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 |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | IV. |
| 1. | THE FIRST BOOK OF THE EPISTLES OF HORACE. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| 2. |
 | The works of Horace, translated into verse |  |
1
THE FIRST BOOK OF THE EPISTLES OF HORACE.
3
EPISTLE I. To Mæcenas.
He affirms that he now throws matter of merriment aside, and adheres only to such things as conduce to virtue.
O subject of my first essays!
Whom as in duty bound to praise,
My muse ev'n to the last persists,
Again you force me to the lists,
With freedom's rod dismiss'd the stage,
As far too much expos'd in age.
No more I have the thirst for fame,
Nor is my time of day the same.
Vejanius having fix'd his arms
Now skreens him in the ground, he farms,
That from the theatre no more,
He may the mob for life implore.
Something keeps whisp'ring in my ear,
Which purg'd can in the spirit hear,
Loose the old courser, if you're wise,
Lest, if he enter for the prize,
He may be scorn'd, as coming last,
And fetch his broken wind too fast.
Wherefore I now will throw away,
All verse and toys of idle play,
And all enquiry, thought, and care,
But what is true, and what is fair,
And hoard up maxims, and for use
Arrange them, that I may deduce.
And lest, perchance, you shou'd enquire,
What school, what master, I admire,
Know I'm addicted to no sect,
Nor swear, as other men direct,
But suit the tenor of my way,
To the complexion of the day;
Now active and officious grown,
To state contentions am I prone,
A guard and stedfast partizan
Of virtue, and th'heroic man;
With Aristippus now agree,
Not I for things, but things for me.
As tedious as the livelong night
To him, whose mistress plays the bite,
As tedious as the livelong day,
To hirelings that must work for pay;
As tedious as the livelong year,
To minors under dames severe;
So do all times and seasons go
With me, intolerably slow,
Which in the least retard the thought
Of doing all things, as we ought,
And making of that point secure,
Which gain'd is well for rich and poor,
But if neglected will destroy
Alike the hope of man and boy.
Add yet, that I myself controul,
And with these dictates sooth my soul,
Like Lynceus you cannot discern,
Yet do not wholesome eye-salve spurn.
And tho' you are not quite so stout
As matchless Glycon, walk about,
By exercise to foil the gout.
We may begin at least and strive,
Tho' to the goal we cannot drive.
Does your breast glow inflam'd with vice
By lust, or sordid avarice?
Know, there are words and charming sounds,
Whence one may sooth all mental wounds,
May mitigate the pain at least,
If not intirely calm your breast.
Are you puff'd up with love of praise,
Philosophers have wrote essays,
Which thrice read o'er your heart will chear,
If your attention be sincere.
The envious, wrathful, slow of will,
The wencher, toper, know no ill,
But may be cur'd, if they'll apply
The lectures of philosophy.
'Tis virtue first from vice to flee,
And the first wisdom to be free
From folly—are you not aware,
With how much labour, how much care
Of mind and body, 'tis your aim
Want or rejection to disclaim,
Things that you rate the greatest shame!
A merchant to the farthest shore
Of India, to be poor no more,
And with assiduous toil you brave
The rocks, the flames, the wind and wave:
Will you not hear, and learn, and trust
Those that are wiser, lest you lust,
And any more those things admire,
Which 'tis a folly to desire?
Is there a fighter for a prize
About the streets, that wou'd despise
The honour of th'Olympic crown,
Had he the hopes of such renown,
And, that he take no pains at all,
Was mention'd as conditional?
Silver is less of price than gold,
And gold than virtue, thousand fold.
Yet, O ye cits! this is the cry,
Let money be the first supply,
And then be honest by and bye.
This is at either Janus taught,
And this cant ev'n our youths have got,
This too can each old dotard charm,
With bag and ledger on his arm.
Polite, brave, eloquent, and true,
If certain sesterces be due,
Four hundred thousand to fulfil,
You must be a plebeian still.
And yet the very boys at play
Cry, he shall be the king to-day
Whoe'er behaves the best of all.
This be thy fort and brazen wall,
To have a conscience clear within,
Nor colour at the change of sin.
Say, is the Roscian edict best,
Or does the ballad stand the test,
Where the boys offer, as they sing,
The crown to him who lives a king?
Which manly Curius sung of yore,
And brave Camillus long before;
From him does better counsel come,
Who bids you scramble up a sum.
Right, if you can; but if your fate
Deny, a sum at any rate,
That you may have the foremost row,
When Puppius plays his tragic woe?
Or him who animates your fight,
And wishes you may stand upright,
With lib'ral soul to stem the tide
Of fortune, with her frowns and pride?
Whom as in duty bound to praise,
My muse ev'n to the last persists,
Again you force me to the lists,
With freedom's rod dismiss'd the stage,
As far too much expos'd in age.
5
Nor is my time of day the same.
Vejanius having fix'd his arms
Now skreens him in the ground, he farms,
That from the theatre no more,
He may the mob for life implore.
Something keeps whisp'ring in my ear,
Which purg'd can in the spirit hear,
Loose the old courser, if you're wise,
Lest, if he enter for the prize,
He may be scorn'd, as coming last,
And fetch his broken wind too fast.
Wherefore I now will throw away,
All verse and toys of idle play,
And all enquiry, thought, and care,
But what is true, and what is fair,
And hoard up maxims, and for use
Arrange them, that I may deduce.
And lest, perchance, you shou'd enquire,
What school, what master, I admire,
Know I'm addicted to no sect,
Nor swear, as other men direct,
But suit the tenor of my way,
To the complexion of the day;
Now active and officious grown,
To state contentions am I prone,
A guard and stedfast partizan
Of virtue, and th'heroic man;
With Aristippus now agree,
Not I for things, but things for me.
7
To him, whose mistress plays the bite,
As tedious as the livelong day,
To hirelings that must work for pay;
As tedious as the livelong year,
To minors under dames severe;
So do all times and seasons go
With me, intolerably slow,
Which in the least retard the thought
Of doing all things, as we ought,
And making of that point secure,
Which gain'd is well for rich and poor,
But if neglected will destroy
Alike the hope of man and boy.
Add yet, that I myself controul,
And with these dictates sooth my soul,
Like Lynceus you cannot discern,
Yet do not wholesome eye-salve spurn.
And tho' you are not quite so stout
As matchless Glycon, walk about,
By exercise to foil the gout.
We may begin at least and strive,
Tho' to the goal we cannot drive.
Does your breast glow inflam'd with vice
By lust, or sordid avarice?
Know, there are words and charming sounds,
Whence one may sooth all mental wounds,
9
If not intirely calm your breast.
Are you puff'd up with love of praise,
Philosophers have wrote essays,
Which thrice read o'er your heart will chear,
If your attention be sincere.
The envious, wrathful, slow of will,
The wencher, toper, know no ill,
But may be cur'd, if they'll apply
The lectures of philosophy.
'Tis virtue first from vice to flee,
And the first wisdom to be free
From folly—are you not aware,
With how much labour, how much care
Of mind and body, 'tis your aim
Want or rejection to disclaim,
Things that you rate the greatest shame!
A merchant to the farthest shore
Of India, to be poor no more,
And with assiduous toil you brave
The rocks, the flames, the wind and wave:
Will you not hear, and learn, and trust
Those that are wiser, lest you lust,
And any more those things admire,
Which 'tis a folly to desire?
Is there a fighter for a prize
About the streets, that wou'd despise
The honour of th'Olympic crown,
Had he the hopes of such renown,
11
Was mention'd as conditional?
Silver is less of price than gold,
And gold than virtue, thousand fold.
Yet, O ye cits! this is the cry,
Let money be the first supply,
And then be honest by and bye.
This is at either Janus taught,
And this cant ev'n our youths have got,
This too can each old dotard charm,
With bag and ledger on his arm.
Polite, brave, eloquent, and true,
If certain sesterces be due,
Four hundred thousand to fulfil,
You must be a plebeian still.
And yet the very boys at play
Cry, he shall be the king to-day
Whoe'er behaves the best of all.
This be thy fort and brazen wall,
To have a conscience clear within,
Nor colour at the change of sin.
Say, is the Roscian edict best,
Or does the ballad stand the test,
Where the boys offer, as they sing,
The crown to him who lives a king?
Which manly Curius sung of yore,
And brave Camillus long before;
From him does better counsel come,
Who bids you scramble up a sum.
13
Deny, a sum at any rate,
That you may have the foremost row,
When Puppius plays his tragic woe?
Or him who animates your fight,
And wishes you may stand upright,
With lib'ral soul to stem the tide
Of fortune, with her frowns and pride?
Now shou'd the Romans bid me say,
Why I, who walk in the same way,
Have not my sentiments the same,
Nor follow as they praise or blame?—
I make my answer in the stile
Of crafty Reynard, all the while,
Who thus unto the lion said,
When he beheld him sick, “I dread
“The footsteps all toward your throne,
“But in the home-direction none!”
Thou dost with many heads appear
A monster, where must I adhere?
Who's guide? with some it is a charm,
The public revenues to farm,
And some rich widows wou'd intice,
With fruits and sweetmeats, all the price.
And others wou'd old dotards get,
Like fish decoy'd into their net.
Many by secret us'ry thrive—
But grant that all the men alive,
With diff'rent talents are supplied,
Can they a single hour abide,
Approving their avow'd persuits?
