Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. Ii. (King - Landing) Poem by Henry Baker

Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. Ii. (King - Landing)



However great, whoe'er you are


King.
See Advice to a Prince. Greatness. Tyrant.

However great, whoe'er you are,
That Earth's imperial Scepters bear,
Tho' thousands in your Palace wait,
And crowd your hundred Rooms of State:
Of all the Slaves that cringe around,
Scarce ev'n in one can Truth be found.

The Furies in proud Domes reside,
And thro' the Doors extended wide
Steal covert Fraud, and cautious Guile,
The dark Design, the treach'rous Smile,
And Dagger hid:--in Publick go,
Envy attends the pompous Show:
Each Night outliv'd, each rising Morn,
To Life renew'd, the Prince is born.

How few that wait around the Throne,
It's Welfare seek, and not their own!
What Numbers to the Courts of Kings,
Or Av'rice, or Ambition brings!--

Give Ear, ambitious Princes! and be wise:
Listen, and learn wherein true Greatness lies:
Place not your Pride in Roofs that shine with Gems,
In purple Robes, nor sparkling Diadems,
Nor in Dominion, nor Extent of Land;
He's only Great who can himself command.
Whose Guard is peaceful Innocence, whose Guide
Is faithful Reason, who is void of Pride,
Checking Ambition, nor is idly vain
Of the false Incense of a popular Train.--

What need of Troops, or Instruments of War,
Or Parthian Arrows which destroy from far?
Who Lord of his own Hopes and Fears can be,
The greatest King and Conqueror is He:
Blest with a Power which he derives from none,
He's Great, and Happy, in Himself alone.--

Quick to reward a King should always be,
To punish slow: and griev'd whenever He
By Justice is compell'd to use Severity.--

This great, this godlike Happiness have Kings,
A Happiness which never can be lost:
To succour the Distress'd, and grant to Those
Who sue for Safety their protecting Pow'r.--

Ev'n Boys at Play to one another cry,
Thou shalt be King, if Thou wilt govern right.--

He's much deceiv'd, who thinks a worthy King
Can ever aim at arbitrary Sway:
For Liberty ne'er flourishes so well
As under a good Prince.--


Kisses.

Let's live, my dearest Lesbia! and love,
The little Time that Nature lends, improve:
In Love and Pleasure let us spend the Day,
Nor care one Farthing what old Dotards say!
The Sun may rise again when once 'tis set,
Its usual Labour, and old Course repeat:
But when our Day is once depriv'd of Light,
Sleep is our Portion, and eternal Night.
A thousand Kisses give: an hundred more:
Another thousand, Lesbia! I implore:
Another hundred quickly add to these:
Another thousand instant let me seize:
And when repeated thousands num'rous grow,
We'll kiss at random, nor pretend to know
How many you have lent, or what I owe.
Lest wicked Envy should attempt to say,
How many thousands we have kiss'd away.--

Want you to know how many Kisses
Would satisfy my boundless Wishes?
Not fewer than the Lybian Sands
Spread o'er the parch'd Cyrene's Lands,
Between Jove's Temple and the Fane
Where Battus' sacred Bones remain:
Not fewer than the Stars above,
Which see by Night Men's stolen Love.
So many Kisses would I give,
(Who now for Want of Kisses grieve,)
As should in Number far surmount,
All that Arithmetic can count.
Nor all the Force of magic Art,
My Lips from yours should ever part.--


Know Thyself.

From Heav'n, to Mortals, sure, that Rule was sent,
Of Know Thyself: and, by some God, was meant,
To be our never--erring Pilot here,
Thro' all the various Courses which we steer.--

Seek not Thyself without Thyself to find.--

E'er Thou attempt weak Causes to support,
Be sure, be very sure, Thou'rt able for't:
And don't mistake strong Lungs, and Impudence,
For Harmony of Words, and Force of Sense.
Fools only make Attempts beyond their Skill:
A wise Man's Pow'r's the Limits of his Will.--

Thyself consider well, that Thou may'st find,
How much there wants to furnish out thy Mind.--

Sound Reason still is whispering in your Ear,
Where you are sure to fail, th' Attempt forbear.
Unskill'd in Hellebore, if You should try,
To mix it, and mistake the Quantity,
The Rules of Phisic would against You cry.
The high--shoo'd Plowman, should he quit the Land,
To take the Pilot's Rudder in his Hand,
Artless of Stars, and of the shifting Sand;
The Gods would leave him to the Waves and Wind,
And think all Shame was lost in Humankind.--

None, none descends into himself, to find
The secret Imperfections of his Mind:
But ev'ry one is Eagle--ey'd to see
Another's Failings and Deformity.--

Thy Breast examine with severest Care,
And find what Vices are prevailing there,
What Nature plants, and what ill Customs bear.
This Search is good, for a neglected Field
Or Thorns, or useless Fern, will quickly yield.--

Bless me! what an odd Composition Men are of! that they should see farther, and judge better, of other People's Affairs than their own!


Labour.
See Bees. Industry.

