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'Tis not enough that he does find Clouds and darkness in their mind; Darkness but half his work will do; 'Tis not enough; he must find quiet too.

5.

The man, who, in all wishes he does make,
Does only nature's counsel take,

That wise and happy man will never fear
The evil aspects of the year;

Nor tremble, though two comets should appear.
He does not look in almanacks, to see

Whether he fortunate shall be;

Let Mars and Saturn in the heavens conjoin,13
And what they please against the world design,
So Jupiter within him shine.14

6.

If of your pleasures and desires no end be found,
God to your cares and fears will set no bound.
What would content you? who can tell?
'Ye fear so much to lose what ye have got,
As if ye lik'd it well:

Ye strive for more, as if ye lik'd it not.
Go, level hills, and fill up seas,

Spare nought that may your wanton fancy please;
But, trust me, when ye have done all this,
Much will be missing still, and much will be amiss.

13 i.e. Let Malice and Misfortune do their worst.

14 i.e. So God send him a moderate and contented mind.

VII.

OF AVARICE.

HERE are two sorts of avarice: the one is but of a bastard kind, and that is, the rapacious appetite of gain; not for its own sake, but for the pleasure of refunding it immediately through all the channels of pride and luxury: the other is the true kind, and properly so called; which is a restless and unsatiable desire of riches, not for any farther end or use, but only to hoard, and preserve, and perpetually increase them. The covetous man, of the first kind, is like a greedy ostrich, which devours any metal; but it is with an intent to feed upon it, and in effect it makes a shift to digest and excern it. The second is like the foolish chough, which loves to steal money only to hide it. The first does much harm to mankind; and a little good too, to some few: the second does good to none; no, not to himself. The first can make no excuse to God, or angels, or rational men, for his actions: the second can give no reason or colour, not to the devil himself, for what he does; he is a slave to Mammon, without wages. The first makes a shift to be beloved; ay, and envied, too, by some people: the second is the universal object of hatred and contempt. There is no vice has been so pelted with good sentences, and

especially by the poets, who have pursued it with stories and fables, and allegories, and allusions; and moved, as we say, every stone to fling at it: among all which, I do not remember a more fine and gentleman-like correction than that which was given it by one line of Ovid: "Desunt luxuriæ multa, avaritiæ omnia."

Much is wanting to luxury, all to avarice.

To which saying, I have a mind to add one member, and tender it thus;

Poverty wants some, luxury many, avarice all things.

Somebody says1 of a virtuous and wise man, "that having nothing, he has all:" this is just his antipode, who, having all things, yet has nothing. He is a guardian eunuch to his beloved gold: audivi eos amatores esse maximos, sed nil potesse." lovers, but impotent to enjoy.

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They are the fondest

And, oh, what man's condition can be worse
Than his, whom plenty starves, and blessings curse;
The beggars but a common fate deplore,

The rich poor man's emphatically poor.

I wonder how it comes to pass, that there has never been any law made against him: against him, do I say? I mean, for him: as there are public provisions made for all other mad-men: it is very reasonable that the king should appoint some persons (and I think the courtiers would not be against this proposition) to manage his estate during his life (for his heirs commonly need not

'The author, knowing the taste of his readers, would not disgust their delicacy by letting them know that this somebody was St. Paul (2 Cor vi. 10), though the sense and expression would have done honour to Plato.

that care); and out of it to make it their business to see, that he should not want alimony befitting his condition, which he could never get out of his own cruel fingers. We relieve idle vagrants, and counterfeit beggars; but have no care at all of these really poor men, who are (methinks) to be respectfully treated, in regard of their quality. I might be endless against them, but I am almost choaked with the super-abundance of the matter; too much plenty impoverishes me, as it does them.2 I will conclude this odious subject with part of Horace's first satire, which take in his own familiar style:3

ADMIRE, Mæcenas, how it comes to pass,
That no man ever yet contented was,

Nor is, nor perhaps will be, with that state
In which his own choice plants him, or his fate.
Happy the merchant! the old soldier cries.
The merchant, beaten with tempestuous skies,
Happy the soldier! one half-hour to thee
Gives speedy death, or glorious victory.
The lawyer, knockt up early from his rest
By restless clients, calls the peasant blest;
The peasant, when his labours ill succeed,
Envies the mouth, which only talk does feed.
'Tis not (I think you'll say) that I want store

2 This application of his aphorism covers the false wit of the expression, and was intended as an indirect apology for it, though the witticism be not his own, but Ovid's:

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inopem me copia fecit."-Met. iii. 466.

3 Mr. Cowley has succeeded better in copying this familiar style than most others; but he sometimes mistakes vulgar, or careless, at least, for familiar. Horace's familiarity is that of a perfectly polite and elegant speaker, as well as of an easy, wellbred man.

Of instances, if here I add no more;
They are enough to reach at least a mile
Beyond long orator Fabius's style.

But, hold, ye, whom no fortune e'er endears,
Gentlemen, malecontents, and mutineers,
Who bounteous Jove so often cruel call,
Behold, Jove's now resolv'd to please you all.
Thou, soldier, be a merchant; merchant, thou
A soldier be; and, lawyer, to the plow.

Change all your stations strait: why do they stay?
The devil a man will change, now, when he may.
Were I in general Jove's abused case,

By Jove I'd cudgel this rebellious race:
But he's too good; be all then, as ye were:
However, make the best of what ye are,
And in that state be chearful and rejoice,
Which either was your fate, or was your choice:
No, they must labour yet, and sweat and toil,
And very miserable be a while.

But 'tis with a design only to gain

What may their age with plenteous ease maintain.
The prudent pismire does this lesson teach,
And industry to lazy mankind preach.
The little drudge does trot about and sweat,
Nor does he strait devour all he can get;
But in his temperate mouth carries it home
A stock for winter, which he knows must come.
And, when the rowling world to creatures here
Turns up the deform'd wrong side of the year,
And shuts him in, with storms, and cold, and wet,
He chearfully does his past labours eat:
O, does he so? your wise example, th' ant,
Does not, at all times, rest and plenty want.
But, weighing justly a mortal ant's condition,

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