unless meer hatred to thy faults does blind , I Prophesie , and I am sure 't is true ; You shall be lik'd and prais'd at Rome whilst new ; But when thou shalt be soil'd by every hand , Then slighted , and to common use prophan'd ; To bind up Letters , and be torn , be tost , And fly to other Countries every Post . Then I who have advis'd in vain , shall smile , As He that drove his Ass t' a craggy Hill : For who would save a thing against its Will ? At last in Schools thou shalt be thumb'd by Boys , And there grow foolish , old , and deaf with noise . But when at Evening many come to read , Tell them that I was meanly born and bred , My Father poor , of small Estate possest , And that I stretch't my Wings beyond my Nest . But as you cut me short in Wealth , increase My Vertues , tell them I the greatest please , A little Man , and studious of my ease . And pettish too , I can be angry soon , My Passion 's quickly rais'd , but quickly gone . Grown gray before my time , I hate the cold , And seek the warmth ; and if they ask how old , Now Lepidus and Lollius are in Power , Tell them I 'me Four and Forty and no more . The End of the First Book of Epistles . EPISTLES . BOOK II. Epistle I. To Augustus . A Discourse of Poetry . WHen you alone sustain the weighty Cares Of all the World , and manage Peace and Wars , The Roman State by Vertue 's Rules amend , Adorn with Manners , and with Arms defend , To write a long Discourse , to wast your time , Would hinder publick good , and turn a Crime : The Ancient Heroes , though blest aboads Receiv'd when dead , exalted into Gods ; Yet whilst they liv'd with Men , and whilst bestow'd The greatest Cares , and did the greatest Good , Built Towns , made Laws , and brought delightful ease , And civiliz'd the Rational Savages ; Complain'd that They ingrateful Masters serv'd , And met far less rewards than They deserv'd : He that kill'd Hydra , He design'd by Fate To quell the Monsters rais'd by Juno's hate ; Tho He , the mighty He , had all ways try'd , Found Envy could be vanquisht only when He dy'd : For those are hated that excell the rest , Altho when dead they are belov'd , and blest ; The vigorous Ray torments the feeble sight , Yet when the Sun is set , They praise the light : To Thee , great Caesar , now we Altars give , We vow and swear by Thee e'en whilst alive : For never yet the Gods kind hands bestow'd , Nor ever will a Prince so great , so good : That she prefers , that she esteems Thee more Than all the Heroes she enjoy'd before , Than all that she hath bred , or Greece can boast , In this , 't is true , thy Rome is Wise and Just : But not in other things ; the Ancient Plays , And Foreign Poets only she can praise ; The Present or Contempt , or Hate receive , 'T is Crime enough that they are yet alive : Thus Old-Loves do admire the Ancient Laws , The Sabines Leagues have their deserv'd applause ; On musty Leaves at awful distance look , Age makes it Reverend , and exalts the Book : Give him the Bards old Songs , Oh Rare ! Divine ! I swear 't is good , a Muse sang every Line : But if because the oldest are the best Amongst the Greeks , the same unequal Test Must try the Latines too ; in short , No doubt Plumes have nought hard within , nor Nuts without : We sit on Fortune's Top , We sing , We write , And Wrestle better than the Greeks can Fight . If length of Time will better Verse like Wine , Give it a brisker Tast , and make it fine ; Come tell me then , I would be gladly show'd , How many years will make a Poem good : One Poet writ an Hundred years ago , What is He Old , and therefore Fam'd or no ? Or is He New , and therefore Bald appears ? Let 's fix upon a certain term of Years . He 's good that liv'd an Hundred Years ago , Another wants but One , is He so too ? Or is He New , and Damn'd for that Alone ? Well , He 's Good too , and Old that wants but One. And thus I 'le argue on , and bate no more , And so by one and one wast all the store : And so confute him , who esteems by Years , A Poem's goodness from the date it bears . Who nor admires , nor yet approves a Line But what is Old , and Death hath made Divine . Ennius , the lofty Ennius , and the Wise , That second Homer , in our Criticks Eyes , Is loose in 's Poems , and correct in few , Nor takes he care to prove his Dreams were true , He shows so little of great Homer's Soul. " Naevius is learn'd by heart , and dearly sold , " So Sacred is his Book , because 't is Old. When Accius and Pacuvius are compar'd , Both are esteem'd , both meet with great reward ; Pacuvius all the Criticks Voices gains For Learning , Accius for his lofty strains . Afranius shows us soft Menander's Flame , And Plautus rivals Epicharmus Fame : Cecilius grave , and Terence full of Art , These Rome admires , and these she learns by heart . These are the Worthies of her Theater , These she applauds with heat , and crowds to hear : These she esteems the Glories of the Stage , And counts from Livy's to our present Age. The Critic Mobile will be medling still , Sometimes their Judgment 's good , and sometimes ill : Thus when they praise the Old , and when prefer , Beyond compare to all the New , They Erre : But when they grant the Ancients Books and Plays Are often dull , and uncorrect in Phrase , Their words unfits , or else their main design , Their Judgment 's rational , and jumps with mine : I do not damn old Livy's Rhymes as dull , For which I often smarted when at School ; But that he should be thought Correct , Sublime , And far before the Poems of our Time ; That one poor Chance-good Line or two at most , The only Thing that all his Books can boast , Not only should attone for what 's amiss , But recommend the whole ; I 'me vext at this . I hate a Fop should scorn a faultless Page , Because 't is New , nor yet approv'd by Age : And then admiring all the Ancient Plays , Not only pardon their defects , but Praise . Should I but doubt if Atta's Plays are good . Our Old-Loves straight would cry the Youngster's Proud ; He 's impudent , nor thinks those Plays exact , Which Roscius , and grave Aesop us'd to act : Because they Judge by their own Appetites , And think nought sweet , but what their tast delights ; Or to stoop to their Juniors Rules disdain , Or else to think what once they learn't was vain , And only fit to be forgot again ; Those that applaud the Songs of former Times , The dotish Bards old Verse , or Monkish Rhimes ; Who would be thought to have a sharper Eye , And in those Poems numerous Graces spy , In which They see no more fine Things than I ; 'T is not to praise the Old , but scorn , abuse , And hate New Books , and damn the Modern Muse . Had Greece done thus , had she still scorn'd the New , What had been Old , what worthy Publick View ? When Wars were done , and Greece dissolv'd in Peace , When Fortune taught them how to live at Ease , They wrestled , Painted , sung , these Arts they lov'd , These They did much admire , and these improv'd ; In every Picture vulgar Eyes could find The Face exact , and almost saw the Mind ; Then Racing Vaulting then , the Plays and Stage , Each took their turn to please the wanton Age ; Like Boys at Nurse , they eagerly desir'd , But straight were cloy'd , and left what they admir'd . For what disgusts our fancies , what doth please , But may be chang'd ? these are the fruits of Ease , This happy fortune bears , this springs from Peace . 