to serve a friend I 'le go And thus when no release appears Like an o'reladen Ass I hung my Ears Then He Sir If I don't mistake my Parts Not Varius Wit nor Viscus great Deserts Can claim your friendship half so much as mine Which of the Wits can write so smooth a line Which more than I or which with greater ease 'T is almost natural in me to please Who can his limbs to softer motions bring Hermogenes might envy when I sing And then he stopt a while and I put in Have you a Mother Sir or any Kin That would be glad to see you I have none For thanks kind Stars they all are dead and gone Oh Happy They and I the last remain Come pray Sir quickly rid me of my pain For now the fatal hour the time is come The Midwife told me when she read my doom She turn'd the Sieve and said Nor Sword nor Cough Nor Poison Plague nor Charms shall take him off Nor the Catarrh nor Flux nor Pox destroy But an Eternal Tongue shall kill the Boy And therefore would He have his life be long When grown a Man avoid a talking Tongue By this 't was nine a Clock or somewhat past And we to Vesta's Temple came at last And there that day He had a Cause to hear And was to lose his Suit or else appear Come pray Sir as you love me stop a while Faith Sir I cannot stand nor have I skill In any Point and I 'me oblig'd to go Well then What must I leave my Cause or You Me by all means No hang me if I do And so march't on and I with one too strong What Man can strive look't blank and sneak't along How doth Mecaenas thence his Chat began Affect you now You are the subt'lest Man You make Hay whilst it shines but take my word To have another always near my Lord And next to You in favour would secure My Lord 's good Will and make your Fortune sure Fix me the Man and let them do their best I 'le lay my life on 't you shall rout the rest Sir you mistake that 's not our Course of Life We know no Jealousies no Brawls no Strife From all those ills our Patrons House is free None ' cause more Learn'd or Wealthy troubles Me We have our Stations all their own pursue 'T is strange scarce credible and yet 't is true This whets my wish I 'me eager for a place I shall not rest till I am near his Grace Pray stand my Friend I 'me sure of good success He may be wrought on if you please to press But Sir at first he is of hard access Well when Occasion serves I 'le play my part I 'le spare no cost and charge try every Art Hang on his Coach wait on him all I can Bribe Flatter Cringe but I 'me resolv'd to gain 'T is only Labour Sir can raise a Man As thus He talk't a Friend of mine came by Who knew the fellow's humour more than I. We stop't and talk't a while as How do'st do Whence came you Sir I pray and whither now Mean while I shrug'd a thousand signs I show'd I squeez'd his hand and did what e're I cou'd I nodded cough't and wink 't to let him see I stood in need of 's help to set me free He cruel Wag tho knowing my intent Pretended ignorance of all I mean't I rag'd at last A little while ago You had some business pray let 's have it now I mind it well but Sir another day My business calls me now a different way 'T is Holiday I visit yonder shrine And must not mix Prophane with things Divine I don't mind Holidays but Sir I do A little tender Conscienc'd Sir I vow One of the Crowd I go to Church and pray Your pardon Sir we 'll talk another day Did ever such unlucky Beams arise Ever so black a day unkind He flies And leaves me gasping for a little life Just at the mercy of the Butcher's knife When lo his Adversary cry'd Oh Oh! Sir Raschal have I caught you whither now Pray Sir bear witness gladly I consent He 's forc't to Court and I as freely went The People Crowd and Shout but mid'st the strife I scap't and so Apollo sav'd my Life SATYR X. The Heads of the Tenth Satyr 1. He maintains the censure he had given of Lucilius 2. Discourses of Poetry 3. Satyr is his proper Talent 4. He is content with the praise of the best Judges 1. WEll Sir I grant I said Lucilius Muse Is uncorrect his way of Writing loose And who admires him so what Friend of his So blindly doats as to deny me This And yet in the same Page I freely own His Wit as sharp as ever lash't the Town But This one sort of Excellence allow'd Doth not infer that all the rest is good For on the same Account I might admit Labenius Farce for Poems and for Wit 2. Well then 't is not enough to please the Crowd And make them laugh to prove the Poem good Yet this I grant a sort of Excellence He must be short nor must He clog his sense With useless words or make his Periods long They must be smooth and so glide o're the Tongue And sometimes He must use a graver stile And then jocose and He must laugh a while Now like an Orator a Poet now Their different Vertues and their Graces show Now like a Gentleman whose fine discourse Design'dly easie is and free from force Instructive Mirth and where a waggish sneer Doth nick the great Ones more then a severe This was the drift of all our Ancient Plays In this They may be follow'd and with Praise But these Hermogenes those blundring heads Scarce knows and t'other Ape-face never reads Poor thick-skull'd Sots that sing a Catch or two From Calvus and that 's all that they can do Ay but He 's excellent for many times He mixes Greek with Latine in his Rhimes Dull Sots to think that Poetry and Wit Which e'en the Rhodian poor Pitholeon writ Ay but the Speech thus mixt is neat and fine 'T is sweet like Latine mixt with Greekish Wine But you Sir that can't think this Censure true But doâ—â— on Lucill I appeal to you Only in Verse or when you treat of Laws Or plead suppose Petillus desp'rate Cause Whilst Pode and Corvin eagerly accuse Would you this mix't this Mungrel Language use As 't were forget your own and Greek confound With Latine like the Apulians double sound When I a Latin once design'd to write Greek Verses Romulus appear'd at night 'T was after Twelve the time when dreams are true And said Why Horace what do'st mean to do 'T is full as mad the Greeks vast heaps t' encrease As 't is to carry Water to the Seas Whilst swelling Alpin in his lofty way Murders poor Memnon in his Barbarous Play Or awkerdly describes the head of Rhine This pleasant way of writing Satyr's mine 'T is not for
down My small Farm lost and all my mony gone Those with my Shield I left by shameful flight Bold Poverty first set me on to write But now I have enough to keep off want That is as much as Heaven it self can grant What Helebore could cure my wild disease Should I prefer a Muse before my Ease On me each circling Year does make a prey It steals my Humor and my Mirth away And now at last would steal my Poems too From my Embrace what would You have me do Besides not all admire not all approve One sort You Odes Iambics others love Others in keenest Satyrs rage delight Sharp salt alone can raise their appetite Methinks I 've three envited to a Feast A different palate too to every Guest What shall what shall I not provide What You Commend and eat disgusts the other two Besides do'st think that I can mind a Song Whilst here at Rome ' midst all the noise and throng Of different Cares one beggs me pass my word For him then I must wait upon my Lord To hear his Verses and I must be gone Leave all my other work and cares alone And march from one to t'other end of Town But Sir there 's room the Street is clean and still And you may walk and think on what you will Yes here a Waggon bears a logg of Wood Or weighty Stone and groans beneath the Load Sad Funeral here do justle with a Dray And there the sweaty Carman bawls for way Here a Mad Dog and there a Sow doth fright Go now ' midst this and lofty Verses write Each Writer hates the Town and Woods approves Right Son of Bacchus pleas'd with shades and groves Yet ' midst these Tumults You would have me try To trace the narrow steps of Poetry The Man that takes learn'd Athens close retreat Who by himself doth study to be great When he hath study'd seven full tedious Years Grown old and grey upon his Books and Cares Yet after all this time and pains bestow'd Grows a meer stock and 's laught at by the Crowd Then ' midst the Waves and Tempests of the Town Where Cares do toss and vexing business drown Can I compose my thoughts can I aspire And Joyn fit words to tune the Roman Lyre 3. Two Brothers liv'd at Rome a Lawyer one And one a Rhetor noted both in Town Vain glorious both and studious of a name They blew their Trumpets to each others Name They one another did extreamly please And are not Poets frantick quite like These I Odes and one writes Elegy Divine A curious work polisht by all the Nine See how we strut and what a port we bear With what high scorn look o're the Theater The other Poets sneak and scarce appear But if You 've leasure stand aside and know Why each admires and praises t'other so Why wreath the Crown and why the Bays bestow We quarrel and with equal Fortune fight True Samnites draw the lingring War till Night Then strait in his Opinion I 'me divine Alcaeus well and what is He in Mine Callimachus or would he more Mimnermus Fame He gets and glorys in his borrow'd Name A Thousand things I suffer to asswage The waspish Poets and to cool their rage Because I write my self I plead their Cause I smooth and humbly beg the Crowds applause But when grown sober I shake off my Muse I 'le stop my Ears and unless hir'd to hear refuse Dull Rhymes are laugh't at yet we ne're give o're Our Writers smile and e'en themselves adore If you are slow to clap they swear 't is spite And praise themselves what happy they have writ 4. But He that hath a curious Piece design'd When He begins must take a Censor's mind Severe and honest and what words appear Too light and trivial or too weak to bear The weighty sense nor worth the Readers care Shake off