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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Heir.
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Heir.
—From thy growing Store
Lend thy Assistance, and relieve the Poor.
Come, do a noble Act of Charity:
A Pittance of thy Land will set him free.
Nor tell me that thy frowning Heir will say,
'Tis mine, that Wealth thou squander'st thus away:
What is't to thee, if he neglects thy Urn,
Or without Spices lets thy Body burn?
If Odours to thy Ashes he refuse,
Or buys bad Cassia, that's not fit to use?
For what hast Thou to fear beyond the Grave?—
Lend thy Assistance, and relieve the Poor.
Come, do a noble Act of Charity:
A Pittance of thy Land will set him free.
Nor tell me that thy frowning Heir will say,
'Tis mine, that Wealth thou squander'st thus away:
What is't to thee, if he neglects thy Urn,
Or without Spices lets thy Body burn?
If Odours to thy Ashes he refuse,
Or buys bad Cassia, that's not fit to use?
For what hast Thou to fear beyond the Grave?—
473
And thou who gap'st for my Estate, draw near,
For I would whisper somewhat in thy Ear.
Hear'st thou the News, my Friend? Th' Express is come
With laurel'd Letters from the Camp to Rome:
Our Emperor salutes the Senate thus:
My Arms are on the Rhine victorious,
From mourning Altars sweep the Dust away,
Cease Fasting, and proclaim a fat thanksgiving Day.
For I would whisper somewhat in thy Ear.
Hear'st thou the News, my Friend? Th' Express is come
With laurel'd Letters from the Camp to Rome:
Our Emperor salutes the Senate thus:
My Arms are on the Rhine victorious,
From mourning Altars sweep the Dust away,
Cease Fasting, and proclaim a fat thanksgiving Day.
Now to the gracious Gods for these high Matters,
Know I have vow'd two hundred Gladiators,
And mean to crown a Bowl to Cœsar's Health.—
Say, would'st Thou hinder me from this Expence?
I disinherit, if Thou tak'st Offence.
Yet more, a public Largess I design,
Of Oil and Pyes to make the People dine.
Dost Thou think much of this? speak freely out:
Your poor Estate, Thou cry'st, deserves not all this Rout.
Well: on my Terms thou wilt not be my Heir?—
If Thou car'st little, less shall be my Care.
Were none of all my Father's Sisters left,
Nay, were I of my Mother's Kin bereft,
None by a Mother's or a Grandame's Side,
Yet I could soon some other Heir provide.—
What of my Fortune's left wilt Thou receive?
Know I have vow'd two hundred Gladiators,
And mean to crown a Bowl to Cœsar's Health.—
Say, would'st Thou hinder me from this Expence?
I disinherit, if Thou tak'st Offence.
Yet more, a public Largess I design,
Of Oil and Pyes to make the People dine.
Dost Thou think much of this? speak freely out:
Your poor Estate, Thou cry'st, deserves not all this Rout.
Well: on my Terms thou wilt not be my Heir?—
If Thou car'st little, less shall be my Care.
Were none of all my Father's Sisters left,
Nay, were I of my Mother's Kin bereft,
None by a Mother's or a Grandame's Side,
Yet I could soon some other Heir provide.—
Now fairly take it, or as fairly leave:
But take it as it is, and ask no more.
What when Thou hast embezzled all thy Store?
Where's all thy Father left?—'Tis true, I grant,
Some I have mortgag'd to supply my Want:
The Legacies of Tadius too are flown,
All spent, and on the self-same Errand gone.
How little then to my poor Share will fall?
Little, indeed: but yet that Little's all:
Nor tell me in a dying Father's Tone,
Be careful still of the main Chance, my Son:
Put out the Principal in trusty Hands:
Live on the Use: and never dip thy Lands.
But, pray what's left for me?—What's left! my Friend:
Ask that again, and all the rest I spend.
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |