Yes, sure; for yesterday was once to-morrow. That yesterday is gone, and nothing gained, And all thy fruitless days will thus be drained; For thou hast more to-morrows yet to ask, And wilt be ever to begin thy task; Who, like the hindmost chariot-wheels, art curst, Still to be near, but ne'er to reach the first. O freedom, first delight of human kind! Not that which bondmen from their masters find, The privilege of doles;[239] nor yet to inscribe Their names in this or t'other Roman tribe;[240] That false enfranchisement with ease is found, Slaves are made citizens by turning round.[241] How, replies one, can any be more free? Here's Dama, once a groom of low degree, Not worth a farthing, and a sot beside, So true a rogue, for lying's sake he lied; But, with a turn, a freeman he became, Now Marcus Dama is his worship's name.[242] Good gods! who would refuse to lend a sum, If wealthy Marcus surety will become! Marcus is made a judge, and for a proof Of certain truth, "He said it," is enough. A will is to be proved;--put in your claim;-- 'Tis clear, if Marcus has subscribed his name.[243] This is true liberty, as I believe; } What farther can we from our caps receive, } Than as we please without controul to live?[244] } Not more to noble Brutus[245] could belong. Hold, says the Stoic, your assumption's wrong: I grant true freedom you have well defined: } But, living as you list, and to your mind, } Are loosely tacked, and must be left behind.-- } What! since the prætor did my fetters loose, And left me freely at my own dispose, May I not live without controul or awe, Excepting still the letter of the law?--[246] Hear me with patience, while thy mind I free From those fond notions of false liberty: 'Tis not the prætor's province to bestow } True freedom; nor to teach mankind to know } What to ourselves, or to our friends, we owe. } He could not set thee free from cares and strife, Nor give the reins to a lewd vicious life: As well he for an ass a harp might string, Which is against the reason of the thing; For reason still is whispering in your ear, Where you are sure to fail, the attempt forbear. No need of public sanctions this to bind, } Which nature has implanted in the mind,-- } Not to pursue the work, to which we're not designed. } Unskilled in hellebore, if thou should'st try } To mix it, and mistake the quantity, } The rules of physic would against thee cry. }