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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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89

Sat. VII.

[How mungrel Persius in a vengeful Mood]

How mungrel Persius in a vengeful Mood
That out-law'd Wretch Rupilius King pursu'd
With poisonous Filth, and Venom all his own,
To Barbers and to blear-eyed Folk is known.
Persius had Wealth by foreign Traffick gain'd,
And a vexatious Suit with King maintain'd.
Presumptuous, vain, and obstinate the Wight,
Conquering even King in Virulence of Spite,
In Bitterness of Speech outstrip'd the Wind,
And left the swift-tongue'd Barrus far behind.
Now to the King returns our wandering Tale,
When all fair Means of Reconcilement fail
(For Men are obstinate when War's proclaim'd
As they with inward Courage are enflam'd;
When Hector and Achilles fierce engag'd
Dire was the Conflict and to Death they rag'd:

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And why? because the gallant Thirst of Fame,
The Love of Glory was in Both extreme:
But if a Quarrel between Cowards rise,
Or between Chiefs of less heroic Size,
Glaucus to Diomed is forc'd to yield,
The Dastard buys his Peace and quits the Field)
What Time o'er Asia with Prætorial Sway
Great Brutus rul'd, began this dire Affray.
Persius and King, intrepid Pair, engage
(More equal Champions never mounted Stage)
And now they rush impetuous into Court,
Fine was the Sight, and delicate the Sport.
Persius begins; loud Bursts of Laughter rise;
He praises Brutus, Brutus, to the Skies.
“Brutus, like Sol, o'er Asia pours the Day;
“His Friends are Stars and healthful is their Ray,
“Except the King; he like the Dog-star reigns,
“That Dog of Heaven, detested by the Swains.”
Thus rush'd he onward like a Winter-Flood,
That tears it's Banks and sweeps away the Wood.
To this impetuous Bitterness of Tide
The King with equal Virulence replied.
A Vine-dresser he was of rustic Tone,
Whom oft the Traveller was forc'd to own

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Invincible; with clamorous Voice opprest,
When Cuckow, Cuckow, was the standing Jest.
But with Italian Vinegar imbued,
The sour-tongu'd Mungrel the Dispute renew'd;
“Let me conjure you by the Powers divine,
“Since 'tis the Glory, Brutus, of your Line
“To slaughter Kings, be this thy glorious Deed,
“That this same King beneath thy Vengeance bleed.”