The New Hampshire Gazette And Historical Chronicle

From the First Ode of the Third Book of Horace.

Odi profanum Vulgus, & arceo,

An ODE.

AWAY ye little vulgar Fools,

I scorn your rude unpolish'd Souls;

Attend and hear

The Moral Rules,

I dictate to the Young and Fair.

Great Kings, who terrify the wondring Croud

On Earth, themselves are in the Hand of God:

Who, if he moves his mighty awful Brow

In Heav'n, he shakes a trembling World below.

II.

Fortune Inconstant, Fickle, Blind,

Is seldom to the Worthy kind:

And Wit and Virtue often fail,

And Pow'r. and Wealth. & Bribes prevail

But Death's Impartial Dart still levels all,

And the same Way,(if Rich or Poor) we fall:

III.

Who sits beneath the pointed Steel,

In all his State is wretched still;

Pale Ghastly Terrors round him keep

Their dreary Watch, and banish Sleep

For Sleep and peaceful Quiet rest

Within the lowly Cottage best;

But deadly-Fears attend the great,

And Cares annoy the Regal Seat,

The gentle God from Noise. and Cities flies

To Solitary Woods; and Murm'ring Trees.

IV.

Who does no more desire,

Than nat'ral Wants require;

Who is no Slave to sordid Gain,

Preserves a Soul Unruffled, Easy, Gay;

Nor tempts, nor dreads the Perils of the Main.

Nor fears a stormy Day.

V.

Small, but sufficient's my Estate,

My House convenient, clean, and neat:

Why then shou'd I of Fate complain?

Why seek unnecessary Pain;

I live retir'd from Cares, and Noise;

And from my lowly Cell,

I pity and despise

The busy, little Knaves, and Fools, that dwell

With Crouds, in State, and lofty Palaces.