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163

EPISTLE XX. To his Book.

You seem to cast, my vent'rous book,
Towards the town a wishful look,
That thee the chapmen may demand,
Where Janus, and Vertumnus stand;
When polish'd by the binder's art.—
Both keys and seals, with all your heart,
You hate, and every thing refuse
Which all your modest volumes chuse.
You grudge that you are shewn to few,
Desirous of the public view,
On other principles compil'd—
Away then, since you are so wild—
When once set off there's no return—
Soon shall you say with much concern—
Ah! wretch, what wou'd I, when your pride
Is by some reader mortified,
And in some narrow nook you stick,
When curiosity is sick,
But if the augur do not dream,
In wrath for this your desp'rate scheme;
At Rome you'll be a welcome guest,
As long as you are new at least.
But when all dirty you become,
In witness of the vulgar thumb,
165

Or groveling book-worms you must feed,
Or for us Utica shall speed;
Or bundled up in packthread chain,
Be sent a transport into Spain.
The good adviser, all the while,
To whom you gave no heed, will smile:
As he who from the mountain threw
The sulky ass, that wou'd not do
His bus'ness—“then go down the hill—
“Who'd save an ass against his will.”
This destiny too must remain—
Thee faultring dotage shall detain
About the city-skirts to teach
The boys their rudiments of speech.
And when the servency of day
Brings you more hearers, you must say,
That poor and meanly born at best,
I spread my wings beyond my nest,
And what you from my birth subtract,
You for my virtues must exact;
That peace or war, I still was great,
With the first pillars of the state,
Short-siz'd, and prematurely grey,
Form'd for th'intensity of day,
With passion ev'n to phrenzy seiz'd,
But very easily appeas'd.
If any person by the bye
Shou'd ask how old I am, reply,
167

That when the fasces were assign'd,
To Lepidus and Lollius join'd,
I was full out, and fairly told,
Four times eleven Decembers old.
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