Part 7 (1/2)

Ode 13. l. 4.

If mournfull eyes could but prevent The evils they so much lament Sidonian Pearles, or Gems more rare, Would be too cheap for ev'ry teare.

But moyst'ned woes grow fresh, and new, As Come besprinkled with the dew.

Teare followes teare, and fruitfull griefe Hath from it selfe, its owne reliefe.

The man whom Fortune doth espy With drooping spirit, and moyst'ned eye, Shee, often strikes; ill Fate, amaine Runs Scarr'd no notice being ta'ne.

Bewayle not then thy selfe, deare friend, Or evills that on thee attend; What they expell, teares cherish oft; Hard things deny to yeild to soft.

Mischance is conquered, when she spies A valiant patience with dry eyes.

_Ad Crispum Laevinium._

Rogatus cur saepe per viam caneret, respondet.

_Ode 44. Lib 4._

To Crispus Laevinius.

_Being asked why hee sung so often as hee travailed, hee answers._

_Ode 44. Lib. 4._

c.u.m meam nullis humeros onustus Sarcinis tec.u.m patriam reviso Laetus, & parvo mihi c.u.mque dives Canto viator.

Tu siles mstum: tibi cura Musas Demit, & multi grave pondus auri.

Quaeque te quondam male fida rerum Turba relinquet.

Dives est qui nil habet; illa tantum Quae potest certa retinere dextra, Seque fert sec.u.m vaga qu, migrare Jussit egestas.

As cheerefully I walke with thee, My shoulders from all burdens free.

Our native soyle again to see Rich to my selfe I sing, Whil'st care strikes thee, and thy Muse dumb, The heavy weight of thy vast summe, Or what estate in time to come The faithlesse rout may bring.

Hee's rich that nothing hath; Hee that In's certaine hand holds his estate, That makes himselfe his constant mate Where need commands him go;

Quid mihi, qui nil cupiam, deesse Possit? umbro si placet una _Pindi_ Vallis: o sacrum nemus, o jocosa Rura Camna!

Quae meos poscet via cunq; gressus, Delphici mec.u.m, mea regna, colles Itis, & fessum comitante circ.u.m- Sist.i.tis umbra.

Me Gothus saevis religet catenis, Me Scythes captum rapiat; soluta Mente, vobisc.u.m potero tremendos Visere Reges.

What can I want, that nought desire?

Then _Pindus_ vale, I reach no higher: O sacred Grove! O pleasant quire In those coole shades below!

What paths soe're my steps invite Ye Delphian hills, my sole delight Doe goe with mee; in weary plight, And veyle me with good grace.

Let th'_Goth_ his strongest chaines prepare, The _Scythian_ hence mee captive teare, My mind being free with you, I'le stare The Tyrants in the face.

_Ad Munatium._

Nihil in rebus humanis non taedio plenum esse.

_Ode 15. Lib. 4._