# All the Works of Epictetus, Which Are Now Extant

First published in London in 1758. This is the 1759 Dublin print of the first edition.
ALL THE
WORKS
OF
EPICTETUS,
WHICH ARE NOW EXTANT;
CONSISTING OF
His Discourses, preserved by Arrian,
IN FOUR BOOKS,
The Enchiridion, and Fragments.
Translated from the Original Greek,
By ELIZABETH CARTER.
WITH
An Introduction, and Notes, by the Translator.
DUBLIN:
Printed for Hulton Bradley, Bookseller, at the King's Arms and Two Bibles in Dame-street.
M DCC LIX.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
An Irregular ODE.
I.
Come, Epictetus! Arm my Breast With thy impenetrable Steel, No more the Wounds of Grief to feel, Nor mourn by others' Woes deprest. Oh teach my trembling Heart To scorn Affliction's Dart; Teach me to mock the Tyrant Pain! For see around me stand A dreadful murd'rous Band, I fly their cruel Power in vain! Here lurks Distemper's horrid Train, And There the Passions lift their flaming Brands; These with fell Rage my helpless Body tear, While Those with daring Hands
II.
Where-e'er I turn, fresh Evils meet my Eyes; Sin, Sorrow, and Disgrace, Pursue the Human Race! There on the Bed of Sickness Virtue lies! See Friendship bleeding by the Sword Of base Ingratitude! See baleful Jealousy intrude, And poison all the Bliss that Love had stor'd! Oh! seal my Ears against the piteous Cry Of Innocence distrest! Nor let me shrink, when Fancy's Eye Beholds the guilty Wretch's Breast Beneath the torturing Pincers heave: Nor for the num'rous Wants of Mis'ry grieve, Which all-disposing Heav'n denies me to relieve!
III.
No longer let my fleeting Joys depend On social, or domestic Ties! Superior let my Spirit rise, Nor in the gentle Counsels of a Friend, Nor in the Smiles of Love, expect Delight: But teach me in myself to find Whate'er can please or fill my Mind. Let inward Beauty charm the mental Sight; Let Godlike Reason, beaming bright, Chace far away each gloomy Shade, Till Virtue's heav'nly Form display'd Alone shall captivate my Soul, And her divinest Love possess me whole!
IV.
But, ah! what means this impious Pride, Which heav'nly Hosts deride! Within myself does Virtue dwell? Is all serene, and beauteous there? What mean these chilling Damps of Fear? Tell me, Philosophy! Thou Boaster! Tell: This God-like all-sufficient Mind, Which, in its own Perfection blest, Defies the Woes, or Malice of Mankind To shake its self-possessing Rest, ​Is it not foul, weak, ignorant, and blind? Oh Man! from conscious Virtue's Praise Fall'n, fall'n!———what Refuge can'st thou find! What pitying Hand again will raise From native Earth thy groveling Frame! Ah, who will cleanse thy Heart from Spot of sinful Blame?
V.
But, See what sudden Glories from the Sky To my benighted Soul appear, And all the gloomy Prospect cheer? What awful Form approaches nigh? Awful: Yet mild as is the southern Wind That gently bids the Forest nod. Hark! Thunder breaks the Air, and Angels speak! "Behold the Saviour of the World! Behold the Lamb of Ye Sons of Pride, behold his Aspect meek![God!" The Tear of Pity on his Cheek! See in his Train appear Humility and Patience sweet, Repentance, prostrate at His sacred Feet, Bedews with Tears, and wipes them with her flowing Hair!
VI.
What Scenes now meet my wond'ring Eyes! What hallow'd Grave, By mourning Maids attended round, Attracts the Saviour's Steps? What heart-felt Wound His spotless Bosom heaves with tender Sighs? Why weeps the Son belov'd, Omnipotent to save? But, lo! He waves his awful Hand! The sleeping Clay obeys His dread Command. Oh Lazarus! come forth!——"Come forth and see The dear Effects of wond'rous Love! He, at whose Word the Seas and Rocks remove, Thy Friend, thy Lord, thy Maker, weeps for Thee!"
VII.
Thy Walls, Jerusalem, have seen thy King, In Meekness clad, lament thy hapless Fate! Unquench'd His Love, though paid with ruthless Hate! O loft, relentless Sion! Didst Thou know Who thus vouchsafes thy Courts to tread, What loud Hosannas wouldst thou sing! How eager crown his honour'd Head! ​Nor see unmov'd His kind paternal Woe! Nor force His Tears, His precious Blood, for thee to flow!
VIII.
No more repine, my coward Soul! The Sorrows of Mankind to share, Which He, who could the World controul, Did not disdain to bear! Check not the Flow of sweet fraternal Love, By Heav'n's high King in Bounty given, Thy stubborn Heart to soften and improve, Thy earth-clad Spirit to refine, And gradual raise to Love divine And wing its soaring Flight to Heaven!
IX.
Nor Thou, Eliza, who from early Youth By Genius led, by Virtue train'd, Hast fought the Fountain of eternal Truth, And each fair Spring of Knowlege train'd; Nor Thou, with fond Chimeras vain, With Stoic Pride, and fancied Scorn Of human Feelings, human Pain, My feeble Soul sustain! Far nobler Precepts should thy Page adorn. O rather guide me to the sacred Source Of real Wisdom, real Force, Thy Life's unerring Rule! To Thee, fair Truth her radiant Form unshrouds, Though, wrapp'd in thick impenetrable Clouds, She mock'd the Labours of the Grecian School.
M. H.
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