Imprimatur,  
Roger L'Estrange. Septemb. 10. 1665.   


CARMINA DESUNT  
The Poems of Horace Translated into English By several Persons.    

THE POEMS OF HORACE, Consisting of Odes, Satyrs, and Epistles, Rendered in ENGLISH VERSE BY SEVERAL PERSONS.  
HOR. SAT. 3. Lib. 1.  

Qui, ne tuberibus propriis offendat amicum  
Postulat; ignoscat verrucas illius—   

He that desires his Wens should not offend  
His Friend, must wink at th' pimples of his Friend.   
LONDON: Printed by E. Cotes for Henry Brome at the Gun in Ivy-lane, M.DC.LXVI.   

To his honoured Friend and Patron Sir William Backhouse BARONET,  
SIR,  
I Here present, or rather pay, what I have often promised you, and what you have a right to; The Poems of HORACE in the English tongue: To the Translation whereof my pleasant retirement and conveniencies at your delightsome Habitation, have liberally contributed.  
And now according to the Custom of my Predecessors, having spoilt some paper with writing a bad Book, I am to waste more in a worse Preface, lest I suffer under the imputation of being a heretic in Book-writing.  
However, I will be so kind to you and myself, as to spare so much time and paper as might be employed in celebrating your Greatness, Virtues, and generous Inclinations towards me, being Themes for a higher Pen than dare pretend to, and only tell you how you came to be disturbed with these undertake.  
'Twas not because I understand this Author better than others do, nor because I thought I did. But the same temptation which induced our Grandam Eve to eat fruit, prevailed with me to read Horace, merely because forbidden.  
But the frequent Quotation of him by all sorts of ingenious men, and the Hault-goust which the wit and truth of his excellent sayings gave, made me languish till I had broken through all the difficulties which my imbecility contended with, and thrown myself on this audacious adventure.  
In the prosecution whereof I never blushed to ask the advice or take the assistance of any person whom I thought able to contribute either. And among the rest, of that indefatigable and eminently learned person with whom, by your indulgence and his own condiscension I had the honour and happiness to grow acquainted, whom I found so skilled in all the difficulties of this Poet, that he was to me more than all the Voluminous Commentators.  
Sir, For my speedier dispatch and your advantage, I made bold to take in all such parts of HORACE, as have been Englished by the Lord Ambassador Fanshaw; and what were omitted by him, I supplied with such as have been done by Sir Thomas Hawkins, or Dr. Holiday, or both, for they are both the same; and whether of the two is the Author, remains to me undiscovered: What were not touched by these, I gathered out of Mr. Cowleys and other Printed Books; and such as were not Translated by others, myself and several friends of mine at my request have attempted: De Arte Poetica being long since Englished by that great Master thereof B. Johnson, I have borrowed to crown the rest.  
So that you will easily find, that as this Book consists of several men endeavours, so those several men went several ways; but all studied to shun a nice Pedantical Translation, which Horace could not abide. By reading all which you are certain of two Pleasures, Liberty of censuring, and variety of matter.  
And I have this felicity, that if any dislike what is done, it will not be safe for them to traduce it publicly, lest they should reproach some of the Undertakers to their faces; for we are considerable for number and quality, consisting of many persons; and those either Right Honourable, Right Worshipful, Reverend, or (which is as good) Wellbeloved; and if I for my part have herein played the Fool, 'tis in very good Company.  
Such as it is I expose it to public perusal, with this becoming Confidence, that the excellence of the Author will make amends for the imperfections of the Translators; and having this in my prospect, that HORACE may chance to find as good fortune as his dear friend VIRGIL had, who being plundered of all his Ornaments by the old Traslatours, was restored to others with double lustre by those Standard-bearers of Wit and judgement, Denham and Waller. To which end I humbly commend this rude Essay, to those Persons whose Learning, Wit, and Leisure shall enable to do him such right as he serves. And for a precedent, I desire them to compare these lines of Phaer, 
This end had Priam's destinies, all this chance him Fortune sent,  
When he the fire in Troy had seen, his Walls and Castles rend,  
That sometimes over People's proud, and Lands had reigned with fame  
Of Asia Emperor great, now short on shore he lies with shame,  
His head besides his shoulders laid, his corpse no more of name.  with this done by Sir John Denham, 
Thus fell the King who yet survived the State,  
With such a signal and peculiar fate,  
Under so vast a ruin, not a grave,  
Nor in such flames a funeral fire to have:  
He whom such Titles swelled, such power made proud,  
To whom the Sceptres of all Asia bowed;  
On the cold earth lies this neglected King,  
A headless Carcase, and a vameless thing.  By which they may perceive how highly Translations may be improved. And if any Gentlemen will be so industrious and kind, as to amend, or but to find out the faults in this Essay (which may easily be done) or furnish the Stationer with any better against the next Impression, they will be so far from disobliging me, that I invite them to it, conceiving it a work by which they may gratify and oblige Posterity: And should rejoice to see these rude and imperfect draughts, like the Athenian ship so often and throughly amended, that there shall not an old plank remain therein: That so these Poems which were so acceptable to Augustus in their native dress, might be so polished in our language, that they may be looked on by a more indulgent and greater Prince than he was.  
Perhaps it may be expected that I should have embellished (as they call it) this Address with Witty Passages, and Rhetorical flowers; but indeed Sir, they are grown quite out of fashion, and I am heartily glad that thereby I am freed from a task which I was so unfit for.  
And now Sir, having tired you with this flat Narrative, to make you amends, I will make no Address to the Gentle Reader; only I declare to him and all the World, that I profess myself, and am what your Goodness has made me,  
Honoured Maecenas, Your very much obliged Servant, Alex. Brome.   

THE LIFE OF HORACE▪  
QUintus Horatius Flaccus was born at Venusium, formerly one of the best Cities in Italy, now called Venoso; of mean Parentage; his Father was one whom the Romans called Libertinus, viz. the Son of a Slave who had been made free; and by Profession he was a Praeco, or a Coactor, whose Employment was to gather in Debts for Usurers. Of his Mother we find no mention; only ●tis agreed by all the Dutch Commentators, that he had one. He was born two years before Catiline's Conspiracy, viz. the 6 th'. of the Ides of December; Cotta and Torquatus being Consuls. His Education was at Rome, where his Father finding him very pregnant, kept him at School under Orbilius a whipping Schoolmaster; his Father also, being a very prudent man, had a severe and watchful eye over him, and instructed him in Virtue. Having attained to a good measure of Grammar learning at Rome, he was sent to Athens (than the most famous University in the World) and there studied Philosophy; in which, if he adhaered to any Sect, it was to the Epicuraeans. At first he was no great Zealot in Religion, but rather jeered than adored any of the Heathen Gods; of which nevertheless he afterwards repent and made an Ode professedly to testify his Recantation. In the Civil War betwixt Augustus and Brutus and Cassius, he being the familiar Friend of Brutus, took his part in the battle at Philippi; in which he was a Tribune, which is equivalent to a Colonel here: but whether he fought or not, does not appear; only by his being so great a Commander and so ingenious a person, 'tis probable that the Muses might inspire him with Wit enough to keep himself out of danger: Some have traduced him for running away, which if true, is excusable; for Valour and Wit are two spirits which possess only some men, and that but at some times: So that the same Commanders who have proved Cowards in a just and honourable War, have afterwards in a Tavern dared to challenge such as called them so; and by the law a Soldier is no more bound to fight when he is out of his humour, than an Orator to speak when he is out of his wits: Nor is it prudent for a man of Wit and Learning to have his brains beaten out by one that has none. Augustus' having won the Battle, it appeared that Horace had taken the wrong side, for which his great friend Maecenas, a very rich noble man of Rome, and in great esteem with Augustus, obtained a pardon: And Augustus, like a good-natured Prince, not only pardoned, but rewarded him for being against him, and (if it had then been in fashion there) would have Knighted him. Now being become a Courtier, and not old or bold enough to beg; and Augustus, so newly after a War, not rich enough to give; he (like others of his Order) wanted Money, and that put him upon making Verses, which he performed to admiration, and was the first that introduced the Lyric Poëtry among the Romans: By which, and his great ingenuity and sweetness of Conversation, he grew so much in favour with Maecenas, that he by his good will, would never have him out of his Company; and to encourage him in his Studies, and enable him to live without cares, bestowed on him a competent Estate among the Sabines, where he had a Countryhouse, to which he often retired, from the noise and bustle of Rome, to write and contemplate, and in which he took great delight and recreation. By Maecenas he was preferred to a familiar acquaintance with Augustus, who offered to make him his Secretary of State: But Horace (like other great Wits) hated business. Augustus also considering what immortality Poets confer on Princes and other great men, wrote a Letter himself, inviting him to come and live with him as his companion. And having read some of the Satyrs, and found not himself concerned, or his name mentioned therein, he complained of it, and asked him, Whether he thought it would be a disparagement to him to have it recorded to posterity, that Horace was a familiar friend to Augustus? As to his Stature, he was short and very fat, blear-eyed, gray-headed in his youth, and bald in the forehead. And for his morals, he was a very good man, pious and grateful to his Father, whom being grown old and poor, he releived and kept at his Country house: much a Gentleman in his nature and demeanour; very merry and facetious in company, soon angry and as soon pleased: As to his Diet, he was that which we by a grand mistake call an Epicure, for he loved and understood how to eat and drink well; and though he was very temperate and frugal generally, yet at a Treat, if he liked his Company, he would give nature a loose, and come up to Oh! He had that good natured Vice (if it be one) which constantly adheres to great Wits, and is much indulged by high imagination; an inclination to women, which he is the less to be condemned for, because he was a Bachelor, and in his time and Country it was not esteemed a crime. He was well acquainted with, and highly valued by, all the eminent wits, and persons of quality in his time. By frequent Company-keeping, and strict observation, he informed himself of all the vices and humours of Rome, which he reproved and chastised in a way of raillery, whereby men were jeered out of their ill manners and not offended: So considerable was he for his parts, and so eminent for his writings, that he deservedly won the applauses of divers of the greatest Scholars in their times, as Tibullus, Virgil, Ovid, Petronius, Persius, Quintilian Alex. Severus, St. Augustine Scaliger, and Bishop jewel, who have all written in his Commendation, and are known to be neither Fools nor Flatterers. How long he lived, is not agreed on; some say 50, some 55, some 59, others 70 years; but when he finished his second Book of Epistles he was 44 years old. And he died soon after Maecenas, namely (as the best Authors report) 5 Kal. Decemb. Censorinus and Gallus being Consuls, which was five years before the birth of Christ, having made Augustus his heir, to whom he left his Library, which was a good one; and a years provision, which he always designed to keep before hand; and being a great contemner of wealth, and a derider of covetous men, he never aimed at more. Being dead he was buried next to Maecenas himself, in the Esquiliae; an honour which good Poets deserve, and which great Princes have in all times taken care to confer upon them.   

ODES.  

BOOK I.  

ODE I. By Sir R. Fanshaw. To MAECENAS.  
That several Men affect several Things: That himself is delighted with the Study of Lyric Verses.  
MAECENAS, Tuscan Kings descent,  
My Bulwark and sweet Ornament.  
There are that love their Charets spoke  
With raised Olympic dust should smoak:  
And with hot Wheels the Goal close shaved,  
And noble Palm, lifts Men to Heaven▪  
One, if the fickle People's blast  
Redoubled Honours on him cast:  
Another that delights to tear  
With Plough the Fields his Fathers were:  
If in his private Barns He store  
Whatever fruitful afric bore;  
The wealth of Croesus cannot gain  
With trembling Keel to plough the Main.  
Frighted with rough Icarian Seas,  
The Merchant praises Home and Ease:  
But His bruised Vessel repairs strait,  
Impatient of a mean Estate.  
There is that neither scorns to taste  
Old Massique, nor half-days to waste  
Under a shady Poplar spread,  
Or at a Bubbling Fountains Head.  
Some Drums and Trumpets love, and War;  
Which Mothers do as much abhor.  
The Huntsman in the cold doth room,  
Forgetting his poor Wife at home,  
Whether his Hounds a Stagg have roused,  
Or Marsian Boar his Nets have towzed.  
Me Ivy (Meed of learned Heads)  
Ranks with the gods: Me i'll Groves, Treads  
Of Satyrs with loose Nymphs, have showed  
A way out of the common Road;  
Whilst kind Euterpe wets my Flute,  
Whilst Polyhymnie strings my Lute;  
Then write Me in the Lyric Role,  
My lofty Head shall knock the Pole.   

A Paraphrase upon the first Ode by S. W. Esq To MAECENAS.  
MAECENAS, sprung from Royal blood,  
My greatest Patron, just and and good!  
There are, who in th' Olympic Games  
Raise the light dust, but more their names:  
When the Fleet Race, and noble prize,  
ere death, the Victor Deifies.  
Some in applause, that empty air,  
Place both their honour, and their care;  
While others with a different mind  
Would choose more solid wealth to find,  
And rich in what the Earth does yield,  
To the whole Sea prefers one field;  
The Sea'l not tempt them, or its store,  
No not the World, to leave the shore.  
The Merchant when he sees the Skies  
Covered with storms, and Tempests rise,  
Thinks none so happy live or well,  
As those that on the Main-land dwell;  
He praises what he slights at home:  
But when from a bad Voyage come,  
Above the Earth he loves the Main,  
And longs to be at Sea again.  
The Fuddlecap, whose God's the Vine,  
Lacks not the Sun if he have Wine;  
By th' Sun he only finds a way  
To some cool Spring, to spend the day.  
Shrill Flutes and Trumpets Soldiers love,  
And scorn those fears that Women move.  
The Huntsman, in the open Plains  
Regardless of the Air remains;  
A Dear makes him forget his Wife▪  
And a fierce Boar despise his life.  
But me the learned Laurel give,  
The Gods themselves by Poets live.  
Give me a Grove, whose gloomy shade  
For Nymphs and frisking Fawns was made,  
Where from the Vulgar hid, I'll be,  
The Muses waiting all on me;  
Here one my Harp and Lute shall string,  
Another there shall stand and sing.  
This one thing great Maecenas do,  
Enrol me in the Lyhick Count,  
A Lyric Poet, and I'll mount  
Above the skies, almost as high as you.   

ODE II. By Sir R. F. To AUGUSTUS CAESAR.  
That all the Gods are angry with the Romans for the kill of Julius Caesar: That the only hope of the Empire is placed in Augustus.  
ENough of Hail and cruel Snow  
Hath jove now showered on us below;  
Enough with Thundering Steeples down  
Frighted the Town.  
Frighted the World, lest Pyrrha's Reign  
Which of new monsters did complain,  
Should come again, when Proteus Flocks  
Did climb the Rocks:  
And Fish in tops of Elm-Trees hung,  
Where Birds once built their Nests, and sung,  
And the all-covering Sea did bear  
The trembling Dear.  
We, Yellow Tiber did behold  
Back from the Tyrrhene Ocean rolled,  
Against the Fane of Vesta power,  
And Numa's Tower;  
Whilst the Uxorious River swears  
He'll be revenged for Ilia's Tears;  
And over both his Banks doth rove  
Unbid of jove.  
Our Children through our faults but few,  
Shall hear that we their Fathers slew  
Our Countrymen: Who might as well  
The Persians quell.  
What God shall we invoke to stay  
The falling Empire? with what Lay  
Shall holy Nuns tyre Vesta's Pray'r-Resisting  
Ear?  
To whom will jove the charge commend  
Of Purging us? at length descend  
Prophetic Phoebus, whose white Neck  
A Cloud doth deck.  
Or Venus in whose smiling Rays  
Youth with a thousand Cupids plays:  
Or Mars, if thou at length canst pity  
Thy long plagued City.  
Alas, we long have sported thee,  
To whom 'tis sport bright Casks to see,  
And grim Aspects of Moorish Foot  
With Blood and Soot;  
Or winged Hermes, if 'tis you  
Whom in Augustus' form we view,  
With this revenging th' other Flood  
Of julius' Blood;  
Return to Heaven late we pray,  
And long with us the Romans stay:  
Nor let disdain of that Offence  
Snatch thee from hence.  
Love here Victorious Triumphs rather;  
Love here the Name of Prince and Father:  
Nor let the Medes unpunished ride,  
Thou being our Guide.   

A Paraphrase on the Second Ode by S. W. To AUGUSTUS.  
Storms long enough at length have blown!  
jove hail, fire, has darted down,  
Has his own Temples overthrown,  
And threatened all the Town.  
Threatened the World, which now did fear  
Another Deluge to be near;  
When Proteus all his herds did drive  
Upon the hills to live.  
When highest trees with Fish were filled,  
Those trees where birds were wont to build;  
And stags that could the wind out fly  
Must take the Sea, or die.  
We Tiber saw, when seas withstood  
His streams, and checked with Seas his flood,  
More heady, and unruly grown,  
Not wash, but bear all down;  
And swelling at his Ilias wrong  
No more his banks did glide along,  
But chose new Channels and a Sea,  
To be revenged would be.  
How our own swords those wounds did make  
Which might have made the Persian quake,  
These Civil Wars, next age shall tell,  
And fear what us befell.  
When th' Empire thus begins to fall,  
On what God shall poor Romans call?  
In vain we hope our god will hear  
When Vesta stops her ear.  
To whom will jove Commission give  
To purge us, or our Plagues reprieve?  
Descend Apollo clothed with light,  
Thy beams must make us bright.  
Or else thou fairest Queen of Love,  
More needed here then thouart above,  
About whose neck the Graces fly,  
And languish in thine eye.  
Or Mars, if he hath any pity  
For his despised and ruin'd City;  
Though Mars has been so long at Rome  
We need not wish he'd come.  
Or you bright Hermes, proud to be  
Augustus, more than Mercury,  
Since in that shape you choose to breath,  
And expiate Caesar's death.  
Let it be long ere you return  
To heaven, in love your Romans burn  
For their old crimes, desire your stay,  
Never to go away.  
Do you their Lives and Wars command,  
The Prince and Father of your Land,  
Nor let our Enemies o'er us ride,  
While Caesar is our Guide.   

ODE III. By Sir R. F.  
He prays a prosperous Voyage to Virgil, Embarked for Athens: and takes occasion from thence to inveigh against the Boldness of Man.  
SHip, that to us sweet Virgil ow'st  
(With thee entrusted) safe  
Convey him to the Attic Coast;  
And save my better half:  
So Helene's Brothers (Stellified)  
And Venus guide thy Sails:  
And the Wind's Father, having tied  
All up, but Vernal Gales.  
Of Oak a Bosom had that man,  
And trebble-sheathed with Brass,  
Who first the horrid Ocean  
With brittle Bark did pass;  
Nor feared the hollow Storms, that roar;  
The Hyadeses, that weep;  
Nor the Southwind, which Lords it o'er  
The Adriatic Deep.  
What face of Death could him dismay,  
That saw the Monsters fell;  
And wracking Rocks, and swelling Sea,  
With Eyes that did not swell?  
In vain, the Providence of God  
The Earth and Sea did part,  
If yet the watery Paths are trod  
By a forbidden Art.  
But Men (that will have all, or none)  
Still things forbid desire:  
japetus bold Son stole down  
The Elemental Fire:  
Whence Leanness overspread the World,  
And Fevers (a new Race)  
Which creeping Death on Mortals hurled;  
And bade him mend his pace.  
Daedale the empty Air did cut  
With wings not given to men;  
And Hercules the Gates unshut  
Of Pluto's dismal Den.  
Nothing is hard to sinful Man:  
At Heaven itself we fly;  
Nor suffer jove (do what he can)  
To lay his Thunder by.   

ODE IV. By Sir R. F. To L. SEXTIUS a Consular Man.  
Proposeth the arrival of the Spring; and the common condition of Death, as Inducements to Pleasures.  
SHarp winter's thawed with spring & western gales,  
And Ships drawn up the Engine hales:  
The Clown the Fire, the Beasts their Stalls forgo:  
The Fields have cast their Coats of Snow.  
Fair Venus now by Moonshine leads a Dance,  
The Graces after comely prance.  
With them the Nymphs the Earth alternate beat,  
Whilst Vulcan at his Forge doth sweat.  
Now should we be with lasting Myrtle Crowned,  
Or Flowers late Prisoners in the Ground.  
Now should we sacrifice a Lambkin's Blood  
To Faunus in a sacred Wood  
Death knocks as boldly at the Rich man's door  
As at the Cottage of the Poor,  
Rich Sextius: and the shortness of our days  
Fits not with long and rugged ways.  
Swift night will intercept thee, and the Sprights,  
They chat so of in Winter Nights,  
And Pluto's haunted Inn. Thou canst not there  
Call for the Music and good Cheer:  
Nor in soft Chloris gaze away thy sight,  
Her Sex's Envy, Our delight.   

ODE V. By Sir R. F. To PYRRHA.  
That those Men are miserable who are entangled in her Love: That he is escaped out of it as from Shipwreck by Swimming.  
WHat Stripling now thee discomposes,  
In Woodbine Rooms, on Beds of Roses,  
For whom thy Auburn hair  
Is spread, unpainted fair?  
How will he one day curse thy Oaths,  
And Heaven that witnessed your Betroaths!  
How will the poor Cuckold,  
That deems thee perfect Gold,  
Bearing no stamp but his, be mazed  
To see a sudden Tempest raised!  
He dreams not of the Winds,  
And thinks all Gold that shines.  
For me my Votive Table shows  
That I have hung up my wet Clothes  
Upon the Temple Wall  
Of Seas great Admiral.   

A Paraphrase on the fifth Ode, by Dr. C.  

1.  
TO whom now Pyrrha art thou kind?  
To what Heart-ravished Lover  
Dost thou thy golden locks unbind,  
Thy hidden sweets discover,  
And with large bounty open set  
All the bright stores of thy rich Cabinet?   

2.  
Ah simple youth, how oft will he  
Of thy changed faith complain?  
And his own fortunes find to be  
So airy and so vain,  
Of so Chameleon-like an hue,  
That still their colour changes with it too.   

3.  
How oft alas, will he admire  
The blackness of the skies?  
Trembling to hear the winds sound higher,  
And see the billows rise,  
Poor unexperienced he,  
Who ne'er before alas had been at Sea!   

4.  
He enjoys thy calmy Sunshine now,  
And no treath stirring hears;  
In the clear heaven of thy brow,  
No smallest cloud appears;  
He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay,  
And trusts the faithless April of thy May.   

5.  
Unhappy! thrice unhappy he,  
TO whom thou untried dost shine,  
But there's no danger now for me,  
Since o'er Lorettoes' shrine,  
In witness of the shipwreck past,  
My consecrated vessel hangs at last.    

ODE VI By C. C. Esq To AGRIPPA.  
Argument.  
Though Varius in Heroic stile  
Agrippa's Martial Acts compile;  
Yet Horace his low-pitched Muse  
More humble Subjects best pursues.  
VArius in living Annals may  
To the admiring Universe  
Voice out in high Maeonian Verse  
Thy courage and thy conquests won,  
And what thy Troops by Land and Sea,  
Have through thy noble conduct done,  
Our Muse Agrippa that does fly  
An humbler pitch, attempts not these,  
T'express Pelides rage; nor fly  
Ulysses tedious Voyages:  
Nor dips her Plume in those red Tides  
Flow from the bloody Parricides  
Of Pelops cruel Family:  
We nothing to such heights pretend,  
Since Modesty,  
And our weak Muse, who does aspire  
No further than the jolly Lyre,  
Forbids that we  
Should in our vain attempts offend  
And darken with our humble Lays  
Thine, and great Caesar's Godlike praise.  
Who to his worth can Mars display  
When clad in Arms, whose dreadful ray,  
Puts out the day?  
Or brave Meriones set forth,  
When soiled in Trojan dust, or raise  
Fit Trophies to Tydides' worth  
Who to th'immortal gods was made  
A rival by Minerva's aid?  
We sing of Feasting, and Delights,  
Stout drinking, and the harmless fights  
Of hot young Men, and blushing Maids,  
Who when the Foe invades  
Make a faint show  
To guard what they're content should go.  
These are the subjects of our Song  
In nights that else would seem too long,  
Did we not wisely prove   

ODE VII. By Sir T. H. To MUNATIUS PLANCUS.  
Some praise one City, some another, but Horace preferreth Tibur before all, where Plancus was born, whom he exhorteth to wash Care away with Wine.  
SOme Rhodes, some Myt'l●ne, Ephesus doth please,  
Or walls of Corinth, with its twofold Seas:  
Some Thebes, some Delian Delphos worth defend,  
Other Thessalian Tempe's air commend.  
There are, who make their sole, and fixed design,  
To mention Pallas City in each line,  
And rather strive her Olive branch to grace,  
Than any pulled off from another place:  
Yea some to honour juno, loud proclaim  
Horse-racing Argos, and Mycenae's fame.  
Me, not the patient Sparta's pompous sights,  
Nor fat Larissa field so much delights,  
As do Albunea's Eccho-giving Groves,  
And Anien's headlong stream that by it roves;  
Or than Tiburnus woods, and Orchard-grounds,  
Moistened with gliding brook which it arrounds.  
As the South wind, the heavens from dark Clouds scowrs  
And doth not generate perpetual showers;  
So (Plancus) with good Wine, be it thy strife,  
To wash down sadness, and the toils of life:  
Whether thou to thy glittering Tents art tied,  
Or dost in Tibur's shady Bowers abide.  
When Teucer fled, Father, and Salamine,  
He, (it is said) his Temples dewed with wine,  
And brows encircled with a Poplar wreath,  
Did amongst his pensive friends these accents breath:  
What way Fortune (more kind than Sires) shall show,  
We, Friends, and dear Companions, will go.  
Teucer, your Guide, Teucer Encourager,  
Despair not any thing, admit no fear:  
For we shall raise a second Salamine,  
(Says wise Apollo) in another Clime:  
Brave Spirits, who with me have suffered sorrow,  
Drink cares away; we'll set up fails to morrow.   

ODE VIII. By Sir R. F. To LYDIA.  
He notes obscurely a certain Young Man, whom he calls Sybaris, as undone with Love, and melted with Pleasures.  
LIdia, in Heaven's Name  
Why melts young Sybaris in thy Flame?  
Why doth he bedrid lie  
That can endure th' intemperate Sky?  
Why rides he not and twits  
The French great Horse with wringled bits?  
Why shuns he Tybur's Flood,  
And wrestlers Oil like Viper's Blood?  
Nor hath his Flesh made soft  
With bruising Arms; having so oft  
Been praised for shooting far  
And clean delivered of the Bar?  
For shame, why lies he hid  
As at Troy's siege Achilles did,  
For fear lest Man's Array  
Should him to Manly Deeds betray?   

ODE IX. By Sir R. F. To THALIARCHUS.  
That being Winter, it is time for Men to give themselves to Pleasure.  
THou seest the Hills candied with Snow  
Which groaning Woods scarce undergo,  
And a stiff Ice those Veins  
Congeals which Branch the Plains.  
Dissolve the Frost with Logs piled up  
To th' Mantletree; let the great Cup  
Out of a larger Sluice  
Pour the reviving Juice.  
Trust jove with other things; when he  
The fight Winds takes up at Sea,  
Nor speared Cypress shakes,  
Nor aged Elm-Tree quakes.  
Upon to Morrow reckon not,  
Then if it comes 'tis clearly got:  
Nor being young despise  
Or Dance, or Love's Joys.  
Till testy Age grey Hairs shall snow  
Upon thy Head, lose Mask, nor Show:  
Soft whispers now delight  
At a set hour by Night:  
And Maids that gigle to discover  
Where they are hidden to a Lover;  
And Bracelets or some toy  
Snatched from the willing Coy.   

ODE X. To MERCURY.  
Argument.  
The Character of Mercury,  
His Eloquence, and Progeny:  
And various other Ornaments,  
Our Poet in this Ode presents.  
Mercuri facunde.  
Sweet-tongued Cyllenius, son of May,  
Who man's first rudeness didst allay  
With Eloquence, and graceful parts  
Of wrestling Arts;  
I'll sing of thee, heavens Messenger  
By whom crooked Lyres invented were:  
Crafty to hide what ever's bereft  
By sportsome theft.  
While thee (O youth) his threats affray,  
Except thou his stolen Beefs repay:  
With no shaft-bearing Quiver fraught,  
Apollo laughed.  
Rich Priam too deserting Troy,  
Th' proud Atreids scaped with thy Convoy,  
Thessalian watches, and each tent  
Against Trojans bend.  
Thou in blessed Mansions Ghosts imbowers,  
And thy Caducean Rod ' ore-powers  
Th' exiler Tribe; whom Gods above,  
And lower love.   

ODE XI. By Sir T. H. To LEUCONOE.  
He exhorteth Leuconoe, that care omitted, she seek please herself, taking argument from the shortness life, and speed of death.  
STrive not (Leuconoe) to know what end  
The Gods above to thee or me will send:  
Nor with Astrologers consult at all,  
That thou may'st better know what can befall.  
Whether, thou liv'st more winters, or thy last  
Be this, which Tyrrhen waves against rocks do cast;  
Be wise, drink free, and in so short a space,  
Do not protracted hopes of life embrace.  
Whilst we are talking, envious Time doth slide:  
This day's thine own, the next may be denied.   

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by S. W. To LEUCONOE.  
Ne'er strive Leuconoe, ne'er strive to know  
What Fates decreed for thee and me, nor go  
To an ginger; 'tis half the cure,  
When Ill, to think it will not long endure:  
Whether jove will another Winter give,  
Or whether 'tis your last that now you live;  
Be wise, and since you have not long to stay,  
Fool not with tedious hopes your life away.  
Time, while we speak on't flies; now banish sorrow,  
Live well to day, and never trust to morrow.   

ODE XII. By Sir T. H. To AUGUSTUS.  
The Gods, Demigods, and some worthy men honoured, he descendeth into the divine praises of Augustus.  

WHat man, or Hero (Clio) wilt thou praise  
With shrillest Pipe, or Lyra's softer lays?  
What God? whose name in sportive strain,  
Echo will chant thee back again?   

Either in shady Heliconian Bowers,  
High Pindus, or cold craggy Hemus Towers,  
Whence levy Groves by heaps confused,  
To wait on tuneful Orpheus used;   

Orpheus well skilled from mother's artful lay,  
Swift rivers glide, and speedy winds to stay,  
And with his harps melodious song  
Attentive Okes to draw along.   

What shall I sing before the constant praise  
Of Father jove, who Gods, and Mortals sways?  
Yea, Land, Sea, World extended wide  
With various seasons doth divide?   

●rom whom there nothing springs, greater than he:  
Like nothing lives, nor can a second be:  
Yet shall next honours Pallas grace,  
Though seated in a lower place.   

Nor will I, warlike Bacchus, let thee go,  
Nor Diana, savage beasts eternal foe:  
Phoebus shall likewise have a part,  
Dreadful with unavoided dart.   

With Hercules I Leda's sons must name,  
Horse-service this, Foot-fight gives th'other Fame:  
Whose brighter star, when first in sky,  
The wakeful Sailor doth descry,   

Down from the rocks impetuous waters flow;  
The winds surcease, the clouds dispelled go:  
And threatening waves (so the Twins will)  
Upon the Ocean's brow are still.   

These mentioned first, shall Romulus obtain  
The next record, or Numa's peaceful reign?  
Shall I the power of Tarquin's state,  
Or Cato's manly death relate?   

Stout Regulus, the Scauruses, Paulus, free  
Of his great soul in Canna's victory;  
Or shall my grateful tongue rehearse  
Fabricius, in resplendent verse?   

Who with the valiant Curius, rough in guise  
And hair uncombed, did with Camillus rise  
To high advancement, homely bred  
In their poor Grandsire's lands, and Shed.   

Marcellus Fame is like a spreading Tree,  
Which groweth still, although insensibly:  
Each eye the julian Star admires,  
As Cynthia amongst the lesser fires▪   

Great Father, and Protector of Mankind  
From Saturn sprung, to thee the Fates assigned  
The care of mighty Caesar; Reign,  
And Caesar second place obtain.   

He whether in full triumph lead along  
The vanquished Parthians, who near Latium throng.  
Or Seres, and swart Indians tame,  
That Eastward tremble at his name:   

He less, but, Just, the spacious world shall guide;  
Heav'n-shaking, thou in thundering Chariot ride,  
And thy offended lightning cast  
On Groves, which harbour the unchaste.    

ODE XIII. By Sir R. F. To LYDIA.  
He complains that Telephus is preferred before him.  
THe Arms that Wax-like bend,  
And every hinge when you commend,  
On which the Head doth turn  
Of Telephus, ah, how I burn!  
Madness my mind doth rap,  
My Colour goes; and the warm sap  
Wheesing through either Eye,  
Shows with what lingering Flames I frie.  
I fry; when thy white hue  
Is in a Tavern brawl died blue,  
Or when the sharp-set Youth  
Thy melting Kiss grinds with his Tooth.  
Believe't, his love's not sound  
That can such healing kisses wound;  
Kisses which Venus hath  
Made supple in a Nectar bath.  
O their felicity  
Whom a firm cord of love doth tie,  
Unbroke with wicked strife,  
And twisted with their threads of Life!   

OED XIV. By Sir T. H. To the Commonwealth preparing afresh for Civil-war.  
O Ship, what dost? fresh storms again  
Will drive thee back into the Main;  
Bravely recover Port, and shore.  
See'st not thouart destitute of Oar?  
Swift South-west winds invade thy mast,  
Thy sailyard cracks with every blast?  
And cables scarce thy keel assure,  
Those surly billows to endure?  
Thy sails are torn, and thou a thrall,  
No gods haste to invoke at all.  
Though Pontic Pine (woods noble race)  
Thou boast thy barren name and place;  
The fearful Sailer (dangers tried)  
Doth not to painted ships confide:  
Take heed unless thou hast a mind  
To be a sport unto the wind.  
(Oh my desire and greatest care,  
Erst horror to my heart) Beware,  
And fly in time chose shelfie Seas,  
Which run betwixt bright Cyclades.   

ODE XV. By Sir T. H. The Prophecy of Nereus concerning the destruction of Troy.  
WHen in Idaean ships the treacherous swain,  
With Helen his Greek mistress crossed the main,  
Nereus, that ●ll events he might presage,  
Becalmed with lazy rest the swift winds rage.  
Thou her tak'st home with thee in an ill hour,  
Whom Greece shall fetch again with armed power,  
Conspiring to dissolve thy married state,  
And Priam's ancient Kingdom ruinate.  
Alas! what toil for horse, for men what pain,  
What direful funerals of Trojans slain.  
See, Pallas, helm and target doth provide,  
And will on her incensed Chariot ride.  
In vain grown insolent with Venus' grace,  
Shalt thou thine hair dishevel, sleek thy face:  
In vain shalt thou, on harps effeminate string,  
Soft tuned notes t' attentive women sing:  
In vain, thou in thy chamber shalt decline  
Sharp spears, and head of Cnossian javeline,  
Loud noise, and Ajax, nimble to pursue,  
Yet dust at last shall soil thy beauty's hue.  
Dost thou not Nestor, nor Ulysses mind,  
Who for thy country's ruin art designed?  
On the undaunted Salaminius flies;  
Thee Sthenelus provokes, who bears the prize  
Of arms, or horse to manage with command  
Against thee likewise shall Meriones stand:  
Fell Diomedes stronger than his fire,  
For thee, with desperate fury shall inquire:  
Whom as an hart that doth neglect his food,  
Spying far off the wolf thirsty of blood,  
Thou faintly shalt, and almost breathless fly,  
Breaking thy vow to Helen cowardly.  
Achilles' wrathful Fleet the hour shall slack  
Of Phrygian matrons fall, and Ilium's wrack;  
But Grecian fire in time determinate,  
Shall Trojan buildings burn, and dissipate.   

ODE XVI. By Sir T. H. To a Friend.  
He recants: For he asketh pardon of a Maid, whom had wounded with iambics, transferring the fault up anger, the unbridled force whereof he describeth.  
DAughter, than thy fair mother much more fair,  
On my iambics fraught with spiteful air,  
Do thou prescribe what doom thyself shalt please,  
Either of flames, or Adriatic seas.  
Not Dindymenian, nor the Pythian Priest,  
Are with such fury by their Gods possessed;  
Not Bacchus, nor the Corybantes so,  
When on shrill brass they iterate their blow,  
As baneful anger, which not Norique arms,  
Nor the ship●wracking stormy Ocean charms:  
Not furious fire, nor jove himself on high,  
When be with dreadful thunder rends the sky.  
'Tis said, Pr●me●heus, resolved to make  
M●n out of clay, did several parcels take  
Dissected cunningly from every beast,  
And put fierce lions wrath into our breast.  
Anger Thyestes into ruin cast,  
And unto cities ever was the last  
Cause, why they fell, and that proud foes were seen  
With hostile share to plough where walls had be.  
Bridle thyself. Me likewise heat of blood  
Enraged in youth, and with distempered mood  
Into iambics hurried: Now I seek  
To change my rougher language into meek;  
So wrongs recanted, thou more friendly be,  
And love reciprocal return to me.   

ODE XVII. To TYNDARIS.  
Argument.  
The Lyric Tyndaris invites  
Unto Lucretile. Recites  
What profits and delights abound,  
And in what Climate may be found.  
Velox amaenum.  
FRom mount Lyaeus, to sweet Lucretile,  
Swift-footed Pan is flitting every while,  
And is still my Goat's defence  
From storms, and Sols hot influence.  
Dams from their noisome leaders strayed away,  
O'er all the woods securely forage may,  
Seeking Thyme and Wildings there;  
Nor do the Kids enfolded fear  
Green-speckled-snakes, nor wolves to Mars assigned.  
Where e'er vales (Tyndaris) and the steep inclined  
Mount Ustica's fleek Rocks bound,  
Again the Pipes harmonious sound.  
Me, Gods protect, and in my piety,  
And Lyric-Muse, they much delighted be:  
Rural wealth here plenty grows,  
And with a bounteous horn o'r-flows.  
Here in Maeandrian-vale may'st thou decline  
The Dog-stars heat; and chant in Teyan line Penelope, and Circe clear,  
Who both for one man anxious were.  
Here may'st thou prostrate in a shady bower▪  
Bolls of unnauseous Lesbian-wine devour:  
Nor shall Bacchus juice excite  
Thee to outrageous brawls and fight.  
Nor shalt thou ' f jealous Cyrus fearful stand,  
Lest he o'r-lay thee with lascivious hand,  
Rending chaplets from thy crown,  
And undeserv'dly tear thy gow●▪   

ODE XVIII. By Sir R. F. To QUINTILIUS VARUS.  
That with moderate drinking of wine, the mind is exhilerated: with immoderate, quarrels begotten.  
OF all the trees, plant me the sacred Vine  
In Tybur's mellow fields, and let it climb  
Cathyllus walls: for jove doth cares propound  
To sober heads, which in full cups are drowned.  
Of want, or war, who cries out after wine?  
Thee father Bacchus, thee fair Erycine,  
Who doth not sing? but through intemperate use,  
Lest 
* Other names of Bacchus.  Liber's gifts you turn into abuse,  
Think of the Centaur's brawl, fought in their Cans,  
With Lapiths: and to Sithonians  
Heavy Evous, when their heated blood  
Makes little difference betwixt what's good,  
And what is not. No, gentle Bassareu,  
I will not force thee; nor betray to view  
Thy vine-clad parts: suppress thy Thracian hollow,  
And dismal dynn: which blind self-love doth follow,  
And Glory-puffing heads with empty worth,  
And a Glass-bosome pouring secrets forth.   

ODE. XIX. Of GLYCERA.  
Argument.  
How beauteous Glycera infires  
His heart with amorous desires.  
Mater saeva.  
TYrannic Venus chargeth me,  
And Bacchus th' heir of Theban Semele,  
And wanton leisure bids me too,  
Extinguished flames of Cupid to renew.  
Fair Glycer a inflames me sore,  
Than any Parian Marble glittering more:  
Her pleasing coyness, and her face  
Is over-ru●nating for a gaze.  
The Queen of love her Isle forsook,  
Falling sore on me, nor will Scythians brook,  
Nor stout back-darting Parthians  
For my Pens theme, nor unconcerning strains.  
Here (servants) green turf-altars rear,  
Vervains, and sacred Frankincense place here.  
A Boll of two-years wine, to these  
A victim slain, she will her ire appease.   

ODE XX. To MAECENAS.  
Argument.  
He prays Maecenas for a guest  
Unto a plain and homely feast.  
Vile potabis.  
THou'st bouse cheap Sabine in small cup,  
Which in Greek Butt myself daubed up:  
When theatres with Ovations high  
Rang in the sky.  
Thy fames (thou of Equestrian rank  
Maecenas) that thy Tiber's bank,  
And the echo tossed thy praise again  
From th' Vatican:  
Caecubian, and Calenian wines,  
Shall be thy drink. No Falern vines,  
Nor Grapes which crown the Formian knolls,  
Flow in my bolls.   

ODE XXI. By Sir T. H. Of Diana and Apollo.  
He exhorteth youths and virgins to sing forth their praises.  

YOu tender virgins, sound Diana's name,  
(Boys) be your song youthful Apollo's fame,  
Latona likewise touch,  
By jove affected much.   

(Maids) mention her, who loved rivers so,  
And woods which on cold Algidus do grow,  
On Erymant are spread;  
Or Cragus verdant head.   

(Boys) with your notes delightful Tempe grace,  
And Delos chant, Apollo's native place;  
His shoulders, quiver-dight,  
And harp of heavenly might.   

He, with our prayers moved, shall banish far,  
Sharp hunger, pestilence, and direful war  
From Prince and people, to  
Persian, and British foe.    

ODE XXII. By Sir T. H. To ARISTIUS.  
Integrity of life is every where safe, which he proveth his own example.  

WHo lives upright, and pure of heart  
(O Fuscus) neither needs the dart,  
Nor bow, nor quiver, fraught with store  
Of shafts envenomed by the Moor:   

Whether o'er Libya's parched sands,  
Or Caucasus that houseless stands,  
He taketh his journey; or those places  
Through which the famed Hydaspes' traces▪   

For (careless) through the Sabin grove,  
Whilst chanting Lalage, I rove,  
Not well observing limits due,  
A wolf (from me unarmed) flew.   

A monster such as all exceeds,  
Which in huge words fierce Daunia feeds:  
Or those that Iuba's kingdom hath,  
The Desart-nurse of lion's wrath.   

Place me in coldest Champanies, where  
No Summer warmth the trees do cheer:  
Let me in that dull Climate rest,  
Which clouds and sullen jove infest:   

Yea place me underneath the Car  
Of too near Phoebus: feared far  
From dwellings: Lalage I'll love,  
Whose smiles, whose words so sweetly move.    

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, By S. W. To FUSCUS ARISTIUS.  

THe just man needs nor Sword nor Bow,  
Those arms his fear, not safety show,  
Who better has for his defence  
Strong guards of innocence.   

For if along rough shores he coast,  
Tempests and Seas on him are lost.  
Or if he Caucasus pass by,  
Tigers their rage deny.   

A wolf that croft me in my grove,  
As I walked musing on my love  
Beyond my bounds, and no arms had,  
Was of my love afraid.   

Away he fled, though Dauma yields  
No greater monster in her fields:  
Though Africa which Lions breeds,  
None half so cruel feeds.   

Put me where never Summer breeze  
Kissed the dull earth, or lifeless trees,  
In that skirt of the world, where showers  
Do number out the hours,   

Or place me in the Torrid Zone,  
Where never house or man was known,  
If there my Lalage but smile  
And sing, I'll love the while.    

ODE XXIII. To CHLOE.  
Argument.  
CHloe adult: no cause now why  
She should from men's embracements fly.  
Vitas hinnuloe.  
Chloe, thou shunn'st me like a wanton Fawn  
Of timorous Dam forsaken in pathless lawn;  
Dreading with mind aghast  
Every bush, and every blast.  
For as when Zephyrus trembling leaves doth shake,  
Or green-speckt Newts make bramble bushes quake,  
So tremulous is she,  
Dith'ring both in heart and knee:  
But I not to devour thee now pursue,  
As Afric Lions, and wild Tigers do.  
O leave thy Mother pray,  
Now grown ripe for Venus' play.   

ODE XXIV. By Sir T. H. To VIRGIL.  
Who immoderately bewailed the death of Quintilius.  
MElpomene, whom jove our Father daignes  
Shrill voice applied to harps melodious strains,  
Tell in sad notes how far the bounds extend  
Of love, and shame unto so dear a friend;  
Shall then in endless sleep Quintilius lie?  
As equal unto whom, pure Modesty,  
And Justice ' sister, Faith sincere and plain▪  
Nor naked Verity shall ever 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' unlock,  
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.   

The same by Sir R. F. To VIRGIL.  
Who lamented immoderately the death of Quintilian.  
What shame, or stint in mourning o'er  
So dear a Head? Weep not but roar  
Melpomene, to whom thy Sire  
Gave a shrill voice, and twanging lyre.  
B●t does Quintilian sleep his last?  
Whose Fellow, Modesty, and fast  
Faith, with her Sister Justice joined  
And naked truth, when will they find?  
Bewailed by all good men, he's gone:  
But then Thee Virgil, more by none.  
Thou beg'st back (ah! pious in vain)  
thou, not so lent, Quintilian.  
If sweeter than the Thracian Bard,  
Thou couldst strike tunes by dull Trees heard,  
The blood would never more be made  
To flow into the empty shade,  
Which Hermes with his horrid wand  
(Inflexible to countermand  
Th' unevitable doom of Death)  
Once drove to the black Flock beneath.  
'Tis hard: But Patience makes that less,  
Which all the World cannot redress.   

ODE XXV. To LYDIA.  
Argument.  
He Lydia scoffs for Aged look,  
And cause her Suitors her forsaken.  
Parcius junctas.  
NOw froward youths rap not so sore  
At thy shut casements as before,  
To break thy sleep; thy gates love much  
Their thresholds tou●h,  
Which want so ' ft on glib hinges run:  
thou'rt less and less now called upon▪  
Honorio Lydia! sleepest all night while I  
Thy lover die?  
Thou, an aged Quean, again shalt moan  
Thy scornful Paramours, all alone,  
In narrow lanes: while North-winds range  
'Bout Phoebe's change:  
When fragrant love, and lustful flames,  
Such as infuriates Horses dams,  
Thy ulcered breast with rage impales,  
Not without wails:  
Cause youth likes verdant Ivy more,  
Than Myrtle almost sabled o'er:  
And gives to Heber's Wintry tide  
Boughs wither-dryed.   

ODE XXVI. By Sir T. H. To his Muse concerning Aelius Lamia.  
It is not fit for the lovers of the Muses to be subject to ca●● and sadness. The Poet commendeth his Lamia to the Pimplean Muse.  
ay, Who the Muse's love, sadness, and fear  
Will to wrought winds commit, that they may bear  
Them to the Cretique sea, careless, who sways,  
And whom the far-North dweller most obeys:  
Or what doth great Tirridates affright.  
O my Pimplean Muse (my heart's delight;)  
O thou who near pure Fountains ●ittest down,  
Wreath o'drous flowers for Lamia, wreath a crown.  
Little without thee worketh my applause:  
'Tis now become thine, and thy Sister's cause  
Him, with unused strains to celebrate,  
And with thy Lesbian lyre to consecrate.   

ODE XXVII. By Sir R. F. To his Companions.  
To his Companions feasting together, that they should 〈◊〉 quarrel in their drink, and fight with the Cups themselves, after the manner of the Barbarians.  
WIth Goblets made for Mirth, to fight,  
'Tis barbarous: leave that Thracian rite,  
Nor mix the bashful blushing God  
Of Wine, with quarrels and with blood.  
A Cand-stick, and Quart-pot, how far,  
They differ from the Scimitar?  
Your wicked noise Companions cease,  
And on your Elbows lean in peace.  
Would you have me to share th' austere  
Falernian liquor: Let me hear  
Megella's brother, by what eyes,  
Of what blessed wound and shaft he dies.  
No! then will I not drink: whatever  
Venus tames thee, she toasts thy Liver  
With fires thou hast no cause to cover,  
Still sinning an ingenuous lover.  
Come, thou may'st lay it whatsoe'er  
It is, securely in my Ear.  
Ah wretch! in what a Whirl-pool ta'en?  
Boy worthy of a better flame,  
What Witch with her Thessalian Rod  
Can lose thee from those charms? What God?  
Scarce Pegasus himself can thee  
From this three-shaped Chimaera free.   

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by Dr. P▪  
What? Quarrel in your drink, my friends? ye'abuse  
Glasses, and Wine, made for a better use.  
'Tis a Dutch trick; Fie, let your brawling cease,  
And from your Wine and Olives learn both mirth and peace.  
Your swords drawn in a Tavern, whilst the hand  
That holds them shakes, and he that fights can't stand,  
Sheath 'em for shame, embrace, kiss, so away,  
Sat down, and ply the business of the day.  
But I'll not drink, unless T. S. declares  
Who is his Mistress, and whose wounds he wears.  
Whence comes the glance, from what sweet-killing-Eye,  
That sinks his Hope so low, and mounts his Muse so high!  
Wilt thou not tell? Drawer, what's to pay?  
If you're reserved I'll neither drink nor stay:  
Or let me go, or out w'it; she must be  
Worth naming, sure; whose Fate it was to conquer thee:  
Speak softly,— She! forbid it Heaven above!  
Unhappy youth! unhappy in thy love;  
Oh how I pity thy Eternal pain!  
Thou never canst get loose, thou never canst obtain;  
Le's talk no more of love, my friends, le's drink again.   

ODE XXVIII. By Sir T. H.  
Architas, a Philosopher, and Geometrician, is presented, answering to a certain Mariner, that all wen must die, and entreating him, that he would not suffer his body to lie on the shore unburied.  
THe poor gift of a little dust, confines,  
And near unto the Matine shore enshrines  
Thee, now (Architas) who couldst measure well  
The Sea, the Earth, and Sands, which none can tell.  
Nor could it any help, or profit be,  
Death being ready still to seize on thee;  
Those airy mansions to have sought from hence,  
And oft surveyed the Heaven's circumference.  
The fire of Pelops, who with gods did feast,  
And aged Tithon, shrunk at Death's arrest:  
And Minos, to Ioves counsels called, was slain,  
And Panthois died, sent down to Hell again;  
Though by the shield pulled down, he proving well  
That his First-birth in Trojane ages fell,  
Affirmed, that Death nought killed, but nerves & skin:  
(No man in Nature's power was better seen:)  
But we into one selfsame night do fall,  
And must the paths of Death tread once for all.  
The Furies some to games of Mars apply,  
The greedy sailer drenched in sails doth lie.  
In death both young and old, by heaps do join;  
Nor any head escapes sad Proserpina.  
Me, the Southwind, crooked Orion's Mate  
Overwhelmed in Illyrian waves of late:  
But (gentle Friend) be pleased now I am dead,  
In loose sands to inter my bones, and head.  
Which done (so thou be safe) may th' Eastern-wind,  
Which stirs Hesperian billows, be assigned  
To bluster loudly in Venusium woods:  
And may on every side, thy trafficked goods  
In plenty flow to thee from Ioves just hand,  
And Neptune, who Tarentum doth command:  
But if this fault of thine shall seem but slight,  
(Which may upon thy harmless issue light)  
I wish due punishment and proud neglect,  
May on thy funeral Obsequies reflect:  
Nor shall my prayers be poured forth in vain,  
Nor vows have strength to set thee free again.  
Yet if thou haste, no longer stay I crave,  
But thrice to throw the dust upon my Grave.   

ODE XXIX. by Sir T. H. To ICCIUS.  
It is a strange thing, that Iccius the Philosopher intermitting his Studies, should become a man at Arms, out of the love of money.  
ICcius, thou now the Arabs dost envy  
Their golden treasure, and to wars dost high,  
Against the Sabean Kings unvanquished,  
And nets preparest to snare the horrid Mede.  
What Captive Damsel her beloved slain  
Shall serve thee now? What youth of noble strain  
Shall now anointed, on thy Cup attend,  
Prompt, from his father's Bow swift-shafts to send?  
Who can deny but falling Rivers may  
Run up steep hills, and Tiber backward stray:  
When thou Panetius books on all sides sought,  
And house of Socrates, where arts were taught,  
Dost into Steely Spanish arms translate,  
With promise to thyself of better state.   

ODE XXX. To VENUS.  
Argument.  
He implores Venus to refrain  
Her Cyprus, and her presence deign  
At Glyc'ras' consecrated Fane.  
O Venus regina.  
O Venus, Cnides and Paphos' Queen,  
At Cyprus be less gracious seen:  
To Glyc'ras' beauteous Temple go,  
Where odours flow.  
Take with thee Cupid, ungirt graces,  
The agile Nymphs with their swift paces,  
juventas sullen without thee,  
And Mercury.   

ODE XXXI. By Sir R. F. To APOLLO.  
He asks not riches of Apollo, but that he may have a sound mind in a sound body.  
WHat does the Poet Phoebus pray,  
In his new Fane? what does he say,  
Pouring sweet liquor from the cup?  
Not give me fat Sardinia's crop.  
Not hot Calabria's goodly Kine:  
Not Gold, and Indian Ivory:  
Not Fields which quiet Liris laves,  
And eats into with silent waves.  
Prune, They that have them, Massick Vines:  
In Golden Goblets carouse Wines,  
The wealthy Merchant, which he bought  
With Merchandise from Syria brought,  
The Minion of the Gods: as he  
That in one year the Altantick Sea  
Three or four times, unpunished past.  
Mine Olives, Endive my Repast,  
And Mallows light. Latona's Son,  
In Mind and Body's health my own  
T' enjoy; old Age from dotage free,  
And solaced with the Lute, give me.   

The same by Sir T. H.  
WHat doth thy Poet ask (Phoebus divine;)  
What craves he, when he pours the bowls of wine?  
Not the rich corn of fat Sardinia,  
Nor fruitful Flocks of burnt Calabria,  
Nor gold, nor Indian ivory; nor the grounds,  
Which silent Lyris with soft stream arrounds.  
Let those whom Fortune so much store assigns,  
Prune with Calenian hook their fertile vines:  
Let the rich Merchant to the Gods so dear,  
(For so I term him right, who every year,  
Three, or four times, visits the Atlantic seas  
From shipwreck free:) Let him his palate please;  
And in guilt bowls drink wines of highest price,  
Bought with the sale of Syrian Merchandise.  
Loose 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 XXXII. To his Lyre.  
Argument.  
He bids his Lyre still ready be  
To cheer him up with Melody.  
Poscimus si quid.  

WE beg, if we supinely lane,  
In shrouds with thee played ere a strain  
Worth Fame's Record, o Lyre display  
In Latin Lay:   

On which A●caeus first resounded,  
Who (though with Mars fierce broils surrounded,  
Or that his shattered sail he tied  
To th' Ocean side.)   

Of Liber, Muses, Venus sung,  
And th' youth that always to her clung,  
And Lycus for black eyes and hair,  
Of presence rare.   

O Lyre, Apolloed ornament,  
Yielding Ioves banquets blest content,  
My toils sweet solace, hail while I  
Unto thee cry.    

ODE XXXIII. To ALBIUS TIBULLUS.  
Argument.  
He Albius wills not lay't to heart,  
Though undeservedly on his part,  
Cursed Glycera respecteth more  
His Rival, and Competitour.  
Albi, ne doleas.  
ALbius, not too excessively condole  
Harsh Glycera's unkindness: neither howl  
Out mournful Elegies, though thy junior be  
Perfidiously preferred to thee.  
Lycoris, famed for narrow forehead, burns  
For Cyrus' love; and Cyrus, lo he turns  
Unto coy Pholoe: But e'er Pholoe err  
With that all-base Adulterer,  
Goats with Apulian wolves shall copulate:  
So Venus, and dire Cupid please, who mate  
Unequal forms, and different minds together  
Within a Brazen yoke and Tether.  
But when a fairer Mistress courted me,  
Myrtle me held in sweet captivity,  
A Libertine, more fierce than Adrian Seas,  
Which crooktly 'bout Calabria preaze.   

ODE XXXIV. By Sir R. F. To himself.  
Repenting that having followed the Epicureans, he had been little studious i● worshipping the Gods.  
I' That have seldom worshipped Heaven,  
As to a mad Sect too much given,  
My former ways am forced to balk,  
And after the old light to walk.  
For Cloud-dividing, lightning- jove,  
Through a clear Firmament late drove  
His thrundring Horses, and swift wheels:  
With which supporting Atlas reels:  
With which Earth, Seas, the Stygian Lake,  
And Hell, with all her Furies quake.  
It shook me too. God pulls the Proud  
From his high Seat, and from their Cloud  
Draws the obscure: Levels the hills,  
And with their Earth the valleys fills:  
'Tis all he does, he does it all:  
Yet this, blind Mortals Fortune call.   

ODE XXXV. By Sir. T. H. To Fortune.  
He beseecheth her, that she would preserve Caesar going into Brittany.  
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: The Lady of the Sea  
He loudly invocates, who ere doth sweep  
In Asian vessel the Carpathian Deep.  
The Dacian rough, the wand'ring Scythian,  
Kingdoms and Cities; the fierce Latian:  
Thee Mothers of Barbarian Kings do fear,  
And Tyrants, which bright Purple garments wear.  
Let not a standing Pillar be o'erthrown  
By thy offended foot: Nor be it known,  
That troops of Warlike people now at rest;  
Take Arms again, and Empire's peace infest.  
Still, sharp Necessity before thee goes,  
Holden in Brazen hand, (as pledge of woes)  
Tormenting beams, and wracks: and more to daunt,  
Sharphooks, and molten lead do never want.  
Thee, Hope, and simple Faith in white attire,  
Much honour, and thy company desire;  
How e'er thou dost another habit take,  
And made a Foe to Great Men, them forsake.  
But the false Multitude, and perjured Whore  
Retireth back: yea friends, when vessel's store  
Is to the dregs drunk up, away do fly,  
Shunning the yoke of mutual poverty;  
Preserve thou Caesar safe, we thee implore,  
Bound to the world's remotest Briton shore,  
And those new Troops of youth, whose dreadful sight,  
The East and ruddy Ocean doth affright.  
Fie on our broils, vile Acts, and Brothers fall.  
Bad Age! what mischief do we shun at all?  
What youth, his hand for fear of Gods contains?  
Or who from sacred Altar's spoil refrains?  
Ah! rather let's dull swords new forge, and whet  
Against th' Arabian and the Massaget.   

ODE XXXVI. To POMPONIUS NUMIDA.  
Argument.  
Our Lyric joyed, exults amain  
For Numida's return from Spain.  
Et thure, & fidibus.  
With Frankincense and Lyric Lay,  
And bullocks justly slaughtered, let's allay  
Great Numids tutelary gods:  
Who safe arrived from Spain's remot'st abodes,  
Gave's dear friends many a-kiss-salute,  
But to sweet Lamia most did distribute:  
Remembering how both served all  
Their youthful days under one General.  
And both their gowns together quit,  
This beauteous day sign with a Chalky smit:  
Let vast Wine-rundlets freely spout,  
And Salian like incessant skip about,  
Nor more let soaking Dam'lis bouse,  
Than Bassus in a Thracian carrouze.  
Let Roses, Parsley ever green,  
And fading Lilies much at feasts be seen.  
All shall their eyes with Lust infested  
On Dam'lis cast, nor Dam'lis be wrested  
From her new Paramour, who combine  
Closer than any amorous Ivies twine.   

ODE XXXVII. By Sir T. H. To his Companions.  
Whom he exhorteth to be merry upon the News of the Actiaque victory.  
NOw let us drink, now dance (Companions) now,  
Let's Salian banquets to the Gods allow.  
It might before this time be thought a sin,  
To broach old Caecube wines, whilst the mad Queen  
Prepared the ruin, and disastrous fall,  
Both of the Empire and the Capitol,  
With her scabbed Troop of men effeminate,  
Proud with vast hopes, & drunk with prosperous state:  
But the scarce safety of one ship from fire  
Less'ned ●er fury, whilst great Caesar's ire  
To real fears enforced her to resign  
Her mind enraged with Mareotique wine,  
He pressed with swift vessels to enchain  
This monster, flying Italy amain:  
As Hawk the fearful Dove, or Hunter swift  
Pursues the Hare through Haemon's snowy drift:  
Whilst she, that she might die the nobler way,  
Did neither as a woman fear the ray  
Of brandished sword, nor laboured to fly,  
With speedy flight in secret nooks to lie:  
But with an eye serene, and courage bold,  
Durst her dejected Palaces behold,  
Handle the hissing Adder and the Snake,  
And in her body their black poison take;  
Made the more fierce by death determined,  
She (Noble Spirit) scorned to be led  
In hostile vessels, as a private thrall,  
To fill proud triumphs with her wretched fall,   

ODE XXXVIII. To his Servant,  
Argument.  
He wills his Servant, rooms be dre●●  
With Myrtle only at his Feast,  
Persicos odi.  
SErvant, all Persian pomp disdain,  
From Teyl-rinde pleated Crowns refrain▪  
Cease further scrutiny where grows  
The ●ardy Rose,  
For nothing but plain Myrtles care,  
They most beseeming Servants are:  
And for myself too, tippling laid  
In Vine-tree shade.  
The end of the First Book.    

ODES. BOOK II.  

ODE 1. By Sir R. F. To C. ASINIUS POLLIO.  
He exhorts him to intermit a while his writing of Tragedies, until he have finished his History of the Civil War of Rome; Then extols that Work.  
THE Civil War from the first seeds,  
The Causes of it, Vices, Tides  
Of various Chance, and our prime Lords  
Fatal Alliance, and the Swords  
Sheathed, but not yet hung up, and oiled,  
The Quarrels fully reconciled:  
Thou writ'st a work of hazard great,  
And walkest on Embers in deceits  
Full Ashes rak't. Let thy severe  
Tragical Muse a while fo● bear  
The Stage: This public Task then done,  
Thy Buskins high again put on,  
Afflicted Clients grand support  
And light to the consulting Court:  
Whom thy Dalmatick triumph crowned  
With deathless Bays. Hark how the sound  
Of thy braced Drums, awakes old fears,  
Thy Trumpets tingle in our ears:  
How clattering arms make the Horse shog,  
And from the Horseman's face the blood.  
Now, now amidst the Common Herd  
See the great General's fight, besmeared  
With glorious dust: and quelled the whole  
World, but unconquered Cato's Soul!  
juno, and whatsoever Gods,  
To Africa Friends, yielded to th'odds  
Of Rome; the Victor's Grandsons made  
A Sacrifice to Iugurth's shade.  
What Field, manured with Daunian blood  
Shows not in Graves, our impious Feud,  
And the loud crack of Latiums' fall,  
Herd to the Babylonian wall?  
What lake, what river's ignorant  
Of the sad war? what Sea with paint  
Of Latin slaughter, is not red?  
What land's not peopled with our dead?  
But wanton Muse, least leaving Toys,  
Thou shouldst turn Odes to Elegies,  
Let us in Dioneian Cell  
Seek matter for a lighter Quill.   

ODE II. By Sir R. F. To C. SALUSTIUS CRISPUS.  
First, he praises P. for his liberality to his brothers: Then shows, that he who can repress his appetite, and despise money, is only a King, only happy.  

SAlust, thou enemy of gold,  
Mettles, which th' earth hath hoarded, Mould,  
Until with moderate exercise  
Their colour rise.   

No Age the name of Pontius smothers,  
For being a Father to his Brothers:  
Surviving Fame on towering wings  
His bounty sings.   

He that restrains his covetous soul,  
Rules more, then if he should control  
Both Land and Sea; and add a West-Indies to th' East.   

The cruel Dropsy grows, self-nurst,  
The thirst not quenched, till the cause first  
Be purged the veins, and the faint humour  
Which made the tumour.   

Virtue, that reves what Fortune gave,  
Calls crowned Phraates his Wealth's slave,  
And to the Common People teaches  
More proper speeches.   

Giving a Sceptre, and sure Throne,  
And unshared Palms to him alone,  
That (unconcerned) could behold  
Mountains of Gold.    

ODE III. By Sir R. F. To DELLIUS.  
That the mind should not be cast down with adversity, 〈◊〉 puffed up with prosperity: But that we should live merrily, since the condition of dying is equal to all.  
KEep still an equal mind, not sunk  
With storms of adverse chance, not drunk  
With sweet Prosperity,  
O Dellius that must die,  
Whether thou live still melancholy,  
Or stretched in a retired valley;  
Make all thy hours merry  
With bowls of choicest Sherry.  
Where the white Poplar and tall Pine,  
Their hospitable shadow join,  
And a soft purling brook,  
With wriggling stream doth crook;  
Bid hither Wines and Ointments bring,  
And the too short sweets of the Spring,  
Whilst wealth and youth combine,  
And the Fates give thee Line.  
Thou must forgo thy purchased seats,  
Even that which golden Tiber wets,  
Thou must; and a glad Heir  
Shall revel with thy care.  
If thou be rich, born of the Race  
Of ancient Inachus, or base  
Lieft in the street; all's one,  
Impartial death spares none.  
All go one way: shaked is the pot,  
And first or last comes forth thy lot,  
The Pass, by which thou'rt sent  
THE Eternal banishment.   

ODE IV. By Sir R. F. To XANTHIA PHOCEUS.  
That he need not be ashamed of being in love with a Serving-maid: for that the same had befallen many a Great Man.  
TO love a Serving-Maid's no shame;  
The white Briseis did inflame  
Her Lord Achilles, and yet none  
Was prouder known▪  
Stout Telamonian Ajax proved  
His Captives Slave; A●rides loved  
In midst of all his Victories,  
A Girl his prize:  
When the Barbarian side went down,  
And Hectics death rendered the Town  
Of Troy, more easy to be carried  
By Grecians wearied.  
knowst thou from whom fair Phillis springs?  
Thou may'st be son in law to Kings;  
She mourns, as one deposed by Fate  
From regal state.  
Believe 't she was not poorly born:  
Phoceus, such Faith, so brave a scorn  
Of tempting riches, could not come  
From a base womb.  
Her face, round arms, and every limb  
I praise unsmit. Suspect not him,  
On whose loves wildfire Age doth throw  
Its cooling Snow.   

ODE V. Upon Lalage.  
Argument.  
Since beauteous Lalage's unfit  
For Hymen's rites, or Venus yet;  
He will with Continency's reign,  
All wild Concupiscence restrain.  
Nondum Subacta.  
AS yet with neck subdued she cannot 'bide  
The yoke, nor answer th' office of a bride;  
Nor sustain the eagerful,  
Fierce rushes of a ponderous bull.  
Thy heifer 'bout the Verdant meadows roves;  
Sometimes in brooks t' allay her thirst she loves;  
And sometimes she's much rejoiced  
To sport with Calves amongst Sallows moist.  
Restrain all longing for Grapes immature:  
Strait gaudy Autumn decked in Purple pure.  
Will to thee ripe clusters send,  
Strait she thy footsteps will attend.  
For fleet-heeled Time with rapid motion flows,  
And years subtracted from thy date bestows  
On her. Strait with brazen brow  
Will Lalage a husband woo.  
More loved than Cloris, or nice Pholoe:  
Her candid shoulders glittering, like the Sea  
In the night with Moonshine died;  
Or Gyges sprung from th' Isle of Cnide:  
Whom if thou rankest among the Virgin File,  
His scarce-spyed differnce easily might beguile  
Quick-eyed strangers, for his Grace  
Of shev'led hair, and dubious face.   

ODE VI By Sir T. H. To SEPTIMIUS.  
He wisheth Tybur and Tarentum may be the seal of hi● old age, whose sweetness he praiseth.  
SEptimius, ready bent, with me  
Rude Cantabers, or Gades to see,  
And those inhospitable Quicksands, where  
The Moorish seas high billows rear.  
Tybur, which th' Argives built (O may)  
That be the place of my last day:  
May it my limit be, of ease  
From journeys, warfare, and rough seas.  
But if the Sister-Fates deny,  
I'll to rich fleeced Galesus high,  
And thence down to Tarentum stray,  
Erst subject to Phalantus sway.  
That tract of land best pleaseth me,  
Where not Hymettia's full fraught Bee  
Yields better honey, and where grow  
Olives, that equal Venafro;  
Where the middle air yields gentle frost,  
And a long Springtide warms the coast,  
And Aulon fertile in rich vines,  
Envieth not Falernian wines.  
That place, with all those fruitful hills,  
Me with desire of thee fulfils:  
There let thy due-paid tears descend  
O'er the warm ashes of thy friend.   

ODE VII. To POMPEIUS VARUS.  
Argument▪  
He gratulates that Pompey scum  
In safety to his Native home.  
O saepe mecum.  
O' Thou reduced oft to extremest thrall  
With me, when Brutus was our General;  
Who to Latiums' liberty,  
And Rural Lar restored thee  
Pompey my chiefest associate? with whom I  
Oft many long-day drunk Wine copiously,  
My bright hair with unguents filled,  
From rich Malobathrum distilled.  
I with thee bare th' brunt of Philps Field,  
And flying basely flung away my shield,  
When those foiled soldiers swelled  
With boasts, to blood-drencht earth were felled;  
Pay jove then thy vowed Junkets, and repose  
Thy limbs out-tired with warfare's tedious woes  
Under my Bay-shroud, nor spare  
What hogsheads for thee destined are.  
Let polished Goblets freely flow about,  
With mem'ry-thralling Massick wines: teem out  
Sweet Oils from capacious cup:  
Who strives to pleat a chaplet up  
Of Myrtle, or moist Parsley? Who's the guest,  
Venus-throw signs Controller of the feast?  
I'll play Thracian: pleased amain  
To rant, my friend returned again.   

ODE VIII. By Sir R. F. To BARINE.  
That there is no reason why he should believe her when she swears: for the Gods revenge not the perjuries of handsome women.  
IF any punishment did follow  
Thy perjury: if but a hollow  
Tooth, or a speckled nail, thy vow  
Should pass. But thou,  
When thou hast bound thy head with slight  
Untwisting oaths, are fairer by't:  
And like a Comet spread'st thy rays,  
The public gaze,  
It boots thee to deceive the Ghost  
Of thy dead Mother, and still boast  
Of Heaven with their etern abodes,  
And deathless gods.  
Venus but laughs at what is done,  
Her easy nymphs, and cruel son,  
On bloody whetstone grinding ever  
His burning quiver.  
New suitors daily are enrolled,  
New servants come, nor do the old  
Forsake their impious Mistress door,  
Which they forswore.  
Thee Mothers for their Fillies dread,  
Thee gripple, Sires, and Wives new wed,  
Lest thy bewitching breath should fray  
Their Lords away.   

ODE IX. By Sir T. H. To VALGIUS.  
That now at length he would desist to deplore his deceased Mist.  
THe swelling Cloud, not always pours  
On rugged Fields, impetuous showers:  
Nor Caspian Sea (Valgius beloved)  
With boisterous storms, is ever moved:  
Nor on Armenia's bordering shore,  
Dull Icicles stand always door:  
Or garden-groves with north-winds rived,  
Or are Ash-trees of leaves deprived.  
You still in mournful sort complain,  
That death hath your dear Mist slain;  
Your love sets not, if Vesper rise,  
Nor when from Phoebus, Hesper flies:  
But thrice-aged N●stor did not still,  
Tears, for Antilochus distil:  
Nor Parents, nor sad Sisters, ever  
To wail young Troilus persever.  
Cease then at length thy soft complant,  
And in our songs, now let us paint  
Great Caesar's Trophies, and command,  
And how conjoined to conquer land,  
The Median stream, and Nyphate strong,  
In lesser channels run along,  
And Gelons to less limits tide,  
In far more straightened Fields do ride.   

ODE X. By Sir R. F. TO LICINIUS.  
That Mediocrity, and Equality of the Mind, in both Fortunes, are to be retained.  
THe safest way of life, is neither  
To tempt the Deeps, nor whilst foul weather  
You fearfully avoid, too near  
The shore to steer.  
He that affects the Golden Mean,  
Will neither want a house that's clean,  
Nor swell unto the place of showers  
His envied Towers:  
The tempest doth more often shake  
Huge Pines: and lofty Turrets take  
The greatest falls: and Thunder lops  
The mountain tops.  
A mind which true proportion bears,  
In adverse hopes, in prosperous fears  
The other lot. jove winter's brings,  
And Ioves give Springs,  
It may be well, if now 'tis ill:  
Sometimes Apollo with his Quill,  
Wakes his dull Harp, and doth not ever  
Make use of's Quiver.  
In boisterous Fortune ply thy Oar,  
And using it stoutly to the shore;  
Contract in too auspicious Gales  
Thy swelling sails.   

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by S. W.  

WOuld you a constant Fortune keep  
Licinius? Trust not the false Deep;  
And though black storms begin to roar,  
As little trust the shore.   

The man who loves the golden mean,  
Has his Hearth neat, and house swept clean:  
Belowed, he envies not the Court,  
Above 't, he cares not for't.   

Winds oft'nest tear the lofty Pine,  
While its low growth defends the Vine;  
Huge Piles in greatest ruins fall,  
And Thunder levels all.   

A gallant breast hope● well at worst,  
A change will come, though 't be long first;  
And when 'tis come, he fears the best,  
And dare not think of rest.   

This Heaven will teach us every year,  
Winter has Summer in the rear;  
And when the Ebb doth run most low,  
The Tide ere long will flow.   

Though 'tis bad now, 'twill soon be spent,  
Apollo's Bow 's not always bend,  
But sometimes he'll the Muse bid sing,  
And touch a better string.   

When Fates are cross, than courage show,  
Be wise when gales more prosperous blow;  
Strike sail, and put not too far out,  
The Wind may turn about.    

ODE XI. By Sir T. H. To QUINTUS HIRPINUS.  
Cares laid aside, let us live merrily.  
WHat the Cantalrian stout, or Scythian think,  
Divided from us by rough Adria's brink,  
(Quintus Hirpinus) do not thou inquire,  
Nor for life's use, which little doth desire,  
Be too solicitous. Sleek youth, apace  
hastes hence away, and with it beauties grace,  
Dry-aged hoariness which 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 vex thy mind, subordinate  
Unto the counsels of Fernal Fate?  
Why under this high Plain, or Pinetrees shade  
In discomposed manner, careless laid  
Anoint not we, and then to drink prepare?  
Free Bacchus dissipates consuming care.  
But (oh) what Boy Falernian wine's hot rage,  
Will soon for me, with Fountain streams assuage?  
Or, who will Lyde wish from close retire  
Hlther to come? Boy, with her Ivory lire  
Bid her make haste, and like Laconian maids  
Tie her neglected hair in careless braids.   

ODE XII. TO MAECENAS.  
Argument.  
Dire wars, and Tragic subjects, they  
Incongruous are for Lyric lay.  
Ly●●m●●ia's splendour Horace sings,  
And such like amatorious things.  
Nolis longa.  
NOtedirous Wars on sierce Numantia's plain,  
Nor hardy Hannibal, nor Sicilian main,  
Purpled with Carthaginian blood, desire  
Be warbled on soft Lyric wire:  
Nor barbarous Lapiths, nor the liquor-swelled  
Hyleus, nor whom Alcides prowess quelled,  
That brood of earth, whose dismal terror made  
Aged Satur's glorious house afraid.  
But thou (Maecenas) in the loser stile  
Of an Historian, better canst compile  
Great Caesar's acts, and threatful Princes shown  
Chained by the necks along the Town.  
My Muse would treat of those melodious lays  
Of thy dear Ladies, sweet Lycimnia's:  
And of her clear refulgent eyes, and breast  
With Flames of faithful love possessed:  
Whom neither dancing postures mis-became,  
Nor jestful skirmish, nor in sportive game  
Fair virgins with encircling arms t' enthral,  
On famous Diane's festival.  
Wouldst for the wealth rich Achaemenes owes,  
Or all the riches fertile Phrygia shows,  
Or th' Arabs houses which well furnished are,  
Exchange thy dear Lycimnia's hair?  
While she for kisses wreaths her neck awry,  
Or doth with gentle cruelty deny  
What, than her love, she rather covets taken:  
Strait she'll anticipate again.   

ODE XIII. By Sir R. F. To a Tree, by whose fall in his Sabine Villa, he was like to have been slain.  
That no man can sufficiently understand what to avoid: From thence he slides into the praises of Sapph and Alcaeus.  
A Planter with a (●) was he  
That with unhallowed hand set thee,  
A trap for the succeeding race,  
And ignominy of the place.  
He might as well have hanged his Sire,  
Or practised all the Poisons dire  
Medea tempered, or have shed  
His Guests blood sleeping in his bed:  
Or if a worse crime may be found,  
As to place thee upon my ground,  
Unlucky wood; thou, staggering trunk,  
To brain thy Master when thouart drunk.  
No man knows truly what to shun;  
The Punic Seaman fears to run  
Upon some Shelf, but doth not dread  
Another Fate over his head:  
The Soldier, Shafts, and Parthian fight:  
The Parthian chains and Roman might.  
But Death had still, and still will have,  
A thousand back-wayes to the grave.  
How near was I Hell's Jaundiced Queen,  
And Minos on the Bench t' have seen,  
And the described Elysian shades?  
And Sapph, of her Countrey-maids  
Complaining on Aeolian wire?  
And the Alcaeus, with gold lyre  
In fuller notes thundering a Fight,  
Rattling a storm, fluttring a flight?  
Both (worthy of a sacred pause)  
The pious Ghosts hear with applause:  
But most the Fights, and Tyrant's fears,  
The shouldering throng drink with their ears.  
What wonder, when th' infernal hound,  
With three heads, listens to that sound:  
The Furies snakes their curls unknit,  
Nor find revenge so sweet as ●t.  
'Tis Playday too, with Pelops sire,  
And him that stole from heaven the fire.  
Orion even his hunting leaves,  
And greater pleasure thence receives▪   

ODE XIV. By Sir R. F. To POSTHUMUS.  
That Death cannot be avoided.  
AH Posthumus? the years of man  
Slide on with winged pace, nor can  
Virtue reprieve her friend  
From wrinkles, age, and end.  
Not, though thou bribe with daily blood  
Stern Dis, who with the Stygian Flood  
Doth Geryon surround,  
And Titius Acres bound.  
Sad Flood, which we must ferry all  
That feed upon this earthly ball,  
From the King to the poor  
Beggar that howls at door.  
In vain avoid we Mars' fury,  
And breaking waves that kill and bury:  
In vain the sickly falls,  
Fruitful of funerals.  
Visit we must the sooty shore  
Of dull Cocytus, th' empry store  
Of Daunus wicked stock.  
And Sisyphs restless rock.  
Thou must forgo thy lands and goods,  
And pleasing wife: Nor of thy woods  
Shall any follow thee,  
But the sad Cypress-tree.  
Thy worthy heir shall then carouse  
Thy hoarded wines, and wash the house  
With better Sack, then that  
Which makes the Abbot's fat.   

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by S. W.  

1.  
Time (Posthumus) goes with full sail,  
Nor can thy honest heart avail  
A furrowed brow, old age at hand,  
Or Death unconquered to withstand:  
One long night,  
Shall hide this light  
From all our sight,  
And equal Death  
Shall few days hence, stop every breath.   

2.  
Though thou whole Hecatombs shouldst bring  
In honour of th' Infernal King,  
Who Geryon and Tytio bold,  
In chains of Stygian waves doth hold:  
He'll not prise,  
But more despise  
Thy sacrifice:  
Thou Death must feel,  
'Tis so decreed by the Fatal Wheel.   

3.  
The numerous Offspring of the Earth,  
That feed on her who gave them birth;  
Each birth must have its funeral,  
The Womb and Urn's alike to all:  
Kings must die,  
And as 〈◊〉,  
As thou or I;  
And though they have  
Achievements here, there's none in th' Grave.   

4.  
In vain we bloody battles fly,  
Or fear to sail when wines are high;  
The Plague or an infectious breath,  
When every hour brings a new Death.  
Time will mow  
What e'er we sow;  
Both weal and woe  
Shall have an end,  
And this th' unwilling Fates must send.   

5.  
Cocytus' lake thou must waft o'er,  
Thy tottered boat shall touch that shore;  
Thou Sisypus ere long must know,  
And into new acquaintance grow:  
Shalt with life,  
Leave house and wife,  
Thy loves and strife,  
And have no tree,  
But the sad Cypress follow thee.   

6.  
Mean while thy heir shall nobly quaff,  
What thou with hundred locks kepted safe,  
Caecuhan wines, and wash the Flore  
With juice would make an Emperor roar:  
'Twill be thy lot,  
Question it not,  
To be forgot  
With all thy deeds,  
ere he puts on his Mourning weeds.    

ODE XV. By Sir R. F. Against the Luxury of his Age.  
OUr Princely piles will shortly leave  
But little lands for ploughs to cleave;  
Ponds outstretch Lucrine shores,  
Unmarried Sycamores  
Supplant the Elms. The Vi'let, Rose,  
With all the junkets of the Nose,  
Perfume the Olive-yards,  
Which fed their former Lords:  
And Daphne twists her limbs to shun  
Tne sons rude Courtship. Not so done  
By Cato's Precedent,  
And the old Regiment.  
Great was the Commonwealth alone,  
The private small. No wide Balcon  
Measured with private square  
Gaped for the Norths cool air.  
Nor the next turf might men reject;  
Bid at the Public Charge t' erect  
Temples and Towns, alone,  
Of beautiful new stone.   

ODE XVI. By Sir R. F. To GROSPHUS.  
That tranquillity of the mind is wished by all: But that the same is not purchased by heaping up Riches, or obtaining Honours, but by bridling the desires.  
QUiet! the trembling Merchant cries,  
Into Egean seas driven far;  
When the Moon winks, and he descries  
No guiding st●●.  
Quiet! in War the T●raian bold;  
Quiet! the Medes with quivers dight;  
Not to be bought with gems, nor gold,  
Nor purple bright.  
For 'tis not wealth, nor armed troops,  
Can tumults of the mind remove,  
And cares, which about fretted roofs  
Hover above.  
His little's much, whose thrifty board  
Slunes with a salt that was his sires:  
W●ose easy sleeps nor fears disturb,  
Nor base desires.  
Why in short life eternal care?  
Why changing for another Sun?  
Who, having shunned his Native air,  
Himself could shun?  
Take horse, rude Care will ride behind;  
Embark, unto thy ship she crowds:  
Fl●●ter them Stags, and the East-wind  
Chase the Clouds,  
Let minds of any joy possessed,  
Sweeten with that whatever gall  
Is mixed: No soul that ere was blest,  
Was blest in all.  
The famed Achilles timeless died,  
Old Tyth●n did his bliss outlive,  
And Chance, what she to thee denied,  
To me may give.  
A hundred flocks about thee bleat,  
And fair Sicilian heifers low;  
To thee large neighing Mares curvete:  
In scarlet thou,  
Twice-dipt, are clad. Indulgent fate  
Gave me a grange; a versing vein;  
A heart which (injured) cannot hate,  
But can disdain.   

ODE XVII. by Sir R. F. To MAECENAS sick.  
That he will not live after him.  
WHy dost thou talk of dying so?  
Neither the Gods, nor I'm content,  
Maecenas, that thou first shouldst go,  
My Pillar and great Ornament.  
If thee, the one half of my soul,  
A riper fate snatch hence: alas!  
What should I stay for, neither whole,  
And but the dregs of what I was?  
That day shall end us both: Come, come,  
I've sworned; and will not break it neither:  
March when thou wilt to thy long home,  
That journey we will make together.  
Chimaeras flames, nor (were he rise  
Again) Briareus hundred hands,  
Should keep me back. 'Tis justice, this:  
And in the Book of fate it stands.  
Were I or under Libra born,  
Or Scorpio my ascendant be  
With grim aspect, or Capricorn  
(The Tyrant of the Latian sea:)  
Our stars do wondrously consent.  
Benigner jove reprieved thy breath  
When Saturn was malevolent,  
And clipped the hasty wings of Death,  
In frequent Theatre when thee  
Thrice the rejoicing people clapped,  
A falling Trunk had brained me,  
Between if Faunus had not slept,  
The guardian of Mercurial men.  
Pay thou an ample sacrifice,  
And build the Chapel thou vowdest then;  
For me an humble Lamkin dies.   

ODE XVIII. By Sir T. H.  
He affirmeth himself to be contented with a little, while others are wholly addicted to their desires, and increase of riches, as if they should always live.  
NO guided roof, nor Ivory Fret,  
For splendour in my house is set;  
Nor are beams from Hymettia sought,  
To lie a-thwart rich Colmns, brought  
From afric; nor I heir unkown,  
Make Attalus his wealth, mine own.  
No honest Tenants wives you see,  
Laconian purples wove for me:  
A loyal heart, and ready vain  
Of wit I have, which doth constrain  
Rome's richest men to seek the love  
Of me, though poor: Nor gods above  
Do I invoke for larger store;  
Nor of Maecenas ask I more.  
To me my single 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:  
Nay wouldst abridge the vast Seas shore,  
Which loudly doth at Baiae roar:  
Enriched little, less content,  
With limits of the Continent.  
Why often pullest thou up the bounds,  
T' enlarge the circuit of thy grounds,  
Encroaching far from Confines known,  
To make the neighbouring field thine own?  
The husband, wife, and sordid brood,  
With ancient household gods, that stood  
In quiet peace, must be expelled:  
Yet is not any Mansion held  
For the rich Landlord, so assured,  
As deep in Hell to be immured.  
Then whither do you further tend?  
Th' indifferent earth an equal friend,  
As willingly opens her womb,  
For Beggar's grave, as Prince's tomb.  
Gold could of Charon not obtain,  
To bear Prometheus back again.  
Proud Tantalus, and all his stock,  
Death, with the bands of fate doth lock:  
And called, or not called ready stands,  
To free the poor from painful bands.   

ODE XIX. Upon BACCHUS.  
Argument.  
He filled with Bacchus' power, assays  
T' ebuccinate his fame and praise.  
Bacchum in remotis.  
ON Rocks remote I Bacchus chanced t'spy,  
Teach verse (o trust me ye posterity)  
Listening Nymphs, and Satyrs there  
With Goat-feets, and erected ear.  
My heart appalled with sudden horror, I,  
Of Bacchus' full, shout Evohe on high:  
Forbear Liber, o forbear,  
So dreadful for thy horrid spear.  
I may have stubborn Thyads for my theme,  
A fount of Wine, and rivers running Cream,  
Chaunt again how honey drills,  
And from the hollow stem distils,  
I thy blessed consorts glorious constellation,  
I Pentheus' Palace brought to desolation,  
I may sing the dismal fate  
Of Thracian Lycurgus' state.  
Thou turn'st Rivers, and the Indian Main,  
Thou (soaked with wine) on distant mountains l●'ne,  
Dost Thrace women's tresses plait  
In V●per-wreaths without deceit:  
Thou, when those impious Giants climbed on high,  
To Ioves Court Royal through the boundless sky,  
Flung'st down Rhaecus with the claws  
Of Leo, and his horrid jaws:  
Although more prone to dances, sports, and plays  
Thou wert esteemed, nor fit for Martial frays:  
Yet did either war or peace  
Indifferently thy genius please.  
At thee gold-horned, F●end Cerberus did look  
With harmless eye, and fawningly he shook  
His tail, and with triple-head  
Thy feet touched, when thou didst recede.   

ODE XX. By Sir T. H.  
HORACE turned into a Swan, will fly all ever the world, whence he promiseth the immortality of hi● Poesy.  
A Twofold Poet, through the liquid sky,  
I with a strong unusual wing will fly:  
No longer shall I of the Earth partake,  
But out of Envies reach the World forsake.  
I am not issued of ignoble strain,  
Nor whom Maecenas pleaseth to retain  
Under the title of belov'd shall die,  
Or in the Stygian lake forgotten lie.  
Now, now, upon my legs a rugged skin  
Is overspread, and I a Swan am seen  
Upward transformed; a light and downy plume,  
My fingers, and winged shoulders now assume.  
And now a shrill-tune Bird become, I'll soar  
And much more swift than Icarus, explore  
The Lybian Syrteses, and the murmuring sand  
Of Bosphor straits, and Hyperborean land.  
Me, Colchos, and the Dacian, who doth feign  
Fear of the Marsian's arms shall entertain,  
Gelons remote, and they who on the brink  
Of I●er dwell, or Rhodanus do drink.  
Banish from my thin Hearse your funeral moans,  
Your ill bemoaning tears, complaints, and groans:  
Clamour forbear, or fond to confer  
The needless honour of a Sepulchre.  
The end of the second Book.    

ODES. BOOK III.  

ODE I. By Sir R. F.  
That a happy man is not made by Riches or Honours, but by tranquillity of the mind.  
I Hate lay-Vulgar: make no noise,  
Room for a Priest of Helicon:  
I sing to noble Girls and Boys  
Such verses as were never known.  
Feared Kings command on their own Ground;  
The King commanding Kings is jove:  
Whose Arm the Giants did confound,  
Whose awful brow doth all things move.  
One man may be a greater Lord  
Of land then other: this may show  
A nobler Pedigree: a third  
In parts and fame may both outgo:  
A fourth in Clients outvie all.  
Necessity in a vast Pot  
Shuffling the names of great and small,  
Draws every one's impartial lot.  
Over whose head hangs a drawn sword,  
Him cannot please a Royal feast:  
Nor melody of lute or bird,  
Give to his eyes their wont rest.  
Sleep, gentle sleep, scorns not the poor  
Abiding of the Ploughman: loves  
By sides of Rivers shades obscure:  
And rocked with West-windes, Tempe Groves;  
That man to whom enough's enough,  
Nor raging seas trouble his head,  
Nor fell Arcturus setting rough,  
Nor fury of the rising Kid:  
Not hail-smit Vines and years of Dearth;  
Sometimes the too much wet in fault,  
Sometimes the stars that broil the earth,  
Sometimes the Winter that was nought.  
The Fish fear stifling in the sea,  
Damned up. The Master-builder and  
H's men, the Land-sick Lord too, he  
Throws rubbish in with his own hand.  
But fear and dangers haunt the Lord  
Into all places: and black Care  
Behind him rides: or, if on board  
A ship, 'tis his companion there.  
If Marble keep not Fevers out,  
Nor purple raiment help the blind,  
Nor Persian Ointments cure the gout▪  
Nor Massick Wines a troubled mind:  
With envied posts in fashion strange  
Why should I raise a stately pile?  
My Sabine vale why should I change  
For wealth accompanied with toil?   

ODE II. By Sir T. H. To his Friends.  
Boys are to be enured from their tender age, to poverty, warfare, and painful life.  
LEt th'able youth, himself enure  
By sharp wars reached, want to endure:  
And mounted on his horse, with spear,  
Confront bold Parthians, free, from fear:  
Let him exposed to open air,  
Live, and attempt the hardest affair:  
Whom when some warlike Tyrant's Queen,  
Or Virgin-marriage ripe hath seen,  
Afar from hostile walls, may cry  
With sighs, which from sad passion fly;  
O, that my Royal Lord, untrained  
In Martial feats, would be restrained,  
Not by fierce Combats fatal stroke,  
That wrathful Lion to provoke,  
Whom bloody Anger's 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,  
Youths supple hams, or fearful back,  
Virtue, that ne'er repulse admits,  
In taintless honours, glorious sits,  
Nor takes, or leaveth Dignities,  
Raised with the noise of vulgar cries.  
Virtue (to worth Heaven opening wide)  
Dauntless, breaks through ways denied.  
And (taught) the Rabble to despise,  
Forsaking earth to heaven flies,  
Yea trusty silence is not barred,  
From having a deserved 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.  
Oft jove neglected makes the just  
To smart with those are stained with lust▪  
Seldom Revenge, though slow of pace,  
Leaves ill foregoing men to trace.   

ODE III. By Sir R. F.  
A Speech of Inno at the Council of the Gods, concerning the ending of the war of Troy, and the beginning which the Roman Empire should take from the Trojans.  
AN honest and resolved man,  
Neither a people's tumults can,  
Neither a Tyrant's indignation,  
Un-center from his fast foundation;  
Nor storms that from the bottom move  
The Adrian sea, nor thundering jove:  
If the cracked Orbs would split and fall,  
Crush him they would, but not appall.  
Pollux, and wand'ring Hercules,  
Gained Heaven by such ways as these:  
Amongst whom Augustus, leaning, sips  
Immortal Nectar with red lips.  
This way deserving Bacchus' clomb  
The high Olympus, with his own  
Tamed Tigers, which Ambrosia feed,  
And Romulus on Mars his steed:  
Pleased juno speaking a good word  
On his behalf, at Council-board.  
Troy, Troy, (through mine, and Pallas grudge)  
A fatal and adulterous judge,  
And foreign woman overthrew,  
With its false King and damned Crew,  
Because Laomedon forsook  
The Gods, and broke the Oath he took.  
The Spartan Strumpets famous guest  
Is now no more jewelled and dressed:  
No more doth Priam's Perjured house  
Resist bold Greeks by Hector's prowess:  
And wars, which I inflamed, are done;  
My wrath then, and the Trojan Nun  
's Abhorred Offspring, here I give  
To his father Mars that he should live  
In bowers of light, suck Nectar-bowls,  
And be transcribed into the rolls  
Of quiet Gods, I will abide.  
So long as spacious seas divide  
Ilium and Rome; so long as beasts  
On Priamus and Paris breasts  
Insult, and (undisturbed) the wild  
Whelp in their tombs; let the exiled  
Reign great in any other land:  
The Capitol refu'gent stand;  
And awful Rome with seven proud heads  
Give Laws to the triumphed Medes:  
Rousing herself, left her extend  
Her dreadful name to the world's end;  
Where midland seas part Africks' soil  
From Europe, to the floods of Nile;  
More valiant to despise hid gold,  
(Which wisely Nature did withhold)  
Then force it to man's use, by sack  
Of Temples, or by Nature's wrack.  
Whatever corner would impeach  
Her progress, that, let her Sword reach:  
Visit the stores of snow and hail,  
And where excessive heats prevail.  
Yet warlike Romans destiny,  
On this condition I decree,  
That they (too pious, and grown high)  
Shall not rebuild their Mother Troy.  
With Troy! Troy's fate shall be revived,  
And all her ominous birds retrieved,  
When second wars ourselves will move,  
The Sister and the Wife of Jove.  
If Phoebus harp a Brazen wall  
Should thriee erect, thrice it should fall  
(Razed by my Greeks) the wife, in chain,  
Thrice mourn her sons and husband slain.  
But whether saucy Muse? These things  
Agree not with the Lutes soft strings.  
The words of gods cease to repeat,  
And with small voice matters so great.   

ODE IV. By Sir R. F.  
The Poet saith, That he hath been delivered from many dangers by the help of the Muses; And that it hath gone ill with all who have attempted any thing against the Gods.  
DEscend Thalia with a song  
From Heaven; my Queen, I'd have it long  
To the shrill pipe or to the flute,  
The viol or Apollo's lute.  
Do'st here? or do I sweetly rave?  
I hear in yonder trees, which wave,  
Thy rustling robe, and in that spring  
The tuning of thy silver string.  
Me, amorous turtles (Poets theme)  
As by my native Aufids' stream,  
A child oppressed with sleep and play,  
Under a Mountain side I lay,  
Fearless (for what hath he to fear,  
Who from his birth was Heaven's care?)  
With sacred Bays and Myrtle boughs,  
On which no Beast did ever browse,  
Covered, lest Snake or ugly Bear,  
Should do me hurt as I slept there;  
Which set the neighb'ring Fields at gaze,  
As wondering what should be the cause.  
Whether I mount the Sabine hill,  
Or with cold springs Preneste i'll,  
Or me the healing Bath allures;  
Where ere I am: Muses, I'm yours.  
Friend to your springs, with your songs rapt,  
At lost Philippi Field scap't;  
The fall of my own cursed Tree,  
And shipwreck in Sicilian Sea.  
Go you with me, I'll (dreadless) try  
The Bosphorus that threats the sky,  
And (travelling) defy the thirsty  
Syrian sands to do their worst.  
Visit the Britain's, fierce to strangers,  
The horse-fed Thracians bloody mangers,  
The Scythians, whom no Sun doth warm,  
And none of them shall do me harm.  
Great Caesar, you with Martrial toil  
Tired out, and glad to breathe a while  
In Winter quarters with his men,  
Refresh in the Pierian Den.  
You give him mild advice; And well  
From you he takes it. We can tell,  
The Giants selves for all their troop  
Of monstrous Bulks, were Thunderstruckk  
By him that towns, and dreary ghosts,  
Immortal Gods, and mortal hosts,  
The stupid Earth, and restless Main,  
Doth govern with one equal reign.  
The horrid band and brotherhood,  
Who (whilst upon their terms they stood)  
Pelion to heap on Ossa strove,  
Gave not a little care to jove.  
But what could Mimas, and the strong  
Typhaeus, what Porphyrion long,  
What Rhaecus, and with hurled trunk  
(Torn up by th'roots) the fury-drunk  
Enceladus, rushing against  
Minerva's ringing shield advanced?  
Here the devouring Vulcan stood,  
There Matron juno, and the god  
That never lays his Quiver by,  
Baths in pure dews of Castaly  
His dangling locks, haunts Delian woods,  
Patros, and Rhodes, and Xanthus' floods.  
Uncounsiled force with his own weight  
Is crushed; a force that's temperate  
Heaven itself helps: and hates no less  
Strength that provokes to wickedness.  
This truth Orion understands,  
And Gyges with the hundred hands:  
He, purposing chaste Diane's Rape,  
Could not her Virgin-arrows scape.  
The Earth on her own Monsters thrown,  
(Thundered to endless night) doth groan  
Over her sons: Aetna doth roar,  
Burning, and not consumed. No more  
Can Tytiu's heart in Vulture's claw,  
Or waste itself, or fill her Maw.  
Offended Proserpina restrains  
Pirithous in three hundred chains.   

ODE V. By Sir R. F.  
The praises of Augustus, the dishonour of Crassus, the constancy of Regulus, and his return to the Carthaginians.  
JOve governs Heaven with his nod:  
Augustus is the earthly God;  
Bold Britain's to the Empire bowed,  
And Persians, with late trophies proud.  
Could Crassus' soldier lead his life  
Yoked basely with a barbarous wife?  
And with Foe Father-in-law grow grey  
In Arms, under a Medians pay!  
(O fathers! and degenerate shame!)  
His blood forgotten and his name,  
Eternal Vesta, and the Gown,  
Whilst there was yet a jove, and Rome!  
This feared wise Regulus his mind,  
And so the base Accord declined,  
Weighing the consequence, unless  
The Captive Youth died pitiless.  
I saw (quoth he) our Ensigns stuck  
In Punic fanes, without a stroke  
Soldiers disarmed, Citizens  
Their free hands bound behind with chains.  
And the Ports open, and that field  
Which Romans had encamped on, tilled.  
All this I saw. Redeemed with gold  
They'll grow, belike, in fight more bold.  
Buy not iniquity. As slain  
White wool 'twill never white again:  
So, if true Virtue fall, despair  
To stop her till the lowest stair.  
A Hind out of the Trammels free,  
And make her fight, than so will he  
That rendered to a faithless foe,  
And Carthaginians overthrow  
In second War; That tamely took  
The lash, and (Death but named) shook.  
Why these (forgetting whence they came)  
Confounded war with peace, O shame!  
Great Carthage! thou hast overcome  
The virtue (more than troops) of Rome.  
His chaste wife's kiss, and his small fry  
Of Babes, he's said to have put by,  
(As being a slave) and not t'have took  
From Earth his stern and manly look:  
Till he th' unwilling Senate brought  
To vote the thing that he had sought:  
Then through his weeping friends he went  
Into a glorious banishment.  
Though well he knew what torments were  
Ready prepared for him there  
By Barbarous men. Yet broke through all  
His Kindred, and the crowded Hall  
To beg of him he would not go,  
No otherwise than he would do  
From Client's swarms, after the end  
Of a long Term, going to spend  
In sweet Campania the Vacation,  
And give his mind some Relaxation.   

ODE VI By Sir T. H. To the Romans.  
Of the corrupt manners of that Age.  
ROman, resolve, thou shalt desertless taste  
Sins 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 than Gods, thy power commends;  
Hence take beginnings, hither aim thy ends.  
The Gods neglected, many woes  
On Italy distressed, throws.  
Twice Pacorus, and twice Moneses' hand,  
Our inauspicious armed troops disband:  
Who with a plenteous prey made glad,  
To little chains more links do add.  
The Dacian and the Ethiop 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, first begins  
chaste stocks, and Nuptials to pollute with sins;  
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 said, 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 cares to whom she yields by stealth,  
(When lights are out) loves lawless wealth.  
But asked doth rise, her knowing husband by,  
To prostitute her marriage-modesty;  
At Factors call, or Pilots hire,  
Of lustful shame, a costly buyer.  
That youth came not from such Forefathers strain,  
Who did the sea with Punic blood distain:  
Not by such hands did Pyrrhus fall,  
Antiochus, nor Hannibal.  
But in those days a brave and manly race  
Of rustic soldiers lived in this place,  
Well skilled in Plough and Sabine Spade,  
And so to strict obedience made,  
That if sharp Mothers bade, at their return  
They on their shoulders brought logs hewed to burn,  
When Phoebus changed had the mountains shade,  
And weary unyoked Oxen homeward made,  
And that night gave their toil dispense,  
Chase the Sun's bright chariot hence.  
What wasteth not with Times devouring rage?  
Our father's life, much worse than Grandsire's age,  
Sees us more wicked, to produce  
An Offspring fuller of abuse.   

ODE VII. By Sir R. F. To ASTERIE.  
He comforts her, being sad and solicitous for the absence of her husband.  
ASterie, Why dost thou mourn  
For Gyges, shortly to return  
On wings of Vernal air,  
Rich in Sicilian War?  
More rich in faith. He by a blast  
After long storms, on Epire cast  
His Widowed nights, steeps there  
In many a watchful tear.  
Yet Chloes subtle messenger,  
Showing what sighs it pulls from her,  
Whilst in thy Flame she fries,  
A thousand ways him tries.  
She tells how the false Woman wrought  
On credulous Pretus, till she brought  
A cruel death upon  
Too chaste Bellerophon.  
Of Peleus near his fatal hour,  
Whilst he shuns love, that's armed with power:  
And (cunning) rakes from dust  
All precedents for lust.  
In vain: For deaf as Rocks to prayer,  
He's yet unmoved. But take thou care  
Enipeus at next door  
Do not thy love procure.  
Though none with better skill be seen  
To wield a Horse in Mars his green;  
Nor with more active limbs  
In tybur's Channel swims.  
Shut to thy gate before it darken,  
Nor to his whining Music hearken:  
And though he still complain  
thou'rt hard, still hard remain.   

ODE VIII. To MAECENAS.  
Argument.  
No reason that Maecenas should  
It for an admiration hold,  
He should Mars Calends celebrate,  
Although he live in single state.  
Martiis coelebs.  

HOw I a Batch'lour spend my hours  
On Mars his Calends, what mean flowers▪  
And Incense-bolls, and coals on green  
Turf-altars seen,   

Th'admir'st, O thou profoundly skilled  
In either tongue. I almost killed  
With falling tree, sweet Cates devote,  
And white He-goat.   

He yearly on this very day  
Will fling the Rosined Can away,  
To soak Wine, old as Tullus date  
Of consulate.   

Maecenas bouse the hundreth Cup  
To thy friend's health; Night-lamps set up  
Upon fair day; from hence retire  
All noise and ire.   

Let pass all civil cares for Rome,  
For Dacian Cottison's overcome:  
Now scythes with Bow unbended yield,  
And quit the Field.   

Heed not though Vulgars' toil sustain;  
Though private, public care refrain,  
And using what time present brings,  
eat serious things.    

ODE IX. By Sir. R. F. A Dialogue of Love and Jealousy, betwixt Horace and Lydia.  Hor. 
WHilst I possessed thy love, free from alarms,  
Nor any Youth more acceptable arms  
About thy Alabaster neck did fling,  
I lived more happy than the Persian King.  Lyd. 
Whilst thou adorest not more another face,  
Nor unto Chloe Lydia gave place;  
I Lydia, soaring on the wings of Fame,  
Eclipsed the Roman Ilia with my name.  Hor. 
Me, Thracian Chloe now, rules absolute,  
Skilled in sweet Lays, and peerless at her Lute:  
For whom to die I would not be afraid,  
If Fates would spare me the surviving Maid.  Lyd. 
Me, Calys, rich Ornitho's heir, doth scorch  
With a reciprocal and equal torch:  
For whom I would endure to die twice over,  
If Fates would spare me my surviving Lover.  Hor. 
What if old Venus should her Doves revoke;  
And kerb us (stubborn) to her Bra●en yoke:  
If bright-trest Chloe I would henceforth hate,  
And to excluded Lydia open the Gate?  Lyd. 
Though he be fairer than the Morningstar;  
Thou, lighter than a Cork, and madder far  
Than the vexed Ocean, when it threats the Sky,  
With thee I'd gladly live, I'd willing die.   

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by J. W. Esq.  Hor. 
Whilst I alone was dear to thee,  
And only chief in thy embrace,  
No Persian King lived life to me,  
Or half so blest or happy was.  Lyd. 
Till thy love roul'd, and did prefer  
Chloes' new face, 'fore Lydia,  
In fame, I (far surpassing her)  
Was greater than Rome's Ilia.  Hor. 
Chloes' the Saint I pray to now,  
Sweetly she sings, and plays o'th' Lute▪  
For whom, would Destiny allow,  
My life should be a substitute.  Lyd. 
The same's young Orthniu's heir)  
To me, for whom I should be glad  
If I might die, though twice it were,  
Would the same Fates but spare the Lad▪  Hor. 
But say! if as before I burn?  
Say I once more put on my chain?  
Chloe shaked off, and I return  
To my first Lydia again?  Lyd. 
Though he's more glorious than a Star,  
Thou then a Cork more fickle be,  
Or pettish than the Sea, I swear  
Once more to live and die with thee.   

ODE X. Against LYCE.  
Argument.  
Harsh Lice Advertised here  
She would hardheartedness forbear▪  
And some commiseration grant  
To him, her humble supplicant▪  
Extremum Tanaim.  
Lice hadst drunk of remote Tanais tide,  
Or to some Barbarous Scythian been a bride;  
Yet, me prostrate before thy doors, thou should  
Bewail t'expose to Northern cold.  
Hearest how the Gates crack? how the woods resound  
Amongst beauteous structures placed all around?  
And how the air conglaciates the snow,  
When all the Heavens serenely show?  
All pride ingrateful unto Lovers shun:  
Lest Fortune's wheel should retrogradely run.  
No Tyrrhene father hath begotten thee  
O● hard-to-wo Penelope.  
Although with thee nor Gifts, nor prayers avail,  
Nor Lovers violet tinctures mixed with pale,  
Nor thy Mate Love-struck with Pierian whore;  
O spare thy suppliants I implore:  
Thou more relentless than a rigid tree,  
And Maurian Serpents not so cruel be,  
My tender sides not always can sustain  
At thy hard doors down-syling rain.   

ODE XI. By Sir R. F. To MERCURY.  
That he would dictate to him a song, wherewith to bend Lyde. The Fable of Danaus' Daughters.  

O Mercury (for taught by ●ou  
Deaf stones by th'ears Amphion drew)  
And Shell, whose hollow Belly 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 seven strings.   

Once mute and graceless, now the tongue  
Of Feasts and Temples: lend me a song  
To third the maze of Lyde's prayer  
Resisting ear.   

Who like a three years' Colt doth fetch  
A hundred rings, and's hard to catch;  
Free from a husband, and not fit  
For backing yet.   

Thou mak'st stiff Forests march, retreat  
Prone rivers: Cerberus the great  
Porter of Hell to thee gave way,  
Stroked with a Lay▪   

Though with a hundred Snakes he curl  
His head, and from his nostrils hurl  
A filthy stream, which all bedrops  
His triple chaps.   

Ixion too with a forced smile  
Did grin. The tubs stood dry a while,  
Whilst with thy Music thou didst please  
The Belides.   

Tell Lyde that; that Virgin-slaughter,  
And famous torment, the vain water  
Cozening their Urns through thousand drains,  
And Posthume pains.   

For cruel Maids laid up in store,  
Cruel. For what could they do more,  
That could with unrelenting steel  
Their Lovers kill?   

One only worthy Hymen's flame,  
And worthy of immortal Fame,  
Her perjured father (pious child)  
Bravely beguiled:   

Who said to her young Husband; Wake,  
Lest an Eternal sleep thou take,  
Whence least thoo look'st: deceive my Sire,  
And Sisters dire:   

Who like so many Tiger's tear  
(Alas!) the prey: I (tenderer)  
Will neither slay, nor keep thee thus  
I'th' Slaughter-house.   

Me let my Savage father chain,  
Because my Husband is unflain,  
Or into farthest Africa  
Ship me away.   

By Land or Sea take thou thy flight,  
Covered with wings of Love and Night:  
Go, go, and write when thou art safe  
My Epitaph.    

ODE XII. To NEOBULE.  
Argument.  
They live in miserable thrall  
Whom no refreshments cheer at all:  
Stout Heber wounds with amorous dart  
His Sweetheart Neobule's heart.  
Miserarum est.  
THey're wretched, who in love ne'er recreate,  
Nor with sweet Wines their maladies abate,  
With fear of Uncle's sharp reproof dismayed.  
Thy basket, Neobule, Cupid takes,  
And Liparean Hebrus lustre makes  
Thee leave thy web, and painful Pallas trade.  
He than Bellephron can better ride  
At hand-fights, foot-course still victorious tried,  
When his oiled limbs are bathed in Tiber's flood:  
He cunning is to chase a roaming Hart,  
O'er Champains, and transfix him with his dart,  
And surprise Boar's skult in the bushy wood.   

ODE XIII. To the Fountain of Blandusia.  
Argument.  
He to Blandusia's Crystal Spring  
A Kid for Sacrifice will bring:  
And doth the sweet delights recount,  
Of that refriegerating Fount.  
O fons Blandusiae.  
BLandusian Spring, tralucenter than glass,  
Worthy wine-offerings, decked with flowery grass,  
I'll slay to thee to morn  
A Kid crowned with youthful horn,  
Choosing his mate, and conflicts, all in vain:  
For a lascivious Offspring shall distain,  
And file thy frigid flood  
With mixture of Purple blood.  
thou'rt free from Dog-stars servant influence.  
Thou dost thy sweet refreshing streams dispense  
To Bullocks tired out,  
And Herds roving all about.  
Even thou shalt be a far-renowned Spring,  
Whilst I of Rocks crowned with the Ilex sing:  
Whence the loud waters rush  
Down headlong with vi'lent gush.   

ODE XIV. By Sir T. H. To the Roman people.  
This Ode containeth the praises of Augustus returning out of Spain, after his Conquest over the Cantabrians.  

GReat Caesar who is said to go,  
Like Hercules against his foe,  
To purchase Bays by death, again  
Victorious is returned from Spain.   

The Wife that's with one husband pleased,  
Let her come forth, the Gods appeased.  
Octavia, Caesar's Sister, haste,  
And mothers with your daughters chaste.   

Attired in modest veil appear,  
And sons returned safe draw near:  
You Boys, and you now married train  
Of wives from evil words abstain.   

From me this new made Holiday  
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 Sportacus not seen.   

Let hither shrill Neaera high,  
And hair perfumed in tresses tie:  
But if the Porter make delay  
With churlish answer, haste away.   

White hoary hairs temper the mind,  
To brawls, and quarrels erst inclined:  
This in youth's heat I could not brook,  
When Plancus charge of Consul took.    

ODE XV. Against CHLORIS.  
Argument.  
That Chloris (now well stepped in Age)  
Should Lust and Wantonness assuage.  
Uxor pauperis.  
AT length, poor Ibicus wife,  
Affix a period to thy vicious life,  
And unto thy reproachful trade.  
And now that Death so near approach hath made,  
Amongst Maids leave playing, nor enshroud  
Those fulgent stars with thy obscuring cloud.  
Nor Chloris think that seemeth thee,  
Which gracefully becomes thy Pholoe.  
Thy daughter breaks open young men's doors  
Better, like Thyas raged when Timbrel roars:  
Renowned Luceria's Fleeces grace  
The more when old, than any Lyric lays,  
Or crowns with roses decked about,  
Or hogsheads to th' extremest dregs drunk out.   

ODE XVI. By Sir. R. F. To MAECENAS.  
That all things fly open to Gold: Yet HORACE is contented with his own condition, in which he lives happy.  
DAnae in Brazen Tower immured,  
From night-adulterers, doors barred,  
And of fierce dogs a constant ward  
Would have sufficiently secured,  
If jove and Venus had not fooled,  
The Gaoler of the cloistered Maid,  
(Though of his own shadow afraid)  
Turning his Godship into Gold.  
Gold loves to break through armed Guards,  
And Castles that are Thunder-proof,  
The Grecian Augur's sacred roof  
Was undermined by rewards.  
Gifts were the Macedons Petar,  
With which he blew up City-gates,  
Subverted Rival Kings and States,  
And laid aboard their Men of War.  
With growing riches cares augment,  
And thirst of greater. I did well  
To shrink my head into my shell,  
Maecenas Knighthood's ornament.  
The more a man t' himself denies,  
The more indulgent Heaven bestows.  
Let them that will side with the I's:  
I'm with the Party of the No's.  
A greater Lord of a small store,  
Then if the fruitful Crops of all  
Appulia I mine own did call:  
In midst of so much plenty poor.  
My little wood, and my pure stream,  
And corn that never fails; makes me  
A man more truly blest, than he  
That wears rich Africks' Diadem.  
Though neither Crossick Bees produce  
Honey to me, nor clothing fine  
Segovian flocks: nor Massick wine  
Mellow in barrels for my use:  
Yet 〈◊〉 Poverty's away.  
Nor, wished I more, wouldst thou deny't.  
Who, with contracted appetite  
May easier my tribute pay,  
Then if deputed Egypt's King.  
Large issues follow large supplies.  
He, to whom Heaven nothing denies,  
Owes an account of every thing▪   

ODE XVII. To AELIUS LAMIA.  
Argument.  
He Lamia's regal stem displays  
Forth in Encomiastic Lays:  
Wills him his Genius to cheer,  
Against the presaged storm appear.  
Aeli, vetusto.  
O Aelius, sprung from Lamus ancient name,  
From whose stem all precedent Lamia's came,  
And thy family and tribe,  
Which nothing Registers describe:  
Thou from his loins drawest thine original,  
Who reigned first within the Formian wall,  
And whose amply spread command  
Reached Liris, laving Maric's strand.  
An Eastern tempest shall with furious roar,  
Fling leaves in woods, and leaves upon the shore:  
If the aged Cow decry  
A true presaging augury.  
Lay, while thou canst, dry faggots on the fire:  
With luscious Wine to morrow feed desire,  
A Pig fat, and tender slay,  
And let thy Hinds keep Holiday.   

ODE XVIII. By Sir T. H. To FAUNUS;  
Who being an infernal pestilent Wood-god, he prayeth that passing thorough his Fields, he would be favourable to him and his.  

FAunus, who after Nymphs dost range,  
Through my precincts, and fruitful grange  
Pass gently, and propitious be  
To flocks, and me.   

A tender Kid the year shall end,  
Full Cups of Liquor (Venus friend)  
We'll pay; Fumes shall on Altars fly  
In odours high.   

Beasts, when December's Nones appear  
In grazy grounds make sportive cheer:  
The jocund Clown in Meads doth feast;  
The Ox doth rest.   

The Wolf amongst frearless Lambs doth stray,  
Woods strew thee leaves upon this day;  
The Ditcher joys with measured mirth  
To tread the Earth.    

ODE XIX. To TELEPHUS.  
Argument.  
At Telephus he scoffs, who whiles  
He Histories obsolete compiles,  
Of things which chiefly constitute  
An happy life is wholly mute.  
Quantum distat.  
THe space 'twixt Inachus his reign,  
And Codrus bravely for his Country slain,  
And Aeacus his Kin, and fights  
Fought under Sacred Ilium thou writes:  
But of a Choan hogsheads price,  
And who with fire cold water qualifies,  
In whose house, and what hour t' allay  
Pelignian cold, thou not one word dost say.  
Boy, quick bring Cups for Cynthia's rise,  
And for Midnight, bring th' Augurs Cup likewise,  
Murena's, and corrouze off Wine,  
No less than three healths, no more than nine.  
A Poet, who th' unequal Tribe.  
Of Muse's loves, let him nine Jugs imbibe.  
The Graces with naked Sisters joined,  
Let them, for fear of brawlings, be confined,  
And drink three Cups off, and no more;  
O, how I love to frolic it, and roar!  
Why sounds not still the Phrygian Flute?  
Why Pipes and Harps permitted to be mute?  
I parsimonious hands despise.  
Strew Roses, and let out wild frantic noise  
Arrive to envied Lycus ears,  
And neighbour Maid unfit for Lycus' years.  
Mature-grown Chloe courts thee now,  
Tel'phus graced with rank locks of comely show,  
And bright as radiant Vesper: ay,  
I wasting ardour for my Glyc'raes' fry.   

ODE XX. To PYRRHUS.  
Argument.  
How dangerous a thing 'twould prove  
T'abstract Nearchus from his love.  
Non vides quanto.  

Pyrrhus', how dangerous 'tis, confess,  
To take Whelps from a Lioness:  
Strait thou scared Ravisher will't run,  
When battle's done.   

When she through crowds of youthful men  
Shall to Nearchus turn again,  
Great question 'tis who bears away  
The greater prey.   

As thou preparest thy speedy piles,  
She whets her dreadful Tusks the while:  
He (th' Umpire) trampled down, they say,  
The Victors Bay.   

And wafted his sweet shiveled hair  
With gentle blasts: like Nireas fair,  
Or Ganymede snatched up from fountfull  
Ida's Monte    

ODE XXI. To His Wine-vessel.  
Argument.  
He speaks t'his Rundiet to effuse,  
For Corvine's sake, choice Massick juice:  
Thence takes occasion to define  
The praises and effects of Wine.  
O nata mecum.  
KInd vessel, coaetaneous with my date,  
Composed when Manlius bore the consulate,  
Whether thou invite to weep,  
Or jest, or brawl, or love or sleep,  
Where'r mark thy choice Massick liquors hide,  
Well-worthy broaching on some sacred Tide:  
Now Corvinus thee enjoins,  
Come down, and tap thy mellow Wines.  
He, though well studied in Socratic books,  
Contemns thee not with sour and rigid looks;  
And grave Cato as is famed,  
Was oft with Bacchus' gift inflamed.  
Thou sometimes sett'st upon a gentle rack  
Severe wits: Thou the wiser pates canst make  
With thy mirth creating juice,  
Even all their secrets thought; effuse.  
Thou dost the Forelorn with hope fortify,  
And mak'st the poor man lift his horns on high,  
Who drunk, nor the Sceptres fears  
Of Kings incensed, nor Soldier's spears.  
For Bacchus, (Venus if in merry cue)  
And graces loath to break the social Crew,  
And lamps lighted, shalt thou run,  
Till Stars decline the orient Sun.   

ODE XXII. Upon DIANA.  
Argument.  
He Diana's offices relates,  
To whom his Pine he dedicates.  
Montium custos.  
O Triple Queen of Woods and Hills,  
Who freest parturient wombs from ills  
At three Orisons, and dost ever  
Them safe deliver.  
Accept the Pine that shrouds my Farm,  
Which yearly I'll imbrue with warm  
Boar's blood, that sacrificed strike  
With tusks oblique.   

ODE XXIII. By Sir T. H. To PHIDILE.  
The Gods are to be honoured with pure hands, and the testimony of a well spent age.  
IF Rural Phidile, at the Moons arise,  
To Heaven thou lift thy hands in humble wise:  
If thou with Sacrifice thy Lar will't please,  
Or with new fruit and greedy swine appease,  
Thy fertile Vineyard shall not suffer blast  
From pestilent South, nor parching dew be cast  
Upon thy Corn, nor shall thy children dear,  
Feel sickly Fits in Autumn of the year.  
It is the long vowed victim, which is fed  
Amongst Holmes, and Okes on snowy Algids' head,  
Or which in fat Albanian pastures grew,  
That shall the Priests sharp axe with blood imbrue.  
To thee, who petty Gods dost magnify,  
With Myrtle branch, and sprig of Rosemary,  
It nothing appertains their feasts to keep  
With frequent slaughters of the fattest sheep.  
If thy hand, free from ill, the Altar touch,  
Thou shalt th' offended Gods appease as much  
With gift of sparkling Salt, and pious meal,  
As if thou vows with costly victim seal.   

ODE XXIV. by Sir R. F.  
He inveighs against covetous men, who continually join houses to houses, building in the very Sea itself: when in the mean time no buildings can free them from the necessity of dying. He saith the Scythians are happy, who draw their houses in wagons, and till the fields in common. Moreover, denies that corruption of manners, and licence of sinning to be amongst these, which is amongst the Romans. But for the rooting out of these evils, together with the depraved desire of increasing riches, affirms, there is need of a more rigid Discipline.  
THough richer than unpolled  
Arabian wealth, and Indian Gold,  
Thou with thy works shouldst drain  
The Tyrrbene and whole Pontic Main;  
Thou couldst not, when Death lays  
On Thee his Adamanti●e mace,  
Thy mind from terror free,  
Nor body from mortality.  
Wiser the Scythians,  
Whose houses run on wheels like Wanes;  
And frozen Geteses, whose Field  
U●●ounded doth free Ceres yield:  
Nor is't the custom there,  
To sow a land above a year;  
And when that Crop is born,  
The 〈◊〉 it each by turn.  
There women mingle not,  
For Son-in-Law's a poisoned pot;  
Nor govern: Or their Dou'●  
Presuming, 〈◊〉 adultrers' power.  
Their 〈◊〉 to be well bred:  
And Chastity, flying the Bed  
Of others, their own trust  
Persuading, and the price of Lust.  
Oh! he that would assuage,  
Our bloodshed and intestine rage,  
If he would 〈◊〉 have  
His Country's Father on his grave;  
Let him not fear t'oppose  
Unbridled licence to the nose:  
So shall he gain great praise  
In after times; since (wome days!)  
We envy living worth,  
But miss it when 'tis laid in earth.  
For what do our laws stand,  
If punishme●●●eed not 〈◊〉 land?  
What serves vain preaching for.  
Which cannot cure our lives? if nor  
Those lands which flames embrace;  
Nor where the neighbouring Boreas,  
Shuts up the Ports with cold,  
And snows fast nailed to the free hold,  
The Mariner repel?  
If crafty Merchants learn to quell  
The horridst Seas? the fear  
Of that crime Want making them bear,  
And do all things, and balk  
Severer virtues narrow walk▪  
Would Heaven we'd carry all  
Our wealth into the Capitol!  
Or in the next Sea duck  
Our jewels and pernicious muck,  
Fuel of all that's 〈◊〉!  
If we repent as we ought,  
Strike at the root of ills;  
And mould we our too pliant wills  
To rougher arts: the child  
Of noble lineage cannot wield  
A bounding horse of war,  
Nay fears to hunt, more skilled by far  
to stride off the Greek bowl,  
Or the forbidden D●ce to trowel,  
The whilst his perjured Father  
Deceives his partners trust, to gather  
For one that hath no wit.  
So ill got wealth grows fast, and yet  
Something still short doth come,  
To make it up an even sum.   

ODE XXV. Upon BACCHUS.  
Argument.  
The Lyric of God Bacchus craves,  
T' induct him to his Bowers, and Caves.  
Wherewith his influence replete,  
He may Augustus praise repeat.  
Quo me Bacche.  
WHere dragg'st me (Bacchus) with thy power  
replete, to what Grove, or obscure Bower  
Am I haled, with transformed mind!  
In what Reciuses is my Muse confined,  
While Caesar's endless honour I  
Advance to heaven, and rank with jove on high:  
I'll sing a glorious, and new verse,  
Such as no man did ere before rehearse.  
Just so lays Evias in a Muse  
Awaked on lofty Mountains, where he views  
Cold Heber's streams, and snowy Thrace,  
And Rhodope where barbarous people trace.  
O how do I a wandrer love,  
T' admire the crags and solitary groves!  
King of Flood-nymphus, and Bacchae's, who  
Can with your hands tall Ash-trees overthrow:  
No petty Theme in humble phrase,  
No mortal subject shall my Muse deblaze.  
Bacchus, sweet danger 'tis to chase.  
A God, whose crest green Vine-branch Crownets grace.   

ODE XXVI. To VENUS.  
Argument.  
The Poet now well struck in years,  
His Lyre, and amorous Themes forlears:  
And prays the Cyprian Queen to dart  
One love-shaf● at proud Chloes' heart.  
Vixi puellis.  
I Lately with young Virgins did comply,  
And was in Cupid's camp renowned high:  
Now my Engines (wa●s at end,)  
And Lute I'll on this wall i●spend,  
Bordering on Sea-born Venus'es' left hand  
Here, be●e let my enlightening Taper stand,  
With my levers and my bow,  
That borr'd-up doors can open throw,  
Thou who dost o'er blessed Cyprus Isle preside,  
And M●mphis where no Thracian snow can bide,  
O Queen, with ●ar fetched struck  
Once haughty Chloes' ire revoke.   

ODE XXVII. By Sir R. F. To Galatea going to Sea.  
He deters her principally by the example of Europa.  

LEt ill presages, guide the Ill,  
A screecning Owl, or from a hill  
A She-wolf mad upon the Flocks,  
Or pregnant Fox,   

And a Snake shaft-like shot athwart  
Their horse's way to make them start,  
Their journey stop. What place is here  
For provident fear?   

Before the tempest boding foul,  
Descend into the standing Pool,  
My prayer shall from the Orient steer  
The Kings Fisher.   

Be blest, wherever thou wouldst be,  
And Galatea think of me;  
No ominous Pie thy steps revoakes,  
No Raven croaks.   

Yet pale Orion sad descends;  
I know too well what it portends,  
When black I see the Adriatic,  
Or white the japick.   

Let our foes wives, and all they love  
The rising Kids blind anger prove,  
And the vexed Ocean when it roars,  
Lashing the shores.   

Europa so, trusting her soft  
Side to the 'ticing Bull, shrieked oft,  
The Rocks and Monsters to behold,  
Though she was bold.   

She that late picked sweet flowers in M●●es,  
And wore meet Ga●l 〈◊〉 Nymph's heads,  
In a clear night could nothing spy  
But Sea and Sky.   

In pepulous ●rete arrived soon after,  
O Sire, (quoth she) left by thy Daughter  
And 〈◊〉 my feeble breast  
By love oppressed,   

Whence whether rapt? One death's too small  
to expiate a Virgin's fall.  
Do I (awake) true crimes lament,  
Or (innocent)   

Doth some false Dream put me in pain?  
Was't better through the horrid Main  
To rove far off: or with my Father  
Fresh Flowers to gather?   

Had I that naughty Bull now here,  
How with my nails I could him tear,  
And break the horns about that pate  
So loved of late!   

Shameless I left my Sires abodes:  
Shameless I pause on death; ye Gods,  
(If any hear) show me the way  
Where Lions stray.   

Ere my fair skin grow tanned and loose,  
And of the tender prey the juice  
Run out; whilst I am plump I would  
Be Tiger's food.   

Die hase Europa (whispers me  
My Sire) behold you beckoning tree!  
The Zone from thy chaste waste unknit  
To thy neck fit.   

Or if sharp Rocks delight for speed,  
This hanging cliff will do the deed:  
Unless (being come of Royal kin)  
thou'dst rather spin,   

And be a barbarous Mistress thrall,  
Her husband's trull. Venus' heard all,  
And Cupid falsely laughing now  
Wi● tunbent bow;   

At length she said, This rage forbear;  
That naughty Bull thou shalt have here:  
Prepare thyself against he returns  
To break his horns.   

jove is thy Bull. These Fountains dry;  
Learn to use greatness moderately:  
Thy Thirds o'th' World shall called be  
Europe from thee.    

ODE XXVIII. By Sir T. H. To LYDE.  
He persuadeth Lyde to spend the Day dedicated to Neptune, pleasantly.  
ON Neptune's feasts what else do we?  
Strait (Lyde) broach, and bring to me  
Caecubian Wines laid up in store,  
And let strong wisdom sway no more.  
Thou seest 'tis Mid-time of the day,  
And yet, as if swift hours did stay,  
A But thou sparest, was Cellar-stalled,  
When Bibu●us was Consul called.  
With mutual songs we'll Neptune please,  
〈◊〉 ●he green-haired Nereids.  
On crooked Lyre sing thou with art,  
L●tona, and swift Cynthia's dart:  
Whilst our last strain her praise unfolds,  
Who Cnidos, and bright Cyclads holds:  
And Paphos with paired Swans doth view;  
The night shall likewise have his due.   

ODE XXIX. By Sir. R. F. To MAECENAS.  
He invites him to a merry Supper, laying aside public● cares.  
Offspring of Tyrrhene Kings; I have,  
Waiting thy leisure in my Cave,  
Of mellow Wine an unbroacht But,  
With Spicknard and Rose buds, to put  
Upon thy hair. Break off delay:  
Do not moist Tybur still survey,  
And Aesulaes' declining hill,  
And his that did his Father kill.  
Leave fulsome plenty, and thy proud  
Palace whose head is in a cloud:  
Respite the love of smoke, and noise,  
And all that wealthy Rome enjoys.  
Rich men are mostly pleased with change,  
And cleanly meals in a poor grange,  
Without their Tapestries, unplough  
The furrows of a careful Brow.  
Andromed now peeps with his star,  
Now protion shows the Dog not far,  
He barks, and Phoebus kindling Rays  
Hast to bring back the sultry days.  
The Shepherd now with his faint Flock  
Looks, panting, for a gushing Rock,  
The horrors of a gloomy wood;  
And no air stirs to crisp the flood.  
Thou mindest affairs of State, and  
With fears for Rome) busiest thy thought fraught  
What Scythians, what the B●ctrians think,  
And those that distant Tanais drink.  
Wise God hath wrapped in a thick cloud  
What is to come: and laughs aloud  
When Mortals fear more than their share.  
Th●ngs present manage with due care:  
The rest are carried like a stream,  
Which now runs calm as any dream  
●●to the Tyrrhene sea▪ anon  
(Beyond all limits overflown)  
Sweeps with 〈◊〉 herds, and flocks,  
And trees entire, are broken rocks,  
Making the woo●● and mountains roar.  
That man has 〈…〉  
For a hard 〈◊〉, that can say  
Into his Soul, 〈◊〉 to day.  
To morrow 〈…〉 or rain,  
Yet cannot or 〈…〉 vain,  
 
●That which wa● yesterday nioyed.  
Fortune that knows the 〈◊〉 part,  
To use her 〈◊〉 with proud art,  
Her fickle 〈◊〉, now bestows  
〈◊〉, now on another throws.  
If she stay, 〈◊〉 if she will pack,  
● gave her all her presents back,  
(Like Wooer's when a match is broke)  
〈◊〉 wrapping me in my old cloak,  
My virtue, marry the next hour  
〈◊〉 Poverty with out a Dower.  
When North winds bellow, 'tis not I  
〈◊〉 scared to wretched prayers, and cry  
Let not my Spice, my Silks increase  
The riches of the greedy seas.  
When men may be in Oars convaid  
Through Pontic storms, than I will trade.   

ODE XXX. By Sir R. F.  
By writing Lyrics, he saith, He hath provided better for the Immortality of his Name, then if he bade procured Brazen Statues, and Pyramids to be e●ected to him. And intimates that his chief praise would be. That he was the first of the Latins, who in this kind of Verse imitated the Greeks.  
A Work outlasting Brass, and higher  
Than Regal Pyramids proud Spire,  
I have absolved. Which storming winds,  
The Sea that turrets undermines,  
Tract of innumerable days,  
Nor the rout of time can raze.  
Totally I shall not die,  
And much of me the Grave shall fly.  
Posterity my name shall boast,  
When Rome herself in Rome is lost.  
Where like a King loud Aufid reigns,  
Where Daunus (poor in stream) complains  
To neighbouring Clowns: I shall be said  
The man, that from an humble head  
T'a Torrent fwoln did first inspire  
A Roman Soul in Grecian Lyre.  
I labour with deserved praise;  
Crown, crown me (willing Muse) with Bayss.  
The End of the Third Book.    

ODES. BOOK IU.  

ODE I. To VENUS.  
Argument.  
Arrived to Fifty nox, he should  
His Pen from amorous Themes withhold:  
Yet night and day doth Ligurine  
his heart to fervent love incline.  
Intermissa Venu:  
THou Venus dost commence again  
Thy long suspended wars. O pray refrain:  
I am not as I want to be,  
While gracious Cynera ruled over me.  
Dire mother of sweet loves forbear  
Me, now obdured and at my Fiftieth year,  
T'incline to thy soft 〈…〉  
Where fair-tenged young men's flattries court the to  
In Paulus M●ximus 〈◊〉,  
Thou drawn with 〈◊〉 more fitly shalt corrouze,  
And want on it: if thou desire  
T'inflame thy flagrant Liver with love's Fire,  
He, noble, and of Comely, race,  
And a good pleader in his Client's case,  
And for an hundred arts renowned,  
Shall spread thine Ensigns through the ample round▪  
And when he laughs, more prevalent  
Than those large gifts his Rival did present,  
He under Cypress-roof shall make  
Thee alli of Marble nigh the Alban lake.  
There copious store of Frankincense  
Shalt thou snuff up, to recreate thy sense,  
And live, with Phrygian pipe, and fl●te,  
All shall thine ears promiscuously salute.  
There Youths and tender Virgina, they  
Thy sacred power advancing, twice a day,  
Shall with their candid feet rebound,  
Like Priest's of Bacchus three times from the ground,  
No woman, nor young youth love I,  
Nor am I prone to vain credulity,  
Nor in carro●z●●g to c●●test,  
Nor with f●●sh Flowers my temples to invest▪  
But why, 〈◊〉 Lygurinus, why  
Glide 〈◊〉 tears thus slowly from my eye?  
Why in the midst of language trips  
My eloquent tongue with unseemly slips?  
ay, when surprised with gentle sleep,  
Do thee (methinks) in my embracements ●e●p:  
Now o'er wood and Mars his plain,  
O hard of heart/ thee prosecute amain.   

ODE II. By Sir R. F. To Antonius Julus, the son of Mark Anthony, the Triumur.  
That it is dangerous to imitate the ancient Poets.  
WHo thinks to equal Piudar, tries  
With waxen wings to reach the Skies,  
Like him that (falling) a name gave  
TO his watery grave.  
As a proud stream that swollen with rain,  
Comes pouring down the hills amain,  
So Pindar flows, and fears no drought,  
Such his deep mouth:  
Worthy the Bays, whither he pour  
From unexhausted Springs a shower  
Of lawless Dytherambs, and thunders  
In bolder numbers:  
Or sings of Gods, and Heroes (seed  
Of Gods) whose just swords did outweed  
The Centaurs, and Chimaera stout  
Her flames put out:  
Or mourns some youth, from his sad spouse  
Unkindly torn, whose strength and prowess  
And golden mind he lists to th' sky,  
And lets not die.  
This Theban Swan, when he will sing  
Among the clouds, raises his wing  
On a stiff gale. I like the Bee  
Of Calabrie,  
Which (toiling) sucks beloved Flowers  
About the Thymie Groves, and Skowrs  
Of Fount-well Tiber, frame a terse  
But humble verse.  
Thou Anthony in higher strains  
Chant Caesar, when he leads in chains  
Fierce Germans, his victorious brows  
Crowned with Bay-boughs▪  
Then whom a greater thing, or good,  
Heaven hath not lent the earth, nor should  
Though it refined the age to th'old  
Saturnian gold.  
Thou shalt sing to the public plays  
For his return, and Holidays  
For our prayers heard, and wrangling pleas  
Bound to the peace.  
Then I (if I may then be heard)  
Happy in my restored Lord,  
Will join i'th' close, and o! (I'll say)  
O Sunshine day!  
And (thou proceeding) we'll all sing,  
Io Triumph! And again  
Io Triumph! At each turning  
Incense burning.  
A Hecatombs required of thee,  
And weaned Calf excuses me,  
In high grass fat and frisking now,  
To pay my vow.  
Resembled in whose shining horns,  
The increasing Moon his brow adorns;  
Save a white feather in his head  
All sorrel red.   

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by A. C.  

1.  
PIndar is imitable by none;  
The Phoenix, Pindar, is a vast species alone;  
Who ere but Dedalus with Waxen wings could fly,  
And neither sink too low, nor soar too high?  
What could he who followed claim,  
But of vain boldness the unhappy fame,  
And by his fall a Sea to name?  
Pindars unnavigable song,  
Like a swollen Flood from some steep mountains pours along▪  
The Ocean meets with such a voice  
From his enlarged mouth, as drowns the Ocean's noise.   

2.  
So Pindar does new words and figures roll  
Down his impetuous Dithyrambique tide,  
Which in no Channel deign'st ' abide,  
Which neither banks nor dikes control,  
Whither th' immortal Gods he sings  
In a no less immortal strain,  
Or the great acts of God-descended Kings,  
Who in his numbers still survive and reign  
Each rich Embroidered line,  
By his Sacred hand is bound;  
Which their triumphant brows around,  
Does all their Starrie-Diadems outshine.   

3.  
Whither at Pisa's race he please  
To carve in Polished verse, the Conqueror's 〈◊〉▪  
Whither the swift, the skilful, or the strong,  
Be crowned in his nimble artful vigorous song,  
Whither some brave young man's untimely Fate,  
In words worth dying for, he celebrate  
Such mournful, and such pleasing words,  
As joy to his Mothers, and his Mistress grief assords.  
He bids him live, and grow in fame,  
Among the Stars he sticks his name;  
The Grave can but the dross of him devour,  
So small is Deaths, so great the Poet's power.   

4.  
Lo, how the Obsequious wind and swelling air,  
The Theban Swan does upwards bear  
Into the welks of Clouds; where he does play,  
And with extended wings opens his liquid way:  
Whilst, alas, my timorous Muse,  
Unambitious tracts pursues,  
Does with weak unballast wings,  
About the massy brooks and springs,  
About the trees new blossomed heads,  
About the Gardens painted beds,  
About the Fields and flowery Meads,  
And all inferior beauteous things,  
Like the laborious Bee,  
For little drops of honey flee;  
And there with humble sweets, contents her industry.    

ODE III. By Sir. R. F. To MELPOMENE.  
That be is born to Poetry, and by the benefit thereof, hath obtained immortality and glory.  
WHom thou Melpomene  
Hast smiled on in his infancy,  
Him neither Isthmian game  
Shall ever for a wrestler fame;  
Nor stout Olympic steeds  
Victorious draw; nor Martial deeds  
Show to the Capitol  
A Lawrel-crowned General  
For faming Kings: but floods  
Which wash rich Tybur, and green woods  
Their bushy locks grown long,  
Make big with an Aeolian song.  
Queen Rome hath noted me  
Of her own sacred Choir to be,  
Where sweet-tongued Poets sing;  
And now I fear not envies sting.  
O Muse! whose sugard words  
Are married to the golden Chords:  
Who, if thou touch their tongues,  
Giv'st to mute Fishes Swanlike songs:  
'tis (all) thy Boon, that I  
Am pointed at as I pass by  
Rome's Lyric: thine it is,  
I live, and please, if I do this.   

ODE IV. By Sir. R. F.  
He celebrates the Victories of Drusus Nero (who was Son-in-law to Augustus Caesar) over the Rhaetiars and Vindelicians: Also commemorates certain valiant deeds of Claudius Nero.  
AS th' Armour-bearer of great jove  
(Made King of all that soars above,  
For stealing him from Troy  
The 
* Ganymed.  yellow-tressed Boy)  
Youth whilom and his Native courage  
Drew from his nest ere he could forage:  
And now soft Winds, being fair,  
Teach him to from i'th' air  
Unwonted steps: Anon more bold  
With hostile force assaults a fold;  
Resisting Snakes anon  
For fight and prey sets on:  
Or such as kids a Lion view  
From tawny mother weaned new,  
Ready in pastures sweet  
To handsel his first teeth:  
Such Rhaetians did behold and fly  
Drusus beneath the Alps, who why  
They carry at their backs  
An Amazonian Axe,  
I lift not to determine here:  
Perhaps nor can. But this is clear  
Their long Victorious bands  
Subdued by a Boy's hands,  
Felt what a mind right gor, and truebred  
under lucky roofs could do,  
What Caesar's fatherly  
Care of the Claudii.  
A valiant man gets men of spirit;  
Even beasts their father's minds inherit;  
Nor doth the bird of jove  
Get a degenerous Dove.  
But learning inward strength thrusts forth,  
And Princely breeding confirms worth:  
Still where good precepts want,  
Good Plants turn recreant.  
What unto Nero's, Rome thou ow'st,  
Speak Alps, and Hasdrubals red Ghost,  
And that bright day to thee  
The black Clouds made to flee:  
The first, since the dire African  
Through the Italian Cities ran  
Like fire through Piny woods,  
Or storms on Tuscan Floods.  
Thenceforth thy youth with prosperous pains  
Still grew; and thy religious fanes,  
Sacked by the Punic sword,  
Had their chased Gods restored;  
And perjured Hannibal ' 'gan say  
At length; Porr sheep (of wolves the prey)  
We worry, whom to fly  
Were a great victory.  
The Nation that through flames of Troy,  
And Tyrrhene billows did convoy  
Their Gods, and Babes, and hoar  
Sires, to th' Ausonian shore,  
Like a dark Oak on the rich top  
Of Algidum, which Hatchets lop,  
Grows by it loss, and taketh  
Strength from the very axe.  
Not mangled Hydra more increased  
Under Alcides, nor that beast  
jason, or he subdued  
Of Thebes, more lives renewed.  
Plunge them ith'sea; they swim fresh out:  
Foil them, with double force they'll rout  
The Conqueror: and sight  
As in a Mistress fight.  
Now shall I send no more proud Posts  
To joyful Carthage. Lost, O! losts  
Now Asdrubal is slain,  
The glory of our name.  
What is't but N●ros can effect?  
Whom Heavens with prosperous stars protect,  
And their own prudent care  
Clews through the Maze of War.   

ODE V. By Sir R. F. To AUGUSTUS.  
That he would at length return to the City. Describes the peace and happiness which Italy enjoyed under his Government.  
Heaven's choicest gift, Rome's greatest stay,  
Now thou art too too long away:  
The holy Senate urge thy word  
For soon return, return. Afford,  
Like day, thy presence; like the Spring  
Give a new life to every thing:  
The first, good Prince, our night will chase,  
The second will prolong our days.  
As a fond mother for her son,  
Whom, having over seas been gone  
Above a year, the envious wind  
Keeps back from her embraces kind;  
And now she eyes the Vane, and prays,  
And from the crooked shore doth gaze:  
So, with a loyal passion struck,  
The People for their Caesar look.  
For now the Oxen walk in peace:  
Corn, and white innocence increase:  
The cleared Main the Seamen sail:  
Faith promises, and dares not fail.  
The married Bed unsoiled remains,  
Custom and law preventing stains:  
Babes, like the father, praise the Mother:  
Punishment is Sins Twin-brother.  
Who fears cold Scythians? who the Medes?  
Fierce sons of Germany, who dreads?  
Whilst Caesar doth in safety reign,  
Who is afraid of Wars with Spain?  
Each man his proper Field doth till,  
And hides the Sun behind his hill:  
Returning then to sup with Glee,  
His second course is praising thee.  
For thee he prays, to thee propines,  
Thee with his household gods he joins,  
As, for like reason, thankful Greece  
Did Castor and great Hercules.  
Long last these golden Holidays!  
Thus Italy for thy life prays:  
Sprinkled at night, not changed at morn,  
When to dry labour they return.   

ODE VI To Apollo and Diana.  
Argument.  
He doth in Saecularian verse  
Phoebus, and Diana's praise rehearse.  
Dive quem.  
GOd, whose revenge for boasts, the crew  
From Niobe sprung, and Tytius knew,  
And great Achilles, who did Troy  
Almost destroy.  
The greatest soldier's not like thee,  
Though Sea-bred Thetis son he be,  
Who did with dreadful Javelin make  
Troy's turrets shake.  
No Pine with keen edg'd-axe hewn down,  
Nor Cypress with East-blasts overthrown,  
So amply fell, his Carcase found  
On Trojan ground.  
He ne'er (as sculkt in horse compiled  
For Pallas sacrifice) beguiled  
Illid ling Troy, and Priam's Court,  
With dancing sport.  
But publicly in flames had flung  
(O dire?) each Grecian infant young,  
Yea formless Embroyes not yet come  
From Mother's womb;  
Had not thy own, and Venus' prayer  
Prevailed with father jove, to rear  
Walls f●r Aeneas toils, of state,  
And better fate.  
O Phoebus shrill Thalias theme,  
Who lav'dst thy looks in Xanthus' stream,  
Protect the honoured Daunian Muse,  
Smooth Agyeus.  
'Twas Phoebus gave thee wit, and art,  
And name of Poet did impart.  
Ye noblest Maids, and youths of high-  
Born ancestry;  
Ye guarded in Diana's bounds,  
Whose bow swift Stags, and Lynxes wounds,  
My Lesbian measures patron stand,  
And guide my hand:  
Chanting (as of old) Diana's Sun,  
And the still light-augmenting Moon,  
Fructiferous, making Months to high  
On speedily.  
Now wed, thou'lt say: I, who each Verse  
Of Horace knew, did Lays rehearse  
TO th' Gods, when every age in use  
Did feasts reduce.   

ODE VII. By Sir R. F. To L. Manlius Torquatus.  
Proposing the arrival of the Spring, and the equal necessity to all men of dying, without hopes of living again, and proposing likewise the change and vicissitude of all things, he invites to lead a merry and pleasant life.  
THe snows are thawed, now grass new clothes the earth,  
And trees new hair thrust forth.  
The season's changed, and brooks late swollen with rain,  
Their proper banks contain.  
Nymphs with the Graces linked dare dance around  
Naked upon the ground.  
That thou must die, the year and hours say  
Which draw the winged day.  
First Spring, than Summer, that away doth chase,  
And must itself give place  
To Apple-bearing Antumn, and that past,  
Dull Winter comes at last.  
But the decays of time, Time doth repair:  
When we once plunged are  
Where good Aeneas, with rich Ancus wades,  
Ashes we are, and shades.  
Who knows if jove unto thy life's past score  
Will add one morning more?  
When thou art dead, and Rhadamanthus ●ust  
Sentence hath spoke thee dust,  
Thy blood, nor eloquence can ransom thee,  
No nor thy piety.  
For chaste Hippolytus in Stygian night  
Diana cannot light:  
Nor Theseus break with all his virtuous pains,  
His dear Pirithous chains.   

A Paraphrase on the same Ode.  
THe snow is gone, the grass returns  
To Fields, the Perucks to the trees,  
Earth plays with her varieties.  
Each River in Consumption mourns,  
And humbly glides beneath her bourns,  
Contained within her banks degrees.  
The naked Graces lead the dance,  
With whom the Nymphs in measures more,  
The sliding years our hopes reprove;  
Which to Eternity advance,  
And the swift hours their speed enhance,  
The day by snatches to remove.  
Soft Western gales allay the cold,  
On the Sprlngs' heels the Summer treads,  
Itself then to destruction leads.  
Where Autumn does her fruits unfold,  
Strait comes the Winter stiff and cold,  
And life with lazy humour deads'.  
Yet Moons may wane, and soon increase,  
But when once we thither go,  
Where wealthy men and worthy too,  
Must all lay down their heads at last,  
When their needless toils are past,  
To dust and ghost we vanish all;  
Who knows that those great powers on high,  
The present sum of these our days,  
Which by to morrows reckoning raise?  
Our heirs as well as we must die,  
And from our clutched hands all will fly,  
Which our kind will to them conveys.  
That once among the dead thou be,  
And the just Judge do sentence give,  
In glorious state on all that live:  
Thee no extraction thence shall free,  
No eloquence, no piety,  
Thy life recover, or reprieve.  
No Father can, though much he mourn,  
From the dark vale of shade beneath,  
Restore his guiltless Babe to breath;  
Nor friend can make his friend return,  
When once imprisoned in his Urn,  
From cold forgetfulness and death.   

ODE VIII. By Sir R. F. To Martius Censorinus.  
That there is nothing which can make men more immortal, than the verses of Poets.  
MY friends, I would accommodate  
With goblets, Grecian tripods, Plate  
Of Corinth- Brass: and, Censorine,  
The worst of these should not be thine:  
That is to say, if I were rich  
In those same antique pieces, which  
Parrhasius and Scopas fame;  
He skilled to paint, in stone to frame  
This, now a God, a Mortal now.  
But I have not the means; nor thou  
A mind, or purse, that wants such knacks.  
Verse thou dost love. Thou shalt not lack  
For Verse. And hear me what 'tis worth,  
Not inscribed Marbles planted forth  
To public view, which give new breath  
To great and good men after death:  
Not the swift flight of Hannihal,  
And his threats turned to his own wall:  
Not perjured Carthage wrapped in flame,  
By which young Scipio brought a name  
From conquered afric: speaks his praise  
So loud as the Pierian Lays.  
Nar, were Books silenced couldst thou gain  
The Guerdon of thy virtuous pain?  
What had become of Ilia's child  
She bore to Mars, had darkness veiled  
The merits of our Romulus?  
From Stygian waters Aeacus,  
Virtue and favouring verse assoils,  
And consecrates to the blessed Isles:  
A man that hath deserved t' have praise,  
The Muse embalms; She keeps Heavens Keys,  
Thus Hercules (his labours passed)  
With jupiter takes wished repast:  
The sons of Leda stars are made,  
And give the sinking Seaman aid;  
Good Bacchus, crowned with Vine-leaves,  
His drooping Voraries relieves.   

ODE IX. By Sir R. F. To LOLLIO.  
That his writings shall never perish: Virtue without the help of Verses is buried in oblivion. That he will sing Lollio's praises, whose virtue he now also celebrates.  
Lest thou shouldst think the words which I  
(By sounding Aufid born) compile  
To marry with the Lute b'a skill  
Never before revealed, shall die:  
Though Homer lead the Van, the Muse  
Of Pindar, nor Alcaeus heights,  
Grave Stesichore, nor Caean sighs,  
Are silenced, or worn out of use.  
Nor what of old Anacreon played,  
Hath time defaced: Love lights his fire▪  
And with his Quiver wears the Lyre  
Of the yet fresh Aeolian Maid.  
Helen was not the only she  
A curled gallant did inflame,  
The splendour of his Royal train,  
And Gold and Pearls embroidery.  
Nor Teuc●r first that drew a strong  
Cydonian Bow. Trojans had fought  
Before: nor that age only wrought  
Deeds worthy of the Muse's song.  
Nor valiant H●ctor, and the brave  
Deiphob, were the only men  
Received deep wounds upon them then,  
Their children and chafed wives to save.  
Men slashed ere Diomedes was made:  
But all are in oblivion drowned,  
And put unmourned into the ground,  
For lack of Sacred Poet's aid.  
Virtue that's buried, and dead Sloth,  
Differ not much. Un-understood  
Thou shalt not die; nor so much good  
As thou host acted feed the Moth.  
Lollio thou art a man hast skill  
To fathom things: that being tried  
In either Fortune, couldst abide  
In both upright, and Lollio still.  
Of covetous fraud a scourge severe:  
On whom the all-attracting Gold  
Could with its Tenters ne'er take hold:  
Nor Consul of one year. When ere  
Avertuous Magistrate, and true,  
Shall call good, gain, bid Bribes avaunt;  
Upon Opposers bellies plant  
His conquering Flags; Lollio, that's you.  
He is not happy that hath much:  
But who so can his mind dispose  
To use aright what Heaven bestows,  
He justly is accounted such:  
If he know how hard want to bear:  
And fear a crime, more than his end;  
If for his Country, or his Friend  
To stake his life he doth not fear.  
And strained amongst herbs my palate to delude?  
Or some damned dose Canidia brewed?  
When jasons' love Medea's heart had caught,  
He chief, and fairest Argonaut;  
Who bulls combined never yoked before,  
With Garlic she besmeared him o'er.  
With this that harlot Glauca she bespread,  
And on the wings of Dragons fled.  
An influence so rageful never rend  
Apulia's droughty continent,  
Nor gore-steept garment ere more servant fried  
On powerful Hercules his side.  
But if thou 'gain provide me such a dish,  
Maecenas merry friend, I wish  
Thy sweetheart nicely may thy kisses fly,  
And on the utmost Bed-stock lie.   

EPODE IV. By Sir T. H. To Volteius Mena, Pompey's freedman.  
THat disaccord between us two I find,  
Which Nature's law hath lambs and wolves disjoined.  
(O thou, whose sides with Spanish whips are torn,  
And galled legs with stubborn fetters worn.)  
Though, proud of wealth, thou walk with pompous pace,  
Fortune correcteth not ignoble race.  
Seest not when to the Capitol through the Town,  
Thou stalk'st along clad in thy Six-ell Gown,  
How Indignation limitless, and free  
Of passers to and fro reflects on thee?  
He, who was erst with Triumvirs smart blows,  
Lashed till the loathing Beadle weary grows;  
A thousand ploughed Falernian Acres brags,  
And treads the Appian way with well pac'd-nags,  
And on chief Benches sitteth (in despite  
Of Otho's law) a most accomplished Knight!  
What needs great Caesar, then to go about  
So many goodly ships to furnish out  
Against wretched Pirates, and the slavish hand,  
This, this man dignifyed with prime command!   

EPODE V. By Sir T. H.  
A noble youth, whom Canidia, and other Witches had stolen, and set in the earth up to the chin, purposing to famish him, that they might by Art Magic make a Love-drink of his Liver and Marrow.  
O God, who e'er in Heaven dost guide  
The earth, and men which here abide,  
What means this noise, and why on me,  
Do you all look so ruefully?  
Ah, for thy children's sake forbear,  
If at such Births Lucina were.  
By this vain Purple robe, I pray,  
By jove, who will not like your way,  
Why frown you on me, Stepdame like,  
Or beast, whom eager Hunters strike?  
While here the trembling Lad doth stay,  
Made to dispoil from rich array  
H●s tender body (which might force  
The cruel Thracian to remorse:)  
Canidia, whose unkembed head  
Was with short Vipers filleted,  
Commands from Graves wild Figtree torn:  
And Cypress, which doth Becres adorn:  
Eggs steeped in Blood of Toads, to bring,  
With feathers from the Screech-owls wing;  
Herbs of Iolco's baneful field,  
And poisons, Thessaly doth yield;  
Bones snatched from jaws of hungry Bitch,  
To burn with flames of Colchique witch.  
Quick Sagan, who doth waters fling,  
Fetched from Avernus' loathsome Spring,  
Bristles her hair, as moody Boar,  
Or the Sea-urchin near the shore.  
While Veia free from all remorse  
Of horrid deeds, the ground began force  
With stubborn spade; and hard she sweat  
That in it, the whelmed stripling set,  
Might twice or thrice a day be plied  
With view of viands, till he died:  
In which, up to the chin he stood,  
As they who wade within the flood.  
That his drained Marrow, Liver dry,  
Her with a Love-drink might supply;  
When once his fainting eyes were spied  
To sink at sight of food, denied.  
Nay easeful Naples did believe,  
And the neat Towns for receive  
That Folia of Ariminum  
Lustful (man like) did thither come:  
Whose spells have power from Orbs of light,  
The charmed Moon, and Stars to fright.  
Canidia here for spleen prepared,  
With black teeth gnawing nails unpared,  
What muttered she? what not? O ye  
You conscious Arbiters with me,  
Night, and Diana Queen of Rest,  
Now we perform our dark behest  
Be present here: your anger throw,  
And powerful Godhead on my foe.  
While fearful beasts close covert keep▪  
Charmed with the ease of gentle sleep.  
Let the Suburran dogs report,  
That all may jeer it, the resort  
Of the old wanton, sleek with Nard;  
Better my hands have ne'er prepared.  
How, how! why do Medaea's charms  
And deadly drugs cause greater harms,  
Wherewlth she took revenge at full  
On Creon's daughter, that proud Trul,  
When a Gown dipped in poyson'us Bane,  
Turned the gift and Bride to flame?  
But plant nor root in craggs concealed  
Rests from my notice, unrevealed:  
Yet Varus, not with love in ure,  
In beds perfumed, sleeps secure:  
But, ah, he walks, freed by the spells  
Of some, whose knowledge more excels.  
O Varus, by strange drugs, to me  
(Damned to endure much misery)  
Thou shalt return; nor thy sick mind  
From Marsian charms shall comfort find.  
A stronger Cup I will devise  
Filled for thee, who dost me despise.  
Heaven shall below the Sea descend,  
And o'er the Sea the Earth distend;  
If thou like pitch in dusky fire  
Consumest not with my desire.  
The Boy sought them to soothe no more  
With gentle words, as heretofore,  
But doubtful what he first should speak,  
Thus direfully doth silence break;  
Let charms and spells do what they can,  
They cannot change the Fate of man.  
I'll haunt you still: For settled hate  
No sacrifice doth expiate.  
When forced by you my soul is fled,  
I'll come a Fury to your bed,  
And a sad Ghost your faces tear  
(Such power on earth have Spirits here:)  
And as the Nightmare, on your chest,  
I'll vex, and scare you from your rest.  
The thronging people in the street,  
Base Hags, shall stone you, when ye meet:  
Your limbs untombed the Wolves shall tear,  
And Vulture's to Esquiliae bear:  
Nor (ah) my parents after me  
Shall fail this spectacle to see.   

EPODE VI Against Cassius Severus, a revileful and wanton Poet.  
Argument.  
The surly and crabbed qualities  
Of Poet Cassius, he descries.  
Quid immerentes.  
WHy (currish Dog) dost harmless guests assail,  
But not against Wolves dar'st wag thy tail?  
Why, if thou dar'st, with menaces so vain  
Assault'st not me, who'll turn again?  
For like Colossian masty, or red-flect  
Laconian dogs, which herds protect,  
Through profound snows with flat-cowched ear I'll chase  
Whatever obvious game I face.  
When the woods echo with thy dismal cries,  
Thou snook'st at morsels 'fore thine eyes.  
Beware, beware: for I'll sharp horns prepare,  
To push those that revileful are;  
Like him whom cursed Lycambe slighted so,  
Or Bupalus his tart-mouthed foe.  
What? if calumniated once, should I  
Put 't up and childlike pule and cry?   

EPODE VII. By Sir R. F. To the People of Rome.  
An Execration of the second Civil War waged after the death of Julius, by Brutus and Cassius on the one side; on the other by Octavius, M. Anthony, and Lepidus.  
WHy, why your sheathed swords drawn again?  
Whether rush ye, impious brood?  
Have not the earth yet and the main,  
Drunk enough of Latin blood?  
Not that proud Carthage burned might be,  
Rival of the Roman State:  
Nor the chaste Mistress of the Sea  
Britain, on our Triumphs wait;  
But that the thing the Parthians crave,  
Rome, may make herself away.  
Lions and Wolves this temperance have,  
On their Kind they will not pray.  
Is't a blind rage, or force more strong,  
Or Crime drives you? Speak. They look  
As pale as Death, and hold their tongue,  
As their Souls were Planet-strook.  
'Tis so: dire Fates the Romans haunt,  
And a Fratricidal guilt:  
Since blood of Remus innocent,  
On the cursed ground was spilt.   

EPODE VIII. To a Lustful old Woman▪  
Argument.  
The fulsome shape, and vicious life,  
Of a lascivious aged wife.  
Rogare Longo.  
THou to demand of rot-consumed date,  
What should my strength emasculate?  
When all thy teeth black-furred with Canker show,  
And Old-age wrinkle ploughs thy brow,  
And filthy arse 'twixt buttocks wither-dryed,  
Like some raw-boned Cows gapes so wide.  
But thy down-swagging breasts extub'rant teats,  
Like Mare's dugs kindle Cupid's heats:  
Thy down-soft belly, and thy spindle thighs,  
Sustained on legs, which pregnant rise.  
Live happily: let Statutes triumphal  
Adorn thy pompous funeral:  
Nor may more precious chains of pearl invest  
‛ E'er any married woman's breast.  
How is't that Stoic Treatises are by,  
And amongst thy silken pillows lie?  
Are rustic Loons less pollent at the sports?  
Or doth their courage less retort!  
Whose— that thou may'st urge to spend, 
Honour sit auribus.   
Thou must with— contend.   

EPODE IX. By Sir T. H. To MAECENAS.  
He beforehand feels the contentment he shall take from Augustus his victory against M. Anthony, and Cleopatra.  
When shall I Caecube wines, that stored lie  
For banquets, glad at Caesar's victory  
(So jove will have it) in thy stately house,  
With thee, my dear Maecenas, free carrouze?  
Resounding notes that mingle Flutes with Lyre;  
This, Dorique, speaking joy, that Phrygian, Ire:  
As when Neptunian Pompey droven, fled  
Through straigthned seas, with navy ruined,  
Who Rome had threatened with those chains, which he  
Had ta'en from treacherous Servitors, made free  
The Roman Soldier by a woman tied  
In slavish bands (ah this will be denied  
By after times) lugs arms, earth, stakes, and tent,  
Striving her withered eunuchs to content;  
And Phoebus amongst their ensigns doth espy,  
Her net-like and lascivious canopy.  
But the bold French proclaiming Caesar's name,  
Thence with two thousand Horse strait hither came;  
And the swift prowess of hostile vessels lie  
Turned to the left hand, ready set to fly.  
O gladsome triumph! thou retard'st the drift  
Of golden chariot, and young beifers gift:  
O gladsome triumph! from jugurthian war▪  
Thou brought'st no captain might with this compare:  
Nor African, whose noble valours praise,  
Did lasting monuments o'er Carthage raise.  
The foe, by Sea, and Land, now vanquished fears,  
And a black Cassock for a purple wears;  
Not knowing whither adverse winds will cast  
Him, on rich Crete with hundred Cities graced,  
Or on the Quicksands with South-billows tossed,  
Or the wide main in danger to be lost.  
Boy, cups bring hither for a larger draught;  
Let Chian, or the Lesbian grape be sought:  
Or fill Caecubian wines without delay,  
Which may a queezie loathing drive away:  
The care, and fear of Caesar's happy state,  
Let us with merry Bacchus dissipate.   

EPODE X. Against Maetius a Poet.  
Argument.  
He wisheth raging storms may rise,  
And Maetius with wrack surprise.  
Mala Soluta.  
THe ship inauspica●ely quits the Bay,  
And noisome Maetius hoists away.  
Anster, see thou impetuously rave,  
Dashing both sides with furious wave.  
Let gloomy Eurus with his storms adverse  
The Tackle and broke Oars disperse.  
〈…〉 such violent 〈◊〉 extend,  
As from high hills an Holm 〈…〉.  
On pitchy nights let no stars lustre shine,  
When sad Orion doth decline:  
Nor let the Ocean tranquiller stand,  
Than for the Grecians conquering band,  
When wrathful Pallas, waving fired Troy,  
Would impious Ajax sail destroy.  
O how do thy industrious sailors sweat!  
Thyself with pallid fear replete,  
Howling out sadly woman-like laments,  
And vows, which ireful jove resents:  
When showry Notus loudly bellowing,  
I'th' Adrian Gulf doth shipwreck bring.  
But if the crooktly-winding shore display  
Thy still stretched limbs for Corm'rants' prey,  
A lustful Goat, and a She-lambkin shall  
A Sacrifice to tempests fall.   

EPODE XI. To Pettius his Chamber-fellow.  
Argument.  
He Cupidstruck cannot the while  
To compose Verses frame his stile.  
Petti nil me.  
PEttius, I take no pleasure, as before,  
In writing Verse,  
Now Cupid's arrows pierce:  
Cupid, who me ' ●ove all inflameth sore  
With wilder heat  
Of Youths and Virgins neat.  
Now three December's woods have shed their glory,  
Since o'er I gave  
For Inachia to rave.  
Oh shameful folly! what a Citie-storie  
('las) I became!  
My junketting I blame,  
When paleness, silence, and long sighs exhaled  
From lungs profound,  
Descried my passions wound:  
And I lamentful moaned that wealth prevailed  
Against honesty,  
And distressed ingeny:  
When debauched Bacchus did my secrets broach  
From heated breast,  
With fervent liquors pressed.  
But if free indignation once approach  
My boiling blood,  
And this distasteful flood  
Expel, which nought alleys my malady:  
Shame profligate  
With great ones strife will hate.  
When I, thou hearing, these extolled on high,  
Charged to get home,  
I roved with vagrant roam,  
To those (ah) flinty thresholds, unkind posts,  
Which as I lied,  
All bruised my shins, and side.  
Me now Lyciscas love overrules, who boasts  
T' exceed each she,  
In soft effeminacy,  
From whence no faithful counsels can me free  
A friend affords,  
Nor contumelious words.  
A new flame of some Virgin it must be,  
Or youth plump-round,  
With long hair backward wound.   

EPODE XII. Against a libidinous old Woman.  
Argument▪  
He scolds a Whore, who did him court  
To sat her Lust with Venus' sport.  
Quid tibi vis.  
WHat meanest thou Woman for black El'phants fit?  
Why send'st me tokens, why are letters writ  
To me nor vigorous, nor obtuse of nose?  
For I quick-sented can as soon disclose  
A Polype, or an armpits rammish scent,  
As well nosed hounds explore where sows are penned,  
What stench, what sweat her wizned limbs hath drenched,  
When (Natures kneener ardours in me quenched▪)  
She hastes to satisfy her unbridled lust:  
Nor bides her all sweat-steeped cheeks cerust,  
Or daubed with Crocodiles ordure: with mad reaks,  
She now both Bed-stock, and the Matt'ress breaks:  
Thus jeers my Languors with revileful flout;  
Thou with Inachia couldst hold longer out,  
Yea, thrice a night: with me at once thou 'rt tired.  
A Pox take Les●ia, who when I enquired  
For tuff-backed Actors, showed me thee so dull:  
Choan Amyntas giving me my full,  
Whose unfoyled— more stiff erected—  
Then ere a sapling in the lofty wood:  
For whom were garments (which twice tincted show  
In Tyrian purple) made? for thee I trow.  
Lest amongst his equals ere a guest should be  
Whom his dear sweetheart better loved than thee.  
Oh wretch am I whom thou eschews as much;  
As Lamb's fierce Wolves, or Goats the Lion's clutch.   

EPODE XIII. By Sir T. H. To his merry Friends, that they should pass the Winter pleasantly.  
ROugh tempests have the brow of heaven bend,  
And showers, and snows cause thickened airs descent:  
Now Thracian North winds, Seas and woods affray;  
Friends, let us take occasion from the day;  
While strength is fresh, and us it well becomes,  
Let's old age banish, which the brow benumns.  
Boy, see you broach those elder Wines were pressed,  
When Torquat first the Consulship possessed:  
Speak not of other things. God will, perchance,  
Them to their Seat, with happy change advance.  
Let us in Persian unguents now delight;  
And with Cylenian harp put cares to flight:  
As noble Chiron to Achilles sang;  
Vnvanquish'● Mortal, that from Thetis sprang,  
Troy thee expects; which Simois rolling Tide,  
And small Scamander's colder streams divide,  
Whence thou no more (the Sisters so ordain)  
With thy blue Mother shalt return again.  
All sorrow there, with wine, and Song depress,  
(Sweet comforts of deformed heaviness.)   

EPODE XIV. By Sir R. F. To MAECENAS.  
That his love to Phryne, is the Cause why he doth not finish his promised iambics.  
'TIs Death, my sweet Maecenas, when so oft  
You ask me, why a soft  
Sloth turns my sense, as if with thirsty draught  
I had together quaffed  
L●the's oblivious lake into my blood.  
It is a God, a God,  
Forbids me finish my iambics, though  
Promised thee long ago.  
Be●●●ted thus Ana●rcon was 'tis said  
Upon the S●mian Maid:  
Who so●●'d his love out to a hollow Lyre  
With stumbling Feet. That fire  
Cons●mes thee too. If fairer burned not Troy  
Besieged, in thy lot joy.  
Me a Bondwoman, such a one torments,  
As no one man contents.   

EPODE XV. To his Sweetheart Neara.  
Argument.  
Our Lyric dolefully descries  
Faithless Neaeraes' perjuries.  
Noxerat.  
'TWas night, and Cynthia lighted all the sky  
Amongst Stars of less fulgency,  
When thou, profaning Gods of power immense,  
T' act my will didst oaths dispense;  
Not lofty Ivies th' Ilex closer grasped,  
Than thy limber arms me clasped:  
While Lambs fled Wolves, and while Orion's orb  
Sailours bane, should seas disturb,  
While unshorn Sol his hairy beams should dart,  
Thou wouldst mutual love impart.  
Naeera! how my virtue thou'st bewail!  
For less Flaccus spirit fail,  
For cliftier rivals he'll not brook one night,  
And vexed seek those that will requite,  
Nor once offended will he constant rest,  
If certain grief pierce his breast.  
But thou who now in favour happy reigns,  
Proudly vauntest at my disdains,  
Though rich in stock, and grounds, and to thy hands  
Pactole roll his Golden sands:  
Though truly written oft-lived Pythag●ras,  
And fair Nereus thou surpass;  
Yet she'll her love to others ('las) translate,  
But then I'll deride thy Fate.   

EPODE XVI. By Sir R. F. To the People of Rome.  
Commiserating the Commonwealth, in respect of the Civil Wars.  
Now Civil Wars a second age consume,  
And Rome's own Sword destroys poor Rome.  
Whom neither neighbouring Marsians could devour,  
Nor feared Porsenas Tuscan power;  
Nor C●pua's rival valour, mutinies  
Of Bond-slayes, Treachery of Allies;  
Nor Germany (blue-eyed Bellona's nurse)  
Nor Hannibal (the Mother's curse)  
We (a bloodthirsty age) ourselves deface,  
And Wolves shall repossess this place.  
The barbarous foe will trample on our dead;  
The steel-shod horse our courts will tread;  
And R●m●lus dust (closed in religious Urn  
From Sun and tempest) proudly spurn.  
All, or the ●ounder part, perchance would know,  
How to avoid this coming blow.  
'Twere best I think, like to the Phocean●,  
Who left their execrated lands,  
And house's, and the houses of their Gods,  
To Wolves and Bears for their abodes▪  
T'abandon all, and go where ere our feet  
Bear us by land, by sea our Fleet.  
Can any man better advice afford?  
If not, in name of Heaven aboard!  
But you must swear first to return again,  
When loosened Rocks float on the Main,  
And be content to see your Mother-town,  
When Betis washes the Alps crown;  
Or Apennine into the Ocean flies,  
Or new lust weds Antipathies,  
Making the Hind stoop to the Tiger's love,  
The ravenous Kite cuckold the Dove:  
And credulous Herds, t'affect the Lion's side,  
And Goats the salt Sea to abide.  
This, and what else may stop our wished return  
When all, or the good part have sworn,  
Fly hence! Let him whose smooth and unfledged breast  
Misgives him, keep the rifled nest.  
You that are men, unmanly grief give o'er  
And sail along the Tuscan shore,  
To the wide Ocean. Let us seek those Isle●  
Which swim in plenty, the blessed soils:  
Where the Earth's Virgin-womb unploughed is fruitful,  
And the unproyned Vine still youthful:  
The Olive Tree makes no abortion there,  
And Figs hang dangling in the air;  
Honey distils from Oaks, and water hops  
With creeking feet from Mountain tops.  
The generous Goats without the Milkmaids call,  
Of their full bags are prodigal;  
No evening wolf with hoarse alarms wakes  
The Flocks, nor breeds the upland Snakes.  
And far●●er to invite us, the plump Grain,  
Is neither drunk with too much rain,  
Nor yet for want of moderate watering dry;  
Such the blessed temper of the sky.  
Never did jason to those Islands guide  
His Pirat-ship, and whorish Bride.  
Sydonian Cadmus never touched these shores,  
Nor false Ulysses weary Oars.  
No murrain rots the sheep, nor star doth scorch  
The cattle with his burning torch.  
When jove with brass the Golden age infected,  
These Isles he for the pure extracted.  
Now Iron raìgns, I like a Statue stand,  
To point good men to a good land.   

EPODE XVII. To CANIDIA.  
Argument.  
Canidia the Sorceress  
He doth his over-match confess:  
And supplicates her to give o'er  
Her spells, and torture him no more.  
jam, jam efficaci.  
I Now su●mit unto thy powerful skill,  
And beg by Proserpina's imperial will,  
And by Diana's steady fixed decree,  
And by thy Charm-books which effectual be,  
To summon stars down from the Aetherial Sphere;  
Thy Spells, Canidia, Oh at length forbear,  
And cease, O cease this giddy whirling wind.  
Proud Telephus, he dire Achilles' mind  
Moved to relent; though against him he had shown  
His Mysian squadrons, and sharp Javelins thrown.  
The Trojan dames did warlike Hector oil,  
To ravenous birds, and dogs exposed for spoil;  
When Priam quitting Troy, fell down prostrate  
Before Achilles, ah, too obstinate.  
Ulysses his industrious Sailors left  
Their bristled limbs of hispid skins bereft,  
Circe appeased: then Reason did retreat,  
With speech and wont favour to its seat.  
Thou now hast plagued me in abundant measure,  
O thou the seaman's and Merchant's pleasure.  
Youth's blossom's faded, and my Purple hue,  
My skin and bones are smeared with black and blue▪  
My hair's turned hoary with thy dismal oils,  
No leisures free me from heart-racking toils:  
I'm cruciated night and day with ire:  
Scarce can my grief extended lungs respire.  
I wretch am now convinced to believe,  
Sabellan charms (which I denied) can grieve  
The heart, and Marsian Spells the head dispoil.  
What wouldst thou more? O sea, O land? I broyl,  
As not Alcides stewed in Nessus' gore:  
Nor yet Sicilian Aetna rageth more  
With its e'er flagrant embers: Thou, till I  
Become light ashes scattered in the sky,  
Fry'st me, as 'twere in Colchian poisonous forge.  
When ends my pain? what tribute wilt thou urge▪  
O speak; And I religiously will pay  
Whatever mulct's imposed; prepared to slay  
Even Hecatombs, or with dissembling song  
Chant thee for fair, for virtuous, and among  
Heavens Or●es to glister as a glorious Sphere.  
Castor and Pollux wrathful though they were,  
And smote him ●lind did Helen's honour slain,  
Yet, won with prayers, restored his eyes again.  
Even thou, who canst from frenzies set me free,  
O 〈◊〉 not sprung from Sires of base degree,  
Nor skilled in poor men's urns, to dissipate  
〈◊〉 silent ashes after nine days dare.  
Thy heart is hounteous, and thy hands sincere,  
Fruitful thy Womb, and th' Midwi●e rinseth clear  
〈…〉 with thy fluent blood,  
When thou from Childbed skip'●t with livelihood.   

CANIDIA'S Answer.  
Argument.  
The 〈◊〉 ●ill not be wo●  
〈…〉 his supplication:  
〈…〉 up and down,  
〈…〉 all o'er the Town.  
Quid obscratis.  
WHy vainly prayest thou to my lock'd-up ears?  
A● well the Rock the nake-stript Sailor hears,  
When 〈◊〉 Neptune with his billows beats.  
Shalt thou (Scot-free) scoff our Cocyttian feats,  
Divulge licentious Cupid's Sacrifice?  
An Arch-priest-like o'th' Esquile Sorceries;  
Revengeless blazon our reproachful fames?  
To truck with old P●lignian haggard dames,  
Or mix dispatching Pills, to what end is't,  
If thou canst not refeind thy destined twist?  
The Fa●es (poor wretch) prolong thy irksome date,  
That still fresh torments may thy carcase bait.  
Pelops his tell-tale Sire for rest out cries,  
Wanting still what abounds before his eyes:  
For Rest Prometheus Vultur-chained makes moan,  
And Sisyphus his still down-tumbling stone  
Would roll aloft, but jove gainsays. And now  
Thou wouldst thyself precipitately throw  
From down steep cliffs: Now Noric sword distain  
In thine own Guts, and (loathing life) in vain  
Strivest with a Halter to conclude thy pain.  
Then on thy hateful shoulders will I ride,  
And make the earth stoop to my haughty pride.  
ay, who Wax. 〈◊〉 can inspire with motion,  
As thou (too curious) knowst, and whose dark notion  
Can hale the Moon down by my abstruse Spells,  
And raise the dead up from their silent Cells,  
And fervent Phil●ers mix: Should I bewail,  
My Magic Art against thee cannot prevail▪   

Verses sung in the Secular games every Century of years, pronounced for the safety of the Roman Empire.  

PHoebus and Diana, Grovie Queen,  
Heaven's ornaments; as you have been,  
Still be you honoured, ever 〈◊〉:  
Gra●t what we ask on holy Feast.   

In which Sybi●l●'s verses ●each,  
Cha●te maids, and youths not 〈…〉,  
Unto those God's songs to recite,  
Who on the sevenfold hills delight.   

(Fair Sol) who in thy chariot bright,  
Dost call forth Day, and shutt'st up Night;  
And other, and the same dost come,  
Nought greater mayst thou see than Rome.   

Ilythia, open wombs we crave  
For ripened Births, and Mothers save;  
Whether we thee Lucina call,  
Or Cynthia, which produceth all.   

Goddess, bring Children forth, and bless  
Senate's decrees, give good success  
To nuptial laws, that those who wed,  
May have a fruitful Marriagebed.   

That ten-times-ten full Orbs mature,  
May us to songs and sports enure:  
Thrice in the splendour of day light,  
And thrice in shades of welcome night.   

And you truth stelling Fates, to past  
Join future fortunes, that may last:  
That stable limits may enclose,  
What once to Mortals you propose.   

That cattle may, and Corn abound,  
Wherewith fair Ceres shall be crowned:  
And wholesome streams, with air as pure.  
May n●triments to plants assure.   

Ah Phoebus mild, withdraw thy dart,  
To suppliant youths thy grace impart:  
And Queen of Stars, who dost appear  
Byforked (Luna) Virgins hear▪   

If Rome a work be of your store,  
And Trojan troops held Tiber's shore:  
A part enjoined their seat to change,  
And with success from home to range:   

For whom secure, through Troy on fire  
Aeneas chaste in safe retire,  
Free passage opened, and gave more  
To them, than they possessed before.   

O Gods to youth grant matters sage,  
Gods give repose to quiet age;  
And unto Romulus his blood,  
Wealth, issue, honour, all that's good.   

Let Venus, and Anchises strain,  
Who give ye Oxen free from stain,  
In Wars achievements bear the prize,  
And courteous be to enemies.   

The Median now by Sea and Land,  
Fears Roman power, and conquering hand:  
The Scythians now our friendship crave,  
And haughty Indians truce would have.   

Now Faith, Peace, Honour, modest look  
And Virtue scorned, which forsook  
Our City, dares return again,  
And blessed Plenty freely reign.   

Phoebus, with radiant Bow, Divine,  
Gracious among the Muses nine;  
Who doth with Heaven-inspired art,  
To crazy bodies health impart:   

If he Mount Palatine do grace,  
The weal of Rome, and Latian Race,  
To farther times and better end,  
May he these Centuries extend.   

And Diana who holds Aventine,  
And Algidus, may she incline  
To prayers of fifteen men, and hear  
Our children's vows with friendly ear.   

Then I, and all well skilled in Lays,  
Phoebus and Diane's name to praise,  
Go home, with certain hopes, that jove,  
And all the Gods these things approve.  
The end of the Epodes.      

SATYRS.  

BOOK I.  

satire I. By A. B. That Men are not contented with their Conditions.  
HOw comes it (great Maecenas) that there's not  
A man, who lives contented with that lot  
Which choice inclined, or chance exposed him to,  
But all applaud what others are and do?  
Oh happy Merchant, than the Soldier says,  
When by old age and toil his strength decays;  
The Merchant when th' insulting billows rise,  
And toss his tottering Ship, Give me (he cries)  
The Soldier's life, for he meets in a breath  
A joyful victory or certain death.  
The Lawyer when he hears his Clients knock  
At's gate before the crowing of the Cock,  
Admires the Country life, while the poor Swain,  
Being from his home up to the City drawn  
To follow Lawsuits, does conclude no men's  
Conditions happier than the Citizens.  
But the whole rabble of this sort of men  
Would be so numerous it would tyre the Pen  
Of Scribbling Fabius; so I'll pass by those,  
And draw the matter to this point: Suppose  
jove said, I'll make you what you would be; thou  
Who wert a Merchant, be a Soldier now.  
Thou that a Lawyer wert, shalt now commence  
A Husbandman; change sides, and so pack hence  
You t'your new Calling, you to yours; Nay, nay,  
Now your desires are granted, why d'ye stay?  
Fond fools! you'll not be happy, though you may.  
Is it not reason then great jove should be  
Highly incensed, and declare that he  
Will be no more propitious unto them,  
But all their vain and various prayers contemn?  
This is no laughing matter, nor would I  
Be thought to speak all this in Drollery,  
Though to blurt out a truth has never been  
(In way of merriment) esteemed a sin.  
The flattering Master thus his Boys presents  
With Cakes, to make them learn their Rudiments.  
But let's leave fooling, and be serious now;  
The Clown that rends the ponderous Earth with's plough,  
The cheating Tradesman, and the Soldier too,  
The Seaman bold, who ploughs the Ocean through;  
All these their various toils endure (they say)  
Merely with this intention, that they may  
When they grow old, with peace enjoy that store  
Which their industrious youth had gained before.  
Just like the Ant (for that's their pattern) small  
In bulk, but great in thrift; who draws in all  
That e'er she can, and adds it to her store,  
Which she foreseeing want, had heaped before;  
And in the rage of Winter keeps within,  
To feed on what her providence laid in:  
But neither sword, fire, water, heat, nor cold,  
Nor any thing keeps thee from getting Gold,  
Only spurred on with that ambitious itch,  
To have the World say, Thou art Devilish rich.  
What good in thy vast heap of Treasur's found,  
Which thou by stealth dost bury under ground?  
But if it be diminished once, thou'lt say  
Thy whole estate will dwindle soon away.  
●nd if thou spendest not out of it, what pleasure  
ranst thou take in a heap of hoarded Treasure?  
〈◊〉 thy Barn held ten thousand sacks of Wheat,  
●et thou canst eat no more than I can eat.  
Among thy fellow slaves when thou'rt picked out  
To bear all their provision about,  
With which thy Shoulders galled and weary grow●.  
Thou eatest no more than one that carried none.  
Or (tell me prithee) what the difference is  
To him that makes the Rules of Nature his,  
Whether he does a thousand Acres sow,  
Or on a hundred does his pains bestow?  
But oh (thou criest) men do great pleasure reap  
In taking Gripes out of a plenteous heap.  
Yet since out of a little thou dost leave  
As much as we've occasion to receive,  
Why shouldst thou thy vast Granaries prefer  
Before our Willies, which much lesser are?  
Or if thou hast occasion to take up  
Water enough to fill a Butt or Cup,  
Why shouldst thou say, thou hast a greater will  
Out of that river, than this spring to fill?  
Hence it proceeds infallibly, that those  
Who to their wills are superstitious,  
Uncurbed desire drives them to this and that,  
Until at last they'd have they know not what.  
Whilst who confines his mind to Nature's laws,  
The troubled muddy water never draws,  
Nor in the river does his life expire:  
But most of men deceived by false desire,  
Say, Naughts enough; 'cause they absurdly guess  
At what men are, by what they do possess.  
To such a Miser what is't best to do?  
Let him be wretched, ●ince he will be so.  
Thus that Athenian Monster Timon, which  
Hated Mankind, a sordid Knave, but rich,  
Was wont to say, When ere I walk abroad  
The People hiss me, but I do applaud  
And hug myself at home, when I behold  
My chests brimful with Silver and with Gold.  
So Tantalus, being extremely dry,  
Courts the swift stream, which does as coily fly.  
Why laughst thou Miser? if thy name should be  
A little changed, the Fables told of thee,  
Who on thy full crammed Bags together laid,  
Dost lay thy sleepless and affrighted head;  
And dost no more the moderate use on't dare  
To make, then if it consicrated were:  
Thou mak'st no other use of all thy gold,  
Then men do of their pictures, to behold.  
Dost thou no● know the use and power of coin?  
It buys bread, meat, and clothes, (and what's more wine;)  
With all those necessary things beside,  
Without which Nature cannot be supplied.  
To sit up and to watch whole days and nights,  
To be out of thy wits with constant frights,  
To fear that thiefs will steal, or fire destroy,  
Or servants take thy wealth, and run away.  
Is this delightful to thee? then I will  
Desire to live without those Riches still.  
But if the pains of stomach, or the head,  
Or other sickness fix thee to thy bed,  
Hast thou a visitant to sit down by thee,  
Who with due food and Physic will supply thee?  
Or make the D●ctor rid thee of thy pain,  
And to thy friends restore thee sound again?  
Thy wife and children thy quick Death desire,  
So do thy friends and kindred: ne'er admire  
That they don't show thee love, thou meritest none,  
For before all thou preferrest wealth alone.  
If thou thy friends or kindred wouldst retain,  
And not be liberal, thy task's as vain  
As his, who in the Field does teach an Ass  
T'obey the bridle, and to run a race.  
Make once an end of gaining, that the more  
Thou hast, the less thou'st tremble to be poor.  
Begin to end thy labour, having got  
That which thou didst desire, and follow not  
That rich Umidius, whose chests did so swell,  
He measur'd's money which he could not tell,  
So sordid, that he never did go higher  
Than his meanest Servants did, in his attire:  
And to his dying day in fear he stood,  
Lest he should die merely for want of food;  
Till his bold Concubine did boldly do  
A Hero's act, and cut the Slave in two.  
But now thou'lt ask me, whether I'd have thee,  
A Miser or a Prodigal to be?  
Thou still art in extremes; I would not have  
Thee covetous, nor a vain squandring Knave.  
'Twixt rough Visellius and smooth Tanais  
The Eunuch, a vast difference there is.  
There is a mean in things, and certain lines  
Within which virtue still itself confines.  
But I'll return from whence I came; are none  
But greedy Slaves delighted with their own  
Conditions? Do all praise each others lot,  
And pine to see their Neighbour's Goat has got  
A Dug more full of Milk than theirs? and ne'er  
Themselves with the poorer sort of men compare:  
(Though that's the greater number) but aspire  
Still to overtop this man and that, whose higher!  
It curbs the Spirit of that person which  
Tugs to grow great, when he meets one more rich,  
So when the Chariots from the Barriers are  
Let loose to run a Race, the Charioteer  
Minds still those horses which outstripped his own,  
Slighting those which by t'other are ou● gone.  
And hence it comes, we seldom find a man  
That says He has lived happily, and can  
Like a well-feasted-guest depart at last  
Contented with that part of is life that past.  
Now 'tis enough; lest you should think that mine  
'S like Crispin's Volumes, I will not add a line.   

satire II. By A. B. That while foolish men eat one Vice, they run into another.  
THe Players, Empirics, Beggars, and the noise  
Of Fiddlers, all the roaring Damn-me boys,  
And all that sort of cattle do appear  
Extremely sad, and much concerned to hear  
Their friend Tigillus is deceased; For he  
Did treat them with great liberality.  
While the close miser, lest he should be thought  
A prodigal; o'th' contrary, gives nought  
To his dear friend (though ne'er so much he need)  
To clothe his body, or his belly feed.  
If one should ask the Prodigal, why he  
By an ungrateful sottish gluttony,  
That brave estate bequeathed him by his friends  
And Ancestors, so prodigally spends;  
And at great interest take up money too,  
Merely in needless luxury to bestow:  
His answer is, Because he scorns to be  
Esteemed a sordid fellow, or that he  
Has but a narrow soul: So up he's cried  
By some, while others him as much deride.  
Fufidius the Usurer fears to have  
The Reputation of an unthrift Knave,  
Rich both in moneys out at use, and lands,  
But when he lends, he still detains in's hands  
Five times the interest from the principal;  
And where he finds his Debtors prodigal,  
Those he gripes most severely: He inquires  
For wealthy heirs new come of age, whose Sires  
Had been close-fisted to them and severe.  
Good God what persons who shall come to hear  
Such horrid actions, won't exclaim? But oh!  
(You'll say) he does't for his livelihood. Oh no!  
You can't believe how much this love of Pelf,  
Makes this vile Slave an enemy to himself.  
Old Menedemus, whom the Comedy  
Brings weeping in, and living wretchedly  
For his lost son, could not himself torment  
More than this sordid Beast. To what intent  
All this is said, if you desire to know,  
It only tends to this design, to show  
That fools, when they attempt one Vice to slun,  
Into the contrary do madly run.  
This man his garment down to th' ground does wear,  
And that so short his privities appear.  
Perfumed Rufillus wears a gaudy coat,  
Gorgonius stinks as nasty as a Goat.  
Men do observe no means, but this man's flames  
Must be allayed only with Roman Dames.  
Another does a common Quean admire,  
That prostitutes herself to all for hire.  
A man of note came from the public stews,  
And, to applaud his action, he did use  
Cato's Divine old Sentence, Bravely done,  
Go on, and prosper in what thoust begun:  
For when the rage of Lust inflames your blood,  
'Tis lawful to come hither, but not good  
Another Nuptial bed to violate.  
While Cupiennius cries out, I hate  
To be applauded for this nicety,  
Give me another's wife, she's safe and free.  
'Tis worth the observation of all those  
That would not have uncleanness prosperous,  
To see how they are Plagued on every hand,  
How often they fall into danger, and  
How small, and seldom too, they pleasures gain,  
And those corrupted with much grief and pain.  
This leaps from th'top o'th'house, and thinks to fly,  
But breaks his neck; and that's whipped till he die;  
This as he flies, 'mong thiefs and robbers falls,  
And that with's pur●e redeems his Genitals.  
This is by Footmen buggared, and sometimes  
Those members which commit these shameful crimes,  
Do lose their Heads, and justly too; all say,  
None but that rutting Galba dares lay, nay.  
But 'tis more safe to venture your estate  
In Ships, that are but of the second rate;  
Daughters of Captives that have been made free,  
Yet Sallust played the fool as much as he  
That does commit adultery; For he had  
A generous Soul, and would be very glad  
Of any good occasion, that he  
Might but express his liberality,  
(In modest manner though) he would dispense  
His money to all freely, yet from thence  
No damage came to him, no disrepute,  
But still he loved a gentle prostitute.  
This was that darling Vice he loved to th'life,  
But still he cried, I'll meddle with no man's wife.  
Just so Marcaeus did, who heretofore  
Only admired an honourable whore,  
And his Paternal Fortune fooled away  
On a she-thing, that on the Stage did play.  
Yet still he said, I thank my stars, that I  
With wives of other men did never lie.  
But if with wh●res and mimics he'd to do,  
His fame more suffered, than his wealth came to.  
What satisfaction can it to us bring,  
To shun one person, and not every thing  
That every way does hurt us? To destroy  
Our reputation, and to fool away  
Th' Estate our parents left us, certainly  
Is a great vice, which way so ere it be.  
So vilius, who had a mind to be  
The Son in Law of Sylla, how was he  
Severely punished? Mauled with Fists, nay more,  
Stabbed with Steelettoes, than kicked out of door.  
(Poor wretch! how was he chou'sd with name and style?)  
But Longarenus lay with her the while.  
Now if that Natural genius of his  
Should say to him, when he had seen all this,  
Sir, what d'ye mean? Do I require, when e'er  
I am enraged, the Daughter of a Peer  
Or any married woman? what could he  
Then answer to't? that woman's meat for me,  
Who is descended of a noble stem.  
But Nature teaches better things than them,  
And quite repugnant too; Great Nature, which  
In her own help is plentifully rich,  
If we would rightly use them, and descry  
What we should choose, from what we ought to fly,  
Does it no difference appear to thee  
By lust to perish, or necessity?  
Then that thou may'st not that vain work attempt,  
Of which thou surely will't too late repent,  
Pursue not Matrons; for the cost and pain  
Will far surmount the pleasure thou canst gain.  
Nor is their Flesh more tender, nor are they  
Mo●e clean-limbed, whose attire is rich and gay,  
And do with jewels deck their necks and ears,  
(Such as th' effeminate Corinthus wears;)  
Nay oftentimes that Lass, who's plain and free,  
Wears better Limbs than your great Madams be▪  
She does her mercenary Flesh expose,  
Undeckt by art, and openly she shows  
The ware she means to utter, nor will she,  
If any part about her handsome be,  
Proudly show that alone, nor strive to hide  
Those parts, which Nature has not beautified.  
So Princes, when they Horses go to buy,  
Into the covered parts most strictly pry,  
Lest the same Horse, that's lovely to behold  
With a small head, and a crest high and bold,  
And a round buttock, the eager Buyer cheat,  
Because he's lame, or foundered in his feet.  
This they do well in; for we should not pry  
On their perfections with a Lynx's Eye,  
And be as blind as Hypsea was, when we  
Their greater imperfections ought to see.  
Oh comely legs and arms! (says one) and yet  
She is pin-buttocked, and has long-splay Feet,  
Short-wasted, but a nose of such a size,  
That all the Members shortness it supplies.  
Thou canst no part of a grave Matron see,  
Except her face, the rest all covered be,  
Unless it be of Catia, who, although  
She be a matron, does unvailed go.  
If thou attempt forbidden wives to win  
To thy desires, they are encompassed in  
With guards and walls? 'twill make thee mad to see  
How many things there are to hinder thee.  
There's Guardian, Coachman, Tyre man, Flatterer,  
A gown to th' heels, a vail that covers her;  
And many more 〈◊〉 envious things there be,  
Make thee the 〈◊〉, as 〈◊〉 thou canst not see.  
A Lass ne'er hinders thee, she will appear  
In dress transparent, as she naked were;  
That thou mayst by thine Eye discern, that she  
Is strait in th' waste, and that her anck●● be  
Not great, and gou●y; and her feet are nea●.  
Does any man desire to have a chea●  
Imposed upon him? and be made pay down  
The price ere the commodity be shown?  
But thou art like the Huntsman, who does go  
After the Hare up to the knees in Snow,  
Wh●ch being caught, makes him a cheerful Feast,  
Yet he'll not touch a Hare brought ready dressed.  
Thou scornest that Lass thou may'st with ease enjoy,  
And court those that are difficult and coy.  
But dost thou think thy passions to appease  
With such vain and impert'nent flames as these?  
Has not wise Nature bounded thy desire?  
Does it not more avail thee to inquire,  
What she can't be without, and what she may,  
And pair what ever's superfluous away?  
When thou art thirsty, m●st thou only drink  
Out of a Golden goblet? or dost think  
All meat is loathsome, when thou'rt hungry grown,  
But Turlet, or the Pheasant poult alone?  
So when thy 〈◊〉 flames grow strong and high,  
Wilt thou not take 〈◊〉 next thou canst come by?  
Be't Kitchen wench, or Scullion boy; or else,  
Wouldst have that 〈◊〉 which so extremely swells?  
I'm of another humour, for to me  
That girl is best, that's easiest; and she  
That I can soon come at; and when I  
Ask her the Question, sa●es Yes by and by,  
As soo●'s my Servant is gone forth, or says  
She'll gratify me, if the price I raise.  
Those that are hard, and tedious to be won,  
Are for the feeble Eunuches taste alone:  
Give me a coming Lady, that ne'er stands  
Considering long, nor great rewards demands;  
But when I call her quickly comes to me,  
Let her not ugly, nor yet cro●ked be,  
But of good colour, and clean-limbed withal,  
Of a good size, not by Chipe●ns made tall;  
Nor let her by her painting make more fair  
Her face and skin, than they by Nature are.  
When such a Creature in mine Arms does lie,  
She is m● Love, my Queen, my Deity;  
I call her by all names, nor do I doubt  
When we our Deeds of Pleasure are about,  
The barking Dogs, the breaking open of doors,  
And all the Home disturbed with great uproars,  
Her jealous husband will return to see,  
How he is cuckolded by her and me;  
While the poor woman starts from off her Bed,  
Pale and affrighted, 'cause discovered,  
And being conscious cries, Oh I'm undone!  
I shall be fettered, and my Por●on's gone.  
And I without my Breeches then m●st pack,  
Barefoot and coat-less, all to save my back  
From the dire Lash, or to preserve my Purse,  
Or else my Reputation, which is worse.  
For to be taken is a Crime, 'tis true,  
And 'tis a pitiful misfortune too;  
I dare be judged by Fabius, who does know  
All this is true, for he has been serve ●so.   

SATYR III. By A. B. That men are quicksighted to pry into other men's infirmities, and connive at their own.  
ALl Songsters have this humour, that among  
Their friends they can't abide to sing a Song  
If they're entreated; but they'll ne'er give o'er  
If not desired. This was heretofore  
Tige●ius vice; Caesar who could command,  
If by the friendship of his Father, and  
His own, he did entreat but for one Air,  
This Songster would not sing; yet if he were  
Once in the humour, all the Supper long  
He would to Bacchus sing, Song after Song;  
His voice to th'highest treble raised, and then  
Descending down to th'lowest base again.  
A most unsteady fellow, sometimes he  
Woul● run, as if pursued by's enemy;  
Sometimes he'd slowly walk, as if he were  
T●e Sacred host about the street to bear.  
Sometimes attended with two hundred men  
Heeled walk, at other times with only ten.  
Now Kings and Princes, and all great things be  
The subjects of his talk: Anon (says he)  
Give me a three-legged board, a shell to hold  
A l●ttle ●alt, and to keep off the cold  
A gown, though ne'er so course; if you present  
This poor abstemious person, who's content  
Now with so little, with a thousand pound,  
In five days there will not a Great be found  
In's pocket: He the day in sle●p doth pass,  
And 〈…〉 all night long; there never was  
A thing so much unlike so him as he  
Was to himself: But some may say to me,  
Pray what are you? Have you no crime at all?  
Yes, Other vices, not perhaps so small.  
When Menius absent, Novius did upbraid,  
You Sir, d'ye hear? D'ye know yourself? (one said)  
Or do you think to cheat us, as if we  
Did not know what you are? Menius, said he,  
Could wink at, and forget his own faults; this  
Is both a vile and silly love, and'tis  
Fit to be taken notice of, when with blear eyes  
We overlook our own infirmities.  
Why should we into our Friends errors pry  
As narrowly as with an Eagles eye,  
Or Basi●cks piercing look? 'twill come about,  
As we do theirs, they'll find our Vices out.  
An angry man is no way fit to bear  
The jeers, which from the Wits he's forced to hear:  
They'll jeer him if ill shaved, or if his Gown  
In a neglected posture hangeth down:  
Or if his Shoes are not well t●'d, though he  
May be as honest as their Witship's be.  
Though he's a Friend, though a great Wit does lie  
Within that Body, dressed so clownishly.  
Examine well thyself, see if there be  
The seeds of any Vice's sow● in thee;  
By Nature or ill custom we discern,  
Neglected Fields still over grown with Fearn,  
Let's raise ourselves up to this frame of mind,  
To be t' our Friends infirmities as ●lind  
As Lovers to their Mistresses can be,  
Who either done't their imperfections see,  
Or if they do, they're pleasing to them, th●s  
Balbinus liked even Agnas Polypus.  
I wish we all would err in friendship so,  
And virtue on that error would bestow  
A glorious name; for as the Father mild,  
If he espies a frailty in his child,  
He does not scorn, nor loathe it, nor should we  
Th● errors of our friends, if any be.  
If a Son squinting goggle-eyes should have,  
H●s Father calls him, Pretty winking Knave;  
And he whose Child in stature●s no more  
Than Sisyphus th' Abortives heretofore,  
Calls him his Chick●n; if he bend at knee,  
He calls him Varus; if he hurl-foot be,  
His Father lisping calls him Scaurus: Thus  
When a Friend lives something penurious,  
Le●'s call't good Husbandry, and when we find  
One that to jeer or vapour is inclined,  
Imagine his design is but to be  
Very facetious in company:  
If he be rough-hewed, and will talk and rant,  
Count him a downright man and valiant,  
And when we meet with any person that  
Is hot and surly, call him passionate.  
This thing joins friends together, and when joined,  
It still preserves them in a friendly mind.  
But we the very virtues of a Friend  
Do into Vices basely wrest, and bend  
O●r mind those vessels to pollute, which are  
Clear of themselves; if any person dare  
L●ve virtuously among us; base and low  
We count him then, and if a man be slow  
Of apprehen●on, we are apt to call  
and thick-skuled fellow; he that all  
〈…〉, whose Bosom does not lie  
Exposed to any kind of injury,  
Though he lives in a treacherous Age, wherein  
Malice and Slander, and all kind of sin  
Do grow and flourish, aught of right to be  
Esteemed a prudent wary man, but we  
Call him a subtle juggler: If we spy  
A● open-hearted person (such as I  
Oft showed myself to you Maec●nas) which  
W●th his perpetual and impertinent Speech  
Disturbs men far more serious, when they  
Do either read or study hard, we say  
This fellow has not common sense, Alas!  
How inconsiderately do we pass  
Laws on ourselves, unequal and severe,  
Since no man without Vices ever were,  
Or born, or bred, and that man is the best,  
Who's troubled with the fewest and the least.  
Areal Friend will with my faults compare  
My virtues; and if all my virtues are  
More than my Vices, he that loves me would  
Incline toth'most, as'tis fit he should:  
So if to be beloved he has a mind,  
He may by this means the same measure find:  
He that desires his Wenns should not offend  
His friend, must wink at the Pimples of his friend▪  
He that would have his faults forgiven must  
Give pardon, if he take it, 'tis but just.  
Now since the vice of anger, and the rest  
Which do our foolish Nature thus infest,  
Cannot be throughly rooted out, why may  
Not equal judgement and right reason sway?  
And why should not all punishments be fitted  
Proportionably to the Crimes committed?  
When a man bids his Servant lift a Dish  
Off from the Table, and he eat the Fish  
That's left, or lick the sauce up, if that he  
Should suffer death, should not his Master be  
Esteemed more mad than frantic Labeo  
By all those men, who are themselves not so?  
How would the Master's crime the man's transcend  
In greatness; nay in madness? If a Friend  
Commit a fault, at which thou ought'st to wink,  
Or else all men will thee ill-natured think,  
If thou shouldst scorn and hate him for't, and shun  
H●s company, as the poor Debtors run  
From that damned Usurer Druso, who when ere  
The doleful Day of Payment does appear  
To his poor Debtors, if they do not pay  
Both principal and interest, how they  
Come by't he cares not, he condemns them then  
To stand with naked throats, like Captive men,  
Not to be killed, but (what's far worse than it)  
To hear those wretched Plays which he had writ.  
Suppose my fuddled Friend when he did sup,  
Bepissed the room or break my Mistress cup:  
Or if he being hungry took away  
That Chicken which i'th' Dish before me lay,  
Must I fall out with him? What then if he  
Should commit theft? Or break his trust with me?  
Or should deny his promise? those by whom  
All sins are equal held, when once they come  
T' inquire into the truth they're at a stand;  
For common reason, general custom, and  
Profit itself, which is the Mother now  
Of what is right and just, all disallow  
This fond opinion: When in former time  
Mankind, which of all creatures is the prime,  
Crept out of is Mother Earth, they were a kind  
Of dumb and nasty Cattle, which inclined  
To brawl for Mast, and Dens to lodge in to,  
With nails and fists, and next with clubs, and so  
In length of time, they fought with spears and swords,  
Which need had taught them how to make, till words  
And names by them invented were, whereby  
They did their sense and voices signify  
Unto each other, than they did begin  
To build them Forts to live with safety in.  
Then they enacted Laws, that none might dare  
Play either Robber or Adulterer:  
For before Helen's days women have been  
The cause of cruel wars. When men rushed in  
On any women which they next came to,  
At the first sight, as wild Beasts use to do;  
Till like a Bull o'th' herd, a stronger come,  
Kill the first Occupant, and takes his room:  
But unremembered died those nameless men,  
Wanting th' Historians and Poets Pen.  
We if we do consider former times,  
Must grant that Laws were made for fear of crimes  
As Nature can't discern; what's right, what's wrong,  
Nor separate good from ill, nor from among  
Those things we ought to shun, pick out what we  
Ought to desire, nor can't by reason be  
Made out, that he who on the Herbs within  
His Neighbour's Garden treads, does as much sin  
As he that robs a Church, and steals away  
What to the Gods there consecrated lay.  
Let's have a Rule, by which our pains may be  
Proportioned to our crimes, and not that he  
Who has deserved a little Rod alone,  
Should with a horrid whip be 〈◊〉 to th' Bone.  
That thou'lt with ferule strike I'll ne'er suppose,  
Him that deserves to suffer greater blows;  
While thou hold'st thefts and robberies to be  
Offences only of the like degree,  
And threatnest if thou reign once to chastise  
Our petty faults and foul enormities  
With equal punishments: if it be so,  
That he who is a wise man's wealthy too,  
A good Mechanic skilled in every thing,  
The only gallant, and indeed a King.  
What needest thou wish to be a King, since thou  
Art so already? Thou wilt ask me now  
If I don't know what old Chrysipus said,  
Tho●gh a wise man perhaps has never made  
His Shoes and Boots, yet still a wise man is  
A Shoemaker; to what end is all this?  
Just so Hermogenes, thoughts he's dumb, can  
Sing well, and is a good Musician.  
And in this sense, Alfenus when he threw  
Away his tools, and shut up shop, and grew  
A cunning Lawyer, who had been before  
A Cobbler, was still Cobbler, and no more:  
So the wise man's alone in every thing,  
The skilfullest Artist, and so he's a King.  
The Roguing Boys (thou talk'st so like a Sot)  
Will pull thee by thy Beard, if thou dost not  
That Sceptre in thy hand thy cudgel sway,  
And in Majestick-wise drive them away.  
The cheated crowd that stand about thee, all  
Prepare to kick thee, thou mayst bark and brawl  
Till thou hast burst thy Royal self, Most high  
And mighty King, in brief thou Royally  
Giv'st a whole farthing, for thy Bath at once,  
And hast no guard to attend thee but that dunce  
Chrispinus; But my pleasant friend's, if I,  
Through folly should transgress, will pass it by  
And when they do bewray their frailties, than  
I in requital pardon them again;  
And thus I live, though but a private man,  
More happy than thy feigned Kingship can.   

SATYR IV. By A. B. A Discourse concerning POETRY.  
THe old Greek Poets, Aristophanes,  
Cratinus, Eupolis, and such as these  
Who did write Comedies, where e'er they had  
One fit to be described, as very bad,  
Such as a Thief, or an Adulterer,  
Or Murderer, or such like men which were  
Notorious in their lives, these all should be  
With a brave boldness, and great liberty,  
Expressed to th'life, and whatsoever is  
Writ by lucilius does proceed from this,  
Those Poets he did imitate, their feet  
And numbers only he did change, and yet  
His wit was excellent, his judgement clear,  
Only the Verses which came from him, were  
Harsh and unpolisht; for this was his crime,  
Two hundred Verses in one hours' time  
He ordinarily poured out with ease,  
As if he did such weighty businesses;  
Yet though his Verses like a Deluge flowed,  
Th'had something still above the common road:  
He loved to scribble, but could not endure  
The pains of writing Verses good and pure;  
I ne'er regard how much an Author writes,  
'Tis not the Volumn, but the sense delights.  
I'll tell you; Once Crispinus challenged me,  
Pointing with's Finger at me, Come (says he)  
Take Paper, Pen, and Ink, fix place, and time,  
Let's both be watched, try which can swiftest rhyme;  
I thank my Stars, Nature did me compose  
So bashful, and so pusillanimous,  
That I speak little, and but seldom too,  
But his laborious lungs do always go  
Like a Smith's Bellows, puffing breath so fast,  
That he his Iron audients tires at last.  
What luck that Scribbling Rhimer Fannius met?  
That our grave Senate undesired have set  
His silly Book and ugly statue too  
In Caesar's Library? Whilst I that do  
Both blush and tremble when I e'er appear  
In public, no rehearsing wit does care  
To read my Lines to th' undiscerning crew;  
But here's the reason for't, there are but few  
That love a satire well; most are afraid  
Their Crimes may be like others, open laid.  
Pick any person out of all Mankind,  
He is to pride or avarice inclined;  
This with the lust for's Neighbours wife runs mad,  
That's for th' unnatural use of some fair Lad:  
This loves to gaze on's money still, and that  
Is ravished with the splendour of his Plate;  
This to get wealth by merchandizing goes,  
Where the Sun sets, from the place where it rose,  
Runs through all dangers headlong, and is tossed  
From place to place as Whirlwinds blow the dust,  
Fearing lest he should lose his stock, or not  
Increase that vast Estate which he had got.  
All these hate Verses, and Verse-makers fly  
That Beast the Poet comes ‛ ware-horns they cry:  
To make the People laugh, these Fellows use  
Not to regard what friends they do ab●se,  
And whatsoever they write they forthwith to  
The Politicians of the Conduit show,  
Or at the Bakehouse, that Old Women and  
The Rouging Boys their jests may understand.  
Much good may't do them, I on t'other side  
With the name Poet won't be dignified  
Out of their number, whom the world does own  
For Poets, I'm excluded, being none:  
For to compose a Verse, or write as we  
Do naturally speaks not Poetry.  
That noble Title Poet those doth fit,  
Who have good Style, high Fancy, and quick wit;  
And therefore some have asked whither, what I  
Have written be Poem or Comedy,  
Because no salt, no flame, nor spirit be,  
Or in the words or sense which comes from me;  
Which would be very Prose, but only I  
My words to feet and numbers use to tie:  
But in a Comedy the Poet brings  
A Father raging in 'cause his Son clings  
TO a common prostitute, and does refuse  
That wealthy match which the old man did choose,  
And being drunk walks in the open day  
With a Torch flaming in a scandalous way.  
Pomponius Father, if alive, would thus  
Rebuke his Son for being lecherous;  
'Tis not enough to make Verse smoothly run  
With fine culled words, but if they are undone,  
And made plain Prose, would as unpleasant be  
As the sour Father in the Comedy.  
If from the Verses which I use to make,  
And those which once Lucillus writ, you take  
The feet and measure, and do discompose  
The order of those words, and make them Prose;  
Placing those words before which stand behind,  
And so invert their order, you will find  
The quarters of a Poet still appear  
In every sentence, scattered every where,  
Not like this Verse; When as the cruel jars  
Of wars had broke our iron posts and bars.  
So much for that; We'll take a time to know,  
Whither this Poetry be right or no:  
Now I would only ask whither to thee  
A satire can justly offensive be.  
The bawling Lawyers and the formal judge,  
When they in Gowns and with their Law-tools trudge,  
Make Malefactors tremble, while that he  
That's innocent contemns their Pogeantry.  
Though thou'rt a malefactor, yet since I  
Am no Informer, why dost from me fly?  
No Books of mine do prostituted lie  
On public Stalls to tempt th' enquiring Eye  
Of Passengers, soiled by the greasy Thumbs  
Of every prying nasty Clown that comes.  
I seldom do rehearse, and when I do,  
'Tis to my Friends, and with relunctance too:  
Not before every one, nor every where;  
We have too many that Rehearsers are,  
In public Baths, and open Markets too,  
In the Seld chambers, where their voices do  
Double by repercussion, they rehear'e  
In sipid notions tortured into Verse.  
This pleases empty Fops, who never mind  
True wit and sense, so rhyme and feet they find▪  
Thou sayest I love to jeer and study it,  
To gratify my own ill-natured wit;  
Where didst thou pick up this Report? or who  
Of my acquaintance e'er reputes me so?  
That person who backbites his absent friend,  
Or when another does, will not defend  
His reputation; he that aims to be  
The jester in all foolish company,  
Ambitious of the Title of a Wit,  
Ablab of is tongue, who what e'er you commit  
Unto his trust, discovers and betrays,  
And impudently lies in what he says:  
This is a dirty fellow, such a one  
Every true Roman is concerned to shun,  
I've seen a dozen men together feast,  
And one has rudely jeered at all the rest,  
Except his Friend, which entertained them all;  
But being drunk at last on him did fall,  
When Truth's Mother) had unlocked his Breast,  
Revealed those thoughts that there did smothered rest.  
Thou who abhorr'st base Fellows, wilt suppose  
This beast free, civil, and ingenious.  
Whilst if I do discover and deride  
Some powdered Coxcombs vanity and pride:  
Or else some nasty Sloven, thou dost fall  
On me, as envious or Satirical.  
If in thy presence any person does  
Report Petillus Sacrilegious,  
Thou (as thy custom is) wile him defend,  
And say Petillus was thy ancient Friend;  
From Children you were conversant, and he  
With Kindnesses was still obliging thee,  
The thought of him does much thy Spirit cheer,  
That he is well, and thou enjoyest him here:  
But yet thou canst not but admire how he  
Himself could from that judgement so well free.  
Such Friends are like the Scattle-fish, whose skin  
Is white without, but all black juice within;  
This is the rust of Friendship, and this vice  
(If any promise in my power lies)  
I freely promise thou shalt never find  
In all my writings, no nor in my mind.  
If I speak what is jocular and free,  
You by the Law are bound to pardon me.  
My honoured Father, now deceased, did use  
Into my mind these Precepts to infuse;  
Observe (quoth he) their end who vice pursue,  
And thou by that all Vi●es wilt eschew:  
When he did press me to good Husbandry,  
And thrifty frugal courses, and to be  
Content with that Estate which he had got,  
And did intend to leave me; dost thou not  
(Said he) observe the wealthy Albius Son  
Into what want he is by wildness run?  
See what a shabby Fellow's Barrus grown,  
Barrus the Ranting'st Gallant of the Town;  
A good instruction for young Heirs, that they  
Should not their Patrimony fool away!  
And when from love of Whores he would deter me,  
He to Sectanus sad Fate would refer me,  
That after married Wives I should not stray,  
But use my Pleasures in a Lawful way.  
(Quoth he) upon thy name 'twil be a Brand  
If like Trebonius thou shouldst be trappand,  
Philosophy will with much reason show  
What thou shouldst shun, and what thou shouldst pursue▪  
If thou canst well observe those prudent ways,  
In which our Fathers walked in former days,  
And keep thy life and reputation free  
From vice or scandal whilst thou'rt under me,  
I'm pleased: But when thy mind and body too  
By age to full maturity shall grow,  
I'll turn thee lose into the World. Thus he  
Did in my Nonage wisely nurture me:  
When he proposed a duty to be done,  
He'd say, Thou hast a fair example (Son)  
For doing this, thou hast before thine eyes  
Those which to honour and great power did rise,  
And if he'd have me any vice to fly,  
(Says he) A man may see with half an eye  
This act which now thou art about to do  
Is against honesty and profit too.  
Since this man's name, and that's who did this thing,  
With general scandal through the Nation ring.  
And as one Gluttons death doth much affright  
Another, and suspends his appetite  
For fear of death, so others infamy  
Makes tender Spirits from those vices fly.  
Thus I lived unconcerned in all those Crimes  
Which ruin youngmen in these impious times,  
Though I perhaps don't unpolluted live,  
But have small faults, which men may well forgive,  
And which my second thoughts and a true Friend,  
And wiser age may teach me to amend;  
For I'm not wanting to myself when I  
Do walk alone, or in my Bed do lie.  
Then I think with my self, this way is best  
And if I follow'r, I am truly blest,  
And to my Friends am grateful; but when I  
Observe a person doing foolishly,  
Should I be such an Ass to make the same  
Ill course my pattern, which has been his shame?  
These are my private thoughts, and when I light  
On a spare minute I do Verses write,  
And this is one of those small sins which I  
Am guilty of, which if thou shouldst deny  
To pardon, all of my Fraternity  
Would come to help me; for we Poets be  
A mighty number, and as once the jews,  
Romans to their Religion did seduce,  
So we'll dub thee a Brother of the Muse.   

SATYR V. By A. B. A journey from Rome to Brandusium  
FRom spacious Rome to Aris once went I,  
With Heliodorus in my company,  
The best for Rhetoric that the Grecians had;  
Our Inn was small, our entertainment bad.  
From whence to Apii forum we did ride,  
Where Sailors and lewd Victuallers most reside.  
We made it two day's work, which might be done  
By those that had a mind in less than one.  
The Appian Road we did not tedious think,  
We travelled slowly, and did often drink:  
Here, 'cause the water was unwholesome, I  
Refused to eat a Supper, but sat by  
While my Friends did; I longed to be in Bed,  
●or night on th' earth her sable wings had spread,  
And stuck the Heaven with stars, but such a noise  
Rose from the Sailors railing at their Boys,  
And their Boys back again at them! So ho!  
The Boat, the Boat! Plague on you, where d'ye go?  
(Says one) you Rogue, you over-load the Boat,  
You lie (says t'other with an open throat)  
Hold, hold, now 'tis enough: And thus while they  
Harnessed their Mules, and quarrel for their Pay,  
They spent a whole hovers time; the stinging fleas  
And croaking Frogs denied me sleep and ease.  
And now the Sailor being got quite drunk,  
With nasty Wine begins to sing of is Punk.  
The Mule-man does the like of his: both try  
Which should roar loudest for the Victory;  
At length the Mule-man being weary grown,  
Falls fast asleep; while to a neighbouring stone  
The lazy Mariner did tie the Barge  
With the Mules traces which was gone at large  
To graze; and likewise falls asleep till day,  
Then we perceived the Barge was at a stay,  
There being no Mule to draw her; thereupon  
Out leaps a surly Fellow, and lays on  
The Mule-man and the Salior head and side  
With a tough Cudgel, which was well applied:  
Then in four hours we ashore were set,  
We washed our hands and faces, and did eat:  
Then after Dinner three full miles walked we,  
And came to Anxur, where the houses be  
Covered with Polished Stone, my honoured Friend  
Maecenas and Cocceius did intend  
To take this Maritine City in the road,  
Both being sent Ambassadors abroad  
'Bout State Affairs, and using to compose  
All differences which 'twixt Friends arose.  
Here I anointed these sore Eyes of mine  
With the most true Collyrium excellent Wine.  
Then strait Maeoenas and three more I see,  
Ingenious persons all, and forthwith we  
With scorn pass by that petty Village, where  
That Scrivener Luscus proudly ruled as Mayor.  
With Mace and Chain, and Fur and Purple-gown,  
Strutting and domineering o'er the Town,  
And came to Formiae sound tired at last,  
Where our Friends gave good lodging and repast:  
The next day was a blessed day, for we  
Came to a Town where wine was good and free:  
There Virgil, Varius, and Plotinus met,  
Men of such Souls the World can't equal yet,  
Nor are there any in the World to me  
So much obliging as those persons be.  
But oh! what love, and what embracing ' 'twas?  
And what rejoicing old between us pass?  
No man in's Wits can any thing commend  
Before a real and ingenuous Friend.  
Next to a small Maritine village, near  
Campania's Bridge we came, the Townsmen there  
With Wood and Salt Maecenas did present  
As fees, 'cause in an Embassy he went.  
From thence to Capua betimes we came,  
Virgil and I did sleep, Maecenas game;  
That toilsome play at Ball no way complies  
With Virgil's stomach, nor with my blear eyes.  
Hence we came to (occeius house, which is  
Seated beyond the Claudian Hosteries,  
A stately house, where plenty did abound,  
And there we splendid entertainment found.  
And now (my Muse) assist me while I tell  
That memorable squabble which befell  
Between Sarmentus that Buffoon, and one  
Messius, whose Face with warts was overgrown;  
And from what Noble ancient Family  
These Combatants derived their pedigree;  
The Ossian Nation unto Messius gave  
His being, but Sarmentus was a Slave  
Of this condition and original.  
These two Tongue-combatants began their brawl;  
Thou Horse-faced Rascal (says Sarmentus first)  
At which we fell a laughing, like to burst.  
Messius replies, Well be i● so; what then?  
(And Ox-like tossed his head at him again.)  
Oh? (says Sarmentus) what a dangerous Cow,  
Had not thy horns been qui●e sawed off, wert thou,  
Who art so cursed without them? thy old face,  
(If possible) is uglier than it was▪—  
Since thy great men on one side, now we find  
Cut out, it leaves an ugly ●rand behind  
That botchy face of thine 〈◊〉 ●s if thou  
Hadst a Campama● Cl●p upon thee now.  
Thus he abused Messius ace, and bid  
Him come and dance as Polyphemus did.  
No vizard, nor yet buskins needest thou wear,  
Thy face and limbs can't seem worse than they are.  
Messius retorts as much; Thou Dog, (says he)  
When will thy slaveship end? for though thou be  
Now made a Scribe, thy Mrs. right thereby  
Is not extinguished; tell me, Sirrah, why  
Didst thou so often run away from her?  
Is not a pound of bread sufficient fare  
For such a starveling slave as thou to eat?  
And with such pastime we got down our meat.  
At Beneventum our officious Host  
Roasting lean Birds, was like himself to roast.  
The pile of fire fell down, and scattered flame  
Unto the roof of the old Kitchen came,  
The hungry Guests, and Servants worse than those,  
Being afraid their supper they should lose,  
Began to scramble, and did more conspire  
To snatch the victuals, then to quench the fire.  
And now th' Apulean Mountains did appear,  
Which by 〈◊〉 so scorched are,  
These we had ne'er chawed o'er, but that there lay  
Trivi●us to refresh us by the way;  
But such a cursed smo●k did there arise  
From the green Boughs they burned, it scorched our ey●▪  
Here I the 〈◊〉 of the company  
Till Midnight aid in expectation lie  
Of a false Wench, who promised to come to me,  
But sleep did come, and that more good did do me:  
But what I dreamt▪ and what on me befell,  
My body and my sheets can only tell.  
Thence four and twenty miles we were conveyed  
By Coach, then in a little town we stayed,  
Whose name won't stand in verse, but yet there are  
Plain signs to know it by, they water there  
(The meanest of all things) sell, while travelers may  
With fine bread gratis load themselves away.  
Bread at C●nusiums gritty, water there  
Is as at Equotutium, very rare.  
Brave Diomedes of so high renown,  
'Twas he, that built in former time, this town.  
Here Varius parted from's, and weeping went,  
While ●e his absence did as much lament.  
To Rubi thence, we being tired, did get,  
The journey long, and worse because 'twas wet.  
Next day to Fishy Barus we repair,  
The way was worse, but yet the Wether fair;  
From thence to Gratia, which did seem to be  
Founded in spite of th' Water Nymphs, for we  
Found wholesome Water greatly wanting there,  
But we had excellent sport; for they did dare  
Persuade me, that their Incense which they lay  
Upon their Altars, would consume away  
Without a fire, I'll ne'er think 'tis true,  
This story fits th' uncircumcised jew;  
For I well know the Gods live free from cares,  
And ne'er concern themselves in man's affairs,  
And when as Nature any thing does do,  
Which Mortal men are most accustomed to,  
I don't believe that 'tis the careful Gods  
Send down this wonder from their high abodes;  
Thence to Brandusium we our travels bend,  
And here my paper and our journey end.   

SATYR VI By Sir R. F. To MAECENAS.  
He reprehends the vain judgement of the people of Rome concerning Nobility, measuring the same by antiquity of Pedigree, not by virtue; nor willingly admitting to Magistracy any but such as were adorned with the former▪ That there was no reason to envy him for the friendship of Maecenas, as for a Tribuneship; since that was not given by Fortune, but acquired by the recommendations of virtue. Lastly, shows his condition in a private life to be much better, than (if he were a Magistrate) it could be.  
NOt that the Tuscans (who from Lydia came)  
Have nothing nobler than Maecenas name;  
Nor that thy Mothers, and Sires Grandsire were  
Generals of old, makes thee as most men, sneer  
Thy nose up at poor folks, and such as me,  
Born of a Father, from a Slave made free.  
When thou affirmest, It skils not of what kind  
Any is come; if of a noble mind;  
Thou deemest (and right) that before Tullus reign,  
(Who was a King, yet not a Gentleman)  
Many a man of no degree, no name,  
By great achievements to great honours came.  
Levinus contrary (Valerio's Son,  
By whom proud Tarquin was expelled the Throne)  
Him worthless, Even the people (whom you know)  
They scorned; Those fools that honours oft bestow  
On undeservers, doting on gay men,  
Dazzled with shields and coronets. What then  
Shall we do, lifted far above their Sphere?  
The People to Levinus did prefer  
A new man Decius; yet now, should I  
Stand for a place, hoarse Appius would cry,  
Withdraw! 'cause I'm no Gentleman: and shall,  
When Horace meddles farther than his Naul.  
But Honour takes into her golden Coach  
Noble and base. Tullus, what hast to touch  
The Purple Robe (which Caesar forced thee quit)  
And be a Tribune? Envy thou didst get  
Thereby, by whom i'th' dark thou'dst near been spied.  
For when the people see a strange face ride  
Up to the ears in Ermines, and a list  
(Or more) of Gold; straight they demand, Who is't?  
What was his Father? Just as when some youth,  
Sick of the Fashions (to be thought, forsooth,  
Handsome) inflames the fairer Sex, to call  
His face in question, hair, teeth, foot, and small.  
So when a man upon the Stage shall come,  
And say, Give me the Reins that govern Rome,  
I'll manage Italy, the State shall be  
My care, I, and the Church likewise: Odds me!  
It forces every Mortal to inquire  
And know who was his Mother, who his Sire?  
Shall then the Offspring of a Minstrel dare  
Displace this General, condemn that Peer?  
Novius was one hole lower. Being the same  
My Father was, you'd think from Brute he came.  
But if two hundred Drays obstruct a street,  
Or with their Trumpeters, three Funerals meet;  
Louder than all he chafes with brazen lungs,  
And this is something to awe people's tongues.  
But to myself, the son of the Freed man,  
O (Envy cries) The son of the Freed man!  
Maecenas, now, Because thy Guest: before,  
Because a Roman Tribune's charge I bore.  
These two are not alike: I may pretend,  
Though not to office, yet to be thy friend,  
Thou being chiefly in this case so choice,  
Not guided by Ambition, popular voice,  
Or by a chance: Virgil his word did pass  
For me, than Varus told thee what I was.  
When first presented, little said I to thee,  
(For Modesty's an infant) did not show thee  
A long-tailed Pedigree: I did not say,  
I bred Race-horses in Appulia:  
Told what I was. As little thou replied'st,  
(Thy mode) I go: at nine month's end, thou bid'st  
Me, of thy Friends, be one. Of this I boast,  
That I pleased thee (who to distinguish knowst)  
Not Noble, but of fair and Crystal thoughts.  
Yet, if except some few (not heinous) faults,  
My Nature's strait (as you may reprehend,  
In a fair face, some moles.) If (to commend  
Myself) I am not given to avarice;  
Not nasty, not debauched, not sold to vice,  
Loved by my Friends, obedient to the Laws,  
Of all these things my Father was the cause.  
Who though but tenant to one small lean Farm,  
In Flavio's School would never let me learn.  
When great Centurions sent their great Boys thither,  
Their left arms cramped with stones, hung in a leather  
Bag, with a counting-board; but boldly parts  
With me (a child) to Rome: t'imbibe those arts  
A Knight, or Senator, might teach his Boy;  
That who had seen my clothes and my convoy  
Of Servants, cleaving through a press, would swear  
Some wealthy Grandsire did my charges bear.  
Himself (the carefullest Tutor) had his eye  
Over them all. In short my Modesty,  
(Virtues first bloom) so watering from this Well,  
He both preserved my whiteness and my smell:  
Nor feared, lest any should in time to come,  
Blame him he had not bred me still at home  
To his own Trade: or I myself complain;  
(The more his praise my debt,) if I have brain,  
Of such a Father now shall I repent,  
Like some that quarrel with their own descent,  
Because their blood from Nobles did not flow,  
Reason as well as Nature answers, No:  
For if I should unweave the Loom of Fate,  
And choose myself new parents, for my State,  
In any Tribe: Contented with mine own,  
I would not change to be a Consuls Son.  
Mad, in the Vulgars' judgement: But in thine  
Sober, perchance: because I did decline  
An irksome load I am not used to bear.  
For I must seek more wealth strait, if that were;  
And, to beg Voices, many a visit make,  
Must at my heels a brace of Servants take;  
For fear my honour should be seen alone,  
To go into the Country, or the Town.  
There must be Horse's store, and Grooms thereto,  
A Litter's to be hired too: Whereas now  
'Tis lawful for me on a Bob-tail Mule  
To travel to Tarontum, if I will;  
My cloak-bag galling her behind, and I  
Digging her shoulders. Not, with Obloquy,  
Like Tullus, when in Tiber-Road he's seen  
Attended with five Boys, carrying a skin  
Of Wine, and a Close-stool: Brave Senator,  
More decently than thou, and thousands more,  
I could do that. Where e'er I list I go,  
Alone, the price of Broth and Barley know;  
Crowd in at every Sight, walk late in Rome:  
Visit the Temple with a prayer: then home  
To my Leek-pottage, and Chich-pease, Three boys  
Serve in my Supper; whom to counterpoise  
One bowl, two beakers on a broad white slate,  
A pitcher with two ears (
* Earthen.  Campanian Plate)  
Then do I go to sleep: securely do't,  
Being next morning to attend no suit  
In the great Hall (where Marsya doth look,  
As if loud Nemio's face he could not brook)  
I lie till Four. Then walk, or read a while;  
Or write to please myself; 'noint me with Oil:  
(Not such as Natta paws himself withal,  
Robbing the Lamps.) When near his Vertical  
The hotter Sun invites us to a Bath  
For our tired Limbs, I fly the Dog-stars wrath,  
Having dined only so much as may stay  
My appetite: Loiter at home all da●.  
These are my solaces: this is the life  
Of men that eat ambition, run from strife.  
Lighter then if I soared on Glories wing,  
The Nephew, Son, and Grandson to a King.   

SATYR VII. By A. B. A Brawl between two Railing Buffoons.  
THe venomous railing of that black mouthed thing  
Who lately was prescribed Rupillius King,  
Against that mongrel Persian, and how he  
Revenged himself on King again; these be  
Things (I suppose) notoriously known,  
The talk of every Barber's shop in town.  
This Persian being rich, his wealth did draw  
Much business, and that business suits in Law;  
And with Rupillius King, among the rest,  
He had a very troublesome contest;  
He was a surly fellow, proud, and bold,  
And able King himself with ease t'out-scold,  
Of such a bitter and invective speech,  
That he even Billingsgate to rail could teach.  
Now as to King, since nothing could compose  
The differences which between them rose,  
These two Tongue-combatants began their fray,  
When Brutus governed wealthy Asia;  
To th' Hall they come contending eagerly,  
Both matched as equally as Fencers be;  
They made an excellent Scene: First in the Court  
The Persian pleads his cause, and made good sport,  
Our General Brutus to the skies he raised,  
And his victorious Army highly praised;  
Called him the Sun of Asia, and all  
His Captains he propitious Stars did call,  
Except that Buffoon King (says he) who's far  
More mischievous t'you all, than the Dog-star  
Is to the Husbandman: thus on he ran,  
And by his railing, bore that baffled man  
Quite down before him; like a Winter flood,  
Which drives down every thing that e'er withstood  
Its rapid motion, and by violence  
Roots up the trees, and so the Axe presents.  
Thus when two Warriors engage in fight,  
And both of equal courage, skill, and might,  
Honour's their aim, both scorn to yield or r●n,  
The more their valour, the more mischiefs done.  
So valiant Hector when he did engage  
Against stout Achilles, such a deadly rage  
Did animate them both, that nothing could  
Satiate their fury but each others blood,  
And death of one, merely 'cause both were stout;  
Conquer or die both could, but ne'er give out.  
But when two Cowards quarrel, or if one  
That courage has, contends with one of none;  
(As Diomedes once with Glauceus did)  
The Coward yields or runs for't, and instead  
Of blows, gives bribes, and presents to his Foe,  
Only to save his life, and let him go.  
King rallies up his thoughts, and then retorts  
Invectives false, and many of all sorts:  
Just like a surly Carman, whose rude tongue  
Out-rails all Passengers, be't right or wrong;  
He had not wit to jeer, but rudely bauls,  
And the smart Persian Rogue and Cuckold calls.  
The angry Persian being so much stung  
By the reproaches of the Italians tongue,  
Cries out, Oh Brutus! by the Gods I pray,  
Thou whose profession's to take Kings, away,  
Murder this one King for me, thou'lt gain more  
By this, than all the Kings thoust killed before.   

SATYR VIII. By A. B. A Discovery of Witchcraft.  
OF an Old Figtree once the trunk was I,  
And as useless piece of wood laid by,  
〈…〉 Carpenter who found  
Me lying so neglected on the ground,  
Took me in hand to form me with his tool,  
But whether he should make of me a stool,  
Or a Priapus, was a thing that ●id  
Long time perplex this politic workman's head;  
Till after long deliberation, he  
For weighty reasons made a God of me.  
Hence does my Deity proceed, and I  
Here stand the thiefs and birds to terrify;  
The thiefs I fright away with my right hand,  
And my long pole which does erected stand;  
My Crown of Reeds does drive the birds away,  
That they dare not in our new Gardens prey.  
The ground where I now stand was heretofore  
A common Burying-place for all the poor,  
Whose carcases in mean small graves were laid,  
And this the public Sepulchre was made  
For th' meanest sort of people, those men which  
Were much the poorer 'cause they had been rich.  
The bodies of such spendthrifts here were casts  
As fooled their means away, and lacked at last.  
A thousand foot in length, three hundred wide,  
Which from the rest a Landmark did divide,  
Whose plain inscription did describe to th' Heirs,  
Which ground was Sacred, & which ground was theirs.  
Now men i'th' healthy Churchyard live, and where  
Dead bodies stunk, the living take fresh a●r,  
And on that green hill now we walk, which once  
Was all deformed and covered o'er with bones.  
But yet the thiefs and birds which hither come,  
And haunt this place, are not so troublesome  
To me, as those who charms and poisons use,  
With which they do poor Mortal minds abuse,  
These I can neither hinder nor destroy,  
But in the silent nights, by Moonshine they  
Into these Gardens steal, and pick up there  
Dead humane bones and herbs that poisonous are.  
Here that old Hag Canidia I spied  
In a black garment close about her tied,  
Barefoot she walked, her locks dishevelled were,  
And that Witch-major Sagana with her:  
Howling like Wolves, of pale and ugly hue,  
They both appeared most ghastly to my view,  
With their long nails to scratch the earth they went,  
And with their teeth a Lamb in sunder rend,  
Whose blood they poured into their new digged pit,  
And conjured up th' infernal Fiends with it,  
Such Spirits as could answer to what ere  
They did demand; two Images there were  
Brought by these Hags, by which they did their knack  
One made of wool, the other made of wax:  
The Woollen was the greater, that it might  
The little Waxen Image curb and fright.  
This Wax Effigies stood cringing by,  
As sinking under its servility,  
One Hecate invokes; Tisiphone  
Is charmed by tother: Serpents one might see,  
And the infernal Dogs run out and in.  
The bashful Moon for fear she should have been  
A witness to these juggle hid her face,  
And made our Sepulchers her lurking place.  
If I lie t'you in any thing I've said,  
May the crows with their dung pollute my head!  
May all the rogues and whores, and thiefs in town,  
Cast their base Excrements upon my crown.  
What need I all those tricks to mention, which  
Were done by Sagana that damned old Witch?  
And by what Artifice the Ghosts and she  
Discoursed together with variety  
Of tones, now shrill, now flat, and how they did  
Hide under ground by stealth the hairy head  
Of an old wolf, with teeth of speckled snake,  
Then with the Waxen image they did make  
The fire to blaze: But that I might not be  
A tame spectator of this foolery,  
And those impostures unrevenged behold,  
Of both those Hags so ugly and so old;  
I from my Godships' entrails backward spoke,  
As thundering as a bladder when'tis broke;  
Away run both the witches into town,  
Out dropped Canidia's set of teeth, and down  
Old Sagana her snakes and poisons threw,  
And all her conjuring tools, off likewise threw  
Her Periwig, 'twould make one break his heart  
With laughter, to observe how one ●ound fart  
Broke from a God, two Witches frights away,  
And made them run from one more weak than they.   

