Certain Selected Odes Of Horace, Englished and their Arguments annexed. With Poems (Antient and Modern) of diuers Subjects, Translated. Whereunto are added, both in Latin and English, sundry new Epigrammes. Anagrammes. Epitaphes [by John Ashmore] |
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Ad Mecænatem. Lib. 1. Ode prima.
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 | Certain Selected Odes Of Horace, Englished |  |
Ad Mecænatem. Lib. 1. Ode prima.
The Argvment.
That many a way, most men assayTheir heads up high to raise:
Which he neglects, and most affects
A Lyrick Poets praise.
Mecænas
, of the race of Kings thy grandsires, bred,
O thou my chief support, & garland of my head;
Some with Olympian dust besmeard delight to ride
In Chariots, and the burning wheeles with skill to guide
Fast by the mark, whom victory and palms of praise,
With shouts unto the gods, Lords of the earth, doth raise.
This man's puft up, if fickle Romans doe agree
To reare him up with stiles of three-fold dignitie.
If he in Garners safely have laid up in store
His corne from Affrick brought, he careth for no more.
He that in peace at home delights his Land to till,
On no condition unto him proposed, will
Turne Mariner, and feare-full with a Cyprian plank
Cut out a way through hils and dales of billowes rank.
The Marchant, fearing windes that in th'Icarian Seas
Doe wrastle in great rage, the countrey life doth praise,
And their town fields: Then straight his shake-ship doth repair,
Vntaught the scorn-full wrongs of poverty to bear.
In froathing boawles of generous wine he healths doth drink,
And busies not his brain, of State affaires to think;
But careless under th'Arbute shade sometime he lies,
Somtime by th'holy well where bubbling waters rise.
In camps entrencht & trumpets sound som men delight,
And in stiff shocks of bloody wars that matrons fright.
The huntsman stayes ith' cold with hazard of his life,
Vnmindfull how hee left his young and tender wife;
Whether his trustie Dogges pursue the fleeing Deer,
Or the revenge-full Boars the toyles asunder teare.
The Ivie wreathes, rewards that learned for-heads get,
Me canoniz'd among the highest gods will set.
The pleasant groves, the light-foot Nymphs, and Satyrs dance,
Shall me above the vulgar sort of men advance,
If Euterpe my pipes stop not, nor the sweet Muse
Polymnia my Lesbian Harp to tune refuse.
But if that thou among the Lyrick Poets place me,
Not heaven it self can then with more cōtentment grace me.
O thou my chief support, & garland of my head;
Some with Olympian dust besmeard delight to ride
In Chariots, and the burning wheeles with skill to guide
2
With shouts unto the gods, Lords of the earth, doth raise.
This man's puft up, if fickle Romans doe agree
To reare him up with stiles of three-fold dignitie.
If he in Garners safely have laid up in store
His corne from Affrick brought, he careth for no more.
He that in peace at home delights his Land to till,
On no condition unto him proposed, will
Turne Mariner, and feare-full with a Cyprian plank
Cut out a way through hils and dales of billowes rank.
The Marchant, fearing windes that in th'Icarian Seas
Doe wrastle in great rage, the countrey life doth praise,
And their town fields: Then straight his shake-ship doth repair,
Vntaught the scorn-full wrongs of poverty to bear.
In froathing boawles of generous wine he healths doth drink,
And busies not his brain, of State affaires to think;
But careless under th'Arbute shade sometime he lies,
Somtime by th'holy well where bubbling waters rise.
In camps entrencht & trumpets sound som men delight,
And in stiff shocks of bloody wars that matrons fright.
The huntsman stayes ith' cold with hazard of his life,
Vnmindfull how hee left his young and tender wife;
Whether his trustie Dogges pursue the fleeing Deer,
Or the revenge-full Boars the toyles asunder teare.
The Ivie wreathes, rewards that learned for-heads get,
Me canoniz'd among the highest gods will set.
The pleasant groves, the light-foot Nymphs, and Satyrs dance,
Shall me above the vulgar sort of men advance,
If Euterpe my pipes stop not, nor the sweet Muse
Polymnia my Lesbian Harp to tune refuse.
But if that thou among the Lyrick Poets place me,
Not heaven it self can then with more cōtentment grace me.
| Certain Selected Odes Of Horace, Englished | |