Exhortation.
See Reproach.

Ah! whither fly you? By yourselves, my Friends!
And your brave Deeds; by King Evander's Name
And Conquests gain'd in War: By my own Hopes,
Which burn to emulate my Father's Praise;
Trust not to Flight: A Passage thro' the Foes
Must with the Sword be hewn: where thickest crouds
That Globe of Troops: That Way, Yourselves and Me
Pallas your Chief, our Country's Glory calls.
No Gods oppose Us: By a mortal Foe
Mortals Ourselves are urg'd: As many Lives
And Hands are Ours, as Theirs: Behold the Sea
Confines Us here: No Land remains for Flight:
To Troy shall We repair? or stem the Deep?--

Shall Caesar stand against the World combin'd,
Protract Destruction, and embroil Mankind?
What will the vanquish'd Nations murm'ring say,
Where once thy Conquests cut their winged Way,
When they behold thy lazy Virtue now,
And see Thee move thus languishing and slow?
Where are those Fires that warm'd thee to be Great?
That stable Soul, and Confidence in Fate?
Canst thou the Gods ungratefully mistrust?--

If Men, if Multitudes can make Us strong:
Behold what Tribes unnumber'd march along!
Where--e'er the Zodiac turns it's radiant Round,
Where--ever Earth, or People, can be found,
To Us the Nations issue forth in swarms,
And in Rome's Cause all human Nature Arms.
What then remains, but that our Wings enclose,
Within their ample Fold, our shrinking Foes?
Thousands, and Thousands, useless, may we spare,
Yon handful will not half employ our War.

If the dear Pledges of connubial Love,
Your Houshold Gods, and Rome, your Souls can move,
Hither by Fate they seem together brought,
And for this Prize, to Day, the Battle shall be fought.--

Think from the Summit of the Roman Wall,
You hear our loud--lamenting Matrons call:
Think with what Tears, what lifted Hands they sue,
And place their last, their only Hopes in You.
Imagine kneeling Age before You spread,
Each hoary reverend majestic Head:
Your Aid, by Rome herself, believe implor'd,
To save her from a proud imperious Lord.
Think how the present Age, how that to come,
What Multitudes from you expect their Doom:
On your Success dependent all rely:
These to be born in Freedom, Those to die.
Ah! think, if after what I've nam'd before,
Ought still remains, that can affect you more:
Think you behold (were such a Posture meet)
Ev'n me, your Pompey, prostrate at your Feet.
Myself, my Wife, my Sons, a suppliant Band,
From You our Lives, and Liberties demand:
Or conquer You, or I to Exile born,
My last dishonourable Years shall mourn,
Your long Reproach, and my proud Father's Scorn.
From Bonds, from Infamy, your Gen'ral save,
Nor let this hoary Head descend to Earth a Slave.--

Between Extreams, to Day, our Fortune lies,
The vilest Punishment, and noblest Prize.
Consider well the Captive's lost Estate,
Chains, Racks, and Crosses for the Vanquish'd wait:
My Limbs are each allotted to its Place,
And my pale Head the Rostrum's Height shall grace.
But that's a Thought unworthy Caesar's Care:--
Much more for you than for myself I fear.
On my good Sword securely I rely,
And, if I conquer not, am sure to die.--
Experience.

By various Proofs Experience Art has form'd:
Example being Guide.--

Let Stoicks Ethics haughty Rules advance,
To combat Fortune, and to conquer Chance:
Yet happy Those, who not so learn'd, are thought,
Whom Life instructs, tho' by Experience taught.
For new to come, from past Misfortunes, look:
Nor shake the Yoke, which galls the more 'tis shook.--

Ev'n from old Age does some Advantage rise,
For in the hoary Head Experience lies.--

The Seaman best can reason of the Winds,
Of Oxen none so well as lab'ring Hinds:
Battles and Wounds the Soldiers best describe,
And what belongs to Sheep the Shepherd Tribe.--

The Fowler and the Huntsman know full well,
The Haunts of Birds, and Beasts, and where they dwell:
The artful Angler, in the winding Brook,
Knows what the Fish, and how to bait his Hook.--

Nothing, at first, so great, so strange appears,
But that the Wonder, by Degrees abates,
And it becomes familiar.--

Ne'er did Man cast up the Business of his Life so exactly, but still Experience, Years, and Custom, will bring in some new Particulars he was not aware of, and shew his Ignorance of what he thought he knew, and after Trial make him reject his former Opinions.--
Extravagance.
See Gluttony. Luxury.

Centronius does high costly Villas raise
With Grecian Marble, which the Sight amaze:
Some stand upon Cajeta's winding Shore;
At Tyber's Tow'r, and at Praeneste more.
The Dome of Hercules and Fortune show,
To his tall Fabricks, like small Cots below.
In mighty Buildings his Estate out--run,
Descends diminish'd greatly to his Son.
His Son builds on, and cannot be content,
Till the last Farthing is in Structure spent.--

A costly Gem from his Metella's Ear,
Æsop's loose Son dissolv'd in Vinegar:
And drank it down, and then profusely laugh'd,
To think he drank a Province at a Draught.
Was't not as mad as to have thrown the Gem,
Into some common Shore, or rapid Stream.--

Many there are of the same wretched Kind,
Whom their despairing Creditors may find
Lurking in Shambles: where with borrow'd Coin
They buy choice Meats, and in cheap Plenty dine:
Such whose sole Bliss is eating: who can give
But that one brutal Reason why they live.
And yet, what's more ridiculous; of these
The poorest Wretch is still most hard to please:
And he whose thin transparent Rags declare
How much his tatter'd Fortune wants Repair,
Would ransack ev'ry Element, for Choice
Of ev'ry Fish and Fowl, at any Price:
If brought from far, if very dear it cost,
It has a Flavour then, which pleases most,
And he devours it with a greater Gust.

In Riot thus, while Money lasts, he lives,
And that exhausted, still new Pledges gives:
Till forc'd of meer Necessity, to eat,
He comes to pawn his Dish to buy his Meat.
Nothing of Silver or of Gold he spares,
Nor what his Mother's sacred Image bears:
Nor can his earthen Ware escape the Sale,
To help defray a dear luxurious Meal.--

--Thou, Damasippus,
Art forc'd to make the Stage thy last Retreat,
And pawn thy Voice, the All thou hast, for Meat:
For now Thou must, (since thy Estate is lost,)
Or represent, or be thyself a Ghost.--

As I was coming along to Day, I stumbled upon one of my own Rank and Quality, who had made a shift to guzzle away an Estate. Seeing such a rough, nasty, meager Fellow, rigg'd out with Rags and Rheumatisms, What's the Meaning of this fine Dress? (quoth I,) Alas! (said he,) I had an Estate once, but play'd the Fool, and cou'd n't keep it, and you see what I am brought to: All my Friends and Acquaintance fly me as they wou'd the Plague.--
Fame.

Fame, direful Pest! in Speed outstrip'd by none:
That flying grows, and Strength by Motion gains.
Tim'rous at first she is, and small thro' Fear,
But, by Degrees grown bold, herself in Air
Sublime she rears, and walking on the Ground,
Conceals her tow'ring Head among the Clouds.
Her, the last Sister to Enceladus,
And Caeus, as 'tis said, the Parent Earth,
Provok'd by Anger of the Gods, brought forth:
Swift with her Feet, and never--weary'd Wings.
A Monster hideous, vast!--As many Plumes
As in her Body stick, so many Eyes
For ever waking, (wondrous to relate!)
There grow beneath: as many babling Tongues,
And list'ning Ears as many.--By Night she flies,
Noisy, thro' Shades obscure, 'twixt Earth and Heav'n:
Nor are her Eyes by pleasing Slumber clos'd.
Watchful, and prying round, by Day, she sits
On some high Palace Top, or lofty Tow'r,
And mighty Towns alarms: not less intent
On spreading Falshood, than reporting Truth.--

