Nor be so nice in taste myself to know If what I swallow be a thrush, or no. Live on thy annual income, spend thy store, } And freely grind from thy full threshing floor; } Next harvest promises as much, or more. } Thus I would live; but friendship's holy band, } And offices of kindness, hold my hand: } My friend is shipwrecked on the Brutian strand,[258] } His riches in the Ionian main are lost, And he himself stands shivering on the coast; Where, destitute of help, forlorn and bare, He wearies the deaf gods with fruitless prayer. Their images, the relics of the wreck, Torn from the naked poop, are tided back By the wild waves, and, rudely thrown ashore, Lie impotent, nor can themselves restore; The vessel sticks, and shews her opened side, And on her shattered mast the mews in triumph ride. From thy new hope, and from thy growing store, Now lend assistance, and relieve the poor;[259] Come, do a noble act of charity, A pittance of thy land will set him free. Let him not bear the badges of a wreck, Nor beg with a blue table on his back;[260] Nor tell me, that thy frowning heir will say, 'Tis mine that wealth thou squander'st thus away: What is't to thee, if he neglect thy urn? Or without spices lets thy body burn?[261] If odours to thy ashes he refuse, Or buys corrupted cassia from the Jews? All these, the wiser Bestius will reply, Are empty pomp, and dead-men's luxury: We never knew this vain expence before The effeminated Grecians brought it o'er: Now toys and trifles from their Athens come, And dates and pepper have unsinewed Rome. Our sweating hinds their sallads now defile, Infecting homely herbs with fragrant oil. But to thy fortune be not thou a slave; For what hast thou to fear beyond the grave? And thou, who gap'st for my estate, draw near; For I would whisper somewhat in thy ear. Hear'st thou the news, my friend? the express is come, With laurelled letters, from the camp to Rome: Cæsar salutes the queen and senate thus:-- My arms are on the Rhine victorious.[262] From mourning altars sweep the dust away, Cease fasting, and proclaim a fat thanksgiving-day. The goodly empress,[263] jollily inclined, Is to the welcome bearer wonderous kind; And, setting her good housewifery aside, Prepares for all the pageantry of pride. The captive Germans, of gigantic size,[264] Are ranked in order, and are clad in frize: The spoils of kings, and conquered camps we boast, Their arms in trophies hang on the triumphal post. Now for so many glorious actions done In foreign parts, and mighty battles won; For peace at home, and for the public wealth, I mean to crown a bowl to Cæsar's health.