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 |
 | I. |
 |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| II. |
 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
Sat. I. Horace. Trebatius.
Horace.There are to whom too poignant I appear;
Beyond the Laws of Satire too severe.
My Lines are weak, unsinew'd, others say—
A Man might spin a thousand such a Day.
125
Treb.
Write no more.
Horace.
What! Give the dear Delight of scribling o'er?
Treb.
Yes.
Horace.
Let me die but your Advice were best.
But, Sir, I cannot sleep; I cannot rest.
Treb.
Swim o'er the Tiber, if you want to sleep,
Or the dull Sense in t'other Bottle steep,
Or to immortal Cæsar tune your Lays,
Indulge your Genius, and your Fortune raise.
Horace.
Oh! were I equal to the glorious Theme,
Wide o'er the Field his Iron War should gleam;
A thousand Darts should pierce the hardy Gaul,
And from his Horse the wounded Parthian fall.
127
Then give his peaceful Virtues forth to Fame;
His Fortitude and Justice be your Theme.
Horace.
Yes. I will hold the daring Theme in view,
Perhaps hereafter your Advice pursue.
But Cæsar never will your Horace hear;
A languid Panegyric hurts his Ear.
Too strongly guarded from the Poet's Lays
He spurns the Flatterer and his saucy Praise.
Treb.
Better even this, than cruelly defame,
And point Buffoons and Villains out by Name.
Sure to be hated even by those You spare,
Who hate in just Proportion as they fear.
Horace.
Tell me, Trebatius, are not all Mankind
To different Pleasures, different Whims inclin'd?
Milonius dances when his Head grows light,
And the dim Lamp shines double to his Sight.
The Twin-born Brothers in their Sports divide;
Pollux loves boxing; Castor joys to ride.
Indulge me then in this my sole Delight,
Like great and good Lucilius let me write.
Behold him frankly to his Book impart,
As to a Friend, the Secrets of his Heart:
To write was all his Aim; too heedless Bard,
And well or ill, unworthy his Regard.
Hence the old Man stands open to your View,
Though with a careless Hand the Piece he drew.
To different Pleasures, different Whims inclin'd?
Milonius dances when his Head grows light,
And the dim Lamp shines double to his Sight.
The Twin-born Brothers in their Sports divide;
Pollux loves boxing; Castor joys to ride.
Indulge me then in this my sole Delight,
Like great and good Lucilius let me write.
129
As to a Friend, the Secrets of his Heart:
To write was all his Aim; too heedless Bard,
And well or ill, unworthy his Regard.
Hence the old Man stands open to your View,
Though with a careless Hand the Piece he drew.
His Steps I follow in Pursuit of Fame,
Whether Lucania or Apulia claim
The Honour of my Birth; for on the Lands,
By Samnites once possest, Venusium stands,
A forward Barrier, as old Tales relate,
To stop the Course of War and guard the State.
Whether Lucania or Apulia claim
The Honour of my Birth; for on the Lands,
By Samnites once possest, Venusium stands,
A forward Barrier, as old Tales relate,
To stop the Course of War and guard the State.
Let this Digression, as it may, succeed—
No honest Man shall by my Satire bleed;
It guards me like a Sword, and safe it lies
Within the Sheath 'till Thieves and Villains rise.
No honest Man shall by my Satire bleed;
It guards me like a Sword, and safe it lies
Within the Sheath 'till Thieves and Villains rise.
Dread King and Father of the mortal Race,
Behold me, harmless Bard, how fond of Peace!
And may all Kinds of mischief-making Steel
In Rust, eternal Rust, thy Vengeance feel.
But he who hurts me (nay, I will be heard)
Had better take a Lion by the Beard;
His Eyes shall weep the Folly of his Tongue,
By laughing Crouds in rueful Ballad sung.
Behold me, harmless Bard, how fond of Peace!
And may all Kinds of mischief-making Steel
In Rust, eternal Rust, thy Vengeance feel.
131
Had better take a Lion by the Beard;
His Eyes shall weep the Folly of his Tongue,
By laughing Crouds in rueful Ballad sung.
Th' Informer Cervius threatens with the Laws;
Turius your Judge, You surely lose your Cause;
Are you the Object of Canidia's Hate,
Drugs, Poisons, Incantations, are your Fate:
For powerful Nature to her Creatures shows
With various Arms to terrify their Foes.
The Wolf with Teeth, the Bull with Horns can fight;
Whence, but from Instinct and an inward Light?
His long-liv'd Mother trusts to Scæva's Care—
Turius your Judge, You surely lose your Cause;
Are you the Object of Canidia's Hate,
Drugs, Poisons, Incantations, are your Fate:
For powerful Nature to her Creatures shows
With various Arms to terrify their Foes.
The Wolf with Teeth, the Bull with Horns can fight;
Whence, but from Instinct and an inward Light?
His long-liv'd Mother trusts to Scæva's Care—
Treb.
No Deed of Blood his pious Hand could dare?
Horace.
Wonderous indeed! that Bulls ne'er strive to bite,
Nor Wolves, with desperate Horns, engage in fight.
No Mother's Blood the gentle Scæva spills,
But with a Draught of honey'd Poison kills.
Nor Wolves, with desperate Horns, engage in fight.
No Mother's Blood the gentle Scæva spills,
But with a Draught of honey'd Poison kills.
Then, whether Age my peaceful Hours attend,
Or Death his sable Pinions round me bend:
Or Rich, or Poor: at Rome; to Exile driven:
Whatever Lot by powerful Fate is given,
See me resolv'd to write.
Or Death his sable Pinions round me bend:
Or Rich, or Poor: at Rome; to Exile driven:
Whatever Lot by powerful Fate is given,
See me resolv'd to write.
Treb.
How much I dread
Thy Days are short; some Lord shall strike thee dead
133
Horace.
What! when with honest Rage
Lucilius lash'd the Vices of his Age;
From conscious Villains tore the Mask away,
And strip'd them naked to the Glare of Day,
Were Lælius or his Friend (whose glorious Name
From conquer'd Carthage deathless rose to Fame)
Were they displeas'd when Villains and their Crimes
Were cover'd o'er with Infamy and Rhimes?
The titled Knave he boldly made his Prize,
And durst the People Tribe by Tribe chastise;
While yet to Virtue and to Virtue's Friends,
And them alone, with Reverence he bends:
But soon as Scipio, once in Arms approv'd,
And Lælius, for his milder Wisdom lov'd,
Could from the noisy World with him retreat,
They laugh'd at all the busy Farce of State,
Enjoy'd the vacant Hour, the social Jest,
Until their Herbs, their frugal Feast, were drest.
Lucilius lash'd the Vices of his Age;
From conscious Villains tore the Mask away,
And strip'd them naked to the Glare of Day,
Were Lælius or his Friend (whose glorious Name
From conquer'd Carthage deathless rose to Fame)
Were they displeas'd when Villains and their Crimes
Were cover'd o'er with Infamy and Rhimes?
The titled Knave he boldly made his Prize,
And durst the People Tribe by Tribe chastise;
While yet to Virtue and to Virtue's Friends,
And them alone, with Reverence he bends:
But soon as Scipio, once in Arms approv'd,
And Lælius, for his milder Wisdom lov'd,
Could from the noisy World with him retreat,
They laugh'd at all the busy Farce of State,
Enjoy'd the vacant Hour, the social Jest,
Until their Herbs, their frugal Feast, were drest.
What though with great Lucilius I disclaim
All saucy Rivalship of Birth or Fame.
Spite of herself even Envy must confess,
That I the Friendship of the Great possess,
And, if she dare attempt my honest Fame,
Shall break her Teeth against my solid Name.
This is my Plea: on this I rest my Cause—
What says my Council, learned in the Laws?
All saucy Rivalship of Birth or Fame.
Spite of herself even Envy must confess,
That I the Friendship of the Great possess,
And, if she dare attempt my honest Fame,
Shall break her Teeth against my solid Name.
135
What says my Council, learned in the Laws?
Treb.
Your Case is clearer; yet let me advise;
For sad Mishaps from Ignorance arise.
Behold the Pains and Penalties decreed
To Libellers—
Horace.
To Libellers indeed.
But, if with Truth his Characters he draws,
Even Cæsar shall support the Poet's Cause;
The formal Process shall be turn'd to Sport,
And you dismist with Honour by the Court.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |