Classic Poem

INSCRIB'D TO THE REVEREND DR. BUSBY

THE SPEAKERS PERSIUS AND CORNUTUS

P ER . Of ancient use to poets it belongs,
To wish themselves an hundred mouths and tongues:
Whether to the well-lung'd tragedian's rage
They recommend their labors of the stage,
Or sing the Parthian, when transfix'd he lies,
Wrenching the Roman javelin from his thighs.
C ORN . And why wouldst thou these mighty morsels choose,
Of words unchaw'd, and fit to choke the Muse?
Let fustian poets with their stuff be gone,
And suck the mists that hang o'er Helicon;
When Progne's or Thyestes' feast they write;
And, for the mouthing actor, verse indite.
Thou neither, like a bellows, swell'st thy face,
As if thou wert to blow the burning mass
Of melting ore; nor canst thou strain thy throat,
Or murmur in an undistinguish'd note,
Like rolling thunder, till it breaks the cloud,
And rattling nonsense is discharg'd aloud.
Soft elocution does thy style renown,
And the sweet accents of the peaceful gown:
Gentle or sharp, according to thy choice,
To laugh at follies, or to lash at vice.
Hence draw thy theme, and to the stage permit
Raw-head and bloody-bones, and hands and feet,
Ragousts for Tereus or Thyestes dress'd;
'T is task enough for thee t' expose a Roman feast.
P ER . 'T is not, indeed, my talent to engage
In lofty trifles, or to swell my page
With wind and noise; but freely to impart,
As to a friend, the secrets of my heart;
And, in familiar speech, to let thee know
How much I love thee, and how much I owe.
Knock on my heart: for thou hast skill to find
If it sound solid, or be fill'd with wind;
And, thro' the vale of words, thou view'st the naked mind.
For this a hundred voices I desire,
To tell thee what an hundred tongues would tire;
Yet never could be worthily express'd,
How deeply thou art seated in my breast.
When first my childish robe resign'd the charge,
And left me, unconfin'd, to live at large;
When now my golden bulla (hung on high
To household gods) declar'd me past a boy,
And my white shield proclaim'd my liberty;
When, with my wild companions, I could roll
From street to street, and sin without control;
Just at that age, when manhood set me free,
I then depos'd myself, and left the reins to thee.
On thy wise bosom I repos'd my head,
And by my better Socrates was bred.
Then thy straight rule set virtue in my sight,
The crooked line reforming by the right.
My reason took the bent of thy command,
Was form'd and polish'd by thy skilful hand;
Long summer days thy precepts I rehearse,
And winter nights were short in our converse;
One was our labor, one was our repose,
One frugal supper did our studies close.
Sure on our birth some friendly planet shone;
And, as our souls, our horoscope was one:
Whether the mounting Twins did heav'n adorn,
Or with the rising Balance we were born;
Both have the same impressions from above,
And both have Saturn's rage, repell'd by Jove.
What star I know not, but some star, I find,
Has giv'n thee an ascendant o'er my mind.
C ORN . Nature is ever various in her frame;
Each has a different will, and few the same:
The greedy merchants, led by luere, run
To the parch'd Indies, and the rising sun;
From thence hot pepper and rich drugs they bear,
Bart'ring for spices their Italian ware;
The lazy glutton safe at home will keep,
Indulge his sloth, and batten with his sleep:
One bribes for high preferments in the State;
A second shakes the box, and sits up late;
Another shakes the bed, dissolving there,
Till knots upon his gouty joints appear,
And chalk is in his crippled fingers found;
Rots like a dodder'd oak, and piecemeal falls to ground;
Then his lewd follies he would late repent;
And his past years, that in a mist were spent.
P ER . But thou art pale in nightly studies grown,
To make the Stoic institutes thy own;
Thou long with studious care hast till'd our youth,
And sown our well-purg'd ears with whole-some truth.
From thee both old and young with profit learn
The bounds of good and evil to discern.
C ORN . Unhappy he who does this work adjourn
And to to-morrow would the search delay:
His lazy morrow will be like to-day.
P ER . But is one day of ease too much to borrow?
C ORN . Yes, sure: for yesterday was once to-morrow.
That yesterday is gone, and nothing gain'd;
And all thy fruitless days will thus be drain'd;
For thou hast more to-morrows yet to ask,
And wilt be ever to begin thy task;
Who, like the hindmost chariot wheels, art curst,
Still to be near, but ne'er to reach the first.
O freedom! first delight of humankind!
Not that which bondmen from their masters find,
The privilege of doles; nor yet t' inscribe
Their names in this or t'other Roman tribe:
That false enfranchisement with ease is found;
Slaves are made citizens by turning round.
" How, " replies one, " can any be more free?
Here's Dama, once a groom of low degree
Not worth a farthing, and a sot beside;
So true a rogue, for lying's sake he lied:
But, with a turn, a freeman he became;
Now Marcus Dama is his worship's name
Good gods! who would refuse to lend a sum,
If wealthy Marcus surety will become!
Marcus is made a judge, and for a proof
Of certain truth, " He said it," is enough.
A will is to be prov'd; put in your claim;
'T is clear, if Marcus has subscrib'd his name.
This is true liberty, as I believe;
What farther can we from our caps receive,
Than as we please without control to live?
Not more to noble Brutus could belong. "
" Hold, " says the Stoic, " your assumption 's wrong:
I grant true freedom you have well defin'd;
But, living as you list, and to your mind,
Are loosely tack'd, and must be left behind. "
" What! since the praetor did my fetters loose,
And left me freely at my own dispose,
May I not live without control or awe,
Excepting still the letter of the law? "
" Hear me with patience, while thy mind I free
From those fond notions of false liberty:
'T is not the praetor's province to bestow
True freedom; nor to teach mankind to know
What to ourselves, or to our friends, we owe.
He could not set thee free from cares and strife,
Nor give the reins to a lewd vicious life:
As well he for an ass a harp might string,
Which is against the reason of the thing;
For reason still is whisp'ring in your ear:
" Where you are sure to fail, th' attempt forbear."
No need of public sanctions this to bind,
Which Nature has implanted in the mind:
Not to pursue the work, to which we're not design'd.
" Unskill'd in hellebore, if thou shouldst try
To mix it, and mistake the quantity,
The rules of physic would against thee cry.
The high-shoed plowman, should he quit the land,
To take the pilot's rudder in his hand,
Artless of stars, and of the moving sand,
The gods would leave him to the waves and wind,
And think all shame was lost in humankind.
" Tell 'me, my friend, from whence hadst thou the skill,
So nicely to distinguish good from ill?
Or by the sound to judge of gold and brass,
What piece is tinker's metal, what will pass?
And what thou art to follow, what to fly,
This to condemn, and that to ratify?
When to be bountiful, and when to spare,
But never craving, or oppress'd with care?
The baits of gifts and money to despise,
And look on wealth with undesiring eyes?
When thou canst truly call these virtues thine,
Be wise and free, by Heav'n's consent, and mine.
" But thou, who lately of the common strain,
Wert one of us, if still thou dost retain
The same ill habits, the same follies too,
Gloss'd over only with a saintlike show,
Then I resume the freedom which I gave;
Still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave.
Thou canst not wag thy finger, or begin
The least light motion, but it tends to sin. "
" How's this? Not wag my finger? " he replies.
" No, friend; nor fuming gums, nor sacrifice,
Can ever make a madman free, or wise.
Virtue and Vice are never in one soul:
A man is wholly wise, or wholly is a fool.
A heavy bumpkin, taught with daily care,
Can never dance three steps with a becoming air. "
P ER . In spite of this, my freedom still remains.
C ORN . Free! what, and fetter'd with so many chains?
Canst thou no other master understand
Than him that freed thee by the praetor's wand?
Should he, who was thy lord, command thee now,
With a harsh voice, and supercilious brow,
To servile duties, thou wouldst fear no more;
The gallows and the whip are out of door.
But if thy passions lord it in thy breast,
Art thou not still a slave, and still oppress'd?
Whether alone, or in thy harlot's lap,
When thou wouldst take a lazy morning's nap,
" Up, up, " says Avarice; thou snor'st again,
Stretchest thy limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain:
The tyrant Luere no denial takes;
At his command th' unwilling sluggard wakes.
" What must I do? " he cries: " What? " says his lord:
" Why rise, make ready, and go straight aboard;
With fish, from Euxine seas, thy vessel freight;
Flax, castor, Coan wines, the precious weight
Of pepper, and Sabaean incense, take
With thy own hands, from the tir'd camel's back:
And with posthaste thy running markets make.
Be sure to turn the penny: lie and swear;
'T is wholesome sin. " " But Jove, " thou say'st, " will hear. "
" Swear, fool, or starve; for the dilemma's even:
A tradesman thou! and hope to go to heav'n? "
Resolv'd for sea, the slaves thy baggage pack,
Each saddled with his burden on his back;
Nothing retards thy voyage, now, unless
Thy other lord forbids, Voluptuousness:
And he may ask this civil question: " Friend,
What dost thou make a-shipboard? to what end?
Art thou of Bethlem's noble college free?
Stark, staring mad, that thou wouldst tempt the sea?
Cubb'd in a cabin, on a mattress laid,
On a brown george, with lousy swabbers fed,
Dead wine, that stinks of the borachio, sup
From a foul jack, or greasy maple cup?
Say, wouldst thou bear all this, to raise thy store
From six i' th' hundred, to six hundred more?
Indulge, and to thy Genius freely give;
For, not to live at ease, is not to live;
Death stalks behind thee, and each flying hour
Does some loose remnant of thy life devour.
Live, while thou liv'st; for death will make us all
A name, a nothing but an old wife's tale. "
Speak; wilt thou Avarice, or Pleasure choose
To be thy lord? Take one, and one refuse.
But both, by turns, the rule of thee will have,
And thou, bewixt 'em both, wilt be a slave.
Nor think, when once thou hast resisted one,
That all thy marks of servitude are gone:
The struggling greyhound gnaws his leash in vain,
If, when 't is broken, still he drags the chain.
Says Phaedria to his man: " Believe me, friend,
To this uneasy love I'll put an end.
Shall I run out of all? my friends disgrace,
And be the first lewd unthrift of my race?
Shall I the neighbors' nightly rest invade
At her deaf doors, with some vile serenade? "
" Well hast thou freed thyself, " his man replies,
" Go, thank the gods, and offer sacrifice. "
" Ah, " says the youth, " if we unkindly part,
Will not the poor fond creature break her heart? "
" Weak soul! and blindly to destruction led!
She break her heart! she 'll sooner break your head.
She knows her man, and when you rant and swear,
Can draw you to her with a single hair . "
" But shall I not return? Now, when she sues,
Shall I my own, and her desires refuse? "
" Sir, take your course; but my advice is plain:
Once freed, 't is madness to resume your chain. "
Ay; there 's the man, who, loos'd trom lust and pelf,
Less to the praetor owes, than to himself.
But write him down a slave, who, humbly proud,
With presents begs preferments from the crowd:
That early suppliant, who salutes the tribes,
And sets the mob to scramble for his bribes,
That some old dotard, sitting in the sun,
On holidays may tell that such a feat was done:
In future times this will be counted rare.
Thy superstition too may claim a share:
When flow'rs are strew'd, and lamps in order plac'd,
And windows with illuminations grac'd,
On Herod's day; when sparkling bowls go round,
And tunny's tails in savory sauce are drown'd,
Thou mutter'st prayers obscene; nor dost refuse
The fasts and Sabbaths of the curtail'd Jews.
Then a crack'd eggshell thy sick fancy frights,
Besides the childish fear of walking sprites
Of o'ergrown gelding priests thou art afraid;
The timbrel, and the squintifego maid
Of Isis, awe thee; lest the gods, for sin,
Should with a swelling dropsy stuff thy skin:
Unless three garlic heads the curse avert,
Eaten each morn, devoutly, next thy heart
" Preach this among the brawny guards, say'st thou,
" And see if they thy doctrine will allow: "
The dull fat captain, with a hound's deep throat,
Would bellow out a laugh, in a bass note;
And prize a hundred Zenos just as much
As a clipp'd sixpence, or a schilling Dutch.