The Odes and Epodon of Horace, In Five Books :: :: University of Virginia Library

Those Civil broils, METELLUS Consul when,
Causes o'th' War, it's faults and various chance
(Fortune's sport) sharp sidings then;
What Leagues great Persons did advance;

Arms 'nointed bath'd with Blood nor purged ere;
Work (Friend) of doubtful Die, more dangerous
Thou handlest, tread'st on Fire (as 'twere)
With Embers hid, deceitful thus.

Sometime withhold from Theaters thy Muse,
Severe-voic'd Tragedy, till well ordain'd
Publick State; grand Task peruse
Then more, with Buskin nobler-strain'd.

POLLIO, chief Life to men in Sad affairs,
To th' Senate-court for Councel's deep design;
Laurel Wreath, Dalmatian Wars,
Whom made with endless glory shine.

Just now with Squadrons threatning murmur, noise
Thou strik'st our ears, strong Pen; there Fifes resound,
There glistring Arms, scar'd Horse (no poize,
Bit felt) with Horsmen's looks confound.

And now, methinks, their mighty Leaders speak,
Maid foul, besoil'd with not uncomely dust;
All the world subdu'd grown weak,
But CATO'S sturdy Mind and just,

JUNO'S withdrawn, and whatere friendlier God
To th' Affrick race, left impotent that Coast;
Spoil'd by some o'th' Victors brood,
Seem'd Offrings to JUGURTHA'S Ghost.

What field manur'd with Roman blood to all,
By Sepulchers, our impious Civil Jar
Speaks not forth? th' Hesperian fall
Resounded unto Medes from far.

What swelling Gulf, what streams boast ignorance
Of dismal Broils? what Daunian Sea indeed,
(slaughter-stain'd through our mischance)
What Coast from Crimsom gore is freed?

But (sportive Muse) lest, Mirth abandon thus,
Thou should'st thy self to Funeral-songs compel,
Citherus light, softer strains let us
Recount in Dionian Cell.

To SALUSTIUS CRISPUS. Ode II.

He praises Proculeius for his freeness towards his Brethren, contempt of money makes Men only blessed.

No splendor Gold nor Gloss affords
(O Crispus, hating bury'd Hoards
In greedy Earth) till from that Mine
With use it shine.

Long-liv'd shall Proculeius be,
To's Brethren Father-like and free;
On lasting Plumes surviving Fame
Shall bear his Name.

Thou't greater rule checkt fonder Mind,
Covetous thoughts, then if (combin'd
With Gades Lybia) thine were
Both Penians there.

That dire self-nursing Dropsie grows,
Nor slak'd till Cause from whence it rose
Be purg'd, and Languid Humour fail,
In body pale.

Vertue, dissenting from the Croud,
Not ranks, with blessed Troop the proud
Phrates on CYRUS Throne, by vote;
But vulgar throat.

Forbids false Voices so to spend;
And wealth, sure Crown to him commend,
Who slights large heap, not casts the eye
Back squintingly.

To DELIUS. Ode III.

Hither Fortune must be used moderately, since all are subject to that dying condition.

Wise even Mind in Fortune's frown,
And Smiles retain; not much cast down,
Nor swell'd with insolent jollity,
For my DELIUS thou must dye:

Whether in Grief thy days be clos'd,
Or Festivals on bank repos'd,
With Wine of Mark conceal'd and best,
Choice Falernum, th' art made blest:

Where the White Poplar lofty Pine
Their Boughs for courteous Shade entwine;
Where fleeting Brook laborious ways
(Trembling Stream) obliquely strays.

Bid hither Wine, sweet Unguents bring,
Flow'rs, lovely Rose soon perishing:
Whilst wealth and Youth, three Sisters yet
(Joyn'd their Sable Wheels) permit.

Thou House shalt leave, thy purchas'd Foods,
Grange wast'd with yellow Tiber's floods;
Those piled heaps of Golden bliss
Some unthankful Heirs call his.

Though rich thou be'st, of Royal race,
Or poor, Field-born for Rank, and base,
To that unbrib'd infernal Womb
Sacrifice thou must become:

All thither forc'd; Death shakes the Urn;
Whence early or late Lots pour by turn,
And we by Stigian Boat are sent
To eternal Banishment.

To XANTHIAS PHOCEUS. Ode IV.