'T was heretofore a credit here at Rome , To mind a Shop all day , and keep at home ; Attend Ones Client , and promote his Cause , Inform his Ignorance , and teach the Laws ; To make good Debts , and drive a gainful Trade , And know what Interest may be justly paid : Instruct the Young , and hear the Old Debate , What will increase , what ruine an Estate : This Humor 's chang'd , now Reigns a New delight , All must be Authors now , and all must Write : All strive to get the Bays , and all Rehearse , They Dine , they Sup in Rhyme , and drink in Verse . E'en I that swear I never try'd a Muse , E'en I 'me forsworn , my Deeds my Words accuse ; My Quill is scribling too ; before 't is light I call for Paper , Pen , and Ink , and write . He that 's no Pilot is afraid to Sail , Urge him to guide a Ship , you sha'nt prevail , And only Doctors will pretend to heal . By Smiths alone , are Locks and Staples made , And none pretend but Artists in the Trade . But now for Poetry we all are fit , And skilful , or unskilful all must write ; And yet this Madness thousand Goods commend , A thousand pleasures wait , and all attend ; A Poet 's seldom Covetous , or Nice , Safe and secure within himself he lyes . He minds and loves his Rhymes , and those alone ; Tell him his Goods are burnt , his Slaves are gone , Or his Fields lost ; He laughs , nor strives to cheat His Ward , or Friend , a stranger to deceit : He 's thrifty , feasts upon a dish of Pease , And lives content with Houshold-Bread and Cheese : Unfit for War , yet they are good in Peace . ( For great things by the help of small increase ) Instruct our looseness , and inform our Ease . They teach our Boys to hate all words Obscene , To follow generous Rules , and speak like Men. And then slide gently down with Vertuous Rules Into the tender Breast , and form their Souls ; Restrain their Envy , and correct their rage , Tell them what 's good , instruct their tender Age , With fit Examples , and their griefs asswage . How had our Sacred Songs and Hymns been made , And how our Pray'rs as high as Heav'n convey'd ; Did not the Muses Poets sancies raise , To teach us how to pray , and how to praise ? In Verse the fawning Quire her Plagues bewails , And begs a speedy comfort , and prevails ; Good Weather , happy years , and much encrease ; Their Pray'rs are streightway heard , all smile in Peace . The Year is rich , the Fields with Plenty flow , Verse softens Gods above , and Gods below . The Ancient Swains , those temperate happy Swains , Contented Sovereigns of their little Plains . When all their Corn was hous'd would make a Feast , Unbend their Minds , and lay them down to rest ; Their Cares dissolv'd into a happy Thought , And Minds enjoy'd , the rest their labour sought . A Pig on Tellus's Altars left his Blood , And Milk from large brown Bowls to Sylvan flow'd : Their Wife , their Neighbours , and their pratling Boys Were call'd , all tasted of the Country Joys : They Drank , they Danc't , they Sang , made wanton Sport , Enjoy'd their selves , for life they knew was short . Hence grew the Liberty of the looser Muse , Hence they grew Scurrilous , and would abuse ; Hence those loose Dialogues at Marriage Feasts , Yet still they were but Mirth , and Country Jests . At last they shew'd their Teeth , and sharply bit , And Railery usurp't the Place of Wit. Good Persons were abus'd , and suffer'd wrong , They loudly talk't , no Law to curb their Tongue : The wounded griev'd , the smart provok't their Hate , And all untoucht bewail'd the Common Fate . Till Laws commanded to regard Mens Fame , Severely lash the Vice , but spare the Name . Fear made them civil , and design to write With modesty ; speak well , and to delight : Greece conquer'd did the Conqueror o'recome , Polish't the rude , and sent her Arts to Rome : The former roughness flow'd in smoother Rhymes , And good facetious Humor pleas'd the Times : Yet they continu'd long , and still we find , Some little marks of the old Rustick mind , Some of the Scurrilous Humor left behind . 'T was long before Rome read the Graecian Plays , For Cares took up her Nights , and Wars her Days : Till Carthage ruin'd she grew soft in Peace , And then inquir'd what weighty Sophocless , What Eschylus , what Thespis taught the Age , What good , what profit did commend the Stage . And then they turn'd their Plays , their thoughts were high , By Nature great , and fit for Tragedy . But to review , to blot what once was writ , Oh that was mean , it was a shame to Wit : The Comic then was thought the easier way , Because 't is common Humor makes the Play ; Yet 't is the hardest , for the faults appear So Monstrous , and the Criticks so severe , That e'en their greatest Mercy cannot spare . Plautus , 't is true , observes the Rules of Art , His well drawn Figures suit with every part ; He Paints an Amorous Fop , a Jilting Jade , A careful Father , or designing Bawd : But Dorsen rudely draws his Parasites , How loose his Lines , how uncorrect he writes ! He writes for Gold , and if his Pocket's cram'd , He cares not , let the Play be Clap't or Damn'd : But He that Writes to have applause for Wit , If unconcern'd the grave Spectator sit , He dyes ; but if attentive , then He 's proud , They like my Fancy , and my Plays are good : So small , and so contemn'd a thing will raise , Or damp Mens eager Thoughts that write for Praise : I like not this , and I forswear the Stage , If clap't I must be proud , if damn'd must rage . And who would be so bold to write , that knew The Judging Men of Honor are but few ? The Vulgar Thousands , who might hiss the Play , And if our Nobles should dislike their way , Would huff , and swear , and quarrel straight and fight ; Or leave the Stage to see a Puppet-sight ; Or to the Bears , for that 's the Crowds delight . But now our Nobles too are Fops and Vain , Neglect the Sense , but love the Painted Scene ; Four hours are spent in Show to please the sight , A tedious Battle , and at last a Flight ; Then Kings in Chains , and to reward their Toil , Corinthian Statues , and a world of Spoil . Would not Democritus if now alive , Split here , would He these Fooleries forgive ? And if the Vulgar with a wild amaze , Neglect the Actors , and forsake the Plays , And on an Elephant or a Panther gaze : Sure He would look , and in the gaping Crowd , Find better Humor than the Actor show'd . Besides , He needs must think they write in vain , And teach deaf Asses , prodigal of their pain : For who can judge , or who can hear the Wit , When Noise and strange Confusion fills the Pit ? As when the Winds dash Waves against the Shore , Or lash the Woods , and all the Monsters Roar ; So great the shout when rich and strangely drest , The Player comes , they clap his gawdy Vest . Well hath the Actor spoken ? Not a Line : Why then d' ye clap ? Oh , Sir , his Cloaths are fine . But lest you think that I that write no Plays , Or envy their Design , or poorly Praise ; I fairly grant those Poets Wit that Rule My Passions as they please , disturb my Soul ; And then by a short turn my thoughts relieve , Whose lively Fiction makes me laugh or grieve . Whose well wrought Scenes natural and just appear ; I see the place , and fancy I am there . But those that hate and fly the censuring Stage , Yet Write to please the Readers of the Age. Make them , Great Caesar , to improve their vein , Review their Poems o're and o're again . If you would have them live , be great in praise , And by just Study strive to win the Bays . We Poets often damn our selves that dare , ( As I have done ) when you are full of Care , To offer Verse ; or when we ost repine , If a good friend finds but one faulty Line . Or when rehearsing we with sighs complain , My fancy 's not perceiv'd , I write in vain ; And then unask't repeat it o're again . Or when we think , when once our Fame is known , We straightway shall be sent for up to Town ; Enjoy a Pension , or a piece of Land , And write new Poems at the King's Command . And yet , Great Sir , 't is worth your while to know , What , Caesar , future times must think of you . And who must be disposer of your Fame , Who tell to distant Worlds your glorious Name : By whom your Life ; by whom your Wars be Writ , Actions too Sacred for a Common Wit. Cherillus the Pelloean Youth approv'd , Him He rewarded well , and him He lov'd . His dull uneven Verse , by great good Fate , Got him his favour , and a fair Estate . Tho just as Ink when touch't still leaves a stain , Dull Rhymes besmear , and noble Acts prophane : Yet He the same that bought dull Rhimes so dear , In meaner things he took a greater care , Let none but learn'd Apelles paint my Face , Lysippus only must Design't in Brass . Thus spake his Laws , in this I grant he show'd His Skill sufficient , and his Judgment good . But when for Verse , he chose so mean a Thing , How poor his Judgment ? How below a King ? But Virgil , Varius , and the learned few , That are applauded , and belov'd by You ; Declare your Skill is great , your Judgment true . The Honors you bestow