Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. I. (Competency - Constancy) Poem by Henry Baker

Competency.
See Content. Nature content with Little.

If what's enough for Man, enough could be,
This were sufficient: but as this, we see,
Is not enough, how can we e'er believe
That Riches to the Mind Content can give?--

The Farmer, lab'ring, with the Iron Share
Turns up the churlish Soil: the Tradesman cheats:
The hardy Mariner, and Soldier, roam
To ev'ry Region, fearless of the Seas:--
These Toils they undergo, that having gain'd
A Competency, and from Want secure,
All Business laid aside, old Age may pass
In Ease and Quiet.--

If any ask me what would satisfy
To make Life easy, thus I would reply:
As much as keeps out Hunger, Thirst, and Cold,
Or what contented Socrates of old:
As much as made wise Epicurus blest,
Who in small Gardens spacious Realms possess'd.
This is what Nature's Wants may well suffice;
He that would more, is covetous, not wise.--

--Much will always wanting be
To those who much desire: thrice happy He,
To whom the wise Indulgency of Heaven,
With sparing Hand, but just enough has given.--

Most by their own false Hopes deceiv'd, cry out,
They have not yet enough.--

--My Friend complain no more:
He that hath needful Things can ne'er be poor.
If with good Food and Cloathing thou art stor'd,
Not more than this can kingly Wealth afford.--


Complaisance.

Her Wishes never, nor her Will withstand:
Submit, You conquer: serve, and you'll command.
Her Words approve, deny what she denies,
Like where she likes, and where she scorns, despise.
Laugh when she smiles, when sad, dissolve in Tears:
Let ev'ry Gesture sympathize with hers.
If she delights, as Women will, in play,
Her Stakes return, your ready Losings pay.
When she's at Cards, or rattling Dice she throws,
Connive at Cheats, and generously lose.
A smiling Winner let the Nymph remain,
Let your pleas'd Mistress ev'ry Conquest gain.

In Heat with an Umbrello ready stand:
When walking offer your officious Hand.
Her trembling Hands, tho' You sustain the Cold,
Cherish, and to your warmer Bosom hold.
Think no inferior Office a Disgrace:
No Action, that a Mistress gains, is base.
Whene'er she wants a Messenger, away,
Business defer, let nought your Speed delay.
When late from Supper she's returning home,
And calls her Servant, as a Servant come.--

Then for his Conversation: he was never uneasy upon any occasion, nor would he ever spoil Company, but clos'd with all Humours, never thwarting others, nor assuming too much to himself. And I think this was the Way to get Reputation and Friends without Envy.--

Complaisance goes current, when Plain--dealing will not pass.--


Concord.
See Peace.

Kind Concord, heav'nly born! whose blissful Reign
Holds this vast Globe in one surrounding Chain,
Whose Laws the jarring Elements controul,
And knit each Atom close from Pole to Pole:
Soul of the World! and Love's eternal Spring!--


Conscience. (Evil.)
See Guilt.

He that commits a Sin, shall quickly find
The pressing Guilt lie heavy on his Mind:
Tho' Bribes or Favour should assert his Cause,
Pronounce him guiltless, and elude the Laws:
None quits himself: his own impartial Thought
Will damn, and Conscience will record the Fault.--

But why must those be thought to 'scape, who feel
Those Rods of Scorpions, and those Whips of Steel
Which Conscience shakes, when she with Rage controuls,
And spreads amazing Terrors thro' their Souls.--

Nor sharp Revenge, nor Hell itself can find
A fiercer Torment than a guilty Mind:
Which Day and Night doth dreadfully accuse,
The Wretch condemns, and still the Charge renews.--

Sleep flies the Wretch: or when with Cares opprest,
His oft turn'd Limbs are weary'd into Rest,
Then Dreams invade, the injur'd Gods appear,
All arm'd with Thunder, and awake his Fear.

Such Wretches start at ev'ry Flash that flies,
Grow pale at the first Murmur of the Skies,
E'er Clouds are form'd, and Thunder roars, afraid.--

Ev'n Here, on Earth, the Guilty have in view
The mighty Pains to mighty Mischiefs due:
Racks, Prisons, Poisons, the Tarpeian Rock,
Stripes, Hangmen, Pitch, and suffocating Smoak,
And last, and most, if these were cast behind,
Th' avenging Horrors of a conscious Mind:
Whose deadly Fear anticipates the Blow,
And sees no End of Punishment and Woe:
But looks for more, at the last Gasp of Breath:--
This makes a Hell on Earth, and Life a Death.--

Each as his Hands in Guilt have been embrew'd,
By hellish Horror ever is pursu'd.
Ah! who can tell those agonizing Pains,
Which Day and Night the guilty Mind sustains!
Vengeance, with all her dreadful Pomp, attends:
To Wheels she binds him, and with Vultures rends,
With Racks of Conscience, and with Whips of Fiends.--

So raving Pentheus Troops of Furies sees,
Two Suns, and double Thebes: So mad with Guilt
Orestes, agitated on the Stage,
Flies from his Mother's Ghost with Torches arm'd,
And black infernal Snakes: revengeful Fiends
Sit in the Doors, and intercept his Flight.--


Conscience. (Good.)
See Man Upright.

What's Man's chief Good? From Guilt a Conscience free.--

Be this thy Guard, be this thy strong Defence:
A virtuous Heart, and unstain'd Innocence:
Not to be conscious of a shameful Sin,
Nor e'er turn pale for scarlet Crimes within.--

Within the conscious Breast of every Man,
As good, or bad, his Course of Life has been,
So Hope, or Fear prevails.--

A Man that's Good and Wise will boldly say,
Well, Pentheus King of Thebes, Why this Delay?
Pray what must I expect? What must I fear?
What undeserv'd must I be forc'd to bear?
I'll take away thy Goods.--My Flocks, My Land,
You may,--'tis subject all to your Command.
I'll chain and rob thee of thy Liberty.--
But God, whene'er I please, will set me free.--

Innocence may be bold, and vindicate itself with
Assurance, and speak out confidently.--


Consolation.

Let Patience moderate thy Grief, he cries;
Nor think Thyself unfortunate alone,
But learn by Others Woes, to bear thine own.--

--The Chief
With Words of Comfort sooths the common Grief:--
O Friends! he cries, experienc'd in Distress,
Much worse have We endur'd:--
And Heav'n will likewise put an End to this.
Courage assume: ev'n this Affliction, past,
May in Remembrance yield Us Joy at last.
With manly Patience bear your present State,
And save your selves to meet a better Fate.--

If so the Gods my Overthrow ordain,
And the fierce Victor chace me o'er the Plain,
Thou shalt be left me still, my better Part,
To sooth my Cares, and heal my broken Heart:
Thy open Arms I shall be sure to meet,
And fly with Pleasure to the dear Retreat.--

No Day is drench'd with such perpetual Rain,
But that some Intermission glads the Plain:
No barren Soil's so bad, but that it shows
Some useful Plant beneath it's Briars grows:
No Life's so fill'd with Woes, but that between
Some Gleams of Joy shine thro' the gloomy Scene.--

Still on your Bloom shall endless Sorrow prey,
And waste your Youth in Solitude away?
And shall no pleasing Theme your Thoughts employ?
The pratling Infant, or the bridal Joy?
Think you such Cares disturb your Husband's Shade,
Or stir the sacred Ashes of the Dead?--

The Merchant shipwreck'd on the faithless Main,
Seeks out some shipwreck'd Wretch to share his Grief:
By sudden Storms undone, the ruin'd Swain
Finds in some Other's Ruin sad Relief.
Affliction's Friendship mutual Fun'rals move:
Together childless Parents mix their Sighs.
Then let's the Power of joint Orisons prove:
Associate Pray'rs wing swiftest to the Skies.--

Who'd be so mad a Mother to disswade
From Tears, whilst on his Hearse her Son is laid?
But when Grief's Deluge can no longer swell,
Declining Sorrow you'll with ease repell.--


Constancy.
See Affection Conjugal.

Since poor Sichoeus, by my Brother slain,
Dash'd with his Blood the consecrated Fane,
And stain'd the Gods: my firm Resolves, I own,
This graceful Prince has shook, and this alone.
I feel a Warmth o'er all my trembling Frame,
Too like the Tokens of my former Flame.
But Oh! may Earth her dreadful Gulph display,
And gaping snatch me from the golden Day:
May I be hurl'd, by Heav'n's Almighty Sire,
Transfix'd with Thunder, and involv'd in Fire,
Down to the Shades of Hell, from Realms of Light,
The deep, deep Shades of everlasting Night:
E'er, sacred Honour, I betray thy Cause,
In Word, or Thought, or violate thy Laws.
No!--my first Lord, my first ill--fated Spouse,
Still, as in Life, is Lord of all my Vows.
My Love he had, and ever let him have,
Interr'd with him, and bury'd in the Grave—