EPISTLE XX.
[Your Thoughts, my Book, (with Sorrow I discern)]
He addresses himself to his Book, which, under the
Allegory of a Child, he supposes weary of Confinement,
and begging Leave to go abroad into the World. He shows the bad Consequences that would
attend the Gratification of its Request: And at the
Conclusion he gives a brief Account of his own Family, Person and Temper.
Your Thoughts, my Book, (with Sorrow I discern)
On Janus and Vertumnus wholly turn.
Fond of the Sosian Binding, you detest
The modest Shelf, and close-confining Chest.
You grieve that here you are beheld by few,
And long to shine, expos'd to public View;
Not so brought up. The Height of your Desire
Attain; once seen, you never can retire.
‘Wretch that I am! what have I sought!’ you'll cry;
In some dark Corner when despis'd you lie.
For if, unprejudic'd, I reason right,
Your Youth alone your Lovers will delight.
When once each vulgar Hand your Beauty soils,
The lazy Moth shall batten on your Spoils;
Or Packets you shall bear to Afric's Shore,
Or Spain; while smiles your slighted Monitor;
Like him, who down a steepy Summit drove
His stubborn Ass; for who his Friend would prove
Against his Will? Old Pedants too will teach,
By your kind Aid, the Rudiments of Speech,
In Alleys dark, to many a lisping Boy.
At Evening, when more Hearers you enjoy,
Say, that my Sire a Freeman's Right possest;
Though small my Fortune, that, beyond my Nest,
I stretch'd my Wings. For thus, my lowly Birth
While you confess, you will enhance my Worth.
Say, that at Rome with Praises I was crown'd
By all the Great; in War and Peace renown'd;
Grey-hair'd before my Time; of Stature low;
Fond of the Sun; and ever quick to show
Some hasty Sparks of momentary Fire:
And if, perchance, my Age they should enquire,
Say, four-and-forty Winters I attain'd,
When Lepidus and Lollius Consuls reign'd.
