"Demetrius (so was call'd his favourite slave,
For such commissions a right-trusty knave),
Run and inquire of yonder fellow straight,
His name, friends, country, patron, and estate."
He goes, returns, and-" Menas is his name;
Of moderate fortune, but of honest fame;
A public crier, who a thousand ways
Bustles to get, and then enjoys his ease.
A boon companion 'mongst his equals known,
And the small house he lives in is his own.
His business over, to the public shows,
Or to the field of Mars, he sauntering goes."
Methinks, I long to see this wondrous wight.
Bid him be sure to sup with me to-night.
Menas, with awkward wonder, scarce believes
The courteous invitation he receives:
At last politely begs to be excus'd-
"And am I then with insolence refus'd?"
"Whether from too much fear, or too much pride,
I know not, but he flatly has denied."
Philip next morn our honest pedlar-found
Dealing his iron merchandise around
To his small chaps;-the first good-morrow gave ;
Menas confus'd-" Behold a very slave,
To business chain'd, or I should surely wait
An early client at your worship's gate;
Or had I first perceiv'd you-as I live”—
Well, sup with me to-night, and I forgive
All past neglect. Be punctual to your hour;
Remember, I expect you just at four.
Till then farewell; your growing fortunes mend,
And know me for your servant and friend.
your
Behold him now at supper, where he said,
Or right or wrong, what came into his head.
When Philip saw his eager gudgeon bite,
At morn an early client, and at night
A certain guest, his project to complete,
He takes him with him to his country-seat.
On horseback now he ambles at his ease,
The soil, the climate, his incessant praise.
Philip, who well observ'd our simple guest,
Laughs in his sleeve, resolv'd to have his jest
At any rate; then lends him fifty pound,
And promis'd fifty more, to buy a spot of ground.
But, that our tale no longer be delay'd,
Bought is the ground, and our spruce merchant made
A very rustic; now, at endless rate,
Vineyards and furrows are his constant prate.
He plants his elms for future vines to rise,
Grows old with care, and on the prospect dies.
But when his goats by sickness, and by thieves
His sheep are lost, his crop his hope deceives,
When his one ox is kill'd beneath the yoke,
Such various losses his best spirits broke.
At midnight dragging out his only horse,
He drives to Philip's house his desperate course;
Who, when he saw him rough, deform'd with hair,
"Your ardent love of pelf, your too much care
Hath surely brought you to this dismal plight.”—
Oh! call me wretch, if you would call me right,
But let this wretch your clemency implore,
By your good genius; by each heavenly power;
By that right hand, sure never pledg'd in vain,
Restore to me my former life again.
To his first state let him return with speed,
Who sees how far the joys he left exceed
His present choice: for all should be confin'd
Within the bounds which nature hath assign'd.
O Celsus, Muse, my warmest wishes bear, And if he kindly ask you how I fare, Say, though I threaten many fair design, Nor happiness, nor wisdom, yet are mine. Not that the driving hail my vineyards beat; Not that my olives are destroy'd with heat; Not that my cattle pine in distant plainsMore in my mind than body lie my pains. Reading I hate, and with unwilling ear The voice of comfort or of health I hear: Friends or physicians I with pain endure, Who strive this languor of my soul to cure. Whate'er may hurt me, I with joy pursue; Whate'er may do me good, with horror view. Inconstant as the wind, I various rove; At Tibur, Rome; at Rome, I Tibur love. Ask how he does; what happy arts support His prince's favour, nor offend the court; If all be well, say first, that we rejoice, And then, remember, with a gentle voice Instil this precept on his list'ning ear, "As you your fortune, we shall Celsus bear."
SEPTIMIUS only knows, at least would seem
To know, the rank I hold in your esteem;
Then asks, nay more, compels me to present him
(Nor will a moderate share of praise content him),
Worthy of Nero's family, and heart,
Where only men of merit claim a part.
When fondly he persuades himself I hold
A place among your nearer friends enroll'd,
Much better than myself he sees and knows
How far my interest with Tiberius goes.
A thousand things I urg'd to be excus'd,
Though fearful, if too warmly I refus'd,
I might, perhaps, a mean dissembler seem,
To make a property of your esteem.
Thus have I with a friend's request complied, And on the confidence of courts relied:
you forgive me, to your heart receive
The man I love, and know him good and brave.
TO Fuscus, who in city-sports delights,
A country-bard with gentle greeting writes; In this we differ, but in all beside, Like twin-born brothers, are our souls allied; And, as a pair of fondly-constant doves, What one dislikes the other disapproves. You keep the nest, I love the rural mead, The brook, the mossy rock, and woody glade; In short, I live and reign, whene'er I fly The joys you vaunt with rapture to the sky, And like a slave, from the priest's service fled, I nauseate honey'd cakes, and long for bread.
Would you to nature's laws obedience yield; Would you a house for health or pleasure build, Where is there such a situation found,
As where the country spreads its blessings round?
Where is the intemperate winter less severe?
Or, when the sun ascending fires the year,
Where breathes a milder zephyr to assuage
The Dog-star's fury, or the Lion's rage?
Where do less envious cares disturb our rest?
Or are the fields, in nature's colours drest,
Less grateful to the smell, or to the sight,
Than the rich floor, with inlaid marble bright?
Is water purer from the bursting lead,
Than gently murmuring down its native bed?
Among your columns, rich with various dyes,
Unnatural woods with awkward art arise:
You praise the house, whose situation yields
An open prospect.to the distant fields;
For Nature, driven out with proud disdain,
All-powerful goddess, will return again;
Return in silent triumph, to deride
The weak attempts of luxury and pride.
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