Classic Poem

O pleader of the highest fame!
Whilst in the Forum you declaim,
I at Praeneste re-peruse,
The battles of th'Homeric muse,
Who what is fair and what is base,
Of use, or not in any case,
Points fully, on a better plan,
Than Crantor or Crysippus can.
Whence this opinion I will shew,
Unless you've something else to do.
The argument (in which we read,
For Paris his adulterous deed,
Long war the wasted Grecians wag'd
And with barbarians were engag'd)
The broils of a mad people sings,
And their infatuated kings;
Antenor's council wou'd propose,
By fair amends, the war to close;
But Paris will not yield to this,
Jealous of safety, as of bliss.
Nestor wou'd fain make up th'affair
'Twixt Peleus' son and Atreus' heir.
One burns with love, and both with ire:
Mean time how great soe'er the fire
That's kindled by each foolish chief,
The people feel the loss and grief.
By faction, fraud, by lust, and sin,
By wrath without the walls, and in,
Much is the mischief, and the din.
Again, and in another tale,
How prudence and a heart avail,
He has with exemplary art
Explain'd in sage Ulysses' part,
Who politic from Troy's defeat
Made many cities with his fleet,
And got an insight in their ways,
And while on the great sea he strays,
Returning with himself and crew,
Had many hardships to go thro'.
And yet cross fate's severest frown
Could ne'er prevail to sink him down.
The Siren's charms and Circe's cup
You know, which if he'd guzzled up,
As did with glee each foolish mate,
Base in a most disastrous state,
The slave of an imperious queen
He must a filthy cur have been,
And had the form and gross desire
Of Swines rejoicing in the mire.
WE , all mere cyphers from our birth,
Consume the product of the earth;
Ev'n like Penelope's leud knaves,
Or whom Alcinous made slaves;
A youth for their complexion born,
Who us'd to sleep the livelong morn,
And so to doze away their cares,
Sooth'd by the harps composing airs.
Robbers get up and kill for pelf —
Will you not rise to save yourself?
Which if you shall not do in health
The dropsy will come on by stealth:
And if you do not call away
For book and light before the day,
And keep not all your thoughts intent
On studies and designs well-meant,
With love or envy, when awake,
Your tortur'd heart shall surely ache.
For why do you hasten to remove
Things that your eyes cannot approve,
Yet if ought make the soul impure,
You for a year differ the cure?
One half is done if you set out,
Dare to be wise, nor longer doubt.
Whoe'er delays him to be good,
Stands like the clown upon the flood,
Expecting till the stream had done,
But that still perseveres to run,
And in eternal motion strong
Shall pass voluminous along.
Apt for the purposes of life,
And for to bear your heirs, a wife
Is sought — the woodland wild is fell'd,
That there th'improving plough be held.
Yet he that has enough in store
Ought by no means to sigh for more.
Nor house, nor farm, nor brass nor gold,
From his sick body can withold
The raging fever of their lord,
Or care's unseen attacks award.
The rich possessor must have health,
Or there's no joy in hoarded wealth.
He, on whom lust or terror wait
Enjoys his seat and his estate,
As pictures for the blind are meet,
And poultices for gouty feet,
Or all the harping of the spheres,
To those who have obstructed ears.
Unless the vessel is sweet, you pour
The wine therein, to make it sour:
Despise all pleasures light and vain,
For pleasure's noxious bought with pain:
The churl a beggar is and seems ,
Then set due limits to your schemes:
A pining takes th'invidious sneak,
Whene'er he sees his neighbour sleek.
Sicilian tyrants ne'er cou'd find
A torture like the envious mind.
The man whose passion is not curb'd
Will wish, what in a mind disturb'd
He did, was totally undone,
As too great lengths his malice run.
Wrath is short madness, that restrain
At once, by bridle and by chain,
Or what shou'd serve, will always reign.
The groom is wont the colt to check,
While teachable with pliant neck,
To go the road the riders please.
The puppy from the time he sees
The buckskin in the hall, and barks,
Adventures in the woods and parks.
Now, child, my words in your pure breast
Imbibe; now offer for the best.
That cask the scent will long retain,
Which it receiv'd, when new, in grain;
But if you loiter in the race,
Or urge too much the rapid pace,
I wait not for the slow in speed,
Nor push on them that take the lead.