No More Learning

"
Instructed thus, you bow, embrace, protest, }
Adopt him son, or cousin at the least, }
Then turn about, and laugh at your own jest. }
Or if your life be one continued treat,
If to live well means nothing but to eat;
Up, up! cries gluttony, 'tis break of day,
Go drive the deer, and drag the finny prey;
With hounds and horns go hunt an appetite--
So Russel did, but could not eat at night,
Called happy dog! the beggar at his door,
And envied thirst and hunger to the poor.
Or shall we every decency confound,
Through taverns, stews, and bagnios take our round,
Go dine with Chartres, in each vice out-do
K---l's lewd cargo, or Ty---y's crew,
From Latian Syrens, French Circean feasts,
Return well travelled, and transformed to beasts.
If, after all, we must with Wilmot own,
The cordial drop of life is love alone,
And Swift cry wisely, "Vive la Bagatelle! "
The man that loves and laughs, must sure do well.
Adieu--if this advice appear the worst,
E'en take the counsel which I gave you first:
Or better precepts if you can impart,
Why do, I'll follow them with all my heart.



THE FIRST EPISTLE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.


ADVERTISEMENT.


The Reflections of Horace, and the Judgments past in his Epistle to
Augustus, seemed so seasonable to the present Times, that I could not
help applying them to the use of my own Country. The Author thought them
considerable enough to address them to his Prince; whom he paints with
all the great and good qualities of a Monarch, upon whom the Romans
depended for the Increase of an Absolute Empire. But to make the Poem
entirely English, I was willing to add one or two of those which
contribute to the Happiness of a Free People, and are more consistent
with the Welfare of our Neighbours.

This Epistle will show the learned World to have fallen into Two
mistakes: one, that Augustus was a Patron of Poets in general; whereas he
not only prohibited all but the Best Writers to name him, but recommended
that Care even to the Civil Magistrate: Admonebat Praetores, ne
paterentur Nomen suum obsolefieri, etc. The other, that this Piece was
only a general Discourse of Poetry; whereas it was an Apology for the
Poets, in order to render Augustus more their Patron.
Horace here pleads
the Cause of his Contemporaries, first against the Taste of the Town,
whose humour it was to magnify the Authors of the preceding Age; secondly
against the Court and Nobility, who encouraged only the Writers for the
Theatre; and lastly against the Emperor himself, who had conceived them
of little Use to the Government. He shows (by a View of the Progress of
Learning, and the Change of Taste among the Romans) that the Introduction
of the Polite Arts of Greece had given the Writers of his Time great
advantages over their Predecessors; that their Morals were much improved,
and the Licence of those ancient Poets restrained: that Satire and Comedy
were become more just and useful; that, whatever extravagances were left
on the Stage, were owing to the Ill Taste of the Nobility; that Poets,
under due Regulations, were in many respects useful to the State, and
concludes, that it was upon them the Emperor himself must depend for his
Fame with Posterity.

We may farther learn from this Epistle, that Horace made his Court to
this great Prince by writing with a decent Freedom toward him, with a
just Contempt of his low Flatterers, and with a manly Regard to his own
Character. P.


EPISTLE I. TO AUGUSTUS.


While you, great patron of mankind! sustain
The balanced world, and open all the main;
Your country, chief, in arms abroad defend,
At home, with morals, arts, and laws amend;
How shall the muse from such a monarch, steal
An hour, and not defraud the public weal?
Edward and Henry, now the boast of fame,
And virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name,
After a life of generous toils endured,
The Gaul subdued, or property secured,
Ambition humbled, mighty cities stormed,
Our laws established, and the world reformed;
Closed their long glories with a sigh, to find
Th' unwilling gratitude of base mankind!
All human virtue, to its latest breath,
Finds envy never conquered but by death.
The great Alcides, every labour past,
Had still this monster to subdue at last.
Sure fate of all, beneath whose rising ray
Each star of meaner merit fades away!
Oppressed we feel the beam directly beat,
Those suns of glory please not till they set.
To thee, the world its present homage pays,
The harvest early, but mature the praise:
Great friend of liberty! in kings a name
Above all Greek, above all Roman fame:
Whose word is truth, as sacred and revered,
As heaven's own oracles from altars heard.
Wonder of kings!