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I, who at some times fpend, at others fpare,
Divided between careleffnefs and care.
'Tis one thing madly to difpere my ftore;
Another, not to head to treasure more;
'Glad, like a boy, to fnatch the first good-day,
And pleas'd, if fordid want be far away.

(d) What is't to me (a paffenger God wot)
Whether my veffel be first-rate or not?
The fhip itself may make a better figure,
But I that fail, am neither less nor bigger.
I neither ftiut with ev'ry fav'ring breath,
Nor ftrive with all the tempeft in my teeth.
In pow'r, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, plac'd
Behind the foremost, and before the last.

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(e) "But why all this of av'rice? I have none.' I with you joy, Sir, of a tyrant gone; But does no other lord it at this hour, As wild and mad? the avarice of pow'r!

(d) Pauperies immunda domus procul abfit: ego,

utrum

Nave ferar

magna ar parva; ferar unus et idem. Non agimur tumidis velis Aquilone secundo : Non tamen adverfis ætatem ducimus Auftris. Viribus, ingenio, fpecie, virtute, loco, re, Extremi primorum, extremis ufque priores. (e) Non es avarus: abi. quid? cætera jam fimul ifto

Cum vitio fugere? caret tibi pectus inani Ambitione caret mortis formidine et ira? Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, fagas, Nocturnos lemures, portentaque Theffala rides? Natales grate numeras? ignofcis amicis?

Does

Does neither rage inflame, nor fear appall?
Not the black fear of Death, that faddens all?
With terrors round, can Reason hold her throne,
Defpife the known, nor tremble at th' unknown?
Survey both worlds, intrepid aud intire, 312

In fpite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire ?
Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd to look behind,
And count each birth-day with a grateful mind?
Has life no fournefs, drawn fo near its end;
Can't thou endure a foe, forgive a friend?
Has age but melted the rough parts away,
As winter-fruits grow mild ere their decay; 319
Or will you think, my friend, your business done,
When, of an hundred thorns you pull out one?

(f) Learn to live well, or fairly make your will; You've play'd, and lov'd, and ate, and drank your

fill:

Walk fober off, before a fprightlier age

Comes titt'ring on, and fhoves you from the stage:
Leave fuch to trifle with more grace and eafe, 326
Whom folly pleases, and whose follies please.

Lenior et melior fis accedente fenecta
Quid te exempta levat fpinis de pluribus una?
(f) Vivere fi recte nefcis, decede peritis.
Lufisti satis, edifti fatis, atque bibisti:
Tempus abire tibi eft: ne potum largius æque
Rideat, et pulfet lafciva decentius ætas.

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THE

SATIRES

OF

Dr JOHN DONNE,

Dean of St PAUL'S, verfified.

Quid vetat et nofmet Lucili fcripta legentes
Quærere, num illius, num rerum dura negarit
Verficulos natura magis factos, et euntes
Mollius?

HOR.

"

SATIRE II.

ES; thank

ftars! as early as I knew

my

YES, thank, too:

Yet here, as even in Hell, there must be still
One giant-vice, fo excellently ill,

SATIRE II.

IR, though (I thank God for it) I do hate
Perfectly all this town; yet there's one state

In all ill things fo excellently beft,

That hate towards them, breeds pity towards the Though Poetry, indeed, be fuch a fin, (reft. As I think, that brings dearth and Spaniards in:

That

Sat. II.

SATIRES OF Dr DONNE.

That all befide, one pities, not abhors;

211

As who knows Sappho, fmiles at other whores.
I grant that poetry's a crying fin;

5

It brought (no doubt) th' Excife and Army in: Catch'd like the plague, or love, the Lord knows how

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But that the cure is starving, all allow.
Yet like the Papift's is the poet's state,
Poor and difarm'd, and hardly worth your hate!
Here a lean bard, whose wit could never give
Himself a dinner, makes an actor live:
The thief condemn'd, in law already dead,
So prompts, and faves a rogue who cannot read.
Thus as the pipes of fome carv'd organ move,
The gilded puppets dance and mount above.
Heav'd by the breath th' inspiring bellows blow:
Th' infpiring bellows lie and pant below.

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One fings the fair; but fongs no longer move; No rat is rhym'd to death, nor maid to love :

Tho' like the peftilence and old fashion'd love,
Ridlingly it catch men, and doth remove
Never, till it be starv'd out; yet their state
Is poor, difarm'd, like Papiits, not worth hate.
One (like a wretch, which at barre judg'd as

dead, [read, Yet prompts him which stands next, and cannot And faves his life) gives idiot-actors means, (Starving himself) to live by's labour'd fcenes. As in fome organs, puppets dance above, And bellows pant below which them do move. One would move love by rhymes; but witchcraft's

charms

Bring not now their old fears, nor their old harms;

A

In love's, in nature's fpite, the fiege they hold,
And fcorn the flesh, the dev'l, and all but gold.
Thefe write to lords, fome mean reward to get,
As needy beggars fing at doors for meat.
Those write because all write, and fo have still
Excufe for writing, and for writing ill.

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Wretched indeed! but far more wretched yet Is he who makes his meal on others wit: 30 'Tis chang`d, no doubt, from what it was before, His rank digeftion makes it wit no more: Senfe, paft thro' him, no longer is the fame; For food digefted takes another name.

I pass o'er all thofe confeffors and martyrs, 35 Who live like S---tt---n, or who die like Chartres, Outcant old Efdras, or outdrink his heir, Outufure Jews, or Irishmen outfwear;

Rams, and flings now are filly battery,
Piftolets are the best artillery.

And they who write to lords, rewards to get,
Are they not like fingers at doors for meat?
And they who write, because all write, have ftill
That 'fcufe for writing, and for writing ill.

But he is worst, who beggarly doth chaw
Others wits fruits, and in his ravenous maw
Rankly digefted, doth thefe things outfpue,
As his own things; and they're his own, 'tis true,
For if one eat my meat, tho' it be known
The meat was mine, the excrement's his own.
But these do me no harm, nor they which use
to outufure Jews,

T'outdrink the fea, t' outswear the Letanie,
Who with fins all kinds as familiar be

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