Is this thy daily course? The glaring sun
Breaks in at every chink: the cattle run
To shades, and noon-tide rays of summer shun,
Yet plung'd in sloth we lie; and snore supine,
As fill'd with fumes of indigested wine.

This grave advice some sober student bears;
And loudly rings it in his fellow's ears.
The yawning youth, scarce half awake, essays
His lazy limbs and dozy head to raise :

Then rubs his gummy eyes, and scrubs his pate;
And cries, I thought it had not been so late:
My cloaths make haste: why then! if none be near,
He mutters first, and then begins to swear:
And brays aloud, with a more clamorous note,
Than an Arcadian ass can stretch his throat.
With much ado, his book before him laid,
And parchment with the smoother side display'd;
He takes the papers; lays them down again;
And, with unwilling fingers, tries the pen :
Some peevish quarrel strait he strives to pick;
His quill writes double, or his ink's too thick;
Infuse more water; now 'tis grown so thin
It sinks, nor can the characters be seen.

O wretch, and still more wretched every day!
Are mortals born to sleep their lives away ?
Go back to what thy infancy began,

Thou who wert never meant to be a man:
Eat pap and

spoon-meat; for thy gewgaws cry:

Be sullen, and refuse the lullaby.

No more accuse thy pen: but charge the crime
On native sloth, and negligence of time.
Think'st thou thy master, or thy friends, to cheat?
Fool, 'tis thyself, and that's a worse deceit.
Beware the public laughter of the town;
Thou spring'st a leak already in thy crown.
A flaw is in thy ill bak'd vessel found;
'Tis hollow, and returns a jarring sound.

Yet, thy moist clay is pliant to command;
Unwrought, and easy to the potter's hand:
Now take the mold; now bend thy mind to feel
The first sharp motions of the for ning wheel.
But thou hast land; a country-seat, secure
By a just title; costly furniture;

A fuming-pan thy Lares to appease :

What need of learning, when a man's at ease? If this be not enough to swell thy soul,

Then please thy pride, and search thy herald's roll,

Where thou shalt find thy famous pedigree Drawn from the root of some old Tuscan tree; And thou, a thousand off, a fool of long degree. Who, clad in purple, canst thy censor greet; And, loudly, call him cousin, in the street.

Such pageantry be to the people shown: There boast they horse's trappings, and thy own. I know thee to thy bottom; from within Thy shallow center, to the utmost skin: Dost thou not blush to live so like a beast, So trim, so dissolute, so loosely drest?

But 'tis in vain the wretch is drench'd too deep; His soul is stupid, and his heart asleep; Fatten'd in vice; so callous, and so gross, He sins, and sees not; senseless of his loss. Down goes the wretch at once, unskill'd to swim, Hopeless to bubble up, and reach the water's brim.

Great Father of the Gods, when, for our crimes, Thou send'st some heavy judgment on the times; Some tyrant-king, the terror of his age,

The type, and true vicegerent of thy rage;
Thus punish him: set virtue in his sight,
With all her charms adorn'd, with all her graces
But set her distant, make him pale to see [bright:
His gains outweigh'd by lost felicity!

Sicilian tortures, and the brazen bull,

Are emblems, rather than express the full
Of what he feels: yet what he fears is more :
The wretch, who sitting at his plenteous board,
Look'd up, and view'd on high the pointed sword
Hang o'er his head, and hanging by a twine,
Did with less dread, and more securely dine.
Ev'n in his sleep he starts, and fears the knife,
And, trembling, in his arms takes his accomplice

wife;

Down, down, he goes; and from his darling friend
Conceals the woes his guilty dreams portend.
When I was young, I, like a lazy fool,
Would blear my eyes with oil, to stay from school:
Averse from pains, and loath to learn the part
Of Cato, dying with a dauntless heart:

Though much my master, that stern virtue prais'd, Which o'er the vanquisher the vanquish’d rais’d: And my pleas'd father came, with pride, to see His boy defend the Roman liberty.

But then my study was to cog the dice, And dextrously to throw the lucky sice: To shun ames-ace, that swept my stakes away And watch the box, for fear they should convey False bones, and put upon me in the play. Careful, besides, the whirling top to whip, And drive her giddy, till she fell asleep.

Thy years are ripe, nor art thou yet to learn What's good or ill, and both their ends discern: Thou in the stoick-porch, severely bred, Hast heard the dogmas of great Zeno read: There on the walls, by Polygnotus' hand, The conquer'd Medians in trunk-breeches stand. Where the shorn youth to midnight lectures rise, Rouz'd from their slumbers to be early wise: Where the coarse cake, and homely husks of beans,

From pampering riot the young stomach weans: And where the Samian Y directs thy steps to run To Virtue's narrow steep, and broad-way Vice to shun.

And yet thou snor'st; thou draw'st thy drunken breath,

Sour with debauch; and sleep'st the sleep of death: Thy chaps are fallen, and thy frame disjoin'd; Thy body is dissolv'd, as is thy mind.

Hast thou not, yet, propos'd some certain end,
To which thy life, thy every act, may tend?
Hast thou no mark, at which to bend thy bow?
Or like a boy pursuest the carrion crow
With pellets, and with stones, from tree to tree:
A fruitless toil, and liv'st extempore?

Watch the disease in time: for, when within
The dropsy rages, and extends the skin,

In vain for Hellebore the patient cries,
And fees the doctor; but too late is wise:
Too late, for cure, he proffers half his we alt;'
Conquest and Guibbons cannot give him health.
Learn, wretches, learn the motions of the mind,
Why you were made, for what you were
design'd;

And the great moral end of human kind.
Study thyself: what rank or what degree
The wise Creator has ordain'd for thee:
And all the offices of that estate

Perform; and with thy prudence guide thy fate.
Pray justly, to be heard: nor more desire
Than what the decencies of life require.
Learn what thou ow'st thy country, and thy friend;
What's requisite to spare, and what to spend:
Learn this; and after, envy not the store
Of the greas'd advocate, that grinds the poor:
Fat fees from the defended Umbrian draws;
And only gains the wealthy client's cause.
To whom the Marsians more provision send,
Than he and all his family can spend.