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 | Oxford and Cambridge miscellany poems |  |
An Epigram out of Martial.
Milo 's from Home, and Milo being gone,His Lands bore nothing, but his Wife a Son:
Why she so fruitful, and so bare the Field?
The Lands lay fallow, but the Wife was till'd.
15
An Imitation of the Ninth Ode of the First Book of Horace.
Since the Hills all around us do Penance in Snow,And Winter's cold Blasts have benumm'd us below;
Since the Rivers chain'd up flow with the same Speed,
As Criminals move to'ards the Psalm they can't read:
Throw whole Oaks at a time, nay whole Groves on the Fire,
To keep out the Cold, and new Vigour inspire.
Ne'er waste the dull Time in impertinent thinking,
But urge and pursue the grand Bus'ness of drinking.
Come, pierce your old Hogsheads, ne'er stint us in Sherry,
For this is the Season to drink and be merry.
That reviv'd by good Liquor, and Billets together,
We may brave the loud Storms, and defie the cold Weather.
16
Leave it all to the Care of the good Folks above us.
Whilst your Appetite's strong, and good Humour remains,
And active brisk Blood does enliven your Veins,
Improve the sweet Minutes in Scenes of Delight,
Let your Friend have the Day, and your Mistress the Night:
In the dark you may try whether Phillis is kind,
The Night for Intrigues was ever design'd:
Tho' she runs from your Arms, and retires to a Shade,
Some friendly kind Sign will betray the coy Maid:
All tremb'ling you'll find the poor bashful Sinner,
Such a Trespass is venial in any Beginner:
But remember this Counsel, when once you have met her,
Get a Ring from the Nymph, or something that's better.
17
The 5th Epigram of Catullus translated.
Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus, &c.
Let's live, my dear, like Lovers too,
Nor heed what old Men say or do.
The falling Sun will surely rise,
And dart new Glories through the Skies.
But when we fall, alas! our Light
Will set in everlasting Night.
Come then, let Mirth and am'rous Play
Be all the Business of the Day.
Give me this Kiss—and this—and this!
A hundred thousand more.—Let's kiss
Till we our selves cannot express,
Nor any lurking Spy confess
The boundless measure of our Happiness.
18
Claudian's Old Man of Verona.
Felix qui Patris ævum transegit in agris, &c.
Happy the Man who all his Days does pass
In the paternal Cottage of his Race;
Where first his trembling Infant steps he try'd
Which now supports his Age, and once his Youth employ'd.
This was the Cottage his Forefathers knew,
It saw his Birth, shall see his Burial too;
Unequal Fortunes, and Ambition's Fate
Are things Experience never taught him yet.
Him to strange Lands no rambling Humour bore,
Nor breath'd he ever any Air but of his native Shore.
Free from all anxious Interests of Trade,
No Storms at Sea have e'er disturb'd his Head:
19
Nor heard the worse Confusions of the Law.
A Stranger to the Town, and Town Employs,
Their dark and crowded Streets, their Stink and Noise;
He a more calm and brighter Sky enjoys.
Nor does the Year by change of Consuls know,
The Year his Fruit's returning Seasons show;
Quarters and Months in Nature's Face he sees,
In Flowers the Spring, and Autumn on his Trees.
The whole Day's Shadows in his Homestead drawn,
Point out the hourly Courses of the Sun.
Grown old with him, a Grove adorns his Field,
Whose tender setts his Infancy beheld.
Of distant India, Erythræan Shores,
Benacus Lake, Verona's neighb'ring Tow'rs,
(Alike unseen) from common Fame has heard,
Alike believes them, and with like Regard.
Yet firm and strong, his Grandchildren admire
The Health and Vigour of their brawny Sire.
20
This good old Man, content at home to stay,
More happy Years shall know, more Leagues and Countries they.
Martial Lib. 10. Epig. 47.
Vitam quæ faciunt Beatiorem,
Jucundissime Martialis hæc sunt, &c.
Jucundissime Martialis hæc sunt, &c.
Would you, my Friend, in little room express
The just Description of true Happiness;
First set me down a competent Estate,
But rais'd and left me by a Parent's Sweat;
('Tis Pleasure to improve, but Toil to get:)
Not large, but always large enough to yield
A chearful Fire, and no ungrateful Field.
