Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, EPISTLE 1.18, by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

EPISTLE 1.18, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Your liberal spirit ne'er will condescend
Last Line: Good heaven, that best of blessings, peace of mind.
Alternate Author Name(s): Horace


YOUR liberal spirit ne'er will condescend
To coax or wheedle, though you praise, your friend:
Flattery and fair applause as different seem,
As human language and a parrot's scream.
We hate the blandishment of the beguiler:
Yet is his opposite as vile, or viler;
That rough-hewn savage, whom we sometimes see,
Who calls ill-manner'd bluntness—honesty;
Yelps in your face, and snarls with dirty tooth,
And scorns, he says, to utter aught but truth.
Virtue's firm steps to neither side incline;
Her straight path lies a long the middle line.
The slave, whose very soul is not his own,
Who shrinks and shudders at a great man's frown;
Fawns for his food; and soothes and apes My Lord,
Repeats his phrases, licks up each fallen word—
Like schoolboy, watchful of the teacher's glance,
Who speaks in fear, and eyes the rod askance;
Or like an actor bungling in his part
On purpose to set off another's art.
Not so gruff Honesty: the stubborn fool
Disputes it whether goats wear hair or wool.
Each trifle arms his rage: "That's kind, forsooth!
"A pretty story, Sir, to doubt my truth!
"Even life I value not; 'tis a disease,
"Unless I bark what, and at whom, I please."
And wherefore all this waste of angry breath?
What the great points to wrangle on till death?
Which way from Grub-street best to Bethle'm brings,
And whether Quarles or Donne more sweetly sings.
Them, plunged and floundering in a sea of vice,
Whom fell Newmarket sinks, or desperate dice;
Them, who, from want of foresight wanting fear,
Through airy regions wing a mad career,
In arrant pride, though hardly worth a groat,
Drink Burgundy, and wear a velvet coat;
Them, who, in want, in rags, forlorn, and old,
Gasp, shiver, hunger, thirst, and all for gold;
Them, who start back afraid, ashamed, to see
The cold, pale, squalid form of Poverty;—
All these, though wicked even above their pitch,
Their neighbour scorns and hates,—for he is rich:
At least he warns them; and, like pious mothers,
Would wish more wisdom than his own to others;
And says, "My wealth" (and what he says is true)
"Allows me follies not allow'd to you.
"Friend, you are poor; poor folk should not be fine;
"Go, go, contend not with a purse like mine.
"You must or may have heard, how sly Sir Bruin
"Gave scarlet suits to those he meant to ruin."
And what could be his purpose? "Can't you guess?
"Why, the fools grew luxurious, like their dress;
"Would run in debt, and slumber till mid-day,
"And leave all business to attend the play,
"Haunt cockpits, boxings, billiards, races, stews,
"At length, sell cardmatches, or black your shoes."
If then both opposites alike offend,
How may one get, and how secure, a friend?
Thus—Be not rude, or mean, a droll, or sad,
But take the good in each, and shun the bad.
Search not your neighbour's undisclosed design;
His secret keep though plied with threats and wine.
Nor with pedantick pride, and sneering tone,
Deride a friend's pursuit, or praise your own:
Nor, if he hunt, and kindly bid you come,
Reject the offer, to scrawl verse at home.
There lived of yore, as antient playwrights show it,
Two brothers, one a fowler, one a poet;
Each to his favourite art a slave; yet neither
Could be at ease unless they were together.
What must be done? whom should our poet chuse,
And whom resign? his brother, or his muse?
He loved his brother; strife he wished to shun;
So quitted muse and quill, for dog and gun.
Profit by the example; it is best
That you yield to a powerful friend's request.
Then, trembling with delight when the steed bounds,
And the light beagle snuffs the welcome grounds,
Up, up! leave your dull lyre; grasp gun, ram cartridge;
And dine delightfully on hare and partridge.
Bold Britons love the sport, whose healthy charms
Inure to labour, hardihood and arms.
You long have loved it; you, whose ready eye
Bids with sure aim the level'd lightning fly;
Whose youth, in vigilance and vigour bold,
Dared to defy the heat, the damp, the cold.
And far and wide, untired, undaunted, go
O'er the bewildering heath, and mountain whelm'd in snow.
Nor say, as once you said in serious mood,
That those were foolish freaks of youthful blood;
That, as to sports, you never now go near 'em,
And only mind quod decens atque verum.
We know who puts of gravity the sham on,
Who fights the twelfth of April at backgammon:
We see your feats (what cannot poets see!)
When your friends come, agog for news and tea;
When patriot zeal your gammon-board unlocks,
Fleets sail o'er points, and Rodney rules in box;
While you from right to left victorious pass,
Pelting, with ivory thunder, poor De Grasse.—
And feats like these offend nor bench nor throne;
G_____ would applaud a game so like his own,
Great G_____, whose eyes both sea and land inspect,
The guilty to chastise, the good protect;
As times demand, to risque, or to beware,
Now rapid force employ, now cautious care,
And, as adventurous Commerce prompts the oar,
Waft a world's treasure to Britannia's shore.
Next I explain (forgive that I presume)
How you must talk of others, and to whom.
Avoid the gabbling fool who gapes for news;
A vessel wide to take is wide to lose:
The pert inquirer asks, that he may prate,
And words once utter'd are recall'd too late.
Before you praise, explore with anxious view:
Another's fault may bring disgrace to you.
Oft by mistake th' unworthy we commend;
Him, who discredits you, no more defend:
But, if meek Worth repose upon your care,
In his defence no pains, no interest spare;
And him, whom Obloquy with rankling tooth
Gnaws, vindicate; nor fear t' avow the truth.
Here, did no nobler thoughts your bosom warm,
Even your own danger might your courage arm.
When virtue envy's venom'd shafts pursue,
Haply a random bolt may glance on you.
A neighbour's wall on fire attention claims,
And broad and broader blaze neglected flames.
When my lord Leerwell's flattery soothes their ear,
Triumph the young and raw, th' experienced fear.
While your gay galley, with a flowing sail,
Dances before a fair but fickle gale,
Prepare, lest contrary a tempest roar,
Raise the rough surge, and dash you back on shore.
The lively hate the dull; the grave, the glad;
Th' alert, the slow; the jocular, the sad;
And midnight bellowers hoot him for an ass,
Who guzzles not a bumper in each glass,
Although he say and swear, that he could never
Drink half a pint of claret without fever.
No care your brow contract, no cloud defile;
Smooth it, and light it up into a smile;
There are who think the modest man, a log;
And him who will not tattle, a shy dog:
(Perhaps example, more than words, may show it,
So look, not to the poem, but the poet.)
Ask of the wise, and learn, how down the tide
Of life you gently may, and safely, glide:
How of each vain and irksome wish be clear;
Each hope fantastick, and unmanly fear.
Oft ponder moral themes; and thus inquire:
Virtue—does learning form, or heaven inspire?
What to alleviate human care may tend?
Conscience how shall I make and keep my friend?
Where hope to find tranquillity serene
In the tumultuous, or the quiet scene?
Where myriads for renown and riches jar,
Or in th' unseen and silent vale afar?
Where winds the might of Dee's majestick stream,
Brightening the dusky wild with watery gleam;
When I, at leisure, on the murmuring brink,
Have sat me solitary down—to think,
Would you know what sets my fond heart on fire,
What wealth, power, honours, pleasures, I desire?—
May heaven still lend the little I possess,
Or, if too much that little give me less;
And, should a longer life my comforts crown,
Give liberty, to make that life my own;
Of books, a large; of viands, frugal store,
But fix'd, not trembling on the dubious hour.
May He, whose will th' immense of nature sways,
Grant me, of health and of protracted days,
What he deems meet. And O, to this be join'd,
Good heaven, that best of blessings, Peace of mind.




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