Him that is last, I scorn to come behind,
Or of the things that ne'er came in my mind.
Το say, I'm ignorant. Just as a crier
That to the sale of wares calls every buyer;
So doth the poet, who is rich in land,
Or great in moneys out at use, command
His flatterers to their gain. But say, he can
Make a great supper, or for some poor man
Will be a surety, or can help him out
Of an entangling suit, and bring't about:
I wonder how this happy man should know,
Whether his soothing friend speak truth or no.
But you, my Piso, carefully beware
(Whether yo'are given to, or giver are)
You do not bring to judge your verses, one,
With joy of what is given him, over-gone:
For he'll cry, Good, brave, better, excellent!
Look pale, distil a shower (was never meant)
Out at his friendly eyes, leap, beat the groun',
As those that hir'd to weep at funerals swoon,
Cry, and do more to the true mourners: so
The scoffer the true praiser doth out-go.
Rich men are said with many cups to ply,
And rack with wine the man whom they would try,
If of their friendship he be worthy or no:
When you write verses, with your judge do so:
Look through him, and be sure you take not mocks
For praises, where the mind conceals a fox.
If to Quintilius you recited aught,
He'd say, Mend this, good friend, and this; 'tis naught.
If you denied you had no better strain,
And twice or thrice had 'ssay'd it, still in vain:
He'd bid blot all, and to the anvil bring
Those ill-torn'd verses to new hammering.
Then if your fault you rather had defend
Than change; no word or work more would he spend
Quin sine rivali teque et tua solus amares.
Vir bonus et prudens, versus reprehendit inertes,
Culpabit duros, incomptis allinet atrum
Transverso calamo signum, ambitiosa recidet
Ornamenta, parum claris lucem dare coget :
Arguet ambiguè dictum, mutanda notabit:
Fiet Aristarchus, nec dicet, Cur ego amicum
Offendam in nugis? hæ nuga seria ducent
In mala, semel derisum, exceptumque sinistrè.
Ut mala quem scabies, aut morbus regius urget,
Aut fanaticus error, et iracunda Diana,
Vesanum tetigisse timent, fugiuntque poetam,
Qui sapiunt: agitant pueri, incautique sequuntur.
Hic dum sublimes versus ructatur, et errat;
Si veluti merulis intentus decidit auceps
In puteum, foveamve, licet Succurrite, longum
Clamet Id cives! non sit qui tollere curet.
Si quis curet opem ferre, et demittere funem,
Qui scis, an prudens huc se dejecerit, atque
Servari nolit? dicam, Siculique poetæ
Narrabo interitum. Deus immortalis haberi
Dum cupit Empedocles, ardentem frigidus Ætnam
Insiluit. Sit jus, liceatque perire poëtis.
Invitum qui servat, idem facit occidenti.
In vain, but you and yours you should love still
Alone, without a rival, by his will.
A wise and honest man will cry out shame On artless verse; the hard ones he will blame, Blot out the careless with his turned pen; Cut off superfluous ornaments, and when They're dark, bid clear this: all that's doubtful
Reprove, and what is to be changed note;
Become an Aristarchus. And not say
Why should I grieve my friend this trifling way ?
These trifles into serious mischiefs lead
The man once mock'd, and suffer'd wrong to tread.
Wise sober folk a frantic poet fear;
And shun to touch him, as a man that were
Infected with the leprosy, or had
The yellow jaundice, or were furious mad,
According to the moon. But then the boys
They vex, and follow him with shouts and noise;
The while he belcheth lofty verses out,
And stalketh, like a fowler, round about,
Busy to catch a black-bird, if he fall
Into a pit or hole, although he call
And cry aloud, Help, gentle countrymen!
There's none will take the care to help him then;
For if one should, and with a rope make haste
To let it down, who knows if he did cast
Himself there purposely or no, and would
Not thence be sav'd, although indeed he could?
I'll tell you but the death and the disease
Of the Sicilian poet Empedocles:
He, while he labour'd to be thought a god
Immortal, took a melancholic, odd
Conceit, and into burning Ætna leapt.
Let poets perish, that will not be kept.
He that preserves a man against his will,
Doth the same thing with him that would him kill.
Nor did he do this once; for if you can
Nec semel hoc fecit: nec si retractus erit, jam
Fiet homo: et ponet famosa mortis amorem.
Nec satis apparet, cur versus factitet: utrum
Minxerit in patrios cineres, an triste bidental
Moverit incestus: certè jurit, ac, velut ursus,
Objectos cavea valuit si frangere clathros,
Indoctum doctumque fugat recitator acerbus.
Quem verò arripuit, tenet occiditque legendo,
Non missura cutem nisi plena cruoris hirudo.
HORAT. OD. LIB. V. OD. II.
EATUS ille, qui procul negotiis,
Ut prisca gens mortalium,
Paterna rura bobus exercet suis,
Solutus omni fœnore:
Nec excitatur classico miles truci,
Nec horret iratum mare:
Forumque vitat, et superba civium
Potentiorum limina.
Ergo aut adultâ vitium propagine
Altas maritat populos:
Inutilesque falce ramos amputans,
Feliciores inseret:
Aut in reducta valle mugientium
Prospectat errantes greges:
3 Beatus ille, &c.] This Ode seems to have been a peculiar favourite with the poets of our author's age. It is translated by sir John Beaumont, Randolph and others; but by none of them with much success. Denham had not yet propagated his manly and judicious sentiments on translation, and the grace and freedom of
Recall him yet, he'd be no more a man,
Or love of this so famous death lay by.
His cause of making verses none knows why,
Whether he piss'd upon his father's grave,
Or the sad thunder-stroken thing he have
Defiled, touch'd; but certain he was mad,
And as a bear, if he the strength but had
To force the grates that hold him in, would fright
All so this grievous writer puts to flight
Learn'd and unlearn'd, holding whom once he takes,
And there an end of him reciting makes;
Not letting go his hold, where he draws food,
Till he drop off, a horse-leech, full of blood.
THE PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE.
APPY is he, that from all business clear,
As the old race of mankind were,
With his own oxen tills his sire's left lands,
And is not in the usurer's bands:
Nor soldier-like, started with rough alarms,
Nor dreads the sea's enraged harms :
But flies the bar and courts, with the proud boards,
And waiting-chambers of great lords.
The poplar tall he then doth marrying twine
With the grown issue of the vine ;
And with his hook lops off the fruitless race,
And sets more happy in the place :
Or in the bending vale beholds afar
The lowing herds there grazing are:
poetry were sacrificed by almost general consent to a strict and rigid fidelity. As these versions have no date, it is not possible to say whether they were the exercises of the school-boy or the productions of riper age. None of them were committed to the press by the poet.
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