Fortune, that, with malicious joy,
Does man her flave oppress,
Proud of her office to destroy,
Is feldom pleas'd to bless :
Still various and unconstant still,
But with an inclination to be ill,
Promotes, degrades, delights in ftrife,
And makes a lottery of life.
Ican enjoy her while fhe 's kind;
But when the dances in the wind,
And shakes the wings and will not stay,
I puff the prostitute away :
The little or the much fhe gave, is quietly refign'd:
Content with poverty, my foul I arm;
And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
Who never fail in her unfaithful fea,
If ftorms arife, and clouds grow black ;
If the maft fplit, and threaten wreck ?
Then let the greedy merchant fear
For his ill-gotten gain ;
And pray to Gods that will not hear,
While the debating winds and billows bear
His wealth into the main.
For me, fecure from fortune's blows,
Secure of what I cannot lofe,
In my fmall pinnace I can fail,
Contemning all the bluftering roar;
And, running with a merry gale,
With friendly stars my safety seek
Within fome little winding creek :
And fee the storm afhore.
The Second EPODE of HORACE.
HOW happy in his low degree,
How rich in humble poverty, is he,
Who leads a quiet country life;
Difcharg'd of bufinefs, void of ftrife,
And from the griping fcrivener free!
Thus, ere the feeds of vice were fown,
Liv'd men in better ages born,
Who plow'd with oxen of their own
Their fmall paternal field of corn.
Nor trumpets fummon him to war,
Nor drums difturb his morning fleep,
Nor knows he merchants' gainful care,
Nor fears the dangers of the deep.
The clamours of contentious law,
And court, and state, he wifely fhuns,
Nor, brib'd with hepes, nor dar'd with awe,
To fervile falutations runs ;
But either to the clasping vine
Does the fupporting poplar wed,
Or with his pruning-hook disjoin
Unbearing branches from their head, And grafts more happy in their stead Or, climbing to a hilly steep,
He views his herds in vales afar,
Or fheers his overburden'd sheep,
Or mead for cooling drink prepares,
Of virgin honey in the jars.
Or in the now-declining year,
When bounteous Autumn rears his head,
He joys to pull the ripen'd pear,
And clustering grapes with purple spread.
"The fairest of his fruit he ferves, Priapus, thy rewards : Sylvanus too his part deferves,
Whofe care the fences guards.
Sometimes beneath an ancient oak,
Or on the matted grafs, he lies;
No God of fleep he need invoke ;
The ftream that o'er the pebbles flies
With gentle flumber crowns his eyes.
The wind that whistles through the sprays
Maintains the concert of the fong;
And hidden birds with native lays
The golden fleep prolong.
But, when the blaft of winter blows,
And hoary froft inverts the year,
Into the naked woods he goes,
And feeks the tufty boar to rear,
With well-mouth'd hounds and pointed speara
Or fpreads his fubtle nets from fight
With twinkling glaffes, to betray The larks that in the mehes light,
Or makes the fearful hare his prey.
Amidst his harmless eafy joys
No anxious care invades his health,
Nor love his peace of mind destroys,
Nor wicked avarice of wealth.
But if a chafte and pleafing wife,
To eafe the business of his life,
Divides with him his houthold care,
Such as the Sabine matrons were,
Such as the swift Apulian's bride,
Sun-burnt and fwarthy though the be,.
Will fire for winter-nights provide,
And without noife will overfee
His children and his family;
And order all things till he come,
Sweaty and overlabour'd, home;
If he in pens his flocks will fold,
And then produce her dairy ftore,
With wine to drive away the cold,
And unbought dainties of the poor; Not oyfters of the Lucrine lake
My fober appetite would wish, Nor turbot, or the foreign fish. That rolling tempests overtake,
And hither waft the costly dish.. Not heathpout, or the rarer bird,
Which Phafs or Ionia yields,.
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