A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition |
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Epode III. To Mæcenas.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
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Epode III. To Mæcenas.
If Parricide ever, in Horrours most dire,
With impious right Hand shall strangle his Sire,
On Garlick, than Hemlock more rank, let Him feed:
O Stomachs of Mowers to digest such a Weed!
What Poison is this in my Bosom so glowing?
Have I swallow'd the Gore of a Viper unknowing?
Canidia perhaps hath handled the Feast,
And with Witchery hellish the Banquet hath drest.
With this did Medea her Lover besmear,
Young Jason, beyond all his Argonauts fair;
The Stench was so strong, that it tam'd to the Yoke
The Brass-footed Bulls breathing Fire and Smoke.
On the Gown of Creüsa its Juices She shed,
Then on her wing'd Chariot in Triumph she fled.
Not such the strong Vapour, that burns up the Plains,
When the Dogstar in Anger triumphantly reigns;
Not the Shirt of Alcides, that well-labour'd Soldier,
With Flames more envenom'd burn'd into his Shoulder.
With impious right Hand shall strangle his Sire,
On Garlick, than Hemlock more rank, let Him feed:
O Stomachs of Mowers to digest such a Weed!
What Poison is this in my Bosom so glowing?
Have I swallow'd the Gore of a Viper unknowing?
Canidia perhaps hath handled the Feast,
And with Witchery hellish the Banquet hath drest.
With this did Medea her Lover besmear,
Young Jason, beyond all his Argonauts fair;
The Stench was so strong, that it tam'd to the Yoke
The Brass-footed Bulls breathing Fire and Smoke.
On the Gown of Creüsa its Juices She shed,
Then on her wing'd Chariot in Triumph she fled.
Not such the strong Vapour, that burns up the Plains,
When the Dogstar in Anger triumphantly reigns;
431
With Flames more envenom'd burn'd into his Shoulder.
May the Girl of your Heart, if ever You taste,
Facetious Mæcenas, so baleful a Feast,
Her Hand o'er your Kisses, Oh, may She bespread,
And lie afar off on the Stock of the Bed.
Facetious Mæcenas, so baleful a Feast,
Her Hand o'er your Kisses, Oh, may She bespread,
And lie afar off on the Stock of the Bed.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |