Classic Poem

Dear Lollius, if right well I ken
The most ingenuous of men,
Professor of a friendly heart,
You scorn to act a flatt'rer's part.
A Roman matron is not more
Distinguish'd from a painted whore,
Than a true friend from the disguise
Of him that faithless deals in lies.
There is a vice reverse of this,
And of the two the more amiss,
A clownish harshness blunt and base,
Which wou'd commend itself to grace,
With tweazer'd face, and shaven skin,
And teeth all dirty-black within,
Intending that it shou'd appear,
As downright honest and sincere.
Virtue between each vice resides,
Alike remote from both the sides.
The one's submission's far too great,
And jester of the lowest seat,
The rich-man's nod he so reveres,
And so respects, whate'er he hears,
And catches up each word that falls,
Like boys, whose rigid master calls
To say their lesson, or a play'r,
That must his under-part prepare.
The other's full of gross abuse,
About the milking of a goose,
And fights with trifles arm'd, " How now?
What? credit not to me allow?
What, boldly shall not I give vent,
Unto my heart's true sentiment?
I wou'd not hold another year,
On terms so monstrously severe!"
But what's the theme of all this fray?
If Castor best his weapon play,
Or Docilis shall win the day?
Or if Brundusium best to make,
A man the Appian road shou'd take?
Whom deadly lewdness strips, or dice
That speediest lead to want by vice,
Whom vanity too grand shall dress,
And dawbs with essence to excess,
Whom thirst and hunger after gold
Possesses, not to be controul'd,
Blushing and shunning to be poor,
Him his rich friend cannot endure,
And oft persues with dread and hate,
Himself far more inordinate.
And, if he does not hate, he rules,
And as a pious mother schools
Her son, her virtues to out-do,
He thus adds something pretty true.
" My wealth (pray do not you contend)
Admits of all my follies, friend,
Your small estate shou'd make you loth
To cut your coat beyond your cloath,
And, if your senses you retain,
Cease contest, where the contest's vain."
Eutrapelus whene'er intent
To do a man much detriment,
Wou'd give him gaudy cloaths, " For so
Blest in the notion of a beau,
He'll take new measures, form new schemes,
Indulge till noon in pleasing dreams:
Will for a whore his trade postpone,
Will give huge int'rest for a loan;
Will learn at last the fencer's art,
Or drive for hire a gard'ner's cart." —
Into no secrecies inquire;
Keep confidence repos'd intire,
Tho' put to torture by the force
Of wine, or passionate discourse.
Nor must you praise your own persuit,
And that of your great friend dispute:
Nor with your poetry solace
Your muse, when he prefers the chace.
For by such means Amphion cross'd
His brother, and his kindness lost;
Till he gave up his lyre at last,
To him of the severer cast.
Amphion therefore did give way
To Zethus' temper, as they say:
And do you in likewise attend
The mild injunctions of your friend,
And when into the field he gets
His dogs, and his Etolian nets,
Arise, and for a while refuse
Th'ill-bred moroseness of your Muse,
That you may sup upon the spoil,
Thus purchas'd by your mutual toil.
This exercise for health and bloom,
Habitual to the sons of Rome,
Is useful ev'n to life, and fame,
And keeps the feet from being lame;
But chiefly while you're young and sound,
And can in speed out-strip the hound,
And foil the fury of the boar.
Then add to what we've urg'd before,
Not one of those, which arms profess,
Can handle them with more address.
You know what vast applause you gain,
In all those feats on Mars's plain:
In fine, as yet of tender age,
You cou'd in cruel fights engage,
And those Cantabrian wars endur'd,
Beneath that chief, who has procur'd
Our standards from the Parthian host,
And fix'd them in their wonted post;
And now does all the acts that tend
To make the Roman arms transcend.
And lest you from the sports recede,
Without a good excuse to plead,
(Tho' nothing trifling, or uncooth,
You e'er committed from your youth)
Yet, where your rural villa lies,
You pleasant pastimes can devise.
The naval troops divide the boats,
And all the Actian battle floats,
Acted by boys, in hostile pride,
Which you, as their commander, guide;
Your brother's the fictitious foe,
And Adria's sea the ponds below,
Till victory, with bays, come down,
And one or other champion crown.
Great Caesar, when he once shall see
Your taste and his so well agree,
Shall give you, and your little bands
Immense applause, with both his hands.
Now let me (if a man like you
Can need advice) advise you true.
Oft take good heed what, and to whom,
You speak of every man in Rome;
A pumper shun, who will not fail
To bear materials of a tale,
Nor can the ears that spring a leak,
With faith retain the things you speak,
And when one word to such you pawn,
It is irrevocably gone.
By frequent observations trace,
Him you wou'd recommend to grace;
Lest you anon shou'd be asham'd
Of faults, for which another's blam'd.
We sometimes are deceiv'd, and raise
A person who's not worthy praise.
Thus chous'd, forbear to vindicate
Him, whose own conduct mars his fate.
So one well prov'd you shall protect,
If false accusers ought object,
And shield him confident in you;
If slander's tooth his fame persue,
Perceive you not your danger too?
For 'tis a very near concern
To you, when neighb'ring houses burn,
And flames by negligence are fed,
And still are wont to get a-head.
The cultivation of esteem
With men in pow'r, to those may seem
Desirous, who have never tried,
But by experience is decried.
When once your vessel's under sail,
Ply well your business, lest the gale
Shou'd shift upon th'inconstant main,
And drive your vessel back again.
The sad abominate the gay;
These scorn the children of dismay;
The volatile the dull sedate;
Idlers, the brisk and active hate.
They that all night will ply the glass,
Despise you, if your turn you pass,
Tho' with solemnity you swear,
You dread th'effects of midnight air.
Your forehead of its gloom uncloud,
For 'tis in general allow'd,
Too modest men appear, as dark,
Too silent, curs that cannot bark.
In all, with which you are concern'd,
You must consult and read the learn'd,
Who on the proper measures treat,
To make your life serene and sweet;
Lest greedy av'rice, ever poor,
Still make you anxious thoughts endure,
Lest fear and hope distract your mind,
For things of an indifferent kind:
That you may know if nature teach,
Or virtue be what scholars preach,
What lessens care, encreases smiles,
And your own conscience reconciles;
What makes a perfect calm, a name,
Or wealth, which still is pleasure's aim,
Or life's whole passage to fulfil,
Thro' flowery bye-paths snug and still.
As oft as on Digentia's brink,
Whose cool streams all Mandela drink,
A little village chopt with cold,
Myself I at my ease behold,
What are my sentiments, my friend,
For what do you think my knees I bend?
That what I have of present store
Be kept, or rather less than more,
That if the Gods more life shou'd give,
I may for self-improvement live,
With choice of the best books to read,
And year's provision for my need,
Lest I shou'd be in fortune's pow'r,
Dependent on th'uncertain hour.
Thus much is fit of Jove to pray,
Ev'n he that gives and takes away:
Let him long life and wealth bestow,
I trust from my own heart to know
All things that make for peace below.