The Odes, Satyrs, and Epistles of Horace Done into English.

EPODES.

EPODE I.

MY Lord, my best, and dearest Friend, The chiefest Bulwark of the State; In tall Liburnian Ships defend Great Caesar's Cause, and prop his Fate.

Before his danger thrust your own: But what shall He that breaths in You, That scorns to live when You are gone, What shall forsaken Horace do?

Shall I sit down and take my Ease? But without You what joys delight? Or steel my softness, stem the Seas, Or bolder grow, and dare to fight?

Or shall I arm my feeble breast, And wait on You thro Alpine Snow, Or farthest Regions of the West, Where Caesar bids the Valiant go?

You ask why thus I boldly press, And what should feeble I do there, My fear, My Lord, will be the less; For absence still increases fear.

Thus Birds on Wing are most affraid That Snakes will come when they're away, Tho present they're too weak to aid, And save the easy Callow prey.

I would be stout, discard my fears, The greatest dangers bravely prove, And venture this or other Wars In hopes, my Lord, to keep your Love.

But not to have more Oxen groan Beneath my Plows, nor feed more Swains; Nor yet as Heat or Cold comes on, To drive my Sheep to other Plains:

Not to enlarge my Country Seat, Or get vast heaps of shining Ore; Your bounty, Sir, hath made me great, And furnish'd with sufficient store.

I do not heaps of Gold desire, To hide, and have no heart to use, As Chremes did; nor Wealth require On baser Lusts to be profuse.

EPODE II. The Pleasures of a Country and retir'd Life.

HAppy the Man beyond pretence, (Such was the State of innocence) That loose from Care, from business free, From griping Debts and Usury, Contented in an humble Fate VVith his own Oxen Ploughs his own Estate: No early Trumpet breaks his ease, He doth not dread the angry Seas: He flies the Bar, from noise retreats, And shuns the Nobles haughty Seats. But Marrigeable Vines he leads To lusty Oaks, and kindly VVeds: Or carelessly in Vallies strays And smiles to see his Oxen graze: He prunes his Vines, or grafts his Trees; Or sheers his Sheep or takes his Bees; From Combs well prest his Honey flows Almost as sweet as his repose: Or when the mellow Autumn rears His Fruitful Head he gathers Pears, Or Purple Grapes, and these reward VVith pleasing gifts his Holy Guard; Thee, Sylvian, and, Priapus Thee A Tribute fills from every Tree: Now smiles beneath a Myrtle shade On flowry Banks supinely laid, VVhilst neer his Head there creeps a Spring, And the free Birds around him sing:

Or Fountains with their murmuring Streams Invite to short, and easy Dreams: Or when cold Jove hath turn'd the Year, And Rain and Snow and Frost appear, He takes his Hounds, strong toyls he setts, And drives fierce Bores to secret Netts. Or springs Tiles in every Bush, To take the Black-bird and the Thrush: Or Fearful Hare, or stranger Crane All sweet rewards do cheer his pain. Who midst these pleasing joys does bear, The numerous ills of Love and Fear? In Towns the Tyrant passions Reign, And spread their Cares, but fly the Plain, But if a Wife more chast than Fair, (Such as the ancient Sabines were, Such as the Brown Apulian Dame, Of moderate Face, and honest Fame) With equal Care, his Care shall meet, And keep the House and Children sweet; Against He comes provide a Fire; As pure and warm as her desire: And with an Honest chearful smile Receive him weary from his toyl: Pen up her self, and Milk the Kine, Then draw a Pot of Country Wine, And streight with what her Fields afford Doth furnish out an easy board: I would not change for all the State And costly trouble of the Great; Their Oysters, Trouts, and all the store Of Luxury would take no more;

Their Fish that catering Storms, to please Their Palate, toss from Eastern Seas, The Pheasant, Patridge, Quail and Teal Would not go down, nor tast as well As Olives pluckt from laden Boughs, Or Sorrel that in Pasture grows; Or Mallows sweet extreamly good For Bodies bound poor wholsom Food, Or Lambkins kil'd a sheering Beast: Or rescu'd from a greedy Beast: Amidst these dainties, Oh the vast delight To see fed Sheep come home at Night! To hear the weary Oxen low And almost tir'd trail back the Plow! To see my merry Clowns carouse, And swarm about my cleanly House! This Alpius said, the fam'd, and known, The griping Userer of the Town, Resolv'd to leave his Cares and Strife And quickly lead a Country Life, One week He call'd his Money in, The next He lent it out agen:

EPODE III. To MECAENAS. He shows his dislike to an Onion that made him sick.

IF any, let's suppose so damn'd a Rage Forget their Duty and their Age;

And eager to enjoy the whole Estate, With impious hands shall hasten Fate, And their old Fathers coming Death prevent, Let Onions be their Punishment. O Reapers Stomachs! Ah! what Poyson Reigns, What secret fire runs o're my Veins? Hath Viper's blood, or hath Canidia's breath Blown o're my Meat, and mingled Death? When Jason did Medea's fancy move, And she fixt on him for a Love, Before the rest, she gave him this to tame The fiery Bulls, and quench their Flame; By Presents dipt in this Creusa dy'd, And Jason mourn'd his promis'd Bride: Such furious heat as rages o're my Veins N'ere scorcht the dry Apulian Plains, Nor did the flaming Poysnous gift infest With half such Heat Alcides Breast: My merry Lord if e're you tast of this May every Maid deny a Kiss; But stop her Mouth, cry foh! refuse delight, And ne're lie near Thee all the Night.

EPODE IV. To Vulteius Mena, a Freed-Man of Pompey.

AS much as Lambs with Wolves agree, So much, base Sot, do I with thee; With Spanish whips thy Sides are torn, Thy Legs with heavy shackles worn:

Tho Fortune smiles and swells thy Mind, It gilds, but cannot change the Kind: Do'st see when Thou with ruffling Gown Do'st sweep the Mall, how many frown, How each that views Thee, screws his Face, And justly scorns the gawdy Ass! He lately whipt at the Carts tail, The very scandal of the Jayl, Now vastly rich a mighty Spark In Coach and Six flys o're the Park: At Plays he takes the Box, in spight Of Otho's Law, a doughty Knight! What Honor is't to free the Waves From Pyrates rage, and tame the Slaves, What honor can attend the VVar Where He a Captain claims a share?

EPODE V. Against the Witch Canidia, where he discovers the Cruelty and Baseness of such Creatures.

BUt O what ever God dost fill the Sky, And rule the Earth and Men below, What means that rout? and why Each Fury bends on me an angry brow?

By all thy brood, if e're Lucina came, To real Births, and eas'd thy throws; By Honor's useless name, By Jove that sees, and will revenge my Woes.

Why doth that Stepdame's frown affright? That rage thy gastly form disgrace? A hunted Tyger's spight, And grinning fury sit upon thy Face?

Thus sadly spake the naked lovely Child, Which e'en a Thracian's Soul might move, Make raging fury mild And in a flinty Bosom kindle love:

Canidia, Serpents wreath'd her shaggy brow, Appear'd, and these Commands she gave; A Funeral Cypress Bough, And a wild Fig-tree rooted from a Grave;

A Scritch-Owls Feather, Eggs besmear'd with blood Of croaking Frogs, a Tyger's paws, A swelling angry Toad, And Bones snatcht from a hungry Bitches jaws:

Each powerful Herb that in Iberia springs To raise strong Love, or Anger tame, And all that Colchos brings, Go mix, and burn them in a Magick Flame.

Whilst ready Sagana from beechen Cup Pour'd Stygian Water o're the Floors, Her hair an end stood up Like Hedg-hogs bristles, or a running Bores:

But hardned Veja deaf to all remorse A little Grave had quickly made; She rais'd her feeble force, And joy'd to sweat, and groan upon the Spade:

Where fixt Chin-deep the power unhappy guest By looking on his meat must dye, Whilst they renew the Feast, And He stands famisht, feeding at his Eye:

That His dry Marrow, and his raging Heart When his weak Senses fail may prove Fit for their Magick Art, And make Ingredients for a Cup of Love:

All thought that lustful Floria too was one That came to view the horrid sight, She that can charm the Moon And force the Stars from their fixt seats of light:

Here fierce Canidia whilst her unpar'd Nail She gnaw'd with an envenom'd Tooth, Oh what did she conceal! What horrid words broak from her impious mouth!

