The Works of Horace In English Verse By several hands. Collected and Published By Mr. Duncombe. With Notes Historical and Critical |
 | 1. |
 | 2. |
| 5. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. | EPISTLE VIII. To Celsus Albinovanus.
|
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
 | The Works of Horace In English Verse |  |
385
EPISTLE VIII. To Celsus Albinovanus.
On
Nero's Secretary, Muse, attend;
Wishes of Joy and good Success I send:
Should he the Compliment return, and say,
‘How does your Master pass the vacant Day?’
Tell him, though threatening many a great Design,
Life's prudent Part, or pleasant, is not mine.
Not that my Vineyards or my Olives fail,
Destroy'd by Drought, or driving Storms of Hail;
Not that my Cattle die in distant Fields;
No, but because my Mind no Harvest yields.
In Mind less healthy than in Body sound,
I to myself a restless Foe am found;
More fond of my Disease than of the Cure,
I hate my Doctor, nor my Friends endure;
Am angry when my Slumbers they would break,
And from its Lethargy my Soul awake;
To Things that hurt me obstinately run,
But what may profit me delight to shun:
Loathing what I possess, my fickle Mind
Veers, like a Vane, with every Gust of Wind:
Uneasy still from Place to Place I rove;
At Tibur, Rome; at Rome, I Tibur love.
Wishes of Joy and good Success I send:
Should he the Compliment return, and say,
‘How does your Master pass the vacant Day?’
Tell him, though threatening many a great Design,
Life's prudent Part, or pleasant, is not mine.
Not that my Vineyards or my Olives fail,
Destroy'd by Drought, or driving Storms of Hail;
Not that my Cattle die in distant Fields;
No, but because my Mind no Harvest yields.
In Mind less healthy than in Body sound,
I to myself a restless Foe am found;
More fond of my Disease than of the Cure,
I hate my Doctor, nor my Friends endure;
Am angry when my Slumbers they would break,
And from its Lethargy my Soul awake;
To Things that hurt me obstinately run,
But what may profit me delight to shun:
386
Veers, like a Vane, with every Gust of Wind:
Uneasy still from Place to Place I rove;
At Tibur, Rome; at Rome, I Tibur love.
Next ask of his Affairs: If in the Grace
Of the young Prince and Court he holds a Place.
If so, rejoice; then whisper in his Ear,
‘We shall bear You, as You your Fortune bear.’
Of the young Prince and Court he holds a Place.
If so, rejoice; then whisper in his Ear,
‘We shall bear You, as You your Fortune bear.’
| The Works of Horace In English Verse | |