« ПредишнаНапред »
Another shakes the bed, diffolving there,
Till knots upon his gouty joint appear,
And chalk is in his crippled fingers found;
Rots like a deddard ozk, and piecemeal falls to ground;
Then his lewd follies he would late repent;
And his past years, that in a mift were spent.
But thou art pale, in nightly studies, grown,
To make the stoick institutes thy own :
Thou long with ftudious care haft tillid our youth,
And sown our well-purg'd ears with wholesome truth.
From thee both old and young, with profit, learn
The bounds of good and evil to discern.
Unhappy he who does this work adjourn,
And to to-morrow would the search delay :
His lazy morrow will be like to-day.
But is one day of ease too much to borrow ?
Yes, sure: for yesterday was once to-morrow.
That yesterday is gone, and nothing gain’d:
And all thy fruitless days will thus be drain d ;
For thou hast more to-morrows yet to ask,
And wilt be ever to begin thy talk;
Who, like the hindmost chariot-wheels, art curft,
Still to be near, but ne'er to reach the first.
dom! first delight of human kind !
which bondmen from their masters find,
The privilege of doles : - not yet t' inscribe
Their names in this or t’ other Roman tribe :
That false enfranchisement with ease.is found :
Slaves are made citizens, by turning round.
How, replies one, can any be more free?
Here's Dama, once a groom of low degree,
Not worth a farthing, and a sot beside;
So true a rogue, for lying's fake he ly’d;
But, with a turn, a freeman he became;
Now Marcus Dama is his worship's name.
Good Gods! who would refuse to lend a sum,
If wealthy Marcus furety will become!
Marcus is made a judge, and for a proof
Of certain truth, He faid, it is enough.
A will is to be prov'd; put in your claim;
Tis clear, if Mareus has subscrib'd his name,
This is true liberty, as
What can we farther from our caps receive,
Than'as we please without control to live ?
Not more to noble Brutus could belong.
Hold, says the stoick, your assumption ?s wrong:
I grant, true freedom you have well defin'd :
But, living as you lift, and to your mind,
And loosely tack'd, all must be left behind.
What, since the piztor
And left me freely at my own dispose,
May I not live without control and awe,
Excepting still the letter of the law ?
Hear me with patience while thy mind I frec
From those fond notions of false liberty :
At harvest-home, and on the sheering-day,
When he should thanks to Pan and Pales pay,
And better Ceres ; trembling to approach
The little barrel, which he fears to broach :
He 'says the wimble, often draws it back,
And deals to thirsty servants but a smack.
To a short meal he makes a tedious grace,
Before the barley-pudding comes in place :
Then, bids fall on; himself, for saving charges,
A peel'd flic'd onion eats, and tipples verjuice.
Thus fares the drudge: but thou, whose life's a dream
Of lazy pleafures, tak'st a worse extreme.
?Tis all thy business, business how to shun;
To bark thy naked body in the sun;
Suppling thy stiffen'd joints with fragrant oil:
Thon, in the spacious garden, walk a while,
To fuck the inoisture up, and soak it in:
And this, thou think'st, but vainkly, think'st, unseen.
But, know, thou art observ’d: and there are those
Who, if they durst, would all thy secret fins expose.
The depilation of thy modest part:
Thy catamite, the darling of thy heart,
His engine-hand, and every lewder art.
When, prone to bear, and patient to receive,
Thcu tak'st the pleasure which thou canst not give.
With odorous oil thy head and hair are seek ;
And then thou kemb'st the tuzzes on thy cheek:
or these thy barbers take a costly care,
· thy salt tail is overgrown with hair.
Not all thy pincers, nor unmanly arts,
Can smooth the roughness of thy shameful parts.
Not five, the strongest that the Circus breeds,
From the rank foil can root those wicked weeds :
Though suppled first with soap, to ease thy pain,
The stubborn fern springs up, and sprouts again.
Thus others we with defamations wound,
While they stab us; and so the jelt goes round.
Vain are thy hopes, to 'scape cenforious eyes;
Truth will appear through all the thin disguise:
Thou hast an ulcer which no leech can heal,
Though thy broad Thoulder-belt the wound conceal.
Say thou art found and hale in every part,
We know, we know thee rotten at thy heart,
We now thee sullen, impotent, and proud:
Nor canst thou cheat thy nerve, who cheat'st the croud.
But when they praise me, in the neighbourhood,
When the pleas'd people take me for a God,
Shall I refuse their incense? Not receive
The loud applauses which the vulgar give?
If thou dost wealth, with longing eyes, behold;
And, greedily, art gaping after gold;
If fome alluring girl, in gliding by,
Shal tip the wink, with a lascivious eye,
And thou with a consenting glance, reply;
If thou thy own folicitor become,
And bid'st arise the lumpith pendulum :
If thy lewd lust provokes an empty storin,
And prompts to more than nature can perform ;
If, with thy guards, thou scour'ft the streets by night,
And doft in murders, rapes, and spoils delight;
Please not thyself, the flattering crowd to hear;
'Tis fuisome stuff to feed thy itching ear.
Reject, the naufeous praises of the times :
Give thy bafe poets back thy cobbled rhimes :
Survey thy soul, not what thou dost
But what thou art ; and find the beggar there. :