Thou Night, thou Moon and all Ye meaner lights That charm dull Mortals into sleep, And when our sacred Rites Are done, an undisturbed silence keep;

Assist me now with all your strength and rage, That I might pay the debts I owe, Your greatest force engage To wreak my spight on my unhappy Foe;

Whilst cruel Beasts asleep in Woods are safe, Let the Saburran Mastiffs bark, ('Twill make the Neighbours laugh) At the old Leacher creeping in the dark:

When fierce desire hath raging fury bred Then let him walk as Lusts perswade With Oyntment round his Head As strong as e"re my skilful hands have made:

Ah! what's the matter! where's the Power of Charms Which fierce Medea once did prove, When with these conquering Arms She furiously reveng'd her injur'd Love!

When with a Garment lin'd with secret flame (What will not jealous rage inspire?) She burnt the lovely Dame, And wrapt false Jason's youthful Bride in fire!

Ah! sure no powerful Herb hath scap't my sight, In shady Groves or purling Streams; And yet He sleeps all night, No wanton Miss disturbs him e'en in Dreams:

Ah! Ah, some Witch more skilful sets Thee free, Unhappy Varus, doom'd to ill, Thou shalt return to Me; I'le force Thee back by an unusual skill:

With unresisted Art I'le bind thy Soul, No Charms shall then thy mind restore; I'le mix a stronger Bowl, And urge Thee still as Thou dost scorn the more:

First Heaven shall downward, Earth shall upward move And to the Center Stars retire; E'er thou shalt cease to Love, Or burn like Brimstone in a smoaky Fire:

The injur'd Boy inrag'd no longer strove To soften them by mournful Prayer And gentle pitty move, But spoak these dying words in deep despair:

Poor Charms too weak to alter Humane Fate, And hinder Plagues from rage Divine; No Blood shall expiate So solemn, and so great a Curse as mine.

When I am dead then I'le a Ghost by Night With crooked Nails your jaws invade, At every turn affright; For that's the force and fury of a Shade.

Then will I sit upon your fearful Breast, And there my dreadful watches keep; Disturb approaching rest, And drive away the lazy hand of Sleep.

Thro every Street the Crowd in eager hast Shall brain the ugly Hags with Stones, And when Death comes at last, The Crows shall scatter, Wolves shall break your Bones:

And this my Parents (ah they must survive, And seek in vain, and mourn for Me) Tho many years they grieve, Grown gray in Tears, shall live and smile to see.

EPODE VI. Against Cassius Severus a very scurrilous and abu∣sive Rhymer.

BAse coward Curr when harmless strangers come, You snarl and bark about the Room; But when a fierce and shagged Wolf appears, How soon you whine, and hang your Ears! Come, make at me, if you resolve to fight, For I have Teeth, and dare to bite: The generous Mastiff I of Noble sense The careful Shepherd's kind defense; With Ears an-end thro Snow and Frost pursue What ever Beast I have in view: When Thou the Woods with frightful sounds has shook Thou leap'st for every little Brook: Take heed, take heed, to Rogues a deadly Foe I'me still prepar'd to strike the blow; As sharp as fierce Archilochus his Song Like Hipponax revenge a wrong; If any malice wounds my Fame, shall I Like a poor Child sit down and cry?

EPODE VII. To His Citizens that are ready to engage in another Civil War.

