Letters and be torn be tost And fly to other Countries every Post Then I who have advis'd in vain shall smile As He that drove his Ass t' a craggy Hill For who would save a thing against its Will At last in Schools thou shalt be thumb'd by Boys And there grow foolish old and deaf with noise But when at Evening many come to read Tell them that I was meanly born and bred My Father poor of small Estate possest And that I stretch't my Wings beyond my Nest But as you cut me short in Wealth increase My Vertues tell them I the greatest please A little Man and studious of my ease And pettish too I can be angry soon My Passion 's quickly rais'd but quickly gone Grown gray before my time I hate the cold And seek the warmth and if they ask how old Now Lepidus and Lollius are in Power Tell them I 'me Four and Forty and no more The End of the First Book of Epistles EPISTLES BOOK II. Epistle I. To Augustus A Discourse of Poetry WHen you alone sustain the weighty Cares Of all the World and manage Peace and Wars The Roman State by Vertue 's Rules amend Adorn with Manners and with Arms defend To write a long Discourse to wast your time Would hinder publick good and turn a Crime The Ancient Heroes though blest aboads Receiv'd when dead exalted into Gods Yet whilst they liv'd with Men and whilst bestow'd The greatest Cares and did the greatest Good Built Towns made Laws and brought delightful ease And civiliz'd the Rational Savages Complain'd that They ingrateful Masters serv'd And met far less rewards than They deserv'd He that kill'd Hydra He design'd by Fate To quell the Monsters rais'd by Juno's hate Tho He the mighty He had all ways try'd Found Envy could be vanquisht only when He dy'd For those are hated that excell the rest Altho when dead they are belov'd and blest The vigorous Ray torments the feeble sight Yet when the Sun is set They praise the light To Thee great Caesar now we Altars give We vow and swear by Thee e'en whilst alive For never yet the Gods kind hands bestow'd Nor ever will a Prince so great so good That she prefers that she esteems Thee more Than all the Heroes she enjoy'd before Than all that she hath bred or Greece can boast In this 't is true thy Rome is Wise and Just But not in other things the Ancient Plays And Foreign Poets only she can praise The Present or Contempt or Hate receive 'T is Crime enough that they are yet alive Thus Old-Loves do admire the Ancient Laws The Sabines Leagues have their deserv'd applause On musty Leaves at awful distance look Age makes it Reverend and exalts the Book Give him the Bards old Songs Oh Rare Divine I swear 't is good a Muse sang every Line But if because the oldest are the best Amongst the Greeks the same unequal Test Must try the Latines too in short No doubt Plumes have nought hard within nor Nuts without We sit on Fortune's Top We sing We write And Wrestle better than the Greeks can Fight If length of Time will better Verse like Wine Give it a brisker Tast and make it fine Come tell me then I would be gladly show'd How many years will make a Poem good One Poet writ an Hundred years ago What is He Old and therefore Fam'd or no Or is He New and therefore Bald appears Let 's fix upon a certain term of Years He 's good that liv'd an Hundred Years ago Another wants but One is He so too Or is He New and Damn'd for that Alone Well He 's Good too and Old that wants but One. And thus I 'le argue on and bate no more And so by one and one wast all the store And so confute him who esteems by Years A Poem's goodness from the date it bears Who nor admires nor yet approves a Line But what is Old and Death hath made Divine Ennius the lofty Ennius and the Wise That second Homer in our Criticks Eyes Is loose in 's Poems and correct in few Nor takes he care to prove his Dreams were true He shows so little of great Homer's Soul Naevius is learn'd by heart and dearly sold So Sacred is his Book because 't is Old When Accius and Pacuvius are compar'd Both are esteem'd both meet with great reward Pacuvius all the Criticks Voices gains For Learning Accius for his lofty strains Afranius shows us soft Menander's Flame And Plautus rivals Epicharmus Fame Cecilius grave and Terence full of Art These Rome admires and these she learns by heart These are the Worthies of her Theater These she applauds with heat and crowds to hear These she esteems the Glories of the Stage And counts from Livy's to our present Age. The Critic Mobile will be medling still Sometimes their Judgment 's good and sometimes ill Thus when they praise the Old and when prefer Beyond compare to all the New They Erre But when they grant the Ancients Books and Plays Are often dull and uncorrect in Phrase Their words unfits or else their main design Their Judgment 's rational and jumps with mine I do not damn old Livy's Rhymes as dull For which I often smarted when at School But that he should be thought Correct Sublime And far before the Poems of our Time That one poor Chance-good Line or two at most The only Thing that all his Books can boast Not only should attone for what 's amiss But recommend the whole I 'me vext at this I hate a Fop should scorn a faultless Page Because 't is New nor yet approv'd by Age And then admiring all the Ancient Plays Not only pardon their defects but Praise Should I but doubt if Atta's Plays are good Our Old-Loves straight would cry the Youngster's Proud He 's impudent nor thinks those Plays exact Which Roscius and grave Aesop us'd to act Because they Judge by their own Appetites And think nought sweet but what their tast delights Or to stoop to their Juniors Rules disdain Or else to think what once they learn't was vain And only fit to be forgot again Those that applaud the Songs of former Times The dotish Bards old Verse or Monkish Rhimes Who would be thought to have a sharper Eye And in those Poems numerous Graces spy In which They see no more fine Things than I 'T is not to praise the Old but scorn abuse And hate New Books and damn the Modern Muse Had Greece done thus had she still scorn'd the New What had been Old what worthy Publick View When Wars were done and Greece dissolv'd in Peace When Fortune taught them how to live at Ease They wrestled Painted sung these Arts they lov'd These They did much admire and these improv'd In every Picture vulgar Eyes could find The Face exact and almost saw the Mind Then Racing Vaulting then the Plays and Stage Each took their turn to please the wanton Age Like Boys at Nurse
jocose She ties the fatal noose And binds Unequals to the brazen Yokes This is the Fate that all must prove The sure unhappiness of Love VVhilst fairer Virgins did adore And courted Me I Myrtal woo'd As rough as Adria's flood That bends the Creeks of the Calabrian shore ODE XXXIV He resolves to be religious and follow Epicurus 's Philosophy no more I That but seldom did adore I that no God but pleasure knew VVhilst mad Philosophy did blind And Epicurus fool'd my Mind Must keep that impious Course no more But turn my Sails and steer anew For Angry Jove with mighty force Whilst all the Skies were bright and clear Shot thro the Heaven with pointed flame And shook the Universal frame He lately drove his thund'ring Horse And flaming Chariot thro the Air. This shook the Earth and wandring streams This noise disturb'd the quiet Dead Thro muddy Styx thro all beneath And thro the shady VValks of Death Quick Lightning shot unusual beams The Ghosts beheld the Light and fled He brings the most obscure to light And robs the Glorious of a Crown Now tumbles down the mighty Proud And makes them know there is a God Now kicks the lofty into night And seats the Peasant in a Throne ODE XXXV To Fortune whom he Celebrates and begs to preserve Caesar GReat Goddess Antium's guardian Power Whose force is strong and quick to raise The lowest to the highest place Or with a wond'rous fall To bring the haughty lower And turn proud Triumphs to a Funeral The labouring Swain thy Aid implores His Prayers are mixt of Fear and Hope On Thee depending for his Crop Thee Merchants Thee confess VVhen far remov'd from Shores And bow to Thee the Mistress of the Seas To thee their Vows rough Germans pay To Thee the wandring Scythians bend Thee mighty Rome proclaims a friend And for their Tyrant Sons The barbarous Mothers pray To thee the greatest Guardian of their Thrones They bend they vow and still they fear Lest you should kick their Empire down And cloud the glory of their Crown They fear that you would raise The lazy Crowd to War And break their Empire or confine their Praise Necessity still stalks before And leads the way with poys'nous breath And all the Instruments of Death Sharp Swords and VVheels and Racks That flow with putrid gore Her brazen hand to fright the Nations shakes Sure Hope and Friendship cloath'd in white Attend on Thee they still remain The chiefest Glories of thy Train Thô you inrag'd retreat And with a hasty flight Thy Garment chang'd forsake the falling Great But the base Crowd the Perjur'd Whore And when the Casks of Wine are dry The false Pretenders quickly fly They all refuse to bend With the declining Poor And take the heavy yoke to ease their Friend Preserve Great Caesar Caesar leads To distant Britan guide his Fate And keep the Glory of our State The youth that must infest VVith Arms the haughty Medes And scatter Fears and Slavery thrô the Fast I blush at the dishonest show I die to see the VVounds and Scars Those Glorys of our Civil VVars What Sins a Cursed Age Were VVe afraid to do And what hath scap't the fury of our rage VVhat dread of Heaven or fears of Hell Could stop the Impious daring hand And was not every shrine prophan'd Oh wouldst Thou quickly whet Our impious blunted steel To fight the bold Arabian and the Gete ODE XXXVI A Welcome to his dear Friend Lamia 'T Is pious Duty now to praise With Incense Songs and sacred Lays And with a promis'd Heifers blood My Numida's kind guardian God Who safely now return'd again From the remotest Parts of Spain To thronging Friends on every side A thousand Kisses does divide But Dearest Lamia most receives And takes as gladly as He gives Their equal Love at School began Both the same Race of Vertue ran And both at once grew up to Man Be every Head with Garlands Crownd And let the flowing Bowl go round Let fading Lillys and the Rose Their Beauty and their smells disclose Let long-liv'd Parsly grace the Feast And gently cool the heated Guest Then all on Beauteous Damalis Shall lose their gloating wanton Eyes But her no Charms no Nods shall move And none divide her from her Love She shall imbrace her young Gallant As twining Ivy clasps the growing Plant ODE XXXVII On Caesar 's Victory over Antony and Cleopatra NOw now t is time to dance and play And drink and frollick all the Day T is time my Friends to banish Care And costly Feasts with thankful Hearts prepare In hallow'd shrines and make the Gods your Guests 'T was Treason once to Sport a Flash And Sin to Pierce the Noble Cash Whilst nought but boading Fears were seen For Ills to come When Egypts haughty Queen With wither'd Eunuchs threat'ned mighty Rome A Woman vain whose hopes could rise To such Impossibilities A Woman Drunk with sweet success Whom smiling Fate Had brought to dare no less Then Caesar's Fortune and the Roman State But soon her Pride to Fears retir'd When all her Ships were sunk or fir'd And real dread possest her mind When Caesar's Oars Did press so close behind And bore his Navy to the frighted Shores As Hawks pursue the trembling Doves Thro open Fields or shady Groves Or as swift Huntsmen chace the Deer Thro Thracian Plains That fly as wing'd with fear To bring the fatal Monster into Chains But She design'd a Nobler Fate And falling would appear as great As when She singly fill'd the Throne No fears betray'd Nor fled to Coasts unknown To live secure or meanly beg for Aid Her falling Throne with smiling look She boldly saw she dar'd provoke Fierce Serpents rough with Poys'nous trains To dart their Tongue And fill her dying Veins Grown furious now on Death resolv'd so long The stout Liburnian Ships the Fame And lasting glory of her Shame She envy'd she a Soul too Proud Too haughty to be seen Amongst the private Crowd And grace a Triumph less than Egypt's Queen ODE XXXVIII He tells his Boy that he should not take too much careabout his Entertainments I Hate my Boy I deeply hate The useless Persian Pomp and State Crowns wrought with too much Art displease Forbear to seek the blushing Rose Or where the Beauteous Lilly grows Such toil disturbs our ease A negligent and simple dress Thoughts free from Cares will most express Thy Front my Boy thy Front and mine A Myrtle Crown will best become Whilst I sit and quaff at Home Beneath my shady Vine The End of the first Book ODES The Second Book ODE I. To POLLIO He desires him to forbear writing Tragedies till He had settled the State SAD Prisoners Guard and Glory of the Bar The Senate's Oracle and great in War Whose Faith and Vertue all proclaim To whom the German Triumph won Eternal Fame And never fading Glories of a Crown The Grounds and Vices of our Wars Our Civil Dangers and our Fears
the like and with a willing mind 4. But now since Passion 's rooted in our Souls As other faults that stick so close to Fools Why doth not Reason poise and mend our thoughts And see our rage proportion'd to the faults When Supper 's done a Slave removes the Dish And spills the Broth or else le ts fall the Fish Now should the Master stab the Slave for this He would be thought more mad then Labeo is But how more mad are we and more severe Our Friends but little and but seldom Erre And such small Faults good Natures ne're resent They sin as Men must do and may repent But yet for this we hate for this we shun As Bankrupts Risio the notorious Dun Who when the Calends come severely sues And if the Debtor doth not pay the Use He 's clapt in Jayl and hears a tedious Bill A killing Scroll Item and Item still My Friend got drunk perhaps hath foul'd my bed Or bruis'd a Cup by neat Evander made Or snacht away a Chicken from my Plate And must I love my Friend the less for that What should I do then if he prov'd unjust Refus'd to bayl me Thiev'd or broke his Trust Those that hold Vices equal seem distress't When leaving Sophistry they come toth ' Test This Fancy doth with Law and Custom fight And Interest too that spring of Just and Right When Man first crept from Mother Earth's cold Womb He was a miserable Thing and dumb Then they for Acorns fought and shady Cave With Nails then Clubs the Weapons Nature gave And next with Swords which sad convenience found And malice taught them they were fit to wound Till Words and Names for Things and Laws began And civiliz'd the bruitish Creature Man Then they built Towns and settled Right and Just And Laws to curb our Rapine and our Lust For long e're Helen's time a thousand dy'd Then thousands fought to get a beauteous Bride But unrecorded fell like Beasts they stray'd Each caught his willing Female and enjoy'd Till one more strong kill'd him and was preferr'd Just as the greatest Bull amongst the Herd Look o're the Word 's old Records there 's the Cause 'T was fear of wrong that made us make our Laws By Naked Nature ne're was understood What 's Just and Right as what is Bad and Good What fit and what unfit for Flesh and Bood Nor Reason shews to break a Garden Hedge Should be as great a Crime as Sacriledge Let Rules be fixt that may our Rage contain And punish faults with a Proportion'd pain And do not flea him do not run him through That only doth deserve a kick or two For I ne're fear that Thou wilt prove too kind To too much Pity vitiously inclin'd That can'st hold Vices Equal and believe To Rob's no greater Crime than 't is to Thieve And who would punish all with equal hand If Thou wer 't King and had'st the full Command If he that 's wise and skilful in his Trade Tho but a Cobler must be neatly made Be rich be fair be handsome and a King Why do'st Thou wish for 't since Thou hast the Thing But what Chrysippus said Thou dost not know No wise Man yet did ever make a shoe And yet the Cobler's a wise Man how so Why as Hermogenes tho He holds his Tongue Is skill'd in Musick and can set a Song And suffling Alfen though he lost his Awl And threw away his Last and shut his Stall And broak his Threads yet was a Cobler still Thus every Tradesman if he hath but skill Is wise and therefore only King but stay Unless you use your Club with wanton play The waggish Boys will pluck thy formal Beard Thou shalt be kickt derided scorn'd and jeer'd Till thou do'st burst when Rage or Envy Stings And snarl thou greatest King of mighty Kings In short whilst Thou a King shalt walk in State And only foolish Crispin on Thee wait To get a farthing Bath I nobly live The Faults I Fool commit my friends forgive And I as easily will pardon theirs And so I 'le live secure and free from Cares A happier Private Man Than Thou a King SATYR IV. The Heads of the Fourth Satyr 1. Lucilius was bitter but uncorrect 2. Few read Satyrs because they know they deserve the reproof 3. Whether Satyr be a Species of Poetry 4. A defence of his own Writings 5. The manner how his Father bred him to Vertue 1. CRatin and Eupolis that lash't the Age Those old Comedian Furies of the Stage If they were to describe a vile unjust And cheating Knave or scourge a Lawless Lust Or other Crimes regardless of his Fame They show'd the Man and boldly told his Name This is Lucilius's way He follows those His Wit the same but other numbers chose I grant he was a sharp and ready Wit But rude and uncorrect in all he writ This was his fault He hastily would rhyme As if 't were such a wondrous thing in him Two hundred tedious lines in one hours time Yet when with force his muddy fancy flow'd Some few pure Streams appear'd amongst the mud In writing much 't is true his Parts excell Too lazy for the task of writing well But grant that rare what then Crispinus says You talk of writing Sir You claim the Bays Come on Sir Critick You shall have your fill The wager be as little as you will Here 's Pen and Ink and Time and Place let 's try Which can write most and fastest You or I Thanks Heaven that made me slow and gave a Peâ— That writes but little and but now and then But you like Bellows till the Gold 's refin'd Are puffing still and all but empty wind 2. Fannius was happy whom the publick praise Preferr'd to Phoebus shrine and Crown'd with Bays But few read mine and few my Books delight And I scarce dare to publish what I write Few like this way for most know well enough That they deserve and fear my just reproof Take any at a venture midst the Crowd And you shall find him covetous or proud One marry'd Whores another Boys desires One Silver 's white and Alpius Brass admires Another runs from East to West to cheat Like Dust by Whirlwinds tost thro storms of Fate And all to keep or better his Estate All these hate Poets these do fear our Rhimes Look he 's stark mad they cry fly fly betimes He spares no Friend He will abuse the best So he may laugh himself and have his Jest And then what e're He writes flies o're the Town To Pimps to Hectors and to Gamesters shown To every one He meets He tells the Tale Old Senseless Fops Old Women Boys and All Now hear what may for t'other side be shown 3. First I 'me no Poet for to make me one 'T is not enough to fetter words in Rhyme And make a tedious and a jingling Chyme And chiefly since my numerous feet enclose Such plain familiar Talk and almost Prose No
He alone can claim that name that writes With Fancy High and bold and daring flights And sings as nobly as His Hero fights And therefore some do doubt though some allow If Comedy be Poetry or no Because it wants that Spirit Flame and Force And bate the numbers 't is but plain discourse Yet often there the careful Fathers rage They storm and swear and crack the trembling Stage A Rogue a Dog I 'le kick him out of Door When his young Stripling courts a Jilting Whore And slights a noble Match or stow'd with drink E'en whilst 't is day He Sails behind his Link And would not Pompon were his Father here Expect as harsh a check and as severe Well then 't is not enough to keep due time Observe just feet and put plain words in Rhyme For break the Numbers and the Verse affords But common angry talk and usual words Thus take what I or what Lucilius writes Tho now and then it Storms and sometimes bites Invert the Order and the Words transpose No sign as when you change When violent Wars Had burst their Brazen Gates and broke the Bars Of Poetry appears 't is naked Prose 4. But now enough another Time shall show If 't is a part of Poetry or no But now I will enquire how Men should hate This way of writing Satyr and for what Capri and Sulce those Terrors of the Jayl Both hoarse with pleading walk the Common-Hall Their green Bags stusst with Bills Indictments Breves A mighty Terror those to Knaves and Thieves But yet an honest Man that keeps his Oath Nor robs nor steals may safely scorn them both If Thou' rt a Thief as Coele and Byrrhus are I 'me not like Sulce or Capri why do'st fear And why dread me My Book 's not set to Sale Thumb'd by the Rabble upon every Stall The Rascal scum Hermogenes and All I seldom do rehearse and when I do I 'me forc't because my Friends will have it so But then in private to my Friends alone Not every where nor yet to every one Thousands i' th' publick Market-place recite And trouble all they meet with what they write Nay whilst they Bath They studiously rehearse The Eccho's raise the Voice and grace the Verse Thus act our Fops and without fear or wit Never considering if the Season's fit Or time convenient Well but what you write Doth hurt Mens fame that 's your perverse delight Why this to me Doth any Friend of mine Boldly affirm that this is my design He that himself shall blame his absent Friends Or hears them scandaliz'd and not defends Sports with their Fame and speaks what e're He can And only to be thought a Witty Man Tells Tales and brings his Friend in dis-esteem That Man 's a Knave besure beware of him Set Twelve to Supper one above the rest Takes all the talk and breaks a scurvy Jest On all except the Master of the Feast At last on him when frequent Cups begin T' unlock his Soul and show the spight within Yet him you count a Wag a merry Soul A pleasant innocent and harmless Droll But if I smile perchance if I presume To laugh because Rufillus doth perfume That Female Man or nasty Gorgon note For studied filthiness and smell of Goat My smiles are Satyrs and what e're I write In me 't is all detraction and 't is spight In common Talk as we have often done If we discourse how Petil stole the Crown And you as you are wont his Cause defend He hath a kindness for me He 's my Friend My old Acquaintance He He is indeed And faith I 'me glad at heart that He is freed And yet I wonder how He ' scapt 't is right This this is base detraction this is spight This If I know my self ne're relisht me My Books from this I 'me sure my Mind is free But if some things appear jocosely writ This you must pardon this you must permit 5. For my good Father did instruct me so And by Examples taught me how to know What was unfit and what was fit to do For when He tutor'd and advis'd to thrift And live content with that which He had left Mark Byrrhus he would say and Alpi 's Son How poor They live now They are both undone Two fit examples by unhappy Fates To fright young Heirs from spending their Estates When He would fright me from a lawless Love And Whores He said Young Horace do not prove Like Sectan do not lead so loose a Life And seek stoln joys and with another's Wife Use what the Laws permit and be advis'd Trebonius got no credit when surpriz'd Philosophers perhaps may show the Cause And talk of Reason and of Nature's Laws Why some things should be hated some admir'd And why avoided some and some desir'd But 't is enough for me to form thy mind And leave it to the Ancients rules inclin'd And whilst Thou want'st a Tutor keep thy Name And manners spotless and preserve thy Fame For when a Man then thou must walk alone No prudent care to guide Thee but thy own Thus he advis'd What e're He 'd have me do He says Look such a one doth so and so And sets a Worthy Man before my Eyes And when he would forbid a Thing He crys Is not this bad when such and such a One Is scandaliz'd for 't over all the Town Unruly Patients when They chance to hear Their Neighbour's lately dead begin to fear Grow orderly and check their Appetite So others ill repute do often fright Young Men from following Vice and false delight Hence 't is that sound from greater faults I live But small and such as Friends may well forgive I grant I have yet even those grow less By my own Care or by my Friends advice For when I lye or when I walk alone I usually revolve what I have done This may be better'd sure and this commend And make me greater and a pleasant Friend Sure this is bad and this is not well done What shall I act like such and such a one All this I use to think on when alone At leasure times I write my foolish thoughts And this is one of Those my little faults Which if you won't forgive but prove severe A Band of Poets to my Aid I 'll rear For we can make a Band and like the Jews I 'le force you take that side you now refuse SATYR V. The Heads of the Fifth Satyr 1. A Description of his journey to Brundusium with all the various occurrences in the way FRom stately Rome I walkt a little way And reacht Aricia first and there I lay My Company as good as Man could seek The Lawyer Heliodore a Learned Greek Then Forum Apii that 's a paltry Town With Tars and Pedlars throng'd and those alone We made two days on 't hither tho most but one For to quick Travellers 't is a tedious road But if you walk but slow 't is pretty good Here '
glory nor to please the Age Nor get the Bays nor often tread the Stage True Comedy Fondanus only writes Pollio the Acts of Kings and Noble Fights Strong Epic-Poems Varius best can raise And Virgil's happy Muse in Eclogues plays Facetious soft and justly wins the Bays In Satyrs I which Varro try'd in vain And others too may have a happy strain Yet than Lucillius less I freely own I would not strive to blast his just renown He wears and best deserves to wear the Crown Ay but I said his fancy muddy flow'd And faulty Lines did oft exceed the good Well Sir and is e'en Homer all correct Is He Sir Critic free from all defect Doth not Lucillius Accius Rhimes accuse And blame our Ennius's correcter Muse For too much lightness oft his Rhimes deride And when He talks of his own Verse for Pride Then what 's the Reason that his friend repines That when I read Lucilius looser lines I try if 't is his Subject won't permit More even Verse or if 't is want of Wit But now if any is content to chime And just put naked Words in Feet and Rhime And write two hundred Lines in two hours time As Cassius did that full o're-flowing Tide Of Wit and who was burnt or fame hath ly'd With Piles of his own Papers when he dy'd Well then suppose Lucilius was a Wit His Vertue 's more than Faults in what He writ Correcter than the Older Writers own And that we Satyr owe to him alone Satyr a Poem to the Greeks unknown Yet did He now again new life Commence He would correct he would retrench his Sense And pare off all that was not Excellence Take pains and often when he Verses made Would bite his Nails toth quick and scratch his Head When you design a lasting Piece be wise Amend Correct again again Revise Ne're seek the Crowd's unthinking praise delight 4. ' That few and Judges read the Verse you write Is 't thy Ambition mean unthinking Fool To be a Classick thumb'd in every School That 's not my wish for 't is enough for me As hist Arbuscula was wont to say Well well hiss on for since I please the best And those approve me well I scorn the rest Why should I vex to hear Pontitius blame My Poems or Demetrius carp my Fame Or hungry Fannius at Tigellius Treat Disgrace my Verse to get a little Meat Let Plotius Varius and Mecoenas love Let Caesar Virgil Valgius all approve What I compose to these would I could joyn The Visci and Messala's Learned Line And Pollio and some other Friends of mine Whom I for modesty forbear to name My good acquaintance all and Men of Fame Commend my Lines and I should grieve to know They do not please Them as I hope they do I scorn Tigellius and Demetrius noise Dull Block-heads let them Pipe among their Boys And mind their Schools Go Roger quickly run Put this into my Book and I have done The End of the first Book of Satyrs SATYRS BOOK II. The Heads of the first Satyr 1. He adviseth with his Friend what He shall write 2. He concludes that his humour is for Satyr 3. Will hurt none unprovok't 4. No good Men have reason to be angry at Satyrists 1. SOme Fancy I am bitter when I jeer Beyond the Rules of Satyr too severe Some that my Verse is dull and flat and say A Man may write a Thousand such a day What shall I do Trebatius Why give o're Thy scribling humor check and write no more The Counsel's good and oh that I could choose But I can't sleep for my unruly Muse Why then for that will lay a rambling Head Go always tir'd or else go drunk to Bed Of if you needs must write go raise thy Fame By Caesar 's Wars for that 's a noble Theme And that will get Thee Wealth and an Esteem I have the Will but when I strive to fly My Wing's too weak nor can I rise so high For 't is not every one can paint a War How Iron Armies dreadful gay appear The Galli falling by a braver force Or wounded Parthians tumbling from their Horse Yet Thou for such the wise Lucilius show'd Great Scipio may'st describe him just and good Well when Occasion serves my Muse designs To try that way but my unpolish't lines Unless by chance a happy Time appears Will never pass the judging Caesar's Ears Whom if you try to stroak He 's free from Pride And kicks you off secure on every side And this is better than with railing Rhymes To lash the faults and follies of the Times Since all think they are hit and all resent And hate Thee tho perhaps They are not meant 2. What shall I do As most Men have their humours I have mine Milonius Dances when He 's full of Wine Pollux on Foot on Horse-back Castor fights As many Men so many their delights I love to Rhyme and have a railing Wit And choose the way that wise Lucilius writ He did to 's Book as to a Trusty Friend His secret Vertues and his Faults Commend And when a good or faulty deed was done He trusted them with that and them alone And hence his Books do all his Life explain As if we saw him live it o're again This Man I imitate but what I am Faith I can't tell nor know from whence I came For whether I my Birth t' Appulia owe Or to Lucania faith 't is hard to know Since we Venusians live between these two Plac't here as Tales of Ancient Fame relate When the Sabelli bow'd to stronger Fate On this side to secure the Roman State Lest fierce Appulian or Lucanian Arms Should take them unprovided for Alarms 3. But yet this Pen of mine shall never wound If unprovok't yet still I 'le keep my ground Ready for all assaults make this my guard And stand on my defence be still prepar'd As with a Sword yet sheath'd and never draw Unless assaulted to keep Rogues in Awe Grant bounteous Heaven Oh grant me welcome Peace Oh grant this Sword of mine might rust in ease Let none hurt Peaceful Me with envious Tongue For if he does He shall repent the wrong The warning's fair his Vices shall be shown And Life expos'd to all the Cens'ring Town Affronted Cervius threatens Suits of Law Canidia Charms to keep her Foes in Awe And Praetor Turius when he bears a grudge If Thou shalt plead a Cause when He is Judge Each fights with that with which he can prevail And powerful Nature thus instructs us all The Wolves with Teeth with Horns the Bulls begin And whence but from a secret Guide within Let Scoeva have for this he counts a wrong A Mother that He thinks will live too long His pious Hand shall never wound her Heart No wonder this 't is not his proper Art A Wolf ne're kicks with Teeth a Bull ne're kills But she shall take a Dose of poison'd Pills In short then whether I live
design Will clap with both his hands and favor thine But to advise you if you want advice Take heed of whom you speak and what it is Take heed to whom avoid the busy Men Fly the inquisitive they 'l talk agen And tell what you have said a leaky Ear Can never hold what it shall chance to hear 'T will run all out and what you once let fall It flys and t is impossible to recall If thy great friend keeps handsom Maid or Boy Be not in Love and eager to enjoy Lest He bestow that little gift to please Or else deny and highten thy disease Praise none till well approv'd on sober thoughts Lest after you should blush for others faults You prais'd a Rascal there you chanc't to err Then don't defend him when his Crimes appear But one approv'd when Scandals press defend Let him on Thee and on thy Fame depend Whom envy bites for thou may'st plainly see The danger will at last come o're to Thee For your'e in danger when the Next's on fire And Flames neglected often blaze the higher To Court the Great-ones and to sooth their Pride Seems a sweet task to those that never try'd But those that have know well that danger 's near It is a ticklish point and mixt with fear Do you endeavour whilst you cut the Main That no cross Storm should toss Thee back again The Active hate the Dull the Sad Jocose The Dull the Active Merry the Morose Stout Jolly Topers scorn the Sober Ass They hate those fellows that refuse their Glass Altho they beg altho they swear they dread The nightly fumes fur'd mouth and aching head Put off all Clouds and Darkness from thy brow Be Jolly Gay and Mirth and Humour show For modest Men are oft thought cloudy Souls And Men of little talk ill natur'd Fools In every state of Life besure of this Read o're thy moral Books consult the wise How thou may'st live how spend thine Age in Peace Lest fierce desire still poor disturb thine Ease Or Fears should shake or Cares thy Mind abuse Or ardent hope for things of little use If Arts do Vertue breed or Nature send What lessens Cares what makes thy self thy Friend What calms Thee Honor or admired Wealth Or close retirement and a life by stealth When I my Friend do go to take repose At cold Medela where Degentia flows Medela my belov'd but little Town With Cold and Frost all gray and wrinkled grown For what do you imagine that I care What think what make the subject of my prayer Let me have what I have or somewhat less 'T will still be great enough for happiness And that I may if Heaven more years will give Live to my self the time I have to live Estate in Books and Food to serve a year Lest I should wavering hang 'twixt hope and fear And this is all for which Mankind should pray And beg of Jove who gives and takes away Let him but Life and moderate Plenty find And I 'le provide my self an happy mind EPISTLE XIX TO MECAENAS 1. Of Poetry 2. His own Excellencies 3. Why not lik'd 1. MY Lord if what Cratinus says be right Those Verses cannot live those Lines delight Which Water drinkers Pen in vain they Write For e're since Bacchus did in wild design With Fauns and Satyrs half-mad Poets joyn The Muses every morning smelt of Wine From Homer's praise his love of Wine appears And Ennius never dar'd to write of Wars Till heated well let sober dotards choose The Plodding Law but never tempt a Muse This Law once made the Poets streight begin They drunk all night all day they stunk of Wine Suppose a Man the coursest Gown should wear No Shoes his Forehead rough his look severe And Ape great Cato in his Form and Dress Must He his Vertues and his Mind express Whilst dull Hyarbit wish't and vainly strove To speak as smoothly and as aptly move As sweet Timagenes and reach his Arts He overstrain'd himself and broak his Parts Examples Vice can imitate deceive Should I by Chance or a Disease be pale The Sots would drink their bloodless Cummin all Base Imitators Slaves to others Wills How oft you move my frowns how oft my smiles 2. I trod new paths to others feet unknown He that first ventures leads the others on I first the Romans keen Iambicks taught In numerous smoothness and in hight of thought I match't Archilocus I show'd the Age His numbers but forbore his murdering rage But lest you say that I fall short of fame Because my Number 's his my Verse the same The Saphick sweetens all his bitter vain And grave Alcaick smooths his rougher strain The subject's different different the Designs And tho thro all a vertuous freedom shines With no black Lines he daubs no envious breath Doth soil Mens same or Rhyme a Spouse to death This Verse ne're heard by Latine Ears before I first discover'd from the Grecian store And this delights me now that I am known And read for these inventions of my own 3. Now would you know why our ungrateful Rome Doth praise my Poems when with me at home But flout abroad I 'le freely tell the Cause I do not beg the empty Crowd's Applause I do not often treat nor do I send My old cast Suits and bribe them to commend I do not crowd to hear our Fops rehearse Nor do I praise and clap our Nobles Verse I cannot run to every Pedant Fool And beg that He would read my Book in 's School Hence springs my Wo now if I say I fear To bring dull Lines t' a crowded Theatre And vaunt my Trifles streight You jeer you cry And keep your Verse alone for Caesar 's Eye And proud you think that you alone can write Sweet hony lines fine in thy own conceit A tart reply to this I fear to give Lest his sharp Nails should scratch me whilst I strive I do not like the place I freely say Forbear a while let 's take another day For Jest dislike Dislike Contention bears Contention Hate and Hate breeds dreadful Wars THE CONCLUSION To his BOOK I Know you long to visit every Stall You would be neatly bound and set to Sale The bars that please the modest trouble you And you Commend and Court the publick view And mourn that you are hid and seen by few Go to the publick then go where you strive Tho thou wert not bred thus or taught to live There shall be no return when once thour' t gone And thou wilt cry Ah me What have I done What have I beg'd When one shall call thee dull And squeeze Thee when his Belly 's quickly full But now unless fond rage besots my mind Unless meer hatred to thy faults does blind I Prophesie and I am sure 't is true You shall be lik'd and prais'd at Rome whilst new But when thou shalt be soil'd by every hand Then slighted and to common use prophan'd To bind up
Thespis the first that did surprize the Age With Tragedy n'ere trod a decent Stage But in a Waggon drove his Plays about And show'd mean antick tricks to please the Rout His Songs uneven rude in every Part His Actors smutted and the Scene a Cart Next Aeschilus did greater Art express He built a Stage and taught them how to dress In decent motions He his Parts convey'd And made them look as great as those they play'd Next these Old Comedy did please the Age But soon their Liberty was turn'd to Rage Such Rage as Civil Power was forc'd to tame And by good Laws secure Mens injur'd Fame Thus was the Chorus lost Their railing Muse Grew silent when forbidden to abuse Our Latin Poets eager after Praise Have boldly ventur'd and deserv'd the Bays They left those Paths where all the Greeks have gone And dar'd to show some Actions of their own And vvould our Poets be inur'd to pain And vvhat they once have form'd file o're again Let it lie by them Cand revise vvith are Our Rome vvould be as fam'd for Wit as War Sirs damn those Rhymes that hasty Minds do give E're Time and Care have form'd them fit to live Let many a Day and many a Blot confine And many a Nail be par'd o're every Line Because Democritus once fondly taught Who ever heard He had one sober Thought That naked Nature with a frantick start Would Rhyme more luckyly than feeble Art And did allow none leave to tast a drop Of Helicon unless a crazy Fop The foppish humor now o're most prevails And few will shave their Beards or pair their Nails They shun Converse and fly to Solitude Seem frantick Sots and are design'dly rude For if they go but nasty if they gain The reputation of a crazy Brain Streight Poets too they must be thought by all Oh Block-head I that purge at Spring and Fall For else perhaps I had been fam'd for Rhymes And been the greatest Poet of the Times But I had rather keep that Sense I have Than to be thought a Poet Rhyme and Rave I 'le play the Whet stone useless and unfit To cut my self I 'le sharpen others Wit Unwriting I will teach them how to write What gives them Matter what exalts their Thoughts And what are Ornaments and what are Faults Of writing well these are the chiefest Springs To know the Nature and the use of Things Right judging Morals will the Subject show And when the Subject 's found Words freely flow He that can tell what Care our injur'd Fame And what our Mothers what our Sisters claim With what degrees of Zeal we should defend Our Country Fathers Brothers or a Friend What suits a Senator's what a Judge's care What Soldier 's what a Leader's in the War Secure of Honor he may boldly write For he is sure to draw the Image right 'T is my advice let every Painter place The Life before him that will hit the Face So let a Writer look o're Men to see What various Thoughts to various Kinds agree And thence the different Images derive And make the fit Expressions seem to live A Play exactly drawn tho often rough Without the Dress of Art to set it off Takes People more and more delight affords Than noisy Trifles and meer empty Words The Muses lov'd the Greeks and blest with Sense They freely gave them Wit and Eloquence In those They did Heroick fancies raise For they were covetous of nought but Praise But as for Us our Roman Youths are bred To Trades to cast Account to Write and Read Come hither Child suppose 't is Albine's Son Hold up thy Head take five from forty one And what remains just thirty six well done Add seven what makes it then just forty eight Ah thou must be a Man of an Estate And when this care for Gain all thoughts controuls When this base Rust hath crusted o're their Souls Ne're think that such will reach a noble hight These clogs must check these weights retard their flight Poets would profit or delight alone Or joyn both Profit and Delight in one Let all your Rules be short laid plainly down That docil Minds may comprehend them soon And faithful Memories retain with ease Short Precepts profit much as well as please For when we fill the narrow Mind too full It runs again out of the o're-charg'd Soul Besure what ever pleasant Tales you tell Be so like Truth that they may serve as well And do not Lamias eating Children feign Then show them whole and make them live again Our grave Men scorn the loose and meer jocose Our Youth despise the stiff and the morose But He 's the Man He with a Genius writes That takes them Both and profits and delights That in one Line instructs and pleases all That Book will easily be set to sale See distant Countrys spread the Author's name And send him down a Theme to future Fame Yet there are Faults and Men may sometimes Err And I 'le forgive I 'le not be too severe An Artist allways can't command his Harp But when he strikes a Flat He hears a Sharp The greatest Archers sometimes miss the Whites If numerous Graces shine in what he writes I 'le not condemn tho some few Faults appear Which common frailty leaves or want of Care But if tho warn'd He still repeats the same Who can endure and who forbear to blame Just as that Fidler must be call'd a Sot That always errs upon the self same Note So He that makes a Book one copious fault As Cherilus the greatest Dunce that ever wrote In whom if e're I see two lines of Wit I smile and wonder at the lucky hit But fret to find the mighty Homer dream Forget himself a-while and lose his Theme Yet if the work be long sleep may surprize And a short Nod creep o're the watchfull'st Eyes Poems like Pictures some when near delight At distance some some ask the clearest light And some the shade some Pictures please when new And some when old some bear a transient view Some bid the Men of Skill severely pry Some please but once some always please the Eye But you dear Sir tho you your self are wise Tho by your Father's care and kind advice Secure from Faults yet pray believe me this In other things a Mean may be allow'd Not Best may still be tolerable good A Common Lawyer though he cannot plead Like smooth Messala nor 's so deeply read As learn'd Casselius yet the Man may please Yet He may be in vogue and get his Fees But now the Laws of God and Man deny A middle State and Mean in Poetry For as at Treats or as at noble Feasts Bad Perfumes and bad Songs displease the Guests Because the Feast did not depend on these So Poetry a thing design'd to please Compos'd for meer delight must needs be still Or very good or scandalously ill He that 's unskilful will not toss a Ball Nor run nor wrestle
for He fears the fall He justly fears to meet deserv'd disgrace And that the Ring will hiss the baffled Ass But every one can Rhyme He 's fit for that Why not I 'me sure he hath a good Estate And that may give him just pretence to write It makes a Poet as it dubs a Knight But you Sir know your self will wisely choose And still consult the Genius of your Muse And yet when e're you write let every line Pass thro your Fathers Mecca's Ears or mine Keep it long by you and improve it still For then you may correct what e're you will But nought can be recall'd when once 't is gone It grows the Publick's 't is no more your own Fame says Inspired Orpheus first began To sing Gods Laws and make them known to Man Their fierceness softned show'd them wholesom food And frighted all from lavvless Lust and Blood And therefore Fame hath told his charming Lute Could tame a Lion and correct a Brute Amphion too as Story goes could call Obedient Stones to make the Theban Wall He led them as he pleas'd the Rocks obey'd And danc't in order to the Tunes he play'd T vvas then the vvork of Verse to make Men vvise To lead to Vertue and to fright from Vice To make the Savage Pious Kind and Just To curb wild Rage and bind unlavvful Lust To build Societys and force confine This vvas the noble this the first Design This vvas their Aim for this they tun'd their Lute And hence the Poets got their first repute Next Homer and Tyrte did boldly dare To whet brave Minds and lead the stout to War In verse their Oracles the Gods did give In verse we were instructed how to live Verse recommends Us to the Ears of Kings And easeth Minds when clog'd with serious things And therefore Sir Verse may deserve your care Which Gods inspire and Kings delight to hear Now some dispute to which the greatest part A Poem owes to Nature or to Art But faith to speak my thoughts I hardly know What witless Art or Artless Wit can do Each by it self is vain I 'me sure but joyn'd Their force is strong each proves the others friend The Man that is resolv'd the Prize to gain Doth often run and take a world of pain Bear Heat and Cold his growing strength improve Nor tast the Joys of Wine nor Sweets of Love The good Musician too that 's fam'd for Song Hath con'd his Tune and fear'd his Master long But amongst Poets 't is enough to say Faith I can write an admirable Play Pox take the hindmost I am foremost still And tho 't is great conceal his want of skill As Tradesmen call in Folks to buy their Ware Good Penny-worths the best in all the Fair So wealthy Poets when they read their Plays Get Flatterers in for they are paid for Praise And faith a Man that has a good Estate That can oblige a Friend and nobly Treat Be Surety for the Poor his Cause defend Shall never know a Flatterer from a Friend If you have been or promis'd to be kind To any one whilst joy perverts his Mind Ask not his Judgment for He 'l streight consent And cry t is good 't is rare 't is Excellent Grow pale and weep and stamp at every line Oh Lord 't is more than Man 't is all Divine As Hired Mourners at the Grave will howl Much more than those that grieve with all their Soul Thus Friends appear less mov'd than Counterfeits And Flatterers out-do and show their Cheats Kings thus says Story that of old design'd To raise a Favourite to a Bosome Friend Did ply him hard with wine unmaskt his thoughts And saw him Naked and with all his Faults So when you write take heed what Friend you have And fear the Smiles of a designing Knave Let good Quintilius all your lines revise And he will freely say mend this and this Sir I have often try'd and try'd again I 'me sure I can't do better 't is in vain Then blot out every word or try once more And file these ill turn'd Verses o're and o're But if you seem in love with your own Thought More eager to defend than mend your Fault He says no more but lets the Fop go on And Rival-sree admire his lovely own An honest Judg will blame each idle line And tell you you must make the Cloudy shine Show you what Words are harsh blot out the rough And cut the useless gawdy painting off Look thro your Faults with an impartial Eye And tell you what you must correct and why Critique indeed nor say shall I displease My honest Friend for such small Toys as these These Toys will once to serious mischiefs fall When He is laught at when He 's jeer'd by all For more than Mad or Poxt Men hate the Dull And swiftly fly the senseless rhyming Fool And fear to touch him Men of Sense retire The Boys abuse and only Fools admire Suppose he fir'd with his Poetick flame Just as a Fowler eager on his Game Doth fall into a Pit and bawls aloud And calls for pitty to the laughing Crowd He may bawl on for all will stand and flout And not one lend an hand to help him out But yet if any should what was 't design Or else meer Chance pray Sir that threw him in I 'le tell my Reasons and in short relate A poor Sicilian Poet's wretched Fate Empedocles must needs be thought a God And therefore in a melancholly Mood Leapt into Aetna's Flames let Poets have The Priviledg to hang and None to save For 't is no greater cruelty to kill Than 't is to save a Man against his Will Nor was it Chance the heedless Fool betray'd Nor the strange efforts of a crazy head For draw him out restore his life again He would not be content to be a Man He would be eager to be thought divine And gladly burn in Hopes to gain a Shrine Now 't is not known for what notorious Crime These brainless Fellows are condemn'd to Rhyme Whether they piss'd upon their Fathers Grave Or rob'd a Shrine 't is certain that they rave And like wild Bears if once they break their Den And can get loose worry all sorts of Men Their killing Rhymes they barbarously obtrude And make all fly the Learn'd as well as Rude But then to those they seize They still reherse And murder the poor Wretches with their Verse They Rhyme and Kill a cursed murd'ring Brood Like Leeches sucking still till full of Blood FINIS A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS Printed for Jacob Tonson at the Judges-Head in Chancery-Lane 1684. PLutarch 's first Volume newly Translated from the Greek Plutarch Written by Mr. Dryden Theseus Translated by Mr. Duke Romulus Mr. Smallwood Lycurgus Mr. Chetwood Numa Pompilius Mr. Ricaut Solon Mr. Creech Poplicola Mr. Dodswell Themistocles Dr. Brown Furius Camillus Mr. Pain Pericles Dr. Littleton Fabius Maximus Mr. Carryl Plutarch's second Volume newly Translated from the Greek Alcibiades Coriolanus Translated by Dr. Bloomer Paulus Emilius Mr. Arrowsmith Timoleon Dr. Bloomer Pelopidas Mr. Creech Marcellus Dr. Charlton Aristides Mr. Cooper Marcus Cato Mr. Lydcot Philopemen Dr. Short Titus Flaminius Mr. Whitaker Plutarch 's Third Volume newly Translated from the Greek Pyrrhus Translated by Dr. Cru Caius Marius Mr. Stapleton Lysander Mr. Leman Sylla Mr. Davis Cimon Mr. Morgan Lucullus Mr. Thornburgh Nicias Mr. Rimer Crassus Mr. Amhurst Eumenes Sertorius Dr. Brown The Fourth and Fifth Volumes of Plutarch Translated by several eminent Hands are now in the Press and will with all possible speed be Published Remarks upon a Tract Intituled a Treatise of Humane Reason and upon Mr. Warren 's late defence of it by Sir George Blundell A Critical History of the Old Testament in three Books The first treating at large concerning the several Authors of the Bible The second containing the History of the chief Translations of the Bible made either by Jews or Christians The third laying down Rules whereby a more Exact Translation may be made of the Scripture than hitherto has been Written Originally by Father Simon of the Oratory With a suppliment being a defence of the Critical History in answer to Mr. Spanhem 's Treatise against it both Translated into English by H. D. Poems upon several occasions with a Voyage to the Island of Love by Mrs. A. Behn Ovids Epistles Englished by the Earl of Mulgrave Sir Car. Scrope Mr. Dryden and several other Eminent hands Divine Contemplations upon the Life of our Saviour Written by the Bishop of Exceter A Chronicle of France from the beginning of that Kingdom Written by Monsieur Mezeray Chronologer to the present French King The first part of the Institutes of the Laws of England or a Commentary upon Littleton By Sir Edward Coke K t. Theninth Edition carefully corrected with an Alphabetical Table To this Edition is added two Learned Tracts of the same Author the first his Reading upon the 27 of Edward the first Entituled The Statute of Levying Fines and the second of Bail and Mainprise The Lord Cokes Reports in French and English The Reports by the Lord Chief Justice Vaughn in Engl. Hettly's Reports Dalton's Justice of Peace Dalton's Sheriffs Shepard's Abridgment of the Law Brown's Entries in 2 Parts Miscellaneous Poems containing a New Translation of Virgil's Ecologues Ovid's Love Elegies Odes of Horace and other Authors with several Original Poems by the most Eminent hands The Works of Horace Translated into English by Mr. Creech of Oxford are now in the Press and near Printed Now in the Press The Decay of the Western Empire Translated out of French Will speedily be Published The History of the League Written in French by Monsieur Maimburgh Translated into English uppon his Majesties Command by Mr. Dryden * I read scripta in honoratum c. * Scriptor Cyclicus is not as usually thought Scriptor Circumforaneus but the same with what the Greeks call'd 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 of whom see Langbain in his Notes on Longinus