A tower of brass, one would have said, And locks, and bolts, and iron bars, And guards as strict as in the heat of wars Might have preserved one innocent maidenhood. The jealous father thought he well might spare All further jealous care; And as he walked, to himself alone he smiled To think how Venus' arts he had beguiled; And when he slept his rest was deep, But Venus laughed to see and hear him sleep. She taught the amorous Jove A magical receipt in love, Which armed him stronger and which helped him more Than all his thunder did and his almightyship before.
She taught him love's elixir, by which art His godhead into gold he did convert; No guards did then his passage stay, He passed with ease, gold was the word; Subtle as lightning, bright, and quick, and fierce, Gold through doors and walls did pierce; And as that works sometimes upon the sword, Melted the maiden dread away, Even in the secret scabbard where it lay. The prudent Macedonian king, To blow up towns, a golden mine did spring; He broke through gates with this petar, 'Tis the great art of peace, the engine 'tis of war, And fleets and armies follow it afar; The ensign 'tis at land, and 'tis the seaman's scar.
Let all the world slave to this tyrant be, Creature to this disguised deity, Yet it shall never conquer me. A guard of virtues will not let it pass, And wisdom is a tower of stronger brass. The muses' laurel, round my temples spread, Does from this lightning's force secure my head, Nor will I lift it up so high, As in the violent meteor's way to lie. Wealth for its power do we honour and adore? The things we hate, ill fate, and death, have more.
From towns and courts, camps of the rich and great, The vast Xerxean army, I retreat, And to the small Laconic forces fly Which hold the straits of poverty. Cellars and granaries in vain we fill With all the bounteous summer's store: If the mind thirst and hunger still, The poor rich man's emphatically poor. Slaves to the things we too much prize, We masters grow of all that we despise.
A field of corn, a fountain, and a wood, Is all the wealth by nature understood. The monarch on whom fertile Nile bestows All which that grateful earth can bear, Deceives himself, if he suppose That more than this falls to his share. Whatever an estate does beyond this afford, Is not a rent paid to the Lord; But is a tax illegal and unjust, Exacted from it by the tyrant lust. Much will always wanting be, To him who much desires. Thrice happy he To whom the wise indulgency of Heaven, With sparing hand but just enough has given.
THE DANGERS OF AN HONEST MAN IN MUCH COMPANY.
If twenty thousand naked Americans were not able to resist the assaults of but twenty well-armed Spaniards, I see little possibility for one honest man to defend himself against twenty thousand knaves, who are all furnished cap-a-pie with the defensive arms of worldly prudence, and the offensive, too, of craft and malice. He will find no less odds than this against him if he have much to do in human affairs. The only advice, therefore, which I can give him is, to be sure not to venture his person any longer in the open campaign, to retreat and entrench himself, to stop up all avenues, and draw up all bridges against so numerous an enemy. The truth of it is, that a man in much business must either make himself a knave, or else the world will make him a fool: and if the injury went no farther than the being laughed at, a wise man would content himself with the revenge of retaliation: but the case is much worse, for these civil cannibals too, as well as the wild ones, not only dance about such a taken stranger, but at last devour him. A sober man cannot get too soon out of drunken company; though they be never so kind and merry among themselves, it is not unpleasant only, but dangerous to him. Do ye wonder that a virtuous man should love to be alone? It is hard for him to be otherwise; he is so, when he is among ten thousand; neither is the solitude so uncomfortable to be alone without any other creature, as it is to be alone in the midst of wild beasts. Man is to man all kind of beasts--a fawning dog, a roaring lion, a thieving fox, a robbing wolf, a dissembling crocodile, a treacherous decoy, and a rapacious vulture. The civilest, methinks, of all nations, are those whom we account the most barbarous; there is some moderation and good nature in the Toupinambaltians who eat no men but their enemies, whilst we learned and polite and Christian Europeans, like so many pikes and sharks, prey upon everything that we can swallow. It is the great boast of eloquence and philosophy, that they first congregated men dispersed, united them into societies, and built up the houses and the walls of cities. I wish they could unravel all they had woven; that we might have our woods and our innocence again instead of our castles and our policies. They have assembled many thousands of scattered people into one body: it is true, they have done so, they have brought them together into cities to cozen, and into armies to murder one another; they found them hunters and fishers of wild creatures, they have made them hunters and fishers of their brethren; they boast to have reduced them to a state of peace, when the truth is they have only taught them an art of war; they have framed, I must confess, wholesome laws for the restraint of vice, but they raised first that devil which now they conjure and cannot bind; though there were before no punishments for wickedness, yet there was less committed because there were no rewards for it. But the men who praise philosophy from this topic are much deceived; let oratory answer for itself, the tinkling, perhaps, of that may unite a swarm: it never was the work of philosophy to assemble multitudes, but to regulate only, and govern them when they were assembled, to make the best of an evil, and bring them, as much as is possible, to unity again. Avarice and ambition only were the first builders of towns, and founders of empire; they said, "Go to, let us build us a city and a tower whose top may reach unto heaven, and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the earth." What was the beginning of Rome, the metropolis of all the world? what was it but a concourse of thieves, and a sanctuary of criminals? it was justly named by the augury of no less than twelve vultures, and the founder cemented his walls with the blood of his brother.
Not unlike to this was the beginning even of the first town, too, in the world, and such is the original sin of most cities: their actual increase daily with their age and growth; the more people, the more wicked all of them. Every one brings in his part to inflame the contagion, which becomes at last so universal and so strong, that no precepts can be sufficient preservatives, nor anything secure our safety, but flight from among the infected. We ought, in the choice of a situation, to regard above all things the healthfulness of the place, and the healthfulness of it for the mind rather than for the body. But suppose (which is hardly to be supposed) we had antidote enough against this poison; nay, suppose, further, we were always and at all places armed and provided both against the assaults of hostility and the mines of treachery, it will yet be but an uncomfortable life to be ever in alarms; though we were compassed round with fire to defend ourselves from wild beasts, the lodging would be unpleasant, because we must always be obliged to watch that fire, and to fear no less the defects of our guard than the diligences of our enemy. The sum of this is, that a virtuous man is in danger to be trod upon and destroyed in the crowd of his contraries; nay, which is worse, to be changed and corrupted by them, and that it is impossible to escape both these inconveniences without so much caution as will take away the whole quiet, that is, the happiness of his life. Ye see, then, what he may lose; but, I pray, what can he get there? Quid Romae faciam? Mentiri nescio. What should a man of truth and honesty do at Rome? he can neither understand, nor speak the language of the place; a naked man may swim in the sea, but it is not the way to catch fish there; they are likelier to devour him than he them, if he bring no nets and use no deceits. I think, therefore, it was wise and friendly advice which Martial gave to Fabian when he met him newly arrived at Rome.