WHere, Mad men, where? where, so averse to Peace Your rusty Swords that slept in ease Why drawn? What hath not every Country flow'd And every Sea with Roman Blood? Not to pursue your angry Fathers hate, And urge proud Carthage rival Fate, Nor make the untoucht Britans Slaves to Rome And lead them chain'd in Triumph home; But what the Parthians often pray to view These Arms are now prepar'd to do: Against your self, ah me! you raise them all, And Rome by her own hand must fall: E'en Wolves are to more gentle thoughts inclin'd And prey but on another kind: What is it Madness, is it stupid Rage That doth the brutal Arms engage? Or is it Sin? speak, not one word will come; 'Tis cruel Fate that urges Rome: Since Remus fell about thy rising Walls His loud-tongued blood for Vengeance calls; The Issue then began, and still hath flow'd, For Blood must be reveng'd with Blood

EPODE IX. To MECAENAS. He wishes for the good News of Caesar's Victory over Mark Antony, that they might be merry as for∣merly, when Sextus Pompejus was overthrown.

VVHen will the happy morning come, And bring the welcom News to Rome, That I, my Lord, with you may Dine, And in your stately House Full Bowls carouse, Preserv'd for this expected Joy, of racy Wine!

Where Pipes shall joyn the speaking string, And tuneful Voices gladly sing, As you, my Lord, and I have done; When Pompy turn'd his Head And basely fled Confessing Caesar's Fortune greater than his own:

His flaming Ships blaz'd o're the Wave; Whilst flying by the light they gave, He left those Chains which faithless He Had loos'd from servile Hands, And threatned Bands To happy Rome, by Caesar's Will, and Nature free:

A Roman (who will credit give VVhat future Age this truth receive?)

Turn'd Woman's Slave with servile Hands A Common Souldier bears The drudgery of Wars, And can endure her wither'd Eunuchs base Com∣mands:

Amidst the Arms, dishonest sight! The Sun that view'd withdrew the Light, As once at curst Thyestes Feast; As 'twere asham'd to see The Canopy And the great Roman lolling on a Woman's Breast.

Io Triumphe, break delay, Why doth the golden Chariot stay? And not the promis'd Oxen fall? Io Triumphe bring The greatest King, The Common good, the comfort, and the joy of All:

Jugurtha's Wars, and Noble Toyls Ne're show'd his Equal grac'd with Spoyls; Nor Conquer'd Africk sent to Rome, Altho his lasting Name Is great in Fame, And ruin'd Carthage lies to make his noble Tomb:

Where will the conquer'd Roman fly From Caesar's Hand, and Caesar's Eye? What will the Conquer'd Roman do? What Winds, what servile Gales Will swell his Sails, That on his Master Caesar's may so freely blow?

More Bowls and larger Bowls my Boy, As large as my extensive joy, Let Mirth advance my good design; 'Tis sweet to ease my Cares For Caesar's Wars, And drown all Melancholly thoughts in noble Wine.

EPODE X. He wishes Maevius the Poet may be Shipwrackt.

THat cursed Ship that stinking Maevius bore With an ill Omen left the Shore; South-wind, besure, you raise the swelling Tides And stoutly beat her feeble sides, You East-wind turn the Sea and break the Oars, And whirl her Sails to distant shores, The North-wind rage as when he tears the Woods On lofty Hills, and toss the Floods: No Friendly Star shine thro the Cloudy Night But sad Orion's watry light: Hah! let him now no smoother Waves enjoy Than those that tost the Greeks from Troy, When Pallas hatred from the flaming Town On wicked Ajax Ship was thrown. Hah! Hah! what sweat shall from thy Seamen flow, And what Death-pale spread o're thy Brow! What Woman's crys, and what unmanly Tears What vows to Jove's relentless Ears!

VVhen South-winds rattling o're th' Ionian Tide Shall beat thy Ship, and break her side Then if I see thee spread a dainty dish To hungry Fowl, and greedy Fish, A Goat and Lamb shall then my Vows perform, And both shall die to think the Storm.

EPODE XI. To PETTIUS. Love hinders him from Writing any more.

AH I have lost my old delight, Now Muse can now my fancy move, My Rhymes displease, I hate to write, Now I am very deep in Love:

Love that doth still my Heart surprize, And single me from constant game, From Boys and Maidens charming Eyes He thro my Marrow scatters Flame.

Three Stormy VVinters now have shook The leavy Honor from the Tree, Since I disdain'd Inachia's Yoke, And dar'd to set my passion free.

Oh what a Town-talk then was I, How Fopps did wanton, with my Fame, And (when I think on't how I die) All ridicul'd my foolish Flame!

Oh how it grates to mind the Feasts Where thoughtful silence seem'd to prove, And a deep sigh would tell the Guests That Poet Horace was in Love!

When Wine unlockt my easy Soul How often I with sighs have told The Poor Man's Wit could not controul The giving Rival's mighty Gold!

Yet, Faith, if vext my rage will rise, And when these hated Chains are broak, I'le leave these dull complaints, be wise, And scorn to take another Yoke.

Yet after this was stoutly said, And constant I resolv'd to hate; My heedless Feet my mind betray'd, And brought Me to the usual Gate:

That cruel Gate, and us'd to scorn, VVhere I have layn, and layn deny'd; VVhere I whole tedious Nights have born And craz'd my Health, and bruis'd my Side.

Lycestris now of greater Charms Than all that grace proud VVomankind, Doth gently force me to his Arms; VVith pleasing Bands he draws my Mind:

And now let my free Friends advise, Or let them blame; 'tis all in vain, Too feeble they to break the tyes VVhen Love and Beauty make the Chain.

Of freedom I must still despair, Unless some Maid or lovely Boy With killing looks, and Charming hair, Shall draw me to another joy.

EPODE XIII. He adviseth his Friends to pass their time merrily.

DArk Clouds have thickned all the Sky, And Jove descends in Rain; With frightful noise rough Storms do fly Thro Seas and Woods, and humble Plain.

My noble Friends the Day perswades, Come, come, let's use the Day; Whilst we are strong, e're Age invades, Let Mirth our coming years delay:

Put briskly round the noble Wine, And leave the rest to Fate, Jove, chance, will make the Evening shine, And bring it to a clearer State:

Now, now your fragrant Odors spread, Your merry Harps prepare; 'Tis time to cleanse my aking Head, And purge my drooping thoughts from Care.

Thus Chiron sang in lofty strain And taught Achilles Youth; Great Thetis Son, the pride of Man, Observe, I tell Thee fatal truth:

Thee, Thee for Troy the Gods design Where Simois streams do play, Scamander's thro the Vallies twine And softly eat their easy way:

And there thy thread of Life must end Drawn o're the Trojan Plain, In vain her Waves shall Thetis send To bear Thee back to Greece again:

Therefore, Great Son, my Precepts hear; Let Mirth, and Wine, and Sport, And merry Talk divert thy Care, And make Life pleasant since 'tis short.

EPODE XIV. To MECAENAS. Love hinders him from making the Iambicks which He had so often promis'd.

YOu ask, My Lord, why lazy sloth hath spread A dark oblivion o're my Head; As I had drank forgetful Lethe's Stream; And this is your continual Theme;

This the Complaint I am Condemn'd to hear, Like Death it pierces thro my Ear: A God forbids me, (ah! a cruel God Regardless, Sir, of what I vow'd) (To other things my easy Mind he drew) To finish what I promis'd you: Thus soft Anachrean for Bathyllus burn'd, And oft his Love he sadly mourn'd: He to his Harp did various grief reherse, And wept in an unpolisht Verse: E'en, Sir, you Love, but if no brighter Flame Burnt Troy, caress thy lovely Dame: By Phyrne, ah! thy Horace is undone, False, fair, and not content with one.

EPODE XV. To NEAERA. He complains of breach of Promise.

'TWas Mid-night, and the rising Moon Amongst the lesser Stars serenely shone, When you the false, the Perjur'd you Devoutly Swore you would be always true: Scarce half so close doth Ivy twine Round Oakes, as you did then your Arms in mine: As long as Wolves pursue the Sheep, As long as Winter Storms shall toss the deep: As long as wanton Gales shall move Apollo's Locks, so long shall be my Love.

Perjur'd Neaera false as Hell, Yet fair as Heaven, and ah belov'd too well, How shalt thou mourn at my disdain! For sure if Horace be but half a Man, He'l scorn to bear repeated slights, Nor tamely see his Rival's happy Nights; But with an equal Flame pursue A Face as fair, tho not so false as you: And know when I begin to hate, I'le ne're be kind, I am as fixt as Fate: And Thou, the Blest, who'ere thou art The fancy'd happy Master of her Heart; That dost thy Conquests proudly boast, And Triumph'st in the spoils that I have lost, Tho Thou art rich as Misers Dreams, And tho Pactolus brought Thee all his Streams, Tho Fam'd Pythagoras Arts be thine, Thy Face more fair than Nireus, half Divine; Yet thou shalt mourn to find that she Doth prove as false as once to Me, And then 'twill be my turn to laugh at Thee.

EPODE XVI. To the People of Rome. He adviseth them to leave the Town, which He thinks doom'd to Civil Wars.

NOw Civil VVars do wast another Age, And Rome must fall by her own rage; What neighbouring Marsi with an envious Hand, What threatning Porsen's Thuscan Band,

Fierce Spartaeus, and Capua's rival Fate, The force of all the German State; What in unsetled times the faithless Gaul, The Mother-hated Hannibal, Could not destroy, We, VVe, an impious Brood Devoted still, and doom'd to Blood, Shall ruin now by force of Civil VVars, And leave our Towns to VVolves and Bears: Ah me! the barbarous Horse with sounding Feet Shall tread our Graves, and beat our Street, And madly, scatter, Oh too proud! unjust! Rome's glorious Founder's quiet dust! Perhaps the most, or better part would know VVhat way to shun the falling blow, I like that way the Phoceans once have gone; They all forsook their cursed Town, And did their Lands, their Fields and Shrines restore To ravenous VVolf and angry Bore: Let's go, let's go, and seek a place to live Where Chance directs, or Wind shall drive: Agreed? or do's some better Course appear? Come let's imbark the Omen's fair: But first let's swear wee'l then return again When Rocks shall float upon the Main, When lowly Po shall pour his Crystal Urn O're Alpine Tops then VVe'l return; When Appennine runs out, and cuts the Floods, When nimble Dolphins graze in VVoods, VVhen wondrous Lust strange kinds shall strangely joyn, Fierce Tygers leap the willing Kine, The fearless Does shall court the Lyon's Love And cruel Hawks gallant the Dove:

VVhen Goats grown smooth shall leave the flowry Plain, And dive and wanton in the Main: To this, and such as cut off sweet return VVhen we have all devoutly sworn, Let's go Curst Town, but let the soft and base, Still stick to their unhappy place: You Men of worth unmanly grief give o're And nimbly pass the Thuscan Shore, The Ocean waits, and in smooth calmness smiles, Let's go and seek the happy Isles, VVhere Fields untill'd a Yearly Harvest bear And Vines undress'd bloom all the Year: VVhere Olives ne're the Farmers hopes do mock, And ripe figs grace their proper Stock: There Hony flows from Oaks, from lofty Hills, VVith murmuring pace the Fountain trills, There Goats uncall'd return from fruithful Vales And bring stretcht Duggs to fill the Pails: No Bear grinns round the Fold, No Lambs He shakes; No Field swells there with poysnous Snakes: More we shall wonder on the happy Plain; The VVatry East descends in Rain, Yet so as to refresh, not drown the Fields, The temperate Glebe full Harvest yields; No heat annoys, the Ruler of the Gods From Plagues secures these blest Abodes: Here Jason never fixt swift Argos Oars, Nor base Medea toucht these Shores; Ne're Cadmus came when forc't by angry Fates, Nor stout Ulysses weary Mates: No rot here Reigns, no Star here taints the Meads, And poysnous Heat unkindly sheds;

VVhen Jove allay'd the golden Age with Brass, For Pious men He kept this place: Now Iron hardens the old Brazen Age, And Fraud grows up, and Wars, and Rage, And every Ill, I press a quick retreat, And show the good, the happy seat.

