Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ODES II, 14. HIS AGE, DEDICATED TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, JOHN WICKES, by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ODES II, 14. HIS AGE, DEDICATED TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, JOHN WICKES, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Ah posthumus! Our yeares hence flye
Last Line: Farre more then night bewearied.
Alternate Author Name(s): Horace
Variant Title(s): His Age, Dedicated To His Peculiar Friend, M. John Wickes
Subject(s): Mourning; Time; Bereavement


(HIS AGE, DEDICATED TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, M. JOHN OF POSTHUMUS)

1. Ah Posthumus! Our yeares hence flye,
And leave no sound; nor piety,
Or prayers, or vow
Can keepe the wrinkle from the brow:
But we must on,
As Fate do's lead or draw us; none,
None, Posthumus, co'd ere decline
The doome of cruell Proserpine.

2. The pleasing wife, the house, the ground
Must all be left, no one plant found
To follow thee,
Save only the Curst-Cipresse tree:
A merry mind
Looks forward, scornes what's left behind:
Let's live, my Wickes, then, while we may,
And here enjoy our Holiday.

3. W'ave seen the past-best Times, and these
Will nere return, we see the Seas,
And Moons to wain;
But they fill up their Ebbs again:
But vanisht man,
Like to a Lilly-lost, nere can,
Nere can repullulate, or bring
His dayes to see a second Spring.

4. But on we must, and thither tend,
Where Anchus and rich Tullus blend
Their sacred seed:
Thus has Infernall Jove decreed;
We must be made,
Ere long, a song, ere long, a shade.
Why then, since life to us is short,
Lets make it full up, by our sport.

5. Crown we our Heads with Roses then,
And 'noint with Tirian Balme; for when
We two are dead,
The world with us is buried.
Then live we free,
As is the Air, and let us be
Our own fair wind, and mark each one
Day with the white and Luckie stone.

6. We are not poore; although we have
No roofs of Cedar, nor our brave
Baice, nor keep
Account of such a flock of sheep;
Nor Bullocks fed
To lard the shambles: Barbels bred
To kisse our hands, nor do we wish
For Pollio's Lampries in our dish.

7. If we can meet, and so conferre,
Both by a shining Salt-seller;
And have our Roofe,
Although not archt, yet weather proofe,
And seeling free,
From that cheape Candle baudery:
We'le eate our Beane with that full mirth,
As we were Lords of all the earth.

8. Well then, on what Seas we are tost,
Our comfort is, we can't be lost.
Let the winds drive
Our Barke; yet she will keepe alive
Amidst the deepes;
'Tis constancy (my Wickes) which keepes
The Pinnace up; which though she erres
I'th' Seas, she saves her passengers.

9. Say, we must part (sweet mercy blesse
Us both i'th' Sea, Camp, Wildernesse)
Can we so farre
Stray, to become lesse circular,
Then we are now?
No, no, that selfe same heart, that vow,
Which made us one, shall ne'r undoe;
Or ravell so, to make us two.

10. Live in thy peace; as for my selfe,
When I am bruised on the Shelfe
Of Time, and show
My locks behung with frost and snow:
When with the reume,
The cough, the ptisick, I consume
Unto an almost nothing; then,
The Ages fled, Ile call agen:

11. And with a teare compare these last
Lame, and bad times, with those are past,
While Baucis by,
My old leane wife, shall kisse it dry:
And so we'l sit
By'th'fire, foretelling snow and slit,
And weather by our aches, grown
Now old enough to be our own

12. True Calenders, as Pusses eare
Washt ore's to tell what change is neare
Then to asswage
The gripings of the chine by age;
I'le call my young
Iulus to sing such a song
I made upon my Julia's brest;
And of her blush at such a feast.

13. Then shall he read that flowre of mine
Enclos'd within a christall shrine:
A Primrose next;
A piece, then of a higher text:
For to beget
In me a more transcendant heate,
Then that insinuating fire,
Which crept into each aged Sire,

14. When the faire Hellen, from her eyes,
Shot forth her loving Sorceries:
At which I'le reare
Mine aged limbs above my chaire:
And hearing it,
Flutter and crow, as in a fit
Of fresh concupiscence, and cry,
No lust theres like to Poetry.

15. Thus frantick crazie man (God wot)
Ile call to mind things half forgot:
And oft between,
Repeat the Times that I have seen!

Thus ripe with tears,
And twisting my Iulus hairs;
Doting, Ile weep and say (In Truth)
Baucis, these were my sins of youth.

16. Then next Ile cause my hopefull Lad
(If a wild Apple can be had)
To crown the Hearth,
(Larr thus conspiring with our mirth)
Then to infuse
Our browner Ale into the cruse:
Which sweetly spic't, we'l first carouse
Unto the Genius of the house.

17. Then the next health to friends of mine
(Loving the brave Burgundian wine)
High sons of Pith,
Whose fortunes I have frolickt with:
Such as co'd well
Bear up the Magick bough, and spel:
And dancing 'bout the Mystick Thyrse,
Give up the just applause to verse:

18. To those, and then agen to thee
We'l drink, my Wickes, untill we be
Plump as the cherry,
Though not so fresh, yet full as merry
As the crickit;
The untam'd Heifer, or the Pricket,
Untill our tongues shall tell our ears,
W'are younger by a score of years.

19. Thus, till we see the fire lesse shine
From th' embers, then the kitlings eyne,
We'l still sit up,
Sphering about the wassail cup,
To all those times,
Which gave me honour for my Rhimes,
The cole once spent, we'l then to bed,
Farre more then night bewearied.





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