Satires 1.6 (Creech): Non Quia, Maecenas

BEcause thy Veins are fill'd with Royal Blood,
Thy Birth is Noble, Family as good
As all Hetruria boasts, you are not proud:
Because thy Ancestors did Armies guide,
Kings by thy Fathers and thy Mothers side,
Thou dost not slight a Man of mean Degree,
As most Men use to do, for instance, Me,
Whose Father was a Slave, and lately Free:
For you believe, and you are right in This,
No matter whence He comes, but what He is:
No matter if his Race be low, his blood
Be mean, if but his Mind be great and good:
Before King Tully's time, by Birth a Slave,
A thousand Men of mean descent were brave,
And fill'd the Honors that the People gave:
But Noble Laevin though Valerias Son
(By whose wise Conduct this great State begun,
When Tarquin They, the lofty and the Proud,
Expell'd) was never valu'd by the Crowd:
The Crowd those Common Slaves to empty Fame,
That more than the Deserts regard the Name,
Dazled with Family and gawdy shows:
Then what should We, what We the Wise propose,
We that are thought a different Kind from Those?
But at Elections grant the Crowd refuse
Ignoble Decius, and Levinus chuse;
And grant the surly Censor Appius scorn,
And shove me off, because but meanly born
Or else deserv'dly 'cause I would be brave,
And seek a finer skin than Nature gave:
Yet Glory's shining Chariot swiftly draws
With equal Whirl the Noble and the Base:

What profit was it, Tully, to resume
Thy once lost Honors, spread thy gawdy Plume
And be a Tribune? Thence more hate began,
More Envy rose than when a Private Man:
For when a Fool shall make a mighty stir,
Swagger and huff in Golden Chain and Fur;
All Eyes streight turn to the unusual State,
And studiously enquire, what Fellow's that?
What Family? As one that shows a face
Pox't, Meager, Pale, and such as Barrus has,
Yet would be handsome thought. Where e're He goes
The Ladies cry, look how the fellow shows,
And streight examine his Leg, his Calf and Nose.
Thus when one thrusts himself upon the State,
And cries, Come I'll sustain the Nation's weight,
The Empire and Religion be my Care,
I'll manage all: This makes the People stare,
This makes them ask what is He, whence came He?
What was his Mother? Of what Family?
Or is He base, his Sire of mean Degree?
And what shall base-born you, Sir, rule the Law,
Lord it o're Citizens, and hang and draw?
My Collegue Novius, Sir, is mean to me,
He's what my Father was, a Slave made Free.
What then, doth that enoble all thy blood,
Make Thee Messala, Paulus, or as good?
Yet did two hundred Drays, and all the Crowd
Of two great Funerals meet, He bawls so loud
That He would drown the Horns and Trumpets Noise;
This pleases, we are taken with his Voice:

But to my self the Son of a Free'd-Man,—
Whom Envious Eyes and Envious Tongues pursue,
Because, My Lord, I am belov'd by you:
But once because I had a good Command,
And as a Tribune led a Roman Band:
The cause unlike, for those that may pretend
To envy me, for Honours Chance can send,
Yet may not be displeas'd that you're my friend:
Since neither Fancy nor the Pop'lar Voice,
But prudent Care, and Worth doth guide your choice:
And, Sir, this happiness I dare not own
Was Chance, for 'twas not Chance that made me Known:
For Virgil did commend me to your Grace,
And Varius often told you what I was:
When sent for, Sir, in few and broken words,
In such as Infant Modesty affords,
I did not tell you my Descent was great,
I did not say I had a vast Estate,
But what I was; and your Reply was short,
As 'tis your Custom; so I left the Court,
And to my fields retir'd; at nine months end
You sent for me, and bad me be your Friend:
And this I think is great, this makes me proud,
That I pleas'd you, who know what's bad from good,
By Vertue, not by Nobleness of Blood:

If only little stains do spot my Soul,
(As perfect Beauties often have a Mole)
Tho I'me Secure and free from all the foul:
If none on me can truly fix disgrace,
If I am neither Covetous, nor Base;
If innocent my life, if (to commend
My self) I live belov'd by every Friend:
I thank my Father for't, for He being poor,
His Farm but small, the usual ways forbore;
He did not send me to Sir Fabius School
To teach me Arts, and make me great by rule:
Such as our Great-mens Sons and Nobles seek,
With Book in hand, and Satchel round their Neck,
And meanly pay their Master by the Week.
But first He boldly brought me up to Town,
To see those ways, and make those Arts my own,
Which every Knight and Noble taught his Son:
So well attended, and so richly drest
I walkt thro Rome, that those that view'd me, guest
I was a Man of Wealth, a Knight at least.
Himself my carefull'st Guardian watcht me still,
In short, He so supprest the growth of ill,
That (Vertue's hight) not only kept me pure
From vitious Deeds, but ill repute secure:
Nor did He fear the Censuring World should blame
His high designs, or I be damn'd with shame,
If after all his Cost I should be made
A Common Cryer, or a meaner Trade;
Or else, as He himself, have poorly liv'd
A mean Excise-man, nor should I have griev'd:
I owe more thanks, and more respect for this,
Nor shall I e're, whatever Fops advise,
Repent of such a Father if I'me wise.
Therefore as Others when the haughty scorn,
'Twas not our fault we were not nobly born,
I do no say, nor mind those meaner cares;
My words and thoughts are different far from theirs.

For should kind Nature bid my Soul retire,
Go back to Birth, and chuse a Noble Sire,
As great as Thought could frame, or Pride desire;
Content with those I have, let others choose,
I would the Noble and the Great refuse:
And this is foolish, this a wild design
I'th' Crowd's Opinion, Wise perhaps in thine,
Because I love my ease, with prudent care,
And shun a weight who am not us'd to bear:
For streight my small Estate I must enlarge,
Salute more Men, and live at greater charge,
Companions get, lest I, in Field or Town,
The noble I, be seen to walk alone:
More Grooms and Horses keep, a Coach beside,
And all the costly Vanities of Pride:
Now on my bob-tail'd Mule all gall'd and sore,
My Wallet galls behind, my Spurs before;
I ride when e're I will, I ride at ease
As far as soft Terentum if I please;
None, as of Tully's baseness, shall of mine complain,
On whom, when Praetor, as a noble Train,
In the Tiburtine way five Boys did wait,
And bore a stool and flask of Wine in State:
I live, Sir Noble, I can justly boast
Better than you, and happier far than most:
I walk alone where e're my fancies lead,
And busie ask the price of Herbs and Bread:
Thro cheating Rome about the close of day
I freely walk, I go to Church and pray,
Then home, where I shall find a sparing Treat,
And three small pretty Boys bring up the Meat:
Just by a White-stone-Table stands to bear
Two Pots, one Cup, and equal to my fare
A Cruise and Platter, all poor Earthen Ware.
And then I go to bed, and take my rest,
No guilty Conscience frets, no Cares molest,
No sad remembrance of my former Crimes;
No Suits to bid me be at Court betimes:
Where Marsya's Statue stands, and fears to brook
The fury of the younger Novius look:
"I sleep till Ten, then walk, or read a while,
"Or write for pleasure, 'noint my self with Oyl,
Not such as Natta pours, the rich, the base,
Who robs the dying Lamps to grease his face.
But when that heat invites to cooler streams,
I bath, and fly the fury of the beams;
I eat not greedily, but just enough
To stay my stomach, and keep hunger off;
This is their life who are unloos'd from fears,
Weighty Ambition, and its vexing Cares:
This comforts me, this more contentment brings,
Then if my Birth were high, my Race were Kings.