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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Nobility.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Nobility.
What's the Advantage, or the real Good,
In tracing from the Source our antient Blood?
To have our Ancestors in Paint or Stone,
Preserv'd as Relicks, or, like Monsters, shewn?
The brave Emilii, as in Triumph plac'd:
The virtuous Curii, half by time defac'd:
Corvinus, with a mould'ring Nose, that bears,
Injurious Scars, the sad Effect of Years:
And Galba grinning, without Nose or Ears?
In tracing from the Source our antient Blood?
To have our Ancestors in Paint or Stone,
Preserv'd as Relicks, or, like Monsters, shewn?
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The virtuous Curii, half by time defac'd:
Corvinus, with a mould'ring Nose, that bears,
Injurious Scars, the sad Effect of Years:
And Galba grinning, without Nose or Ears?
Vain are their Hopes, who fancy to inherit
By Trees of Pedigree, or Fame, or Merit:
Tho' plodding Heralds thro' each Branch may trace
Old Captains, and Dictators of their Race,
While their ill Lives that Family belie,
And grieve the Brass which stands dishonour'd by.—
Long Galleries of Ancestors, and all
By Trees of Pedigree, or Fame, or Merit:
Tho' plodding Heralds thro' each Branch may trace
Old Captains, and Dictators of their Race,
While their ill Lives that Family belie,
And grieve the Brass which stands dishonour'd by.—
The Follies which ill grace a Country-Hall,
Challenge no Wonder or Esteem from me:
Virtue alone is true Nobility.—
Convince the World that you're devout and true,
Be just in all you say, and all you do:
Whatever be your Birth, you're sure to be
A Peer of the first Magnitude to me.—
But who will call those Noble, who deface,
By meaner Acts, the Glories of their Race:
Whose only Title to their Father's Fame
Is couch'd in the dead Letters of his Name?
A Dwarf as well may for a Giant pass:
A Negro for a Swan: a crook'd-back'd Lass
Be call'd Europa.—
By meaner Acts, the Glories of their Race:
Whose only Title to their Father's Fame
Is couch'd in the dead Letters of his Name?
A Dwarf as well may for a Giant pass:
A Negro for a Swan: a crook'd-back'd Lass
Be call'd Europa.—
If You have Strength Achilles' Arms to bear,
And Courage to sustain a ten Years War,
Tho' foul Thersites' Offspring, You shall be
More lov'd by all, and more esteem'd by me,
Than if by Chance You from some Hero came,
In Nothing like your Father but his Name.—
And Courage to sustain a ten Years War,
Tho' foul Thersites' Offspring, You shall be
More lov'd by all, and more esteem'd by me,
Than if by Chance You from some Hero came,
In Nothing like your Father but his Name.—
But, Ponticus, I would not you should raise
Your Credit by hereditary Praise:
Let your own Acts immortalize your Name:
'Tis poor relying on another's Fame:
For take the Pillars but away, and all
The Superstructure must in Ruins fall.—
Your Credit by hereditary Praise:
Let your own Acts immortalize your Name:
'Tis poor relying on another's Fame:
151
The Superstructure must in Ruins fall.—
A long Descent, and boasted Ancestors,
And Acts not done by Us, I count not ours.—
And Acts not done by Us, I count not ours.—
No slothful Heir am I to an Estate,
Possessing, by Descent, paternal Lands:
Nor nobly born, nor with proud Titles grac'd,
Were any of my humble Ancestors;
But Virtue, fair, and shining, is my boast.—
The Man that vaunts his Race, but trumpets forth
The Praise of Others.—
Possessing, by Descent, paternal Lands:
Nor nobly born, nor with proud Titles grac'd,
Were any of my humble Ancestors;
But Virtue, fair, and shining, is my boast.—
The Man that vaunts his Race, but trumpets forth
The Praise of Others.—
For You believe, and You are right in this,
No matter what his Race, but what he is:
Before King Tullius time, by Birth a Slave,
Innumerable low-born Men were brave;
For Virtue and strict Probity renown'd,
Rever'd they liv'd, with ample Honours crown'd.—
No matter what his Race, but what he is:
Before King Tullius time, by Birth a Slave,
Innumerable low-born Men were brave;
For Virtue and strict Probity renown'd,
Rever'd they liv'd, with ample Honours crown'd.—
From a mean Stock the pious Decii came,
Small their Estates, and vulgar was their Name:
Yet such their Virtue, that their Loss alone,
For Rome and all our Legions could attone:
Their Country's Doom they by their own retriev'd,
Themselves more Worth than all the Host they fav'd—
—Impartial Earth
Small their Estates, and vulgar was their Name:
Yet such their Virtue, that their Loss alone,
For Rome and all our Legions could attone:
Their Country's Doom they by their own retriev'd,
Themselves more Worth than all the Host they fav'd—
Wraps in her Lap with equal Care
The High and Low: nor royal Birth
Preserves it's poor Distinction there.—
— For my Heir
Manius I'll chuse.—What him, of humble Birth,
Obscure, a Fondling, and a Son of Earth?—
Obscure! why pr'ythee what am I? I know
My Father, Grandsire, and great Grandsire too:
If farther I derive my Pedigree,
I can but guess beyond the fourth Degree.