SATYR IX. A description of an impertinent prating Fool.  
OF late along the streets I musing walked,  
And to myself some learned whimsy talked,  
When lo a wand'ring Trifler to me ca●e,  
Whom scarce I knew, save only by his name;  
And with familiar freedom took my hand,  
Ask me, How I did? At your command  
(Said I) God keep you Sir. He following still,  
I turned about, and stopped to know his will.  
What? done't you know me, man? (said he) I too  
A Virtuo so am as well as you.  
The more I honour you, Sir, (I replied)  
And still all ways to shake him off I tried,  
In thousand different postures I did go,  
Sometimes I walked apace, and sometimes slow;  
Sometimes I whispered in my Footboys ear,  
And all the while did sweat all o'er for fear.  
Oh happy he! (to mutter I began)  
Who hugs himself at an impertinent man!  
Oh happy! who as well himself can feast  
On the most foolish talker as the best!  
In the mean time his tongue did gallop on,  
Letting no street, nor sign, nor house alone:  
At last, perceiving I did nothing mind,  
(He said) you'd fain be rid of me, I find;  
But you, nor I have now not much to do,  
I'll therefore wait upon you where you go:  
Where lies your way? O Lord, pray Sir do not  
Yourself for me to so much trouble put;  
My journey lies almost as far's the Tower,  
To visit one you never saw before.  
That's nothing sir, I'm perfectly at leisure,  
And a long walk with you I count a pleasure:  
With that I shrunk my shoulders, hung my ears,  
As a dull Ass that too great lading bears.  
Then he begins: If once you knew me sir,  
You'd scarce to me would any wit prefer,  
Who is there that can better verses write?  
Or who with greater swiftness can indite?  
Who of your friends can more gently dance?  
Or who can better teach the mode of France?  
If you but hear me sing, you will confess,  
I do excess the famed Hermogenes.  
Here it was time to interpose: Have you  
No mother Sir, nor other kindred, who  
May want your company this present hour?  
O no; pale Death did them long since devour.  
The happier they; Nay then, in faith, go on,  
Kill me out right, my friend, since thoust begun;  
My last hour's come, and now I plainly see  
Thou wert intended by that Prophecy  
Which my Nurse spoke, when I an Infant was,  
Clapping my feet and smiling in my face,  
She said; This Boy no poison, nor no steel,  
No pain of Cough, or Spleen, or Gout, shall feel,  
But by some fatal tongue shall be destroyed,  
Talkers let him, when come to age, avoid.  
Over against Guildhall at length we came,  
He pelting me, I miserably lame.  
God's so! 'Tis well remembered, hold, I pray,  
I have a Cause here to be tried to day;  
Good Sir come with me in, I'll strait dispatch.  
In haste, like dying men, this bough I catcht.  
In troth Sir I have no great skill i'th' Law,  
My nod will keep no judge or jury in awe,  
I'll softly walk before, and if you make  
Good speed, you quickly me may overtake.  
Here the perplexed stood still, and scratched his head,  
What? shall I lose so dear a friend? (he said)  
Or by my absence lose my Cause? Nay Sir,  
I pray regard your business, do not stir.  
Let my Cause sink (or swim) I'll leave it here,  
So I may self to such a friend endear.  
So on he leads, and I found 'twas in vain  
To spoil my teeth by champing of the chain;  
Strait he resumes his first Discourse; And how?  
How with my Lord stands your condition now?  
Lord's a prudent man, and private lives,  
Never himself to much acquaintance gives;  
You'll raise a mighty Fortune under him,  
But yet me thinks it would great wisdom seem,  
If you would take some course those to prefer  
About him, who might still possess his ear  
To your advantage, and if I were one,  
You might be sure govern him alone.  
You're quite mistaken Sir, we live not so  
As you suppose, nor yet as others do;  
No small Intrigues that family does breed,  
No plots, nor little jealousies does feed:  
None there does look with envious eyes upon  
Another's good, but loves it as his own;  
Strange and unusual this which you relate,  
But so it is, the more I'm passionate  
To make one of your number. That you may  
Without dispute, if you'll but try the way;  
A man so qualified as you appear,  
Can't be denied admission any where.  
Well, to myself I will not wanting ●e,  
I'll watch his hours, his servants I will fee;  
I will salute his Chariot in the street,  
I'll bring him home as often as we meet:  
We Courtiers strive for interest in vain,  
Unless by long observance it we gain.  
While he did thus run on, who should we meet  
But my friend C— passing cross the street,  
C— strait found what kind of man he was,  
Nor to see through him, needed he his Glass:  
So when the usual compliments were passed,  
I trod on's Toes, and softly him embraced;  
I winked, and shruuged, and many signs I gave,  
Which silently did his assistance crave:  
But my unmerciful malicious friend,  
Seemed not to understand what I intent,  
Enjoyed my misery, and smiled to see  
What small thin Plots I made to be set free.  
Dear friend! d'ye remember who last night  
Did us to dine with him to day invite?  
I well rember it, but yet in troth  
I have no mind to go, for I am loath  
To break a fasting day, as we shall there,  
That's nought I have a dispensation here.  
I've none (says he) I'm going another way,  
I'll keep my conscience, and the Church obey.  
This said my witty Friend with cruel spite,  
Leaves me even when the Butchers going to smite.  
Under what cursed Planet was I born?  
By my companion to be left forlorn!  
Condemned to suffer this incessant breath,  
And by perpetual chattering talked to death.  
But now at last by great good hap there was  
A Bailiff seized on him as he did pass;  
O have I caughr you Sir, you must with me,  
Pray Sir, will you against him witness be?  
Along they go, I for revenge too joined,  
But in the Hall we so great tumult find,  
Such heaps of Women followed us, and Boys,  
That I with ease escaped amidst the noise.  
Sure great was my distress, when even a throng  
Of Lawyers was relief against his tongue.   

SATYR X. By A. B. Another Discourse of POETRY.  
I Said indeed the Verse Lucilius writ  
Were rough, 'tis true; and who's so void of wit,  
T●ough ne'er so much his Patron or his Friend,  
That him against this censure can defend?  
But in that very Page I said withal,  
That with great Wit he does the City maul,  
And did commend him for it much. But yet  
Though I allow him that, I don't admit  
Lucilius was so thorough-paced a Wit,  
As to be good at every thing, for so  
That fool Laberius Doggerel Rhimes might go  
For excellent Poems, and be much admired.  
Though't be a virtue, and to be desired  
To make an Audience laugh well, yet there be  
More things required to make a Poet; he  
Must be caucise, his Verse must smoothly flow,  
And not be clogged with needless words that grow  
A burden to the Reader, who is tired  
With reading that which he at first desired.  
Sometimes 'tis good to use a doleful strain,  
But most of all the brisk and airy vain  
Now play the Rhetorician, and then  
To the Poetical raptures fly again.  
Sometimes write like a Gentleman, whose part  
Is to write easily without much art,  
A Drolling merry stile does better hit  
Great matters, than a downright railing Wit;  
The ancient Comic Poets on this ground  
Are imitable, and to be renowned,  
But those our spruce Gallants about the Town,  
(Because they understand them not) cry down.  
To sing what Calvus and Catullus writ,  
Is th' height of all their learning and their wit.  
He that, say they, in's Latin Verses can  
Mix ends of Greek, that that's the only man.  
You aged Blockheads! who so dote upon  
That Rhodian Dunce, Poet Pytholeon,  
And think that Piebald way in which he went  
To be both difficult and excellent.  
But oh! an elegant discourse (you'll say)  
Made up of Greek and Latin words looks gay;  
'Tis just like Chian Wine when mixed among  
The Wine that to Falernum does belong.  
When thou wouldst Verses make, imagine thou  
Wert for thy life to plead thy own cause now,  
As did that criminal Petillus once,  
Wouldst thou thy Native language quite renounce,  
While the King's Council in their Mother tongue  
Tug for thy Condemnation, right or wrong?  
To ●nterlace thy speech, wouldst thou incline  
With foreign words, and like the Canusine,  
Speak a compounded Gibberish? But when I  
(Who am an Inland Poel went to try  
To make Greek Verses, after midnight, when  
Those things are real which are dreamt by men,  
Romulus strait appeared to me, and told me,  
All men would for as great a madman hold me,  
If I attempt t'increase that tedious store  
Of the Greek Poets, too too large before,  
As if I should Coals to Newcastle send;  
This to my Grecian versing put an end;  
While swelling Alpin with his thundering Pen,  
Murders poor slaughtered Memnon o'er again,  
And by his barbarous Poetry destroys  
Those things and persons which he goes to praise.  
I sport myself with writing Lines, which ne'er  
Are spoken in Apollo's Temple, where  
That pedant Tarpa does presume to sit,  
And with much boldness judge of little wit,  
Nor are they oft obtruded on the Stage,  
To cloy the Stomach of the queasy age,  
As now our modern Fundanus does,  
Who is in scribbling Plays facetious,  
And with a subtle whore, a cunning knave,  
Cheating old men, we the same fancy have  
In all his Plays. And Tragic Pollio sings  
In his threefooted Verse the deeds of Kings:  
But our ingenuous Varius does produce  
Better than any the Heroic Muse,  
And the smooth Rural Muses do inspire  
Virgil with soft and most facetious fire.  
Hence 'tis that I write better Satyrs than  
That blundring Varro, and that sort of men  
Who have so often tried to write, in vain,  
Yet I fall short of our Lucilius strain,  
Who first invented them; nor will I dare  
To strip him from the Crown which did adhere  
T'his brows with so much glory; though I said  
His Verses did run muddily, yet they had  
More in them that deserved our great respect,  
Then all those Vices which we should reject.  
But, prithee tell me? Did thy learned eye  
Nothing to be reproved in Homer spy?  
Did not Lucilius himself think fit  
To alter something of weak Accius' wit?  
Did he not laugh at Ennius' lines, as though  
Some things in them were not quite grave enough?  
And when of thee he a discourse did move,  
Thought thee as bad as those he did reprove?  
And what should hinder, but when ever we  
Do read Lucilius works, we well may see  
If't were the imperfection of his wit,  
Or crabbed Nature of the things he writ,  
Would not permit the Lines he made to be  
Elaborate, or run more evenly?  
Or if that any Poet took delight  
A Poem in Hexameter to write,  
Contended only that he had made up  
Two hundred Verses when he went to sup,  
And after Supper just as many more,  
Whose rhimes did run as Cassius heretofore,  
More swift and raging then a Torrent does,  
Which being condemned to fire, as story goes,  
Was burnt to ashes with the Books he writ,  
(The just reward of a voluminous wit)  
If he were now alive, and all that e'er  
He found superfluous, away should pair,  
He'd scratch his head were he a Verse to write,  
And often to the quick his nails would bite.  
He that wou●d write what should twice reading stand,  
Must often be upon the mending hand,  
ne'er mind the praise of the undiscerning Crew,  
Content with learned Readers, though but few.  
Art thou so mad thy Poems to expose  
To Ballad-singers, and to Puppet-shows?  
Now I (I vow) I'm like the bold wench, that  
By all the people being baited at,  
Since I (quoth she) am Minion to a Knight,  
I all the inferior rabble scorn and slight:  
Shall such an Arse-worm as Pantilius,  
Disturb may thoughts? or when Demetrius does  
Behind my back traduce me, or that Ass  
Fannius (who once Tigellius Crony was)  
Abuses me, his envious rage to vent,  
Shall I shall foolishly myself torment?  
No; let Maecenas, and such men of wit  
As Virgil, will but read what I have writ,  
With many friends and learned persons more,  
Whose names I do industriously pass o'er,  
Whom I desire to smile on what I write  
How ill soever; But if they should delight  
Less than my expectation, I should be  
Exceeding sorrowful: But as for thee  
Demetrius, thee Tigellius that be  
But Finding Rogues, go fret yourselves and pine  
Amongst your She-schollars at these lines of mine;  
Sirrah, make all the haste you can, and look  
That all I've said be added to my Book.  
The end of the First Book of Satyrs.    

SATYRS. BOOK II.  

SATYR I. By Sir. R. F.  
He dilates upon the advice given him by Trebatius to write the actions of Augustus, rather than Satyrs (as things that are dangerous to meddle with) and shows way he cannot obey him.  
SOme think I am to sharp a Satirist,  
And that I stretch my work beyond the list.  
Others, what ere I write is neeless say,  
And that like mine a thousand Lines a day  
May be spun. What wouldst thou advise me now  
(Trebatius) in this case? Sat still. As how?  
Not to write Verse at all, dost thou aver  
As thy Sense? I do. Let me never stir,  
If 'twere not better. But I cannot sleep.  
For that, swim Tiber (anointed) thrice: or steep  
Thy brains at night in Wine. If thou must needs  
Write, dare to write unconquered Caesar's deeds,  
Great Rewards following. Father, that being it  
I'd fain be at, my will exceeds my wit.  
Not every Pen can paint in horrid Field.  
Thick Groves of Pikes, Spears broke in Frenchmen killed,  
And a hurt Parthian dropping from his Horse.  
His justice though thou mayst, and his minds force:  
As wise Lucilius those of Scipio,  
I'll not be wanting to myself, if so  
Occasion serve. The passage must be clear  
When Horace words pierce Caesar's serious ear:  
Whom, stroking, if we think t'approach: ' ware heels.  
Is not that better than in Verse that reels,  
To jeer this Gull, that Prodigal, when each  
Man thinks he's meant (though quite from thy thoughts reach)  
And hates thee for't? what should I do? being hot  
Ith' head, and seeing double through the Pot,  
Milonius frisks. Castor on Horseback fights:  
The twin of the same Egg in Clubs delights.  
As many thousand minds as men there be,  
I Like Lucilius (better then both we)  
My words in Meeter love t' enclose and bind.  
His way was, in his Books to speak his mind  
As freely, as his secrets he would tell  
To a tried friend: and took it ill, or well,  
He held his Custom. Hence it came to pass,  
The old man's life is there as in a Glass.  
His steps I follow, whom you neither can  
Of Luca call, nor an Appulian.  
(For the Venusian both their borders ploughs,  
A Colony of Rome, as old Fame shows,  
The Sabells' thence expelled to stop that Gate,  
And be an Out-work to the Roman State.)  
Yet I'd not harm a Chicken with my will:  
For show and countenance bearing my Quill  
Like a Sword sheathed; which why should I draw, not  
Set on by Rogues? with Rust there may it rot  
O jove, Father and King: and none bereave  
The peace I seek. But if there do, believe  
Me they will rued, when with my keen Style stung,  
Through the whole town they shall in pomp be sung.  
Servius, the penal Statutes (angered) threats  
Canidia to Witch them, against whom she sets:  
A mischief Turius, to all those wage Law  
Where he's a Judge. That every one doth awe  
Them whom he fears, with that where his strength is,  
And that by Nature's Law appears in this:  
Wolves smite with teeth, Bulls with the horn (this must  
Be taught them from within.) With Scaeva trust  
His long-lived Mother; my head to a groat,  
His pious hand shall never cut her throat.  
Not his? No more than an Ox bite, a Bear  
Kick thee: but she shall die of poison. There  
Now lies his skill. Me, whether (in effect)  
The quiet Harbour of old age expect,  
Or Death with sable wings hover about:  
Rich, Poor, at Rome, or by hard Fate thrust out  
Into exile; in whatsoever way  
Of life, I must write Verses: that's my play▪  
O Child! thy taper's near the end I doubt,  
And that some great Man's brave will puff thee out.  
Why? When Lucilius durst begin this way  
Of writing Verses, and the skins did flay.  
In which the outward-fair disguised their shame;  
Were Laelius and he that won a name  
From Carthage-razed, offended with his wit?  
Or did they winch, Metallus being hit?  
And Lupus stripped and whipped in Verse? yet he  
Spouted his Ink on men of each degree:  
None spared but Virtue and her friends. Nay when  
Retired were from the Stage, and crowd of men,  
Scipio's exalted virtue, and the mild  
Wisdom of Laelius: Till the Broth was boiled,  
They both would play and toil with him, ungirt.  
Though I in wit, and in condition, short  
Am of Lucilius: Envy shall confess  
Against her will, I've lived nevertheless  
Amongst great men: and (thinking to have stuff  
Here, for her rotten teeth) find I am tough,  
If learned Trebatius take me at my rate,  
Nay truly I can find nothing to bate;  
Only I warn thee, least through ignorance  
Of settled Laws thou come to some mischance:  
If any write base Verses against other,  
It bears a suit. If base, I grant: but Father,  
If any write good verse, that man's praised,  
Caesar the Judge. If I the street have raised  
By ba●●ing at a Thief, myself being none,  
The 〈◊〉 with laughter cracks, I (freed) go home.   

SATYR II. By A. B. The benefits of Temperance and Frugality.  
HOw great a virtue 'tis, and how it tends  
To the good of humane life (my worthy friends)  
To live abstemiously, is not to be  
Learned at great Feasts made up of luxury,  
Amongst your polished Tables spread in State,  
Loaden with Dishes of stupendious Plate,  
Whose various splend our does amaze the Eye,  
And make the puzzled appetite pass by  
What's good, and choose the worse: but when you be  
Fasting, then come sift out this truth with me.  
This is not my Sense only, but Offellus  
That Country wit, this truth did long since tell us,  
A prudent man, yet walked not by a rule,  
Nor learned the formal Precepts of the School.  
You'll ask, why fasting? give me leave I'll tell you▪  
You can no more with a full gorged belly  
Know vice from virtue, than a Judge that is  
Corrupt, discern 'twixt truth and falsities.  
Suppose you had hunted hard, or used your force  
To ride and manage a high-metled Horse:  
Or you whose life before luxurious was,  
Shouldst on a Roman Soldiers duty pass,  
Or shouldst at Tennis play with might and main,  
Whilst the delight makes you ne'er mind the pain;  
Or had you been at Quoiting, and had thrown  
Into the yielding Air a ponderous stone,  
Till your much exercise had driven away  
That sustenance which on your stomaches lay,  
When you are very dry and hungry grown,  
Then I'd fain fee you let course food alone;  
Or drink no Wine, unless you can procure  
Racy, Canary, or what Claret's pure,  
Or if the Butler's absent, or the Main  
By storms protects her Fish from being slain,  
A crust of bread dipped into salt well may  
The barking of your empty stomaches stay.  
You'll ask me how this virtue may be got?  
True pleasure in the daintiest Dish does not  
Consist, but in ourselves, and any meat  
Is to us Venison, if obtained by Sweat:  
But no delicious Banquets can invite,  
Or gratify the gorged appetite.  
I doubt I shan't persuade you, but that men  
Will feed upon dry Peacocks, rather than  
The Fat, but common Fowl: men's palates be  
Corrupted with the very vanity  
Of things, and still desire to taste that food  
That's very dear, and think it therefore good.  
Peacocks with us the best esteem obtain,  
Not for their Flesh, but for their gaudy Train,  
As if it would men's Palates gratify,  
To eat those Feathers they extol so high:  
Or that the glorious show would not be spoiled,  
When you shall see a Peacock stripped and boiled.  
Although the flesh of Hens and Peacocks do  
In nothing differ, it appears that you  
Are fooled with various colours: Be so still  
You'll wonder how I have attained this skill.  
When you've a Pike presented in a Dish,  
You ask impertinently, if that Fish  
I● the main sea, or in fresh waters caught?  
And madly praise Mullets of three pound weight,  
Which you must cut in pieces; but I see  
Most men merely with shows delighted be:  
Pray, for what reason do most men dislike,  
(Though they love Mullets large) a well grown Pike?  
Their curiosity's the reason for't,  
'Cause Nature made Pikes long, and Mullets short.  
When a man's stomach is once hungry grown,  
He slights no food, the coursest Bit will down;  
But the luxurious Glutton says, I wish  
A ponderous Mullet wallowing in my dish;  
Such fellows do only deserve to eat  
With revenous Harpies. I could wish their meat  
Would with moist weather stink, and loathsome grow,  
But their fresh Fish and Venison will do so;  
And to their glutted Stomach nauseous be,  
By their too fulsome superfluity,  
When the crammed Glutton overcharged with meat,  
To get new stomach does sharp Salads eat.  
Yet sometimes homely Diet does appear  
At mighty Prince's Tables; for Eggs there  
(Which are so common) sometimes may be seen,  
And the black Olives on their Board's have been.  
Though with the Crier Gallo 'twas not thus,  
Who was for Luxury so infamous,  
Because he Sturgeon first did bring to's Board,  
What can't the Sea Mullets enough afford?  
The Turbet in the Sea did safely rest,  
And Storks lay unmolested in their nest,  
Till your luxurious mayor (that would have been)  
Ingeniously brought their destruction in:  
And now if any other person should  
Cry up the roasted Cormorant, rare food!  
Our Roman youth, who've only vicious wit,  
Would praise and imitate both him and it.  
Yet (as Offellus held) there's difference great  
Betwixt the sordid and the frugal meat,  
And men in vain do luxury eschew,  
If they do Sordidness the while pursue.  
So Avidienus, whom we do justly brand  
With name of Dog, would eat wild Cornels, and  
Kept ●●ll 'twas sour all the Wine he drunk,  
And all his Oil intolerably stunk,  
Which from his nasty horn, he, drop by drop,  
Distilled upon the Colwort Salad top  
With his own hand, but he would never spare  
To dowse it o'er with his dead Vinegar,  
Though on his Birthday, or his Wedding-day,  
Or other feast, clad in his best array.  
What Diet then should a wise man beat?  
And which of these two should he imitate?  
Keep the mid-road, and both extremes beware,  
Here lurks a Dog, and a fierce Wolf lies there.  
So cleanly he should be as not t' offend  
By's nastiness the stomach of his friend;  
Not be extreme in either hand in's treat,  
Nor by too much, nor by too little meat;  
Not like Albucius of old, who when  
He entertained his friend would beat his men▪  
Nor negligent as Naevius, who at Feasts  
With greasy water would present his guests.  
This is a great vice also. Now, pray mind,  
What good in frugal Diet you may find.  
First you'll be very healthy; for you know  
Much harm to us from various meats does flow:  
Think on that only Dish which was your fare,  
How blithe and healthy after it you were!  
B●t when men fell to mingling roast and boiled,  
And fish and fowl together, health was spoilt!  
The sweet meats turned to Choler, and tough phlegm  
Bred a disturbance in the maws of them:  
Observe how pale and sick a man does rise  
From board, confounded with varieties;  
Nay when the bodies overcharged, the mind  
Is also in the discomposure joined,  
And on the ground inhumanely does roll,  
That part of Heavenly breath, the precious soul!  
While he that does a slender Diet keep,  
Can on the sudden lay his limbs to sleep,  
And in the morning rise so fresh to do  
Whatever business he's inclined unto.  
And yet this temperate person sometimes may  
Increase his Table on some Holiday,  
Or when he means his body to caress,  
Which is brought low by his abstemiousness;  
For years will steal on men, old age must be,  
Because 'tis feeble, handled tenderly.  
But if decrepit age on some men seize,  
Or if they fall into some sharp disease,  
What tender usage can be added more,  
Then they being young and lusty had before?  
Our Ancestors stale Venison used to praise,  
Nor that they could not smell it in those days,  
But 'twas with this intent, that if a Guest  
Came some days after th' ending of the Feast,  
'Twere better he should on cold Venison fall,  
Then for the Master to devour it all.  
I would to God I had been brought forth then,  
In that first age among those worthy men.  
D'ye value reputation, which to th' ear  
Is gratefuller than verse or Music are;  
Great Turbets, and such costly Dishes do  
Begat you damage and discredit too;  
Besides your parents and your friends you must  
Enrage, and prove to our own selves unjust;  
And then in vain you will desire to die,  
Not being worth a Groat a Rope to buy.  
You'll say, such a poor Sneak as Thrasius,  
Justly deserves to be rewarded thus:  
But you've a great Estate, wealth without end,  
As much as will suffice three Kings to spend.  
What then? Can there no better way be fou●d  
To spend that Wealth, with which you so abound?  
Why should so many brave men want? and why  
Should the Gods ancient Temples ruin'd lie (thou  
While you are rich? Vile wretch! Why wilt notthou  
Out of thy needless store something allow  
For thy dear Countries good? canst thou suppose  
Thy fate alone will still be prosperous;  
Oh, how thine enemies will laugh at thee,  
When thou'rt reduced to want and beggary!  
Which of the two can certainest rely  
On his own temper in adversity?  
That man whose pampered body and his mind,  
Have ever been to luxury inclined,  
Or that's content with little, and doth fear  
What may fall out, and wisely does prepare  
In time of peace things requisite for war.  
Now that you may believe this to be true,  
When I was young I this Offellus knew,  
A man of great Estate, yet spent no more  
Than afterwards, when robbed of all his store.  
A man might see him with his cattle, and  
His children tilling his allotted land,  
And patiently bearing that he is  
Farmer of that estate which once was his.  
I never durst eat any thing (he'd say)  
But Caul and Bacon on a working-day;  
But if an ancient friend with me had been,  
Whom a long time before I had not seen,  
Or a good neighbour came to visit me,  
When rainy weather me from work set free,  
I made him welcome, not with costly Fish,  
A Pullet, or a Lamb served for his dish;  
Dried Grapes and Nuts his second Course were made,  
And double Figs were on the Table laid;  
Then after Dinner' 'twas our recreation  
To pass the Grace-cup round on Reputation.  
A health to Ceres that our Corn might grow,  
And smoothed with wine the wrinkles of our brow,  
Let Fortune rage, and raise commotions new,  
Can she make me live meaner (Boys) or you?  
For Nature ne'er appointed him or me,  
Or any else, proprietors to be  
Of our own lands, though now the time is his  
To turn me out, yet his unthriftiness  
Or ignorance of tricks in law, or else  
Who e'er survives him, him at last expels,  
This Farm which now by Umbrenas name is known  
Was mine, but none can say, It is his own;  
'Tis thine, and mine, and his, live bravely then,  
And in all troubles quit yourselves like men.   

SATYR III. By A. B. That every man is in something or other mad.  DAMASIPPUS and HORACE. Dam. 
THou writ'st so seldom, that there does appear,  
Scarce a new Poem from thee twice a year,  
But vainly spendest thy time in looking o'er  
Those things which thou hast written heretofore:  
I'm vexed at thee, that thou dost thus resign  
Thyself up to the sway of sleep and wine;  
The Muses negligently laid aside,  
And we of what we so desire denied.  Hor. 
What would you have me do?  Dam. 
Here thou hast been  
Retired ever since Christmas did begin,  
Now thou'rt at leisure, let's have something from thee  
That may appease our longing, and become thee:  
Come, strike up man,— one Verse.  Hor. 
No, 'twill not do.  Dam. 
Thou blamest thy harmless pen, nay the wall to  
Endures thy causeless rage for native guilt,  
'Cause 'twas in spite of Gods or Muses built.  
Thou didst pretend, that if thou once couldst be  
Out of this Town from noise and business free,  
And to some little Country Vill retire,  
In a mean Cottage by a little ●ire,  
How many admirable lines should we,  
As the effects of thy retirement see?  
Else to what end didst thou encumber thus  
Thyself with Eupolis, Archilocus,  
Menander, Plato, and such Books as those,  
If thou'lt not write at all? dost thou suppose  
That by declining virtue thou shalt be  
Protected from the jaws of Calumny?  
Thou wilt be laughed at for an Ass; come, loathe  
Those lewd enchantments of that Siren sloth;  
Else all that honour which about thee shined,  
Got by thy excellent parts must be resigned.  Hor. 
‛ Pox on your too true council. Now (I pray)  
The Gods to send a man to shave away  
That formal beard of thine; but prithee how  
Cam'st thou me and my humour thus to know?  Dam. 
Since my Estates consumed I go no more  
To the Exchange, as I did heretofore,  
But having now no business of my own,  
To other men I am a Broker grown;  
In former time, I gave my mind to know  
Whether a statue were well made or no;  
What was well carved or painted, and what ill,  
And how to fallen or buy them I had skill.  
If a rare picture any where I found,  
I would not care to give a thousand pound,  
Gardens and stately houses I could buy  
And sell to great advantage, so that I  
When I was seen through the City ride,  
Here comes the Purchaser, the people cried.  Hor. 
I know it, and I can't but wonder how  
Thou comest thus cured of that distemper now.  Dam. 
I'll tell you what seems strange, and yet 'tis true,  
My old disease was driven out by my new,  
As in some bodies there is wont to be  
The Headache cured by a Pleurisy,  
Or one that has a Lethargy endured  
Grows frantic, and beats him by whom he's cured.  Hor. 
Be thou as frantic as thou wilt, so as  
Thou wilt not serve me as the Doctor was.  Dam. 
Good friend don't cheat thyself, even thou art mad,  
And all the world are very near as bad.  
If what Stertinius the Stoic saith  
'Mong prudent men, does merit any Faith,  
That grave Philosopher at first taught me  
These admirable precepts, and 'twas he  
My Spirits in my great affliction cheered,  
And willed me wear this Philosophic beard;  
And from Fabritius Bridge return again  
With spirit undisturbed and calm, for when  
All my Estate was gone, I thither went  
My Cap plucked o'er my eyes, with an intent  
To drown myself, I fortunately spied  
That learned Stoic standing by my side.  
What dost thou mean (qd. he) young man? take heed  
That thou do not an unbecoming deed,  
thou'rt driven to this by shame that's very bad,  
Fearing 'mong mad men to be counted mad:  
Consider first what madness is, and then  
If it be in thee, and in no other men,  
Go bravely hang or drown thyself for me,  
I'll never speak a word to hinder thee.  
He who to vicious folly is inclined,  
And is by ignorance of truth led blind,  
Is by the Stoic counted out of's wits,  
This definition all degrees befits:  
All persons, nay great Princes, every one  
It comprehends, but the wise man alone;  
Nay give me leave, and I'll demonstrate how  
He who calls thee fools as much fool as thou.  
Like travelers passing through a Wood, when they  
Range up and down missing their ready way,  
This to the right ' that to the left hand strays,  
One error fools them both, though several ways.  
And though thou think'st thou'rt mad, yet even he  
Is not a jot less mad that laughs at thee,  
Both to Fool-coats have like propriety.  
There is one sort of fools that start and quake  
At the Chimaeras which their fancies make,  
Cries out rocks, fire, and water him detain,  
When he is only walking on the plain:  
Another which is full as mad as he,  
Though in his humour he goes contrary,  
Runs through all fire and water ventures life,  
Though Father, Mother, Brother, Sister, Wife,  
Or (which is more) his Mrs. should stand by,  
And warn him of the danger he is nigh,  
Crying aloud, Take heed; he'd care no more  
Than Fusius the Actor heretofore  
When he the part of Hecuba did play,  
And should present her sleeping, down he lay  
Drunk and asleep; Catien the Player who  
The part of Polidore did also do,  
Though he cried, Mother 'tis I call you, wake,  
A thousand Catieni could not make  
Her stir: I think that all the Vulgar be  
In several humours as stark mad as he.  
To buy old Statues you suppose I'm mad,  
But was not he that trusted me as bad?  Hor. 
May'st thou now borrow money of me, and ne'er  
Pay me a farthing on't again, if e'er  
I say thou'rt mad. Can it with madness stand  
When thou art still on the receiving hand?  
But is not that Shopkeeper madder far  
Who slights a ready-money Customer,  
And deals with thee on Credit? for suppose  
A Debtor should acknowledge that he owes  
A Thousand pounds to's Creditor, and should  
Give it him under's hand, this is not good;  
Nay, if he seal a Bill or Bond for't, or  
What e'er binds Debtor to his Creditor,  
Recognizances, Statutes, Mortgages,  
judgements, and Executions, all these  
A cunning Knave that knows the Quirks of Law  
Will no more value, than he does a straw:  
When you arrest him he will laugh at all  
Those troubles which on other men befall,  
And through all the Cobweb-laws escapes,  
Varying his tricks as Proteus did his shapes.  
If by the conduct of affairs we can  
Judge of a mad or of a prudent man,  
Thy Creditor's a Coxcomb, who takes pain  
To write in's Books what's ne'er crossed out again.  
Come, says Stertinius, harken; nay, come near,  
And mind what I shall tell you, whosoever  
Is by a vain and lewd ambition swayed,  
And he whom sordid avarice has made  
Look like a Skeleton, all those that be  
Given up to a destructive luxury,  
To doting superstition are inclined,  
Or any such distemper of the mind.  
Are all stark mad. The Miser stands much more  
Than other men in need of Hellebore:  
I doubt, all that Antycera produces,  
Was meant by Nature only for their uses.  
Staberius by his Will his Heirs enjoined  
T'engrave 〈◊〉 Tomb what Wealth he left behind.  
And if they would not do it, he designed  
They should a hundred pair of Fencers find  
To treat the rout, and should provide a feast  
As sumptuous as if Arius were their Guest,  
And as much corn as e'er in Afric grew,  
This is my will (says he) what is't to you,  
Whether't be well or ill? you will not be  
My Uncles, and leave your Estates to me.  Hor. 
I think Staberius was a prudent man.  Dam. 
What do you think of his great prudence than,  
When he enjoined his Heirs they should engrave  
Upon his Tomb what moneys he did leave  
Behind him? and in all his whole life time  
Thought poverty to be the greatest Crime,  
And abhorred nothing more, and if he should  
Have died less rich, he thought himself less good.  
For every thing divine and humane to  
Virtue, wit, comeliness and honour do  
Submit their Necks to riches splendid sway,  
Which whosoever heaps together, may  
Be noble, valiant, just, and wise; nay, King,  
Or (if 'twere possible) a higher thing:  
He hoped by's Wealth to get immortal fame,  
As if he had by virtue raised the same.  
How contrary was Aristippus' mind  
To this? That great Philosopher enjoined  
His men to throw his Gold o'th' Lybian shore,  
Because the weight on't made them travel●lower ●lower;  
Which was the madder of these two think you?  Hor. 
I think there's no comparing of those two,  
For that Example ne'er prevails with me,  
Which shows the truth but by its contrary.  Dam. 
Should a man load himself with Lutes, and yet  
To play or sing, have neither will, nor wit?  
Should one that knows not how to make a Sh●o●,  
With Auls and Lasts crammed in a Budget go:  
Should one to buying ships and anchors fall,  
Who has no skill in Merchandise at all,  
A mad man and a Buzzard he would be:  
Called by all People, and deservedly.  
What difference is there 'twixt these and those,  
Who study gold and silver to enclose,  
And know not how to use the Wealth they gain,  
But from it as from sacred things refrain?  
If one by a huge heap of corn should stand  
Watching all day with a long club in's hand,  
Yet every grain thereof must let alone,  
Though ne'er so hungry, and the corn his own,  
But rather feeds on bitter barks of trees,  
And for his drink takes Vinegar and Lees,  
Though millions of Pipes in's Cellar lie  
Of as good wine as e'er blest taste or eye,  
And lies in straw in his old age, while all  
His rich attire to moths and worms do fall  
To feed on, or to rot in's Chest 'Tis true  
S●ch men seem mad but to a very few,  
Because most people are as mad as these,  
And much afflicted with the same disease.  
Dost thou hoard up all thy Estate for one  
Who was thy Slave, or is perhaps thy Son,  
Whom thou, accursed old wretch, thine heir wilt make  
That he in drink may spend it for thy sake;  
And all lest thou shouldst want: How much a day  
Couldst thou from thy vast Treasure pair away,  
That thou mightst feed on good and wholesome meat,  
And wear apparel useful, clean and neat.  
If thou canst live in any manner, why  
Dost thou forswear thyself, and cheat and lie,  
Plunder and filch from others? art thou in  
Thy perfect Senses? if thou shouldst begin  
To stone the very slaves which thou didst buy,  
That thou art mad, the Boys and Girls would cry.  
If by thy perjury thy guiltless wife  
Is by the judge condemned to lose her life,  
That thou mightst get new Portion with another▪  
Or if by poison thou destroy thy Mother,  
Merely t'obtain her jointure, how canst thou  
Be perfect in thy understanding now?  
This is not done at Argos, where such things  
Are done, and licenc'd by inhuman Kings;  
Nor as Orestes once his Mother slew,  
Which by her crimes she had provoked him to.  
Dost thou suppose the frenzy of his brain  
Seized not till after he'd his Mother slain?  
Or was he not out of his wits before  
He bathed his sword in her maternal gore;  
Besides since that he was accounted mad,  
He did no act reprovable and bad;  
He ne'er attempted Pylades to kill,  
Nor yet Electra; only he said ill  
To both, and cursed them both, calling her Witch,  
And railed at him with all bad Language, which  
From his enraged heart and tongue could flow,  
Uttering what gall and choler stirred him to.  
Opimius, that Miser, was as mad,  
For he did need that money which he had  
Laid up in store, and used to drink the base  
Vejentan Wine on solemn Holidays,  
In course Campanian Earthen pots, and on  
Weekdays drunk wine whose taste and spirit's gone.  
This fellow fell into a Lethargy,  
And his rejoicing Heir ran presently,  
And ransacked all his pockets for his Keys.  
An honest nimble Doctor this Disease  
Cured in this manner; first he gives command  
Into his room to bring a Table, and  
Upon it his money out to pour,  
And bring in divers men to tell it o'er,  
So raised him presently out of his fit,  
And gave him this wholesome advice with it;  
If thou keep not thy wealth thyself, thine Heirs  
Will greedily seize on't, as if 'twere theirs.  
What, while I am alive? (says he) yes (says  
The Doctor) therefore have a care always,  
That thou may'st live, make that thy business too.  
What (says the Miser) would you have me do?  
Your veins (the Doctor says) will fail, you'll die  
Unless with meat and cordials you supply  
Your fainting stomach: Nay, there's no delay,  
Come, take this Cordial. Sir, what must I pay  
For't? (quoth Opimius) O (the Doctor cries)  
This Physic's of a very little price.  
How much is that (Opimius says) Four pence  
(The Doctor said.) Alas what difference  
(Says this damned Miser) is't whether I die  
Of this disease, or by their theivery?  Hor. 
Who then are in their senses?  Dam. 
Those that be  
Not fools.  Hor. 
But what do you suppose is he  
That's covetous?  Dam. 
A fool and mad man too.  Hor. 
Must he be wise that covets not?  Dam. 
No, no,  Hor. 
Why (prithee Stoic.)  Dam. 
I will tell thee why:  
Suppose a Patient in his sick bed lie;  
This man has not the Plague (the Doctor cries.)  
Is he well therefore? may he safely rise?  
No (says the Doctor) for the man may be  
Afflicted with some other malady.  
This man perhaps is not a perjured Knave,  
Nor yet a sordid avaricious Slave,  
Thank ●is good Stars for that; yet if he be  
O'●e impudent, or else ambitious, he  
Is mad and must pack to Antycera,  
For what's the odds, whether you throw away  
All your estate into the Sea, or not  
Dare to make use of that which you have got?  
Opidius a wealthy person, who  
Had good old Rents, and at Canusium two  
Very good Farms, which he 'twixt both his Sons  
At's death divided (as the story runs)  
Calling them to his Bed, he told them thus;  
Since l've observed thee (my Tiberius)  
Tell o'er thy Nuts, and in some private place  
To hide thy Play-games with a careful face,  
While thou (my Aulus) carelessly wouldst play  
With thine, and lose them, or give them away;  
I am afraid lest madness should possess  
The minds of both, though in a different dress,  
And make one turn a Prodigal, and t'other  
Be covetous, contrary to his Brother;  
And therefore he did beg of Heaven, that  
One Son might ne'er diminish his Estate,  
Nor t'other his increase, but be content  
With that which he had thought sufficient,  
And Nature had confined them to; and lest  
The itch of glory should their minds infest,  
He by an oath enjoined them, that if e'er  
Either of them were Alderman or Mayor,  
He should b' uncapable to make a Will,  
But live like one run mad, or outlawed still.  
Thou mad man! wilt thou spend what e'er thou hast  
In gifts and presents, only that thou mayst  
Walk on th' Exchange in state? or else mayst be  
Set up in Brass to keep thy memory?  
When thy Hereditary Lands thou'st sold,  
And spent thy Father's Silver and his Gold:  
Must you forsooth have such applauses made  
As great Agrippa, Caesar's Kinsman had?  
Or shall the Coward Fox, though crafty, dare  
With the magnanimous Lion to compare?  
A Country fellow that by chance did meet  
With Agamemnon, asked him in the street,  
Why (Agamemnon) why didst thou forbid  
That Ajax body should be buried?  
I am a King (said Agamemnon.) Nay  
Then (quoth the Clown) I have no more to say.  
But my commands were just, (the King replies)  
And if to any they seem otherwise,  
I'll give him free leave to discourse the things.  
The Country Clown replied, Greatest of Kings▪  
Heaven grant you may triumphant bring away  
Your conquering Navy from the conquered Troy.  
Propose the Question (cries the King) and I  
Will give an answer to't: Speak. Pray Sir, why  
(Replied the Clown) should that Heroic wight  
Ajax, who was so eminent for might,  
And had so oft preserved the Grecians, not  
Second to any but Achilles, rot  
Above ground uninterred, that Priam may,  
And all his baffled Trojans laugh, and say  
He by whose hand so many Trojans were  
Denied their Graves, now wants a Sepulchre?  
Ajax (says Agamemnon) being mad,  
Did kill a hundred sheep, and said he had  
Killed that renowned man Ulysses, and  
That I and Menelaus fell by's hand.  
But when at Aulis you did basely slay  
Your beauteous Daughter, and on th' Altar lay  
Her body like a Calf for Sacrifice,  
Vile man (said the Plebeian) were you wise?  
Why not? (says Agamemnon.) Quoth the Clown,  
Pray what has Ajax in his madness done?  
He with his Sword killed Cattle, but his hand  
From murthering wife and children still abstained;  
True, he cursed you and Menelaus too:  
But to his friend Ulysses he did do  
No wrong: Nor yet to Teucer (says the King)  
That I may Navy from the Shore might bring,  
The Gods with blood I wisely pacified.  
Mad King! 'twas your own (the Clown replied.)  
Yes (quoth the King) with my own blood, 'tis true▪  
In which I did no act of madness show;  
Who false things (says the Clown) with true, & bad  
With good, together huddles, is stark mad;  
And whether it be out of folly done,  
Or rage, and madness, still the thing is one  
Ajax in killing harmless sheep was mad,  
And you in acting your great crime as bad;  
Killing your guiltless Daughter to appease,  
Those vain imaginary Deities;  
Upon deliberation too; is your heart well  
And pure, when as it did with passion swell?  
If any in a Coach about should bear  
A fine white Lamb, and garments for't prepare  
As for a Lady, furnish it with money  
And Servants, call it his dear, duck, and honey,  
Provide a Husband for't; the Magistrate  
Must seize upon this Lunatics Estate,  
And then the Guardianship of him commit  
To the next Kin of his who has more wit.  
But what if one his Daughter sacrifice  
Instead of a mute Lamb, is that man wise?  
No man will say't; and therefore wheresoever  
Is vicious folly, madness too is there;  
And he's a madman who is given to vice,  
That fool whom brittle Honour does entice,  
Is so transported with the various sound  
Of Drums and Trumpets, that his Brains turn round.  
Now as to luxury, reason doth show,  
That foolish Prodigals are mad men too:  
There's Nomentanus, who as soon as e'er  
He had received a thousand pounds, which were  
Left him by's Father, he proclaimed strait  
The Fowler and the Fisherman should wait  
Upon his Worship, and all Tradesmen come  
And bring their wares next morn to him at home!  
Ba●ds, Pimps, Buffoons, and all that impious crew  
Of shirking Tradesmen, which young Squires undo.  
What followed then? They instantly appear  
With their Commodities from far and near.  
The Bawd being at Rhetoric the best,  
Makes a set Speech at th'instance of the rest;  
May't please your Worship, (quoth she) whatsoever  
I or my Brethren have at home, or here,  
Is at your service, send for't when you please.  
Now mark the silly answer which to these  
This youngker gives; Poor Huntsman thou dost go  
In heavy Boots, and watch all night in th' Snow,  
And for my Supper bring'st a Boar to me:  
Thou Fisherman in the tempestuous Sea  
Tak'st me a Dish of excellent Fish, while I  
Glutted with wealth and sloth supinely lie,  
Unworthy such a Fortune to possess;  
Your merits must make my great fortune less;  
You Huntsman, there's a hundred pounds for you;  
Here Fisherman, take you a hundred too;  
Pimp, for thy Wife's sake, take a triple sum,  
For if I send at midnight she will come.  
Aesop the Player's Son, that Prodigal  
In his luxurious prank, out-ranted all;  
He plucked a Pearl out of his Doxies ear,  
Which when he had dissolved in vinegar,  
He quaffs it at a draught, as who should say,  
(Damn me) I drink a thousand pounds a day.  
Had he been madder if he'd thrown away  
That Pearl into the Boghouse or the Sea?  
Those Sons of Arrius, who were arrant Twins  
In luxury, toys, love, and such vain sins;  
No food upon those Gallants Tables came,  
But Nightingales which could sing Walsingham.  
How shall I rank them, 'mong the wise, or no?  
Must they to th' Senate, or to Bedlam go?  
If one who wears a beard should make Dirt pies,  
Or please himself with Chariots drawn with Mice,  
Or ride a Hobby-horse, or at Push-pin play,  
Who would not swear his wits were fled away?  
If Reason does convince us that to fall  
In Love, is the most childish thing of all;  
And there's no difference if thou play'st with dirt,  
And such vain toys (as when a child thou wert)  
And now thou'rt grown a man thou dost adore,  
And whine and vex for some fair crafty Whore.  
Pray, tell me, can you do like Polemon?  
Who being drunk, run with a Garland on  
Into the School of grave Xenocra●es,  
With Ribbons, Cushions, Handkercheifs; all these  
He privately took off and threw away  
When he heard what that temperate man did say;  
And grew a grave man from a Cock-brained fool,  
So that he did succeed him in that Scho●.  
If you should offe● to a froppish Boy  
An Apple, he'd refuse't; and if you say,  
Take it (my pretty Child) he will deny;  
But if you do not give it him, he'll cry.  
A puling Lover's such another Ass,  
Who being shut out by his cunning L●ss,  
Hankers about the door: What shall I do,  
(Thinks he) shall I return to her, or no?  
And though he uninvited would have gone,  
Yet when by her he is but called upon;  
Shall I go now (says he) or rather find  
Some way to ease the troubles of my mind?  
Shut out! and strait called in! and shall I go?  
If she should beg her heart out, I'd say, No;  
Parmeno was much wiser, though a Slave,  
Master (says he) those things which neither have  
Reason nor measure, are not fit to be  
Dealt with by Rule and rationality.  
In that vein toy called love, these mischiefs are,  
War, Peace, ill-grounded peace, and groundless war▪  
If any man should strive to fix and stay  
Those things which by their Nature will away;  
This way and that by every wind are blown,  
And on blind Fortunes waves tossed up and down,  
He does as ill, and is as much a fool,  
As if he would be mad by art and rule.  
When thou dost laugh because a kernel hits  
Thy Chambers roof, art thou in thy right wits?  
And when thou dost thy Mistress entertain  
With children's prattle which cannot speak plain,  
How canst thou possibly be thought more wise  
Then little Children are, which make Dirt pies?  
Now to all Lovers follies add the guilt  
Of all the blood which has by them been spilt,  
Both of themselves and others, with a Sword  
Let their devouring foolish Fire be stirred.  
Was it not stoutly done of Marius? who  
First his own Mistress, than his own self slew:  
Was he not frantic? or wilt thou acquit  
Him of that crime, of being out of's wit,  
But of great wickedness will't him accuse,  
To give nicknames to things as people use?  
There was an old man in the morn would go  
Fasting about the streets, with hands washed too;  
And to the Gods he'd vehemently pray,  
That he might ne'er by Death be taken way,  
'Tis a small thing to you, ye Gods (quoth he)  
To give to one man Immortality.  
If any Master were about to sell  
Such men for Slaves, and should the Buyer tell  
That they were persons perfect and complete,  
Unless he except their minds, he is a Cheat.  
This sort of people does Chrysippus' place  
Among the fools innumerable race.  
A superstitious Mother, whose young Son  
Sick of a Quartan lay, as he had done,  
Five months at least, to jupiter did pray;  
Oh jove, who pains dost send and take away,  
If this poor Child of mine may be (quoth she)  
Once from this shivering Quartan Ague free,  
On the next day thou dost a fast command,  
I'th' morn in Tiber he shall naked stand.  
Now when the Doctor, or good luck (that's more)  
Did to his former health this Boy restore,  
His doting Mother, by her Zeal beguiled,  
Into the River put her Feav'rish Child;  
Whose coldness did the Fever bring again,  
So she her Son, which she would save, hath slain:  
But how came she so much out of her Wits?  Hor. 
Perhaps she's troubled with Religious Fits.  Dam. 
Stertinius, that 8 th'. wise man, told me  
This as a friend, that I might armed be,  
When any man hereafter called me mad,  
I in revenge might say, he is as bad;  
And teach him to look back, that he might find  
That unknown part o'th' bag which hangs behind.  Hor. 
After those losses which thou didst sustain,  
May'st thou sell every thing for so much gain;  
But prithee tell me, Stoic, to what kind  
Of madness dost thou think I am inclined,  
(For there are several sorts) but I suppose,  
That I am free from every one of those.  Dam. 
When up and down the streets Agave bore  
Her poor Child's Head which she cut off before,  
Did she conceive that she was mad, (think you?)  Hor. 
Well, I'm a fool, I must confess, 'tis true;  
Nay, I'm mad too; but (prithee) let me know  
What kind of madness I'm addicted to.  Dam. 
I'll tell thee; First, thou hast a building brain,  
Next, though thou'rt but an Urchin, thou wouldst fain  
Appear a proper Fellow: Thou laughest at  
That little Fencer Turbo's strutting gate  
When he's in Arms, with what a Spirit he goes,  
And art not thou as much ridiculous?  
Dost thou conceive 'tis fit for thee to do  
What e'er Maecenas power prompts him to?  
Wilt thou who art so much below him, dare  
With such an eminent person to compare?  
A careless Calf by chance did tread upon  
A nest of young Frogs, when the old was gone;  
One that escaped did to his Dam declare,  
That by a huge great beast her young ones were  
All trod upon and killed. How big was he?  
Was he as big as I am now? (quoth she:)  
Then swelled herself. Bigger by half (replied  
Frog junior.) What thus much— bigger (cried  
The Beldame Frog) and still she did swell on,  
Until at last, Oh, Mother! (says the Son)  
Forbear your swelling, for you cannot be  
(Though you should burst yourself) as big as he:  
This Picture very much resembles you.  
Add Poetry to all thy madness now,  
Which mixed with other Vices is the same,  
As if thou shouldst pour Oil into the flame:  
Yet if a Poet had been ever known  
To be a sober fellow, thou art one;  
I'll not speak of thy horrid cholerickness—  Hor. 
Hold (prithee Stoic) hold.—  Dam. 
Nor of thy dress  
That's so fantastical, and so above  
Thy Purse and Quality; nor of thy love  
T'a thousand wenches and a thousand boys.  Hor. 
Good Damasippus follow thine own toys,  
And now for shame my peccadilloes spare,  
Which no proportion with thy Vices bear.   

SATYR IV. By T. F. Esq A Character of a Belly-god.  CATIUS and HORACE. Hor. 
Whence Brother Catius, and whither bound so fast?  Cat. 
Oh, Sir, you must excuse me, I'm in haste,  
I dine with my Lord Mayor, and can't allow  
Time for our eating Directory now,  
Though I must needs confess I think my Rules  
Would prove Pythagoras and Plato fools.  Hor. 
Grave Sir, I must acknowledge 'tis a crime  
To interrupt at such a nick of time;  
Yet stay a little Sir, it is no sin;  
You're to say Grace're Dinner can begin;  
Since you at food such Virtuoso are,  
Some Precepts to an hungry Poet spare.  Cat. 
I grant you Sir, next pleasure ta'en in eating  
Is that (as we do call it) of repeating;  
I still have Kitchin-Systems in my mind,  
And from my Stomach's fumes a brain well lined.  Hor. 
Whence, pray Sir, learned you these ingenious arts,  
From one at home, or hired from foreign parts?  Cat. 
No names Sir, (I beseech you) that's foul play,  
We ne'er name Authors, only what they say.  

1.  
For Eggs choose long, the round are out of fashion,  
Unfavory and distasteful to the Nation,  
ere since the brooding Rump they're addle too,  
In the long Egg lies Cock-a-doodle-do.   

2.  
Choose Colworts planted on a soil that's dry,  
Even they're worse for th' wetting (verily!)   

3▪  
If Friend from far shall come to visit, then  
Say thou wouldst treat the wight with Mortal Hen,  
Don't thou forthwith pluck off the cackling head,  
And impale Corpse on Spit as soon as dead;  
For so she will be tough beyond all measure,  
And Friend shall make a trouble of a pleasure;  
Steep't in good wine let her her life surrender,  
O then she'll eat most admirably tender.   

4.  
Mushrooms that grow in Meadows are the best,  
F'rought I know there is poison in the rest.   

5.  
He that would many happy Summers see,  
Let him eat Mulberries fresh off the Tree,  
Gathered before the Sun's too high, for these  
Shall hurt his Stomach less than Cheshire Cheese.   

6.  
Ausidius (had you done so 't had undone ye)  
Sweetened his Mornings-draughts of Sack with honey,  
But he did ill to empty veins to give  
Corroding Potion for a Lenitive.   

7.  
If any man to drink do thee inveigle in,  
First whet thy whistle with some good Metheglin.   

8.  
If thou art bound, and in continual doubt  
Thou shalt get no more in till some get out,  
The Muscle or the Cockle will unlock  
Thy body; trunk, and give a vent to knock;  
Some say that sorrel steeped in wine will do,  
But to be sure put in some Aloces to.   

9  
All Shellfish (with the growing Moon increase)  
Are ever when she fills her Orb the best;  
But for brave Oysters, Sir, exceeding rare,  
They are not to be met with every where;  
Your Wall-fleet Oyster no man will prefer  
Before the juicy Grass-green Colchester;  
Hungerford Crawfish match me if you can,  
There's no such Crawlers in the Ocean.   

10.  
Next for your Suppers, you (it may be) think  
There goes no more to 't, but just eat and drink;  
But let me tell you Sir, and tell you plain,  
To dress 'em well requires a man of Brain;  
His palate must be quick, and smart, and strong  
For Sauce, a very Critic in the tongue.   

11.  
He that pais dear for Fish, nay though the best,  
May please his Fishmonger more than his Guest,  
If he be ignorant what Sauce is proper,  
There's Machiavelli in th' menage of a Supper.   

12.  
For Swines-flesh, give me that of the wild bore,  
Pursued and hunted all the Forest o'er,  
He to the liberal Oak ne'er quits his love,  
And when he finds no Acorns, grunts at jove;  
The Hamshire Hog with Pease and Whey that's fed  
Stied up, is neither good alive nor dead.   

13.  
The tendrels of the Vine are Salads good,  
If when they are in season understood.   

14.  
If Servant to thy Board a Rabbit bring,  
Be wise, and in the first place carve a wing.   

15.  
When Fish and Fowl are right, and at just age,  
A feeders curiosity to assuage,  
If any ask, Who found the Mystery?  
Let him inquire no farther, I am he.   

16.  
Some fancy Bread out of the Oven hot,  
Variety the Gluttons happiest lot.   

17.  
It's not enough the wine you have be pure,  
But of your oil as well you ought be sure.   

18.  
If any fault be in thy generous wine,  
Set it abroad all night, and 'twill refine,  
But never strained, nor let it pass through linen,  
Wine will be worse for that as well as Women.   

19  
The Vintner that of Malaga and Sherry  
With damned ingredients patches up Canary,  
With Segregative things, as Pigeons Eggs  
Strait purifies, and takes away the dregs.   

20.  
An o'er charged stomach roasted Shrimps will ease.  
The cure by Lettuce is worse than the disease.   

21.  
To quicken appetite it will behoove ye  
To feed courageously on good Anchovie.   

22.  
Westphalia Hamm, and the Bolognia sausage;  
For second or third course will clear a passage,  
But Lettuce after meals! Fie on't! the Glutton  
Had better feed upon Ram-alley-Mutton.   

23.  
'Twere worth ones while in Palace or in Cottage,  
Right well to know the sundry sorts of pottage;  
There is your French Pottage, Nativity Brot●,  
Yet that of Fetter-lane exceeds them both;  
About a limb of a departed Tup  
There may you see the green Herbs boiling up,  
And fat abundance o'er the furnace float,  
Resembling whale-oil in a Greenland Boat.   

24.  
The Kentish Pippin's best, I dare be bold,  
That ever Blew-cap Costardmonger sold.   

25.  
Of Grapes, I like the Raisins of the Sun;  
I was the first immortal Glory won,  
By mincing Pickle-Herrings with these Raisins  
And Apples: 'Twas I set the World a gazing,  
When once they tasted of this Hoghan Fish,  
Pepper and Salt Enamelling the Dish.   

26.  
'Tis ill to purchase great Fish with great matter,  
And then to serve it up in scanty Platter;  
Nor it it less unseemly some believe,  
From Boy with greasy Fist Drink to receive;  
But the Cup foul within is enough to make  
A squamish creature puke, and turn up stomach.   

27.  
Then Brooms and Napkins, and the Flander tyl●  
These must be had too, or the Feast you spoil,  
Things little thought on, and not very dear,  
And yet how much they cost one in a year!   

