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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Liberty.
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 | Medulla Poetarum Romanorum |  |
Liberty.
See Slavery.
—He that still doth craveMust fear, and he that fears must be a Slave.—
Now, free from Care, those Slaves the People live,
No longer plagu'd with Votes to sell, or give:
That mighty People whom the World obey'd,
Whose Voices Consuls, Armies, Emp'rors made,
Now Liberty's no more, are sunk so low,
Their whole Ambition asks but Bread and Show.—
Tell me, my Friend, from whence hast Thou the Skill,
So nicely to distinguish Good from Ill?
Or, by the Sound to judge of Gold and Brass,
What Piece is Tinker's Metal, what will pass?
And what Thou art to follow, what to fly,
This to condemn, and that to ratify?
When to be bountiful, and when to spare,
But never craving, or oppress'd with Care?
The Baits of Gifts and Money to despise,
And look on Wealth with undesiring Eyes?
When Thou canst truly call these Virtues thine,
Be wise and free, by Heav'n's Consent, and mine.
So nicely to distinguish Good from Ill?
Or, by the Sound to judge of Gold and Brass,
What Piece is Tinker's Metal, what will pass?
And what Thou art to follow, what to fly,
This to condemn, and that to ratify?
When to be bountiful, and when to spare,
But never craving, or oppress'd with Care?
The Baits of Gifts and Money to despise,
And look on Wealth with undesiring Eyes?
When Thou canst truly call these Virtues thine,
Be wise and free, by Heav'n's Consent, and mine.
But Thou, who lately of the common Strain,
Wer't one of Us, if still Thou dost retain
The same ill Habits, the same Follies too,
Gloss'd over only with a specious Show:
Then I resume the Freedom which I gave,
Still Thou art bound to Vice, and still a Slave.
Wer't one of Us, if still Thou dost retain
The same ill Habits, the same Follies too,
Gloss'd over only with a specious Show:
Then I resume the Freedom which I gave,
Still Thou art bound to Vice, and still a Slave.
21
In spight of this, my Freedom still remains.
Free! what, and fetter'd with so many Chains?
Canst Thou no other Master understand,
Than him that freed Thee by the Prœtor's Wand?
Should he, who was thy Lord, command Thee now,
With a harsh Voice, and supercilious Brow,
To servile Duties, Thou would'st fear no more:
The Gallows and the Whip are out of Door.
But if strong Passions lord it in thy Breast,
Art Thou not still a Slave, and still opprest,
No less than he, whom the afflicting Rod,
Compels to all the Ills of Servitude?—
Free! what, and fetter'd with so many Chains?
Canst Thou no other Master understand,
Than him that freed Thee by the Prœtor's Wand?
Should he, who was thy Lord, command Thee now,
With a harsh Voice, and supercilious Brow,
To servile Duties, Thou would'st fear no more:
The Gallows and the Whip are out of Door.
But if strong Passions lord it in thy Breast,
Art Thou not still a Slave, and still opprest,
No less than he, whom the afflicting Rod,
Compels to all the Ills of Servitude?—
When Thou woud'st take a lazy Morning's Nap:
Up, up, says Avarice:—Thou snor'st again,
Stretchest thy Limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain:
The Tyrant Lucre no Denial takes:
At his command th' unwilling Sluggard wakes.
What must I do? he cries:—What? says his Lord;
Why rise; make ready: and go streight aboard:
With Fish, from Euxine Seas, thy Vessel freight:
Flax, Castor, Coan Wines, the precious Weight
Of Pepper, and Sabœan Incense, take
With thy own Hands from the tir'd Camel's Back;
And with Post-haste thy running Markets make.
Be sure to turn the Penny: lye, and swear:
'Tis wholsom Sin:—but Jove, thou sayst, will hear.
Swear, Fool! or starve: for the Dilemma's even:
A Tradesman Thou! and hope to go to Heav'n?
Up, up, says Avarice:—Thou snor'st again,
Stretchest thy Limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain:
The Tyrant Lucre no Denial takes:
At his command th' unwilling Sluggard wakes.
What must I do? he cries:—What? says his Lord;
Why rise; make ready: and go streight aboard:
With Fish, from Euxine Seas, thy Vessel freight:
Flax, Castor, Coan Wines, the precious Weight
Of Pepper, and Sabœan Incense, take
With thy own Hands from the tir'd Camel's Back;
And with Post-haste thy running Markets make.
Be sure to turn the Penny: lye, and swear:
'Tis wholsom Sin:—but Jove, thou sayst, will hear.
Swear, Fool! or starve: for the Dilemma's even:
A Tradesman Thou! and hope to go to Heav'n?
Resolv'd for Sea, the Slaves thy Baggage pack,
Each saddl'd with his Burden on his Back:—
Nothing retards thy Voyage, now, unless
Thy other Lord forbids, Voluptuousness:
And he may ask this civil Question: Friend,
What dost thou make a Shipboard?—to what End?—
Art thou of Bedlam's noble College free?
Stark, staring mad, that thou would'st tempt the Sea?
Cubb'd in a Cabbin, on a Mattress laid,
On a brown George, with lousy Swobbers fed:
Dead Wine that stinks of the Borracchio sup,
From a foul Jack, or greasy maple Cup?
Say, wou'dst Thou bear all this, to raise thy Store
From six i'th' Hundred to six hundred more?—
Indulge, and to thy Genius freely give:
For, not to live at Ease, is not to live.
Death stalks behind Thee, and each flying Hour
Does some loose Remnant of thy Life devour.
Live, while thou liv'st: for Death will make Us all
A Name,—a Nothing but an old Wife's Tale.
Each saddl'd with his Burden on his Back:—
Nothing retards thy Voyage, now, unless
Thy other Lord forbids, Voluptuousness:
And he may ask this civil Question: Friend,
What dost thou make a Shipboard?—to what End?—
Art thou of Bedlam's noble College free?
Stark, staring mad, that thou would'st tempt the Sea?
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On a brown George, with lousy Swobbers fed:
Dead Wine that stinks of the Borracchio sup,
From a foul Jack, or greasy maple Cup?
Say, wou'dst Thou bear all this, to raise thy Store
From six i'th' Hundred to six hundred more?—
Indulge, and to thy Genius freely give:
For, not to live at Ease, is not to live.
Death stalks behind Thee, and each flying Hour
Does some loose Remnant of thy Life devour.
Live, while thou liv'st: for Death will make Us all
A Name,—a Nothing but an old Wife's Tale.
Speak; wilt Thou Avarice or Pleasure chuse
To be thy Lord?—take one, and one refuse.
But both, by turns, the Rule of Thee will have:
And Thou, betwixt them both, wilt be a Slave.
Nor think, when once thou hast resisted One,
That all thy Marks of Servitude are gone:
The struggling Greyhound gnaws his Leash in vain,
If, when 'tis broken, still he drags the Chain.—
Who then is free?—The Wise, that can controul
To be thy Lord?—take one, and one refuse.
But both, by turns, the Rule of Thee will have:
And Thou, betwixt them both, wilt be a Slave.
Nor think, when once thou hast resisted One,
That all thy Marks of Servitude are gone:
The struggling Greyhound gnaws his Leash in vain,
If, when 'tis broken, still he drags the Chain.—
And govern all the Passions of the Soul:
Whom Poverty, nor Chains, nor Death affright;
Who's Proof against the Charms of vain Delight:
Who squares his Actions all by Virtue's Laws,
Regardless of Contempt, or popular Applause.
Whom feeble Fortune strives in vain to wound,
Since in himself his Happiness is found,
Collected all, and in a perfect Round.—
Get loose thy Neck from this ignoble Chain
And boldly cry, I'm free.—
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |