 | Epistles of Horace Imitated |  |
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Epistle I.
To WILLIAM USSHER, Esq;
You! whom I chose, and whom I still wou'd chuse,
The first, and latest Subject of my Muse!
With whom, her Voice began, her Voice wou'd end!
My best Companion, my sincerest Friend!
Enough expos'd before to Public Eyes,
With early Pride I sought the vent'rous Prize;
But soon dismiss'd forsook the active Stage:
And yet again You tempt me to engage;
To try the Arms I long declined to use:
And must I, or Myself, or You, refuse?
For nor the same my Age, nor Mind the same;
That Sense of Pleasure, or that Thirst of Fame!
The first, and latest Subject of my Muse!
With whom, her Voice began, her Voice wou'd end!
My best Companion, my sincerest Friend!
Enough expos'd before to Public Eyes,
With early Pride I sought the vent'rous Prize;
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And yet again You tempt me to engage;
To try the Arms I long declined to use:
And must I, or Myself, or You, refuse?
For nor the same my Age, nor Mind the same;
That Sense of Pleasure, or that Thirst of Fame!
See Figg himself to new Adventurers quit,
The giving Gallery, and the praising Pit.
No more in White the Hockley-Hero stands,
And, just in Act to wound, exchanges Hands.
The Ribbands, wore to set the Crowd a-gaze,
He now preserves as venerable Bays.
Critic in This; the Battle he attends,
And on the trophied Post his Arms suspends;
The stunning Staff, his Skill was wont to wield!
The Dagger! The light Sword! The osier Shield!
Averse to many a Leg, the broader Blade!
And all the Weapons of the sanguine Trade!
With which, of old, Herculean Feats he wrought:
Judge of the Theatre, where once he fought.
Retired by-times; lest, weak to keep his Ground,
Some rising Sherlock drive him round and round;
Or force from off the Stage in luckless Strife;
While scarce the friendly Second saves his Life.
The giving Gallery, and the praising Pit.
No more in White the Hockley-Hero stands,
And, just in Act to wound, exchanges Hands.
The Ribbands, wore to set the Crowd a-gaze,
He now preserves as venerable Bays.
Critic in This; the Battle he attends,
And on the trophied Post his Arms suspends;
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The Dagger! The light Sword! The osier Shield!
Averse to many a Leg, the broader Blade!
And all the Weapons of the sanguine Trade!
With which, of old, Herculean Feats he wrought:
Judge of the Theatre, where once he fought.
Retired by-times; lest, weak to keep his Ground,
Some rising Sherlock drive him round and round;
Or force from off the Stage in luckless Strife;
While scarce the friendly Second saves his Life.
And oft this Caution strikes my watchful Ear;
(Or if some Tutulary Voice I hear;
Or warns Apollo with peculiar Grace.)
“Maturely, free the Steed, and spare the Race!
“What tho', to his Success, or casual Fate,
“Thy Table owes, whate'er it boasts of Plate?
“Reflect!—The Pleasure ill repaid the Pain;
“Nor equal, to the Labor, was the Gain.
“Desist, if wise, the Trial to repeat!
“Lest, prest and strain'd, He stumble in the Heat;
“Or heaving enter the last-distanc'd Horse;
“The Pity and the Laughter of the Course!
(Or if some Tutulary Voice I hear;
Or warns Apollo with peculiar Grace.)
“Maturely, free the Steed, and spare the Race!
“What tho', to his Success, or casual Fate,
“Thy Table owes, whate'er it boasts of Plate?
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“Nor equal, to the Labor, was the Gain.
“Desist, if wise, the Trial to repeat!
“Lest, prest and strain'd, He stumble in the Heat;
“Or heaving enter the last-distanc'd Horse;
“The Pity and the Laughter of the Course!
For This, my Sports, my Follies! I resign,
My lighter Songs, or Toys of Love and Wine;
The Decent and the Good I hold in View;
Contemplate, what is Beauteous, what is True;
And search, and ask, what seems, and what is Right;
And plan, and build, for Profit and Delight;
And hoard, and range, (intent on This alone!)
Fit Stores, for others Use, and for my own.
My lighter Songs, or Toys of Love and Wine;
The Decent and the Good I hold in View;
Contemplate, what is Beauteous, what is True;
And search, and ask, what seems, and what is Right;
And plan, and build, for Profit and Delight;
And hoard, and range, (intent on This alone!)
