Classic Poem

So steel'd a forehead vice hath, that dares win,
And bribe the Father to the Childrens sin;
But whom have gifts defiled not? what good face
Did ever want these tempters? pleasing grace
Betraies it selfe; what time did Nero mind
A course, maim'd shape? what blemish'd youth confin'd
His goatish Pathick? whence then flow these joies
Of a faire issue? whom these sad annoies
Waite, and grow up with; whom perhaps thou'lt see
Publick Adulterers, and must be
Subject to all the Curses, Plagues, and awe
Of jealous mad men, and the Iulian Law;
Nor canst thou hope they'le find a milder Starre,
Or more escapes then did the God of Warre;
But worse then all, a jealous braine confines
His furie to no Law; what rage assignes,
Is present justice: Thus the rash Sword spils
This Lechers bloud, the scourge another kils.
But thy spruce boy must touch no other face
Then a Patrician ? Is of any race
So they be rich; Servilia is as good
With wealth, as shee that boasts Iulus blood:
To please a servant all is cheape; what thing
In all their stocke to the last suite, and Ring
But lust exacts? the poorest whore in this,
As generous as the Patrician is.
But thou wilt say what hurt's a beauteous skin
With a chaste soule? aske Theseus sonne, and him
That Stenobaea murther'd; for both these
Can tell how fatall 'twas in them to please;
A womans spleene then carries most of fate,
When shame and sorrow aggravate her hate:
Resolve me now, had Silius been thy sonne,
In such a hazzard what should he have done?
Of all Romes youth, this was the only best,
In whom alone beauty, and worth did rest:
This Messalina saw, and needs he must
Be ruin'd by the Emp'rour, or her lust,
All in the face of Rome , and the worlds eye,
Though Cesars wife, a publicke Bigamie
Shee dares attempt; and that the act might beare
More prodigie, the notaries appeare,
And Augures to't; and to compleat the sin
In solemne forme, a dowrie is brought in;
All this (thou'lt say) in private might have past,
But shee'le not have it so; what course at last?
What should he doe? If Messaline be crost
Without redresse thy Silius will be lost;
If not, some two daies length is all he can
Keep from the grave; just so much as will span
This newes to Hostia , to whose fate he owes
That Claudius last his owne dishonour knowes.
But he obeyes, and for a few houres lust,
Forfeits that glory should outlive his dust,
Nor was it much a fault; for, whether he
Obey'd, or not; 'twas equall destinie:
So fatall beauty is, and full of wast,
That neither wanton can be safe, nor chast.
What then should man pray for? what is't that he
Can beg of Heaven, without Impiety?
Take my advice: first to the Gods commit
All cares; for they things competent, and fit
For us foresee; besides man is more deare
To them, then to himselfe: we blindly here
Led by the world, and lust, in vaine assay
To get us portions, wives, and sonnes; but they
Already know all that we can intend,
And of our Childrens Children see the end.
Yet that thou may'st have something to commend
With thankes unto the Gods for what they send;
Pray for a wise, and knowing soule; a sad
Discreet, true valour, that will scorne to adde
A needlesse horrour to thy death; that knowes
Tis but a debt which man to nature owes;
That starts not at misfortunes, that can sway,
And keep all passions under locke and key;
That couets nothing, wrongs none, and preferres
An honest want before rich injurers;
All this thou hast within thy selfe, and may
Be made thy owne, if thou wilt take the way;
What boots the worlds wild, loose applause? what can
Fraile, perillous honours adde unto a man?
What length of years, wealth, or a rich faire wife?
Vertue alone can make a happy life.
To a wise man nought comes amisse: but we
Fortune adore, and make our Deity.