To Mr. J. H. at the TEMPLE , occasioned by a Translation of an Epistle of HORACE . 1730. By the Rev. Mr. S— , of Magdalen College , OXFORD . TIME flies — so you and Horace sing , From whence you many a moral bring , To teach us how to steer our lives , T' enjoy our bottles and our wives . Young man , I will approve your notions , And wholly am at your devotions . I hate your sour , canting rascals , That talk of Ember-weeks and Pascals ; Black villains , who desire to wean us , From Bacchus' pleasures , and from Venus ' , To gain themselves a larger share , And fob us off with fast and prayer : And tell us none to Elysium go , Who do not plague themselves below . Can mis'ry raise the grateful heart , Or tuneful songs of praise impart ? The great Creator's work we view And trace it out by Wisdom's clue ; Nothing is good but what is true . With cautious and with thankful eye We scan the great variety : Each good within our reach we taste , And call our neighbour to the feast . Our souls do gen'rously disown All pleasure that's confin'd to one ; The only rational employment Is , to receive and give emjoyment : To ev'ry pleasure we attend , Not to enjoy is to offend . But still , amidst the various crowd Of goods , that call with voices loud , Our nat'ral genius , education , Parents , companions , or our station , Direct us to some single choice , In which we chiefly must rejoice . Pleasures are ladies — some we court To pass away an hour in sport : We like them all for this or that , For silence some , and some for chat ; For ev'ry one , as Cowley sings , Or arrows yields , or bows , or strings . But , after all this rambling life , Each man must have his proper wife . You know my meaning — some one good , Felt , heard , or seen , or understood , Will captivate the heart's affection , And bring the rest into subjection . Pray mind the tenor of my song ; It holds together , tho' 'tis long . You've made an early choice , and wise one ; The best I know within th' horizon . My lady Law is rich and handsome : May she be worth you a king's ransom ! But I must tell you , ( you'll excuse My friendly , tho' plain dealing Muse ) In her own hands is all her dower ; There's not a groat within your power ; And yet you're whoring with the Nine ; With them you breakfast , sup and dine , With them you spend your days and nights — Is't fitting she shou'd bear such slights ? Beggarly , ballad-singing carrions , Can they advance you to the barons ? You've made me too an old Tom Dingle , And I , forsooth , must try to jingle . Your lady wou'd not do you wrong ; She owns you're tender yet , and young — She'd wink at now and then a song : But still expects to share the time , Which now is all bestow'd on rhime . Read in the morning Hobbes de Homine , At noon , e'en sport with your Melpomene . Youngster , I've something more to say , To wean you from this itch of play . In his Officiis old Marc Tully , 'Mongst certain points he handles fully , ( A book I ever must delight in Far beyond all that since is written ! ) — He tells us there , our parents' praise Their children's virtue ought to raise : Their worth and praise shou'd prick us on To labour after like renown . Who but thy father has been able , Since Hercules , to cleanse a stable ? About his ears how strange a rattle ! Who ever stood so tough a battle ? H' has tam'd the most unruly cattle . — Just two such jobbs as yet remain To be dispatch'd by you and B— . Your father with Herculean club The tyrants of our souls did drub ; B — for our bodies , you our chattels , Must undertake the self-same battles . The world on you have fix'd their eyes , 'Tis you must quell these tyrannies : So shall some title , now unknown , Bangorian-like your labours crown . Ravish'd , methinks , in thought I see The universal liberty . But after all , I know what's in you : You'll do't , a thousand to one guinea . Time flies — the work and pleasure's great ; Begin , before it grows too late . Where the plays stand the statutes lodge ; And dance not , 'till you dance a judge ; Then , tho' you are not half so taper , My Lord , you'll cut a higher caper .