ART thou some individual of a kind
Long-liv'd by nature as the rook or hind?
Heap treasure then, for if thy need be such,
Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst heap too much.
But man thou seem'st; clear therefore from thy breast
This lust of treasure-folly at the best!
For why shouldst thou go wasted to the tomb,
To fatten with thy spoils thou know'st not whom?
RICH, thou hadst many lovers-poor, hast none,
So surely want extinguishes the flame,
And she, who call'd thee once her pretty one,
And her Adonis, now inquires thy name.
Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where
In what strange country can thy parents live, Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware, That want's a crime no woman can forgive?
HAPPY songster, perch'd above,
On the summit of the grove,
Whom a dew-drop cheers to sing
With the freedom of a king.
From thy perch survey the fields
Where prolific nature yields
Nought that, willingly as she,
Man surrenders not to thee.
For hostility or hate
None thy pleasures can create.
Thee it satisfies to sing
Sweetly the return of spring,
Herald of the genial hours,
Harming neither herbs nor flow'rs.
Therefore man thy voice attends
Gladly-thou and he are friends;
Nor thy never-ceasing strains
Phœbus, or the Muse, disdains,
As too simple or too long,
For themselves inspire the song.
Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying,
Ever singing, sporting, playing,
What has nature else to show
Godlike in its kind as thou?
HERMOCRATIA nam'd-save only one-
Twice fifteen births I bore, and buried none;
For neither Phoebus pierc'd my thriving joys,
Nor Dian-she my girls, or he my boys.
But Dian rather, when my daughters lay
In parturition, chas'd their pangs away.
And all my sons, by Phoebus' bounty, shar'd
A vig'rous youth, by sickness unimpair'd.
O Niobe! far less prolific! see
Thy boast against Latona sham'd by me!
FROM MENANDER.
FOND youth! who dream'st, that hoarded gold Is needful, not alone to pay
For all thy various items sold,
To serve the wants of every day;
Bread, vinegar, and oil, and meat,
For sav'ry viands season'd high;
But somewhat more important yet-
I tell thee what it cannot buy.
No treasure, hadst thou more amass'd
Than fame to Tantalus assign'd,
Would save thee from a tomb at last.
But thou must leave it all behind
I give thee, therefore, counsel wise;
Confide not vainly in thy store,
However large-much less despise
Others comparatively poor;
But in thy more exalted state
A just and equal temper show,
That all who see thee rich and great
May deem thee worthy to be so.
NOR oils of balmy scent produce,
Nor mirror for Minerva's use,
Ye nymphs who lave her; she, array'd
In genuine beauty, scorns their aid.
Not even when they left the skies
To seek on Ida's head the prize
From Paris' hand, did Juno deign,
Or Pallas in the crystal plain
Of Simois' stream her locks to trace,
Or in the mirror's polish'à face,
Though Venus oft with anxious care
Adjusted twice a single hair.
Ir flatters and deceives thy view,
This mirror of ill-polish'd ore;
For were it just, and told thee true,
Thou wouldst consult it never more.
ON A SIMILAR CHARACTER.
You give your cheeks a rosy stain,
With washes dye your hair,
But paint and washes both are vain
To give a youthful air.
Those wrinkles mock your daily toil,
No labour will efface 'em,
You wear a mask of smoothest oil,
Yet still with ease we trace 'em.
An art so fruitless then forsake,
Which though you much excel in,
You never can contrive to make
Old Hecuba young Helen.
BEWARE, my friend! of crystal brook,
Or fountain, lest that hideous hook,
Thy nose, thou chance to see,
Narcissus' fate would then be thine,
And self-detested thou wouldst pine,
As self-enamour'd he.
HAIR, wax, rouge, honey, teeth, you buy,
A multifarious store!
A mask at once would all supply,
Nor would it cost you more.
WHEN Aulus, the nocturnal thief, made prize
Of Hermes, swift-wing'd envoy of the skies,
Hermes, Arcadia's king, the thief divine,
Who when an infant stole Apollo's kine,
And whom, as arbiter and overseer
Of our gymnastic sports, we planted here;
"Hermes," he cried, "you meet no new disaster;
Ofttimes the pupil goes beyond his master."
My mother! if thou love me, name no more
My noble birth! Sounding at every breath
My noble birth, thou kill'st me. Thither fly,
As to their only refuge, all from whom
Nature withholds all good besides; they boast
Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs
Of their forefathers, and from age to age
Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race:
But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name,
Derived from no forefather? Such a man
Lives not; for how could such be born at all?
And if it chance, that native of a land
Far distant, or in infancy deprived
Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace
His origin, exist, why deem him sprung
From baser ancestry than theirs, who can?
My mother! he, whom nature at his birth
Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although
An Ethiop and a slave, is nobly born.
ON ENV Y.
PITY, says the Theban bard,
From my wishes I discard;
Envy, let me rather be,
Rather far, a theme for thee!
Pity to distress is shown;
Envy to the great alone-
So the Theban-But to shine
Less conspicuous be mine!
I prefer the golden mean
Pomp and penury between;
For alarm and peril wait
Ever on the loftiest state,
And the lowest, to the end,
Obloquy and scorn attend.
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