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182

EPODE II.

IN PRAISE OF A COUNTRY LIFE.

“Beatus ille qui procul negotiis.”

Happy he, who free from care
Breathes the sweets of country air,
Far from town, where traffic drives,
Noisy brats, and scolding wives.
Anxious thoughts, and worldly schemes
Ne'er disturb his pleasing dreams;
War for him has no alarms,
When ambition calls to arms.
Honest, he abjures the Law;
Splendid Courts he never saw;
Courts, where Placemen, night and day,
Flatter first, and then betray.
If, to cheat the ling'ring time,
Goddess Mirth provoke a rhyme,
Full of wit it smoothly runs,
Quaint conceits, and merry puns.

183

Formal pedants, bred at schools,
Boast of Aristotle's rules;
Such, let cringing bards obey,
Servile wits, who write for pay.
Nought restrains his Muse of whim,
Critics dull may rail for him;
Still he rhymes, and writes it down,
Let them smile, or let them frown.
If the bounteous Gods afford
Some kind wife to spread his board,
See him blest with, day and night,
Converse sweet and chaste delight.
Would you once his mind bewitch—
Give him wealth, and make him rich:
Keep him to his low degree,
Kings are not so blest as he.