The works of Horace, translated into verse With a prose interpretation, for the help of students. And occasional notes. By Christopher Smart ... In four volumes |
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| 1. |
| I. | SATIRE I.
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| 2. |
| IV. |
 | The works of Horace, translated into verse |  |
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SATIRE I.
[MÆcenas, whence is this caprice]
He inveighs in the first place against the depraved practice of men, by which it happens that they are never contented in their own station, nor can please themselves by their own determinations, but always prize those of other men. He then takes occasion to be particularly severe upon avarice.
That mortals cannot live in peace?
But their own lot of life disclaim,
Whether by choice, or chance it came,
And give the rest invidious praise!—
O happy merchants! (full of days
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To which the merchant-man replies,
His ship by the south-wind distress't,
The military life is best;
The troops engage, and in a breath
Glad triumph comes, or instant death.
The lawyer, when his clients knock,
At the first crowing of the cock,
Cries up the country squire, who raves
That all but citizens are slaves,
When from his home he's forc'd to dance
Attendance on recognizance:
So many cases of this kind
Are found, that they wou'd break the wind
Of talking Fabius to recite;
But lest I tire your patience quite—
Observe—suppose some pow'r divine
Shou'd say, I will to each assign
The part, he chuses—I decree
The soldier shall a merchant be,
And he a counsellor of late
Shall have the country squire's estate—
Do you come here to shift the scene,
And you go there—why what do you mean!
They hesitate with all their hearts
Tho' in their pow'r to change their parts.
What cause now therefore can they show,
But Jupiter shou'd puff and blow
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He'll not consent to hear their pray'r.
But to go on and not to smile,
Like some who use a waggish stile.
(Tho' what forbids a man, forsooth,
At once to laugh and speak the truth)
As fondling masters treat their boys
By giving sugar-plumbs and toys,
That they the better may go on,
Their grammar-rudiments to con.
However, raillery apart,
Let us the serious matters start.
He that with ploughshare cleaves the clod,
The treach'rous lawyer doom'd to plod,
The soldier and the tars at sea,
Who boldly sail thro' each degree,
Assert th'intention of their deed,
Is that in age they may recede
To peace, and to a plenteous board,
When once they've treasur'd up their hoard.
Ev'n as the ant (whose toiling might
As most exemplary we cite)
Drags with her mouth all she can reap,
And adds to her constructed heap,
Not unappriz'd, nor unprepar'd
How future matters must be squar'd.
However, she will not appear,
When once Aquarius damps the year,
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The goods her patient toil procur'd.
Whilst then no summer-heat can tire,
Nor winter, ocean, sword, nor fire,
Divert you from the quest of gain;
And you all obstacles disdain,
So you can make your point in view,
That none shall have more wealth than you.
What fruit (inform me) can it bear,
That with that tim'rous over-care
Gold, silver, in immod'rate wealth
You hide up in a hole by stealth.
You answer that a lib'ral use
Will sure to nothing all reduce—
But without use what is the rank,
Or what the beauty of the bank?
Suppose your threshing-floor supply
An hundred thousand bowls of rye,
Your belly will demand no more
Than mine, of all this mighty store;
As if, 'mongst slaves, you shou'd be sped,
Like Esop, with a load of bread,
Not one crumb more to you wou'd fall,
Than him, who carried none at all.
What does it boot to him that lives
Within the prescript nature gives,
Whether he till an hundred rood,
Or thousand acres for his food.
But 'tis a pretty thing you say
With a great capitol to play—
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Such things, as for our purpose make,
Our garrets why shou'd you despise
Compar'd with your great granaries!
As if desirous, when a dry,
Of but a jug or glass, you cry;
I'd rather on the river's brink
Than from this little fountain drink.
Hence they, that Aufidus approach,
Too large a quantity to broach,
Are hurried down the rapid fall
By him, that swallows banks and all.
While they that want not unto waste
Will free from mud their water taste;
Nor, as a needless draught they crave,
Will lose their lives within the wave.
But most thro' false desires unwise
Urge, no finances will suffice;
For wealth is character and name,
And, as your riches, such your fame.
What can one do with such as these?
Let them be wretched, if they please;
According as the tale is told—
A churl of Athens, full of gold,
Was wont to scorn the people thus—
The world may hiss and make a fuss,
But I applaud myself the more,
Whilst I at home my bags explore.
When thirsty Tantalus wou'd quaff,
The stream eludes his lips—you laugh—
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The story of your life's the same.
O'er bags, which from all hands you scrape,
You cannot sleep, but stare and gape,
Compell'd the plenty to refuse,
As tho' 'twere sacrilege to use;
Nor can they other joy supply,
Than pictures to amuse the eye.
What know you not the real worth
Of money is, its help on earth—
Buy bread, buy herbs, a flask of wine,
To which you likewise may subjoin
Such other articles beside,
As nature grieves to be denied.
But to keep watching and half-dead,
Both night and day to be in dread,
Of thieves, and fire, and slaves, lest they
Shou'd rob the house, and run away.
Such wealth with such a life endure,
O rather keep me ever poor!
—But if one's body shou'd be seiz'd
With cold, or any way diseas'd,
So that you cannot stir about,
You have a friend to help you out,
To bring you medicines, to call in
The doctor, that your loving kin
And children may again enjoy
Your company—nor wife, nor boy
Desire your life—both small and great,
Male, female, all your neighbours hate
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That no one should good-will exchange,
With one so worthless as to prize
His pelf, above all social ties.
But wou'd you gain and keep your friends,
Whom nature without labour sends,
You'd lose your toil in that respect
By their refractory neglect:
As who shou'd take an ass to grace
The field, and enter for the race.
Put then a period to pursuit,
And how much more abundant fruit,
You from your diligence possess,
Dread want and poverty the less;
And cease from all this toil of thought,
That being found, for which you sought:
Nor do with your ill-gotten store
As one Umidius did of yore,
Who was (the tale will soon be told)
So rich, as ev'n to measure gold;
And yet for fear that he shou'd fast,
Clad, like a slave, unto his last.
But him, the flow'r of Tyndar's breed,
A woman he had lately freed,
With a good cleaver split in twain—
What part must then a man sustain!
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Shall I like Nomentanus rake?—
Now you are going on to fight
With things, by nature opposite—
Commanded not to be a sneak,
You're not enjoin'd all bounds to break;
There is a medium to be had,
No doubt, 'twixt staring and stark mad.
To all things there's a mean assign'd,
And certain bounderies defin'd,
From which remov'd on either hand,
True rectitude can never stand.
But to return—what are there none
Dislike their lot, but churls alone?
Nor for another's calling votes,
Nor grutches of his neighbour's goats,
And scruples to compare his state
With thousands more unfortunate!
But still is anxious to amass
What one or other may surpass:
When from the goal the coursers clear
The whirling car—the charioteer
Rushes on him that foremost speeds,
But scorns what he himself precedes.
And hence it is we rarely find
A man so perfectly resign'd,
As to declare this life he leaves,
A guest, that to the full receives:
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I've dipt in blear-eyed Crispin's ink,
And stol'n my work from his 'scrutore,
I will not add a sentence more.
| The works of Horace, translated into verse | |