28.  
Wouldst thou rub Alabaster with hands fable  
Or spread a Diaper cloth on dirty Table?  
More cost, more worship: Come, be Al-a-mode,  
Embellish Treat, as thou wouldst do an Ode.   Hor. 
O learned, Sir, how greedily I hear  
This elegant Diatriba of good cheer!  
Now by all that's good, by all provant you love,  
By sturdy Chine of Beef, and mighty Jove,  
I do conjure thy gravity, let me see  
The man that made thee this discovery;  
For he that sees th' Original's more happy  
Than him that draws by an ill-favoured Copy;  
O bring me to the man I so admire!  
The Flint from whence broke forth these sparks of fire,  
What satisfaction would the Vision bring?  
If sweet the stream, much sweeter is the spring.   

SATYR V. By A. B. A way to grow Rich.  ULYSSES and TIRESIAS▪ Ul. 
TO all that thou hast told me heretofore,  
Prithee, Tiresias, add this one thing more▪  
By what designs and means may I now be  
As wealthy as I have been formerly?  
Why dost thou laugh?  Tir. 
Is't not enough, that thou  
(Thou crafty Fellow) art restored now  
To Ithaca, and dost thy Gods behold  
Which thy progenitors adored of old?  Ul. 
Oh, thou unerring Profit! do but see  
How naked I'm returned, how beggarly,  
(As thou fore-told'st) my Closets rifled all,  
And that Estate which I my own could call,  
Is all consumed by those Gallants that lay  
Courting my Wife, while I have been away;  
An honest man and of a Noble house,  
If poor, is no more valued than a Louse.  Tir. 
Well then, since poverty affrights thee so,  
In brief I'll tell thee how thou rich shalt grow:  
If any Friend send thee a brace of Pheasants,  
Or any other rarities for presents,  
To thy next wealthy Neighbour, if he's old,  
Send them away, so they're not given, but sold▪  
And if thy Garden or thy Field bring forth  
Melons, or any other Fruits of worth,  
Send to some wealthy man a taste ere thou  
Dost any of it to thy Lar allow;  
For in this age our muck●admiring Elves  
Adore rich men more than the Gods themselves.  
Though perjured Rogues, ignobly born and bred,  
Murdered their Brothers, and their Country fled,  
Yet wait upon them when they do command,  
And let them always have the upperhand.  Ul. 
What? Shall I give the wall to such a base  
Inferior Rascal as old Damon was?  
At Troy I ever scorned it, there did I  
Contend with Great ones.  Tir. 
Thou'lt a Beggar die.  Vl. 
This heart will stoutly bear such things as these,  
I have endured far greater i● my days:  
But prithee, learned Doctor, tell me how  
I may get heaps of Gold and Silver now.  Tir. 
I've told thee, and I'll tell it thee again,  
Thou art a fellow of a subtle Brain;  
Inquire what old Rich men are like to die,  
Observe their humours, keep them company,  
Ply them with Presents still, that thou mayst be  
Named in their wills an heir, or legatee;  
And if perhaps one or two subtle men  
Nible the bait, and strait whip off again▪  
And scape thy hook, and thou art cheated so,  
Do not despair, nor yet thy art forgo.  
Next, if there be a Lawsuit great or small,  
That side that's rich, and has no child at all  
Be for, though unretained, and let thy Tongue  
Beat down his Adversary, right or wrong;  
Be the manne're so honest, and the suit  
Never so just, or of so good repute,  
If he has Children, or a Wife that may  
Produce him Children, throw his Cause away.  
But say to thy rich childless Client; Sir,  
May't please your worship, or your honour! (for  
Titles of Honours, and such terms as these,  
Do Mortals tender Ears most strangely please.)  
'Tis not your money, but your virtues have  
Made me your Friend, your servant, may your slave;  
I know the Riddles of the Law, and can  
Menage your Suits; and I'll give any man  
Leave to pluck out mine Eyes, if ever he  
Can cheat or fool you, leave your Cause to me;  
I'll take such care that you shan't lose a Groat,  
No yet ●e laughed at; bid him take no thought,  
But away home to's Country house, and there  
His mind and body both repose and cheer!  
Or else do thou thyself turn Advocate,  
And for thy Client never cease to prate:  
Endure the scorching heat, the piercing cold,  
And then thou shalt the gazing Clown behold  
Jogging with's Elbow those that next him stand,  
Look, look (says he) how he endures it, and  
How eagerly he pleads there for his friends,  
Sure he has all the Law at's Fingers ●nds:  
The Fish will come in shoals then to be caught▪  
And thou may'st fill thy Net at every draught.  
Or if a rich man have an only Son  
Lies dangerously sick and drawing on,  
Be ned too officicus to th'old man, lest he  
Thy purpose through thy diligence should see,  
But gently screw thyself into him, and  
Get thyself writ down, Heir at second hand,  
That if to's Child any disaster come,  
Thou next in order may'st supply his room;  
'Tis ten to one but this design will take,  
And so his great Estate thine own thou'lt make.  
If one desire thee to peruse his Will,  
Seem to deny't, thrust it away, but still  
So as to glance thine Eye on it, and see  
What Legacies, and who's the Legatee;  
Let thy quick eye run all the Paper o'er,  
Whether thou'rt Heir alone, or joined with more.  
Ofttimes an o'ergrown crafty Scrivener, which  
By being in Offices grows wise and rich,  
Cheats the next Kindred of th' expected pelf,  
Leaves the right Heir out, and puts in himself,  
Makes him both needy and ridiculous too,  
(As Aesop's Fox did serve the gaping Crow.)  Ul. 
Art thou inspired? or dost thou go about  
On purpose with these riddling words, to flout  
And to delude me?—  Tir. 
No, Laertes Son!  
whate'er I say, will, or will not be done;  
For great Apollo hath bestowed on me  
This admirable knack of Prophecy.  Ul. 
If it be lawful then, prithee unfold  
The meaning of this Fable which thoust told.  Tir. 
The time shall come when our young Emperor, he  
Who does derive his Royal Pedigree  
From the Divine Aeneas, at whose beck  
The sturdy Parthians shall submit their Neck,  
And he shall grow so great by Sea and Land,  
All Princes else shall stoop at his command:  
Some crafty Courtier, as Coranus was,  
Shall have a mind t' a handsome strapping Lass,  
And wed that Dog Nasica's Daughter, who  
Will not a Groat on him with her bestow,  
Nor yet will put her off at any rate,  
Unless to one that has a vast Estate:  
But here's the cheat, he bids th' old man read o'er  
His Will, which subtly was contrived before.  
The griping sl●ve thinking he has his end,  
Denies to view the Will, and does pretend  
He aimed not at the Wealth, but to have one  
Of Honour and of Merit to his Son.  
What need I stand gazing on's Will (thinks he)  
My Daughter must have all whate'er it be:  
But being much entreated, does peruse  
The Will at last, and after divers views,  
Finds nothing is bequeathed to him or his,  
But even to hang himself, or mourn for this.  
One thing more I would have thee mind; where e'er,  
Thou of an old rich doting man do'sthear,  
Who's governed by his Servingman, or by  
His crafty W●nch; join in society  
With those, and praise them to their Master, so  
To him behind thy back they'll praise thee too:  
This trick will will help thee much; but nothing can  
Avail so much as working on th'old man.  
If he writes Verses ne'er so like an Ass,  
Extol them to the Skies; and if he has  
A mind t' a Wench, send thy Penelope;  
Do't of thine own accord; be sure that he  
Don't ask thee for her; freely her present,  
And wish she may to's Worship give content.  Ul. 
D'ye think my Wife, who is so virtuous  
And modest, who so stoutly did oppose  
So many suitors, and continued chaste,  
Will be seduced t' another's lust at last?  Tyr. 
They'd little Souls, and knew not how treat,  
Nor to present a Lady that's so great:  
Theirs was but Kitchin-love, they did desire  
To fill their Bellies, not to slake their fire;  
So thy Penelope continued chaste;  
If she of one old man but once should taste,  
She'd share the gains with thee, and cease no more  
Than dogs from sheep, when they've killed sheep before.  
Nay wonder not at this that I have told,  
I found it all to true when I grew old.  
A damned old Hag who did at Thebes die,  
Ordered this Funeral solemnity  
By her last Will; her body she would have  
Anointed o'er with Oil, and to her Grave  
She ordered him who was to be her Heir,  
On's naked Shoulders her oiled Corpse to bear,  
And if by th'slipperiness he let her fall,  
What e'er she left, he was to forfeit all:  
He, while she lived, did (I believe) pretend  
Great love to her, she'd have it without end.  
Walk war●ly, and see thou be not found  
Wanting in duty, nor too much abound;  
To sickly men, and such as are morose,  
A prating fellow is most tedious.  
Yet s●llen silence affect not at all,  
But Dav●s-like be something Comical,  
Thy Head on one side leaned, as if he were  
A man of whom thou stoodst in mighty fear:  
Be very dutiful, and if the Air  
Blow ne'er so little, bid him have a care  
Of his most precious tender head, and when  
He's in a Crowd, get him strait out again,  
And with both shoulders thrust aside all those,  
Who do his easy coming out oppose.  
And when he falls to talking bow thine ear,  
If his own praises he delights to hear,  
Ply him with high Encomiums, and fill  
Him Bladder-like with swelling words, until  
He lifts both hands up to the very skies;  
An honest Servant! 'tis enough, he cries.  
And when at length thou by his death shalt be.  
From this great care and tedious service free,  
And being broad awaked shalt hear it read,  
Ulysses quarter-heir to him that's dead,  
Then with a loud voice cry; And is he gone,  
What? Have I lost my dear Companion?  
Where now shall I another Patron find,  
Who's of so just and of so stout a mind?  
Nay weep a little, if thou canst; 'tis good  
Thy inward joy should not be understood.  
And if th' interment should be left to thee,  
Be sure thou do't with pomp and decency;  
The Neighbours all about will celebrate  
A funeral that's managed in great State.  
If one of the oldest Coheirs chance to be  
Infirm in's body, or cough dangerously,  
Apply thyself to him, tell him he shall  
Buy what to thy share by the Will does fall;  
Whether't be house or ground, tell him thy mind  
Is more to money then to land inclined.  
But Proserpina recalls me to my Cell,  
I must obey and go; Live long, farewell.   

SATYR VI By Sir R. F.  
He saith he lives content with what he hath, and wishes no more. Then compares the Commodities of the ease he enjoys in the Country, with the discommodities of businesses and troubles which accompany the City life.  
THis was my wish, A moderate scope of Land,  
A Garden with a pl●n●eous Spring at ha●d:  
And to crown these a plump of trees: Heaven gave  
Better than this; 'Tis well, no more I crave  
Good Mercury, make but these 〈◊〉 endure;  
If neither by ill ways I did procure,  
Nor by ill ways shall waste them: if I scape  
Longings: O that you Nook, which doth mishap  
My Field, were added! O that I might find  
A pot of Gold! as (Hercules to friend)  
He did, who hired to delve another's ground,  
Bought the same Land he digged with what he found:  
If what I have please me: if thou incline,  
When I pray, Make my Flock, and all that's mine  
Fat, but my wit; and as thoust ever done,  
Stand my great Guardian. Therefore (when being flown)  
Out of Rome's Cage into the Woods, I put  
Discourses in rough Verse, and horse my Foot)  
Nor Fevers kill me, nor Ambition's itch,  
Nor ●ickly Autumns making Sextons rich.  
FATHER MATUTE: or Janus (if that style  
Affect thee more) from whom their births, and toil,  
According to the Julian year men date,  
With thee I auspicate my work. When strait  
Thou thyself hurriest me away to Rome  
To be a Surety: Quick, lest some one come  
Before, that's more officious; Rain, or Blow,  
And though the Colds shrink day to nothing, go  
I must: and after, wrestle through a Crowd,  
And crack my Lungs, t'undo myself aloud:  
Injure, who ere is slower. Name of Mars!  
What mean you? whose Solicitor? (Thus curse  
Those men, upon whose Corns I tread) O! you  
Hasting to serve Maecenas, care not who  
You run o'er. I'll ne'er lie; this grieves me not:  
'Tis Music. But anon, when I have got  
Esquiliaes' misty Top, thousand affairs  
Of other men fly buzzing in mine ears,  
And sting me back and sides; Roscius requests  
To morrow, Two, you'd help him i'th' Requests.  
The Secretaries pray you'd not forget  
A business that concerns the Public, Great,  
And new, today: stay Quintus, get this Bill  
Signed by Maecenas: If I can I will.  
Nay, thou canst do't; and presses me. 'Tis now  
A seven years past, Maecenas doth allow  
Me of his Family, only t'advise  
Whom he should take into his Coach in journeys,  
To whom commit his Medals: What's a Clock?  
Which Fencer will beat (think'st thou) or which Cock?  
'Tis a hard Frost: Will't bear another Coat?  
With such like trifles as are safely put  
In leaking ears. This Prenticeship have I  
Served under Envy's lash, more and more daily.  
Our Friend Bowled with Maecenas th'other day,  
I, and they sat together at the Play:  
(Some men have Fortune!) Blows there through the street,  
A bleak news from the Change? strait all I meet;  
Goodman: (for thou being near the Gods must know)  
Dost hear aught of the Dacians? In sooth, No.  
Thou'lt ne'er leave jeering. Hang me, if I do.  
The Lands th●n which the Emperor promised to  
The Soldiers, in SICILIA shall they be  
Allotted to them, or in Italy?  
Swearing, I nothing know: Well, Go thy ways  
For a deep pit of secrecy! and gaze.  
Mean while my Taper wastes: scarce time to pray:  
O Fields, when shall I see you? O, when may  
I, rolled in Books, or lulled in sleep and ease,  
Opium life's cares with sweet forgetfulness?  
When shall I taste the Pythagorean Bean  
With fav'ry broth, and Bacon without lean?  
O nights, and suppers of the Gods, which I  
And mine, consume in my own Family;  
Where my Clowns, born within doors, tear the ●east  
I tasted to them; where the lawless guest  
Dries the unequal Cups, as his Complexion  
Asks soaking showers, or moderate refection.  
Then talk we not of buying Lands, nor school  
Other men's lives: nor whether Caesar's Fool  
Dance well, or not: But things of more concern,  
Are our discourse, and which men ought to learn:  
Whether to happiness do more conduce  
Virtue or wealth? if we our Friends should choose  
For ends, or honesty. What's understood  
Truly by Goods? and which is the chief good?  
My Neighbour Cervius, interweaves his old  
Fables, as thus: Aurelius wealth extolled,  
(Forgetting with what cares it tortures him)  
I'll tell you a Tale (quoth he:) Once on a time,  
The Country Mouse received in her poor house,  
Her ancient and good friend the City Mouse;  
A mighty Huswife, and exceeding nigh,  
Yet free in way of Hospitality.  
In short, the Chick-pease she had laid for ●oard,  
And unthrasht Oats she sets upon the Board,  
Brings scraps of Bacon in her mouth, and dry  
Barley; desiring with variety  
(Had it been possible) to have o'ercome  
The stately niceness of the City-dame.  
When the good wife herself on her Straw-bed,  
(Leaving the best) on Chaff and Acorn fed.  
At length, her guest: Friend, how canst thou endure  
To live in this Rock-side, moapt and obscure?  
Wild Woods preferrest Thou to a Town, and Men?  
Come go with me. Since all shall die, and when  
We go, our Mortal souls resolve to dust,  
Live happy whilst thou may'st, as one that must  
Be nothing a while hence. Drawn by this spell,  
The Country Mouse skips lightly from her Cell,  
And both their way unto the City keep,  
Longing by night over the walls to creep:  
And now 'twas midnight, and her foot each sets  
In a rich house: where glittering Coverlets  
Of Tyrian Die, on Ivory-beds were passed,  
And many Offals of a great feast past,  
Lay in the Pantry heaped. Her Rural mate  
Prayed to repose under a Cloth of State;  
The City Mouse, like an officious Host,  
Bestirs herself to fetch baked, boiled, and roast,  
And plays the Carver, tasting all she brings,  
She thinks the world well changed; and Heavens good things  
Stretching, enjoys; when strait flies open the room,  
And tosses both out of the wrought Couch plom,  
Running like things distracted, but much more  
When with Molossian Dogs the high roofs roar:  
Then said the Country Mouse, No more of this,  
Give me my Wood, my Cave, and Roots with peace.   

The same by another Hand.  
THis, this the sum of all my wishes was,  
In a small farm my life obscure to pass,  
Where I a Garden and a Spring might see,  
A little Grave, or at the least a Tree:  
But here the bounteous Gods have given me more,  
Then all my largest hopes conceived before;  
'Tis well, I'm thankful, and no more I wish,  
But only that they should continue this.  
If by no wretched gain I ever yet  
Made myself guilty, that I might be great;  
If by no vicious course, or squandring way,  
I shall my life to poverty betray;  
If I send up to Heaven no prayer like these,  
O that kind Heaven would give me to possess  
That narrow spot of ground which near me lies,  
And ●'re my Garden walks too high doth rise!  
Oh, that some lucky hit of Fortune would  
Bring to my hands such unexpected good,  
As once she did to a hired Ploughman, who  
While he with usual hopes the Field did plough,  
He found of hidden treasure so great store,  
He bought the Field wherein he toiled before.  
No, if my mind be equal in desires,  
And to no more than what I have aspires,  
Then let just Heaven keep my Estate from harm,  
Keep my Lambs safe, that they may keep me warms  
Let me enjoy what's needful, and what's fit,  
Have all things fat about me but my wit!  
May the Gods be propitious still to me,  
And be my guardians as they use to be.  
And now in this so close and silent life,  
Stole from the arts of Court and City's strife,  
What should I write but Humorous Satyrs here?  
Satyrs the Woods inhabitants always were.  
Here no ambitious Raptures heat my head,  
Here no infection through the air is spread;  
Here I in midst of tempests am secure,  
Nor fear the fall of Chimneys every hour;  
Here all the stormy winds that chance to rise,  
Only bring ●ounder sleeps unto my eyes:  
Or if sometimes their fury they do spend  
On some tall Oak, and it asunder rend,  
Their very mischief's useful here, and by  
Their rage my woodmans' labour they supply.  
But hold, while I myself thus flatter here,  
Reckoning before each pleasure of the year,  
I ●ad forgot that I su●pena'd was,  
And up to London suddenly must pass;  
Away I must, and ride through thick and thin,  
There to arrive before the Term begin;  
To Horse I must what ever wind doth blow,  
Whether the days do long or shorter grow;  
For all my shrugging, yet away I must;  
Thither I come, and through the crowd I thrust:  
Methinks the stream I do already feel;  
As I pass through, sometimes I kick one's heel,  
Sometimes another's Corns I tread upon,  
While they do curse and cry, whither d'ye run?  
What ails you? why so fast? do not you see  
That we by those before us hindered be?  
To my Maecenas House I still press through,  
Remembering to what company there I go,  
That, that indeed is sweet to me; for there  
Is pleasant company and healthy air  
To me, who from the Sea-coals and the noise  
Escaped, a while a mouthful there enjoys;  
But when I tired and puffing thither come,  
A hundred strangers business do hum  
About my ears, a hundred trifles fall  
Upon my head, back, shoulders, covering all.  
Of my whole life the greatest part I've spent,  
Not with my self, or to my own content,  
But in that pomp, which I of all things hate,  
Th' acquaintance of chief Ministers of State,  
Though all th' employment I had with them was  
Only to help some idle hours to pass:  
Sir, my Lord such a one desires that you  
Would be at Westminster at two:  
There did a Merchant, Sir, for you inquire,  
Your aid in some rich project to desire:  
I pray Sir get his Grace's hand to this,  
He knows me, and it reasonable is.  
And if I say I'll do my best in it,  
Oh Sir (says he) if you but think it fit  
To speak a word, th' event I need not fear,  
And then some Bribe they whisper in my ear;  
All's but for them to exercise the●r pride,  
And all that wa●t for business to deride,  
While we within in private shut the while,  
With such vain tattle do the time beguile:  
What is the clock? 'tis very cold to day,  
How do you like these Verses, or that Play?  
Such were the grave affairs of State, that we  
Transacted in our envied secrecy;  
Yet by this means, 'twas noised about the Town  
That I a mighty favourite was grown:  
D'ye hear the news? (says one) our friend did ride  
Last night with my Lord Chancellor side by side;  
He is a rising man, and happy me,  
I him to day at least two hours did see  
In private with his Highness, and his Grace  
Gave him a Friendly smile as he did pass.  
When once the World hath taken this report,  
Then all the Mounsieurs brisk about the Court,  
Where e'er I meet them kindly me salute,  
Y'are well met Sir, you know without dispute  
How matters go; (say they) for now you are  
Acquainted with all Statesmen secrets hear.  
And how? and how? and when d'ye expect the Fleet?  
When will the King set forth the Que●n to meet?  
I know not. Come you're such another man!  
L●t all the Gods their judgements on me rain,  
If I know any things. And what d'ye hear,  
When did the Portuguez resign Tangier?  
Is all in Ireland quiet still or no?  
When will my Lord Lieutenant thither go?  
Which way are things accommodated there,  
For the old Irish, or the Purchaser?  
Still I persist that I do nothing know,  
At my reservedness they much wonder show;  
That I'm a close and trusty man they swear,  
Fit to be made a Privy-counsellor.  
Thus I my time to ●uch vain fopperies give,  
And only in my wishes truly live:  
Oh, when shall I the Country see again,  
When in a meadow, or a shady plain,  
Shall I once more securely read and sleep,  
And no account of the day's motion keep?  
But by a pleasant thoughtful idleness  
Of humane life make the long journey less:  
Oh Beans and Bacon! O delicious meal!  
Such as the first and innocent men did eat  
Of fruits, for which Pythagoras was wise,  
When he all other dainties did despise;  
Oh nights and suppers fit for Gods to eat,  
For even the Gods have sometimes loved retreat.  
There o'er my merry Servants I am King,  
Yet fear no Poison in what e'er they bring.  
There free from all the gentle rudeness, which  
The Laws of Drinking in the City teach,  
One takes a Brimmer up, another cries,  
Hold, hold, pray not too much, that will suffice.  
All drink what e'er they please, and none by stealth  
Need put this Glass by, or escape that health.  
There no discourse of other men comes in,  
Nor who this Race, who did that Cock-match win,  
Not who commands the fashion of the Town,  
Who the best Actor is, Lacie, or Mohume?  
We talk of things that nearer us concern,  
And which 'tis more material to learn,  
What kind of life a prudent man should choose,  
Or to be rich, or to be virtuous;  
What into strongest friendship men doth bind,  
Profit and interest, or the Goods o'th' mind:  
What of true happiness the nature is,  
What are its measures, properties, degrees.  
C— the while (for he too did the same)  
Forsook the world with me, and thither came  
C— still mingles things that are more gay,  
Rough Morals with old Stories doth allay:  
Yet not that all our talk should stories be,  
But only when they genuine come and free:  
Then if some new arrived half-witted Guest,  
(Half witted sure he needs must be at best,)  
Admires the City and the glories there,  
How splendidly these Lords or those appear,  
Against him which such raillery he disputes,  
And with a mouse's Argument confutes.   

By Mr. A. Cowley.  
AT the large Foot of a fair hallow tree,  
Close by plow'd grounds, seated commodiously  
His ancient and hereditary house,  
There dwelled a good substantial Country Mouse,  
Frugal and grave, and careful of the main,  
Yet one who nobly once did entertain  
A City Mouse, well coated, sleek, and gay,  
A Mouse of high degree, who lost his way  
Wantonly walking forth to take the air,  
And arrived early, and belighted there  
For a day's lodging; the good hearty Host  
The ancient plenty of his Hall to boast,  
Did all the stores produce that might excuse,  
With various taste the Courtier's appetite,  
Chitches and beans, peason, and oats and wheat,  
And a large Chesnut, the delicious meat  
Which jove himself were he a Mouse would eat;  
And for a haut-guest there was mixed with these  
The sword of Becon and the coat of cheese,  
The precious relics which at Harvest he  
Had gathered from the Reaper's luxury:  
Freely (said he) fall on, and do not spare,  
The bounteous Gods will for to morrow care.  
And thus at ease on Beds of straw they lay  
And to their Genius sacrificed the day:  
Yet the nice Guests mind  
(Though breeding made him civil seem and kind)  
Despised this Country Feast, and still his thought  
Upon the cakes and pies of London wrought.  
Your bounty and civility (said he)  
Which I'm surprised in these rude parts to see,  
Shows that the Gods have given you a mind  
Too noble for the fare which here you find:  
Why should a Soul so virtuous and so great,  
Lose itself thus in an obscure retreat?  
Let Savage Beasts lodge in a Country Den,  
You should see Towns, and manners, and know men,  
And taste the generous luxury of the Court,  
Where all the Mice of quality resort,  
Where thousand beauteous she's about you move,  
And by high fare are pliant made to love.  
We all ere long must render up our ●reath,  
No Cave or Hole can shelter us from Death;  
Since life is so uncertain and so short,  
Let's spend it all in feasting and in sport.  
Come (worthy Sir) come with me and partake  
All the great things that Mortals happy make.  
Alas, what virtue has sufficient arms  
T' oppose bright Honour and soft pleasures charms?  
What wisdom can their Magic force repel?  
It draws this Reverend Hermit from his Cell.  
It was the time when witty Poets tell,  
That Phoebus into Tethys' bosom fell,  
She blushed at first, and then put out her light,  
And drew the modest Curtains of the night.  
Plainly the truth to tell, the Sun was set,  
And to the town the wearied travellers' get  
To a Lords house, as Lordly as can be,  
Made for the use of pride and luxury.  
They come; the gentile Courtier at the door  
Stopped, and will hardly enter in before.  
But this, Sir, you command, and being so,  
I'm sworn t' obedience; and so in they go  
Behind a Hanging in a spacious room,  
The richest work of Mortelacks' noble Loom.  
They wait a while their wearied Limbs to rest,  
Till silence should invite them to their feast,  
Alont the hour that Cyn●hia's silver light  
Had touched the pale meridies of night.  
At last the various Supper being done,  
It happened that the company was gone  
Into a room remote, Servants and all,  
To please their noble fancies with a Ball.  
Our Host leads forth his stranger, and does find  
All fitted to the bounties of his mind:  
Still on the Tables half filled Dishes stood,  
And with delicious bits the flower was strewed,  
The courteous Mouse presents him with the best,  
And both with fat varieties are blest:  
The industrious peasant every where does range,  
And thanks the Gods for his lives happy change;  
Lo in the midst of a well freighted Pie  
They both at last glutted and wanton lie:  
When (see the sad reverse of prosperous fate,)  
And what fierce storms on mortal glories wait,  
With hideous noise down the rude Servants come,  
Six Dogs before run barking into th' room,  
The wretched Gluttons fly with wild affright,  
And hate their fullness which retards their flight.  
Our trembling Peasant wishes now in vain,  
That rocks and mountains covered him again:  
Oh, how the change of his poor life he cursed,  
This of all lives (said he) is sure the worst.  
Give me again ye Gods my Cave and Wood,  
With peace let tares and acorns be my food!   

SATYR VII. By A. B.  HORACE and DAVUS. The miseries of a Debauched life. Dau. 
I'Ve overheard you, and a mind I have (Slave,  
To speak a word t'you, but being but your  
I am afraid.—  Hor. 
— Who art thou, Davus?  Dau. 
— Yes,  
Davus, who always to his Patron is  
A Slave so loving and so true, that he  
Deserves at length that you should make him free.  Hor. 
Go on, and use December's freedom now,  
(Because our Ancestors did that allow.)  
Speak what thou hast a mind.  Dau. 
— Most men delight  
In Vice continually, and with all their might  
Pursue their lewd designs: Many there be  
Float up and down with much inconstancy.  
Now they will lead a virtuous life, but then  
They quickly tumble into vice again.  
How fickle Priscus is! sometimes he '! be  
With ne'er a Ring on's hand, sometimes with three:  
And every hour he'll vainly change his Gown;  
Sometimes he'll lodge i'th' noblest house in Town,  
Strait in the meanest Cottage he will lie,  
And thence come forth looking so nastily.  
Now he at Athens studies hard, but strait  
Away he comes to Rome to fornicate.  
So various in his life, as if he'd been  
Born in all shapes Vertunuus e'er was in.  
That Gamester Volanerius, when the Gout  
Had racked and shrunk up all his joints throughout,  
A Fellow by the day he hired and said  
To take the Dice, and throw them in his stead.  
How much more constant men in Vices be,  
So much the easer is their misery;  
'Tis better far to keep an equal pace,  
Then sometimes slack and sometimes stretch the Trace.  Hor. 
Yet all this while thou tell'st nor to what end  
(Thou sleering Knave) these sullen words do tend.  Dau. 
They're meant of you.—  Hor. 
Why so (you Rogue?)  Dau. 
— You praise  
men's fate and ways who lived in former days,  
And yet if any God move you to use  
The like yourself, you obstinately refuse,  
Either because you don't conceive what you  
Yourself affirm thereof is right and true;  
Or else the truth you faintly do deftend,  
And are not such a man as you pretend;  
And when you stick so fast, you do desire  
In vain to pluck your feet out of the mire.  
The Country you admire when you are at Rome,  
But when into the Country you are come,  
A City life you above all things prise,  
And Rome you vainly do extol to th' skies.  
When you are not invited forth to sup,  
Your own safe Diet you do so cry up,  
Pretending if you ere go forth, 'tis still  
To please your Friend, but sore against your will:  
And you're so pleased, and count yourself so blest,  
When you are not invited out to feast.  
But if Maecenaes' send for you to come,  
How all the house rings with your noise at home!  
What, not the Barber come yet? — Jack!— who's there?  
Where are these Ragues, my Servants?— does none hear?  
And then away you post t' your Patron's feast,  
Where Milvius that Parasite, and the rest  
Which feed upon him, curse and rail, and speak  
Base words of you, when they away must sneak.  
One (I confess) did tell me to my face,  
You did your pleasure in your Belly place;  
And called you smell-feast, feeble, sluggard, sot,  
What they could think, as Glutton, and Toss-pot.  
Now since you are as bad as I can be,  
Nay perhaps worse, why should you rail at me,  
As if you're better? when you but disguise  
With virtuous names the foulness of your vice.  
When you were with another's wife in bed,  
And simply by his Slave discovered,  
Trapand and apprehended, were not you  
A verier fool than I?— Nay, never go  
To fright me with your surly countenance;  
Bridle your passion, don't your fist advance,  
While I impartially declare unt' you  
That which Crispinus Slave revealed to me.  
You're for a married woman, while your poor  
Slave Davus is content with a poor—  
Which of our crimes are greater, your or mine?  
When heat of blood does me to th' flesh incline,  
I take a common wench, with whom I do  
Such things as humane Nature prompts me to;  
And having done, I presently depart,  
My name not blemished by it, nor my heart  
Solicitous, where those who next there lie,  
Be handsomer or richer men then I.  
But when you lay your Ornaments aside,  
And sneak along for fear you should be spied:  
Are you not what you seem, when you become  
Instead of a grave Senator a Groom?  
And are into another's Lodgings led,  
With an old Cap to hide your powdered head;  
'Twixt lust and fear such a contest is in you,  
Your flesh and bones still trembling do continue.  
What difference is't if you are bound for hire  
To be destroyed, whether by Sword or Fire?  
Or to be thrust into a nasty Chest  
With head and heels contracted to your breast,  
Where by the Maid you have secured been,  
The Bawd that's privy to her Mistress sin.  
Has not th' abused Husband then just power,  
Both o'er his wife and o'er her Paramour?  
More just o'er the Adulterer, yet she  
Nor place nor habit shifts, nor publicly  
Commits the sin; the woman is in fear,  
And believes not your promised love to her:  
But you're a voluntary Slave to your lust,  
And with that raging Tyrant do intrust  
All your estate; your safety, liberty,  
Repute and life, things which so precious be.  
And when you have escaped from all those Snares,  
A man would think you should be full of fears,  
And would by this take warning now, but you  
Seek how to sin, and to be plagued anew.  
Oh! you that make yourself so oft a Slave,  
What bruit Beasts are so mad, that when they have  
Made their escape by breaking off the chain,  
Will to the snares expose themselves again?  
You say, you are no Adulterer, nor I  
A Thief, because I warily pass by  
Your plate, but were the punishment away,  
You to Adultery, I to Theft should stray.  
Are you my Master, and so much a Slave,  
To those ill powers which Dominion have  
O'er men and things? and have so often been  
Freed from your slavery, yet again get in?  
Add this thing to the rest, which seems to me  
An Argument of great validity,  
If he that does a Slave serve and obey,  
Is a Slave's Vicar (as you Scholars say)  
Or but his Fellow-slave, pray tell me then  
What must I be to you? for even when  
You rule o'er me you are a wretched Slave,  
To other powers, and no true motion have,  
But are like wooden Puppets moved about,  
Not by your Nerves within, but Wires without.  Hor. 
Who then is free?  Dau. 
He that is wise, and can  
Govern himself, that, that's the true Freeman;  
Whom prisons, want, nay Death, can't terrify,  
Who quells his vain desires, and valiantly  
Contemns the froth of popular applause,  
And squares his actions all by virtues laws:  
No outward thing can alter him at all,  
And Fortune's baffled if on him she fall.  
Can you pick a description out of this,  
Which may express yourself?— Your high Mistress  
Demands a hundred pound a time of you,  
And if not given her, pouts and looks askew,  
And in a pet she thrusts you out of door,  
Flings water on you to affront you more:  
Then in another mood she calls you back;  
And are you free? Come, come, withdraw your neck  
Out of this shameful Yoke, and say I'm free,  
Which you in this condition ne'er can be;  
For you've a Master rigid and severe,  
Does o'er your mind and body domineer;  
And though you're tired, and able scarce to stir,  
He cruelly rides on with switch and spur.  
Pray Sir, when you so many hours lie lazing,  
On some rare piece of Painting vainly gazing,  
Wherefore are you more innocent than I,  
When on a Battle I do cast mine eye,  
With Char-coal or Red-ochre rudely done,  
And see the Fencers nimbly strike and shun  
Each others blows, in various postures, so  
As if the Fight were real, not a Show:  
I must be called a loitering Rogue, but you  
In ancient Painting for a Critic go.  
If I pursue a hot well-sented Cake,  
I am called Rascal; but when you do make  
Your sumptuous Banquets with all luxury,  
You must a noble person counted be:  
Pray wherefore should my petty luxury  
Be far more prejudicial to me,  
Then yours that's greater is to you? if I  
Indulge my Belly, I'm lashed presently:  
And are not you punished as much as that,  
Who on your Belly spend your whole Estate?  
Feasts to perpetual Feasters odious are,  
And Drunkards feet refuse their paunch to bear.  
If a poor Boy sell his stolen Comb to buy  
A bunch of Grapes, we blame him presently;  
And yet that Bellie-slave goes blameless, that  
To gratify his paunch sells his Estate.  
Besides all this, you are not the same man  
For two hours' space together, neither can  
You tell which way to pass your time away  
As you ought, when you have a leisure day,  
But Vagrant-like you from yourself do fly,  
Sometimes with wine or sleep you vainly try  
To ease your mind, but wheresoever you go  
Your guilty Conscience dogs and pricks you too.  Hor. 
Where's e'er a stone?—  Dau. 
— At whom Sir would you throw,  
If you could find a stone?—  Hor. 
'S death! where's my Bow?  Dau. 
Alas! my Master's grown stark raging mad,  
Or else makes Verses, which is full as bad!  Hor. 
Get hence, or to my Farm else, where I have  
Sent eight already, I'll send thee the nineth Slave.   

SATYR VIII. By I. W. Esq A description of an unhandsome Treat.  HORACE and FUNDANUS. Hor. 
How liked ye wealthy Nasidenus feast?  
For yesterday, intending you my guest,  
'Twas told me you were there, and from noon too.  Fund. 
Troth we were never merrier.  (Hor.) 
As how?  
(And if it bened too troublesome) declare  
How he received you; what your bill of fare?  Fund. 
Our first encounter was a Lucan Bore,  
Killed, the wind South, for so the Master swore;  
About the Dish lay Lettuce, Radish, Beets,  
And such as whet the squeasie appetites,  
As Skirworts, Pickled Herrings, and next these,  
A Poignant sauce made of the Coan Lees:  
This took away, two pretty Striplings come,  
One wiped the Table, t'other swept the room;  
And, as you have seen an Attic Virgin go  
To Ceres' Sacrifice; strait other two,  
A Black the one, brought each his basket in,  
This full of Caecub, that of Chian wine:  
When strait mine Host; Maecenas! if you like  
A fuller bodied, or a greener, speak;  
I have 'em both  (Hor.) 
Poor wealth!— But prithee say,  
What were your company?  (Fund.) 
On the first bed lay  
Myself, next me Thurinus and below  
Was Varius; On the second, Bal●tro,  
With him Vibidius, both Maecena's guests;  
On the third, lay the Master of the feasts  
'Twixt Nomentan, and Buffoon Portius,  
That swoops whole Custards, ere ye say, what's this;  
For his sake, t'other came, who understood  
The way of eating, and with his Finger could  
Point out each sauce, and what was in't; while we  
Eat Fish and Fowl, and such like trumpery;  
Though yet, the best in season, as the Plaise,  
And Turbats Belly which he carved me, was.  
Next, came the blushing Apples, gathered  
The Moon increasing; how they differed  
From others, he can tell you best; when thus  
To Balatro began Vibidius;  
We've fed ourselves top full, and now must die  
Quite unrevenged, unless we drink him dry;  
And calls for bigger Glasses; at which word  
Mine Host looked, as he'd have sunk underboard;  
So went and came his colour, dreaming least  
T ' have met with such stiff Drinkers, or a jest  
So home, but rather thought, t'ave seen his wine  
Deadened their palates, for 'twas hardly fine;  
But to small purpose, for the Roundlet now  
Was set a tilt, and round the brimmers go;  
Only some one or two of the prime Guests  
Made little spoil:— But see! A second Feast;  
A Lamprey stretched at length, swimming as 'twere  
Amidst a shoal of shrimps; On which, Mine Here  
Cries note, This Fish was big with young when caught,  
Or otherwise, 't'ad not been worth a Groat;  
Then, for the rare Pottage! But taste it pray!  
The Oil in it right Campania,  
T'has more ingredients, as Caviar,  
The best white Pepper, Lesbian vinegar,  
Italian wine. (But this, I dare be bold)  
Not a drop of 't was less than five years old;  
All this was in the boiling (that once done  
Pour that of Chios in, or better none:)  
I was the first ere boiled Elicampane,  
And ‛ Ringoes in it; from Curtillus, came  
Salt-water-craw-fish pickled, better far  
Than such as brought us from beyond Sea are:  
While thus mine Host, a piece of Tapstry's fall  
Raised such a dust, it spiced us, Dish and all;  
We thought at first, that had been the house, but when  
We saw there was no danger, cheered again;  
But he (poor man) hung down his head, and cried  
As if his Son had at that instant died;  
Nor gave he o'er, till Nomentanus, thus,  
Fortune our Foe, thou art a scurvy Puss!  
Ah what a cruel Vixen th' art! ah how  
Dost thou delight to mock us here below!  
'Twas even as much as Variu's Towel could do  
To keep his laughter in, when Balatro  
Gibbed on, And since the course of life is such,  
We can't (quoth he) admire your pains too much;  
Is't fit, to make me handsomely received,  
You should disquiet yourself, and thus be grieved,  
For fear the Bread be burnt, or the Pottage  
Ill seasoned, to be sure that every Page  
Perform his office right: add to all this  
What other accidents may fall amiss;  
As this ' o'th' Hangings was, or that a Clown  
Should stumble in, and run the Cupboard down;  
But (General-like) Masters of Feasts reveal  
That temper by cross hits, the good conceal:  
At which, mine Host, God's blessing on your heart!  
So good a man, and boon Companion th' art;  
And with it clapped his Sandals on; when straight  
There went a whisper round the beds. Hor. But what?  
What laughed ye at next? Fund. Vibidius cries, I think  
The Bottles broke, that we can get no drink;  
And while they laughed at what was past, quoth he,  
Balatro seconding, Mine Host for me!  
How lively he returns! he looks as pert,  
As if he'd help our late mischance by art:  
Which said, his Boys brought in a Charger filled  
With several things; a Crane cut up, and grilled  
With Salt and Flower; and fed with with figs (to choose)  
The well grown Liver of a Milk white Goose,  
The Shoulders of some Hares, by much the best  
Of all the body, a broiled Blackbirds breast:  
Ringdoves, their thighs cut off; things excellent  
Had he not run so Damned a Lecture on't;  
As the cause why, drawn from their Nature too:  
But we revenged ourselves, I'll tell ye how;  
We did not taste one bit, but fled it more,  
Then if a Witch had shaken her Kercher o'er.  
The end of the Second Book of Satyrs.     

EPISTLES.  

BOOK I.  

EPISTLE I. By Sir R. F. To MAECENAS.  
He says he dismisses his trifling studies, and embraces those that tend to virtue: yet so as not to swear to any Master's words. And that these studies are such, that there is none but may be bettered by them, if he but lend a patient ear thereunto. In the end he reprehends the depraved judgement of men placing virtue after wealth and honours, and caring more for the things of the Body than the things of the mind.  
MAecenas mentioned in my Odes, to be  
Mentioned in all I write; thou wouldst have me  
(Enough seen, and applauded on the Stage)  
To the old sport; I have not the same age,  
Nor the same mind. Upon Alcides' post  
His Arms hung up, ere his wone Fame be lost;  
The Fencer that is wise, retires. I hear  
A voice sound daily in my cleansed ear,  
Free an old Horse, lest he (derided) lag,  
And, broken-winded, in the last act flag.  
Therefore Lovesongs, and all those toys adieu,  
My work is now to search what's good, what's true:  
I lay in precepts, which I strait may draw  
Out for my use. If thou demand, whose Law,  
What Guide I follow: Sworn to no man's words,  
To this and that side I make Tacks and Boards.  
Now plunged in billows of the active life,  
At virtue's Anchor ride contemplatise;  
With ARISTIPPUS now yield to the stream,  
More studying to get wealth, then to contemn.  
As nights are long to them their Mistress fails:  
To Hirelings, days: To curbed Wards years are snails:  
So slow and so unpleasant my Time flows,  
Till seriously I act, as I propose;  
That which alike boots rich and poor, if done,  
Alike hurts young and old, if let alone.  
It rests, these rules I to myself apply.  
Thy eyes will never pierce like Lynceus eye,  
Scorn not to 'noint them though if sore they are:  
Nor, of a Wrestlers strength if thou despair,  
Neglect to salve the knotted Gout. If more  
'S denied, 'tis something to have gone thus fur.  
Revenge and Avarice boil in thy heart:  
There's words and sounds will cut off a great part  
Of thy disease. Swellest thou with love of praise!  
There is a Charm too which this Devil lays;  
Reading a good Book thrice devoutly over,  
T●e Envious, Wrathful, Sluggish, Drunkard, Lover:  
No Beast so wild, but may be tamed, if he  
Will unto Precepts listen patiently.  
'Tis Virtue, to fly Vice: and the first Stair  
Of Wisdom, to want Folly. With what Care  
Of Mind, and toil of Body, we avoid  
Mean wealth, and honours hunt (Ambition's God)  
Th' unwearied Merchant runs to farthest Ind,  
Through Fire, through horrid Rocks, Riches to find▪  
What thou thus fond dotest on, to despise,  
Sat, learn, and hear from those that are more wise.  
Whose Sword hath won him Honour in true Fights,  
Dusty Olympic Laurels, that man slights,  
(Above those toys, and in his own self rolled.)  
Gold excels silver, Virtue excels Gold.  
O Romans, Romans, first seek money; then  
Virtue. This drops from every scriveners Pen.  
This is the Doctrine old and young men preach,  
Carrying a black Box danging at their Breech.  
If of Sesterces forty thousand lack  
Six or seven thousand only, though you make  
It up in Virtues, Courage, Eloquence,  
Faith, and the like; you're a Pletian, Hence.  
But playing in the streets, the children sing  
Another song: He that does well's a King.  
Be this a wall of Brass, to have within  
No black accuser, harbour no pale sin.  
Now (sadly) which is better, Otho's Law,  
Or the Bo●es Song, which gives a Regal awe  
To him do●● well? A song oft sung of old  
By manly Curii, and Camilli bold.  
Counsels he better, that says, MONEY GET,  
If thou canst, well: but if not, get it yet,  
That tho● some piteous Play may'st nearer see?  
Or he that bids thee, Brave, erect, and free,  
To face proud Fortune? If ROME'S people now  
Object, Why placed on our Bench vot'st not Thou  
The same with us? abhorr'st not what we hate?  
Affectest not what we love? My answer's, That  
The sly Fox once to the sick Lion made:  
The footsteps that way all, make me afraid,  
And from thy Den that I perceive no treads.  
The People, 'Tis a Beast with many heads.  
What, or whom should I follow? some by-places:  
Some for rich Widows trade with Beads and Glasses,  
And feed old men with Gifts, like Fish with bread,  
That they on them may afterwards be fed.  
Many grow fat with Usury. But well,  
Let several men have several minds. Now tell,  
How long will any in the same mind stay?  
Baiae? The World hath not a sweeter Bay,  
The Rich man cries: when straight the Sea and Lake  
The joy of their arriving Lord partake.  
Who, if an ominous Hare (forsooth) come thawrt  
To morrow; Smiths unto the THE ANUM Cart  
The Iron work. Has he at home a wife?  
No life (he says) like to the single life.  
If not, None blest (he swears) but married men.  
What knot can hold this changing Proteus? Then  
The poor man (laugh) altars his eating room,  
His Barber, Bed, and Bath: and sick of Rome  
As much as rich men that keep Barks, to float  
Upon the water, goes and hires a Boat.  
If thou meet one, by an ill Barber notched,  
Thou laughest: If one in Scarlet breeches bought  
With Freeze, thou laughest. But what if my mind fight  
With itself? Seek that which it slighted, slight  
That which it sought? all Rules of Life confound?  
Turn like the Tide, build, raze, change square to round?  
Thou think'st me mad in fashion, and laughest not,  
Nor that I need to have a Doctor got,  
And to be placed in Bedlam by the Mayor:  
Though thou'rt my Patron, and consumed with care  
At the least fingers ask of thy friend  
That honours thee, and doth on thee depend.  
In sum, a wise man's only less than Jove,  
Rich, free, fair, noble; last a King, above,  
The common rate of Kings: But chiefly sound,  
That is to say, Unless his spleen abound.   

EPISTLE II. By Sir R. F. To LOLLIO.  
He says Homer in his Poems teaches fuller and better what is honest, than some Philosophers; bringing arguments to prove the same. That in the Iliad, what are the incentives of war to foolish Kings and Nations is described: and in the Odyssee, by Ulysses example, what virtue and wisdom can do, is shown. Then exhorts to the study of wisdom, as that which will heal the diseases of the mind, which he reckons up. But teaches withal, that men must from their tender age accustom themselves to such like precepts.  
Whilst thou (Great Lollio) in Rome dost plead,  
I, in Praeneste, have all HOMER read:  
Who, what's our good, what not; what brave, what base,  
Fuller than Crantor, and Chrysippus, says.  
Why I think thus (unless thou'rt busy) hear.  
The Lines, that tell how Greeks and Trojans were  
Involved in a long War for Paris love,  
Rash Kings and Nations foolishly reprove.  
Antenor's counsel was, to send the Cause  
Of the War back. PARISH says, No: What Laws  
Compel Kings to be safe? NESTOR, to piece  
The difference, runs, betwixt the King of Greece  
And Tethy's son: One boiling with Love's flame,  
With anger both. The PRINCES, They're too blame,  
And the poor PEOPLE smart for't. Mischief, Strife,  
Fraud, rage, and lust in Town, and Leaguer rife.  
Again what virtue and what wisdom can,  
He shows us in th' example of the 
* Ulysses,  Man  
Of Ithaca: who (Troy in ashes laid)  
The Towns and Manners prudently survay'd  
Of many Lands; and through the Ocean vast,  
Returning home with his Companions, past  
Many sharp Brunts, not to be sunk with stromes  
Of adverse Chance. Thou knowst the Sirens charms;  
And Circe's Cups: which had he greedily  
And fond tasted with his Fellows, he  
Had served a Whorish Dame, and lived a Dog  
On his on vomit, or mire-wallowing Hog.  
The Suitors of Penelope were mere  
Puppets, made only to devour good Cheer:  
Rascals, who minded nothing but their skin,  
And, that perfumed and sleek, to sleep therein  
Till it was Noon: then thought it brave, to wake  
With the same Lutes with which they rest did take▪  
Do Thiefs sit up all night to kill and steal,  
And cannot we rise to intend our Weal?  
But if in health thou wilt not stir about,  
Hereafter thou shalt run (though with the Gout)  
To a Physician: and unless thou knock  
For Candle, and a Book, with the first Cock:  
Unless to studies, and to honest things  
Thou bend thy mind; with Love's or Envy's stings  
Thou'lt lie awake tormented. If a Fly  
Get in thy Eye, 'tis pulled out instantly:  
But if thy Minds eye's hurt, day after day  
That Cures deferred. Set forth, thou'rt half thy way.  
Dare to be wise: Begin. He that to rule  
And square his life, prolongs, is like the Fool  
Who stayed to have the River first pass by,  
Which rowles and rowles to all Eternity.  
Money is sought, and a rich wife for brood,  
And a sharp Coulter tames the savage Wood  
Let him that has enough, desire no more.  
Not House and Land, nor Gold and Silver Oare,  
The Body's sickness, or the Mind's dispel,  
To relish wealth, the palate must be well.  
Who fears, or covets: House to him and Ground,  
Are Pictures to blind men, Incentives bound  
About a gou●y Limb, Music t'an ear  
Damned up with ●ilth. A vessel not sincere  
Sowres whatsoever you put into't. Abstain  
From pleasures: Pleasure hurts, that's bought with pain  
The covetous always want: your prayers design  
To some fixed mark. The envious man doth pine  
To see another ●at: Envy's a Rack;  
Worse, no Sicilian Tyrant ere did make.  
Who cannot temper wrath, will wish undone  
What, in his haste, he may have done to one,  
To whom he (possibly) would be most kind.  
Anger i● a short madness: Rule thy mind:  
Which reigns, if it obeys not: 〈…〉  
With chains, restrain it with an Iron bit.  
The Equerry moulds the Horses tender mouth  
TO his Riders will. The Beagle from his Youth  
Is trained up to the woods, being taught to ball  
(A Whelp) at the Bucks heads nailed in the Hall.  
Now Boy, in the white paper of thy breast  
Write VIRTUE: Now suck precepts from the best.  
A pot, well seasoned, holds the Primitive taste  
A long time after. If thou make no haste,  
Or spur to overrun me, I am One  
For none will stay, and will contend with none.   

The same by Dr. W.  
WHile you at Rome (my honoured Lollius plead,  
I Homer at Praeneste once more read.  
Aquinas ne'er so well, nor Lombard taught  
So fully yet, what's fair, or fit, or naught.  
My reason's this (if y'have no busy hours)  
The story that relates Paris amours,  
And Greece spent with the tedious Trojan Leaguer,  
Shows us how silly Princes are, how eager  
The giddy Rout. That should be moved which seems  
The cause o'th' war, Antenor wisely deems.  
But Paris to enjoy his stolen delight,  
Thinks scorn to yield, Nestor to set things right  
'Twixt Agamemnon and Achilles strives;  
While Love the One, and both their passion drives.  
The Officers are mad, and still the smart  
Lights on the Commons; still they have the art,  
What with their mutines, their plots, their sin,  
To loose as much without, as those within.  
But then, what virtue and good conduct can  
Perform you'll see; Ulysses is the man:  
Troy wisely gained, he many Cities next  
Views and their various Laws, is oft perplexed  
In hazards, storms himself and his he saves,  
Not to be drowned in Fortune's roughest waves.  
The Sirens charms you know, and Circe's bowl  
Which had he quast with's Drunken-train, his soul  
H'had lost, a brutish servant to the where,  
A Cur●●'had ●●'had been, or miry Boar.  
We are that rout, methinks, those Idle Knaves  
Made to be crammed, Penelope's lewd braves,  
Rising at Noon to wash, and powder hair,  
And then with noise of Fiddlers lull our care.  
Will you not wake? Felons are only stirring  
For mischief; for your safety you're demurring.  
You'll easier now, then with a Dropsy run,  
Call for a Book and Light before the Sun.  
Your early thoughts in Virtue unemployed,  
Will be with Love or fretting Envy cloyed.  
You'll move an Eye-soar straight; and is it sense,  
To let the Mind be cured a Twelvemonth hence?  
Begin: 'tis half the work: assume the power  
To live: expect not for a fairer hour.  
[So stays the Clown till th' hasty Brook be dried,  
But th' everlasting streams still still do glide.]  
We gripe for money still, marry for Goods,  
(Such Wives are fruitful) grub and fill our woods.  
Who hath enough, why should he wish for more?  
Did ever goodly seat, or Farms, or Store,  
The sickly Landlord of his Quartan ease,  
Or of his cares? the Owner must have health,  
Who reaps a satisfaction from his wealth.  
The carking Heart's not eased by bags or land.  
(No more than Bleared-eye by Titians' hand,  
Or Gout by pultis, or the Ear in pains  
With Rheum, by Ferabosco's melting strains;)  
But what it holds, like musty Bottle spoils.  
Pleasure's ill bargains are, if bought with toils,  
Desires are endless, till you fix the end,  
Envy consumes for fatness of a friend;  
Envy the worst of Plagues, the Tyrant's scourge,  
Anger let loose, th' unwary mind doth urge  
To actuate revengeful thoughts, in haste.  
Which afterward in cold blood you'll distaste.  
Anger's a shorter frenzy. Passion reigns  
If't be ned enslaved, but kerb it in with chains.  
The managed Colt is by the Horseman taught  
T' observe the Rider's check: the Whelp is brought  
(Since first he trailed the Buckskin in the Hall)  
To hunt abroad the Stag unto his fall.  
Now (hopeful Boy!) counsels that wholesome are  
Take early next thy heart: the seasoned jar  
Will hold his scent: now run, I'll but give aim,  
I'll neither stop the swift, nor help the lame.   

EPISTLE III. By A. B. To JULIUS FLORUS.  
Advice to follow his Studies.  
IN what part of the would Claudius fights now,  
(My julius' ●l●rus) I desire to know:  
Claudius our great Augustus' Son in Law,  
Whether to Thrace his Army's marched away.  
Or whether Icy Heber them detain,  
If on the Hellespont they still remain;  
Or fruitful Asian hills and plains, or what  
The learned troop of Drusius will be at.  
These things I mind too, and what eminent wit  
Will to posterity dare to transmit  
Those mighty things, which done by Caesar are,  
How wisely he makes peace, how stoutly war:  
What excellent piece will learned Titius write,  
The Roman admiration and delight;  
He that so bravely dares transfer the ●lame  
Unto us Romans, which from Pindar came,  
That scorns to dabble in the vulgar lak's,  
And into the Ocean a brave Voyage makes:  
How does he do? what does he say of me?  
By his propitious Muse's aid will he  
Translate the Verses writ with Theban●ire ●ire,  
And tune them smoothly to the Roman Lyre.  
Or with a tragic buskin does he rage,  
And with high stately language fill the Stage.  
And (prithee) how does Celsus deal by me?  
That most incorrgible Plagiary,  
Who has been warned so oft, and must be more,  
To search for wit and sense from his own store;  
And leave off pilferring out of Books that be  
By others writ, and placed i'th' Library.  
Lest all the plundered Birds should stock together,  
And from his gaudy back pluck each his feather;  
And he of his stolen colours like the Chough,  
Stand stripped, and make all Spectators laugh.  
But what art thou about? with what rare stuff  
Does thy Muse load her thighs? thoust wit enough,  
And that well polished, not absurdly rough.  
If thou wilt Orator or Lawyer be,  
Or falst upon delightsome Poetry,  
Thy wit away the Laurel justly bears;  
But if thou canst shake of those seeds of cares,  
Where e'er Celestial wisdom draws thou'lt go,  
This work, this study, great and man men too  
Should set upon, if we design to be  
Dear to ourselves, and to Posterity.  
I prithee send me word, whether or no  
Thou dost such kindness to Munatius show,  
As betwixt Friends and Brothers ought to be;  
Or is your breach since you did disagree  
So ill patched up, that it will never close,  
But every foot to it's old rancour grows;  
Yet whether height of blood, or want of wit,  
Inflamed your untamed spirits, 'tis not fit,  
That your fraternal knot should be untied,  
In what part of the world so ere you 'bide;  
I've a fat Heifer, which I'll gladly burn  
In sacrifice for your desired return.   

EPISTLE IV. By A. B. To TIBULLUS.  
That he should live comfortably, and without Cares.  
TEll me Tibullus, thou that dost so far  
Indulge such trifles as my Satyrs are,  
What shall I tell my friends that thou dost do  
Now in that Country thou'rt retired into?  
Writing whole Volumes: or hast thou thy mind  
Wholly to th' healthy woods and walks confined?  
Considering only to enjoy and do  
Things which become a wise and good man too.  
Thou art no thick-skulled blockhead; for wise Heaven  
To thee an understanding Soul has given.  
And with a fair Revenue does thee bless,  
Which thou knowst how t' enjoy as well's possess.  
What could a Nurse for her dear Child beseech,  
More than right understanding, and plain speech?  
To live beloved in honour and in health,  
To eat whole some Diet, and to want no wealth?  
When thou'rt tossed up and down 'twixt hope and care,  
Inflamed with anger and shrunk up with fear:  
As soon as such a day is overpast,  
Comfort thyself, that that's to be the last:  
When an hour comes that brings thee joy and bliss,  
If unexpected, Oh! how grateful is!  
And when thou'rt minded to laugh heartily  
At a right Hog of Epicurus Sty  
Come see me, thou shalt find me plump and fair,  
I, of this Corpse of mine, take special care.   

EPISTLE V. By Sir R. F. To TORQUATUS.  
He invites Torquatus to supper, which he says will be a frugal one. Exhorts him (●idding farewell to Cares, and the desire of Riches) to give himself to Mirth; and (seeming a little lightheaded with the joy of Augustus his birthday) lashes out into the praises of drinking. Names three things whereof he is studious in his entertainment, and the first of these, Cleanliness.  
IF thou (a Guest) on a joint-stool canst sup,  
And in a small Mess all the broth sup up:  
I shall at home expect thee by Sunset.  
Wine thou shalt drink of middle age, and wet  
Minturnae's growth hard by. If thou hast aught  
That better is, command it to be brought,  
And treat thy Host. Already the Logs burn,  
And the scoured Pan's shine, on thy score. Adjourn  
Light hopes, and riches strife, and Mosco's Cause  
To morrow; CAESAR'S birthday gives a Pause  
To toil, and leave to sleep. Without offence  
We may spin out with chatting Eloquence  
The Summer night. What do I care for wealth,  
Unless to use? 'Tis a mad kind of stealth,  
For one to rob himself, t'enrich his Heir.  
I'll quaff, and sprinkle Roses, and not care  
Though I'm thought wild for this. The rare effects  
Of Wine! Love, hid in Blushes, it detects:  
Hopes it ensures: it makes the Coward fight:  
Learned the Ignorant: the sad heart light.  
Whom have not flowing Cups eloquent made?  
Whose debts (though ne'er so great) have they not paid?  
I am the Man: and my charge I will make it,  
(Willing, and not unfit to undertake it)  
To have the Forms clean rubbed: the Napkins such  
As may not curl our Noses up to touch:  
That in the Platters thou mayst see thy face:  
That no false brother carry from the place  
Ought that is spoke: that all of a Suit be,  
Septimius? Brutus? Sure Cards, these. Let's see:  
Then (if not taken up with better cheer,  
Or by his Girl) Sabinus shall be here.  
Each Guest may bring his shadow. But the sweat  
Will be offensive, if too close we set.  
Thy number, write: and (all things laid aside)  
Thy Clients bobbed, out at the back door glide.   

EPISTLE VI By A. B. To NUMICIUS.  
Not to trouble himself with worldly matters.  
NUmicius, to admire nothing at all,  
Which in this world to Mortals may befall,  
Is one, if not the only thing, which can  
Make and continue thee a happy man.  
Philosophy renders some men so bold,  
They're not affrighted when they do behold  
The Sun and Stars so variously appear,  
In all the different seasons of the year:  
Or in unusual motions, why shouldst thou  
Be more transported with the things below?  
Why shouldst thou mind the treasures of the earth,  
Those gums to which Arabia gives birth?  
Or Silver, Gold, and precious gems, with which  
Both Indies do the rest o'th' world enrich?  
Pleasure or Honour, or those gifts which come  
From the self-ended Citizens of Rome,  
With what a mind and look should these things be  
Possessed, or but reflected on by thee?  
He that the contrary to this does fear,  
His passions like th' Admirers passions are.  
A mind disturbed, which way soe'er it come,  
On one side and the other is trouble some;  
And sudden apprehension of all things,  
To those that fear or love much terror brings.  
What is it to the purpose, whether we  
Desire and fear, and sad or joyful be?  
Who when a thing befalls him, bad or good,  
If more, or other, than he thought it would,  
Dost presently look blank upon't, and grow  
Astonished both in mind and body too.  
The wiseman is an Ass, the just man grows  
Unjust, if they would be too virtuous.  
Go now, and gaze upon thy massy plate,  
Thy Brass and Marble pillars made for State;  
Thy costly Hangings of rich Tapestry,  
And costly garments of the Tyrian Die,  
And hug thyself when thou shalt thousands see,  
While thou art making speeches, gaze on thee.  
Rise early in the morn, away to th' Hall,  
And till 'tis late at night there tug and bawl,  
Lest Mutius grow rich before thee, he  
Who is by birth inferior much to thee.  
Shall such a sneaking fellow, as he is  
Be thy example, when thou shouldst be his?  
What ere is hidden time will bring to light,  
And that will vanish, which now shines so bright.  
Nay thou, who on th' Exchange and at the Hall  
Art so well known, and honoured too by all,  
Forsaking all these things, must go at last  
Where our Forefathers are, whose days are past.  
If thou dost any sharp disease endure,  
Use all thy Wits to get a present cure.  
Wilt thou live well? who would not? Virtue is  
The only way to gain true happiness.  
And therefore all thy vanities thrown by,  
To it courageously thy mind apply.  
Make that thy business, and do not suppose  
That to talk much is to be virtuous.  
That words together put will virtue prove,  
As Trees together put will make a Grove.  
But if wealth be thy aim, pursue thy Trade,  
Take heed no other Merchant do invade  
Those Ports thou traffick'st to, and take from thee  
Thy businesses which now so gainful be.  
Heap up a thousand talents, than one more,  
Add a third thousand, and then make'●m four.  
This mighty Monarch Money to us sends,  
Fair Wives, great Portions, Reputation, Friends,  
This makes us Noble, though our Birth be base,  
And giv●s our persons comesiness and grace;  
That man who has his pockets lined with Chink,  
All men ingenious and handsome think.  
The Cappadocian King, though he had store  
Of Slaves, was in's Exchequer very poor:  
But be not thou like that unhappy King,  
T' aboundin one, and not in every thing.  
Lucullus was desired (the story says)  
To lend a hundred Cloaks for some new Plays.  
Where should I have so many Cloaks (said he)  
But yet I'll look, and what I have send t'ye.  
A little after this he sends them word,  
That he 5000 Garments could afford,  
Which in his house lay by unknown to him,  
And that they might have part or all of them,  
That house is much unfurnished where there are  
Not many things superfluous, and to spare.  
Goods which the Owner knows not of, but may  
Be unconcerned when they are stolen away.  
If (as Mimnermus said) nothing can be  
Delightsome without love and jollity:  
Then live in love and jollity; farewel:  
If thou of any better Rules canst tell  
Then these, impart them candidlie;  
If not, I pray, make use of these with me.   

The same by J. W. Esq  
IF then, wealth only makes, and keeps man blest,  
Make that thy first of works, and leave it last:  
If public Honour; buy some progging Slave,  
May point thee who goes by, what names they have;  
Pluck thee by th' sleeve, and tell thee such or such  
Are worth your hand, you can't reach't out too much:  
His interest lies here, and tother's there,  
Make 'em your friends, and you are Consul clear,  
Thus putting on a pleasant face to all,  
As their years are, this son, him father call▪  
If eating be the business, let's away  
In order to't; we stay too long, 'tday▪  
Rouse our dull Servants, make one take the Nets,  
Another hunting Poles, a third the Spear,  
And so returning through the gaping Fare,  
Led a tall Mule home laden with a Boar,  
Not killed (as they suppose) but bought before.  
Let's bathe on a full stomach, as forgot  
Whither convenient for our health, or not.  
Right Cerites, lawless; very Greeks that think  
Their Country far of less esteem than drink.  
If (as Mimnermus) nothing's to be done  
That has not Love, and Pleasure in't, Let one  
Live, and farewell; And if you've better cheer,  
Impart it pray, if not, be merry hear.   

EPISTLE VII. By A. B. To MAECENAS.  
That Liberty is more acceptable to a friend, than costly Entertainment.  
I Promised when I left you last, 'tis true,  
Within five days to come again to you  
Into the Country, and you looked for me  
All August long, to come accordingly;  
Yet I have failed you: now I'll tell you why;  
Not that I slight such worthy company;  
But your hard drinking kills me. I profess,  
You'd love me better, if you'd love me less.  
If you'd have me live long and heathfully,  
Give me now I am well that liberty  
Which were I sick, I'm sure you would allow,  
For I fear sickness, though I'm healthy now.  
In these hot Dog-days, when each little thing  
That stirs the blood, does mortal sickness bring.  
Autumn the Sexton's harvest, when we meet  
Mourners and funerals in every street:  
When Women send their Children out, for fear  
They should be ●●lled by the City air.  
The Lawyers venting mercenary breath,  
Brings Fevers and (a happy riddance!) death.  
But when the Winter comes, and heaven bestrews  
The shabbed ground with frequent frosts and snows;  
Then comes your Poet to the waters side,  
Where he t' (ndulge his body will abide,  
And study very little. And (if you  
Will give me leave) I'll wait upon you too  
When gentle Zephr ' blows (as Poets sing)  
And the first Swallow ushers in the Spring.  
Your favours do enrich me, not like those  
Which the Portuguese Innkeeper bestows;  
Who with crabbed choaky Pears his guests did treat,  
And rudely over-pressed them to eat.  
Eat (if you love me) all these Pears, says he;  
No (says the guest) I thank you heartily,  
I've eat enough already. Put up, pray,  
Those you can't eat, and carry them away,  
(Says the free Host:) No (replies the Gue●t)  
You are too liberal to me in your Feast.  
Nay fill your pockets, (quoth the Host) these toys  
Are grateful presents to your Girls and Boys.  
I'm as much oblig'dt ' you (says his friend)  
As if with Pears you me home loaden send.  
Do as you please (says the Host) but what you leave,  
I've Hogs which will be ready to receive.  
Thus Prodigals and fools are free of that  
Which these do vainlyst ght, those vainly hate▪  
Such roots ingratitude do always bear,  
And will yield only that from year to year;  
Whilst he that is both good and wise declares,  
That he for worthy men himself prepares;  
And can discern good men from bad, as well  
As he can silver from brass-money tell.  
'Tis my design to answer th' expectation  
Of all the worthy persons in the Nation.  
But if you'd have me never leave you more,  
My former strength of body, pray restore;  
My black curled locks, which on my forehead grew,  
And my bewitching nimble tongue renew.  
Revive my witty merry sprightly vain,  
And in my Cups my amorous flames again;  
Oh! make me weep, or run stark mad, nay die  
For Love, if my coy Mistress should deny.  
A little Fox with hunger slender worn,  
Crept through a crevice int' a hutch of Corn,  
And, having filled his paunch, struggled in vain,  
With his great belly, to get out again:  
A Weasel spied him tugging at the chink,  
Gave him this good advice, Friend if you think  
e'er to creep out, you must become as thin  
As you were when you did at first creep in.  
I will apply this Fable, and restore  
To you what e'er you gave me heretofore  
I love not to be crammed, for I despise  
Those drowsy Banquets which the Vu'gar prize:  
Nor for Arabia's wealth would I destroy.  
That ease and freedom which I now enjoy.  
You've often praised me for my modesty,  
And I've declared that you have been to me  
A Father, nav a King, both to your face,  
Nor said I less when you were not in place▪  
Try me, if I can cheerfully resign,  
All those rich things your bounty has made mine.  
'Twas not ill said by young Telemachus,  
Son of Ulysses, who did answer thus  
To Menelaus, proffering to bestow  
A horse upon him, Sir, I do not know  
What to do with your Horse; for Ithaca  
Is an ill place to keep a Horse in; hay  
And Grass are very scarce there, and there's no  
Plains or Champagne for Horse to gallop through:  
Therefore pray keep your Presents, for they be  
Fitter by half for you, than th' are for me.  
Mean things become mean men. I now do not  
Admire Rome's stately Palaces a jot,  
But quiet Tybur and Tarentum be  
My aim to live in for my privacy.  
Philippus, a great Lawyer, when he came  
From pleading home at night, grown old and lame,  
Complained much, that the Court too distant was  
From the Carina's thats his dwelling place.  
The story says, that he by chance espied  
One trimmed, that did i'th' Barber's shop abide,  
Paring his nails with's Penknife; calls to's boy  
(A Lad that was ingenious to obey  
And quick t'observe his Master's mind) says he,  
Demetrius, Go, ask and bring word to me  
What yonder idle person is, and who,  
And what Patron he is related to;  
Where he was born, and what estate he has,  
What his name is, and who his Father was.  
The Boy went, asked, and told him presently,  
Vultejus Mena was his name, and he  
A Crier by profession, of a small  
Estate, but he given to no vice at all;  
Sometimes he up and down, did trade to get  
Money, then stayed at home and lived on it.  
Played with his little Children when alone,  
And in a small house lived, but 'twas his own;  
Followed his business, but his leisure days  
Spend at th' Artillery ground, or seeing Plays.  
From his own mouth (says he) I long to know  
Whether all this which thou relat'st be so.  
Therefore go tell him that his company  
I much desire, pray him come sup with me.  
The Lad goes, comes, and tells his Master, Sir,  
I told the Gentleman, but he'll not stir,  
Neither indeed would be believe that you  
Invited him, or what I said was true.  
But wondering with himself, 'tis strange! says he,  
What! an old, rich, great Lawyer, and so free!  
But he was civil; and put off his bat,  
Thanked you, as who should say— here's this for that.  
Did he deny me!— Yes perversely too,  
And slights, or else stands much in fear of you.  
Next day the Lawyer in his sight appears,  
As he sold Fripery to the Wastcoateers:  
Gives him the first salute; surprised hereat,  
The bashful Merchant lowly doffs his hat,  
And goes t' excuse the meaness of his trade,  
Complains that he thereto a slave was made.  
Begs Philip's pardon, that he did not come  
To Supper, when he was invited home;  
But that which did seem to afflict him worst,  
Was that he did not visit Philip first.  
Came (says Philippus) you've no other way  
For pardon, but to sup with me to day.  
I'll wait upon you, noble Sir, says he.  
The Laywer tells him, that the hour was thre●▪  
Bids him i'th' interim mind his calling so,  
That he by trading might the richer grow.  
He talked at Supper what e'er came in's way,  
Said what he should, and what he should not say:  
At length he takes his leave, and hies him home  
To Bed. Next morning he does thither come,  
And is observed so often there to wait,  
And nibble at the Lawyer's dangerous bait,  
That he became his Client, after that  
He every day at Philip's table ●ate,  
And on the Holidays, when there were no  
Plead, to Philip's Countryhouse they go  
In his brave gilded Coach together, where  
Vulteius praised the Sabin fields and air:  
Which when the Lawyer found, it pleased him much:  
Says he, My body's constitution's such,  
That hither I'll for good and all retire,  
And live at ease here; only I desire  
The company of such a friend as you,  
That is so prudent and so cheerful too.  
And if you'll purchase something in this Town,  
One hundred pieces I will give you down,  
And I will lend another hundred t' ye,  
Merely t' enjoy your pleasant company.  
So (not to make more words on't then I ought)  
A small Farm there, at length the Merchant bought.  
Now he that was so spruce a Citizen,  
Became one of the herd of Countrymen.  
Of Sheep and Oxen's all his talk, and how  
To plant young Trees, and go to Cart and Plough.  
To all his Studies now he puts an end,  
And to grow rich his mind does wholly bend.  
But when his Kids were stolen, and Sheep did rot,  
His Oxen killed at plough, his fields did not  
Bring forth according to his expectation,  
Grieved with these heavy losses, in a passion,  
He takes his Horse at Midnight, and away  
To the Lawyer's house, whom when the Lawyer saw  
With such a rustic discontented look,  
You look (says he) my friend, as if you took  
Overmuch care and pains. Truly, says he,  
My honoured Patron, if you would call me  
By any name that fits me, let it be  
A miserable wretch; and I entreat  
You, by the God's and all that's good or great,  
By all that's dear to you, that you'll restore  
Me to that life which I enjoyed before.  
As soon as Philip had considered, what  
Difference there was 'twixt what he would be at,  
And what he so declined, Let him (says he)  
Return to what he has been formerly.  
What fits us best is best; 'tis good and meet,  
To make our shoes according to our feet.   

The same by S. W.  
I Promised but five days from you to stay,  
And now all August I have been away;  
But (dear Mocenas) if you'd have me live  
Lusty and strong, that freedom to me give,  
(Now I fear sickness) as you would allow,  
And bid me take, if I indeed were so.  
Excuse your friend till sickly Autumn's o'er,  
Autumn that is in funerals never poor;  
When the fond Mother for her child looks pale,  
And a full term, and business, croud's the Hall;  
Where, whilst the drudge Solicitor attends,  
A Fever hastes his will, and Lawsuit ends.  
But if sharp Winter clothes the fields with snow,  
Your Poet down to your Country house will go,  
And living there obscure, himself will spare,  
And only for his look and health take care:  
With hopes to visit you against at Spring.  
And the first tidings of it with him bring.  
Not as my Country Host his Pears does force,  
Have you returned me full; Our fares but course,  
Yet feed (he says) I thank you I've done well,  
Do better then, these fruits we never sell:  
Your Servant Sir. Nay those you shall take home,  
You will more welcome to your children come.  
I am obliged, as much as if I did  
Take what you please; but I should thus be rid  
Of that, with which I must to th' Hogs be kind,  
Who straight shall have, what ere you leave behind.  
So Fools and Prodigals no gifts bestow  
But what they hate, or what they do not know.  
Yet this rank soil a thankless crop does bear,  
Nor will it better yield another year;  
But a wise man, though he the difference knows  
'Twixt gold, and trifles, when he these bestows,  
For worthy hands, says he, they were designed;  
Nor me less worthy, say I, shall you find.  
But if I must always with you remain,  
Let me my youth and beauty have again;  
My lusty back, smooth forehead, and blach hairs  
Now all impaired, or changed, by age and ●ares;  
Return my mirth and ralliary again,  
And Cynare, whose loss I grieve in vain.  
Once on a time, through a very little hole,  
A hungry Fox into an Hen-roost stole,  
And glutted there with Poultry, all about,  
But all in vain, sought where he might get out:  
The hole too straight was grown, his paunch too wide,  
Which, at a distance, when the Weasel spied,  
Sir Reynard said she, you must be as thin  
If you'd get out as when you first came in.  
Urge me but thus, I'll quickly all resign,  
Yet not so foolish am I to repine,  
And a Swains sleep, before full tables choose,  
Though for both Indies I'd no freedom lose.  
My Modesty you heretofore have praised,  
Nor have I less your worth with titles raised;  
Father and King were the worst names I gave,  
Myself in every place I styled your slave;  
And judge you now if I can well restore,  
Or unsay what so oft has been said o'er.  
Telemachus was wiser to refuse  
Great Menelaus' proffer; I've no use  
For Coursers, said he, nor have we good seed,  
Or running with us, for so high a breed.  
Rather, great Atreus Son, thy gifts retain,  
And let them, where they better suit, remain.  
A little does a little man content,  
Give me no Palace, but a Tenement;  
A Cortage at Tarentum will suffice,  
And Rome compared with Tybur I'll despise.  
Philip the famous Orator, one day,  
As from the Bart he came, and thought the way  
To him grown old, and wearied with the throng,  
Thence to his Chamber, ne'er seemed half so long,  
Seeing ●'th ' shade, close by a Barber's door,  
One newly trimmed, that with light knife ran o'er  
Each single nail, and paired it with such grace  
As if he studied to out trim his face;  
Go (said he to his boy) inquire his Name,  
What Father, whose Retainer, whence he came?  
He's called Vul●eius Mena (says the boy)  
A Crier, that does little wealth enjoy,  
But a good Name, (that to th' whole World is known;)  
Who sometimes; business has, and sometimes none.  
Just enough for a livelihood, which yet  
He does as freely spend (he says) as get.  
Of mean acquaintance, but a house of's own,  
And when he's either tired, or work quite done,  
Can to a play or wrestling wager go;  
All this I from himself desire to know,  
(Replies the Sage) bid him to supper come  
This night, whilst I before walk softly home.  
How now! An't please you Sir he'd scarce believe  
I came from you, and wondering did receive  
The Invitation. What else? And by me  
Returns his thanks. Denied then must I be!  
I think so, and he you does scorn, or fear,  
Or else invited thus, would scarce forbear.  
Philip next morning, as to Court he went,  
Menas Good m●rrow did with his prevent,  
And greeting gave the day, and ease from cares,  
As to the People he exposed his Wares.  
Vulteius to excuse himself began,  
His peddling trade, and mercenary Chain,  
That his commands he had not sought at home,  
Nor was so happy as to see him come;  
All this I'll pardon (said the Counsellor)  
But on condition you no more defer  
Your coming to me, whom I now invite  
The second time, to sup with me this night.  
You shall command me, (Mena said;) Let three  
(Philip returned) the latest minute be;  
Till than your business mind— But Suppers come;  
Where when they'd freely talked, my Guest goes home.  
Yet like a Fish that nibles at the past  
So long, that by the gills he's caught at last;  
By often visits he become more bold,  
Turns Client, and unbid a room does hold  
At every Feast: By Philip is desired,  
To go where i'th' Vacation he retired:  
And out they ride. Mena commends the air,  
And Sabine fields, with fruits all gay and fair.  
Which Philip hears and smiles; but mirth and ease,  
What may himself, or new retainer please,  
Being his care, he gives him fifty pounds,  
And lends him fifty more to buy such grounds;  
Which done (for I'll make all the haste I can)  
My City Cryer, is turned Countryman:  
Prunes his grown Vines, can stoutly hold the Plough,  
Climb a tall Elm, and trim its highest bough;  
Dies at his labour, and with care grows old,  
And equals nothing to fat land, but Gold▪  
But when his Goats by Thiefs, Sheep fell by th' rot,  
The field his hopes and charge answered not,  
His Cattle died, his Ox at plough was slain,  
Himself no longer able to restrain,  
At midnight up he gets, and in a rage  
Road post to Philip's house, his furthest stage;  
Whom as the Lawyer saw all rough with hair,  
And never shaved since they together were;  
Vulteius, said he, you too thoughtful look,  
As if more care than what is fit, you took.  
Undone good P●tron, said he, I'm undone,  
And by the name of Wretch must hence be known.  
By yourself therefore, and the God you adore,  
Your own good Genius, I your help implore,  
That but this once you'd ease me of my pain,  
And turn me to my former life again.  
He whose past sta●e the present does excel,  
Let him take quickly up if he'd do well.  
Return in time; For reason this requires  
That a man's own foot measure his desires.   

EPISTLE VIII. By A. B. To CELSUS.  
That preferment should not transport him.  
GO when I bid thee Muse, and wish my friend  
Celsus, who now on Claudius does attend  
As Secretary and companion too;  
Much health bid him, Live merrily, and do  
His business prudently, and if he doubt  
What kind of business I am now about;  
Tell him I promise excellent things, but I  
At present live not well, nor pleasantly.  
Not 'cause the Hail-storm broke our Vines, nor yet  
Because our Olives by th' immoderate hear  
Are shrivelled up, nor cause my Flocks that lie  
In Fields remote are sick, but because I  
Am sick in mind more than in body; for  
I can't endure to hear what men say, nor  
To learn a Physical receipt that may  
My great distemper cure or but allay.  
My learned and true Physician me offends,  
And I do peevishly rail at my friends,  
Because they offer to deliver me  
Out of my much bewitching Lethargy;  
Those things which hurt me most I most pursue,  
And what is good for me I still eschew.  
At Rome I Tiber love, and when I'm come  
To Tiber, I am mad to be at Rome.  
After all this ask how he does, and know  
How he proceeds, and how all matters go.  
Ask him how he does Claudius please, and how  
He and the Regiment do Cotton now:  
If he says, Well; tell him, I'm glad to hear  
That happy News: then whisper in his ear  
This truth; In this promotion, Celsus, we  
As thou demean'st thyself, will value thee.   

EPISTLE IX. By A. B. To CLAUDIUS NERO.  
On behalf of a Friend.  
GReat Sir, Septimius understands how vast  
That Princely love is which on me you cast,  
And by entreaties hath prevailed with me,  
That I should praise him and present him t'ye  
As a man worthy every where to be  
Received into your breast and Family.  
Who only worthy men and things elect,  
He thinks I'm honoured with that great respect  
To be your bosom friend, he knows my power  
Better than I myself, for till this hour  
I never tried it on you, and I used  
What arguments I could to be excused▪  
But fearing lest I might too far disown  
Those Princely favours you on me have thrown,  
And so be thought such a dissembling Elf,  
That's only beneficial to myself,  
Therefore that I may not be thought to be  
Ingrateful (that's the worst of infamy)  
I've put on suburb-brows, and if you can  
Once pardon a necessiated man,  
Who waves his modesty to serve his friend,  
Accept this person which I recommend  
Into your Household, and take this from me,  
A stouter▪ better man you ne'er did see.   

EPISTLE X. By Sir R. F. To FUSCUS ARISTIUS.  
He praises to Fuscus Aristius (a lover of the City) the Country life, with which himself was delighted, and recounts the several Commodities thereof. Withal deters him from ambition, which accompanies the City life, not that of the Country.  
TO Fuscus, the Towns Lover, health I wish,  
That love the Country: differing much in this,  
In all else twins. Both like, dislike, what either:  
A pair of old Doves bred of Eggs together.  
Thou keep'st the Nest: I love to fly abroad,  
To haunt sweet Brooks, the mossy Grott, and Wood  
What wouldst thou have? I live and reign, when I  
Have shunned those things thou praisest to the sky.  
And like a Comfit-maker's Apprentice fled,  
Clo●'d with Preserves, am better pleased with bread.  
If one would live with all conveniency's,  
And first in building the foundation is,  
Where doth frank Nature thrust out such a breast  
As in the Country, with all good things blest?  
Where is it that the Winter's warmer? where  
To cool the Dog-stars bite, is fresher air,  
And the fierce Lion's rage, when all his heat  
Th'exalted Sun pours in, to make it great?  
Where does less envious care our sleeps dispel?  
Do Floores of Parian Marble look or smell  
Like Flowers? The water when it heaves to burst  
The leaden Pipes with which in streets 'tis forced,  
Runs it so pure, as when melodiously  
It quavers in the Rivers Falls? Even He  
Affects t'have Trees, who in the City builds,  
And that his house should but survey the fields.  
Drive Nature with a Pitch-fork ou●, she'll back  
Victorious (spite of State) by'a secret Track.  
He that wants skill right Scarlet to descry  
From counterfeit, will not more certainly  
Be cozened in a Shop, than he shall be  
That knows not true from false Felicity.  
Him, whom a prosperous State did too much please;  
Changed, it will shake. What thou admir'dst with ease  
Thou canst not quit. Fly great things: In a Cell,  
Kings, and the Friends of Kings, thy Life may excel.  
The Stagg superior both in Arms and Force,  
Out of the Common-Pasture drove the Horse:  
Until the vanquished after a long fight  
Prayed Man's assistance, and received the Bit:  
But, having beat the Victor, could not now  
Bit from his Mouth, nor Man from his Back throw▪  
So He that fearing Poverty, hath sold  
Away his Liberty; better than Gold,  
Shall carry a proud Lord upon his back,  
And serve for ever, 'cause he could not lack.  
Who fits not his Mind to it, his Estate  
If little, pinches him: throws him, if great.  
Wisely (ARISTIUS) thou wilt like thy lot,  
And wilt chide Me, if mine content Me not:  
If more I cark for, or if more I crave.  
Who ere has Money, either 'tis his Slave,  
Or 'tis his Master, as when two men tug  
At a Rope's ends: W' are dragged unless we drag.  
Given in Vacation, at that 
* The Romans adored Vacation as a Goddess, by the Name of Vacuna.  Goddess Cell:  
Save that I have not Thee, perfectly well.   

EPISTLE XI. By S. W. To BULLATIUS.  
That Felicity consists not in any Place or Condition, but in tranquillity of the Mind.  
NOw you have Lesbos, and fair Samos seen,  
At Sardis, Colopbon, and Smyrna been,  
What thinkest Thou, good Bullatius, is all true  
That Fame reports? (for she knows less than you.)  
Do they exceed the Common voice, or are  
Their fields, with ours, unworthy to compare?  
Is not our Tiber better than their Seas?  
Or which o'th' Asiatic Cities please?  
Does Lebedus, because you rested there,  
And found that ease, you else sought every where?  
'Tis a poor place indeed to Gabil,  
Yet there I'd choose to live retired and die;  
(Forgetting all, of all my friends forgot;  
Whom though they pity, yet they envy not.  
Where from the shore I might behold the Main,  
And rate my pleasures, by another's pain.  
Yet neither he, that does from Capua come,  
Wet to the skin, and on his way to Rome,  
Would take an Inn for home, or think a fire  
Or Stove, though numbed with cold, his chief desire;  
And seek no further, but his kind stars bless,  
As one arrived to perfect happiness:  
Nor for a storm should you for swear the Sea,  
And sell your Bark, that you revenged might be.  
To one that's safe Mit ' lean and Rhodes are fair,  
But as Furs in Summer, Silks in Winter are:  
As Tiber is to swim in when it snows,  
And as a fire i'th' midst of August shows.  
While Fortune smiles, let Rhodes be praised at Rome,  
Chios and Samos fairest are at home.  
Use the sweet Intervals the Gods allow,  
Nor tell next year put off what may be Now.  
That every place alike may seem to thee,  
And thou alike content in any be.  
If prudent Reason sets no bound to Care,  
Nor can those Lands that bounds to th● Ocean are;  
And he that reaches them too late, shall find  
The place is only changed, and not his Mind.  
And yet we ride, and fail, and journeys make,  
Or happiness to find, or to o'ertake;  
That which thou seekest is ready at thy hand,  
And Ulubrae may be the happy land;  
For (friend) an even Soul can make it there,  
And what we no where find, have every where.   

EPISTLE XII. By A. B. To ICCIUS.  
That the use of Estates makes men rich.  
WHy dost thou murmur Iccius, and repine,  
Because Agrippa's wealth is more than thine?  
Thou art his Steward if thou rightly use  
Those fruits which his Sicilian lands produce;  
jove himself can't give thee a greater store,  
Therefore leave off complaining that thou'rt poor:  
For he's not poor, whom fortune does produce,  
What e'er is necessary for his use.  
If thou canst get good Diet, and warm clothes,  
Caesar's Estate can't give thee more than those.  
If at a Table stored with various meat,  
Thou canst abstemiously a Salad eat,  
Thou by that virtue wilt as wealthy be,  
As if kind fortune had showered Gold on thee;  
For thy firm soul will above money soar,  
And thou wilt think all things inferior  
To amiable Virtue, which alone,  
To good men, is guide and companion.  
Men wondered at Democritus when he  
Sat in his Study, and his Hogs did see,  
Root up his Corn field, and his Garden spoil,  
And he sat studying unconcerned the while;  
His thoughts were set on higher things, and thou  
Wilt be as great an admiration now,  
Who in this scabbed avaricious time,  
Mindest nothing mean, but aim'st at things sublime.  
What bounds the Sea, what makes it ebb and flow,  
What makes the year round so exactly go;  
Whether the Planets move by their own power,  
Or do obey some cause Superior;  
From whence th' Eclipses of the Moon proceed;  
And how she's from her obscuration freed.  
What means the jarring sympathy of things;  
And whether good or evil from it springs;  
Whether Empedocles deserve our faith,  
Or that be righter which the Stoic saith.  
But whether thou delightest to feed on F●sh▪  
Or only Leeks and Onions be thy dish;  
Receive my good friend Grosphus courteously▪  
And grant him freely what he asks of thee;  
For he has so much modesty and wit,  
That he'll ask nothing but what's just and fit;  
Friendship doth come to a low market when  
Any thing's lacked by good and worthy men.  
But 'cause perhaps you have a mind to know▪  
How all affairs here in our City go;  
Agrippa's valour has Cantabria won,  
Th' Armenians too by Nero are o'erthrown.  
Phraates does great Caesar's laws obey,  
And on his knees submit to th' Roman sway:  
Besides this seasonable harvest yields  
A plenteous crop in our Italian fields.   

EPISTLE XIII. By A. B. To VINIUS ASELLA.  
Instructions for presenting his Poems to Augustus.  
AS I have oftentimes, and long since too,  
Instructed thee; when thou to Court dost go,  
(Dear Vinius) I'd have my Poems be  
Presented to Augustus sealed by thee,  
When he is well, and of a cheerful mind,  
And when to road them he is well inclined.  
Do not by much officiousness offend,  
Or hurt me, whom thou studi'st to befriend:  
Nor yet make men my Poems to conte●n,  
Because thou importunely proferst them.  
But if the Volume of my book should be  
So cumbersome, that it should weary thee,  
I'd rather thou shouldst throw them quite away▪  
Than on thy soldiers them like Dorsers lay:  
And so make thy paternal name, because  
'Tis Asina, to signify an Ass:  
And make thyself a Tabletalk, and be  
Ridiculous to all Posterity.  
Set all thy strength to ' ●●pass through thick and th●n▪  
And when thoust had thy will, and entered in  
To Caesar's presence, use the matters so,  
That prying Courtiers may not come to know▪  
That thou a load of Poetry dost bear  
Under thy arm, as if a Rustic were  
Carrying a Lamb, or drunken Pyrrbia  
Carried the stolen Quills of Yarn away:  
Or as a Tenant when he gets a Rowse,  
Carries his Cap and Shoes from's Landlord's house.  
Nor tell the Vulgar that thou sweat'st to bear  
Lines which will please both Caesar's eye and ear.  
And though thouart courted ne'er so much, press on,  
Show no body a line.— Well get thee gone,  
Farewell, be careful that thou errest not, and  
If thou e'er lov'st me, break not my command.   

EPISTLE XIV. By R. T. To his BAILIFF.  
The difference betwixt a Country life, and a City life.  
THou Bailiff of my Woods and pleasant Field,  
Which served five dwellers once, and used to yield  
Five Burgesses for Baria, by thee now  
Conte●●●, let's try who weeds best, I or you;  
Whither my mind or ground be better tilled,  
Which is the better, Horace or his field.  
Though L●mias pity mourning th' hasty fate  
Of's Brother ravished from him do create  
Occasion for my longer stay at Rome  
Then ordinary, yet my heart's at home.  
That strives to break all stops, for I prefer  
The Country, thou the Town as happier.  
Who likes another's fortune, hates his own,  
He is a fool that does accuse the Town  
Or Country either, and does falsely find  
Fault with the place, when all the fault's in's mind,  
Which never fly's its self; when you were slave  
To th' Baths, and lived in Town, you used to crave  
With silent Prayer to be removed to go  
To be a Country man; now being so  
You cover Baths, Plays, and the Town; you see  
I'm constant, and when business urges me  
(Which I of all things hate) to Rome I part  
From thence, sad and afflicted at my heart.  
Our fancies don't agree: what you despise  
He likes that is of my mind, and decryes  
What you commend; to such a strange degree  
Are odds at present brought 'twixt thee and me.  
A jolly Whore, and Unctuous Sack does move  
(I see it well) thee to this earnest love  
Of th' City, and because my ground yields quicker  
Pepper and Frankincense, than Grapes for liquor:  
Besides another grievance is, you lack  
A Neighouring Tavern to afford you Sack.  
And a she Minstrel that you to her sound  
May dance o'er th' pressed Earth some blundring round;  
And yet thou till'st the ground, which lately Spades  
ne'er touched, & feedest with care th' unharnessed jades.  
By thee the River too in time of need  
By Damns is taught to spare the Sunny Mead:  
Now, go to, and what thus divide▪ us hear;  
Me who soft Robes and Powdered hair did wear,  
And used with sparkling Cinera to sport  
Freely, and Drink till midnight; now a short  
Supper contents, and sleep upon the Grass  
On a Bankside, by which some stream does pass;  
Nor do I yet believe it is a shame  
Once to be wild, but never to be tame.  
No body there does look askew with spite,  
Or with black hatred poison or backbite  
Me when I thrive, none envy's there my gains,  
My Neighbour's joy with me when I take pains;  
The City fare with Servants you do long  
To eat, and crowd yourself into the throng.  
The subtle slave that wait's, and's called all hours,  
Envy's thy use of Cattle, Wood and Flowers:  
The Ox would be for th' Saddle, th' Horse for Blow,  
Let all (say I) use well the Art they know.   

EPISTLE XV. By R. N. Gent. To VALA.  
The pleasure of Travelling.  
Prithee, good Vala, write, what kind of Air,  
What sort of Men, and what their Manners are  
At Velia and Salernus; For I see  
The Bajan Waters are not good for me;  
And so Antonius tells me. And 'tis this  
That makes the Bajans take it much amiss,  
That in the Winter I cold Waters use:  
Truly their My●●le Groves thus to refuse,  
Thus slight their Baths, so talked of all about,  
For being rare in curing of the Gout,  
Must make them grumble. But these men, that will  
Cure a weak Stomach, or a Head that's ill,  
With colder Springs, to Gabii must repair  
Where colder Waters are, and colder Air.  
But I'm advised to change, and when my Horse  
Goes towards Baja, I divert his Course,  
And tell him 'tnot thither I must go;  
And then enraged I kerb him in, and so  
Make him to understand me; For, in truth,  
A Horse's Ears are in his bridled Mouth.  
I prithee write which of the two excels  
In Bread; and whether I out of the Wells,  
Or out of Cisterns must the Waters take.  
I come not for their Wines, but Water's sake,  
In th' Country any Diet doth me please;  
I love good Wine, when I go near the Seas.  
Wine, that will drive away all Cares, and will  
With swelling Hopes through Veins and Soul distil.  
Wine that will make my Tongue with words to flow,  
And make me Brisk when to a Girl I go.  
Write me which place most Hares and Boars doth feed,  
Whose Rivers greatest store of Fishes breed;  
That thence I may both Fat and Fair come home;  
For thee to write, and me believe's all one.  
When Maevius had his Patrimony spent  
Profusely, then to live by's Wits he meant,  
And turned a jester, roving to and fro,  
And made no difference 'twixt Friend or Foe,  
But Jeered at all. One that would swallow more  
Down his wide Throat, then would a Common-Shore,  
What e'er he got went down his Guts, and when  
He missed of better Fare abroad, he then  
Would feed on Guts and Garbage, and eat up  
Of that more than three Ravenous Bears would sup.  
When pinched with want he'd say each Gluttons Gut  
Was to be seared; But when he'd got a glut  
Of better fare, and all consumed, he'd say  
No wonder if Estates are spent this way,  
For there's no pleasure underneath the Sun  
Like Feasting, and a Belly like a Tun.  
So I in want commend the thrifty Fare,  
And eat such Victuals as the coursest are.  
But when I light on better food, I then  
Say those are wise, and those the happy men  
That live in plenty where they can behold  
Houses and Lordships purchased with their Gold.   

EPISTLE XVI. By W. T. To QUINTIUS.  
A Description of a Good Man.  
ASk me no more my Quintius, whether I  
Can in my Farm, grow rich by Husbandry,  
By the retail of Apples, Oil, or Wine:  
View but the Model of what I call mine.  
An entire Mountain, severed by a low  
Vale, yet it is not altogether so  
Obscure, but that the Morning Sun looks on,  
The Evening airs it, ere he will be gone.  
You can't but praise the Climate: Come what though  
My Quicksets are not Blackberry, or Slow,  
The Kernel does as well, if I can please,  
And fat my stock with Acorns, take mine ease  
Under a shady Oak, you must confess  
To this, Tarentum is a Wilderness.  
Watered besides with such a Spring, it may  
Adopt a River, Hebrus itself, nay  
Thrace cannot equal it, approved for all  
Head maladies: 'tis a Purge natural.  
In Autumn 'tis this sweet retirement pleases,  
This keeps me proof (believe't) against Diseases.  
Rome says, yes boasts, you only happy are:  
All is not true men say: Indeed I fear  
They know more than yourself does: He that wooed  
Be so, must be not only wise, but good.  
If at your Dinner you should have a sit  
Of a i'll Ague shake you, would you ●it  
(Because your Guests say you look well) and eat  
Until you can no longer hold your meat?  
He is a modest Fool that won't disclose  
He has a clap before it reach his Nose.  
If one should tell you of a Victory  
You lately had on Land, others by Sea,  
Buzzing into your ears, that it is known  
To jove, you sought Rome safety, not you own:  
You know this is the great Augustus' Due.  
If when they call you Virtuosos, do  
You make answer to the name, or can  
You say I am that Learned Gentleman?  
I do believe there's hardly one of us  
But may be sometimes styled ingenuous;  
Yet he that said so, can you know unsay  
To M●rrow all that ere he said to day:  
As a bribed justice must if Caesar please,  
Give up his Pa●ent, take his Writ of Ease.  
If the Unconstant Crowd shall say, Let go,  
You are'nt the men we praised: It must be so.  
What if I'm followed with a Hue and cry,  
Stop Thief, he has committed Burglary;  
Or if my Pious Neighbours, should present  
Me, a Loose Live● or Incontinent,  
Nay what if at Sessions I am tried  
By a Nice jury for a Parricide;  
If I am sure, and know my Conscience clear,  
Shall I then Blush, or else look Pale for fear?  
False Honour pleases, but false Infamy  
Affrights: Whom? Those that love to hear a Ly.  
I wonder who 'tis you call Good; Your fine  
And learned Barrister that can untwine  
Statutes, Quote Reports, Books of Entries, pair  
The Law, and split out justice to a hair;  
He that can knowingly give Evidence,  
And smooth both Parties to a Reference!  
Yet there is scarce one House in the whole Town,  
But whispers this man Knave, for all his Gown.  
If my man tell me thus; Sir, I ne'er lay  
One night from home, or wronged you: must I say  
Be gone? I'll never trouble thee; If he  
Says he never committed Felony:  
Must I not prosecute, but say, Be free,  
'Tis pity thou shouldst e'er be hanged by me?  
I am a Godly, Pious, Sober man:  
Yes, yes; But do you think Sabellus can  
Believe all this? The Wolf the trap eschews,  
The Hawk and Kite fly the suspected noose.  
Good Men will hate all Wickedness, because  
They Virtue love more than they fear the Laws.  
You if you think you can cheat handsomely,  
All's one, whether Clergy or Laity.  
Although it is a small loss, if you nimne  
But one Bean from a Quarter, 'tis a sin.  
He's only counted honest now adays  
That the whole Parish looks upon, he prays  
And cries Amen so loud at Church, although  
Sometimes if you harken close, he's as low  
Whispering; Prithee sweet Devil give me leave  
To cheat Devoutly, but let none perceive.  
Give me a Cloak for all my Knavery;  
What's this man more than a Servant? or why  
D'ye call a Miser, Freeman? I have seen  
A Boy make both stoop for a Groat of Tin.  
He that still covets, still fears: I don't see  
What ground you have to say this man is free,  
H'as fled his Colours, forsook the Field, which  
Flies to turmoil in buis'ness and be rich.  
If you can sell your Prisoner, never kill,  
But let him serve you; let the Hardy till  
The Earth, turn Sailor, weathered out at Sea,  
Import Biscuit; 'twill help the Granary.  
He that is truly wise will dare thus to  
A Judge; Come Sir, let's hear the worst you'll do:  
Why I'll seize upon your Goods, take away  
Your Money, Plate, nay all you're Worth: You may:  
You shall be kept close Prisoner: No, I'll have  
Death bail me, I can never be a Slave:  
That touches him, ('twould any man) Do, Die  
First, Death is the last Seen of Misery.   

EPISTLE VXII. By R. N. To SCAEVA.  
The way to get Great men's Favour.  
SCaeva, though thou art wise enough to tell  
How to make use of thy Super'ours well;  
Yet learn of thy unskilful Friend; and though  
He that is blind may undertake to show  
The way; yet mark, perhaps I may make known  
Something thou wilt desire to make thine own.  
If thou wilt hug thyself with welcome Ease,  
If Sleep till next days Sun arise doth please,  
If thou'rt disturbed with th' Hurry, and the Noise  
Of Carts, and Coaches, and of Damn-me-boys,  
I prithee to thy Countryhouse repair;  
For 'tis not Rich men only happy are;  
Nor lives he ill, that lives and dies unknown:  
But if thou'lt profit thine, and be more boon  
Unto thyself, though poor, yet come unto  
The Rich man's more delicious fare. 'Tis true  
The Cynic said, that Aristippus would  
Refuse the fare of Princes, if he could  
Dine patiently on Salads; He again  
Said, that the Cynic would his Herbs disdain,  
Did he but know what 'twas by Kings to be  
Feasted. The Cynicks saying points at me.  
But thou, my Friend, choose, and approve, and teach  
Either of both their doings and their speech;  
Or as thou art a young man yet, mark well  
Why Aristippus bore away the Bell;  
For he (as I by many oft have heard)  
That same morose Diogenes thus jeered,  
I Jest for Kings, but to my profit; Thou  
Only for th' empty noise o'th' People; Now  
That's the more Noble. I to ride the King's  
Great Horse desire, Thou aim'st at base things.  
But thou wilt say, Thou knowst no Poverty;  
Yet poorer art, than he that gives to thee.  
All sorts of life did Aristippus bless,  
Aiming at great things, yet content with less;  
But to thee none, whose only Robes and Fence  
Were nought but Rags and helpless Patience.  
If such a course of Life, so Traverstee  
Can any man become, 'tis strange to me.  
Though Aristippns ne'er desire to be  
Arrayed in Robes of Purple made, yet he  
Could wear them; yea he could in comely sort  
In clothes, or good, or bade himself deport.  
To thee a Scarlet Cloak did more abhor,  
And rather fly it then a Snake, or Cur.  
Give him his clothes, else he with cold will die,  
And thine, the● let the Fool his Fortune try.  
T' achieve great things, and Conquer, looks like jove,  
It shows a reach at things that are above.  
'Tis no disgrace for Subjects to comply  
With generous Kings: all have not wealth laid by.  
Fear of Success makes Cowards, be it so;  
But he's the Man, that through stitch doth go;  
He is the Man, or none. One fears to ask  
A Prince's favour, 'tis too great a task  
For his too narrow Soul. Another He  
Begs boldly, and obtains. If Virtue be  
Still Virtue, doubt not, but that man is wise  
Who asks so, that he gains both Praise and Prize.  
Poor men, if modest, will with some obtain,  
While others saucily shall ask in vain;  
Here's then the difference, whether your favours be  
Humbly received, or snatched immodestlie.  
The sum of all we aim at then here ends,  
Be meek and modest with thy Richer Friends.  
I have a Sister wants a Portion, and  
A Mother poor, a Farm lies on my hand  
That can't maintain me; He that thus doth say,  
Doth in effect beg Alms: Another may  
Cant out his wants aloud, and keep a stir  
And cry, Give me one piece of Bread good Sir:  
A Crow, whilst feeding, if he would not Garr,  
Would have less trouble and more Meat by far.  
One that is expert in the Highway Strains,  
That of the bitter cold, and storms complains,  
That cries his Pocket's picked, and his small store  
Of Money stolen, juggles but like a Whore,  
Who weeps for her lost Chain, or cries ah me!  
My Garter's ravished from beneath my knee:  
Such common Cheats as these take all belief  
From real Losses, and from real Grief.  
He that is once thus choosed, will sure beware  
Of helping such as feigned Cripples are.  
And though a Canting Cripple with tears  
To be helped up, and by Osires swears,  
And says, I'm lame, I do not mock, and then  
Cries out; O help, help me hard hearted men!  
The Neighbours rail at him, and cry be gone,  
Get help (you Rascal) where you are not known.   

EPISTLE XVIII. By A. B. To LOLLIUS.  
How to be a good Companion.  
MY blunt friend Lollius, if I know thee right,  
Thou dost abhor to play the Parasite,  
Where thou professest friendship; for so far  
Differs a friend from a base flatterer,  
As a grave Matron from a Strumpet, who  
Differ in mind, in look, and gesture too.  
But there's another vice as great as this,  
That is a rough-hewed clownish surliness,  
When men unmannerly, unpleasant, rude,  
Themselves on others saucily obtrude;  
And indiscreetly blurt out words which be  
Unfit, and call't Virtue and Liberty.  
virtue's the mean betwixt two Vices, and  
From Vices is fenced in on every hand.  
Some being obsequious more than does befit,  
Jeer such as at the lower end of th' Table sit;  
But when a great man nods, will tremble, and  
What e'er he says repeat at second hand;  
As a poor Schoolboy says his Lesson o'er,  
Which his harsh Master dictated before.  
Or as the Mimic Echoes back what e'er  
Verses or words by th' Actor's spoken were.  
Others dispute for trifles without end,  
And for Straw-matters tooth and nail contend,  
They'll rather lose their share in Heaven than they  
Won't be believed in whatsoever they say;  
Or not speak freely what comes in their brain,  
And that as impudently to maintain.  
But what's the Question makes all this ado?  
Which was the better Fencer of the two,  
Caster or Docilis; whether Appium,  
Or Numicus lead to Brundisium;  
Who's out of his Estate by gaming run,  
Who by expensive Wenching is undone,  
And what fantastic Fool goes at a rate,  
In habit far above his mean estate.  
On whom th' insatiate appetite of Gold  
And Silver has got a perpetual hold;  
Or else of some vainglorious fellow, which  
Makes it his bu'siness to be ' counted rich.  
The wealthy Patron, who is ten times more  
Skilled in all Vices than he can that's poor,  
Hates such concerning talk, and does abhor it,  
And either hates the Blab, or checks him for it.  
Like a good Mother to her Daughters, he  
Desires that meaner men should wiser be  
Then he himself is, and more virtuous too,  
And tells you things that are perhaps too true.  
Strive not with me (says he) I've an Estate,  
And that in me will folly tolerate;  
You're a mean Fellow, and your Coat must be  
Cut as your Cloth is: Don't compare with me.  
Eutrapelus to whom he did intend  
A mischief, he would costly habit send,  
That so transported with that goodly hue,  
He might take up strange hopes and counsels new,  
Sleep all the day, mind nothing but his Whore,  
Run into debt, and grow at last so poor,  
He must turn Fencer, and for bread sell's blood,  
Or drive Packhorses for a livelihood.  
Other men's secrets never care to know;  
But if a friend into thy bosom throw  
A secret, and desire thee to conceal it,  
Do not, though ne'er so drunk or mad, reveal it.  
Thy own peculiar Studies ne'er commend,  
Nor what thy friend does fancy reprehend;  
And if to hunt thy Patron minded be,  
Don't thou lie puzzling with thy Poetry.  
'Twixt Zethus and Amphion, both twins, hence  
There did arise a peevish difference;  
Zethus, a Country Gentleman, inclined  
To Hounds and Hawks; Amphion, gave his mind  
Wholly to's Harp, but laid it quite aside  
Until his brother's heat was pacified.  
In small things 'tis good prudence to resign  
Thy will to his whose power is more than thine.  
And when he brings into the Champain ground  
His hunting properties, Horns, Horses, Hound,  
Lay by th' unsociable Muses then  
As recreations for old lazy men.  
Go hunt with him, then sup and take thy share  
Of what your sports produced, be't Boar, or H●re:  
Among the Romans 'tis a Recreation,  
Which is much used and in great Reputation.  
Besides 'twill make thee healthy, and live long,  
Especially since thou art sound and strong,  
To keep in with the Dogs, and with the Boar,  
By thy own strength to grapple and o'er power:  
Besides 'tis known that there's not any man  
For feats of Arms like thee, or dares, or can.  
When thou didst fence or wrestle, oh! how loud  
Rang thy Applauses from th' admiring Crowd!  
When but a boy the Soldier's duty thou  
In the Cantabrian battle didst pass through,  
Under that General, whose conquering Sword  
The Parthians hath to Italy restored;  
And in their Temples hath set up again  
Those Ensigns which had been from Crassus ta'en.  
Do not withdraw thyself without a just  
Excuse, nor lie still that thy parts may rust.  
Although in all thy actions thou tak'st care  
They should be done exactly by the square;  
Sometimes i'th' Country, thou descendst to toys,  
Acting a Sea-fight with the little boys:  
Two formal Navies thou dost then equip,  
And armed Boys in both of them dost Ship;  
On one side for Mark Anthony, thy Brother  
Was Admiral; for Caesar thou on tother.  
Your Father's little Lake was made by thee  
For this great Fight the Adriatic Sea,  
Where you the Action battle acted o'er,  
And ne'er gave off till one was Conqueror.  
And if thy wealthy Patron does once find  
Thee love those things to which he gives his mind,  
Tickled with that he will extol to th' skies  
This very Play, and think thy folly wise,  
I would advise thee further more (if thou  
Didst stand in need of an adviser now.)  
When thou dost talk of any man, take care  
Of whom, to whom, and what thy speeches are▪  
eat him that is inquisitive, for he  
Will be as guilty of garrulity.  
And his still gaping ears itch to reveal  
What e'er his friend entrusts him to conceal.  
And 'tis impossible e'er to recall  
One syllable which we have once let fall.  
And if thy Patron has a mind to toy  
With a fair Lady, or a pretty Boy,  
To his great House you must such reverence bear,  
As not to fall in love with either there:  
Lest he that keeps them should prove so unkind  
As to deny, and thou disturb thy mind;  
Or (which is worst) should grant thee thy request,  
And thou popped off with these, content must rest.  
At first sighed ne'er commend a man, lest thou  
Hereafter blush for him thou praisest now;  
For we are soon deceived, and to a Friend  
We oft unworthy men and things commend;  
And therefore if one, whom thou didst suppose.  
Was a good person, should prove vicious,  
And thou be so deceived praise him no more,  
Say thou'rt mistaken, and so give him o'er.  
But if a friend that to thee's thoroughly known  
Behind his back's traduced by any one,  
Stick to him bravely; for our names depend  
In absence on the courage of a friend;  
ne'er let him carelessly endure a wrong  
From any Cowardly reproachful tongue.  
For is't not plain, that who maliciously  
Backbites thy friend, will do the same by thee?  
When thy next neighbour's house is all on fire,  
'Tis thy concern to make his flames expire;  
For fire will gather strength if let alon●,  
And with thy neighbour's house burn down thine own.  
By unexperienced men 'tis thought to be,  
To wait on Great men great felicity;  
But such as know what 'tis, care not to come  
Among Great men, but count them troublesome.  
For thy part now into the World th' art got,  
Make it thy business to go on, and not  
Permit thy Vessel to ●ail back again,  
What e'er contrary Winds disturb the Main,  
A merry man abhors a man that's sad,  
And sad men hate all merry men as bad,  
A dull man hates an active man, and so  
A sprightly person scor●s a man that's slow.  
The ●udling fellows, who past midnight drink,  
Hate such as from their proffered glasses shrink:  
Though those that do refuse them truly swear  
Wine vapours in the night pernicious are.  
Look cheerfully in company; for he  
That's shamefaced 's generally thought to be  
A fellow of mean birth and spirit, and all  
Those that sit silent men do dogged call.  
But above all converse with wise men still,  
And read good Books, and learn from those the skill  
How thou mayst easily pass through this World,  
And not be vexed and up and down be hurled  
By an insatiate desire, vain fear,  
Or hopes of things that of small moment are.  
Consider whether Virtue be produced  
By learning, or by nature be infused;  
What lessens cares; what makes a man to be  
A friend t' himself; whence pure tranquillity  
Proceeds, from Honour, or beloved wealth,  
Or from a Life led (as it were) by stealth.  
When I do to my Country Farm retreat,  
By those cool streams which me refresh in hear,  
What dost thou think I think upon? or what  
Beleiv'st thou, if I could, I would be at?  
I only pray that small Estate, which I  
Now have, may tarry with me till I die.  
And those few days which I have yet to live,  
(If Heaven to me any more days will give)  
I may enjoy myself; of Books have store, and  
Have necessaries for a year beforehand;  
That I may never float 'twixt Hope and Doubt,  
What an uncertain Hour may bring about.  
But 'tis enough to pray those heavenly Powers  
Who give and take at Will what we call Ours.  
If I but live, and have my Pockets lined,  
Let me alone to get a quiet Mind.   

EPISTLE XIX. By A. B. To MAECENAS.  
A Discourse of Poetry.  
LEarned Maecenas, if you'll credit give  
To old Cratinus, not a Verse can live,  
Nor long be pleasant to us, which is writ  
By such as from mere water suck their wit.  
Since Liber has been pleased to rank all such  
As have of Rapture a transcendent touch,  
●Mong Fawns and Satyrs, the delightsome Nine  
Did almost every morning smell of Wine.  
And Homer's praising Wine, made Poets think  
The good old Man did much delight in drink.  
Hence Father Ennius would not write a Line,  
Till he had first got a good dose of Wine.  
The Politics and great Affairs at Bar  
We leave to those that grave and sober are,  
But we'll withhold from such sour souls as theirs,  
The high Prerogative of writing Verse:  
As soon as this was publicly declared,  
All Poets up the brimful Goblet reared;  
And for the Laurel all night long they drunk,  
And the next day of Wine all Poets stunk.  
But was this Poetry? Shall every one  
That with a surly look, and shabbed Gown  
Walks without shoes and stockings through the Town,  
As representing learned Cato, strait  
His virtues and good manners imitate?  
When Hyarbita aimed to gain the glory  
Of rare Timagenes for Oratory,  
Striving to speak with Eloquence and Wit,  
He strained his Voice, so that his Lungs were split.  
A pattern does delude a man when 'tis  
Only pursued in that which is amiss.  
Should I by chance look pale; Poets would fall  
To drinking Cumin-seeds to look so all.  
Oh servile herd of Imitators, who  
Make me both angry with, and laugh at you,  
And the base Drudgery which you're forced to do!  
'Twas I first set my daring foot, where none  
Had ever trod a step, but I alone.  
Who on's own natural fancy does rely,  
Leads as a Captain does his Company.  
'T was I that first the Romans did inspire  
With skill to write iambics for their lyre.  
The numbers and the spirit I pursued  
Of old Archilochus, but I eschewed  
His railing matter and invective way,  
Which made poor old Lycambe to destroy  
His daughter and himself; yet I hope you  
Think not the Laurel is to me less due,  
Because I have been fearful to invert  
The very mode of Verses, and the Art.  
The Masculine Sapph did that Muse allay,  
Which was harsh in Archilochus his way.  
So did Alcaeus too, but different far  
In matter and in method their lines are.  
They sought no fathe'r in law to rhyme to death,  
Nor made enraged wives resign their breath.  
I being musical, him first did take,  
And fit to th' Roman lyre his numbers make.  
Which never any durst attempt tell then,  
And 'tis my glory that ingenious men  
Such things as mine may come at and peruse,  
As ne'er were touched by any other Muse.  
Now if you would the Reason know why some  
Ungrateful Readers will cry up at home,  
And hug my Verses, but to all abroad  
Basely contemn those lines they so applaud;  
I'm none of those who sneakingly will court  
The windy suffrage of the Vulgar sort  
With my cast clothes, nor with a costly Treat.  
ay, that have heard the noblest wits repeat,  
And judged their Verses too, scorn to comply  
With formal paedagogues to teach their Fry  
My Verses, nor am I fond delighted,  
When they in public Pulpits are recited.  
Hence springs my misery! And now if I  
Should say (which I can say ingeniously)  
I am ashamed Comedians should rehearse  
My worthless lines in crowded theatres,  
And by their tone and action make those seem  
Ingenious, which have no wit in them;  
Some envious fellow will say, Horace, this  
Only a copy of thy countenance is,  
Thou dost preserve thy Poems only for  
The Princely ears of our great Emperor;  
Presuming that none other but thy Muse  
(Vainglorious Fop) good Poems can produce.  
I dare not laugh at this, lest I should be  
More wounded by my struggling enemy.  
I'm fain to cry out, I don't like the place,  
And as my right demand a breathing space.  
Fooling in jest oft fearful strife begets,  
And strife for victory produceth pets;  
From sudden pets do deadly feuds proceed,  
And deadly feuds destructive wars do breed.   

