thus run on who should we meet But my friend C passing cross the street C straight found what kind of man he was Nor to see through him needed he his Glass So when the usual complements were past I trod on 's Toes and softly him imbrac't I winkt and shruug'd and many signes I gave Which silently did his assistance crave But my unmerciful malitious friend Seem'd not to understand what I intend Enjoy'd my misery and smil'd to see What small thin Plots I made to be set free Dear friend d' you remember who last night Did us to dine with him to day invite I well rember it but yet in troth I have no mind to go for I am loth To break a fasting day as we shall there That 's nought I have a dispensation here I 've none sayes he I 'm going another way I 'le keep my conscience and the Church obey This said my witty Friend with cruel spight Leaves me even when the Butchers going to smite Under what cursed Planet was I born By my companion to be left forlorn Condemn'd to suffer this incessant breath And by perpetual chattring talk'd to death But now at last by great good hap there was A Bailiff seas'd on him as he did pass O have I caughr you Sir you must with me Pray Sir will you against him witness be Along they go I for revenge too joyn'd But in the Hall we so great tumult find Such heaps of Women follow'd us and Boyes That I with ease escapt amidst the noise Sure great was my distress when even a throng Of Lawyers was relief against his tongue SATYRE X. By A. B. Another Discourse of POETRY I Said indeed the Verse Lucilius writ Were rough 't is true and who 's so void of wit Tâ—ough ne're so much his Patron or his Friend That him against this censure can defend But in that very Page I said withal That with great Wit he does the City maul And did commend him for it much But yet Though I allow him that I don't admit Lucilius was so thorough-pac'd a Wit As to be good at every thing for so That fool Laberius Dogrel Rhimes might go For exc'lent Poems and be much admir'd Though 't be a vertue and to be desir'd To make an Audience laugh well yet there be More things requir'd to make a Poet he Must be caucise his Verse must smoothly flow And not be clogg'd with needless words that grow A burden to the Reader who is tir'd With reading that which he at first desir'd Sometimes 't is good to use a doleful strain But most of all the brisk and aiery vain Now play the Rhetorician and then To the Poetical raptures fly again Sometimes write like a Gentleman whose part Is to write easily without much art A Drolling merry stile does better hit Great matters then a down-right railing Wit The antient Comick Poets on this ground Are imitable and to be renown'd But those our spruce Gallants about the Town Because they understand them not cry down To sing what Calvus and Catullus writ Is th' heighth of all their learning and their wit He that say they in 's Latine Verses can Mix ends of Greek that that 's the onely man You aged Block-heads who so doat upon That Rhodian Dunce Poet Pytholeon And think that Pie-bald way in which he went To be both difficult and excellent But oh an elegant discourse you 'l say Made up of Greek and Latine words looks gay 'T is just like Chian Wine when mixt among The Wine that to Falernum does belong When thou wouldest Verses make imagine thou Wert for thy life to plead thy own cause now As did that criminal Petillus once Would'st thou thy Native language quite renounce While the Kings Council in their Mother tongue Tug for thy Condemnation right or wrong To â—nterlace thy speech would'st thou incline With forein words and like the Canusine Speak a compounded Gibrish But when I Who am an In-land Poel went to try To make Greek Verses after mid-night when Those things are real which are dreamt by men Romulus straight appear'd to me and told me All men would for as great a mad-man hold me If I attempt t' encrease that tedious store Of the Greek Poets too too large before As if I should Coals to New-castle send This to my Graecian versing put an end While swelling Alpin with his thundring Pen Murders poor slaughter'd Memnon o're again And by his barbarous Poetry destroyes Those things and persons which he goes to praise I sport my self with writing Lines which ne're Are spoken in Apollo's Temple where That pedant Tarpa does presume to sit And with much boldness judge of little wit Nor are they oft obtruded on the Stage To cloy the Stomack of the queazie age As now our modern Fundanus does Who is in scribling Playes facetious And with a subtle whore a cunning knave Cheating old men we the same fancy have In all his Playes And Tragick Pollio sings In his three-footed Verse the deeds of Kings But our ingenuous Varius does produce Better then any the Heroick Muse And the smooth Rural Muses do inspâ—re Virgil with soft and most facetious fire Hence 't is that I write better Satyrs then That blundring Varro and that sort of men Who have so often tri'd to write in vain Yet I fall short of our Lucilius strain Who first invented them nor will I dare To strip him from the Crown which did adhere T' his brows with so much glory though I said His Verses did run muddily yet they had More in them that deserv'd our great respect Then all those Vices which we should reject But prithee tell me Did thy learned eye Nothing to be reprov'd in Homer spie Did not Lucilius himself think fit To alter something of weak Accius wit Did he not laugh at Ennius lines as though Some things in them were not quite grave enough And when of thee he a discourse did move Thought thee as bad as those he did reprove And what should hinder but when ever we Do read Lucilius works we well may see If 't were the imperfection of his wit Or crabbed Nature of the things he writ Would not permit the Lines he made to be Elaborate or run more evenly Or if that any Poet took delight A Poem in Hexameter to write Contended onely that he had made up Two hundred Verses when he went to sup And after Supper just as many more Whose rhimes did run as Cassius heretofore More swift and raging then a Torrent does Which being condemn'd to fire as story goes Was burnt to ashes with the Books he writ The just reward of a voluminous wit If he were now alive and all that e're He found superfluous away should pare He 'ld scratch his head were he a Verse to write And often to the quick his nails would bite He that wouâ—d write what should twice reading stand Must often be upon the mending hand Ne're mind the
end And to grow rich his minde does wholly bend But when his Kids were stolen and Sheep did rot His Oxen kill'd at plow his fields did not Bring forth according to his expectation Grieved with these heavy losses in a passion He takes his Horse at Midnight and away To the Lawyers house whom when the Lawyer saw With such a rustick discontented look You look sayes he my friend as if you took Overmuch care and pains Truly sayes he My honour'd Patron if you would call me By any name that fits me let it be A miserable wretch and I intreat You by the God's and all that 's good or great By all that 's dear to you that you 'll restore Me to that life which I enjoy'd before As soon as Philip had considered what Difference there was 'twixt what he would be at And what he so declin'd Let him sayes he Return to what he has been formerlie What fits us best is best 't is good and meet To make our shooes according to our feet The same by S. W. I Promis'd but five dayes from you to stay And now all August I have been away But dear Mocenas if you 'd have me live Lusty and strong that freedom to me give Now I fear sickness as you would allow And bid me take if I indeed were so Excuse your friend till sickly Autumn's o're Autumn that is in funerals never poor When the fond Mother for her child looks pale And a full term and business croud's the Hall Where whilst the drudg Sollicitour attends A Feaver hastes his will and Lawsuit ends But if sharp Winter cloaths the fields with snow Your Poet down to your Country house will go And living there obscure himself will spare And only for his look and health take care With hopes to visit you against at Spring And the first tidings of it with him bring Not as my Country Host his Pears do's force Have you return'd me full Our fare's but course Yet feed he saies I thank you I 've done well Do better then these fruits we never sell Your Servant Sir Nay those you shall take home You will more welcome to your children come I am oblig'd as much as if I did Take what you please but I should thus be rid Of that with which I must to th' Hogs be kind Who strait shall have what ere you leave behind So Fools and Prodigals no gifts bestow But what they hate or what they do not know Yet this ranck soyl a thankless crop does bear Nor will it better yield another year But a wise man though he the difference knows 'Twixt gold and trifles when he these bestows For worthy hands says he they were design'd Nor me less worthy say I shall you find But if I must alwayes with you remain Let me my youth and beauty have again My lusty back smooth forehead and blach hairs Now all impair'd or chang'd by age and â—ares Return my mirth and ralliary again And Cynare whose loss I grieve in vain Once on a time through a very little hole A hungry Fox into an Hen-roost stole And glutted there with Poultry all about But all in vain sought where he might get out The hole too strait was grown his paunch too wide Which at a distance when the Weezel spy'd Sir Reynard said she you must be as thin If you 'd get out as when you first came in Urge me but thus I 'll quickly all resign Yet not so foolish am I to repine And a Swains sleep before full tables choose Though for both Indies I 'de no freedom loose My Modesty you heretofore have prais'd Nor have I less your worth with titles rais'd Father and King were the worst names I gave My self in every place I stil'd your slave And judge you now if I can well restore Or unsay what so oft has been said ore Telemachus was wiser to refuse Great Menelaus proffer I 've no use For Coursers said he nor have wee good feed Or running with us for so high a breed Rather great Atreus Son thy gifts retain And let them where they better suit remain A little does a little man content Give me no Palace but a Tenement A Cortage at Tarentum will suffice And Rome compar'd with Tybur I 'll despise Philip the famous Oratour one day As from the Bart he came and thought the way To him grown old and wearied with the throng Thence to his Chamber ne're seem'd half so long Seeing â—'th ' shade close by a Barbers door One newly trim'd that with light knife ran 'ore Each single nail and pair'd it with such grace As if he studied to out trim his face Go said he to his boy inquire his Name What Father whose Retainer whence he came He 's call'd Vulâ—eius Mena sayes the boy A Cryer that does little wealth enjoy But a good Name that to th' whole World is known Who sometimes business has and sometimes none Iust enough for a livelyhood which yet He does as freely spend he sayes as get Of mean acquaintance but a house of 's own And when he 's either tir'd or work quite done Can to a play or wrestling wager go All this I from himself desire to know Replies the Sage bid him to supper come This night whilst I before walk softly home How now An 't please you Sir he 'd scarce believe I came from you and wondring did receive The Invitation What else And by me Returns his thanks Deny'd then must I be I think so and he you does scorn or fear Or else invited thus would scarce forbear Philip next morning as to Court he went Menas Good mâ—rrow did with his prevent And greeting gave the day and ease from cares As to the People he expos'd his Wares Vulteius to excuse himself began His pedling trade and mercenary Chain That his commands he had not sought at home Nor was so happy as to see him come All this I 'll pardon said the Counseller But on condition you no more defer Your coming to me whom I now invite The second time to sup with me this night You shall command me Mena said Let three Philip return'd the latest minute be Till then your business mind But Suppers come Where when they 'd freely talkt my Guest goes home Yet like a Fish that nibles at the past So long that by the gills he 's caught at last By often visits he become more bold Turns Client and unbid a room does hold At every Feast By Philip is desir'd To go where i' th Vacation he retir'd And out they ride Mena commends the air And Sabine fields with fruits all gay and fair Which Philip hears and smiles but mirth and ease What may himself or new retainer please Being his care he gives him fifty pounds And lends him fifty more to buy such grounds Which done for I 'll make all the haste I can My City Cryer is turn'd Country-man Prunes his grown Vines can stoutly hold the
Imprimatur Roger L'Estrange Septemb. 10. 1665. CARMINA DESVNT The Poems of Horace Translated into English By several Persons THE POEMS OF HORACE Consisting of Odes Satyres and Epistles Rendred in ENGLISH VERSE BY SEVERAL PERSONS HOR. SAT. 3. Lib. 1. Qui ne tuberibus propriis offendat amicum Postulat ignoscat verrucas illius He that desires his Wens should not offend His Friend must wink at th' pimples of his Friend LONDON Printed by E. Cotes for Henry Brome at the Gun in Ivy-lane M.DC.LXVI To his honored Friend and Patron Sir William Backhouse BARONET SIR I Here present or rather pay what I have often promised you and what you have a right to The Poems of HORACE in the English tongue To the Translation whereof my pleasant retirement and conveniencies at your delightsome Habitation have liberally contributed And now according to the Custome of my Predecessors having spoyled some paper with writing a bad Book I am to waste more in a worse Preface least I suffer under the imputation of being a heretick in Book-writing However I will be so kind to you and my self as to spare so much time and paper as might be employed in celebrating your Greatness Virtues and generous Inclinations towards me being Themes for a higher Pen than dare pretend to and only tell you how you came to be disturbed with these undertakings 'T was not because I understand this Author better than others do nor because I thought I did But the same temptation which induced our Grandame Eve to eat fruit prevaild with me to read Horace meerly because forbidden But the frequent Quotation of him by all sorts of ingenious men and the Hault-goust which the wit and truth of his excellent sayings gave made me languish till I had broken through all the difficulties which my imbecillity contended with and thrown my self on this audacious adventure In the prosecution whereof I never blushd to ask the advice or take the assistance of any person whom I thought able to contribute either And among the rest of