Denique avarities, et honorum cæca cupido,
Quæ miseros homines cogunt transcendere fines
Juris, et interdum, socios scelerum atque ministros,
Noctes atque dies niti præstante labore
Ad summas emergere opes; hæc vulnera vitæ
Non minumam partem mortis formidine aluntur.
Turpis enim ferme contemtus, et acris egestas,
Semota ab dulci vitâ stabilique videntur,
Et quasi jam leti portas contarier ante.
Unde homines, dum se, falso terrore coacti,
Effugisse volunt longe, longeque remôsse,
Sanguine civili rem conflant, divitiasque
Conduplicant avidi, cædem cæde accumulantes:
Crudeles gaudent in tristi funere fratris :
Et consanguineûm mensas odere, timentque.
Beside, all blind ambition, all fierce lust
Of avarice, those parents of unjust,
Which make men plunge through sins, and vex each hour
With cares and pains to climb to wealth or power;
This shame, these great disturbers of our breath,
Are chiefly nourish'd by the fear of death.
For infamy, contempt, and poverty
Do seem so near the gates of death to lie;
That whilst by senseless fears men frighted strive
As far removed as possible to live,
By civil wars endeavour to get more,
And doubling murders, double their vast store,
Laugh o'er their brother's graves; and timorous guests
All hate and dread their nearest kinsman's feasts.
Sic hominum genus est: quamvis doctrina politos
Constituat pariter quosdam, tamen illa relinquit
Naturæ cujusque animæ vestigia prima :
Nec radicitus evelli mala posse putandum est,
Quin proclivius hicc' iras decurrat ad acres ;
Ille metu citius paullo tentetur; at ille
Tertius accipiat quædam clementius æquo :
Inque aliis rebus multis differre necesse est
Naturas hominum varias, moresque sequaces:
Quorum ego nunc nequeo cæcas exponere caussas,
Nec reperire figurarum tot nomina, quot sunt
Principiis, unde hæc oritur variantia rerum.
So men's minds differ too, though moral rules
And arts do polish and reform our souls;
Yet still some seeds remain; they still appear
Through all the masks and vizors we can wear;
Some small remainders of the primitive mind,
Some evil passions will be left behind;
Whence some are prone to rage, some to distrust,
Some fearful are, and some more mild than just.
A thousand more varieties they show,
Each different mind hath different manners too,
Whose hidden causes I shall ne'er explain,
Or names sufficient and expressive feign,
For all these infinite varieties
Of shapes, whence all these different manners rise.
Cum corpore mentem
Crescere sentimus pariterque senescere.
Besides, 'tis plain that souls are born and grow,
And all by age decay, as bodies do.
DEATH OF A FATHER.
"Nam jam non domus accipiet te læta, neque uxor
Optuma, nec dulces occurrent oscula nati
Præripere, et tacitâ pectus dulcedine tangent.
Non poteris factis florentibus esse, tuisque
Præsidium: misero misere," aiunt, " omnia ademit
Una dies infesta tibi tot præmia vitæ."
Ay, but he now is snatch'd from all his joys;
No more shall his chaste wife and prattling boys
Run to their dad with eager haste and strive
Which shall have the first kiss, as when alive.
Ay, but he now no more from wars shall come,
Bring peace and safety to his friends at home.
Wretched, O wretched man! one fatal day
Hath snatch'd the vast delights of life away!
Tu quidem, ut es lecto sopitus, sic eris, ævi
Quod superest, cunctis privatu' doloribus ægris:
At nos horrifico cinefactum de prope busto
Insatiabiliter deflebimus, æternumque
Nulla dies nobis mærorem e pectore demet.
"Tis true thou sleep'st in death, and there shalt lie
Free from all cares to vast eternity:
But we shall mourn thee still; no length of years
Shall overcome our grief and dry our tears.
SHORTNESS OF THE PLEASURES OF LIFE.
iii. 925.
Hocc' etiam faciunt, ubi discubuere, tenentque
Pocula sæpe homines, et inumbrant ora coronis,
Ex animo ut dicant : brevis hicc' est fructus homullis :
"Jam fuerit; neque post umquam revocare licebit!"
So when the jolly blades, with garlands crown'd,
Sit down to drink, whilst frequent healths go round,
Some looking grave, this observation make:
All those delights are short we men can take;
Now we enjoy, but gone, we wish in vain,
In vain desire to call them back again.
Quid tibi tantopere est, mortalis, quod nimis ægris
Luctibus indulges? quid mortem congemis, ac files?
