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 |
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Infant.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Infant.
Like some poor Sailor by the Tempest hurl'd
Ashore, the Babe is shipwreck'd on the World:
Naked he lies, and ready to expire,
Helpless of all that human Wants require:
Expos'd upon th' unhospitable Earth,
From the first Moment of his hapless Birth:
Straight with foreboding Cries he fills the Room,
Too sure Presages of his future Doom.
Ashore, the Babe is shipwreck'd on the World:
Naked he lies, and ready to expire,
Helpless of all that human Wants require:
Expos'd upon th' unhospitable Earth,
From the first Moment of his hapless Birth:
Straight with foreboding Cries he fills the Room,
Too sure Presages of his future Doom.
But Flocks, and Herds, and ev'ry savage Beast,
By more indulgent Nature are increas'd:
They want no Rattles for their froward Mood,
No Nurse to reconcile them to their Food,
With broken Words: nor Winter Blasts they fear,
Nor change their Habits with the changing Year:
Nor for their Safety Citadels prepare,
Nor forge the wicked Instruments of War.
Unlabour'd Earth her bounteous Treasure grants,
And Nature's lavish Hands supply their common Wants.—
—An Infant in the Mother's Womb,
By more indulgent Nature are increas'd:
They want no Rattles for their froward Mood,
No Nurse to reconcile them to their Food,
With broken Words: nor Winter Blasts they fear,
Nor change their Habits with the changing Year:
537
Nor forge the wicked Instruments of War.
Unlabour'd Earth her bounteous Treasure grants,
And Nature's lavish Hands supply their common Wants.—
Does by Degrees the Form of Man assume:
There sleeps till all the Parts proportion bear,
Nor tasts, till ripe for Life, the common Air.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |