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
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
Non usitatâ nec tenui ferar Pennâ biformis per liquidum aethere Vates M Burghers delin et sculp THE ODES SATYRS AND EPISTLES OF HORACE Done into English Qui cupit optatam Cursu contingere metam Multa Tulit fecitque Puer LONDON Printed for Jacob Tonson and Sold by Tim. Goodwin at the Maiden-head against St. Dunstans Church in Fleetstreet 1684. To the very much Esteemed JOHN DRYDEN Esq 'T Is pretended by every one that chooseth a Patron that either the Worth or good Nature of the Person hath determined him to that choice He professeth that He hath very mean thoughts of his own performance and so stands in need of a Protector He begs a Name whose Luster might shed some Reputation on his Work or else hath been oblig'd and bound in gratitude to make this publick acknowledgment of the goodness of the Man How eminently You Sir are endow'd with the first qualification of a Patron every one knows too well to need information and where can this trifle find a Corner that hath not been fill'd with Mr. Dryden's name 'T is You Sir that have advanc'd our Dramatick to its height and show'd that Epick Poetry is not confin'd to Italy and Greece That You are honored by the best and envy'd by others proclaims Excellency and Worth For True Honor is built only upon perfection And Envy as it is as sharp sighted so 't is as soaring as an Eagle and who ever saw it stoop at a Sparrow or a Wren And that Candor and Goodness have the greatest share in your Composition I dare appeal to every one whom You have any way honored with your Conversation These so fill your Mind that there is no room left for Pride or any disobliging quality This appears from the Encouragement You are ready to give any tolerable attempts and reach out a helping hand to all those who endeavour to climb that height where You are already seated E'en this own̄ its completion to those smiles which You condescended to bestow upon some parts of it and now ventures to appear a second time where at first it found a favourable Entertainment 'T is Horace Sir whom You have thought worthy your Study and Imitation that flys to You for Protection and perhaps will beg it against the Injuries I my self have done him You Sir are best acquainted with the difficulties of the Undertaking can most easily discover and as easily pardon the defects of SIR Your most Obliged Humble Servant Thomas Creech Oxon. All Souls Coll. May 25 th 1684. Preface QUintilian in the First Book of his Institutions instructs the Young Orator what to read and after Homer and Virgil are chiefly commended to his Study He tells him That considerable improvement may be made from the Lyrick Poets but there is great Care to be taken in the choice some select parts only out of each Author to be permitted Youths And he says particularly of Horace That He would not have all in Him interpreted What He means by Interpretation is evident to every one that understands the Extent of the word and the Antients Method of instructing and why this Caution is restrain'd to the Odes and not apply'd to the Satyrs as well since the reason upon which He fixes it seems common to both must be taken from the design and subject matter of the Poems To describe and reform a vitious man necessarily requires some expressions which an Ode can never want The Paint which an Artist uses must be agreeable to the Piece which He designs Satyr is to instruct and that supposeth a knowledge and discovery of the Crime Whilst Odes are made only to delight and please and therefore every thing in them that justly offends is unpardonable In our Common Schools this Rule of Quintilian is grievously neglected all is permitted to every Eye and laid open to the dullest sight by the most shameful Notes that can be pen'd You may see a Grammarian with a demure mouth cry out O Foedum at a loose expression and yet presently fill a Page with a more fulsom explication and the design of all his pains is only to indulge a petulant Humor or assist the lazy Ignorance of the common Instructors of our Youth If any should reckon this amongst the considerable Causes of the Corruptions of our Manners certainly all those would assent who see that a Stream will be foul when the Fountain it self is muddy Nor is this a single opinion as is evident from their happy industry who have corrected some of our Authors and sent them abroad naked and uncorrupted with forreign Notes This Method as it spares the Modesty of the Youth so it must be a considerable improvement to his Parts since his Mind and Memory and not only his Eye must be employ'd I am bound thankfully to acknowledg the Pious Care of Mr. Thomas Curganven now of Shirburn in Dorsetshire in this matter He did not want or if he had His Vertue and Industry had contemn'd such helps having searcht into the Secrets of the Classicks and being an excellent Example of unweary'd Diligence and regular Carriage to All under his Tuition To his Instruction I owe what at present I understand of these Books and to his Rules my hopes of future Attainments The same Principles made me Cautious of some Odes tho I have past by three more upon a different account This just debt being paid to my Honored Instructer the part that concerns my self Reader will give Thee little trouble I cannot choose but smile now and then to think that I who have not Musick enough to understand one Note and too little ill Nature for that is commonly thought a necessary ingredient to be a Satyrist should venture upon Horace 'T is certain our Language is not Capable of the numbers of the Poet and therefore if the Sense of the Author is deliver'd the variety of Expression kept which I must despair of after Quintilian hath assur'd us that he is most happily bold in his words and his Fancy not debas'd for I cannot think my self able to improve Horace 't is all that can be expected from a Version This the Admirable Cowly consider'd when he undertook Pindar and hath drawn a short and full Apology for the like undertakings We must consider says He the great difference of time betwixt his Age and ours which changes as in Pictures at least the Colors of Poetry the no less difference betwixt the Religions and Customs of our Countrys a Thousand particularities of Places Persons and Manners which do but confusedly appear to our Eyes at this distance and lastly which were enough alone for my purpose we must consider that our Ears are Strangers to the Musick of his numbers which sometimes especially in Songs and Odes almost without any thing else makes an excellent Poet 'T is true he improves this consideration and urges it as concluding against all strict and faithful versions in which I must beg leave to dissent thinking
and Peace When beauteous with your gawdy horn You did from Hells black Shades return Thee Cerberus saw and show'd the Way He wagg'd his Tail grew wondrous kind He lickt thy Feet he fawn'd and whin'd Nor did one grin an impious rage betray ODE XX. He promiseth himself immortal Fame NO weak no common Wing shall bear My rising Body thro the Air Now chang'd I upward go I 'le grovel here on Earth no more More high than Envy's self can soar I leave Mortality and things below Not Me not Me the meanly Born Whom the proud Fools and haughty scorn Not Me shall Death controul Not I whom you I know not what Mecaenas call will yield to Fate Nor shall the Stygian Waves confine my Soul Rough Skin o're both my Legs is spread And shining Feathers Crown my Head Above I 'me turn'd a Swan O're both my Hands light Plumes do spring My Arm is chang'd into a Wing And now I move with greater speed than Man On stronger and on swifter Wing Than Icarus fled I rise and Sing A sounding Bird I soar I 'le see the distant Northern Pole I 'le see the Southern Billows roul And spread my Wings o're Bosphorus groaning Shore My Songs shall to the Colchian Ears And German that conceals his fears Of Roman Troops be known The Moors and in my numerous Verse The Scythians Skill'd shall Songs rehearse The Spaniard too and He that drinks the Rhone Mourn not no friendly drops must fall No sighs attend my Funeral Those Common Deaths may crave Let no disgraceful Grief appear Nor damp my Glory with a Tear And spare the useless Honors of a Grave The End of the Second Book HORACE'S ODES Book the Third ODE I. Not Wealth or Honor but Peace and Quietness makes a happy Life BEgon begon I hate ye all Both you great Vulgar and you small Nor Mysteries Prophane behold To Boys and Maids unstain'd with Crimes The Muses Priest in Sacred Rhimes Doth unknown Songs and wondrous Truths unfold The awful Kings o're Nations sway Their Subjects tremble and obey The Kings themselves are rul'd by Jove Who broak the Giants Pride and won Eternal safety to his Throne And by his powerful Nod doth all things move One man doth larger Fields possess One stands more fair for Offices The drudging Darling of the Crowd Whilst One his Manners or his Friends Or his Obsequious Train commends And One in Fame is greater or in Blood Yet equal Death doth strike at all The haughty Great and humble Small She strikes with an impartial Hand She shakes the vast capacious Urn And each Man's Lot must take his turn Thro every glass she presses equal Sand Whilst Swords hung o're proud Damocles Not all the Tyrant's sweets could please Not Musicks Airs could calm his Breast The black remembrance of his faults Still crowding back upon his thoughts Disturb'd