that indefatigable and eminently learned person with whom by your indulgence and his own condiscension I had the honour and happiness to grow acquainted whom I found so skill'd in all the difficulties of this Poet that he was to me more then all the Voluminous Commentators Sir For my speedier dispatch and your advantage I made bold to take in all such parts of HORACE as have been Englished by the Lord Embassadour Fanshaw and what were omitted by him I supplyed with such as have been done by Sir Thomas Hawkins or Dr. Holiday or both for they are both the same and whether of the two is the Author remains to me undiscovered What were not touched by these I gathered out of Mr. Cowleys and other Printed Books and such as were not Translated by others my self and several friends of mine at my request have attempted De Arte Poetica being long since Englished by that great Master thereof B. Johnson I have borrowed to crown the rest So that you will easily finde that as this Book consists of several men endeavors so those several men went several wayes but all studied to shun a nice Pedantical Translation which Horace could not abide By reading all which you are certain of two Pleasures Liberty of censuring and variety of matter And I have this felicity that if any dislike what is done it will not be safe for them to traduce it publickly least they should reproach some of the Undertakers to their faces for we are considerable for number and quality consisting of many persons and those either Right Honourable Right Worshipfull Reverend or which is as good Well-beloved and if I for my part have herein played the Fool 't is in very good Company Such as it is I expose it to publick perusal with this becoming Confidence that the excellence of the Author will make amends for the imperfections of the Translators and having this in my prospect that HORACE may chance to find as good fortune as his dear friend VIRGIL had who being plundered of all his Ornaments by the old Traslatours was restored to others with double lustre by those Standard-bearers of Wit and Iudgment Denham and Waller To which end I humbly commend this rude Essay to those Persons whose Learning Wit and Leisure shall enable to do him such right as he serves And for a president I desire them to compare these lines of Phaer This end had Priams destinies all this chance him Fortune sent When he the fire in Troy had seen his Walls and Castles rent That sometimes over Peoples proud and Lands had raign'd with fame Of Asia Emperour great now short on shore he lies with shame His head besides his shoulders laid his corps no more of name with this done by Sir John Denham Thus fell the King who yet surviv'd the State With such a signal and peculiar fate Under so vast a ruine not a grave Nor in such flames a funeral fire to have He whom such Titles swelled such power made proud To whom the Scepters of all Asia bow'd On the cold earth lies this neglected King A headless Carcass and a uameless thing By which they may perceive how highly Translations may be improved And if any Gentlemen will be so industrious and kind as to amend or but to find out the faults in this Essay which may easily be done or furnish the Stationer with any better against the next Impression they will be so far from disobliging me that I invite them to it conceiving it a work by which they may gratifie and oblige Posterity And should rejoyce to see these rude and imperfect draughts like the Athenian ship so often and throughly amended that there shall not an old plank remain therein That so these Poems which were so acceptable to Augustus in their native dress might be so polishâ—d in our language that they may be look'd on by a more indulgent and greater Prince than he was Perhaps it may be expected that I should have embellished as they call it this Address with Witty Passages and Rhetorical flowers but indeed Sir they are grown quite out of fashion and I am heartily glad that thereby I am freed from a task which I was so unfit for And now Sir having tired you with this flat Narrative to make you amends I will make no Address to the Gentle Reader only I declare to him and all the World that I profess my self and am what your Goodness has made me Honored Mecaenas Your very much obliged Servant Alex. Brome THE LIFE OF HORACE QUintus Horatius Flaccus was born at Venusium formerly one of the best Cities in Italy now called Venoso of mean Parentage his Father was one whom the Romans called Libertinus viz. the Son of a Slave who had been made free and by Profession he was a Praeco or a Coactor whose Imployment was to gather in Debts for Usurers Of his Mother we find no mention onely â—tis
Hydaspes traces For careless through the Sabin grove Whilest chaunting Lalage I rove Not well observing limits due A wolf from me unarmed flew A monster such as all exceeds Which in huge words fierce Daunia feeds Or those that Iuba's kingdome hath The Desart-nurse of lions wrath Place me in coldest Champanies where No Summer warmth the trees do cheer Let me in that dull Climate rest Which clouds and sullen Iove infest Yea place me underneath the Carre Of too near Phoebus feared farre From dwellings Lalage I le love Whose smiles whose words so sweetly move A Paraphrase on the same Ode By S. W. To FUSCUS ARISTIUS THe just man needs nor Sword nor Bow Those armes his fear not safety show Who better has for his defence Strong guards of innocence For if along rough shoars he coast Tempests and Seas on him are lost Or if he Caucasus pass by Tygers their rage deny A wolf that croft me in my grove As I walkt musing on my love Beyond my bounds and no armes had Was of my love afraid Away he fled though Dauma yields No greater monster in her fields Though Africa which Lions breeds None half so cruel feeds Put me where never Summer breeze Kist the dull earth or lifeless trees In that skirt of the world where show'rs Do number out the hours Or place me in the Torrid Zone Where never house or man was known If there my Lalage but smile And sing I le love the while ODE XXIII To CHLOE Argument CHloe adult no cause now why She should from mens embracements fly Vitas hinnuloe Chloe thou shunn'st me like a wanton Fawn Of tim'rous Dam forsook in pathless lawn Dreading with minde agast Ev'ry bush and every blast For as when Zephyrus trembling leaves doth shake Or green-speckt Newts make bramble bushes quake So tremulous is she Dith'ring both in heart and knee But I not to devour thee now pursue As Afric Lions and wild Tygers do O leave thy Mother pray Now grown ripe for Venus play ODE XXIV By Sir T. H. To VIRGIL Who immoderately bewailed the death of Quintilius MElpomene whom Iove our Father daignes Shril voice apply'd to harps melodious strains Tell in sad notes how far the bounds extend Of love and shame unto so dear a friend Shall then in endless sleep Quintilius lie As equal unto whom pure Modesty And Justice ' sister Faith sincere and plain Nor naked Verity shall ever gain Of many worthy men bemoan'd he fell But Virgil no mans grief can thine excell Thou loving dost alas the gods in vain Quintilius not so lent thee ask again WHat if more sweet than Thracian Orpheus wire You trees perswade to hearken to your lyre Yet can you not return of life command To shadow vain which once with dreadful wand God Mercury unwilling Fate t' unlock Hath forc'd to dwell among the Stygian flock 'T is hard I grant But patience makes that light Which to correct or change exceeds our might The same by Sir R. F. To VIRGIL Who lamented immoderately the death of Quintilian What shame or stint in mourning ore So dear a Head Weep not but rore Melpomene to whom thy Sire Gave a shrill voice and twanging lyre Bâ—t does Quintilian sleep his last Whose Fellow Modesty and fast Faith with her Sister Justice joyn'd And naked truth when will they find Bewaâ—l'd by all good men he 's gone But then Thee Virgil more by none Thou begst back ah pious in vain Thee not so lent Quintilian If sweeter then the Thracian Bard Thou could'st strike tunes by dull Trees heard The blood would never more be made To flow into the empty shade Which Hermes with his horrid wand Inflexible to countermand Th' unevitable doom of Death Once drove to the black Flock beneath 'T is hard But Patience makes that less Which all the World cannot redress ODE XXV To LYDIA Argument He Lydia scâ—ffs for Aged look And cause her Suiters her forsook Parcius junctas NOw froward youths rap not so sore At thy shut casements as before To break thy sleep thy gates love much Their thresholds touâ—h Which wont so ' ft on glib hinges run Thou' rt less and less now call'd upon Ho Lydia sleep'st all night while I Thy lover die Thou an ag'd Quean again shalt moan Thy scornful Paramours all alone In narrow lanes while North-winds range 'Bout Phoebe's change When fragrant love and lustful flames Such as infuriates Horses dams Thy ulcer'd breast with rage impales Not without wails Cause youth likes verdant Ivy more Than Myrtle almost sabled o'r And gives to Heber's Wintry tide Boughs wither-dry'd ODE XXVI By Sir T. H. To his Muse concerning Aelius Lamia It is not fit for the lovers of the Muses to be subject to caâ—â— and sadness The Poet commendeth his Lamia to the Pimplean Muse. I Who the Muses love sadness and fear Will to rought winds commit that they may bear Them to the Cretique sea careless who swayes And whom the far-North dweller most obeys Or what doth great Tirridates affright O my Pimplean Muse my hearts delight O thou who near pure Fountains â—ittest down Wreath o'drous flowers for Lamia wreath a crown Little without thee worketh my applause 'T is now become thine and thy Sister's cause Him with unused strains to celebrate And with thy Lesbian lyre to consecrate ODE XXVII By Sir R. F. To his Companions To his Companions feasting together that they should 〈◊〉 quarrel in their drink and fight with the Cups themâ—selves after the manner of the Barbarians WIth Goblets made for Mirth to fight 'T is barbarous leave that Thracian rite Nor mix the bashful blushing God Of Wine with quarrels and with blood A Cand-stick and Quart-pot how far They differ from the Cymitar Your wicked noise Companions cease And on your Elbows lean in peace Would you have me to share th' austere Falernian liquor Let me hear Megella's brother by what eyes Of what blest wound and shaft he dies No! then will I not drink whatever Venus tames thee she toasts thy Liver With fires thou hast no cause to cover Still sinning an ingenuous lover Come thou may'st lay it whatsoere It is securely in my Ear. Ah wretch in what a Whirl-pool tane Boy worthy of a better flame What Witch with her Thessalian Rod Can loose thee from those charmes What God Scarce Pegasus himself can thee From this three-shap'd Chimera free A Paraphrase on the same Ode by Dr. P VVHat Quarrel in your drink my friends ye'abuse Glasses and Wine made for a better use 'T is a Dutch trick Fie let your brawling cease And from your Wine and Olives learn both mirth and peace Your swords drawn in a Tavern whilest the hand That holds them shakes and he that fights cann't stand Sheath 'um for shame embrace kiss so away Sit down and ply the business of the day But I 'le not drink unless T. S. declares Who is his Mistress and whose wounds he wears Whence comes the glance from what
a mad Sect too much giv'n My former wayes am forced to balk And after the old light to walk For Cloud-dividing lightning Iove Through a clear Firmament late drove His thrundring Horses and swift wheels With which supporting Atlas reels With which Earth Seas the Stygian Lake And Hell with all her Furies quake It shook me too God pulls the Proud From his high Seat and from their Cloud Draws the obscure Levels the hills Aud with their Earth the vallies fills 'T is all he does he does it all Yet this blind Mortals Fortune call ODE XXXV By Sir T. H. To Fortune He beseecheth her that she would preserve Caesar going into Britany O Goddess which beloved Antium swayes Still ready with thy powerful Arm to raise Men from the low degree of wretched thrals Or turn proud Triumphs into Funerals The poor and rustick Clown with humble plea Solicites thee The Lady of the Sea He loudly invocates who ere doth sweep In Asian vessel the Carpathian Deep The Dacian rough the wandring Scythian Kingdomes and Cities the fierce Latian Thee Mothers of Barbarian Kings do fear And Tyrants which bright Purple garments wear Let not a standing Pillar be o'rethrown By thy offended foot Nor be it known That troops of Warlike people now at rest Take Armes again and Empire's peace infest Still sharp Necessitie before thee goes Holden in Brazen hand as pledge of woes Tormenting beams and wracks and more to daunt Sharphooks and molten lead do never want Thee Hope and simple Faith in white attire Much honour and thy company desire How e're thou do'st another habit take And made a Foe to Great Men them forsake But the false Multitude and perjur'd Whore Retireth back yea friends when vessel's store Is to the dregs drunk up away do flie Shunning the yoke of mutual povertie Preserve thou Caesar safe we thee implore Bound to the worlds remotest Brittan shore And those new Troops of youth whose dreadful sight The East and ruddie Ocean doth affright Fie on our broyles vile Acts and Brothers fall Bad Age what mischief do we shun at all What youth his hand for fear of Gods contains Or who from sacred Altar's spoil refrains Ah! rather let 's dull swords new forge and whet Against th' Arabian and the Massaget ODE XXXVI To POMPONIUS NUMIDA Argument Our Lyrick joy'd exults amain For Numida's return from Spain Et thure fidibus VVIth Frankincense and Lyric Lay And bullocks justly slaughter'd let 's allay Great Numid's tutelary gods Who safe arriv'd from Spains remot'st abodes Gave's dear friends many a-kiss-salute But to sweet Lamia most did distribute Remembring how both served all Their youthful dayes under one General And both their gowns together quit This beauteous day sign with a Chalky smit Let vast Wine-rundlets freely spout And Salian like incessant skip about Nor more let soaking Dam'lis bouze Than Bassus in a Thracian carrouze Let Roses Parsley ever green And fading Lillies much at feasts be seen All shall their eyes with Lust infested On Dam'lis cast nor Dam'lis be wrested From her new Paramour who combine Closer than any amorous Ivies twine ODE XXXVII By Sir T. H. To his Companions Whom he exhorteth to be merry upon the Newes of the Actiaque victory NOw let us drink now dance Companions now Let 's Salian banquets to the Gods allow It might before this time be thought a sin To broach old Caecube wines whilst the mad Queen Prepar'd the ruine and disastrous fall Both of the Empire and the Capitoll With her â—cabb'd Troop of men effeminate Proud with vast hopes drunk with prosp'rous state But the scarce safety of one ship from fire Less'ned â—er fury whilst great Caesars ire To real fears enforc'd her to resign Her minde enrag'd with Mareotique wine He pressed with swift vessels to enchain This monster flying Italy amain As Hawk the fearful Dove or Hunter swift Pursues the Hare th'row Aemon's snowie drift Whilst she that she might die the nobler way Did neither as a woman fear the ray Of brandish'd sword nor laboured to flie With speedy flight in secret nooks to lie But with an eye serene and courage bold Durst her dejected Palaces behold Handle the hissiâ—g Adder and the Snake And in her body their black poyson take Made the more fierce by death determined She Noble Spirit scorned to be led In hostile vessels as a private thrall To fill proud triumphs with her wretched fall ODE XXXVIII To his Servant Argument He wills his Servant rooms be dreâ—â— With Myrtle onely at his Feast Persicos odi SErvant all Persian pomp disdain From Teyl-rinde pleated Crowns refrain Cease further scrutiny where grows The â—ardy Rose For nothing but plain Myrtles care They most beseeming Servants are And for my self too tipling laid In Vine-tree shade The end of the First Book ODES BOOK II. ODE 1. By Sir R. F. To C. ASINIUS POLLIO He exhorts him to intermit a while his writing of Tragedies until he have finisht his History of the Civil War of Rome Then extolls that Work THE Civil War from the first seeds The Causes of it Vices Tides Of various Chance and our prime Lords Fatal Alliance and the Swords Sheath'd but not yet hung up and oyl'd The Quarrels fully reconcil'd Thou writ'st a work of hazard great And walk'st on Embers in deceitâ— Full Ashes rak't Let thy severe Tragical Muse a while foâ— bear The Stage This publick Task then done Thy Buskins high again put on Afflicted Clients grand support And light to the consulting Court Whom thy Dalmatick triumph crown'd With deathless Bayes Hark how the sound Of thy brac'd Drums awakes old fears Thy Trumpets tingle in our ears How clattering armes make the Horse shog And from the Horse-man's face the blood Now now amidst the Common Heard See the great Generals fight besmear'd With glorious dust and quel'd the whole World but unconquer'd Cato's Soul Iuno and whatsoever Gods To Affrick Friends yielded to th'odds Of Rome the Victors Grandsons made A Sacrifice to Iugurth's shade What Field manur'd with Daunian blood Shews not in Graves our impious Feud And the loud crack of Latiums fall Heard to the Babylonian wall What lake what river 's ignorant Of the sad war what Sea with paint Of Latine slaughter is not red What land 's not peopled with our dead But wanton Muse least leaving Toyes Thou should'st turn Odes to Elegies Let us in Dioneian Cell Seek matter for a lighter Quill ODE II. By Sir R. F. To C. SALUSTIUS CRISPUS First he praises P. for his liberality to his brothers Then shews that he who can repress his appetite and despise money is onely a King onely happy SAlust thou enemy of gold Mettles which th' earth hath hoarded Mould Until with moderate exercise Their colour rise No Age the name of Pontius smothers For being a Father to his Brothers Surviving Fame on towring wings His bounty sings He that restrains his covetous soul Rules more then if he should controul Both
Death and hold their tongue As their Souls were Planet-strook 'T is so dire Fates the Romans haunt And a Fratricidal guilt Since blood of Remus innocent On the cursed ground was spilt EPODE VIII To a Lustful old Woman Argument The fulsome shape and vitious life Of a lascivious aged wife Rogare Longo THou to demand of rot-consumed date What should my strength emasculate When all thy teeth black-furr'd with Canker show And Old-age wrinckle plows thy brow And filthy arse 'twixt buttocks wither-dry'd Like some raw-bon'd Cows gapes so wide But thy down-swagging breasts extub'rant teats Like Mares dugs kindle Cupids heats Thy down-soft bellie and thy spindle thighs Sustain'd on legs which pregnant rise Live happily let Statutes triumphal Adorn thy pompous funeral Nor may more precious chains of pearl invest ' Ere any marri'd womans brest How is 't that Stoic Treatises are by And 'mongst thy silken pillows lie Are rustick Loons less pollent at the sports Or doth their courage less retort Whose that thou may'st urge to spend Thou must with contend EPODE IX By Sir T. H. To MAECENAS He beforehand feels the contentment he shall take from Augustus his victory against M. Anthony and Cleopatra VVHen shall I Caecube wines that stored lie For banquets glad at Caesars victory So Iove will have it in thy stately house With thee my dear Maecenas free carrouze Resounding notes that mingle Flutes with Lyre This Dorique speaking joy that Phrygian Ire As when Neptunian Pompey droven fled Through straigthned seas with navie ruined Who Rome had threatned with those chains which he Had ta'ne from treacherous Servitors made free The Roman Souldier by a woman ty'd In slavish bands ah this will be deny'd By after times lugs armes earth stakes and tent Striving her with'red Eunuches to content And Phoebus 'mongst their ensignes doth espy Her net-like and lascivious canopie But the bold French proclaiming Caesars name Thence with two thousand Horse straight hither came And the swift prowess of hostile vessels lie Turn'd to the left hand ready set to flie O gladsome triumph thou retard'st the drift Of golden chariot and young beifers gift O gladsome triumph from Iugurthian war Thou brought'st no captain might with this compare Nor African whose noble valours praise Did lasting monuments or'e Carthage raise The foe by Sea and Land now vanquish'd fears And a black Cassock for a purple wears Not knowing whither adverse windes will cast Him on rich Crete with hundred Cities grac'd Or on the Quick-sands with South-billows toss'd Or the wide main in danger to be lost Boy cups bring hither for a larger draught Let Chian or the Lesbian grape be sought Or fill Caecubian wines without delay Which may a queezie loathing drive away The care and fear of Caesars happy state Let us with merry Bacchus dissipate EPODE X. Against Maetius a Poet. Argument He wisheth raging stormes may rise And Maetius with wrack surprize Mala Soluta THe ship inauspicaâ—ely quits the Bay And noisome Maetius hoists away Anster see thou impeâ—uously rave Dashing both sides with furious wave Let gloomy Eurus with his stormes adverse The Tacklings and broke Oars disperse 〈…〉 such violent 〈◊〉 extend As from high hills an Holm 〈…〉 On pitchie nights let no stars luster shine When sad Orion doth decline Nor let the Ocean tranquiller stand Than for the Grecians conquering band When wrathful Pallas waving fired Troy Would impious Ajax sail destroy O how do thy industrious sailers sweat Thy self with pallid fear repleat Howling out sadly woman-like laments And vows which ireful Iove resents When showry Notus lowdly bellowing I' th' Adrian Gulph doth ship-wrack bring But if the crooktly-winding shore display Thy still stretch'd limbs for Corm'rants prey A lustful Goat and a She-lambkin shall A Sacrifice to tempests fall EPODE XI To Pettius his Chamber-fellow Argument He Cupid-struck cannot the while To compose Verses frame his stile Petti nil me PEttius I take no pleasure as before In writing Verse Now Cupids arrows pierce Cupid who me ' â—ove all inflameth sore With wilder heat Of Youths and Virgins neat Now three Decembers woods have shed their glory Since ore I gave For Inachia to rave Oh shameful folly what a Citie-storie 'lass I became My junkettings I blame When paleness silence and long sighs exhal'd From lungs profound Descri'd my passions wound And I lamentful moan'd that wealth prevail'd 'Gainst honestie And distress'd ingeny When debaucht Bacchus did my secrets broach From heated breast With fervent liquors prest But if free indignation once approach My boyling blood And this distasteful flood Expel which nought allaies my maladie Shame profligate With great ones strife will hate When I thou hearing these extoll'd on high Charg'd to get home I rov'd with vagrant roam To those ah flintie thresholds unkind posts Which as I li'd All bruis'd my shins and side Me now Lyciscas love ore-rules who boasts T' exceed each she In soft effeminacie From whence no faithful counsels can me free A friend affords Nor contumelious words A new flame of some Virgin it must be Or youth plump-round With long hair backward wound EPODE XII Against a libidinous old Woman Argument He scolds a Whore who did him court To sate her Lust with Venus sport Quid tibi vis WHat mean'st thou Woman for black El'phants fit Why send'st me tokens why are letters writ To me nor vig'rous nor obtuse of nose For I quick-sented can as soon disclose A Polype or an arm-pits rammish scent As well nos'd hounds explore where sows are pent What â—tench what sweat her wizned limbs hath drench'd When Natures kneener ardours in me quench'd She hastes to satisfie her unbridled lust Nor bides her all sweat-steeped cheeks cerust Or dawb'd with Crocodiles ordure with mad reaks She now both Bed-stock and the Matt'ress breaks Thus jears my Languors with revileful flout Thou with Inachia could'st hold longer out Yea thrice a night with me at once thou 'rt tir'd A Pox take Lesâ—ia who when I enquir'd For tuff-back'd Actors shew'd me thee so dull Choan Amyntas giving me my full Whose unfoyl'd more stiff erected Then ere a sapling in the loftie wood For whom were garments which twice tincted show In Tyrian purple made for thee I trow Least 'mongst his equals ere a guest should be Whom his dear sweet-heart better lov'd than thee Oh wretch am I whom thou eschews as much As Lambes fierce Wolves or Goats the Lions clutch EPODE XIII By Sir T. H. To his merry Friends that they should pass the VVinteâ— pleasantly ROugh tempests have the brow of heaven bent And showers and snows cause thickned airs descent Now Thracian North windes Seas and woods affray Friends let us take occasion from the day While strength is fresh and us it well becomes Let 's old age banish which the brow benumns Boy see you broach those elder Wines were prest When Torquat first the Consulship possest Speak not of other things God will perchance Them to their
keeps thee from getting Gold Onely spurr'd on with that ambitious itch To have the World say Thou art Devilish rich What good in thy vast heap of Treasur's found Which thou by stealth dost bury under ground But if it be diminisht once thou 'lt say Thy whole estate will dwindle soon away â—nd if thou spend'st not out of it what pleasure â—an'st thou take in a heap of hoarded Treasure 〈◊〉 thy Barn held ten thousand sacks of Wheat â—et thou can'st eat no more then I can eat Among thy fellow slaves when thou' rt pickt out To bear all their provision about With which thy Shoulders gall'd and weary growâ— Thou eat'st no more then one that carried none Or tell me prithee what the difference is To him that makes the Rules of Nature his Whether he does a thousand Acres sow Or on a hundred does his pains bestow But oh thou cri'st men do great pleasure reap In taking Gripes out of a plenteous heap Yet since out of a little thou dost leave As much as we 've occasion to receive Why should'st thou thy vast Granaries prefer Before our Willies which much lesser are Or if thou hast occasion to take up Water enough to fill a Butt or Cup Why should'st thou say thou hast a greater will Out of that river then this spring to fill Hence it proceeds infallibly that those Who to their wills are superstitious Uncurb'd desire drives them to this and that Until at last they 'ld have they know not what Whilst who confines his mind to Natures laws The troubled muddy water never draws Nor in the river does his life expire But most of men deceiv'd by false desire Say Noughts enough 'cause they absurdly guess At what men are by what they do possess To such a Miser what is 't best to do Let him be wretched â—ince he will be so Thus that Athenian Monster Timon which Hated Man-kind a sordid Knave but rich Was wont to say When ere I walk abroad The People hiss me but I do applaud And hug my self at home when I behold My chests brim-full with Silver and with Gold So Tantalus being extreamly drie Courts the swifte stream which does as coily flie Why laughst thou Miser if thy name should be A little chang'd the Fables told of thee Who on thy full cramb'd Bags together laid Do'st lay thy sleepless and affrighted head And do'st no more the moderate use on 't dare To make then if it consicrated were Thou mak'st no other use of all thy gold Then men do of their pictures to behold Do'st thou noâ— know the use and power of coyn It buys bread meat and cloaths and what 's more wine With all those necessary things beside Wâ—thout which Nature cannot be suppli'd To sit up and to watch whole dayes and nights To be out of thy wits with constant frights To fear that thieves will steal or fire destroy Or servants take thy wealth and run away Is this delightful to thee then I will Desire to live without those Riches still But if the pains of stomach or the head Or other sickness fix thee to thy bed Hast thou a visitant to sit down by thee Who with due food and Physick will supply thee Or make the Dâ—ctor rid thee of thy pain And to thy friends restore thee sound again Thy wife and children thy quick Death desire So do thy friends and kindred Ne're admire That they don't shew thee love thou merit'st none For before all thou preferr'st wealth alone If thou thy friends or kindred would'st retain And not be liberal thy task 's as vain As his who in the Field does teach an Ass T' obey the bridle and to run a race Make once an end of gaining that the more Thou hast the less thou 'st tremble to be poor Begin to end thy labour having got That which thou didst desire and follow not That rich Umidius whose chests did so swell He measur'd's money which he could not tell So sordid that he never did go higher Then his mean'st Servants did in his attire And to his dying day in fear he stood Least he should die meerly for want of food Till his bold Conâ—ubine did boldly do A Heroes act and cut the Slave in two But now thou'lt ask me whether I 'de have thee A Miser or a Prodigal to be Thou still art in extreams I would not have Thee covetous nor a vain squandring Knave 'Twixt rough Visellius and smooth Tanais The Eunuch a vast difference there is There is a mean in things and certain lines Within which virtue still it self confines But I 'le return from whence I came are none But greedy Slaves delighted with their own Conditions Do all praise each others lot And pine to see their Neighbours Goat has got A Dug more full of Milk then theirs and ne're Themselves with the poorer sort of men compare Though that 's the greater number but aspire Still to ore-top this man and that whose higher It curbs the Spirit of that person which Tugs to grow great when he meets one more rich So when the Chariots from the Barriers are Let loose to run a Race the Charioter Minds still those horses which out-stript his owne Slighting those which by t'other are ouâ— gone And hence it comes we seldome find a man That sayes He has liv'd happily and can Like a well-feasted-guest depart at last Contented with that part of 's life that past Now 't is enough least you should think that mine 'S like Crispins Volumns I will not add a line SATYR II. By A. B. That while foolish men shun one Vice they run into another THe Players Empricks Beggars and the noise Of Fidlers all the roaring Damn-me boyes And all that sort of cattel do appear Extreamly sad and much concern'd to hear Their friend Tigillus is deceas'd For he Did treat them with great liberality While the close miser least he should be thought A prodigal o th' contrary gives nought To his dear friend though ne're so much he need To cloath his body or his belly feed If one should ask the Prodigal why he By an ungrateful sottish gluttony That brave estate bequeath'd him by his friends And Ancestors so prodigally spends And at great interest take up money too Meerly in needless luxury to bestow His answer is Because he scorns to be Esteem'd a sordid fellow or that he Has but a narrow soul So up he 's cri'd By some while others him as much deride Fufidius the Usurer fears to have The Reputation of an unthrift Knave Rich both in moneys out at use and lands But when he lends he still detains in 's hands Five times the interest from the principal And where he finds his Debtors prodigal Those he gripes most severely He inquires For wealthy heirs new come of age whose Sires Had been close-fisted to them and severe Good God! what persons who shall come to hear Such horrid actions won't exclaim But oh You 'l say he does
Here that old Hag Canidia I spi'd In a black garment close about her ti'd Bare-foot she walkt her locks dishevell'd were And that Witch-major Sagana with her Howling like Wolves of pale and ugly hew They both appear'd most ghastly to my view With their long nails to scratch the earth they went And with their teeth a Lamb in sunder rent Whose blood they pour'd into their new dig'd pit And conjur'd up th' infernal Fiends with it Such Spirits as could answer to what ere They did demand two Images there were Brought by these Hags by which they did their knack One made of wool the other made of wax The Woollen was the greater that it might The little Waxen Image curb and fright This Wax Effigies stood cringing by As sinking under its servility One Hecate invokes Tisyphone Is charmed by t'other Serpents one might see And the infernal Dogs run out and in The bashful Moon for fear she should have been A witness to these juglings hid her face And made our Sepulchers her lurking place If I lie t'you in any thing I 've said May the crowes with their dung pollute my head May all the rogues and whores and thieves in town Cast their base Excrements upon my crown What need I all those tricks to mention which Were done by Sagana that damn'd old Witch And by what Artifice the Ghosts and she Discours'd together with variety Of tones now shrill now flat and how they did Hide under ground by stealth the hairy head Of an old wolf with teeth of speckled snake Then with the Waxen image they did make The fire to blaze But that I might not be A tame spectator of this foolery And those impostures unreveng'd behold Of both those Hags so ugly and so old I from my Godships entrails backward spoke As thundring as a bladder when'tis broke Away run both the witches into town Out dropt Canidia's set of teeth and down Old Sagana her snakes and poysons threw And all her conjuring tools off likewise threw Her Periwig 't would make one break his heart With laughter to observe how one â—ound fart Broke from a God two Witches frights away And made them run from one more weak then they SATYRE IX A description of an impertinent prating Fool. OF late along the streets I musing walkt And to my self some learned whimsie talkt When loe a wandring Trifler to me caâ—e Whom scarce I knew save onely by his name And with familiar freedom took my hand Asking me How I did At your command Said I God keep you Sir He following still I turn'd about and stopt to know his will VVhat don 't you know me man said he I too A Virtuo so am as well as you The more I honour you Sir I repli'd And still all wayes to shake him off I tri'd In thousand different postures I did go Sometimes I walkt apace and sometimes slow Sometimes I whisper'd in my Foot-boys ear And all the while did sweat all o're for fear Oh happy he to mutter I began Who hugs himself at an impertinent man Oh happy who as well himself can feast On the most foolish talker as the best In the mean time his tongue did gallop on Letting no street nor sign nor house alone At last perceiving I did nothing mind He said you 'd fain be rid of me I find But you nor I have now not much to do I 'le therefore wait upon you where you go VVhere lies your way O Lord pray Sir do not Your self for me to so much trouble put My journey lies almost as far 's the Tower To visit one you never saw before That 's nothing sir I 'm perfectly at leisure And a long walk with you I count a pleasure With that I shruâ—k my shoulderâ— hung my ears As a dull Ass that too great lading bears Then he begins If once you knew me sir You 'ld scarce to me would any wit prefer Who is there that can better verses write Or who with greater swiftness can indite Who of your friends can more gentely dance Or who can better teach the mode of France If you but hear me sing you will confess I do exces the fam'd Hermogenes Here it was time to interpose Have you No mother Sir nor other kindred who May want your company this present hour O no pale Death did them long since devour The happier they Nay then in faith go on Kill me out right my friend since th' hast begun My last hour 's come and now I plainly see Thou wert intended by that Prophecie Which my Nurse spake when I an Infant was Clapping my feet and smiling in my face She said This Boy no poison nor no steel No pain of Cough or Spleen or Gout shall feel But by some fatal tongue shall be destroy'd Talkers let him when come to age avoid Over against Guild-hall at length we came He pelting me I miserably lame Gods so 'T is well remembred hold I pray I have a Cause here to be tri'd to day Good Sir come with me in I 'le straight dispatch In hast like dying men this bough I catcht In troth Sir I have no great skill i' th Law My nod will keep no Iudge or Iury in awe I 'le softly walk before and if you make Good speed you quickly me may overtakâ— Here the perplext stood still and scratcht his head What shall I lose so dear a friend he said Or by my absence loose my Cause Nay Sir I pray regard your business do not stir Let my Cause sink or swim I 'le leave it here So I may self to such a friend endear So on he leads and I found 't was in vain To spoil my teeth by champing of the chain Straight he resumes his first Discourse And how How with my Lord stands your condition now Lord 's a prudent man and private lives Never himself to much acquaintance gives You 'l raise a mighty Fortune under him But yet me thinks it would great wisdom seem If you would take some course those to prefer About him who might still possess his ear To your advantage and if I were one You might be sure govern him alone You 're quite mistaken Sir we live not so As you suppose nor yet as others do No small Intrigues that family does breed No plots nor little jealousies does feed None there does look with envious eyes upon Anothers good but loves it as his own Strange and unusual this which you relate But so it is the more I 'm passionate To make one of your number That you may Without dispute if you 'l but try the way A man so qualified as you appear Can't be deny'd admission any where Well to my self I will not wanting â—e I 'le watch his hours his servants I will fee I will salute his Chariot in the street I 'le bring him home as often as we meet We Courtiers strive for interest in vain Vnless by long observance it we gain While he did
he wish for more Did ever goodly seat or Farmes or Store The sickly Landlord of his Quartan ease Or of his cares the Owner must have health Who reaps a satisfaction from his wealth The carking Heart's not eas'd by bags or land No more then Bleared-eye by Titians hand Or Gout by pultis or the Ear in pains VVith Rhume by Ferabosco's melting streins But what it holds like musty Bottle spoils Pleasures ill bargains are if bought with toils Desires are endless till you fix the end Envy consumes for fatness of a friend Envy the worst of Plagues the Tyrants scourge Anger let loose th' unwary mind doth urge To actuate revengeful thoughts in haste Which afterward in cold blood you 'l distaste Anger 's a shorter phrensie Passion reigns If 't be n't enslav'd but curb it in with chains The manag'd Colt is by the Horseman taught T' observe the Riders check the Whelp is brought Since first he trail'd the Buckskin in the Hall To hunt abroad the Stag unto his fall Now hopeful Boy counsels that wholesome are Take early next thy heart the season'd Iar VVill hold his scent now run I 'le but give aim I 'le neither stop the swift nor help the lame EPISTLE III. By A. B. To JULIUS FLORUS Advice to follow his Studies IN what part of the would Claudius fights now My Iulius â—lâ—rus I desire to know Claudius our great Augustus Son in Law Whether to Thrace his Army 's march'd away Or whether Icy Heber them detain If on the Hellespont they still remain Or fruitful Asian hills and plains or what The learned troop of Drusius will be at These things I mind too and what eminent wit VVill to posterity dare to transmiâ— Those mighty things which done by Caesar are How wisely he makes peace how stâ—utly war VVhat ex'lent piece will learned Titius write The Roman admiration and delight He that so bravely dares transfer the â—lame Unto us Romans which from Pindar came That scorns to dabble in the vulgar lak's And into the Ocean a brave Voyage makes How does he do what does he say of me By his propitious Muses aid will he Translate the Verses writ with Thebanâ—ire â—ire And tune them smoothly to the Roman Lyre Or with a tragick buskin does he rage And with high stately language fill the Stage And prithee how does Celsus deal by me That most incorrgible Plagiarie VVho has been warn'd so oft and must be more To search for wit and sence from his own store And leave off pilferring out of Books that be By others writ and plac'd i' th' Library Least all the plunder'd Birds should stock together And from his gaudy back pluck each his feather And he of his stoln colours like the Chough Stand stript and make all Spectators laugh But what art thou about with what rare stuff Does thy Muse load her thighs th' hast wit enough And that well pollisht not absurdly rough If thou wilt Orator or Lawyer be Or falst upon delightsome Poetry Thy wit away the Lawrel justly bears But if thou canst shake of those seeds of cares Where e're Coelestial wisdome draws thou'lt goe This work this study great and man men too Should set upon if we design to be Dear to our selves and to Posterity I prithee send me word whether or no Thou do'st such kindness to Munatius shew As betwixt Friends and Brothers ought to be Or is your breach since you did disagree So ill pacht up that it will never close But every foot to it 's old rancour grows Yet whether height of blood or want of wit Inflam'd your untam'd spirits 't is not fit That your fraternal knot should be unti'd In what part of the world so e're you ' bide I 've a fat Heifer which I 'le gladly burn In sacrifice for your desir'd return EPISTLE IV. By A. B. To TIBULLUS That he should live comfortably and without Cares TEll me Tibullus thou that do'st so far Indulge such trifles as my Satyres are What shall I tell my friends that thou dost do Now in that Countrey thou' rt retir'd into Writing whole Volums or hast thou thy mind Wholly to th' healthy woods and walks confin'd Considering onely to enjoy and doe Things which become a wise and good man too Thou art no thick-skull'd block-head for wise Heav'n To thee an understanding Soul has giv'n And with a fair Revenue does thee bless Which thou know'st how t' enjoy as well's possess What could a Nurse for her deer Child beseech More then right understanding and plain speech To live belov'd in honour and in health To eat whole some Diet and to want no wealth When thou' rt tost up and down ' twixt hope and care Enflam'd with anger and shrunk up with fear As soon as such a day is overpast Comfort thy self that that 's to be the last When an hour comes that brings thee joy and bliss If unexpected Oh! how grateful is And when thou' rt minded to laugh heartily At a right Hog of Epicurus Sty Come see me thou shalt find me plump and fair I of this Corps of mine take special care EPISTLE V. By Sir R. F. To TORQUATUS He invites Torquatus to supper which he sayes will be a frugal one Exhorts him â—idding farewel to Cares and the desire of Riches to give himself to Mirth and seeming a little light-headed with the joy of Augustus his birth-day lashes out into the praises of drinking Names three things whereof he is studious in his entertainment and the first of these Cleanliness IF thou a Guest on a â—oyn'd-stool canst sup And in a small Mess all the broath sup up I shall at home expect thee by Suâ—-set Wine thou shalt drink of middle age and wet Minturnae's growth hard by If thou hast ought That better is command it to be brought And treat thy Host. Already the Logs burn And the scowr'd Pans shine on thy score Adjourn Light hopes and riches strife and Mosco's Cause To morrow CAESAR'S birth-day gives a Pawse To toil and leave to sleep Without offence We may spin out with chatting Eloquence The Summer night What do I care for wealth Unless to use 'T is a mad kind of stealth For one to rob himself t' enrich his Heir I 'le quaffe and sprinkle Roses and not care Though I 'm thought wild for this The rare effects Of Wine Love hid in Blushes it detects Hopes it ensures it makes the Coward fight Learned the Ignorant the sad heart light Whom have not flowing Cups eloquent made Whose debts though nere so great have they not paid I am the Man and my charge I will make it Willing and not unfit to undertake it To have the Forms clean rubb'd the Napkins such As may not curl our Noses up to touch That in the Platters thou maist see thy face That no false brother carry from the place Ought that is spoke that all of a Suit be Septimius Brutus Sure Cards these Let 's see Then if not taken