صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

XVI.

With him went self-admiring Arrogance;

And Brag; his deeds without a helper praising ;
Blind Carelessness before would lead the dance;
Fear stole behind, those vaunts in balance paising,
Which far their deeds outweigh'd; their violence,
'Fore danger spent with lavish diffluence,
Was none, or weak, in time of greatest exigence.
XVII.

As when a fiery courser ready bent,

Puts forth himself as first with swiftest pace;
Till with too sudden flash his spirit spent,
Already fails now in the middle race:

His hanging crest far from his wonted pride,
No longer now obeys his angry guide;

Rivers of sweat and blood flow from his gored side.
XVIII.

Thus ran the rash Tolmetes, never viewing
The fearful fiends that duly him attended;
Destruction close his steps in post pursuing ;
And certain ruin's heavy weights depended

Over his cursed head; and smooth-fac'd Guile,
That with him oft would loosely play and smile ;
Till in his snare he lock'd his feet with treach'rous wile.
XIX.

Next march'd Asotus** careless, spending, swain ;
Who with a fork went spreading all around
What his old sire with sweating toil and pain,
Long time was raking from his raked ground :
In giving he observ'd nor form nor matter,
But best reward he got, that best could flattert.
Thus what he thought to give, he did not give, but scatter.

[blocks in formation]

XX.

Before array'd in sumptuous bravery,

Deck'd court-like in the choice and newest guise;

But all behind like drudging slavery,

With ragged patches, rent, and bared thighs,

His shameful parts, that shun the hated light,
Were naked left; (ah, foul indecent sight!)
Yet neither could he see, nor feel his wretched plight,
XXI.

His shield presents to life, death's latest rites,
A sad black hearse borne up with sable swains;
Which many idle grooms with hundred lights
(Tapers, lamps, torches) usher through the plains
To endless darkness; while the Sun's bright brow,
With fiery beams, quenches their smoking tow,
And wastes their idle cost: the word, 'Not need, but show."
XXII.

A vagrant rout (a shoal of tattling daws)

Strew him with vain spent pray'rs and idle lays;
And Flatt'ry to his sin close curtains draws,
Clawing his itching ear with tickling praise.
Behind fond Pity much his fall lamented.
And Misery that former waste repented:
The usurer for his goods, jail for his bones indented.
XXIII.

His steward was his kinsman, Vain Expence,

Who proudly strove in matters light, to shew Heroic mind in braggart affluence;

So lost his treasure, getting nought in lieu,

But ostentation of a foolish pride,

While women fond, and boys stood gaping wide ; But wise men all his waste, and needless cost deride.

R

XXIV.

Next Pleonectes* went, his gold admiring,

His servant's drudge, slave to his basest slave; Never enough, and still too much desiring:

His gold his god, yet in an iron grave

Himself protects his god from noisome rusting;

Much fears to keep, much more to loose his lusting ; Himself and golden god, and every one mistrusting. XXV.

Age on his hairs the winter snow had spread;
That silver badge his near end plainly proves :
Yet as to earth he nearer bows his head†,

So loves it more; for 'Like his like still loves'.
Deep from the ground he digs his sweetest gain,
And deep into the earth digs back with pain :

From Hell his gold he brings, and hoards in Hell again,
XXVI.

His clothes all patch'd with more than honest thrift,
And clouted shoes were nail'd for fear of wasting:
Fasting he prais'd, but sparing was his drift;
And when he eats, his food is worse than fasting:
Thus starves in store, thus doth in plenty pine;
And wallowing on his god, his heap of mine,
He feeds his famish'd soul with that deceiving shine.
XXVII.

O, hungry metal! false deceitful ray,

Well laid'st thou dark, press'd in th'earth's hidden womb; Yet through our mother's entrails cutting way,

We drag thy buried corse from hellish tomb :
The merchant from his wife and home departs,
Nor at the swelling ocean ever starts ;
While death and life a wall of thin planks only parts,
+ Arist, Ethic.

*Covetousness.

XXVIII.

Who was it first, that from thy deepest cell,
With so much costly toil and painful sweat,
Durst rob thy palace bord'ring next to Hell?
Well may'st thou come from that infernal seat,
Thou all the world with hell-black deeps dost fill.
Fond men that with such pain do woo your ill!
Needless to send for grief, for he is next us still.
XXIX.

His arms were light and cheap, as made to save
His purse, not limbs ; the money, not the man :
Rather he dies, than spends: his helmet brave,
An old brass pot; breast-plate, a dripping-pan :
His spear a spit, a pot-lid broad his shield,
Whose smoky plain a chalk'd Imprese* fill'd;
A bag sure seal'd: his word, 'Much better sav'd than spill'd.'
XXX.

By Pleonectes, shameless Sparing went,

Who whines and weeps to beg a longer day;
Yet with a thund'ring voice claims tardy rent;
Quick to receive, but hard and slow to pay :
His care's to lessen cost with cunning base.
But when he's forc'd beyond his bounded space,
Loud would he cry and howl, while others laugh apate.
XXXI.

Long after went Pusillust, weakest heart;
Able to serve, and able to command,
But thought himself unfit for either part;
And now full loth, amidst the warlike band,

Was hither drawn by force from quiet cell :
Loneness his Heav'n, and bus'ness was his Hell.
'A weak distrustful heart is virtue's aguish spell.'
* It is an emblem or device, with a motto.

+ Feeble-mindedness.

XXXII.

His goodly arms, eaten with shameful dust,
Bewray'd their master's ease, and want of using ;
Such was his mind, tainted with idle must;
His goodly gifts with little use abusing;

Upon his shield was drawn that noble swain*,

That loth to change his love and quiet reign,
For glorious war-like deeds, did crafty madness feign.
XXXIII.

Finely the workman fram'd the toilsome plough
Drawn with an ox and ass, unequal pair ;
While he with busy hand his salt did sow,
And at the furrow's end, his dearest heir

Did helpless lie; and Greek lords watching, still
Observ'd his hand, guided with careful will :
About was wrote, "Who nothing doth, doth nothing ill.'
XXXIV.

By him went Idleness, his loved friend,

And Shame with both; with all, ragg'd Poverty : Behind sure Punishment did close attend,

Waiting awhile fit opportunity;

And taking 'count of hours mispent in vain,

And graces lent without returning gain,

Pour'd on his guilty corse late grief, and helpless pain.
XXXV.

This dull cold earth with standing water froze;
At ease he lies to coin pretence for ease;

His soul like Ahaz' dial, while it goes

Not forward, posteth backward ten degrees:

In's couch he's pliant wax for fiends to seal;
He never sweats, but in his bed, or meal:

He'd rather steal than work, and beg than strive to steal.

* Ulysses.

« السابقةمتابعة »