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SATIRES of HORACE.
SA TIRE I. Modernized by ISAAC PACATUS SHARD, Esq. That all Men, and especially the Covetcus, are
discontented with their Lot.
HAT is the Reason, none enjoy the State
Choice or Fate ?
When Billows roar, and stormy Winds arise,
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,
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 ?
You might as juftly say, when you were dry,
Led by false Notions, many we behold,
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 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,
Death deserves a Tear?
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
* A Character in Ben Johnson's Comedy of Volpone.
+ A rich Miser, known after twenty Years Absence by his old Cloak,