The ship itself may make a better figure,
But I that sail, am neither less nor bigger.
I neither strut with ev'ry fav'ring breath,
Nor strive with all the tempest in my teeth.
In pow'r, wit, figure, virtue, fortune plac'd
Behind the foremost, and before the last.

e" But why all this of Av'rice? I have none.'
I wish you joy, Sir, of a Tyrant gone;
But does no other lord it at this hour,
As wild and mad? the Avarice of pow'r?
Does neither Rage inflame, nor fear appall?
Not the black fear of death, that saddens all?
With terrors round, can Reason hold her throne,
Despise the known, nor tremble at th' unknown?
Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire,
In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire?
Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd to look behind,
And count each birth-day with a grateful mind?

Non agimur tumidis velis Aquilone secundo:
Non tamen adversis aetatem ducimus Austris.
Viribus, ingenio, specie, virtute, loco, re,
Extremi primorum, extremis usque priores.

300

305

310

315

e Non es avarus: abi. quid? caetera jam simul isto Cum vitio fugere? caret tibi pectus inani Ambitione? caret mortis formidine et ira? Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, Nocturnos lemures, portentaque Thessala rides ?

NOTES.

Ver. 312. Survey both worlds] It is observable with what sobriety he has corrected the licentiousness of his original, which made the expectation of another world a part of that superstition he would explode; whereas, his Imitator is only for removing the false terrors from the world of spirits, such as the diablerie of witchcraft and purgatory.

Has life no sourness, drawn so near its end;
Can'st thou endure a foe, forgive a friend ?
Has age but melted the rough parts away,
As winter-fruits grow mild ere they decay?
Or will you think, my friend, your business done,
When, of a hundred thorns, you pull out one!

321

f Learn to live well, or fairly make your will; You've play'd, and lov'd, and eat, and drank your fill: Walk sober off; before a sprightlier age

Comes titt'ring on, and shoves you from the stage: Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease,

Whom Folly pleases, and whose Follies please.

Natales grate numeras ? ignoscis amicis?
Lenior et melior fis accedente senecta?
Quid te exemta levat spinis de pluribus una?
f Vivere si recte nescis, decede peritis.

Lusisti satis, edisti satis, atque bibisti :
Tempus abire tibi est: ne potum largius aequo
Rideat, et pulset lasciva decentius aetas.

THE

SATIRES

OF

DR. JOHN DONNE,

DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S,

VERSIFIED.

Quid vetat et nosmet Lucili scripta legentes

Quaerere, num illius, num rerum dura negârit
Versiculos natura magis factos, et euntes

Mollius?

HOR.

YES;

SATIRE II.

thank my stars! as early as I knew

This Town, I had the sense to hate it too:

Yet here, as ev'n in Hell, there must be still
One Giant-Vice, so excellently ill,

That all beside, one pities, not abhors;

As who knows Sappho, smiles at other whores.
I grant that Poetry's a crying sin;

5

It brought (no doubt) th' Excise and Army in:
Catch'd like the Plague, or Love, the Lord knows how,
But that the cure is starving, all allow.

Yet like the Papist's, is the Poet's state,

Poor and disarm'd, and hardly worth your hate!
Here a lean Bard, whose wit could never give
Himself a dinner, makes an Actor live:

SATIRE II.

SIR; though (I thank God for it) I do hate
Perfectly all this town; yet there's one state
In all ill things, so excellently best,

10

That hate towards them, breeds pity towards the rest
Though Poetry, indeed, be such a sin,

As I think, that brings dearth and Spaniards in:
Though like the pestilence, and old-fashion'd love,
Ridlingly it catch men, and doth remove

Never, till it be starv'd out; yet their state
Is poor, disarm'd, like Papists, not worth hate.

One (like a wretch, which at barre judg'd as dead, Yet prompts him which stands next, and cannot read,