Nam gratum fuerit tibi vita anteacta priorque,
Et non omnia, pertusum congesta quasi in vas,
Commoda perfluxere, atque ingrata interiere ;
Cur non, ut plenus vitæ conviva, recedis,
Equo animoque capis securam, stulte, quietem ?
Fond mortal, what's the matter thou dost sigh?
Why all those tears because thou once must die,
And once submit to strong mortality?
For if the race thou hast already run
Was pleasant, if with joy thou saw'st the sun;
If all thy pleasures did not pass thy mind
As through a sieve, but left some sweets behind :
Why dost thou not, then, like a thankful guest,
Rise cheerfully from life's abundant feast,
And with a quiet mind go take thy rest?
Cerberus et Furiæ jam vero, et lucis egestas,
Tartarus, horriferos eructans faucibus æstus;
Qui neque sunt usquam, nec possunt esse profecto :
Sed metus in vitâ pœnarum pro male factis
Est insignibus insignis; scelerisque luela
Carcer, et horribilis de saxo jactus eorum,
Verbera, carnufices, robur, pix, lamina, tedæ :
Quæ tamen etsi absunt, at mens sibi conscia factis
Præmetuens adhibet stimulos, torretque flagellis ;
Nec videt interea qui terminus esse malorum
Possit, quive siet pœnarum denique finis:
Atque eadem metuit magis hæc ne in morte gravescant:
Hinc Acherusia fit stultorum denique vita.
The Furies, Cerberus, black Hell and Flames,
Are airy fancies all, mere empty names.
But whilst we live, the fear of dreadful pains
For wicked deeds, the prison, scourge and chains,
The wheel, the block, the fire, affright the mind,
Strike deep and leave a constant sting behind.
Nay, those not felt; the guilty soul presents
These dreadful shapes and still herself torments,
Scourges and stings; nor doth she seem to know
An end of these but fears more fierce below,
Eternal all. Thus fancied pains we feel,
And live as wretched here, as if in hell.
Quæ, bone, quum videas, rationem reddere possis
Tute tibi atque aliis, quo pacto per loca sola
Saxa pares formas verborum ex ordine reddant,
Palantes comites quum montes inter opacos
Quærimus, et magnâ dispersos voce ciemus.
Sex etiam aut septem loca vidi reddere voces,
Unam quum jaceres: ita colles collibus ipsi
Verba repulsantes iterabant dicta referri.
Hæc loca capripedes Satyros Nymphasque tenere
Finitumi fingunt, et Faunos esse loquuntur,
Quorum noctivago strepitu ludoque jocanti
Affirmant volgo taciturna silentia rumpi,
Chordarumque sonos fieri, dulcesque querelas
Tibia quas fundit digitis pulsata canentum ;
Et genus agricolûm late sentiscere, quum Pan,
Pinea semiferi capitis velamina quassans,
Udo sæpe labro calamos percurrit hiantes
Fistula sylvestrem ne cesset fundere musam.
This shews thee why, whilst men through caves and groves
Call their lost friends or mourn unhappy loves,
The pitying rocks, the groaning caves return
Their sad complaints again and seem to mourn :
This all observe and I myself have known
Some rocks and hills return six words for one :
The dancing words from hill to hill rebound,
They all receive and all restore the sound.
The vulgar and the neighbours think and tell
That there the Nymphs and Fauns and Satyrs dwell;
And that their wanton sport, their loud delight
Breaks through the quiet silence of the night:
Their music's softest airs fill all the plains,
And mighty Pan delights the listening swains;
The goat-faced Pan, whilst flocks securely feed,
With long-hung lip he blows his oaten reed.
The horn'd, the half-beast god, when brisk and gay,
With pine leaves crown'd, provokes the swains to play.
Adde quod absumunt nervos, pereuntque labore: Adde quod alterius sub nutu degitur ætas: Labitur interea res, et vadimonia fiunt:
Languent officia, atque ægrotat fama vacillans : medio de fonte leporum
Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat.
They waste their strength in love's maddening strife,
And to a woman's will enslave their life;
The estate runs out and mortgages are made,
All offices of friendship are decay'd,
Their fortune ruin'd and their fame betray'd.
For in the fountain, where their sweets are sought,
Some bitter bubbles up and poisons all the draught.
EVERY MAN HAS A SKELETON CLOSET.
iv. 1179.
Vitæ post-scenia celant.
Men conceal the back-scenes of their life.
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