I saw the hardy hireling till the ground
(Twas once his own estate) and while around
His cattle graz'd, and children listening stood,
The cheerful swain his pleasing tale pursu'd.
On working days I had no idle treat,
But a smok'd leg of pork and greens I eat ;
Yet when arriv'd some long-expected guest,
Or rainy weather gave an hour of rest,
If a kind neighbour then a visit paid,
An entertainment more profuse I made;
Tho' with a kid, or pullet well content,
Ne'er for luxurious fish to Rome I sent;
With nuts and figs I crown'd the cheerful board,
The largest that the season could afford.
The social glass went round with cheerfulness,
And our sole rule was to avoid excess.
Our due libations were to Ceres paid,
To bless our corn, and fill the rising blade,
While the gay wine dispell'd each anxious care,
And smooth'd the wrinkled forehead too severe.
Let fortune rage, and new disorders make,
From such a life how little can she take?
Or have we liv'd at a more frugal rate
Since this new stranger seiz'd on our estate?
Nature will no perpetual heir assign,
Or make the farm his property or mine.
He turn'd us out; but follies all his own,
Or law-suits and their knaveries yet unknown,
Or, all his follies and his law-suits past,
Some long-liv'd heir shall turn him out at last.
The farm, once mine, now bears Umbrenus' name:
The use alone, not property we claim;
Then be not with your present lot deprest,
And meet the future with undaunted breast.
IF hardly once a quarter of a year,
So idle grown, a single sheet appear;
If angry at yourself, that sleep and wine
Enjoy your hours, while anxious to refine
Your labors past, no more your voice you raise
To aught that may deserve the public praise,
What shall be done? when Saturn's jovial feast
Seem'd too luxuriant to your sober taste,
Hither you fled. Then try the pleasing strain:
Come on: begin.
Alas! 'tis all in vain,
While I with impotence of rage abuse
My harmless pens, the guiltless walls accuse ;
Walls, that seem rais'd in angry heaven's despite,
The curse of peevish poets, when they write.
And yet you threaten'd something wonderous great,
When you should warm you in your country-seat.
Why crowd the volumes of the Grecian sage,
Rang'd with the writers of the comic stage ?
Think you the wrath of envy to appease,
Your virtue lost in idleness and ease?
Unhappy bard, to sure contempt you run,
Then learn the Siren idleness to shun,
Or poorly be content to lose the fame,
Which your past hours of better life might claim.
Sage Damasippus, may the powers divine,
For this same excellent advice of thine,
Give thee a barber, in their special grace,
To nurse your beard, that wisdom of the face.
Yet, prithee, tell me whence I'm so well known.
When I had lost all business of my own,
And at th' exchange my shipwreck'd fortunes broke,
I minded the affairs of other folk.
In rare antiques full curious was my taste,
Here the rude chissel's rougher strokes I trac'd;
In flowing brass a vicious hardness found,
Or bought a statue for five hundred pound.
A perfect connoisseur at gainful rate,
I purchas'd gardens, or a mansion-seat.
Thus thro' the city was I known to fame,
And Mercury's favorite my public name.
I knew your illness, and amaz'd beheld
Your sudden cure.
DAMASIPPUS.
A new disease expell'd
My old distemper: as when changing pains
Fly to the stomach from the head and reins.
Thus the lethargic, starting from his bed
In boxing frenzy, broke his doctor's head.
Spare but this frenzy, use me as you please.
Good Sir, don't triumph in your own disease,
For all are fools or mad, as well as you,
At least, if what Stertinius says be true,
Whose wonderous precepts I with pleasure heard,
What time he bade me nurse this reverend beard,
Cheerful from the Fabrician bridge depart,
And with the words of comfort fill'd my heart.
For when, my fortune's lost, resolv'd I stood,
Covering my head, to plunge into the flood,
Propitious he addrest me-
Nor wrong yourself by this unworthy deed.
'Tis but a vicious modesty to fear
Among the mad a madman to appear.
But listen heedful first, while I explain
What madness is, what error of the brain ;
And if in you alone appear its power
Then bravely perish: I shall say no more.
Whom vicious passions, or whom falsehood, blind,
Are by the stoics held of madding kind.
All but the wise are by this process bound,
The subject nations, and the monarch crown'd,
And they, who call you fool, with equal claim
May plead an ample title to the name.
When in a wood we leave the certain way
One error fools us, tho' we various stray,
Some to the left, and some to t'other side;
So he, who dares thy madness to deride,
Tho' you may frankly own yourself a fool,
Behind him trails his mark of ridicule.
For various follies fill the human breast,
As, with unreal terrors when possest,
A wretch in superstitious frenzy cries,
Lo! in the plain what rocks, what rivers rise!
A different madness, tho' not less, inspires
The fool, who rushes wild thro' streams and fires;
His mother, sister, father, friends and wife,
Cry out, in vain, ah! yet preserve thy life;
That headlong ditch! how dreadful it appears!
That hanging precipice! no more he hears,
Than drunken Fusius, lately at a play
Who fairly slept Ilione away,
While the full pit, with clamorous thousands, cries, Arise, dear mother, to my aid, arise.
Now listen when full clearly I maintain
Such is the vulgar error of the brain.
Some rare antique, suppose, your madness buys;
Is he who lends the money, less unwise?
Or if the usurer Perillius said,
Take what I ne'er expect shall be repaid,
Are you a fool to take it, or not more
Taffront the god, who sends the shining store?
Ay; but I make him on a banker draw
'Tis not enough: add all the forms of law;
The knotty contracts of Cicuta's brain,
This wicked Proteus shall escape the chain :
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