Amidst the World, between Earth, Air, and Sea,
A Place there is, the Confine of all three:
Hence Things, how e'er remote, are view'd around;
Here ev'ry Voice is heard, and ev'ry Sound.
FAME's Palace on the Summit stands on high,
And Ways thereto innumerable lye;
A thousand Entrances on every Side,
All without Gates, are ever open wide.
Built all of Brass, the ringing Walls resound,
And Tales repeated eccho all around.
No Rest within, no Silence, yet the Noise
Not loud, but like the Whispers of a Voice:
Such as from far by rolling Billows sent,
Or as Jove's fainting Thunder almost spent.
Hither in Crowds the Vulgar come and go,
Millions of Rumours here fly to and fro:
Lies mixt with Truth, Reports that vary still,
The itching Ears of Folks unguarded fill.
They tell the Tale, the Tale in telling grows,
And each Relater adds to what he knows.
Rash Error, light Credulity are here,
And causeless Transport, and ill--grounded Fear;
New rais'd Sedition, secret Whispers blown
By nameless Authors, and of Things unknown.
FAME, all that's done in Heav'n, Earth, Ocean, views,
And o'er the World still hunts around for News.--
Famine.

Where frozen Scythia's utmost Bound is plac'd,
A Desart lies, a melancholy Waste:
In yellow Crops there Nature never smil'd,
No fruitful Tree to shade the barren Wild.
There sluggish Cold its icy Station makes,
There Paleness, Frights, and aguish Trembling shakes,
Of pining Famine this the fated Seat.--

There in a stony Field the Fiend she found,
Herbs knawing, and Roots scratching from the Ground.
Her Elfelock Hair in matted Tresses grew,
Sunk were her Eyes, and pale her ghastly Hue,
Wan were her Lips, and foul with clammy Glew:
Her Throat was furr'd: her Guts appear'd within
With snaky Curlings thro' her Parchment Skin.
Her jutting Hips seem'd starting from their Place,
And for a Belly was a Belly's Space.
Her Dugs hung dangling from her craggy Spine,
Loose to her Breast, and fasten'd to her Chine.
Her Joints protuberant by Leanness grown,
Consumption sunk the Flesh, and rais'd the Bone.
Her Knees large Orbits bunch'd to monstrous Size,
And Ankles to undue Proportion rise.--

In vain the fallow Fields the Peasant tills,
The Seed, corrupted e'er tis sown, she kills.
The fruitful Soil, that once such Harvests bore,
Now mocks the Farmer's Care, and teems no more.
All the rich Grain which fills the furrow'd Glade,
Rots in the Seed, or shrivels in the Blade:
Or too much Sun burns up, or too much Rain
Drowns, or black Blights destroy the blasted Plain:
Or greedy Birds the new--sown Seed devour,
Or Darnel, Thistles, and a Crop impure
Of knotted Grass, along the Acres stand,
And spread their thriving Roots thro' all the Land.--

--And now,
Her baleful Visage meager Famine rears:
Seldom alone, she troops among the Fiends,
And still on War and Pestilence attends.--
Unpress'd, unstraiten'd by besieging Foes,
All Miseries of Want the Soldier knows:
Gladly he gives his little Wealth, to eat,
And buys a Morsel with his whole Estate.
Curst Merchandize! where Life it self is sold,
And Avarice consents to starve for Gold.--

But while the distant War no more he fears,
Famine, a worse, resistless Foe appears.
No more the Fields their grassy Pasture yield,
Nor waving Harvests crown the yellow Field.
On ev'ry verdant Leaf the hungry feed,
And snatch the Forage from the fainting Steed:
Then rav'nous on their Camp's Defence they fall,
And grind with greedy Jaws the turfy Wall.—