University of Virginia Library

Sing, Muses, sing, from the Pierian grove;
Begin the song, and let the theme be Jove;
From him ye sprung, and him ye first should praise;
From your immortal sire deduce your lays;
To him alone, to his great will, we owe,
That we exist, and what we are, below.
Whether we blaze among the sons of fame,
Or live obscurely, and without a name,
Or noble, or ignoble, still we prove
Our lot determin'd by the will of Jove.
With ease he lifts the peasant to a crown,
With the same ease he casts the monarch down;
With ease he clouds the brightest name in night,
And calls the meanest to the fairest light;
At will he varys life thro ev'ry state,
Unnerves the strong, and makes the crooked strait.
Such Jove, who thunders terrible from high,
Who dwells in mansions far above the sky.
Look down, thou Pow'r supreme, vouchsafe thine aid,
And let my judgement be by justice sway'd;
O! hear my vows, and thine assistance bring,
While truths undoubted I to Perses sing.

As here on earth we tread the maze of life,
The mind's divided in a double strife;
One, by the wise, is thought deserving fame,
And this attended by the greatest shame,
The dismal source whence spring pernicious jars,
The baneful fountain of destructive wars,
Which, by the laws of arbitrary fate,
We follow, tho by nature taught to hate;
From night's black realms this took its odious birth
And one Jove planted in the womb of earth,
The better strife; by this the soul is fir'd
To arduous toils, nor with those toils is tir'd;
One sees his neighbour, with laborious hand,
Planting his orchard, or manuring land;
He sees another, with industrious care,
Materials for the building art prepare;
Idle himself he sees them haste to rise,
Observes their growing wealth with envious eyes,
With emulation fir'd, beholds their store,
And toils with joy, who never toil'd before:
The artist envys what the artist gains,
The bard the rival bard's successful strains.

Perses attend, my just decrees observe,
Nor from thy honest labour idly swerve;
The love of strife, that joys in evils, shun,
Nor to the forum, from thy duty, run.
How vain the wranglings of the bar to mind,
While Ceres, yellow goddess, is unkind!
But when propitious she has heap'd your store,
For others you may plead, and not before;
But let with justice your contentions prove,
And be your counsels such as come from Jove;
Not as of late, when we divided lands,
You grasp'd at all with avaritious hands;
When the corrupted bench, for bribes well known,
Unjustly granted more than was your own.
Fools, blind to truth! nor knows their erring soul
How much the half is better than the whole,
How great the pleasure wholesome herbs afford,
How bless'd the frugal, and an honest, board!
Would the immortal gods on men bestow
A mind, how few the wants of life to know,
They all the year, from labour free, might live
On what the bounty of a day would give,
They soon the rudder o'er the smoke would lay,
And let the mule, and ox, at leisure stray:
This sense to man the king of gods denys,
In wrath to him who daring rob'd the skys;
Dread ills the god prepar'd, unknown before,
And the stol'n fire back to his heav'n he bore;
But from Prometheus 'twas conceal'd in vain,
Which for the use of man he stole again,
And, artful in his fraud, brought from above,
Clos'd in a hollow cane, deceiving Jove:
Again defrauded of celestial fire,
Thus spoke the cloud-compelling god in ire:
Son of Iäpetus, o'er-subtle, go,
And glory in thy artful theft below;
Now of the fire you boast by stealth retriev'd,
And triumph in almighty Jove deceiv'd;
But thou too late shall find the triumph vain,
And read thy folly in succeeding pain;
Posterity the sad effect shall know,
When, in pursuit of joy, they grasp their woe.
He spoke, and told to Mulciber his will,
And, smiling, bade him his commands fulfil,
To use his greatest art, his nicest care,
To frame a creature exquisitely fair,
To temper well the clay with water, then
To add the vigour, and the voice, of men,
To let her first in virgin lustre shine,
In form a goddess, with a bloom divine:
And next the sire demands Minerva's aid,
In all her various skill to train the maid,
Bids her the secrets of the loom impart,
To cast a curious thread with happy art:
And golden Venus was to teach the fair,
The wiles of love, and to improve her air,
And then, in aweful majesty, to shed
A thousand graceful charms around her head:
Next Hermes, artful god, must form her mind,
One day to torture, and the next be kind,
With manners all deceitful, and her tongue
Fraught with abuse, and with detraction hung.
Jove gave the mandate; and the gods obey'd.
First Vulcan form'd of earth the blushing maid;
Minerva next perform'd the task assign'd,
With ev'ry female art adorn'd her mind.
To dress her Suada, and the Graces, join;
Around her person, lo! the di'monds shine.
To deck her brows the fair-tress'd Seasons bring
A garland breathing all the sweets of spring.
Each present Pallas gives it proper place,
And adds to ev'ry ornament a grace.
Next Hermes taught the fair the heart to move,
With all the false alluring arts of love,
Her manners all deceitful, and her tongue
With falsehoods fruitful, and detraction hung.
The finish'd maid the gods Pandora call,
Because a tribute she receiv'd from all:
And thus, 'twas Jove's command, the sex began,
A lovely mischief to the soul of man.
When the great sire of gods beheld the fair,
The fatal guile, th'inevitable snare,
Hermes he bids to Epimetheus bear.
Prometheus, mindful of his theft above,
Had warn'd his brother to beware of Jove,
To take no present that the god should send,
Lest the fair bribe should ill to man portend;
But he, forgetful, takes his evil fate,
Accepts the mischief, and repents too late.
Mortals at first a blissful earth enjoy'd,
With ills untainted, nor with cares anoy'd;
To them the world was no laborious stage,
Nor fear'd they then the miserys of age;
But soon the sad reversion they behold,
Alas! they grow in their afflictions old;
For in her hand the nymph a casket bears,
Full of diseases, and corroding cares,
Which open'd, they to taint the world begin,
And Hope alone remains entire within.
Such was the fatal present from above,
And such the will of cloud-compelling Jove:
And now unnumber'd woes o'er mortals reign,
Alike infected is the land, and main,
O'er human race distempers silent stray,
And multiply their strength by night and day;
'Twas Jove's decree they should in silence rove;
For who is able to contend with Jove!
And now the subject of my verse I change;
To tales of profit and delight I range;
Whence you may pleasure and advantage gain,
If in your mind you lay the useful strain.

Soon as the deathless gods were born, and man,
A mortal race, with voice endow'd, began,
The heav'nly pow'rs from high their work behold,
And the first age they stile an age of gold.
Men spent a life like gods in Saturn's reign,
Nor felt their mind a care, nor body pain;
From labour free they ev'ry sense enjoy;
Nor could the ills of time their peace destroy;
In banquets they delight, remov'd from care;
Nor troublesome old age intruded there:
They dy, or rather seem to dy, they seem
From hence transported in a pleasing dream.
The fields, as yet untill'd, their fruits afford,
And fill a sumptuous, and unenvy'd board:
Thus, crown'd with happyness their ev'ry day,
Serene, and joyful, pass'd their lives away.

When in the grave this race of men was lay'd,
Soon was a world of holy dæmons made,
Aërial spirits, by great Jove design'd,
To be on earth the guardians of mankind;
Invisible to mortal eyes they go,
And mark our actions, good, or bad, below;
Th'immortal spys with watchful care preside,
And thrice ten thousand round their charges glide:
They can reward with glory, or with gold;
A pow'r they by divine permission hold.

Worse than the first, a second age appears,
Which the celestials call the silver years.
The golden age's virtues are no more;
Nature grows weaker than she was before;
In strength of body mortals much decay;
And human wisdom seems to fade away.
An hundred years the careful dames employ,
Before they form'd to man th'unpolish'd boy;
Who when he reach'd his bloom, his age's prime,
Found, measur'd by his joys, but short his time.
Men, prone to ill, deny'd the gods their due,
And, by their follys, made their days but few.
The altars of the bless'd neglected stand,
Without the off'rings which the laws demand;
But angry Jove in dust this people lay'd,
Because no honours to the gods they pay'd.
This second race, when clos'd their life's short span,
Was happy deem'd beyond the state of man;
Their names were grateful to their children made;
Each pay'd a rev'rence to his father's shade.

And now a third, a brasen, people rise,
Unlike the former, men of monstrous size:
Strong arms extensive from their shoulders grow,
Their limbs of equal magnitude below;
Potent in arms, and dreadful at the spear,
They live injurious, and devoid of fear:
On the crude flesh of beasts, they feed, alone,
Savage their nature, and their hearts of stone;
Their houses brass, of brass the warlike blade,
Iron was yet unknown, in brass they trade:
Furious, robust, impatient for the fight,
War is their only care, and sole delight.
To the dark shades of death this race descend,
By civil discords, an ignoble end!
Strong tho they were, death quell'd their boasted might,
And forc'd their stubborn souls to leave the light.

To these a fourth, a better, race succeeds,
Of godlike heros, fam'd for martial deeds;
Them demigods, at first, their matchless worth
Proclaim aloud, all thro the boundless earth.
These, horrid wars, their love of arms, destroy,
Some at the gates of Thebes, and some at Troy.
These for the brothers fell, detested strife!
For beauty those, the lovely Greecian wife!
To these does Jove a second life ordain,
Some happy soil far in the distant main,
Where live the hero-shades in rich repast,
Remote from mortals of a vulgar cast:
There in the islands of the bless'd they find,
Where Saturn reigns, an endless calm of mind;
And there the choicest fruits adorn the fields,
And thrice the fertile year a harvest yields.

O! would I had my hours of life began
Before this fifth, this sinful, race of man;
Or had I not been call'd to breathe the day,
Till the rough iron age had pass'd away!
For now, the times are such, the gods ordain,
That ev'ry moment shall be wing'd with pain;
Condemn'd to sorrows, and to toil, we live;
Rest to our labour death alone can give;
And yet, amid the cares our lives anoy,
The gods will grant some intervals of joy:
But how degen'rate is the human state!
Virtue no more distinguishes the great;
No safe reception shall the stranger find;
Nor shall the tys of blood, or friendship, bind;
Nor shall the parent, when his sons are nigh,
Look with the fondness of a parent's eye,
Nor to the sire the son obedience pay,
Nor look with rev'rence on the locks of grey,
But, o! regardless of the pow'rs divine,
With bitter taunts shall load his life's decline.
Revenge and rapine shall respect command,
The pious, just, and good, neglected stand.
The wicked shall the better man distress,
The righteous suffer, and without redress;
Strict honesty, and naked truth, shall fail,
The perjur'd villain, in his arts, prevail.
Hoarse envy shall, unseen, exert her voice,
Attend the wretched, and in ill rejoice.
At last fair Modesty and Justice fly,
Rob'd their pure limbs in white, and gain the sky;
From the wide earth they reach the bless'd abodes,
And join the grand assembly of the gods,
While mortal men, abandon'd to their grief,
Sink in their sorrows, hopeless of relief.

While now my fable from the birds I bring,
To the great rulers of the earth I sing.
High in the clouds a mighty bird of prey
Bore a melodious nightingale away;
And to the captive, shiv'ring in despair,
Thus, cruel, spoke the tyrant of the air.
Why mourns the wretch in my superior pow'r?
Thy voice avails not in the ravish'd hour;
Vain are thy crys; at my despotic will,
Or I can set thee free, or I can kill.
Unwisely who provokes his abler foe,
Conquest still flys him, and he strives for woe.
Thus spoke th'enslaver with insulting pride.

O! Perses, Justice ever be thy guide;
May malice never gain upon thy will,
Malice that makes the wretch more wretched still.
The good man, injur'd, to revenge is slow,
To him the vengeance is the greater woe.
Ever will all injurious courses fail,
And justice ever over wrongs prevail;
Right will take place at last, by fit degrees;
This truth the fool by sad experience sees.
When suits commence, dishonest strife the cause,
Faith violated, and the breach of laws,
Ensue; the crys of justice haunt the judge,
Of bribes the glutton, and of sin the drudge.
Thro citys then the holy dæmon runs,
Unseen, and mourns the manners of their sons,
Dispersing evils, to reward the crimes
Of those who banish justice from the times.
Is there a man whom incorrupt we call,
Who sits alike unprejudic'd to all,
By him the city flourishes in peace,
Her borders lengthen, and her sons increase;
From him far-seeing Jove will drive afar
All civil discord, and the rage of war.
No days of famine to the righteous fall,
But all is plenty, and delightful all;
Nature indulgent o'er their land is seen,
With oaks high tow'ring are their mountains green,
With heavy mast their arms diffusive bow,
While from their truncs rich streams of honey flow;
Of flocks untainted are their pastures full,
Which slowly strut beneath their weight of wool;
And sons are born the likeness of their sire,
The fruits of virtue, and a chast desire:
O'er the wide seas for wealth they need not roam,
Many, and lasting, are their joys at home.
Not thus the wicked, who in ill delight,
Whose dayly acts pervert the rules of right;
To these the wise disposer, Jove, ordains
Repeated losses, and a world of pains:
Famines and plagues are, unexpected, nigh;
Their wives are barren, and their kindred dy;
Numbers of these at once are sweep'd away;
And ships of wealth become the ocean's prey.
One sinner oft' provokes th'avenger's hand;
And often one man's crimes destroy a land.
Exactly mark, ye rulers of mankind,
The ways of truth, nor be to justice blind;
Consider, all ye do, and all ye say,
The holy dæmons to their god convey,
Aërial spirits, by great Jove design'd,
To be on earth the guardians of mankind;
Invisible to mortal eyes they go,
And mark our actions, good, or bad, below;
Th'immortal spys with watchful care preside,
And thrice ten thousand round their charges glide.
Justice, unspoted maid, deriv'd from Jove,
Renown'd, and reverenc'd by the gods above,
When mortals violate her sacred laws,
When judges hear the bribe, and not the cause,
Close by her parent god behold her stand,
And urge the punishment their sins demand.
Look in your Breasts, and there survey your crimes,
Think, o! ye judges, and reform betimes,
Forget the pass'd, nor more false judgements give,
Turn from your ways betimes, o! turn and live.
Who, full of wiles, his neighbour's harm contrives,
False to himself, against himself he strives;
For he that harbours evil in his mind
Will from his evil thoughts but evil find;
And lo! the eye of Jove, that all things knows,
Can, when he will, the heart of man disclose;
Open the guilty bosom all within,
And trace the infant thoughts of future sin.

O! when I hear the upright man complain,
And, by his jnjurys, the judge arraign,
If to be wicked is to find success,
I cry, and to be just to meet distress,
May I nor mine the righteous path pursue,
But int'rest only ever keep in view:
But, by reflection better taught, I find
We see the present, to the future blind.
Trust to the will of Jove, and wait the end,
And good shall always your good acts attend.

These doctrines, Perses, treasure in thy heart,
And never from the paths of justice part:
Never by brutal violence be sway'd;
But be the will of Jove in these obey'd.

In these the brute creation men exceed,
They, void of reason, by each other bleed,
While man by justice should be keep'd in awe;
Justice of nature, well ordain'd, the law.
Who right espouses thro a righteous love,
Shall meet the bounty of the hands of Jove;
But he that will not be by laws confin'd,
Whom not the sacrament of oaths can bind,
Who, with a willing soul, can justice leave,
A wound immortal shall that man receive;
His house's honour dayly shall decline:
Fair flourish shall the just from line to line.

O! Perses, foolish Perses, bow thine ear
To the good counsels of a soul sincere.
To wickedness the road is quickly found,
Short is the way, and on an easy ground.
The paths of virtue must be reach'd by toil,
Arduous, and long, and on a rugged soil,
Thorny the gate, but when the top you gain,
Fair is the future, and the prospect plain.
Far does the man all other men excel,
Who, from his wisdom, thinks in all things well,
Wisely consid'ring, to himself a friend,
All for the present best, and for the end;
Nor is the man without his share of praise,
Who well the dictates of the wise obeys;
But he that is not wise himself, nor can
Harken to wisdom, is a useless man.

Ever observe, Perses, of birth divine,
My precepts, and the profit shall be thine;
Then famine always shall avoid thy door,
And Ceres, fair-wreath'd goddess, bless thy store.
The slothful wretch, who lives from labour free,
Like drones, the robbers of the painful bee,
Has always men, and gods, alike his foes;
Him famine follows with her train of woes.
With chearful zeal your mod'rate toils pursue,
That your full barns you may in season view.
The man industrious stranger is to need,
A thousand flocks his fertile pastures feed;
As with the drone with him it will not prove,
Him men and gods behold with eyes of love.
To care and labour think it no disgrace,
False pride! the portion of the sluggard race:
The slothful man, who never work'd before,
Shall gaze with envy on thy growing store,
Like thee to flourish, he will spare no pains;
For lo! the rich virtue and glory gains.

Strictly observe the wholesome rules I give,
And, bless'd in all, thou like a god shalt live.
Ne'er to thy neighbour's goods extend thy cares,
Nor be neglectful of thine own affairs.
Let no degen'rate shame debase thy mind,
Shame that is never to the needy kind;
The man that has it will continue poor;
He must be bold that would enlarge his store:
But ravish not, depending on thy might,
Injurious to thy-self, another's right.
Who, or by open force, or secret stealth,
Or perjur'd wiles, amasses heaps of wealth,
Such many are, whom thirst of gain betrays,
The gods, all seeing, shall o'ercloud his days;
His wife, his children, and his friends, shall dy,
And, like a dream, his ill-got riches fly:
Nor less, or to insult the supplyant's crys,
The guilt, or break thro hospitable tys.
Is there who, by incestuous passion led,
Pollutes with joys unclean his brother's bed,
Or who, regardless of his tender trust,
To the poor helpless orphan proves unjust,
Or, when the father's fatal day appears,
His body bending thro the weight of years,
A son who views him with unduteous eyes,
And words of comfort to his age denys,
Great Jove vindictive sees the impious train,
And, equal to their crimes, inflicts a pain.

These precepts be thy guide thro life to steer:
Next learn the gods immortal to revere:
With unpolluted hands, and heart sincere,
Let from your herd, or flock, an off'ring rise;
Of the pure victim burn the white fat thighs;
And to your wealth confine the sacrifice.
Let the rich fumes of od'rous incense fly,
A grateful favour, to the pow'rs on high;
The due libation nor neglect to pay,
When ev'ning closes, or when dawns the day:
Then shall thy work, the gods thy friends, succeed;
Then may you purchase farms, nor fell thro need.

Enjoy thy riches with a lib'ral soul,
Plenteous the feast, and smiling be the bowl;
No friend forget, nor entertain thy foe,
Nor let thy neighbour uninvited go.
Happy the man with peace his days are crown'd,
Whose house an honest neighbourhood surround;
Of foreign harms he never sleeps afraid,
They, always ready, bring their willing aid;
Chearful, should he some busy pressure feel,
They lend an aid beyond a kindred's zeal;
They never will conspire to blast his fame;
Secure he walks, unsully'd his good name:
Unhappy man, whom neighbours ill surround,
His oxen dy oft' by a treach'rous wound.
Whate'er you borrow of your neighbour's store,
Return the same in weight, if able, more;
So to your self will you secure a friend;
He never after will refuse to lend.
Whatever by dishonest means you gain,
You purchase an equivalent of pain.

To all a love for love return: contend
In virtuous acts to emulate your friend.
Be to the good thy favours unconfin'd;
Neglect a sordid, and ingrateful, mind.
From all the gen'rous a respect command,
While none regard the base ungiving hand:
The man who gives from an unbounded breast,
Tho large the bounty, in himself is bless'd:
Who ravishes another's right shall find,
Tho small the prey, a deadly sting behind.
Content, and honestly, enjoy your lot,
And often add to that already got;
From little oft' repeated much will rise,
And, of thy toil the fruits, salute thine eyes.
How sweet at home to have what life demands,
The just reward of our industrious hands,
To view our neighbour's bliss without desire,
To dread not famine, with her aspect dire!
Be these thy thoughts, to these thy heart incline,
And lo! these blessings shall be surely thine.

When at your board your faithful friend you greet,
Without reserve, and lib'ral, be the treat:
To stint the wine a frugal husband shows,
When from the middle of the cask it flows.
Do not, by mirth betray'd, your brother trust,
Without a witness, he may prove unjust:
Alike it is unsafe for men to be,
With some too diffident, with some too free.

Let not a woman steal your heart away,
By tender looks, and her apparel gay;
When your abode she languishing enquires,
Command your heart, and quench the kindling fires;
If love she vows, 'tis madness to believe,
Turn from the thief, she charms but to deceive:
Who does too rashly in a woman trust,
Too late will find the wanton prove unjust.
Take a chast matron, partner of your breast,
Contented live, of her alone possess'd;
Then shall you number many days in peace;
And with your children see your wealth increase;
Then shall a duteous careful heir survive,
To keep the honour of the house alive.

If large possessions are, in life, thy view,
These precepts, with assiduous care, pursue.

When the Pleïades, of Atlas born,
Before the sun's arise illume the morn,
Apply the sickle to the ripen'd corn;
And when, attendant on the sun's decline,
They in the ev'ning æther only shine,
Then is the season to begin to plow,
To yoke the oxen, and prepare to sow:
There is a time when forty days they ly,
And forty nights, conceal'd from human eye,
But in the courfe of the revolving year,
When the swain sharps the scythe, again appear.
This is the rule to the laborious swain,
Who dwells or near, or distant from, the main,
Whether the shady vale receives his toil,
And he manures the fat, the inland, soil.

Would you the fruits of all your labours see,
Or plow, or sow, or reap, still naked be;
Then shall thy barns, by Ceres bless'd, appear
Full of the various produce of the year;
Nor shall the seasons then behold thee poor,
A mean dependant on another's store.
Tho, foolish Perses, bending to thy pray'rs,
I lately hear'd thy plaints, and eas'd thy cares,
On me no longer for supplys depend,
For I no more shall give, no more shall lend.
Labour industrious, if you would succeed;
That men should labour have the gods decreed,
That with our wives and children we may live,
Without th'assistance that our neighbours give,
That we may never know the pain of mind,
To ask for succour, and no succour find:
Twice, thrice, perhaps, they may your wants supply;
But constant beggars teach them to deny;
Then wretched may you beg, and beg again,
And use the moving force of words in vain.
Such ills to shun, my counsels lay to heart;
Nor dread the debtor's chain, nor hunger's smart.

A house, and yoke of oxen, first provide,
A maid to guard your herds, and then a bride;
The house be furnish'd as thy need demands,
Nor want to borrow from a neighbour's hands.
While to support your wants abroad you roam,
Time glides away, and work stands still at home.
Your bus'ness ne'er defer from day to day,
Sorrows and poverty attend delay;
But lo! the careful man shall always find
Encrease of wealth according to his mind.

When the hot season of the year is o'er
That draws the toilsome sweat from ev'ry pore,
When o'er our heads th'abated planet rolls
A shorter course, and visits distant poles,
When Jove descends in show'rs upon the plains,
And the parch'd earth is cheer'd with plenteous rains,
When human bodys feel the grateful change,
And less a burden to themselves they range,
When the tall forest sheds her foliage round,
And with autumnal verdure strews the ground,
The bole is incorrupt, the timber good;
Then whet the sounding ax to fell the wood.

Provide a mortar three feet deep, and strong;
And let the pistil be three cubits long.

One foot in length next let the mallet be,
Ten spans the wain, seven feet her axeltree;
Of wood four crooked bits the wheel compose,
And give the length three spans to each of those.

From hill or field the hardest holm prepare,
To cut the part in which you place the share;
Thence your advantage will be largely found,
With that your oxen long may tear the ground;
And next, the skilful husbandman to show,
Fast pin the handle to the beam below:
Let the draught-beam of sturdy oak be made,
And for the handle rob the laurel shade;
Or, if the laurel you refuse to fell,
Seek out the elm, the elm will serve as well.
Two plows are needful; one let art bestow,
And one let nature to the service bow;
If use, or accident, the first destroy,
Its fellow in the furrow'd field employ.

Yoke from the herd two sturdy males, whose age
Mature secures them from each other's rage;
For if too young they will unruly grow,
Unfinish'd leave the work, and break the plow:
These, and your labour shall the better thrive,
Let a good plowman, year'd to forty, drive;
And see the careful husbandman be fed
With plenteous morsels, and of wholesome bread:
The slave, who numbers fewer days, you'll find
Careless of work, and of a rambling mind;
Perhaps, neglectful to direct the plow,
He in one furrow twice the seed will sow.

Observe the crane's departing flight in time,
Who yearly soars to seek a southern clime,
Conscious of cold; when the shrill voice you hear,
Know the fit season for the plow is near;
Then he for whom no oxen graze the plains,
With aking heart, beholds the winter rains;
Be mindful then the sturdy ox to feed,
And careful keep within the useful breed.
You say, perhaps, you will intreat a friend
A yoke of oxen, and a plow, to lend:
He your request, if wise, will thus refuse,
I have but two, and those I want to use;
To make a plow great is th'expence and care;
All these you should, in proper time, prepare.
Reproofs like these avoid; and, to behold
Your fields bright waving with their ears of gold,
Let unimprov'd no hour, in season, fly,
But with your servants plow, or wet, or dry;
And in the spring again to turn the soil
Observe; the summer shall reward your toil.
While light and fresh the glebe insert the grain;
Then shall your children smile, nor you complain.

Prefer with zeal, when you begin to plow,
To Jove terrene, and Ceres chast, the vow;
Then will the rural deitys regard
Your welfare, and your piety reward.
Forget not, when you sow the grain, to mind
That a boy follows with a rake behind;
And strictly charge him, as you drive, with care,
The seed to cover, and the birds to scare.
Thro ev'ry task, with diligence, employ
Your strength; and in that duty be your joy;
And, to avoid of life the greatest ill,
Never may sloth prevail upon thy will:
(Bless'd who with order their affairs dispose!
But rude confusion is the source of woes!)
Then shall you see, Olympian Jove your friend,
With pond'rous grain the yellow harvest bend;
Then of Arachne's web the vessels clear,
To hoard the produce of the fertile year.
Think then, o! think, how pleasant will it be,
At home an annual support to see,
To view with friendly eyes your neighbour's store,
And to be able to relieve the poor.

Learn now what seasons for the plow to shun:
Beneath the tropic of the winter's sun
Be well observant not to turn the ground,
For small advantage will from thence be found:
How will you sigh when thin your crop appears,
And the short stalks support the dusty ears!
Your scanty harvest then, in baskets press'd,
Will, by your folly, be your neighbour's jest:
Sometimes indeed it otherwise may be;
But who th'effect of a bad cause can see?
If late you to the plowman's task accede,
The symptoms these the later plow must speed.
When first the cuckoo from the oak you hear,
In welcome sounds, foretel the spring-time near,
If Jove, the plowman's friend, upon the plains,
Three days and nights, descends in constant rains,
Till on the surface of the glebe the tide
Rise to that height the ox's hoof may hide,
Then may you hope your store of golden grain
Shall equal his who earlyer turn'd the plain.
Observe, with care, the precepts I impart,
And may they never wander from thy heart;
Then shall you know the show'rs what seasons bring,
And what the bus'ness of the painted spring.

In that bleak, and dead, season of the year,
When naked all the woods, and fields, appear,
When nature lazy for a while remains,
And the blood almost freezes in the veins,
Avoid the public forge where wretches fly
Th'inclement rigour of the winter sky:
Thither behold the slothful vermin stray,
And there in idle talk consume the day;
Half-starv'd they sit, in evil consult join'd,
And, indolent, with hope buoy up their mind;
Hope that is never to the hungry kind!
Labour in season to encrease thy store,
And never let the winter find thee poor:
Thy servants all employ till summer's pass'd,
For tell them summer will not always last.

The month all hurtful to the lab'ring kine,
In part devoted to the god of wine,
Demands your utmost care; when raging forth,
O'er the wide seas, the tyrant of the north,
Bellowing thro Thrace, tears up the lofty woods,
Hardens the earth, and binds the rapid floods.
The mountain oak, high tow'ring to the skys,,
Torn from his root across the valley lys;
Wide spreading ruin threatens all the shore,
Loud groans the earth, and all the forests roar:
And now the beast amaz'd, from him that reigns
Lord of the woods to those which graze the plains,
Shiv'ring the piercing blast, affrighted, flys,
And guards his tender tail betwixt his thighs.
Now nought avails the roughness of the bear,
The ox's hide, nor the goat's length of hair,
Rich in their fleece, alone the well cloath'd fold
Dread not the blust'ring wind, nor fear the cold.
The man, who could erect support his age,
Now bends reluctant to the north-wind's rage:
From accidents like these the tender maid,
Free and secure, of storms nor winds afraid,
Lives, nurtur'd chast beneath her mother's Eye,
Unhurt, unsully'd, by the winter's sky;
Or now to bathe her lovely limbs she goes,
Now round the fair the fragrant ointment flows;
Beneath the virtuous roof she spends the nights,
Stranger to golden Venus, and her rites.
Now does the boneless Polypus, in rage,
Feed on his feet, his hunger to asswage;
The sun no more, bright shining in the day,
Directs him in the flood to find his prey;
O'er swarthy nations while he fiercely gleams,
Greece feels the pow'r but of his fainter beams.
Now all things have a diff'rent face below;
The beasts now shiver at the falling snow;
Thro woods, and thro the shady vale, they run
To various haunts, the pinching cold to shun;
Some to the thicket of the forest flock,
And some, for shelter, seek the hollow rock.

A winter garment now demands your care,
To guard the body from th'inclement air;
Soft be the inward vest, the outward strong,
And large to wrap you warm, down reaching long:
Thin lay your warf, when you the loom prepare,
And close to weave the woof no labour spare.
The rigour of the day a man defys,
Thus cloath'd; nor sees his hairs like bristles rise.
Next for your feet the well hair'd shoes provide,
Hairy within, of a sound ox's hide.
A kid's soft skin over your shoulders throw,
Unhurt to keep you from the rain or snow;
And for your head a well made cov'ring get,
To keep your ears safe from the cold and wet.

When o'er the plains the north exerts his sway,
From his sharp blasts piercing begins the day;
Then from the sky the morning dews descend,
And fruitful o'er the happy lands extend.
The waters by the winds convey'd on high,
From living streams, in early dew-drops ly
Bright on the grass; but if the north-wind swells,
With rage, and thick and sable clouds compels,
They fall in ev'ning storms upon the plain:
And now from ev'ry part, the lab'ring swain
Foresees the danger of the coming rain;
Leaving his work, panting behold him scow'r
Homeward, incessant to outrun the show'r.
This month commands your care, of all the year,
Alike to man and beast, the most severe:
The ox's provender be stinted now;
But plenteous meals the husbandman allow;
For the long nights but tedious pass away.
These rules observe while night succeeds the day,
Long as our common parent, earth shall bring
Her various offsprings forth to grace the spring.

When, from the tropic of the winter's sun,
Thrice twenty days and nights their course have run,
And when Arcturus leaves the main to rise
A star, bright shining in the ev'ning skys,
Then prune the vine: 'tis dang'rous to delay
Till with complaints the swallow breaks the day.

When with their domes the slow-pac'd snails retreat,
Beneath some foliage, from the burning heat
Of the Pleïades, your tools prepare;
The ripen'd harvest then demands your care.
Now fly the jocund shades, your morning sleep,
And constant to their work your servants keep;
All other pleasures to your duty yield;
The harvest calls, haste early to the field.
The morning workman always best succeeds;
The morn the reaper, and the trav'ler, speeds:
But when the thistle wide begins to spread,
And rears in triumph his offensive head,
When in the shady boughs, with quiv'ring wings,
The grashopper all day continual sings,
The season when the dog resumes his reign,
Weakens the nerves of man and burns the brain,
Then the fat flesh of goats is wholesome food,
And to the heart the gen'rous wine is good;
Then nature thro the softer sex does move,
And stimulates the fair to acts of love:
Then in the shade avoid the mid-day sun,
Where zephyrs breathe, and living fountains run;
There pass the sultry hours, with friends, away,
And frolic out, in harmless mirth, the day;
With country cates your homely table spread,
The goat's new milk, and cakes of milk your bread;
The flesh of beeves, which brouse the trees, your meat;
Nor spare the tender flesh of kids to eat;
With Byblian wine the rural feast be crown'd;
Three parts of water, let the bowl go round.

Forget not, when Orion first appears,
To make your servants thresh the sacred ears;
Upon the level floor the harvest lay,
Where a soft gale may blow the chaff away;
Then, of your labour to compute the gain,
Before you fill the vessels, mete the grain.
Sweep up the chaff, to make your work compleat;
The chaff, and straw, the ox and mule will eat.
When in the year's provision you have lay'd,
Take home a single man, and servant-maid;
Among your workmen let this care be shown
To one who has no mansion of his own.
Be sure a sharp-tooth'd cur well fed to keep,
Your house's guard, while you in safety sleep.
The harvest pass'd, and thus by Ceres bless'd,
Unyoke the beast, and give your servants rest.

Orion and the Dog, each other nigh,
Together mounted to the midmost sky,
When in the rosy morn Arcturus shines,
Then pluck the clusters from the parent vines;
Forget not next the ripen'd grapes to lay
Ten nights in air, nor take them in by day;
Five more remember, 'e're the wine is made,
To let them ly, to mellow in the shade;
And in the sixth briskly yourself employ,
To cask the gift of Bacchus, fire of joy.
Next, in the round, do not to plow forget,
When the seven virgins, and Orion, set:
Thus an advantage always shall appear,
In ev'ry labour of the various year.

If o'er your mind prevails the love of gain,
And tempts you to the dangers of the main,
Yet in her harbour safe the vessel keep,
When strong Orion chaces to the deep
The virgin stars; then the winds war aloud,
And veil the ocean with a sable cloud:
Then round the bark, already haul'd on shore,
Lay stones, to fix her when the tempests roar;
But first forget not well the keel to drain;
And draw the pin to save her from the rain.
Furl the ship's wings, her tackling home convey,
And o'er the smoke the well made rudder lay.
With patience wait for a propitious gale,
And a calm season to unfurl the sail;
Then launch the swift wing'd vessel on the main,
With a fit burden to return with gain.
So our poor father toil'd his hours away,
Careful to live in the unhappy day;
He, foolish Perses, spent no time in vain,
But fled misfortunes thro the wat'ry plain;
He, from Æolian Cuma, th'ocean pass'd,
Here, in his sable bark, arriv'd at last. [OMITTED]
Which to the sacred Heliconian nine
I offer'd grateful for their gift divine,
Where with the love of verse I first was fir'd,
Where by the heav'nly maids I was inspir'd;
To them I owe, to them alone I owe,
What of the seas, or of the stars, I know;
Mine is the pow'r to tell, by them reveal'd,
The will of Jove, tremendous with his shield;
To them, who taught me first, to them belong
The blooming honours of th'immortal song.

When, from the tropic of the summer's sun,
Full fifty days and nights their course have run,
Fearless of danger, for the voy'ge prepare,
Smooth is the ocean, and serene the air:
Then you the bark, safe with her freight, may view,
And gladsome as the day the joyful crew,
Unless great Jove, the king of gods, or he,
Neptune, that shakes the earth, and rules the sea,
The two immortal pow'rs on whom the end
Of mortals, good and bad, alike depend,
Should jointly, or alone, their force employ,
And, in a luckless hour, the ship destroy:
If, free from such mischance, the vessel flys,
O'er a calm sea, beneath indulgent skys,
Let nothing long thee from thy home detain,
But measure, quickly, measure back the main.
Haste your return before the vintage pass'd,
Prevent th'autumnal show'rs, and southern blast,
Or you, too late a penitent, will find
A ruffel'd ocean, and unfriendly wind.
Others there are who chuse to hoist the sail,
And plow the sea, before a spring-tide gale,
When first the footsteps of the crow are seen,
Clearly as on the trees the buding green:
But then, may my advice prevail, you'll keep
Your vessel safe at land, nor trust the deep;
Many, surprising weakness of the mind,
Tempt all the perils of the sea and wind,
Face death in all the terrors of the main,
Seeking, the soul of wretched mortals, gain.
Would'st thou be safe, my cautions be thy guide;
'Tis sad to perish in the boystrous tide.
When for the voy'ge your vessel leaves the shore,
Trust in her hollow sides not half your store;
The less your loss should she return no more:
With all your stock how dismal would it be
To have the cargo perish in the sea!
A load, you know, too pond'rous for the wain,
Will crush the axeltree, and spoil the grain.
Let ev'ry action prove a mean confess'd;
A moderation is, in all, the best.

Next to my counsels an attention pay,
To form your judgement for the nuptial day.
When you have number'd thrice ten years in time,
The age mature when manhood dates his prime,
With caution choose the partner of your bed:
Whom fifteen springs have crown'd, a virgin wed.
Let prudence now direct your choice; a wife
Is or a blessing, or a curse, in life;
Her father, mother, know, relations, friends,
For on her education much depends:
If all are good accept the maiden bride;
Then form her manners, and her actions guide:
A life of bliss succeeds the happy choice;
Nor shall your friends lament, nor foes rejoice.
Wretched the man condemn'd to drag the chain,
What restless ev'nings his, what days of pain!
Of a luxurious mate, a wanton dame,
That ever burns with an insatiate flame,
A wife who seeks to revel out the nights
In sumptuous banquets, and in stol'n delights:
Ah! wretched mortal! tho in body strong,
Thy constitution cannot serve thee long;
Old age vexatious shall o'ertake thee soon;
Thine is the ev'n of life before the noon.

Observe in all you do, and all you say,
Regard to the immortal gods to pay.

First in your friendship let your brother stand,
So nearly join'd in blood, the strictest band;
Or should another be your heart's ally,
Let not a fault of thine dissolve the ty;
Nor e'er debase the friendship with a ly.
Should he, offensive, or in deed, or speech,
First in the sacred union make the breach,
To punish him may your resentments tend;
For who more guilty than a faithless friend!
But if, repentant of his breach of trust,
The self-accuser thinks your vengeance just,
And humbly begs you would no more complain,
Sink your resentments, and be friends again;
Or the poor wretch, all sorrowful to part,
Sighs for another friend to ease his heart.

Whatever rage your boiling heart sustains,
Let not the face disclose your inward pains.

Be your companions o'er the social bowl
The few selected, each a virtuous soul.

Never a friend among the wicked go,
Nor ever join to be the good man's foe.

When you behold a man by fortune poor,
Let him not leave with sharp rebukes the door:
The treasure of the tongue, in ev'ry cause,
With moderation us'd, obtains applause:
What of another you severely say
May amply be return'd another day.

When you are summon'd to the public feast,
Go with a willing mind a ready guest;
Grudge not the charge, the burden is but small;
Good is the custom, and it pleases all.

When the libation of black wine you bring,
A morning off'ring to the heav'nly king,
With hands unclean if you prefer the pray'r,
Jove is incens'd, your vows are loss'd in air;
So all th'immortal pow'rs on whom we call,
If with polluted hands, are deaf to all.

When you would have your urine pass away,
Stand not upright before the eye of day;
And scatter not your water as you go;
Nor let it, when you're naked, from you flow:
In either case 'tis an unseemly sight:
The gods observe alike by day and night:
The man that we devout and wise may call
Sits in that act, or streams against a wall.

Whate'er you do in amorous delight,
Be all transacted in the veil of night;
And when, transported, to your wife's embrace
You haste, pollute no consecrated place;
Nor seek to taste her beautys when you part
From a sad fun'ral with a heavy heart:
When from the joyous feast you come all gay,
In her fair arms revel the night away.

When to the rivulet to bathe you go,
Whose lucid currents, never ceasing, flow,
'E're, to deface the stream, you leave the land,
With the pure limpid waters cleanse each hand;
Then on the lovely surface fix your look,
And supplicate the guardians of the brook:
Who in the river thinks himself secure,
With malice at his heart, and hands impure,
Too late a penitent, shall find, 'e're-long,
By what the gods inflict, his rashness wrong.

When to the gods your solemn vows you pay,
Strictly attend while at the feast you stay;
Nor the black iron to your hands apply,
From the fresh parts to pare the useless dry.

The bowl, from which you the libation pour
To heav'n, profane not in the social hour:
Who things devote to vulgar use employ,
Those men some dreadful vengeance shall destroy.

Never begin to build a mansion seat,
Unless you're sure to make the work compleat;
Lest, on th'unfinish'd roof high perch'd, the crow
Croak horrid, and foretel approaching woe.

'Tis hurtful in the footed jar to eat,
Till purify'd: nor in it bathe your feet.

Who in a slothful way his children rears,
Will see them feeble in their riper years.

Never by acts effeminate disgrace
Yourself, nor bathe your body in the place
Where women bathe; for time and custom can
Soften your heart to acts beneath a man.

When on the sacred rites you fix your eyes,
Deride not, in your breast, the sacrifice;
For know, the god, to whom the flames aspire,
May punish you severely in his ire.

Sacred the fountains, and the seas, esteem,
Nor by indecent acts pollute their stream.

These precepts keep, fond of a virtuous name,
And shun the loud reports of evil fame:
Fame is an ill you may with ease obtain,
A sad oppression to be borne with pain;
And when you would the noisy clamours drown,
You'll find it hard to lay your burden down:
Fame, of whatever kind, not wholly dys,
A goddess she, and strengthens as she flys.

Your servants to a just observance train
Of days, as Heav'n and human rites ordain;
Great Jove, with wisdom, o'er the year presides,
Directs the seasons, and the moments guides.

Of ev'ry month, the most propitious day,
The thirtyth choose, your labours to survey;
And the due wages to your servants pay.
The first of ev'ry moon we sacred deem,
Alike the fourth throughout the year esteem;
And in the seventh Apollo we adore,
In which the golden god Latona bore;
Two days succeeding these extend your cares,
Uninterrupted, in your own affairs;
Nor in the next two days, but one, delay
The work in hand, the bus'ness of the day,
Of which th'eleventh we propitious hold
To reap the corn, the twelfth to sheer the fold;
And then behold, with her industrious train,
The ant, wise reptile, gather in the grain;
Then you may see, suspended in the air,
The careful spider his domain prepare,
And while the artist spins the cobweb dome
The matron chearful plys the loom at home.
Forget not in the thirteenth to refrain
From sowing, left your work should prove in vain;
Tho then the grain may find a barren soil,
The day is grateful to the planter's toil:
Not so the sixteenth to the planter's care;
A day unlucky to the new-born fair,
Alike unhappy to the marry'd then;
A day propitious to the birth of men:
The sixth the same both to the man and maid;
Then secret vows are made and nymphs betray'd;
The fair by soothing words are captives led;
The gossip's tale is told, detraction spread;
The kid to castrate, and the ram, we hold
Propitious now; alike to pen the fold.
Geld in the eighth the goat, and lowing steer;
Nor in the twelfth to geld the mule-colt fear.
The offspring male born in the twenty'th prize,
'Tis a great day, he shall be early wise.
Happy the man-child in the tenth day born;
Happy the virgin in the fourteenth morn;
Then train the mule obedient to your hand,
And teach the snarling cur his lord's command;
Then make the bleating flocks their master know,
And bend the horned oxen to the plow.
What in the twenty-fourth you do beware;
And the fourth day requires an equal care;
Then, then, be circumspect in all your ways,
Woes, complicated woes, attend the days.
When, resolute to change a single life,
You wed, on the fourth day lead home your wife;
But first observe the feather'd race that fly,
Remarking well the happy augury.
The fifths of ev'ry month your care require,
Days full of trouble, and afflictions dire;
For then the furys take their round, 'tis say'd,
And heap their vengeance on the perjur'd head.
In the sev'nteenth prepare the level floor;
And then of Ceres thresh the sacred store;
In the same day, and when the timber's good,
Fell, for the bedpost, and the ship, the wood.
The vessel, suff'ring by the sea and air,
Survey all o'er, and in the fourth repair.
In the nineteenth 'tis better to delay,
Till afternoon, the bus'ness of the day.
Uninterrupted in the ninth pursue
The work in hand, a day propitious thro;
Themselves the planters prosp'rous then employ;
To either sex, in birth, a day of joy.
The twentyninth is best, observe the rule,
Known but to few, to yoke the ox and mule;
'Tis proper then to yoke the flying steed;
But few, alas! these wholesome truths can read;
Then you may fill the cask, nor fill in vain;
Then draw the swift ship to the sable main.
To pierce the cask till the fourteenth delay,
Of all most sacred next the twenty'th day;
After the twenty'th day few of the rest
We sacred deem, of that the morn is best.

These are the days of which th'observance can
Bring great advantage to the race of man;
The rest unnam'd indiff'rent pass away,
And nought important marks the vulgar day:
Some one commend, and some another praise,
But most by guess, for few are wise in days:
One cruel as a stepmother we find,
And one as an indulgent mother kind.

O! happy mortal, happy he, and bless'd,
Whose wisdom here is by his acts confess'd;
Who lives all blameless to immortal eyes,
Who prudently consults the augurys,
Nor, by transgression, works his neighbour pain,
Nor ever gives him reason to complain.