The rest of my forgotten Ancestors,
Were Sons of Earth like him, or Sons of Whores.—
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By a just Title: costly Furniture:
A fuming Pan thy Lares to appease:
What can be wanting when a Man has these?
If this be not enough to swell thy Soul,
Then please thy Pride, and search the Herald's Roll:
Where thou shalt find thy famous Pedigree,
Drawn from the Root of some old Tuscan Tree:
And Thou, a thousand off, a Fool of long Degree:
Who clad in Purple, can'st thy Censor greet,
And loudly call him Cousin, in the Street.—
To whom is this Advice and Censure due?
Rubellius Plautus, 'tis apply'd to You;
Who think your Person second to divine,
Because descended from the Drusian Line:
Tho' yet you no illustrious Act have done,
To make the World distinguish Julia's Son,
From the vile Offspring of a Trull, who sits
By the Town Wall, and for her living knits.
You are poor Rogues, You cry, the baser Scum,
The inconsiderable Dregs of Rome:
Who know not from what Corner of the Earth,
The Wretch obscure, who got you, stole his Birth:
Mine I derive from Cecrops.—May your Grace
Live, and enjoy the Splendor of your Race!
Yet of these base Plebeians we have known
Some, who, by charming Eloquence, have grown
Great Senators, and Honours to that Gown:
Some, at the Bar, with Subtlety defend
The Cause of an unlearned noble Friend:
Or on the Bench the knotty Laws untye.
Others their stronger Youth to Arms apply:
Go to Euphrates, or those Forces join
Which garrison the Conquests near the Rhine.
While You, Rubellius, on your Birth rely:
Tho' You resemble your Great Family,
No more than those rough Statues on the Road,
(Which we call Mercuries,) are like that God.
Your Highness tho' excells in this alone,
You are a living Statue, they of Stone.
Rubellius Plautus, 'tis apply'd to You;
Who think your Person second to divine,
Because descended from the Drusian Line:
Tho' yet you no illustrious Act have done,
To make the World distinguish Julia's Son,
From the vile Offspring of a Trull, who sits
By the Town Wall, and for her living knits.
You are poor Rogues, You cry, the baser Scum,
The inconsiderable Dregs of Rome:
Who know not from what Corner of the Earth,
The Wretch obscure, who got you, stole his Birth:
Mine I derive from Cecrops.—May your Grace
Live, and enjoy the Splendor of your Race!
Yet of these base Plebeians we have known
Some, who, by charming Eloquence, have grown
Great Senators, and Honours to that Gown:
Some, at the Bar, with Subtlety defend
The Cause of an unlearned noble Friend:
Or on the Bench the knotty Laws untye.
Others their stronger Youth to Arms apply:
Go to Euphrates, or those Forces join
Which garrison the Conquests near the Rhine.
While You, Rubellius, on your Birth rely:
Tho' You resemble your Great Family,
No more than those rough Statues on the Road,
(Which we call Mercuries,) are like that God.
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You are a living Statue, they of Stone.
That we may therefore You, not Your's, admire,
First, Sir, some Honour of your own acquire:
Add to that Stock, which justly we bestow,
On those blest Shades to whom You all Things owe.—
On ev'ry Vice more public Shame attends,
First, Sir, some Honour of your own acquire:
Add to that Stock, which justly we bestow,
On those blest Shades to whom You all Things owe.—
As he is Great, and Noble, who offends.—
Why vaunt you thus of Pedigree?
Consider whence you really rise,
To God, your Maker, lift your Eyes:
No Man ignoble is, but He,
Who basely can to Guilt submit,
And his high Origin forget.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |