THE THIRD SATIRE O F PERS IU S. ARGUMENT. OUR author has made two satires concerning study; the first and the third: the firft related to men ; this to young ftudents, whom he defired to be educated in the ftoick philofophy: he himself sustains the perfon of the mafter, or præceptor, in this admirable fatire; where he upbraids the youth of floth, and negligence in learning. Yet he begins with one scholar reproaching his fellow-ftudents with late rifing to their books. After which he takes upon him the other part of the teacher. And addreffing himself particularly to young noblemen, tells them, that by reason of their high birth, and the great poffeffions of their fathers, they are careless of adorning their minds with precepts of moral philofophy: and withal, inculcates to them the miferies which will attend them in the whole courfe of their life, if they do not apply themselves betimes to the knowledge of virtue, and the end of their creation, which he pathetically infinuates to them. The title of this fatire, in fome ancient manuscripts, was. "The Reproach of Idleness ;’' though in others of the fcholiafts it is infcribed, Against the Luxury and Vices of the Rich." In both of which the intention of the poet is purfued ; but principally in the former.. [I remember I tranflated this fatire, when I was a King's fcholar at Westminster-fchool, for a Thurfday-night's exercife; and believe that it, and many other of my exercites of this nature, in English verse, are ftill in the hands of my learned mafter, the reverend Doctor Busby.], I S this thy daily courfe? The glaring fun This grave advice fome fober student bears; } Then rubs his gummy eyes, and fcrub's his pate; With much ado, his book before him laid,' And parchment with the fmoother fide display'd; He takes the papers; lays them down again; And, with unwilling fingers, tries the pen: Some peevish quarrel ftreight he strives to pick; His quill writes double, or his ink's too thick; Infufe more water; now 'tis grown fo thin It finks, nor can the characters be seen. O wretch, and ftill more wretched every day! Thou who wert never meant to be a man: Eat pap and spoon-meat; for thy gewgaws cry: Be fullen, and refuse the lullaby. No more accufe thy pen: but charge the crime On native floth, and negligence of time. Think'st thou thy mafter, or thy friends, to cheat? Beware the public laughter of the town; Yet, thy moist clay is pliant to command; A fuming-pan thy Lares to appease: **hat need of learning, when a man's at ease ? If this be not enough to fwell thy foul, Then please thy pride, and fearch the herald's roll, Drawn from the root of fome old Tuscan tree; But 'tis in vain the wretch is drench'd too deep; His foul is ftupid, and his heart afleep; Fatten'd in vice; fo callous, and fo grofs, He fins, and fees not; fenfelefs of his lofs. Down goes the wretch at once, unfkill'd to fwim, Hopeless to bubble up, and reach the water's brim. Great Father of the Gods, when, for our crimes, Thou fend'ft fome heavy judgment on the times; Some tyrant-king, the terror of his age, The type, and true vicegerent of thy rage; Thus punish him: fet virtue in his fight, } With all her charms adorn'd, with all her graçes bright: But fet her diftant, make him pale to see His gains outweigh'd by loft felicity! Sicilian tortures, and the brazen bull, Are emblems, rather than exprefs the full Pray justly, to be heard: nor more defire Learn what thou ow'ft thy country, and thy friend; Top-heavy drones, and always looking down, (As over-ballafted within the crown!) Muttering betwixt their lips fome myftie thing, Which, well examín'd, is flat conjuring, Meer madmen's dreams: for what the fchools have taught, Is only this, that nothing can be brought From nothing; and, what is, can ne'er be turn'd to nought. |