Ellis Walker, Epictetus in Poetical Paraphrase 37

XXXVII. 

In this the main point of Religion lies,
To have right notions of the Deities;
As that such Beings really are, that they
Govern the world with just and prudent sway,
That chearfully you are oblig'd to obey
All their Commands, well satisy'd to rest
On what they do, as order'd for the best;
That whatsoever is by them decreed,
From an all-knowing Wisdom doth proceed.
Thus their wise Government you'll fear to blame,
Or, as neglected, peevishly complain:
But 'tis not likely you should have this sense,
These reverent notions of their Providence,
Nor can you without murmuring resent,
Their partial, and unequal Management,
If you distinguish into good and ill,
Things not depending on your pow'r and will.
Now if these attributes of bad and good,
Of things within your pow'r be understood,
You lay the fault at your own door, and clear
The Gods of being partial and severe:
But if you think that outward things can be
Some good, some bad; with this absurdity
You would the Goodness of the Deity;
Your God a vile malicious fiend you make,
Cruel, or weakly, given to mistake.
Whom, when you foolishly averse would fly
Death, or like natural necessity;
Or any thing, which you have wish'd for, miss,
You needs must hate, and say the fault is his,
To whom, though he hath kindly given you will
To wish or not to wish, you impute the ill;
And, as 'tis nat'ral, with like hate reflect
On him the cruel cause, as on th' effect.
Insects, and brutes themselves have thus much sense,
Alike to abhor th' offender and th' offence;
Thus a fierce cur follows and bites the stone,
And then pursues the man by whom 'twas thrown:
As on the contrary, they love, they admire,
What serves their wants, and answers their desire.
And none, sure, but a mad-man, can rejoyce 
In that which plagues him, ruins, and destroys.
Hence 'tis the father's hatred by the son,
Hence 'tis the grave old man grows troublesome;
The dry bones keep him from a large estate,
To which he fears he shall succeed too late:
He therefore daily wishes he were dead,
That his kind heir might flourish in his stead.
Hence that pernicious fatal war arose,
Which Thebes to blood and ruin did expose:
For proud Eteocles resolv'd to reign,
And Polynices would his right maintain;
For both would rule, and both would be obey'd,
Each thought his brother did his right invade;
Each thought dominion was a sov'raign good,
Each would assert his int'rest with his blood.
Hence 'tis the plow-man, when tempestuous rain,
Or drought have render'd all his labour vain,
Rails on the Gods: hence 'tis the sailor raves,
When toss'd with furious winds, and threat'ning waves:
Hence 'tis the merchant curses, if he fail
Of a quick market, or a gainful sale:
Hence they, who lose children or wife, complain
That they, alas! have sacrific'd in vain:
Whate'er they suffer, vainly wish, or fear,
The Gods, for certain, all the blame must bear.
Nor are they pious longer than they find,
The gods are grateful, in remembrance kind:
Only devout while favours they obtain,
They make Religion but a kind of gain.
Now he that only wisheth things may be 
Just as they are, as the bless'd Gods Decree,
Whose wise aversion only doth decline
Things he hath pow'r to shun, can ne'er repine,
Nor be provok'd to murmur or blaspheme,
Nor through false notions lay the fault on them;
He's the true pious man.  But here you'll say,
"If we may only wish for what we may
Bestow upon ourselves, pray where's the need
That we raise temples, or that victims bleed?
Why should we presents on their altars lay?
And why with incense court them ev'ry day?
Where's the reward for this?  What's the return
Of all this smoak, and the perfumes we burn?"
Will you not worship them, unless you have
All that your lust and avarice can crave?
Methinks they've given enough, in that you live
Under their prudent care, who know to give
Better than you to ask; who that bestow,
Which most for your convenience they know.
Let's add to this (if this will not suffice)
They've made you capable of being wise.
Are these mean reasons why you sacrifice?
Wherefore your off'rings and oblations pay
With usual rites, after your country's way;
Let them be given, as what you really owe,
Without th' alloy of vanity or shew;
Not niggardly, nor with too great expence,
With all devotion, care, and diligence.