There was no cause why he should blush, for loving a Serving Maid; since the like hath been done by many Noble Persons.

Nere, XANTHIAS, blush to love a Maid,
Captived Girl, Briseis sleek
ACHILLES mov'd (one proudest said)
With snowy Cheek.

Termessa's form her Master turn'd
AJAX in love; ATRIDES great
(For close) through conquer'd Virgin burn'd,
In Triumph's heat;

When slew those barbarous-termed Bands,
Thessalia's Chief and HECTOR dead,
Troy left to th' weary'd Grecian hands,
Soon ruined.

PHILLIS gold Locks may bring the Grace,
Her Father's Son in law design'd;
For sure she mourns as Regal race;
Gods prov'd unkind.

Think not she's chose from Vulgar Croud,
Or, (scorning hire, so faithful, she
From Mother base (unworthy Cloud)
Can issu'd be.

Face, Countenance, choice Limbs of whom
I chastly praise, quench jealous Fears,
O'th' Man whose Age doth almost sum
Full forty years.

[_]

Ode V, for some good Reasons is omitted.

To SEPTIMIUS. Ode VI.

He wishes for the Seat of his old age those pleasant Places Tibur and Tarentum.

Septimius, who wouldst range with Me
Gades, from Yoke Cantabria free,
Rude Syrtes last where Moorish Wave
Does boiling rave .

Be Tiber (whom that Argive chose
To build) mine Ages soft Repose;
To me, when tir'd with War, an ease:
Land-travells, Seas.

Which Fates if shall forbid unkind,
Galesius silver Stream I'l find,
Rich stock'd, and Lacon fields, where (said)
PHALANTUS sway'd.

That Nook o'th World my Fancy greets
Most smiling, where to Hymet-sweets
Honey nought yields, and Olives fair
VENAFRUM dare.

Where Springs prolong'd, and gentle Sky
Warm Winters breeds; where Aulon high,
Bounteous in Grapes, nought envies those
FALERNUM shows.

That place, those joyful Hills invite
Thee, me, where on warm Dust (as right
Sad Coals of thy Prophetick Friend)
Thou Tear shalt spend.

Yo POMPEIUS VARUS. Ode VII.

He congratulates his return into his Country.

Often led near to that dying hour,
POMPEY, with me, when BRUTUS rul'd the War;
Roman safe restor'd what Pow'r
To Country-Gods, Italick air?

Thou my Companion chief, with whom I oft
More lingring Summer's day have broke in Wine;
Crowned Locks, with Unguent brought
From Syrian quarters, made to shine.

With thee Philippos view'd, when running Course
I took for Flight, Shield thrown but badly away;
Haughty ones, through shatter'd force.
With Chin when touch'd the bloody Clay:

But me, kind Poets God, swift MERCURY,
In dark Airs Cloud through foes transported then;
Drawing Gulf did hurry thee
To th' raging Straits of War agen.

Therefore to JOVE vow'd Festival prepare,
And couch thy toiled Limbs through fight (at last)
Beneath my Laurel-branch; nor spare
Those Tuns devote for thy Repast.

Smooth Goblets fill with Grief-forgetting Wines
Campanian, from larger Vessels pour
Unguents forth; who strait combines
Moist Smallage, Myrtle from the Bow'r.

For Banquet-wreaths? whom shall Loves Queen commend
Sole Arbiter for drink? Carouse more glad,
Thracian-like, since thus my friend
Enjoy'd, 'tis sweetness to be Mad.

To JULIA BARINE. Ode VIII.

There was no Cause, why he should trust Barine's swearing, since she grew Fairer through her Perjuries.

If punishment had seiz'd thee ere;
BARINE false for Perjury,
Did'st fouler by black Tooth appear,
Mark'd Nail unfree;

I should believe; but thou (ingag'd
By Oaths that faithless Head) dost shine
More splendid far to th' Youth enrag'd;
Their Care, Design.

It profits thee, urn'd Mothers dust
Through Vows abus'd those Signs of Night
To cheat whole Heav'n; Gods made unjust;
Scorn'd Death's affright.

VENUS does laugh at these too ill;
Fond Nymphs, fierce CUPID jeer their parts;
While points on bloody Whetstone still
His flaming Darts.

Youth's Flow'r grows up to thee besides
New Servants spring, the Old leaving nought
That Roof their impious Mistress hides
Though threaten oft.

Thee Mothers for young Sons do fear,
Thrifty old Sires thy tempting Gale
Their Husbands least transport, o'rebear,
Spous'd Girls grow Pale.

To VALGIUS. Ode IX.

He exhorts, that at the length he would leave mourning for his dead Boy Mystis.

Thick Winter-show'rs not always barren Ground
Drench from the Clouds, nor vexed Caspian Main
Tyrant-storms do still surround;
Nor does the cold Armenian Plain

Lodg sluggish stupid Ice, Friend VALGIUS,
Through all the Months; nor griev'd with Northern Wind
Th' Oaken tops of Garganus,
Nor Ashes stript of leaves still Pin'd.

Thou seek'st with Weeping strains (as quite undone)
Lost MYSTIS still; nor when view'd the Evening star,
That which flies swift Morning-sun,
Those Love-complaints abandon'd are.

Yet NESTOR old, which liv'd to Men's third Age,
Not still his Son ANTILOCHUS deplor'd
Still Trojan Parents with griefs rage,
Nor Sisters wept young TROYLUS gor'd.

Cast off at length those soft and weak Laments,
And rather let's new-conquer'd Trophies chant
Of CÆSAR, th' Empire's large extents;
That North Niphates joyful vaunt.

And Median streams grown scanter Torrents now
To their first Lords, conjoyn'd to th' Realms captiv'd:
Bounded late Geloni too;
Ranging small Fields of large depriv'd.

To LICINIUS. Ode X.

Moderation is to be used in either Fortune.

You'll better live, not still (Ambitious, vain)
Mounting high Seas; nor wisely goar'd the Main
(Those stormy Ills) much shelfy Shore retain.

Who seeks the Gold-mean (safe) nor proves annoy'd
With rotten House and filth, nor troubled cloy'd
With pompous Roof, much envy'd wealth enjoy'd.
Tall Pine-trees oft through churlish Winds be crost;
Aspiring Tow'rs with grievous Fall are tost:
Proud Hills the Thunder strikes, opposes most.
Well-temper'd Mind in Fortune's Ebb is taught
To hope, when flowing fears Change with weary thought,
Foul Winters JOVE drives hence who hither brought.
Now Bad not always holds; APOLLO uses
Sometimes well-pleas'd, to awake those silent Muses
With Citherus touch, and stern bent Bow refuses.
In straits be Valiant strong, whilst want prevails
More stoutly Row; as wise, when fuller Gales
(Prosperous times) contract thy Swelling Sails.

To Q. HIRPINUS. Ode XI.

Omitting Cares he should live chearfully.

What warlike Cantaber, fierce Scythian
(HIRPINUS) plots from us by Adrian wave
Divided Realms, like busy man
To search forbear; life so deprave;

Which else not much doth need, soon vanish'd hence
Smooth, comely Youth; and hoary head dry-grown
Chaces from our duller Sence.
Blith Loves, more easie slumbers gone.

Not always view'd like Glory in Spring-born Flow'rs;
Nor clear-cheek'd Moon like-formed still doth shine:
Why wasted thus thy feebler pow'rs?
Nought crosses Heav'ns nere-chang'd design.

Why Friend, beneath that Plain-trees shade (repose)
Or this Pines branch neglected garb (our Hair
Though Grey perfum'd with vernant Rose,
And Syrian nard) while Death doth spare,

Do we not drink? Wine eating Grief dispels
Like scatter'd Cloud. What Boy more nimbly shall
Stop that gliding Stream which swells,
Thence Falern Grove allay withal.

Why LYDE that loose walking Girl from home
Invites as guest? wish her with Ivory Lyre,
Hair bound up more slightly, come,
Smooth knots, Laconian attire.

To MÆCENAS. Ode XII.

Graver things suit not the Lyrick verse; Horace will sing only the Beauty of Lycinnia.

Bid me not Sing fierce long Namantine Wars,
Dire HANNIBAL; nor joyn Sicilian Jars
(When Penian blood with Purple dy'd the Main)
To Citherus softer strain.

Stern Lapithæ, mad-drunk HYLÆUS Pride;
Earth's monstrous Ofspring tam'd, by strength outvy'd
Of HERCULES; whose Gyant-band severe
Heaven's gorgeous Roof did fear.

And thou in larger strains of History
CÆSAR'S grand Wars, MÆCENAS passing me
Canst strongly write; what haughty Kings did wed
The Chain in triumph led.

Me thy sweet Girl LYCIMNIA'S dainty Voice
My Muse bids Chant alone, that brightest Choice,
With Sun-like radiant Eyes, proclaim, admire
Firm Brest with mutual Fire.

Whom never yet disgrac'd her Feet to move
'Mongst dancing Troops, nor witty Strife to prove;
Nor when with Maids joyn'd hands in sportive Play
On DIANA'S Holy-day.

Would'st thou the Treasure of that Golden hair,
Lycimnia wears, exchange for th' Wealthy share
Of ACHAMENE? for all th' Arabian Hoards,
What Phrygian Soil affords?

When wreathed Neck for kisses sweet applies;
Or else with easie Harshness wh[illeg.] Denies;
Those joys enforc'd by th' Asker more contenting:
Sometimes kind She preventing.

Ode XIII.

Upon a Tree, with whose sudden Fall he was dangerously oppressed: No Man surely knows what to avoid: the Praises of Sappho and Alcæus.

That Churl, false Tree, by whom thou first didst stand,
On hapless Day with sacrilegious hand,
To th' whole Town's shame implanted thee;
And ruine of Posterity.

I could believe, he brake his Father's Neck;
Strow'd Lodging-rooms by Night (as meant to deck)
With slaughter'd Strangers crimson Gore;
Yea Cholchis-poysons us'd before.

All good renounc'd with Mischief still combin'd,
Who, doleful Log, thee for my Field design'd:
Tumbling down from Earthen bed
Upon thy guiltless Master's head.

None can all Hours full Caution us'd beware,
Know what t'avoid; the Penian Mariner,
For blind dark Fates nought scrupulous,
Dreads only foaming Bosphorus.

Our Souldier fears the Parthian Shaft in flight;
Rude Parthians Roman strength and Chains affright:
Various, as unlook'd-for, Death
Hath seiz'd, will seize our mortal breath.

How did we view those Under-Realms (as t'were)
Black Proserpine's, Æacus judging there,
Bow'rs of pious Souls portrai'd
By SAPPHO'S verse whose plaints upbrai'd

Her Country-Girls, on Greek Æolian strings:
ALCÆUS to resound more lofty things
On golden Harp, those Ills in War,
Banishment, Seas sustained are!

Both Ghosts admir'd; whose chanted strains, excelling
(Worth sacred Silence still) though Kings expelling,
By horrid fight, the burly Croud
Drank through their Ears, as most allow'd.

What wonder? when that hundred-headed Beast
Let fall (amaz'd) black Ears and lofty Crest
At those sweet sounds? when wreathed Snakes
'Bout Furies locks the Pleasure takes.

Prometheus self, with Tantalus esteem'd
Their pains deceiv'd, this Charm so pow'rful deem'd:
Nor ORION wish'd to view
Scar'd Lynx, stern Lyoness pursue.

To POSTHUMUS. Ode XIV.

Life is short, and Death most certain.

Ah! POSTHUMUS, swift years do glide;
Nor Piety, best means apply'd
Can Time's furrow'd Front, old Age
Retard; stout Death asswage:

Not PLUTO though each day, for ease,
Thou with three hundred Bulls dost please;
Example sad may Titius show,
Three body'd Gerion too;

Whom that black Wave confines, where must
All Sayl Earth's Sojourners and dust:
Be it King with haughty Brow,
Mean Peasant from the Plough.

We shun Wars bloody chance in vain,
And billows tost i'th' Adrian Main;
Fondly Autumn's blast, South-wind,
To th' Body's health unkind:

Black Cocyte's wandring, drowzy Flood
Must we behold, besmear'd with blood;
DANAUS Girls, SISIPHUS beside
To th' Stone's long labour ty'd.

Thou House, fair grounds, Conjugal love
Must leave, nor of thy planted Grove
Tree but Cypress loath'd, i'th' end,
Shall their frail Lord attend.

Thy Wines Cæcubian nobler Heir,
(Now lock'd with hundred Keys) shall share;
Wash thy Marble Pavement, though
Priest-Feasts less choice oreflow.

Upon that AGES LUXURY. Ode XV.

Huge, Princely Buildings will ere long allow
Few acres ground to th' good laborious Plough;
Ponds each-where so largely vain,
Like Lucrine Lake; th' unmarry'd Plain,

For simple Shade, will Vine-lov'd Elms devour;
And Myrtle branch, Violets, each garden Flow'r
Olive-plots with Odours spread,
Which former Lords much profit bred.

Twin'd Laurel Bow'rs the Sun's offensive rays,
Beam-darts exclude; King ROMULUS his days
Rough CATO, wiser Antients
Gave no such Rules nor presidents.

Whose private small, but great their Common Treasure;
No Gallery, found ten foot wide for pleasure,
Then by frugal Purses made,
Set ope to th' Northern Bear, cool shade:

Laws suffering not vain-glorious Flesh despise,
When fortune would, cheap Turfy shroud; more wise,
Temples, Towns at publick charge
Aim'd with new Stone to grace enlarge.

To GROSPHUS. Ode XVI.

All desire quiet of Mind, which is not gain'd by Wealth, nor Honors, but by curbing the Affections.

Who on the large Ægean Sea is tost
Rest begs o'th' Gods, when Silver Moon ingrost
By ugly Clouds, and Seamen's know Stars lost,
Quiet Thracian loves, though fierce for War inroll'd;
Quiet the Mede, with Quiver spruce and bold;
Not, GROSPHUS, bought by Purple, Gems, nor Gold.
For 'tis not Wealth, nor Consul's Lictor proud
Can drive from hence the Minds tumultuous Croud;
Those fluttering Cares gilt Vaulted Roofs ore-cloud.

His Little's blest, whose Father's Salt rub'd clear
Shines on his sober Board; nor with base Fear,
Desire his Pillow curs'd, but sweet Sleeps there.
Why, Marksmen-like, Dart we at much for one
Short Life? invade Lands warm'd with a new Sun!
Who, Country fled, from his own self can run?
Foul, guilty Care brass-beaked Ships ascends,
Lies sculk'd aboard; 'mongst Troops of horse attends;
More fleet then Stag, th' East-wind which Tempest sends.
The Mind for present glad, should 'bout the Rest
Not grow disturb'd; harsh Bitter things with Jest
Well temper'd bear; no State's intirely blest.
Swift Destiny ACHILLES seiz'd in's prime;
TITHON consum'd through lingring Age; and time
Drops me perchance for thee things too sublime.
Thine prove some hundred Flocks, 'bout thee there lows
Most wealthy Herd of fat Sicilian Cows;
Thy Chariot-mares do neigh, Wreaths deck thy Brows:
Twice Purpled Wools thee cloath; to me belong
Small Country Grange, slight Muse for Grecian Song
From faithful Fate; despis'd the envious Throng.

To MÆCENAS, being sick. Ode XVII.

Who should he dye, Horace saith that he would be loth to outlive him.

Why dost thou kill me thus, MÆCENAS lov'd,
With thy Complaints? 'tis nor by Gods nor me,
That thou should Dye the first, approv'd;
My States grand Pillar, dignity.

Ah! should some swifter Fate thee seize, controul,
(My Souls best Half) why stay I th' other part?
Nor pleasing then, nor perfect Soul,
Surviving thee; that day same Dart

Shall ruine Both: nor have I sworn in vain,
Perfidiously; we'l go, we'l go (howe're
Thou precede) Companions twain
For that last Voyage bent appear.

Nor shall Chimæra's bulk fire-breathing though,
Nor hundred-handed GYAS from thy side
Ravish me; great justice so
This pleased hath, stern Fates beside.

Me whether Libra, or dreadful Scorpius,
(That fiercer part of my first native hour)
Views, or Capricorn, which does
Like King th' Hesperian Waves o're-power.

Both of our Stars, well-matcht for Influence,
Strangely concur; thee JOVE'S assistant Beam
From SATURN'S spightful Ray did fence,
And dull'd as 'twere those Wings supream

Of hasty Fate: when popular Shouts did spread
Thy Praise thrice round through the ample Theatre,
Me Tree's falling Trunk upon my head
Had slain, but Wood-god's hand did bar

The mortal stroak. Art's Patron thou, chief wealth
To th' learned Train, when rais'd thine Offering
Perform'd i'th' Temple vow'd to Health:
We meaner Lamb to th' Ax shall bring.

Ode XVIII.

He saith, he is Content with smaller things, whilst others cherish vain Desires, as if they should ne're Dye.

No Ivory, Gold roof
My House does dress with Gorgeous stuff;
Nor Marble beams dear-bought
Columes from furthest Aff'rick brought
O're-press; nor House or Land
False-Heir'd usurped by my hand:
Nor Lacon Purples spin
Tenants chast Wives to cloath me in:
But Truth that treasure yet
I have, convenient share of Wit.
Rich court my Rank though Poor,
Nor trouble I the Gods for more;
Nor my great Friend, as one
Happy in Sabine field alone.

This Day doth the other press
And new Moons growing Old decease,
Thou Marble near death's doom
Send'st forth to smooth, forgot thy Tomb,
Buildst Houses brave, the Shoar
Would stretch where Seas at Baya roar:
Distend them still in Pride,
With narrow Bank not satisfi'd.
Why, Churl, enlarg'd thy Grounds
Still more, beyond next Tenants bounds
Dost greedy Leap, advance?
Man, Wife's driven out for vagrant Dance,
Their Gods in bosome born;
On back their sordid Brats and torn:
No surer Hall of state
Though waits their wealthy Lord from Fate,
Then th' hungry Infernal Den:
Why striv'st for more? to th' basest men,
King's sons Earth's opened free;
Nor churlish Stygian Guard (we see)
Gold-brib'd, or caught by slight,
Would row PROMETHEUS back to Light.
This curbs proud TANTALUS,
With's Regal race; this called does,
Uncall'd, with Boat addrest
Convoy the poor tir'd Man to rest.

On BACCHUS. Ode XIX.

Inspir'd by Bacchus he chants forth his Praises.

I BACCHUS on remotest Rocks did see
Teaching prime Verse, believ't, Posterity:
Nymphs did learn, Goat-footed, mute
Satyrs with ears acute.

Evæ! my mind through sudden Horrour quakes,
Whilst troubled Joy, brest fill'd with BACCHUS shakes:
Evæ! Liber hold, suspend;
Through branch'd Spear reverend:

'Tis lawful now thy froward Priests to vaunt
That Fount of Wine, those Milky streams to chant
BACCHUS sends, and the Honey show
From hollow Trees doth flow.

That honour of thy blessed Spouse beside,
Added to th' Stars; Pentheus Roofs deride,
Tost by thee nor ruine small;
With Thrace, Licurgus fall.

Thou bridlest Floods, thou barbarous Seas dost tame;
Thou (Wine-bedew'd) on desert Clifs dost frame
Churls toth' Biston Priestesses,
Strange Viper-knots for dress.

Thou when that vile Gigantick rout, one time
Thy Fathers Kingdom sought by Hills to clime
Rhæchus didst with Lyon paws
Repel and horrid Jaws.

Though fitter much for Dancing Troop, for sport
And mirth affirm'd; nor canst so well Consort
Fighting ways; yet Arbiter
For peace or bloody war.

Thee CERBERUS, when view'd, durst nought assail
(With golden Horn) but gently wag'd the Tail;
Thy departing Fleet (to this)
With treble Mouth did kiss.

To MÆCENAS. Ode XX.

Horace turn'd into a Swan will fly through the World; thence promising himself, his Poems should be made immortal.

No small nor vulgar Wing shall me transport
(Poet Two-form'd) through gentle streaming Air;
Nor will I with Earth consort,
But mount, then Envy greater far:

World's Cities left, though mean-descended, I,
(That man whom thou dost call in Favours sign
Belov'd) MÆCENAS, will not dye;
Nor shall Styx-wave my Ghost confine.

Just now sharp Skins upon my Legs do sit,
And I into that whitest Bird am chang'd,
Th' upper part soft Plumes do fit
My shoulders, hands, in order rang'd.

Now swifter than Dædalian ICHARUS,
Those groaning Shores of Bosphor I will view;
Sands of parched Getes, thus;
Loud-chanting Bird, North climates too.

Me Colchus shall with Dacian know (so stern,
He'd seem to slight our Troops) Geloni cold;
And Spaniard skilful me shall learn,
Those French that Rhodan drink, sold.

Keep then far off vain Funeral-Elegies;
Sow'r dismal Moans, Complaints, as Death my share;
Noise reprove, discharg'd by this
Idle honours of the Sepulcher.