HORACE. The best of Lyric POETS.  
Containing much morality, and Sweetness.  
Together with Aulus Persius Flaccus HIS SATYRS.  
Translated into English By BARTEN HOLIDAY Sometime Student of  in OXFORD.  
LONDON Printed for W. R. and J. W. 1652.   

To the Reader.  
FRiendly, and generous Reader, I present not Horace to thee, in his native lustre, nor Language. Take these rather (if so thou please) for a reflection, from that brighter body of his living Odes. Behold in them Morality touched, and Virtue heightened, with clearness of Spirit, and accurateness of Judgement. These have I selected amongst many, not with desire to prescribe the same choice to others, as a rule; nor yet with any diffidence in my own election. Abundat quisque suo sensu. When in a Garden we gather a Coronet of Flowers, we intent not the total beauty of that fair piece of prospective, but particular ornament, and intermingled delight. These supply both. But many (not doubt) will say, Horace is by me forsaken, his Lyric softness, and emphatical Muse maimed: That in all there is a general defection from his genuine Harmony. Those I must tell, I have in this Translation, rather sought his Spirit, than Numbers; yet the Music of Verse not neglected neither, since the English ear better heareth the Distich, and findeth that sweetness, and air in these proportions, which the Latin affecteth, and (questionless) attaineth in Saphick or jambick measures. Some will urge again, why were not these Wreaths of moral, and serious Odes, for the more variety, and general entertainment of most, mixed with his wanton and loser strains of Poesy? These I answer, and with it conclude. The Translator of these, had rather teach Virtue to the modest, then discover Vice to the dissolute. The streams of Helicon, are clear, and Crystalline. Drink thou goodness from these purer Fountain●●. Whilst such take unhappy draughts, from the troubled and muddy waters of Sensuality.   

ODES OF HORACE.  

The First Book.  

Ode. I. To MAECENAS. All things please not all men. HORACE most especially affecteth the name of a Lyric. Poet.  Maecenas atavis. 
MAEcenas) sprung from Grandsire King's descent.  
O, my defence, and sweetest ornament.  
There are, who in their Chariots speedy flight,  
To raise Olympic dust, do take delight:  
And having with chafted wheels, the goal declined  
For conquest's meed, have stile of Gods assigned.  
This man, if wavering Citizens contend,  
His worth, with threefold honours to commend:  
That other, if he in his Garnier stores,  
What ever hath been swept from Lybian oars,  
From painful Tillage, and the countries' love,  
The wealth of Attalus can never move,  
That be a mariner in fear of loss,  
With Cyprian Bark Myrtöan Seas should cross.  
When Southwest winds. Icarian waves do raise,  
The Merchant rest, & Country grannge doth praise;  
Strait his torn Vessel, he repairs again,  
The force of want unable to sustain:  
S●me others use, old Massique Wines to ply,  
Nor from, the day some part to take deny;  
Now, seeking under Arbutt's shade to cling,  
Now near the soft head of some gentle Spring.  
In Tents, and Trumpets Echo some delight,  
Mixed with the Flute, and Wars that Mothers fright  
In Fields the Hunter on the coldest day,  
Forge full of his tender Wife, doth stay:  
Wither his faithful dogs, have viewed the Hind,  
Or, Marsyan Boar his round nets have untwined.  
Me, Ivy the reward for learned Brows.  
A place among supernal gods allows.  
Light quires of wood Nymphs, that with Satyrs bide,  
And shady groaves from Vulgar me divide:  
So that my pipe Euterpe not restrain,  
Nor Polyhimne to tune my Lute refrain.  
But if you me, 'mongst Lyrics will account,  
My raised crest above the Stars shall mount,   

Ode II. To AUGUSTUS CAESAR. Many storms are poured upon the People of Rome in revenge of Julius Caesar slain. The only hope of the Empire is placed in the safety of Augustus.  Jam satis terris. 
I Ove, now on Earth, sufficient,  
Of Snow, and direful Hail hath sent;  
Who snaking Towers, with fiery hand,  
Affrighted made the City stand:  
He Nations scared, lest Pirrah's Reign  
New Monsters should produce again;  
As erst when Proteus drove his Flock,  
To feed on Cliff of steepy Rock,  
Then to the Elme's Tope Fishes clavae,  
Which Turtles used for seat to have  
And Does, whom sudden frights disease,  
Swum boldly over swelling Seas.  
Our eyes have yellow Tiber's Flood  
Beheld, by Tyrrhen shores withstood  
With violence; run down to beat,  
The Tombs of Kings, and Vest'aes' seat.  
While Iliae much to him complains,  
He vows revenge: though Jove disdains  
His wand'ring, and uxorious wave,  
Upon the City bank, should rave.  
Succeeding Youth, through Parent's crimes,  
Impaired shall hear that passed times,  
Have sharp'ned swords; shall hear of bralls,  
Wherewith the Persian better falls.  
To which god, shall we Vows assign,  
Now, that our State affairs decline?  
What prayer shall holy Virgin Saints,  
To Vesta yield, made deaf to plaints?  
To whom shall Jove, the power dispense,  
Of expiating Sins offence?  
(Divining Phoebus) come we pray,  
Whose shoulders white the Clouds array.  
Or if thou please (smooth Venus) hy  
About whom sport and pleasure fly.  
Or founder Mars, if Stock, or Kin,  
Thou Love, which have neglected been.  
O, thou that cloyed art with fight,  
Whom clamour, and smooth Helms delight:  
And Mauritanian's visage bold,  
When his stern Foe, he doth behold.  
Or, mayst thou (gentle Maia's Son)  
With winged speed be hither won.  
Augustus' figure changed in thee,  
Caesar's revengeful friend to be.  
Oh, mayst thou (late) to heaven retire;  
Be present long, to Rom's desire:  
Nor may the speedy blast of Time,  
Take thee offended with our Crime.  
Hear Triumphs seek, and lasting fame,  
Instilled with Prince and Father's name;  
Nor suffer Caesar (thou our Guide)  
The Medians unrevenged to ride.   

Ode XXII. To ARISTIUS. Integrity of life is every where safe, which he proveth, by his own example.  Integer Virae. 
FUscus) the man whose life's entire,  
And free from sin, needs not desire;  
The Bow nor dart from Moor to borrow,  
Nor from full Quiver poisoned A-row:  
Wither o'er Libya's parched Sands,  
Or Caucasus, that houslesse stands,  
He taketh his journey; or those places,  
By which the famed Hydaspes' traces.  
For I, while in the Sabine Grove,  
My Lalage do chanting rove,  
From me not marking limits dew,  
A Wolf (though I unarmed slew.  
A Monster such, as all exceeds,  
Which in large woods fierce Daunia feeds:  
Or those which Iuba's Kingdom hath,  
The Desert nurse of Lion's wrath.  
Place me in coldest Champains, where,  
No Summer warmth, the Trees doth cheer:  
Let me in that dull Climate rest,  
Which Clouds and sullen Jove infest:  
Yea place me underneath the Car  
Of too near Phoebus: seated fare  
From dwelling Lalage, I'll love,  
Whose smiles, whose words so sweetly move.   

Ode XXIV. TO VIRGIL. Who immoderately bemoaned the death of Quintilius.  Quis desiderio sit. 
MElpomene) on whom great Jupiter  
Did shrillest voice to tuneful Harp confer:  
Declare in mournful Notes; what shame, or let  
Should on the love of such a friend beset.  
Shall then Quintilius sleep eternally?  
An equal unto whom, pure Modesty  
And Justice Sister, Faith sincere and plain,  
And naked Veritic, shall never gain?  
Of many Worthy men bemoaned he fell:  
But (Virgil) no man's grief can thine excel.  
Thou (loving) dost (alas) the gods in vain  
quintilius, not so lent thee, ask again.  
What if more sweet, than Thracian orpheus wire,  
You Trees persuade, to hearken to your Lyre;  
Yet can you not, return of Life command,  
To shadow vain; which once with dreadful wand,  
God Mercury, unwilling fate t'unlocke,  
Hath forced to dwell among the Stygian flock.  
'Tis hard I grant" But Patience makes that light,  
Which to correct, or change, exceeds our might.   

Ode XXVIII. Architas, a Philosopher and Geometrician is presented, answering to a certain Mariner, that all men must die, and entreating him, that be would not suffer his body to lie on the shore unburied.  Te Maris, & Terrae 
THee, who the Sea, Earth, Sands, that none can tell  
To bond with measure, knewest (Architas) well.  
The poor gift of a little dust confines,  
And near unto the Matine shore enshrines:  
Nor could it any help, or profit be:  
Death being ready still to call for thee;  
Those ay'rie mansions to inquire from hence,  
And search in mind the Heaven's circumference.  
The Sire of Pelops, who with Gods did feast,  
And aged Tithon, shrunk at Death's arrest:  
And Minos, to Jove's Council called was slain,  
And Panthois died let out of Hell again,  
Though he with Shield affixed, proving well  
That his first Birth in Trojan ages fell,  
Affirmed that death nought killed, but nerves, & skin:  
(No man in Nature's power was better seen:)  
But we into oneself same night do fall,  
And must the paths of Death tread once for all,  
The Furies some to games of Mars apply  
The greedy, Sailor drenched in Seas doth lie.  
In death both young and old by heaps do join;  
Nor any head escapes sad Proserpina.  
Yea, the South wind, crooked Orion's mate,  
Or'whelmed me in Illyrian waves of late;  
But be thou pleased (gentle) Mariner,)  
My bones, and head, in lose sand to inter.  
Which done (so thou be safe) may th' Eastern wind,  
That move, Hosperian billows be assigned,  
To bluster loudly in Venusium woods:  
And may on every side, thy trafficked goods,  
In plenty slow to thee, from Jove's just hand,  
And Neptune, who Tarentum doth command:  
But if to frustrate me thou be not nice,  
Which may thy guiltless issue prejudice;  
I wish due punishment, and proud neglect,  
May on thy Funeral Obsequies reflect:  
Nor may my Prayers be poured forth in vain,  
Nor vows have strength to set thee free again.  
Yet if thou hast, no longer stay I crave,  
Then, thrice the dust be thrown upon thy grave.   

Ode XXXI. TO APOLLO. He desireth not riches of Apollo, but that he may have a sound mind in a healthy body.  Quid dedicatum poscit. 
What doth thy Poet ask (Phoebus divine?)  
What craves he, when he pours thee bowls of wine,  
Not the rich corn of fat Sardinia,  
Nor grateful flocks of  Calabria?  
Nor Gold, nor Indian Ivory; nor the grounds,  
Which silent Lyris, with soft streams arrounds:  
Let those whom Fortune so much store assigns,  
Dress with Calenian hook, their fertile Vines:  
Let the rich Merchant to the Gods so dear,  
(For so I term him right, who every year  
Th●ee or four times, visits th' Atlantic Seas,  
From shipwreck free:) Let him his palate please,  
And drink in guilt bowls, wines of higest price,  
Bought with the sale of Syrian Merchandise.  
Lose Mallows, Succory and Olive plant  
Serve me for food. O (great Apollo) grant,  
To me in health, and free from life's annoy,  
Things native and soon gotten to enjoy;  
And with a mind composed old age attain,  
Not loathsome, nor deprived of Lyric strain.   

Ode XXXIV. TO HIMSELF. Who repenteth, that having followed the Epicurean Sect, he thereby hath negligently honoured the gods.  Parcus Deorum cultor. 
I, Of the Gods a tardy worshipper,  
Whilst (skilled) in frantic wisdom I do err,  
Now backward forced am my sails to raise,  
And to seek out again forsaken ways.  
For Jupiter, who light to day inspires,  
Dividing sable clouds, with shining fires,  
Hath through the clear sky oft ordained his drift,  
With thunder breathing horse and chariot swift,  
Wherewith dull earth, and wand'ring rivers quacke,  
The Stygian Fen, and horrid Seat doth shake  
Of hateful Taenerus, and Atlas' bounds.  
‛ God in exchange the high with low confounds:  
" He abject baseness on the highest flings,  
" And casteth lustre on obscured things.  
Hence restless Fortune, height from one man takes,  
With shrillest noise, and great another makes.   

Ode XXXV. TO FORTUNE. He beseecheth her, that she would preserve Caesar going into Britain.  O diva gratum. 
O Goddess, which beloved Antium sways,  
Still ready with thy powerful arm to raise,  
Men from the low degree of wretched thralls,  
Or turn proud triumphs into funerals.  
The poor, and rustic Clown, with humble plea  
Solicits thee: Thee Lady of the Sea,  
He loudly invocates; who e'er doth sweep  
In Asian vessel the Carpathian deep.  
The Dacian rough, the wand'ring Scythian,  
Cities, and Kingdoms; The fierce Latian;  
Thee Mothers of Barbarian Kings do fear,  
And Tyrants, which bright purple garments wear.  
Let not a standing pillar be or'ethrowne  
With thy offended foot; nor be it known,  
That people apt for arms, yet now at rest,  
Take arms again, and Empire's peace infest.  
Thee sharp Necessity, doth still forego,  
Holding in brazen hand, as pledge of woe,  
Tormenting beams, and racks: and more to daunt,  
Sharp hooks, and molten lead do never want.  
Thee Hope, and simple Faith in white attire,  
Doth honour and thy company desire,  
How e'er another habit thou dost take,  
And made a foe, great houses thou forsake.  
But the false multitude, and perjured whore  
Doth bacl retire; yea friends when vessels store,  
Is to the dregs drunk up; Away they fly,  
Shuening the yoke of mutual poverty.  
Preserve thou Caesar safe, we thee implore,  
Bound to the world's remotest: Briton shore,  
And the late raised troops of youth most able,  
To Eastern parts, and red Sea formidable.  
We at our scars do blush, Sin, Brother's fall.  
(Vile Age) what mischiefs do we shun at all?  
What youth, his hand, for fear of gods contains?  
Or who himself from Altars spoil restrains?  
Ah wouldst thou now our blunted swords new frame  
Th' Arabians, and the Massagetes to tame.   
The end of the first Book.   

ODES OF HORACE.  
The Second Book.  

Ode. II. To C. SALUSTIUS CHRISPUS. He praiseth Proculejus for liberality towards his brothers. Only contempt of money maketh a man happy.  Nullus Argento colour. 
NO colour is in Golden vain,  
(Oh Sallust, enemy of gain)  
Hidden within a greedy Mine,  
Unless with temperate use it shine.  
Never shall Proculcjus die,  
Mongst Brothers marked for piety:  
Surviving Fame with daring flight,  
Shall yield his name eternal right.  
In larger circuit thou dost reign,  
If greedy humour thou restrain.  
Then if thou Gades to Lybia join,  
Or both the Carthages were thine.  
The selfe-indulgent Dropsy grows,  
Nor doth the palates thirst unlose,  
Till man from veins, the sickness cause,  
And pallid watery faintness draws.  
Virtue, that vulgar doth oppose,  
Not in the rank of happy, chose  
Phraat with Cyrus' throne endued.  
And doth forbid the multitude  
False acclamations to make;  
And rule, and Seepter safe partake,  
And Bays to him alone apply,  
Who views huge heaps with careless eye.   

Ode III. TO DELIUS. Prosperous, and adverse Fortune are to be moderately borne, since one, and the self same condition of death, hangeth over every man.  Aequam memento. 
IN adverse chance, an equal mind retain,  
As in best fortunes tempered, free from vain  
Of mirth profuse: For (Delius) thou must die.  
Whither in sadness, thou dost ever lie;  
Or, on Feast days retyrd to grassy shade,  
Thou with close Falerne wine art happy made:  
Where the white Poplar, and the lofty Pine,  
Their friendly shade in mutual branches twine:  
And Rivers swiftly gliding strive, apace  
'Bout chrooked banks, their trembling streams to chase.  
Bring hither Wine, and odorous Unguents. Bring  
The dainty Rose, a fair, but fading thing.  
While Fortune, age, and wealth yield seasons sit:  
And the three Sisters sable looms permit:  
Thou from thy house must part, and purchased woods,  
And village laved, with yellow Tiber's floods.  
And thy high hoarded heaps of wealth's access.  
An Heir (perhaps) ungrateful shall possess.  
No matter 'tis, whether thou rich art borne,  
Of Argive Kings; or low, exposed to scorn,  
Sprung from poor Parents, liv'st in open fields;  
Thou art Death's sacrifice, (who never yields,  
We all are thither brought, 'tis he that turns,  
And winds our mortal life's unceraine Urns.  
Sooner or later each man hath his lot,  
And exiled hence, embarks in Charous Boat.   

Ode IX. TO VALOIUS. That now or length he would desist, to deplore his deceased Mist.  Non semper imbres. 
The swelling cloud, not always powers,  
On rugged fields impetuos showers.  
Nor Caspian Sea (Valgius beloved)  
With tossing storms is ever moved.  
Nor on Armenia's bordering shore,  
The sluggish ice stands all ways door:  
Or Gargan groves, with North-winds rived,  
Or Ash-trees are of leaves deprived.  
You still in mournful sort complain  
That death, hath dearest Mist slain.  
Your love not fails, if Vesper rise,  
Nor when bright Hesper, Phoebus flies.  
But thrice-aged Nestor, mourned not still,  
That death Antilochus did kill:  
Nor Parents; nor sad Sisters, ever  
To wail young Troilus persever.  
Cease then at length, thy soft complaine;  
And in our Songs, now let us paint,  
Great Coesars' Trophics, and command,  
And how conjoined to conquered land,  
The Median stream, and Nyphate strong,  
Do in less Channels, run along;  
And Gelons to less limits tied,  
In fare more straightened fields do ride.   

Ode X. TO LICINIUS. Mediocrity to be used in either Fortunes.  Rectius vives Licini. 
YOur safer course (Licin ius) count,  
Not always on the Main to mount:  
Nor whilst you (wisely) storms abhor,  
Too much to trust the shelfie shore:  
He that affects the golden means,  
Lives safe from Cottages unclean,  
And (sober) doth as much despise,  
In envy-breeding Courts do rise.  
The blustering winds more often fare,  
'Gainst lofty Pines do threaten war:  
Brave Towers with greater ruin fall,  
And Thunder highest hills enthrall:  
Each Fortune, minds prepared doth glad,  
They fear in good, and hope in bad.  
Jove brings in horrid Winter's rage,  
And suddenly doth it assuage.  
If with thee now, it be but ill,  
Think that it cannot be so still.  
Sometimes Apollo's silent Muse,  
Speaks in His Harp; nor doth he use,  
Always to bend his angry Bow;  
In crosses strength, and courage show.  
And let your sails with prosperous wind  
Too much advanced, be declined.   

Ode XI. TO QUINTUS HIRPINUS. Cares laid aside, let us live merrily.  Quid bellicos Cantaber. 
What the Cantabrian stout, or Scythian think:  
Divided with opposed Adria's brink,  
(Quintus Herpinus) do not thou inquire,  
Nor for lists use, which little doth desire,  
Beo thou too careful. Smooth-faced youth, apace  
Doth backwardly fly, and with it beauties grace.  
Dry aged hoariness with furrows deep,  
Dispelling amorous fires, and gentle sleep.  
The Summer flowers keep not their native grace,  
Nor shines the bright Moon with a constant face.  
Why dost thou tyre thy mind, subordinate  
Unto the Counsels of eternal Fate?  
Why under this high Plane, or Pine-tre's shade  
In discomposed, manner careless laid,  
Our hoary hair perfumed with fragrant Rose,  
And odours which Assyria doth disclose.  
Do we (anointed) not to drink prepare?  
Free Bacchus dissipates consuming care.  
But (oh) what Boy, Falernian wines hot rage,  
Will soon for me, with gliding streams assuage?  
(Ah) how retired Lyde will require,  
Hither to come. Boy with her Ivory Lyre,  
Bid her make haste, and heir to tie not shame,  
In careless knot, like a Laconian Dame.   

Ode XIV. TO POSTHUMUS. Life is short, and Death is necessary.  Eheu fugaces posthume. 
AH Posthumus, swift year do pass,  
Nor can religious Zeal (alas)  
To wrinkles, or decrepit days,  
Or Death untamed brings delays:  
Not, if thou to harsh Pluto's shrine  
Each day three hundred Bulls assign:  
Who Geryon, and Tytius bound,  
With sable River doth surround.  
A stream on which each man must sail.  
From Royal Sceptre to the flail.  
We bloody Mars decline in vain,  
Or broken waves of Adrian main:  
And (needless fear in Autumn rife,  
The South wind's hurtful to our life.  
Wand'ring Cocytus Flood, with slow  
And heavy Current, thou must know.  
And Danäus infamous train,  
And Sisyphus with endless pain.  
Thou House, Land, lovely Wife must want,  
Nor of the Trees, which thou dost plant,  
(Thou dead) will any wait on thee,  
But the despised Cypress Tree.  
Thy worthier Heir, drinks precious wine.  
Which thou with hundred keys didst shrine;  
And with it the rich pavement dews;  
None such the high Priest Banquet shows.   

Ode XV. Against the excess of that Age.  Jam pauca aratro. 
Magnific buildings will leave shortly now,  
Few Acres of firm land, unto the Plough;  
Now many are beheld huge Pools to make  
Of much more wide extent, than Lucrine Lake.  
The solitary Plane, the Elm supplants,  
And now no sort of odorous flowers wants,  
As Roses, Violets, and Venus-Mittle,  
Where th'Olive grew, to former Lords so fertile.  
The Laurel now, to Phoebus' piercing eye,  
Through his thick branches passage doth deny.  
No such Prescript did Romulus exact,  
Nor Elders, nor rough Cato did enact.  
Private Revenues, then, were short, and low,  
And each man sought to make the public flow.  
Proud Galleries no private man, then made,  
Of ten foot wide to let in Northern shade.  
Nor did our Laws, then suffer us, disdain,  
A casual Turse, for pillow to retain;  
Commanding towns to build, at public charge,  
And the gods Temples with new stone enlarge.   

Ode XVI. TO GROSPHUS. All men desire tranquillity of mind which can neither with Riches, nor Honours be acquired, but only with bridleing our Appeties.  Otium Divos rogat. 
Soon as black clouds have hid the Moon's bright eyes  
And Pilots cannot best known Stars espy,  
The Mariner tossed in Aegcan Sea,  
Strait to the gods for rest makes humble plea.  
The Thraecians fierce in war do ease require,  
And Quiver-bearing Medes repose desire,  
Repose, which not with gems, purple, or gold,  
(Believe me Grosphus) will be bought, or sold.  
No Wealth, nor Consul's Lictors that make way,  
Can from the heart disturbed tumults fray,  
Nor cares which round about gilt roofs do fly.  
He with a little liveth happily,  
Who having on his homely Table placed  
His Father's Cup, and Salt kept undefaced,  
So lives, that fear, nor sordid lucre keep  
His waking eyes from soft, and gentle sleep.  
Why do we (boldly) many things propose  
In short lived age, which Time doth quickly close?  
Why lands with other Son inflamed change?  
Who from himself, though far from home can range?  
Strong Ships are boarded by consuming Care:  
Nor doth she bravest troops of Horsemen spare:  
More swift she is, than the light-footed Hind,  
Or tempest-raising storms of Eastern wind.  
The mind in present cheerful, hates to care  
For what beyond it lies; And doth prepare  
To temper bitter things with laughter free.  
" Nothing in all respects can happy be.  
Death quickly snatched brave Achilles hence,  
Nor did with Tythou's long lived age dispense:  
And that (perhaps) of time I may obtain,  
Which thy expecting hopes shall never gain.  
You many fertile flocks of sheep command,  
Sicilian Kine about you lowing stand.  
Your Mares for Chariot fit, are hard from fare,  
Loudly to neigh: Nor garments wanting are,  
Of Purple cloth, dipped twice in Africa Die;  
While a poor state, by upright destiny,  
To me is given; mixed with a slender name,  
Of Greckith Muse, and scorn of vulgar Fame.   

Ode XVII. TO MAECENAS being sick. Whom he resolveth not to survive.  Cur Mc querelis. 
WHy kill you me with your laments?  
It neither gods, nor me contents,  
Maecenas (first) should yield to Fate,  
The Grace, and Pillar of my State.  
But if a speedier stroke of death,  
Rob thee (my soul's best part) of breath?  
Why stay I in the other, Sole,  
Not pleasing to my Self, nor whole?  
One day shall see us perish both:  
I have not sworn an idle oath.  
Go, when you please, I will not stay,  
But be your partner in the way.  
Chimera's spirit breathing fire,  
Nor hundred handed Gyas, Ire;  
Shall this my fixed vow abate;  
Thus Justice hath it pleased, and Eat.  
Though Libra in his full aspect,  
And feared- Scorpius, direct,  
My Horoscope with rage infest,  
Or, Capricorn, that rules the West;  
Our Constellations both agree  
In admirable sort. And thee  
Ioves radiant lustre, hath exempt,  
From Saturn's Beam malevolent,  
And slacked the wings of speedy death;  
What time the people with loud breath,  
Thrice in the Theatre did sound  
That gladsome news: Even than a wound,  
By a trees fall, my skull had broke.  
But Wood-god Faunus, from the stroke,  
Me than did happily assist,  
(Patron of each Mercurialist.)  
Then pay thy vows, thy temple build,  
And I a tender Lamb will yield.   

Ode XVIII. He affirmeth himself content with little, while others are wholly addicted to their desires, and increase of riches, as if they should always live.  Non ebur, neque aureum. 
NO guilded roof, nor Ivory fret,  
For splendour in my house is set;  
Nor beams are from Hymettia sought,  
To lie athwart rich Columns, brought  
From Africa; nor an heir unknown,  
Attalus wealth, make I mine own.  
No honest Clients wives you see,  
Laconian Purples wove for me:  
A loyal heart, and gentle vain,  
Of wit I have; which doth constrain  
Rome's richest men, to seek the love,  
Of me but poor: Nor gods above,  
Do I invoke for larger store;  
Nor of Moecenae ask I more.  
To me, my only Sabine field,  
Sufficient happiness doth yield.  
" One day thrusts on another fast,  
And new Moons to the Wane do haste.  
When death (perhaps) is near at hand,  
Thou fairest Marbles dost command  
Be cut for use, yet dost neglect  
Thy grave, and houses still erect,  
And wouldst abridge, the vast Seas shore,  
Which loudly doth at Baia roar:  
Enriched little, less content,  
With limits of the Continent.  
Why often pull you up your bounds,  
T●●●large the Circuit of your grounds,  
And greedily your list extend  
beyond your neighbour straightly penned?  
Both man, and wife with sordid brood,  
And ancient household gods, that stood  
〈◊〉 quiet peace, must be expelled;  
Yet is no habitation, held,  
●●r the rich Landlord, so assured,  
●●s in deep Hell to be immured.  
Then whither do you further tend?  
〈◊〉 ' indifferent Earth, and equal friend,  
●s willingly opens her womb,  
For Beggar's grave, as Prince's Tomb.  
●old could of Charon not obtain,  
To bear Prometheus bacl again.  
Proud Fantalus, and all his stock,  
●ee, in the bands of Fate did lock.  
And called, or not called still is pressed,  
To give the labouring poor man, Rest.   
The end of the second Book.   

ODES OF HORACE.  
The Third Book.  

Ode. I. Life is made happy, not with Riches but Mind's Tranquillity.  Odi profanum Vulgus. 
I Hate and from me do exclude,  
The most illiterate Multitude.  
You knowing Spirits, favour bring  
To me the Muse's Priest, who sing  
To Boys, and spotless Virgins, Verse  
Which none did ever yet rehearse.  
King's awful, their own Subjects sway,  
And Kings themselves do Jove obey:  
Who famous for the Giant's fall,  
With brow austere doth manage all.  
Say on, more large in furowes plant  
Trees, which an other man doth want  
What though one boast an nobler strain,  
Affected honours to attain:  
●●e better life, and Fame pretends,  
●other hath more troops of friends:  
With equal Law, ne'er failing death,  
●●e rich, and poor deprives of breath:  
osting that name, from forth his Urn,  
●●●ch next by lot to death must turn.  
●hun, who o'er his wicked head,  
●drawne sword sees in twine of thread,  
〈◊〉 than Feasts, with dainties graced,  
●ocure no Palat-pleasing taste;  
merchant of Birds, nor charm of Lyre,  
●n●o his eyes, soft sleep inspire:  
●●●cious sleep, no whit disdains,  
●he homely Cortages of Swains:  
●or shady banks, nor Tempe grove,  
●hare Zephyrus doth gently rove.  
●ee who desires, but what's enough,  
●ares not the Ocean billows rough:  
●or stern Arcturus force, that sets,  
●or rising Kid, who storms begets:  
●●s Vines, nor ruined, are with hail,  
Nor do his crops in Harvest fail:  
His fields, now blaming water-falls,  
Now parching Stars now winter-thrales,  
Yea Fishes feel the Seas grown strait,  
With Bulwarks raised of wondrous weight:  
Here the Surveyor, with his train,  
And Lord himself, filled with disdain;  
Of his firm Land's to narrow ring,  
Building materials frequent bring:  
But angry threats, and restless Fear,  
Go with their Master every where.  
●lack Care, in ship, with him abides,  
And sits behind him when he rides.  
But if, nor Phrygian Columns, can,  
Nor use of Purples brighter, than  
Heavens Lights, disturbed minds content,  
Nor Falerne Vine, nor Persian Sent.  
Why Pillars proud, should I erect,  
Or Gallery of new Architect?  
Why should I Sabine's Country Grange,  
For much more busy wealth exchange?   

Ode II. To his FRIENDS. Boys are to be enured from their tender age, to poverty, warfare, and painful Life.  Angustam amici. 
LEt able Youth, itself enure,  
By wars sharp use, want to endure,  
And mounted on his Horse, with Spear,  
No whit bold Parthians valour fear:  
Let him exposed to open air,  
Live, and attempt, the hardest affair.  
Whom wife of Tyrant, used to war,  
Viewing, from hostile walls afar;  
And Maid for marriage ripe may cry,  
With sighs, which from sad passion fly.  
Oh, that my royal Love, untrained  
In martial feats, would be restrained,  
Not to fierce Combats fatal stroke,  
That wrathful Lion to provoke,  
Whom bloody angers direful rage,  
In thickest slaughters doth engage.  
" It is a sweet, and noble gain,  
" In Country's quarrel to be slain.  
Death, the swift flying man pursues  
With ready steps: Nor doth he use,  
To spare, from unavoided wrack,  
Youth's supple hams, or fearful back,  
Virtue disdaining base neglect,  
Doth shine with taintless honours decked:  
Nor takes, or leaves she honour's choice,  
To please the people's ay'ry voice.  
Virtue, unlocking Heaven to praise,  
Doth dauntless try, denied ways.  
Vulgar assemblies doth despise,  
And leaving Earth, to Heaven flies.  
Yea, trusty Silence is not barred,  
To have a merited reward.  
He, who to blab the holy Rites,  
Of secret Ceres' Fane delights,  
Under, the same roof shall not be,  
Nor in frail Vessel sail with me.  
" Jove oft neglected, makes the Just  
" To smart with those are stained with lust;  
" Seldom Revenge, with halting pace,  
Leaves bad foregoing men lo trace.   

Ode. III. A man with virtue adorned, feareth nothing. Juno's Oration of Troy's overthrow, and the end of that war. And how the Roman Empire shall take beginning from the Trojans.  Justum & tenacem. 
HEe, that is just, and of resolved mind,  
No voyee of of Citizens to bad inclined,  
Nor angry brow of hasty Tyrant's threat,  
Can shake his solid thoughts from virtue's seat.  
Not the South wind, which doth rough Adria stir,  
Nor potent hand of thundering jupiter;  
Yea, should the world dissolved perish quite,  
The sudden ruins would him not affright.  
With this same Art, the wand'ring Hercules,  
And Pollux, did the fiery Turrets seize.  
Twixt whom Augustus placed with rosy lips  
Nectar, the Gods eternal liquor, sips.  
With this god Bacchus, high this worth did rear,  
By Tigers drawn, untaught the yoke to bear.  
With this Art Romulus on Mars his steeds,  
Leaves Acheron, and to heavens glory speeds.  
What time the gods consulting. juno said  
In grateful accents this; Troy, Troy, betrayed,  
A fatal, and incestuous Judge hath burned  
And a strange woman unto Ashes turned  
Even from that time, that Priam's wayward Sire,  
Bereft the righteous gods their promised hire,  
Which Troy by me, and Pallas once contemned,  
With Prince and people, were to flames condemned.  
Now the known guest, of that adulterous Dame  
Which fled from Greece, no more shall merit fame;  
And Priam's perjured stockwith Hector's aid,  
No more shall make the warlike Greeks dismayed.  
The fatal wars, which our seditions fed,  
Are now composed, and angry storms are dead.  
Henceforth to Mars my fury will I leave,  
And Vesta's offspring unto grace receive:  
Him I to heavens bright mansions will admit,  
To drink of Nectar, and with Gods to sit:  
While the vast Sea, twixt Troy, and Rome is found  
Reign happy banished men on any ground:  
Whilst herds o'er Priam's tomb, & Paris stray.  
And beasts preserve their young from hunters pray,  
Let the bright Capitol its glory spread,  
And Rome give Laws unto the conquered Mead.  
Yea let her, her far dreaded name extend,  
And with the Earth's remotest confines end:  
Where the Mid stream, Europe from Africa bounds,  
Or swelling Nilus, watreth fertile grounds.  
Rome abler far, to scorn gold, yet unfound,  
(Which best is placed, when deepest under ground)  
Then to extract it thence for humane use,  
Each hand things sacred foiling with abuse.  
What limit of the world, so  contend,  
Let thither Rome, her arms victorious send.  
Glad to behold, where the  Zones do stand,  
Or cloudy Poles, which showry dews command.  
But to the most unvanquished Roman State,  
On this condition I prescribe this Fate,  
Lest they, too pious, and indulgent yield,  
The ruin'd walls of ancient Troy to build.  
Yet if that Fortune by unhappy chance,  
Should once again decayed Troy advance  
I Wife, and Sister of Jove, Heaven's King,  
With armed troops, would new destruction bring.  
If thrice a Brazen wall, by Phoebus' hand  
Should reared be, it thrice by my command,  
The Greeks should raze, & thrice the captive wife  
Her child, and husband mourn, deprived of life.  
But these things nothing fit my sportive Lyre:  
Muse whither go'st thou? Ah! do not aspire,  
The god's discourse, thus boldly to relate  
Or great things with low Lays extenuate.   

Ode VI To the ROMANS. Of the corrupt manners of that Age.  Delicta majorum. 

(Roman) resolve, thou shalt desertless taste,  
sin's scourge, for vice of Predecessor past,  
Until thou dost again, repair  
Decayed Temples and make fair,   

The falling houses of the gods, disgraced,  
And cleanse their Images, with smoke defaced.  
To think thee less then gods, thy power commends;  
Hence take beginnings, hither aim thy ends.   

The Gods neglected, did impose  
On sad Hesperia many woes.   

Twice Pacorus, and twice Monaeses hand,  
Our inauspicious forces did disband:   

Who with a plenteous prey made glad.  
To little chains new links did add.   

The Dacian, and the Aethiop fierce, in wars,  
Hath almost razed the City, rend with jars.   

One with his Navy formidable,  
With darts, the other better able.   

This Age in vice abounding did begin,  
 Stocks, & Nuptials to pollute with sin:   

The woes which from this fountain flow,  
People, and Country overthrow.   

The Maid for Marriage ripe, much joys to learn,  
jonick Dances, and can well discern,   

With art to feign, and quickly prove,  
The pleasures of unlawful love.   

Strait made a wife in midst of husband's cups,  
She with young Gallants, and adulterers sups,   

Nor doth she care, to whom by stealth,  
(Light's out) she yield loves lawless wealth.   

But asked, doth rise (her knowing husband by)  
To prostitute her Marriage modesty:   

At Factors call, or Pilot's higher,  
Of lustful shame, a costly buyer.   

That youth came not, from such forefather's strain,  
Who did the Sea with Punic blood distain.   

By such hands, Pyrrhus did not fall.  
Antiocus, nor Hannibal.   

But in those days, a brave and manly race  
Of rustic Shoulders lived in this place,   

Well skilled in Plough, and Sabine spade,  
And so strict obedience made.   

That if sharp mother's bad, at home return,  
They on their shoulders brought logs hewed to burn:  
Soon, as the Sun, did change the mountains, shade,  
And weary unyoked Oxen homeward made,   

Night gave their labours free dispense,  
Chase the Sun's bright Chariot hence.   

" What wasteth not with Times devouring rage?  
" Our fatherslife much worse the grandsire's age,   

" Sees us more wicked, to produce  
" An offspring fuller of abuse.    

Ode IX. TO LYDIA. A Dialogue of his passed Loves, and renewing of them again.  
This Ode, though less moral than the rest, I have admitted, for Jul. Scaliger's sake, who much admireth it.  Donec gratus eram. Horace. 
WHilst I was pleasing in thy eye,  
Nor any to thy heart more nigh,  
Clasped, that white neck in amorous Ring,  
More blessed I lived, than Persia's King.  Lydia. 
Whilst you no other Fire embraced,  
Nor Chloe before Lydia placed.  
I Lydia then with honour signed,  
More than the Roman Illia shin, d.  Horace. 
Now Thracian Chloe I obey,  
Skilful, and prompt in music's lay:  
For whom I will not fear to die,  
So Fate to her the same deny.  Lydia. 
Calais Ornithus son doth fire  
My heart with flames of like desire.  
For whom I twice to die, will dare  
So Fates, the youth surviving spare.  Horace. 
But what if ancient Love return,  
And us with mutual passion burn;  
If I shake off bright Chloes hope,  
And doors to scorned Lydia open?  Lydia. 
Though he be brighter than a Star,  
And lighter thou, than Cork by fare.  
More angry than rough Adria; I  
With thee would live, with thee would die.   

Ode XIV. To the ROMAN PEOPLE. This Ode containeth the praises of Augustus returning out of Spain, after his Conquest over the Cantabrians.  Herculis ritu. 
AS Hercules, sometimes was thought  
Bays with life's hazard to have sought;  
So Caesar now, to us restores,  
Our household Gods from Spanish shores.  
The wife that with one husband pleased,  
Let her come forth, the gods appeased.  
Octavia Caesar's Sister, haste,  
And Head with humble veil embraced,  
Now Mothers with your Virgins dear,  
And sons (late) safe returned, appear.  
Now Boys, and you new married train  
Of wives, from evil words abstain.  
From me this new made holy day  
Black sullen cares, shall take away.  
Nor fear I in great Caesar's reign,  
By force, or tumult to be slain.  
(Boy) Crowns, and Unguents now prepare,  
And vessel kept, since Marsian war:  
If any such concealed hath been,  
By wand'ring Spartacus not seen.  
Let shrill Neaera here be found,  
With golden hair in tresses bound.  
But if the Porter, make delay  
With churlish answer; Hast away.  
White hairs do mollify my mind,  
To brawls, and quarrels erst inclined  
This in Youth's heat, I could not brook  
When Consul Plancus, Office took.   

Ode XVI. TOMAECENAS. All things lie open to Gold, but Horace is content with his own Fortune, whereby he is made happy.  Inclusam Danaën. 
Doors strongly fenced, and a Brazen Tower,  
With careful guard of waking dogs had power  
Fair Danaë in stony walls immured,  
From night-A dulterers to have secured:  
Did not both jove and Venus then deride  
Acrisius, who the Maid with fear did hid.  
For they the way knew free, and safe the hold,  
Were but the god once turned into gold  
Gold abler, armed tropes to pass, than thunder,  
The strongest Fortresses doth rend asunder.  
The Argive Augur's house, with all his State,  
Desire of gain did wholly ruinated.  
With gifts the Macedonian did subdue,  
Strong City gates, and proud Kings overthrew.  
Seamen are snared with gifes, and golden store;  
‛ Care, growing wealth pursues with thirst of more.  
Then (dear Maecenas) well may I detest,  
To vaunt myself with elevated crest,  
" How much the more, man doth himself deny,  
" So much the more, the gods will him supply.  
I poor in state, seek those that nought desire,  
And, flying, do from rich men's tents retire,  
And better live, Lord of a slender store,  
Then, were I said to hold upon my flore,  
What the Apulian painfully hath tilled,  
And in great wealth be poor, and never filled.  
My stream of waters pure, my little Copps;  
My certain hope of happy fruitful crops,  
From him his hidden in my better chance,  
Who Empire in rich Africa doth advance.  
Though me Portuguese Bees, no Honey give,  
Nor wines in Loestrigonian Flagons, live  
till age make good the taste, though no man knows  
That my rich fleece in fertile Gallia grows.  
Yet from me, craving poverty doth fly;  
Nor should I ask you more, will you deny.  
I, better will with limited desire,  
Pay Caesar little tributes, then aspire  
By greatness, to unite the Phrygian plain,  
To Alliatts ample state, and royal reign.  
" Who much desire, want much: He richly lives  
" Whom God, with sparing hand sufficient gives.   

Ode XXIV. Against covetous rich men.  Intact is opulentior. 
ALthough you richer be by fare,  
Then th' Arabs Mines untouched, or Indies are:  
Though you with deep piles, land would gain,  
Even from the Tyrrhene, and large Pontic Main  
If, on your head sad Fate prevails,  
Transfixing it with Adamantine nails,  
Yet can you not your mind set free,  
Or life, from snares of death exempted see.  
The savage Scithyans' better live,  
(Who in their Cates, unconstant dwelling drive)  
And rigid Geteses, whose common ground  
Doth in full store of Corn and Fruits abound.  
And love their tillage to extend,  
No longer, than the yearly season's end:  
So as whilst one man weary lies,  
A Substitute, him with like pains supplies.  
The Stepdame, there in peaceful awe,  
Commands her mother wanting son in law:  
Nor wife, though rich, her husband sways,  
Or, to adulterer spruce, herself betrays.  
" Virtue of Parents is great Dower,  
" And Chastity restrained to Wedlock's power,  
" Fearful of others touch; that knows  
" The breach is sin, & Death the payment owes,  
Oh, he that would quite take away  
All impious slaughters, and each civil fray:  
If he the city's Father, care  
On statues to be styled: Ah? let him dare,  
(So shall he future glory gain)  
Lose liberty with bridle to restrain.  
But virtue (living) we despise,  
And much admire it, taken from our eyes.  
But what need sad complaints be spent,  
If vice be not cut off with punishment?  
What profit Laws in vain composed,  
Without good lives? If neither Climes exposed,  
To parched heats: Nor Northern star,  
Nor snow hard crusted, can the Merchant scar:  
Wise Mariners, through rough Seas fly,  
The greatest imputation (Poverty)  
Bids us do that, or suffer this,  
Yet doth the painful way of Virtue miss.  
Then go we to the Capital,  
Where vulgar voice, & troops of friends do call:  
Or, in the nearest Sea be bold,  
Our gems, & precious stones, with fruitless gold.  
The root of many ills to cast.  
If thou wilt fully sins repentance taste,  
Let this first scope thy thoughts inspire,  
To raze the Elements of foul desire:  
And in minds tender, apt to ill,  
To seek the sharpest studies to instill:  
Youth nobly borne, as yet untride,  
Fears hunting sport, and speedy horse to ride:  
Fare better skilled Greek ●ops to ply,  
Or Dice, which ancient Roman Laws deny:  
Whilst his false Sire, with cunning wiles;  
His fellow neighbour, and his guest beguiles,  
And all this, that he may prepare  
Great heaps of riches, for his worthless heir.  
" Thus, though vile riches grow: yet will  
" Somewhat to our weak state, be wanting still.   

Ode XXVIII. To LYDE. Heeperswadeth Lyde, to spend the day dedicated to Neptune, pleasantly.  Festo quid potius die. 
WHat do we else on Neptune's Feast?  
Be therefore (Lyde) ready pressed,  
To broach Caecubian Wines, enclosed;  
And let strong wisdom be opposed.  
Thou seest, 'tis mid-time of the day,  
And yet, as if swift time did stay,  
A Butt, thou sparest, was Cellar-stalled,  
When Bibulus was Consul called.  
With mutual Songs, we'll Neptune please,  
And the greene-hayrd Nercides.  
On crooked Lyre, sing thou with art,  
Latone, and swift Cynthia's dart:  
Whilst our last strain, her praise unfolds,  
Who Cnidos, and bright Cyclads holds:  
And Paphos with payrd swans doth view;  
Yet (Night) we'll pay thee Verses due.   

Ode XXIX. TO MAECENAS. He inviteth him to a merry Supper, laying public cares aside.  Tyrrhena regum. 
OH my Maecenas, sprung from royal strain,  
Of Tyrrhene Kings; Behold, I do retain,  
Long since by me reserved, to be thine,  
A vessel, yet unbroached of milder wine;  
Soft rosy flowers, for thee I will prepare,  
And supple Unguents, pressed for thy hair.  
Then free thee from delay: Nor always yield,  
To view from fare AEsulus hanging field,  
Moist Tybour's Site. Nor let thy eyes abide,  
On hills of Telegon, the Parricide.  
Leave off to see, successful Rome rejoice,  
In smoky hopes, much wealth, and vulgar voice.  
To great men, changes ofttimes grateful are:  
And under humble roofs, neat frugal fare,  
Without rich hang, or gay purple state,  
Doth the most busy brow to mirth dilate.  
Now bright Andromeda's refulgent Sire,  
Shows to this under-world, his hidden fire:  
Now protion, and the raging lion sways,  
Pheabus reducing dry, and parched days.  
The Shepherd tired with his faint flock doth high,  
To find cool shades, or trembling current nigh,  
And rough Silvanus thickets: while the shore,  
Becalmed stands, from wind's tumultuous roar.  
Mean time the good of Rome, in mind you bear●  
And of her much solicitous, do fear  
What Scres plot, or Bactria Cyrus' state,  
Or, Tanais warlike dweller perpetrate.  
All knowing God, with cloudy night doth close,  
Events of future times, and laughs at those,  
Who beyond reason fear: Thy present state,  
See then with equal mind thou moderate.  
All other things, like to a River's source,  
Who in the middle Channel of his course,  
Now to the Tyrrhene Sea in silence stray;  
But when fierce Deluges, calm Rivers raise,  
He then in heaps rowls down with dreadful sound  
Stones billow gnawn, & trees torn from the ground  
With house, and cattles borne along the flood,  
Frighting the hill with noise, & neighbouring wood,  
He after of himself, lives merry days,  
Who (this day I have lived) and truly says;  
To morrow (jove) with black clouds heaven imbrac  
Or let the Sun show forth his golden face.  
Yet notwithstanding God will not agree  
That what is passed once shall frustrate be  
Nor what the once swift sliding hour hathwroght  
Will he unfashioned leave, or bring to nought,  
Fortune in adverse chances, sportive ever,  
And bold in scornful pastime to persever  
Transferreth her uncertain honours: Now  
To me propitious, instantly to you.  
I praise her, while she stays; but if she shake  
Her fleet wings, I restore what I did take:  
And me with my own virtue, do invest;  
Making thin honest poverty my guest.  
'tis not for me, in prayer time to waste,  
When wracking Southern wind hath rend the Mast  
And bargain with the gods, that the vast floods,  
May to their wealth, not add my Tyrian goods:  
When I into such dangerous hazard fall,  
The Wind, and Pollux with his brother, shall  
Me with a poor two oared Vessels aid,  
See, safely through Aegean storms conveyed.   

Ode XXX. TO MELPOMENE, Horace hath obtained eternal glory, by writing of Lyric Verses.  Exegi Monumentum. 
A Monument by me is brought to pass,  
Out-living Pyramids, or lasting brass,  
The Sepulchre of Kings; with eating rain,  
Nor the fierce Nottherne tempest can restrain:  
Nor Years though numberless:) nor Times swift start,  
I will not wholly die; my better part,  
Shall scape the sullen hearse: bright fame shall raise  
My memory renewed, with future praise:  
While in the Capitol the Priest ascends,  
With Vestals pure, whom silence so commends.  
I (though) of humble strain will be declared  
The first, and able most, that ever dared,  
Unto Italian Proportion's use,  
Aeolian antique Measures to reduce.  
Where Aufidus with wrathful stream doth roar  
Or Daunus poor in waters, reigneth o'er  
Rough barbarous Nations. Take to thee a name,  
Which best (Melpomene) may suit thy fame.  
And (willingly thy Poet doth request,  
My hair with Delphic Laurel thou invest.   
The End of the third Book,   

ODES OF HORACE.  
The Fourth Book.  

Ode III. TO MELPOMENE. Horace is borne to Poetry, by whose aid, he hath obtained immortal glory.  Quem to Melpomene. 
ON whom (Melpomene) with mild aspect,  
Thou shalt thy favour at his Birth reflect,  
Him, Istmian Labour shall not higher rear  
With Wrestlers title, nor swift horses bear  
By Grecian Chariot drawn, for Victors meeed  
In pompous triumph; nor for warlike deed,  
A Captain in the Capitol be made,  
And decked with Delian Bays, who durst invade:  
And break the swelling threats of hostile Kings:  
But rather those soft-falling gentle Springs,  
Which wash fat Tybur, & Groves thickly grown,  
Shall make his worth in Lyric Verse be shown.  
Rome Queen of Cities, doth no whit disdain  
Me for the muse's sake to entertain,  
Amongst the Poets, loved Quires to sit,  
So that I now, am less with Envy bit.  
(Oh thou Pierian) which with Harp of gold,  
Dost in sweet notes harmonious air unfold;  
(Oh thou) who if thou please, to Fishes mute,  
The Swan's delicious Song canst attribute:  
It wholly is a gift derived from thee,  
That by each finger, which doth pass by me,  
The Roman Lyric Harper they design.  
That I do breath, and please (if please) is thine.   

Ode V TO AUGUSTUS. That now at length he would return into the City.  Divis orte bonis. 

(CAEsar) thou from the gods propitious sprung,  
Our best preserver; stayest away too long.  
We promise of thy quick return require,  
Made to the sacred Senate: Oh retire,  
(Good Caesar) on thy Country light reflect,  
For where thy Springlike face doth beams eject,  
More joyful to the people are the days,  
And better doth the Sun, transfuse his rays.  
Like as a Mother (when the Southern wind,  
Her son with envious tempest hath confined,  
Beyond the billows of Carpathian straits  
More than a year: (His home return awaights  
With vows, and prayers; And the gods implores,  
Her eye not stirring from the crooked shores.  
So strucken with their faithful heart's desire,  
Thy Country Caesar) doth thyself require.  
Behold the Ox, safe, wandreth up and down;  
Ceres, and bright Felicity do crown,  
And feed the Land. The Seas are calmer framed  
For Sailor's use. Faith feareth to be blamed.  
No chafed house, with Adulteri's defiled;  
Custom and Law, hath spotted sin exiled.  
For Sons like Sires, the Mothers we commend.   

" Companion punishment doth vice attend.  
Who fears the Parthian now, or Scythian bold;  
Or Monsters, which rough Germany doth hold.  
Or Caesar being safe, who will regard,  
That fierce Iberia stands for arms prepared?  
Each man in his own hills, doth close the day,  
And Vines about the widow Elm display.  
Then frolic to his banquet he retires,  
And thee a god, in second Cups admites.  
With many prayers, he doth his Vows inflame,  
And powers full goblets out unto thy name;  
Thy Godhead seeking with his Lar to please,  
As Greece their Castor and great Hercules.  
(Good Caesar) render long repose we pray,  
To glad Hesperia: This we (sober) say  
When day first breaks: This moistened, when to rest  
The Sun invites us, waning in the West.    

Ode VII. To LUCIUS' MANLIUS TORQUATUS. Since time changeth all things, let us live merrily.  Diffugere nives. 
NOw snows are quite dissolved, fresh grass we see  
To fields returned, and leaves to every tree.  
The earth with various change each season ranks,  
And falling Rivers glide within their banks.  
Aglaia dareth (naked) on the ground,  
With Nymphs, and her two sisters dance around.  
The year us warns immortal things to doubt,  
And Hour, which circumvolves the day about.  
Soft Western winds, on Winter mildness bring,  
Soon withered Summer, weareth out the Spring,  
Then mellow Autumn, pours his fruits amain,  
And instantly dull Winter turne● again.  
Yet speedy Moons celestial harms restore  
To after times: when we are gone before,  
Where Tullus, good Aeneas, Ancus trade,  
Nought are we else (alas) but dust, and shade.  
Who is it knows, whether the heavenly powers,  
Will add to this day's sum to morrows hours.  
Your greedy heir in nothing shall have part,  
Which you in life shall give with bounteous heart.  
But when you once are dead, and powers divine,  
To you, an equal sentence shall assign,  
Then (oh Torquatus) blood, nor eloquence,  
Nor piety, can life again dispense:  
For neither chaste Hippolytus, was free  
By Diana set, from Hell's obscurity;  
Nor were Laethean bands, by Theseus  
Dissolved, for his dear Pyrithôus.   

Ode VIII. To MARTIUS' CENSORINUS. There is nothing which can more immortalize men, than Poets Verses.  Donarem pateras. 
TO friends I would give freely (Censorine)  
Pieces of richest Plate, and Bowls for Wine,  
Three footed Tables, (Valiant Greeks reward:)  
Nor from my choicest gifts should you be barred  
Where I with artful figures richly sped,  
Which Parrhase drew, or Scopas portrayed  
In colours one, in stone the other bold,  
A man sometimes, sometimes a God to mould.  
But I have not this power: Nor do suppose,  
Your wealth, or wish, wants such delights, as those.  
You Verses love; for Verse we make a shift,  
And know what price to set on such a gift;  
No Marbles with deep Characters engraved,  
By which to valiant Captain's life is saved,  
And spirit after death: Not speedy slight,  
Nor threats of Hannibal, rejected quite:  
Nor flames of Carthage better sound his praise,  
Who did his name from conquered afric raise,  
Then Ennius' Muse: Nor can reward be won,  
If paper tell not, what was bravely done.  
What would become of Mars, and Illa's brood,  
If spiteful silence, Romulus withstood?  
The strength, and grace of Poets powerful wit,  
Makes Aeacus in fields Elysian sit,  
Snatched from Stygian floods." Muses deny,  
" A man deserving praise should ever die.  
" Muses give heaven: So dauntless Hercules,  
In Ioves wished Banquets doth his palate please:  
Castor and Pollux bright Star doth redeem,  
Storm-beaten Vessels, which do shipwrakt seem.  
God Bacchus' brow, adorned with verdant Vine,  
Doth happy end, unto our vows assign.   

Ode XIII. TO VIRGIL. He describeth the reproach of the Spring, and inviteth Virgil under condition to a Banquet.  Jam veris comites, 
SOuthwinds, the Spring attending still,  
Now Seas do calm, and Sails do fill:  
Now Frosts do not make Meadows door,  
Nor Winter-Snow, swollen Rivers roar.  
The luckless Bird, her nest doth frame,  
Bewailing Itis, and the shame,  
Of Cecrops house; and that so ill,  
On King's rude lust, she wrought her will,  
The Shepherds of rich Flocks rehearse,  
And to their Pipes chant rural Verse:  
And seek his Godhead to appease,  
Whom flocks, and hills Arcadian please.  
These times do thirsty Seasons send.  
But if (thou Virgil) Caesar's friend,  
With pressed Calenian Liquor high,  
For Wine, thou shalt sweet unguents buy.  
And purchase with a little Box,  
Wine, which Sulpitius safely locks,  
New hopes most powerful to create,  
And bitter cares to dissipate,  
Unto which comfort, if thou hast,  
Come hither with thy Unguents fast.  
I'll not (free cost) my cups carouse,  
As rich men in a plenteous house.  
Then leave delays, and Gain's desire.  
And mindful of black Funeral fire,  
" Short folly mix with Counsels best.  
" 'tis sweet, sometime to be in jest.   

Ode XIII. Against LYCE. Who being old, is become a scorn to young men.  Audiuêre Lice. 
THe Gods have (Lice) heard my vow,  
My vow is heard. thou'rt old, yet thou.  
Feign wouldst (forsooth) be counted fair,  
And quaff, and wanton with the air:  
And (drunk) with trembling voice invite  
Slow Cupid; who takes more delight,  
O● Ohia's rosy cheeks to stay,  
Both young, and skilled in music's lay.  
For he, delay not booking, flies  
From withered Oaks; and from thee hies,  
Whom rotten teeth, and wrinkled face,  
And head of snowy hair, disgrace.  
N●w cannot Coân Purple's use,  
Nor brightest gems, the Time reduce,  
Which once swift winged Age hath closed  
In public Calendars disposed.  
Where is thy beauty fled? (Ay me)  
Thy colour fresh, and motion free?  
What hast thou of that, that entire,  
Which erst inspired amorous fire?  
And did me from myself divert;  
Next Cynaras, thou happy wert,  
For pleasing beauty, and sweet grace,  
Discov'red in a lovely face.  
But Fates to Cynaras did owe,  
Short life, and Lice like the Crow;  
They here surviving longer hold,  
That fervent young men may behold.  
Not without laughter, and much scorn,  
A flaming torch to ashes worn.   

Ode XV. The praises of Augustus.  Phoebus' volentem. 
MY Muse by Phoebus was rebuked of late  
For singing wars, and vanquished cities fate  
Like those, who in the Tyrrhene Ocean's rage,  
Do little Sails advance. (Caesar) thy age,  
Affordeth plenteous fruits, unto the fields,  
And to Ioves Capitol our Ensigns yields,  
From Parthian Pillars snatched, and after jars  
Hath closed janus' Temple free from wars.  
Confusion hath with Order rectified,  
And wand'ring Liberty in fetters tied.  
Hath antique arts recalled: By which 'tis known  
Hesueria's strength and Latin name hath grow.  
Imperial pomp hath spread, and glory won,  
Stretched from the rising, to the setting Sun.  
While Caesar is our Guardian, civil war,  
Nor violence, our peaceful rest● shall mar.  
Nor anger, which swords sharpnerh, & confounds  
Cities, unhappy made with mutual wounds.  
Not they for thirst, that drink in I stir deep,  
Shall once refuse, the julian Laws to keep.  
Not Scres, faithless Persians, nor the Geteses,  
Nor those, which near to Tanais have their seats  
And we on holy Eves, and holy Days,  
Amongst free Cups, to merry Bacchus' praise:  
With wife, and children, standing in our sight,  
(First Gods invoking with Religious Rite)  
Will gladly (as our Grandsires did) rehearse,  
(And tuning Lydian Pipe to various Verse,)  
Heroic Captains, Troy, Anchises gone,  
And brave Aeneas, Cytherea's son.   
The end of the fourth Bohke.    


CERTAIN EPODS OF HORACE.  

Epod. I. TO MAECENAS. Horace will travel with Maecenas going to the Actiack wars against. M. Anthony.  Ibis' liburnis. 
IN low built Barks, thou wilt not fail,  
‛ Monst lofty towering Ships to sail;  
And dost (Maecenas) much incline,  
To make great Caesar's peril thine.  
What shall we do? Whose life is blest,  
If thou survive: If not, distressed.  
Shall we (commanded) idle bee:  
Repose is toil, if not with thee.  
Or shall we undergo these pains,  
With minds which no soft ease restrains?  
We will? And through the Alps ascent,  
And Caucasus, where none frequent:  
Yea to the utmost Western parts,  
Will follow thee, with constant hearts.  
You'll ask; How can thy labour please  
Untrained in arms, and weak with ease?  
" In company, Fears little seem,  
Which men in absence, great esteem.  
As Bird, her plumelesse young ones, left,  
More fears to find by Serpents reft;  
Not that she can with presence, bring  
Force able to resist the sting.  
This warfare will I undertake,  
Or any other, for thy sake.  
Not that my many Ploughs are found,  
With Oxen more, to till the ground.  
Or Beasts to Lucan Meads are sent,  
Portuguese fervors to prevent.  
Nor Tusculum, my Village clear,  
May to Circaean walls, come near.  
Thy favour me enough hath store,  
Which I, as Chremes will not hoard  
Within the earth, nor ever shall  
Spend like a wasteful prodigal.   

Epod. II. The praise of the Country life.  Beatus ille qui procul negotiis. 
HE happy is, who far from busy toil,  
(As elder ages) tills the soil  
With his own Cattle, which his father left,  
From thralling interest bereft.  
He is not moved, when warlike Drums do bear,  
Nor fears the angry Ocean's threat.  
He Pleas, and Suits abhors, and doth refuse,  
The grace of mighty men to use.  
But either doth to tallest Poplats twine,  
The tender offsprings of the Vine.  
And cutting branches off, which useless were,  
Graft those, which better fruit may bear.  
Or, vieweth in some winding valley's maze,  
His wand'ring Herds of Cattle, graze.  
Or, doth pressed honey in pure vessels keep,  
Or, shear his wool o'er burdened sheep.  
But when with mellow fruit ripe Autumn crowned  
His head upreareth from the ground.  
How he to taste the grafted Pear delights,  
And grape, that with the Purple sights.  
Which to Priapus, as a gift redounds,  
Ot, old Silvanus, God of Bounds.  
Now under aged Oak, he hours doth pass,  
And now reposeth on the grass.  
While gentle Rivers from high banks do glide,  
And Birds their warbling notes divide:  
Small streams, on purling pebbles murmur keep,  
To summon soft, and easy sleep.  
But when loud Jove, rough Winter sends below,  
In stormy showers, and chilling snow.  
Then he the hardy Boar, from place to place,  
With Fleet Hounds, into Toils doth chase:  
Or else, the fearful Hare, and foreign Crane  
With pleasing spoil, in grinns are ta'en.  
Ah! who in thought, 'mongst such delights retains  
Lest sense, of love's disturbing pains?  
But if (in part) a modest wife direct  
The house, and children dear affect.  
As Sabine erst, or swift Apulian's dame,  
Parched with tawny Phoebus' flame,  
With old dry wood, a blessed fire make to burn,  
'Gainst weary husband's wished return:  
And folding gladsome flocks in woven grates,  
Dries up their dugs, which milk dilates;  
And broaching new wines kept in vessels fair,  
And (unbought) Supper doth prepare.  
The Lucrine Oyster (sure) nor Guilthead bright,  
Nor Turbot, yields more delight;  
If Winter such, when Eastern tempests roar,  
Do drive upon our Terrhene shore.  
jonick Partridges, nor Africa Quail,  
Upon my palate more prevail,  
Then doth the unctuous Olive choicely culled,  
From fertile Branches newly pulled:  
Or Sorrell that in Meadows doth abound,  
And Mallows, bodies making sound.  
Or Lamb, on Terminus his Feast that dies,  
Or Kidd-redeemed, from Wolf's surprise.  
Amongst these dainties, what content it yields,  
To see the fed flocks leave the fields.  
To see the weary Ox with neck worn bare,  
Dragging the turned plough and share:  
And Hinds (the plenteous household swarm)  
'Bout shining Lar to sit, and warm.  
‛ This said, rich Alphius that money lends,  
To lead a Country life intends;  
And in the Ideses his Debts called in amain,  
But in the Calendo lent again.   

Epod VII. To the people of ROME. An Execration of the civil war, raised, on the one side by Brutus, and Cassius; on the other, by Octavian, M. Anthony, and Lepidus the Roman Consuls.  Quo, quo scelesti. 
AH Traitors, whither hast you? To what end,  
Do your right hands, to shethed swords descend?  
Is there so little yet, of Latin blood,  
Poured on the Champain fields, or Ocean flood?  
Not that the Roman should with flames abate,  
The Towers of Carthage, envious of our state:  
Or Britton should (unconquered to this day)  
Be taught, in chains to tread the sacred way.  
But that (which now the Parthian would demand)  
This City should be razed by civil hand.  
'Mongst Wolves, and Lions never was this use,  
But beasts, whom nture  doth produce.  
Doth Fury blind? Or greater power command?  
Or sin's offence? Oh let me understand?  
They silent are: Their cheeks are paler made,  
And fears their horror-strucken minds invade  
'tis so: Sour Fates do Rome with fury stain,  
And tyrannous offence of brother slain.  
Which on ensuing ages laid the guilt.  
When Remus harmless blood on earth was spilt.   

Epod XIII. To his merry friends, that they should pass the Winter pleasantly.  Horrida tempestas. 
ROugh tempests have the brow of heaven bend,  
And showers, and snows, cause thickened air's descent.  
Now Thracian North winds, Sea, & woods affray  
Friends, let us take occasion, from the day;  
While strength is fresh, and us it well becomes,  
Let Age be lightened, which the brow benumbs.  
Boy, see you broach those elder wines were pressed  
When Torquate first, the Consul's place possessed.  
Speak not of other things. God will perchance,  
These to their seat, with happy change advance,  
Unguents of persian Odours, now delight;  
Cares driving with Cylenian Harp to flight;  
As noble Chiron to Achilles sang,  
Unvanquished Mortal, that from Thetis sprang,  
Thee Troy expects; which Simois rolling Tide,  
And small Scamander's colder streams divide,  
Whence to return, so Fates thy thread undo,  
Thou canst not back with thy blue Mother go,  
All Sorrow there, with wine, and Song depress,  
(Sweet comforts, of deformed heaviness.)   
The End of the Epods.    


On the day of judgement. Mat. chap. 24. V 29.30.31.  
WHen the last Trumpet with a dreadful call  
Resounding fare and near, shall summon all,  
To leave Death's pitchy dung'on, and awake  
Before Jehovah their account to make.  
Refulgent Titan must put out his light,  
And flee for succour to the sable Night.  
While his unharnesed Steeds, with gilded heels,  
Gallop about this Globe, burning the fields  
With flames ejected, when their fury opes  
The flaming Caverns of their burning throats.  
The silver Moon with black shades must enfold,  
Her Ebon Chariot and be headlong rolled  
From her Enamelled Throne, while sullen mist  
Raps up her curled flames; those hills which kissed  
The Skies with their ambitious height, must now  
Their stately Necks below the Centre bow,  
Mountains shall fall upon their knees, as though  
They begged pardon for aspiring, Seas shall flow  
With floods of crimson hue; loud roaring thunder  
With sense confounding cracks, hall split in sunder  
Ioves lofty Palaces falling Stars shall crush  
Earth with their painted burden, while they rush  
In pale affrighted Troops, and jointly try  
Which shall amongst them most dejected lie.  
The bright spheres standing still shall cease to chime  
Supposing now that all consuming time  
Should in Eternity be quite involved,  
And the whole Fabric of the world dissolved.  
Then heavens Monarch in a Car of gold  
Shall ride triumphant, sacred truth shall hold  
Over his head a Crown, and Cherubs bright  
Display their checberds wings effusing light  
From their refulgent faces, Crowned quires  
Oft skie-borne Choristers with sounding Lyres.  
Shall chalk forth Hallalujahs, on each hand  
Martyrs and Saints in flaming troops shall stand.  
A Cloak enchased with Stars and spangled over  
With sparkling Diamonds shall closely cover  
His glittering Members; thus in Majesty  
The large Tribunal shall be placed on hie.  
Then shall his People hear that lovely voice  
Of come ye blessed, and in this rejoice  
That you shall dwell where floods of Nectar flow  
And endless blisses do for ever grow  
But those (alas) whom his revewing ire,  
Shall deeply plunged in everlasting fire,  
Those shall find Night in flames, and always lie  
As daily dying and yet never die.   

A brief Meditation on Man's frailty.  
HOw frail is man? Oh how his fortune reels  
On giddy Hinges, and unstable Wheels?  
Just as a Flower, when the Meadows gay  
Don chequered Garments in the month of May  
Lays ope its varnished pride against the Sun,  
While perfumed Zephyr through the fields doth run  
In Aromatic gusts, and oft doth play  
With wanton Cloris prostrate in his way.  
But when the Dog with scorching heat is stung  
Lapping up Rivers with his blazing tongue;  
Then the Enameled stem hangs drooping down  
And sheds his leaves upon the painted ground.  
Thus fade our Days, thus all our joys are gone  
Almost before they can be thought upon.   

An Elegy on the thrice Renowned Sir PHILIP SIDNEY.  
OH let me to some dismal Cypress turn,  
That thus transformed I might for ever morn  
Over thy Tomb, thou brave Heroic spirit,  
Whose choice perfections claimed to inherit  
All hearts that knew thee, and whose virtue shall, beds  
Survive the Relics of thy Funeral.  
You watery Nymphs which makes those mossy  
Where Tame and Isis rest their silver heads.  
Don sable weeds, and in your Crystal bowers  
Playing at drop tears spend the winged hours.  
You shepherds all which the Arcaedian plains  
With Oaten reeds chant forth melodious strains  
Let brinish tears flow from your dropping eyes,  
And bathe your Muse in weeping Elegies,  
Sidney is gone, you wanton Faun that trip  
About the enamelled Green, and gently sip  
The crystal of clear Brooks let sorrows make  
Your jollity to cease, and shrieks awake  
Echo from the Embroidered Vales, let Philomela  
Prepare no more her own sad rape to tell,  
But may that melancholy Bird with sighs let fall  
Dirges bewailing Sydney's funeral.  
Nature's whole Fabric seems still to deplore  
His fate, fields smile not as they did before.  
Gay Lilies fade, nor can the purple Rose  
Her gaudy shop to mortal eyes expose.  
For lo her Damask leaves half withered fly  
To kiss Earth's Bosom, and there drooping dye.  
But if they yet their crimson dye retain  
They blush at Sydneyes' scars, Weep, weep amain  
Bright Venus with thy winged Boy, oh shall now?  
With Nectar dropping pens such furrows blow,  
In which the scattered seed of growing fame,  
Can bring forth Harvests of a lasting Name.  
Who shall record Love's triumphs? Who shall find  
New feigned stories, to delight the mind  
Of all green sickness Girls? Or who shall be  
The Prop to stay declining Poetry?  
Death hath put out this radiant Lamp of light,  
And left the world wrapped up in pitchy night.  
But stay, why weep I thus? by this he's come  
To trace the fields of blessed Elysium:  
There shall he comfort those which spend their hours  
In melancholy Groves and Mertill bowers.  
Rest Honoured Ashes in your marble Tomb  
Maugre all malice, while Earth's teeming womb.  
Lays open Flora, s Wardrobe to adorn  
Thy hearse with pleasing flowers, such as mourn.  
Strews in the Eastern windows, when the dawn  
Appears like Roses overspread with Lawn.  
Thy soul shall fly on fames high soaring wings  
Above the glory of triumphant Kings.  
The Book shall live, till time shall be no more.  
Till Skies shall want a Sun, and Seas a shore,   
FINIS.   

Aulus Persius Flaccus HIS SATYRS.  
Translated into English, By BARTEN HOLIDAY Dr of Divinity, and late Student of  in OXFORD.  
And now newly by him reviewed, amended, and enlarged.  Hinc trahe quae dicas. mensámque relinque Mycenis Cum capite & pedibus— 
The fifth Edition.  
LONDON, Printed for the Author. 1650.   

To the Author his most loved Friend, Dr BARTEN HOLIDAY.  
WHat None have Dared, Thou hast; and mightst again  
With praise, were it undared. Didst thou abstain  
Yet longer, none would dare Thee to Prevent;  
If any, what would breed thy more Content  
Then, when by victory, thy glory should  
Be doubled? yea, although recall some could,  
From field of rest, thy PERSIUS to consult:  
Yet would not less praise from thy lines result,  
Then that unparalleled, which now is due  
From those that read thee. Who when they shall view  
How truly with thine Author thou dost pace,  
How hand in hand ye go, what equal grace  
Thou dost with him observe in every term:  
They cannot, but, if just, justly affirm;  
That did your times as do your lines agree,  
He might be thought to have translated Thee,  
But that he's Darker, not so strong; Wherein  
Thy greater Art more clearly may be seen:  
Which dost thy Persius cloudy storms display  
With lightning and with thunder; Both which lay  
Couched perchance in him, but wanted force  
To break, or light from darkness to divorce:  
Till Thine Exhaled skill compressed it so,  
That forced the clouds to break, the lïght to show,  
The thunder to be heard. That now each child  
Can prattle what was meant: whilst thou art styled  
Of all, with titles of true dignity,  
For lofty Phrase, and perspicuity.  W. CARTWRIGHT.  

To his loving Friend Master B. H. upon PERSIUS translated.  
THis work me thinks makes my conjecture bold  
T'affirm th' Athenians paradox is true,  
When by year's revolution I behold  
Men dead revive; things long since old grow new:  
For should dead Rome awake, & those lose times  
Which feared and felt this scourging Satirist,  
She might again in us review her crimes;  
As fertile is Our age, Nor hath it missed  
The worst of all her ills. Vainly we thought  
Thy ashes (Persius) Slept within thine urn;  
Feared not thy lash: hoped negligence had wrought  
Thy lines worse funeral: & at length would turn  
All to obscurity; For how few did strive  
T' enlighten thy dark phrase, unless some vice  
Made an acute bad comment: So to thrive  
And purchase perspicuity, is a price  
Thou wouldst have grieved to give. Yet since in ill  
We have or ' ●ane past times: I must rejoice  
That constant industry should get such skill  
As tell us our bad in Persius' voice:  
Whom now all understand: all may endure  
To read, but such as would their crimes obscure.  T. GOFFE.  


Dark Persius Ambrose threw thy book on ground  
With indignation, 'cause 'twas so profound:  
But now in Father's room a Child is sprung,  
That reads thy Satyrs in a vulgar tongue,  
No Ambrose, yet with ambrose to be fed,  
That could so wisely tract, where thou couldst tread,  
He takes away thy veil, and makes that line  
Transalpine, which the Romans would confine:  
Now let thy wand'ring shadow freely rove,  
And seek great place in the Elysian grove,  
Where since there's store of Bay, for him one knit,  
That makes the loser Britain's fear thy wit.  
Needs must his own invention radiant be,  
That cast such beams through thy opacity.  
Henceforth (bright HOLIDAY) to change refuse  
Thine own Terpsichore, with translated Muse.   

IN Latio latuit Saturnum filius: Aulum  
Sic poterat soboles ista latere suum,  
Ante tuas (HOLIDAY) faces; hâc luce refulget  
Pluribus, & caeco, tectior ante, parri.  
Gymnaf●archa puer, festivus ludat u●erque:  
Per Festum vobis otia quanta Diem?  
Nunquam Pegaseas libavit Persius undas,  
Aut clausit docto lumina pigra jugo,  
Nempe tibi, fontem laticésque & cu●mina Phoebus  
Servarat: pleno dum satur o'er maids. 
* Nec sonte, etc. Nec in bicip. etc.   
Quidve Aulus traheret? cum sic Helicona refundas,  
 natet Angligenis Itala Musa labris,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   JOHN WALL D. D.  

Upon the happy Translation of the most difficult Satirist, performed by his friend Master B. H.  
I Sing the Conquest, which an English rhyme,  
With all its force ne'er won before this time.  
Who thought that there would extant be the man  
That such stiff, sullen, hardy Romans can  
Subdue, and with an hand learnedly fierce,  
Bind in the fetters of a Britain Verse?  
Yet here is one that doth: But not as those  
That 
* Ovid. Metamor. Vir, Aeneid.  changed shapes, and wand'ring Trojans chose  
For to translate, with lines a mile in length,  
Or Paraphrase that tires, Such is his strength  
And strictness, he his Author without wrong  
Lodges in prisons but of five foot long.  
Some I have known, that did attempt the same  
Which that they Durst, it was their greatest fame,  
But it was he, that could disdain to stay  
At this praise Margin, only to Assay:  
He with impetuous and all-conquering wit  
That only had the power to finish it.  
For had they done't, I know they must have left  
Their graver studies, and have filched with theft  
Guilty of too much sacrilege, more hours,  
Then time would lose; or else those sister powers  
Invoke to lend them Other lives, to pluck  
A vessel with such Remora's bestucke  
To wished shore. But as for Him with strange  
And easy haste, he did his Roman change  
Without complaint of time: No serious part  
Of learning murmured, that he did impart  
Hours to the work. For all this was begot,  
(I speak my conscience) when it was his lot  
To be at Truce with study. Then judge you  
That shall upon his happy pains, a view  
Bestow, that ne'er the Muse's Holy days,  
Or times of leisure, were with greater Praise,  
Or Thrift, or business spent: and likewise since  
He conquered hath so fierce a Latin Prince  
Unto the Rhymes and Phrases of Our tongue:  
Decree that Bays unto his brow belong.  A. WHITE.  

To his kind Friend Master B.H. Upon his PERSIUS.  

AS if in travails fare engaged at last  
Returned, I gratulate thy labours past.  
But when unto thy ways I turn mine eye,   

Dangers obscured with dangers I espy,  
I think't a task too great for humane sleights,  
Vngraveld or undasht to pass those straits.  
Admiring thy chaste notes, in which unharmed  
The Sirens lustful language thou hast charmed,  
That Art I love, when as 'gainst faith of sense  
By sense of faith I see things flow from thence.  
Nor do I (like to his o'er wheeling brain)  
PERSIUS still a cloud, embrace in vain;  
This's the substance gives Vice the fatal blow,  
The others thunder few to fear do know.   

On envy, summon all the vices spite:  
Better they should be conquered then not Fight.   R. WELDON  

Aulus Persius Flaccus. HIS SATYRS The Prologue.  
ARGUMENT.  
Need and not Inspired skill  
Makes our Author try his quill.  
MY lips did never touch the spring  
Of the winged horse: nor can I bring  
to mind, that ere I dreamed upon  
Two-topped Parnassus, that thereon  
I might b' Inspired and So Upstart  
A Poet by Infused art.  
And all the Muses that do dwell  
'Bout pale Pirene, and the Well  
Of Helicon, to Those I leave.  
Unto whose statue's brows doth cleave  
The Ivy-greene encircling Crown.  
In humbleness I half a Clown  
Do only bring this my rude line,  
Unto Apollo's sacred shine.  
Yet blame me not for my bold deed:  
Alas! I writ enforced by 
* A satirical Ironic Persius was a Knight of Rome of sufficient wealth.  need.  
Who taught the Parrot his kind Hail?  
Who taught the Pie to so prevail  
To frame our words? 'Twas but to fill  
Their belly, master of their skill;  
Which skilful is to make them reach  
Voices, which Nature cannot teach.  
Nay; of there chance to shine but some  
Hope, of deceitful Gain to come:  
Crow● Poets and poetic Pies  
You'd think did chant sweet eyries;  
And make (when as they harshly Cry)  
A Pegaseian Melody.   

THE FIRST SATYR. IN FORM OF A DIALOGUE.  
The Speakers PERSIUS. MONITOR.  
ARGUMENT.  
Inspired Poets Art and Pride  
Our Satirist doth here deride.  

P. O Cares of men! O empty Vanity  
Of things! M. Who'll read these Wondering Satyrs?  

a Out of the too abundant variety of the interpunctions of these three verses following, I could find none more accurate than this I have extracted and here used.  P Why? Dost thou say so my Friend?  
M. Futh I think none.  
P. How sayest thou? M. Perchance some two, or. P. None?  
M. 'tis hard. P. Yet Why? Lest Rom'es 
b Ironically here the Poet calls N●to Polydamas who is much famoused by Homer in divers places for his virtue, yea and compared with Hector. ●●ad 〈◊〉  Polydamas  
And dou●●e Troyans' should prefer the ass  

c A ridiculous Poet, that translated five Books of Homer's Iliads into verse, word for word, with exteame obscurity, and no less absurdity.  Lubeo before me? Tu●h; their false doom  
Is but a trifle. If disturbed Rome  
Proudly slight any thing, scorn to descend  
To Their Vain censures: neither strive to mend  
The tongue of thy false balance in their scale  
Which is as wrong: but if thou'dst never fail  
Know This: To try thy secret innocence,  
The surest witness is thy conscience,  
For Who is Not at Rome? O that I might  
But freely speak, yet speak no more! then Right!  
And So I May, Then, when I cast mine eye  
On those whose Faces promise Gravity:  
On our sad Stoics: on the things we do  
Since we left off to play with nuts: and view  
Our actions, when we labour much to be  
Stern Uncles. Then! then! But, oh, pardon me,  
I will not touch. Yet can I hold my peace  
Urged Thus? and from revenge so just, Thus cease?  
I'm of a Scoffing spleen. I Love to Flout  
At Hypocrites: therefore it now Must out.  
Then Thus.   

Being immured from each man's sight  
〈◊〉 some obscure retired place, we write  
●ome, eu'n-paced numbers; Some freefooted prose,  
Some weighty thing, which th' Author strongly blows  
From his large-winded lungs. For he rehearses  
Unto the people strait his vvel-pened verses;  
His hair being first combed smooth, and then he dight,  
In a fair comely garment fresh and white,  
Wearing some precious jewell, which some friend,  
On's birthday to him for a gift did send,  
With moyst'ning syrup having cleared his throat  
Apt now to sound it in a various note.  
Then is he reading in a seat on high,  
Dissolved unto a lustful Acting eye.   

Where thou ma●st see even those that bear the name  
Of Rome's brave Titi (but unto their shame)  
To shake with trembling lust, and to rejoice  
Obscenely, with a broken skteaking voice  
When a lewd line their inward loins doth pierce,  
And touch them with a lust provoking verse.   

But thou old Dotard, dost Thou strive to feed  
Other men's ears? nay, Theirs who without heed  
Or moderate discreation praise thee so,  
That (skinne-peeled Asl●!) thyself dost first cry, Ho?  

d Here the Poet feigneth a reply of this old ambitious Poet defending himself.  Why did I learn unless this leaven here  
Inbred, this strong wild-figtree should appear?  
And from its seat the liver breaking forth  
Show to the world it's own, though unknown worth?  
P. O see ambitious paleness! see Old Age!  
At such corrupted times Who could not rage's?  
Thinkest thou, thou nothing knowst, if it be so,  
That others know not, that thou this dost know?  

e A second reply.  O but 'tis brave to hear men cry, See, see?  
And pointing with their fingers, say, That's she,  
Say you ' had a Poem which so smoothly runs,  
That ' 'ttwere for lectures read to great men's sons,  
Brave lads with curled locks, like gold so yellow?  
Would not you think yourself a pretty fellow?  
P. O that's not all! See, our Romulidans  
Profane our sacred poems with foul hands!  
Reading, amidst their bowels, poems divine,  
Being full up to the throat with flesh and wine.  
Where if forsooth one clad in purple cloth's,  
Su●tile some muster stuff through's muffling nose  
Me●●ing forth fair Hypsipyles sad song  
Or Phillis fortune with a most'ned ●ong  
Or some such tales which poetry affords  
His dainty palate tripping forth his words,  
The men assent! And are not th'ashes then  
Of this rare poet bless? This man of men  
Hath he no● now a 
f The Ancient Ethniques did use to pro●● that the tomb slones of their dead friends might be light w●● to them because they believed, that their Manes or soul's r●●● maimed in their sepulchres, and were sensible of such accidents. They held likewise the springing of slowres from t●● grave of a deceased friend an argument of his happiness.  lighter mole of earth  
Gently pressing his bones? A general mirth  
Ensues, the guests with hands and voices wring  
His due applauses And shall there not now spring,  
E●'n from his Manes, from the hollow womb  
Of his ●●rice-happy urne-inclosing tomb  
Sweet Violets? But, Oh, sates one, you touch  
Too scoffingly, wrinkling your nose Too much:  
For doth there breathe a man that can reject  
A general praise? and his own lines neglect?  
Lines worth immortal Cedars recompense,  
Near fearing new-sold Fish or Frankincense?   

Well, whosoe're thou art whom I did make  
But now, the Adverse part to undertake;  
When I myself do write, if from my brain  
Do flow by greatest chance some happy strain  
(For ris by chance) My heart is not so hard  
So horny, as to fear the due reward  
Of deserved fame. Only I do deny  
The scope of virtuous actions to lie  
In thy O brave! O fine! for search but this  
Thy O fine! and within it What not is?  
No; in These papers know thou shalt not find  
Labe'os' hell borated lines confined  
To superstitiously to Words: nor weak  
Love-elegies, such as Rome's Nobles speak:  
Whose judgement, like their overcharged maw,  
Wants strong concoctions heat, and is yet raw,  
Briefly whatse're on 
g The Romans had their ' ecti jucubratorii on which they studied, and trich●iares, on which they eat: the latter are rather understood in this place, for be principally speaketh against the verses they writ amongst their cups.  Citrean beds is writ,  
We hence exclude as th'excrement of wit.   

Thou dost some dish of good hot meat provide  
For some poor wretch (whose belly's his tongue's guide)  
Or to thy quaking follo'r thou dost cast  
Thy threadbare cloak (which could no longer last)  
Then thus thou speakest. You know even from my youth  
I hated lies, now therefore tell me true  
Of me (P. Can He tell truth? Wilt let me speak?  
Thou triflest (bald●pare also!) and thy skill's weak.  
Seeing a fat-hog trough-panch before thee struts  
Full eighteen inches with a load of guts.  
O blessed Janus! happy is thy luck!  
Behind 
h Three manner of flouts were used by the Ancients. The first was with their hand to make a Storks bill, their fingers being all collected together, and then let out with a flirt. The second was to put their thumbs to the temples of their heads, and then wag their fingers like asses-eares, which within are somewhat white. The third was to lill out their tongues, like dogs in the heat of Summer, especially in hot countries such as is ●●ulia a region in Italy.  thy bac●e, whom never Storks bill struck  
At whom no nimble fingered hand being framed  
Like asses white ears, ever yet was aimed:  
Nor so much tongue thrust forth in a base flout  
As an Apulian bitch for thirst his out.  
You O Patrician blood whose heads are blind  
I' th' hinder part, prevent a scorn behind,  
What do men say? 
i The answer of the flatterer.  That now your verses flow,  
In a soft numbered pace both sweet and slow,  
Whose well● smoothed parts are so exactly joined  
That the severest nail can never find  
The least unev'nesse. O says one, he makes  
A verse, as he that his true level takes,  
Shutting one eye, for to direct his line,  
Which drawing, with red-oaker he doth sign,  
Whether he scourge with his deep-wounding rhymes  
The delicate soft manners of the times,  
Or th' impious banquets of revenging Kings:  
Our Poet's Muse can well express great things.  
P. I, You shall see a fellow dare assay  
To write Heroic acts, who th'other day  
But trifleed out some Fables of small worth  
In scarce true Greek: whose skill cannot paint forth  
A pleasant selfe-describing Groue's delights;  
Nor praise the full stored Country that even writes  
The story of its own abundant store;  
Where fruits and fire, wood and the fat●ned Boar  
Are never wanting, wh●re the shepherd's feast  
Sacred to Pales is, t'expel he beast  
That hates the lamb: where shepherds on that day  
Are purged in a fire of smoking hay.  
Whence Remus sprung where (
k Q. Cincinnatus.  Quintius) thou waste borne,  
And where thy ploughshare was in surrowes worn;  
When as thy wife trembling with joy and fear,  
Made thee the great Dictator's robes to wear  
Before thine Oxen, and to leave them now,  
Making the Lictor carry home thy plough.  
Behold then this brave Poet!   

Some there are  
To whom 
l Fucius Accius Lábeo. Briseus, is the surname of Bacchus, fitly here attributed to Labeo, because of his mad Verses.  Brisean Labeo's book seems rare:  
Whose lines swell like full Veins. Others desire  
Pacuvius, whom much they do admire,  
And love often to read, and even to stay  
Upon this knotty harsh Antiopa;  
Whose woeful heart was nourished with grief,  
The Depth of sorrow yielding some relief,  
When thou shalt see the blear-eyed father teach  
His son those things; canst thou not quickly reach  
To know the cause how this our vile disgrace,  
This hissing frying-pan of speech took place  
First, in our tongues? And yet wherein our smooth  

m The Knights of Rome were anciently so called, because thy surprised a town in Herruria called Trossulum, without the help of the footmen.  Trossulians vainly themselves do sooth,  
And even leap in their seats, when as they hear  
Old words, which please their th●ck false-judging ear.  
When thou'rt accused art not ashamed to be  
Not able thy now-aged head to free  
From fear o'th'law, but love the lukewarm cry  
Of all thy hearers crying, Decently?  
Pedius says one, unto thy charge I lay  
The guilt of these. What now doth Pedius say?  
In smooth Antitheta's his fault he weighs,  
And for his learned Figures, wins much praise,  
O neat! O neat? In judging thou dost fail,  
Base fawning Roman, dost thou wag thy tail?  
For thinkest thou, if some ship-vvrached wretch should sing,  
He e'er from me one Halfpenny should wring?  
Dost Sing, when at thy shoulder thou dost we are  
Thyself and ship, which the sharp rocks did tear?  
His tears shall be expressed through's Misery;  
Not Studied for by Night, that would move Me  
To pity. M. Yet in Numbers, O, there shines  
Beauteous composure added to those lines  
Which were before but raw. P. I, so it seems.  
For one, this as the only skill esteems  
To end his verse (But, O ridiculous!)  
With Berecinthian Atys; or else, thus.  
The Dolphin which did out Cerulean Nereus.  
Excellent! and this our Romans count most serious?  
So thus another draws his numbered line,  
We drew a rib from the long Apennine.  
M. 
n Virgil's Aeneids, which beginner, Arma virumque cano.  Arms, and the man I sing, perchance you'll dare  
To term this frothy, fat-backed. P. O no, spare  
Your too-quick censure, and dissolve your brow.  
This Poem as an aged well-grown bough  
Seasoned with time is with the warm Sun's heat  
Well boiled in its own bark; grown strong and great.  
M. What then do you term soft, and to be read  
With a lose bending neck, and bovved down head?  
P. Their writhed horns the Mimallones did fill  
With sounds, and Bassari● about to kill  
The scornful calf, snatching from him his head,  
And Moenas as the spotted Lynx she lead  
With Ivy-bridles, oft did Euion sound  
The reparable Echo did rebound.  
These, these are brave! But Oh, should such lines be,  
If any vein of old Nobility  
Did live in us? These weak lines in the Brim  
Of every mouth, in th' utmost spittle swim.  
Moenas and Atys or some foolish songs  
Are always in the moisture of their tongues.  
They never buffeted a Desk for these,  
Or bitten their Nails such lines are writ with ease.  
M. Grant this be true yet Sir You have no need  
With biting truth to make their soft ears bleed.  
Well, look you to't; I fear; be not too bold,  
Lest great men's thresholds towards you grow cold.  
Me thinks, theyare touched already, and I hear  
The doggish letter R sound in mine ear,  
P. Nay, Sir, rather than so, all's white and free:  
All, all is admirable well for Me.  
I will not hindered. Now y'are pleased I think,  
You'll say, Let no man make my verses stink,  
Making a place for 
o This place is thus against the common interpretation more mannerly and truly expounded by M. Bond.  urine, in a scorn,  
Among my papers. P. See than you adorn  
Your book, and paint too 
p These repre●ed the Genius of the place, & were painted there to deter any from violating the place by any pollution.  Serpents on't; Boys, None,  
Must urine in this Sacred place: be gone;  
And I'll go first.   

Yet did Lucius cut  
Lewd Rome, and thee, O Lupius, that didst glut  
Thy appetite, and thee (Mutius) grown weak  
With lust, and did on you his Jaw-tooth break.  
So subtle Horace laughing with his friend  
Would cunningly his vices reprehend,  
And lying in his bosom, in his heart,  
Would biterly deride him with great art,  
Skilful he was basely t' esteem the rout,  
Yet near wrinkled his nose, or seemed to flout:  
And may not I then Mutter? not to th' 
q An allusion to the fable of Midas.  Dust?  
Not though alone? No where? I will. I must  
Dig here, even here, (My ●ooke) I speak to Thee,  
J'ue seen, I say, J'ue seen, (my tongue's borne free)  
Who has not Asses ears? Thou shalt not buy  
This my obscure concealed mystery,  
This my dear scoff, my Nothing, for whole miliade  
Of any base Poet's long-winded Iliads.  
Thou whoso'ere thou art, that art inspired  
With bold Cratinus, or with zeal art fired  
Like angry Eupolis, and art grown pale  
With ' that old man, whose stile with a full sail  
Bears strong against foul vice, vouchsafe a glance  
On these my Salyres also, where by chance  
If any thing more perfect thou shalt hear,  
Among my lines, grow hot with a purged ear.  
But him with deepest scorn I do detest  
That basely love's to break a jest  
At a Philosopher's poor Shoe, and winks  
At him, whose sight is bad, calling him Blinkes.  
Counting himself no mean man, bearing some  
Italian honour at Aretium,  
Cause, being Market-Clarke (such was his pleasure)  
He broke their earthen vessels less than measure.  
Nor love I him that counts the counting-table  
Of deep Arithmeticians but a fable. 
r Aristophanes.   
Nor him that scoffs at Figures made in 
s An allusion to the story of Archimedes, see Plutarch's Marcellus.  dust  
By sound Geometry. Such are unjust,  
And Enemies to th' Arts. They much delight  
To see the boldfaced quean Norania fight  
With a good honest Cynic, and will grin  
If that she pull his beard off from his chin.  
These, in the morning next their hearts J'll send  
To study the Edicts lest they offend,  
Yet after dinner (for they'll turn no more  
From vice) unto Callirhee their Whore.    

THE SECOND SATYR, UNTO HIS FRIEND PLOTIUS MACRINUS.  
ARGUMENT.  
Profane desires: true sacrifice:  
Bold sins: our Poet here descries;  

Sign This day (Macrine) with a purer stone,  
Which doth present to thee times long since gone.  
Pour wine into thy Genius, for thy care  
Is not to win jove with a Bribing prayer.  
Nor cravest thou, what thou sham'st to name for fear '.  
Excepts Jove's drawn aside that none may hear.  
Though no small part of Rome's chief Nobles can  
Sacrifice with a Lovv-voiced incense-pan.  
'tis not an easy thing to take away  
The murmured whispering of those that pray  
From the God's Temples. 'tis no easy thing  
To live with known desires. 
a This was but the manner of some hypocrites, for it was the custom of the Romans to pray softly to themselves, as Jos. Scaliger well observes in his Castigations on the 2. lib. of Tibullus. p. 137. and Wowerius in his Animadversions on Petronius p. 428.  They use to sing  
Aloud, that strangers and the standers-by  
May heare'hem, when they pray for honesty  
Or a good mind, good fame. But for the rest  
Of their desires, inwardly theyare suppressed  
Under their murmuring tongues, such as are these  
Profane requests, O that some strong disease  
Would make my Uncl's brave rich funeral  
To bubble up, O that my take would fall,  
As I were working, on some sounding pot  
Of silver, 
b Antiquity made Hercules the propitious God for the finding out of hidden Treasure.  Hercules blessing my lot.  
Or would I might expunge this young rich Ward,  
By whom from great possessions I am barred!  
Being the next heir, for he's with scabs perplexed,  
And is with swelling choler sharply vexed.  
There's Nereus too, has bu●●'d ye three wives,  
And I scarce—! O such men lead happy lives!   

That these things thou religiously mayst crave  
Of jove, in swelling Tiber's silver wave  
Early thou washest twice or thrice thy head,  
Purging the 
c Of this; see Casaubon on T●●eophrastus, p. 292. where he shows their twofold manner of expiation. And Brisson●●s at large lib. 1. de Formulis. p. 8.  night pollutions of thy bed.   

Dost h●a●●? answer n●e this, and but disclose  
Thy thought in one small question I'll propose.  
What thinkest of jove? thinkest he may be preferred  
'Fore some? Whom? be'rev'n 
d A wicked fellow, that poisoned his brother & brotherswife.  Staius, art afeard?  
And doubtst thou whether is the fittest Guard  
And juster judge for a young guidlesse Ward?  
This then, where with thou darest to pressed Jove's ear,  
Tell but to Status, would he not even fear  
To hears thee speak? and casting up his eye  
Cry, O good jove! and shall not jove then cry  
Unto himself for vengeance? What? dost think  
Thou art forgiven, because he's pleased to Wink  
At thy black deeds, and sooner strikes a Tree,  
With horrid Sulphur, than Thy house and Thee,  
When with his roaring thunders he doth chide  
The proud high-mounting air? Darest thou deride  
The power of Heaven, and play with Ioves fond Beard?  
As if th' hadst leave, because thou ne'er waste feared  
With some strange judgement? or ne'er yet didst lie  
A woeful spectacle to each man's eye,  
Unholy, to be shunned in some sad grove.  
Then ceasing to be sacred unto jove,  
Or th' other Gods, until with sacrifice  
Th' Aruspex great Ergenna purifies  
The same, by offering th' entrailss of two sheep?  
Or else, what if't? with what reward dost keep  
The bribed ears of the corrupted Gods  
That they should only give indulgent nods  
At thy vast crimes? if'ft thy fair offering  
Which their sacred altars thou dost bring?   

Now you shall see some grandames, or fond Aunts,  
Whom woman's Fury Superstition haunts,  
Take up a tender infant in their arms,  
And being skilful to depel the harms  
Of an 
e Of Fascination, see Del. Rio. Mag. disavis. 3. q. 4. Sect x. & Romirez, in his learned Pentecontarchus, chap. 3 1 at large.  effascinating eye, they'll spit  
Upon their middle finger, and then wet  
With this their purging spittle, the child's brow  
And pretty lips. Then with a humble vow  
Dancing him in their arms, they'lk vainly spend  
Their poor lean hope, in praying jove to send  
This babe in time to some such happiness  
As once wealth Licinius did possess  
In fruitful lands: or such as Crassus held,  
Who for brave houses, Rome chief Lords excelleed  
They wish that Kings and Queens may be at strife  
To make even their best daughter His blessed wife.  
And as for Maids (say they) Ye Gods above!  
O let 'em strongly, strangely fall in love  
With his rare beaune● and that whereso'ere  
He treads, a crimson rose may spring up there.   

Brave! brave! But yet I will not bid my nurse  
Pray so● or if she do; then good jove curse  
Her Prayers, though cloth'd-White she strongly cry,  
Yet for thine Own sake, strongly still deny.   

Thou wishest for firm nerves, and for a sure  
Sound body, that would healthfully endure  
Until old age; why be it, that thy wish  
Is granted by the Gods; yet thy large dish  
And full fat sasage make the God's delay  
To bless thee, and do force good Jove to stay.   

Thou'dst feign grow rich: yet dost thou sacrifice  
An Ox, (is that the way in wealth to rise?)  
Then upon Mercury the God of gain  
With this thy offering, thus thou criest amain,  
Let my domestic Gods (great Mercury)  
Make all things happy in my family!  
Bless thou my herds of beasts, bless thou my lambs,  
And make my tender Yewes the happy damm's  
Of many young ones. Madman! wilt thou see?  
This is impossible! it cannot be?  
When as so many Heifers fats do fry  
In flames of sacrifice. Yet doth he cry,  
And with his Entrails and his dainty Cake  
Strives to o'ercome, and formerly will make  
The Gods to hear; nor yet will hold his peace.  
Now doth my field, now doth my fold increase:  
Now 'twill be given: now, now, until at last  
Deceived, his great hope proving but a blast:  
His money in his chest may make its moan  
For want of company; yet sigh alone.   

If for a gift to Thee some friend presents  
A silver goblet, or rich ornaments  
Curiously graven in a massy bowl  
Of purest gold: strait way thy very soul  
Is touched with a strong passion: and thou shak'st  
Even Drops from thy left breast (Vain heart that quakest  
Thus with a trembling joy!) Now because gold  
Thus pleaseth Thee, hence 'tis that thou dost hold,  
The Gods are pleased so too, and overla●'st  
Their statues faces (that thereby thou mayst  
Procure their favour) with gold purchased  
From th'enemy, which was in triumph led.  
For those 
f The brazen Statues of the sons of Aegyptus, all, except one, slain by their new wives the daughters of Danaus. Which brothers the Romans adored as Gods, and were vainly persuaded that they sent dreams unto men.  brasse-brother-Gods that send a dream  
Most true, and purged from thick, corrupted phlegm,  
Whereby in sleep men are disturbed, or feared,  
Let those be chief, and we are a golden beard.  
Gold hath the pots of earth, and brass disdained,  
Though used when Numa, and good Saturn reigned  
Gold likewise hath expelled the Vestal Urn:  
Gold doth the Tuscan Earth to Gold now turn.   

Base stooping souls, that grooule on the earth,  
In whom there's nothing testifies their birth  
To be from Heaven!   

Yet, doth not this suffice?  
But we must bring these our iniquities,  
To the God's Temples, where their powers divine  
Do devil, and even profane their holy Shrine?  
As if there could be any thing in these  
Infected Carcases, the Gods to please?   

This flesh of ours makes us in vain to spoil  
Sweet Casia, by mixing it with oil  
To make us ointments. This doth make us strain  
The soft Portuguese fleece in purple grain,  
This makes us with much art to polish well  
Mother of Pearl, drawn from the fishes shell.  
This from th' unpurged earth made us desire  
To strain out veins of gold by purging fire.  
This sin, and sins, yet perseveres in sin.  
But you great Priests tell, what doth gold within  
The holy Temple? sure, no greater thing  
Than 
g It was a custom among the Ancients, for Virgins about to marry to offer their Babies as an ensign of their Virginities to Venus, hoping that by her benefit, shortly after, they should have true Babes of their own.  puppets, which to Venus' Virgins bring.   

No, let us strive to bring to th' Gods, that which  
Messala's blear-eyed offspring, from his rich  
Large incense-bason near could give, a mind  
By Law and by Religion well confined;  
A retired soul, a heart not stained by  
Fowl lust, concoct in Noble honesty.   

This let me bring to th' Gods, and I'll obtain  
Offering but a Small Cake of some Course grain.    

THE THIRD SATYR.  
ARGUMENT.  
Young Gallants Sloth, & their Neglect  
Of Arts, this Satire doth detect.  

What Every day thus long? Fie, fie arise:  
See how the clear light shamefully descries  
Thy sloth: and through thy windows shining bright  
Srretcheth the narrow chinks with his broad light,  
We snort till the 
a An hypall, for, till the shadow touch the fift line; which about our eleven of the clock. He understands this of the Su● Dial's. You may see the form of an ancient Roman Su● Dial in Ramirez his Pentecont. cap. 23.  fift shadow touch the line,  
Enough even to digest strong Falerne wine.  
Now what dost do? The furious dog-stars heat  
Upon the parched corn hath long since beat  
With its hearse scolding influence, and made  
The beasts to seek the spreading Elms cool shade.   

Thus the companion of some slothful youth  
Does freely chide him. Then saith he, in truth  
And ist so late? indeed? some body then  
Come presently and reach my clothes: why then?  
If then no body come: Oh how he swells,  
And breaks with 
b Because it is as soon raised as glass is, by ' those that make it  glasse-like choler; and then yels  
With such a foul loud noise, that you would say  
Surely some great Arcadian ass did bray.   

At last, with much ado● he doth begin  
To take his book in hand and some fair skin  
Of smooth 
c Yellow on the side the hair grew, and white on the other side.  two-colourd parchment he takes then  
Some paper and his knotty reed-like pen.  
Then he complains how that his ink doth stick  
In clots at his pens nose, it is so thick.  
Pour water then to his black 
d Sep●a is a sea-fish called a Cuttell, whose blood the Romans used instead of in ●e  Sepian juice,  
He cries, now us too white. Has a device  
For every thing. So sometimes he doth plead  
His pen writes double, or his ink doth spread.   

Wretched, unhappy man! yet growing still  
More wretched! Thinkest we'are borne to take our fill  
Of sloth? Why dost not then like the soft Dove  
Or great men's little children, rather love  
In delicatest wantonness to lap  
Some soft sweet spoon meat, as a little pap?  
Or angry with the teat, why dost not cry,  
Refusing to be styled with Lullaby?   


e This verse is an interjected reply of the slothful youth: the next is spoken in the person of his companion which reprehendeth him.  Why, can I study, sir, with such a quill?  
Alas? whom dost thou mock? why pleadest thou still  
Such vain ambages? wretched man to flout  
Thyself! thou'rt broken! lo, thou leakest out!  
And know thou shalt be scorned! strike but a pot  
Of some raw earth halfe-boyld, and will it not  
Tell its own fault, yielding a dull crazd sound?  
Well; Yet thou'rt soft moist clay, and mayst be wound  
To any form: Now therefore, now make haste  
To virtue: present time must be embraced.  
Now like the Potter's clay, now thou must feel  
Sharp disciplines effigiating wheel.  

f His companions ironical defence of the others carelessness  But, oh, thy father left thee land enough,  
And a clean salt-seller, with household stuff  
Sufficient, needst thou then fear any thing?  
Soothe hast a secure pan wherein to bring  
Incense to thy protecting Lares. Well;  
But thinkest thou this enough?  therefore swell,  
And break thy lung● with an ambitious wind,  
Because that thou the thousandth off, dost find  
Thy branch to be perchance drawn from a tree  
Of some high Tuscan true nobility?  
Or that because clad in thy purple grain  
Meeting Rome's Censor with his pompous train  
Thou canst salute him, by the name of Cousin,  
And arrogantly ask him how he does?  
Away: go pranse before the multitude  
In these thy trappings: seek not to delude  
My judgement; for I know my soul within,  
And see thy faults writ in thy outmost skin,  
Art not ashamed to live like dissolute  
Lose Natta? but (alas!) he's destitute  
Of sense! he stands amazed in vice! the deep  
Fat brawne of sin makes his heart sound sleep  
That now he doth not sin! No, he's so gross,  
So stupid, that he's senseless of his loss!  
And sunk down to the depth of vice, h●●le swim  
No more again up to the waters brim!   

Great father of the Gods! when cruel lust  
Touched with in flaming venom, moves th' unjust  
Corrupted disposition of fierce Kings,  
To act unworthy and unkingly things:  
Punish them only thus: Le them but see  
Fair virtue, and their lost felicity.  
Then shall their bowels yearn, and they shall cry  
In secret, and wax pale, and pine and die.  
Did ever the Sicilian brazen bull  
Roar out his torments with a throat more full?  
Or did the sword hung by a slender thread  
Up in the golden roof over the head  
Of the g crowned flatterer, more terrifieg Damocles  
His soul, then when a man shall truly cry  
Unto himself, I fall, Oh, I do fall  
Down headlong, and shall know he's past recall?  
And inwardly grow pale (O wretched life!)  
Which he's afeard to tell his near dear wife?   

Indeed, when I was young, I like a fool  
Would 'noint my eyes with oil to stay from school▪  
When I'd not learn, through sloth, the stately part  
Of dying Cato, though ' ●were penned with art.  
And my too careful Master praised it much:  
And my glad father being moved with such  
His praises, brought his friends to hear his boy  
Bravely act Cato, and would sweated for joy.  
For than I cared nor to know any thing,  
Except how much the lucky Sice would bring,  
Or what the losing Ace would scrape away  
Or that my fellow might not put false play  
Upon me, nearly cogging forth a die  
Out of the small necked 
h They used to cast their dice out of boxes, (as now a days some do out of small saucers) to prevent the sleight of the hand which notwithstanding some more cunning gamesters did often practise.  casting ● box. This I  
Did learn: and for the scourge-stick I did strive,  
That none his Top which greater art might drive.   

But now, Thou art not at this age to learn  
Between good and bad manners to discern,  
No; thou hast learned the precepts that are taught  
In the wise porch, where curiously are wrought  
By Polygnotus skill, the conquered Medes  
In their short stops, whose story overspreades  
The Walls, and where in searching hidden truths  
The little sleeping close-shorne storck Youths,  
That feed on husks and a course barley cake,  
Early and late industriously do wake.  
And unto thee the 
i The letter of Pythagoras, who by birth was a Samian.  Samian letter Y  
Whose spreading branches ●●ach Philosophy,  
Hath marked out even as it were with chalk  
The high reared right-hand ●a●h, wherein to walk   

And snort'st thou Yet? What? is thy head grown slack?  
Art jaw fall'n? Doth their frame begin to crack?  
Liest yowning, to evaporate th'excess  
Of yesterday oppressing drunkenness?  
Hast thou proposed thyself a certain end●  
And with thy best endeavour dost thou bend  
Thy how at that? Or, careless of thy hurt,  
Dost throw at crows, with stones and clots of dirt  
Neglecting where thou run'st? hast thou no drift,  
But only for the present how to shift?   

Well, yet be provident, when our sick skin  
Doth with the puffing dropsy once begin  
To swell, 'tis then, thou knowest, but vain to cry  
For Hellebore, when a disease draws nigh,  
And yet but threatens thee; then, then prevent  
And meet a danger that is eminent.  
But if thou do delay, iled be too late  
And that thy sickness once grow desperate,  
Then wouldst thou give Craterus half thy wealth  
Yet can he not restore thee to thy health.  
Learn then, O wretched youths, the mystery  
Of Nature in profound Philosophy.  
Learn who we are, why we were borne, th' estate  
Wherein we're set, and know that not by fate  
But wisdom, we may turn our ship with ease  
About high-vertues mark placed in the seas  
Of this our life. Temperately desire  
Silver: learn what 'tis lawful to require  
In prayer: and the perfect use, aright  
Of money: for which, men so sharply fight:  
What likewise to thy Country thou dost own,  
And what to thy dear kinsmen; Learn to know  
Whom 
l Me thinks these lines of mine Author, and especiolly this word Deus, seems to be of that high strain of Divinity (in a Heathen) which Plato reached unto, when he did profess that he writ but in jest, when he said Gods.  God hath made thee, and in what degree  
And state of life, he here hath placed thee.   

Learn: neither envy thou at thy full store  
Of the greased Lawyer, though he have much more  
Provision, than his family can spend  
Whilst it is sweet: which the fat Vmbrians send,  
As gifts to bribe his tongue. Nor grudge to see  
His Marsian Client bring him for a fee,  
Pepper, gammons of bacon, or such kind  
Remembrances. Nor let it vex thy mind,  
Because he hath fresh P●lchers to him sent,  
Before the former barrel be quite spent.   

But here, me thinks, I hear some boisterous rough  
Centurion say; Tush, I have wit enough  
To serve mine own turn; and I'll never care  
To be Arcesilas, or to impair  
My health, like Solon: who do lean awry  
Their heads, piercing the earth with a fixed eye:  
When by themselves they gnaw their murmuring  
And furious silence, as ' 'ttwere balancing  
Each word upon their outstretched lip: and when  
They meditate the dreams of old sick men,  
As, Out of nothing, nothing can be brought:  
And that which is, can ne'er be brought to nought.  
Is it for this they're pale? and that they miss  
Their dinner oftentimes, is it for this?  
Why yet they are but scorned even by the rout,  
The people, and our lusty Lads but flout  
Them, and with crisped noses a lose off,  
Strongly ingeminate a trembling scoff.   


m Persius' his answer to the objection, which he makes the Centurion here use.  Yet scorn not learning: lest thy falling state  
Prove such, as this which here I will relate.   

One said to his Physician, pray Sir see:  
Me thinks I am not as I use to be.  
My heart doth qu●ke as if it boded death,  
And my sick jaws send forth a loathsome breath,  
Pray good Sir feel my pulse: and play your part.  
Well, the Physician used his chiefest art,  
And bid him rest four days. But when each vein  
Began composedly to flow again,  
On the third night, he bid his servant take  
A 
n A small flagon.  little thirsting flagon, and strait make,  
All speed to the great house of such a friend,  
And tell him, he de●●'d him for to send  
Some of his mild Surrentine wine, and so  
Having drank that, unto the Baths he'd go.  
When being there, thither did come by chance  
His own Physician, who strait cast a glance?  
On this his patient, and to him said,  
Why You are pale, and are you not afraid?  
Tush man, saith he, that's nothing. Yet beware,  
Said his Physician, and pray have a care.  
What ere this nothing is. For I do see,  
Your yellow sickly skin swells secretly.  
Well, prithee now, said he, do not thou rail  
At me: for thou thyself dost look more pale  
And worse, be not a Tutor unto me,  
One I have had, and buried; now for thee,  
Thou yet remainest. On then, and do not cease.  
Said his Physician, and I'll hold my peace.   

This gallant then swelling with dainty cheer,  
Baths his pale belly, and without all fear:  
His throat half stopped with gross corrupted phlegm,  
Leisurely breathing a sulphureous steam  
But midst his wines a sudden trembling seized  
Upon each joint of him, that his diseased  
Weak hand could not his lukewarm bowl retain:  
And his uncovered teeth even gnashed again,  
And then through his lose lips, his fine oiled meat  
He vomits; which he greedily had eat.  
Then were prepared for his funeral  
The 
o At the Funerals of great Men, they use Trumpets, as Pipes at the burials of the meaner sort.  Trumpet, and the Lights, and last of all,  
This seeming-happy man that would not doubt,  
His health, being composedly laid out  
On his high bed, h●s b●ere; and now daubed o'er  
And even bedurted with th' abundant store  
Of ointments; stretcheth tow'rd the Citie-gate  
His cold dead heels; and those whose best estate  
But yesterday, was but to be his slave,  

p It was the custom of the Romans before their deaths to manumi●te their servants, which was by shaving their heads, and putting a capon.  Now wear their caps, and bear him to his grave.   


q The scornful reply of the Centurion.  What? then belike ye apply this same to me?  
But (wretched fool!) thou'rt out. For know, I'm free.  
Touch but my vennes, feel how my heart doth beat.  
There's but a wont moderated heat.  
Or feel the bottoms of my feet, or hold  
My hands, thou shalt perceive they are not cold.   


r The answer of Persius.  'tis true. But know, seduced man, there stick  
Diseases in thy soul, us that is sick  
For if thou see by chance much gold, or spy  
Thy neighbours smooth-cheeked wench to cast an eye  
Upon thee, smiling with a wanton glance  
Speak true, doth then thy heart orderly dance?  
There's set before thee on thy board, to eat,  
In a cold dish hard herbs, somewhat rough meat;  
And course bread sifted in the people's scarce;  
Let's try your chaps. O are ye now averse?  
In thy soft mouth there's hid a putrid sore,  
Which touched with Common herbs, would make thee roar  
So thy heart's cold, when pale fear doth affright  
Thy hair like ears of corn standing upright.  
Again, fierce anger makes thy blood grow hot;  
Even as a firebrand doth a see thing pot;  
And than thy flaring eyes sparkling forth fire,  
Thou sayst and dost so in thy furious ire;  
That mad Orestes dares swear, such a fact  
None but a man stark mad, ere durst to act.    

THE FOURTH SATYR,  
ARGUMENT.  
Young Rulers: The complaint of Lust  
On Avarice, unfit though just.  

ART thou a commonwealths chief Governor?  
(Suppose the bearded grave 
a Socr.  Philosopher,  
Whom the cold draught of hemlock fo●c'd to die,  
Thu● to demand) on what dost thou rely?  
What are thy grounds? speak Alcibiades,  
Pupil unto the famous Pericles.  
Oh, wit and grave discretion, I have heard  
Indeed, do many times prevent a beard!  
And so thou know'st no doubt, though th' art but young.  
Both when to speak and when to hold thy tongue.  
When therefore the ●ext multitude grow hot.  
With choler, and their duty have forgot,  
Thou dost but lift up thy majestic hand,  
And strait a general silence dost command  
o'er the tumultuous rout, Then what dost say?  

b These three lines are spoken in the person of this young Governor.  O ye Quiritians (if prevail I may)  
I think this is not just that's done by you,  
Nor this, ' 'ttwere better if you thus did do.  
For thou canst weigh truth in the double scale  
Of the most doubtful balance. If it fail,  
Strait ways thou knowest it, yea, though hide it lie  
Between a double crooked falsity.  
Or if a rule (so perfect is thy sight)  
Measure not every thing exactly right.  
And the black 
c The Judges being about to give sentence of death against a man, were wont to write his name in a table, and prefix before it, the letter θ, as being the first of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 signifying he was to be delivered over to death.  Thera sign of deadly shame  
Thou canst prefix ' fore an offender's name.   

Thou canst do this. Oh, 'ttwere a crime to doubt.  
Come, come. Thou being fair only without  
And in the skin in vain, leave off to shake  
Thy tail, before the flattering rout, or make  
Suit for great offices, till age and cares  
Have made thee fit to manage such affairs.  
Thou being fitter yet to drink good store  
Of pure unmixed braine-purging Hellebore.   

Wherein consists thy last, thy greatest wish?  

d The answer of this vain fellow, and the reply of Persius.  In having every day a full fat dish.  
Then with sweet oil to 'noint thy skin, and lie  
In the Sun's pleasant warmth till it be dry.   

Why hadst thou with the self same question tried  
This poor old woman; she had so replied,  
Go now and boast how thy Nobility  
Comes from th' illustrious Dinomache.  
Puff out thy vaunts and say, I'm comely, ●aire,  
To grant thee such vain praises I le not care.  
When ragged g●an' ame Baucis, that does cry  
Unto the loser servants, Will ye buy  
Any sweet herbs, has as much wit as thee  
That thus dost boast of thy vain pedigree.   

That no man will descend to his own heart,  
And search the secrets of that hidden part!  
No man! But have their eyes fixed ever more  
Upon his back and bag that goes before!  
For do but ask a man, by chance, D'ye know  
Vectidius farms? He'll say, Vectidius? Who?  
The Chuife of Cures, he whose grounds they say  
A Kite can scarce fly o'er in a whole day?  
H●m even the Gods oppose and the sure fate  
Of an unlucky Genius. Who (the date  
Of time, bringing again the Plow-mens' 
e These feasts were called Compitalia, and were celebrated in honour of their Lares.  feast  
When from their painful labours they have ceased,  
And now hung up their weary Oxens' yoke  
By the worn path (upon some aged oak)  
When he should freely laugh, and make good cheer  
For other ploughmen ('tis but once a year)  
Most basely fearing to pull off the clay  
From his small wine-vessell; he'll fight, and say,  
Pray jove, that this my prodigality  
Bring me not in the end, to beguerie!  
A coated oignion then with salt he eats;  
(His servants much applauding such brave meats:  
Nay and rejoicing for their happy lot  
And for the ba●ly-pudding in the pot)  
Then sparingly he sups instead of beer,  
The cloathy dregs of dying Vinegar.  
But strait replies the other, if thou noint'st  
With supple oil thy foul lubberly joints  
And liest in the hot Sun letting it beat  
Upon thy skin, with its strong parching heat:  
There's one whom thou scarce knowest stands here hard by  
Even at thy elbow, that could likewise cry  
Against thy manners, and thy lewder art,  
The depilation of thy modest part,  
And of thy longs, to prostitute thereby  
Unto a barren lust thy pathic thigh:  
Thy Cheeks bearing a●●●emb'd, oiled beard: Elsewhere  

f Reader in this line, entendedly departed from the Lette● of mine Author yet without thy loss.  Where dost thou too-unjustly smooth appear?  
Scrape on, but though five lusty wrestlers would  
Root up these springing plants: yea though they should  
with crooked pinsers, by their tugging oft.  
Weaken thy parts of shame, though first made soft,  
With Barber's soapie water, so to yield  
The better, to the plowers of this field:  
Yet this o'er spreading fern will never bow  
Unto the deepest furrow-making plough.   

Thus we wound others and do yield again  
Our thighs unto the da●●s of other men.  
And thus we know ●●ns life pursued to be  
By this too much assumed Liberty.   


g The passage here, was too obscure, wherefore I was forced to be a little diffuse in the opening of the connection; and so inserted these four verses.  Yet some men's faults, because they hidden lie  
From the enquiry of their Enemy,  
Are not objected to them; yet are known  
To him, to whom they cry, We are thine own.  
Thou hast a secret wound under thy side;  
But thy broad gold-bossed girdle doth it hid:  
So though thou make men say, thou'rt well (in vain)  
Will thy side say so too, that feels the pain?   

Thou'lt hear perchance reply, What? when as all  
My neighbours Me an exc●lent fellow, call;  
And say, I am not as your common men,  
Shall I, ah, can I not believe ●hem then?   


h The reply of Persius to his own objection.  Alas, blind wretch! if at the sight of gold  
With avaricious love thou waxest cold  
And pale, if every thing thou likewise do,  
Which griefe-procuring lust provokes thee to,  
If on the table of thy Usury,  
By most oppressing heavy cruelty,  
As by a strong deep-wounded scourge, thou make  
Many a sure-imprinted grievous strake,  
To the false praising people thou mayst lend.  
Thy spongy, sucking cares; but to no end.   

Seem not more than thou art, neither believe  
The ignorant applause base Cobblers give.  
The curtailed store of thy bare povertic.    

THE FIFT SATYR. IN FORM OF A DIALOGUE.  
The Speakers PERSIUS. The Speakers CORNUTUS.  
ARGUMENT.  
Corni●tus praise: Philosophy:  
Opposed desires: true liberty.  

P. OUr Poets use to wish they had large lungst  
And a whole hundred voices, mouths, and tongues:  
When they would write a buskined Tragedy,  
To be yavvned out with the sad Majesty  
Of a Tragedian: or describe the high  
Brave-minded Parthian pulling from his thigh  
A hook like bearded dart  
C. Why speakest Thou thus  
And he●pest up such vast robustious  
And swelling lines, that thou thyself dost need  
A hundred throats, if thou'dst attain indeed  
The end which such endeavours tend to? Rather  
Let them, who'se write some lofty matter, gather  
Clouds off of Helicon, to whom he pot  
Of Progne, or Thyeste, shall grow hot;  
Of which, the fond Tragedian Glyco must  
Oft make his supper. But thou neither dust  
Pusse from thy mouths full bellows much vain wind  
The whilst the matter boiling in thy mind,  
Thy forge: nor with an inward murmuring  
Hoarsly crow-like caw'st out some idle-thing,  
I know not what: nor dost thou strive to stuff  
Th● swelling cheeks, to break them with a puff.  
Thy words are words of peace, and accurate  
Thy stile: thy mouth not swollen, but moderate  
Smooths out thy numbers; thou canst touch to th' quick,  
Pale manners: and with an ingenious trick  
Strike a crime through; and hence indeed from crimes  
Do th●u draw still the subject of thy rhymes:  
And leave the feast made with the feet and head  
Of Plysthenes woefully murdered,  
At sad Mycenae: and do thou descry  
Thy people's banquets full of luxury.  
P. Surely, I strive not that my leaf may rise  
With ●welling bubbles of vain fopperies,  
Fit to give weight to smo●ke. We speak retired:  
And inwardly I by my muse inspired  
Here offer even my secret heart to be  
By thee tried fully. For I'd have thee see  
Cornutus, dearest friend, how great a part  
Of my dear, yet divided soul thou art.  
Knock on my breast: for thou hast skill to know  
What soundeth solid, and the covered show  
Of a guilt tongue. And oh here I could crave  
A hundred voices; that how much I have  
Fixed thee within my many-seated breast,  
In a pure fluent stile might be expressed:  
And that which now ineffable doth devil  
Within my heart, in words I here could tell.  
When first I did begin to leave to fear  
Under a Master: and left off to wear  
My purple-Coat, and still preserved free  
From violation my weak infancy:  
And when my golden Boss I newly had  
Hung up to my 
a To signify their readiness and expedition in defence of the house, which was committed to their tutelary charge.  succinct House-Gods: when bad,  
And flattering companions guarded me:  
When now my white Shield granted l●b●rtie  
Unto mine eyes freely to rove throughout  
The lewd Sabutra, when I was in doubt  
Which way to take: and when my trembling mind  
Was by pernicious error almost blind.  
Misled into divided paths: I then  
Offered myself to thy instruction. When  
Thou strait way didst embrace my tender youth  
In thy Socratique basome: and the truth  
Of thy rule vvell-applied, skilful to draw  
Feeble inclining minds to reasons la,  
Showed me intorted manners: and thy mind  
Was pressed by reason, thoroughly confined  
To learned precepts, strove to be o'ercome;  
And took a fair form from thy skilful thumb.  
For I remember oft I with delight  
Have spent long days with thee: and of the night  
Have borrowed the first hours, feasting with thee  
O● the choice dainties of Philosophy.  
One work we wrought, we rested both one rest:  
Mixing severeness, with a modest jest.  
For doubt not, both our birth-days joined in one  
Sure league, drawn from one constellation:  
Or the unchanged Parca vveighted our time  
With an even balance, ●●hit first, that prime  
Birth-houre of us ●rue ●●o●os did blessedly  
Place our embracing fates in Gemini,  
And heavy Saturn's stern malignity  
Was broke by our good Ioves benignity  
I know no● what, but sure some star I see,  
Which inwardly disposes me tow'rds thee.   

Yet there's a thousand sorts of men, and strange  
Variety doth humane actions change.  
Each hath his several will, nor do all live  
With one desire. For, one his mind doth give  
To Merchandizing, and with care doth run  
Out to the East under the rising Sun;  
To get rough pepper, and pale Cummin seed  
For Roman wares. Another loves to feed.  
His paunch, and then swell with destelling sleep:  
A third doth Marsfield wrastlings duly keep;  
A fourth turns bankrupt by the  dye;  
A sift grows rotten by damned venery.  
But when the knotty hand-gout has once broke  
Their joints, as th' boughs of some decayed oak,  
Anger and grief do then begin a strife  
Within them, for their base and dirty life  
Now spent, when now, but now too late, they look  
Upon the life they wretchedly forsook  
But thou in learned writes dost by night  
Grow pale. Thou makest it thy chief delight  
To sow young purged ears with fruitful truths,  
With good Cleanthes fruit draw hence ye youths,  
Ye old men, for yourselves, some certain end,  
Some helps from cares your old age to defend.  

b He brings them in answering for themselves, and then he replies again unto them.  To morrow we'll do this. b Alas! you'll do  
The same, to morrow, 
c Another answer of theirs, with his own reply.  Why ask we of you  
So much, to wit, only day; c But when  
The third day comes, we have consumed then  
Tomorrow Yesterday: and thus to borrow  
Of time, though yet to come, still one tomorrow;  
Will secretly drive out our years at last;  
When every day a new day will be past,  
Never to be recovered. For thou wheel  
Which dost about the second Axle reel  
Hindermost, mayst in vain strive to or ' take  
The first still turning forward, which doth make  
Like haste, with equal swiftness, though thou be  
Hard by it placed under the self same tree.   

Who's ' eyer then true liberty would gain,  
Let him embrace Philosophy, for vain  
Is other freedom; such, to wit, whereby  
Any new Publius may familiarity  
In his (the Veline) tribe course corn demand  
By bringing but his token in his hand.  
O men barren of truth, that think they can,  
Make with a turning, a Quiritian!  
Here's Dama a base horsekeeper, not worth  
Three halfpences, a mere sot that can't took forth  
From out the mist of Ignorance, and one  
Who'll lie even for the least occasion,  
For horsebread; whom if's Master turn about,  
I' ●h' moment of the whirling he goes out  
Strait, Marcus Dama. The Gods! Dar'st deny  
To trust one, Marcus being surety?  
O●, Marcus being judge, art pale with fear  
Of wrong? Marcus said it, than thou mayst swear  
'tis true. Now Marcus seal the Bond. Oh, here's  
Brave Liberty and true, which our Cap wears  
As well as we! 
d The answer of Dama now manumised  Why is there any free,  
Barnes he, the which doth live at liberty?  
I live at liberty, and am not I  
More free than Brutus then? Oh here stands by  
A well-taught Stoic 
e The reply of Persius. , whose more purged ear  
Is vvashed, as ' 'ttwere▪ with Truths sharp vinegar,  
That ●a●●s, I grant the first; but where you say,  
I live at liberty, take that away.  

f Another answer of Dama.  Why? since I came from th' Praetor's tod mine own  
Free man, I'll now be subject unto none;  
And why may ned I do with full liberty  
Whats'e re 
g A famous Lawyer, and afterwards a Knight of Rome.  Masurius doth not deny?  

h Another reply of Persius.  Oh, learn: but this thy anger first depose,  
And let fall from thy too-much-wrinkled nose,  
Thy rugged scoff? whilst from thy lungs I pull  
These old wives tales, of which thy breast's yet full,  
It was not in the Prators power to give  
Pure wisdom unto fools, or make them live  
By reasons rule. No; thou shalt sooner fit  
Unto the harp, a rough rude soldier's wit.  
'Gainst which reason doth stand, and secretly  
Whispers him in the ear, and says, Fie, Fie;  
Never attempt wh●● thou canst ne'er reach to,  
And only spoil, whilst thou dost strive to do.  
The la of man and nature both deny  
Weak ignorance the privilede to try  
Forbidden things. Dost thou mix Hellebore  
For a sick patient, who ne'er trid'st before  
To weighed exactly to a dram? The art  
Of Physic bids thee not dare act this part.  
If a rude high-shooed clown offer to steer  
A ship not knowing his guide Lucifer,  
The Sea-God Melicerta may exclaim,  
The brow of modesty has lost all shame?  
Has virtue's ar● taught thereto walk upright?  
And canst thou with a per●p●●●●rous sight  
Discern the show of truth from truth? Dost know  
Sergeant gold by the sound? and canst thou show  
What things to follow, what things to decline,  
The first with chalk, the last with coal to sign?  
Art of confined desires? hast thou a small  
And pretty vvell-trimed house? art kind to all  
Thy friends? canst wisely sometimes shut thy store,  
Sometimes open thy garners to the poor?  
And with a pure affection unhurt  
Canst thou pass over money 
i ●n ●llusion to the sport that children used, who typing a piece of money to the end of a string, would cover the string with dirt, and let the money be seen, which when any greedy fellow passing by, would stoop to take up, they would pluck in the string; and so delude him.  fixed 〈◊〉 the dirt?  
Nor as a greedy glutton, love to lick  
Mereuriall spittle, which doth use to stick  
Upon the lips of Niggard's? When as all  
These things thou ma●st thine own most truly call;  
Then, Oh or wise, enjoy true liberty,  
The Praetors yea, and great love blessing thee,  
But Thou but th' other day of our degree,  
Retaining still thy old skin, being free  
Only in a smooth brow, that outward part,  
Deep sub●●ty lu●k●ng in thy foul heart:  
The liberty l●g ●●e thee, I again  
Recall, and do ●ye sh●rrer now thy chain.  
For Reason unto thee doth nothing len●:  
Lift but thy 
k Ramirez (in his Commentary on Martial. lib. 1. Epig. 1.) would persuade us that this place is meant de Medio digito● but his exposition is somewhat rank, and I will justly oppose him with that discreet admonition of Turnebus (Advers. lib. 23. cap. 23. Non sunt ●am ex alto ducendi sensus, de ou● but 〈◊〉 ●●thil cogitatit.  Finger ●p, thou dost offend;  
And what's so s●all? But thou shalt ne'er obtain  
By any frank 〈◊〉 use that the least Grame  
Of wisdom shall e●e rest w●●h●n a fool:  
To mix these Two, is against Nature's rule.  
Nor shalt thou, thou remaining a Clown still,  
Ere dance three measures with Bathyllus s●ll.  

l Another reply of Dama, and the answer of Persius.  I'm Fre●. l How canst thou say so, thy affection  
Being invassaled to the worst subjection?  
Know'st thou to other M●●ter, but he whom  
The Manum●ting rod d●● free thee from?  
Indeed if Now, one say imperiously  
To's slave, Go, S●rra, carry presently  
This linen to Crispinus Baths; dost stand  
Sill, Lazy knave? This his severe command  
Doth move thee nothing: because now no whip  
May scourge Thy Lazy sides, to make Thee skip.  
But if within, in thy sick lungs do spring  
Headstrong desires, art Thou in any thing  
Less servile then, than is such a poote knave,  
Whom th'whip and fear of's Master made a slave?   

Thou lying long in bed, avarice cries,  
Up, Up, No● yet, sayest thou● For shame arise,  
Cries she; I can't thou dost reply: Why so,  
Sa●es thee again? Rise, Rise; dost thou not know  
What thou shouldst do? Why go to th'Sea, bring thenre  
Fish, Beaver●o●le, flax, Eben, frankincense,  
And loos●●●g wines of Co, and be the first  
To fetch from th'Camel, whilst he yet doth thirst,  
Fre●h pepper exchange somewhat, and forswear  
For Ga●e. O but (alas!) than jove will hear.  
Why, fool, if thou wilt devil with jove, thou shalt  
Striving but to get out one taste of salt,  
Boar a hole through thy oft-licked salt-seller.  
Well; being got up, thou dost (not to defer  
To execute her will) provide thy men  
Bags for to lay their clothes in, and then  
La●'st in wine, with such other things thou know'st  
Are fit for Navigation: then strait go'st  
To ship, where nothing hinders thee to sail  
O'er the Aegaean See with a full gaile,  
But Luxury. That doth seduce thy weak  
unstaidness, and thus with Art doth speak,   

Whither, Oh whither madman, dost thou run?  
Whither? What lackest thou? What wouldst thou have done?  
(
m These two lines the Poet interjects in his own person.  And now thy hot breast with strong ire doth swell,  
Which a whole po● of Hemlock can scarce quell.)  
Wilt thou pass one the Seas? Wilt thou ere eat  
Thy Supper, making a Stretched Rope thy seat?  
Shall a broad-bottomed tankard that does stink  
Of ●●tch fume out the wine, that Thou must drink?  
Nay, vile ruddy Veientane wine? strivest thou  
To make thy labouring money sweated forth now  
Elev'n in twelve, the which did here obtain  
ne'er above Five in Twelve; a modest gain?  
Come, come: cherish thy Genius: let's be f●ee  
T'enjoy a full delight: for without Me  
Life is Not: and remember that ere long,  
Thou shalt be but a Ghost, dust, and the song  
O'th' People. Think how thou by death shalt pass  
Away, like Time. This which I spoke, it was.  
What dost thou now? Two hooks a double way  
Now draw thee; Wilt thou this, or this obey?  
Thou must be slave to both alternately:  
Now serving Avarice, now Luxury.  
Not mayst thou, if thou dost for Once withstand  
Their instant and importunate command,  
Say strait, I broke their bands; For lo,  
A dog by tugging breaks his knot, just so,  
Who, though he run away and by't and strain,  
Yet at his neck doth trail much of his chain.   

Chaerestratus in serious meditation  
B●ting his nail to th' quick through deep vexation  
Says to his man; Davus, I now intent  
All my fore passed griefs and Love to end;  
Believe me. For shall I be still a sname,  
Unto my sober careful friends good name?  
Shall I spend all my stock with infamy  
At the lieu I threshold of a Stews? Shall I  
Drunk before Chrysis anointed moist doors stand  
Singing, my torch extinguished in my hand?  
O 
n Davus his rejoicing at his Masters promised reformation.  rare young Master! Behence-forward wise  
And offer up a lamb in sacrifice,  
To thy protecting Gods. 
o The interrogation of Chae 〈◊〉 to his servant Davus.  But dost believe  
Danus, if I forsake her, that she'll grieve?  

p Davus his indignation, at his Master's weak inconstancy.  Dost trifle, Idle boy? Then she shall break  
Thy pate with herred pantofle, and wreak  
Her spite upon thee, that thou shalt not dare  
To quake, nor by't her fast-entangling snare.  
thou'rt Now averse ad violent, but when  
She shall perchance but call thee: thou'lt say then;  
I come strait wares, for, why? what should I do●!  
Shan't I go to my Love, when She doth Woe,  
And sends for me? But if thou canst Now, Now  
Redeem thyself All and Entire, Thou, Thou  
Art that thrice happy man, that only He  
Whom only, We judge to be truly free,  
Not he, o'er whom the foolish Lictor wags  
His rod; and of him, as his Freeman brags.  
For, Oh, can he be truly called his own,  
Whom Candidate Chaulk●e ambition  
Draws gaping to her lure? To whom she cries,  

q The words of Ambition.  Unto thy Chems salutations rise  
By time, and give a lib call dole of pease  
Unto the scrambling multitude: that these  
Our large Floralia may be made the talk  
Of Aged men hereafter as they walk  
In the warm Sun; For wha can be more brave?  

r These words are spoken in the person of Persius.  And art not Superstitious to have  
On Hereds' birthday, many candles placed  
In order i'th'oild window much defaced  
By the far cloud the which they vomit out,  
Though with sweet violets theyare decked about;  
And t'have a Tunies ta●●e, as 'twere to swim  
In a red dish, thy white bowl full to th'brim  
with wine, yet dost not fall till night, and pray  
All the jews circumcised Sabbath-day?  
Then with Hobgoblins, and the feigned fear  
Of danger from a crack● egg, and th'a●st●re  
Grave Priests of Cybill, and the one-eyed maid  
Of Isis with her umbrell, thou'rt dismayed.  
And thinkest the Gods will puff with some disease  
Thy swelling skin: if thou shalt them displease:  
Refusing by their grave rules to be led,  
To taste each morn three times a Garlick-head.   

And sayest thou yet, thou liv'st at liberty,  
Being subject to th'extremest vanity?   

Yet speak this, which the Gods do know, is true,  
Mongst ful-veind soldiers: what would strait ensue?  
Some vast Volpenius with a full deep throat  
Would bellow out a laugh, in a base note:  
And ten times ten Philosophers of Greece  
Would scarcely prise at a clipped Ten-groats piece.    

THE sixth AND LAST SATYR, TO HIS FRIEND CAESIUS BASSUS a Lyrique Poet.  
ARGUMENT.  
The pining Niggard's fruitless care,  
To feed the lust of his lewd heir.  
NOW, Bassus, hath the cold made thee retire  
Thyself, this winter, to the Sabine fire?  
Do thy own harp and strings live to thee still,  
Sounding loud music with a stiffer quill?  
Great workman! whose blessed Muse sweet lines affords  
F●ll of the Native beauty of Old words:  
And on the Roman harp with happiness  
Of skill, a masculine, strong sound t'express:  
Now playing young men's sports, now playing some  
Brave Old men's actions, with an honest thumb.  
The warm Ligurian shore grows hot to Me:  
And I'm now wintered at my native Sea;  
Where the rocks yield a shore to them that sail;  
And where the haven into a large vale  
Retites itself. 'tis fairly worth the sight,  
The ●ort of Luna full of much delight.  
Thus sa●d w●se Ennius after ha' ad dreamt he was  
Homer, the ●ift formed by Pythagoras  
His Peacock soul. Here ●●en'd live free  
From ca●ing what the People think of me:  
And what th'unluck e Sou●h-wind doth prepare  
For Cattle; Nor do● I take grief or care  
If that my neighbour's fields more fat than mine.  
Let all poore-borne grow rich, He never pine  
With stooping age; for That or want good cheer:  
Or touch the sign of dreggy sealed beer  
In a hoated flagon. Y●t another may  
Dissent from this. For oft the same birthday  
Hath an Ascendent strongly influent  
Producing even in twins a different  
Yea an opposed Genius, For the one  
Warily with great circumspection,  
And on his Birthday, only dips his dry  
Course herbs in brinish sauce, which he doth buy  
In a small cup, His Own self sorinkling  
His dish with Pepper as a Holy thing.  
The other a brave boy courageously  
Spends his large portion in luxury  
On his consuming tooth, But as for Mine,  
He Use it: yet ne'er let my Freedmen dine  
With Turbe●s: nor be curious-mouthed to know  
But by the taste, if'● be a Thrush or no.  
Proportion thy expenses by thy gain:  
And grind out freely (for thou mayst) thy grain  
Laid up within thy barns. What shouldst thou feare●  
But harrow, and behold strait will appear  
Another harvest. 
a The covetous man pretended reason in defence of himself.  Why, I would thus spend,  
But duty hinders me. For my poor friend,  
His ship being split, h●ld by the ‛ Brutian  
Sharp ●ocks; and bur●'d in th' Ionian  
Rough waves all his estate, and his deafecties  
Neglected by the Gods, and himself lies  
Upon the shore wi●h his great Gods, which he  
Caught from his broken ship, whose ribs now be  
Exposed unto the Cormorant. 
b Persius' his reply:  Nay, Now  
Give him some of thy Land, and do not thou  
Think thou canst be too free, Let him not lack,  
Wand'ring with agreene 
* The table of his shipwreck.  Table at his back.  
But if thou impair thy wealth, thy angered heir  
Of thy last funeral ●east will take small care;  
And with neglect into thy urn will throw  
Thy bones without perfumes, careless to know  
Whether he buy dull-smelling Cinnamon,  
Or C●ssi● corrupt with Cher●y-gumme▪  
he'll say, What dost thou ●dly spend thy wealth,  
My portion, being in thy perfect health?  
But more; l' me sure the●'s thrifty Bes●us  
Doth press your learned Grecian Doctors, thus;  
Thus 'tis, since your fond Liberality,  
Rather 
c Thus with the most accurate interpreters, I render M●●is Expets taking M●●is for the genitive case of M●s; not of Mare. For then there were a manifest contradiction in the sense, because presently after, he says, it came from Greece, and so by consequent over the Sea.  emasculate soft Luxury,  
With pepper, dares, and other ware hath come  
From your lewd Greece unto our City Rome,  
Our very Mowers do with too much oil  
Their ancient wholesome meat saucily spoil  

d Persius here answers to the objection, which he himself brought for the covetous man.  But fearest these things beyond thy grave? Draw near;  
Thou whosoe're shalt be my heir, and hear:  
And that into our talk none may intrude,  
Let us retire from the thick multitude  
My friend, knowest not the news? Caesar hath sent  
A Laurel for a sign and ornament  
Of his great conquest over Germany:  
And the cold ashes which before did lie  
Upon the Altars, are now swept away:  
And with great care and joy 
e The Emperor Caligula's wise makes all things ready for the triumph.  Caesonia  
Fixeth the conquered Kings arm out of proof  
And all their weapons to the temples roof,  
Clads all the Captives in a durt-browne freeze,  
Placeth the Rheni of a huge vast size;  
And orders all their coaches; Wherefore I  
Will bring for this so happy victory  

f The Romans counted their Fencer's shows and Plays a part of their Religion; as Turnebus well observes in his Advers. lib. 39 cap. 7. p. 1093.  Tothth' Gods and our great Captain's Genius  
An hundred pair of fencers. I being thus  
Freely disposed, who doth forbid? Darest thou?  
Woe; if thou yield'st not. Say, that I' me pleased now  
Upon the people to bestow a dole  
Of oil and flesh pies; dost thou dare control?  
Speak out, and plainly. Why, your land, thou'lt say,  
Is not so fat, so bonelesse, but I may,  
For any cause I see, not greatly care,  
Whether or no, you do make me your heir.  
Well then, scorn thou my love; yet thus much know;  
Enough will be my heir; and thank me too.  
For were none of my father's sisters left;  
No cousin-germane; or were I bereft  
Of all my Uncle's nieces daughters, say,  
My mother's sister had died barren, nay,  
That none sprung from my grandam did survive.  
Briefly, that not one kinsman were alive.  
I'll go but to 
g These were Places not far from Rome, whereby beggars used to ask alms of Passengers.  Bovillae, or the g hill  
Of Virbius, where standeth ready still,  
Poor Mannius; he shall be my heir. 
h The interrogation of his covetous heir, and the reply of Persius.  What he?;  
A son o'th' earth? obscure? h Why ask of me,  
Who was my fourth Forefather, I can't well  
And readily declare, though I can tell.  
But if you'd know his Father, and again  
That father's father, sure you must remain  
Satisfied thus; that he did draw his birth  
Immediately from his Mother earth;  
And so at last you'll find Mannius to be  
By right of kin great Uncle unto me.  
Yet why at all shouldst thou indeed desire  
To be my heir, when thou mightst be my Sire  
For age? and why shouldst thou demand of me  
My torch, when I in 
i An allusion to the race celebrated in horour of Prometheus, where the first running with a torch in his hand, when he was weary, gave it to the next after him.  course run after thee?  
Yet if thou be my heir, me thinks, thou ought'st  
To be content, with what thou never boughtst  
I'm Mercury, and come, to Thee, a God,  
As he is 
k With a purse of money in his hand.  Painted. With a churlish nod  
Scornest my free offer? Wilt not thou be glad  
For what is left? Why, here's not all you had  
L●f● to you by your Father. 
l The murmuring objection of his covetous heir, and the reply of Persius.  True indeed.  
Ma●h I did spend on my own proper need.  
But, briefly, this is all is left, which all  
I'll give to thee; and do not thou now brawl?  
Unkindly with me, neither ask me where  
Is that which Tadius left me, and ne'er  
Give me hard words, as father's drawing nigh  
Their end, do give their sons before they die:  
Saying, See thou put out the Principal,  
And spend but of the Use, let that be all.  
m But yet, What's left? 
m One murmuring interrogation more, of his greedy wheire; and the r●ply of Persius' full of indignation.  What's left? Now liberally  
Pow're boy, pow're oil upon my herbs. Shall I  
Upon a high festival day, be fed  
With asod ne●tle, and a lean swine's head  
Hung up ●'th ' smoke by th' ear; unto the end  
This lewd knave may my goods hereafter spend?  
And filled with dainty giblets, without shame  
Lewdly embrace a soft Patrician Dame;  
When as his wayward, full swollen, chiding vein;  
With an uncertain lust doth sob again?  
Shall I be like the warp of bare cloth, that  
To him a strutting paunch may quag with fat?  

n A Saryricall Irony in the person of some Third Speaker.  Oh, sell thy soul for gain, to leave thy heir  
Wealthy, and so thou gettest by thy ware.  
ne'er care how honestly. Sift every coast;  
Of the whole world, that that thou mayst truly boast,  
No man feeds fatter Cappadocian knaves  
In a rough cage, then are thy lusty slaves.  
Double thy wealth. 
o The answer of Persius.  'tis done; nayed has increased  
Three, four, tenfold as much. Yet scarce is ceased.  
And now, where likewise I may rest, design,  
Chrysippus, thou that didst thy 
p Sorites, of which kind of Argumentation Chrysippus was the Author.  heap confine.  
The end of PERSIUS.   

To the Author his very good Friend, D. BARTEN HOLIDAY  
RE●living Persius, day's birth, heir of fame;  
I wrong not Persius, giving thee his name;  
If any, I wrong thee, for what He did  
Hadst thou him not illustred, had been hid.  
This being but thy Pedestal of praise.  
Oh what a Pyramid will thy Next work raise?  
True Laureate, with blest O men's go thou on;  
All-imitable, imitating none.  
I speak not this (nor needest thou it) of Favour:  
But as one conscious of thy Great works labour.  
My tongue was never oy'ld i' th' base claw-art.  
In Others read thou Wit, in Me my Heart,  W. WEB.  

To my learned Friend D. BARTEN HOLIDAY upon his judicious translation of PERSIUS.  
WHat lay imprisoned, and confined alone  
Only to deeper apprehension;  
Thy more benign, sublimd, transcendent wit  
Hath reach, and conquered, and imparted it.  
And givned to all, which makes it more thine own  
Since all are heirs of that invention,  
Nor doth one jot, so sweet congruity,  
Adulterate the Latin chastity,  
All things conserved, so terse, so nothing lost,  
As if thou didst consult with th' Author's Ghost;  
Such height, such sacred indignation  
As seems a Persius, no Translation.  
On, learned Quill; thus vindicate thy name  
From times proud Injury, Traitor to fame:  
Nor suffer yet, that Italy so long  
Should make her Vice speak● English, not her tongue:  
Whip back her bastards, send them home to Rome;  
Let her that was their Parent, be their tomb.  
Mean while I dare Congratulate our Crimes  
Made happy that they could produce these Rhymes.  BRIAN DUPPA. Bishop of Sarum.  

AN APOSTROPHE OF THE Translator to his Author PERSIUS,  
THou art Redeemed; Nor has the Fate of Time  
And Vice seized on thy glory, the worst crime  
Which does o'recloud the guilty, adds to Thee  
A Lustre which out shines obscurity.  
Who thought not, that the Great-borne Spirit of Rome  
Had lain overwhelmed in her Last Brutus tomb?  
Yet did it not: but did at last bring forth  
Thee the Example of her Ancient worth.  
In whom, had Vesta's fire by which Rome stood  
Been out, there might have yet been found as good.  
Mount then, thou purer fire, and let thy heat  
Strongly exhale from their infectious scent  
Th' envenomed fogs of vice; And then inflame  
Them, that they may be lights to their Own shame;  
Which, as a Comet, may affright the earth  
With horror; at its own prodigious birth;  
And, with its darting tail threatening dread  
Vengeance, point-out to wrath each guilty head,  
Be thou the Vestal fire thy Priest I'll be,  
And consecrate my vigilance to Thee.  
Be thou th' enlivening Sun, I'll be the Earth,  
And offer up to thee this grateful birth  
Of thanks: which thus now given, though strait it Die,  
It has lived Ages in its Infancy.  
Action, not Time, does number Age. Who gives  
A just praise to great Virtues Patron, lives  
Himself by his just gratitude. Let Spite  
Then do its worst, and with eternal night  
Labour to cloud my name. Obscure to lie  
With Virtue, is an immortality.  Barten Holiday.  

THis lash has but Six knots: but see thou mend  
Or peradventure else I shall intent  
(Although my angry Muse says She will be  
No more thus Wit-bound, thus Tongue, tied, not She  
To come in Fury; and thee Naked strip;  
And Scourge thee with a Sixteen knotted whip.  
FINIS.