Medulla Poetarum Romanorum - Vol. I. (Inclinations - Intreaty) Poem by Henry Baker

Inclinations of Men Different.

Men diff'rent Things admire and approve:
Odes You like best; Iambics Others love:
Whilst a third Sort in Satyr's Rage delight:
Sharp Salt alone can please their Appetite.
Three Friends by me are sent for to a Feast,
A diff'rent Palate too has ev'ry Guest.
What shall, what shall I not provide? when You
For what They like a strong Aversion shew;
And chuse what's hateful to the other two.--

Pollux on Foot, on Horseback Castor fights:
As many Men, so many their Delights.--

Who's Temper's serious, and their Humour sad,
They think all blithe and merry Men are mad:
They who are merry, and whose Humour's free,
Abhor a sad and serious Gravity:
They who are slow and heavy, can't admit
The Friendship of a quick and ready Wit.
The slothful hate the busy active Men,
And are detested by the same again.
They whose free Humour prompts them to be gay,
To drink all Night and revel all the Day,
Abhor the Man that can his Cups refuse.--

Nature is ever various in her Frame:
Each has a diff'rent Will, and few the same.
The greedy Merchants, led by Lucre, run
To the parch'd Indies, and the rising Sun:
From thence hot Pepper, and rich Drugs they bear,
Bart'ring for Spices their Italian Ware.
The lazy Glutton safe at Home will keep,
Indulge his Sloth, and batten with his Sleep.
One bribes for high Preferment in the State,
A second shakes the Box, and sits up late:
Another shakes the Bed, dissolving there,
Till Knots upon his gouty Joints appear,
And Chalk is in his crippled Fingers found:
Rots like a doddard Oak, and peice--meal falls to Ground.
Then, his lewd Follies he would late repent;
And his past Years, that in a Mist were spent.--

For Men of diff'rent Inclinations are;
Tho' born, perhaps, beneath one common Star.
In Mind and Manners Twins oppos'd we see
In the same Sign, almost the same Degree.
One, frugal, on his Birth--Day fears to dine,
Does at a Penny's Cost in Herbs repine,
And hardly dares to dip his Fingers in the Brine:
Prepar'd as Priest of his own Rites to stand,
He sprinkles Pepper with a sparing Hand.
His jolly Brother opposite in Sense,
Laughs at his Thrift: and lavish of Expence,
Quaffs, crams, and guttles, in his own Defence.--

Some view, with a delighted Eye,
Thick Clouds of Dust around them fly,
While their contending Chariots roll,
And nicely shun th' Olympic Goal:
Where Races, won, and Palms bestow'd,
Exalt a Hero to a God.

This is of high Preferment proud,
And Honours given by the Crowd:
That plows his own paternal Fields,
With what the Lybian Harvest yields
Content: nor by the Hopes of Gain
Can'st Thou e'er tempt him from the Plain:
Or draw his fearful Soul to ride
In feeble Ships, and stem the Tide.

The Merchant toss'd on angry Seas,
Commends his Farm, and rural Ease:
Yet rigs his shatter'd Bark once more,
Untaught, unable to be poor.

There are who quaff, (or careless laid
Beneath the wilding--Apple's Shade,
Or where the rising Fountains play,)
Old Massic Wine throughout the Day.
And Many be, whom Camps delight,
And Battles, that fond Mothers fright:
Who in the Fife's, and Clarion's Voice,
The Symphony of War, rejoyce.

The Hunter bears bleak Cold and Wet,
Unmindful of his lovely Spouse:
Whether the Stag the Beagles rouse,
Or the wild Boar has broke the Net.--

Some vex the Deep with Oars, and rush to Arms:
Sollicit Favour in the Courts of Kings.
One Spoils, from wretched, ruin'd Cities seeks:
To quaff on Gems, and snore on Tyrian Dye:
This buries Wealth, and broods o'er hoarded Gold:
That doats with Fondness on the Rostrum's Fame:
Another on th' Applauses of the Cirque,
And Theaters: for doubled is th' Applause:
The People and the Fathers both concur:
He, set agape, stands ravish'd at the Sound.
Some triumph, reeking in their Brother's Blood:
And change for Exile their sweet native Homes,
And seek a Soil warm'd by another Sun.--

The savage Lioness pursues the Wolf:
The Wolf the Goat: the Goat the Trefoil's Flowers:
Thee, Corydon, Alexis: All their Love.--

By Flocks the Wolf is dreaded: soaking Show'rs
By the ripe Harvests: by the Trees the Wind:
By Me, my Amaryllis' angry Frown.

Grateful is Dew to springing Corn: sweet Brouze
To new--wean'd Kids: the bending Sallow's Leaves
To pregnant Yews: Amyntas sole to Me.--


Inconstancy.

This fickle Wretch ne'er holds in the same Mind:
Sometimes his hasty Steps outstrip the Wind,
As if he fear'd some Enemy behind:
Now, with slow Pace he apes the solemn Priest,
Who in Procession walks to Juno's Feast:
His Equipage, now, counts two hundred Men,
And, now, the Number is reduc'd to ten:
Now, with grand Airs his Conversation rings,
Of nothing less than Governors and Kings:
Now, a clean Salt--Cellar is all his Wish,
And a small Table for one homely Dish;
And as to Cloths, however coarse and old,
They're good enough, if they keep out the Cold.--

What he was fond of, now he does reject,
And seeks what he but lately did neglect:
He wavers still, and flies from that to this,
And all his Life a Contradiction is.--


Industry.
See Bees. Labour.

The little Ant, (Example she to Man
Of Care and Labour,) gathers all she can,
And brings it to enlarge her Heap at Home,
Against the Winter, which she knows will come.--

Night now was sliding in her middle Course:
The first Repose was finish'd: When the Dame,
Who by her Distaff's slender Art subsists,
Wakes the spread Embers, and the sleeping Fire,
Night adding to her Work: and calls her Maids
To their long Tasks, by lighted Tapers urg'd:
Thus spotless to preserve her Husband's Bed,
And educate her little prattling Babes.--


Infant.

Like some poor Sailor by the Tempest hurl'd
Ashore, the Babe is shipwreck'd on the World:
Naked he lies, and ready to expire,
Helpless of all that human Wants require:
Expos'd upon th' unhospitable Earth,
From the first Moment of his hapless Birth:
Straight with foreboding Cries he fills the Room,
Too sure Presages of his future Doom.

But Flocks, and Herds, and ev'ry savage Beast,
By more indulgent Nature are increas'd:
They want no Rattles for their froward Mood,
No Nurse to reconcile them to their Food,
With broken Words: nor Winter Blasts they fear,
Nor change their Habits with the changing Year:
Nor for their Safety Citadels prepare,
Nor forge the wicked Instruments of War.
Unlabour'd Earth her bounteous Treasure grants,
And Nature's lavish Hands supply their common Wants.--

--An Infant in the Mother's Womb,
Does by Degrees the Form of Man assume:
There sleeps till all the Parts proportion bear,
Nor tasts, till ripe for Life, the common Air.--


Inhumanity.
See Cruelty.

When on a sudden, rising with a Storm,
Boistrous Orion drove Us on the Flats,
And hidden Shelves: and with capricious Winds
Scatter'd Us o'er the Waves, the foamy Deep,
And Rocks unpassable: We few escap'd
From Shipwreck to your Coast,-- What Race of Men
Is This? What barb'rous Country, that permits
Such Customs? From the Refuge of the Strand
They drive us, offer War, and beat us back
From the first Shore.--

--By Degrees
I swam to Land: and now had safe arriv'd:
Had not the cruel Nation, as I catch'd
With grasping Hands the Mountain's rugged Sides,
Clogg'd in my brine--drench'd Garments, with the Sword
Invaded me, and ignorant suppos'd
They gain'd a Prize.--


Intreaty.
See Dissuasion. Request (Dying.)

--By Heav'n,
By all the Gods, who witness to the Truth,
By all that Faith, (if any such there be,)
Which yet remains untainted in the World,
You suppliant I implore: commiserate
Such mighty Woes, commiserate a Wretch
Not meriting the Afflictions he endures.--

Why does he stop his unrelenting Ears
To my Intreaties? Whither does he fly
So hasty? this last Favour let him grant
To his unhappy Lover: let him wait
An easy Voyage, and permitting Winds.
I now no more petition him to yield
The Rights of Nuptials, which he has betray'd:
Nor urge him to relinquish his gay Hopes
Of Italy and Empire:--All I beg
Is but a soothing Interval, some Rest,
And Respite to my Passion: 'till my Fate
Shall to Misfortune reconcile my Soul,
Subdu'd by Grief, and teach me how to mourn.
This let him grant: I'll then dismiss him free,
And crown his Satisfaction with my Death.--

Trembling, he clasp'd the Hero's Knees, and pray'd:
By young Iülus, by thy Father's Shade,
O spare my Life, and send me back to see
My longing Sire, and tender Progeny.
A lofty House I have, and Wealth untold,
In Silver Ingots, and in Bars of Gold:
All these, and Sums besides, which see no Day,
The Ransom of this one poor Life shall pay.
If I survive, shall Troy the less prevail?
A single Soul's too light to turn the Scale.—