Fit Stores, for others Use, and for my own.
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Ask You? “To what fam'd Leader I incline?
“What, Statist, Casuist, Moralist, Divine?
“Swear, by what Oath? And to what Form subscribe?
“Friend, of what Faction? Sociate, of what Tribe?
“Where, tend my Tenets? And whence, rise my Rules?
“From what establish'd, what exploded Scholes?”
Not apt on Faith-implicit to rely,
Or swallow down the So, without the Why,
Free Guest to All, to no One Sect a Slave!
I give Myself to ev'ry Wind and Wave.
“What, Statist, Casuist, Moralist, Divine?
“Swear, by what Oath? And to what Form subscribe?
“Friend, of what Faction? Sociate, of what Tribe?
“Where, tend my Tenets? And whence, rise my Rules?
“From what establish'd, what exploded Scholes?”
Not apt on Faith-implicit to rely,
Or swallow down the So, without the Why,
Free Guest to All, to no One Sect a Slave!
I give Myself to ev'ry Wind and Wave.
With Philocles I ply the active Oar,
The golden-Mines of Order to explore.
Imbroil'd in Private, or immers'd in State,
I try what Joys on steady Conduct wait.
When most inrag'd the Sea, obscur'd the Sky;
Fall what may fall! the Tempest I defy.
The rigid Post, the hard Defence I take;
For Virtue I contend, for Virtue's Sake.
The golden-Mines of Order to explore.
Imbroil'd in Private, or immers'd in State,
I try what Joys on steady Conduct wait.
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Fall what may fall! the Tempest I defy.
The rigid Post, the hard Defence I take;
For Virtue I contend, for Virtue's Sake.
Then back, by stealth, an adverse Course I drive,
And join the Labors of the Fabled Hive.
To reach my Wish, my Fortune I extend;
Not, to my Fortune, make my Wish descend.
Of Self I doubt; if well or ill defin'd?
If Free and Sordid share one common Mind?
If from one Seed both Love and Hatred came?
And differ, Vice and Virtue but in Name?
And join the Labors of the Fabled Hive.
To reach my Wish, my Fortune I extend;
Not, to my Fortune, make my Wish descend.
Of Self I doubt; if well or ill defin'd?
If Free and Sordid share one common Mind?
If from one Seed both Love and Hatred came?
And differ, Vice and Virtue but in Name?
Long as the Night to the impatient Boy,
Whom, cheats the lying Maid, of promis'd Joy!
As tedious, to the wearied Swain, the Day,
Who works from Sun to Sun for scanty Pay;
Slow to the Heir, as flows the last odd Year,
That frees him from his Guardian and his Fear!
To me, so long, so tedious, and so slow,
The Hours, the Minutes, and the Moments flow!
That all my Hopes, and all my Pleasures stay,
From fair Pursuits, that suffer by Delay.
Nor give to fit complete each stated Line,
And crown with Execution the Design.
What, soon perform'd, wou'd equal Profit bring,
To Rich and Poor! to Peasant and to King!
But ill defer'd, in equal Loss engage,
The Young and Old! Both Infancy and Age!
Whom, cheats the lying Maid, of promis'd Joy!
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Who works from Sun to Sun for scanty Pay;
Slow to the Heir, as flows the last odd Year,
That frees him from his Guardian and his Fear!
To me, so long, so tedious, and so slow,
The Hours, the Minutes, and the Moments flow!
That all my Hopes, and all my Pleasures stay,
From fair Pursuits, that suffer by Delay.
Nor give to fit complete each stated Line,
And crown with Execution the Design.
What, soon perform'd, wou'd equal Profit bring,
To Rich and Poor! to Peasant and to King!
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The Young and Old! Both Infancy and Age!
Fail the Attempt; This Solace still remains;
(To aid my Searches and reward my Pains!)
I sought at least to guide unsteady Youth,
And form my Mind on Elements of Truth.
Why, Scarlet's friendly Glass shou'd I despise;
Because not blest with your discerning Eyes?
Why, cease, the Nerve that slackens, to prevent;
Because no King of Pole, or Man of Kent?
Some honest Praise, the vain Attempt may claim;
And 'tis some Good, perhaps, at Good to aim;
In quest of Right, to quit the vulgar Bar:
Not that we went, no farther, but so far!
(To aid my Searches and reward my Pains!)
I sought at least to guide unsteady Youth,
And form my Mind on Elements of Truth.
Why, Scarlet's friendly Glass shou'd I despise;
Because not blest with your discerning Eyes?
Why, cease, the Nerve that slackens, to prevent;
Because no King of Pole, or Man of Kent?
Some honest Praise, the vain Attempt may claim;
And 'tis some Good, perhaps, at Good to aim;
In quest of Right, to quit the vulgar Bar:
Not that we went, no farther, but so far!
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With Daily Av'rice burns your greedy Breast?
Destroys base Covetise your Nightly Rest?
Know! there are Words, of Force to lay the Smart,
And cure, if not the Whole, the greater Part.
With Lust of more than decent Praise you swell?
Know! there are Charms, the Tumor to repel.
Unfold the Leaves! no Doctor shall you need;
Three Lines suffice; thrice purify and read!
And thrice repeat! For Sages all agree,
Great Efficacy lies, much Pow'r, in Three.
To Envy, Spleen, Sloth, Passion, you incline?
To Love of Woman, or to Love of Wine?
Lives not the Man, so savage! so untame'd!
But may at length be temper'd and reclaim'd;
The Culture wou'd he bear; the Council hear;
And but accommodate a patient Ear.
Destroys base Covetise your Nightly Rest?
Know! there are Words, of Force to lay the Smart,
And cure, if not the Whole, the greater Part.
With Lust of more than decent Praise you swell?
Know! there are Charms, the Tumor to repel.
Unfold the Leaves! no Doctor shall you need;
Three Lines suffice; thrice purify and read!
And thrice repeat! For Sages all agree,
Great Efficacy lies, much Pow'r, in Three.
To Envy, Spleen, Sloth, Passion, you incline?
To Love of Woman, or to Love of Wine?
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But may at length be temper'd and reclaim'd;
The Culture wou'd he bear; the Council hear;
And but accommodate a patient Ear.
‘Some Virtue he acquires, from Vice that flies.
‘Folly to quit, is, the first Step to Wise.’
Yet Man, you see, still lab'ring! wandring still!
Misguided in his Choice of Good and Ill.
A small Estate, he holds no small Disgrace;
Vile, the Repulse of some long-promis'd Place;
What spares he, That to raise, or This to gain?
What Toil of Body, or what Rack of Brain?
To distant Realms, to Worlds revers'd, he runs;
And other Spheres defies, and other Suns.
Dares Winds and Rocks; The Lightnings and the Seas:
To fly from Poverty, he flies from Ease.
Yet Ease he seeks. Ah! Fool, so far to rome!
And toil abroad for what you leave at home!
Nor once inquire! What, Wisdom wou'd advise:
That, all your Wishes, all your Wants supplies;
That, knows to turn from Ill your vain Desire;
And give that Good you stupidly admire:
Or cou'd, thy Reason separate and discern!
Or Temper condescend to hear and learn!
‘Folly to quit, is, the first Step to Wise.’
Yet Man, you see, still lab'ring! wandring still!
Misguided in his Choice of Good and Ill.
A small Estate, he holds no small Disgrace;
Vile, the Repulse of some long-promis'd Place;
What spares he, That to raise, or This to gain?
What Toil of Body, or what Rack of Brain?
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And other Spheres defies, and other Suns.
Dares Winds and Rocks; The Lightnings and the Seas:
To fly from Poverty, he flies from Ease.
Yet Ease he seeks. Ah! Fool, so far to rome!
And toil abroad for what you leave at home!
Nor once inquire! What, Wisdom wou'd advise:
That, all your Wishes, all your Wants supplies;
That, knows to turn from Ill your vain Desire;
And give that Good you stupidly admire:
Or cou'd, thy Reason separate and discern!
Or Temper condescend to hear and learn!
What Actress, blest with Oldfield's Voice and Air,
Wou'd ply at Goodmans-Fields, or Suburb-Fair:
Here sport the Modish, the Repentant feign,
And Covent-Garden fly, and Drury-Lane?
Tho' form'd, to take the Eye, and touch the Heart,
With ev'ry Gift of Nature, and of Art,
Meanly, to top a vulgar Stage, aspire,
Of Wapping Triumph, proud, and Wapping Hire?
Nor once, her Hopes, and Pow'rs of Pleasing, raise,
A bold but safe Attempt! to fairer Praise?
To gain the Critic and the Polish'd Rows;
And the First Favourite rival and depose?
One, doubly turn'd, to charm the Fair she scholed!
And kill with Mirth, the very Fops, she fool'd!
Wou'd ply at Goodmans-Fields, or Suburb-Fair:
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And Covent-Garden fly, and Drury-Lane?
Tho' form'd, to take the Eye, and touch the Heart,
With ev'ry Gift of Nature, and of Art,
Meanly, to top a vulgar Stage, aspire,
Of Wapping Triumph, proud, and Wapping Hire?
Nor once, her Hopes, and Pow'rs of Pleasing, raise,
A bold but safe Attempt! to fairer Praise?
To gain the Critic and the Polish'd Rows;
And the First Favourite rival and depose?
One, doubly turn'd, to charm the Fair she scholed!
And kill with Mirth, the very Fops, she fool'd!
Old is the Precept, (nor less true than old,)
‘To Gold as Silver, Virtue yields to Gold.’
Not this the Practice; Gold must first be sought;
Plain Virtue merits but the second Thought.
O London! London! one is thy Report,
Thy Quest of Gold, thro' City and thro' Court;
In ev'ry Voice we hear, or Face we meet:
Thy Lombardy is one continu'd Street.
Gold, is thy private, Gold, thy public Care;
Down, to White-chapel; up, to Grovesnor-Square.
Thy Deity is Gold, to save Thee born:
And, if Thou pray, thy Pray'r at Night and Morn.
For Gold solicitous, Old-age appears;
Nor wastes that Passion with the waste of Years.
The Charms of Gold the Middle-station knows;
The Lusts of Appetite submit to Those.
Gold plots the Infant-Lawyer as he stands,
And Bags, not Satchels, load his Arms and Hands.
What, without Gold, is Beauty, or is Youth?
Genius or Merit? Eloquence or Truth?
Just twice three Fifties, rais'd from solid Lands,
A Burgess raise; as Anna's Law commands.
Of One or Half, the Due-Elected, rob,
(Unless he swear and forge) the Squire is Mob.
Suppose the Cheat, not practis'd, or not seen;
“Still with the Rich, the Senator is mean.”
Advance his Rents, to Four neat Hundred Pounds;
“Not yet he passes the Plebeian Bounds.”
Allow him Five; “His Ancestry you trace;
“Scarce Nine Steps backward, and his House is base.”
Say Ten; “Some pleasing Oddness you confess;
“But wish, his Breeding more, and Learning less.”
Two Thousands say; “The Man begins to strike;
“His Breeding and his Learning are alike.”
Say Three; “New Gifts, the rising Sums dispense;
“What Funds, or of acquir'd, or natural Sense?”
Say Four; “His Honor never yet knew Stain.”
Say Five; “His Wit so turn'd to entertain!”
But multiply the Thousands up to Ten;
Why then the Last, is thought, the First of Men.
His House, at once, his Breeding you admit;
His Learning! Sense! his Honor! and his Wit!
‘To Gold as Silver, Virtue yields to Gold.’
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Plain Virtue merits but the second Thought.
O London! London! one is thy Report,
Thy Quest of Gold, thro' City and thro' Court;
In ev'ry Voice we hear, or Face we meet:
Thy Lombardy is one continu'd Street.
Gold, is thy private, Gold, thy public Care;
Down, to White-chapel; up, to Grovesnor-Square.
Thy Deity is Gold, to save Thee born:
And, if Thou pray, thy Pray'r at Night and Morn.
For Gold solicitous, Old-age appears;
Nor wastes that Passion with the waste of Years.
The Charms of Gold the Middle-station knows;
The Lusts of Appetite submit to Those.
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And Bags, not Satchels, load his Arms and Hands.
What, without Gold, is Beauty, or is Youth?
Genius or Merit? Eloquence or Truth?
Just twice three Fifties, rais'd from solid Lands,
A Burgess raise; as Anna's Law commands.
Of One or Half, the Due-Elected, rob,
(Unless he swear and forge) the Squire is Mob.
Suppose the Cheat, not practis'd, or not seen;
“Still with the Rich, the Senator is mean.”