EPISTLE XX. By A. B. To his BOOK.  
A Character of himself.  
WEll Book, thou on the Stationer's stall wilt lie,  
Bound neatly to allure the gazer's eye;  
Thou hat'st to be sealed up, or else confined,  
Which are things grateful to a modest mind.  
'Tis grievous to thee to be shown to few,  
All thy ambition is for public view.  
Thy father has not bred nor taught thee so;  
But get thee gone, since thou'st a mind to go.  
When once thou'rt gone, thou'lt ne'er return again;  
When thou'rt abused by the half-witted men,  
Thou'lt say; alas! wherein am I too blame?  
What have I done, or said, that mis-became?  
Thou wilt repent, what thou hast rashly done,  
And what attempt thy pride threw thee upon.  
When thou shalt find the Reader who admired  
Thee so at first, become both cloyed and tired,  
And roll thee up, and lay thee quite aside.  
But if I'm not with anger Stupefied,  
At this offence of thine, I can foretell  
Thou wilt at Rome be entertained full well,  
While thou art new, but when thou'rt sulled grown  
By vulgar Thumbs, thou wilt be let alone  
For the dull moths, or sent to foreign parts,  
To cover Letters, or put under Tarts.  
Then I who unbeleiv'd, admonished thee  
Of all these things, shall laugh as heartily  
At thy misfortunes, as he who did pass  
O'er a steep cliff with an unruly Ass,  
Who playing resty tricks so stirred the Gall  
Of's Master, that he let him lose to fall;  
Nay thrust him down the Rocks, for who 〈◊〉  
(Quoth he) what's minded to be gone away 〈◊〉  
This will befall thee too, thou wilt at last  
Among old doting Schoolmasters be cast,  
Who in small Villages and far remote  
When the warm Sun has a full audience brought,  
Will read thee to their boys, than thou may'st say,  
I'm son of one who was a slave made free,  
Born to a mean Estate, but have increased  
It so, my wings are greater than my nest.  
What from my Ancestors thou tak'st away  
Of same, thou to my Industry must pay.  
I was companion to the best o'th' Town,  
Whether they were for Arms, or for the Gown.  
Of a small stature, grey before my time,  
And much delighted with a warmer clime.  
Soon angry, and soon pleased; if any do,  
How old I am, of thee desire to know;  
Tell them I'm 44 years old this year,  
When Lepidus and Lollius Confuls are.    

EPISTLES. Book II.  

EPISTLE I. By Sir W. P. To AUGUSTUS.  
A Discourse of Poetry.  
WHen you alone so many and so great  
Affairs dispatch, of War and Peace do treat,  
Still thinking how to save the State from harms  
By wholesome Laws, good Manners, and just Arms;  
I should the Public wrong, and cross that end  
With tedious talk your precious time to spend.  
Romu●us that ●ounded Rome, and Bacchus; who  
Invented Wine, whereby Men great things do,  
Though they were after death received among  
The Gods, yet living did complain of wrong;  
For though the ground from weeds & briers they freed,  
Ta●ght and made men on delicates to feed,  
Composed that common War and Scramble, which  
Made men like Beasts; To each man's own, did pitch  
Just bounds, did plant the Earth with Flowers & Fruits▪  
Yea built men Cities: yet the World, like Bruits,  
ne'er knew, or found their worth, till 'twas too late,  
Till those brave souls had passed the Common fate.  
Nor he, that crushed the Hydra, and subdued  
Predigious Monsters, when for reward he sued,  
Could ever it or ease obtain; for still  
Envy would says exploits were mean or ill.  
So he, who doth with new or nobler Arts  
Assist the world, shall never win their hearts;  
But him alive they'll laugh at and despise,  
Whom when he's dead they will extol to th' skies.  
Yet Sir to you, (though living) men allow  
Honours divine, by you they'll swear, they'll vow  
Upon your Altars, and confess that never  
So great a thing appeared nor shall do ever.  
Now though the world be very just and wise  
In this one point, that in their critic eyes  
You do excel all Greek and Roman Kings,  
Yet they done't justly judge of other things,  
But loath or envy every thing but what  
Is dead or gone, or which ca●not be got.  
So Lovers of Antiquity do praise  
The Laws and Customs of forgotten days,  
Applaud those Articles and that ancient deed  
To which the Sabines and Gabii agreed;  
Admire the Liturgies and Rituals  
Found in Ruins of old Abbey walls.  
Because the Writings of the Greeks we deem  
So much the better as they older seem;  
If we should judge the same of what is here  
But lately writ, we might as well infer  
That Olives have no stones, nor Nuts no shell;  
For how one follows t'other I can't tell.  
We're now at Rome arrived to the height,  
As well's the Greeks; We paint, and sing, and ●ight.  
If age do better Verse, like Wine, how long  
Must Verses lie before they're smart and strong?  
A Poet died an hundred years ago,  
Shall he be reckoned as new Must or no?  
Or for old wholesome Wine? Well! let him pass.  
Another wants a year, or less: Alas  
Shall he lose therefore all? Let him pass too:  
Another wants a little more; Let's do  
The like for him; The whole Horse-tail we may  
Thus hair by hair at length pluck quite away.  
He that consults the Annals, or counts Years,  
To try if Verse be good, TO whom nought appears  
Ex'llent, but what has passed the Grave, may see  
How wise and mighty Ennius, (even he  
Who's called another Homer) did not care  
How ill his Promises performed were.  
Naevius is got by heart and dearly sold;  
So sacred are his Works because they're old.  
Which of these two is best, Men cannot tell;  
For Learning old Pacuvi●● bears the bell.  
Accius' high strains are praised, Afranius Pen  
Makes us believe Menander wrote again.  
Plautus resembles Epicharmus; weight  
Commends Coecilius, Terence gentle flight.  
Their Plays do throng the Stage, from Livies days  
Down to our times, These Men have worn the Bays.  
Sometime the Vulgus hit, sometime they miss,  
For when they say, That nothing Modern is  
Equal, to what is old, much less preferred,  
I boldly say, The Vulgar then have erred.  
But if they'll yield, That Ancients Wits have used  
Words obsolete or harsh, and have amused  
Men with their careless Thoughts, my hand and heart  
Shall join with them, and jove shall take our part.  
I'd not explode, or scorn poor Livy's Verse,  
Nor yet what Schoolboys sometimes may rehearse.  
But would ned have't admired, because by chance  
Some single Phrase proves good, or that a glance  
Of wit does twinkle through the cloudy sky  
Of vaprous or tempestuous Poetry.  
I take it ill, That Men find fault, because▪  
A thing was lately writ, not for its ●laws,  
Or botches; Yea, methinks I could lament,  
That Doters on stale stuff are not content  
With pardon and connivance for some lines  
Scap● from the Ancients, but cry, bays and shrines!  
If one but doubts, Whether the Stage should be  
Strewed o'er with Flowers and Saffron, when we see  
Atta's things played, Our Graybeards in a fume  
Cry Modesty is gone: If one presume  
To hint, that Roscius ever failed a tittle,  
They're angry too, because they value little  
But what they valued young, or else because  
They scorn from younger men to take new laws.  
Now he that says th' old Saliar Verse was high,  
Seeming to know, who knows no more than I,  
Does not applaud the Authors of those Songs,  
But by his envy, us and our Wits wrongs.  
If the old Greeks like us, would not allow  
Aught that was new, what shall be ancient now?  
Upon whose Works might we now safely look  
To read and con them as a classic Book?  
When War was passed in Greece, when Wealth and Ease  
Disposed men there to study, what did please?  
Sometimes to Fence, or Vault, or th' H●rse to ride;  
Sometimes to carving they their minds applied;  
Or else to Painting, where they'd nicely see  
How Ordnance draught and Colours did agree.  
Sometimes 'twas Dancing, Music, Scenes and Stage,  
That proved the pleasures of that wanton Age:  
So does a Child cry to his Nurse for toys,  
That are contemned by the bigger boys.  
For, which of all the things we hate, or love,  
Don't change? Or which are fortunes power above?  
Thus from a prosperous State and plenty springs  
Variety that gives all Gust to things.  
At Rome 'twas heretofore a credit, and  
A Mode in ones Office or Shop to stand  
Waiting for Customers and Clients, all  
The morning, to let out money, to call  
On young men to be thrifty, and to hear  
Old men's advice, thus went about the year:  
But now the worlds changed, one humour runs  
Through every vein; the Lawyers write Lamprons,  
Merchants Burlesque, the only Trade's for Bays,  
Your Gouty Statesman too venturous at Plays:  
Even I that have renownced all Poetry,  
Sick of the selfsame Itch of writing lie.  
For before day, when one can't see to scrawl,  
Do I scarce waked for Pen and Paper call.  
He that was ne'er at Sea, wisely refuses  
To sail a Ship; He likewise that ne'er uses  
To practise Physic, dares not to dispense  
Strong Purges, nor what stupifies the Sense.  
Smith's do make Locks, and only Tailor's clothes;  
But they write Verse, that never could write Prose.  
Now le's consider, What good this humour works;  
Why first of all, no covetous Canker lurks  
Within a Poet; nought can his soul intrude,  
But how to fancy finely, and t' allude:  
When good are lost, when servants run away,  
When tax is paid, when stoods the banks destroy,  
He cares ned, plots no trick to cheat his friend  
Or to devour his Ward; for to what end  
Should men do so, who can eat Bread and Cheese,  
Wear footed Stockings, and be warm in freeze?  
Poets in Peace considerable are,  
Though they are useless in the times of war.  
Now if you'll grant that small things may improve  
Greatest affairs, we must our Poet's love.  
For first they teach our children how to speak  
Plain and distinct, from telling lies 'em break,  
Chide 'em for calling Names, Cursing, and Oaths;  
Make them say Prayers, and keep clean their Clothes.  
Poets write Story, and by example teach,  
They comforts to the sick and needy preach.  
When Boys and Girls in Procession sing  
Anthems and Hymns, that God would bless the King,  
Send Rain, or Harvest-weather, save the fruit,  
Stop Plagues, and grant 'em any other suit,  
ist not the Poet that makes those heavenly charms,  
And does more by 'em, then by Martial Arms?  
Old Husbandmen and Worthies, such as could  
Be happy with a little, heretofore would  
(After their Corn was housed, or Sheep were shorn,  
With Wife and Barns, and others who had born  
Part in those labours) make an Holiday,  
Kill a fat Pig, eat Cream, drink Wine and Play,  
Give Sacrifice, and sing to th' heavenly Powers  
What Poets composed at their inspired Hours.  
Fescennine freedom by this means did grow,  
Such whose each distich, some course flouts did throw:  
This freedom for a while past well enough,  
Until at length it grew so tart and rough,  
So dirty and downright, not sparing any,  
Though ne'er so worthy men: At length when many  
Had been abused, the few that had scaped free  
Took care thence forward, that no more should be  
Making a penal Law, by which good men  
Grew safe from th' poison of Satiric Pen.  
Thus Rhymers were reduced for fear of drubbing  
When no Scab was, quite to refrain from rubbing.  
Greece being taken by the Romans, took  
Its Conquerors; from thence came Art and Book  
Into rude Italy, thenceforth the Rhymes  
That were in use in the Saturnine Times,  
Were obsolete; and as we grew more rich  
In Things and Thoughts, so was improved our Speech.  
'Twas a great while before our minds we bend  
To read Greek Authors, and learn what they meant;  
Till being in Peace, then when the Punic War  
Was well composed, the Romans waded far  
In Soph'cles, Thespis, and Aeschilus too,  
Trying what they could in Translating do.  
They did succeed; their smart and lofty Wit  
The Tragic vein with grace enough did hit.  
Com'dy tuey thought (because its subject was  
Trivial and mean) was easy; But alas!  
They did not dream how little pardon's given  
To the poor Comic: How hard was Plautus driven,  
The amorous Young man's humour to make good,  
And his Curmudgin Fathers understood:  
And paint the plotting Pimp? Porsenna's Pen  
Described with pains the flattering Trencher-men.  
How slightly are performed some other parts  
By those that nothing else lay to their hearts,  
But to get Money? Let their Box to th'brim  
Be filled, they care not, if th' Play sink or swim.  
Him that Vainglory stirs to write a Play,  
How doth Spectators negligence dismay,  
As when they gaze and gape, and give no heed?  
But then, What joy does good attention breed?  
So slight and small a matter quells or raises  
Minds that too much affect the people's praises.  
Adieu all writing Plays, if so be that  
I pine when hissed, or when I'm hummed grow fat.  
Bold and sound Poets sometimes are cast down,  
Even when the scoundrel Rabble of the Town,  
Sailors and Butchers being quickly full  
And glutted with strong Sense, call for the Bull;  
Or (in the middle of an Act) the Bears  
Or Fencers set together by the Ears:  
Though when the better sort, and men of skill  
Grow weary too, the Play 'tis like was ill.  
When men have sat a good while at the Play,  
And in disgust shall flock apace away,  
Then is brought forth a pinioned King, and shown  
Wagons of captive Dames, Corinth o'erthrown  
In Pasteboard models: Democritus would sneer  
At such poor tricks, if he again were here;  
He'd laugh to see a spotted Dromedary,  
Spectators eyes off from the Play to carry;  
In marking them he would more pleasure find,  
So pleasing 'tis t'observe the people's mind.  
Moreover he considering what a din  
Noise and confusion all the Stage is in,  
Might think the slighted Poet did rehearse  
Unto deaf Asses his elab'rate Verse.  
For when the Actors first appear well clad  
In Persian Silk, the People all like mad  
Hum and clap hands, not for their excellent saying,  
But for their Clothes and Purple gay arraying.  
Now lest you think, that I disparage what  
I cannot understand, or relish not;  
I grant, that such a Poet may climb a Steeple  
Up by a small slack rope, who can the people  
Anger, appease, make laugh, or weep, or fear;  
Whisk 'em to Athens, or Thebes, or keep 'em here;  
Who by mere Words, can thus command men's fancy▪  
Is Master in Poetic Necromancy.  
Such men encourage, and withal those who  
Can the same thing without Drammaticks do;  
For these you must provide, if you desire  
To blow strong flames out of Poetic fire;  
Or if you'd sharpen Wit, and make collection  
Of pieces nearest to divine perfection.  
We Po●ts wrong ourselves, (and I offend  
As oft as others) when we Books commend  
Into your hands, when you perhaps are tired,  
Or in the Bogs of some disaster mired.  
Then, when we vex that any though our friend,  
Should but one Verse even gently reprehend;  
Or when we reading our own Verse, repeat  
As Cud to be rechewed what's tasteless meat:  
When full of our own sense, we do complain  
That no man throughly weighs our skill and pains▪  
And when we think, that you Great Sir as soon  
As e'er we write, are bound to give a Boon,  
That you should bid us write the Second Part,  
And say Reward shall equal our Desert;  
How e'er 'tis good to know, with whom to trust  
Great deeds, and who can save them from the dust.  
Choeri'lus so well did Alexander please  
With Verses not quite worth so many Pease,  
As that the fortunate Bard, Medals and Coins  
Of precious Gold got for his Leaden lines.  
Some Poets foul more with their dirty Pen,  
Then can be cleaned again by better Men.  
That Prodi'gal Prince who bought those simple Rhimes  
At such a rate, was wise at other times,  
Forbidding all but great Apelles hand  
To draw his Picture; Nay he did command  
That none should mould the figure of his face  
Except Lysippe, who did it with grace.  
Had this vain Prince no more skill in discerning  
The hands of Artists, than the men of Learning,  
One might have called him Thick-skul, and have sworn,  
That in some foggy air he had been born.  
But you are not abused in any sort  
By th' Gifts and Character and fair Report  
Bestowed on Virgil and on Varius, than  
Whom are not better, either Wits or Men.  
The shapes of famous men are not so clear  
In graven Brass, as do their minds appear  
In well-penned Words: for my part I had chose  
(Rather than broken Rhimes, resembling Prose)  
To write heroic Verse, and those on you,  
That all the world might your achievements know;  
I would describe the Castles you have won,  
And winding Rivers that below 'em run.  
I would those barbarous Kingdoms represent,  
The peace which you have forced where ere you went:  
Then janus' Temple I'd expose to view,  
And Rome by th' Parthi'ans feared, whilst ruled by you,  
But Sir, low Verse cannot your Highness grace,  
Wherefore t' attempt it I have not the face.  
For me to be pragmatical might prove  
Your trouble, not my duty and my love:  
Besides, if I fell short to do your right,  
My faults would be remembered out of spite:  
For Readers so malicious now are grown,  
What's bad they'll con, what's good they let alone.  
I hate such kindness as offends, and his  
That draws my Picture uglier than it is.  
Though gaily dressed, I value not a rush  
The gaudy praises that must make me blush,  
And dread to have my Name bedaubed on Paper  
Fit but to light Tobacco-pipes and Tapers;  
Or else to wrap up wares of little price  
In Chandler's Shops, at best but Plums and Spice.   

EPISTLE ult. By I. D. To JULIUS FLORUS.  
Another Discourse of Poetry.  
BRave Nero's Favourite, My julius  
(I answer your complaining letter thus)  
Suppose one had to sell, and you would buy  
A Boy at Tibur born, or Gabii,  
The owner plainly tells you; Sir you s●e,  
He's smooth, and fair, of perfect Symmetry  
In all his parts; and without more discourse,  
Give me but so much money, he is yours.  
This I dare vouch, he's apt, and quick to spy  
The smallest motions of your hand, or eye.  
He hath a little Greek, and being young  
May yet improve, he's pretty good at song:  
But earnest praising Merchants oft declare  
Their craft, more than goodness of their Ware.  
I have no need to sell, my stock's but small,  
Yet what small stock I have, my own I call.  
I'll tell you therefore all the worst I know,  
Which I believe, none of the trade would do.  
The truth is, once he played the idle Boy,  
And fearing to be beaten ran away;  
Now Take, or Leave; May he not safely now  
Receive his money, having told you so?  
Why should you sue, or call him cheat, when as  
He told you, what an Idle Rogue it was?  
Yet so you deal in chiding me; you know,  
I told you likewise ere you went, how slow  
I am in writing Letters, that as soon  
You might almost make any Cripple run;  
But yet you still complain of me, and chide  
Because I do not write; Nay, and beside  
You say I promised Verses; But for that,  
Pray hear a story that I shall relate;  
One of Lucullus soldiers went abroad  
To forage, and dearly having earned his load,  
In very pleasant manner, down he lies,  
And snores all night; But e'er he thought to rise,  
All his Provant was gone; With that as Keen  
As a she Wolf, he falls to Rave, and Grin,  
Mad with himself, no less then with his foes,  
And Careless which should die for't, out he goes  
Gnashing his teeth, and whosoever he met,  
He looked as fierce, as though he would him eat.  
In this high Rage, he stormed a Fort himself  
That was well fortified, and stored with wealth,  
And laid about him with such force, they say,  
As made the Guards give place, and run away;  
For which exploit his very name was feared,  
And Thousands given him as a just Reward.  
Soon after this, the Praetor's mind being bend  
To take a certain Castle, strait he sent  
To this great famous Soldier, and began  
T' exhort him by the name of gallantaman,  
Used all the Arguments, apt to excite  
With Words, enough to make a Coward●ight ●ight.  
The Clown wiser than so, cries; Pray Sir hold,  
Such work becomes poor fellows, I have Gold.  
(Now to apply this) I at Rome was Bred,  
And for some time the Poets there I Read;  
At Athens next, where I learned to descry  
The Truth from falsehood by Philosophy;  
But the unhappy times hindered my stay  
In that sweet place, and hurried me away  
From Books to Arms, and then I was engaged  
I'th' Wars which Brutus with Augustus waged.  
But e'er long Brutus being overcome,  
I narrowly 'scaped from Philippi home,  
Stripped, and as poor as possible, and then  
Having no way to live, but by my Pen,  
Strait I betook myself to versify,  
Instructed by Ingenious Poverty.  
But now grown past all needs (to poor on sad  
Dull Poetry, would not men think me mad?)  
I'm of the Souldi●rs mind, I'll sleep and seed,  
Why should I not? let them take pains that need.  
I find I'm growing old, and every year  
Steals somewhat from me; Venus, Mirth, and Cheer,  
Begin to lose their Gust; My Wits decline,  
And my Poetic vein grows dry with time.  
What e'er I have been, I am scarce the same,  
And will you have me dance now I am lame?  
But if I did my faculty retain,  
All would not like it; you the Lyric strain  
Do best affect: a second he commends  
hoping iambics, and a third contends  
That nothing's good but what's Satyrical;  
And how is't possible to please you all?  
Just so, as though I should three friends invite,  
And each one of a different appetite;  
Sir, Shall I help you here? No; I'm for this.  
And, What think you? I'm for the other dish.  
Are you so to? No Sir, I thank you, I  
Like the first best: So 'tis in Poetry.  
Besides all this, I wonder, you can guests  
Amidst the labours and disturbances  
Of this base busy Town, I should have rest  
To write a word. One comes and makes request,  
I would be surety for him; After this  
I'm called to hear the Poet's Exercise;  
I've friends to visit too; one in the Quirine,  
Th' other (a fair distance) in the Aventine.  
But yet you'll say, the streets are fine, and still,  
And one may walk, and think of what he will.  
(Oh mighty quiet, fit for th' ears of Kings!  
These Carts and Coaches are such silent things.)  
Here one comes with his Mules, all in a sweat,  
Who used to bring home Carriages with meat;  
There creaks an Engine, which the Builder uses  
To wind up Timber to the tops of houses.  
Here goes a Funeral, and there a Dray  
Standing athwart the street blocks up their way.  
Now a mad Dog directly at me makes;  
Anon, I meet a Sow out of a jakes,  
(And must give her the wall) midst all this din,  
Is't not a sweet place to make Verses in?  
Poet's true Bacchus' Tribe, like him rejoice  
To sleep in shades, of arr from the City's noise.  
And would you have me do, as they have done,  
Although I live in this lewd bawling Town?  
'Tis no rare thing to see some that have spent  
Seven years at Athens, in their studies penned,  
Reading their eyes almost out; who yet after  
Return dumb objects of the people's laughter,  
(And neither say nor write) here I am tossed,  
And in a storm of trouble well nigh lost:  
How can I grant, or you of me desire,  
To sing sweet Lyrics to the joyful Lyre?  
At Rome two Brothers were; this studied Law,  
That was a Rhetor; both so given to claw  
Each other, that their whole discourse was lies  
In praise of one another's faculties;  
That called this Gracchus, He him Mutius.  
Do not we Poets play the fool just thus?  
I merry Lyrics write, Another he  
Being more grave, delights in Elegy:  
Yet both, as though undoubtedly inspired  
With all the Nine, expect to be admired.  
Do but observe, with what a stately grace  
We stalk, and look round the reciting place.  
But what great matter bring we, that should raise  
Our Expectations to be crowned with Bayes?  
The Samnites us, and we the Samnites waist,  
And yet we made the Samnites yield at last.  
O rare! now he protests I shall no more  
Be Horace, but Alcaeus; I adore  
Him as Callimachus, but that's too little,  
Then he's Mimnermus, or some greater title.  
These waspish Poets thus I'm feign to please,  
When I write, that I may gain their Suffrages.  
But I'll be plagued no more; I'll neither write  
Henceforth myself, nor hear when they recite.  
Verses indeed if bad, there's nothing worse,  
Nor more ridiculous, yet some fools of course  
Love to be scribbling, and themselves extol,  
For that at which all others laugh and droll.  
He that would have his Poems take, must sit  
Judge of his own language, as well as wit,  
Like a grave Censor; words of no weight nor show  
He must degrade, though they are loath to go,  
And plead prescription. To recruit his store  
With choice and good, old words he must restore,  
Though th'ave lain long rejected and despised,  
And take in new, what use hath naturalised.  
And as a River that runs clear and strong,  
The soil inricheth, as it glides along:  
So must his language be; it must not want,  
But neither must it be luxuriant.  
With smother phrase he polishe's what's rough,  
And throws out all the flat insipid stuff.  
And as a skilful Actor, he must strive,  
To imitate each Humour to the life.  
For my part, I had rather far be thought  
A trifling Poetaster, if that ought  
I do please's myself, be't ne'er so vain,  
Than to write well, and to endure the pain  
Of being vexed with Censures. There was one  
At Argos, who did use to sit alone  
I'th' Theatre, fancying himself to be  
Present at some ingenious Tragedy:  
Harkened and hummed, till he thought all was ended,  
Then clapped, and cried, 'Tis never to be mended:  
‛ Bate only this, in other matters He  
Was as discreet as any one could be;  
He was a right good Neighbour; none more free  
To treat his Friends with all civility:  
Good to his Family; if he came nigh  
A Rock or Lake, would heed how he passed by:  
Could not be charged with any desperate folly,  
The worst was, he was highly Melancholy;  
For this a lusty dose of Hellebore  
He took, which did him to himself restore;  
But being cured, he cried, and said, Alas!  
Such an unhappy Remedy ne'er was;  
For now by this unfortunate Occasion,  
I've lost the pleasure of Imagination.  
'Tis time I should grow wise, and leave such toys  
As Songs and Verses, proper sports for Boys.  
Not weighing words, nor measuring out of sounds,  
But scanning life, and tracing Virtues bounds.  
Now thus I'll spend my Thoughts; If you or I  
Had such a thirst, that we were always dry,  
How much so ere we drink, we should be sure  
To tell the Doctor of't, and ask the cure.  
Now you are rich, yet cover still to gain  
More wealth, Is not this case the very same?  
If one should say, such Herbs, or such a Course,  
Will cure your wound, if still your wound grew worse,  
Would you not cease to follow his Advice?  
So you have heard, that he must needs be wise  
To whom the Gods give Riches, yet you find  
The Goods of Fortune have not changed your mind.  
And will you still believe it, since you know,  
By sad experience, that it is not so?  
If to be Rich, could make one wise indeed,  
And you were sure by that means to be freed  
From hurtful Passions; then I would allow,  
That none should be more Covetous than you;  
But since it can no such effect produce,  
Let that suffice that serves for present use.  
If what I have, though small, be mine, (as 'tis)  
And what one use's, in some sort is his:  
(As the Civili●ns teach) then Orbus field,  
And whatsoever fruit the same doth yield,  
Is mine; nay and his servants too, and all  
He hath, may truly me their Master call.  
I give a little money, and receive  
Grapes, Poultry, Wine, and what I please to have.  
The difference is, I with a small expense  
Buy what he purchased with vast Sums long since.  
The Purchaser of all those fields that lie  
About Aricia, and old Veii,  
Hath not a Salad of his own introth,  
Nor one small stick to warm his stale-kept broth,  
But what is bought; only he calls it His  
As far as lies within such Boundaries.  
Fond man! how canst thou call that substance thine  
Which varies like thy shadow? One hour's time,  
One flitting hour, altars the property,  
And either death, sale, force or flattery  
Makes it another man's. For Heirs come on  
As fast as waves, one ere the other's gone.  
And since 'tis so, to what intent should I  
Great Farms or Manors strive to multiply?  
Or make new purchases? when as, Alas!  
Death and the Grave mow down all flesh like Grass;  
Sparing nor high, nor low, nor young, nor old,  
Untouched with Pity, uncorrupt with Gold.  
And while we live, we may live, if we please,  
Happy and well, without such things as these,  
Gems, Ivory, Marble, Pictures, Plate, rare Cuts,  
Garments like those in which the Sophy struts.  
All that make bodies gay, or houses brave,  
Some have them not, others don't care to have.  
So of two Brothers, one delights to play  
And drink; the other from the break of day  
Till it be dark night, spends himself with toil,  
Beating and burning the hard barren soil.  
The only Reason that they differ thus,  
Proceedeth from a different Genius;  
Which is as 'twere a little Deity,  
Prescribing how to live, and when to die.  
To some unlucky, to some Fortunate,  
So constituting good or evil Fate.  
For my part, I'm resolved that little wealth  
I have, to use, and not to starve myself.  
I will be moderate, yet I'll not forbear  
Expense, lest I should grieve my greedy Heir,  
Or make my Executor think much, to see  
My Inventory spent in Legacy.  
There is discretion to be used, for he  
Is justly taxed with Prodigality,  
That vainly wastes his Fortune; and no less  
Is he to be accused of Greediness,  
Who spares his Purse, more than his Reputation,  
And will not spend upon a just occasion.  
But he that hath enough, and thinks it so,  
Toils not for more, nor pines to see that go;  
That sometimes makes a festival, and spares  
A day for mirth to lose the bonds of cares:  
That doth no wrong, and is discreetly free,  
That man's endued with Liberality.  
Bless me from Poverty and Sordidness!  
And then be my enjoyments more or less,  
I'm still the same: To me it matters not,  
Whether I'm carried in a bigger Boat,  
Or in a less; The middle state's the best.  
And mine is such, I neither am oppressed  
With storms, nor flat at all with calms; my Sails  
Are filled with equal and Indifferent Gales:  
For health, wit, vertne, honour, wealth, I'm placed  
Short of the foremost, but before the last.  
Yet though a man be freed from Avarice,  
That's not enough, if any other Vice  
Be suffered to bear sway. What? art thou free  
From pride, and empty Popularity?  
Art free from raging anger, and the fear  
Of cruel death, that dreadful Messenger?  
Canst laugh at superstitious fond conceits  
Of Sprights, Dreams, Omens, all those vulgar cheats?  
Art thankful for thy age that's past and gone,  
And being older, Art thou better grown?  
For as it cannot mitigate one's pain,  
To draw one Thorn, whilst twenty more remain:  
To hate one Vice is nothing, whilst the mind  
Indulges Vices of another kind.  
Until thou canst thy life exactly frame  
To Virtue's pattern, don't usurp the name.  
But having played, and eat, and drunk thy share,  
Get home, lest taking more than thou canst bear,  
The art mocked, and bobbed, and justled for thy folly,  
By th' Lads whose privilege is to be jolly.     

HORACE, His ART of POETRY.  By B. I. 
IF to a Woman's head a Painter would  
Set a Horse-neck, and divers feathers fold  
On every limb, ta'en from a several creature,  
Presenting upwards, a fair female feature,  
Which in some swarthy fish uncomely ends:  
Admitted to the sight, although his friends,  
Could you contain your laughter? Credit me,  
This piece, my Piso's, and that book agree,  
Whose shapes, like sick-men's dreams, are feigned so vain,  
As neither head, nor foot, one form retain.  
But equal power, to Painter, and to Poet,  
Of daring all, hath still been given; we know it:  
And both do crave, and give again, this leave.  
Yet, not as therefore wild, and tame should cleave  
Together: not that we should Serpents see  
W●th Doves; or Lambs, with Tigers coupled be.  
In grave beginnings, and great things professed,  
Ye have ofttimes, that may o're-shine the rest,  
A Scarlet-peice or two, stitched in: when or  
Diana's Grove, or Altar, with the bor▪-  
Dring Circles of swift waters that intwine  
The pleasant grounds, or when the River Rhine,  
Or Rainbow is described. But here was now  
No place for these. And, Painter, haply, thou  
knowst only well to paint a Cypress tree.  
What's this, if he whose money hireth thee  
To paint him, hath by swimming hopeless scaped,  
The whole fleet wrecked? A great jar to be shaped,  
Was meant at first; why forcing still about  
Thy labouring wheel, comes scarce a Pitcher out?  
In short; I bid, Let what thou workest upon,  
Be simply quite throughout, and wholly one.  
Most Writers, noble Sire, and either Son,  
Are, with the likeness of the truth, undone.  
Myself for shortness labour; and I grow  
Obscure. This striving to run smooth and slow,  
Hath neither soul, nor sinews. Lofty he  
Professing greatness, swells: That low by lee  
Creeps on the ground; too safe, too afraid of storm.  
This seeking, in a various kind, to form  
One thing, prodigiously, paints in the woods  
A Dolphin, and a Boar amid the floods.  
So, shunning faults, to greater fault doth lead,  
When in a wrong, and art less way we tread.  
The worst of Statuaries here about  
Th' Aemilian School, in brass can fashion out  
The nails, and every curled hair disclose;  
But in the main work hapless: since he knows  
Not to design the whole. Should I aspire  
To form a work, I would no more desire  
To be that Smith; then live, marked one of those,  
With fair black eyes, and hair, and a wry nose.  
Take, therefore, you that write, still, matter fit  
Unto your strength, and long examine it,  
Upon your Shoulders. Prove what they will bear,  
And what they will not. Him whose choice doth rear  
His matter to his power, in all he makes,  
Nor language, nor clear order ere forsakes.  
The virtue of which order, and true grace,  
Or I am much deceived, shall be to place  
Invention. Now, to speak; and then differ  
Much, that might now be spoke: omitted here  
Till fitter season. Now, to like of this;  
Lay that aside, the Epicks office is.  
In using also of new words, to be  
Right spare, and wary: then thou speakest to me  
Most worthy praise, when words that common grew,  
Are, by thy cunning placing, made mere new.  
Yet, if by chance, in uttering things abstruse,  
Thou need new terms; thou mayst, without excuse,  
Fain words, unheard of to the well-trussed race  
Of the Cethegi; And all men will grace,  
And give, being taken modestly, this leave,  
And those thy new, and late-coyned words receive,  
So they fall gently from the Grecian spring,  
And come not too much wrested. What's that thing.  
A Roman to Caecilius will allow,  
Or Plautus, and in Virgil disavow,  
Or Varius? why am I now envied so,  
If I can give some small increase? When, lo,  
Cato's and Ennius' tongues have lent much worth,  
And wealth unto our language; and brought forth  
New names of things. It hath been ever free,  
And ever will, to utter terms that be  
Stamped to the time. As woods whose change appears  
Still in their leaves, throughout the sliding years,  
The firstborn dying; so the aged state  
Of words decay, and phrases born but late  
Like tender buds shoot up, and freshly grow.  
Ourselves, and all that's ours, to death we owe:  
Whether the Sea received into the shore,  
That from the North, the Navy safe doth store,  
A Kingly work; or that long barren fen  
Once rowable, but now doth nourish men  
In neighbour-towns, and feels the weighty plough;  
Or the wild river, who hath changed now  
His course so hurtful both to grain, and seeds,  
Being taught a better way. All mortal deeds  
Shall perish: so far off it is, the state,  
Or grace of speech, should hope a lasting date.  
Much phrase that now is dead, shall be revived;  
And much shall die, that now is nobly lived,  
If Custom please; at whose disposing will  
The power, and rule of speaking resteth still.  
The gests of Kings, great Captains, and sad Wars,  
What number best can fit, Homer declares.  
In Verse unequal matched, first sour Laments,  
After men's Wishes, crowned in their events  
Were also closed: But, who the man should be,  
That first sent forth the dapper Elegy,  
All the Grammarians strive; and yet in Court  
Before the Judge, it hangs, and waits report.  
Unto the Lyric Strings, the Muse gave grace  
To chant the Gods, and all their Godlike race,  
The conquering Champion, the prime Horse in course,  
Fresh Lovers business, and the Wines free source.  
Th' jambick armed Archilochus to rave,  
This foot the socks took up, and buskins grave,  
As fit t' exchange discourse; a Verse to win  
On popular noise with, and do business in.  
The Comic matter will not be expressed  
In tragic Verse; no less Thyestes feast  
Abhors low numbers, and the private strain  
Fit for the sock: Each subject should retain  
The place allotted it, with decent thews.  
If now the turns, the colours, and right hues  
Of Poems here described, I can, nor use,  
Nor know t' observe: why (i' the Muse's name)  
Am I called Poet? wherefore with wrong shame,  
Perversely modest, had I rather owe  
To ignorance still, then either learn, or knows.  
Yet, sometime, doth the Comedy excite  
Her voice, and angry Chremes chafes outright  
With swelling throat: and of the tragic wight  
Complains in humble phrase. Both Telephus,  
And Peleus, if they seek to heart-strike us  
That are Spectators, with their misery,  
When they are poor, and banished, must throw by  
Their bombard-phrase, and foot-and-half-foot words:  
'Tis not enough, th' elaborate Muse affords  
Her Poem's beauty, but a sweet delight  
To work the hearers mind, still, to their plight.  
men's faces, still, with such as laugh, are prone  
To laughter; so they grieve with those that moan.  
If thou wouldst have me weep, be thou first drowned  
Thyself in tears, then me thy loss will wound,  
Peleus, or Telephus. If you speak vile  
And ill-penned things, I shall, or sleep, or smile.  
Sad language fits sad looks: stuffed menacings,  
The angry brow; the sportive, wanton things;  
And the severe, speech ever serious.  
For Nature, first within doth fashion us  
To every state of fortune; she helps on,  
Or urgeth us to anger; and anon  
With weighty sorrow hurls us all along,  
And tortures us: and, after by the tongue  
Her truchman, she reports the minds each thr●  
If now the phrase of him that speaks, shall flow  
In sound, quite from his fortune; both the rout,  
And Roman Gentry, jeering, will laugh out.  
It much will differ, if a God speak, than,  
Or an Hearse: If a ripe old man,  
Or some hot youth, yet in his flourishing course;  
Where some great Lady, or her diligent Nurse▪  
A venturing Merchant, or the Farmer free  
Of some small thankful land: whether he be  
Of Cochis born; or in Assyria bred;  
Or, with the milk of Thebes; or Argus, fed.  
Or follow fame, thou that dost write, or fain  
Things in themselves agreeing. If again  
Honoured Achilles chance by thee be seized,  
Keep him still active, angry, unappeased,  
Sharp, and contemning laws, at him should aim,  
Be nought so 'bove him but his sword let claim.  
Medea make brave with impetuous scorn;  
●no bewailed; Ixion false, forsworn;  
Poor Io wand'ring, wild Orestes mad.  
If something strange, that never yet was had  
Into the Scene, thou bring'st, and dar'st create  
A mere new person; Look he keep his state  
Into the last, as when he first went forth,  
Still to be like himself, and hold his worth.  
'Tis hard, to speak things common, properly;  
And thou mayst better bring a Rhapsody  
Of Homer's, forth in acts, then of thy own,  
First publishing things unspoken, and unknown.  
Yet common matter thou thine own mayst make;  
If thou be vile, broad-troden ring forsake.  
For, being a Poet, thou mayst feign, create,  
Not care, as thou wouldst faithfully translate,  
To render word for word: nor with thy slight  
Of imitation, leap into a straight,  
From whence thy Modesty, or Poems law  
Forbids thee forth again thy foot to draw.  
Nor so begin, as did that Circler late,  
I sing a noble War, and Priam's Fate.  
What doth this Promiser such gaping worth  
Afford? The Mountains travailed, and brought forth  
A scorned Mouse! O, how much better this,  
Who nought assays unaptly, or am ss?  
Speak to me, Muse, the man, who after Trov was sacked,  
Saw many Towns, and men, and could their manners tract.  
He thinks not, how to give you smoke from light,  
But light from smoke; that he may draw his bright  
Wonders forth after: As An●iphates,  
Scylla, Charybdis, Polypheme, with these.  
Nor from the brand, with which the life did burn  
Of Meleager, brings he the return  
Of Diomedes; nor Troy's sad War begins  
From the two Eggs, that did disclose the twins.  
He ever hastens to the end, and so  
(As if he knew it) raps his hearer to  
The middle of his matter: letting go  
What he despairs, being handled, might not show.  
And so well feigns, so mixeth cunningly  
Falsehood with truth, as no man can espy  
Where the midst differs from the first: or where  
The last doth from the midst disjoined appear.  
Hear, what it is the People, and I desire:  
If such a ones applause thou dost require,  
That tarries till the hangings be ra'en down,  
And sits, till the Epilogue says Clap, or Crown:  
The customs of each age thou must observe,  
And give their years, and natures, as they swerve,  
Fit rites. The Child, that now knows how to say,  
And can tread firm, longs with like lads to play;  
Soon angry, and soon pleased, is sweet, or sour,  
He knows not why, and changeth every hour.  
Th' unbearded Youth, his Guardian once being gone,  
Loves Dogs; and Horses; and is ever one  
I' the open field; Is Wax like to be wrought  
To every vice, as hardly to be brought  
To endure counsel: A Provider slow  
For his own good, a careless letter-go  
Of money, haughty, to desire soon moved,  
And then as swift to leave what he hath loved.  
These studies alter now, in one, grown man;  
His bettered mind seeks wealth, and friendship: than  
Looks after honours, and bewares to act  
What straightway he must labour to retract.  
The old man many evils do girt round;  
Either because he seeks, and, having found,  
Doth wretchedly the use of things forbear,  
Or does all business coldly, and with fear;  
A great deserrer, long in hope, grown numb  
With sloth, yet greedy still of what's to come:  
Froward, complaining, a commender glad  
Of the times past, when he was a young lad;  
And still correcting youth, and censuring.  
Man's coming years much good with them do bring:  
At his departing take much thence: left, then,  
The parts of age to youth be given; or men  
To children; we must always dwell, and stay  
In fitting proper adjuncts to each day.  
The business either on the Stage is done,  
Or acted told. But, ever, things that run  
In at the ear, do stir the mind more slow  
Than those the faithful eyes take in by show,  
And the beholder to himself doth render.  
Yet, to the Stage, at all thou mayst not tender  
Things worthy to be done within, but take  
Much from the sight, which fair report will make  
Present anon: Medea must not kill  
Her Sons before the People; nor the ill▪  
Natured, and wicked Atreus' cook, to th' eye,  
His Nephew's entrails; nor must Progne fly  
Into a Swallow there; Nor Cadmus take,  
Upon the Stage, the figure of a Snake.  
What so is shown, I not believe, and hate.  
Nor must the Fable, that would hope the Fate  
Once seen, to be again called for, and played,  
Have more or less than just five Acts: nor laid,  
To have a God come in, except a knot  
Worth his untying happen there: And not  
Any fourth man, to speak at all, aspire.  
An Actors parts, and Office too, the Choir  
Must maintain manly; not be heard to sing  
Between the Acts, a quite clean other thing  
Then to the purpose leads, and fitly ' grease.  
It still must favour good men, and to these  
Be won a friend; It must both sway, and bed  
The angry, and love those that fear t' offend.  
Praise the spare diet, wholesome justice, laws,  
Peace, and the open ports, that peace doth cause.  
Hide faults, Pray to the Gods, and wish aloud  
Fortune would love the poor, and leave the proud.  
The Hau'-boy, not as now with latten bound,  
And rival with his Trumpet for his sound,  
But soft, and simple, at few holes breathed time  
And tune too, fitted to the Chorus rhyme,  
As loud enough to fill the seats, not yet  
So over-thick, but, where the people met,  
They might ' with ease be numbered, being a few  
Chaste, thrifty, modest folk, that came to view.  
But, as they conquered, and enlarged their bound,  
That wider Walls embraced their City round,  
And they uncensured might at Feasts, and Plays  
Steep the glad Genius in the Wine, whole days,  
Both in their tunes, the licence greater grew,  
And in their numbers; For, alas, what knew  
The Idiot, keeping holiday, or drudge,  
Clown, Townsman, base, and noble, mixed, to judge?  
Thus, to his ancient Art the Piper lent  
Gesture, and riot, whilst he swooping went  
In his trained Gown about the Stage: So grew  
In time of Tragedy, a Music new.  
The rash, and headlong eloquence brought forth  
Unwonted language; And that sense of worth  
That found out profit, and foretold each thing,  
Now differed not from Delphic riddleing.  
Thespis is said to be the first found out  
The Tragedy, and carried it about,  
Till then unknown, in Carts, wherein did ride  
Those that did sing, and act: their faces died  
With less of Wine. Next Aeschylus, more late  
Brought in the Visor, and the robe of State,  
Built a small timbered Stage, and taught them talk  
Lofty, and grave; and in the busk in stalk.  
He too, that did in Tragic Verse contend,  
For the vile Goat, soon after, forth did send  
The rough rude Satyrs naked; and would try,  
Though sour, with safety of his gravity,  
How he could jest, because he marked and saw  
The free spectators, subject to no Law,  
Having well eat, and drunk: the rites being done,  
Were to be stayed with softnesses, and won  
With something that was acceptably new.  
Yet so the scoffing Satyrs to men's view,  
And so their prating to present was best,  
And so to turn all earnest into jest,  
As neither any God, were brought in there,  
Or Semi-god, that late was seen to wear  
A royal Crown, and purple; be made hop  
With poor base terms, through every base shop:  
Or whilst he shuns the Earth, to catch at Air  
And empty Clouds. For Tragedy is fair,  
And far unworthy to blurt out light rhymes;  
But, as a Matron drawn at solemn times  
To Dance, so she should, shame faced, differ far  
From what th' obscene, and petulant Satyrs are.  
Nor I, when I write Satyrs, will so love  
Plain phrase, my Piso's, as alone t'approve  
Mere reigning words: nor will I labour so  
Quite from all face of Tragedy to go,  
As not make difference, whether Davus speak,  
And the bold Pythias, having cheated weak  
Simo; and, of a talon wiped his purse;  
Or old Silenus, Bacchus' Guard, and Nurse.  
I can out of known gear, a fable frame,  
And so, as every man may hope the same;  
Yet he that offers at it, may sweat much,  
And toil in vain: the excellence is such  
Of Order, and Connexion; so much grace  
There comes sometimes to things of meanest place.  
But, let the Fauns, drawn from their Groves, beware,  
Be I there Judge, they do at no time dare  
Like men street-born, and near the Hall, rehearse  
The●r youthful tricks in over wanton verse:  
Or crac● out bawdy speeches, and unclean.  
The Roman Gentry, Men of Birth, and Mean  
Will take offence at this: Nor, though it strike  
H●m that buys chiches blanch'r, or chance to like  
The nut crackers throughout, will they therefore  
Receive, or give it an applause, the more.  
To these succeeded the old Comedy,  
And not without much praise; till liberty  
Fell into fault so far, as now they saw  
Her licence fit to be restrained by law:  
Which law received, the Chorus held his peace,  
His power of foully hurting made to cease.  
Two rest's, a short and long, th' jambick frame;  
A foot, whose swiftness gave the Verse the name  
Of Trimeter, when yet it was six-paced,  
But mere iambics all, from first to last.  
Nor is't long since, they did with patience take  
Into their birthright, and for fitness sake,  
The steady Spondaes': so themselves do bear  
More flow, and come more weighty to the ear:  
Provided, ne'er to yield, in any case  
Of fellowishp, the fourth, or second place.  
This foot yet, in the famous Trimeters  
Of Accius, and Ennius, rare appears:  
So rare, as with some tax it doth engage  
Those heavy Verses sent so to the Stage,  
Of too much haste, and negligence in part,  
Or a worse Crime, the ignorance of art.  
But every Judge hath not the faculty  
To note in Poems, breach of harmony;  
And there is given too, unworthy leave  
To Roman Poets. Shall I therefore wove  
My Ve●se at random, and licent ously?  
Or rather, thinking all my faults may spy,  
Grow a safe Writer, and be wary-driven  
Within the hope of having all forgiven.  
'Tis clear, this way I have got off from blame,  
But, in conclusion, merited no fame.  
Take you the Greek examples, for your light,  
In hand, and turn them over day, and night.  
Our Ancestors did Plautus' numbers praise,  
And jests; and both to admiration raise  
Too patiently, that I not fond say;  
If either you, or I, know the right way  
To part scurrility from wit: or can  
A lawful Verse, by th' ear, or singer scan.  
Our Poets too, left nought unproved here;  
Nor did they merit the less Crown to wear,  
In daring to forsake the Grecian tracts,  
And celebrating our own home-born facts;  
Whether the guarded Tragedy they wrought,  
Or't were the gowned Comedy they taught.  
Nor had out Italy more glorious been  
In virtue, and renown of arms, then in  
Her language, if the Stay, and Care t' have mended,  
Had not our every Poet like offended.  
But you, Pompilius offspring, spare you not  
To tax that Verse, which many a day, and blot  
Have not kept in, and (left perfection fail)  
Not tent mes o'er, corrected to the nail.  
Because Democritus believes a wit  
Happier than wretched art, and doth, by it,  
Exclude all sober Poets, from their share  
In Helicon; a great sort will not pair  
Their nails, nor shave their beards, but to by-paths  
Retire themselves, avoid the public baths;  
For so, they shall not only gain the worth,  
Both fame of Poets, they think, if they come forth,  
And from the Barber Licinus conceal  
Their heads, which three Antichyra's cannot heal.  
O I left-witted, that purge every spring  
For choler! If I did not, who could bring  
Out better Poems? But I cannot buy  
My title, at the rate; I'd rather, ay,  
Be like a Whetstone, that an edge can put  
On steel, though 't self be dull, and cannot cut.  
I writing nought myself, will teach them yet  
Their Charge, and Office, whence their wealth to fet,  
What nourisheth, what form, what begot  
The Poet, what becometh, and what not:  
Whether truth may, and whether error bring.  
The very root of writing well, and spring  
Is to be wise; thy matter first to know;  
Which the Socratic writings best can show:  
And, where the matter is provided still,  
There words will follow, not against their will.  
He, that hath studied well the debt, and knows  
What to his Country, what his friends he owes,  
What height of love, a Parent will fit best,  
What brethren, what a stranger, and his guest,  
Can tell a State-mans' duty, what the arts  
And office of a Judge are, what the parts  
Of a brave Chief sent to the wars: He can,  
Indeed, give fitting deuce to every man.  
And I still bid the learned Maker look,  
O● life, and manners, and make those his book,  
Thence draw forth true expressions. For, sometimes,  
A Poem, of no grace, weight, art, in rhymes  
With specious places, and being humoured right,  
More strongly takes the people with delight,  
And better stays them there, than all fine noise  
Of Verse meer-matter-less, and tinkling toys.  
The Muse not only gave the Greek's a wit,  
But a well-compassed mouth to utter it,  
Being men were covetous of nought, but praise.  
Our Roman youths they learn the subtle ways  
How to divide, into a hundred parts,  
A pound, or piece, by their long counting arts:  
There's Arbin's son will say, Subtract an ounce  
From the five ounces, what remains? pronounce  
A third of twelve, you may: four ounces. Glad,  
He cries, Good boy, thou'lt keep thine own. Now, add  
An ounce, what makes it then? The half pound just;  
Six ounces. O, whence once the cankered rust,  
And care of getting, thus, our minds hath stained,  
Think we, or hope, there can be Verses feigned  
In juice of Cedar, worthy to be steeped,  
And in smooth Cypress boxes to be keeped?  
Poet's would either profit, or delight,  
Or mixing sweet, and fit, teach life the right.  
Orpheus, a priest, and speaker for the Gods,  
First frighted men, and wildly lived, at odds,  
From slaughters, and foul life; and for the same  
Was Tigers, said, and Lions fierce, to tame.  
Amphion too, that built the Theban towers,  
Was said to move the stones, by his Lutes powers,  
And lead them with soft songs, where that he would.  
This was the wisdom, that they had of old,  
Things sacred, from profane to separate;  
The public, from the private; to abate  
Wild raging lusts; prescribe the marriage good;  
Build Towns, and carve the Laws in leaves of wood.  
And thus at first, an honour, and a name▪  
To divine Poets, and there Verses came.  
Next these great Homer, and Tyrtaeus set  
On edge the Masculine spirits, and did whet  
Their minds to Wars, with rhymes they did rehearse;  
The Oracles, too, were given out in Verse;  
All way of life was shown; the grace of Kings  
Attempted by the Muse's tunes, and strings;  
Plays were found out; and rest, the end, and Crown  
Of their long labours, was in Verse set down:  
All which I tell, lest when Apollo's named,  
Or Muse, upon the Lyre, thou chance b' ashamed.  
Be brief, in what thou wouldst command, that so  
The docile mind may soon thy precepts know,  
And hold them faithfully; For nothing rests,  
But flows out, that ore-swelleth in full breasts.  
Let what thou feign'st for pleasure's sake, be near  
The truth, nor let thy Fable think, what e'er  
It would, must be: lest it alive would draw  
The Child, when Lamia ' has dined, out of her maw.  
The Poems void of profit, our grave men  
Cast out by voices; want they pleasure, than  
Our Gallants give them none, but pass them by:  
But he hath every suffrage can apply  
Sweet mixed with sour, to his Reader, so  
As doctrine, and delight together go.  
This book will get the Sosii money; This  
Will pass the Seas, and long as nature is,  
With honour make the far-known Author live.  
There are yet faults, which we would well forgive;  
For, neither doth the String yet yield that sound  
The hand, and mind would, but it will resound  
Oft-times a Sharp, when we require a Flat:  
Nor always doth the loosed Bow, hit that  
Which it doth threaten. Therefore, where I see  
Much in the Poem shine, I will not be  
Offended with few spots, which negligence  
Hath shed, or humane frailty not kept thence.  
How then? Why, as a Scrivener, if he offend  
Still in the same, and warned, will not mend,  
Deserves no pardon; or who'd play, and sing,  
Is laughed at, that still jarreth on one string:  
So he that flaggeth much, becomes to me  
A Choerilus, in whom if I but see  
‛ Twice, or thrice good, I wonder: but am more  
Angry. Sometimes, I hear good Homer snore.  
But, I confess, that, in a long work, sleep  
May, with some right, upon an Author creep.  
As Painting, so is Poesy. Some man's hand  
Will take you more, the nearer that you stand;  
As some the farther off: This loves the dark;  
This, fearing not the subtlest Judges mark,  
Will in the light be viewed: This once, the sight  
Doth please; this, ten times over, will delight.  
You Sir, the elder brother, though you are  
Informed rightly by your Father's care,  
And, of yourself too, understand; yet mind  
This saying: to some things there is assigned  
A mean, and toleration, which does well:  
There may a Lawyer be, may not excel;  
Or Pleader at the Bar, that may come short  
Of eloquent Messalla's power in Court,  
Or knows not what Cassellius Aulus can;  
Yet, there's a value given to this man.  
But neither, Men, nor Gods, nor Pillars meant,  
Poets should ever be indifferent.  
As jarring Music doth, at jolly feasts,  
Or thick gross Ointment, but offend the Guests:  
As Poppy, and Sardane Honey; 'cause without  
These; the free meal might have been well drawn out:  
〈◊〉, any Poem, fancied, or forth-brought  
〈◊〉 bettering of the mind of man, in aught,  
●●ne're so little it depart the first,  
●nd highest, sinketh to the lowest, and worst.  
He, that not knows the games, nor how to use  
〈◊〉 arms in Mars his field, he doth refuse;  
〈◊〉, who's unskilful at the Coit, or Ball,  
〈◊〉 trundling Wheel, he can sit still, from all;  
●est the thronged heaps should on a laughter take:  
●et who's most ignorant, dares Verses make.  
●hy not? I'm gentle, and freeborn, do hate  
●ice, and, am known to have a Knight's estate.  
●hou, such thy judgement is, thy knowledge too,  
●ilt nothing against nature speak, or do:  
But, if hereafter thou shalt write, not fear  
To send it to be judged by Metius ear,  
And, to your Fathers, and to mine; though't be  
Nine years kept in, your papers by, ye are free  
To change, and mend, what you not forth do set.  
The Writ, once out, never returned yet.  
'Tis now enquired, which makes the nobler Verse,  
Nature, or Art. My Judgement will not pierce  
Into the Profits, what a mere rude brain  
Can; or all toil, without a wealthy vein:  
So doth the one, the others help require,  
And friendly should unto one end conspire.  
He, that's ambitious in the race to touch  
The wished goal, both did, and suffered much  
While he was young; he sweat, and freezed again:  
And both from Wine, and Women did abstain.  
Who, since, to sing the Pythian rites is heard,  
Did learn them, first, and once a Master feared.  
But, now, it is enough to say; I make  
An admirable Verse. The great Scurf take  
Him at the last; I scorn to come behind,  
Or, of the things, that ne'er came in my mind  
To say, I'm ignorant. Just as a Crier  
That to the sale of Wares calls every Buyer;  
So doth the Poet, who is rich in land,  
Or great in money's out at use, command  
His flatterers to their gain. But say, he can  
Make a great Supper; or for some poor man  
Will be a surety; or can help him out  
Of an entangling suit; and bring 't about:  
I wonder how this happy man should know,  
Whether his soothing friend speak truth, or no.  
But you, my Piso, carefully beware,  
(Whether ye are given to, or giver are)  
You do not bring, to judge your Verses, one,  
With joy of what is given him, over-gone:  
For he'll cry, Good, brave, better, excellent!  
Look pale, distil a shower (was never meant)  
Out at his friendly eyes, leap, beat the groun '.  
As those that hired to weep at Funerals, swoon,  
Cry, and do more than the true Mourners: so  
The Scoffer, the true Praiser doth outgo.  
Rich men are said with many cups to ply,  
And rack, with Wine, the man whom they would try,  
If of their friendship he be worthy, or no:  
When you write Verses, with your judge do so:  
Look through him, and be sure, you take not mocks  
For praises, where the mind conceals a fox.  
If to Quintilius, you recited aught:  
He'd say, Mend this, good friend, and this; 'Tis naught.  
If you denied, you had no better strain,  
And twice, or thrice had 'ssayd it, still in vain:  
He'd bid, blot all: and to the anvil bring  
Those illl-torned Verses, to new hammering.  
Then: If your fault you rather had defend  
Then change: No word, or work, more would he spend  
In vain, but you, and yours, you should love still  
Alone, without a rival, by his will.  
A wise, and honest man will cry out shame  
On artless Verse; the hard ones he will blame;  
Blot out the careless, with his turned pen;  
Cut off superfluous ornaments; and when  
They be dark, bid clear this: all that's doubtful wrote  
Reprove; and, what is to be changed, note:  
Become an Aristarchus. And, not say,  
Why should I grieve my friend, this trifling way?  
These trifles into serious mischief's lead  
The man once mocked, and suffered wrong to tread.  
Wise, sober folk, a frantic Poet fear,  
And shun to touch him, as a man that were  
Infected with the leprosy, or had  
The yellow Jaundice, or were furious mad  
According to the Moon. But, than the boys  
They vex, and follow him with shouts, and noise,  
The while he belcheth lofty Verses out,  
And stalketh, like a Fowler, round about,  
Busy to catch a Blackbird; if he fall  
Into a pit, or hole; although he call,  
And cry aloud, Help gentle Countrymen,  
There's none will take the care, to help him then;  
For, if one should, and with a rope make haste  
To let it down, who knows, if he did cast  
Himself there purposely, or no; and would  
Not thence be saved, although indeed he could?  
I'll tell you but the death, and the disease  
Of the Sicilian Poet Empedocles;  
He, while he laboured to be thought a God  
Immortal, took a melancholic odd  
Conceit, and into burning Aetna leapt.  
Let Poets perish, that will not be kept.  
He that preserves a man, against his will,  
Doth the same thing with him, that would him kill.  
Nor did he do this once; for if you can  
Recall him yet, he'd be no more a man:  
Or love of this so famous death lay by.  
His cause of making Verses none knows why;  
Whether he pissed upon his Father's grave;  
Or the sad thunder-stroken thing he have  
Defiled, touched; but certain he was mad,  
And, as a Bear; if he the strength but had  
To force the grates, that hold him in, would fright  
All; So this grievous Writer puts to flight  
Learned and unlearned; holding, whom once he takes;  
And, there an end of him, reciting makes:  
Not letting going his hold, where he draws food,  
Till he drop off, a Horseleech, full of blood.  
FINIS.