When thou destroy'st thy lab'ring steer, who till'd
And plough'd with pains, thy else ungrateful field?
From his yet reeking neck to draw the yoke,
That neck, with which the surly clods he broke;
And to the hatchet yield thy husbandman,
Who finish'd Autumn, and the Spring began!
Nor this alone ! but Heav'n itself to bribe.
We to the gods our impious acts ascribe:
First recompense with death their creatures' toil;
Then call the bless'd above to share the spoil:
The fairest victim must the pow'rs appease,
(So fatal 'tis sometimes too much to please!)
A purple fillet his broad brows adorns.
With flow'ry garlands crown'd, and gilded horns;
He hears the murd'rous pray'r the priest prefers.
But understands not 'tis his doom he hears:
Beholds the meal betwixt his temples cast,
(The fruit and product of his labours past);
And in the water views perhaps the knife
Uplifted, to deprive him of his life;
Then broken up aUve, his entrails sees
Torn out, for priests t'inspect the gods' decrees.
From whence, O mortal man, this gust of blood
Have you deriv'd, and interdicted food?
Be taught by me this dire delight to shun,
Warn'd by my precepts, by my practice won:
And when you eat the well-deserving beast,
Think, on the lab'rer of your field you feast!
"All I would teach, and by right reason bring
To think of death, as but an idle thing.
Why thus affrighted at an empty name,
A dream of darkness, and fictitious flame?
Vain themes of wit, which but in poems pass,
And fables of a world, that never was!
What feels the body, when the soul expires.
By time corrupted, or consum'd by fires?
Nor dies the spirit, but new life repeats
In other forms, and only changes seats.
Then Death, so call'd, is but old matter drest
In some hew figure, and a varied vest:
