The Poems of John Byrom :: :: University of Virginia Library

Have ye no Scruple, Sirs, when ye rehearse
This hissing Kind of an Horatian Verse?
To me, I own, at Sight of triple “is,”
Suspicion said that something was amiss;
And, when one reads the triple Sapphic thro',
'Tis plain that what Suspicion said was true.

II

Critics, as Custom goes, if one shall bring
The plainest Reason for the plainest Thing,
Will stick to Horace, as he sticks to Print,
And say, sometimes, that there is Nothing in't.—
Or, here, Mistake perhaps, may be my Lot;
Now, tell me, Neighbours, if 'tis so or not?

III

This Ode, or (since apparently Mishap
Has lost the true Beginning of it) Scrap,
Informs Mæcenas that poor Sabine Wine
Shall be his Drink, in Horace's Design,—
Wine which the Poet had incask'd, the Day
That People shouted for the Knight away.

546

IV

This is the first Thing that it says. The next,
Without one Word of intervening Text,
Says, he shall drink (and in poetic Shape
Wine is describ'd) the very richest Grape:
“My Cups Falernian Vintage, Formian Hill,”
(Is all that follows after) “never fill.”

V

These, and these only, in the printed Code,
Are the two Periods of this pygmy Ode;
And how they stand in Contradiction flat,
Whoe'er can construe Latin must see that!
The Critics saw it, but forsook their Sight,
And set their Wits at work, to make it right.

VI

How they have done it, such as have a Mind
To know their Fetches, if they look, may find,
And smile thereat. One Ounce, that but coheres,
Of Mother Wit, is worth a Pound of theirs;
Who having, by their Dint of Learning, seen
That Moon is Cheese, soon prove it to be green.

VII

'Twill be enough to give ye just a Taste,
From Delphin here, of criticising Haste:
“Mæcenas, setting on some Journey out,
“Sent Horace word, before he took his Rout,—

547

“As Cruquius, Lubin, Codex too pretend,—
“That he would sup with his assured Friend.

VIII

“Horace writes back—and this, it seems, the Ode:—
“‘'Tis mighty kind to take me in your Road;
“But you must be content with slender Fare,
“Such as my poor Tenuity can spare:
“Vile potabis,—Sabine wine the best—
“As learnedly Theod. Marcil. has guess'd.’”

IX

So far, so good.—But why should Horace, slap,
Say: “You shall drink the Wines of richest Tap?”
“That is,” quoth Margin of the Delphin Tome,
“‘Domi potabis’—‘you shall drink at Home;’
‘Hæc vina quidem bibes apud te,’
Says Note; ‘non ita vero apud me.’”

X

“Certè,” it adds, “as Pliny understood,
“The Knight's own Wine was exquisitely good;”—
Good, to be sure, tho' Pliny had been dumb;
But how does all that has been said o'ercome
The Contradiction?—Why, with this Assistance:
'Tis plain they supp'd together—at a Distance!

548

XI

One easy Hint, without such awkward Stirs,
Dissolves at once the Difficulty, Sirs:
Let Horace drink himself of his own Vinum:
“Vile POTABO modicis Sabinum
“Cantharis, and Mæcenas do so too;—
“Tu bibes Cæcubum;” and all is true.

XII

No verbal Hissing spoils poetic Grace,
Nor Contradiction stares ye in the Face;
But Verse-Intention, without further Tours:
“I'll drink my Wine, Mæcenas, and you yours.”
Should not all Judges of Horatian Letter
Or take this Reading, or propose a better?