21
And rarely pester'd with a Town-Employ.
Smooth be my Thoughts, my Mind serene and clear,
A heathful Body with such Limbs I'd bear
As should be graceful, well proportion'd, just,
And neither weak, nor boorishly robust.
Nor Fool, nor Knave, but innocently wise;
Some Friends indulge me, let a few suffice:
But suited to my Humour and Degree,
Not nice, but eas'ly pleas'd, and fit for me:
So let my Board and Entertainments be.
With wholesome homely Food, not serv'd in State,
What tasts as well in Pewter as in Plate.
Mirth and a Glass my chearful Ev'nings share,
At equal distance from Debauch and Care.
To Bed retiring let me find it blest
With a kind modest Spouse, and downy rest.
Pleas'd always with the Lot my Fates assign,
Let me no change desire, no change decline;
22
Not tir'd with Life, nor yet afraid to die.
The Third Ode of the third Book of Horace.
An honest Mind, to Virtue's Precepts true,
Contemns the Fury of a lawless Crew:
Firm as a Rock he to his Purpose stands,
And thinks a Tyrant's Frowns as weak as his Commands.
Him loudest Storms can't from his Centre move,
He braves th' Almighty Thunder ev'n of Jove.
If all the Heav'nly Orbs, confus'dly hurl'd,
Should dash in pieces, and should crush the World,
Undaunted he the mighty Crash would hear,
Nor in his Breast admit a Thought of Fear.
Contemns the Fury of a lawless Crew:
Firm as a Rock he to his Purpose stands,
And thinks a Tyrant's Frowns as weak as his Commands.
Him loudest Storms can't from his Centre move,
He braves th' Almighty Thunder ev'n of Jove.
If all the Heav'nly Orbs, confus'dly hurl'd,
Should dash in pieces, and should crush the World,
Undaunted he the mighty Crash would hear,
Nor in his Breast admit a Thought of Fear.
23
Pollux and wand'ring Hercules of old,
Were by such Acts among the Gods enroll'd.
Augustus thus the shining Pow'rs possess'd,
By all th' immortal Deities caress'd;
He shares with them in their etherial Feasts,
And quaffs bright Nectar with the Heav'nly Guests.
This was the Path the striking Tygres trod,
Dragging the Car that bore their jolly God,
Who fix'd in Heav'n his Crown and his Abode.
Romulus by Mars through this blest Path was shown,
And scap'd the Woes of gloomy Acheron.
In Virtues rugged Road he took his way,
And gain'd the Mansions of eternal Day;
For him, ev'n Juno's self pronounc'd a Word
Grateful to all th' Ethereal Council-Board.
Were by such Acts among the Gods enroll'd.
Augustus thus the shining Pow'rs possess'd,
By all th' immortal Deities caress'd;
He shares with them in their etherial Feasts,
And quaffs bright Nectar with the Heav'nly Guests.
This was the Path the striking Tygres trod,
Dragging the Car that bore their jolly God,
Who fix'd in Heav'n his Crown and his Abode.
Romulus by Mars through this blest Path was shown,
And scap'd the Woes of gloomy Acheron.
In Virtues rugged Road he took his way,
And gain'd the Mansions of eternal Day;
For him, ev'n Juno's self pronounc'd a Word
Grateful to all th' Ethereal Council-Board.
O Ilion, Ilion! I with transport view
The Fall of all thy wicked perjur'd Crew:
Pallas and I have born a rankling Grudge
To that curst Shepherd, that incestuous Judge;
Nay, ev'n Laomedon his Gods betray'd,
And basely broke the solemn Oath he made.
But now the painted Strumpet and her Guest
No more are in their Pomp and Jewels drest;
No more is Hector licens'd to destroy,
To slay the Greeks, and save his perjur'd Troy.
Priam is now become an empty Ghost,
Doom'd with his House to tread the burning Coast.
The God of Battel now has ceas'd to roar,
And I, the Queen of Heav'n, pursue my Hate no more.
I now the Trojan Priestess Son will give
Back to his warlike Sire, and let him live
In lucid Bow'rs, and give him leave to use
Ambrosia, and the Nectars Heav'nly Juice;
To be enroll'd in these serene Abodes,
And wear the easie Order of the Gods.
In this blest State I grant him to remain,
While Troy from Rome's divided by the Main;
While savage Beasts insult the Trojan Tombs,
And in their Caves unlade their pregnant Wombs.
Let th' exil'd Trojans reign in ev'ry Land,
And let the Capitol triumphant stand,
And all the tributary World command.
Let awful Rome, with sev'n refulgent Heads,
Still keep her Conquests o'er the vanquish'd Medes.
With conqu'ring Terrour let her Arms extend
Her mighty Name to Shores without an end;
Where Mid-land Seas divide the fruitful Soil
From Europe to the swelling Waves of Nile.
Let 'em be greater by despising Gold,
Than digging it from forth its native Mold,
To be the wicked Instrument of Ill.
Let Sword and Ruin ev'ry Country fill,
That strives to stop the Progress of her Arms,
Not only those that sultry Sirius warms;
But where the Fields in endless Winter lie,
Whose Frosts and Snows the Sun's bright Rays defie.
But yet on this Condition I decree
The Warlike Romans happy Destiny;
That when they universal Rule enjoy,
They not presume to raise their antient Troy:
For then all ugly Omens shall return,
And Troy be built, but once again to burn;
Ev'n I my self a second War will move,
Ev'n I, the Sister and the Wife of Jove.
If Phœbus Harp should thrice erect a Wall
And all of Brass, yet thrice the Work should fall,
Sack'd by my Fav'rite Greeks; and thrice again
The Trojan Wives should drag a Captive Chain,
And mourn their Children, and their Husbands slain.
The Fall of all thy wicked perjur'd Crew:
24
To that curst Shepherd, that incestuous Judge;
Nay, ev'n Laomedon his Gods betray'd,
And basely broke the solemn Oath he made.
But now the painted Strumpet and her Guest
No more are in their Pomp and Jewels drest;
No more is Hector licens'd to destroy,
To slay the Greeks, and save his perjur'd Troy.
Priam is now become an empty Ghost,
Doom'd with his House to tread the burning Coast.
The God of Battel now has ceas'd to roar,
And I, the Queen of Heav'n, pursue my Hate no more.
I now the Trojan Priestess Son will give
Back to his warlike Sire, and let him live
In lucid Bow'rs, and give him leave to use
Ambrosia, and the Nectars Heav'nly Juice;
To be enroll'd in these serene Abodes,
And wear the easie Order of the Gods.
25
While Troy from Rome's divided by the Main;
While savage Beasts insult the Trojan Tombs,
And in their Caves unlade their pregnant Wombs.
Let th' exil'd Trojans reign in ev'ry Land,
And let the Capitol triumphant stand,
And all the tributary World command.
Let awful Rome, with sev'n refulgent Heads,
Still keep her Conquests o'er the vanquish'd Medes.
With conqu'ring Terrour let her Arms extend
Her mighty Name to Shores without an end;
Where Mid-land Seas divide the fruitful Soil
From Europe to the swelling Waves of Nile.
Let 'em be greater by despising Gold,
Than digging it from forth its native Mold,
To be the wicked Instrument of Ill.
Let Sword and Ruin ev'ry Country fill,
That strives to stop the Progress of her Arms,
Not only those that sultry Sirius warms;
26
Whose Frosts and Snows the Sun's bright Rays defie.
But yet on this Condition I decree
The Warlike Romans happy Destiny;
That when they universal Rule enjoy,
They not presume to raise their antient Troy:
For then all ugly Omens shall return,
And Troy be built, but once again to burn;
Ev'n I my self a second War will move,
Ev'n I, the Sister and the Wife of Jove.
If Phœbus Harp should thrice erect a Wall
And all of Brass, yet thrice the Work should fall,
Sack'd by my Fav'rite Greeks; and thrice again
The Trojan Wives should drag a Captive Chain,
And mourn their Children, and their Husbands slain.
But whither wouldst thou, soaring Muse, aspire
To tell the Counsels of the Heav'nly Choir?
Alas! thou canst not strain thy weakly strings,
To sing in humble Notes such mighty things:
No more the Secrets of the Gods relate,
Thy Tongue's too feeble for a Task so great.
To tell the Counsels of the Heav'nly Choir?
Alas! thou canst not strain thy weakly strings,
To sing in humble Notes such mighty things:
87
Thy Tongue's too feeble for a Task so great.
The Rose.
See, Sylvia, see this new-blown Rose!The Image of thy Blush,
Mark how it smiles upon the Bush,
And triumphs as it grows.
Oh pluck it not! we'll come anon;
Thou say'st: Alas! 'twill then be gone.
Now its Purple Beauty's spread,
Soon it will droop and fall,
And soon it will not be at all;
No fine things draw a length of Thread.
Then tell me, seems it not to say,
Come on, and crop me whilst you may?
174
The Dream: Imitated from Propertius, Book iii. Elegy iii.
By Mr. Fenton.
To green Retreats, that shade the Muses Stream,
My Fancy lately bore me in a Dream;
Fir'd with ambitious Zeal, my Harp I strung,
And Blenheim's Field, and fam'd Ramillia sung:
Fast by that Spring, where Spencer sat of old,
And great Exploits in lofty Numbers told.
Phœbus in his Castalian Grotto laid,
O'er which a Lawrel cast her silken Shade,
Spy'd me, and hastily when first he spy'd,
Thus, leaning on his golden Lyre, he cry'd:
My Fancy lately bore me in a Dream;
Fir'd with ambitious Zeal, my Harp I strung,
And Blenheim's Field, and fam'd Ramillia sung:
Fast by that Spring, where Spencer sat of old,
And great Exploits in lofty Numbers told.
Phœbus in his Castalian Grotto laid,
O'er which a Lawrel cast her silken Shade,
Spy'd me, and hastily when first he spy'd,
Thus, leaning on his golden Lyre, he cry'd:
What strange Ambition has misplac'd thee there?
Forbear to sing of Arms, alas forbear!
Form'd in a gentler Mould, henceforth employ
Thy Pen to paint the softer Scenes o'Joy.
Thy Works may thus the Myrtle Garland wear,
Prefer'd to Grace the Toilets o'the Fair:
When their lov'd Youths at Night too long delay,
In reading thee they'll pass the Hours away:
And, when they'd make their melting Wishes known,
Repeat thy Passion to reveal their own.
Then hast, the safer Shallows to regain,
Nor dare the stormy Dangers o'the Main.
Forbear to sing of Arms, alas forbear!
Form'd in a gentler Mould, henceforth employ
Thy Pen to paint the softer Scenes o'Joy.
Thy Works may thus the Myrtle Garland wear,
Prefer'd to Grace the Toilets o'the Fair:
175
In reading thee they'll pass the Hours away:
And, when they'd make their melting Wishes known,
Repeat thy Passion to reveal their own.
Then hast, the safer Shallows to regain,
Nor dare the stormy Dangers o'the Main.
Ceasing with this Reproof, the friendly God,
A mossy Path, but lightly beaten, show'd:
A Cave there was, which Nature's Hand alone
Had arch'd, with Greens o'various Kinds o'ergrown;
With Tymbrels all the vaulted Roof was grac'd,
And Earthen Gods on either side were plac'd.
Silenus, and the Muses Virgin-Train,
Stood here, with Pan the Poet o'the Plain:
Elsewhere the Doves o'Cytherea's Team,
Were seen to sip the sweet Castalian Stream.
A mossy Path, but lightly beaten, show'd:
A Cave there was, which Nature's Hand alone
Had arch'd, with Greens o'various Kinds o'ergrown;
With Tymbrels all the vaulted Roof was grac'd,
And Earthen Gods on either side were plac'd.
Silenus, and the Muses Virgin-Train,
Stood here, with Pan the Poet o'the Plain:
Elsewhere the Doves o'Cytherea's Team,
Were seen to sip the sweet Castalian Stream.
Nine lovely Nymphs a sev'ral Task pursu'd,
For Ivy one was sent to search the Wood;
This to soft Numbers joyn'd harmonious Airs,
And fragrant Rosy Wreaths a third prepares.
Me thus the bright Calliope address'd,
(Her Name the Brightness of her Form confess'd.)