tho stubborn they are loth to move And tho we fancy dearly tho we love Good words now grown obscure bring gently forth Relieve them from the dark and show their worth Us'd by the Antients tho consum'd by rage Of eating time and grown deform'd with Age And take new words begot by Parent use Prune the luxuriant and Correct the loose Pure flowing as a River roul along And bring new plenty to the Roman Tongue Reform and cut superfluous Branches off Strengthen the weaker words and smooth the rough Now pain'd now eas'd as one that must put on Now wanton Satyrs now a heavy Clown Now I had rather be a little Witt So my dull Verse my own dear self delight Then know my Faults be vext and dy with spight An Argive Gentleman as Stories say Did always fancy that he saw a Play The Actors dress and well wrought Scenes appear And clap't and smil'd in th' empty Theater In all Things else he shew'd a sober Mind A loving Neighbor and an honest Friend Kind to his Wife and generous to his Slave Nor when he saw the Barrel broach't would rave Would shun an open Well and dangerous Pitts And seem a perfect Man and in his Witts Him when his tender Friends with Cost and Pains Had cur'd and Physic gently purg'd his Brains He cry'd Ah me my Friends I am undone You 've ruin'd me now all my pleasure 's gone You have destroy'd whilst you design'd to save Y've lost the pleasant'st Cheat that man could have 5. 'T is time now to be wise forsake my Toys And leave my Verses proper sport for Boys Not follow Words and Numerous Songs contrive But seek fit measures and true rules to live 6. If what you drink should make your heats increase Would you not tell the Doctor your disease Now when the more you have you crave the more When Floods of Store shall make you thirst for store Won't you confess and this distemper own All this I use to think on when alone Suppose You had a Wound and One had show'd An Herb which you apply'd but found no good Would You be fond of this increase your pain And use the fruitless remedy again Thus when You hear on whom kind Heaven bestows Great heaps of Wealth they streight their folly loose And yet you cannot find your self more wise Because more rich you I follow their advice Could Wealth with God-like Prudence Minds Inspire Cure them of vexing Fear and fond Desire Then you should blush if all the World could show A sober Man more covetous than You. If that's oâ—r own which powerful Coin procures And Use as Lawyers say makes something ours The Field that feeds thee 's thine rich Orbus ploughs His Servant that Manures his Land and Sows Harrows the fruitful Clod that must afford Good Corn to Thee confesses thee his Lord One pays his Money and receives agen Eggs Pullets Grapes or else a flask of Wine And thus by these degrees the Farm he buys Bought at three Thousand pound or at a greater price Well then what difference is it whether now
Non usitatâ nec tenui ferar Pennâ biformis per liquidum aethere Vates M Burghers delin et sculp THE ODES SATYRS AND EPISTLES OF HORACE Done into English Qui cupit optatam Cursu contingere metam Multa Tulit fecitque Puer LONDON Printed for Jacob Tonson and Sold by Tim. Goodwin at the Maiden-head against St. Dunstans Church in Fleetstreet 1684. To the very much Esteemed JOHN DRYDEN Esq 'T Is pretended by every one that chooseth a Patron that either the Worth or good Nature of the Person hath determined him to that choice He professeth that He hath very mean thoughts of his own performance and so stands in need of a Protector He begs a Name whose Luster might shed some Reputation on his Work or else hath been oblig'd and bound in gratitude to make this publick acknowledgment of the goodness of the Man How eminently You Sir are endow'd with the first qualification of a Patron every one knows too well to need information and where can this trifle find a Corner that hath not been fill'd with Mr. Dryden's name 'T is You Sir that have advanc'd our Dramatick to its height and show'd that Epick Poetry is not confin'd to Italy and Greece That You are honored by the best and envy'd by others proclaims Excellency and Worth For True Honor is built only upon perfection And Envy as it is as sharp sighted so 't is as soaring as an Eagle and who ever saw it stoop at a Sparrow or a Wren And that Candor and Goodness have the greatest share in your Composition I dare appeal to every one whom You have any way honored with your Conversation These so fill your Mind that there is no room left for Pride or any disobliging quality This appears from the Encouragement You are ready to give any tolerable attempts and reach out a helping hand to all those who endeavour to climb that height where You are already seated E'en this own̄ its completion to those smiles which You condescended to bestow upon some parts of it and now ventures to appear a second time where at first it found a favourable