do raise your Fame , They gratefully reflect upon your Name , And kindly praise the Author whence they came : Nor can Ones Face be with more Art design'd In Brass , than in a Poem thoughts and mind : E'en I desire to leave the humble Plain , I would be high , and write a lofty strain . I wish I could describe your Wars , and show How Barbarous Nations fear , and how they bow . How you have raz'd their Towns , their Ocean stain'd With Blood , and with strong Towers bound up their Land. How War 's Exil'd , and Peace and Plenty reign , And Janus Temple now is shut again : How mean , and how submissive Parthians come , How under Thee they fear and honor Rome : All this I would , but Oh I want the Wit Your Deeds must be by some high Genius Writ . Whose lofty Soul , his tow'ring thoughts can raise , As high as You have done , and take the Bays , 'T is Treason , Sir , to give you meaner Praise . I know my weakness , and I must refuse , A task too weighty for my tender Muse , A sordid Commendation hurts our Friend , And those that meanly praise , do discommend : For what 's derided by the Censuring Crowd , Is thought on more than what is just and Good : I hate those obligations that disgrace : I am not fond to have an ugly Face Design'd for me expos'd to public View : Nor Praise in dull Verse , tho the Praise be true . I would not ly at every Grocer's door , To wrap Tobacco , or do something more . I would not have a Verse that bears my Name Lye under Pies ; 't is an ill way to Fame . EPISTLE II. To his Friend Julius Florus . ( 1. ) He makes an excuse for not sending the Odes he promised . ( 2. ) Why He wrote no more . ( 3. ) The faults of the Poets . ( 4. ) Directions for Writing . ( 5. ) He designs graver Studies . ( 6. ) Against Covetousness . ( 7. ) The uncertainty of every thing . 1. DEar Florus , Nero's Friend , the Great , the Brave , Suppose one come to sell a Clownish Slave , And speak Thee thus , This Boy is neatly made , He 's sound from Head to Foot , a pretty Lad. For Twenty Pound he 's Yours , the Bargain 's fair , He 'll serve , and fit your humor to a hair : He 's yet soft Clay , he 'll take a Stamp with ease , And you may form him , Sir , to what you please . He speaks some Greek , and at a drinking Match He 'll bear the Bob , and sing a merry Catch . To praise too much like a design appears , When He extolls that would put off his Wares : I a' n't in want , I am in debt to none , What e're I have , tho little , 't is my own ; Few , Sir , would tell you this , and tell you true , Nor I my self to any one but you ; This Boy was faulty once , He stay'd at play , And when He fear'd the lash he run away : Buy if you like him now his faults are told . The dealing 's fair , and he may take your Gold , And ne're be thought a cheat for what He sold . You bought a faulty Rogue , he told you so , And yet you vex him , and unjustly sue . At parting , Sir , I said I was unfit , Grown lazy , impotent , and slow to write : Lest for not Writing You should chide , accuse My silence as unkind , and scorn my Muse ; Ah what did that avail to set me free ! Yet if You sue me , Sir , the Law 's for me . But You complain beside , you say , my Lord ; I promis'd you some Odes , yet break my word . Thro thousand dangers and a world of pain , 2 Lucullus Souldier , who had strove to gain A little mony , what with care he kept , Once tir'd , lost every penny as he slept . Thence He a very Wolf and angry grown Both with himself and Foe rusht boldly on , And with his Teeth as 't were o'rethrew a Town Tho strong and well provided with a Guard , This got him credit , and a large reward ; Soon after when they were to storm a Town The Captain chose out him , and eg'd him on , With such affection , such warm words he prest As might inflame the coldest Coward 's breast : Go where thy Vertue calls , go Conqueror go , Thy Friends shall give rewards , and spoyls thy Foe . But Crafty He reply'd , No Town I 'le force , No Sir , He 'l venture that hath lost his purse . Rome bred me first , she taught me Grammar rules , And all the little Authors red in Schools . A little more than this learn'd Athens show'd , And taught me how to separate Bad from Good ; The Academick Sect possest my Youth , And ' midst their pleasant shades I sought for Truth . But rough Times drove me from my blest retreat , And tost me thro the Troubles of the Great . Tho rude in Arms , and tho well learn'd in fears , The tide yet bore me on to Civil Wars . When those had clipt my wings and brought me down , My small Farm lost , and all my mony gone ; Those with my Shield I left by shameful flight ; Bold Poverty first set me on to write . But now I have enough to keep off want , ( That is as much as Heaven it self can grant ) What Helebore could cure my wild disease , Should I prefer a Muse before my Ease ! On me each circling Year does make a prey , It steals my Humor , and my Mirth away . And now at last would steal my Poems too From my Embrace ; what would You have me do ? Besides not all admire , not all approve One sort ; You Odes , Iambics others love , Others in keenest Satyrs rage delight ; Sharp salt alone can raise their appetite : Methinks I 've three envited to a Feast , A different palate too , to every Guest . What shall , what shall I not provide ? What You Commend and eat , disgusts the other two . Besides , do'st think that I can mind a Song Whilst here at Rome ' midst all the noise and throng . Of different Cares , one beggs me pass my word For him , then I must wait upon my Lord , To hear his Verses , and I must be gone , Leave all my other work and cares alone , And march from one to t'other end of Town " But , Sir , there 's room , the Street is clean and still , " And you may walk and think on what you will. Yes , here a Waggon bears a logg of Wood Or weighty Stone , and groans beneath the Load . Sad Funeral here do justle with a Dray , And there the sweaty Carman bawls for way . Here a Mad Dog , and there a Sow doth fright , Go now ' midst this , and lofty Verses write . Each Writer hates the Town and Woods approves , Right Son of Bacchus pleas'd with shades and groves . Yet ' midst these Tumults You would have me try To trace the narrow steps of Poetry . The Man that takes learn'd Athens close retreat , Who by himself doth study to be great ; When he hath study'd seven full tedious Years , Grown old and grey upon his Books and Cares : Yet after all this time and pains bestow'd , Grows a meer stock , and 's laught at by the Crowd . Then ' midst the Waves and Tempests of the Town , Where Cares do toss and vexing business drown , Can I compose my thoughts , can I aspire , And Joyn fit words to tune the Roman Lyre ? 3. Two Brothers liv'd at Rome , a Lawyer one , And one a Rhetor noted both in Town , Vain glorious both , and studious of a name , They blew their Trumpets to each others Name . They one another did extreamly please ; And are not Poets frantick quite like These ? I Odes , and one writes Elegy ; Divine , A curious work , polisht by all the Nine . See how we strut , and what a port we bear , With what high scorn look , o're the Theater , The other Poets sneak and scarce appear . But if You 've leasure stand aside and know Why each admires and praises t'other so , Why wreath the Crown , and why the Bays bestow . We quarrel , and with equal Fortune fight , True Samnites draw the lingring War till Night . Then strait in his Opinion I 'me divine Alcaeus , well , and what is He in Mine . Callimachus , or would he more ? Mimnermus Fame He gets , and glorys in his borrow'd Name . A Thousand things I suffer to asswage The waspish Poets , and to cool their rage ; Because I write my self , I plead their Cause , I smooth , and humbly beg the Crowds applause ; But when grown sober I shake off my Muse , I 'le stop my Ears , and unless hir'd to hear , refuse : Dull Rhymes are laugh't at , yet we ne're give o're , Our Writers smile , and e'en themselves adore , If you are slow to clap they swear 't is spite , And praise themselves what happy they have writ . 4. But He that hath a curious Piece design'd , When He begins must take a Censor's mind . Severe and honest , and what words appear , Too light and trivial or too weak to bear The weighty sense , nor worth the Readers care , Shake off ; tho stubborn , they are loth to move , And tho we fancy dearly , tho we love . Good words , now grown obscure , bring gently forth , Relieve them from the dark , and show their worth Us'd by the Antients tho consum'd by rage Of eating time , and grown deform'd with Age : And take new words begot by Parent use , Prune the luxuriant , and Correct the loose . Pure , flowing , as a River roul along , And bring new plenty to the Roman Tongue ; Reform , and cut superfluous Branches off ; Strengthen the weaker words , and smooth the rough : Now pain'd , now eas'd , as one that must put on Now wanton Satyrs , now a heavy Clown : Now I had rather be a little Witt , So my dull Verse my own dear self delight , Then know my Faults , be vext , and dy with spight . An Argive Gentleman as Stories say , Did always fancy that he saw a Play , The Actors dress , and well wrought Scenes appear , And clap't and smil'd in th' empty Theater . In all Things else he shew'd a sober Mind , A loving Neighbor and an honest Friend ; Kind to his Wife , and generous to his Slave , Nor when he saw the Barrel broach't would rave . Would shun an open Well , and dangerous Pitts , And seem a perfect Man , and in his Witts , Him when his tender Friends with Cost and Pains Had cur'd , and Physic gently purg'd his Brains , He cry'd , Ah me ! my Friends I am undone , You 've ruin'd me , now all my pleasure 's gone ; You have destroy'd , whilst you design'd to save , Y've lost the pleasant'st Cheat that man could have . 5. 'T is time now to be wise , forsake my Toys , And leave my Verses proper sport for Boys . Not follow Words and Numerous Songs contrive , But seek fit measures , and true rules to live . 6. If what you drink should make your heats increase , Would you not tell the Doctor your disease ? Now when the more you have , you crave the more , When Floods of Store , shall make you thirst for store , Won't you confess and this distemper own ? All this I use to think on when alone . Suppose You had a Wound , and One had show'd An Herb , which you apply'd but found no good , Would You be fond of this , increase your pain , And use the fruitless remedy again ? Thus when You hear on whom kind Heaven bestows Great heaps of Wealth , they streight their folly loose . And yet you cannot find your self more wise , Because more rich , you I follow their advice . Could Wealth with God-like Prudence Minds Inspire , Cure them of vexing Fear , and fond Desire . Then you should blush , if all the World could show , A sober Man , more covetous than You. If that's o●r own , which powerful Coin procures , And Use , as Lawyers say , makes something ours ; The Field that feeds thee 's thine ; rich Orbus ploughs , His Servant that Manures his Land , and Sows , Harrows the fruitful Clod , that must afford Good Corn to Thee , confesses thee his Lord : One pays his Money , and receives agen , Eggs , Pullets , Grapes , or else a flask of Wine . And thus by these degrees the Farm he buys , Bought at three Thousand pound , or at a greater price . Well then , what difference is it whether now , You pay for what you have , or did it long agoe ? Those Purchasers that Veijs Fields have gain'd , And large Aricia's Plains , tho rich in land , Yet even now buy every Herb they eat , They buy each stick of Wood to boyl their Meat . Altho they think not so , and call the Grounds Their own , which yonder friendly Poplar bounds . As if that could be thine , that call'd thy own , Which every Moment's hurry'd up and down , And now to this , and now to 'tother thrown , Which Money , Fraud or Flattery command , And snatch from one , to fill another's Hand : So since perpetual Use to none's allow'd , But Heir crowds Heir , as in a rowling Flood Wave urges Wave , ah what doth it avail , To joyn large Groves to Grove , and Vale to Vale , If Death with equal hand , strikes Great and Small , Death unrelenting , and that never spares , Not to be brib'd with Gold , or won by Tears : Gold , Jewels , Statues , Marble , Ivory , Paint , Cloth of Gold , and Suits of pretious dye , Gay Purple , Silver , some are wont to crave , Yet cannot get , and some don't care to have . Why of two Twins , the one his Pleasure loves , Prefers his Sports to Herod's fragrant Groves ; The other rich , and greedy of his Gain , With Fire and Iron tames his woody Plain , He drives the heavy Plough from Morn till Night , His Labour 's pleasure , and his Pain delight : That Genius only knows , that 's wont to wait , On birth-day Stars , the guider of our Fate , Our Nature's God , that doth his Influence shed , Easy to any Shape , or good or bad : When Natures wants require , I will be free , Nor care what my bold heir will think of me , I 'le use my little Heap , tho he be griev'd , Because I leave no more than I receiv'd , Yet I the same would know , what difference lyes Between free spending , and loose squandring vice , And how far Thrift's remov'd from Avarice . For sure it differs much to wast our Store , And to spend freely , and not strive for more : And as i' th' five days feast , of old , the Boy , Take the short Sweets , and as in hast enjoy . I am not rich , nor do I gape for more , But let me not be scandalously poor , And let my Ship be great , or be it small , If I the same , the very , I can sail . EPISTLE III. To the Pisones , or the Art of Poetry . SUppose a Painter should a Canvas spread , To draw a Piece , and paint a Womans head , Then a Mares neck ; and then from different things , Take different Parts , and cover all with Wings : Then a Fish tail ; pursue his senseless thought , And mix the whole Creation in a draught , And all these Parts in strange proportion joyn , Would you not laugh to see this wild Design ? Believe me , Sirs , that Book is like this Piece , Where every Part so strangely disagrees , Like sick Mens Dreams , there 's neither head nor tail , But strange Confusion , shapeless Monsters all : Poets and Painters equally may dare , In bold Attempts , they claim an equal share , And may do any thing : All this we know , This freedom too , we mutually allow ; And yet this leave can give no just pretence , To fight the steddy Rules of Common Sense , And joyn quite Opposites , the Wild and Tame ; The Snake and Dove , the Lion and the Lamb. Next great Beginnings , and in high Designs , Some scatter here and there few gawdy lines , Which glister finely , when a Grove's their Theme , A pleasant wood , or else a purling Stream : How with the Flood , their Fancies smoothly flow ! How variously they paint the Heavenly Bow ! But now perhaps none of these Themes agree , Perhaps thou hast some skill to paint a Tree , But what of that ? what will this Art perform ? Wert thou to draw a Shipwrack , or a Storm , Describe a Mariner , how with panting breath , He blows the Floods , and keeps out entring Death ; Whilst with one hand despairing Life he saves , The other grasps his Riches on the Waves ? When you a mighty Butt resolv'd to cast , Why doth it dwindle to a Pint at last ? In short , in all you write let Art controul , And keep the same just Tenor thro the whole . But Sirs , most Poets now are finely caught , By show of right deluded to a fault : By striving to be short , obscure they grow ; And when they would be smooth , they sink too low ; Their Spirits fail : and some that would be high , Streight swell ; and when they should but walk , they fly : Whilst some too cautious fear the Winds will roar , And waters toss ; nor dare to leave the Shore . Another Staring fancy wildly roves , And placeth Bores in Floods , and Trouts in Groves : Thus , if it wants just Art , a cautious Fear Of Erring is a certain way to Err. That Graver yonder in th' Emilian Square , Can hit the Nails , or imitate the hair , But he 's a Sot , unhappy in his Art ; Because he cannot fashion every part , And make the whole compleat ; should I compose , I 'de rather freely choose an ugly nose With two black Eyes , black hair exactly trim , To make me more deform'd , than be like him . You Writers try the vigor of your Muse , And what her strength will bear , and what refuse , And after that an equal Subject choose . For he that doth this