HORACE Book I. Epist. IV. Ad ALBIUM TIBULLUM

Thornhill, whom doubly to my Heart commend The Critick's Art, and Candour of a Friend, Say what thou dost in thy Retirement find Worthy the Labours of thy active Mind? Whether the Tragick Muse inspires thy Thought, To emulate what moving OTWAY wrote; Or whether to the Covert of some Grove Thou and thy Thoughts do from the World remove, Where to thy self thou all those Rules dost show, That Good Men ought to practise, or Wise know. For sure thy Mass of Man, is no dull Clay, But well inform'd with the Celestial Ray. The bounteous Gods, to thee compleatly kind, In a fair Frame inclos'd thy fairer Mind: And tho' they did profusely Wealth bestow, They gave thee the true Use of Wealth to know. Cou'd ev'n the Nurse wish for her darling Boy A Happiness which thou dost not enjoy, What can her fond Ambition ask, beyond A Soul by Wisdom's noblest Precepts crown'd? To this, fair Speech, and happy Utterance join'd, To unlock the secret Treasures of the Mind, And make the Blessing common to Mankind. On these let Health and Reputation wait, The Favour of the Virtuous and the Great. A Table cheerfully and cleanly spread, Stranger alike to Riot and to Need. Such an Estate as no Extreams may know, A free and just Disdain for all things else below. Amidst uncertain Hopes, and anxious Cares, Tumultuous Strife, and miserable Fears, Prepare for all Events thy constant Breast, And let each Day be to Thee as thy last. That Morning's Dawn will with new Pleasure rise, Whose Light shall unexpected bless thy Eyes. Me, when to Town in Winter you repair, Batt'ning in Ease you'll find, sleek, fresh and fair. Me, who have learnt from EPICURUS Lore, To snatch the Blessings of the flying Hour; Whom every Friday at the Vine you'll find, His true Disciple, and your faithful Friend.