Satires 2.2 (Creech): Quae Virtus Et Quanta

HOw great a Vertue 'tis, how a great good,
To live content, and with a little Food,
(These are not mine, but wise Ofellus Rules,
An honest Man, but yet unlearn'd in Schools)
Learn not when full, or when a sumptuous Feast,
With show and sight disturbs the eager Guest:
Or else oppress and leave the easie mind,
Averse to Good, and to ill Rules inclin'd,
But seek with me, before that Thou hast din'd.
And why this Caution? If I can I'le tell,
Brib'd Judges ne're Examine Causes well:
Go take some Exercise, pursue the Chace,
Or Hunt, ride the great Horse, or run a Race,
Handle the Roman Arms, those heavier far
Than Groecian Toys, or else go throw the Bar;
Or play at Ball, be eager at the sport,
And make thy Game seem pleasant, and but short.
Now when this Exercise hath made Thee sweat,
And rais'd thy Stomach, and thou fain would'st eat,
Then scorn to tast unless 'tis dainty Meat:
When thirsty, scorn to drink, refuse to Dine,
Unless Thou hast the best and racy Wine.
Besides the Butler's gone abroad to play,
No costly Fishes can be caught to day;
The Winds defend them, and the Seas are rough,
Then Bread and Salt will please thee well enough.
How so? And prithee how can this be done?
Why Sir, the pleasure that's in eating known,
Is not i'th' Meat, but in thy self alone.
Make Exercise thy Sawce, let that excite,
For fleamy and a squeasy Appetite
Nor Trout, nor Tench, nor Oysters can delight.
Yet I shall scarce perswade our curious Men,
Let me advise, and talk, and talk agen,
Not to eat Peacock, rather than a Hen.
For They are prejudic'd because the price
Is great, and his gay Feathers please the Eyes:
As if those made it better; do'st Thou Feast
On those prais'd Plumes? And do those fill thy guest,
Or doth it look as gawdy when 'tis drest?
Then since Hens flesh is quite as good, 'tis plain
The Peacock is preferr'd for's gawdy Train.
But grant some difference here, yet how do'st know
If this same Pike be River Fish or no?
Caught here in Tyber, or in open Seas,
For Thou do'st make a difference too in these;
Mad Fool, thou praisest Mullets vastly great,
Which thou must mash, e're thou canst dress or eat:
The greatness pleases then, yet all dislike
Some bigger Fish, and scorn the larger Pike:
Pray what's the Cause of this? Oh! let me see,
Perhaps because, as Nature's Laws Decree,
One usually is small, the other great;
Men seldom hungry scorn the common Meat:
But says the Glutton, I love a larger Fish,
It looks so Noble in a Lordly Dish.
But you moist Winds now hear, be kind and good,
Corrupt their Meat, and taint their costly Food:
Tho 'tis but newly taken taint their Bore,
And let their Rhombus stink e're brought to shore:
When plenty too profuse in vain invites,
And strives to raise the squeasy Appetites.
When the full Glutton strives in vain to eat,
And takes sharp Herbs before his dainty Meat.
We do not always feed on Sole and Bore,
But use cheap Eggs, and Olives midst our store,
So greatest Feasts have something that is poor.
First Gallio's Kitchin infamous did grow
For dressing Sturgeon, 'twas not long ago,
What had the Sea then fewer Soles than now?
No, but the Soles did then securely rest,
Then nothing did but Winds and Waves molest,
And the poor Stork liv'd safely in his Nest:
Until a Proetor taught us how to use
These Things, and made us foolishly profuse:
And so if one would bring new sorts of Food,
And stoutly say, a roasted Moor-hen's good:
Our Fops would imitate, and praise his skill,
Our Fops that are so easie bent to ill.

A sordid Table, and a thrifty one,
Ofellus thinks distinct, in vain they shun
One Vice, that to the other madly run:
Old Aviden, Surnam'd The Dog, eats Sloes,
And Olives five years old, as bad as those.
These are his Meat, and all the Wine He drinks
Is eager still; his Oyl corrupt, and stinks:
And that (when very fine, when neatly drest,
And at a Birth-day, or a Marriage Feast,
When He would be Profuse, and Prodigal)
He pours himself upon his little Cale:
Well then, what would you have a Wise Man do?
What Table keep? you have propos'd me Two;
And which, Sir, must I imitate of these?
The choice is hard, and it is hard to please.
Sir, He lives well that keeps the middle State,
And neither leans too much to this, nor that:
Such when he bids his Slaves do this and this,
And tasks them too, as every Master his,
Will not be cruel as old Albutius is:
Nor yet like Noevius when he makes a Feast,
With costly Oyntment will He wash his guest,
For that too is a fault, a vice at least:

Now learn what good attends a sparing Meal,
What pleasure, and what profit: First thou'rt well,
Thy Health improv'd, thy Body free from pain;
But now that Meat confus'd doth hurt a Man,
Thou hast experience, and sufficient proof;
One single Dish did feed Thee well enough,
Thy Stomach took it, but when boyl'd with stew'd,
Flesh mix't with Fish, the indigested load
Is turn'd to Gall or Flegm, and spoyls the Blood:
Observe how sickly and how pale the Guests,
How discompos'd they rise from sumptuous Feasts?
Besides, the Body by the wild excess,
Enfeebled, doth the nobler Mind oppress,
It clogs it, and it makes its motions dull,
And fixes here the breath of Heaven, the Soul:
The others go to Bed, just close their Eyes,
Such little slumber Nature's wants supplies,
Then vig'rous to their proper business rise.
Yet Those can have their sparing Meals increast
On Holidays, or when they treat a Guest,
Or would indulge, and when they please to Feast.
Besides, old Age will come, and that must crave,
A softer treatment far than Youth should have:
But Thou, when sickness comes, or feeble Age,
In vain do'st hope, fond Youth, to calm their rage,
By softer usage, since thou dost enjoy
The softest, whilst a young and vig'rous Boy:
The Ancients did commend their stinking Bores,
Yet not but that their smell was good as Ours,
But 'cause they thought it better far to stay,
(That was the thriftier, and the nobler way)
And keep it till their tardy Guest was come,
Than eat it sweet, and by themselves at home:
These, these were Heroes, these were generous Men,
And Oh that Nature had produc'd me then:

Dost Thou regard thy Fame which charms our Ears,
With softer Musick than the sweetest Airs?
Take heed, Luxurious Living ruins that,
And wasts thy Name as much as thy Estate:
It makes thy Neighbours angry, Friends distrust,
And Thee thy self unto thy self unjust,
When Thou shalt wish for Death, of all bereft;
And not enough to buy a Halter's left:
'Tis true, to some this is a just reproof,
This may be said to Tarsius well enough;
But not to Me; I am secure from fate,
For my Revenue's large, my Wealth is great,
Enough to keep three Kings, a vast Estate.
Then is there no way else to spend thy Store?
Why since thou'rt Rich, is any good Man Poor?
Why are not ruin'd Fanes rebuilt? And why
Doth not thy Wealth thy Neighbours wants supply?
And hath thy Country this superfluous Coin?
What measure hath it from this heap of Thine?
Kind fortune still, forsooth, shall smile on Thee,
O future sport unto thine Enemy!
And which is better able to endure
Uncertain Chance? And which lives most secure?
He that doth never Fortune's smiles distrust,
But Pampers up himself, and feeds his Lust?
Or He that lives on little now, and spares;
And wisely when 'tis Peace, provides for Wars?
But by one instance to confirm this Truth,
I knew Ofellus when I was a youth;
Then He was Rich, yet 'midst his greatest Store
He liv'd as now, since Rapine made him Poor:
Now you may see him with his Wife and Son,
Till that Estate for hire which was his own:
He Ploughs, he Sweats, and stoutly digs for Bread,
Contented still, and as he wrought, He said,
On working Days I never us'd to eat
But Cale and Bacon, that was all my Meat:
But when an old and honest Friend of mine,
Or else my welcome Neighbours came to dine;
When it was rainy, or my work was done,
We feasted not on costly Fish from Town;
But took what I could easily provide
From my own Field, a Pullet or a Kid:
And then for second course some Grapes were prest,
Or Nuts, or Figs, and that was all my Feast:
And after this we drank a Health or two,
As far as harmless sober mirth would go;
And then thank't Ceres for our present cheer,
And beg'd a plenteous Crop the following year:
And now let Fortune frown, I scorn her force,
How can she make our way of living worse?
Have we not had enough since we grew poor,
Have we liv'd worse, My Sons, then heretofore,
Before a Stranger came, and seiz'd my store?
For Nature doth not Me or Him Create,
The proper Lord of such and such Estate:
He forc't us out, and doth possess my Plain;
Another cheat shall force him out again,
Or quircks in Law, or when those fears are past,
His long-liv'd Heir shall force him out at last:
That which was once Ofellus Farm is gone,
Now call'd Umbrena's, but 'tis no Mans own:
None hath the Property, it comes and goes,
As merry Chance, or stubborn Fates dispose,
As God thinks fit, and his firm Nods Decree,
Now to be us'd by Others, now by Me:
Then live Resolv'd, my Sons, refuse to yield,
And when Fates press make Constancy your shield.