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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Know Thyself.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Know Thyself.
From Heav'n, to Mortals, sure, that Rule was sent,
Of Know Thyself: and, by some God, was meant,
To be our never-erring Pilot here,
Thro' all the various Courses which we steer.—
Of Know Thyself: and, by some God, was meant,
To be our never-erring Pilot here,
Thro' all the various Courses which we steer.—
E'er Thou attempt weak Causes to support,
Be sure, be very sure, Thou'rt able for't:
And don't mistake strong Lungs, and Impudence,
For Harmony of Words, and Force of Sense.
Fools only make Attempts beyond their Skill:
A wise Man's Pow'r's the Limits of his Will.—
Be sure, be very sure, Thou'rt able for't:
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For Harmony of Words, and Force of Sense.
Fools only make Attempts beyond their Skill:
A wise Man's Pow'r's the Limits of his Will.—
Thyself consider well, that Thou may'st find,
How much there wants to furnish out thy Mind.—
How much there wants to furnish out thy Mind.—
Sound Reason still is whispering in your Ear,
Where you are sure to fail, th' Attempt forbear.
Unskill'd in Hellebore, if You should try,
To mix it, and mistake the Quantity,
The Rules of Phisic would against You cry.
The high-shoo'd Plowman, should he quit the Land,
To take the Pilot's Rudder in his Hand,
Artless of Stars, and of the shifting Sand;
The Gods would leave him to the Waves and Wind,
And think all Shame was lost in Humankind.—
Where you are sure to fail, th' Attempt forbear.
Unskill'd in Hellebore, if You should try,
To mix it, and mistake the Quantity,
The Rules of Phisic would against You cry.
The high-shoo'd Plowman, should he quit the Land,
To take the Pilot's Rudder in his Hand,
Artless of Stars, and of the shifting Sand;
The Gods would leave him to the Waves and Wind,
And think all Shame was lost in Humankind.—
None, none descends into himself, to find
The secret Imperfections of his Mind:
But ev'ry one is Eagle-ey'd to see
Another's Failings and Deformity.—
The secret Imperfections of his Mind:
But ev'ry one is Eagle-ey'd to see
Another's Failings and Deformity.—
Thy Breast examine with severest Care,
And find what Vices are prevailing there,
What Nature plants, and what ill Customs bear.
This Search is good, for a neglected Field
Or Thorns, or useless Fern, will quickly yield.—
And find what Vices are prevailing there,
What Nature plants, and what ill Customs bear.
This Search is good, for a neglected Field
Or Thorns, or useless Fern, will quickly yield.—
Bless me! what an odd Composition Men are of! that they should see farther, and judge better, of other People's Affairs than their own!
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |