The Poems of John Byrom Edited by Adolphus William Ward |
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The Poems of John Byrom | ||
XIV.
[Have ye no Scruple, Sirs, when ye rehearse]
“Vile potabis modicis Sabinum
Cantharis.
—Lib. i. Od. 20, vv. 1–2.
Cantharis.
—Lib. i. Od. 20, vv. 1–2.
Thou shalt drink weak Sabine wine in little cups.”
545
I
Have ye no Scruple, Sirs, when ye rehearseThis 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 bringThe 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 MishapHas 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 MindTo 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
“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?
The Poems of John Byrom | ||