HORACE, Lib. III. Ode I.

"Odi profanum vulgus, &c."

HENCE, ye profane; I hate you all;
Both the great vulgar, and the finall.

To virgin minds, which yet their native whiteness

hold,

Not yet difcolour'd with the love of gold

(That jaundice of the foul,

Which makes it look so gilded and so foul),
To you, ye very few, these truths I tell;

The Muse infpires my fong; hark, and observe it well.

We look on men, and wonder at fuch odds

'Twixt things that were the fame by birth;

We look on kings as giants of the earth,
These giants are but pigmies to the gods.
The humbleft bufh and proudest oak

Are but of equal proof against the thunder-stroke.
Beauty, and strength, and wit, and wealth, and power,

Have their short flourishing hour:

And love to see themselves, and smile,

And joy in their pre-eminence awhile;

Ev'n fo in the fame land,

Poor weeds, rich corn, gay flowers, together stand ; Alas! death mows down all with an impartial hand.

And

And all ye men, whom greatness does so please, Ye feast, I fear, like Damocles :

If ye your eyes could upwards move (But ye, I fear, think nothing is above) Ye would perceive by what a little thread

The sword still hangs over your head:
No tide of wine would drown your cares ;
No mirth or mufic over-noife your fears :
The fear of death would you fo watchful keep,
As not t' admit the image of it, fleep.

Sleep, is a god too proud to wait in palaces,
And yet fo humble too, as not to fcorn
The meanest country cottages:

"His poppy grows among the corn." The halcyon Sleep will never build his neft In any stormy breast.

'Tis not enough that he does find
Clouds and darkness in their mind;

Darkness but half his work will do: 'Tis not enough; he must find quiet too.

The man, who in all wishes he does make,
Does only nature's counsel take,

That wife and happy man will never fear
The evil aspects of the year;

Nor tremble, though two comets should appear:
He does not look in almanacks, to fee

Whether he fortunate fhall be;

Let Mars and Saturn in the heavens conjoin, And what they please against the world design, So Jupiter within him shine.

If of your pleasures and defires no end be found,
God to your cares and fears will fet no bound.

What would content you? who can tell?
Ye fear fo much to lose what ye have got,
As if ye lik'd it well:

Ye ftrive for more, as if ye lik'd it not.
Go, level hills, and fill up feas,

Spare nought that may your wanton fancy please;
But, trust me, when you have done all this,
Much will be missing still, and much will be amifs.

VII.

O F A VARICE.

THERE are two forts of avarice: the one is a baftard kind, and that is, the rapacious

appetite of gain; not for its own fake, but for the pleasure of refunding it immediately through all the channels of pride and luxury: the other is the true kind, and properly fo called; which is a restlefs and unfatiable defire of riches, not for any farther end or ufe, but only to hoard, and preserve, and perpetually increase them. The covetous man, of the first knd, is like a greedy oftrich, which devours any metal; but it is with an intent to feed upon it, and in effect, it makes a fhift to digeft and excern it. The fecond

is

is like the foolish chough, which loves to steal money only to hide it. The firft does much harm to mankind; and a little good too, to fome few: the fecond does good to none; no, not to himself. The first can make no excufe to God, or angels, or rational men, for his actions: the fecond can give no reafon or colour, not to the devil himself, for what he does; he is a flave to Mammon without wages. The firft makes a shift to be beloved; ay, and envied too by fome people; the fecond is the univerfal object of hatred and contempt. There is no vice has been fo pelted with good fentences, and efpecially by the poets, who have purfued it with ftories, and fables, and allegories, and allufions; and moved, as we fay, every stone to fling at it: among all which, I do not remember a more fine and gentleman-like correction, than that which was given it by one line of Ovid:

"Defunt luxuriæ multa, avaritiæ omnią."
Much is wanting to luxury, all to avarice.

To which faying, I have a mind to add one member, and tender it thus,"

Poverty wants fome, luxury many, avarice all things.

Somebody fays of a virtuous and wife man, "that having nothing, he has all:" this is juft his

*The author, well acquainted with the taste of his readers, would not difguft their delicacy by letting them know that this fomebody was St. Paul, [2 Cor. vi. 10.]-though the fenfe and expreffion would have done honour to Plato. H.

antipode,

antipode, who, having all things, yet has nothing. He is a guardian eunuch to his beloved gold: * au"divi eos amatores effe maximos, fed nil poteffe." They are the fondeft lovers, but impotent to enjoy.

And, oh, what man's condition can be worfe
Than his, whom plenty ftarves, and bleffings curfe ;
The beggars but a common fate deplore,

The rich poor man 's emphatically poor.

:

I wonder how it comes to pafs, that there has never been any law made against him: against him do I say? I mean, for him: as there are public provisions made for all other madmen: it is very reafonable that the king fhould appoint fome perfons (and I think the courtiers would not be against this propofition) to manage his eftate during his life (for his heirs commonly need not that care) and out of it to make it their business to fee, that he fhould not want alimony befitting his condition, which he could never get out of his own cruel fingers. We relieve idle vagrants, and counterfeit beggars; but have no care at all of thefe really poor men, who are, methinks, to be refpectfully treated, in regard of their quality. I might be endless against them, but I am almoft choaked with the fuper-abundance of the matter; too much plenty impoverishes me, as it does them. I will conclude this odious fubject with part of Horace's first fatire, which take in his own familiar style:

I admire, Mecenas, how it comes to pass, That no man ever yet contented was,