“No place in all the world disputes
“The palm with Baiæ, sweet and gay.”
This haply shou'd a rich man say,
Anon the lake and sea must feel
The hurry of his lordly zeal.
But if caprice the hint approve—
“To-morrow, masons, all remove
“Your chissels and your iron crows,
“And at Theanum's seat dispose.”
Has he at home a genial bed?
He will advance upon this head,
The happier and the better fate
Is his, who keeps the single state.
But if he's single, he'll protest
That married men alone are blest;
What noose for Proteus shall I find,
His many-changing form to bind?
How fares the peasant?—there's the joke—
He shifts and turns like other folk;
Changes his loft, and bed of hair,
Bath, barber—when he pays his fare,
In his own barge the rich grandee
Is not more nice and sick than he.
Me, if with my hair all cut awry
By some bad barber you espy,
You laugh—and if beneath a coat
That's neat, a ragged shirt you note,
And if my gown but badly sit,
Again you laugh to show your wit.
What therefore, will you do with me
Whose soul and self cannot agree?
When now I spurn the thing I sought,
Now sigh for what I set at nought,
Disorder'd in th'unconstant tide
Of things, that vary far and wide,
Knock down, rebuild, turn square to round?
You judge me but to be unsound,
According to the gen'ral trim,
And neither ridicule the whim,
Nor think I want a doctor's aid,
Nor keeper by the Prætor paid:
Tho' you're the guard of my affairs,
And liable to real cares,
For a cut finger, if your friend's,
Who loves you, and on you depends.
In fine, the Stoics, only prove,
The wise is less, if less, than Jove,
Whom free, fam'd, king 'tis fair to call,
And in his senses after all;
Unless a sudden fit of spleen
By some mishap shou'd intervene.
Why I, who walk in the same way,
Have not my sentiments the same,
Nor follow as they praise or blame?—
I make my answer in the stile
Of crafty Reynard, all the while,
Who thus unto the lion said,
When he beheld him sick, “I dread
“The footsteps all toward your throne,
“But in the home-direction none!”
Thou dost with many heads appear
A monster, where must I adhere?
Who's guide? with some it is a charm,
The public revenues to farm,
And some rich widows wou'd intice,
With fruits and sweetmeats, all the price.
And others wou'd old dotards get,
Like fish decoy'd into their net.
Many by secret us'ry thrive—
But grant that all the men alive,
With diff'rent talents are supplied,
Can they a single hour abide,
15
“No place in all the world disputes
“The palm with Baiæ, sweet and gay.”
This haply shou'd a rich man say,
Anon the lake and sea must feel
The hurry of his lordly zeal.
But if caprice the hint approve—
“To-morrow, masons, all remove
“Your chissels and your iron crows,
“And at Theanum's seat dispose.”
Has he at home a genial bed?
He will advance upon this head,
The happier and the better fate
Is his, who keeps the single state.
But if he's single, he'll protest
That married men alone are blest;
What noose for Proteus shall I find,
His many-changing form to bind?
How fares the peasant?—there's the joke—
He shifts and turns like other folk;
Changes his loft, and bed of hair,
Bath, barber—when he pays his fare,
In his own barge the rich grandee
Is not more nice and sick than he.
Me, if with my hair all cut awry
By some bad barber you espy,
You laugh—and if beneath a coat
That's neat, a ragged shirt you note,
And if my gown but badly sit,
Again you laugh to show your wit.
17
Whose soul and self cannot agree?
When now I spurn the thing I sought,
Now sigh for what I set at nought,
Disorder'd in th'unconstant tide
Of things, that vary far and wide,
Knock down, rebuild, turn square to round?
You judge me but to be unsound,
According to the gen'ral trim,
And neither ridicule the whim,
Nor think I want a doctor's aid,
Nor keeper by the Prætor paid:
Tho' you're the guard of my affairs,
And liable to real cares,
For a cut finger, if your friend's,
Who loves you, and on you depends.
In fine, the Stoics, only prove,
The wise is less, if less, than Jove,
Whom free, fam'd, king 'tis fair to call,
And in his senses after all;
Unless a sudden fit of spleen
By some mishap shou'd intervene.
A rod, or wand, given as a token of liberty, by the master of the fencing-school, to gladiators, on their dismission.
19
EPISTLE II. To Lollius.
He asserts that Homer, in his poems, shews what is good more fully and better than certain philosophers. He then exhorts to the cultivation of virtue.
O pleader of the highest fame!
Whilst in the Forum you declaim,
I at Præneste re-peruse,
The battles of th'Homeric muse,
Who what is fair and what is base,
Of use, or not in any case,
Points fully, on a better plan,
Than Crantor or Crysippus can.
Whence this opinion I will shew,
Unless you've something else to do.
The argument (in which we read,
For Paris his adulterous deed,
Long war the wasted Grecians wag'd
And with barbarians were engag'd)
The broils of a mad people sings,
And their infatuated kings;
Antenor's council wou'd propose,
By fair amends, the war to close;
But Paris will not yield to this,
Jealous of safety, as of bliss.
Nestor wou'd fain make up th'affair
'Twixt Peleus' son and Atreus' heir.
One burns with love, and both with ire:
Mean time how great soe'er the fire
That's kindled by each foolish chief,
The people feel the loss and grief.
By faction, fraud, by lust, and sin,
By wrath without the walls, and in,
Much is the mischief, and the din.
Again, and in another tale,
How prudence and a heart avail,
He has with exemplary art
Explain'd in sage Ulysses' part,
Who politic from Troy's defeat
Made many cities with his fleet,
And got an insight in their ways,
And while on the great sea he strays,
Returning with himself and crew,
Had many hardships to go thro'.
And yet cross fate's severest frown
Cou'd ne'er prevail to sink him down.
The Siren's charms and Circe's cup
You know, which if he'd guzzled up,
As did with glee each foolish mate,
Base in a most disastrous state,
The slave of an imperious queen
He must a filthy cur have been,
And had the form and gross desire
Of Swines rejoicing in the mire.
Whilst in the Forum you declaim,
I at Præneste re-peruse,
The battles of th'Homeric muse,
Who what is fair and what is base,
Of use, or not in any case,
Points fully, on a better plan,
Than Crantor or Crysippus can.
Whence this opinion I will shew,
Unless you've something else to do.
The argument (in which we read,
For Paris his adulterous deed,
Long war the wasted Grecians wag'd
And with barbarians were engag'd)
The broils of a mad people sings,
And their infatuated kings;
Antenor's council wou'd propose,
By fair amends, the war to close;
But Paris will not yield to this,
Jealous of safety, as of bliss.
Nestor wou'd fain make up th'affair
'Twixt Peleus' son and Atreus' heir.
21
Mean time how great soe'er the fire
That's kindled by each foolish chief,
The people feel the loss and grief.
By faction, fraud, by lust, and sin,
By wrath without the walls, and in,
Much is the mischief, and the din.
Again, and in another tale,
How prudence and a heart avail,
He has with exemplary art
Explain'd in sage Ulysses' part,
Who politic from Troy's defeat
Made many cities with his fleet,
And got an insight in their ways,
And while on the great sea he strays,
Returning with himself and crew,
Had many hardships to go thro'.
And yet cross fate's severest frown
Cou'd ne'er prevail to sink him down.
The Siren's charms and Circe's cup
You know, which if he'd guzzled up,
As did with glee each foolish mate,
Base in a most disastrous state,
The slave of an imperious queen
He must a filthy cur have been,
And had the form and gross desire
Of Swines rejoicing in the mire.
We, all mere cyphers from our birth,
Consume the product of the earth;
Ev'n like Penelope's leud knaves,
Or whom Alcinous made slaves;
A youth for their complexion born,
Who us'd to sleep the livelong morn,
And so to doze away their cares,
Sooth'd by the harps composing airs.
Robbers get up and kill for pelf—
Will you not rise to save yourself?
Which if you shall not do in health
The dropsy will come on by stealth:
And if you do not call away
For book and light before the day,
And keep not all your thoughts intent
On studies and designs well-meant,
With love or envy, when awake,
Your tortur'd heart shall surely ache.
For why do you hasten to remove
Things, that your eyes cannot approve,
Yet if ought make the soul impure,
You for a year differ the cure.
One half is done if you set out,
Dare to be wise, nor longer doubt.
Whoe'er delays him to be good,
Stands like the clown upon the flood,
Expecting till the stream had done,
But that still perseveres to run,
And in eternal motion strong
Shall pass voluminous along.
Apt for the purposes of life,
And for to bear your heirs, a wife
Is sought—the woodland wild is fell'd,
That there th'improving plough be held.
Yet he that has enough in store
Ought by no means to sigh for more.
Nor house, nor farm, nor brass nor gold,
From his sick body can withold
The raging fever of their lord,
Or care's unseen attacks award.
The rich possessor must have health,
Or there's no joy in hoarded wealth.
He, on whom lust or terror wait
Enjoys his seat and his estate,
As pictures for the blind are meet,
And poultices for gouty feet,
Or all the harping of the spheres,
To those that have obstructed ears.
Unless the vessel is sweet, you pour
The wine therein, to make it sour:
Despise all pleasures light and vain,
For pleasure's noxious bought with pain:
The churl a beggar is and seems,
Then set due limits to your schemes:
A pining takes th'invidious sneak,
When'er he sees his neighbour sleek.
Sicilian tyrants ne'er cou'd find
A torture like an envious mind.
The man whose passion is not curb'd
Will wish, what in a mind disturb'd
He did, was totally undone,
As too great lengths his malice run.
Wrath is short madness, that restrain
At once, by bridle and by chain,
Or what shou'd serve, will always reign.
The groom is wont the colt to check,
While teachable with pliant neck,
To go the road the riders please.
The puppy from the time he sees
The buckskin in the hall, and barks,
Adventures in the woods and parks.
Now, child, my words in your pure breast
Imbibe; now offer for the best.
That cask the scent will long retain,
Which it receiv'd, when new, in grain;
But if you loiter in the race,
Or urge too much the rapid pace,
I wait not for the slow and speed,
Nor push on them that take the lead.
Consume the product of the earth;
23
Or whom Alcinous made slaves;
A youth for their complexion born,
Who us'd to sleep the livelong morn,
And so to doze away their cares,
Sooth'd by the harps composing airs.
Robbers get up and kill for pelf—
Will you not rise to save yourself?
Which if you shall not do in health
The dropsy will come on by stealth:
And if you do not call away
For book and light before the day,
And keep not all your thoughts intent
On studies and designs well-meant,
With love or envy, when awake,
Your tortur'd heart shall surely ache.
For why do you hasten to remove
Things, that your eyes cannot approve,
Yet if ought make the soul impure,
You for a year differ the cure.
One half is done if you set out,
Dare to be wise, nor longer doubt.
Whoe'er delays him to be good,
Stands like the clown upon the flood,
Expecting till the stream had done,
But that still perseveres to run,
And in eternal motion strong
Shall pass voluminous along.
Apt for the purposes of life,
And for to bear your heirs, a wife
25
That there th'improving plough be held.
Yet he that has enough in store
Ought by no means to sigh for more.
Nor house, nor farm, nor brass nor gold,
From his sick body can withold
The raging fever of their lord,
Or care's unseen attacks award.
The rich possessor must have health,
Or there's no joy in hoarded wealth.
He, on whom lust or terror wait
Enjoys his seat and his estate,
As pictures for the blind are meet,
And poultices for gouty feet,
Or all the harping of the spheres,
To those that have obstructed ears.
Unless the vessel is sweet, you pour
The wine therein, to make it sour:
Despise all pleasures light and vain,
For pleasure's noxious bought with pain:
The churl a beggar is and seems,
Then set due limits to your schemes:
A pining takes th'invidious sneak,
When'er he sees his neighbour sleek.
Sicilian tyrants ne'er cou'd find
A torture like an envious mind.
The man whose passion is not curb'd
Will wish, what in a mind disturb'd
He did, was totally undone,
As too great lengths his malice run.
27
At once, by bridle and by chain,
Or what shou'd serve, will always reign.
The groom is wont the colt to check,
While teachable with pliant neck,
To go the road the riders please.
The puppy from the time he sees
The buckskin in the hall, and barks,
Adventures in the woods and parks.
Now, child, my words in your pure breast
Imbibe; now offer for the best.
That cask the scent will long retain,
Which it receiv'd, when new, in grain;
But if you loiter in the race,
Or urge too much the rapid pace,
I wait not for the slow and speed,
Nor push on them that take the lead.
N. B. All these precepts are drawn from examples in Homer; a thing (I believe) not understood by any other editor of Horace. Otherwise, there would not have been such a complaint of a want of connection, between the former and the latter part of this Epistle.
29
EPISTLE III. To Julius Florus.
He interrogates him concerning Claudius Nero, and of the writings of certain of his friends. He then exhorts Florus himself to the study of wisdom, and to be reconciled to his brother.
Fain, Florus, would I understand,
Where Claudius now has got command,
Ev'n Cæsar's gallant son-in-law.
Does Thrace, or snows, that never thaw
In Hebrus, now detain your pow'rs,
Or seas that run between the tow'rs,
Or in those Asiatic plains
And hills, where such abundance reigns,
Are you compell'd to take your rout?
What are the courtly wits about?
For this I'm anxious too to ask—
Who dares to undertake the task
Great Cæsar's history to write,
And eternize each glorious sight,
And happy peace?—Is Titius there?
For whom all Rome their praise prepare;
Who fills his cup devoid of dread
At the Pindaric fountain-head,
Lakes, streams, and all the rural scene
Disdaining, as for him too mean.
Is he in perfect health, and kind
Enough to bear me in his mind?
Does he the Theban lays aspire
To render on the Roman lyre,
Or rants he with the Muse, his guide,
In all the tragic pomp and pride?
On Celsus does my council gain,
So often urg'd, and urg'd in vain,
To strike out matter of his own
And by all means to let alone
Such books as have arrang'd themselves
On Palantine Apollo's shelves:
Lest if the feather'd flock come there,
And each demand his proper share,
The vain jack-daw shou'd cause a roar,
Strip'd of the borrow'd plumes he wore;
What heights do you attempt to climb,
And active on the flowery thyme,
Whence balmy sweetness do you cull?
For far from mean, and far from dull
Your cultivated genius tow'rs:
Whether in keen rhetoric pow'rs
You at the bar attention draw,
Or answer in the civil law,
Or in sweet verse you build renown,
And conquer for the ivy crown.
Now cou'd you find it in your heart,
From care's cold comforts to depart,
Then you divinely shou'd proceed
Where'er philosophy wou'd lead.
This work, this way shou'd be embrac'd
By great and small, with eager haste,
If we wou'd pass our season here
Or to ourselves, or country dear.
Where Claudius now has got command,
Ev'n Cæsar's gallant son-in-law.
Does Thrace, or snows, that never thaw
In Hebrus, now detain your pow'rs,
Or seas that run between the tow'rs,
Or in those Asiatic plains
And hills, where such abundance reigns,
Are you compell'd to take your rout?
What are the courtly wits about?
For this I'm anxious too to ask—
Who dares to undertake the task
Great Cæsar's history to write,
And eternize each glorious sight,
And happy peace?—Is Titius there?
For whom all Rome their praise prepare;
Who fills his cup devoid of dread
At the Pindaric fountain-head,
Lakes, streams, and all the rural scene
Disdaining, as for him too mean.
31
Enough to bear me in his mind?
Does he the Theban lays aspire
To render on the Roman lyre,
Or rants he with the Muse, his guide,
In all the tragic pomp and pride?
On Celsus does my council gain,
So often urg'd, and urg'd in vain,
To strike out matter of his own
And by all means to let alone
Such books as have arrang'd themselves
On Palantine Apollo's shelves:
Lest if the feather'd flock come there,
And each demand his proper share,
The vain jack-daw shou'd cause a roar,
Strip'd of the borrow'd plumes he wore;
What heights do you attempt to climb,
And active on the flowery thyme,
Whence balmy sweetness do you cull?
For far from mean, and far from dull
Your cultivated genius tow'rs:
Whether in keen rhetoric pow'rs
You at the bar attention draw,
Or answer in the civil law,
Or in sweet verse you build renown,
And conquer for the ivy crown.
Now cou'd you find it in your heart,
From care's cold comforts to depart,
Then you divinely shou'd proceed
Where'er philosophy wou'd lead.
33
By great and small, with eager haste,
If we wou'd pass our season here
Or to ourselves, or country dear.
Of this too you must write me word,
Whether Munatius is preferr'd
To such degree of your esteem
As I most necessary deem,
Or, if the wound ill set to rights,
For little purpose re-unites,
And is at point to gape again—
Now whether madness of the brain,
Or ignorance of things disturb
Your minds, like colts no skill can curb,
Where'er you live, it is most true
No brothers ought to love like you.
However by these presents learn,
I feed with tenderest concern,
A votive runt for your return.
Whether Munatius is preferr'd
To such degree of your esteem
As I most necessary deem,
Or, if the wound ill set to rights,
For little purpose re-unites,
And is at point to gape again—
Now whether madness of the brain,
Or ignorance of things disturb
Your minds, like colts no skill can curb,
Where'er you live, it is most true
No brothers ought to love like you.
However by these presents learn,
I feed with tenderest concern,
A votive runt for your return.
35
EPISTLE IV. To Albius Tibullus.
He addresses Albius Tibullus, to whom he seems to commend the study of Philosophy, and recount the talents with which he was adorned from heaven.
Mild judge of my prosaic lays,
Can I account for your odd turn,
Who in Pedanian groves sojourn:
Are you now writing to out-please
The works of Cassius, or at ease,
And silence, range the healthy wood,
Studious of all things wise and good?
Thou 'rt not a form without a heart,
For heav'n was gracious to impart
A goodly person, fine estate,
Made for fruition, fortunate.
What more for her most fav'rite boy,
Cou'd a nurse image, to enjoy,
Than to be wise, and ably taught,
To speak aloud his noble thought,
To whom grace, fame, and body sound,
Might to pre-eminence abound,
With table of ingenious fare,
And purse with money still to spare?
37
Think every day the last of life.
Beyond your wish some happy day,
Shall come your grief to over-pay.
Me sleek and fat, as fat can be,
I hope you'll shortly come to see:
When you've a mind to laugh indeed
At pigs of the Lucretian breed.
39
EPISTLE V. To Torquatus.
He invites him to a supper, which he assures him shall be a frugal one.
To sit on an old-fashion'd seat,
And on a mod'rate dish to sup,
Where herbs make all the banquet up,
At home I'll tarry for my friend
Just as the ev'ning rays descend.
Wine you shall drink in casks prepar'd
When Taurus was again declar'd;
Betwixt Minturnian fens 'twas press'd,
And where Petrinum's vines are dress'd,
But, if you've better, send for me,
Or else with these commands agree:
Bright shines my hearth, and, to be seen
By you, my furniture is clean.
From airy hopes and Moschus' cause,
And broils concerning riches pause:
The festal time of Cæsar's birth
Shall give to-morrow peace and mirth;
It shall be lawful to prolong
The summer night in social song.
What's Fortune, if I must forbear
To use it?—he that lives to spare
41
Is raving mad, or very near.
I will begin to booze and straw
Sweet flow'rs, by no means kept in awe,
Tho' held a rake-shame for my pains—
How drinking whets th'inventive brains,
Discloses secrets, strengthens hope,
Makes dastards with the valiant cope,
The burthen lifts from anxious hearts,
Adapts a man to learn the arts!
Whose eloquence is not sublime,
That takes off bumpers at a time?
And who so poor and who so bare,
But in his cups is free from care?
These 'tis my duty to provide,
Both with propriety and pride,
And willingly I shall attend,
Lest dirty counterpanes offend,
That no foul napkin discompose,
To wrinkles, your discerning nose;
And that the cup and dish, we place,
Shall shine until you see your face,
That there be none to hear and spread,
What amongst faithful friends is said.
And that hale fellows be well met,
Brutus shall come to join the set,
Septimius and Sabinus too.
Unless h'as better cheer in view,
And prettier maids. There is to boot
Room for such danglers, as shall suit.
43
Are apt, like goats, to smell too strong.
Write back what number you wou'd be,
And from all other business free,
Tho' clients in your court-yard wait,
Deceive them at the postern gate.
45
EPISTLE VI. To Numicius.
To hold nothing in too high admiration, is a thing which he asserts to be almost solely effectual for the happiness of life.
Of nothing to be over-fond,
Numicius, is contentment's bond;
This makes and keeps the bed of rest—
There are, who with unanxious breast,
Can view the sun, and starry pole,
And seasons, which by periods roll.
What think you of earth's golden mine,
And wealth, on either side the line,
With which the wafting ocean stores
The Arabs, and the Indian shores?
Then as for plays, and shows of state,
The people's favours to the great,
In what light are they to be view'd,
And what from thence must sense conclude?
Who dreads the contrary of these,
Not so the wond'ring fondness flees,
Stupidity o'er each prevails,
If fortune lift, or load the scales:
Rejoice, or grieve, desire, or fear,
What matters it?—shou'd things appear
Or better far, or worse than hope,
If man and mind become a mope,
Let Wise-men bear the name of fools,
The jest of those, that break all rules;
If Virtue's self they shall pursue,
Beyond the laws, and limits due.
Numicius, is contentment's bond;
This makes and keeps the bed of rest—
There are, who with unanxious breast,
Can view the sun, and starry pole,
And seasons, which by periods roll.
What think you of earth's golden mine,
And wealth, on either side the line,
With which the wafting ocean stores
The Arabs, and the Indian shores?
Then as for plays, and shows of state,
The people's favours to the great,
In what light are they to be view'd,
And what from thence must sense conclude?
Who dreads the contrary of these,
Not so the wond'ring fondness flees,
Stupidity o'er each prevails,
If fortune lift, or load the scales:
Rejoice, or grieve, desire, or fear,
What matters it?—shou'd things appear
Or better far, or worse than hope,
If man and mind become a mope,
47
The jest of those, that break all rules;
If Virtue's self they shall pursue,
Beyond the laws, and limits due.
Look now on plate with wond'ring eye,
For ancient busts, and bronzes sigh!
To all politer arts aspire,
And gems and Tyrian dies admire;
Rejoice that when you make harrangue,
On thee ten thousand gazers hang,
Seek to the bar by morning light,
And come not home till late at night,
Lest Mucius from his lady's dow'r,
Shou'd reap more corn than in your pow'r,
Still holding it in highest scorn,
That he of meaner parents born,
Shou'd rather show himself than you,
More admirable of the two.
Whatever up in earth they lay,
Time shall expose to open day,
And things shall bury deep, and hide,
What now shine in the greatest pride.
Tho' in the Appian way you go,
And still yourself with grandeur show,
Beneath Agrippa's Portico;
Yet thither must your course be bent,
Where Numa, and where Ancus went.
For ancient busts, and bronzes sigh!
To all politer arts aspire,
And gems and Tyrian dies admire;
Rejoice that when you make harrangue,
On thee ten thousand gazers hang,
Seek to the bar by morning light,
And come not home till late at night,
Lest Mucius from his lady's dow'r,
Shou'd reap more corn than in your pow'r,
Still holding it in highest scorn,
That he of meaner parents born,
Shou'd rather show himself than you,
More admirable of the two.
Whatever up in earth they lay,
Time shall expose to open day,
And things shall bury deep, and hide,
What now shine in the greatest pride.
Tho' in the Appian way you go,
And still yourself with grandeur show,
Beneath Agrippa's Portico;
Yet thither must your course be bent,
Where Numa, and where Ancus went.
If any virulent disease;
Your reins, or either side shou'd seize,
Seek remedy—wou'd you excel
In life, as who wou'd not do well;
If worth alone can this atchieve;
For virtue then your pleasures leave.
Virtue, perhaps, is understood
As made of words, like trees, of wood.
If so, then make the port with speed,
See, no one your own ship precede,
Lest you perchance shou'd lose the fair,
And selling of your foreign ware:
At once a thousand talents sweep,
An equal sum to crown the heap,
A third to widen the amount,
A fourth to square the whole account;
For money, monarch of this life,
Gains you a portion with your wife,
Gives credit, friends—will heralds buy,
To blaze you of a family,
Gives beauty and when wealth is great,
There Venus and Suadela wait.
The Cappadocian king, they say,
Has slaves, but has no cash to pay;
Not so your own affairs dispose—
Lucullus, as the story goes,
Ask'd by some persons on the stage,
If he could possibly engage,
An hundred cloaks at once to lend.—
Cried, how can I so many send?
But I will look amongst my ware,
And furnish what there is to spare.
Anon, he writes them word, to call
For full five thousand, part, or all.
'Tis a mean house, that has not got
Redundant wealth, which profits not
The rich possessor, but deceives,
And is the bait, and gain of thieves.
Your reins, or either side shou'd seize,
49
In life, as who wou'd not do well;
If worth alone can this atchieve;
For virtue then your pleasures leave.
Virtue, perhaps, is understood
As made of words, like trees, of wood.
If so, then make the port with speed,
See, no one your own ship precede,
Lest you perchance shou'd lose the fair,
And selling of your foreign ware:
At once a thousand talents sweep,
An equal sum to crown the heap,
A third to widen the amount,
A fourth to square the whole account;
For money, monarch of this life,
Gains you a portion with your wife,
Gives credit, friends—will heralds buy,
To blaze you of a family,
Gives beauty and when wealth is great,
There Venus and Suadela wait.
The Cappadocian king, they say,
Has slaves, but has no cash to pay;
Not so your own affairs dispose—
Lucullus, as the story goes,
Ask'd by some persons on the stage,
If he could possibly engage,
An hundred cloaks at once to lend.—
Cried, how can I so many send?
51
And furnish what there is to spare.
Anon, he writes them word, to call
For full five thousand, part, or all.
'Tis a mean house, that has not got
Redundant wealth, which profits not
The rich possessor, but deceives,
And is the bait, and gain of thieves.
Wherefore, if wealth alone increase,
Means and duration for our peace,
Be first this business to atchieve,
And be the last of all to leave:
Besides, if fortune's minions are,
The splendid and the popular,
Then some shrewd servant let us buy,
The names of voters to supply,
Jog our left-side, and give a tread
Upon our toes, the hands to spread,
In token of our profer'd grace,
Spite of all obstacle and place.
“This man has interest to bribe
“The Fabian, or the Veline tribe,
“That bustler gives the consulate,
“Or takes away the chair of state.”
Then with appellatives endear
With father, brother, in their ear,
According to their sev'ral age,
Adopt them to your patronage.
Means and duration for our peace,
Be first this business to atchieve,
And be the last of all to leave:
Besides, if fortune's minions are,
The splendid and the popular,
Then some shrewd servant let us buy,
The names of voters to supply,
Jog our left-side, and give a tread
Upon our toes, the hands to spread,
In token of our profer'd grace,
Spite of all obstacle and place.
“This man has interest to bribe
“The Fabian, or the Veline tribe,
“That bustler gives the consulate,
“Or takes away the chair of state.”
Then with appellatives endear
With father, brother, in their ear,
According to their sev'ral age,
Adopt them to your patronage.
If he lives happiest, who feeds
The daintiest, where the gullet leads
Let us set out at early day
To fish, to hunt, as was the way
Gargilius chose not long ago,
Who nets, poles, servants, for a show
Made thro' the thickest croud to pass,
That one boar thrown a cross an ass,
Might to the populace appear
When taken with the silver spear.
The daintiest, where the gullet leads
53
To fish, to hunt, as was the way
Gargilius chose not long ago,
Who nets, poles, servants, for a show
Made thro' the thickest croud to pass,
That one boar thrown a cross an ass,
Might to the populace appear
When taken with the silver spear.
Let us with loaded stomachs swim,
Confounding decency and whim,
As lawless as Ulysses' crew,
Who were determined to pursue
All vice and pleasures contraband,
Rather than make their native land.
Confounding decency and whim,
As lawless as Ulysses' crew,
Who were determined to pursue
All vice and pleasures contraband,
Rather than make their native land.
If with Mimnermus you agree,
That there is no felicity
But what is found in love and jest,
Then rake and rally with the best.—
That there is no felicity
But what is found in love and jest,
Then rake and rally with the best.—
Health and long life, my friend, await!
Be candid—and communicate,
If better rules of life you've got,
But practise these with me, if not.
Be candid—and communicate,
If better rules of life you've got,
But practise these with me, if not.
55
EPISTLE VII. To Mæcenas.
He excuses himself to Mæcenas, that he did not stand to his word, and commemorates and extols his patron's liberality towards him; but asserts that liberty and peace of mind ought to be preferred to the benefactions of our friends, and all manner of riches.
False to the promise that I made,
Here for all August have I stay'd,
Altho' my honour was at stake
In five days my return to make.
But if, Mæcenas, you regard
The health and spirits of your bard,
The kind indulgence, which you show
To me, when sick; you will bestow
When I'm in fear of being so.
While early figs and sultry heat
Make fun'rals blacken all the street,
While parents tremble for their boys,
And all the business and the noise
Of canvassing, and law appeals
Bring illness, which the will unseals.
Here for all August have I stay'd,
Altho' my honour was at stake
In five days my return to make.
But if, Mæcenas, you regard
The health and spirits of your bard,
The kind indulgence, which you show
To me, when sick; you will bestow
When I'm in fear of being so.
While early figs and sultry heat
Make fun'rals blacken all the street,
While parents tremble for their boys,
And all the business and the noise
Of canvassing, and law appeals
Bring illness, which the will unseals.
But if on Alban fields the snows
Shou'd come, away your poet goes
Down to the sea his brains to spare,
And read in snug composure there.
Him, my dear friend, you shall receive,
If you will deign to give him leave,
When the warm sky the Zephyrs clear
With the first swallow of the year.
You've give me opulence to boast,
But not like the Calabrian host,
Who presses you his pears to eat,
“I do it, friend—enough's a treat”
—But fill your pockets, if you chuse—
“Good sir, your bounty's too profuse”—
By doing so you'll bear away
Fit presents for your boys at play—
“The offer has as much bestow'd,
“As if I bore away a load”—
Do as you please, but, by the bye,
You leave them only for the stye.
The fool's blunt bounty on this plan
Procures no thank, nor ever can.
The wise and good themselves profess,
Ready for merit in distress,
But know, not easy to be bit,
The medal from the counterfeit.
I also will present a heart
Of worth to act a thankful part,
But if attach'd, as heretofore,
You'd have me, sir, you must restore
My constitution strong and hale,
And those black locks that grew to veil
My narrow forehead, and renew
My pleasantry in converse too:
You must revive my easy smiles,
And jeopardy for Cynara's wiles,
As maudlin I was want to cry
That jilts their faithful swains shou'd fly.
Shou'd come, away your poet goes
Down to the sea his brains to spare,
And read in snug composure there.
57
If you will deign to give him leave,
When the warm sky the Zephyrs clear
With the first swallow of the year.
You've give me opulence to boast,
But not like the Calabrian host,
Who presses you his pears to eat,
“I do it, friend—enough's a treat”
—But fill your pockets, if you chuse—
“Good sir, your bounty's too profuse”—
By doing so you'll bear away
Fit presents for your boys at play—
“The offer has as much bestow'd,
“As if I bore away a load”—
Do as you please, but, by the bye,
You leave them only for the stye.
The fool's blunt bounty on this plan
Procures no thank, nor ever can.
The wise and good themselves profess,
Ready for merit in distress,
But know, not easy to be bit,
The medal from the counterfeit.
I also will present a heart
Of worth to act a thankful part,
But if attach'd, as heretofore,
You'd have me, sir, you must restore
My constitution strong and hale,
And those black locks that grew to veil
My narrow forehead, and renew
My pleasantry in converse too:
59
And jeopardy for Cynara's wiles,
As maudlin I was want to cry
That jilts their faithful swains shou'd fly.
A female fox, exceeding thin,
Seeing a narrow pass crept in,
As leading to a tub of meal—
There having eat a wondrous deal,
She strove to make her way in vain
With her big belly, out again:
To whom a weasel not far off,
Cried out in most sarsastic scoff,
If you wou'd fairly make escape,
Resume the fineness of your shape.
Seeing a narrow pass crept in,
As leading to a tub of meal—
There having eat a wondrous deal,
She strove to make her way in vain
With her big belly, out again:
To whom a weasel not far off,
Cried out in most sarsastic scoff,
If you wou'd fairly make escape,
Resume the fineness of your shape.
If in particular with me
This cited image shou'd agree,
I give up all, nor do I praise
The pleasure of the rural ways,
From rank repletion of the town,
Nor yet shall eastern wealth go down,
Nam'd with the liberty and ease,
Of where I will and what I please.
This cited image shou'd agree,
I give up all, nor do I praise
The pleasure of the rural ways,
From rank repletion of the town,
Nor yet shall eastern wealth go down,
Nam'd with the liberty and ease,
Of where I will and what I please.
You often have commended me
For diffidence and modesty;
And in return have had your due,
“My sov'reign and my father too”
Behind your back my speech affirms
Your merit in the self-same terms;
Judge then, if I without regret
Cou'd give up all again, as yet.
Telemachus, the genuine heir
Of all his Father's patient care,
Well answer'd in a certain case—
“Our Ithaca is not a place
“For horses, where no plains abound
“Of much extent, nor grass is found:
“Atrides, I those gifts resign
“Which suit your country more than mine.”
The little folk shou'd not presume,
But choose small things—imperial Rome
No longer can have pow'r to please
Like Tibur's peace, Tarentum's ease.
For diffidence and modesty;
And in return have had your due,
“My sov'reign and my father too”
Behind your back my speech affirms
Your merit in the self-same terms;
Judge then, if I without regret
Cou'd give up all again, as yet.
61
Of all his Father's patient care,
Well answer'd in a certain case—
“Our Ithaca is not a place
“For horses, where no plains abound
“Of much extent, nor grass is found:
“Atrides, I those gifts resign
“Which suit your country more than mine.”
The little folk shou'd not presume,
But choose small things—imperial Rome
No longer can have pow'r to please
Like Tibur's peace, Tarentum's ease.
Brave, active, of the highest fame
For pleading, as Philippus came
Near the eight hour from forth the bar;
Complaining ship-street was too far
For him at such a time of day,
Beheld a person, as they say;
Just from the barber shaven clean,
Paring his nails with easy mien,
“Demetrius (speaking to his slave”
Quite apt, when his commands he gave)
“Go make enquiry and bring word,
“Where this man lives and how preferr'd,
“Whose son, to whom he pays his court?”
The lad returns and makes report—
“He's a poor man, Mena's his name,
“By trade a cryer, free from blame,
“One that can bustle, or unbend
“His mind, and free to get or spend;
“For chronies make up his delight,
“Besides a certain home at night,
“At even, when he's done his trade,
“Is at the play or the parade.”
For pleading, as Philippus came
Near the eight hour from forth the bar;
Complaining ship-street was too far
For him at such a time of day,
Beheld a person, as they say;
Just from the barber shaven clean,
Paring his nails with easy mien,
“Demetrius (speaking to his slave”
Quite apt, when his commands he gave)
“Go make enquiry and bring word,
“Where this man lives and how preferr'd,
“Whose son, to whom he pays his court?”
The lad returns and makes report—
“He's a poor man, Mena's his name,
“By trade a cryer, free from blame,
“One that can bustle, or unbend
“His mind, and free to get or spend;
63
“Besides a certain home at night,
“At even, when he's done his trade,
“Is at the play or the parade.”
I wou'd that he himself explain
The things you mention, go again,
And bid him come to sup at eve—
Poor Mena scarcely cou'd believe,
With silent wonder, and in short
Made answer in a civil sort.
“What does the scrub deny—'tis clear
“He is indifferent or in fear”—
Next day as he was at his job
Of selling trump'ry to the mob,
Philippus takes him unawares
And first salutes him—he prepares
For business his excuse to beg,
Tyed, as he sees him, by the leg,
Or he that morning had address'd,
And been before hand with his guest.
“Think that I make the matter up
“If you to-night will come and sup.”
—Content—“then after nine arrive—
“Go now and may your business thrive”—
When supper came discourse they had
Of sundry matters good and bad,
At length he's suffer'd to withdraw.
This gudgeon when he often saw
Advancing to the cover'd hook,
Untill the bait unseen he took,
A client by the morning's light,
A never-failing guest at night,
He is commanded to attend
Unto his seat his noble friend,
Just at the Latin festivals;
Mounted on horse-back he extols
The Sabine air and pleasant ways
Thro' fields, nor ceases in his praise—
Philippus laughs, and while he seeks
Fit objects for his fun and freaks,
And while he gives him to possess
Sev'n thousand sesterces—no less—
And promises by way of loan
Sev'n thousand more, besides his own,
He urges him a farm to buy—
He buys one—(not to be too dry
And tedious with this story) know
He turns a rustic from a beau,
And all his conversation now
Is of the vineyard or the plough,
Fatigues himself to death with care,
And like an old man lives to spare.
But when his sheep he lost by theft,
By murrain of his goats bereft,
His acres to no purpose till'd,
His oxen with hard labour kill'd,
Vex'd with his loss he takes his steed,
And ev'n at midnight hies with speed,
And in a passion makes his way
To Philip's house before the day;
Whom soon as Philip chanc'd to see,
Rough and untrim'd to that degree,
(Says he) my Mena, you appear
By much too harsh and too severe—
“O Patron! Mena then rejoin'd
“If I in truth must be defin'd,
“Wretch is my title to be sure—
“And by thy genius, I conjure,
“By your right hand and Gods, I pray,
“Restore me to my former way”—
As soon as any man perceives
That he the better option leaves,
Let him return before too late
Unto his abdicated state.
The things you mention, go again,
And bid him come to sup at eve—
Poor Mena scarcely cou'd believe,
With silent wonder, and in short
Made answer in a civil sort.
“What does the scrub deny—'tis clear
“He is indifferent or in fear”—
Next day as he was at his job
Of selling trump'ry to the mob,
Philippus takes him unawares
And first salutes him—he prepares
For business his excuse to beg,
Tyed, as he sees him, by the leg,
Or he that morning had address'd,
And been before hand with his guest.
“Think that I make the matter up
“If you to-night will come and sup.”
—Content—“then after nine arrive—
“Go now and may your business thrive”—
When supper came discourse they had
Of sundry matters good and bad,
At length he's suffer'd to withdraw.
This gudgeon when he often saw
Advancing to the cover'd hook,
Untill the bait unseen he took,
65
A never-failing guest at night,
He is commanded to attend
Unto his seat his noble friend,
Just at the Latin festivals;
Mounted on horse-back he extols
The Sabine air and pleasant ways
Thro' fields, nor ceases in his praise—
Philippus laughs, and while he seeks
Fit objects for his fun and freaks,
And while he gives him to possess
Sev'n thousand sesterces—no less—
And promises by way of loan
Sev'n thousand more, besides his own,
He urges him a farm to buy—
He buys one—(not to be too dry
And tedious with this story) know
He turns a rustic from a beau,
And all his conversation now
Is of the vineyard or the plough,
Fatigues himself to death with care,
And like an old man lives to spare.
But when his sheep he lost by theft,
By murrain of his goats bereft,
His acres to no purpose till'd,
His oxen with hard labour kill'd,
Vex'd with his loss he takes his steed,
And ev'n at midnight hies with speed,
And in a passion makes his way
To Philip's house before the day;
67
Rough and untrim'd to that degree,
(Says he) my Mena, you appear
By much too harsh and too severe—
“O Patron! Mena then rejoin'd
“If I in truth must be defin'd,
“Wretch is my title to be sure—
“And by thy genius, I conjure,
“By your right hand and Gods, I pray,
“Restore me to my former way”—
As soon as any man perceives
That he the better option leaves,
Let him return before too late
Unto his abdicated state.
'Tis just each person shou'd be clear,
What is the compass of his sphere.
What is the compass of his sphere.
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EPISTLE VIII. To Celsus Albinovanus.
Writing to Celsus he wou'd have him admonished by the Muse to bear his good fortune with moderation and decency.
Wish thou all joy and good success,
Who now with Nero has found grace,
And got his secretary's place.
Shou'd he enquire about my state,
Tell him my threats are fair and great;
But for performance on my plan
Am not a good nor happy man—
Not that the hail my vines has marr'd,
Or frosts destroy'd my olive-yard,
Nor dies my heifer, or my goat
With murrain out in fields remote,
But that diseas'd with more defect
Of mind, than body, I object
To hear or learn things for my ease,
And faithful doctors salves displease;
I'm angry with the friends that strive
To make this drowsy corpse alive;
71
At Rome I still for Tibur sigh,
At Tibur sickle, as the wind,
I for the city am inclin'd.
Next mind to ask him, how he wears,
How goes himself and his affairs:
How with the noble youth he stands,
And with the cohort, he commands:
Give him much joy, if all be well,
Then in his ear this precept tell—
“Bear thou good luck with meekness due;
“And so your friends shall bear with you.”
These, and the subsequent lines, are all ironical, and a dry rub upon Celsus, and particularly justify those lines of Persius, viz.
Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amicoTangit, et admissus circum præcordia ludit.
73
EPISTLE IX. To Claudius Nero.
He recommends Septimius to him, and requests that he wou'd receive into a place in his friendship.
Best knows what grace with you I find;
For when he prays in such a way,
As to compel me to obey,
That I in such a point of view
Wou'd place him as to come to you,
One worthy to be lov'd and hous'd,
By him, who merit has espous'd,
When he supposes that my fate
Is nearer to your intimate
Than I can possibly descry,
He knows my secrets more than I.
Much did I urge to be excus'd,
But was in a degree confus'd,
Lest I shou'd seem to act a part,
And to dissemble in my heart,
Pretending that my pow'r was none
Quite bent on serving number one.
Thus to avoid a worse offence
I fly to town-bred confidence.
75
Of friendship merit your applause,
The bearer in your list enroll,
A brave good fellow and a soul.
77
EPISTLE X. To Fuscus Aristius.
He extols a country life, with which he is captivated, to Fuscus, a lover of the town.
I, that the country best approve,
To Fuscus, recommend my love;
Who places in the town his bliss,
At wond'rous odds, alone in this,
We in all other things agree,
As loving-like, as twins can be.
With spirits of fraternal kind,
Each is, or pleas'd, or disinclin'd,
Each nods to each, in constant mood,
Like two old pidgeons of the wood—
You keep the nest—but Horace roves
To streams and moss-grown rocks and groves.
Do you ask why?—I live and reign,
Er'e since I treated with disdain
Those very scenes, which with such cries,
You're all extolling to the skies;
And like the slave, that flies the priest,
As sick of a perpetual feast;
I want the bread the country bakes
Much rather than your honey'd cakes.
Agreeably to nature's call
If we must live, then first of all,
You shou'd select a pleasant spot,
Where you may build your little cot;
And can you know a better place,
Than that which rural beauties grace?
Are warmer summers found elsewhere,
Or is there any milder air
To which a man may have recourse,
What time the Dog-star is in force,
Or when the Lion, in his turn,
Does by the Sun's intenseness burn?
Is there a place, where envious spleen,
Breaks less upon your sleep serene?
Say, do the Lybian stones excel
The grass in sightliness or smell;
Or does your water, while it strives
To burst the pipes e'er it arrives,
Run purer in the street, than those,
Whose rapid current murmuring flows?
Nay, wood is rais'd to please the eyes,
Where variegated pillars rise,
And for applause those buildings stand,
Which have a prospect of the land.
Expel dame nature, how you will,
She must herself recover still,
Breaking thro' fashion by degrees
And vain caprice with her decrees.
He that has not discerning sense,
To see how far in excellence,
The tinctures of Aquinum vie,
With purple of Sidonian die,
More loss can never undergo
Than those, who have not wit to know
The truth from that which is not so.
Whom wealth and power too joyful make
At a reverse of things will quake;
Of ought if you are over-fond,
On resignation you'll despond:
One in a cot, for bliss indeed,
Kings and their fav'rites may exceed:
To Fuscus, recommend my love;
Who places in the town his bliss,
At wond'rous odds, alone in this,
We in all other things agree,
As loving-like, as twins can be.
With spirits of fraternal kind,
Each is, or pleas'd, or disinclin'd,
Each nods to each, in constant mood,
Like two old pidgeons of the wood—
You keep the nest—but Horace roves
To streams and moss-grown rocks and groves.
Do you ask why?—I live and reign,
Er'e since I treated with disdain
Those very scenes, which with such cries,
You're all extolling to the skies;
And like the slave, that flies the priest,
As sick of a perpetual feast;
I want the bread the country bakes
Much rather than your honey'd cakes.
Agreeably to nature's call
If we must live, then first of all,
79
Where you may build your little cot;
And can you know a better place,
Than that which rural beauties grace?
Are warmer summers found elsewhere,
Or is there any milder air
To which a man may have recourse,
What time the Dog-star is in force,
Or when the Lion, in his turn,
Does by the Sun's intenseness burn?
Is there a place, where envious spleen,
Breaks less upon your sleep serene?
Say, do the Lybian stones excel
The grass in sightliness or smell;
Or does your water, while it strives
To burst the pipes e'er it arrives,
Run purer in the street, than those,
Whose rapid current murmuring flows?
Nay, wood is rais'd to please the eyes,
Where variegated pillars rise,
And for applause those buildings stand,
Which have a prospect of the land.
Expel dame nature, how you will,
She must herself recover still,
Breaking thro' fashion by degrees
And vain caprice with her decrees.
He that has not discerning sense,
To see how far in excellence,
The tinctures of Aquinum vie,
With purple of Sidonian die,
81
Than those, who have not wit to know
The truth from that which is not so.
Whom wealth and power too joyful make
At a reverse of things will quake;
Of ought if you are over-fond,
On resignation you'll despond:
One in a cot, for bliss indeed,
Kings and their fav'rites may exceed:
The stag, more warlike than the steed,
Expell'd him from the common mead,
Till long time worsted in the end
He call'd on man to stand his friend,
And took the bit—but when he came
Stern conq'ror from the field of fame;
He cou'd not of the rider quit
His back, nor mouth from out the bit.
Expell'd him from the common mead,
Till long time worsted in the end
He call'd on man to stand his friend,
And took the bit—but when he came
Stern conq'ror from the field of fame;
He cou'd not of the rider quit
His back, nor mouth from out the bit.
Thus he that fears he shall be poor,
Must loss of liberty endure,
More precious far than gold, must bear
A master, and such fetters wear
As shall eternally enthrall,
Because his income is too small.
Must loss of liberty endure,
More precious far than gold, must bear
A master, and such fetters wear
As shall eternally enthrall,
Because his income is too small.
A man's concerns that will not do,
May be resembled to a shoe,
Which made too large will soon subvert
Your feet, and if too small will hurt.
May be resembled to a shoe,
Which made too large will soon subvert
Your feet, and if too small will hurt.
If you're contented with good cheer,
My Fuscus, then your wisdom's clear,
And me your old ally chastise,
Appearing busy in your eyes,
To gather more than shou'd suffice.
That money, which we scrape and crave,
To all's a tyrant, or a slave,
And yet 'tis easy to decide,
It shou'd be guided, and not guide.
My Fuscus, then your wisdom's clear,
83
Appearing busy in your eyes,
To gather more than shou'd suffice.
That money, which we scrape and crave,
To all's a tyrant, or a slave,
And yet 'tis easy to decide,
It shou'd be guided, and not guide.
These lines I wrote in idle vein,
Behind Vacuna's mould'ring fane,
Happy in every point of view,
Except the joy to be with you.
Behind Vacuna's mould'ring fane,
Happy in every point of view,
Except the joy to be with you.
85
EPISTLE XI. To Bullatius returned from Asia.
He asserts that it is of no consequence to the happiness of life, in what place any man dwells, since this depends upon peace of mind.
And Lesbos of such high esteem?
How Samos, that is built so neat,
And Sardis, Crœsus' royal seat:
Is Colophon, or Smyrna's fort,
Nobler or meaner than report?
Or are they each a paltry scene
To Tibur, and his meadows green?
Wou'd it your utmost wishes crown,
To have some rich Attalic town,
Or do you Lebedus admire,
While land and sea the trav'ler tire,
Tho' Lebedus be more obscure
Than Gabii, or Fidenæ, sure;
Yet cou'd I live in such a spot,
Forgetting all, of all forgot,
Rather than not command the sea
To bluster far enough from me—
But they, that come from Capua here,
Whom rain, and muck, and dirt besmear,
87
Nor when a man contracts a cold,
The stoves and bagnios will he praise,
So as to love them all his days.
Nor tho' the Southern tempests reign,
Wou'd that the merchant-man constrain
To sell his ship, across the main.
With one that's well, and wise to boot,
Rhodes and fair Mitylene will suit,
As a thick cloak, when summer glows,
Or linnen draw'rs in piercing snows,
Or Tiber, when the winter roars,
Or in Mid-August grates and blow'rs.
While yet you may, and fortune's smile
Attends you, in th'applauding stile
The praise of absent Rhodes resume,
Of Samos, Chios, here at Rome.
Whatever pros'prous hour below,
The hands of providence bestow,
Let gratitude confirm your own,
Nor for the livelong year postpone,
To use such things as best can please,
That you may say, I've liv'd at ease,
Whatever region you possess:
For if right reason and address,
And not a place that over-bears
Wide ocean, can remove our cares,
They change their climate, not their soul,
Who go in ships from pole to pole.
89
We launch our ships, and chariots drive
In order for a happy lot;
But that you seek is on the spot,
And ev'n at Ulubræ might be,
For men of equanimity.
91
EPISTLE XII. To Iccius.
That he is rich alone, who makes good use of his finances. He writes also of the present state of the Roman affairs.
If, as you take Agrippa's dues,
Sicilian wealth you rightly use,
A greater affluence, my friend,
From Jove himself cou'd not descend.
Cease murm'ring, for you cannot plead
You're poor, and have the things you need,
If well with belly, and with back,
And for your feet you nothing lack,
I do not see to make you glad,
How ev'n imperial wealth wou'd add.
If midst such plenty and such sums
You starve, on herbs and miller's thumbs,
So very near you'll skin the flint,
That you will raise at least a mint,
And fortune shortly shalt behold,
A pow'ring in a flood of gold,
Because, mere money, it is plain,
Can ne'er avail to change the grain,
Or that it is your thought and tone,
That all things yield to worth alone.
What wonder, if his neighbours cows,
Upon his fields and meadows brouze,
If the old sophist's active mind
Be wandring from the man disjoin'd;
When you a scrambler, and a sneak,
Will after nothing trivial seek,
But still to things exalted strain,
As how the shores the floods contain,
What rules the year, if on the pole
The stars self-mov'd, or guided roll,
What cause the Lunar orb benights,
And what again her beauty lights,
What is the pow'r, and what th'intent
Of all this dissonant consent?
Who most with reason disagrees,
Stertinius, or Empedocles?
Sicilian wealth you rightly use,
A greater affluence, my friend,
From Jove himself cou'd not descend.
Cease murm'ring, for you cannot plead
You're poor, and have the things you need,
If well with belly, and with back,
And for your feet you nothing lack,
I do not see to make you glad,
How ev'n imperial wealth wou'd add.
If midst such plenty and such sums
You starve, on herbs and miller's thumbs,
So very near you'll skin the flint,
That you will raise at least a mint,
And fortune shortly shalt behold,
A pow'ring in a flood of gold,
Because, mere money, it is plain,
Can ne'er avail to change the grain,
Or that it is your thought and tone,
That all things yield to worth alone.
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Upon his fields and meadows brouze,
If the old sophist's active mind
Be wandring from the man disjoin'd;
When you a scrambler, and a sneak,
Will after nothing trivial seek,
But still to things exalted strain,
As how the shores the floods contain,
What rules the year, if on the pole
The stars self-mov'd, or guided roll,
What cause the Lunar orb benights,
And what again her beauty lights,
What is the pow'r, and what th'intent
Of all this dissonant consent?
Who most with reason disagrees,
Stertinius, or Empedocles?
But whether butchering of a rough,
Or leeks and chives, your plate you stuff,
Use Grosphus as a friend, and give
With freedom what he will receive:
I'll warrant Grosphus, that his pray'r
Shall only be for what is fair.
Or leeks and chives, your plate you stuff,
Use Grosphus as a friend, and give
With freedom what he will receive:
I'll warrant Grosphus, that his pray'r
Shall only be for what is fair.
One vast benevolence may reap,
When good men want, true friends are cheap.
When good men want, true friends are cheap.
Now that you may not be in doubt,
How our affairs at Rome turn out,
The Spanish and Armenian bands,
By Nero and Agrippa's hands,
Are fall'n—Phraates on his knee,
Does to great Cæsar's terms agree;
And golden plenty all around
Full-horn'd, th'Italian crops has crown'd.
How our affairs at Rome turn out,
The Spanish and Armenian bands,
By Nero and Agrippa's hands,
95
Does to great Cæsar's terms agree;
And golden plenty all around
Full-horn'd, th'Italian crops has crown'd.
97
EPISTLE XIII. To Vinnius Asella.
He requires of Vinnius that in presenting his books to Augustus he wou'd have a due respect to the timing and decency of doing it.
By frequent and by full commands,
Upon your setting out reveal'd,
Deliver up these volumes seal'd,
To Cæsar—that is—shou'd you find,
He's well, in spirits and inclin'd
To ask for trifles of this kind.
Lest zealous for my works and me
You shou'd be thought to make too free,
And bring an odium, if you press
With ill-advis'd officiousness.
But if my budget gall your back,
Rather demolish all the pack,
Than on the pavement rudely throw
Before Augustus, when you go,
To bring a jest in the event,
Upon your Asinine descent,
And be the talk of all the town—
Use your best efforts up and down,
Through sloughs and rivers, dale and hill,
And when your purpose you fulfil,
99
You with my volume shou'd advance
As country boobies hug a lamb,
Or Pyrrhia, after many a dram,
Stol'n yarn, or routed from his nap,
The drunken cit his fudling-cap.
Lest by a blunder you shou'd say,
How much you sweated all the way
In bringing verse, which may succeed
To make great Cæsar hear and read.
Intreated by the poet's pray'r,
Proceed—good-bye—be well aware,
Lest you shou'd stumble with your load,
And break my orders on the road.
101
EPISTLE XIV. To his Steward in the Country.
He reprehends his Steward's desire to live in the city, and in the mean time capriciously despising the country, which aforetime he secretly longed for.
O steward! of my small estate,
Whose woods and fields new life create
In me, tho' scorn'd by you thro' pride,
Where five good families reside;
And which in days of old sent down
Five Senators to Baria's town:
Let's try, if I the best succeed,
In plucking up each thorn and weed,
That in the inward man is found,
Or you in clearing of the ground;
And which the least offence has got,
Or Horace, or his Sabine spot?
