A public crier, who a thousand ways
Bustles to get, and then enjoys his ease.
A boon companion 'mong his equals known,
And the small house he lives in is his own.
His business over, to the public shows,
Or to the field of Mars he sauntering goes."
Methinks I long to see this wondrous wight.
Bid him be sure to sup with me to-night.
Menas, with awkard wonder, scarce believes
The courteous invitation he receives:
At last politely begs to be excused—
“And am I then with insolence refused?"
“Whether from too much fear, or too much pride, 95 I know not, but he flatly has denied.”
Philip next morn our honest pedler found
Dealing his iron merchandise around
To his small chaps;—the first good-morrow gave;
Menas, confused—“Behold a very slave,
To business chain'd, or I should surely wait
An early client at your worship's gate;
Or had I first perceived you—as I live-"
"Well, sup with me to-night, and I forgive
All past neglect. Be punctual to your hour;
Remember I expect you just at four.
Till then farewell: your growing fortunes mend,
And know me for your servant and your friend."
Behold him now at supper, where he said,
Or right or wrong, what came into his head.
When Philip saw his eager gudgeon bite,
At morn an early client, and at night
A certain guest, his project to complete,
He takes him with him to his country seat
On horseback now he ambles at his ease,
The soil, the climate, his incessant praise.
Philip, who well observed our simple guest,
Laughs in his sleeve, resolved to have his jest
At any rate; then lends him fifty pound,
And promised fifty more, to buy a spot of ground.
But, that our tale no longer be delay'd,
Bought is the ground, and our spruce merchant made A very rustic: now at endless rate,
Vineyards and furrows are his constant prate.
He plants his elms for future vines to rise,
Grows old with care, and on the prospect dies.
But when his goats, by sickness, and by thieves
His sheep are lost, his crop his hope deceives,
When his one ox is kill'd beneath the yoke,
Such various losses his best spirits broke.
At midnight dragging out his only horse,
He drives to Philip's house his desperate course;
Who, when he saw him rough, deform'd with hair,
"Your ardent love of pelf, your too much care
Hath surely brought you to this dismal plight.” 135
"Oh! call me wretch, if you would call me right;
But let this wretch your clemency implore,
By your good genius; by each heavenly power;
By that right hand, sure never pledged in vain,
Restore me to my former life again."
To his first state let him return with speed,
Who sees how far the joys he left exceed
His present choice: for all should be confined
Within the bounds which nature hath assign'd.
EPISTLE VIII.-TO CELSUS ALBINOVANUS.
HORACE here informs Celsus of the bad state of his health, and advises him to bear his prosperity with moderation.
To Celsus, muse, my warmest wishes bear,
And if he kindly asks you how I fare,
Say, though I threaten many a fair design,
Nor happiness, nor wisdom, yet are mine.
Not that the driving hail my vineyards beat
Not that my olives are destroy'd with heat;
Not that my cattle pine in distant plains--
More in my mind and body lie my pains
Reading I hate, and with unwilling ear
The voice of comfort, or of health I hear;
Friends or physicians I with pain endure,
Who strive this languor of my soul to cure.
Whate'er may hurt me, I with joy pursue;
Whate'er may do me good, with horror view.
Inconstant as the wind, I various rove;
At Tibur, Rome; at Rome, I Tibur love.
Ask how he does; what happy arts support
His prince's favour, nor offend the court;
If all be well, say first, that we rejoice,
And then, remember, with a gentle voice
Instil this precept on his listening ear,
"As you your fortune, we shall Celsus bear."
EPISTLE IX.-TO CLAUDIUS NERO.
HORACE recommends Septimius to Nero.
SEPTIMIUS Only knows, at least, would seem
To know, the rank I hold in your esteem;
Then asks, nay more, compels me to present him,
(Nor will a moderate share of praise content him,)
Worthy of Nero's family, and heart,
Where only men of merit claim a part.
When fondly he persuades himself I hold
A place among your nearer friends enroll'd,
Much better than myself he sees and knows
How far my interest with Tiberius goes
A thousand things I urged to be excused;
Though fearful, if too warmly I refused,
I might, perhaps, a mean dissembler seem,
To make a property of your esteem.
Thus have I with a friend's request complied, 15 And on the confidence of courts relied :
If you forgive me, to your heart receive
The man I love, and know him good and brave.
EPISTLE X.-TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS.
HORACE praises a country life, as more agreeable to nature, and friendly to liberty.
To Fuscus, who in city sports delights,
A country bard with gentle greeting writes:
In this we differ, but in all beside,
Like twin-born brothers, are our souls allied;
And, as a pair of fondly constant doves,
What one dislikes the other disapproves.
You keep the nest, I love the rural mead,
The brook, the mossy rock and woody glade;
In short, I live and reign, whene'er I fly
The joys you vaunt with rapture to the sky,
And like a slave, from the priest's service fled,
I nauseate honey'd cakes, and long for bread.
Would you to nature's laws obedience yield;
Would you a house for health or pleasure build,
Where is there such a situation found
As where the country spreads its blessings round?
Where is the intemperate winter less severe ?
Or, when the sun ascending fires the year,
Where breathes a milder zephyr to assuage
The dogstar's fury, or the lion's rage?
Where do less envious cares disturb our rest?
Or are the fields, in nature's colours dress'd,
Less grateful to the smell, or to the sight,
Than the rich floor, with inlaid marble bright ?
Is water purer from the bursting lead
Than gently murmuring down its native bed?
Among your columns, rich with various dies,
Unnatural woods with awkward art arise:
You praise the house, whose situation yields
An open prospect to the distant fields;
For nature, driven out with proud disdain
All-powerful goddess, will return again;
Return in silent triumph to deride
The weak attempts of luxury and pride.
The man who cannot with judicious eye
Discern the fleece that drinks the Tyrian die,
From the pale Latian; yet shall ne'er sustain
A loss so touching, of such heart-felt pain,
As he, who can't with sense of happier kind,
Distinguish truth from falsehood in the mind.
They who in fortune's smiles too much delight,
Shall tremble when the goddess takes her flight;
For if her gifts our fonder passions gain,
The frail possession we resign with pain.
Then fly from grandeur and the haughty great; 45 The cottage offers a secure retreat,
Where you may make that heart-felt bliss your own, To kings, and favourites of kings, unknown.
A lordly stag, arm'd with superior force,
Drove from their common field a vanquish'd horse,
Who for revenge to man his strength enslaved, 51
Took up his rider, and the bit received:
But, though he conquer'd in the martial strife,
He felt his rider's weight, and champ'd the bit for life.
So he, who poverty with horror views,
Nor frugal nature's bounty knows to use;
Who sells his freedom in exchange for gold,
(Freedom for mines of wealth too cheaply sold,)
Shall make eternal servitude his fate,
And feel a haughty master's galling weight.
Our fortunes and our shoes are near allied;
Pinch'd in the strait, we stumble in the wide.
Cheerful and wise your present lot enjoy,
And on my head your just rebukes employ,
If e'er, forgetful of my former self,
I toil to raise unnecessary pelf.
Gold is the slave, or tyrant of the soul,
Unworthy to command, it better brooks control.
These lines behind Vacuna's fane I penn'd,
Sincerely bless'd, but that I want my friend.
69 Vacuna was the goddess of vacations, whose festival was celebrated in December. There are still some remains of her temple on our poet's estate. He dates his letter behind this
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