Who wifely governs and directs his Mind
Never despairs, though Fortune be unkind;

He hopes, and though he finds he hop'd in vain,
He bears it patiently, and hopes again.
And if at last a kinder Fate confpires,
To heap upon him more than he defires;

He then fufpects the kindness he enjoys,
Takes it with thanks, but with such care employs,
As if that Fate, weary of giving more,
Would once refume what it beftow'd before.
He finds Man's Life, by an Eternal skill,
Is temper'd equally with good and ill.
Fate shapes our Lives, as it divides the Years,
Hopes are our Summer, and our Winter's Fears;
And 'tis by an unerring Rule decreed,

That this shall that alternately fucceed.

Therefore when Fate's unkind, dear Friend, be wife,
And bear its Ills without the least surprise.

The more you are opprefs'd bear up the more,
Weather the Tempest 'till its rage be o're.
But if too profperous and too ftrong a gale,
Should rather ruffle than just fill your Sail,
Leffen it; and let it take but so much Wind,
As is proportion'd to the course defign'd,
K

"For

"For 'tis the greatest part of human skill, "To ufe good Fortune, and to bear our ill.

HORACE

18th Epistle, the 1ft BOOK

Si bene te novi, &c.

Dear Friend, for furely I may call him fo,

Who doth fo well the Laws of Friendship know; I'm fure you mean the Kindness you profess, And to be loved by you's a happiness; Not like him who with Eloquence and Pains, The fpecious title of a Friend obtains; And the next day, to please some Man of sense, Breaks Jefts at his deluded Friend's expence; As Jilts, who by a quick compendious way, To gain new Lovers, do the old betray. There is another failing of the Mind, Equal to this, of a quite different kind; I mean that rude uncultivated skill, Which some have got of using all Men ill;

Out

Out of a zealous and unhewn pretence

Of Freedom, and a virtuous Innocence;
Who, 'cause they cannot fawn, betray, nor cheat,
Think they may push and justle all they meet,
And blame what e're they fee, complain, and brawl,
And think their Virtues make amends for all;
They neither comb their Head, nor wash their Face,
But think their virtuous Nastiness a grace.
When as true Virtue in a medium lies,
And that to turn to either Hand's a vice.
Others there are, who too obfequious grown,
Live more for others pleasure than their own;
Applauding whatfoe're they hear or fee,
By a too naufeous Civility:

And if a Man of Title or Estate,

Doth some strange Story, true or false, relate;
Obfequiously they cringe, and vouch it all,
Repeat his Words, and catch them as they fall:
As School Boys follow what the Masters say,
Or like an Actor prompted in a Play.
Some Men there are fo full of their own Senfe,
They take the least Dispute for an offence;
And if fome wifer Friend their heat restrains,

And fays the fubject is not worth the pains;

Straight they reply, What I have faid is true,
And I'll defend it against him and you;
And if he still dares fay 'tis not, I'll die,

Rather than not maintain he says a Lie.
Now, would
you fee from whence these heats arise,
And where th' important contradiction lies;
"Tis but to know, if, when a Client's preft,
Sawyer or Williams pleads his Cause the best:
Or if to Windfor he most minutes gains,

Who goes by Colebrook, or who goes by Stains;
Who spends his Wealth in Pleasure, and at Play,
And yet affects to be well cloath'd and gay,
And comes to want; and yet dreads nothing more,
Than to be thought neceffitous and poor:

Him his rich Kinsman is afraid to fee,
Shuns like a Burthen to the Family;

And rails at vices, which have made him poor,
Though he himself perhaps hath many more:
Or tells him wifely, Cousin have a care,
And your Expences with your Rents compare;
Since you inherit but a fmall Estate,
Your Pleasures, Coufin, must be moderate.
I know, you think to huff, and live like me,
Coufin, my Wealth fupports my Vanity.

But

But they, who've Wit, and not Estate enough,
Must cut their Coat according to their Stuff;
Therefore forbear t'affect Equality,

Forget you've fuch a foolish Friend as me.
There was a Courtier, who to punish thofe,
Who, though below him, he believed his Foes;
And more effectually to vent his rage,
Sent them fine Cloaths and a new Equipage;
For then the foolish Sparks couragious grown,
for roaring Bully's of the Town;
Must go to Plays, and in the Boxes fit,

Set

up

Then to a Whore, and live like Men of Wit;
'Till at the last, their Coach and Horses spent,
Their Cloaths grown dirty, and their Ribbons rent:
Their Fortune chang'd, their Appetite the fame,
And 'tis too late their Follies to reclaim.
They must turn Porters, or in Taverns wait,
And buy their Pleafures at a cheaper rate;
And 'midst their dirty Miftreffes and Wives,
Lead out the reft of their mistaken Lives.
Never be too inquifitive to find

The hidden Secrets of another's Mind,
For when you've torn one Secret from his Breast,
You run great rifque of loofing all the rest;