Certain Selected Odes Of Horace, Englished and their Arguments annexed. With Poems (Antient and Modern) of diuers Subjects, Translated. Whereunto are added, both in Latin and English, sundry new Epigrammes. Anagrammes. Epitaphes [by John Ashmore] |
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Ad Licinium. Lib. 2. Ode 10.
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 | Certain Selected Odes Of Horace, Englished |  |
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Ad Licinium. Lib. 2. Ode 10.
The Argvment.
Those that desire soone to aspireTo happinesse of life,
By th'golden meane, the same must gain,
Which most is freed from strife.
Thou shalt Licinius better live, if still
Thy Bark thou doe not force into the Deep;
Or, ore-much fearing lest rough windes should fill
Thy sailes, too neer the crooked shore do creep.
Thy Bark thou doe not force into the Deep;
Or, ore-much fearing lest rough windes should fill
Thy sailes, too neer the crooked shore do creep.
He that regards and loues the golden meane,
Is not with smoak of his poore house blear-ey'd:
And, well advis'd, he blends not with the traine
Of mighty Princes that are most envy'd.
Is not with smoak of his poore house blear-ey'd:
And, well advis'd, he blends not with the traine
Of mighty Princes that are most envy'd.
Oft-times, the windes do toss the Cedars tall:
And stately Towers up-reard into the ayre,
With greater danger to the earth do fall:
And thunder-bolts the highest hils doe teare.
And stately Towers up-reard into the ayre,
With greater danger to the earth do fall:
And thunder-bolts the highest hils doe teare.
In all distress, a well instructed minde
Hope intertaines: And feares, when fortune smiles,
That suddenly shee'll turne and prove unkinde.
Ioue black fac't winters brings and them exiles.
Hope intertaines: And feares, when fortune smiles,
That suddenly shee'll turne and prove unkinde.
Ioue black fac't winters brings and them exiles.
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If now wisht-for success do thee refuse,
Think not that still it will continue so:
Sometime Apollo's Harp the drooping Muse
Strikes up, Nor bends he still his angry bowe.
Think not that still it will continue so:
Sometime Apollo's Harp the drooping Muse
Strikes up, Nor bends he still his angry bowe.
If clowds of hard mishap ore-cast thy day,
With beames of thy great courage them expell:
And when thy Ship doth dance upon the Sea,
Led down the sailes with too proud windes that swell.
With beames of thy great courage them expell:
And when thy Ship doth dance upon the Sea,
Led down the sailes with too proud windes that swell.
| Certain Selected Odes Of Horace, Englished | |