well , and chuses right , His Method will be clear , his Words be fit . In this , or I mistake , consists the grace , And force of Method , to assign a place , For what must now , what by and by be said , What for the present time must be delaid ; What Thoughts they must improve , what Notions slight , If they will aim at praise in all they write . Be cautious in your Words , invent but few , We 're puzled rather , than we 're pleas'd with new : Yet 't will be Art , and 't will procure thee praise , If well apply'd , and in a handsome Phrase , You make new Words seem easy , plain , and known : We all will clap , and cry 't was bravely done . But if you would unheard of things express ; And cloath new Notions in a Modern dress ; Invent new Words , we can indulge a Muse , Until the Licence rise to an Abuse : And those are best , that do but gently fall , Just vary'd from the Greek Original : For why should Varius , why should Virgil be deny'd , What Plautus and Cecilius wisely did ? And for what reason should the Fops resent , If I but few , and modestly invent . When Cato's Stile and Ennius lofty Song , With various store enrich't our Mother Tongue , 'T was still allow'd , and 't will be still allow'd , To make new Words , plain to be understood : As Leaves on Trees do with the turning Year , The former fall , and others will appear ; Just so it is in Words , one Word will rise , Look green , and flourish , when another dyes . All We , and Ours , are in a changing State , Just Nature's Debt and must be paid to Fate : Great Caesar's Mole , that braves the furious Tides , Where now secure from Storms , his Navy rides : E'en that drain'd Lake , where former Ages row'd , A great unfruitful Wast , tho now 't is plough'd , Bears Corn , and sends the neighbouring Citys food : Those new Canales , that bound fierce Tiber's force , That teach the Streams to take a better Course , And spare the Plough-man's hopes : e'en these must waste , Then how can feeble Words pretend to last ? Some words that have , or else will feel decay , Shall be restor'd , and come again in play , And words now fam'd , shall not be fancy'd long , They shall not please the Ear , or move the Tongue : As Use shall these approve , and those condemn , Use the sole Rule of Speech , and Judg supreme . How we should write of Battles , Wars and Kings , And suit with mighty Numbers , mighty Things , First Homer show'd , and by Example taught , He wrote as nobly , as his Heroes fought : In Verses long and short , Grief first appear'd , In those they mourn'd past Ills , and future fear'd : But soon these lines with Mirth and Joy were fill'd , And told when Fortune , or a Mistriss smil'd : But who these Measures was the first that wrote , The Criticks doubt , and cannot end the doubt : Archilochus was arm'd , by injur'd Rage , With keen Iambicks , He did first engage With that sharp foot , and left it to the Stage ; For 't is a sounding Foot , and full of force , And fit , as made on purpose , for discourse : In Lyrick numbers Gods , and Heroe's sound , The swiftest Horse is prais'd or Wrestler crown'd : Feasts , Wine , and open Mirth , or Myrtle Shades , The Cares of Love , or Tears of sighing Maids . Unless all Matters I exactly hit , What just Pretence have I to be a Wit ? What claim have I to the Poetick Name ? What fair Pretensions to put in for Fame ? Or why should I conceal my want of Skill , Absurdly modest , and be foolish still , Rather than show my Want , demand Supplies , From richer Parts , and so at last be Wise ? A Conick Story hates a Tragick Stile , Bombast spoyls humer , and distorts a Smile : And Tragical Thyestes barbarous Feast , Scorns Mean and Common words , and hates a Jest ; Let every Subject have what fits it best : Yet Comedy may be allow'd to rise , And rattle in a Passion or Surprize ; And Tragedy in humble words must weep , The Stile must suppliant seem , and seem to creep : Peleus and Telephus exil'd and poor , Must leave their Flights , and give their Bombast o're ; If they would keep their well-pleas'd Audience long , And raise their just Resentments for their wrong : 'T is not enough , that Plays are neatly wrought , Exactly form'd , and of an even Plot , They must be taking too , Surprise , and Seize , And force our Souls which way the Writers please . We laugh or weep , as we see others do , Our Souls agree , and take their Passions too : My grief with others just proportion bears , To make me weep , you must be first in Tears : Then Telephus I can believe thy moan , And think thy Miseries are all my own : But if thy part be ill , or acted ill , Unheeding thy Complaint , I sleep or smile : Sad words suit well with Grief , with Joy the loose , Grave the Severe , and Merry the Jocose : 'T is Nature still that doth the Change begin , She fashions , and she forms our Souls within , To all the Changes , and the Turns of Fate ; Now screws our Minds to an unusual height , And swells us into rage ; or bending low , She cramps our Souls with dull contracting Woe ; She makes us stoop beneath a weighty wrong , Then tells the various Passions with the Tongue : Now if his Speech doth not his Fortune fit , He will be hist by Gallery , Box , and Pit. You must take care , and use quite different words , When Servants speak , or their commanding Lords , When grave old Men , or head-strong Youths discourse , When stately Matrons , or a busy Nurse ; A cheating Tradesman , or a labouring Clown , A Greek or Asian , bred at Court or Town : Keep to old Tales , or if you must have new , Feign things coherent , that may look like true : If you would draw * Achilles in disgrace , Then draw Achilles , as Achilles was ; Impatient , fierce , inexorable , proud , His Sword his Law , his own right hand his God : Medea must be furious , she must rave : Crafty Ixion a designing Knave ; Io a wandring Cow , and Ino sad : And poor Orestes melancholy mad : But if you 'l leave those Paths where most have gone , And dare to make a Person of your own , Take care you still the same proportions strike , Let all the Parts agree , and be alike : Unusual Subjects , Sir 't is hard to hit , It asks no common Pains , nor common Wit , Rather on Subjects known your Mind employ , And take from Homer some old tales of Troy , And bring those usual things again in view , Than venture on a Subject wholly new : Yet you may make these common Themes your own , Unless you treat of things too fully known ; Show the same humors , and that usual State , Or word for word too faithfully translate ; Or else your Pattern so confin'dly choose , That you are still condemn'd to follow close , Or break all decent measures to be loose : First strain no higher , than your voice will hold , Nor as that * Cyclick writer did of old , Begin my mighty Muse , and boldly dare , I 'le sing great Priam 's Fate , and noble War. What did He worth a Gape so large produce ? The travailing Mountain yields a silly Mouse . Much better Homer , who doth all things well , Muse tell the Man , for you can surely tell , Who , Troy once fall'n , to many Countrys went , And strictly view'd the Men , and Government . As one that knows the Laws of writing right , He makes Light follow Smoak , not Smoak the Light ; For streight , how fierce Charybdis rolls along ! How Scylla roars thro all his wondrous Song ! Nor doth He , that He might seem deeply read , Begin the fam'd Return of Diomed , From Meleager's death ; nor dives as far , As Leda's Eggs , For the beginning of the Trojan War : He always hastens on to the Events , And still the middle of the Tale presents , As 't were the first , then draws the Reader on , Till the whole Story is exactly known , And what he can't improve he lets alone . And so joyns Lyes and Truth , that every part agrees , And seem no Fiction , but a real Piece : But Sir , observe ; ( shame waits on the neglect , ) This I , and all , as well as I , expect , If you would have a judging Audience stay , Be pleas'd , and clap , and sit out all the Play : Observe what Humor in each Age appears , Then draw your fit , and lively Characters , And suit their changing Minds , and Changing Years . A Boy that just speaks plain , and goes alone , Loves childish Play-mates , he is angry soon , And pleas'd as soon : and both for nothing still , Changing his Humor , various is his Will : A Youth just loosned from his Tutor's care , Leaves off his Books , and follows Hound and Hare ; The Horse is his delight , or Cards and Dice , Rough to reproof , and easy bent to Vice : Inconstant , eager , haughty , fierce and proud ; A very slow provider for his good , And prodigal of his Coin , and of his Blood. The full grown Man , doth aim at different ends , He betters his Estate , and gets him Friends ; He courts gay Honor , and He fears to do , What he must alter on a second view : An Old man's Character is hit with ease , For he is pettish , and all one Disease : Still covetous , and still he gripes for more , And yet he fears to use his present Store : Slow , long in Hope , still eager to live on , And fond of no mans Judgment but his own : On Youths gay frolicks peevishly severe , And oh when He was young , what Times they were ! The Flow of Life brings in a wealthy Store , The Ebb draws back , what e're was brought before , And leaves a barren Sand , and naked Shore . And therefore when you represent a Youth , Lest you draw lines , that fit a Man of growth ; Observe the just decorum of the Stage , And show those Humors still that suit the Age : For otherwise 't will seem as fond and wild , As 't is to clap a beard upon a Child : What e're a Play can comprehend , is shown Upon the open Stage , or told alone ; Things only told , tho of the same degree , Do raise our Passions less than what we see : For the Spectator takes in every part , The Ey 's the faithfull'st Servant to the Heart : Yet do not every Part too freely shew , Some bear the telling , better than the view : Things wild or cruel do displease the Eyes , And yet when only told , the same surprise ; Medea must not draw her murdering Knife , And on the Stage attempt her Childrens life : Nor Progne fly transform'd into a Fowl , Nor Hecuba turn'd Bitch begin to howl : Nor Cadmus there his snaky folds advance , I hate such wild improbable Romance : The Play that you design should often please , Must have five Acts , and neither more nor less ; No God appear to mend an ill-wrought Scene , Unless some weighty Cause shall force him in : To crowd the Stage , is odious and absurd , Let no fourth Actor strive to speak a word . The Chorus must supply an Actors place , And take his Part , this gives a natural Grace ; Lest any thing between the Acts should seem , Not fitly suited to the common Theme : Let him commend the Good , and Friends and Ease , Praise wholsome Justice , and love open Peace : Tame Passion , all mens Thoughts to vertue win , And cherish those that are afraid to sin : Extenuate Faults , and pray to mighty God , That Fate would raise the Poor , and sink the Proud : The Pipe of old , was not as large as now , Nor gather'd all the Breath a Man could blow : It 's hollow , small , and fill'd with feeble wind , It cheer'd the Audience with the Chorus joyn'd ; Not made of Brass , nor like the Trumpet loud , With pleasing Airs it fill'd the little Croud : For then this new delight was known to few , And you could number those that came to view . No wanton Luxury did taint the Stage , But that was mean , and modest as the Age. But when strange Nations felt our Conquering hand , When Rome enlarg'd the bounds of her Command , When statelier Walls , she did begin to raise , And Mirth , and Wine , & sport imploy'd our Days , The modish Luxury spread o're the Plays : For what could please so mixt , ill-matcht a Crowd , Where Citt and Clown were mixt , the Learn'd and Rude , As senseless as the Ox with which he plough'd ? Hence did our Musick , and our Songs increase , Our Dance was artful , noble was our Dress : Our Harps improv'd , and lofty Eloquence , In high strong Lines convey'd unusual Sence : And pithy Sentences short Truth fore-show'd , As clear and useful as the Delphian God : The Men that first did strive in Tragedies , When a mean Goat was all the Conquerors prize ; Brought Satyrs naked in , or loosely drest , And though still grave , would venture at a Jest : This was the Bait to bribe the Crowd to stay , When Drunk and Wanton , and sit out the Play. Yet Satyrs should observe this decent Rule , And so turn serious things to Ridicule ; As not to bring a God or Hero down , Or make a Person grac'd with Robe and Crown , Talk common Talk , and sink into a Clown : Or whilst he doth affect a lofty hight , Fly up in bombast , and soar out of sight : For Tragedy too high to stoop to Jest , ( As Matrons dancing at a solemn Feast , Keep decent Steps ) it different will appear , From wanton Satyrs , modestly severe : Yet bitter Words , and domineering Phrase , Is not the thing that I in Satyrs praise : Nor would I have the Difference drawn too far , And free the Satyrs from the Tragicks ear ; They must not make all Persons talk alike , The Citty Vallet , and the Country Dick ; The Chamber-maid grown impudently bold , When she has bob'd the Lecher of his Gold : The down-right Farmer , and the dowdy Sot , Or else the brisk Companion o're his Pot : I 'le take a Common Theme , and yet excell , Tho any Man may hope to write as well ; Yet let him try , and He shall sweat in vain , Idle his Labor , fruitless prove the Pain : So great the force of Art and Method seems , So much we may improve the Common Themes : Be sure you never make a Satyr sport , And talk , and dance , and jest , as bred at Court ; But let him speak , as if in Woods he spoke , And lately taken from his Mother Oak : Yet never make him wantonly absurd , Nor let him slyly drop one bawdy Word : For all our Nobles hate such filthy Wit , They scorn to bear such Words , the choice delight Of sottish Tradesmen , and the foolish Citt. A foot , one long , one short , Iambus nam'd ; Of which those measures , those so justly fam'd , Call'd Trimeter Iambick lines , are fram'd ; When just six Feet , and when thro all the Song , The self same measure 's kept , one short , one long : This Foot to make the Cadence more severe , And with a graver touch salute the Ear , Receding somewhat from her natural right , The graver Spondy kindly did admit , Yet so as to forbid it to be put , Or in the fourth , or in the second Foot : Yet this is seldom seen in the sublime , High Accius verse , or Ennius noble rhyme : And yet in this some show their want of Skill , And make their Verses scandalously ill : And whilst their sounding Rhymes transgress this Rule , The wretched Actor's hist , and thought a fool . It is not every Judg knows what 's amiss , And Rome is too indulgent to her Sons in this : What then ? Shall I be loose ? Neglect my Rules , In hopes to find my Judges senseless fools ? To beg an Alms which they can choose to grant , Shall I submit to voluntary want ? Or rather think , that all my Faults will spy , And safe within mine own perfection ly , Nor need that pardon which they can deny ? For make the best on 't , I avoid the shame , I am'nt discover'd , yet deserve no Fame : Read o're the Greeks by day , digest at night , For those are Standards , and just Rules of Wit : 'T is true , as I have heard , the former times Clapt Plautus wanton and uneven Rhymes ; With too much Patience both , ( to say no more And call it folly ) those our Fathers bore : Some think this harsh , but 't is approv'd by you Learn'd Sir , and I am sure the Censure 's true , If you and I know what is just and fit , Are skill'd in Cadence , and distinguish right , Between dull Bawdry , and facetious Wit : Thespis the first , that did surprize the Age With Tragedy , n'ere trod a decent Stage : But in a Waggon drove his Plays about , And show'd mean antick tricks to please the Rout ; His Songs uneven , rude in every Part , His Actors smutted , and the Scene a Cart : Next Aeschilus did greater Art express , He built a Stage , and taught them how to dress ; In decent motions He his Parts convey'd , And made them look as great , as those they play'd : Next these Old Comedy did please the Age , But soon their Liberty was turn'd to Rage ; Such Rage , as Civil Power was forc'd to tame , And by good Laws secure Mens injur'd Fame : Thus was the Chorus lost , Their railing Muse Grew silent , when forbidden to abuse . Our Latin Poets eager after Praise , Have boldly ventur'd , and deserv'd the Bays : They left those Paths , where all the Greeks have gone , And dar'd to show some Actions of their own : And vvould our Poets be inur'd to pain , And vvhat they once have form'd , file o're again ; Let it lie by them , Cand revise vvith are , Our Rome vvould be as fam'd , for Wit as War : Sirs , damn those Rhymes that hasty Minds do give , E're Time and Care have form'd them fit to live ; Let many a Day , and many a Blot confine , And many a Nail be par'd o're every Line : Because Democritus once fondly taught , ( Who ever heard He had one sober Thought ) That naked Nature with a frantick start , Would Rhyme more luckyly than feeble Art ; And did allow none leave to tast a drop Of Helicon , unless a crazy Fop : The foppish humor now o're most prevails , And few will shave their Beards or pair their Nails ; They shun Converse , and fly to Solitude , Seem frantick Sots , and are design'dly rude : For if they go but nasty , if they gain The reputation of a crazy Brain , Streight Poets too , they must be thought by all ; Oh Block-head I that purge at Spring and Fall ! For else perhaps I had been fam'd for Rhymes , And been the greatest Poet of the Times : But I had rather keep that Sense I have , Than to be thought a Poet , Rhyme and Rave : I 'le play the Whet stone , useless and unfit To cut my self , I 'le sharpen others Wit , Unwriting I will teach them how to write : What gives them Matter , what exalts their Thoughts , And what are Ornaments , and what are Faults ? Of writing well these are the chiefest Springs , To know the Nature , and the use of Things : Right judging Morals will the Subject show , And when the Subject 's found , Words freely flow : He that can tell what Care our injur'd Fame , And what our Mothers , what our Sisters claim ; With what degrees of Zeal we should defend , Our Country , Fathers , Brothers , or a Friend , What suits a Senator's , what a Judge's care , What Soldier 's , what a Leader's in the War : Secure of Honor he may boldly write , For he is sure to draw the Image right : 'T is my advice , let every Painter place , The Life before him that will hit the Face : So let a Writer look o're Men , to see What various Thoughts to various Kinds agree ; And thence the different Images derive , And make the fit Expressions seem to live : A Play exactly drawn , tho often rough , Without the Dress of Art to set it off , Takes People more , and more delight affords , Than noisy Trifles , and meer empty Words . The Muses lov'd the Greeks , and blest with Sense , They freely gave them Wit , and Eloquence ; In those They did Heroick fancies raise , For they were covetous of nought but Praise ; But as for Us , our Roman Youths are bred To Trades , to cast Account , to Write and Read : Come hither , Child , ( suppose 't is Albine's Son ) Hold up thy Head ; take five from forty one , And what remains ? just thirty six : well done . Add seven , what makes it then ? just forty eight : Ah thou must be a Man of an Estate ! And when this care for Gain all thoughts controuls , When this base Rust hath crusted o're their Souls ; Ne're think that such will reach a noble hight , These clogs must check , these weights retard their flight : Poets would profit , or delight alone , Or joyn both Profit and Delight in one : Let all your Rules be short , laid plainly down ; That docil Minds may comprehend them soon , And faithful Memories retain with ease , Short Precepts profit much , as well as please : For when we fill the narrow Mind too full , It runs again out of the o're-charg'd Soul : Besure what ever pleasant Tales you tell , Be so like Truth , that they may serve as well : And do not Lamias eating Children feign , Then show them whole , and make them live again : Our grave Men scorn the loose and meer jocose ; Our Youth despise the stiff and the morose : But He 's the Man , He with a Genius writes That takes them Both , and profits and delights : That in one Line instructs and pleases all ; That Book will easily be set to sale , See distant Countrys , spread the Author's name , And send him down a Theme to future Fame : Yet there are Faults , and Men may sometimes Err ; And I 'le forgive , I 'le not be too severe . An Artist allways can't command his Harp , But when he strikes a Flat , He hears a Sharp : The greatest Archers sometimes miss the Whites , If numerous Graces shine in what he writes , I 'le not condemn tho some few Faults appear , Which common frailty leaves , or want of Care : But if tho warn'd He still repeats the same , Who can endure , and who forbear to blame ? Just as that Fidler must be call'd a Sot , That always errs upon the self same Note : So He that makes a Book one copious fault , As Cherilus , the greatest Dunce that ever wrote , In whom if e're I see two lines of Wit , I smile , and wonder at the lucky hit : But fret to find the mighty Homer dream , Forget himself a-while , and lose his Theme : Yet if the work be long , sleep may surprize , And a short Nod creep o're the watchfull'st Eyes : Poems like Pictures , some when near delight , At distance some , some ask the clearest light ; And some the shade ; some Pictures please when new , And some when old ; some bear a transient view ; Some bid the Men of Skill severely pry , Some please but once , some always please the Eye : But you , dear Sir , tho you your self are wise , Tho by your Father's care , and kind advice Secure from Faults , yet pray believe me this : In other things a Mean may be allow'd , Not Best may still be tolerable good : A Common Lawyer , though he cannot plead Like smooth Messala , nor 's so deeply read As learn'd Casselius , yet the Man may please , Yet He may be in vogue , and get his Fees : But now the Laws of God and Man deny A middle State , and Mean in Poetry , For as at Treats , or as at noble Feasts , Bad Perfumes , and bad Songs displease the Guests ; Because the Feast did not depend on these , So Poetry , a thing design'd to please , Compos'd for meer delight , must needs be still Or very good , or scandalously ill : He that 's unskilful will not toss a Ball , Nor run , nor wrestle for He fears the fall ; He justly fears to meet deserv'd disgrace , And that the Ring will hiss the baffled Ass : But every one can Rhyme , He 's fit for that ; Why not ? I 'me sure he hath a good Estate , And that may give him just pretence to write , It makes a Poet , as it dubs a Knight : But you , Sir , know your self , will wisely choose , And still consult the Genius of your Muse ; And yet when e're you write , let every line Pass thro your Fathers , Mecca's Ears or mine : Keep it long by you , and improve it still , For then you may correct what e're you will : But nought can be recall'd when once 't is gone , It grows the Publick's , 't is no more your own : Fame says , Inspired Orpheus first began To sing Gods Laws , and make them known to Man ; Their fierceness softned show'd them wholesom food , And frighted all from lavvless Lust and Blood ; And therefore Fame hath told , his charming Lute Could tame a Lion , and correct a Brute : Amphion too , ( as Story goes ) could call Obedient Stones to make the Theban Wall ; He led them as he pleas'd , the Rocks obey'd , And danc't in order to the Tunes he play'd : T vvas then the vvork of Verse to make Men vvise , To lead to Vertue , and to fright from Vice : To make the Savage , Pious , Kind and Just ; To curb wild Rage , and bind unlavvful Lust ; To build Societys , and force confine , This vvas the noble , this the first Design ; This vvas their Aim , for this they tun'd their Lute , And hence the Poets got their first repute : Next Homer and Tyrte did boldly dare , To whet brave Minds and lead the stout to War : In verse their Oracles the Gods did give , In verse we were instructed how to live : Verse recommends Us to the Ears of Kings , And easeth Minds when clog'd with serious things ; And therefore , Sir , Verse may deserve your care , Which Gods inspire , and Kings delight to hear . Now some dispute to which the greatest part A Poem owes , to Nature , or to Art ; But faith , to speak my thoughts , I hardly know , What witless Art , or Artless Wit can do : Each by it self is vain I 'me sure , but joyn'd Their force is strong ; each proves the others friend : The Man that is resolv'd the Prize to gain , Doth often run , and take a world of pain ; Bear Heat and Cold , his growing strength improve , Nor tast the Joys of Wine , nor Sweets of Love : The good Musician too that 's fam'd for Song , Hath con'd his Tune , and fear'd his Master long : But amongst Poets 't is enough to say , Faith I can write an admirable Play , Pox take the hindmost , I am foremost still , And tho 't is great , conceal his want of skill : As Tradesmen call in Folks to buy their Ware , Good Penny-worths , the best in all the Fair ; So wealthy Poets when they read their Plays , Get Flatterers in , for they are paid for Praise : And faith a Man that has a good Estate , That can oblige a Friend , and nobly Treat , Be Surety for the Poor , his Cause defend , Shall never know a Flatterer from a Friend : If you have been , or promis'd to be kind To any one , whilst joy perverts his Mind Ask not his Judgment , for He 'l streight consent , And cry t is good , 't is rare , 't is Excellent ; Grow pale , and weep , and stamp , at every line , Oh Lord ! 't is more than Man , 't is all Divine ! As Hired Mourners at the Grave will howl , Much more than those that grieve with all their Soul , Thus Friends appear less mov'd than Counterfeits , And Flatterers out-do , and show their Cheats : Kings ( thus says Story ) that of old design'd , To raise a Favourite to a Bosome Friend ; Did ply him hard with wine , unmaskt his thoughts , And saw him Naked , and with all his Faults : So when you write , take heed what Friend you have , And fear the Smiles of a designing Knave : Let good Quintilius all your lines revise , And he will freely say , mend this and this ; Sir I have often try'd , and try'd again , I 'me sure I can't do better , 't is in vain : Then blot out every word , or try once more , And file these ill turn'd Verses o're and o're : But if you seem in love with your own Thought , More eager to defend than mend your Fault , He says no more , but lets the Fop go on , And Rival-sree admire his lovely own : An honest Judg will blame each idle line , And tell you , you must make the Cloudy shine ; Show you what Words are harsh , blot out the rough , And cut the useless gawdy painting off : Look thro your Faults with an impartial Eye , And tell you what you must correct , and why : Critique indeed , nor say , shall I displease My honest Friend for such small Toys as these ? These Toys will once to serious mischiefs fall , When He is laught at , when He 's jeer'd by all : For more than Mad or Poxt Men hate the Dull , And swiftly fly the senseless rhyming Fool : And fear to touch him , Men of Sense retire , The Boys abuse , and only Fools admire : Suppose he fir'd with his Poetick flame , Just as a Fowler eager on his Game , Doth fall into a Pit , and bawls aloud , And calls for pitty to the laughing Crowd ; He may bawl on , for all will stand and flout , And not one lend an hand to help him out ; But yet if any should ; what ? was 't design , Or else meer Chance , pray Sir , that threw him in ? I 'le tell my Reasons , and in short relate , A poor Sicilian Poet's wretched Fate : Empedocles must needs be thought a God , And therefore in a melancholly Mood , Leapt into Aetna's Flames : let Poets have The Priviledg to hang , and None to save ; For 't is no greater cruelty to kill , Than 't is to save a Man against his Will : Nor was it Chance the heedless Fool betray'd , Nor the strange efforts of a crazy head ; For draw him out , restore his life again , He would not be content to be a Man , He would be eager to be thought divine , And gladly burn in Hopes to gain a Shrine : Now 't is not known for what notorious Crime , These brainless Fellows are condemn'd to Rhyme ; Whether they piss'd upon their Fathers Grave , Or rob'd a Shrine ; 't is certain that they rave ; And like wild Bears if once they break their Den , And can get loose , worry all sorts of Men ; Their killing Rhymes they barbarously obtrude , And make all fly , the Learn'd , as well as Rude : But then to those they seize , They still reherse , And murder the poor Wretches with their Verse ; They Rhyme and Kill , a cursed murd'ring Brood , Like Leeches , sucking still , till full of Blood. FINIS . A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS Printed for Jacob Tonson at the Judges-Head in Chancery-Lane . 1684. PLutarch 's first Volume , newly Translated from the Greek . Plutarch Written by Mr. Dryden . Theseus , Translated by Mr. Duke . Romulus , Mr. Smallwood . Lycurgus , Mr. Chetwood . Numa Pompilius , Mr. Ricaut . Solon , Mr. Creech . Poplicola Mr. Dodswell . Themistocles , Dr. Brown. Furius Camillus , Mr. Pain . Pericles , Dr. Littleton . Fabius Maximus , Mr. Carryl . Plutarch's second Volume , newly Translated from the Greek . Alcibiades Coriolanus , Translated by Dr. Bloomer . Paulus Emilius , Mr. Arrowsmith . Timoleon , Dr. Bloomer . Pelopidas , Mr. Creech . Marcellus , Dr. Charlton . Aristides , Mr. Cooper . Marcus Cato , Mr. Lydcot , Philopemen . Dr. Short Titus Flaminius , Mr. Whitaker . Plutarch 's Third Volume newly Translated from the Greek . Pyrrhus , Translated by Dr. Cru . Caius Marius , Mr. Stapleton . Lysander , Mr. Leman . Sylla , Mr. Davis . Cimon , Mr. Morgan . Lucullus , Mr. Thornburgh . Nicias , Mr. Rimer . Crassus , Mr. Amhurst . Eumenes . Sertorius , Dr. Brown. The Fourth and Fifth Volumes of Plutarch , Translated by several eminent Hands , are now in the Press , and will with all possible speed be Published . Remarks upon a Tract Intituled , a Treatise of Humane Reason , and upon Mr. Warren 's late defence of it ; by Sir George Blundell . A Critical History of the Old Testament , in three Books : The first treating at large concerning the several Authors of the Bible : The second , containing the History of the chief Translations of the Bible , made either by Jews or Christians . The third , laying down Rules whereby a more Exact Translation may be made of the Scripture than hitherto has been , Written Originally by Father Simon of the Oratory . With a suppliment , being a defence of the Critical History in answer to Mr. Spanhem 's Treatise against it : both Translated into English by H. D. Poems upon several occasions with a Voyage to the Island of Love by Mrs. A. Behn . Ovids Epistles Englished by the Earl of Mulgrave Sir Car. Scrope , Mr. Dryden . and several other Eminent hands . Divine Contemplations upon the Life of our Saviour , Written by the Bishop of Exceter . A Chronicle of France from the beginning of that Kingdom ; Written by Monsieur Mezeray , Chronologer to the present French King. The first part of the Institutes of the Laws of England or a Commentary upon Littleton , By Sir Edward Coke K t. Theninth Edition carefully corrected with an Alphabetical Table . To this Edition is added two Learned Tracts of the same Author ; the first his Reading upon the 27 of Edward the first , Entituled The Statute of Levying Fines ; and the second , of Bail and Mainprise . The Lord Cokes Reports , in French and English — The Reports by the Lord Chief Justice Vaughn in Engl. Hettly's Reports — Dalton's Justice of Peace — Dalton's Sheriffs — Shepard's Abridgment of the Law. Brown's Entries , in 2 Parts — Miscellaneous Poems , containing a New Translation of Virgil's Ecologues , Ovid's Love Elegies , Odes of Horace , and other Authors ; with several Original Poems by the most Eminent hands . The Works of Horace , Translated into English by Mr. Creech of Oxford , are now in the Press and near Printed . Now in the Press . The Decay of the Western Empire , Translated out of French. Will speedily be Published . The History of the League , Written in French by Monsieur Maimburgh , Translated into English uppon his Majesties Command by Mr. Dryden . Notes, typically marginal, from the original text Notes for div A44471-e109800 * I read , scripta ; in honoratum , &c. * Scriptor Cyclicus is not , as usually thought , Scriptor Circumforaneus , but the same with what the Greeks call'd 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 , of whom see Langbain in his Notes on Longinus .