The poems of Horace consisting of odes, satyres, and epistles / rendred in English verse by several persons.

ODES.

BOOK I.

ODE I. By Sir R. Fanshaw. To MECOENAS.

That several Men affect several Things: That himself is delighted with the Study of Lyrick Verses.

MECOENAS, Thuscan Kings descent, My Bulwark and sweet Ornament. There are that love their Charets spoak With rais'd Olympick dust should smoak: And with hot Wheels the Goale close shaven, And noble Palm, lifts Men to Heaven▪ One, if the fickle Peoples blast Redoubled Honours on him cast: Another that delights to teare With Plough the Fields his Fathers were: If in his private Barns He store Whatever fruitful Africk bore; The wealth of Croesus cannot gain With trembling Keele to plough the Main.

Frighted with rough Icarian Seas, The Merchant praises Home and Ease: But His bruis'd Vessel repairs straight, Impatient of a mean Estate. There is that neither scorns to taste Old Massique, nor half-days to waste Under a shady Poplar spread, Or at a Bubling Fountains Head. Some Drums and Trumpets love, and War; Which Mothers do as much abhorr. The Huntsman in the cold doth rome, Forgetting his poor Wife at home, Whether his Hounds a Stagg have rowz'd, Or Marsian Boar his Nets have towz'd. Mee Ivy (Meed of learned Heads) Ranks with the gods: Mee chill Groves, Treads Of Satyrs with loose Nymphs, have show'd A way out of the common Road; Whilest kind Euterpe wets my Flute, Whilest Polyhymnie strings my Lute; Then write Mee in the Lyrick Role, My lofty Head shall knock the Pole.

A Paraphrase upon the first Ode by S. W. Esq To MECOENAS.

MECOENAS, sprung from Royal blood, My greatest Patron, just and and good! There are, who in th' Olympick Games Raise the light dust, but more their names: When the Fleet Race, and noble prize, E're death, the Victor Deifies.

Some in applause, that empty aire, Place both their honour, and their care; While others with a different minde Would choose more solid wealth to finde, And rich in what the Earth dos yield, To the whole Sea preferrs one field; The Sea'l not tempt them, or its store, No not the World, to leave the shoare. The Merchant when he sees the Skyes Cover'd with storms, and Tempests rise, Thinks none so happy live or well, As those that on the Main-land dwell; He prayses what he slights at home: But when from a bad Voyage come, Above the Earth he loves the Main, And longs to be at Sea again. The Fuddlecap, whose God's the Vyne, Lacks not the Sun if he have Wine; By th' Sun he only finds a way To some cool Spring, to spend the day. Shrill Flutes and Trumpets Souldiers love, And scorn those fears that Women move. The Huntsman, in the open Plains Regardless of the Air remains; A Dear makes him forget his Wife▪ And a fierce Boar despise his life. But me the learned Lawrel give, The Gods themselves by Poets live. Give me a Grove, whose gloomy shade For Nymphs and frisking Fawns was made, Where from the Vu••gar hid, I'le be, The Muses waiting all on me; Here one my Harp and Lute shall string, Another there shall stand and sing.

This one thing great Mecoenas doe, Inroll me in the Lyhick Count, A Lyrick Poet, and I'l mount Above the skies, almost as high as you.

ODE II. By Sir R. F. To AUGUSTUS CAESAR.

That all the Gods are angry with the Romans for the killing of Julius Caesar: That the only hope of the Empire is placed in Augustus.

ENough of Hail and cruel Snow Hath Iove now showr'd on us below; Enough with Thundring Steeples down Frighted the Town. Frighted the World, lest Pyrrha's Raign Which of new monsters did complain, Should come again, when Proteus Flocks Did climbe the Rocks: And Fish in tops of Elm-Trees hung, Where Birds once built their Nests, and sung, And the all-covering Sea did bear The trembling Dear. We, Yellow Tyber did behold Back from the Tyrrhene Ocean rowl'd, Against the Fane of Vesta power, And Numa's Tower; Whilest the Uxorious River swears He'l be reveng'd for Ilia's Tears; And over both his Banks doth rove Unbid of Iove.

Our Children through our faults but few, Shall hear that we their Fathers slew Our Countrymen: Who might as well The Persians quell. What God shall we invoke to stay The falling Empire? with what Lay Shall holy Nuns tire Vesta's Pray'r-Resisting Ear? To whom will Iove the charge commend Of Purging us? at length descend Prophetick Phoebus, whose white Neck A Cloud doth deck. Or Venus in whose smiling Rayes Youth with a thousand Cupids playes: Or Mars, if thou at length canst pity Thy long plagu'd City. Alas, we long have sported thee, To whom 'tis sport bright Casks to see, And grim Aspects of Moorish Foot With Blood and Soot; Or winged Hermes, if 'tis you Whom in Augustus form we view, With this revenging th' other Flood Of Iulius Blood; Return to Heaven late we pray, And long with us the Romans stay: Nor let disdain of that Offence Snatch thee from hence. Love here Victorious Triumphs rather; Love here the Name of Prince and Father: Nor let the Medes unpunisht ride, Thou being our Guide.

A Paraphrase on the Second Ode by S. W. To AUGUSTUS.

Storms long enough at length have blown! Iove hayl, fire, has darted down, Has his own Temples overthrown, And threatned all the Town. Threatned the World, which now did fear Another Deluge to be near; When Proteus all his herds did drive Upon the hills to live. When highest trees with Fish were fill'd, Those trees where birds were wont to build; And staggs that could the wind out fly Must take the Sea, or dye. We Tiber saw, when seas withstood His streams, and checkt with Seas his flood, More heady, and unruly grown, Not wash, but bear all down; And swelling at his Ilias wrong No more his banks did glide along, But chose new Channels and a Sea, To be reveng'd would be. How our own swords those wounds did make Which might have made the Persian quake, These Civil Warrs, next age shall tell, And fear what us befell. When th' Empire thus begins to fall, On what God shall poor Romans call? In vain we hope our god will hear When Vesta stops her ear.

To whom will Iove Commission give To purge us, or our Plagues reprieve? Descend Apollo cloth'd with light, Thy beams must make us bright. Or else thou fairest Queen of Love, More needed here then thou'art above, About whose neck the Graces fly, And languish in thine eye. Or Mars, if he hath any pity For his despis'd and ruin'd City; Though Mars has been so long at Rome We need not wish he'd come. Or you bright Hermes, proud to be Augustus, more than Mercury, Since in that shape you choose to breath, And expiate Caesars death. Let it be long ere you return To heav'n, in love your Romans burn For their old crimes, desire your stay, Never to goe away. Do you their Lives and Warrs command, The Prince and Father of your Land, Nor let our Enemies 'ore us ride, While Caesar is our Guide.

ODE III. By Sir R. F.

He prayes a prosperous Voyage to Virgil, Embarqued for Athens: and takes occasion from thence to inveigh against the Boldness of Man.

SHip, that to us sweet Virgil ow'st (With thee intrusted) safe Convey him to the Attick Coast; And save my better half: So Helene's Brothers (Stellifi'd) And Venus guide thy Sails: And the Wind's Father, having tie'd All up, but Vernal Gales. Of Oak a Bosom had that man, And trebble-sheath'd with Brass, Who first the horrid Ocean With brittle Bark did pass; Nor fear'd the hollow Storms, that rore; The Hyades, that weep; Nor the South-wind, which Lords it ore The Adriatick Deep. What face of Death could him dismay, That saw the Monsters fell; And wracking Rocks, and swelling Sea, With Eyes that did not swell? In vain, the Providence of God The Earth and Sea did part, If yet the watry Pathes are trod By a forbidden Art. But Men (that will have all, or none) Still things forbid desire: Iapetus bold Son stole down The Elemental Fire:

Whence Leanness over-spread the World, And Feavers (a new Race) Which creeping Death on Mortals hurl'd; And bad him mend his pace. Daedale the empty Air did cut With wings not giv'n to men; And Hercules the Gates unshut Of Pluto's dismal Den. Nothing is hard to sinful Man: At Heav'n it self we fly; Nor suffer Iove (do what he can) To lay his Thunder by.

ODE IV. By Sir R. F. To L. SEXTIUS a Consular Man.

Proposeth the arrival of the Spring; and the common condition of Death, as Inducements to Pleasures.

SHarp winter's thaw'd with spring & western gales, And Ships drawn up the Engine hales: The Clown the Fire, the Beasts their Stalls forgo: The Fields have cast their Coats of Snow. Fair Venus now by Moon-shine leads a Dance, The Graces after comely prance. With them the Nymphs the Earth alternate beat, Whilest Vulcan at his Forge doth sweat. Now should we be with lasting Myrtle Crown'd, Or Flowers late Prisners in the Ground. Now should we sacrifice a Lambkins Blood To Faunus in a sacred Wood. Death knocks as boldly at the Rich mans dore As at the Cottage of the Poore,

Rich Sextius: and the shortness of our days Fits not with long and rugged ways. Swift night will intercept thee, and the Sprights, They chat so of in Winter Nights, And Pluto's haunted Inn. Thou canst not there Call for the Musick and good Cheer: Nor in soft Chloris gaze away thy sight, Her Sexes Envy, Our delight.

ODE V. By Sir R. F. To PYRRHA.

That those Men are miserable who are intangled in her Love: That he is escaped out of it as from Shipwrack by Swimming.

WHat Stripling now thee discomposes, In Woodbine Rooms, on Beds of Roses, For whom thy Auburn hair Is spread, unpainted fair? How will he one day curse thy Oaths, And Heav'n that witness'd your Betroaths! How will the poor Cuckold, That deems thee perfect Gold, Bearing no stamp but his, be maz'd To see a suddain Tempest rais'd! He dreams not of the Windes, And thinks all Gold that shines. For me my Votive Table showes That I have hung up my wet Clothes Upon the Temple Wall Of Seas great Admirall.

A Paraphrase on the fifth Ode, by Dr. C.

1.

TO whom now Pyrrha art thou kind? To what Heart-ravisht Lover Dost thou thy golden locks unbind, Thy hidden sweets discover, And with large bounty open set All the bright stores of thy rich Cabinet?

2.

Ah simple youth, how oft will he Of thy chang'd faith complain? And his own fortunes find to be So airy and so vain, Of so Camelion-like an hew, That still their colour changes with it too.

3.

How oft alas, will he admire The blackness of the skies? Trembling to hear the winds sound higher, And see the billows rise, Poor unexperienc'd he, Who ne're before alas had been at Sea!

4.

He enjoyes thy calmy Sun-shine now, And no treath stirring hears; In the clear heaven of thy brow, No smallest cloud appears; He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay, And trusts the faithless April of thy May.

5.

Unhappy! thrice unhappy he, T' whom thou untried dost shine,

But there's no danger now for me, Since or'e Lorettoes shrine, In witness of the shipwrack past, My consecrated vessel hangs at last.

ODE VI. By C. C. Esq To AGRIPPA.

Argument.

Though Varius in Heroick stile Agrippa's Martial Acts compile; Yet Horace his low-pitched Muse More humble Subjects best pursues.

VArius in living Annals may To the admiring Universe Voice out in high Maeonian Verse Thy courage and thy conquests won, And what thy Troops by Land and Sea, Have through thy noble conduct done, Our Muse Agrippa that does fly An humbler pitch, attempts not these, T'express Pelides rage; nor fly Ulysses tedious Voyages: Nor dips her Plume in those red Tydes Flow from the bloody Parricides Of Pelops cruel Family: We nothing to such heights pretend, Since Modesty, And our weak Muse, who does aspire No further than the jolly Lyre, Forbids that we Should in our vain attempts offend

And darken with our humble Layes Thine, and great Caesars God-like praise. Who to his worth can Mars display When clad in Arms, whose dreadfull ray, Puts out the day? Or brave Meriones set forth, When soyl'd in Trojan dust, or raise Fit Trophies to Tydides worth Who to th'immortal gods was made A rival by Minerva's aid? We sing of Feasting, and Delights, Stout drinking, and the harmless fights Of hot young Men, and blushing Maids, Who when the Foe invades Make a faint show To guard what they'r content should goe. These are the subjects of our Song In nights that else would seem too long, Did we not wisely prove

ODE VII. By Sir T. H. To MUNATIUS PLANCUS.

Some praise one City, some another, but Horace preferreth Tibur before all, where Plancus was born, whom he exhorteth to wash Care away with Wine.

SOme Rhodes, some Myt'l••ne, Ephesus doth please, Or walls of Corinth, with its two-fold Seas: Some Thebes, some Delian Delphos worth defend, Other Thessalian Tempe's air commend.

There are, who make their sole, and fix'd design, To mention Pallas City in each line, And rather strive her Olive branch to grace, Than any pull'd off from another place: Yea some to honour Iuno, loud proclaim Horse-racing Argos, and Mycenas fame. Me, not the patient Sparta's pompous sights, Nor fat Larissa field so much delights, As do Albunea's Eccho-giving Groves, And Anien's headlong stream that by it roves; Or than Tiburnus woods, and Orchard-grounds, Moystned with gliding brook which it arrounds. As the South wind, the Heav'ns from dark Clouds scowrs And doth not generate perpetual showers; So (Plancus) with good Wine, be it thy strife, To wash down sadness, and the toyls of life: Whether thou to thy glittering Tents art ty'd, Or dost in Tibur's shady Bowers abide. When Teucer fled, Father, and Salamine, He, (it is said) his Temples dew'd with wine, And browes encircled with a Poplar wreath, Did 'mongst his pensive friends these accents breath: What way Fortune (more kind than Syres) shal show, We, Friends, and dear Companions, will go. Teucer, your Guide, Teucer Encourager, Despair not any thing, admit no fear: For we shall raise a second Salamine, (Sayes wise Apollo) in another Clime: Brave Spirits, who with me have suffer'd sorrow, Drink cares away; wee'l set up fails to morrow.

ODE VIII. By Sir R. F. To LYDIA.

He notes obscurely a certain Young Man, whom he calls Sybaris, as undone with Love, and melted with Pleasures.

LIdia, in Heavens Name Why melts young Sybaris in thy Flame? Why doth he bed-rid lie That can indure th' intemperate Skie? Why rides he not and twits The French great Horse with wringled bits? Why shuns he Tybur's Flood, And wrastlers Oyl like Vipers Blood? Nor hath his Flesh made soft With bruising Arms; having so oft Been prais'd for shooting farre And clean delivered of the Barre? For shame, why lies he hid As at Troy's siege Achilles did, For fear lest Mans Array Should him to Manly Deeds betray?

ODE IX. By Sir R. F. To THALIARCHUS.

That being Winter, it is time for Men to give them∣selves to Pleasure.

THou seest the Hills candied with Snow Which groaning Woods scarce undergo, And a stiff Ice those Veins Congeals which Branch the Plains. Dissolve the Frost with Logs pil'd up To th' Mantle-Tree; let the great Cup Out of a larger Sluice Pour the reviving Juice. Trust Iove with other things; when he The fighting Winds takes up at Sea, Nor speared Cypress shakes, Nor aged Elm-Tree quakes. Upon to Morrow reckon not, Then if it comes 'tis clearly got: Nor being young despise Or Dancings, or Loves Joyes. Till testy Age gray Hairs shall snow Upon thy Head, lose Mask, nor Show: Soft whispers now delight At a set hour by Night: And Maids that gigle to discover Where they are hidden to a Lover; And Bracelets or some toy Snatcht from the willing Coy.

ODE X. To MERCURY.

Argument.

The Character of Mercury, His Eloquence, and Progeny: And various other Ornaments, Our Poet in this Ode presents.

Mercuri facunde. SWeet-tongu'd Cyllenius, son of May, Who man's first rudeness didst allay With Eloquence, and graceful parts Of wrastling Arts; I'le sing of thee, Heav'ns Messenger By whom crookt Lyres invented were: Crafty to hide what ere's bereft By sportsome theft. While thee (O youth) his threats affray, Except thou his stoll'n Beefs repay: With no shaft-bearing Quiver fraught, Apollo laught. Rich Priam too deserting Troy, Th' proud Atreids scap'd with thy Convoy, Thessalian watches, and each tent 'Gainst Trojans bent. Thou in bless'd Mansions Ghosts imbowers, And thy Caducean Rod 'ore-powers Th' exiler Tribe; whom Gods above, And lower love.

ODE XI. By Sir T. H. To LEUCONOE.

He exhorteth Leuconoe, that care omitted, she seek please her self, taking argument from the shortness life, and speed of death.

STrive not (Leuconoe) to know what end The Gods above to thee or me will send: Nor with Astrologers consult at all, That thou may'st better know what can befall. Whether, thou liv'st more winters, or thy last Be this, which Tyrrhen waves 'gainst rocks do cast; Be wise, drink free, and in so short a space, Do not protracted hopes of life embrace. Whilest we are talking, envious Time doth slide: This day's thine own, the next may be deny'd.

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by S. W. To LEUCONOE.

NEre strive Leuconoe, ne're strive to know What Fates decreed for thee and mee, nor goe To an Astrologer; 'tis half the cure, When Ill, to think it will not long endure: Whether Iove will another Winter give, Or whether 'tis your last that now you live; Be wise, and since you have not long to stay, Fool not with tedious hopes your life away. Time, while we speak on't flyes; now banish sorrow, Live well to day, and never trust to morrow.

ODE XII. By Sir T. H. To AUGUSTUS.

The Gods, Demy-Gods, and some worthy men honoured, he descendeth into the divine praises of Augustus.

WHat man, or Hero (Clio) wilt thou praise With shrillest Pipe, or Lyra's softer layes? What God? whose name in sportive strain, Eccho will chaunt thee back again?

Either in shady Heliconian Bowers, High Pindus, or cold craggy Hemus Towers, Whence leavy Groves by heaps confus'd, To wait on tuneful Orpheus us'd;

Orpheus well skil'd from mothers artful lay, Swift rivers glide, and speedy winds to stay, And with his harps melodious song Attentive Okes to draw along.

What shall I sing before the constant praise Of Father Iove, who Gods, and Mortals swayes? Yea, Land, Sea, World extended wide With various seasons doth divide?

••rom whom there nothing springs, greater than he: Like nothing lives, nor can a second be: Yet shall next honours Pallas grace, Though seated in a lower place.

Nor will I, warlike Bacchus, let thee goe, Nor Dian, savage beasts eternal foe: Phoebus shall likewise have a part, Dreadful with unavoided dart.

With Hercules I Leda's sons must name, Horse-service this, Foot-fight gives th'other Fame: Whose brighter starre, when first in skie, The wakeful Saylor doth descrie,

Down from the rocks impetuous waters flow; The winds surcease, the clouds dispelled goe: And threatning waves (so the Twins will) Upon the Oceans brow are still.

These mention'd first, shall Romulus obtain The next record, or Numa's peaceful raign? Shall I the power of Tarquins state, Or Cato's manly death relate?

Stout Regulus, the Scauri, Paulus, free Of his great soul in Canna's victory; Or shall my grateful tongue rehearse Fabricius, in resplendent verse?

Who with the valiant Curius, rough in guise And hair uncomb'd, did with Camillus rise To high advancement, homely bred In their poor Grand-Sires lands, and Shed.

Marcellus Fame is like a spreading Tree, Which groweth still, although insensibly: Each eye the Iulian Starre admires, As Cynthia 'mongst the lesser fires▪

Great Father, and Protector of Man-kind From Saturn sprung, to thee the Fates assign'd The care of mighty Caesar; Reign, And Caesar second place obtain.

He whether in full triumph lead along The vanquish'd Parthians, who neer Latium throng. Or Seres, and swart Indians tame, That East-ward tremble at his name:

He less, but, Just, the spacious world shall guide; Heav'n-shaking, thou in thund'ring Chariot ride, And thy offended lightning cast On Groves, which harbour the unchaste.

ODE XIII. By Sir R. F. To LYDIA.

He complains that Telephus is preferr'd before him.

THe Arms that Wax-like bend, And every henge when you commend, On which the Head doth turn Of Telephus, ah, how I burn! Madness my mind doth rap, My Colour goes; and the warm sap Wheesing through either Eye, Showes with what lingring Flames I frie. I frie; when thy white hue Is in a Tavern brawl dy'd blew, Or when the sharp-set Youth Thy melting Kiss grinds with his Tooth.

Believe't, his love's not sound That can such healing kisses wound; Kisses which Venus hath Made supple in a Nectar bath. O their felicitie Whom a firm cord of love doth tie, Unbroke with wicked strife, And twisted with their threds of Life!

OED XIV. By Sir T. H. To the Commonwealth preparing afresh for Civil-war.

O Ship, what do'st? fresh storms again Will drive thee back into the Main; Bravely recover Port, and shore. See'st not th'art destitute of Oar? Swift South-west windes invade thy mast, Thy sail-yard cracks with every blast? And cables scarce thy keel assure, Those surly billows to endure? Thy sails are torn, and thou a thrall, No gods haste to invoke at all. Though Pontique Pine (woods noble race) Thou boast thy barren name and place; The fearful Sailer (dangers tride) Doth not to painted ships confide: Take heed unless thou hast a minde To be a sport unto the winde. (Oh my desire and greatest care, Earst horrour to my heart) Beware, And flie in time chose shelfie Seas, Which run betwixt bright Cyclades.

ODE XV. By Sir T. H. The Prophecy of Nereus concerning the destruction of Troy.

WHen in Idaean ships the trecherous swain, With Hellen his Greek mistress crost the main, Nereus, that ••ll events he might presage, Becalm'd with lazy rest the swift windes rage. Thou her tak'st home with thee in an ill hower, Whom Greece shall fetch again with armed power, Conspiring to dissolve thy married state, And Priam's antient Kingdome ruinate. Alas! what toil for horse, for men what pain, What direful funerals of Trojans slain. See, Pallas, helm and target doth provide, And will on her incensed Chariot ride. In vain grown insolent with Venus grace, Shalt thou thine hair dishevel, sleeke thy face: In vain shalt thou, on harps effeminate string, Soft tuned notes t' attentive women sing: In vain, thou in thy chamber shalt decline Sharp spears, and head of Cnossian javeline, Loud noise, and Ajax, nimble to pursue, Yet dust at last shall soil thy beauties hue. Do'st thou not Nestor, nor Ulysses mind, VVho for thy countries ruine art design'd? On the undaunted Salaminius flies; Thee Sthenelus provokes, who bears the prize Of armes, or horse to mannage with command 'Gainst thee likewise shall Meriones stand: Fell Diomedes stronger than his fire, For thee, with desp'rate fury shall enquire:

Whom as an hart that doth neglect his food, Spying far off the wolf thirsty of blood, Thou faintly shalt, and almost breathless flie, Breaking thy vow to Hellen cowardly. Achilles wrathful Fleet the hour shall slack Of Phrygi••n matrons fall, and Ilium's wrack; But Grecian fire in time determinate, Shall Trojan buildings burn, and dissipate.

ODE XVI. By Sir T. H. To a Friend.

He recants: For he asketh pardon of a Maid, whom had wounded with Iambicks, transferring the fault up anger, the un••rid ed force whereof he describeth.

DAughter, than thy fair mother much more fair, On my Iambicks fraught with spiteful air, Do thou prescribe what doom thy self shalt please, Either of flames, or Adriatique seas. Not Dindymenian, nor the Pythian Priest, Are with such fury by their Gods possest; Not Bacchus, nor the Corybantes so, VVhen on shrill brass they iterate their blow, As baneful anger, which not Norique armes, Nor the ship••wracking stormy Ocean charmes: Not furious fire, nor Iove himself on high, VVhen be with dreadful thunder rends the skie. 'Tis said, Pr••me••heus, resolv'd to make M••n out of clay, did several parcels take Dissected cunningly from every beast, And put fierce lions wrath into our breast.

Anger Thyestes into ruine cast, And unto cities ever was the last Cause, why they fell, and that proud foes were seen VVith hostile share to plough where walls had bee. Bridle thy self. Me likewise heat of blood Enrag'd in youth, and with distemper'd mood Into Iambicks hurri'd: Now I seek To change my rougher language into meek; So wrongs recanted, thou more friendly be, And love reciprocal return to me.

ODE XVII. To TYNDARIS.

Argument.

The Lyric Tyndaris invites Vnto Lucretile. Recites What profits and delights abound, And in what Climate may be found.

Velox amaenum. FRom mount Lyaeus, to sweet Lucretile, Swift-footed Pan is flitting ev'ry while, And is still my Goats defence From storms, and Sols hot influence. Dams from their noisom leaders stray'd away, O're all the woods securely forrage may, Seeking Thyme and VVildings there; Nor do the Kids infolded fear Green-speckled-snakes, nor wolfs to Mars assign'd. VVhere e'r vales (Tyndaris) and the steep inclin'd

Mount Ustica's fleek Rocks bound, Again the Pipes harmonious sound. Me, Gods protect, and in my pietie, And Lyric-Muse, they much delighted be: Rural wealth here plenty grows, And with a bounteous horn o'r-flows. Here in Maeandrian-vale may'st thou decline The Dog-stars heat; and chaunt in Teyan line Penelope, and Circe clear, VVho both for one man anxious were. Here may'st thou prostrate in a shadie bower▪ Bolls of unnauseous Lesbian-wine devour: Nor shall Bacchus juice excite Thee to outragious brawls and fight. Nor shalt thou 'f jealous Cyrus fearful stand, Lest he o'r-lay thee with lascivious hand, Rending chaplets from thy crown, And undeserv'dly tear thy gow••▪

ODE XVIII. By Sir R. F. To QUINTILIUS VARUS.

That with moderate drinking of wine, the minde is exhile∣rated: with immoderate, quarrels begotten.

OF all the trees, plant me the sacred Vine In Tybur's mellow fields, and let it climbe Cathyllus walls: for Iove doth cares propound To sober heads, which in full cups are drown'd. Of want, or war, who cries out after wine? Thee father Bacchus, thee fair Erycine,

Who doth not sing? but through intemp'rate use, Least* 1.1 Liber's gifts you turn into abuse, Think of the Centaures braul, fought in their Cans, With Lapithes: and to Sithonians Heavy Evous, when their heated blood Makes little difference betwixt what's good, And what is not. No, gentle Bassareu, I will not force thee; nor betray to view Thy vine-clad parts: suppress thy Thracian hollow, And dismal dynn: which blind self-love doth follow, And Glory-puffing heads with empty worth, And a Glass-bosome pouring secrets forth.

ODE. XIX. Of GLYCERA.

Argument.

How beauteous Glycera infires His heart with amorous desires.

Mater saeva. TYrannic Venus chargeth me, And Bacchus th' heir of Theban Semele, And wanton leisure bids me too, Extinguisht flames of Cupid to renew. Fair Glycer a inflames me sore, Than any Parian Marble glitt'ring more: Her pleasing coyness, and her face Is over-ru••nating for a gaze. The Q••een of love her Isle forsook, Falling sore on me, nor will Scythians brook,

Nor stout back-darting Parthians For my Pens theam, nor unconcerning strains. Here (servants) green turf-altars rear, Vervains, and sacred Frankincense place here. A Boll of two-years wine, to these A victime slain, she will her ire appease.

ODE XX. To MAECENAS.

Argument.

He prays Maecenas for a guest Unto a plain and homely feast.

Vile potabis. THou'st bouze cheap Sabine in small cup, Which in Greek Butt my self daub'd up: When Theaters with Ovations high Rang in the skie. Thy fames (thou of Equestrian rank Maecenas) that thy Tiber's bank, And the eccho toss'd thy praise again From th' Vaticane: Caecubian, and Calenian wines, Shall be thy drink. No Falern vines, Nor Grapes which crown the Formian knolls, Flow in my bolls.

ODE XXI. By Sir T. H. Of Diana and Apollo.

He exhorteth youths and virgins to sing forth their praises.

YOu tender virgins, sound Diana's name, (Boyes) be your song youthful Apollo's fame, Latona likewise touch, By Iove affected much.

(Maids) mention her, who loved rivers so, And woods which on cold Algidus do grow, On Erymant are spread; Or Cragus verdant head.

(Boyes) with your notes delightful Tempe grace, And Delos chaunt, Apollo's native place; His shoulders, quiver-dight, And harp of heavenly might.

He, with our prayers mov'd, shall banish far, Sharp hunger, pestilence, and direful war From Prince and people, to Persian, and British foe.

ODE XXII. By Sir T. H. To ARISTIUS.

Integrity of life is every where safe, which he proveth his own example.

WHo lives upright, and pure of heart (O Fuscus) neither needs the dart, Nor bow, nor quiver, fraught with store Of shafts envenom'd by the Moor:

Whether o're Libya's parched sands, Or Caucasus that houseless stands, He takes his journey; or those places Through which the fam'd Hydaspes traces▪

For (careless) through the Sabin grove, Whilest chaunting Lalage, I rove, Not well observing limits due, A wolf (from me unarmed) flew.

A monster such as all exceeds, Which in huge words fierce Daunia feeds: Or those that Iuba's kingdome hath, The Desart-nurse of lions wrath.

Place me in coldest Champanies, where No Summer warmth the trees do cheer: Let me in that dull Climate rest, Which clouds and sullen Iove infest:

Yea place me underneath the Carre Of too near Phoebus: feared farre From dwellings: Lalage Ile love, Whose smiles, whose words so sweetly move.

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, By S. W. To FUSCUS ARISTIUS.

THe just man needs nor Sword nor Bow, Those armes his fear, not safety show, Who better has for his defence Strong guards of innocence.

For if along rough shoars he coast, Tempests and Seas on him are lost. Or if he Caucasus pass by, Tygers their rage deny.

A wolf that croft me in my grove, As I walkt musing on my love Beyond my bounds, and no armes had, Was of my love afraid.

Away he fled, though Dauma yields No greater monster in her fields: Though Africa which Lions breeds, None half so cruel feeds.

Put me where never Summer breeze Kist the dull earth, or lifeless trees, In that skirt of the world, where show'rs Do number out the hours,

Or place me in the Torrid Zone, Where never house or man was known, If there my Lalage but smile And sing, Ile love the while.

ODE XXIII. To CHLOE.

Argument.

CHloe adult: no cause now why She should from mens embracements fly.

Vitas hinnuloe. Chloe, thou shunn'st me like a wanton Fawn Of tim'rous Dam forsook in pathless lawn; Dreading with minde agast Ev'ry bush, and every blast. For as when Zephyrus trembling leaves doth shake, Or green-speckt Newts make bramble bushes quake, So tremulous is she, Dith'ring both in heart and knee: But I not to devour thee now pursue, As Afric Lions, and wild Tygers do. O leave thy Mother pray, Now grown ripe for Venus play.

ODE XXIV. By Sir T. H. To VIRGIL.

Who immoderately bewailed the death of Quintilius.

MElpomene, whom Iove our Father daignes Shril voice apply'd to harps melodious strains, Tell in sad notes how far the bounds extend Of love, and shame unto so dear a friend; Shall then in endless sleep Quintilius lie? As equal unto whom, pure Modesty, And Justice' sister, Faith sincere and plain▪ Nor naked Verity shall ever gain? Of many worthy men bemoan'd he fell, But (Virgil) no mans grief can thine excell. Thou (loving) dost (alas) the gods in vain Quintilius, not so lent thee, ask again. WHat if more sweet, than Thracian Orpheus wire, You trees perswade to hearken to your lyre? Yet can you not, return of life command To shadow vain, which once with dreadful wand, God Mercury, unwilling Fate t' unlock, Hath forc'd to dwell among the Stygian flock. 'Tis hard, I grant; But patience makes that light, Which to correct, or change, exceeds our might.

The same by Sir R. F. To VIRGIL.

Who lamented immoderately the death of Quintilian.

What shame, or stint in mourning ore So dear a Head? Weep not but rore Melpomene, to whom thy Sire Gave a shrill voice, and twanging lyre. B••t does Quintilian sleep his last? Whose Fellow, Modesty, and fast Faith, with her Sister Justice joyn'd And naked truth, when will they find? Bewa••l'd by all good men, he's gone: But then Thee Virgil, more by none. Thou begst back (ah! pious in vain) Thee, not so lent, Quintilian. If sweeter then the Thracian Bard, Thou could'st strike tunes by dull Trees heard, The blood would never more be made To flow into the empty shade, Which Hermes with his horrid wand (Inflexible to countermand Th' unevitable doom of Death) Once drove to the black Flock beneath. 'Tis hard: But Patience makes that less, Which all the World cannot redress.

ODE XXV. To LYDIA.

Argument.

He Lydia sc••ffs for Aged look, And cause her Suiters her forsook.

Parcius junctas. NOw froward youths rap not so sore At thy shut casements as before, To break thy sleep; thy gates love much Their thresholds tou••h, Which wont so 'ft on glib hinges run: Thou'rt less and less now call'd upon▪ Ho Lydia! sleep'st all night while I Thy lover die? Thou, an ag'd Quean, again shalt moan Thy scornful Paramours, all alone, In narrow lanes: while North-winds range 'Bout Phoebe's change: When fragrant love, and lustful flames, Such as infuriates Horses dams, Thy ulcer'd breast with rage impales, Not without wails: Cause youth likes verdant Ivy more, Than Myrtle almost sabled o'r: And gives to Heber's Wintry tide Boughs wither-dry'd.

ODE XXVI. By Sir T. H. To his Muse concerning Aelius Lamia.

It is not fit for the lovers of the Muses to be subject to ca•••• and sadness. The Poet commendeth his Lamia to the Pimplean Muse.

I, Who the Muses love, sadness, and fear Will to rought winds commit, that they may bear Them to the Cretique sea, careless, who swayes, And whom the far-North dweller most obeys: Or what doth great Tirridates affright. O my Pimplean Muse (my hearts delight;) O thou who near pure Fountains ••ittest down, Wreath o'drous flowers for Lamia, wreath a crown. Little without thee worketh my applause: 'Tis now become thine, and thy Sister's cause Him, with unused strains to celebrate, And with thy Lesbian lyre to consecrate.

ODE XXVII. By Sir R. F. To his Companions.

To his Companions feasting together, that they should 〈◊〉〈◊〉 quarrel in their drink, and fight with the Cups them••selves, after the manner of the Barbarians.

WIth Goblets made for Mirth, to fight, 'Tis barbarous: leave that Thracian rite, Nor mix the bashful blushing God Of Wine, with quarrels and with blood.

A Cand-stick, and Quart-pot, how far, They differ from the Cymitar? Your wicked noise Companions cease, And on your Elbows lean in peace. Would you have me to share th' austere Falernian liquor: Let me hear Megella's brother, by what eyes, Of what blest wound and shaft he dies. No! then will I not drink: whatever Venus tames thee, she toasts thy Liver With fires thou hast no cause to cover, Still sinning an ingenuous lover. Come, thou may'st lay it whatsoere It is, securely in my Ear. Ah wretch! in what a Whirl-pool tane? Boy worthy of a better flame, What Witch with her Thessalian Rod Can loose thee from those charmes? What God? Scarce Pegasus himself can thee From this three-shap'd Chimera free.

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by Dr. P▪

VVHat? Quarrel in your drink, my friends? ye'abuse Glasses, and Wine, made for a better use. 'Tis a Dutch trick; Fie, let your brawling cease, And from your Wine and Olives learn both mirth and peace. Your swords drawn in a Tavern, whilest the hand That holds them shakes, and he that fights cann't stand,

Sheath 'um for shame, embrace, kiss, so away, Sit down, and ply the business of the day. But I'le not drink, unless T. S. declares Who is his Mistress, and whose wounds he wears. Whence comes the glance, from what sweet-killing-Eye, That sinks his Hope so low, and mounts his Muse so high! Wilt thou not tell? Drawer, what's to pay? If you're reserv'd I'le neither drink nor stay: Or let me go, or out w'it; she must be Worth naming, sure; whose Fate it was to conquer thee: Speak softly,—She! forbid it Heaven above! Unhappy youth! unhappy in thy love; Oh how I pity thy Eternal pain! Thou never can'st get loose, thou never canst ob∣tain; Lets talk no more of love, my friends, lets drink a∣gain.

ODE XXVIII. By Sir T. H.

Architas, a Philosopher, and Geometrician, is presented, an∣swering to a certain Mariner, that all wen must die, and intreating him, that he would not suffer his body to lie on the shore unburied.

THe poor gift of a little dust, confines, And neer unto the Matine shore enshrines Thee, now (Architas) who could'st measure well The Sea, the Earth, and Sands, which none can tell.

Nor could it any help, or profit be, Death being ready still to seize on thee; Those airy mansions to have sought from hence, And oft survey'd the Heavens circumference. The fire of Pelops, who with gods did feast, And aged Tython, shrunk at Deaths arrest: And Minos, to Ioves counsels call'd, was slain, And Panthois di'de, sent down to Hell again; Though by the shield pull'd down, he proving well That his First-birth in Trojane ages fell, Affirm'd, that Death nought kill'd, but nerves & skin: (No man in Natures power was better seen:) But we into one self-same night do fall, And must the paths of Death tread once for all. The Furies some to games of Mars apply, The greedy sailer drench'd in sails doth lie. In death both young and old, by heaps do joyn; Nor any head escapes sad Proserpine. Me, the South-wind, crooked Orion's Mate O're-whelmed in Illyrian waves of late: But (gentle Friend) be pleas'd now I am dead, In loose sands to interre my bones, and head. Which done (so thou be safe) may th' Eastern-wind, Which stirs Hesperian billows, be assign'd To bluster lowdly in Venusium woods: And may on ev'ry side, thy traffiqu'd goods In plenty flow to thee from Ioves just hand, And Neptune, who Tarentum doth command: But if this fault of thine shall seem but slight, (Which may upon thy harmless issue light) I wish due punishment and proud neglect, May on thy funeral Obsequies reflect: Nor shall my prayers be poured forth in vain, Nor vows have strength to set thee free again.

Yet if thou haste, no longer stay I crave, But thrice to throw the dust upon my Grave.

ODE XXIX. by Sir T. H. To ICCIUS.

It is a strange thing, that Iccius the Philosopher intermit∣ting his Studies, should become a man at Armes, out of the love of money.

ICcius, thou now the Arabs dost envy Their golden treasure, and to warrs dost hie, 'Gainst the Sabean Kings unvanquished, And nets prepar'st to snare the horrid Mede. What Captive Damsel her beloved slain Shall serve thee now? What youth of noble strain Shall now annointed, on thy Cup attend, Prompt, from his fathers Bow swift-shafts to send? Who can deny but falling Rivers may Run up steep hills, and Tyber backward stray: When thou Panetius books on all sides sought, And house of Socrates, where arts were taught, Do'st into Steely Spanish armes translate, With promise to thy self of better state.

ODE XXX. To VENUS.

Argument.

He implores Venus to refrain Her Cyprus, and her presence daign At Glyc'ras consecrated Fane.

O Venus regina. O Venus, Cnide's and Paphos Queen, At Cyprus be less gracious seen: To Glyc'ras beauteous Temple go, Where odours flow. Take with thee Cupid, ungirt graces, The agile Nymphs with their swift paces, Iuventas sullen without thee, And Mercurie.

ODE XXXI. By Sir R. F. To APOLLO.

He askes not riches of Apollo, but that he may have a sound mind in a sound body.

WHat does the Poet Phoebus pray, In his new Fane? what does he say, Pouring sweet liquor from the cup? Not give me fat Sardinia's crop.

Not hot Calabria's goodly Kye: Not Gold, and Indian Ivory: Not Fields which quiet Liris laves, And eats into with silent waves. Proyne, They that have them, Massick Vines: In Golden Goblets carowse Wines, The wealthy Merchant, which he bought With Merchandise from Syria brought, The Minion of the Gods: as he That in one year the Altantick Sea Three or four times, unpunish'd past. Mine Olives, Endive my Repast, And Mallows light. Latona's Son, In Minde and Bodies health my own T' enjoy; old Age from dotage free, And solac'd with the Lute, give me.

The same by Sir T. H.

WHat doth thy Poet ask (Phoebus divine;) What craves he, when he pours the bowles of wine? Not the rich corn of fat Sardinia, Nor fruitful Flocks of burnt Calabria, Nor gold, nor Indian ivorie; nor the grounds, Which silent Lyris with soft stream arrounds. Let those whom Fortune so much store assigns, Prune with Calenian hook their fertile vines: Let the rich Merchant to the Gods so dear, (For so I term him right, who every year, Three, or four times, visits the Atlantique seas From shipwrack free:) Let him his palate please; And in guilt bowls drink wines of highest price, Bought with the sale of Syrian Merchandice.

Loose Mallows, Succorie, and Olive-plant Serve me for food. O (great Apollo) grant To me in health, and free from life's annoy, Things native, and soon gotten to enjoy; And with a mind compos'd old Age attain, Not loathsome, nor depriv'd of Lyrick strain.

ODE XXXII. To his Lyre.

Argument.

He bids his Lyre still ready be To chear him up with Melody.

Poscimus si quid.

WE beg, if we supinely lane, In shrouds with thee play'd ere a strain Worth Fame's Record, ô Lyre display In Latine Lay:

On which A••caeus first resounded, Who (though with Mars fierce broyls surrounded, Or that his shatter'd sail he ty'd To th' Ocean side.)

Of Liber, Muses, Venus sung, And th' youth that alwayes to her clung, And Lycus for black eyes and hair, Of presence rare.

O Lyre, Apollo't ornament, Yielding Ioves banquets blest content, My toils sweet solace, hail while I Unto thee cry.

ODE XXXIII. To ALBIUS TIBULLUS.

Argument.

He Albius wills not lay't to heart, Though undeservedly on his part, Curst Glycera respecteth more His Rival, and Competitour.

Albi, ne doleas. ALbius, not too excessively condole Harsh Glycera's unkindness: neither howl Out mournful Elegies, though thy junior be Perfidiously preferr'd to thee. Lycoris, fam'd for narrow fore-head, burns For Cyrus love; and Cyrus, loe he turns Unto coy Pholoe: But e'r Pholoe erre With that all-base Adulterer, Goats with Apulian wolfs shall copulate: So Venus, and dire Cupid please, who mate Unequal forms, and diff'rent mindes together Within a Brasen yoke and Tether.

But when a fairer Mistress courted me, Myrtle me held in sweet captivity, A Libertine, more fierce than Adrian Seas, Which crooktly 'bout Calabria preaze.

ODE XXXIV. By Sir R. F. To himself.

Repenting that having followed the Epicureans, he had been little studious i•• worshipping the Gods.

I' That have seldome worshipt Heaven, As to a mad Sect too much giv'n, My former wayes am forced to balk, And after the old light to walk. For Cloud-dividing, lightning-Iove, Through a clear Firmament late drove His thrundring Horses, and swift wheels: With which supporting Atlas reels: With which Earth, Seas, the Stygian Lake, And Hell, with all her Furies quake. It shook me too. God pulls the Proud From his high Seat, and from their Cloud Draws the obscure: Levels the hills, Aud with their Earth the vallies fills: 'Tis all he does, he does it all: Yet this, blind Mortals Fortune call.

ODE XXXV. By Sir. T. H. To Fortune.

He beseecheth her, that she would preserve Caesar going in∣to Britany.

O Goddess, which beloved Antium swayes, Still ready with thy powerful Arm to raise Men, from the low degree of wretched thrals, Or turn proud Triumphs into Funerals; The poor and rustick Clown with humble plea Solicites thee: The Lady of the Sea He loudly invocates, who ere doth sweep In Asian vessel the Carpathian Deep. The Dacian rough, the wandring Scythian, Kingdomes and Cities; the fierce Latian: Thee Mothers of Barbarian Kings do fear, And Tyrants, which bright Purple garments wear. Let not a standing Pillar be o'rethrown By thy offended foot: Nor be it known, That troops of Warlike people now at rest; Take Armes again, and Empire's peace infest. Still, sharp Necessitie before thee goes, Holden in Brazen hand, (as pledge of woes) Tormenting beams, and wracks: and more to daunt, Sharphooks, and molten lead do never want. Thee, Hope, and simple Faith in white attire, Much honour, and thy company desire; How e're thou do'st another habit take, And made a Foe to Great Men, them forsake. But the false Multitude, and perjur'd Whore Retireth back: yea friends, when vessel's store

Is to the dregs drunk up, away do flie, Shunning the yoke of mutual povertie; Preserve thou Caesar safe, we thee implore, Bound to the worlds remotest Brittan shore, And those new Troops of youth, whose dreadful sight, The East and ruddie Ocean doth affright. Fie on our broyles, vile Acts, and Brothers fall. Bad Age! what mischief do we shun at all? What youth, his hand for fear of Gods contains? Or who from sacred Altar's spoil refrains? Ah! rather let's dull swords new forge, and whet Against th' Arabian and the Massaget.

ODE XXXVI. To POMPONIUS NUMIDA.

Argument.

Our Lyrick joy'd, exults amain For Numida's return from Spain.

Et thure, & fidibus. VVIth Frankincense and Lyric Lay, And bullocks justly slaughter'd, let's allay Great Numid's tutelary gods: Who safe arriv'd from Spains remot'st abodes, Gave's dear friends many a-kiss-salute, But to sweet Lamia most did distribute: Remembring how both served all Their youthful dayes under one General.

And both their gowns together quit, This beauteous day sign with a Chalky smit: Let vast Wine-rundlets freely spout, And Salian like incessant skip about, Nor more let soaking Dam'lis bouze, Than Bassus in a Thracian carrouze. Let Roses, Parsley ever green, And fading Lillies much at feasts be seen. All shall their eyes with Lust infested On Dam'lis cast, nor Dam'lis be wrested From her new Paramour, who combine Closer than any amorous Ivies twine.

ODE XXXVII. By Sir T. H. To his Companions.

Whom he exhorteth to be merry upon the Newes of the Actiaque victory.

NOw let us drink, now dance (Companions) now, Let's Salian banquets to the Gods allow. It might before this time be thought a sin, To broach old Caecube wines, whilst the mad Queen Prepar'd the ruine, and disastrous fall, Both of the Empire and the Capitoll, With her ••cabb'd Troop of men effeminate, Proud with vast hopes, & drunk with prosp'rous state: But the scarce safety of one ship from fire Less'ned ••er fury, whilst great Caesars ire To real fears enforc'd her to resign Her minde enrag'd with Mareotique wine,

He pressed with swift vessels to enchain This monster, flying Italy amain: As Hawk the fearful Dove, or Hunter swift Pursues the Hare th'row Aemon's snowie drift: Whilst she, that she might die the nobler way, Did neither as a woman fear the ray Of brandish'd sword, nor laboured to flie, With speedy flight in secret nooks to lie: But with an eye serene, and courage bold, Durst her dejected Palaces behold, Handle the hissi••g Adder and the Snake, And in her body their black poyson take; Made the more fierce by death determined, She (Noble Spirit) scorned to be led In hostile vessels, as a private thrall, To fill proud triumphs with her wretched fall,

ODE XXXVIII. To his Servant,

Argument.

He wills his Servant, rooms be dre•••• With Myrtle onely at his Feast,

Persicos odi. SErvant, all Persian pomp disdain, From Teyl-rinde pleated Crowns refrain▪ Cease further scrutiny where grows The ••ardy Rose,

For nothing but plain Myrtles care, They most beseeming Servants are: And for my self too, tipling laid In Vine-tree shade.

The end of the First Book.

ODES. BOOK II.

ODE 1. By Sir R. F. To C. ASINIUS POLLIO.

He exhorts him to intermit a while his writing of Tra∣gedies, until he have finisht his History of the Civil War of Rome; Then extolls that Work.

THE Civil War from the first seeds, The Causes of it, Vices, Tides Of various Chance, and our prime Lords Fatal Alliance, and the Swords Sheath'd, but not yet hung up, and oyl'd, The Quarrels fully reconcil'd: Thou writ'st a work of hazard great, And walk'st on Embers in deceit•• Full Ashes rak't. Let thy severe Tragical Muse a while fo•• bear

The Stage: This publick Task then done, Thy Buskins high again put on, Afflicted Clients grand support And light to the consulting Court: Whom thy Dalmatick triumph crown'd With deathless Bayes. Hark how the sound Of thy brac'd Drums, awakes old fears, Thy Trumpets tingle in our ears: How clattering armes make the Horse shog, And from the Horse-man's face the blood. Now, now amidst the Common Heard See the great Generals fight, besmear'd With glorious dust: and quel'd the whole World, but unconquer'd Cato's Soul! Iuno, and whatsoever Gods, To Affrick Friends, yielded to th'odds Of Rome; the Victors Grandsons made A Sacrifice to Iugurth's shade. What Field, manur'd with Daunian blood Shews not in Graves, our impious Feud, And the loud crack of Latiums fall, Heard to the Babylonian wall? What lake, what river's ignorant Of the sad war? what Sea with paint Of Latine slaughter, is not red? What land's not peopled with our dead? But wanton Muse, least leaving Toyes, Thou should'st turn Odes to Elegies, Let us in Dioneian Cell Seek matter for a lighter Quill.

ODE II. By Sir R. F. To C. SALUSTIUS CRISPUS.

First, he praises P. for his liberality to his brothers: Then shews, that he who can repress his appetite, and despise money, is onely a King, onely happy.

SAlust, thou enemy of gold, Mettles, which th' earth hath hoarded, Mould, Until with moderate exercise Their colour rise.

No Age the name of Pontius smothers, For being a Father to his Brothers: Surviving Fame on towring wings His bounty sings.

He that restrains his covetous soul, Rules more, then if he should controul Both Land and Sea; and adde a West-Indies to th' East.

The cruel Dropsie grows, self-nurst, The thirst not quencht, till the cause first Be purg'd the veins, and the faint humour Which made the tumour.

Vertue, that reves what Fortune gave, Calls crown'd Phraates his Wealth's slave, And to the Common People teaches More proper speeches.

Giving a Scepter, and sure Throne, And unshar'd Palmes to him alone, That (unconcerned) could behold Mountains of Gold.

ODE III. By Sir R. F. To DELLIUS.

That the minde should not be cast down with adversity, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 puft up with prosperity: But that we should live mer∣rily, since the condition of dying is equal to all.

KEep still an equal minde, not sunk With stormes of adverse chance, not drunk With sweet Prosperitie, O Dellius that must die, Whether thou live still melancholy, Or stretcht in a retired valley; Make all thy howers merry With bowls of choicest Sherrie. Where the white Poplar and tall Pine, Their hospitable shadow joyn, And a soft purling brook, With wrigling stream doth crook; Bid hither Wines and Oyntments bring, And the too short sweets of the Spring, Whilst wealth and youth combine, And the Fates give thee Line.

Thou must forgoe thy purchas'd seats, Ev'n that which golden Tyber wets, Thou must; and a glad Heir Shall revel with thy care. If thou be rich, born of the Race Of antient Inachus, or base Lieft in the street; all's one, Impartial death spares none. All go one way: shak'd is the pot, And first or last comes forth thy lot, The Pass, by which thou'rt sent T' Eternal banishment.

ODE IV. By Sir R. F. To XANTHIA PHOCEUS.

That he need not be ashamed of being in love with a Ser∣ving-maid: for that the same had befaln many a Great Man.

TO love a Serving-Maid's no shame; The white Briseis did enflame Her Lord Achilles, and yet none Was prouder known▪ Stout Telamonian Ajax prov'd His Captives Slave; A••rides lov'd In midst of all his Victories, A Girl his prize:

When the Barbarian side went down, And Hect••••s death rendred the Town Of Troy, more easie to be carried By Grecians wearied. Know'st thou from whom fair Phillis springs? Thou may'st be son in law to Kings; She mourns, as one depos'd by Fate From regal state. Believe 't she was not poorly born: Phoceus, such Faith, so brave a scorn Of tempting riches, could not come From a base womb. Her face, round armes, and every lim I praise unsmit. Suspect not him, On whose loves wild-fire Age doth throw Its cooling Snow.

ODE V. Upon Lalage.

Argument.

Since beauteous Lalage's unfit For Hymens rites, or Venus yet; He will with Continency's reign, All wild Concupisence restrain.

Nondum Subacta. AS yet with neck subdu'd she cannot 'bide The yoke, nor answer th' office of a bride; Nor sustain the eagerful, Fierce rushes of a pondrous bull.

Thy heifer 'bout the Verdant medows roves; Sometimes in brooks t' allay her thirst she loves; And sometimes she's much rejoyc'd To sport with Calves 'mongst Sallows moyst. Restrain all longing for Grapes immature: Straight gaudie Autumn deckt in Purple pure. Will to thee ripe clusters send, Straight she thy foot-steps will attend. For fleet-heel'd Time with rapid motion flows, And years subtracted from thy date bestows On her. Straight with brazen brow Will Lalage a husband wooe. More lov'd than Cloris, or nice Pholoe: Her candid shoulders glittering, like the Sea In the night with Moon-shine dy'd; Or Gyges sprung from th' Isle of Cnide: Whom if thou rank'st among the Virgin Fyle, His scarce-spy'd differnce eas'ly might beguile Quick-ey'd strangers, for his Grace Of shev'led hair, and dubious face.

ODE VI. By Sir T. H. To SEPTIMIUS.

He wisheth Tybur and Tarentum may be the seal of hi•• old age, whose sweetness he praiseth.

SEptimius, ready bent, with me Rude Cantabers, or Gades to see, And those inhospitable Quick-sands, where The Moorish seas high billows rear.

Tybur, which th' Argives built (O may) That be the place of my last day: May it my limit be, of ease From journeys, warfare, and rough seas. But if the Sister-Fates deny, I'le to rich fleec'd Galesus hie, And thence down to Tarentum stray, Earst subject to Phalantus sway. That tract of land best pleaseth me, Where not Hymettia's full fraught Bee Yields better honey, and where grow Olives, that equal Venafro; Where the middle air yields gentle frost, And a long Spring-tide warms the coast, And Aulon fertile in rich vines, Envieth not Falernian wines. That place, with all those fruitful hills, Me with desire of thee fulfils: There let thy due-paid tears descend O're the warm ashes of thy friend.

ODE VII. To POMPEIUS VARUS.

Argument▪

He gratulates that Pompey scome In safety to his Native home.

O saepe mecum. O' Thou reduc't oft to extremest thrall With me, when Brutus was our General; Who to Latiums liberty, And Rural Lars restored thee Pompey my chief'st associate? with whom I Oft many long-day drunk Wine copiously, My bright hair with unguents fill'd, From rich Malobathrum distill'd. I with thee bare th' brunt of Philps Field, And flying basely flung away my shield, When those foil'd souldiers swell'd With boasts, to blood-drencht earth were fell'd; Pay Iove then thy vow'd Junckets, and repose Thy limbs out-tir'd with warfare's tedious woes Under my Bay-shroud, nor spare What hogsheads for thee destin'd are. Let polisht Goblets freely flow about, With mem'ry-thralling Massick wines: teem out Sweet Oyles from capacious cup: Who strives to pleat a chaplet up Of Mirtle, or moist Parsley? Who's the guest, Venus-throw signs Controller of the feast? I'le play Thracian: pleas'd amain To rant, my friend return'd again.

ODE VIII. By Sir R. F. To BARINE.

That there is no reason why he should believe her when she swears: for the Gods revenge not the perjuries of han∣some women.

IF any punishment did follow Thy perjurie: if but a hollow Tooth, or a speckled nail, thy vow Should pass. But thou, When thou hast bound thy head with slight Untwisting oaths, are fairer by't: And like a Comet spread'st thy rayes, The publick gaze, It boots thee to deceive the Ghost Of thy dead Mother, and still boast Of Heav'n with their eter•• aboads, And deathless gods. Venus but laughs at what is done, Her easie nymphs, and cruel son, On bloodie whetstone grinding ever His burning quiver. New suitors daily are inrol'd, New servants come, nor do the old Forsake their impious Mistress dore, Which they forswore. Thee Mothers for their Fillies dread, Thee gripple, Sires, and Wives new wed, Least thy bewitching breath should fray Their Lords away.

ODE IX. By Sir T. H. To VALGIUS.

That now at length he would desist to deplore his deceased Myste.

THe swelling Cloud, not alwayes powres On rugged Fields, impetuous showres: Nor Caspian Sea (Valgius belov'd) With boystrous stormes, is ever mov'd: Nor on Armenia's bordring shore, Dull Isicles stand alwayes hore: Or garden-groves with North-windes riv'd, Or are Ash-trees of leaves depriv'd. You still in mournful sort complain, That death hath your dear Myste slain; Your love sets not, if Vesper rise, Nor when from Phoebus, Hesper flies: But thrice-ag'd N••stor did not still, Tears, for Antilochus distill: Nor Parents, nor sad Sisters, ever To wail young Troilus persever. Cease then at length thy soft complant, And in our songs, now let us paint Great Caesars Trophies, and command, And how conjoyn'd to conquer land, The Median stream, and Nyphate strong, In lesser channels run along, And Gelons to less limits tide, In far more straightned Fields do ride.

ODE X. By Sir R. F. TO LICINIUS.

That Mediocrity, and Equality of the Mind, in both For∣tunes, are to be retained.

THe safest way of life, is neither To tempt the Deeps, nor whilest foul weather You fearfully avoid, too near The shore to steer. He that affects the Golden Mean, Will neither want a house that's clean, Nor swell unto the place of showres His envy'd Towres: The tempest doth more often shake Huge Pines: and loftie Turrets take The greatest falls: and Thunder lops The mountain tops. A mind which true proportion bears, In adverse hopes, in prosperous fears The other lot. Iove Winters brings, And Ioves give Springs, It may be well, if now 'tis ill: Sometimes Apollo with his Quill, Wakes his dull Harp, and doth not ever Make use of's Quiver. In boystrous Fortune ply thy Oar, And using it stoutly to the shore; Contract in too auspicious Gales Thy swelling sails.

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by S. W.

WOuld you a constant Fortune keep Licinius? Trust not the false Deep; And though black stormes begin to roar, As little trust the shore.

The man who loves the golden mean, Has his Herth neat, and house swept clean: Below't, he envies not the Court, Above 't, he cares not for't.

Winds oft'nest tear the lofty Pine, While its low growth defends the Vine; Huge Piles in greatest ruines fall, And Thunder levels all.

A gallant brest hope•• well at worst, A change will come, though 't be long first; And when 'tis come, he fears the best, And dare not think of rest.

This Heav'n will teach us every year, Winter has Summer in the rear; And when the Ebbe doth run most low, The Tide ere long will flow.

Though 'tis bad now, 'twill soon be spent, Apollo's Bow 's not alwayes bent, But sometimes he'l the Muse bid sing, And touch a better string.

When Fates are cross, then courage show, Be wise when gales more prosperous blow; Strike sail, and put not too far out, The Wind may turn about.

ODE XI. By Sir T. H. To QUINTUS HIRPINUS.

Cares laid aside, let us live merrily.

WHat the Cantalrian stout, or Scythian think, Divided from us by rough Adria's brink, (Quintus Hirpinus) do not thou enquire, Nor for life's use, which little doth desire, Be too solicitous. Sleek youth, apace Hast's hence away, and with it beauties grace, Dry-aged hoariness which furrows deep Dispelling amorous fires, and gentle sleep. The Summer Flowers keep not their Native grace▪ Nor shines the bright Moon, with a constant face. Why dost thou vex thy minde, subordinate Unto the counsels of Fernal Fate? Why under this high Plain, or Pine-trees shade In discomposed manner, careless laid Anoint not we, and then to drink prepare? Free Bacchus dissipates consuming care. But (oh) what Boy Falernian wine's hot rage, Will soon for me, with Fountain streams asswage? Or, who will Lyde wish from close retire Hlther to come? Boy, with her Ivory lire

Bid her make haste, and like Laconian maids Tie her neglected hair in careless braids.

ODE XII. TO MAECENAS.

Argument.

Dire wars, and Tragick subjects, they Incongruous are for Lyric lay. Ly••••m••••ia's splendour Horace sings, And such like amatorious things.

Nolis longa. NOtedirous Wars on sierce Numantia's plain, Nor hardy Hannibal, nor Scicilian main, Purpled with Carthaginian blood, desire Be warbled on soft Lyric wire: Nor barbarous Lapiths, nor the liquor-swell'd Hyleus, nor whom Alcides prowess quell'd, That brood of earth, whose dismal terrour made Ag'd Saturns glorious house afraid. But thou (Maecenas) in the looser stile Of an Historian, better canst compile Great Caesars acts, and threatful Princes shown Chain'd by the necks along the Town. My Muse would treat of those melodious layes Of thy dear Ladies, sweet Lycimnia's: And of her clear refulgent eyes, and breast With Flames of faithful love possest: Whom neither dancing postures mis-became, Nor jestful skirmish, nor in sportive game

Fair virgins with incircling armes t' inthral, On famous Dians festival. Would'st for the wealth rich Achaemenes ows, Or all the riches fertile Phrygia shows, Or th' Arabs houses which well furnisht are, Exchange thy dear Lycimnia's hair? While she for kisses wreaths her neck awry, Or doth with gentle cruelty deny What, then her love, she rather covets t'ane: Straight she'l a••t••cipate again.

ODE XIII. By Sir R. F. To a Tree, by whose fall in his Sabine Villa, he was like to have been slain.

That no man can sufficiently understand what to a∣void: From thence he slides into the praises of Sappho and Alcaeus.

A Planter with a (••) was he That with unhallowed hand set thee, A trap for the succeeding race, And ignominy of the place. He might as well have hang'd his Sire, Or practis'd all the Poysons dire Medea temper'd, or have shed His Guests blood sleeping in his bed: Or if a worse crime may be found, As to place thee upon my ground, Unlucky wood; thee, stagg'ring trunk, To brain thy Master when th'art drunk.

No man knows truly what to shun; The Punick Sea-man fears to run Upon some Shelf, but doth not dread Another Fate over his head: The Souldier, Shafts, and Parthian fight: The Parthian chains and Roman might. But Death had still, and still will have, A thousand back-wayes to the grave. How near was I Hells Jaundied Queen, And Minos on the Bench t' have seen, And the describ'd Elysian shades? And Sappho, of her Countrey-maids Complaining on Aeolian wire? And the Alcaeus, with gold lyre In fuller notes thundring a Fight, Ratling a storm, fluttring a flight? Both (worthy of a sacred pawse) The pious Ghosts hear with applause: But most the Fights, and Tyrants fears, The shouldring throng drink with their ears. What wonder, when th' infernal hound, With three heads, listens to that sound: The Furies snakes their curles unknit, Nor finde revenge so sweet as ••t. 'Tis Play-day too, with Pelop's sire, And him that stole from heaven the fire. Orion ev'n his hunting leaves, And greater pleasure thence receives▪

ODE XIV. By Sir R. F. To POSTHUMUS.

That Death cannot be avoided.

AH Posthumus? the years of man Slide on with winged pace, nor can Vertue reprieve her friend From wrinkles, age, and end. Not, though thou bribe with daily blood Stern Dis, who with the Stygian Flood Doth Gerion surround, And Titius Acres bound. Sad Flood, which we must ferry all That feed upon this earthly ball, From the King to the poor Beggar that howls at door. In vain avoid we Mars's fury, And breaking waves that kill and bury: In vain the sickly falls, Fruitful of funerals. Visit we must the sootie shore Of dull Cocytus, th' empry store Of Daunus wicked stock. And Sisyphs restless rock. Thou must forgoe thy lands and goods, And pleasing wife: Nor of thy woods Shall any follow thee, But the sad Cypress-tree. Thy worthy heir shall then carowse Thy hoarded wines, and wash the house

With better Sack, then that Which makes the Abbots fat.

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by S. W.

1.

Time (Posthumus) goes with full sail, Nor can thy honest heart avail A furrow'd brow, old age at hand, Or Death unconquer'd to withstand: One long night, Shall hide this light From all our sight, And equal Death Shall few dayes hence, stop every breath.

2.

Though thou whole Hecatomb's should'st bring In honour of th' Infernal King, Who Geryon and Tytio bold, In chaines of Stygian waves doth hold: He'l not prize, But more despise Thy sacrifice: Thou Death must feel, 'Tis so decre'd by the Fatal Wheel.

3.

The numerous Off-spring of the Earth, That feed on her who gave them birth; Each birth must have its funeral, The Womb and Urn's alike to all:

Kings must die, And as 〈◊〉〈◊〉, As thou or I; And though they have Atchievements here, there's none in th' Grave.

4.

In vain we bloody battles flie, Or fear to sail when wines are high; The Plague or an infectious breath, When every hour brings a new Death. Time will mowe What e're we sow; Both weal and woe Shall have an end, And this th' unwilling Fates must send.

5.

Cocytus lake thou must waft o're, Thy totter'd boat shall touch that shore; Thou Sisypus ere long must know, And into new acquaintance grow: Shalt with life, Leave house and wife, Thy loves and strife, And have no tree, But the sad Cypress follow thee.

6.

Mean while thy heir shall nobly quaffe, What thou with hundred locks kept't safe, Caecuhan wines, and wash the Flore With juice would make an Emperor rore:

'Twill be thy lot, Question it not, To be forgot With all thy deeds, E're he puts on his Mourning weeds.

ODE XV. By Sir R. F. Against the Luxury of his Age.

OUr Princely piles will shortly leave But little lands for ploughs to cleave; Ponds out-stretch Lucrine shores, Unmarried Sycamores Supplant the Elmes. The Vi'let, Rose, With all the junkets of the Nose, Perfume the Olive-yards, Which fed their former Lords: And Daphne twists her limbs to shun Tne sons rude Courtship. Not so done By Cato's Precedent, And the old Regiment. Great was the Commonwealth alone, The private small. No wide Balcon Measur'd with private square Gap'd for the Norths cool air. Nor the next turf might men reject; Bid at the Publick Charge t' erect Temples and Towns, alone, Of beautiful new stone.

ODE XVI. By Sir R. F. To GROSPHUS.

That tranquillity of the mind is wisht by all: But that the same is not purchased by heaping up Riches, or obtaining Honours, but by bridling the desires.

QUiet! the trembling Merchant cries, Into Egean seas driven far; When the Moon winks, and he descries No guiding st••••. Quiet! in War the T••raian bold; Quiet! the Medes with quivers dight; Not to be bought with gems, nor gold, Nor purple bright. For 'tis not wealth, nor armed troops, Can tumults of the mind remove, And cares, which about fretted roofs Hover above. His little's much, whose thrifty board Slunes with a salt that was his sires: W••ose easie sleeps nor fears disturb, Nor base desires. Why in short life eternal care? Why changing for another Sun? Who, having shun'd his Native air, Himself could shun? Take horse, rude Care will ride behind; Embarque, unto thy ship she crouds: Fl••••ter them Stags, and the East-wind Chasing the Clouds,

Let minds of any joy possest, Sweeten with that whatever gall Is mixt: No soul that ere was blest, Was blest in all. The fam'd Achilles timeless dy'd, Old Tyth••n did his bliss out-live, And Chance, what she to thee deny'd, To me may give. A hundred flocks about thee bleat, And fair Sicilian heifers low; To thee large neighing Mares curvete: In scarlet thou, Twice-dipt, are clad. Indulgent fate Gave me a Graunge; a versing vein; A heart which (injur'd) cannot hate, But can disdain.

ODE XVII. by Sir R. F. To MAECENAS sick.

That he will not live after him.

WHy dost thou talk of dying so? Neither the Gods, nor I'm content, Maecenas, that thou first shouldst go, My Pillar and great Ornament. If thee, the one half of my soul, A riper fate snatch hence: alas! What should I stay for, neither whole, And but the dregs of what I was?

That day shall end us both: Come, come, I've sworn't; and will not break it neither: March when thou wilt to thy long home, That journey we will make together. Chimaera's flames, nor (were he rise Again) Briareus hundred hands, Should keep me back. 'Tis justice, this: And in the Book of fate it stands. Were I or under Libra born, Or Scorpio my ascendant be With grim aspect, or Capricorn (The Tyrant of the Latian sea:) Our stars do wondrously consent. Benigner Iove repriev'd thy breath When Saturn was malevolent, And clipt the hasty wings of Death, In frequent Theater when thee Thrice the rejoycing people clapt, A falling Trunk had brained me, Between if Faunus had not slept, The guardian of Mercurial men. Pay thou an ample sacrifice, And build the Chappel thou vowd'st then; For me an humble Lamkin dies.

ODE XVIII. By Sir T. H.

He affirmeth himself to be contented with a little, while o∣thers are wholly addicted to their desires, and increase of riches, as if they should alwayes live.

NO guided roof, nor Ivory Fret, For splendor in my house is set; Nor are beams from Hymettia sought, To lie a-thwart rich Colmns, brought From Africk; nor I heir unkown, Make Attalus his wealth, mine own. No honest Tenants wives you see, Laconian purples weave for me: A loyal heart, and ready vain Of wit I have, which doth constrain Rome's richest men to seek the love Of me, though poor: Nor gods above Doe I invoke for larger store; Nor of Maecenas ask I more. To me my single Sabine field, Sufficient happiness doth yield. One day thrusts on another fast, And new Moons to the wane do hast. When Death (perhaps) is neer at hand, Thou fairest Marbles dost command Be cut for use, yet dost neglect Thy grave, and houses still erect: Nay would'st abridge the vast Seas shore, Which loudly doth at Baiae rore: Enriched little, less content, With limits of the Continent.

Why often pull'st thou up the bounds, T' enlarge the circuit of thy grounds, Encroaching far from Confines known, To make the neigbouring field thine own? The husband, wife, and sordid brood, With antient houshold gods, that stood In quiet peace, must be expell'd: Yet is not any Mansion held For the rich Land-lord, so assur'd, As deep in Hell to be immur'd. Then whither do you further tend? Th' indiffrent earth an equal friend, As willingly opens her womb, For Beggars grave, as Princes tomb. Gold could of Charon not obtain, To bear Prometheus back again. Proud Tantalus, and all his stock, Death, with the bands of fate doth lock: And call'd, or not call'd ready stands, To free the poor from painful bands.

ODE XIX. Upon BACCHUS.

Argument.

He fill'd with Bacchus power, assayes T' ebuccinate his fame and praise.

Bacchum in remotis. ON Rocks remote I Bacchus chanc'd t'espy, Teach verse (ô trust me ye posterity) Listning Nymphs, and Satyrs there With Goat-feet, and erected ear. My heart appall'd with sudden horror, I, Of Bacchus full, shout Evohe on high: Forbear Liber, ô forbear, So dreadful for thy horrid spear. I may have stubborn Thyads for my theam, A fount of Wine, and rivers running Cream, Chaunt again how honey drils, And from the hollow stem distils, I thy blest consorts glorious constellation, I Pentheus Palace brought to desolation, I may sing the dismal fate Of Thracian Lycurgus state. Thou turn'st Rivers, and the Indian Main, Thou (soak'd with wine) on distant mountains l••'ne, Do'st Thrace womens tresses plait In V••per-wreaths without deceit: Thou, when those impious Gyants climb'd on high, To Ioves Court Royal through the boundless sky,

Flung'st down Rhaecus with the claws Of Leo, and his horrid jaws: Although more prone to dances, sports, and playes Thou wert esteem'd, nor fit for Martial frayes: Yet did either war or peace Indifferently thy genius please. At thee gold-horn'd, F••end Cerberus did look With harmless eye, and fawningly he shook His tail, and with triple-head Thy feet toucht, when thou didst recede.

ODE XX. By Sir T. H.

HORACE turned into a Swan, will fly all ever the world, whence he promiseth the immortality of hi•• Poesie.

A Two-fold Poet, through the liquid skie, I with a strong unusual wing will flie: No longer shall I of the Earth partake, But out of Envies reach the World forsake. I am not issued of ignoble strain, Nor whom Maecenas pleaseth to retain Under the title of belov'd shall die, Or in the Stygian lake forgotten lie. Now, now, upon my legs a rugged skin Is over-spread, and I a Swan am seen Upward transform'd; a light and downie plume, My fingers, and wing'd shoulders now assume. And now a shrill-tune Bird become, Ile soar And much more swift then Icarus, explore

The Lybian Syrtes, and the murmuring sand Of Bosphor straights, and Hyperborean land. Me, Colchos, and the Dacian, who doth faign Fear of the Marsian's armes shall entertain, Gelons remote, and they who on the brink Of I••er dwell, or Rhodanus do drink. Banish from my thin Hearce your fun'ral mones, Your ill bemoaning tears, complaints, and groans: Clamour forbear, or fondly to confer The needless honour of a Sepulcher.

The end of the second Book.

ODES. BOOK III.

ODE I. By Sir R. F.

That a happy man is not made by Riches or Honours, but by tranquillity of the minde.

I Hate lay-Vulgar: make no noise, Room for a Priest of Helicon: I sing to noble Girls and Boyes Such verses as were never known. Fear'd Kings command on their own Ground; The King commanding Kings is Iove: Whose Arme the Giants did confound, Whose aweful brow doth all things move. One man may be a greater Lord Of land then other: this may show A nobler Pedegree: a third In parts and fame may both out-go:

A fourth in Clients out-vie all. Necessity in a vast Pot Shuffling the names of great and small, Draws every one's impartial lot. Over whose head hangs a drawn sword, Him cannot please a Royal feast: Nor melody of lute or bird, Give to his eyes their wonted rest. Sleep, gentle sleep, scorns not the poor Abiding of the Plough-man: loves By sides of Rivers shades obscure: And rockt with West-windes, Tempe Groves; That man to whom enough's enough, Nor raging seas trouble his head, Nor fell Arcturus setting rough, Nor fury of the rising Kid: Not hail-smit Vines and years of Dearth; Sometimes the too much wet in fault, Sometimes the stars that broil the earth, Sometimes the Winter that was nought. The Fish fear stifling in the sea, Damm'd up. The Master-builder and H's men, the Land-sick Lord too, he Throws rubbish in with his own hand. But fear and dangers haunt the Lord Into all places: and black Care Behind him rides: or, if on board A ship, 'tis his companion there. If Marble keep not Feavers out, Nor purple rayment help the blind, Nor Persian Oyntments cure the gout▪ Nor Massick Wines a troubled mind:

With envied posts in fashion strange Why should I raise a stately pile? My Sabine vale why should I change For wealth accompani'd with toyl?

ODE II. By Sir T. H. To his Friends.

Boyes are to be enured from their tender age, to poverty, warfare, and painful life.

LEt th'able youth, himself enure By sharp wars raught, want to endure: And mounted on his horse, with spear, Confront bold P••rthians, free, from fear: Let him expos'd to open air, Live, and attempt the hard'st affair: Whom when some warlike Tyrants Queen, Or Virgin-marriage ripe hath seen, Afar from hostile walls, may cry With sighs, which from sad passion flie; O, that my Royal Lord, untrain'd In Martial feats, would be restrain'd, Not by fierce Combats fatal stroke, That wrathful Lion to provoke, Whom bloody Anger's direful rage, In thickest slaughters doth engage. It is a sweet, and noble gain, In Countreys quarrel to be slain▪

Death the swift flying man pursues With ready steps: Nor doth he use To spare from unavoided wrack, Youths supple hams, or fearful back, Vertue, that ne're repulse admits, In taintless honours, glorious sits, Nor takes, or leaveth Dignities, Rais'd with the noise of vulgar cries. Vertue (to worth Heav'n opening wide) Dauntless, breaks through wayes deny'd. And (taught) the Rabble to despise, Forsaking earth to heaven flies, Yea trusty silence is not barr'd, From having a deserv'd reward. He, who to blab the holy Rites Of secret Ceres phane delights, Under the same roof shall not be, Nor in frail Vessel sail with me. Oft Iove neglected makes the just To smart with those are stain'd with lust▪ Seldome Revenge, though slow of pace, Leaves ill fore-going men to trace.

ODE III. By Sir R. F.

A Speech of Inno at the Council of the Gods, concer∣ning the ending of the war of Troy, and the begin∣ning which the Roman Empire should take from the Trojans.

AN honest and resolved man, Neither a peoples tumults can,

Neither a Tyrants indignation, Un-center from his fast foundation; Nor storms that from the bottome move The Adrian sea, nor thundring Iove: If the crackt Orbes would split and fall, Crush him they would, but not appall. Pollux, and wandring Hercules, Gain'd Heaven by such wayes as these: 'Mongst whom Augustus, leaning, sips Immortal Nectar with red lips. This way deserving Bacchus clomb The high Olympus, with his own Tam'd Tygers, which Ambrosia feed, And Romulus on Mars his steed: Pleas'd Iuno speaking a good word On his behalf, at Council-board. Troy, Troy, (through mine, and Pallas grudge) A fatal and adultrous Iudge, And forraign woman overthrew, With its false King and damned Crew, Because Laomedon forsook The Gods, and brake the Oath he took. The Spartan Strumpets famous guest Is now no more jewell'd and drest: No more doth Priams Perjur'd house Resist bold Greeks by Hectors prowes: And wars, which I inflam'd, are done; My wrath then, and the Trojan Nun 's Abhorr'd Off-spring, here I give To his father Mars that he should live In bowres of light, suck Nectar-bowls, And be transcrib'd into the rolls Of quiet Gods, I will abide. So long as spacious seas divide

Ilium and Rome; so long as beasts On Priamus and Paris breasts Insult, and (undisturb'd) the wild Whelp in their tombes; let the exil'd Reign great in any other land: The Capitol refu'gent stand; And awful Rome with seven proud heads Give Laws to the triumphed Medes: Rouzing her self, left her extend Her dreadful name to the worlds end; Where mid-land seas part Africks soyl From Europe, to the floods of Nyle; More valiant to despise hid gold, (Which wisely Nature did with-hold) Then force it to mans use, by sack Of Temples, or by Natures wrack. Whatever corner would impeach Her progress, that, let her Sword reach: Visit the stores of snow and hail, And where excessive heats prevail. Yet warlike Romans destiny, On this condition I decree, That they (too pious, and grown high) Shall not re-build their Mother Troy. VVith Troy! Troy's fate shall be reviv'd, And all her ominous birds retriv'd, VVhen second wars our self will move, The Sister and the VVife of Jove. If Phoebus harp a Brasen wall Should thriee erect, thrice it should fall (Raz'd by my Greeks) the wife, in chain, Thrice mourn her sons and husband slain. But whether saucy Muse? These things Agree not with the Lutes soft strings.

The words of gods cease to repeat, And with small voice matters so great.

ODE IV. By Sir R. F.

The Poet saith, That he hath been delivered from many dangers by the help of the Muses; And that it hath gone ill with all who have attempted any thing against the Gods.

