Ode 18
ODE XVIII
1
Thus wee deceive ourselves: and Everie Day
Creates another hope; as wee might Say,
Time is not ripe, when our Time flyes away.
2
Weere but to morrow come, or next Day, here
Wee should be happie; or some seaven yeare
Hence, weele have Peace, and dwell noe more in Feare.
3
How hardly are wee pleas'd; how less content
In present fortunes? and wee still prevent
Our Joyes, in Expectation of Event.
4
One Day's too long; another is too Short;
Winter is Cold; Summer, unfitt for Sport;
The Spring is bitter, and the Autumne, Smart.
5
But for the frost, (God knowes) what wee'd ha' done;
Now wee crye out of Raine; and now the Sun
Shines too, too hot, when other fault is none.
6
What wee'd have done! if this Thing had not bene;
Still one mischance, or other, comes betweene
Us and our Hopes; or else, the world had seene
7
A Trophie, to convince Posteritie
Of our great Diligence, and Industrie,
Our Prudence, Justice, and our Pietie.
8
But ah! wee are not happie; never since
Some Day of Fate, (as we would make pretence)
Has the same Starre, had his owne Influence.
9
Oh God, how mad are men! and I not lesse
Then he the maddest; in the emptines
Of Hope, I loose my Youth, I must confesse;
10
And Delatorie Causes, still invent
To my owne prejudice; in the intent
I would pursue, most to my owne content.
11
Else why should I, this Day, my Quill forbeare?
Noe Day, noe Line; but in the Kalender
This is a Day, though shortest in the yeare;
12
And am I therfore tyed, (because the Sun
Is not with us Eight howers) to leave undone
The Dayes worke? for a morne, or Afternoone?
13
Such Students are too regular; and make
A Toyle of their Endeavours; let them take
Their nine for bed-time, and their five to wake.
14
Such method, yet I know not; though I be
A bed at Ten, I tarrie up till three
Next morning; then I watch as much as Hee;
15
For tis nor Day, nor night, nor any Time,
That can Deterre a Muse, in the sublime
Raptures of Fancie; had I now a Rhime
16
Of worth, and price; this short Decembers Day
I would spin out, to make my Readers say,
Long Barnabie was never halfe soe Gay.
1
Thus wee deceive ourselves: and Everie Day
Creates another hope; as wee might Say,
Time is not ripe, when our Time flyes away.
2
Weere but to morrow come, or next Day, here
Wee should be happie; or some seaven yeare
Hence, weele have Peace, and dwell noe more in Feare.
3
How hardly are wee pleas'd; how less content
In present fortunes? and wee still prevent
Our Joyes, in Expectation of Event.
4
One Day's too long; another is too Short;
Winter is Cold; Summer, unfitt for Sport;
The Spring is bitter, and the Autumne, Smart.
5
But for the frost, (God knowes) what wee'd ha' done;
Now wee crye out of Raine; and now the Sun
Shines too, too hot, when other fault is none.
6
What wee'd have done! if this Thing had not bene;
Still one mischance, or other, comes betweene
Us and our Hopes; or else, the world had seene
7
A Trophie, to convince Posteritie
Of our great Diligence, and Industrie,
Our Prudence, Justice, and our Pietie.
8
But ah! wee are not happie; never since
Some Day of Fate, (as we would make pretence)
Has the same Starre, had his owne Influence.
9
Oh God, how mad are men! and I not lesse
Then he the maddest; in the emptines
Of Hope, I loose my Youth, I must confesse;
10
And Delatorie Causes, still invent
To my owne prejudice; in the intent
I would pursue, most to my owne content.
11
Else why should I, this Day, my Quill forbeare?
Noe Day, noe Line; but in the Kalender
This is a Day, though shortest in the yeare;
12
And am I therfore tyed, (because the Sun
Is not with us Eight howers) to leave undone
The Dayes worke? for a morne, or Afternoone?
13
Such Students are too regular; and make
A Toyle of their Endeavours; let them take
Their nine for bed-time, and their five to wake.
14
Such method, yet I know not; though I be
A bed at Ten, I tarrie up till three
Next morning; then I watch as much as Hee;
15
For tis nor Day, nor night, nor any Time,
That can Deterre a Muse, in the sublime
Raptures of Fancie; had I now a Rhime
16
Of worth, and price; this short Decembers Day
I would spin out, to make my Readers say,
Long Barnabie was never halfe soe Gay.
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