All noble Things are difficult to gain,
And without Labour none can them attain.
Is Gold thy Aim? what mighty Pains attend?
Mountains are level'd and the Mines descend
To Earth's deep Center: tho' she hides her Store,
We tare her up, and reach the hidden Ore.
For shining Gems we cut the burning Zone,
Such Dangers are the Purchase of a Stone!
The fearful Farmer makes his yearly Vow,
And Pain still presseth the deceiving Plow.
In War no Danger's shunn'd, we fight for Spoil:
Ev'n lazy Luxury leads us on to Toil:
For Food and Cloths from East to West we run,
And Spend--thrifts take much Pains to be undone.--

Thus to their Toils, in early Summer, run
The clust'ring Bees, and labour in the Sun:
Lead forth, in Colonies, their buzzing Race,
Or work the liquid Sweets, and thicken to a Mass.
The busy Nation flies from Flow'r to Flow'r,
And hoards, in curious Cells, the golden Store.
A chosen Troop before the Gate attends,
Heaves off the Burdens, and relieves their Friends:
Warm at the fragant Work, in Bands, they drive
The Drone, a lazy Robber, from the Hive.--

So when the Pismires, an industrious Train,
Embody'd rob some golden Heap of Grain,
Studious e'er stormy Winter frowns, to lay
Safe in their darksom Cells the treasur'd Prey:
In one long Track, the dusky Legions lead
Their Prize in Triumph thro' the verdant Mead.
Here bending with the Load, a panting Throng
With Force conjoyn'd heave some huge Grain along.
Some, lash the Stragglers to the Task assign'd,
Some, to their Ranks, the Bands that lay behind:
They crowd the peopled Path in thick Array,
Glow at the Work, and darken all the Way.--


Lamentation.
See Grief.

Death, I confess, I 'scap'd, and broke my Bonds:--
And now to me, forlorn, no Hope is left
Of e'er beholding my sweet native Soil,
Or my dear Children, or my long'd for Sire:
Whose forfeit Lives, perhaps, for my Escape,
They will demand: and expiate this Offence
By their untimely Death.--

I, who so long had Pow'r, and Wealth, and State,
Bless'd in my Children, in my Husband Great;
Must now, in Poverty, an Exile mourn,
Ev'n from the Tombs of my dead Offspring torn:
Giv'n to Penelope, who proud of Spoil,
Allots me to the Loom's ungrateful Toil:
Points to her Dames, and cries, with scornful Mein,
See Hector's Mother, and great Priam's Queen!--

Shall Fortune still in one sad Tenor run,
And still increase the Woes so soon begun?
Enur'd to Sorrows from my tender Years,
My Parent's Ashes drank my early Tears:
My Brother next, neglecting Wealth and Fame,
Ignobly burn'd in a destructive Flame.
An Infant Daughter late my Griefs increas'd,
And all a Mother's Cares distract my Breast.--

Landing Oppos'd.

Full thirty Ships transport the chosen Train,
For Troy's Relief, and scour the briny Main.
The careful Chief who never clos'd his Eyes,
Himself the Rudder holds, the Sails supplies.
He charg'd the Soldiers with preventing Care,
The Flags to follow, and their Arms prepare:
Warn'd of th' ensuing Fight, and bad them hope the War.

Now, from his lofty Poop, he view'd below
His Camp encompass'd, and th' inclosing Foe.
His brazen Shield, embrac'd, he held on high:
The Camp receive the Sign, and with loud Shouts reply:
Hope Arms their Courage: from their Towers they throw
Their Darts with double Force, and drive the Foe.
Thus, at the Signal giv'n, the Cranes arise,
With joyful Clang, and leave the stormy Skies.

The Latins wonder'd at the Fight renew'd:
Till, looking back, the Trojan Fleet they view'd:
The Seas with swelling Canvas cover'd o'er,
And the swift Ships descending on the Shore.
But, nought dismay'd, bold Turnus' Mind is bent
To man the Beach, and hinder their Descent.
He thus awakes the Courage of his Friends:
What You so long have wish'd kind Fortune sends:
In ardent Arms to meet th' invading Foe:
You find, and find him at Advantage now.
Now take the Time, while stagg'ring yet they stand
With Feet unfirm: attack them as they land:
Fortune befriends the Bold. No more he said,
But ballanc'd whom to leave, and whom to lead:
Then These elects, the Landing to prevent:
And Those he leaves to keep the City pent.

Mean time, the Trojan sends his Troops ashore:
Some are by Boats expos'd, by Bridges more:
With lab'ring Oars they bear along the Strand,
Where the Tide languishes, and leap to Land.

Tarchon observes the Coast with careful Eyes,
And where no Ford he finds, no Water fries,
Nor Billows with unequal Murmur roar,
But smoothly slide along, and swell the Shore:
That Course he steer'd, and thus he gave Command,
Here ply your Oars, and at all Hazard land:
Force on the Vessel, that her Keel may wound
This hated Soil, and furrow hostile Ground.
Let me securely land, I ask no more,
Then sink my Ships, or scatter on the Shore.

This fiery Speech inflames his daring Friends,
They tug at ev'ry Oar, and ev'ry Stretcher bends:
They run their Ships a--ground, the Vessels knock,
(Thus forc'd ashore) and tremble with the Shock.

Turnus leads on his Troops without Delay,
Advancing to the Margin of the Sea.
The Trumpets sound a Charge. On either Hand,
These fight to keep, and Those to win the Land.
With mutual Blood th' Ausonian Soil is dy'd,
While on it's Borders each their Claim decide.
As wintry Winds contending in the Sky,
With equal Rage of Lungs their Titles try:
They rage, they roar: The doubtful Rack of Heav'n
Stands without Motion, and the Tide undriv'n:
Each bent to conquer, neither Side to yield,
They long suspend the Fortune of the Field:
Both Armies thus perform what Courage can,
Foot set to Foot, and Man oppos'd to Man.—

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