Advance his Rents, to Four neat Hundred Pounds;
“Not yet he passes the Plebeian Bounds.”
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“Scarce Nine Steps backward, and his House is base.”
Say Ten; “Some pleasing Oddness you confess;
“But wish, his Breeding more, and Learning less.”
Two Thousands say; “The Man begins to strike;
“His Breeding and his Learning are alike.”
Say Three; “New Gifts, the rising Sums dispense;
“What Funds, or of acquir'd, or natural Sense?”
Say Four; “His Honor never yet knew Stain.”
Say Five; “His Wit so turn'd to entertain!”
But multiply the Thousands up to Ten;
Why then the Last, is thought, the First of Men.
His House, at once, his Breeding you admit;
His Learning! Sense! his Honor! and his Wit!
Yet young we learn'd, (ah! stay'd the Truth behind!)
Be just, and be a King; a King in Mind;
King of Yourself! The Best, is First in Pow'r!
Be This, your Wall of Steel! your Brazen Tow'r!
‘One constant Course of Virtue to pursue,
‘Be true to Others, to Yourself be true.
‘Act Nothing that you need desire to hide!
‘Not on your own safe Privacy confide.
‘So conscious shalt Thou mourn no covert Sin;
‘Nor pale without for Crimes that blush within.
Be just, and be a King; a King in Mind;
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Be This, your Wall of Steel! your Brazen Tow'r!
‘One constant Course of Virtue to pursue,
‘Be true to Others, to Yourself be true.
‘Act Nothing that you need desire to hide!
‘Not on your own safe Privacy confide.
‘So conscious shalt Thou mourn no covert Sin;
‘Nor pale without for Crimes that blush within.
Now say? Which best instructs, the World or Schole?
The Manly Judgement, or the Childish Rule?
This? that erects a Kingdom in a Theme;
And sagely makes the Virtuous the Supreme?
(Truths! sought by More, by Sidney understood;
Pursu'd from Youth, brave Souls, and sign'd in Blood!)
Or That? Which charms you with the gilded Bait;
And softly whispers; “Study an Estate!
“By honest Ways, a House, a Title raise!
“If possible; if not, by any Ways?
And Vice or Virtue, which the nobler Guide?
Or She, that sooths thy Folly, or thy Pride?
That bids Thee, Peer'd or Ribban'd, tread the Round,
Of Prince new-married, or of King new-crown'd?
Or She? Whose Hope and Care thy Soul attend;
Still present; to exhort, confirm, defend?
That, to proud Fortune prompts the just Replies?
“Know I am free! “Your Insolence despise!”
The Manly Judgement, or the Childish Rule?
This? that erects a Kingdom in a Theme;
And sagely makes the Virtuous the Supreme?
(Truths! sought by More, by Sidney understood;
Pursu'd from Youth, brave Souls, and sign'd in Blood!)
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And softly whispers; “Study an Estate!
“By honest Ways, a House, a Title raise!
“If possible; if not, by any Ways?
And Vice or Virtue, which the nobler Guide?
Or She, that sooths thy Folly, or thy Pride?
That bids Thee, Peer'd or Ribban'd, tread the Round,
Of Prince new-married, or of King new-crown'd?
Or She? Whose Hope and Care thy Soul attend;
Still present; to exhort, confirm, defend?
That, to proud Fortune prompts the just Replies?
“Know I am free! “Your Insolence despise!”
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Demands the Croud; (the Little, or the Great!)
“Whence, hate I what they love? love, what they hate?
“Whence, as with them, one common Walk I share?
“Whence, as I breathe with Them one common Air?
“One common Sense of Things I will not use?
“Prize, as They prize? refuse, as They refuse?”
I give the Answer cautious Renard gave;
(Call'd by the sick'ning Lion to his Cave)
“Because, deters me, each ill-omen'd Track,
“All turning forward, none returning back.
“Whence, hate I what they love? love, what they hate?
“Whence, as with them, one common Walk I share?
“Whence, as I breathe with Them one common Air?
“One common Sense of Things I will not use?
“Prize, as They prize? refuse, as They refuse?”
I give the Answer cautious Renard gave;
(Call'd by the sick'ning Lion to his Cave)
“Because, deters me, each ill-omen'd Track,
“All turning forward, none returning back.
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O! vilest City of the fairest Isle!
Thy Flood is more prolific than the Nile;
Forms more mishapen on thy Banks she spreads;
Thyself the Monster with the many Heads.
Descant not Thou of Babylon or Rome!
Thee shou'd I imitate? in What? in Whom?
Some for their Country lay the bolder Train;
And build, on Public Ruin, Private Gain.
Some by Extortion, blind to Right or Wrong!
Raise Ore; that gathers as it rolls along.
Some for weak Widows weave the pious Snares;
And teach religiously to cheat their Heirs.
With trifling Gifts, rich Neighbours, Some beset;
And slily tickle till they take the Net.
Whole Shoals are caught, unable to withstand
The lureing Splendor of the baited Hand;
And strait, in proper Ponds securely stor'd,
Are fed with Care; but fed, to serve the Board.
Thy Flood is more prolific than the Nile;
Forms more mishapen on thy Banks she spreads;
Thyself the Monster with the many Heads.
Descant not Thou of Babylon or Rome!
Thee shou'd I imitate? in What? in Whom?
Some for their Country lay the bolder Train;
And build, on Public Ruin, Private Gain.
Some by Extortion, blind to Right or Wrong!
Raise Ore; that gathers as it rolls along.
Some for weak Widows weave the pious Snares;
And teach religiously to cheat their Heirs.
With trifling Gifts, rich Neighbours, Some beset;
And slily tickle till they take the Net.
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The lureing Splendor of the baited Hand;
And strait, in proper Ponds securely stor'd,
Are fed with Care; but fed, to serve the Board.
“Well, various is the World; a World of Bruits!
“As many Men, so many their Pursuits!”
Not This, the Whole at which our Precepts aim;
Is any Man, for any Time, the same?
“With Thames (declares the Rich) no River vies!
“What Streams so flow? What Banks so sweetly rise?”
Think not, in vain escap'd the hasty Word;
Thames feels the Passion of her settling Lord.
New Marks of Favor load her swelling Tides,
New Monuments of Love adorn her Sides.
“But rests he here?” Where rests, the Pride of Wealth?
The Vice of Change? The Wantoness of Health?
Scarce stor'd, the Cellar; scarce inrob'd, the Wall;
A Call is heard: (From Heav'n descends the Call)
‘The Rich should live! The Wretched may retreat!
‘A Box befits the Cit! The Peer, a Seat!’
Thus warn'd; or East or West he hurries down;
No matter where; if forty Miles from Town.
Obey his Orders strait, ye Men of Skill!
Let ev'ry Art and Science wait his Will!
Pity! so good a Friend shou'd part alone!
Indulge his Fortune, and improve your own!
But gard to shift you, as his Taste inclines,
And now for Paint, and now for Plaster pines!
Spread, some, your Plans! and some your Tools resume!
Begin! and give him Air! and give him Room!
There, Bridgeman, shape the Wood, the Water foam!
There, Kempe, extend the Wing! and raise the Dome!
“As many Men, so many their Pursuits!”
Not This, the Whole at which our Precepts aim;
Is any Man, for any Time, the same?
“With Thames (declares the Rich) no River vies!
“What Streams so flow? What Banks so sweetly rise?”
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Thames feels the Passion of her settling Lord.
New Marks of Favor load her swelling Tides,
New Monuments of Love adorn her Sides.
“But rests he here?” Where rests, the Pride of Wealth?
The Vice of Change? The Wantoness of Health?
Scarce stor'd, the Cellar; scarce inrob'd, the Wall;
A Call is heard: (From Heav'n descends the Call)
‘The Rich should live! The Wretched may retreat!
‘A Box befits the Cit! The Peer, a Seat!’
Thus warn'd; or East or West he hurries down;
No matter where; if forty Miles from Town.
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Let ev'ry Art and Science wait his Will!
Pity! so good a Friend shou'd part alone!
Indulge his Fortune, and improve your own!
But gard to shift you, as his Taste inclines,
And now for Paint, and now for Plaster pines!
Spread, some, your Plans! and some your Tools resume!
Begin! and give him Air! and give him Room!
There, Bridgeman, shape the Wood, the Water foam!
There, Kempe, extend the Wing! and raise the Dome!
Drest is the Bed in all it's Nuptial White?
The Bridegroom, you wou'd swear, forgot the Night.
Such Tropes his anti-marrying Tongue imploys!
So keen his Satir on the Curtain-Noise!
If yet unfix'd; his Freedom is his Bane;
And Wedlock seems a light and silken Chain.
“How false the Joys of Those that wildly rove?
“O! the chaste Raptures of a virtuous Love!”
The Bridegroom, you wou'd swear, forgot the Night.
Such Tropes his anti-marrying Tongue imploys!
So keen his Satir on the Curtain-Noise!
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And Wedlock seems a light and silken Chain.
“How false the Joys of Those that wildly rove?
“O! the chaste Raptures of a virtuous Love!”
A Thing that varies thus in Form and Kind,
What Eye, so quick to take? What Hand, to bind?
Such Pow'r of Change, to Proteus was unknown;
A Bird or Beast, at-will, a Stock or Stone.
No sworn Attorney shews such shifting Shapes;
When, touch'd in Law, in Equity he 'scapes.
What Eye, so quick to take? What Hand, to bind?
Such Pow'r of Change, to Proteus was unknown;
A Bird or Beast, at-will, a Stock or Stone.
No sworn Attorney shews such shifting Shapes;
When, touch'd in Law, in Equity he 'scapes.
“But these are Vices of the Rich and Great,
“Cloy'd with Excess of Opulence and State.
“The Poor?—How acts he in the lower Scene?”
The Poor? Here burst with Laughter, not with Spleen.
He too his Round of fancied Ills can tread;
Can shift his Garret, Table, Cellar, Bed;
Discard the Tonsor of his Beard or Hair;
Forsake his Weekly Walk, and Sabbath Air;
His Counter nauseate; lothe his wonted Stand;
Prefer the Trade of Foot, to Trade of Hand;
Fret at the Beast, by meer Mis-usage tir'd;
And curse the lab'ring Scull, for Pleasure hir'd;
Restless, as One, whose Coach tears up the Streets;
Or One, whose Flag commands the British Fleets.
“Cloy'd with Excess of Opulence and State.
“The Poor?—How acts he in the lower Scene?”
The Poor? Here burst with Laughter, not with Spleen.
26
Can shift his Garret, Table, Cellar, Bed;
Discard the Tonsor of his Beard or Hair;
Forsake his Weekly Walk, and Sabbath Air;
His Counter nauseate; lothe his wonted Stand;
Prefer the Trade of Foot, to Trade of Hand;
Fret at the Beast, by meer Mis-usage tir'd;
And curse the lab'ring Scull, for Pleasure hir'd;
Restless, as One, whose Coach tears up the Streets;
Or One, whose Flag commands the British Fleets.
27
Oft, when you rouse me from my Studious-Chair,
I see you smile jocose, or serious stare.
Your Chariot waits to take me to his Grace—
My Linnen, clean; but all-besnuff'd my Face!
Well-snow'd, my Wig; but ready to untie!
My Stockings, fine; but both the Seams awry!
Drest, and not drest! half Sloven, and half Beau!—
“What? won't you wash and brush before you go?
“Your Cloaths, by Bethel's Care, are well design'd;
“But let him smooth the Flaps, that gape behind.
“The dis-agreeing Figure hurts your Eyes;
“All Beauty from Proportion takes it's Rise.”
I see you smile jocose, or serious stare.
Your Chariot waits to take me to his Grace—
My Linnen, clean; but all-besnuff'd my Face!
Well-snow'd, my Wig; but ready to untie!
My Stockings, fine; but both the Seams awry!
Drest, and not drest! half Sloven, and half Beau!—
“What? won't you wash and brush before you go?
“Your Cloaths, by Bethel's Care, are well design'd;
“But let him smooth the Flaps, that gape behind.
“The dis-agreeing Figure hurts your Eyes;
“All Beauty from Proportion takes it's Rise.”
28
Yet when my Reason, with herself, at Strife,
Confounds all Order and all Rule of Life;
Approves no Object long, or dis-approves;
Unfix'd, in what she hates, or what she loves;
Paining and pain'd; mis-leading and mis-led;
Flies, what she follow'd; follows, what she fled;
Varies her Change; re-seeks, and re-forsakes;
A Sea of Contradictions and Mistakes!
Erases, builds; turns Hill, to Level-Ground;
Cuts Long, to Short; and ovals Square, to Round:
What judge you then? “You judge me seiz'd with Rage;
“But Madness is the Fashion of the Age.”
Nor smile! nor stare! to see my Mind express,
As much, or more Confusion than my Dress!
Nor Hollings fee, my Phrenzy to abate!
Nor move the Court, to manage my Estate!
Nor warn my Heir, to enter in his Claim!
You hold me Wrong; but all Men are the same.
You! on whose candid Censure I depend!
Is this the kind Inspection of a Friend?
Dress, I admit an Art, a Science name;
An honest Cheat; a decorating Frame;
What, to Myself, and to the World, is due;
A Debt, to your Acquaintance, and to You:
I own the just Reproof. But why dispense
With worse Neglects of Intellect or Sense?
Yet not endure, tho' deckt with Cambric Bands,
Not tho' inrich'd with Lace, the Inky Hands?
Not in the Man, that present or apart,
Is next, or wishes to be next, your Heart?
That, by your Intimacy blest and grac'd,
Courts and esteems your Converse and your Taste?
Why owes he all Correction to your Sight?
Why, set his Body in a fairer Light?
Yet to his Reason not restore the Day?
And give his Soul to share the Heav'nly Ray?
Confounds all Order and all Rule of Life;
Approves no Object long, or dis-approves;
Unfix'd, in what she hates, or what she loves;
Paining and pain'd; mis-leading and mis-led;
Flies, what she follow'd; follows, what she fled;
Varies her Change; re-seeks, and re-forsakes;
A Sea of Contradictions and Mistakes!
Erases, builds; turns Hill, to Level-Ground;
Cuts Long, to Short; and ovals Square, to Round:
What judge you then? “You judge me seiz'd with Rage;
“But Madness is the Fashion of the Age.”
29
As much, or more Confusion than my Dress!
Nor Hollings fee, my Phrenzy to abate!
Nor move the Court, to manage my Estate!
Nor warn my Heir, to enter in his Claim!
You hold me Wrong; but all Men are the same.
You! on whose candid Censure I depend!
Is this the kind Inspection of a Friend?
Dress, I admit an Art, a Science name;
An honest Cheat; a decorating Frame;
What, to Myself, and to the World, is due;
A Debt, to your Acquaintance, and to You:
30
With worse Neglects of Intellect or Sense?
Yet not endure, tho' deckt with Cambric Bands,
Not tho' inrich'd with Lace, the Inky Hands?
Not in the Man, that present or apart,
Is next, or wishes to be next, your Heart?
That, by your Intimacy blest and grac'd,
Courts and esteems your Converse and your Taste?
Why owes he all Correction to your Sight?
Why, set his Body in a fairer Light?
Yet to his Reason not restore the Day?
And give his Soul to share the Heav'nly Ray?
31
To close the Scheme I labor to support;
(Nor long to grieve the Fair, or spoil the Court)
What'er our State, Necessity or Wealth;
Retir'd or Rais'd; Infirmity or Health;
In virtuous Order true Perfection lies:
Inferior but to God, is Good and Wise!
Felicity, from this pure Fountain, springs!
Hence! Man, is Lord of Lords, and King of Kings!
Participates, of Heav'n, if not Possest!
Is only Beauteous, and is only Blest!
Is Rich and Free, tho' Plunder'd and Confin'd!
Is Sound of Body, and is Sound of Mind!—
“But hold (you cry) not Sound, when rack'd with Pain,
“(If yet an English Feeling he retain!)
“Or when molested with the Nervous-Ill,
“He gulps Crude-Silver, or the Wardian Pill.
(Nor long to grieve the Fair, or spoil the Court)
What'er our State, Necessity or Wealth;
Retir'd or Rais'd; Infirmity or Health;
In virtuous Order true Perfection lies:
Inferior but to God, is Good and Wise!
Felicity, from this pure Fountain, springs!
Hence! Man, is Lord of Lords, and King of Kings!
Participates, of Heav'n, if not Possest!
Is only Beauteous, and is only Blest!
Is Rich and Free, tho' Plunder'd and Confin'd!
Is Sound of Body, and is Sound of Mind!—
32
“(If yet an English Feeling he retain!)
“Or when molested with the Nervous-Ill,
“He gulps Crude-Silver, or the Wardian Pill.
FINIS.
| Epistles of Horace Imitated | |