BOOK III

.

PROLOGUE, TO EUTYCHUS.

The tales of Phædrus would you read, O Eutychus, you must be freed From business, that the mind unbent May take the author's full intent. You urge that this poetic turn Of mine is not of such concern, As with your time to interfere A moment's space: 'tis therefore clear For those essays you have no call, Which suit not your affairs at all. A time may come, perhaps you'll say, That I shall make a holiday, And have my vacant thoughts at large, The student's office to discharge-- And can you such vile stuff peruse, Rather than serve domestic views, Return the visits of a friend, Or with your wife your leisure spend, Relax your mind, your limbs relieve, And for new toil new strength receive? From worldly cares you must estrange Your thoughts, and feel a perfect change, If to Parnassus you repair, And seek for your admission there, Me--(whom a Grecian mother bore On Hill Pierian, where of yore Mnemosyne in love divine Brought forth to Jove the tuneful Nine. Though sprung where genius reign'd with art, I grubb'd up av'rice from my heart, And rather for applause than pay, Embrace the literary way) Yet as a writer and a wit, With some abatements they admit. What is his case then, do you think, Who toils for wealth nor sleeps a wink, Preferring to the pleasing pain Of composition sordid gain? But hap what will (as Sinon said, When to king Priam he was led), I book the third shall now fulfil, With Æsop for my master still; Which