Thick driving Snows, and gather'd Tempefts bear;
Pursuing Care the failing Ship out-flies,

Climbs the tall Veffel's painted Sides;

Nor leaves arm'd Squadrons in the Field, But with the Marching Horfemen rides,

[Places yield.

And dwells alike in Courts and Camps, and makes all

VI.

Then fince no State's compleatly bleft,

Let's learn the Bitter to allay.

With gentle Mirth, and wifely gay

Enjoy at leaft the present Day,

And leave to Fate the reft.
Nor with vain Fear of Ills to come
Anticipate th' appointed Doom.
Soon did Achilles quit the Stage,

That Hero fell by sudden Death,
Whilft Tython to a tedious wafting Age
Drew his protracted Breath.

And thus, old partial Time, my Friend,
Perhaps unask'd, to worthless me
Thofe Hours of lengthen'd Life may lend
Which he'll refuse to thee..

VII.

Thee fhining Wealth and plenteous Joys furround,
And all thy fruitful Fields around

Unnumber'd Herds of Cattle ftray..

Thy harness'd Steeds with fprightly Voice

Make neighb'ring Vales and Hills rejoyce,

Whilft smoothly thy gay Chariot flies o'er the swift To me the Stars, with lefs Profufion kind [measur'd way: An humble Fortune have affign'd,

And no untuneful Lyrick Vein,

But a fincere contented Mind

That can the vile malignant Crowd difdain.

HORACE.

BOOK III. O DE I.

By Mr. COWLEY,

Odi Profanum Vulgus, &c.

Printed in Mr. Cowley's Poems, in Octavo, Pag. 751.

H

1.

ENCE, ye Profane, I hate you all,
Both the Great Vulgar and the Small.
To Virgin Minds, which yet their native

Nor yet

[Whitenefs hold,

difcolour'd with the Love of Gold,

(That Jaundice of the Soul,

Which makes it look fo gilded and fo foul)

To you, ye very few, thefe Truths I tell:

The Mufe infpires my Song, hark, and obferve it well.

11.

We look on Men, and wonder at fuch Odds,

'Twixt things that were the fame by Birth; We look on Kings as Giants of the Earth; Thefe Giants are but Pigmies to the Gods.

The

The humbleft Bufh, and prouieft Oak,

Are but of equal Proof against the Thunder ftroke. Beauty, and Strength, and Wit, and Wealth, and Pow't, Have their fhort furishing Hour;

And to fee themselves and fmile,

And joy in their Pre-eminence a while;
Ev'n fo, in the fame Land,

Poor Weeds, rich Corn, gay Flow'rs, together

[ftand

Alas! Death mows down all with an Impartial

III.

Hand.

And, all you Men, whom Greatnefs doth so please,
Ye feaft, I fear, like Damocles,

If you your Eyes cou'd upwards move,
(But you (I fear) think nothing is above)
You wou'd perceive by what a little Thread
The Sword ftill hangs over your Head.

No Tide of Wine would drown your Careɛ,
No Mirth or Mufick over-noife your Fears;
The Fear of Death would you fo watchful keeps
As not t'admit the Image of it, Sleep.

IV.

Sleep is a God too proud to wait on Palaces,
And yet fo humble too, as not to scorn

The meanest Country Cottages;

This Poppy grows among the Corn.*
The Halcyon Sleep will never build his Neft
In any Stormy Breaft:

'Tis not enough that he does find
Clouds and Darkness in their Mind;
Darkness but half his Work will do;
'Tis not enough, he muft find Quiet too.

V.

The Man who in all Wishes he does make,
Does only Nature's Counsel take;

That wife and happy Man will never fear
The evil Afpects of the Year,

Nor tremble though Two Comets shou'd appear:
He does not look in Almanacks, to fee

Whether he fortunate fhall be:

Let Mars and Saturn in the Heavens conjoin,
And what they please against the World defign,
So Jupiter within him fhine.

VI.

If of your Pleasures and Defires no End be found,
God to your Cares and Fears will fet no bound.
What wou'd content you? Who can tell?
Ye fear fo much to lofe what you have got,
As if you lik'd it well;

Ye ftrive for more, as if ye lik'd it not.

Go level Hills, and fill up Seas,

M

}

Spare nought that may your wanton Fancy please.
But, truft me, when you've done all this,

Much will be missing still, and much will be amifs.

F

O DE II.

Tranflated by Mr. J. B.

Never Printed before.

Riends let the hardy Youth be train'd in War,
And learn the Gripes of Poverty to bear;

Let him well skill'd, the Horfe and Spear command,
So fhall the barb'rous Parthians dread his Hand:

Let

Let him, unfhelter'd, lye on naked Ground,

And bravely Push where threat'ning Danger's found;
From hoftile Walls in heat of Battle feen

By the ripe Virgin, and the Tyrant's Queen;
Thus in defpairing Sighs they will bewail;
Grant, Prefervation may o'er Rage prevail,
And that the Royal Spouse in Wars unskill'd,
May not provoke that Lyon of the Field,
Whofe bloody Ardour fo tranfcendent grows,
He cuts his way thro' Crowds of flaughter'd Foes:
Sweet, and moft glorious are thofe Pangs of Death,
When for our Country we refign our Breath;
With swifteft fpeed Fate follows him that flies,
And by bafe Wounds behind the Coward dies.
True Sons of Virtue mean Repulse disdain,
Nor does their fhining Honour find one Stain;
Their glorious Minds are fo fecurely great,
They neither fwell, nor fink at turns of State.
Virtue, to those who ne'er deferve to Die,
Difclofing Scenes of Immortality,

Scores vulgar Crowds, and spurns this humid Clay,
And on fwift Wing takes to the Skies her way.
Afure Reward attends the faithful Mind
In whofe reclufes Secrets are confin'd.

That treach'rous Man, whofe fcoffing Tongue betrays
Cere's mysterious Rights, and facred ways,
With Hatred, his loath'd Prefence I'd refrain,
Nor should one House or Ship us two contain.
The Righteous often feel the Stroke of Heav'n,
And share the Fate that to the Wicked's giv'n;
Tho' Vengeance limps fhe ftill will keep in fight,
And feldom fails t'o'ertake the Villain's flight.

ODE