53. Donec eris fœlix.
1
What peevish planet did the heavens sway
When I was born? what star did rule the day
Of my untimely birth? it neither lends
Me wealth nor friends.
2
Why was I born? wherefore did not my mother
Comply with death? death, why didst thou not smother
Me in that womb? then had my body been
At rest unseen.
3
Unnatural father, why didst thou deny
To leave me maintainance? couldst thou not buy
Some grand see-simple? hadst thou but done so,
I'de known no foe.
4
Had this been done, no question but thy son
(Whose state proud Fortune now derides) had won
The day of triumph, and advanc't his fame,
And fathers name.
5
Why didst thou give me learning? why didst thou
Not bring me up to labour at the plow?
This is the road to riches, t'other brings
Contrary things.
6
Carnal discretion tells me, had I bent
My youth to purvey for emolument,
I had been happy in the thing which sends
Both fame and friends.
7
But now (poor abject) I must needs incline
To friends: O Crœsus, if I were but thine,
'Twere great encouragement; Oh let me be
Partner with thee.
8
But stay a little, I must not intrude
Into his secret Counsels, he'l exclude
My sense from thence, and charge me to be gone
To Helicon.
9
I want an equal portion to compare
With his vast treasure, he will never care
To entertain me, if I cannot swim
In wealth with him.
10
I must forsake his dainties, and go feed
My fond desires on the barren weed
That's on Parnassus; there's my pleasure, there
Lies all my cheer.
11
But hold my Muse, I'le lock thee in my trunk,
Lest they that see thee say my Muse is drunk:
Drown not thy self with madness, thou canst rise
Above the skies.
12
Sack is thy sustenance, didst ever know
A Bacchanalian vapor sink so low
As sorrow dwells? no misery can be
Known unto thee.
13
Yet must I pity those unhappy boyes
That juggle with Mæcenas for the bayes
Of vain applause; whose lottery is to lie
In misery.
14
Wit they have plenty, but we seldom know
VVhen wit and riches both together flow
In the same font; Fate (mortals ticklish guide)
Doth them divide.
15
Your waxen-winged verses will dissolve
In time of want; then censure will revolve
Your fame i'th' bowels of contempt, and drown'd
You, once renown'd.
16
Are you in prison? tell me, can you pierce
The gates and wickets by a measur'd verse?
Can your own fancy bail you, can you be
For crimes set free?
17
Where's all your friends? perhaps one sayes I know him
I've seen his person, I have read his Poem.
All wish him well, but which man goes about
To help him out?
18
But now you Poets, if you would have friends,
First learn ye to be happy, else your ends
Are all in vain; and when you happy be,
Remember me.
