THE

FIRST BOOK

OF THE

SATIRES of HORACE.

SA TIRE I. Modernized by ISAAC PACATUS SHARD, Esq. That all Men, and especially the Covetcus, are

discontented with their Lot.

TO THE
Right Hon. John Earlof Corke and ORRERY.

HAT is the Reason, none enjoy the State
In which they here are plac'd by

Choice or Fate ?
All their Condition, ORRERY, bemoan,
And think another's happier than their own.
The Soldier, worn with Toil, with Years oppress'd,
Laments his Lot, and calls the Merchant bless d.

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When

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When Billows roar, and stormy Winds arise,
« The Soldier's Life is beft,' the Merchant cries ;
"He fuon a speedy Death in Battle finds,
• Or with fresh Laurels his glad Temples binds.'
Wak'd by his Client ere the Dawn appears,
A Pcafant's Life the Barrister prefers.
When by a Summons hurry'd up to Town,
Whate'er he sees delights the gaping Clownl...
Fully to prove how all Mankind admire
Lotsdiffering from their own, would Whitefield tire.
But to the Point, my Lord ; you now fall hear,
I'rom these Examples what I would infer.
Should fome celestial Delegate be sent,
And say, 'I come to give you all Content;
• Soldier, enjoy your Wish, no more repine;
Lawyer, the Peasant's envied Life be thine :
Let each affume the Lot, that best will please,

And quit his own : Retire---depart in Peace--'Why stand you thus? whence springs this strange • None will be blest, yet every Mortal may.'[Delay? Sure, Heaven, incens'd, no more will condescend To their next Suit a gracious Ear to lend.

But to be grave, ali jesting I decline, Though Pleasantry with Truth one sure may join; 2 With Sweetmeats thus kind Parents strive to win Children, when first their Horn-book they begin. The subtle 3 Lawyer, wrangling at the Bar, Soldiers inur’d to the Fatigues of War,

The

TheHind, that ploughs the Land with som:ch Pain, Sailors, who boldly venture o'er the Main; All toil, with this Pretence, to heap up Gold, That from their Labours they may rest, when old; All cite th’ Example of the 4 busy Ant, Who lays up Stores against a Day of Want But she, more wise, when Clouds are big with R ir, Ne’er stirs from home, but eats her hoarded Grains Whilft you defy the Cold, the scorching Sul, Thro' Fire and Sword, thro' various Dangers run, And sordid Lucre greedily pursue, Left any boast, they richer are than you. What Joy can those vast Heaps of Gold afford, Which under Ground, by stealth, you trembling

hoari? Iftouch'd, they foon will melt away, you fear; But in an untouch'd Mass what Charms appear What if you thresh ten thousand Sacks of Grain, Your Stomach will no more than mine contain. Beneath his Basket though the Baker sweat, He no more Bread, than you or I, can eat. To those whofe Wantsexceed notNature's Bounds, Ten are as good as twenty thousand Pounds. You think it sweeter, though you take no more, To take it from a great, than little Store. Amply my little Barn my Wants fupplies; What can you more from your large Granaries ?

;

ܕ .

You might as juftly say, when you were dry,
And a transparent Fountain rose hard by,
'From such a Spring I scorn my Thirt to flake,
No, let me quench it from yon 5 spacious Lake.'
Who eager more than what is needful craves,
If his Feet Nip, is bury'd in the Waves ;
Whilst the contented never fear the Flood,
But drink their Water pure, and free from Mud.

Led by false Notions, many we behold,
Who think their Merit's to be weigh'd by Gold.
What. Answer shall we make to such as these ?
Why let them be unhappy, if they please.
Thus the rich Miser, though the People hiss,
Applauds himself, and hugs his fancy'd Bliss ;
Cries out, Laugh on; contented, I'm your Jeft,
So I my Bags contemplate in my Cheft.'

When 6 Tantalus, immers'd in Water, ftood, And with parch'd Lips catch'd at the flying Flocd--You smile, and stop me as I just began; Change but theName, you'll find yourself the Man: Brooding you fit, and view with fond Delight Your Bags, as Pictures only made for Sight; But with religious Scruple you decline To touch them, as you would a sacred Shrine. No Worth intrinsic I in Gold perceive; Value to Money Use alone can give: With it plain Cloaths, and simple Food we buy, And Nature's reasonable Wants supply.

For

For Dread of Fire, to lie whole Nights awake, And, trembling, every Noise for Thieves to take ; With prying Jealousy to watch ali Day, Left Servants plunder you, and run away; If Riches Cares increase, in Mercy grant That I fuch Blessings, Heaven, may ever want!

But, when attack'd by some severe Disease, • Gold will pay Watson's Bill and Wilmot's Fees;

All proper Means procure to save a Life,
Dear to my Friends,my Children,and my Wife'---
NorWife,norChildren,at your Deathwould grieve;
Not one, that knows you, wishes you to live :
When, to all other Things, you Gold prefer,
How can

you
think
your

Death deserves a Tear?
Without some kind Returns, we hope in vain
The Love of Friends and Kindred to retain ;
This will our Skill and Pains as much surpass,
As, to the Bit, to break the stubborn Ass.
Since you have treasur'd up so vast a Store,
Banish the Dread of e’er becoming poor,
Of Wealth superfluous quit the vain Pursuit,
Of your past Labours now enjoy the Fruit.

Short is the Story, which I here relate, And learn to fhun from thence * Corbaccio's Fate. Immensely rich, he went so meanly clad, He wore no better Cloaths than + Justice L---d's

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* A Character in Ben Johnson's Comedy of Volpone.

+ A rich Miser, known after twenty Years Absence by his old Cloak,

What

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