The Seventh ODE of the Fourth Book of HORACE.
By an unknown Hand.
Inter's diffolv'd, behold a World's new Face!"
How Grafs the Ground, how Leaves their
Branches grace.
[yield, That Earth which would not to the Plough-fhare Is fofter now and eafie to be till'd.
And frozen Streams, thaw'd by th' approaching Sun,
With whisp'ring Murmurs in their Channels run:
The naked Nymphs and Graces dance around,
And o'er the flowry Meadows nimbly bound.
The Months that run on Time's immortal Wheels,
The Seasons treading on each others Heels,
The winged Hours that fwiftly pafs away,
And fpightfully confume the fmiling Day,
Tell us, that all things muft with them decay.
The Year rowls round us in a conftant Ring,
And fultry Summer waftes the milder Spring:
whofe hot Meridian quickly, overpast,
Declines to Autumn, which with bounteous hafte
Comes crown'd with Grapes, but fuddenly is croft,
Cold Winter nips his Vintage with a Froft.
The Moon renews its Orb to shine more bright;
But when Death's Hand puts out our mortal Light,
With us alas 'tis ever ever Night!
With Tullus and with Ancus we shall be,
And the brave Souls of vanish'd Heroes fee.
Who knows if Gods above, who all things fway,
Will fuffer thee to live another Day?
Then please thy Genius, and betimes take care,
To leave but little to thy greedy Heir..
When among crouds of Ghofts thou shalt appear,
And from the Judge thy fatal Sentence hear,
Not Birth, nor Eloquence, nor Wealth, nor all
That thou canft plead can the past Doom recal,
Diana, though a Goddess, cannot take
Her chafte Hippolytus from Lethe's Lake.
Perithous bound in Fetters must remain,
Thefeus no more can break his Adamantine Chain.
The Tenth ODE of the Second Book of HORACE.
Rectius vives Licini, &c.
E muft all live, and we would all live well, But how to do it very few can tell; He fure doth beft, who a true mean can keep, Nor boldly fails too far into the Deep, Nor yet too fearfully creeps near the Land, And runs the danger of the Rocks and Sand. Who to that happy Medium can attain, "Who neither seeks for nor despises Gain, "Who neither finks too low, nor aims too high, He fhuns th' unwholfome Ills of Poverty; And is fecure from Envy, which attends A fumptuous Table, and a croud of Friends. Their Treacherous height doth the tall Pines expose, To the rude blasts of ev'ry Wind that blows. And lofty Towers unfortunately high, Are near their Ruin as they're near the Sky; And when they fall, what was their Pride before, Serves only then t'increase their fall the more. Who wifely governs and directs his Mind Never defpairs, though Fortune be unkind; He hopes, and though he finds he hop'd in vain, He bears it patiently, and hopes again. And if at last a kinder Fate confpires, To heap upon him more than he defires:
He then fufpects the kindness he enjoys,
Takes it with thanks, but with fuch care employs,
As if that Fate, weary of giving more,
Would once resume what it beftow'd before.
He finds Man's Life, by an Eternal Skill,
Is temper'd equally with good and ill.
Fate shapes our Lives, as it divides the Years,
Hopes are our Summer, and our Winter's Fears;
And 'tis by an unerring Rule decreed,
That this shall that alternately fucceed.
Therefore when Fate's unkind, dear Friend, be wife,
And bear its Ills without the least surprise.
The more you are opprefs'd, bear up the more,
Weather the Tempest 'till its rage be o'er.
But if too profperous and too ftrong a gale,
Should rather ruffle than just fill your Sail,
Leffen it; and let it take but fo much Wind,
As is proportion'd to the courfe defign'd;
"For 'tis the greatest part of human Skill,
"To use good Fortune, and to bear our ill.
The Eighteenth Epiftle of the First Book of HORA CE.
Dhe doth fo well the Laws of Friendship know;
EAR Friend, for furely I may call him so,
I'm fure you mean the Kindness you profefs,
And to be lov'd by you's a Happiness;
Not like him who with Eloquence and Pains,
The fpecious Title of a Friend obtains ;
And the next day, to please fome Man of Senfe,
Breaks Jefts at his deluded Friend's expence;
As Jilts, who by a quick compendious way,
To gain new Lovers, do the old betray.
There is another failing of the Mind,
Equal to this, of a quite different kind ;
I mean that rude uncultivated skill,
Which fome have got of using all Men ill;
Out of a zealous and unhewn pretence
Of Freedom, and a virtuous Innocence;
Who, 'cause they cannot fawn, betray, nor cheat,
Think they may push and juftle all they meet,
And blame whate'er they fee, complain, and brawl,
And think their Virtues make amends for all;
They neither comb their Head, nor wash their Face
But think their virtuous Naftiness a grace.
Whenas true Virtue in a medium lies,
And that to turn to either Hand's a Vice.
Others there are, who too obfequious grown,
Live more for others pleasure than their own
Applauding whatsoe'er they hear or fee,
By a too naufeous Civility:
And if a Man of Title or Eftate,
Doth some strange Story, true or falfe, relate;
Obfequiously they cringe, and vouch it all,
Repeat his Words, and catch them as they fall;
As School Boys follow what the Masters fay,
Or like an Actor prompted in a Play.
Some Men there are fo full of their own Senfe,
They take the leaft Dispute for an Offence;
And if fome wifer Friend their heat restrains,
And fays the Subject is not worth the pains;
Straight they reply, What i have faid is true,
And I'll defend it against him and you;
And if he still dares fay 'tis not, I'll die,
Rather than not maintain he says a Lie.
Now, would you fee from whence these heats arife,
And where th' important contradiction lies;
'Tis but to know, if, when a Client's preft, -
Sawyer or Williams pleads his Cause the best:
Or if to Windfor he moft minutes gains,
Who goes by Colebrook, or who goes by Stains ;
Who spends his Wealth in Pleasure, and at Play,
And yet affects to be well-cloath'd and gay,
And comes to want; and yet dreads nothing more,
Than to be thought neceffitous and poor:
Him his rich Kinsman is afraid to fee,
Shuns like a Burthen to the Family;
And rails at Vices, which have made him poor,
Though he himself perhaps hath many more:
Or tells him wifely, Coufin have a care,
And your Expences with your Rents compare;
Since you inherit but a fmall Eftate,
Your Pleasures, Coufin, must be moderate.
I know, you think to huff, and live like me,
Coufin, my Wealth fupports my Vanity.
But they, who've Wit, and not Eftate enough,
Must cut their Coat according to their Stuff;
Therefore forbear t'affect Equality,
Forget you've fuch a foolish Friend as me.
There was a Courtier, who to punish those,
Who, though below him, he believed his Foes;
And more effectually to vent his Rage,
Sent them fine Cloaths and a new Equipage;
For then the foolish Sparks couragious grown,
Set up for roaring Bullies of the Town;
Muft go to Plays, and in the Boxes fit,
Then to a Whore, and live like Men of Wit;
'Till at the laft, their Coach and Horfes spent,
Their Cloaths grown dirty, and their Ribbons rent:
Their Fortune chang'd, their Appetite the fame,
And 'tis too late their Follies to reclaim,
They must turn Porters, or in Taverns wait,
And buy their Pleasures at a cheaper rate;
And 'midft their dirty Miftreffes and Wives,
Lead out the reft of their mistaken Lives.
Never be too inquifitive to find
The hidden Secrets of another's Mind,
For when you've torn one Secret from his Breaft, You run great rifque of lofing all the reft;
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