Entertainment 'T is Horace Sir whom You have thought worthy your Study and Imitation that flys to You for Protection and perhaps will beg it against the Injuries I my self have done him You Sir are best acquainted with the difficulties of the Undertaking can most easily discover and as easily pardon the defects of SIR Your most Obliged Humble Servant Thomas Creech Oxon. All Souls Coll. May 25 th 1684. Preface QUintilian in the First Book of his Institutions instructs the Young Orator what to read and after Homer and Virgil are chiefly commended to his Study He tells him That considerable improvement may be made from the Lyrick Poets but there is great Care to be taken in the choice some select parts only out of each Author to be permitted Youths And he says particularly of Horace That He would not have all in Him interpreted What He means by Interpretation is evident to every one that understands the Extent of the word and the Antients Method of instructing and why this Caution is restrain'd to the Odes and not apply'd to the Satyrs as well since the reason upon which He fixes it seems common to both must be taken from the design and subject matter of the Poems To describe and reform a vitious man necessarily requires some expressions which an Ode can never want The Paint which an Artist uses must be agreeable to the Piece which He designs Satyr is to instruct and that supposeth a knowledge and discovery of the Crime Whilst Odes are made only to delight and please and therefore every thing in them that justly offends is unpardonable In our Common Schools this Rule of Quintilian is grievously neglected all is permitted to every Eye and laid open to the dullest sight by the most shameful Notes that can be pen'd You may see a Grammarian with a demure mouth cry out O Foedum at a loose expression and yet presently fill a Page with a more fulsom explication and the design of all his pains is only to indulge a petulant Humor or assist the lazy Ignorance of the common Instructors of our Youth If any should reckon this amongst the considerable Causes of the Corruptions of our Manners certainly all those would assent who see that a Stream will be foul when the Fountain it self is muddy Nor is this a single opinion as is evident from their happy industry who have corrected some of our Authors and sent them abroad naked and uncorrupted with forreign Notes This Method as it spares the Modesty of the Youth so it must be a considerable improvement to his Parts since his Mind and Memory and not only his Eye must be employ'd I am bound thankfully to acknowledg the Pious Care of Mr. Thomas Curganven now of Shirburn in Dorsetshire in this matter He did not want or if he had His Vertue and Industry had contemn'd such helps having searcht into the Secrets of the Classicks and being an excellent Example of unweary'd Diligence and regular Carriage to All under his Tuition To his Instruction I owe what at present I understand of these Books and to his Rules my hopes of future Attainments The same Principles made me Cautious of some Odes tho I have past by three more upon a different account This just debt being paid to my Honored Instructer the part that concerns my self Reader will give Thee little trouble I cannot choose but smile now and then to think that I who have not Musick enough to understand one Note and too little ill Nature for that is commonly thought a necessary ingredient to be a Satyrist should venture upon Horace 'T is certain our Language is not Capable of the numbers of the Poet and therefore if the Sense of the Author is deliver'd the variety of Expression kept which I must despair of after Quintilian hath assur'd us that he is most happily bold in his words and his Fancy not debas'd for I cannot think my self able to improve Horace 't is all that can be expected from a Version This the Admirable Cowly consider'd when he undertook Pindar and hath drawn a short and full Apology for the like undertakings We must consider says He the great difference of time betwixt his Age and ours which changes as in Pictures at least the Colors of Poetry the no less difference betwixt the Religions and Customs of our Countrys a Thousand particularities of Places Persons and Manners which do but confusedly appear to our Eyes at this distance and lastly which were enough alone for my purpose we must consider that our Ears are Strangers to the Musick of his numbers which sometimes especially in Songs and Odes almost without any thing else makes an excellent Poet 'T is true he improves this consideration and urges it as concluding against all strict and faithful versions in which I must beg leave to dissent thinking
The sport of Chance and turns of Fate And Impious Arms that flow'd With yet unexpiated blood The great Triumvirate And their Leagues Fatal to the Roman State A dangerous Work you write and tread O're Flames by treacherous Ashes hid Yet this you write and give to Fame A lasting Monument of our Fathers Shame But hold thy Mourning Muse forbear To tread the crowded Theater Till Quiet spread o're State Affairs Shall lend Thee time for meaner Cares And then inspir'd with Tragick rage Return to the forsaken Stage And mourn the Faults and Follies of the Age Methinks the Trumpet 's threatning Sound Disturbs our rest with fierce Alarms And from the shining Arms A dreadful lightning spreads around It darts pale fear through every Eye The Horses start and trembling Riders flie Methinks the Warlike Captains shouts are heard With sordid Dust how Gloriously besmear'd In Blood I see the Souldiers roul I see the World obey All yield and own great Caesar's sway beside the stubborn Cato's haughty Soul Juno and Africk's Guardian Power That left their ruin'd Seats before Unable to revenge their fall Hath now on Rome return'd disgrace And offer'd up the Victor's race To great Jugurtha's Ghost and Hannibal What Land is free what Plain Not Fatt'ned by the Roman Slain What cannot witness by the Graves it shows Our Empire 's fall whose Noise is spread O're Persia and the distant Mede The Sport and Laughter of our smiling Foes What Lake unstain'd before Not knows our War and swells with Latian Gore What Sea 's not dy'd on what unhappy Flood On what remoter Coast Have not our Youth been lost Grown Impiously Prodigal of their Blood Enough my Muse Complaints forbear With me to shady Grots retire Thy Mourning cease divert thy Care And there with softer touches move thy Lyre ODE II. The free and generous only are the happy Men. DEar Friend whose generous thoughts despise The creeping Fears of Avarice How Silver looks how mean and base How much below the common Brass Unless a Moderate use refine A value give and make it shine Kind Proculeius just and good In Fame as Noble as in Blood Who with a Father's care did grant Supplies and eas'd his Brother's Want Long long shall live surviving Fame On lasting Wings shall bear his Name That Man a wider Empire gains That his own craving wish restrains Than he whose Sword and wide Command Joyn distant Spain and Libya's Sand Than if they did his Arms obey And either Carthage own his sway The Dropsies still by Drink increase In Rain are all our hopes of ease The Jaws are dry the Thrist remains Until the fatal Humors cease Until the cause of the Disease Shall leave the swoln and craving Veins Phraates fixt in Cyrus Throne Ador'd like Persia's rising Sun True sence that scorns the Peoples test Ne're ranks amongst the happy Blest From cheats of Words the Crowd she brings To real Estimate of things To him she gives to him alone The Laurel and the lasting Throne Whose Eyes can unconcern'd behold The darling heaps of shining Gold Whose mind doth never Wealth pursue Nor turn to take a second view ODE III. He adviseth his Friend Delius to be content and live merrily AN even mind in every State Amidst the Frowns and Smiles of Fate Dear mortal Delius always show Let not too much of cloudy Fear Nor too intemperate joys appear Or to contract or to extend thy Brow Whether thy dull unhappy Years Run slowly clog'd with Hopes and Fears And sit too heavy on thy Soul Or whether crown'd on Beds of Flowers Mirth softly drives thy easy hours And cheers thy Spirits with the choicest Bowl Where Poplars white the lofty Pine And Myrtles friendly Branches joyn And hospitable shades compose Where near a purling Spring doth glide In winding Streams and softly chide The interrupting Pebble as it flows There bring thy Wine thy Odors spread Let fading Roses crown thy Head Whilst Wealth and Age and Life will bear For you must leave your Groves your House And Farm where yellow Tiber flows And thy heap'd Wealth shall fill thy greedy Heir For whether sprung from Royal Blood Or from themeanest of the Crowd 'T is all a Case for nought can save The Hand of Fate doth strike at all And thou art surely doom'd to fall A Sacrifice to the impartial Grave Our Lots are cast Fate shakes the Urn And each mans Lot must take his turn some soon leap out and some more late But still 't is sure each Mortals Lot Will doom his Soul to Charon's Boat To bear th' eternal Banishment of Fate ODE IV. To Xanthias Phoceus who fell in Love with his Captive DEar Xanthias t is a faulty shame Blush not to own a Noble flame Rais'd by thy Captives Charms The fair Brisëis once could move Achilles stubborn Soul to Love And force the haughty Heroe to her Arms Tecmessa's Charms subdu'd her Lord And Conquering Ajax soon ador'd By fair Cassandra's Eyes When Hector fell and left his Troy To weary Greeks an easy Prey E'en midst his Triumph great Atrides dies See what a Beauteous Majesty And how commanding is her Eye Her look proclaims her State She Mourns she Mourns a Royal Race And Parents equal to her Face And grieves to see so strange a whirl of Fate Ne're think her Friend of Common Blood Nor sprung from the dishonest Crow'd A mind so bravely bold So chast as to resist the Arts That take the mean unguarded Hearts The force of pressing Youth and Charms of Gold Her Face her Neck her Breast and Arms I praise not taken with her Charms Suspitious thoughts remove Let almost forty feeble Years Secure thy mind from jealous fears And tell that Horace is too old for Love ODE V. To his Friend in Love with a young Girl THy Heifer Friend is hardly broak Her neck uneasy to the Yoke She cannot draw the Plough nor bear The weight of the obliging Steer In flowry Meads is her delight Those charm her Tast and please her sight Or else she flies the burning Beams To quench her Thirst in cooler Streams Or with the Calves thro Pastures plays And wantons all her easy days Forbear design no hasty Rape On such a green untimely Grape Soon ruddy Autumn will produce Plump Clusters ripe and fit to use She now that flies shall then pursue She now that 's courted doat on you For Age whirls on and every year It takes from Thee it adds to Her Soon Lalage shall soon proclaim Her love nor blush to own her Flame Lov'd more for she more kindly warms Than Phloe coy or Cloris Charms So pure her Breast so fair a White As in a clear and smiling Night In quiet Floods the Silver Moon Or Cretan Gyges never Shone Who plac't amongst the Maids defies A skilful Stranger 's praying Eys So smooth his doubtful looks appear So loose to Womanish his Hair ODE VI. To SEPTIMIUS He wishes for a quiet retreat in his Old Age. SEptimius that wouldst
soft and base Still stick to their unhappy place You Men of worth unmanly grief give o're And nimbly pass the Thuscan Shore The Ocean waits and in smooth calmness smiles Let 's go and seek the happy Isles VVhere Fields untill'd a Yearly Harvest bear And Vines undress'd bloom all the Year VVhere Olives ne're the Farmers hopes do mock And ripe figs grace their proper Stock There Hony flows from Oaks from lofty Hills VVith murmuring pace the Fountain trills There Goats uncall'd return from fruithful Vales And bring stretcht Duggs to fill the Pails No Bear grinns round the Fold No Lambs He shakes No Field swells there with poysnous Snakes More we shall wonder on the happy Plain The VVatry East descends in Rain Yet so as to refresh not drown the Fields The temperate Glebe full Harvest yields No heat annoys the Ruler of the Gods From Plagues secures these blest Abodes Here Jason never fixt swift Argos Oars Nor base Medea toucht these Shores Ne're Cadmus came when forc't by angry Fates Nor stout Ulysses weary Mates No rot here Reigns no Star here taints the Meads And poysnous Heat unkindly sheds VVhen Jove allay'd the golden Age with Brass For Pious men He kept this place Now Iron hardens the old Brazen Age And Fraud grows up and Wars and Rage And every Ill I press a quick retreat And show the good the happy seat EPODE XVII To CANIDIA He confesseth Her Magick Power and begs pardon for abusing Her NOw now thy Power I Conquer'd own And humbly beg by Pluto's Throne By Powers below by Proserpine by fierce Diana's angry shrine By all those Charms that can remove And call down Stars from Seats above Recall thy stroak thy Charms forbear Spare me at last Canidia spare Achilles Teleph nobly spar'd Tho with his Mysian Bands He VVarr'd Tho boldly He oppos'd His Fate And buoy'd the sinking Trojan State Stout Hector doom'd to Beasts a Prey The Trojan Matrons bore away VVhen Priam midst the Grecian Fleet Had fall'n at proud Achilles Feet By Circe's leave Ulysses Men Receiv'd their former shapes agen Their Limbs their Minds and Voice restor'd They spoke not grunted to their Lord Enough enough hath vext my Soul O Tar's and Tinker's lovely Trull My Youth my rosy Cheeks are gone And left pale Skin stretcht o're the Bone My Head grows white it feels thy Bane No Ease doth lay me down from Pain Dayes urge the Nights and Nights the Dayes Yet my swoln Heart can find no Ease Now I 'me convinc't 't is now confest Thy force hath reacht my troubled Breast Now I 'me convinc't by wondrous Harms My Head is split with Magick Charms My slow Belief I sadly Mourn VVhat more O Earth O Floods I burn Not half the Heat Alcides bore VVhen fir'd by Nessus Poysnous Gore Not half the Heat in Aetna Reigns That scorches o're my boyling Veins Yet still you heat till I 'me calcin'd To Dust and scatter'd by the Wind What end of Pain What hope for ease Speak Speak I 'le suffer what you please I 'me eager to avoid my Fate And satisfie at any rate A Hundred Bulls shall pay their blood Or Lying Verse proclaim Thee good Chast Modest Just thou shalt appear And walk midst Stars a glorious Star Great Castor vext at Helen's wrong With blindness pay'd the railing Song Yet Prayers prevail'd He heard his Cries And soon restor'd the Poets Eyes And now forget my curst Offence Restore thou canst my perish'd sence O nobly Born and nobly Bred Thou ne're hadst skill to raise the Dead Unbind the Poor Mans quiet Urn Or make his shivering Soul return Nor scatter Ashes o're a Tomb As chast as fruitful is thy Womb And e're thy Child-bed Cloaths are clean Strange Breeder Thou art well agen CANIDIA 's Answer I 'Me deaf I 'me deaf thou beg'st in vain Rocks beaten by the raging Main Not half so deaf will sooner hear The naked sinking Mariner Could'st Thou Cotytto's Rites reprove Disclose my Mysteries of Love Could Censuring you my Tricks proclaim And fill the Country with my Fame At all my Arts prophanely laugh Yet clare to fancy to be safe In vain thou shalt in vain inrich With precious Gifts the famous Witch In vain strong Drugs and Charms require Fate shall be slow to thy desire Wretch hated Life shall still remain That thou might'st bear new racks of Pain False Tantalus doth beg for rest Deluded by the hanging Feast Condemn'd the griping Vultur's Prey Prometheus begs a dying Day Poor Sisyphus would fix his Stone But Jove forbids it to be done Now thou from Towers shalt madly fall Now run thy Head against a Wall And tir'd at last with squeamish pain Shalt tye the noose but tye in vain Then on thy neck I 'le bravely ride And make Thee bend beneath my Pride Shall I that can when e're I please Wast men by waxen Images Shall I that can as thou hast known Curst prying Thou eclipse the Moon Drawn down the Stars from Seats above And mix a furious Cup of Love Shall powerful I now grieve to see My force too weak to baffle Thee The End of the Epodes M Burghers sculp SATYRS BOOK I. The Heads of the first Satyr 1. Against the general Discontent of Mankind none being content with his own Condition still thinking his Neighbour happier and yet would refuse to change with him 2. Against Covetousness 3. That the Covetous is the most discontented 1. WHence comes my Lord this general discontent Why All dislike the State that Chance hath sent Or their own Choice procur'd why All repent The weary Souldier now grown old in Wars With bleeding Eyes looks o're his Wounds and Scars Curse that E're I the trade of War began Ah me the Merchant is a happy Man The Merchant when the Waves and Winds are high Crys happy happy Men at Arms for why You fight and streight comes Death or joyful Victory The Lawyer that 's disturb'd before 't is light By restless Clients or that wakes all night Grows sick and when He finds his rest is gone Crys happy Farmers that can sleep till Noon The weary Client thinks the Lawyer blest And craves a City Life for that 's the best So many Instances in every state That mourn their own but praise their Neighbours fate 'T would tire even bawling Fabius to relate But to be short see I 'le adjust the Thing Suppose some God should say I 'le please you now You Lawyer leave the Bar and take the Plough You Souldier too shall be a Merchant made Go Go and follow each his proper trade How what refuse and discontented still And yet They may be happy if They will Now would not this vex Jove and make him rage Hath he not reason now to scourge the Age And puff and swear He 'd never hear again No They should vow and pray but pray in vain Yet not to laugh and let my Muse be loose As 't were my whole design to be jocose Altho I may
How great an Interest Sir I have in You For He still asks and begs me as a Friend He importunes me that I would Commend And bring him to your Service He is fit For Nero's Train and Love who does admit None but good Men and Men of Sense and Wit He thinks me Intimate my Interest good And more than I my self e're understood I long deny'd a thousand tricks I us'd And urg'd a thousand things to be excus'd But fearing I should seem too shy to own My Power with you kind to my self alone And scandals of a worser fault prevent I 'me turn'd my Lord a modest Impudent I boldly ask now if you dare Commend My boldness in the Service of my Friend Accept Septimius let him fill your Train I promise him a stout and honest Man EPISTLE X. To his Friend Fuscus Aristius 1. Prefers the Country before the City 2. The Covetous must be Slaves ALL Health I lover of the Country send To Fuscus the gay City's greatest Friend Brothers in all things else what one approves Or flies the other likewise hates or loves We Nod together like old acquainted Doves And now we disagree in this alone Our humors differ here you love the Town And I the pleasant Plains and purling Flood The Groves and mossy Banks and shady Wood. In short I Live I Reign since I 'me retir'd From that which you as much as Heaven admir'd Like one at last from the Priests service fled Loathing the hony'd Cakes I long for Bread Do You a Life to Natures Rules design And seek some fit Foundation to begin Some Basis where this happy Frame to raise The quiet Countrey is the fittest place Where is the Winter 's Cold more mild than here And when the Sun ascends and burns the year Where does a more delightful Wind asswage The furious Dog-stars or the Lions rage Or where do envious Cares break fewer dreams Do Flowers shine less or smell less sweet than Gems Are Streams more pure that Leaden Pipes convey Than those fair Springs that with their wanton play And gentle murmurs eat their easie Way E'en midst our Palaces we plant a Grove And Gardens dress our Care shows what we love That House is most esteem'd He wisely builds That hath a Prospect to the open fields Strive to expel strong Nature 't is in vain With doubled force she will return again And conquering rise above the proud disdain Not those that drive a Trade in Tyrian dyes Yet know not Counterfeits nor how to prize More vexing and more certain Cheats pursue Than Those that can't distinguish false from True Those whom the smiles of Fate too much delight Their sudden Frowns more shake and more affright What you admire You will be loath to lose Greatness and Fortune's guilded snares refuse An humble Roof plain Bed and humble Board More clear and more untainted sweets afford Than all the Tumult of vain greatness brings To Kings or the swoln Favourites of Kings 2. Both fed together till with injur'ous force The stoutest Deer expell'd the weaker Horse He beaten flyes to Man to right his Cause Begs help and takes the Bridle in his Jaws Yet tho He Conquer'd tho He rul'd the Plain He bore the Rider still and felt the Rein. Thus the mean Wretch that fearing to be poor Doth sell his Liberty for meaner Ore Must bear a Lord He must be still a Slave That cannot use the little Nature gave Him whom his Wealth doth not exactly fit Whose stores too closely or too loosely sit Like Shoes ill made and faulty if too great They overturn and pinch him if too strait Content Aristus with thy present store Thou wilt live wisely and not wish for more And let me prithee feel thy sharp reproof If I shall strive for more than just enough Money must rule or must obey the Mind More fit for Service than for Rule design'd Behind Vacuna's Fane these lines I drew Well pleas'd with every thing but wanting you EPISTLE XI To his Friend Bullatus who had been Travelling That happiness may be had any where BUllatus how did pretty Samos show Chios and stately Sardis let me know If They are such as Fame reports or no Or can you find more pretty things at home Are all these places mean compar'd to Rome Or else doth some Attalian City please Or Lebedus where tir'd with boist'rous Seas And tedious Roads You first sat down to ease Now Desert Lebedus contains but few And less than Gabii or Fidenoe knew Yet there my days I with Content could spend Forget and be forgot by every Friend There safe at shore see Winds and Storms engage And smile from Land at distant Neptune's rage But he that comes to Rome thro Rain and Mire Would not live always by a Kitchin Fire And he that 's cold commends not Baths and Heat As if they made a happy life compleat Nor ' cause Storms toss should'st thou straight seek thy ease And sell thy Ship beyond Aegaean Seas Fair Mytelene will prove as great a good To Men of sober Minds as Tyber's Flood To Swimmers when cold Winds severely blow As Freeze in Summer Silks in Frost and Snow Whilst Fortune smiles and gives Thee happy days Chios at Rome and absent Samos praise Take thankfully those hours the Gods shall give Use whilst you may and be not slow to live For if 't is Reason and not change of Air That brings soft Rest and frees our Souls from Care Those that beyond Sea go shall sadly find They change their Climate only not their Mind A busie idleness destroys our ease We Ride and Sail to seek for happiness Yet what we seek with every Tide and Wind We can e'en here or at Ulubra find If we can have but a contented Mind EPISTLE XII 1. Desires his Friend Iccius to be content 2. Commends Pompey Grosphus to him 3. Tells how the Affairs in Italy stand 1. IF You can use Agrippa's vast Estate Which now you manage 't is the height of Fate Not Jove himself could give a greater store Tho grown profuse my Friend complain no more He that hath things for use is never poor If Thou hast cleanly Food and Cloaths enough What more than this can kingly Wealth bestow If at full Tables stor'd with dainty meat You can contain and Herbs and Mallows eat Thus thou wilt live if prodigal of her store The Golden Streams of Fortune guild Thee o're ' Cause Mony cannot Natures stamp deface And all things you below true Vertue place Why should we wonder is it strange to find Democritus grown poorer whilst his mind Was gone abroad and left his Limbs behind Whilst You thro Clogs of gain can nobly climb And midst dull Avarice think on Things Sublime What bounds the raging Sea what rules the Year Whether by their own force the Planets err Or some Superior Guide what spreads the Night What hides the Moon What fills her face with Light What disagreeing Seeds of Things can