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LUCRETIUS The beginning of the Second Book. (Book 2)
Suave Mari magno, &c. (Book 2)
'TIs pleasant, safely to behold from shore
The rowling Ship; and hear the Tempest roar:
Not that anothers pain is our delight;
But pains unfelt produce the pleasing sight▪
'Tis pleasant also to behold from far
The moving Legions mingled in the War:
But much more sweet thy lab'ring steps to guide,
To Vertues heights, with wisdom well supply'd,
And all the Magazins of Learning fortifi'd:
From thence to look below on humane kind,
Bewilder'd in the Maze of Life, and blind:
To see vain fools ambitiously contend
For Wit and Pow'r; their lost endeavours bend
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T'outshine each other, waste their time and health,
In search of honour, and pursuit of wealth.
O wretched man! in what a mist of Life,
Inclos'd with dangers and with noisie strife,
He spends his little Span: And overfeeds
His cramm'd desires, with more than nature needs:
For Nature wisely stints our appetite,
And craves no more than undisturb'd delight;
Which minds unmix'd with cares, and fears, obtain;
A Soul serene, a body void of pain.
So little this corporeal frame requires;
So bounded are our natural desires,
That wanting all, and setting pain aside,
With bare privation, sence is satisfi'd.
If Golden Sconces hang not on the Walls,
To light the costly Suppers and the Balls;
If the proud Palace shines not with the state
Of burnish'd Bowls, and of reflected Plate,
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If well tun'd Harps, nor the more pleasing sound
Of Voices, from the vaulted roofs rebound,
Yet on the grass beneath a poplar shade
By the cool stream, our careless limbs are lay'd,
With cheaper pleasures innocently blest,
When the warm Spring with gawdy flow'rs is drest
Nor will the rag••ing Feavours fire abate,
With Golden Canopies and Beds of State:
But the poor Patient will as soon be sound,
On the hard mattress, or the Mother ground.
Then since our Bodies are not cas'd the more
By Birth, or Pow'r, or Fortunes wealthy store,
Tis plain, these useless ••oyes of every kind
As little can relieve the lab'••ing mind:
Unless we cou'd suppose the dreadful sight
Of marshall'd Legions moving to the fight
Cou'd with their sound, and terrible array
Expel our fears, and drive the thoughts of death a∣way;
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But, since the supposition vain appears,
Since clinging cares, and trains of inbred fears,
Are not with sounds to be affrighted thence,
But in the midst of Pomp pursue the Prince,
Not aw'd by arms, but in the presence bold,
Without respect to Purple, or to Gold;
Why shou'd not we these pageantries despise;
Whose worth but in our want of reason lies?
For life is all in wandring errours led;
And just as Children are surpriz'd with dread,
And tremble in the dark, so riper years
Ev'n in broad day light are possest with fears:
And shake at shadows fanciful and vain,
As those which in the breasts of Children reign.
These bugbears of the mind, this inward Hell,
No rayes of outward sunshine can dispel;
But nature and right reason, must display
Their beames abroad, and bring the darksome soul to day.