Epistles 1.18 (Creech): Si Bene Te Novi

FRee Lollius if I rightly hit thy mind,
You will be always such as you pretend,
Not prove a Flatterer, and profess a Friend:
For Friends and faithless Flatterers differ more,
Unliker than a Matron and a Whore.
But stay my Friend there is another Vice
Just opposite, and almost worse than this:
A Clownish roughness, and unkindly close,
Unfriendly, stiff, and peevishly morose;
Which doth commend her self and strive to please,
With blackish Teeth, stretch't skin and Rustick dress,
It prides its self, and would be thought to be
Clean perfect Vertue, and meer Liberty.
Vertue doth Vice, as two Extreams, divide,
Drawn up from both, and leans to neither side.
This headlong to obey at every Feast,
To please the great Ones jeers the meaner Guest,
The rich Man's Nod doth so severely dread,
Corrects himself, and takes up what he said,
As if you heard a trembling School-boy say
His Part, or the Rehearsal of a Play.
That strives for Trifles, and for Toys contends,
He is in earnest, what He says, defends:
That I should not be trusted right or wrong,
Or be debarr'd the freedom of my Tongue;
And not bawl what I please! To part with this
I think another life too mean a price.
The Question is, Pray what? why which can boast
Or Docilis or Cast of knowing most
Or whether thro Numicum been't as good
To fair Brundusium as the Appian road:
Whom costly wenching, or a gawdy whore,
Or whom the race, whom Dice makes quickly poor:
Or who's a Fop, and who perfumes his hair
Or's finer drest than his Estate will bear;
Who for meer thirst of Gold doth gather store,
And who out of pure fear of being poor:
Thy rich friend better stor'd in all defects
And Vice than Thee, or hates Thee or corrects,
And as good Mothers he will oft advise,
I wish you'd be more vertuous and more wise
Than I my self am now, I vow I doe;
And faith, to speak the truth, most times 'tis so.
My wealth will lear my folly (cease to strive
With me) Sir, you have scarce enough to live;
Contract your Vices Sir, forbear to vye
You must not take so great a range as I.
The Man Cutrapelus would have undone
He streight presented with a gawdy gown,
That He grown happy in his fine attire,
Might take new hopes and raise his wishes higher,
Forgoe his honest trade for easy Vice,
Sleep on till noon, and follow Whores and Dice,
Take money up, till he hath spent his All,
And drives a Cart for bread, or rots in Jayl:
Pry not thro Secrets; What thou learn'st conceal
Tho Wine and Anger rack Thee to reveal:
Praise not thine own, or scorn thy friends delight;
Nor, when he'd have thee hunt keep home and write.
Thus Zethus once with his Amphion strove,
Twin brothers, till at last they joyn'd their Love;
The softer harp grew mute, he left his quill,
Amphion yielded to his Brother's will:
Humor the great Ones, quick obedience yield
To slight Commands, and when he takes the field
With Nets, or Hawks, or Hounds, no sport refuse,
Shake off thy lazy and ill-humor'd Muse:
That Thou may'st eat at night what Thou hast Caught,
And sup with them; for this the Ancients taught,
And this the Romans use, tis free from shame,
'Tis good for life, and health, and gets Thee fame.
Since thou art well in health, art strong to wound
And fight the Bore, or to out-run the hound,
None more genteil than You can cast a Spear,
You know when you within the lists appear
The Crouds all clap; Nay e'en your tender Age
Endur'd the Wars, and fierce Cantabrian rage,
Your Captain He, the brave and the Divine,
Who brought our Ensigns from the Parthian Shrine,
Redeem'd our Fame, and what e're Land remains
Resolves to make it feel the Roman Chains.
But lest you part and no excuse can show,
Altho I must confess what e're you do
Is fit, and decent, and becoming You:
Sometimes you toy at home, your Boats divide,
A squadron stands drawn up on either side:
By your direction fir'd with martial rage
As in the Actian fight, the Boys ingage,
With Souldiers fury, and with Souldiers art;
You one, your Brother leads the other part:
Your Lake's rough Adria's flood, till one's or'ethrown,
And sudden Victory doth the other Crown:
He that thinks you agree with his design,
Will clap with both his hands, and favor thine.
But to advise you, if you want advice,
Take heed of whom you speak, and what it is,
Take heed to whom, avoid the busy Men,
Fly the inquisitive, they'l talk agen,
And tell what you have said, a leaky Ear
Can never hold what it shall chance to hear,
'Twill run all out, and what you once let fall
It flys, and tis impossible to recall;
If thy great friend keeps handsom Maid or Boy
Be not in Love, and eager to enjoy,
Lest He bestow that little gift to please,
Or else deny, and highten thy disease.
Praise none till well approv'd on sober thoughts,
Lest after you should blush for others faults.
You prais'd a Rascal, there you chanc't to err,
Then don't defend him when his Crimes appear:
But one approv'd when Scandals press, defend,
Let him on Thee, and on thy Fame depend
Whom envy bites, for thou may'st plainly see
The danger will at last come o're to Thee:
For your'e in danger when the Next's on fire,
And Flames neglected often blaze the higher.
To Court the Great-ones, and to sooth their Pride,
Seems a sweet task to those that never try'd;
But those that have, know well that danger's near,
It is a ticklish point, and mixt with fear.
Do you endeavour whilst you cut the Main,
That no cross Storm should toss Thee back again,
The Active hate the Dull, the Sad Jocose,
The Dull the Active, Merry the Morose;
Stout Jolly Topers scorn the Sober Ass,
They hate those fellows that refuse their Glass;
Altho they beg, altho they swear they dread
The nightly fumes, fur'd mouth, and aching head:
Put off all Clouds and Darkness from thy brow,
Be Jolly, Gay, and Mirth and Humour show,
For modest Men are oft thought cloudy Souls,
And Men of little talk, ill natur'd Fools:
In every state of Life besure of this,
Read o're thy moral Books, consult the wise,
How thou may'st live, how spend thine Age in Peace,
Lest fierce desire, still poor, disturb thine Ease;
Or Fears should shake, or Cares thy Mind abuse,
Or ardent hope for things of little use.
If Arts do Vertue breed, or Nature send,
What lessens Cares, what makes thy self thy Friend,
What calms Thee, Honor, or admired Wealth;
Or close retirement, and a life by stealth.
When I, my Friend, do go to take repose,
At cold Medela, where Degentia flows;
Medela my belov'd, but little Town,
With Cold and Frost all gray and wrinkled grown:
For what do you imagine that I care?
What think, what make the subject of my prayer?
Let me have what I have, or somewhat less,
'Twill still be great enough for happiness;
And that I may, if Heaven more years will give,
Live to my self the time I have to live:
Estate in Books, and Food to serve a year,
Lest I should wavering hang 'twixt hope and fear:
And this is all for which Mankind should pray,
And beg of Jove who gives and takes away;
Let him but Life, and moderate Plenty find,
And I'le provide my self an happy mind.