Medulla Poetarum Romanorum Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker |
 | I. |
|
 |
|
Flattery.
|
| II. |
 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Flattery.
See Courtship.
These prudent Folks are full of Flattery:
They make a Wit of their insipid Friend,
His blubber Lips, and beetle Brows commend:
His long Crane-Neck, and narrow Shoulders praise,
You'd think they were describing Hercules.
A creaking Voice for a clear Treble goes,
Tho' harsher than a Cock's that treads and crows.—
They make a Wit of their insipid Friend,
His blubber Lips, and beetle Brows commend:
361
You'd think they were describing Hercules.
A creaking Voice for a clear Treble goes,
Tho' harsher than a Cock's that treads and crows.—
'Tis all a Comedy: but laugh, and they
Return it louder than an Ass can bray:
Grieve, and they grieve: if You weep silently,
There seems a silent Eccho in their Eye,
They cannot mourn like You, but they can cry.
Call for a Fire, their Winter Cloths they take,
Begin but You to shiver, and they shake:
In Frost and Snow if You complain of Heat,
They rub th' unsweating Brow, and swear they sweat.—
Return it louder than an Ass can bray:
Grieve, and they grieve: if You weep silently,
There seems a silent Eccho in their Eye,
They cannot mourn like You, but they can cry.
Call for a Fire, their Winter Cloths they take,
Begin but You to shiver, and they shake:
In Frost and Snow if You complain of Heat,
They rub th' unsweating Brow, and swear they sweat.—
Or Day, or Night, they're like a Looking-Glass,
Still ready to reflect their Patron's Face:
Their panegyrick Hand, and lifted Eye,
Are still prepar'd for fulsome Flattery:
Ev'n Nastiness Occasions will afford;
They praise a belching or well-p---ss---ng Lord.—
Still ready to reflect their Patron's Face:
Their panegyrick Hand, and lifted Eye,
Are still prepar'd for fulsome Flattery:
Ev'n Nastiness Occasions will afford;
They praise a belching or well-p---ss---ng Lord.—
Nothing so monstrous can be said or feign'd,
But with Belief and Joy is entertain'd,
When to his Face the worthless Wretch is prais'd,
Whom vile Court-Flatt'ry to a God has rais'd.—
But with Belief and Joy is entertain'd,
When to his Face the worthless Wretch is prais'd,
Whom vile Court-Flatt'ry to a God has rais'd.—
Deceitful Flatt'ry does the Soul betray,
As hollow Banks by Streams are worn away.
Tell her, her Face is fair, her Hair is sweet,
Her taper Fingers praise, and little Feet:
Such Praises ev'n the Chaste are pleas'd to hear:
Both Maids and Matrons hold their Beauty dear.
Praise the proud Peacock, and he spreads his Train:
Be silent, and he pulls it in again:
Pleas'd is the Courser in his rapid Race,
Applaud his running, and he mends his Pace,—
As hollow Banks by Streams are worn away.
Tell her, her Face is fair, her Hair is sweet,
Her taper Fingers praise, and little Feet:
Such Praises ev'n the Chaste are pleas'd to hear:
Both Maids and Matrons hold their Beauty dear.
Praise the proud Peacock, and he spreads his Train:
Be silent, and he pulls it in again:
Pleas'd is the Courser in his rapid Race,
Applaud his running, and he mends his Pace,—
Thou, who desir'st to keep the fair One's Heart,
To flatter well apply thy utmost Art:
With frequent Raptures on her Beauty gaze,
And make her Form the Subject of thy Praise,
Purple commend, when she's in Purple dress'd:
In Scarlet, swear she looks in Scarlet best:
Array'd in Gold, her graceful Mein adore,
Vowing those Eyes transcend the sparkling Ore:
If Crape she wears,—What can become her more!
When dress'd in Colours, praise a colour'd Dress,
Her Hair, or curl'd, or comb'd, commend no less.
Singing, her Voice, dancing, her Air admire;
Complain when she leaves off, and still desire.—
To flatter well apply thy utmost Art:
With frequent Raptures on her Beauty gaze,
And make her Form the Subject of thy Praise,
363
In Scarlet, swear she looks in Scarlet best:
Array'd in Gold, her graceful Mein adore,
Vowing those Eyes transcend the sparkling Ore:
If Crape she wears,—What can become her more!
When dress'd in Colours, praise a colour'd Dress,
Her Hair, or curl'd, or comb'd, commend no less.
Singing, her Voice, dancing, her Air admire;
Complain when she leaves off, and still desire.—
In vain, mean Flatteries, ye try,
To gnaw the Lip, and fall the Eye:
No Man a God or Lord I name:
From Romans far be such a Shame!
Go teach the supple Parthian how
To veil the Bonnet on his Brow:
Or on the Ground, all prostrate fling
Some Pict, before his barbarous King.—
To gnaw the Lip, and fall the Eye:
No Man a God or Lord I name:
From Romans far be such a Shame!
Go teach the supple Parthian how
To veil the Bonnet on his Brow:
Or on the Ground, all prostrate fling
Some Pict, before his barbarous King.—
Please not thy self the flatt'ring Croud to hear,
Tis fulsom Stuff to feed thy itching Ear.
Reject the nauseous Praises of the Times:
Give the base Poets back their cobbled Rhimes:—
Thyself consider well, that Thou may'st find
How much there wants to furnish out thy Mind.—
Tis fulsom Stuff to feed thy itching Ear.
Reject the nauseous Praises of the Times:
Give the base Poets back their cobbled Rhimes:—
Thyself consider well, that Thou may'st find
How much there wants to furnish out thy Mind.—
As hired Mourners, at a Fun'ral, speak,
And act, with more Extravagance of Grief,
Than those, whose Hearts a real Sorrow know,
So flatt'ring Sycophants more Zeal betray,
Than real Friends.—
And act, with more Extravagance of Grief,
Than those, whose Hearts a real Sorrow know,
So flatt'ring Sycophants more Zeal betray,
Than real Friends.—
True Friends and faithless Flatt'rers differ more,
Than a chast Matron and a common Whore.—
Than a chast Matron and a common Whore.—
There's a Sort of People in the World who set up for Wits of the first Rate, and yet have no more Brains than Maggots: Now these are the Men for my Turn: I laugh at them, and at the same Time praise their Parts to the Skies. If they say any Thing, I cry it up too: if they unsay it, I commend them for that too: what they deny, I deny: what they affirm, I affirm: In short, I've brought myself to be of their Mind in every Thing, and by this means I get many a sweet Bit and a sweet Penny.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |