And what of life they take from thee,
The Gods may give to punish me.
Thy portion is a wealthy ftock,
A fertile Glebe, a fruitful Flock,
Horfes and Chariots for thy ease,
Rich Robes to deck and make thee please.
For me a little Cell I chufe,
Fit for my Mind, fit for my Muse,
Which foft content does beft adorn,
Shunning the Knaves and Fools I fcorn.
The First EPODE of HORACE.
'HEN you, Macenas, with your Train, Embarking on the Royal Fleet, Expofe your felves to the rough Main,
And Cafar's threatning danger meet. Whilft in ignoble Eafe I am left behind, And fhall I call you cruel, or too kind?
Paftimes and Wine, which Verfe inspire,
Are taftelefs all now you are gone;
Untun'd is both my Mind and Lyre,
And in full Courts I feem alone.
The relish you to my enjoyments give,
And life, depriv'd of you, cou'd hardly live,
Then should I a young Seaman grow,
And take a Cutlace in my hand?
Yes, with you, to the Pole I'd go,
Or tread fcorch'd Afric's treacherous fand,
And I perhaps could fight, or fuch as I,
At least, inftead of better men could die,
You'll fay, what are my pains to you?
I'm not for War, and Action made:
Bid me my humble Care purfue,
Seek Winter Sun, and Summer shade.
Whilft both your great Example, and Commands Require more active, and experienc'd Hands.
If you fay this, you never knew
Friendship, the nobleft part of love;
What for her Fawn can th' old One do?
Or for her young the timorous Dove?
They're more at eafe, tho' helpless, being near,
And absence, even in fafety, causes fear.
VI.
This Voyage, and a hundred more,
To gain your favour I wou'd take:
But don't what's faid on vertues fcore,
For fervile flattery mistake.
No City Palace, or large Country Seat
1 feek, nor aim fo low as to be Great.
VII.
I never lik'd those restless minds,
Which by mean Arts, with mighty pain,
Climb to the Region of the Winds,
Then of Court Hurricanes complain.
Kind Heav'n affures me I fhall ne'er be poor,
And Os-----n be damn'd to encrease his store,
Intended to have been spoken by the Lady Henr. Mar. Wentworth, when Califto was Acted at Court.
As againe
S Jupiter I made my Court in vain,
I'm weary to be fo unkindly us'd,
And would not be a God to be refus'd.
State grows uneafie when it hinders love,
A glorious Burden, which the wife remove.
Now as a Nymph I need not fue, nor try
The force of any lightning but the Eye.
Beauty and Youth more than a God command;
No Jove could e'er the force of these withstand.
'Tis here that Sovereign Power admits dispute,
Beauty fometimes is juftly abfolute.
Our fullen Cato's, whatfoe'er they say,
Even while they frown and dictate Laws, obey.
You, mighty Sir, our bonds more eafie make,
And gracefully what all muft fuffer, take.
Above thofe forms the Grave affect to wear;
For 'tis not to be wife to be fevere.
True wisdom may fome gallantry admit,
And soften bufinefs with the charms of wit.
Thefe peaceful Triumphs with your cares you
bought,
And from the midst of fighting Nations brought.
You only hear it thunder from afar,
And fit in Peace the Arbiter of War.
Peace, the loath'd Manna, which hot Brains despise
You knew its worth, and made it early prize:
And in its happy leisure fit and fee
The promises of more felicity.
Two glorious Nymphs of your own God-like line,
Whose Morning Rays like Noontide strike and shine,
Whom you to fuppliant Monarchs fhall dispose,
To bind your Friends and to disarm your Foes.
SARPEDON's Speech to GLAUCUS, in the 12th Iliad of Homer.
By Sir John Denham.
Thus to Glaucus fpake
Ivine Sarpedon, fince he did not find
Above the reft, why is our Pomp, our Power?
Our Flocks, our Herds, and our Poffeffions more?
Why all the Tributes Land and Sea affords,
Heap'd in great Chargers, load our fumptuous
Our chearful Guests caroufe the fparkling tears
Of the rich Grape, whilst Musick charms their ears,
Why as we pafs do thofe on Xanthus fhore,
As Gods behold us, and as Gods adore?
But that as well in danger, as degree
We ftand the first; that when our Lycians fee
Our brave examples, they admiring fay,
Behold our Gallant Leaders! These are They
Deferve the Greatnefs; and un-envied ftand:
Since what they act, transcends what they command,
Could the declining of this Fate (oh friend)
Our Date to Immortality extend?
Or if Death fought not them, who seek not Death,
Would I advance? Or fhould my vainer breath
With fuch a Glorious Folly thee inspire?
But fince with Fortune Nature doth confpire,
Since Age, Disease, or fome lefs noble End,
Though not lefs certain, doth our days attend;
Since 'tis decreed, and to this period lead
A thousand ways, the nobleft path we'll tread
And bravely on, till they, or we, or all,
A common Sacrifice to Honour fall.
An ELEGY
Upon the Death of the Lord HASTINGS. By Sir John Denham.
REader, preferve thy peace: those bufie eyes
Will weep at their own fad Discoveries;
When every line they add, improves thy lofs;
"Till, having view'd the whole, they fum a Crofs,
Such as derides thy Paffions beft relief,
And fcorns the fuccours of thy eafie Grief.
Yer left thy ignorance betray thy name
Of Man, and Pious; read, and mourn: the fhame
Of an exemption from just sense, doth show
Irrational, beyond exceffive Wo.
Since Reafon then can privilege a Tear,
Manhood uncenfur'd, pay that Tribute here
Upon this noble Urn. Here, here remains
Duft far more precious than in India's veins :
Within thefe cold embraces ravish'd lies
That which compleats the Ages Tyrannies ;
Who weak to fuch another Ill appear:
For, what deftroys our Hope, fecures our Fear.
What Sin unexpiated in this Land
Of Groans, hath guided fo fevere a hand?
The late great Victim that your Altars knew,
You angry Gods, might have excus'd this new
Oblation; and have spar'd one lofty Light
Of Virtue, to inform our steps aright:
By whofe Example good, condemned we
Might have run on to kinder Deftiny.
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