The Silver Swans o'Venus wait to bear
Thee safe, in Pomp along the liquid Air.
Pleas'd with thy peaceful Province, streight recal
Thy rash Design to sing the wounded Gaul:
Harsh sounds the Trumpet in the Muses Grove,
But sweet the Lute, the Lute is fit for Love.
No more rehearse the Danube's Purple Stream,
Let Love for ever be the tender Theme:
And in thy Verse reveal the moving Art,
To melt an haughty Nymph's relentless Heart.
For Ivy one was sent to search the Wood;
176
And fragrant Rosy Wreaths a third prepares.
Me thus the bright Calliope address'd,
(Her Name the Brightness of her Form confess'd.)
The Silver Swans o'Venus wait to bear
Thee safe, in Pomp along the liquid Air.
Pleas'd with thy peaceful Province, streight recal
Thy rash Design to sing the wounded Gaul:
Harsh sounds the Trumpet in the Muses Grove,
But sweet the Lute, the Lute is fit for Love.
No more rehearse the Danube's Purple Stream,
Let Love for ever be the tender Theme:
And in thy Verse reveal the moving Art,
To melt an haughty Nymph's relentless Heart.
The Goddess ceasing to confirm me more,
My Face with hallowed Drops she sprinkled o'er;
Fetch'd from the Fountain, by whose flow'ry side,
Soft Waller sung of Sacharissa's Pride.
My Face with hallowed Drops she sprinkled o'er;
Fetch'd from the Fountain, by whose flow'ry side,
Soft Waller sung of Sacharissa's Pride.
373
On the first Fit of the Gout.
Welcome thou Friendly earnest of Fourscore
Promise of Wealth, that hast alone the Pow'r
T'attend the Rich unenvy'd by the Poor.
Thou that dost Esculapius deride,
And o'er his Gally Pots in Triumph ride;
Thou that art us'd t'attend the Royal Throne,
And under-prop the Head that bears the Crown;
Thou that dost oft in privy Council wait,
And guard from drowzy sleep the Eyes of State;
Thou that upon the Bench art mounted high,
And warn'st the Judges how they tread awry;
Thou that dost oft from pamper'd Prelates Toe,
Emphatically urge the Pains below;
Thou that art ever half the City's Grace,
And add'st to solemn Noddles solemn Pace;
Thou that art us'd to sit on Ladies Knee,
To feed on Jellys, and to drink cold Tea;
Thou that art ne'er from Velvet Slipper free;
Whence comes this unsought Honour unto me?
Whence does this mighty Condescension flow?
To visit my poor Tabernacle, O—!
Promise of Wealth, that hast alone the Pow'r
T'attend the Rich unenvy'd by the Poor.
Thou that dost Esculapius deride,
And o'er his Gally Pots in Triumph ride;
Thou that art us'd t'attend the Royal Throne,
And under-prop the Head that bears the Crown;
Thou that dost oft in privy Council wait,
And guard from drowzy sleep the Eyes of State;
Thou that upon the Bench art mounted high,
And warn'st the Judges how they tread awry;
Thou that dost oft from pamper'd Prelates Toe,
Emphatically urge the Pains below;
Thou that art ever half the City's Grace,
And add'st to solemn Noddles solemn Pace;
374
To feed on Jellys, and to drink cold Tea;
Thou that art ne'er from Velvet Slipper free;
Whence comes this unsought Honour unto me?
Whence does this mighty Condescension flow?
To visit my poor Tabernacle, O—!
As Jove vouchsaf'd on Idas top, 'tis said,
At poor Philemon's Cot to take a Bed;
Pleas'd with the poor but hospitable Feast,
Jove bad him ask, and granted his Request;
So do thou grant (for thou'rt of Race Divine,
Begot on Venus, by the God of Wine.)
My humble Suit.—And either give me Store
To entertain thee, or ne'er see me more.
At poor Philemon's Cot to take a Bed;
Pleas'd with the poor but hospitable Feast,
Jove bad him ask, and granted his Request;
So do thou grant (for thou'rt of Race Divine,
Begot on Venus, by the God of Wine.)
My humble Suit.—And either give me Store
To entertain thee, or ne'er see me more.
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