DEscend Thalia with a song From Heaven; my Queen, I'de have it long To the shril pipe or to the flute, The viol or Apollo's lute. Do 'st hear? or do I sweetly rave? I hear in yonder trees, which wave, Thy rustling robe, and in that spring The tuning of thy silver string. Me, am'rous turtles (Poets theam) As by my native Aufids stream, A child opprest with sleep and play, Under a Mountain side I lay, Fearless (for what hath he to fear, Who from his birth was Heavens care?) With sacred Bayes and Mirtle boughs, On which no Beast did ever browse, Covered, least Snake or ugly Bear, Should do me hurt as I slept there; Which set the neighb' ring Fields at gaze, As wondring what should be the cause.

Whether I mount the Sabine hill, Or with cold springs Preneste chill, Or me the healing Bath allures; Where ere I am: Muses, I'me yours. Friend to your springs, with your songs rapt, At lost Philippi Field scap't; The fall of my own cursed Tree, And shipwrack in Sicilian Sea. Go you with me, I'le (dreadless) try The Bosphorus that threats the skie, And (travelling) defie the thir∣sty Syrian sands to do their worst. Visit the Brittains, fierce to strangers, The horse-fed Thracians bloody mangers, The Scythians, whom no Sun doth warm, And none of them shall do me harm. Great Caesar, you with Martrial toil Tir'd out, and glad to breath a while In Winter quarters with his men, Refresh in the Pierian Den. You give him mild advice; And well From you he takes it. We can tell, The Giants selves for all their troop Of monstrous Bulkes, were Thunder-strook By him that towns, and dreary ghosts, Immortal Gods, and mortal hoasts, The stupid Earth, and restless Main, Doth govern with one equal raign. The horrid band and brotherhood, Who (whilst upon their terms they stood) Pelion to heap on Ossa strove, Gave not a little care to Iove. But what could Mimas, and the strong Typhaeus, what Porphyrion long,

What Rhaecus, and with hurled trunk (Torn up by th'roots) the fury-drunk Enceladus, rushing against Minerva's ringing shield advanc't? Here the devouring Vulcan stood, There Matron Iuno, and the god That never layes his Quiver by, Bathes in pure dews of Castaly His dangling locks, haunts Delian woods, Patros, and Rhodes, and Xanthus floods. Uncounsil'd force with his own weight Is crusht; a force that's temperate Heaven it self helps: and hates no less Strength that provokes to wickedness. This truth Orion understands, And Gyges with the hundred hands: He, purposing chast Dians Rape, Could not her Virgin-arrows scape. The Earth on her own Monsters thrown, (Thundred to endless night) doth grone Over her sons: Aetna doth rore, Burning, and not consum'd. No more Can Tytiu's heart in Vulters claw, Or wast it self, or fill her Mawe. Offended Proserpine restrains Perithous in three hundred chains.

ODE V. By Sir R. F.

The praises of Augustus, the dishonour of Crassus, the constancy of Regulus, and his return to the Cartha∣ginians.

JOve governs Heaven with his nod: Augustus is the earthlie God; Bold Brittains to the Empire bow'd, And Persians, with late trophies proud. Could Crassus souldier lead his life Yoakt basely with a barbarous wife? And with Foe Father-in-law grow gray In Armes, under a Medians pay! (O fathers! and degenerate shame!) His blood forgotten and his name, Eternal Vesta, and the Gown, Whilest there was yet a Iove, and Rome! This fear'd wise Regulus his mind, And so the base Accord declin'd, Weighing the consequence, unless The Captive Youth dy'd pitiless. I saw (quoth he) our Ensigns stuck In Punick fanes, without a stroke Souldiers disarm'd, Citizens Their free hands bound behind with chaines. And the Ports open, and that field Which Romans had incampt on, till'd. All this I saw. Redeem'd with gold They'l grow, belike, in fight more bold. Buy not iniquity. As stain White wooll 'twill never white again:

So, if true Vertue fall, despair To stop her till the lowest stair. A Hind out of the Tramels free, And make her fight, then so will he That rendred to a faithless foe, And Carthaginians overthrow In second War; That tamely took The lash, and (Death but named) shook. Why these (forgetting whence they came) Confounded war with peace, O shame! Great Carthage! thou hast overcome The vertue (more then troops) of Rome. His chast wife's kiss, and his small fry Of Babes, he's said to have put by, (As being a slave) and not t'have took From Earth his stern and manly look: Till he th' unwilling Senate brought To vote the thing that he had sought: Then through his weeping friends he went Into a glorious banishment. Though well he knew what torments were Ready prepared for him there By Barbrous men. Yet brake through all His Kindred, and the crouded Hall To beg of him he would not go, No otherwise then he would do From Clyents swarms, after the end Of a long Term, going to spend In sweet Campania the Vacation, And give his mind some Relaxation.

ODE VI. By Sir T. H. To the Romans.

Of the corrupt manners of that Age.

ROman, resolve, thou shalt desertless taste Sins scourge, for Vice of Predecessor past, Until thou do'st again repair Decaied Temples, and make fair The falling houses of the Gods disgrac'd, And cleanse their images, with smoak defac'd. To think thee less than Gods, thy power commends; Hence take beginnings, hither aim thy ends. The Gods neglected, many woes On Italy distressed, throws. Twice Pacorus, and twice Moneses hand, Our inauspicious armed troops disband: Who with a plentious prey made glad, To little chains more links do adde. The Dacian and the Ethiop fierce in wars, Hath almost raz't the City, rent with jars: One with his Navy formidable, With darts the other better able. This age in vice abounding, first begins Chast stocks, and Nuptials to pollute with sins; The woes which from this fountain flow, People, and Countrey over-throw. The Maid for marriage ripe, much joyes to learn Ionick dances, and can well discern With art to sain, and quickly prove, The pleasures of unlawful love.

Straight made a wife, in midd'st of husbands cups, She with young Gallants and Adult'rers sups; Nor cares to whom she yields by stealth, (When lights are out) loves lawless wealth. But ask'd doth rise, her knowing husband by, To prostitute her marriage-modesty; At Factors call, or Pilots hire, Of lustf••l shame, a costly buyer. That youth came not from such Fore-fathers strain, Who did the sea with Punick blood distain: Not by such hands did Pyrrhus fall, Antiochus, nor Hannibal. But in those dayes a brave and manly race Of rustick souldiers lived in this place, Well skill'd in Plough and Sabine Spade, And so to strict obedience made, That if sharp Mothers bade, at their return They on their shoulders brought logs hew'd to burn, When Phoebus changed had the mountains shade, And weary unyoak'd Oxen homeward made, And that night gave their toil dispense, Chasing the Suns bright chariot hence. What wasteth not with Times devouring rage? Our fathers life, much worse than Grandsires age, Sees us more wicked, to produce An Off-spring fuller of abuse.

ODE VII. By Sir R. F. To ASTERIE.

He comforts her, being sad and solicitous for the absence of her husband.

ASterie, Why dost thou mourn For Gyges, shortly to return On wings of Vernal air, Rich in Sicilian War? More rich in faith. He by a blast After long stormes, on Epire cast His Widow'd nights, steeps there In many a watchful tear. Yet Chloe's subtil messenger, Shewing what sighs it pulls from her, Whilest in thy Flame she fries, A thousand wayes him tries. She tells how the false Woman wrought On credulous Pretus, till she brought A cruel death upon Too chaste Bellerophon. Of Peleus near his fatal hour, Whilest he shuns love, that's arm'd with power: And (cunning) rakes from dust All precedents for lust. In vain: For deaf as Rocks to prayer, He's yet unmov'd. But take thou care Enipeus at next door Do not thy love procure. Though none with better skill be seen To weild a Horse in Mars his green;

Nor with more active limbs In Tyburs Channel swims. Shut to thy gate before it darken, Nor to his whining Musick hearken: And though he still complain Thou'rt hard, still hard remain.

ODE VIII. To MAECENAS.

Argument.

No reason that Maecenas should It for an admiration hold, He should Mars Calends celebrate, Although he live in single state.

Martiis coelebs.

HOw I a Batch'lour spend my hours On Mars his Calends, what mean flowers▪ And Incense-bolls, and coals on green Turf-altars seen,

Th'admir'st, O thou profoundly skill'd In either tongue. I almost kill'd With falling tree, sweet Cates devote, And white He-goat.

He yearly on this very day Will fling the Rosin'd Can away, To soak Wine, old as Tullus date Of consulate.

Maecenas bouze the hundreth Cup To thy friends health; Night-lamps set up Upon fair day; from hence retire All noise and ire.

Let pass all civil cares for Rome, For Dacian Cottison's o'rcome: Now Scyths with Bow unbended yield, And quit the Field.

Heed not though Vulgars toil sustain; Though private, publick care refrain, And using what time present brings, Shun serious things.

ODE IX. By Sir. R. F. A Dialogue of Love and Jealousie, betwixt Horace and Lydia.

Hor.

WHilst I possest thy love, free from alarms, Nor any Youth more acceptable arms About thy Alablaster neck did fling, I liv'd more happy then the Persian King.

Lyd.

Whilst thou ador'st not more another face, Nor unto Chloe Lydia gave place;

I Lydia, soaring on the wings of Fame, Eclipst the Roman Ilia with my name.

Hor.

Me, Thracian Chloe now, rules absolute, Skill'd in sweet Layes, and peerless at her Lute: For whom to die I would not be afraid, If Fates would spare me the surviving Maid.

Lyd.

Me, Calys, rich Ornitho's heir, doth scorch With a reciprocal and equal torch: For whom I would endure to die twice over, If Fates would spare me my surviving Lover.

Hor.

What if old Venus should her Doves revoke; And curb us (stubborn) to her Bra••en yoke: If bright-trest Chloe I would henceforth hate, And to excluded Lydia ope the Gate?

Lyd.

Though he be fairer then the Morning-star; Thou, lighter then a Cork, and madder far Then the vext Ocean, when it threats the Skie, With thee I'de gladly live, I'de willing die.

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by J. W. Esq.

Hor.

WHilest I alone was dear to thee, And onely chief in thy embrace, No Persian King liv'd life to me, Or half so blest or happy was.

Lyd.

Till thy love roul'd, and did prefer Chloes new face, 'fore Lydia, In fame, I (far surpassing her) Was greater than Romes Ilia.

Hor.

Chloes the Saint I pray to now, Sweetly she sings, and playes o'th' Lute▪ For whom, would Destiny allow, My life should be a substitute.

Lyd.

The same's young Calais (Orthniu's heir) To me, for whom I should be glad If I might die, though twice it were, Would the same Fates but spare the Lad▪

Hor.

But say! if as before I burn? Say I once more put on my chain? Chloe shak'd off, and I return To my first Lydia again?

Lyd.

Though he's more glorious then a Star, Thou then a Cork more fickle be, Or pettish then the Sea, I swear Once more to live and die with thee.

ODE X. Against LYCE.

Argument.

Harsh Lyce Advertised here She would hard-heartedness forbear▪ And some commiseration grant To him, her humble supplicant▪

Extremum Tanaim. LYce hadst drunk of remote Tanais tide, Or to some Barbarous Scythian been a bride; Yet, me prostrate before thy doors, thou should Bewail t'expose to Northern cold.

Hear'st how the Gates crack? how the woods resound 'Mongst beauteous structures placed all around? And how the air conglaciates the snow, When all the Heavens serenely show? All pride ingrateful unto Lovers shun: Least Fortunes wheel should retrogradely run. No Tyrrhene father hath begotten thee O•• hard-to-wo Penelope. Although with thee nor Gifts, nor prayers avail, Nor Lovers violet tinctures mixt with pale, Nor thy Mate Love-struck with Pierian whore; O spare thy suppliants I implore: Thou more relentless than a rigid tree, And Maurian Serpents not so cruel be, My tender sides not alwayes can sustain At thy hard doors down-syling rain.

ODE XI. By Sir R. F. To MERCURY.

That he would dictate to him a song, wherewith to bend Ly∣de. The Fable of Danaus Daughters.

O Mercury (for taught by ••ou Deaf stones by th'ears Amphion drew) And Shell, whose hollow Belly 〈◊〉〈◊〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 seven strings.

Once mute and graceless, now the tongue Of Feasts and Temples: lend me a song To thrid the maze of Lyde's prayer Resisting ear.

Who like a three years Colt doth fetch A hundred rings, and's hard to catch; Free from a husband, and not fit For backing yet.

Thou mak'st stiffe Forrests march, retreat Prone rivers: Cerberus the great Porter of Hell to thee gave way, Stroak'd with a Lay▪

Though with a hundred Snakes he curl His head, and from his nostrils hurl A filthy stream, which all bedrops His triple chops.

Ixion too with a forc't smile Did grin. The tubs stood dry a while, Whilest with thy Musick thou didst please The Belides.

Tell Lyde that; that Virgin-slaughter, And famous torment, the vain water Coozning their Urnes through thousand drains, And Posthume pains.

For cruel Maids laid up in store, Cruel. For what could they do more, That could with unrelenting steel Their Lovers kill?

One onely worthy Hymens flame, And worthy of immortal Fame, Her perjur'd father (pious child) Bravely beguil'd:

Who said to her young Husband; Wake, Least an Eternal sleep thou take, Whence least thoo look'st: deceive my Sire, And Sisters dire:

Who like so many Tygers tear (Alas!) the prey: I (tenderer) Will neither slay, nor keep thee thus I'th Slaughter-house.

Me let my Savage father chain, Because my Husband is unflain, Or into farthest Africa Ship me away.

By Land or Sea take thou thy flight, Cover'd with wings of Love and Night: Go, go, and write when thou art safe My Epitaph.

ODE XII. To NEOBULE.

Argument.

They live in miserable thrall Whom no refreshments chear at all: Stout Heber wounds with amorous dart His Sweet-heart Neobule's heart.

Miserarum est. THey'r wretched, who in love ne're recreate, Nor with sweet Wines their maladies abate, With fear of Uncles sharp reproof dismay'd. Thy basket, Neobule, Cupid takes, And Liparean Hebrus lustre makes Thee leave thy web, and painful Pallas trade. He than Bellephron can better ride At hand-fights, foot-course still victorious try'd, When his oyl'd limbs are bath'd in Tybers flood: He cunning is to chase a roaming Hart, O'r Champains, and transfix him with his dart, And surprize Bores skult in the bushy wood.

ODE XIII. To the Fountain of Blandusia.

Argument.

He to Blandusia's Chrystal Spring A Kid for Sacrifice will bring: And doth the sweet delights recount, Of that refriegerating Fount.

O fons Blandusiae. BLandusian Spring, tralucenter than glass, Worthy wine-offerings, deck'd with flowry grass, I'le slay to thee to morn A Kid crown'd with youthful horn, Choosing his mate, and conflicts, all in vain: For a lascivious Off-spring shall distain, And file thy frigid flood With mixture of Purple blood. Thou'rt free from Dog-stars servent influence. Thou do'st thy sweet refreshing streams dispence To Bullocks tired out, And Heards roving all about. Ev'n thou shalt be a far-renowned Spring, Whilest I of Rocks crown'd with the Ilex sing: Whence the loud waters rush Down head-long with vi'lent gush.

ODE XIV. By Sir T. H. To the Roman people.

This Ode containeth the praises of Augustus returning out of Spain, after his Conquest over the Canta∣brians.

GReat Caesar who is said to go, Like Hercules against his foe, To purchase Bayes by death, again Victorious is return'd from Spain.

The Wife that's with one husband pleas'd, Let her come forth, the Gods appeas'd. Octavia, Caesars Sister, haste, And mothers with your daughters chaste.

Attir'd in modest veil appear, And sons returned safe draw neer: You Boyes, and you now married train Of wives from evil words abstain.

From me this new made Holy-day Black sullen cares shall take away: Nor fear I in great Caesars reign By force or tumult to be slain.

(Boy) crowns, and unguents now prepare, And vessel kept, since Marsian war, If any such conceal'd hath been By wandring Sportacus not seen.

Let hither shrill Neaera hie, And hair perfum'd in tresses tie: But if the Porter make delay With churlish answer, haste away.

White hoary hairs temper the mind, To brawls, and quarrels earst inclin'd: This in youths heat I could not brook, When Plancus charge of Consul took.

ODE XV. Against CHLORIS.

Argument.

That Chloris (now well stept in Age) Should Lust and Wantonness asswage.

Uxor pauperis. AT length, poor Ibicu's wife, Affix a period to thy vicious life, And unto thy reproachful trade. And now that Death so near approach hath made, 'Mongst Maids leave playing, nor enshroud Those fulgent stars with thy obscuring cloud. Nor Chloris think that seemeth thee, Which gracefully becomes thy Pholoe. Thy daughter breaks ope young mens doors Better, like Thyas rag'd when Tim••r••l rores:

Renown'd Luceria's Fleeces grace The more when old, than any Lyric layes, Or crowns with roses deckt about, Or hogsheads to th' extreamest dregs drunk out.

ODE XVI. By Sir. R. F. To MAECENAS.

That all things fly open to Gold: Yet HORACE is contented with his own condition, in which he lives happy.

DAnae in Brazen Tower immur'd, From night-adulterers, doors barr'd, And of fierce dogs a constant ward Would have sufficiently secur'd, If Iove and Venus had not fool'd, The Goaler of the cloyster'd Maid, (Though of his own shadow afraid) Turning his Godship into Gold. Gold loves to break through armed Guards, And Castles that are Thunder-proof, The Grecian Augur's sacred roof Was undermined by rewards. Gifts were the Macedons Petar, With which he blew up City-gates, Subverted Rival Kings and States, And laid aboard their Men of War.

With growing riches cares augment, And thirst of greater. I did well To shrink my head into my shell, Maecenas Knight-hoods ornament. The more a man t' himself denies, The more indulgent Heaven bestowes. Let them that will side with the I's: I'me with the Party of the No's. A greater Lord of a small store, Then if the fruitful Crops of all Appulia I mine own did call: In midst of so much plenty poor. My little wood, and my pure stream, And corn that never fails; makes me A man more truly blest, then he That wears rich Africks Diadem. Though neither Crossick Bees produce Honey to me, nor cloathing fine Segovian flocks: nor Massick wine Mellow in barrels for my use: Yet 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Poverty's away. Nor, wisht I more, wouldst thou deny't. Who, with contracted appetite May easier my tribute pay, Then if deputed Egypts King. Large issues follow large supplies. He, to whom Heaven nothing denies, Owes an account of every thing▪

ODE XVII. To AELIUS LAMIA.

Argument.

He Lamia's regal stem displayes Forth in Encomiastic Layes: Wills him his Genius to chear, Against the presag'd storm appear.

Aeli, vetusto. O Aelius, sprung from Lamus antient name, From whose stem all precedent Lamias came, And thy family and tribe, Which nothing Registers describe: Thou from his loyns draw'st thine original, Who reigned first within the Formian wall, And whose amply spread command Raught Liris, laving Maric's strand. An Eastern tempest shall with furious roar, Fling leaves in woods, and leaves upon the shore: If the aged Cow decry A true presaging augury. Lay, while thou canst, dry faggots on the fire: With lushious Wine to morrow feed desire, A Pig fat, and tender slay, And let thy Hindes keep Holy-day.

ODE XVIII. By Sir T. H. To FAUNUS;

Who being an infernal pestilent VVood-god, he prayeth that passing thorow his Fields, he would be favourable to him and his.

FAunus, who after Nymphs dost range, Through my precincts, and fruitful Graunge Pass gently, and propitious be To flocks, and me.

A tender Kid the year shall end, Full Cups of Liquor (Venus friend) We'l pay; Fumes shall on Altars flie In odours high.

Beasts, when Decembers Nones appear In grazy grounds make sportive chear: The jocund Clown in Meads doth feast; The Oxe doth rest.

The Wolf 'mongst frearless Lambs doth stray, Woods strew thee leafs upon this day; The Ditcher joyes with measur'd mirth To tread the Earth.

ODE XIX. To TELEPHUS.

Argument.

At Telephus he scoffs, who whiles He Histories obsolete compiles, Of things which chiefly constitute An happy life is wholly mute.

Quantum distat. THe space 'twixt Inachus his reign, And Codrus bravely for his Country slain, And Aeacus his Kin, and fights Fought under Sacred Ilium thou writes: But of a Choan hogsheads price, And who with fire cold water qualifies, In whose house, and what hour t' allay Pelignian cold, thou not one word dost say. Boy, quick bring Cups for Cynthia's rise, And for Mid-night, bring th' Augurs Cup likewise, Murena's, and corrouze off Wine, No less then three healths, no more then nine. A Poet, who th' unequal Tribe. Of Muses loves, let him nine Jugs imbibe. The Graces with nak'd Sisters joyn'd, Let them, for fear of brawlings, be confin'd, And drink three Cups off, and no more; O, how I love to frolick it, and roar!

Why sounds not still the Phrygian Flute? Why Pipes and Harps permitted to be mute? I parsimonious hands despise. Strew Roses, and let out wild frantick noise Arrive to envy'd Lycus ears, And neighbour Maid unfit for Lycus years. Mature-grown Chloe courts thee now, Tel'phus grac'd with rank locks of comely shew, And bright as radiant Vesper: I, I wasting ardour for my Glyc'raes fry.

ODE XX. To PYRRHUS.

Argument.

How dangerous a thing 'twould prove T'abstract Nearchus from his love.

Non vides quanto.

PYrrhus, how dang'rous 'tis, confess, To take Whelps from a Lioness: Straight thou scarr'd Ravisher wilt run, When battel's done.

When she through crouds of youthful men Shall to Nearchus turn again, Great question 'tis who bears away The greater pray.

As thou prepar'st thy speedy piles, She whets her dreadful Tusks the whiles: He (th' Umpire) trampled down, they say, The Victors Bay.

And wafted his sweet shiveled hair With gentle blasts: like Nireas fair, Or Ganymede snatcht up from fount∣full Ida's Mount.

ODE XXI. To His VVine-vessel.

Argument.

He speaks t'his Rundiet to effuse, For Corvine's sake, choice Massick juyce: Thence takes occasion to define The praises and effects of VVine.

O nata mecum. KInd vessel, coaetaneous with my date, Compos'd when Manlius bare the consulate, Whether thou invite to weep, Or jest, or brawl, or love or sleep, Where'r mark thy choice Massick liquors hide, Well-worthy broaching on some sacred Tide: Now Corvinus thee injoyns, Come down, and tap thy mellow Wines.

He, though well studied in Socratic books, Contemns thee not with sour and rigid looks; And grave Cato as is fam'd, Was oft with Bacchus gift inflam'd. Thou sometimes sett'st upon a gentle rack Severe wits: Thou the wiser pates canst make With thy mirth creating juyce, Even all their secrets thought; effuse. Thou dost the Forelorn with hope fortifie, And mak'st the poor man lift his horns on high, Who drunk, nor the Scepters fears Of Kings incens'd, nor Souldiers spears. For Bacchus, (Venus if in merry cue) And graces loth to break the social Crew, And lamps lighted, shalt thou run, Till Stars decline the orient Sun.

ODE XXII. Upon DIANA.

Argument.

He Diana's offices relates, To whom his Pine he dedicates.

Montium custos. O Tripple Queen of Woods and Hills, Who freest parturient wombs from ills At three Orizons, and dost ever Them safe deliver.

Accept the Pine that shrouds my Farm, Which yearly Ile imbrew with warm Bores blood, that sacrificed strike With tusks oblique.

ODE XXIII. By Sir T. H. To PHIDILE.

The Gods are to be honoured with pure hands, and the testi∣mony of a well spent age.

IF Rural Phidile, at the Moons arise, To Heaven thou lift thy hands in humble wise: If thou with Sacrifice thy Lars wilt please, Or with new fruit and greedie swine appease, Thy fertile Vineyard shall not suffer blast From pest'lent South, nor parching dew be cast Upon thy Corn, nor shall thy children dear, Feel sickly Fits in Autumn of the year. It is the long vow'd victime, which is fed 'Mongst Holmes, and Okes on snowie Algids head, Or which in fat Albanian pastures grew, That shall the Priests sharp axe with blood imbrew. To thee, who petty Gods dost magnifie, With Mirtle branch, and sprig of Rosemary, It nothing appertains their feasts to keep With frequent slaughters of the fattest sheep. If thy hand, free from ill, the Altar touch, Thou shalt th' offended Gods appease as much With gift of sparkling Salt, and pious meal, As if thou vows with costly victimes seal.

ODE XXIV. by Sir R. F.

He inveighs against covetous men, who continually joyn houses to houses, building in the very Sea it self: when in the mean time no buildings can free them from the ne∣cessity of dying. He saith the Scythians are happy, who draw their houses in waggons, and till the fields in common. Moreover, denies that corruption of man∣ners, and license of sinning to be amongst these, which is amongst the Romans. But for the rooting out of these evils, together with the depraved desire of increasing riches, affirms, there is need of a more rigid Disci∣pline.

THough richer then unpoll'd Arabian wealth, and Indian Gold, Thou with thy works should'st drain The Tyrrbene and whole Pontick Main; Thou could'st not, when Death layes On Thee his Adamanti••e mace, Thy minde from terrour free, Nor body from mortality. Wiser the Scythians, Whose houses run on wheels like Waines; And frozen Getes, whose Field U••••ounded doth free Ceres yield: Nor is't the custome there, To sow a land above a year; And when that Crop is born, The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it each by turn. There women mingle not, For Son-in-Law's a poyson'd pot;

Nor govern: Or their Dou'•• Presuming, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 adultrers pow'r. Their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be well bred: And Chastity, flying the Bed Of others, their own trust Perswading, and the price of Lust. Oh! he that would asswage, Our blood-shed and intestine rage, If he would 〈◊〉〈◊〉 have His Countries Father on his grave; Let him not fear t'oppose Unbridled licence to the nose: So shall he gain great praise In after times; since (wome dayes!) We envy living worth, But miss it when 'tis laid in earth. For what do our laws stand, If punishme•••• ••eed not 〈◊〉〈◊〉 land? What serves vain preaching for. Which cannot cure our lives? if nor Those lands which flames imbrace; Nor where the neighb'ring Boreas, Shuts up the Ports with cold, And snows fast nail'd to the free hold, The Mariner repell? If crafty Merchants learn to quell The horridst Seas? the fear Of that crime Want making them bear, And do all things, and balk Severer vertues narrow walk▪ Would Heaven we'd carry all Our wealth into the Capitoll! Or in the next Sea duck Our jewels and pernicious muck,

Fewel of all that's 〈◊〉〈◊〉! If we repent as we ought, Strike at the root of ills; And mould we our too pliant wills To rougher arts: the childe Of noble linage cannot wield A bounding horse of war, Nay fears to hunt, more skill'd by far to stride off the Greek bowl, Or the forbidden D••ce to trowl, The whilest his perjur'd Father Deceives his partners trust, to gather For one that hath no wit. So ill got wealth grows fast, and yet Something still short doth come, To make it up an even sum.

ODE XXV. Upon BACCHUS.

Argument.

The Lyric of God Bacchus craves, T' induct him to his Bowers, and Caves. Wherewith his influence repleat, He may Augustus praise repeat.

Quo me Bacche. WHere dragg'st me (Bacchus) with thy power Repleat, to what Grove, or obscure Bower Am I hal'd, with transform'd mind! In what Reciuses is my Muse confin'd,

While Caesars endless honour I Advance to heaven, and rank with Iove on high: I'le sing a glorious, and new verse, Such as no man did ere before reherse. Just so layes Evias in a Muse Awak'd on lofty Mountains, where he views Cold Hebers streams, and snowy Thrace, And Rhodope where barbarous people trace. O how do I a wandrer love, T' admire the crags and solitary groves! King of Flood-nymphus, and Bacchae's, who Can with your hands tall Ash-trees overthrow: No petty Theam in humble phraze, No mortal subject shall my Muse deblaze. Bacchus, sweet danger 'tis to chase. A God, whose crest green Vine-branch Crownets grace.

ODE XXVI. To VENUS.

Argument.

The Poet now well struck in years, His Lyre, and amorous Theams forlears: And prayes the Cyprian Queen to dart One love-shaf•• at proud Chloes heart.

Vixi puellis. I Lately with young Virgins did comply, And was in Cupids camp renowned high: Now my Engins (wa••s at end,) And Lute I'le on this wall i••spend,

Bord'ring on Sea-born Venus'es left hand Here, be••e let my enlightning Tapour stand, With my leavers and my bow, That borr'd-up doors can open throw, Thou who do'st o'r blest Cyprus Isle preside, And M••mphis where no Thracian snow can bide, O Q••een, with ••ar fetched stroke Once haughty Chloes ire revoke.

ODE XXVII. By Sir R. F. To Galatea going to Sea.

He deters her principally by the example of Europa.

LEt ill presages, guide the Ill, A screecning Owl, or from a hill A She-wolf mad upon the Flocks, Or pregnant Fox,

And a Snake shaft-like shot athwart Their horses way to make them start, Their journey stop. What place is here For provident fear?

Before the tempest boading foul, Descend into the standing Pool, My prayer shall from the Orient steer The Kings Fisher.

Be blest, whereever thou wouldst be, And Galatea think of me; No ominous Pye thy steps revoakes, No Raven croaks.

Yet pale Orion sad descends; I know too well what it portends, When black I see the Adriatick, Or white the Iapick.

Let our foes wives, and all they love The rising Kids blind anger prove, And the vext Ocean when it roars, Lashing the shores.

Europa so, trusting her soft Side to the ticing Bull, shriekt oft, The Rocks and Monsters to behold, Though she was bold.

She that late pickt sweet flowers in M••••es, And wore meet Ga••l 〈◊〉〈◊〉 N••mphs heads, In a clear night could nothing spy But Sea and Sky.

In pepulous ••rete arriv'd soon after, O Sire, (quoth she) left by thy Daughter And 〈◊〉〈◊〉 my feeble brest By love opprest,

Whence whether rapt? One death's too small to expiate a Virgins fall. Do I (awake) true crimes lament, Or (innocent)

Doth some false Dream put me in pain? Was't better through the horrid Main To rove far off: or with my Father Fresh Flowers to gather?

Had I that naughty Bull now here, How with my nails I could him tear, And break the horns about that pate So lov'd of late!

Shameless I left my Sires aboads: Shameless I pawse on death; ye Gods, (If any hear) show me the way Where Lions stray.

Ere my fair skin grow tand and loose, And of the tender prey the juice Run out; whilst I am plump I wou'd Be Tigers food.

Die hase Europa (whispers me My Sire) behold you beckning tree! The Zone from thy chaste waste unknit To thy neck fit.

Or if sharp Rocks delight for speed, This hanging cliff will do the deed: Unless (being come of Royal kin) Th'adst rather spin,

And be a barbrous Mistress thrall, Her husbands trull. Venus heard all, And Cupid falsely laughing now Wi•• tunbent bow;

At length she said, This rage forbear; That naughty Bull thou shalt have here: Prepare thy self 'gainst he returns To break his horns.

Iove is thy Bull. These Fountains dry; Learn to use greatness moderately: Thy Thirds oth' World shall called be Europe from thee.

ODE XXVIII. By Sir T. H. To LYDE.

He perswadeth Lyde to spend the Day dedicated to Nep∣tune, pleasantly.

ON Neptunes feasts what else do we? Straight (Lyde) broach, and bring to me Caecubian Wines laid up in store, And let strong wisdome sway no more. Thou seest 'tis Mid-time of the day, And yet, as if swift hours did stay, A But thou spar'st, was Cellar-stall'd, When Bibu••us was Consul call'd. With mutual songs wee'l Neptune please, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••he green-hair'd Nereides. On crooked Lyre sing thou with art, L••tona, and swift Cynthia's dart: Whilest our last strain her praise unfolds, Who Cnidos, and bright Cyclads holds: And Paphos with payr'd Swans doth view; The night shall likewise have his due.

ODE XXIX. By Sir. R. F. To MAECENAS.

He invites him to a merry Supper, laying aside public•• cares.

OFf-spring of Tyrrhene Kings; I have, Waiting thy leisure in my Cave, Of mellow Wine an unbroacht But, With Spicknard and Rose buds, to put Upon thy hair. Break off delay: Do not moist Tybur still survay, And Aesulaes declining hill, And his that did his Father kill. Leave fulsome plenty, and thy proud Palace whose head is in a cloud: Respite the love of smoak, and noise, And all that wealthy Rome enjoyes. Rich men are mostly pleas'd with change, And cleanly meals in a poor grange, Without their Tapestries, unplough The furrows of a careful Brow. Andromed now peeps with his star, Now Procyon shews the Dog not far, He barks, and Phoebus kindling Raies Hasle to bring back the sultry daies. The Shepherd now with his faint Flock Looks, panting, for a gushing Rock, The horrors of a gloomy wood; And no air stirs to crisp the flood. Thou mind'st affairs of State, and With fears for Rome) busiest thy thought fraught

What Scythians, what the B••ctrians think, And those that distant Tanais drink. Wise God hath wrapt in a thick cloud What is to come: and la••ghs aloud When Mortals fear more then their share. Th••ngs present manage with due care: The rest are carried like a stream, Which now runs calm as any dream ••••to the Tyrr••ene sea▪ anon (Beyond all limits overflown) Sweeps with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 herds, and flocks, And trees intire, are broken rocks, Making the woo•••• and mountains roar. That man has 〈…〉〈…〉 For a hard 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that can say Into his Soul, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to day. To morrow 〈…〉〈…〉 or rain, Yet cannot or 〈…〉〈…〉 vain, 〈1 line〉〈1 line〉 ••That which wa•• yesterday nioy'd. Fortune that knows the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 part, To use her 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with proud art, Her fickle 〈◊〉〈◊〉, now bestows 〈◊〉〈◊〉, now on another throws. If she stay, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 if she will pack, •• gave her all her presents back, (Like Wo••ers when a match is broke) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wrapping me in my old cloak, My vertue, marry the next hower 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Povertie with out a Dower. When North winds bellow, 'tis not I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 scar'd to wretched prayers, and cry Let not my Spice, my Silks increase The riches of the greedie seas.

When men may be in Oars convaid Through Pontick stormes, then I will trade.

ODE XXX. By Sir R. F.

By writing Lyricks, he saith, He hath provided better for the Immortality of his Name, then if he bad procu∣red Brazen Statues, and Pyramids to be e••ected to him. And intimates that his chief praise would be. That he was the first of the Latins, who in this kind of Verse imitated the Greeks.

A Work out-lasting Brass, and higher Then Regal Pyramids proud Spire, I have absolv'd. Which storming windes, The Sea that turrets undermines, Tract of innumerable daies, Nor the rout of time can raze. Totally I shall not die, And much of me the Grave shall flie. Posterity my name shall boast, When Rome her self in Rome is lost. Where like a King loud Aufid reigns, Where Daunus (poor in stream) complains To neighb'ring Clowns: I shall be sed The man, that from an humble head T'a Torrent fwoln did first inspire A Roman Soul in Grecian Lire. I labour with deserved praise; Crown, crown me (willing Muse) with Baies.

The End of the Third Book.

ODES. BOOK IV.

ODE I. To VENUS.

Argument.

Arriv'd to Fifty nox, he should His Pen from amorous Theams with-hold: Yet night and day doth Ligurine his heart to fervent love incline.

Intermissa Venu: THou Venus dost commence again Thy long suspended wars. O pray refrain: I am not as I wont to be, While gracious Cynera ruled over me. Dire mother of sweet loves forbear Me, now obdur'd and at my Fiftieth year,

T'incline to thy soft 〈…〉〈…〉 Where fair-teng'd young mens flattries court the to In Paulus M••ximus 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Thou drawn with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 more fitly shalt corrouze, And want on it: if thou desire T'inflame thy flagrant Liver with loves Fire, He, noble, and of Comely, race, And a good pleader in his Clients case, And for an hundred arts renown'd, Shall spread thine Ensigns through the ample round▪ And when he laughs, more prevalent Than those large gifts his Rival did present, He under Cypress-roof shall make Thee alli of Marble nigh the Albane lake. There copious store of Fra••kincense Shalt thou snuff up, to recreate thy sense, And lyve, with Phrygian pipe, and fl••te, All shall thine ears prom••scuously salute. There Youths and tender Virgina, they Thy sacred power advancing, twice a day, Shall with their candid feet rebound, Like Pries••s of Bacchus three times from the ground, No woman, nor young youth love I, Nor am I prone to vain credulity, Nor in carro••z••••g to c••••test, Nor with f••••sh Flowers my temples to invest▪ But why, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Lygurinus, why Glide 〈◊〉〈◊〉 tears thus slowly from my eye? Why in the midst of language trips My eloquent tongue with unseemly slips? I, when surpriz'd with gentle sleep, Do thee (methinks) in my imbracements ••e••p: Now o'r woode and Mars his plain, O hard of heart / thee prosecute amain.

ODE II. By Sir R. F. To Antonius Julus, the son of Mark Anthony, the Triumur.

That it is dangerous to imitate the ancient Poets.

WHo thinks to equal Piudar, tries With waxen wings to reach the Skies, Like him that (falling) a name gave T' his watry grave. As a proud stream that swoln with rain, Comes pouring down the hills amain, So Pindar flows, and fears no drouth, Such his deep mouth: Worthy the Bayes, whither he powre From unexhausted Springs a showre Of lawless Dytherambs, and thunders In bolder numbers: Or sings of Gods, and Heroes (seed Of Gods) whose just swords did outweed The Centaures, and Chimera stout Her flames put out: Or mourns some youth, from his sad spouse Unkindly torn, whose strength and prowes And golden mind he lists to th' skie, And lets not die. This Theban Swan, when he will sing Among the clouds, raises his wing On a stiff gale. I like the Bee Of Calabrie, Which (toiling) sucks beloved Flowers About the Thymie Groves, and Skowrs

Of Fount-well Tyber, frame a terse But humble verse. Thou Anthony in higher strains Chaunt Caesar, when he leads in chains Fierce Germans, his victorious brows Crown'd with Bay-boughs▪ Then whom a greater thing, or good, Heaven hath not lent the earth, nor shou'd Though it refin'd the age to th'old Saturnian gold. Thou shalt sing to the publick playes For his return, and Holy-dayes For our prayers heard, and wrangling pleas Bound to the peace. Then I (if I may then be heard) Happy in my restored Lord, Will joyn ith' close, and ô! (Ile say) O Sun-shine day! And (thou proceeding) we'l all sing, Io Triumph! And agin Io Triumph! At each turning Incense burning. A Hecatomb's requir'd of thee, And weaned Calf excuses me, In high grass fat and frisking now, To pay my vow. Resembled in whose shining horns, The increasing Moon his brow adorns; Save a white feather in his head All sorrel red.

A Paraphrase on the same Ode, by A. C.

1.

PIndar is imitable by none; The Phoenix, Pindar, is a vast species alone; Who er'e but Dedalus with Waxen wings could flie, And neither sink too low, nor soar too high? What could he who follow'd claim, But of vain boldness the unhappy fame, And by his fall a Sea to name? Pindars unnavigable song, Like a swoln Flood from some steep mountains pours a∣long▪ The Ocean meets with such a voice From his enlarg'd mouth, as drowns the Oceans noise.

2.

So Pindar does new words and figures roul Down his impetuous Dithyrambique tide, Which in no Channel daignst' abide, Which neither bankes nor dikes controul, Whither th' immortal Gods he sings In a no less immortal strain, Or the great acts of God-descended Kings, Who in his numbers still survive and raign Each rich Embroidred line, By his Sacred hand is bound; Which their triumphant brows around, Does all their Starrie-Diadems out-shine.

3.

Whither at Pisa's race he please To carve in Polisht verse, the Conqueror•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪

Whither the swift, the skilful, or the strong, Be crown'd in his nimble artful vig'rous song, Whither some brave young mans untimely Fate, In words worth dying for, he celebrate Such mournful, and such pleasing words, As joy to his Mothers, and his Mistress grief assords. He bids him live, and grow in fame, Among the Stars he sticks his name; The Grave can but the dross of him devour, So small is Deaths, so great the Poets power.

4.

Loe, how the Obsequious wind and swelling air, The Theban Swan does upwards bear Into the welks of Clouds; where he does play, And with extended wings opens his liquid way: Whilst, alas, my timerous Muse, Unambitious tracts pursues, Does with weak unballast wings, About the massie brooks and springs, About the trees new blossom'd heads, About the Gardens painted beds, About the Fields and flowry Meads, And all inferiour beauteous things, Like the laborious Bee, For little drops of honey flee; And there with humble sweets, contents her industry.

ODE III. By Sir. R. F. To MELPOMENE.

That be is born to Poetry, and by the benefit thereof, hath obtained immortality and glory.

WHom thou Melpomene Hast smil'd on in his infancie, Him neither Isthmian game Shall ever for a wrestler fame; Nor stout Olympick steeds Victorious draw; nor Martial deeds Shew to the Capitoll A Lawrel-crowned General For faming Kings: but floods Which wash rich Tybur, and green woods Their bushy locks grown long, Make big with an Aeolian song. Queen Rome hath noted me Of her own sacred Quire to be, Where sweet-tongu'd Poets sing; And now I fear not envies sting. O Muse! whose sugard words Are married to the golden Chords: Who, if thou touch their tongues, Giv'st to mute Fishes Swan-like songs: Tis (all) thy Boon, that I Am pointed at as I pass by Romes Lyric: thine it is, I live, and please, if I do this.

ODE IV. By Sir. R. F.

He celebrates the Victories of Drusus Nero (who was Son-in-law to Augustus Caesar) over the Rhaetiars and Vindelicians: Also commemorates certain vali∣ant deeds of Claudius Nero.

AS th' Armour-bearer of great Iove (Made King of all that soars above, For stealing him from Troy The* 1.2 yellow-tressed Boy) Youth whilom and his Native courage Drew from his nest ere he could forage: And now soft Winds, being fair, Teach him to from ith' air Unwonted steps: Anon more bold With hostile force assaults a fold; Resisting Snakes anon For fight and prey sets on: Or such as kids a Lion view From tawny mother weaned new, Ready in pastures sweet To hansel his first teeth: Such Rhaetians did behold and flie Drusus beneath the Alpes, who why They carry at their backs An Amazonian Ax, I lift not to determine here: Perhaps nor can. But this is clear Their long Victorious bands Subdu'd by a Boy's hands, Felt what a mind right gor, and true-••red under lucky roofs could do,

What Caesars fatherly Care of the Claudii. A valiant man gets men of spirit; Ev'n beasts their fathers mindes inherit; Nor doth the bird of Iove Get a degenerous Dove. But learning inward strength thrusts forth, And Princely breeding confirms worth: Still where good precepts want, Good Plants turn recreant. What unto Nero's, Rome thou ow'st, Speak Alpes, and Asdrubals red Ghost, And that bright day to thee The black Clouds made to flee: The first, since the dire African Through the Italian Cities ran Like fire through Piny woods, Or storms on Tuscan Floods. Thenceforth thy youth with prosperous pains Still grew; and thy religious fanes, Sackt by the Punick sword, Had their chac'd Gods restor'd; And perjur'd Hannibal' gan say At length; Porr sheep (of wolves the prey) We worry, whom to flie Were a great victory. The Nation that through flames of Troy, And Tyrrhene billows did convoy Their Gods, and Babes, and hoar Sires, to th' Ausonian shore, Like a dark Oak on the rich top Of Algidum, which Hatchets lop, Grows by it loss, and takes Strength from the very axe.

Not mangled Hydra more increast Vnder Alcides, nor that beast Iason, or he subdu'd Of Thebes, more lives renew'd. Plunge them ith'sea; they swim fresh out: Foyl them, with double force they'l rout The Conqueror: and sight As in a Mistress fight. Now shall I send no more proud Posts To joyful Carthage. Lost, O! lost's Now Asdrubal is slain, The glory of our name. What is't but N••ros can effect? Whom Heavens with prosperous stars protect, And their own prudent care Clews through the Maze of War.

ODE V. By Sir R. F. To AUGUSTUS.

That he would at length return to the City. Describes the peace and happiness which Italy injoyed under his Government.

HEavens choicest gift, Romes greatest stay, Now thou art too too long away: The holy Senate urge thy word For soon return, return. Afford, Like day, thy presence; like the Spring Give a new life to every thing:

The first, good Prince, our night will chace, The second will prolong our dayes. As a fond mother for her son, Whom, having over seas been gone Above a year, the envious wind Keeps back from her embraces kind; And now she eyes the Vane, and prayes, And from the crooked shore doth gaze: So, with a loyal passion strook, The People for their Caesar look. For now the Oxen walk in peace: Corn, and white innocence increase: The cleared Main the Sea-men sail: Faith promises, and dares not fail. The married Bed unsoil'd remains, Custom and law preventing stains: Babes, like the father, praise the Mother: Punishment is Sins Twin-brother. Who fears cold Scythians? who the Medes? Fierce sons of Germany, who dreads? Whilest Caesar doth in safety raign, Who is afraid of Wars with Spain? Each man his proper Field doth till, And hides the Sun behind his hill: Returning then to sup with Glee, His second course is praising thee. For thee he prayes, to thee propines, Thee with his houshold gods he joyns, As, for like reason, thankful Greece Did Castor and great Hercules. Long last these golden Holy-dayes! Thus Italy for thy life prayes: Sprinkled at night, not chang'd at morn, When to dry labour they return.

ODE VI. To Apollo and Diana.

Argument.

He doth in Saecularian verse Phoebus, and Diana's praise rehearse.

Dive quem. GOd, whose revenge for boasts, the crew From Niobe sprung, and Tytius knew, And great Achilles, who did Troy Almost destroy. The greatest souldier's not like thee, Though Sea-bred Thetis son he be, Who did with dreadful Javelin make Troys turrets shake. No Pine with keen edg'd-axe hewn down, Nor Cypress with East-blasts o'r-thrown, So amply fell, his Carcass found On Trojan ground. He ne'r (as sculkt in horse compil'd For Pallas sacrifice) beguil'd Ill-id ling Troy, and Priams Court, With dancing sport. But publickly in flames had flung (O dire?) each Grecian infant young, Yea formless Embroyes not yet come From Mothers womb; Had not thy own, and Venus prayer Prevail'd with father Iove, to rear

Walls f••r Aeneas toyles, of state, And better fate. O Phoebus shrill Thalias theam, Who lav'dst thy looks in Xanthus stream, Protect the honour'd Daunian Muse, Smooth Agyeus. 'Twas Phoebus gave thee wit, and art, And name of Poet did impart. Ye noblest Maids, and youths of high- Born ancestry; Ye guarded in Diana's bounds, Whose bow swift Stags, and Lynces wounds, My Lesbian measures patron stand, And guide my hand: Chaunting (as of old) Diana's Sun, And the still light-augmenting Moon, Fructiferous, making Moneths to hie On speedily. Now wed, thou'lt say: I, who each Verse Of Horace knew, did Layes rehearse T' th' Gods, when ev'ry age in use Did feasts reduce.

ODE VII. By Sir R. F. To L. Manlius Torquatus.

Proposing the arrival of the Spring, and the equal ne∣cessity to all men of dying, without hopes of living again, and proposing likewise the change and vicissi∣tude of all things, he invites to lead a merry and pleasant life.

THe snows are thaw'd, now grass new cloaths the earth, And trees new hair thrust forth. The season's chang'd, and brooks late swoln with rain, Their proper banks contain. Nymphs with the Graces linkt dare dance around Naked upon the ground. That thou must die, the year and howers say Which draw the winged day. First Spring, then Summer, that away doth chase, And must it self give place To Apple-bearing Antumn, and that past, Dull Winter comes at last. But the decays of time, Time doth repair: When we once plunged are Where good Aeneas, with rich Ancus wades, Ashes we are, and shades. Who knows if Iove unto thy life's past score Will adde one morning more? When thou art dead, and Rhadamanthus ••ust Sentence hath spoke thee dust,

Thy blood, nor eloquence can ransome thee, No nor thy piety. For chast Hippolytus in Stygian night Diana cannot light: Nor Theseus break with all his vertuous pains, His dear Perithous chains.

A Paraphrase on the same Ode.

THe snow is gone, the grass returns To Fields, the Perucks to the trees, Earth playes with her varieties. Each River in Consumption mourns, And humbly glides beneath her bourns, Contain'd within her banks degrees. The naked Graces lead the dance, With whom the Nymphs in measures more, The sliding years our hopes reprove; Which to Eternity advance, And the swift howers their speed inhance, The day by snatches to remove. Soft Western gales allay the cold, On the Sprlngs heels the Summer treads, It self then to destruction leads. Where Autumn does her fruits unfold, Straight comes the Winter stiffe and cold, And life with lazie humour deads. Yet Moons may wane, and soon increase, But when once we thither go, Where wealthy men and worthy too, Must all lay down their heads at last, When their needless toyls are past,

To dust and ghost we vanish all; Who knows that those great powers on high, The present sum of these our dayes, Which by to morrows reckoning raise? Our heirs as well as we must die, And from our clutcht hands all will flie, Which our kind will to them conveys. That once among the dead thou be, And the just Judge do sentence give, In glorious state on all that live: Thee no extraction thence shall free, No eloquence, no piety, Thy life recover, or reprieve. No Father can, though much he mourn, From the dark vale of shade beneath, Restore his guiltless Babe to breath; Nor friend can make his friend return, When once imprison'd in his Urn, From cold forgetfulness and death.

ODE VIII. By Sir R. F. To Martius Censorinus.

That there is nothing which can make men more immor∣tal, then the verses of Poets.

MY friends, I would accommodate With goblets, Grecian tripods, Plate Of Corinth- Brass: and, Censorine, The worst of these should not be thine: That is to say, if I were rich In those same antique pieces, which

Parrhasius and Scopas fame; He skill'd to paint, in stone to frame This, now a God, a Mortal now. But I have not the means; nor thou A mind, or purse, that wants such knacks. Verse thou dost love. Thou shalt not lack For Verse. And hear me what 'tis worth, Not inscrib'd Marbles planted forth To publick view, which give new breath To great and good men after death: Not the swift flight of Hannihal, And his threats turn'd to his own wall: Not perjur'd Carthage wrapt in flame, By which young Scipio brought a name From conquer'd Africk: speaks his praise So loud as the Pierian Layes. Nar, were Books silenc'd could'st thou gain The Guerdon of thy vertuous pain? What had become of Ilia's child She bare to Mars, had darkness veil'd The merits of our Romulus? From Stygian waters Aeacus, Vertue and fav'ring verse assoils, And consecrates to the blest Isles: A man that hath deserv'd t' have praise, The Muse embalms; She keeps Heavens Keys, Thus Hercules (his labours past) With Iupiter takes wisht repast: The sons of Leda stars are made, And give the sinking Sea-man aid; Good Bacchus, crowned with Vine-leaves, His drooping Voraries relieves.

ODE IX. By Sir R. F. To LOLLIO.

That his writings shail never perish: Vertue without the help of Verses is buried in oblivion. That he will sing Lollio's praises, whose vertue he now also ce∣lebrates.

LEast thou should'st think the words which I (By sounding Aufid born) compile To marry with the Lute b'a skill Never before reveal'd, shall die: Though Homer lead the Van, the Muse Of Pindar, nor Alcaeus heights, Grave Stesichore, nor Caean sighs, Are silenc't, or worn out of use. Nor what of old Anacreon plaid, Hath time defac't: Love lights his fire▪ And with his Quiver wears the Lyre Of the yet fresh Aeolian Maid. Helen was not the onely she A curled gallant did inflame, The splendour of his Royal train, And Gold and Pearls embroyderie. Nor Teuc••r first that drew a strong Cydonian Bow. Trojans had fought Before: nor that age onely wrought Deeds worthy of the Muses song. Nor valiant H••ctor, and the brave Deiphob, were the onely men Receiv'd deep wounds upon them then,

Their children and chafte wives to save. Men slasht ere Diomed was made: But all are in oblivion drown'd, And put unmourn'd into the ground, For lack of Sacred Poets aid. Vertue that's buried, and dead Sloth, Differ not much. Un-understood Thou shalt not die; nor so much good As thou host acted feed the Moth. Lollio thou art a man hast skill To fathome things: that being tride In either Fortune, could'st abide In both up-right, and Lollio still. Of coverous fraud a scourge severe: On whom the all-attracting Gold Could with its Tenters ne'r take hold: Nor Consul of one year. When ere Avertuous Magistrate, and true, Shall call good, gain, bid Bribes avaunt; Upon Opposers bellies plant His conqu'ring Flags; Lollio, that's you. He is not happy that hath much: But who so can his mind dispose To use aright what Heaven bestows, He justly is accounted such: If he know how hard want to bear: And fear a crime, more then his end; If for his Country, or his Friend To stake his life he doth not fear.

And strain'd 'mongst herbs my palate to delude? Or some damn'd dose Canidia brew'd? When Iasons love Medea's heart had caught, He chief, and fairest Argonaut; Who bulls combined never yoak'd before, With Garlick she besmear'd him ore. With this that harlot Glauca she bespred, And on the wings of Dragons fled. An influence so rageful never rent Apulia's droughty continent, Nor gore-steept garment ere more servent fri'd On powerful Hercules his side. But if thou 'gain provide me such a dish, Maecenas merry friend, I wish Thy sweet-heart nicely may thy kisses flie, And on the utmost Bed-stock lie.

EPODE IV. By Sir T. H. To Volteius Mena, Pompey's freed-man.

THat disaccord between us two I find, Which Natures law hath lambs and wolves dis∣joyn'd. (O thou, whose sides with Spanish whips are torn, And galled legs with stubborn fetters worn.) Though, proud of wealth, thou walk with pompous pace, Fortune correcteth not ignoble race. Seest not when to the Capitol through the Town, Thou stalk'st along clad in thy Six-ell Gown,

How Indignation limitless, and free Of passers to and fro reflects on thee? He, who was earst with Triumvirs smart blows, Lash'd till the loathing Beadle weary grows; A thousand plough'd Falernian Akers brags, And treads the Appian way with well pac'd-nags, And on chief Benches sitteth (in despight Of Otho's law) a most accomplish'd Knight! What needs great Caesar, then to go about So many goodly ships to furnish out 'Gainst wretched Pirates, and the slavish hand, This, this man dignify'd with prime command!

EPODE V. By Sir T. H.

A noble youth, whom Canidia, and other Witches had stoln, and set in the earth up to the chin, purposing to famish him, that they might by Art Magick make a Love-drink of his Liver and Marrow.

O God, who e're in Heaven dost guide The earth, and men which here abide, What means this noise, and why on me, Do you all look so rufully? Ah, for thy childrens sake forbear, If at such Births Lucina were. By this vain Purple robe, I pray, By Iove, who will not like your way, Why frown you on me, Step-dame like, Or beast, whom eager Hunters strike?

While here the trembling Lad doth stay, Made to dispoil from rich array H••s tender body (which might force The cruel Thracian to remorse:) Canidia, whose unkembed head Was with short Vipers filleted, Commands from Graves wild Fig-tree torn: And Cypress, which doth Becres adorn: Eggs steept in Blood of Toads, to bring, With feathers from the Scritch-Owles wing; Hearbs of Iolco's baneful field, And poysons, Thessaly doth yield; Bones snatch'd from jaws of hungry Bitch, To burn with flames of Colchique witch. Quick Sagan, who doth waters fling, Fetch'd from Avernus loathsom Spring, Bristles her hair, as moody Bore, Or the Sea-urchin near the shore. While Veia free from all remorse Of horrid deeds, the ground 'gan force With stubborn spade; and hard she swet That in it, the whelm'd stripling set, Might twice or thrice a day be ply'd With view of viands, till he dy'd: In which, up to the chin he stood, As they who wade within the flood. That his drain'd Marrow, Liver dry, Her with a Love-drink might supply; When once his fainting eyes were spy'd To sink at sight of food, deny'd. Nay easeful Naples did believe, And the neat Towns for receive That Folia of Ariminum Lustful (man like) did thither come:

Whose spells have power from Orbes of light, The charmed Moon, and Stars to fright. Canidia here for spleen prepar'd, With black teeth gnawing nails unpar'd, What mutter'd she? what not? O ye You conscious Arbiters with me, Night, and Diana Queen of Rest, Now we perform our dark behest Be present here: your anger throw, And powerful God-head on my foe. While fearful beasts close covert keep▪ Charm'd with the ease of gentle sleep. Let the Suburran dogs report, That all may jeer it, the resort Of the old wanton, sleek with Nard; Better my hands have n'ere prepar'd. How, how! why do Medaea's charmes And deadly drugs cause greater harmes, Wherewlth she took revenge at full On Creons daughter, that proud Trul, When a Gown dipt in poyson'us Bane, Turned the guift and Bride to flame? But plant nor root in craggs conceal'd Rests from my notice, unreveal'd: Yet Varus, not with love in ure, In beds perfumed, sleeps secure: But, ah, he walkes, freed by the spells Of some, whose knowledge more excells. O Varus, by strange drugs, to me (Damn'd to indure much misery) Thou shalt return; nor thy sick mind From Marsian charmes shall comfort find. A stronger Cup I will devise Fill'd for thee, who dost me despise.

Heaven shall below the Sea descend, And o're the Sea the Earth distend; If thou like pitch in dusky fire Consumest not with my desire. The Boy sought them to sooth no more With gentle words, as heretofore, But doubtful what he first should speak, Thus direfully doth silence break; Let charmes and spels do what they can, They cannot change the Fate of man. I'le haunt you still: For setled hate No sacrifice doth expiate. When forc'd by you my soul is fled, I'le come a Fury to your bed, And a sad Ghost your faces tear (Such power on earth have Spirits here:) And as the Night-mare, on your chest, I'le vex, and scare you from your rest. The thronging people in the street, Base Hags, shall stone you, when yee meet: Your limbs untomb'd the Wolves shall tear, And Vulters to Esquiliae bear: Nor (ah) my parents after me Shall fail this spectacle to see.

EPODE VI. Against Cassius Severus, a revileful and wanton Poet.

Argument.

The surly and crabb'd qualities Of Poet Cassius, he descries.

Quid immerentes. WHy (currish Dog) dost harmless guests assail, But not 'gainst Wolves dar'st wag thy tail? Why, if thou dar'st, with menaces so vain Assault'st not me, who'l turn again? For like Colossian masty, or red-flect Laconian dogs, which herds protect, Through profound snowes with flat-cowch'd ear I'le chace Whatever obvious game I face. When the woods eccho with thy dismal cries, Thou snook'st at morsels 'fore thine eyes. Beware, beware: for I'le sharp horns prepare, To push those that revileful are; Like him whom curst Lycambe slighted so, Or Bupalus his tart-mouth'd foe. What? if calumniated once, should I Put 't up and childe-like pule and cry?

EPODE VII. By Sir R. F. To the People of Rome.

