No More Learning

Unlearned he knew no schoolman's subtle art,
No language, but the language of the heart.
By nature honest, by experience wise,
Healthy by temperance, and by exercise;
His life, though long, to sickness past unknown,
His death was instant, and without a groan.
O grant me thus to live, and thus to die!
Who sprung from kings shall know less joy than I.
O friend! may each domestic bliss be thine!
Be no unpleasing melancholy mine:
Me, let the tender office long engage,
To rock the cradle of reposing age,
With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,
Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death,
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
And keep a while one parent from the sky!
On cares like these if length of days attend,
May Heaven, to bless those days, preserve my friend,
Preserve him social, cheerful, and serene,
And just as rich as when he served a queen.
A. Whether that blessing be denied or given,
Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heaven.



SATIRES AND EPISTLES OF HORACE IMITATED.


ADVERTISEMENT.


The occasion of publishing these Imitations was the clamour raised on
some of my Epistles. An answer from Horace was both more full, and of
more dignity, than any I could have made in my own person; and the
example of much greater freedom in so eminent a divine as Dr. Donne,
seemed a proof with what indignation and contempt a Christian may treat
vice or folly, in ever so low, or ever so high a station.
Both these
authors were acceptable to the princes and ministers under whom they
lived. The Satires of Dr. Donne I versified, at the desire of the Earl
of Oxford while he was Lord Treasurer, and of the Duke of Shrewsbury who
had been Secretary of State, neither of whom looked upon a satire on
vicious courts as any reflection on those they served in. And indeed
there is not in the world a greater error, than that which fools are so
apt to fall into, and knaves with good reason to encourage, the mistaking
a satirist for a libeller; whereas to a true satirist nothing is so
odious as a libeller, for the same reason as to a man truly virtuous
nothing is so hateful as a hypocrite.

Uni aequus Virtuti atque ejus Amicis. P.



THE FIRST SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.


SATIRE I. TO MR. FORTESCUE.


P. There are (I scarce can think it, but am told),
There are, to whom my satire seems too bold:
Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough,
And something said of Chartres much too rough.
The lines are weak another's pleased to say,
Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day.
Timorous by nature, of the rich in awe,
I come to counsel learned in the law:
You'll give me, like a friend both sage and free,
Advice; and (as you use) without a fee.
F. I'd write no more.