Ah, faithless women! when you swear,
I register your oaths in air.
IF LOVE be folly, as the schools would prove,
The man must lose his wits who falls in love:
Deny him love, you doom the wretch to death,
And then it follows he must lose his breath.
Good sooth! there is a young and dainty maid
I dearly love, a minstrel she by trade;
What then? Must I defer to pedant rule,
And own that love transforms me to a fool?
Not I, so help me! By the gods I swear,
The nymph I love is fairest of the fair,
Wise, witty, dearer to her poet's sight
Than piles of money on an author's night!
Must I not love her, then? Let the dull sot
Who made the law, obey it!
[The greatest name in the "New Comedy," except Philemon; the chief model of Terence and in part of Plautus. Born в.c. 342, died 291.]
A Pure Heart the Best Ceremonial.
IF your complaints were serious, 'twould be well
You sought a serious cure: but for weak minds
Weak medicines may suffice. -Go, call around you
The women with their purifying water;
Drug it with salt and lentils, and then take
A treble sprinkling from the holy mess;
Now search your heart: if that reproach you not,
Then, and then only, you are truly pure.
An Early Death Escape from Evil.
The lot of all most fortunate is his,
Who having stayed just long enough on earth
To feast his sight with this fair face of nature,
Sun, sea, and clouds, and Heaven's bright starry fires,
Drops without pain into an early grave.
For what is life, the longest life of man,
But the same scene repeated o'er and o'er?
A few more lingering days to be consumed
In throngs and crowds, with sharpers, knaves, and thieves; From such the speediest riddance is the best.
Thou seemst to me, young man, not to perceive
That everything contains within itself
The seeds and sources of its own corruption;
The cankering rust corrodes the brightest steel;
The moth frets out your garment, and the worm
Eats its slow way into the solid oak;
But Envy, of all evil things the worst,
The same to-day, to-morrow, and forever,
Eats and consumes the heart in which it lurks.
Of all bad things with which mankind are curst,
Their own bad tempers surely are the worst.
You say not always wisely, Know Thyself:
Know others, ofttimes is the better maxim.
The Folly of Avarice.
Weak is the vanity that boasts of riches,
For they are fleeting things: were they not such,
Could they be yours to all succeeding time,
"Twere wise to let none share in the possession.
But if whate'er you have is held of fortune,
And not of right inherent, why, my father,
Why with such niggard jealousy engross
What the next hour may ravish from your grasp,
And cast into some worthless favorite's lap?
Snatch, then, the swift occasion while 'tis yours;
Put this unstable boon to noble uses;
Foster the wants of men, impart your wealth,
And purchase friends: 'twill be more lasting treasure,
And when misfortune comes, your best resource.
Riches No Exemption from Care.
Ne'er trust me, Phanias, but I thought till now
That you rich fellows had the knack of sleeping
A good sound nap, that held you for the night,
And not like us poor rogues, who toss and turn,
Sighing, Ah, me! and grumbling at our duns:
But now I find, in spite of all your money,
You rest no better than your needy neighbors,
And sorrow is the common lot of all.
Man's Miseries Self-Caused.
All creatures are more blest in their condition,
And in their natures worthier than man.
Look at your ass!—a sorry beast, you'll say,
And such in truth he is poor, hapless thing!
Yet these his sufferings spring not from himself,
For all that Nature gave him he enjoys.
Whilst we, besides our necessary ills,
Make ourselves sorrows of our own begetting:
If a man sneeze, we're sad for that's ill-luck;
If he traduce us, we run mad with rage;
A dream, a vapor, throws us into terrors,
And let the night owl hoot we melt with fear;
Anxieties, opinions, laws, ambition,
All these are torments we may thank ourselves for.
When thou wouldst know thereof, what man thou art,
Look at the tombstones as thou passest by;
Within those monuments lie bones and dust
Of monarchs, tyrants, sages, men whose pride
Rose high because of wealth, or noble blood,
Or haughty soul, or loveliness of limb;
Yet none of these things strove for them 'gainst Time:
One common death hath ta'en all mortal men.
See thou to this, and know thee who thou art.
Being a man, ask not release from pain,
But ask the gods for strength to bear thy pain:
If thou wouldst fain escape all woe for aye,
Thou must become a god, or else a corpse.
[The second in rank of the poets of the "New Comedy." Began to exhibit about B.C. 330, and lived to be over one hundred, writing plays for nearly seventy years.]
ALL are not just because they do no wrong;
But he who will not wrong me when he may,
He is the truly just. I praise not them
Who in their petty dealings pilfer not;
But him whose conscience spurns a secret fraud
When he might plunder and defy surprise-
His be the praise, who looking down with scorn
On the false judgment of the partial herd,
Consults his own clear heart, and boldly dares
To be, not to be thought, an honest man.
Now by the gods, it is not in the power
Of painting or of sculpture to express
Aught so divine as the fair form of Truth!
The creatures of their art may catch the eye,
But her sweet nature captivates the soul.
The Chief Good in a Turbulent Age.
Philosophers consume much time and pains
To seek the Sovereign Good, nor is there one
Who yet hath struck upon it: Virtue some
And Prudence some contend for, whilst the knot
Grows harder by their struggle to untie it.
I, a mere clown, in turning up the soil
Have dug the secret forth
-all-gracious Jove! 'Tis Peace, most lovely and of all beloved: Peace is the bounteous goddess who bestows Weddings and holidays and joyous sports, Relations, friends, health, plenty, social comforts, And pleasures which alone make life a blessing.
Misfortune Comes to All.
"Tis not on them alone who tempt the sea
That the storm breaks: it whelms e'en us, O Laches, Whether we pass the open colonnade,
Or to the inmost shelter of our house
Shrink from its rage. The sailor for a day,
A night perhaps, is bandied up and down,
And then anon reposes, when the wind
Veers for the wished-for point, and wafts him home:
But I know no repose; not one day only,
But every day to the last hour of life
Deeper and deeper I am plunged in woe.
If what we have we use not, and still covet
What we have not, we are cajoled by Fortune
Of present bliss, of future by ourselves.
Two words of nonsense are two words too much;
Whole volumes of good sense will never tire.
What multitudes of lines hath Homer wrote!
Who ever thought he wrote one line too much?
Extremes of fortune are true wisdom's test,
And he's the wisest man who bears them best.
[Contemporary of Menander and Philemon.]
FROM off the farm comes once in every year
A cheery ass, to me who love his cheer;
Like hamper burst at once in all its twigs,
Bearing libations, oil, meal, honey, figs.
Time, O my guest, is a wright who works a curse:
He joys in transformations for the worse.
There is no life but evil happenings seize,
Griefs, cares, and robberies, torments and disease;
Death in physician's guise cuts short their number,
Filling the victim's closing scene with slumber.
O friend to the wise, to the children of song
Take me with thee, thou wisest and sweetest, along;
To the humble, the lowly, proud thoughts dost thou bring,
For the wretch who has thee is as blithe as a king;
From the brows of the sage, in thy humorous play,
Thou dost smooth every furrow and wrinkle away;
To the weak thou giv'st strength, to the mendicant gold,
And a slave warmed by thee as a lion is bold.
Suspicious Circumstances.
Wee have in Corinth this good Law in use:
If wee see any person keepe great cheere,
Wee make inquirie, whether he doe worke,
Or if he have Revenues coming in!
If either, then we say no more of him.
But if the Charge exceed his Gaine or Rents,
He is forbidden to run on his course;
If he continue it, he pays a fine;
If he want where withal, he is at last
Taken by sergeants and in prison cast.
VOL. IV.-21
|