An Execration of the second Civil Warre waged after the death of Julius, by Brutus and Cassius on the one side; on the other by Octavius, M. Anthony, and Lepidus.

WHy, why your sheath'd swords drawn again? Whether rush ye, impious brood? Have not the earth yet and the main, Drunk enough of Latin blood? Not that proud Carthage burnt might be, Rival of the Roman State: Nor the chast Mistress of the Sea Britain, on our Triumphs wait; But that the thing the Parthians crave, Rome, may make her self away. Lions and Wolves this temp'rance have, On their Kind they will not prey. Is't a blind rage, or force more strong, Or Crime drives you? Speak. They look As pale as Death, and hold their tongue, As their Souls were Planet-strook. 'Tis so: dire Fates the Romans haunt, And a Fratricidal guilt: Since blood of Remus innocent, On the cursed ground was spilt.

EPODE VIII. To a Lustful old Woman▪

Argument.

The fulsome shape, and vitious life, Of a lascivious aged wife.

Rogare Longo. THou to demand of rot-consumed date, What should my strength emasculate? When all thy teeth black-furr'd with Canker show, And Old-age wrinckle plows thy brow, And filthy arse 'twixt buttocks wither-dry'd, Like some raw-bon'd Cows gapes so wide. But thy down-swagging breasts extub'rant teats, Like Mares dugs kindle Cupids heats: Thy down-soft bellie, and thy spindle thighs, Sustain'd on legs, which pregnant rise. Live happily: let Statutes triumphal Adorn thy pompous funeral: Nor may more precious chains of pearl invest 'Ere any marri'd womans brest. How is't that Stoic Treatises are by, And 'mongst thy silken pillows lie? Are rustick Loons less pollent at the sports? Or doth their courage less retort! Whose—that thou may'st urge to spend,* 1.3 Thou must with—contend.

EPODE IX. By Sir T. H. To MAECENAS.

He beforehand feels the contentment he shall take from Augustus his victory against M. Anthony, and Cleo∣patra.

VVHen shall I Caecube wines, that stored lie For banquets, glad at Caesars victory (So Iove will have it) in thy stately house, With thee, my dear Maecenas, free carrouze? Resounding notes that mingle Flutes with Lyre; This, Dorique, speaking joy, that Phrygian, Ire: As when Neptunian Pompey droven, fled Through straigthned seas, with navie ruined, Who Rome had threatned with those chains, which he Had ta'ne from treacherous Servitors, made free The Roman Souldier by a woman ty'd In slavish bands (ah this will be deny'd By after times) lugs armes, earth, stakes, and tent, Striving her with'red Eunuches to content; And Phoebus 'mongst their ensignes doth espy, Her net-like and lascivious canopie. But the bold French proclaiming Caesars name, Thence with two thousand Horse straight hither came; And the swift prowess of hostile vessels lie Turn'd to the left hand, ready set to flie. O gladsome triumph! thou retard'st the drift Of golden chariot, and young beifers gift: O gladsome triumph! from Iugurthian war▪ Thou brought'st no captain might with this compare:

Nor African, whose noble valours praise, Did lasting monuments or'e Carthage raise. The foe, by Sea, and Land, now vanquish'd fears, And a black Cassock for a purple wears; Not knowing whither adverse windes will cast Him, on rich Crete with hundred Cities grac'd, Or on the Quick-sands with South-billows toss'd, Or the wide main in danger to be lost. Boy, cups bring hither for a larger draught; Let Chian, or the Lesbian grape be sought: Or fill Caecubian wines without delay, Which may a queezie loathing drive away: The care, and fear of Caesars happy state, Let us with merry Bacchus dissipate.

EPODE X. Against Maetius a Poet.

Argument.

He wisheth raging stormes may rise, And Maetius with wrack surprize.

Mala Soluta. THe ship inauspica••ely quits the Bay, And noisome Maetius hoists away. Anster, see thou impe••uously rave, Dashing both sides with furious wave. Let gloomy Eurus with his stormes adverse The Tacklings and broke Oars disperse. 〈…〉〈…〉 such violent 〈◊〉〈◊〉 extend, As from high hills an Holm 〈…〉〈…〉.

On pitchie nights let no stars luster shine, When sad Orion doth decline: Nor let the Ocean tranquiller stand, Than for the Grecians conquering band, When wrathful Pallas, waving fired Troy, Would impious Ajax sail destroy. O how do thy industrious sailers sweat! Thy self with pallid fear repleat, Howling out sadly woman-like laments, And vows, which ireful Iove resents: When showry Notus lowdly bellowing, I'th' Adrian Gulph doth ship-wrack bring. But if the crooktly-winding shore display Thy still stretch'd limbs for Corm'rants prey, A lustful Goat, and a She-lambkin shall A Sacrifice to tempests fall.

EPODE XI. To Pettius his Chamber-fellow.

Argument.

He Cupid-struck cannot the while To compose Verses frame his stile.

Petti nil me. PEttius, I take no pleasure, as before, In writing Verse, Now Cupids arrows pierce: Cupid, who me '••ove all inflameth sore With wilder heat Of Youths and Virgins neat.

Now three Decembers woods have shed their glory, Since ore I gave For Inachia to rave. Oh shameful folly! what a Citie-storie ('lass) I became! My junkettings I blame, When paleness, silence, and long sighs exhal'd From lungs profound, Descri'd my passions wound: And I lamentful moan'd that wealth prevail'd 'Gainst honestie, And distress'd ingeny: When debaucht Bacchus did my secrets broach From heated breast, With fervent liquors prest. But if free indignation once approach My boyling blood, And this distasteful flood Expel, which nought allaies my maladie: Shame profligate With great ones strife will hate. When I, thou hearing, these extoll'd on high, Charg'd to get home, I rov'd with vagrant roam, To those (ah) flintie thresholds, unkind posts, Which as I li'd, All bruis'd my shins, and side. Me now Lyciscas love ore-rules, who boasts T' exceed each she, In soft effeminacie, From whence no faithful counsels can me free A friend affords, Nor contumelious words.

A new flame of some Virgin it must be, Or youth plump-round, With long hair backward wound.

EPODE XII. Against a libidinous old Woman.

Argument▪

He scolds a Whore, who did him court To sate her Lust with Venus sport.

Quid tibi vis. WHat mean'st thou Woman for black El'phants fit? Why send'st me tokens, why are letters writ To me nor vig'rous, nor obtuse of nose? For I quick-sented can as soon disclose A Polype, or an arm-pits rammish scent, As well nos'd hounds explore where sows are pent, What ••tench, what sweat her wizned limbs hath drench'd, When (Natures kneener ardours in me quench'd▪) She hastes to satisfie her unbridled lust: Nor bides her all sweat-steeped cheeks cerust, Or dawb'd with Crocodiles ordure: with mad reaks, She now both Bed-stock, and the Matt'ress breaks: Thus jears my Languors with revileful flout; Thou with Inachia could'st hold longer out, Yea, thrice a night: with me at once thou 'rt tir'd. A Pox take Les••ia, who when I enquir'd

For tuff-back'd Actors, shew'd me thee so dull: Choan Amyntas giving me my full, Whose unfoyl'd—more stiff erected— Then ere a sapling in the loftie wood: For whom were garments (which twice tincted show In Tyrian purple) made? for thee I trow. Least 'mongst his equals ere a guest should be Whom his dear sweet-heart better lov'd than thee. Oh wretch am I whom thou eschews as much; As Lambes fierce Wolves, or Goats the Lions clutch.

EPODE XIII. By Sir T. H. To his merry Friends, that they should pass the VVinte•• pleasantly.

ROugh tempests have the brow of heaven bent, And showers, and snows cause thickned airs de∣scent: Now Thracian North windes, Seas and woods affray; Friends, let us take occasion from the day; While strength is fresh, and us it well becomes, Let's old age banish, which the brow benumns. Boy, see you broach those elder Wines were prest, When Torquat first the Consulship possest: Speak not of other things. God will, perchance, Them to their Seat, with happy change advance. Let us in Persian unguents now delight; And with Cylenian harp put cares to flight:

As noble Chiron to Achilles sang; Vnvanquish'•• Mortal, that from Thetis sprang, Troy thee expects; which Simois rouling Tide, And small Scamanders colder streams divide, VVhence thou no more (the Sisters so ordain) VVith thy blew Mother shalt return again. All sorrow there, with wine, and Song depress, (Sweet comforts of deformed heaviness.)

EPODE XIV. By Sir R. F. To MAECENAS.

That his love to Phryne, is the Cause why he doth not finish his promised Iambicks.

'TIs Death, my sweet Maecenas, when so oft You ask me, why a soft Sloth turns my sence, as if with thirsty draught I had together quaft L••the's oblivious lake into my blood. It is a God, a God, Forbids me finish my Iambicks, though Promis'd thee long ago. Be••••••ted thus Ana••rcon was 'tis said Upon the S••mian Maid: W••o so••••'d his love out to a hollow Lyre With stumbling Feet. That fire Cons••mes thee too. If fairer burnt not Troy Besieg'd, in thy lot joy. Me a Bond-woman, such a one torments, As no one man contents.

EPODE XV. To his Sweet-heart Neara.

Argument.

Our Lyric dolefully descryes Faithless Neaeraes perjuries.

Noxerat. 'TWas night, and Cynthia lighted all the skie 'Mongst Stars of less fulgency, When thou, profaning Gods of power immense, T' act my will didst oaths dispence; Not lofty Ivies th' Ilex closer graspt, Than thy limber armes me claspt: While Lambs fled Wolves, and while Orions orb Sailours bane, should seas disturb, VVhile unshorn Sol his hairy beams should dart, Thou would'st mutual love impart. Naeera! how my vertue thou'st bewail! For less Flaccus spirit fail, For cliftier rivals he'l not brook one night, And vext seek those that will requite, Nor once offended will he constant rest, If certain grief pierce his breast. But thou who now in favour happy reigns, Proudly vaunt'st at my disdains, Though rich in stock, and grounds, and to thy hands Pactole roll his Golden sands: Though truly vvrote oft-liv'd Pythag••ras, And fair Nereus thou surpass;

Yet she'l her love to others ('lass) translate, But then I'le deride thy Fate.

EPODE XVI. By Sir R. F. To the People of Rome.

Commiserating the Common-wealth, in respect of the Ci∣vil VVars.

NOvv Civil VVars a second age consume, And Romes ovvn Svvord destroyes poor Rome. Whom neither neighbouring Marsians could devour, Nor feared Porsenas Tuscan power; Nor C••pua's rival valour, mutinies Of Bond-slayes, Treacherie of Allies; Nor Germany (blue-ey'd Bellona's nurse) Nor Hannibal (the Mothers curse) We (a blood-thirstie age) our selves deface, And Wolves shall re-possess this place. The barbarous foe will trample on our dead; The steel-shod horse our courts will tread; And R••m••lus dust (clos'd in religious Urn From Sun and tempest) proudly spurn. All, or the ••ounder part, perchance would know, How to avoid this coming blow. 'Twere best I think, like to the Phocean••, Who left their execrated lands, And hou••es, and the houses of their Gods, To Wolves and Bears for their aboads▪

T'abandon all, and go where ere our feet Bear us by land, by sea our Fleet. Can any man better advice afford? If not, in name of Heaven aboard! But you must swear first to return again, When loosned Rocks float on the Main, And be content to see your Mother-town, When Betis washes the Alpes crown; Or Appennine into the Ocean flies, Or new lust weds Antipathies, Making the Hind stoop to the Tygers love, The ravenous Kite cuckold the Dove: And credulous Heards, t'affect the Lions side, And Goats the salt Sea to abide. This, and what else may stop our wish'd return When all, or the good part have sworn, Fly hence! Let him whose smooth and unfledg'd breast Misgives him, keep the rifled neast. You that are men, unmanly grief give o're And sail along the Tuscan shore, To the wide Ocean. Let us seek those Isle•• Which swim in plenty, the blest soyles: Where the Earths Virgin-womb unplough'd is fruitful, And the unproyned Vine still youthful: The Olive Tree makes no abortion there, And Figs hang dangling in the air; Honey distils from Oaks, and water hops With creeking feet from Mountain tops. The generous Goats without the Milk-maids call, Of their full bags are prodigal; No evening wolf with hoarse alarums wakes The Flocks, nor breeds the up-land Snakes.

And far••••er to invite us, the plump Grain, Is neither drunk with too much rain, Nor yet for want of mod'rate watring drie; Such the blest temper of the skie. Never did Iason to those Islands guide His Pirat-ship, and whorish Bride. Sydonian Cadmus never toucht these shores, Nor false Ulysses weary Oars. No murrain rots the sheep, nor star doth scorch The Cattel with his burning torch. When Iove with brass the Golden age infected, These Isles he for the pure extracted. Now Iron raìgns, I like a Statue stand, To point good men to a good land.

EPODE XVII. To CANIDIA.

Argument.

Canidia the Sorceress He doth his over-match confess: And supplicates her to give o're Her spells, and torture him no more.

Iam, jam efficaci. I Now su••mit unto thy powerful skill, And beg by Proserpines imperial will, And by Dianaes steddy fixt decree, And by thy Charm-books which effectual be, To summon stars down from the Aetherial Sphear; Thy Spells, Canidia, Oh at length forbear,

And cease, O cease this giddy whirling wind. Proud Telephus, he dire Achilles mind Mov'd to relent; though against him he had shown His Mysian squadrons, and sharp Javelins thrown. The Trojan dames did warlike Hector oyl, To ravenous birds, and dogs expos'd for spoyl; When Priam quitting Troy, fell down prostrate Before Achilles, ah, too obstinate. Ulysses his industrious Sailors left Their br••sled limbs of hispid skins bereft, Circe appeas'd: then Reason did retreat, With speech and wonted favour to its seat. Thou now hast plagu'd me in abundant measure, O thou the Seamans and Merchants pleasure. Youths blossom's faded, and my Purple hew, My skin and bones are smear'd with black and blew▪ My hair's turn'd hoary with thy dismal oyles, No leisures free me from heart-racking toiles: I'me cruciated night and day with ire: Scarce can my grief extended lungs respire. I wretch am now convinced to believe, Sabellan charmes (which I deni'd) can grieve The heart, and Marsian Spells the head dispoil. What would'st thou more? O sea, O land? I broyl, As not Alcides stew'd in Nessus gore: Nor yet Sicilian Aetna rageth more With its e'r flagrant embers: Thou, till I Become light ashes scatter'd in the skie, Fry'st me, as 'twere in Colchian poys'nous forge. When ends my pain? what tribute wilt thou urge▪ O speak; And I religiously will pay Whatever mulct's impos'd; prepar'd to slay Ev'n Hecatombs, or with dissembling song Chaunt thee for fair, for vertuous, and among

Heavens Or••es to glister as a glorious Sphear. Castor and Pollux wrathful though they were, And smote him ••lind did Helens honour stain, Yet, won with prayers, restor'd his eyes again. Ev'n thou, who canst from phrenzies set me free, O 〈◊〉〈◊〉 not sprung from Sires of base degree, Nor skill'd in poor mens urns, to dissipate 〈◊〉〈◊〉 silent ashes after nine dayes dare. Thy heart is hounteous, and thy hands sincere, Fruitful thy Womb, and th' Midwi••e rinseth clear 〈…〉〈…〉 with thy fluent blood, When thou from Child-bed skip'••t with livelihood.

CANIDIA'S Answer.

Argument.

The 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••ill not be wo•• 〈…〉〈…〉 his supplication: 〈…〉〈…〉 up and down, 〈…〉〈…〉 all ore the Town.

Quid obscratis. WHy vainly pray'st thou to my lock'd-up ears? A•• well the Rock the nake-stript Sailor hears, When 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Neptune with his billows beats. Shalt thou (Scot-free) scoff our Cocyttian feats, Divulge licentious Cupids Sacrifice? An Arch-priest-like o'th' Esquile Sorceries; Revengeless blason our reproachful fames? To truck with old P••lignian haggard dames, Or mix dispatching Pills, to what end is't, If thou can'st not refeind thy destin'd twist?

The Fa••es (poor wretch) prolong thy irksome date, That still fresh torments may thy carcase bait. Pelops his tell-tale Sire for rest out cries, Wanting still what abounds before his eyes: For Rest Prometheus Vultur-chain'd makes moan, And Sisyphus his still down-tumbling stone Would roul aloft, but Iove gain-saies. And now Thou wouldst thy self precipitately throw From down steep clifts: Now Noric sword distain In thine own Guts, and (loathing life) in vain Striv'st with a Halter to conclude thy pain. Then on thy hateful shoulders will I ride, And make the earth stoop to my haughty pride. I, who Wax. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 can inspire with motion, As thou (too curious) know'st, and whose dark no∣tion Can hale the Moon down by my abstruse Spells, And raise the dead up from their silent Cells, And fervent Phil••ers mix: Should I bewail, My Magic Art 'gainst thee cannot prevail▪

Verses sung in the Secular games every Century of years, pronounced for the s••fety of the Roman Empire.

PHoebus and Dian, Grovie Queen, Heavens ornaments; as you have been, Still be you honour'd, ever 〈◊〉〈◊〉: Gra••t what we ask on holy Feast.

In which Sybi••l••'s verses ••each, Cha••te maids, and youths not 〈…〉〈…〉,

Unto those Gods songs to recite, Who on the seaven-fold hills delight.

(Fair Sol) who in thy chariot bright, Dost call forth Day, and shutt'st up Night; And other, and the same dost come, Nought greater maist thou see than Rome.

Ilythia, open wombes we crave For ripened Births, and Mothers save; Whether we thee Lucina call, Or Cynthia, which produceth all.

Goddess, bring Children forth, and bless Senates decrees, give good success To nuptial laws, that those who wed, May have a fruitful Marriage-bed.

That ten-times-ten full Orbes mature, May us to songs and sports enure: Thrice in the splendour of day light, And thrice in shades of welcome night.

And you truth ••telling Fates, to past Joyn future fortunes, that may last: That stable limits may enclose, What once to Mortals you propose.

That Cattel may, and Corn abound, Wherewith fair Ceres shall be crown'd: And wholesome streams, with air as pure. May n••triments to plants assure.

Ah Phoebus mild, withdraw thy dart, To suppliant youths thy grace impart: And Queen of Stars, who do'st appear By-forked (Luna) Virgins hear▪

If Rome a work be of your store, And Trojan troops held Tybers shore: A part injoyn'd their seat to change, And with success from home to range:

For whom secure, th'row Troy on fire Aeneas chaste in safe retire, Free passage open'd, and gave more To them, then they possest before.

O Gods to youth grant matters sage, Gods give repose to quiet age; And unto Romulus his blood, Wealth, issue, honour, all that's good.

Let Venus, and Anchises strain, Who give ye Oxen free from stain, In Wars atchievements bear the prize, And courteous be to enemies.

The Median now by Sea and Land, Fears Roman power, and conquering hand: The Scythians now our friendship crave, And haughty Indians truce would have.

Now Faith, Peace, Honour, modest look And Vertue scorned, which forsook Our City, dares return again, And blessed Plenty freely raig••.

Phoebus, with radiant Bow, Divine, Gracious among the Muses nine; Who doth with Heaven-inspir'd art, To crazie bodies health impart:

If he Mount Palatine do grace, The weal of Rome, and Latian Race, To farther times and better end, May he these Centuries extend.

And Dian who holds Aventine, And Algidus, may she incline To prayers of fifteen men, and hear Our childrens vows with friendly ear.

Then I, and all well skill'd in Layes, Phoebus and Dians name to praise, Go home, with certain hopes, that Iove, And all the Gods these things approve.

The end of the Epodes.

Notes

• * 1.1

  Other names of Bacchus.
• * 1.2

  Ganymed.
• * 1.3

  Honor sit au∣ribus.