Mutt'ring betwixt their lips fome mystic thing, Which, well examin'd, is flat conjuring,

Meer madmen's dreams: for what the schools? have taught,

Is only this, that nothing can be brought
From nothing; and, what is, can ne'er be turn'd
to nought.

Is it for this they study? to grow pale,
And miss the pleasures of a glorious meal?
For this, in rags accouter'd, are they seen,
And made the may-game of the public fpleen?
Proceed, my friend, and rail; but hear me tell
A ftory, which is just thy parallel.

A fpark, like thee, of the man-killing trade,
Fell fick, and thus to his physician faid:
Methinks I am not right in ev'ry part;
I feel a kind of trembling at my heart:
My pulfe unequal, and my breath is strong;
Befides a filthy furr upon my tongue.
The doctor heard him, exercis'd his fkill:
And, after, bid him for four days be still.
Three days he took good counfel, and began
To mend, and look like a recovʼring man :
The fourth, he could not hold from drink; but fends
His boy to one of his old trusty friends:

Adjuring him, by all the Pow'rs Divine,
To pity his diftrefs, who could not dine
Without a flaggon of his healing wine.
He drinks a fwilling draught; and, lin'd within,
Will fupple in the bath his outward fkin:
Whom should he find but his physician there,
Who, wifely, bade him once again beware.

Sir, you
look wan, you hardly draw your breath;
Drinking is dang'rous, and the bath is death.
'Tis nothing, fays the fool: but fays the friend,
This nothing, fir, will bring you to your end."
Do I not fee your dropfy belly fwell?

Your yellow skin ?--No more of that; I'm well. I have already bury'd two or three

That stood betwixt a fair eftate and me,

And, doctor, I may live to bury thee.

Thou tell'ft me, I look ill; and thou look'ft worse. I've done, fays the phyfician; take your courfe. The laughing fot, like all unthinking men, Bathes and gets drunk; then bathes and drinks again:

His throat half throttled with corrupted phlegm, And breathing thro his jaws a belching fteam: Amidft his cups with fainting fhiv'ring feiz'd, His limbs disjointed, and all o'er difeas'd,

His hand refufes to fuftain the bowl:

And his teeth chatter, and his eye-balls roll:
Till, with his meat, he vomits out his foul:
Then trumpets, torches, and a tedious crew
Of hireling mourners, for his funeral due.
Our dear departed brother lies in state,
His heels ftretch'd out, and pointing to the gate:
And flaves, now manumiz'd, on their dead
mafter wait.

They hoist him on the bier, and deal the dole;
And there's an end of a luxurious fool.

But what's thy fulfom parable to me?
My body is from all difeafes free:
My temp'rate pulse does regularly beat;
Feel, and be fatisfy'd, my hands and feet:
These are not cold, nor those oppreft with heat.
Or lay thy hand upon my naked heart,

And thou shalt find me hale in ev'ry part.

}

I grant this true: but, ftill, the deadly wound Is in thy foul; 'tis there thou art not found. Say, when thou feeft a heap of tempting gold, Or a more tempting harlot doft behold; Then, when she cafts on thee a fide-long glance, Then try thy heart, and tell me if it dance.

Some coarse cold fallad is before thee set; Bread with the bran perhaps, and broken meat; Fall on, and try thy appetite to eat.

These are not dishes for thy dainty tooth:
What, haft thou got an ulcer in thy mouth?
Why stand'st thou picking? Is thy pallat fore?
That bete and radishes will make thee roar?
Such is the unequal temper of thy mind;
Thy paffions, in extreams, and unconfin'd:
Thy hair fo briftles with unmanly fears,

As fields of corn, that rife in bearded ears.
And, when thy cheeks with flushing fury glow,
The rage of boiling caldrons is more flow;
When fed with fuel and with flames below.
With foam upon thy lips and sparkling eyes,
Thou fay'ft, and doft, in fuch outrageous wife:
That mad Oreftes, if he faw the show,

Would fwear thou wert the madder of the two.

THE

FOURTH SATIRE

O F

PERSIUS.

Our author, living in the time of Nero, was contemporary and friend to the noble poet Lucan ; both of them were fufficiently fenfible, with all good men, how unskilfully he managed the commonwealth: and perhaps might guess at his future tyranny, by fome paffages, during the latter part of his first five years; tho he broke not out into his great exceffes, while he was reftrained by the counfels and authority of Seneca. Lucan has not

Spared him in the poem of his Pharfalia; for his very compliment looked afquint as well as Nero. Perfius has been bolder, but with caution likewife. For here, in the perfon of young Alcibiades, ke arraigns his ambition of meddling with stateaffairs, without judgment or experience. It is