Still various, and unconstant ftill,
But with an inclination to be ill,
Promotes, degrades, delights in ftrife,
And makes a lottery of life.

1 can enjoy her while fhe's kind; But when the dances in the wind,

And fhakes the wings, and will not stay,
puff the prostitute away:

The little or the much fhe gave, is quietly refign'd:

Content with poverty, my foul I arm;

85

And virtue, though in rags, will keep me

warm.

X.

What is't to me,

Who never fail in her unfaithful fea,

If ftorms arife, and clouds grow black; 90 If the mast split, 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

small pinnace I can fail,

Contemning all the blustering roar;

95

100

3

And running with a merry gale, With friendly ftars 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 business, void of ftrife,
And from the griping fcrivener free !
Thus, ere the feeds of vice were fown,
ages born,

Liv'd men in better
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 ftate, he wifely fhuns, Nor brib'd with hopes, nor dar'd with awe,

To fervile falutations runs ;

But either to the clafping vine

Does the fupporting poplar wed,

Or with his pruning-hook disjoin

5

10

15

20

Unbearing branches from their head,
And grafts more happy in their ftead:
Or, climbing to a hilly fteep,

He views his herds in vales afar,
Or fheers his overburden'd theep,
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 cluftring grapes with purple spread.
The faireft 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 Sleep he need invoke;
The ftream, that o'er the pebbles flies,
With gentle flumber crowns his eyes.
The wind, that whiftles through the fprays,

Maintains the confort 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

Into the naked woods he goes,

year,

And feeks the tufky boar to rear,

With well-mouth'd hounds and pointed spear!

Or fpreads his fubtle nets from fight,

With twinkling glaffes, to betray The larks that in the meshes light,

Or makes the fearful hare his prey. Amidft his harmless eafy joys

No anxious care invades his health,

Nor love his peace of mind deftroys,

Nor wicked avarice of wealth.

But if a chafte and pleafing wife,
To eafe the bufinefs of his life,
Divides with him his houfhold care,
Such as the Sabine matrons were,
Such as the fwift Apulian's bride,
Sun-burnt and fwarthy though fhe 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 fhe in pens his flocks will fold,

And then produce her dairy store,
With wine to drive away the cold,

And unbought dainties of the Not oyfters of the Lucrine lake My fober appetite would wish, Nor turbot, or the foreign fish That rolling tempefts overtake,

poor;

And hither waft the coftly difh.

50

55

60

65

70

75