Bosworth-field With a Taste of the Variety of Other Poems, Left by Sir John Beaumont ... Set Forth by his Sonne, Sir Iohn Beaumont |
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Hort. Epod. 2.
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Hort. Epod. 2.
He happy is, who farre from busie sounds,(As ancient mortals dwelt)
With his owne Oxen tills his Fathers grounds,
And debts hath neuer felt.
No warre disturbes his rest with fierce alarmes,
Nor angry Seas offend:
He shunnes the Law, and those ambitious charmes,
VVhich great mens doores attend.
The lofty Poplers with delight he weds
To Vines that grow apace,
And with his hooke vnfruitfull branches shreds,
More happy sprouts to place,
Or else beholds, how lowing heards astray,
In narrow valleys creepe,
Or in cleane pots, doth pleasant hony lay,
Or sheares his feeble Sheepe.
VVhen Autumne from the ground his head vpreares,
VVith timely Apples chain'd,
How glad is he to plucke ingrafted Peares,
And Grapes with purple stain'd?
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VVho keepes his limits free,
His weary limbes, in holding grasse he layes,
Or vnder some old tree,
Along the lofty bankes the waters slide,
The Birds in woods lament,
The Springs with trickling streames the Ayre diuide,
VVhence gentle sleepes are lent.
But when great Ioue, in winters dayes restores
Vnpleasing showres and snowes,
VVith many Dogs he driues the angry Bores
To snares which them oppose.
His slender nets dispos'd on little stakes,
The greedy Thrush preuent:
The fearefull Hare, and forraine Crane he takes,
VVith this reward content.
VVho will not in these ioyes forget the cares,
Which oft in loue we meete:
But when a modest wife the trouble shares
Of house and children sweete,
(Like Sabines, or the swift Apulians wiues,
Whose cheekes the Sun-beames harme,
When from old wood she sacred fire contriues,
Her weary mate to warme,
When she with hurdles, her glad flockes confines,
And their full vdders dries,
And from sweet vessels drawes the yearely wines,
And meates vnbought supplies;
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Those fishes I neglect,
Which tempests thundring on the Easterne Seas
Into our waues direct.
No Bird from Affrike sent, my taste allowes,
Nor Fowle which Asia breeds:
The Oliue (gather'd from the fatty boughes)
With more delight me feeds.
Sowre Herbs, which loue the Meades, or Mallowes good,
To ease the body pain'd:
A Lambe which sheds to Terminus her blood,
Or Kid from VVolues regain'd.
VVhat ioy is at these Feasts, when well-fed flocks
Themselues for home prepare?
Or when the weake necke of the weary Oxe
Drawes back th' inuerted share?
VVhen Slaues (the swarmes that wealthy houses charge)
Neere smiling Lar, sit downe,
This life when Alphius hath describ'd at large,
Inclining to the Clowne,
He at the Ides calles all that money in,
VVhich he hath let for gaine:
But when the next month shall his course begin,
He puts it out againe.
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