A paraphrase upon the canticles and some select hymns of the New and Old Testament, with other occasional compositions in English verse. By Samuel Woodford |
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ODE.
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 | A paraphrase upon the canticles |  |
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ODE.
To Posthumus.
Mortem Vitari non posse.
Hor. l. 2. Ode 14.
Time
Posthu'mus scuds it with full Sail,
Nor can thine honest Heart avail,
A furrow'd Brow, Old Age at hand,
Or Death unconquer'd to withstand;
One long Night
Shall hide this Light,
From all our sight,
And equal Death,
Shall few Days hence stop every Breath.
Nor can thine honest Heart avail,
A furrow'd Brow, Old Age at hand,
Or Death unconquer'd to withstand;
One long Night
Shall hide this Light,
From all our sight,
And equal Death,
Shall few Days hence stop every Breath.
Tho thou whole Hecatombs shouldst bring.
To' attone the' inexorable King,
Who Geryon, and Tytius bold,
In Chains of Stygian Waves does hold;
He' ll not prize,
But despise,
Thy Sacrifice;
Death thou must feel,
'Tis so decreed by th' fatal Wheel.
To' attone the' inexorable King,
Who Geryon, and Tytius bold,
In Chains of Stygian Waves does hold;
He' ll not prize,
But despise,
Thy Sacrifice;
Death thou must feel,
'Tis so decreed by th' fatal Wheel.
The numerous Off-spring of the Earth,
That feed on Her, who gave them Birth,
Must have, each Birth its Funeral,
The Womb, and Urn 's alike to all;
Kings must Die,
And as low lie,
As thou and I;
And though they have
Atchievements here, there 's none ith' Grave.
That feed on Her, who gave them Birth,
Must have, each Birth its Funeral,
The Womb, and Urn 's alike to all;
Kings must Die,
And as low lie,
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And though they have
Atchievements here, there 's none ith' Grave.
In vain we bloody Battels fly,
And fear to sail, when Seas are high;
Fear Plagues, or an Infectious Breath,
When every Hour brings a new Death:
Time will Mow
What e're we Sow;
Weal or Wo,
Shall have an end;
And this, tho' unwilling, Fates must send.
And fear to sail, when Seas are high;
Fear Plagues, or an Infectious Breath,
When every Hour brings a new Death:
Time will Mow
What e're we Sow;
Weal or Wo,
Shall have an end;
And this, tho' unwilling, Fates must send.
Cocytus Lake thou must waft o're,
Thy tattred Boat shall touch that Shore;
Thou Sisyphus e're long must know,
And into new Acquaintance grow:
Shalt, with Life,
Leave House and Wife,
Thy Loves and Strife;
And have no Tree,
But the sad Cypress follow Thee.
Thy tattred Boat shall touch that Shore;
Thou Sisyphus e're long must know,
And into new Acquaintance grow:
Shalt, with Life,
Leave House and Wife,
Thy Loves and Strife;
And have no Tree,
But the sad Cypress follow Thee.
Mean while thine Heir shall nobly quaff,
What thou with hundred Locks kepst safe;
Cæcuban Wines, and wash the Floor,
With Juice would make an Emperor poor:
Doubt it not,
'Twill be thy lot,
To be forgot,
With all thy Deeds,
E're he puts on his Mourning Weeds.
What thou with hundred Locks kepst safe;
Cæcuban Wines, and wash the Floor,
With Juice would make an Emperor poor:
Doubt it not,
'Twill be thy lot,
To be forgot,
With all thy Deeds,
E're he puts on his Mourning Weeds.
[_]
Tho the Publisher has several Translations of his own, of some of the Moral Odes, &c. of Horace so falsly
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| A paraphrase upon the canticles | |