EPODE XVII. To CANIDIA. He confesseth Her Magick Power, and begs pardon for abusing Her.

NOw, now thy Power I Conquer'd own, And humbly beg by Pluto's Throne, By Powers below, by Proserpine, by fierce Diana's angry shrine, By all those Charms that can remove; And call down Stars from Seats above, Recall thy stroak, thy Charms forbear, Spare me at last, Canidia, spare: Achilles Teleph nobly spar'd, Tho with his Mysian Bands He VVarr'd: Tho boldly He oppos'd His Fate, And buoy'd the sinking Trojan State: Stout Hector doom'd to Beasts a Prey The Trojan Matrons bore away VVhen Priam midst the Grecian Fleet Had fall'n at proud Achilles Feet: By Circe's leave Ulysses Men Receiv'd their former shapes agen;

Their Limbs, their Minds, and Voice restor'd, They spoke, not grunted to their Lord: Enough, enough hath vext my Soul, O Tar's and Tinker's lovely Trull! My Youth, my rosy Cheeks are gone, And left pale Skin stretcht o're the Bone: My Head grows white, it feels thy Bane, No Ease doth lay me down from Pain, Dayes urge the Nights, and Nights the Dayes, Yet my swoln Heart can find no Ease: Now I'me convinc't, 'tis now confest Thy force hath reacht my troubled Breast: Now I'me convinc't by wondrous Harms My Head is split with Magick Charms: My slow Belief I sadly Mourn; VVhat more? O Earth, O Floods, I burn! Not half the Heat Alcides bore VVhen fir'd by Nessus Poysnous Gore: Not half the Heat in Aetna Reigns, That scorches o're my boyling Veins: Yet still you heat till I'me calcin'd To Dust, and scatter'd by the Wind: What end of Pain? What hope for ease: Speak, Speak, I'le suffer what you please, I'me eager to avoid my Fate And satisfie at any rate; A Hundred Bulls shall pay their blood, Or Lying Verse proclaim Thee good; Chast, Modest, Just, thou shalt appear, And walk midst Stars a glorious Star: Great Castor vext at Helen's wrong With blindness pay'd the railing Song;

Yet Prayers prevail'd, He heard his Cries, And soon restor'd the Poets Eyes: And now forget my curst Offence, Restore (thou canst) my perish'd sence, O nobly Born and nobly Bred, Thou ne're hadst skill to raise the Dead, Unbind the Poor Mans quiet Urn Or make his shivering Soul return; Nor scatter Ashes o're a Tomb; As chast as fruitful is thy Womb, And e're thy Child-bed Cloaths are clean, Strange Breeder Thou art well agen.

CANIDIA's Answer.

I'Me deaf, I'me deaf, thou beg'st in vain; Rocks beaten by the raging Main, Not half so deaf will sooner hear The naked sinking Mariner: Could'st Thou Cotytto's Rites reprove, Disclose my Mysteries of Love, Could Censuring you my Tricks proclaim, And fill the Country with my Fame? At all my Arts prophanely laugh, Yet clare to fancy to be safe? In vain thou shalt, in vain inrich With precious Gifts the famous Witch; In vain strong Drugs and Charms require; Fate shall be slow to thy desire: Wretch, hated Life shall still remain That thou might'st bear new racks of Pain: False Tantalus doth beg for rest Deluded by the hanging Feast.

Condemn'd the griping Vultur's Prey Prometheus begs a dying Day: Poor Sisyphus would fix his Stone But Jove forbids it to be done. Now thou from Towers shalt madly fall, Now run thy Head against a Wall; And tir'd at last with squeamish pain Shalt tye the noose, but tye in vain: Then on thy neck I'le bravely ride, And make Thee bend beneath my Pride: Shall I that can when e're I please Wast men by waxen Images? Shall I that can, as thou hast known, (Curst prying Thou!) eclipse the Moon, Drawn down the Stars from Seats above And mix a furious Cup of Love, Shall powerful I now grieve to see My force too weak to baffle Thee?

The End of the Epodes.