The Poems of John Dryden

Not tho' his monstrous Bulk had cover'd o're

But this is still th' effect of wishing more.
Unsatisfy'd with all that Nature brings;
Loathing the present, liking absent things; Nine spreading Acres, or nine thousand
From hence it comes, thy vain desires, at

strife

Within themselves, have tantaliz'd thy Life. And ghastly death appear'd before thy sight,

E're thou hadst gorg'd thy Soul & Senses
with delight.
160
Now leave those joys, unsuiting to thy age,
To a fresh Comer, and resign the Stage;
Is Nature to be blam'd if thus she chide?
No sure; for 'tis her business to provide
Against this ever-changing Frames decay,
New things to come, and old to pass away.
One Being, worn, another Being makes;
Chang'd, but not lost; for Nature gives and
takes:

New Matter must be found for things to come,

And these must waste like those, and follow Natures doom. 170

All things, like thee, have time to rise and

rot;

And from each other's ruin are begot: For Life is not confin'd to him or thee: 'Tis giv'n to all for use, to none for Property. Consider former Ages past and gone, Whose Circles ended long ere thine begun, Then tell me Fool, what part in them thou hast?

Thus may'st thou judge the future by the past.

What horrour seest thou in that quiet state, What Bugbear Dreams to fright thee after Fate? 180

No Ghost, no Gobblins, that still passage keep;

But all is there serene, in that eternal Sleep.
For all the dismal Tales that Poets tell,
Are verify'd on Earth, and not in Hell.
No Tantalus looks up with fearful eye,
Or dreads th' impending Rock to crush him
from on high:

more;

Not tho' the Globe of earth had been the
Gyants floor

Nor in eternal torments could he lie:
Nor could his Corps sufficient food supply.
But he's the Tityus, who by love opprest,
Or Tyrant Passion preying on his breast,
And ever anxious Thoughts, is robb'd
of rest.

The Sisiphus is he, whom noise and strife 200
Seduce from all the soft retreats of life,
To vex the Government, disturb the Laws:
Drunk with the Fumes of popular Applause,
He courts the giddy Crowd to make him
great,

And sweats & toils in vain, to mount the sovereign Seat.

For still to aim at Pow'r and still to fail,
Ever to strive, and never to prevail,
What is it, but, in reason's true account
To heave the Stone against the rising
Mount ?

But here on Earth, the guilty have in view The mighty Pains to mighty mischiefs due ;

Racks, Prisons, Poisons, the Tarpeian Rock, Stripes, Hangmen, Pitch, and suffocating Smoak;

And last, and most, if these were cast behind, 230 Th' avenging horrour of a Conscious mind, Whose deadly fear anticipates the blow, And sees no end of Punishment and woe ; But looks for more, at the last gasp of breath:

This makes an Hell on Earth, and Life a death.

Mean time when thoughts of death disturb thy head;

Consider, Ancus great and good is dead;
Ancus thy better far, was born to die ;
And thou, dost thou bewail mortality?
So many Monarchs with their mighty
State,
240

Who rul'd the World, were over-rul'd by fate.

That haughty King, who lorded o're the Main,

And whose stupendous Bridge did the wild Waves restrain,

(In vain they foam'd, in vain they threatned wreck,

While his proud Legions march'd upon their back :)

Him death, a greater Monarch, overcame; Nor spar'd his guards the more, for their immortal name.

The Roman chief, the Carthaginian dread, Scipio, the Thunder Bolt of War, is dead, And like a common Slave, by fate in triumph led. 250)

The Founders of invented Arts are lost; And Wits who made Eternity their boast. Where now is Homer, who possest the Throne ?

Th' immortal Work remains, the mortal
Author's gone.

Democritus, perceiving age invade,
His Body weakn'd, and his mind decay'd,
Obey'd the summons with a cheerful face;
Made hast to welcom death, and met him

half the race.

live as now,

Uncertain what to wish or what to vow. Uneasie both in Countrey and in Town, They search a place to lay their burden down.

One, restless in his Palace, walks abroad, And vainly thinks to leave behind the load : 280

But straight returns; for he's as restless there :

And finds there's no relief in open Air.
Another to his Villa wou'd retire,
And spurs as hard as if it were on fire
No sooner enter'd at his Country door,
But he begins to stretch, and yawn, and

No prospect of repose, nor hope of ease; The Wretch is ignorant of his disease; Which known wou'd all his fruitless trouble spare ;

254 mortal] By a most absurd error the For he wou'd know the World not worth English editors change this into immortal

his care;

Then wou'd he search more deeply for the For still we think an absent blessing best,) Which cloys, and is no blessing when

cause;

And study Nature well, and Natures
Laws:

For in this moment lies not the debate,
But on our future, fix'd, Eternal State;
That never changing state, which all must
keep,

Whom Death has doom'd to everlasting
sleep.
300

Why are we then so fond of mortal Life,
Beset with dangers, and maintain'd with
strife?

A Life, which all our care can never save;
One Fate attends us; and one common
Grave.

Besides, we tread but a perpetual round;
We ne're strike out, but beat the former
ground,

And the same Maukish joyes in the same track are found.

The Feav'rish thirst of Life increases still; We call for more and more, and never have our fill;

Yet know not what to-morrow we shall try, What dregs of life in the last draught may lie:

Nor, by the longest life we can attain, One moment from the length of death we gain;

For all behind belongs to his Eternal
reign.

When once the Fates have cut the mortal
Thred,

The Man as much to all intents is dead,
Who dyes to day, and will as long be so, 320
As he who dy'd a thousand years ago.

FROM LUCRETIUS-BOOK THE FIFTH.
Tum porrò puer, &c.

THus like a Sayler by a Tempest hurl'd
A shore, the Babe is shipwrack'd on the
World:

Naked he lies, and ready to expire ;
Helpless of all that humane wants require :
Expos'd upon unhospitable Earth,
From the first moment of his hapless Birth.
Straight with forebodeing cryes he fills the
Room;

(Too true presages of his future doom.)
But Flocks, and Herds, and every Savage
Beast,

By more indulgent Nature are increas'd, 10

BOOK IV. It is impossible to reprint this piece.

They want no Rattles for their froward mood,

Nor Nurse to reconcile them to their food, With broken words; nor Winter blasts they fear,

Nor change their habits with the changing
year:

Nor, for their safety, Citadels prepare ;
Nor forge the wicked Instruments of
War:

Unlabour'd Earth her bounteous treasure
grants,

And Nature's lavish hand supplies their

common wants.

BOOK V. 18 hand] hands 1685. A misprint.

TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE.

THE THIRD ODE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE;

Inscrib'd to the Earl of Roscommon,

So may th' auspicious Queen of Love,
And the Twin Stars, (the Seed of Jove,)
And he who rules the rageing wind,
To thee, O sacred Ship, be kind;
And gentle Breezes fill thy Sails,
Supplying soft Etesian Gales:

As thou, to whom the Muse commends
The best of Poets and of Friends,
Dost thy committed Pledge restore,
And land him safely on the shore ;
And save the better part of me,
From perishing with him at Sea.
Sure he, who first the passage try'd,
In harden'd Oak his heart did hide,
And ribs of Iron arm'd his side;
Or his at least, in hollow wood
Who tempted first the briny Floud:
Nor fear'd the winds contending roar,
Nor billows beating on the Shoar;
Nor Hyades portending Rain;
Nor all the Tyrants of the Main.
What form of death cou'd him affright,
Who unconcern'd, with steadfast sight,
Cou'd veiw the Surges mounting steep,
And monsters rolling in the deep!
Cou'd thro' the ranks of ruin go,
With Storms above, and Rocks below!
In vain did Natures wise command

on his Intended Voyage to IRELAND.

Divide the Waters from the Land,
If daring Ships, and Men prophane,
Invade th' inviolable Main;
Th' eternal Fences overleap,
And pass at will the boundless deep.
No toyl, no hardship can restrain
Ambitious Man, inur'd to pain;
The more confin'd, the more he tries,
And at forbidden quarry flies.

10 Thus bold Prometheus did aspire,

And stole from heav'n the seed of Fire :
A train of Ills, a ghastly crew,
The Robber's blazing track persue;
Fierce Famine, with her Meagre face,
And Feavours of the fiery Race,

In swarms th' offending Wretch surround
All brooding on the blasted ground:
And limping Death, lash'd on by Fate
Comes up to shorten half our date.
20 This made not Dedalus beware,

With borrow'd wings to sail in Air:
To Hell Alcides forc'd his way,
Plung'd thro' the Lake, and snatch'd the
Prey.

Nay scarce the Gods, or heav'nly Climes,
Are safe from our audacious Crimes;
We reach at Jove's Imperial Crown,
And pull th' unwilling thunder down.

THE TWENTY-NINTH ODE OF THE THIRD BOOK OF HORACE; PARAPHRASED IN PINDARICK VERSE, AND INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. LAURENCE EARL OF ROCHESTER.

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