No treasure, hadst thou more amass'd
Than fame to Tantalus assign'd,
Would save thee from the tomb at last,
But thou must leave it all behind.
I give thee, therefore, counsel wise;
Confide not vainly in thy store,
However large-much less despise
Others comparatively poor!
But in thy more exalted state
A just and equal temper show,
That all who see thee rich and great
May deem thee worthy to be so.
ON LATE-ACQUIRED WEALTH POOR in my youth, and in life's later scenes Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour;
Who nought enjoy'd, while young, denied the
And nought, when old, enjoy'd, denied the
ON FLATTERERS
No mischief worthier of our fear
In nature can be found,
Than friendship, in ostent sincere,
But hollow and unsound.
For lull'd into a dang'rous dream
We close infold a foe,
Who strikes, when most secure we seem,
Th' inevitable blow.
A rich and large supply,
Treasure to serve your ev'ry need,
Well-manag'd, till you die.
FAR happier are the dead, methinks, than they Who look for death, and fear it ev'ry day.
ON THE ASTROLOGERS
TH' Astrologers did all alike presage
My uncle's dying in extreme old age,
One only disagreed. But he was wise,
And spoke not till he heard the fun'ral cries. 4
ON AN OLD WOMAN
MYCILLA dyes her locks 'tis said,
But 'tis a foul aspersion;
She buys them black, they therefore need
No subsequent immersion.
TO DEMOSTHENIS
IT flatters and deceives thy view,
This mirror of ill-polish'd ore!
For were it just, and told thee true,
Thou would'st consult it never more.
ON A SIMILAR CHARACTER
You give your cheeks a rosy stain,
With washes dye your hair,
But paint and washes both are vain
To give a youthful air.
Those wrinkles mock your daily toil,
No labour will efface 'em,
You wear a mask of smoothest oil,
Yet still with ease we trace 'em.
An art so fruitless then forsake,
Which though you much excel in,
You never can contrive to make
Old Hecuba young Helen.
ON A BATTERED BEAUTY
HAIR, wax, rouge, honey, teeth, you buy,
A multifarious store!
A mask at once would all supply,
Nor would it cost you more.
ON AN UGLY FELLOW
BEWARE, my friend! of crystal brook
Or fountain, lest that hideous hook,
Thy nose, thou chance to see;
Narcissus' fate would then be thine,
And self-detested thou wouldst pine,
As self-enamour'd he.
WHEN Aulus, the nocturnal thief, made prize
Of Hermes, swift-wing'd envoy of the skies,
Hermes, Arcadia's king, the thief divine,
Who, when an infant, stole Apollo's kine,
And whom, as arbiter and overseer
Of our gymnastic sports we planted here,
Hermes! he cried, you meet no new disaster;
Ofttimes the pupil goes beyond his master.
PITY, says the Theban Bard,
From my wishes I discard;
Envy! let me rather be,
Rather far, a theme for thee!,
Pity to distress is shewn :
Envy to the great alone---
So the Theban-But to shine
Less conspicuous be mine!
I prefer the golden mean
Pomp and penury between ;
For alarm and peril wait
Ever on the loftiest state,
And the lowest, to the end,
Obloquy and scorn attend.
ON PEDIGREE
FROM EPICHARMUS
My mother! if thou love me, name no more
My noble birth! Sounding at every breath
My noble birth, thou kill'st me. Thither fly.
As to their only refuge, all from whom
Nature withholds all good besides; they boast
Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs
Of their forefathers, and from age to age
Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race:
But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name.
Deriv'd from no forefathers? Such a man
Lives not; for how could such be born at all?
And if it chance that, native of a land
Far distant, or in infancy depriv'd
Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace
His origin, exist, why deem him sprung
From baser ancestry than theirs, who can?
My mother! he whom nature at his birth
Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although
An Ethiop and a slave, is nobly born.
OFT we enhance our ills by discontent,
And give them bulk beyond what nature meant.
On Pedigree-7 forefather Hayley (1812).
A parent, brother, friend deceas'd, to cry-
"He's dead indeed, but he was born to die-”
Such temperate grief is suited to the size
And burthen of the loss; is just, and wise.
But to exclaim, "Ah! wherefore was I born,
"Thus to be left, for ever thus forlorn?"
Who thus laments his loss, invites distress,
And magnifies a woe that might be less,
Through dull despondence to his lot resign'd,
And leaving reason's remedy behind.
I SLEPT, when Venus enter'd: to my bed
A Cupid in her beauteous hand she led,
A bashful-seeming boy, and thus she said:
"Shepherd, receive my little one! I bring An untaught love, whom thou must teach to sing." She said, and left him. I suspecting nought Many a sweet strain my subtle pupil taught, How reed to reed Pan first with ozier bound, How Pallas form'd the pipe of softest sound, How Hermes gave the lute, and how the quire 10 Of Phoebus owe to Phoebus' self the lyre. Such were my themes; my themes nought heeded he, But ditties sang of am'rous sort to me, The pangs that mortals and immortals prove From Venus' influence, and the darts of love. Thus was the teacher by the pupil taught; His lessons I retain'd, and mine forgot.
TRANSLATION OF AN EPIGRAM OF HOMER
No title is prefixed to this piece, but it appears to be a translation of one of the Ἐπιγράμματα of Homer called ‘Ο Κάμινος, οι The Furnace. Herodotus, or whoever was the author of the Life of Homer ascribed to him, says: Certain potters, while they were busied in baking their ware, seeing Homer at a small dis tance, and having heard much said of his wisdom, called to him, and promised him a present of their commodity and of such other things as they could afford, if he would sing to them, when he sang as follows [Adapted from J.].
[Written Oct., 1790. Published by Johnson, 1815.]
PAY me my price, Potters! and I will sing.
Attend, O Pallas! and with lifted arm
Protect their oven; let the cups and all
The sacred vessels blacken well, and bak'd
With good success, yield them both fair renown
And profit, whether in the market sold
Or streets, and let no strife ensue between us.
But oh ye Potters! if with shameless front
Ye falsify your promise, then I leave
No mischief uninvok'd t' avenge the wrong.
Come Syntrips, Smaragus, Sabactes come,
And Asbetus, nor let your direst dread
Omodamus, delay! Fire seize your house,
May neither house nor vestibule escape,
May ye lament to see confusion mar
And mingle the whole labour of your hands,
And may a sound fill all your oven, such
As of a horse grinding his provender,
While all your pots and flagons bounce within.
Come hither also, daughter of the sun,
Circe the Sorceress, and with thy drugs
Poison themselves, and all that they have made !
Come also Chiron, with thy num'rous troop
Of Centaurs, as well those who died beneath
The club of Hercules, as who escap'd,
And stamp their crockery to dust; down fall
Their chimney; let them see it with their eyes
And howl to see the ruin of their art,
While I rejoice; and if a potter stoop
To peep into his furnace, may the fire
Flash in his face and scorch it, that all men
Observe, thenceforth, equity and good faith.
TRANSLATION OF PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPHELIA
[Written April, 1779. Published 1782. There is a MS. copy in the British Museum.]
MERCATOR, Vigiles oculos ut fallere possit,
Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes;
Lene sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis,
Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chlöe.
Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines,
Cum dixit mea lux, heus, cane, sume lyram.
Namque lyram juxta positam cum carmine vidit,
Suave quidem carmen, dulcisonamque lyram. 8
Fila lyræ vocemque paro. Suspiria surgunt,
Et miscent numeris murmura mæsta meis,
Dumque tuæ memoro laudes, Euphelia, formæ,
Tota anima interea pendet ab ore Chlöes.
Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem,
Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo ;
Atque Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta corona,
Heu! fallendi artem quam didicere parum.
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