"How savage must he be to learn such Ill! / And sure his very Soul it self was Steel."
— Dart, John (d. 1730); Tibullus (c. 54-19 B.C.)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed by T. Sharpe, for W. Newton ... A. Bettesworth and J. Batley ... and W. Mears and T. Jauncy [etc.]
Date
1720
Metaphor
"How savage must he be to learn such Ill! / And sure his very Soul it self was Steel."
Metaphor in Context
Who was it first began the dang'rous Trade,
To work the Sword, and whet the shining Blade?
How savage must he be to learn such Ill!
And sure his very Soul it self was Steel.
Then Wars began, then rose the murd'ring Trade,
Then for fierce Death a shorter Way was made.
But he! unthinking Wretch, no Harm design'd,
We took the cursed Hint to Ills inclin'd;
And what he made to tame the savage Beast,
We basely turn against each other's Breast.
This Vice proceeds from greedy Thirst of Gold,
For Wars and Tumults were unknown of Old,
When cheerful Draughts were quaff'd from common Wood,
And Beechen Bowls on homely Tables stood.
No need was then of Tow'rs their Wealth to keep,
The Shepherd slept secure amidst his Sheep.
Had I liv'd then, I ne'er had us'd the Dart,
Nor heard the Trumpets sound with trembling Heart.
But now Im forc'd to War, perhaps ev'n now
Some dang'rous Man amongst the num'rous Foe,
The Jav'lin gripes that must my Breast invade,
And in my Bosom hide its pointed Head.
But you paternal Lares still be near,
My Infant Years confest your fost'ring Care.
Nor let your Deities be once asham'd,
Because of Wood and common Timber fram'd;
Mean as you are, my Ancestors thought fit
To place you in their Hall and ancient Seat.
Then better was religious Truth maintain'd,
And Piety a larger Footing gain'd;
When Gods were meanly carv'd from common Wood,
And unadorn'd the Temples where they stood;
When clust'ring Grapes, if giv'n, or round their Hair
A Wreath of Corn, engag'd their fav'ring Care:
And if the Swain in hopes of being heard,
Himself the humble Rural Gifts preferr'd;
With him his little Daughter brought from home
The luscious Off'ring of the Honey Comb.
But you kind Lares, turn the Dart away,
And from the Herd a Victim Swine I'll pay;
And I my self will in Procession go,
Rob'd in pure Vestments to attend the Show;
And Canisters entwin'd with Myrtle bear,
And round my Temples Myrtle Foliage wear.
So let me pleasure you, let others boast
Success in Arms, and a defeated Host.
To me may Souldiers talk o'er Cups of Wine,
And on the Table draw the Wars design.
To work the Sword, and whet the shining Blade?
How savage must he be to learn such Ill!
And sure his very Soul it self was Steel.
Then Wars began, then rose the murd'ring Trade,
Then for fierce Death a shorter Way was made.
But he! unthinking Wretch, no Harm design'd,
We took the cursed Hint to Ills inclin'd;
And what he made to tame the savage Beast,
We basely turn against each other's Breast.
This Vice proceeds from greedy Thirst of Gold,
For Wars and Tumults were unknown of Old,
When cheerful Draughts were quaff'd from common Wood,
And Beechen Bowls on homely Tables stood.
No need was then of Tow'rs their Wealth to keep,
The Shepherd slept secure amidst his Sheep.
Had I liv'd then, I ne'er had us'd the Dart,
Nor heard the Trumpets sound with trembling Heart.
But now Im forc'd to War, perhaps ev'n now
Some dang'rous Man amongst the num'rous Foe,
The Jav'lin gripes that must my Breast invade,
And in my Bosom hide its pointed Head.
But you paternal Lares still be near,
My Infant Years confest your fost'ring Care.
Nor let your Deities be once asham'd,
Because of Wood and common Timber fram'd;
Mean as you are, my Ancestors thought fit
To place you in their Hall and ancient Seat.
Then better was religious Truth maintain'd,
And Piety a larger Footing gain'd;
When Gods were meanly carv'd from common Wood,
And unadorn'd the Temples where they stood;
When clust'ring Grapes, if giv'n, or round their Hair
A Wreath of Corn, engag'd their fav'ring Care:
And if the Swain in hopes of being heard,
Himself the humble Rural Gifts preferr'd;
With him his little Daughter brought from home
The luscious Off'ring of the Honey Comb.
But you kind Lares, turn the Dart away,
And from the Herd a Victim Swine I'll pay;
And I my self will in Procession go,
Rob'd in pure Vestments to attend the Show;
And Canisters entwin'd with Myrtle bear,
And round my Temples Myrtle Foliage wear.
So let me pleasure you, let others boast
Success in Arms, and a defeated Host.
To me may Souldiers talk o'er Cups of Wine,
And on the Table draw the Wars design.
Categories
Provenance
Searching "soul" and "steel" in HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry
06/12/2005
