The Second Epistle of the first Book of Horace. To a Friend

WHilst Philosophic studies you persue,
My acquaintance here with Homer I renew;
Who rules of moral Life to man prescribes,
Beyond the Stoic or Platonic Tribes.
Why this is my opinion, hear—
That part which the protracted war relates,
Between the Grecian and Barbarian States,
Instructively of the commotions sings,
Of empty crowds, and their resembling Kings.
By voting to restore the beauteous Prize,
Peace to restore at once Antenor tries,
Paris to be compell'd to happiness denies.
Nestor makes haste the difference to compose,
Which in the General, and Achilles rose.
Whose injur'd Love in both strange fury breeds,
Whilst for the madness of their Kings the Grecian Army bleeds.
Sedition, Malice, Lust and Rage destroy,
The Grecian Camp, and Garrison of Troy.
But how far Wisdom joyn'd with Virtue goes,
That pattern of them both Vlysses shows.
He, thro strange Climes with different customs, tost,
After h' had taken Troy himself had almost lost.
Suff'ring, he sail'd the boundless Ocean o're,
And up against all Storms of Fate he bore,
Whilst for himself and Friends he did a safe return explore.

Why should I here Circaean Cups rehearse?
Or Syrens singing in harmonious Verse?
Those Cups if with his greedy Friends h' had drunk,
Down to a Brute transform'd with them h' had sunk.
Young Fops who sleep till noon, then dress till night,
And make that Life their vanity and delight;
These are Penelope's Suitors, Raskals born
Only to plague the Fair, and consume Corn.
Cyphers, who stand for nought alone, design'd
But to compleat the number of Mankind.

Villains to cut mens Throats their Beds forsake,
And wilt not thou to save thy self awake?
'Tis better now to try preventive arts,
E're noxious Humors seize the nobler parts;
Then stay till their contagious influence force,
The wretched Patient on too late a course.
Now rouse by Night, watch o're th' instructive Page,
For Love, or Envy, Discontent or Rage;
Unless this useful gentler way you take,
The rest you 'indulge will soon by Tortures break.
Why? when malignant Rheums thy sight obscure
Art thou impatient to dispatch the Cure;
Yet like a stupid Wretch delayst to find
A cure for cares that overcast thy mind?
Dare to tread Wisdoms paths, set forth apace:
He who sets forth has finish'd half the race.
Who till the letts of Life are past, defers
That happy minute, like the Peasant errs,
Who stands expecting by the Rivers side
Till running waters leave the Channel dry'd,
Which from an unexhausted source eternally's supplyd
Vainly thou spend'st too great a part of Life
In getting an Estate, or a ine Wise.
With greedy toil thou ploughst vast Forests o're,
Let him who has enough expect no more.
When the Great man lyes languishing in State,
Not all his Pomp and Plenty can abate,
That Feavor, which perhaps they might create.
Nor Gold, nor Jewels, anxious cares expel,
T' enjoy all these the Owner must be well.
He whom Ambition fires, or Dangers fright,
In Fortunes favors takes no more delight,
Than men grown impotent, in Women's find;
So Lutes the Deaf, so Beauty charms the Blind.
Th' infected Vessel aints th' infusion too,
Contemn all joys, which greater griefs persue.
The Miser wants the more, the more h' acquires,
Hear this, and bounds prefix to your desires.
Not witty Cruelty by Revenge rein'd,
In old Sicilian Tyrants e're design'd
Tortures that vex'd the Limbs, as Envy wracks the Mind.
Temperate rising Fury whilst y' have pow'r,
Who give't a loose, oft curse that Fatal hour.
'Tis a short madness: your desire restrain,
That, that betimes confine, betimes enchain,
Which must b' a Slave, or absolutely reign.

Th' unmanag'd Colt, the skilful Rider tames,
And forms him to the course or to the battle frames.
Since first they flesh'd and enter'd the young Hound,
His ratling tongue makes Hills and Dales resound.
Now, now, these wholsome precepts of the Muse
Into your young untainted breast infuse.
Th' unseason'd Cask will long retain the scent,
Of the rich Wines which in it first ferment.
Thus my sweet Friend, in whom I most delight,
To keep my pace in Vertues ways I' invite.
But if you outrun or lag I give you o're,
I'le neither wait for those behind, nor urge on those before.