The Works of Horace In English Verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Mæcenas having often kindly upbraided Horace with his Indolence in not sending him Lyric Verses, the Poet writes this Epistle by way of Apology: In which he tells him, that those Amusements which were the Diversion of his Youth, have now, in his maturer Age, lost all their Charms, and given Place to more important Studies; and that he has no Relish for any-thing but Moral Philosophy, which alone can regulate our Manners, and guide us to Happiness.

Belov'd Mæcenas, whom my earliest Muse
Chose for her Subject, and my last shall chuse;
No longer youthful Studies can engage
Your Friend, like some old Champion from the Stage
Timely dismiss'd, his Genius damp'd by Age.

310

Veianius on Alcides' Shrine his Arms
Has hung, and tastes in Solitude the Charms
Of rural Life, lest, as his Powers decay,
Vanquish'd or spent for Pity he should pray.
A secret Voice oft cries, ‘The batter'd Horse
‘Release in Time, lest flagging in the Course
‘With broken Wind he pant.’ Now then adieu
To Verse and Trifles; what is Fit and True
Shall be my only Care; my only Thought
To hoard up moral Rules, which may be brought
To Use hereafter. But if you enquire
What Sect I'm of, whose School I most admire,
To no Man's Faith, to no Opinion sworn,
Where'er the Tempest hurries me, I'm borne.
Now through the Sea of Politics I steer,
An active Statesman, rigidly severe,
And strictly virtuous: Now by Stealth return
To Aristippus' Tent, and cautious learn
The subject World to govern, not obey.
Long as to toilsome Rustics is the Day,
Long as the Year to restless Wards, so slow,
To Me the dull and lazy Moments flow,
That check my great Design; which in each Stage
And State of Life concerns us; in Old Age

311

And Youth, in Riches and in Poverty.
Mean while with these rude Elements I try
To form my Mind and each Defect supply.
Would you to clear your dimmer Sight forbear,
Because to rival Lynceus you despair?
Or hopeless Glycon's Vigour to attain,
In Feet or Hands permit the Gout to reign?
To go thus far is something. Is your Breast
By Dread of Want or Thirst of Wealth possest?
Soft Words may be apply'd, whose Balm can ease
Your Pain, or partly conquer your Disease.
Say, does Ambition fire? Some grave Discourse
Thrice read, will calm and stop the Fever's Force
Though Envy, Passion, Sloth, the Love of Wine,
Or Lust inspire, your Ear if you resign
To wholesome Words, you still may be reclaim'd.
The wildest Beasts by Discipline are tam'd.
Vice to avoid is Virtue; and to fly
Folly, a Step to Wisdom. You apply
Your Mind's and Body's utmost Strength, Disgrace
And Poverty to baffle, which you place
Among the worst of Ills. In Search of Gain,
Through Sands, Rocks, all the Dangers of the Main,

312

Fearless to farthest India you repair.
And can you think it less deserves your Care,
Your false Opinions to remove; and wait
Instruction's Call at Wisdom's sacred Gate?
What Champion that could win th'Olympic Crown
Would idly wrestle in a Country-Town?
To Gold yields Silver, and to Virtue Gold,
If Reason's Hand th'impartial Balance hold.
‘Seek Money first; let Virtue next be sought:’
This is the Lesson in the Forum taught,
And practis'd by the Son and aged Sire.
Should your Estate of what the Laws require
But just fall short, tho' grac'd with Wisdom, Sense,
A blameless Life, and manly Eloquence,
You're a Plebeian still. Yet Children sing
Amid their Sports, ‘Do Right, and be a King.’
Be this thy Wall of Brass, No Guilt to know,
Nor let one Crime sit blushing on thy Brow!
Which do you think most worthy of your Praise,
The Roscian Law of these degenerate Days,
Or this trite Song, our great Forefathers' Theme,
Which crowns the virtuous with a Diadem?
Are you more pleas'd with his Advice, who says,
‘A large Estate, my Son, with Justice raise,

313

‘If possible; if not, at any Rate
‘Be sure, my Son, to raise a large Estate;
‘'Till towering o'er the Vulgar, in the Pit
‘Among the Knights or Senators you sit.’
Or his, who bids you look superior down
On Fortune's Malice, and defy her Frown?
But if the People ask, Why, since I chuse
In the same Walls to sojourn, I refuse
In Judgment to agree, nor disapprove
Or like whatever they dislike or love;
Mine is the Answer that wise Reynard gave
To the sick Lion: ‘To your Royal Cave
‘I see the Print of Feet, but from it, none:
‘Hence, Love of Life your Presence bids me shun.’
A Beast you are of many Heads; the View
Of each far different; which shall I pursue?
Or whither follow? Some the Taxes hire,
Others with Gifts the greedy Widow fire;
For childless Misers some in Ambush lie,
While others thrive by griping Usury.
Thus are they all engag'd a different Way,
And vary in their Notions every Day.

‘No Joys,’ the rich Man cries, ‘I e'er partake
‘Like those which Baiæ yields.’ The Lucrine Lake

314

Strait feels his Building-fury. But his Mind
Soon veers about, capricious as the Wind.
‘Pack up your Tools,’ he says; ‘To-morrow meet
‘At fair Teanum; there shall be my Seat.’
Or does his Chamber hold the genial Bed?
‘How blest the single Life, that once I led!’
If single still, ‘How happy they, who prove
‘The matchless Pleasures of connubial Love!’
What Bands this changeful Proteus can secure?
But sure, you cry, more steady are the Poor.
No. They their Lodgings or their Barbers change;
From Bed to Bed, from Bath to Bath they range;
And as fantastic Humours daily show
In their hir'd Skiffs, as those rich Lords, who row
In their own Yatchs. Me if you meet with Hair
Ill cut, you scarce from Laughter can forbear:
My Vest ill-suited to my Coat, and Cloak
Hanging uneven to the Ground, provoke
Your Smiles. But if I, varying in my Thought,
Seek what I shunn'd, and shun what late I sought;
If through th'unequal Tenor of my Life
My Passions jar, and are so much at Strife,

315

That now I build, now level to the Ground,
And change by Turns each Square into a Round,
This you esteem a Madness felt by all,
Nor for a Guardian or Physician call.

Thus you, who in your Bard can scarcely brook
An ill-pair'd Nail, his real Faults o'erlook;
Though for Controul and Counsel he depends
On you, the best of Patrons and of Friends.

To sum up all: The wise Man is above
This empty World, and second but to Jove;
Blest with Wealth, Beauty, Honour, Liberty,
And vigorous Health, when from the Phthysic free.