and rob'd his troubled Soul of rest But humble quiet ne're flies o're The lowly Cottage of the Poor The pleasing Shade and purling Streams She loves to haunt she loves the Plains And cheers the Plough-man loos'd from Pains With still Security and easy Dreams He that desires but what 's enough Against the force of Fate is proof Unstain'd He lives and pure from Sin Let violent Tempests break the Woods And angry Whirlwinds toss the Floods He still hath Quiet and a Calm within Let Hail his ripening Olives beat Or let them shrink with too much heat His barren Field deceive his hopes Or let his naked Trees complain Of too much Drought or too much Rain Or Frost untimely nip his rising Crops Now still our stately Squares encrease The Fish will find their Ocean less The Moles thrown in extend the Shoar The Lord grown weary of the Land Now builds upon the Ocean's Sand And scorns the Bounds that Nature fixt before But Fear and Melancholly Cares attend And where the Master climbs ascend They soon o'retake his flying Mind Born on by the same nimble gales They press the Poop where e're He sails And when he rides black Care sits close behind Well then since neither Gold nor Gain Can quiet bring or fears restrain Since Purple bright as shining Stars Can ne're dispel our Cloudy Cares Since all the Spices of the East Can never calm our troubled Breast Why should I madly toyl to raise On envy'd Pillars Palaces Why spend my time and wast my health Why should I strive to change my Field And those delights my Farm can yield For larger Lands and more disturbing Wealth ODE II. Youth must be bred in Wars and Want and taught to be Religious LEt vigorous Boys be train'd to bear The streights of Poverty in War Be hardly bred improve thy Force And bravely gall the Parthian Horse And let the Persians tremble at his Spear And let him live and lie abroad Mid'st Dangers Slaughters Fears and Blood Be tost with all the Storms of Fate And hard'ned up to prop the State His Country save and rise into a God Him from their Walls when fierce in War Let Tyrants Mothers view and fear And let their Brides despairing sigh Ah may not my unskilful Spouse That furious Lion madly rouse How fierce He drives and how our Armies fly He nobly Bleeds he bravely Dies That falls his Countries Sacrifice The flying Youth swift Fate o're takes It strikes them thro the trembling backs And runs too fast for nimble Cowardice Vertue unlearn'd to bear the base And shameful baffle of disgrace Nor takes nor quits the tottering Throne As fickle Crowds shall smile or frown Nor from their wavering Breath receives the place True Vertue that unbarrs the Skie To those that are too brave to Die Thro wondrous ways doth upward go Scorns the base Earth and Crowd below And with a soaring Wing still mounts on high And just Rewards the Gods decree For fair obedient Piety Not He that scorns or scoffs His God Or blabs his Mysteries abroad Shall live in the same House or sail with me Oft Jove doth heedless Thunder throw And mix the Good and Bad below But lame Revenge still stalks behind Do's slowly dodg the guilty mind And only stays to take the surer blow ODE IV. To the Muses acknowledging their Power and Kindness DEscend my Muse compose a long A pleasing and a grateful Song Or to the Pipe or sounding Flute Or gently move Apollo's Lute D' ye hear or airy frenzy cheat My mind well pleas'd with the deceit I seem to hear I seem to move And wander thro the happy Grove Where smooth Springs flow and murmuring Breez Do's wanton thro the waving Trees In lofty Vultur's rising grounds Without my Nurse Apulia's bounds When young and tir'd with sport and play And bound with pleasing sleep I lay Doves cover'd me with myrtle boughs And with soft murmurs sweetned my repose A wonder this and strange to all That liv'd in fat Ferenti's Vale High Acherontia Bantine groves Admir'd the kindness of the Doves 'T was strange that I midst Thorny Brakes
faintly bites Sweet Muse that tun'st the charming Lyre And draw'st soft sounds from stubborn string That can'st the Envious please And soften fury into ease Teach silent Fish to sing And tunes as sweet as dying Swans inspire 'T is thine sweet Muse thy gift alone That as I walk all cry 't is He That warms with Lyrick fire 'T is He that tunes the Roman Lyre And that I please I own Suppose I please I have it all from Thee ODE V. GReat Hero's Son Rome's gratious Lord How long shall we thy absence mourn Thy promis'd self at last afford Rome's sacred Senate begs Return Great Sir restore your Country light When your auspitious beams arise Just as in Spring the Sun 's more bright And fairer days smile o're the Skys As tender Mothers wait their Sons Whom Storms have tost above a Year And every nimble day that runs They load with vows and pious fear They ne're their Eys from th' Shores remove Longing to see their Sons restor'd Thus Rome inspir'd with Loyal Love Expects her great her gracious Lord. The Ox doth safely Pasturâ— trace And fruitful Ceres fills our Plains The Merchant sails o're quiet Seas And unstain'd Faith and Vertue reigns No base Adultry stains our Race Strickt Law hath tam'd that spotted Vice The Child can show his Father's face Pain waits on Sin and checks its rise Who doth the dreadful Germans fear The Scythian Rage or Parthian Bow Or Who the threatning Spaniards War Whilst Caesar lives and rules below In his own Hills each sets his Sun To Widow Elms he leads his Vine And chearful when his toyls are done Invokes Thee o're a Glass of Wine To Thee our Prayers and Wines do flow To Thee the Author of our Peace As much as grateful Greece can show To Castor or great Hercules Long may You live your days be fair Bestow long Feasts and long Delight This is our sober morning Prayer And these our drunken Vows at Night ODE VI. To Apollo and Diana GReat God whom Niobe's Race did know A sharp revenger of a haughty Tongue Whom Lustful Titus wrong Provokt to draw his fatal Bow And stout Achilles found too great a Foe Tho fierce in Arms tho Thetis Son Tho Death did wait upon his Sword and Fear Attended on his Spear Tho wretched Troy almost or'e thrown Confest his force He bow'd to Thee alone Like Oaks which biting Axes wound Or Cypress tall which furious Storms divide He spread his ruin wide He felt the fatal Dart He groan'd And hid his noble Head in Trojan ground Not He in great Minerva's Horse Had cheated Troy and Priam's heedless Court Dissolv'd in Wine and Sport But hot and deaf to all remorse Had fiercely storm'd our Walls with open force And when strong Fates had Troy or'come Too savage He ah ah with Grecian Flames Had burnt the breeding Dames And in their Mothers burning Womb Poor harmless Infants found a hated Tomb But your kind Prayers and Venus Face Prevail'd on Fate made angry Juno kind And bent Jove's mighty mind To grant a more auspicious place To raise a Town for great Aeneas Race Fain'd Artist on the Muses Lyre That bath'st thy yellow Locks in Zanthus Flood Sweet smooth-fac't charming God Improve the rage thou didst inspire Encrease my heat and still preserve my Fire From Phoebus all my fancy came 'T was Phoebus first that taught me how to sing And strike the speaking string He Art inspir'd He rais'd my Fame And gave the glory of a Poet's name You noble Maids and noble Boys The chast Diana's chiefest care below Whose dreadful Darts and Bow Fierce Tygers fear observe my voice Observe the measures of the publick joys Just praises give Latona's Son And sing the Moon with her encreasing light The beauteous Queen of Night Kind to our Fruits and swift alone To turn the headlong Months and whirl 'em down When Marriage bands confine thy Love Then boast as years brought round the Feast I plaid The Tunes that Horace made I sang his Verse and This did prove A pleasing Tribute to the Gods above ODE VII To MANLIUS TORQUATUS The Spring coming on from the consideration of our frail State He invites him to be merry THe Snows are gone and Grass returns again New Leaves adorn the Widow Trees The unswoln Streams their narrow banks contain And softly role to quiet Seas The decent Nymphs with smiling Graces joyn'd Now naked dance i' th' open Air They frolick dance nor do they fear the Wind That gently wantons thro their Hair The nimble hour that turns the Circling Year And swiftly whirls the pleasing Day Forewarns Thee to be Mortal in thy Care Nor cramp thy Life with long delay The Spring the Winter Summer wasts the Spring And Summers beauty's quickly lost When drunken Autumn spreads her drooping Wing And next cold Winter creeps in Frost The Moon t is true her Monthly loss repairs She streight renews her borrow'd light But when black Death hath turn'd our shining years There follows one Eternal Night When we shall view the gloomy Stygian Shore And walk amongst the mighty Dead Where Tullus where Aeneas went before We shall be Dust and empty shade Who knows if stubborn Fate will prove so kind And joyn to this another day What e're is for thy greedy Heir design'd Will slip his Hands and fly away When thou art gone and Minos Sentence read Torquatus there is no return Thy Fame nor all thy learned Tongue can plead Nor goodness shall unseal the Urn For Chast Hyppolytus Diana strives She strives but ah she strives in vain Nor Theseus Care and Pious force reprieves Nor breaks his Dear Perithous Chain ODE VIII To Marcus Censorinus Verse is the best and most lasting Present that a Man can send his Friend I Would be kind I would bestow Dear Censorine on all I know Plate Statues Brass prepar'd Or Bowls the stoutest Greeks reward On You my Friend and half my heart Some curious Piece of noble Art Could I the famous Works command Of Scopa's or Parrhasius hand One skill'd in Stone and one in Paint To frame a Man or make a Saint The Art declar'd the frame divine And God appear'd in every Line But I am poor and your Estate Too large for these your Soul too great To want such Toys but You delight In noble Verse and I can write I 'me rich in these can please a Friend And show the worth of what I send Not stately Pillars rais'd in Brass Nor Stones inscrib'd with publick Praise Tho such new Heat and Vigor give And make the buried Heroes live The hasty flight the wondrous fall And threats thrown back on Hannibal Not Impious Carthage bright in flames His praise who came increas't in Names From conquer'd Africk Vertues show With half the Glory Verse can do If Books were dumb what small Regard Would Vertue meet what mean Reward And who had Rome's great Founder known Tho sprung from Mars tho Ilia's Son If envious silence had
Because a furrow'd Brow And hollow Eyes thy form disgrace And o're thy head Age scatters Snow Nor can thy costly dress the Eastern Shore VVith all the Gems it bears Thy former lovely Youth restore Nor bring thee back thy scatter'd Years Those Years which the Eternal wheel hath spun And drawn beyond thy Prime Thro which swift Day hath nimbly run And shut in known Records of Time VVhere is that Beauty where that charming Air That shape that Amorous Play Oh what hast thou of her of Her VVhos 's every look did Love inspire VVhos 's every breathing fan'd my fire And stole me from my self away To lovely Cynera's Face set next in Fame For all that can surprize For all those Arts that raise a Flame And kindly feed it at our Eyes But hasty Fate cut charming Cynera short That Fate that now prepares Old Lyce old as Daws for sport And scorn as grievous as her Years When our hot Youths shall come and laugh to see The Torch that burnt before And kindled aged Lechery To Ashes fall'n and warm no more ODE XIV To AUGUSTUS That His Deserts are much greater than any Rewards Rome can bestow HOw can the Senate's how the People's care Tho All with gifts that swell with honors strive A lasting Monument prepare To make thy glory live And thy great Name thro future Ages bear O greatest Prince the circling Sun can view Whom stout Vindilici unlearn'd in fear From glorious Conquests lately knew How great He is in VVar And felt that all that Fame had told was true Brave Drusus led thy conquering Legions on And fierce Genauns a stubborn Nation broak The furious Brenni's force o'rethrown Now gladly take the Yoke The Glory of their Slavery proudly own Strong Castles fixt on Mountains vastly high Almost as high as his aspiring thought VVith a repeated Victory Thrown down He climb'd and fought Where Fear or winged Hope scarce dar'd to fly Next Elder Nero great in Arms appear'd And Rhoeti fought A sight for Gods to see VVhat slaughters broak their Souls prepar'd For Death with Liberty And led the Conqueror to high Reward As raging VVinds with an impetuous Course When stormy Stars assist do toss the flood So fierce He breaks thro armed force Thro Darts and streams of blood And threatning flames He spurs his eager Horse As branched Aufidus doth Moles disdain And thro Apulian Fields doth whirl his VVaves VVhen rais'd by Snow or swoln with Rain Against his Banks He raves And threatens Floods to all the fruitful Plain Thus Claudius violent did in Arms appear No Bands no barbarous Troops his force could stay The Front the Body and the Rear Secure he swept away And o're the Field He scatter'd dreadful War Whilst You your Forces You your Counsel lent What mortal Courage could his Arms oppose VVhen to his Aid your Gods you sent He thunder'd on his Foes And threw among them Slavery as He went Since suppliant Egypt in her empty Throne Receiv'd Thee Lord the Fates that strive to bless Thy Title to the Empire own By fifteen Years Success And still increase the Glory of thy Crown The fierce Cantabrian not to be o'recome Before thy Arms the Indian and the Mede The wandring Scythians lurk at home And Thee they wisely dread O present guard of Italy and Rome The Waves that beat the British monstrous shore Cold Ister Nile and Tanais rapid stream Fierce Spaniards now rebel no more And Gauls that death contem Lay down their Arms and quietly adore ODE XV. He praiseth Augustus WHen I would sing of noble Fights Of Lofty things in lofty flights Kind Phoebus Harp my Temples strook The trembling strings in Consort shook And answer'd to the tunes he spoak Thy Ship is weak he said forbear And tempt not raging Seas too far Thy Age great Caesar gracious Lord Hath Plenty to our Fields restor'd Proud Parthians captive Arms resign To Mighty Jove's and Caesar's Shrine Now noisy VVars and Tumults cease And Janus Temple 's barr'd by Peace Wild Lust is bound in modest chains And Licence feels just order's reins Strict Vertue rules good Laws command And banisht Sin forsakes the Land You all those generous Arts renew By which our Infant Empire grew By which her Fame spread vastly wide And carry'd in Majestick pride From East to West serenely shone As far and glorious as the Sun Whilst Caesar lives and rules in Peace No Civil VVars shall break our Ease No Rage that fatal Swords prepares And hurries wretched Towns to VVars Not cruel Getes tho bath'd in blood Not those by Tanais faithless stood Not those that drink Danubius Stream Shall glorious Caesar's Laws contem We on our Feast and working days ' Midst jovial Cups will gladly praise Our Pious Wives and pratling Boys Shall first the Gods with humble voice And then with Pipes and sounding Verse The Heroes noble Acts reherse Anchises Troy our Songs shall grace And brave Aeneas Venus happy race The End of the Fourth Book EPODES EPODE I. MY Lord my best and dearest Friend The chiefest Bulwark of the State In tall Liburnian Ships defend Great Caesar's Cause and prop his Fate Before his danger thrust your own But what shall He that breaths in You That scorns to live when You are gone What shall forsaken Horace do Shall I sit down and take my Ease But without You what joys delight Or steel my softness stem the Seas Or bolder grow and dare to fight Or shall I arm my feeble breast And wait on You thro Alpine Snow Or farthest Regions of the West Where Caesar bids the Valiant go You ask why thus I boldly press And what should feeble I do there My fear My Lord will be the less For absence still increases fear Thus Birds on Wing are most affraid That Snakes will come when they 're away Tho present they 're too weak to aid And save the easy Callow prey I would be stout discard my fears The greatest dangers bravely prove And venture this or other Wars In hopes my Lord to keep your Love But not to have more Oxen groan Beneath my Plows nor feed more Swains Nor yet as Heat or Cold comes on To drive my Sheep to other Plains Not to enlarge my Country Seat Or get vast heaps of shining Ore Your bounty Sir hath made me great And furnish'd with sufficient store I do not heaps of Gold desire To hide and have no heart to use As Chremes did nor Wealth require On baser Lusts to be profuse EPODE II. The Pleasures of a Country and retir'd Life HAppy the Man beyond pretence Such was the State of innocence That loose from Care from business free From griping Debts and Usury Contented in an humble Fate VVith his own Oxen Ploughs his own Estate No early Trumpet breaks his ease He doth not dread the angry Seas He flies the Bar from noise retreats And shuns the Nobles haughty Seats But Marrigeable Vines he leads To lusty Oaks and kindly VVeds Or carelessly in Vallies
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
the Streams to take a better Course And spare the Plough-man's hopes e'en these must waste Then how can feeble Words pretend to last Some words that have or else will feel decay Shall be restor'd and come again in play And words now fam'd shall not be fancy'd long They shall not please the Ear or move the Tongue As Use shall these approve and those condemn Use the sole Rule of Speech and Judg supreme How we should write of Battles Wars and Kings And suit with mighty Numbers mighty Things First Homer show'd and by Example taught He wrote as nobly as his Heroes fought In Verses long and short Grief first appear'd In those they mourn'd past Ills and future fear'd But soon these lines with Mirth and Joy were fill'd And told when Fortune or a Mistriss smil'd But who these Measures was the first that wrote The Criticks doubt and cannot end the doubt Archilochus was arm'd by injur'd Rage With keen Iambicks He did first engage With that sharp foot and left it to the Stage For 't is a sounding Foot and full of force And fit as made on purpose for discourse In Lyrick numbers Gods and Heroe's sound The swiftest Horse is prais'd or Wrestler crown'd Feasts Wine and open Mirth or Myrtle Shades The Cares of Love or Tears of sighing Maids Unless all Matters I exactly hit What just Pretence have I to be a Wit What claim have I to the Poetick Name What fair Pretensions to put in for Fame Or why should I conceal my want of Skill Absurdly modest and be foolish still Rather than show my Want demand Supplies From richer Parts and so at last be Wise A Conick Story hates a Tragick Stile Bombast spoyls humer and distorts a Smile And Tragical Thyestes barbarous Feast Scorns Mean and Common words and hates a Jest Let every Subject have what fits it best Yet Comedy may be allow'd to rise And rattle in a Passion or Surprize And Tragedy in humble words must weep The Stile must suppliant seem and seem to creep Peleus and Telephus exil'd and poor Must leave their Flights and give their Bombast o're If they would keep their well-pleas'd Audience long And raise their just Resentments for their wrong 'T is not enough that Plays are neatly wrought Exactly form'd and of an even Plot They must be taking too Surprise and Seize And force our Souls which way the Writers please We laugh or weep as we see others do Our Souls agree and take their Passions too My grief with others just proportion bears To make me weep you must be first in Tears Then Telephus I can believe thy moan And think thy Miseries are all my own But if thy part be ill or acted ill Unheeding thy Complaint I sleep or smile Sad words suit well with Grief with Joy the loose Grave the Severe and Merry the Jocose 'T is Nature still that doth the Change begin She fashions and she forms our Souls within To all the Changes and the Turns of Fate Now screws our Minds to an unusual height And swells us into rage or bending low She cramps our Souls with dull contracting Woe She makes us stoop beneath a weighty wrong Then tells the various Passions with the Tongue Now if his Speech doth not his Fortune fit He will be hist by Gallery Box and Pit You must take care and use quite different words When Servants speak or their commanding Lords When grave old Men or head-strong Youths discourse When stately Matrons or a busy Nurse A cheating Tradesman or a labouring Clown A Greek or Asian bred at Court or Town Keep to old Tales or if you must have new Feign things coherent that may look like true If you would draw Achilles in disgrace Then draw Achilles as Achilles was Impatient fierce inexorable proud His Sword his Law his own right hand his God Medea must be furious she must rave Crafty Ixion a designing Knave Io a wandring Cow and Ino sad And poor Orestes melancholy mad But if you 'l leave those Paths where most have gone And dare to make a Person of your own Take care you still the same proportions strike Let all the Parts agree and be alike Unusual Subjects Sir 't is hard to hit It asks no common Pains nor common Wit Rather on Subjects known your Mind employ And take from Homer some old tales of Troy And bring those usual things again in view Than venture on a Subject wholly new Yet you may make these common Themes your own Unless you treat of things too fully known Show the same humors and that usual State Or word for word too faithfully translate Or else your Pattern so confin'dly choose That you are still condemn'd to follow close Or break all decent measures to be loose First strain no higher than your voice will hold Nor as that Cyclick writer did of old Begin my mighty Muse and boldly dare I 'le sing great Priam 's Fate and noble War What did He worth a Gape so large produce The travailing Mountain yields a silly Mouse Much better Homer who doth all things well Muse tell the Man for you can surely tell Who Troy once fall'n to many Countrys went And strictly view'd the Men and Government As one that knows the Laws of writing right He makes Light follow Smoak not Smoak the Light For streight how fierce Charybdis rolls along How Scylla roars thro all his wondrous Song Nor doth He that He might seem deeply read Begin the fam'd Return of Diomed From Meleager's death nor dives as far As Leda's Eggs For the beginning of the Trojan War He always hastens on to the Events And still the middle of the Tale presents As 't were the first then draws the Reader on Till the whole Story is exactly known And what he can't improve he lets alone And so joyns Lyes and Truth that every part agrees And seem no Fiction but a real Piece But Sir observe shame waits on the neglect This I and all as well as I expect If you would have a judging Audience stay Be pleas'd and clap and sit out all the Play Observe what Humor in each Age appears Then draw your fit and lively Characters And suit their changing Minds and Changing Years A Boy that just speaks plain and goes alone Loves childish Play-mates he is angry soon And pleas'd as soon and both for nothing still Changing his Humor various is his Will A Youth just loosned from his Tutor's care Leaves off his Books and follows Hound and Hare The Horse is his delight or Cards and Dice Rough to reproof and easy bent to Vice Inconstant eager haughty fierce and proud A very slow provider for his good And prodigal of his Coin and of his Blood The full grown Man doth aim at different ends He betters his Estate and gets him Friends He courts gay Honor and He fears to do What he must alter on a second view An Old man's Character is hit with ease For he