What's to be done? Shall wit and learning choose
To live obscure, and have no fame to lose?
By Censure[1] frighted out of Honour's road,
Nor dare to use the gifts by Heaven bestow'd?
Or fearless enter in through Virtue's gate,
And buy distinction at the dearest rate.
[Footnote 1: See _ante_, p. 160, the poem entitled "On
Censure."--_W. E. B._.]
CATULLUS DE LESBIA[1]
Lesbia for ever on me rails,
To talk of me she never fails.
Now, hang me, but for all her art,
I find that I have gain'd her heart.
My proof is this: I plainly see,
The case is just the same with me;
I curse her every hour sincerely,
Yet, hang me but I love her dearly.
[Footnote 1: "Lesbia mi dicit semper mala nec tacet unquam
De me: Lesbia me dispeream nisi amat.
Quo signo? quia sunt totidem mea: deprecor illam
Assidue; verum dispeream nisi amo."
_Catulli Carmina, xcii.--W. E. B._]
ON A CURATE'S COMPLAINT OF HARD DUTY
I marched three miles through scorching sand,
With zeal in heart, and notes in hand;
I rode four more to Great St. Mary,
Using four legs, when two were weary:
To three fair virgins I did tie men,
In the close bands of pleasing Hymen;
I dipp'd two babes in holy water,
And purified their mother after.
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