Whose woods and fields new life create
In me, tho' scorn'd by you thro' pride,
Where five good families reside;
And which in days of old sent down
Five Senators to Baria's town:
Let's try, if I the best succeed,
In plucking up each thorn and weed,
That in the inward man is found,
Or you in clearing of the ground;
And which the least offence has got,
Or Horace, or his Sabine spot?
Albeit the piety and woe
Of Lamia, which no bounds will know,
For his lost brother still severe,
Detain me for a season here;
Yet all my heart, and all my mind,
Are solely thither-wards inclin'd,
And fondly longs to break abrupt,
On all barriers that interrupt.
I say the country-life is best;
You for the citizen contest;
They with their own are in disgust,
Who for another's portion lust,
And each of us all sense disclaims,
Who either place unjustly blames;
The mind's in fault, which cannot shape
It's flight from it's own self to 'scape.
When you was drudge, for country air
You sigh'd with many a secret pray'r;
But now you're to a steward rais'd,
The town, the stews, and baths, are prais'd:
I have a more consistent heart,
And always pensively depart,
Whenever back to Rome my fate
Drags me to business that I hate.
From different bents we disagree,
For what appears to such as thee,
All horrid scenes, and desart waste,
Are pleasant to a man of taste,
Who thinks with me, and must despise
Things that are charming in your eyes.
The greasy taverns, and the stews,
I know, make you the city chuse.
Besides, I rear within my fence,
The pepper, and the frankinsence;
Nor yield my rocks the grape so quick,
Nor have you there a tavern tick,
Nor minstrel harlot, to whose sound
You gambol cumb'rous to the ground.
And yet you plough with might and main
The fallows, that too long have lain,
And finely tend the unyok'd beeves
And fill them with fresh gather'd leaves;
Besides the brook, in case of wet,
Adds to an idle fellow's sweat,
Best taught by embankations there,
The sunny meadow land to spare.
Of Lamia, which no bounds will know,
For his lost brother still severe,
Detain me for a season here;
Yet all my heart, and all my mind,
Are solely thither-wards inclin'd,
And fondly longs to break abrupt,
On all barriers that interrupt.
I say the country-life is best;
You for the citizen contest;
103
Who for another's portion lust,
And each of us all sense disclaims,
Who either place unjustly blames;
The mind's in fault, which cannot shape
It's flight from it's own self to 'scape.
When you was drudge, for country air
You sigh'd with many a secret pray'r;
But now you're to a steward rais'd,
The town, the stews, and baths, are prais'd:
I have a more consistent heart,
And always pensively depart,
Whenever back to Rome my fate
Drags me to business that I hate.
From different bents we disagree,
For what appears to such as thee,
All horrid scenes, and desart waste,
Are pleasant to a man of taste,
Who thinks with me, and must despise
Things that are charming in your eyes.
The greasy taverns, and the stews,
I know, make you the city chuse.
Besides, I rear within my fence,
The pepper, and the frankinsence;
Nor yield my rocks the grape so quick,
Nor have you there a tavern tick,
Nor minstrel harlot, to whose sound
You gambol cumb'rous to the ground.
And yet you plough with might and main
The fallows, that too long have lain,
105
And fill them with fresh gather'd leaves;
Besides the brook, in case of wet,
Adds to an idle fellow's sweat,
Best taught by embankations there,
The sunny meadow land to spare.
Come now attend, and you shall know
The reason why we differ so;
He who well-dress'd in essenc'd hair,
Cou'd scot-free please the venal fair,
He who from jovial noon to night,
Cou'd quaff Falernian with delight,
Now loves short meals, and sweet repose,
Where springs green grass, and riv'let flows;
Nor is it at one time of day,
So much a shame to have been gay,
As not to know one's hand to stay.
There's no one with an evil glance,
On my possessions looks askance,
Nor poisons there with secret spite,
Or slander's more audacious bite.
The neighbours smile to see me toil,
Clearing the clods and stone the soil—
You'd rather munch upon the fare,
Your fellow-slaves each day prepare,
There are your wishes and your joy—
Mean time the cunning errant-boy
Grudges the fewel and the flocks,
And what the kitchen-garden stocks.
The ox wants trappings on his back,
The plough wou'd suit the lazy hack;
But I determine in that case,
That each shall keep his proper place.
The reason why we differ so;
He who well-dress'd in essenc'd hair,
Cou'd scot-free please the venal fair,
He who from jovial noon to night,
Cou'd quaff Falernian with delight,
Now loves short meals, and sweet repose,
Where springs green grass, and riv'let flows;
Nor is it at one time of day,
So much a shame to have been gay,
As not to know one's hand to stay.
There's no one with an evil glance,
On my possessions looks askance,
Nor poisons there with secret spite,
Or slander's more audacious bite.
The neighbours smile to see me toil,
Clearing the clods and stone the soil—
You'd rather munch upon the fare,
Your fellow-slaves each day prepare,
There are your wishes and your joy—
Mean time the cunning errant-boy
Grudges the fewel and the flocks,
And what the kitchen-garden stocks.
107
The plough wou'd suit the lazy hack;
But I determine in that case,
That each shall keep his proper place.
109
EPISTLE XV. To Vala.
Upon an engagement with himself to go to Velia and Salernum, he makes enquiry how it is to winter with them, and into the temperature of the air.
At Velia—how's the winter there,
And what's Salernum for its air?
What set of men are there bestow'd?
Is there a tolerable road?
For Musa warrants on his fee,
That Baiæ is no place for me,
Yet makes me odious at the wells,
While his prescription me compels
To use cold water every day,
Before the ice is gone away.
In truth, the village justly sighs,
To see us myrtle groves despise,
And likewise that chalybeate stream,
Held in such eminent esteem,
As men of chronic ills it rids;
And grudges at those invalids,
Who dare their breast and head commit
To Clusian waters, and think fit
To go to Gabii, and those parts,
Where with the cold a traveller smarts.
The wonted place I now must change,
And Inns accustom'd for the strange.
The horses must be driven by—
Hollo! quoth Bald-Face, where do you hie?
Why not to Cumæ, nor to stay
At Baiæ, will the rider say,
And pull in wrath the left-hand rein;
But angry speeches are in vain,
For horses are not apt to fear
Rough words, but in the bit they hear.
And what's Salernum for its air?
What set of men are there bestow'd?
Is there a tolerable road?
For Musa warrants on his fee,
That Baiæ is no place for me,
Yet makes me odious at the wells,
While his prescription me compels
To use cold water every day,
Before the ice is gone away.
In truth, the village justly sighs,
To see us myrtle groves despise,
And likewise that chalybeate stream,
Held in such eminent esteem,
As men of chronic ills it rids;
And grudges at those invalids,
Who dare their breast and head commit
To Clusian waters, and think fit
111
Where with the cold a traveller smarts.
The wonted place I now must change,
And Inns accustom'd for the strange.
The horses must be driven by—
Hollo! quoth Bald-Face, where do you hie?
Why not to Cumæ, nor to stay
At Baiæ, will the rider say,
And pull in wrath the left-hand rein;
But angry speeches are in vain,
For horses are not apt to fear
Rough words, but in the bit they hear.
Your letter too must let me know,
At which place rankest harvests grow;
Whether rain-water there they save,
Or in perennial fountains lave.
For how they there are serv'd with wine,
At present, is no care of mine.
When at my seat the bowl I crown,
I can make any thing go down;
But when I came upon the coast,
The rich and mellow suit me most,
Which may all anxious thoughts subdue,
And raising up each pleasing view,
Flow in my veins and spirit too.
Which may a choice of words suggest,
In which my youth may be exprest,
And urg'd to the Lucanian Fair.—
Next mention if the country there
Abound with hares, or nurture boars,
And write what shallows near the shores
Most fishes, and sea-urchins breed,
That I with you so well may feed,
As to do credit to the place,
And part with a Phæacian face.
To all these queries you, my friend,
Must speak, and Horace shall attend.
Mænius, who manfully had spent
His father's, and his mother's rent,
Begun upon the comic plan,
And vague from post to pillar ran.
He with a citizen wou'd deal
As with a foe, denied a meal:
Made up of most inveterate lies,
Who ought on any wou'd devise;
The dearth, and hurricane, and draught
Of markets, whatsoe'er he caught
He greedily bestow'd within,
And when with winkers at his sin,
And those poor souls he fill'd with dread,
He little, or ev'n nothing sped,
Whole harslets at a time he'd cram,
With all th'intestines of a lamb,
Devouring as his proper share,
What wou'd have sated many a bear,
Now being frugal, as it were:
So as to urge; that men shou'd brand
The guts of Epicurus' band.
Yet this same Mænius, when he turn'd
Some special booty that he earn'd,
All into ashes, and to smoke,
Then wou'd he Hercules invoke,
And swear he cou'd not think it strange,
That men shou'd eat both house and grange,
While they fat thrushes cou'd prepare,
And feast upon a banging bear.
At which place rankest harvests grow;
Whether rain-water there they save,
Or in perennial fountains lave.
For how they there are serv'd with wine,
At present, is no care of mine.
When at my seat the bowl I crown,
I can make any thing go down;
But when I came upon the coast,
The rich and mellow suit me most,
Which may all anxious thoughts subdue,
And raising up each pleasing view,
Flow in my veins and spirit too.
Which may a choice of words suggest,
In which my youth may be exprest,
And urg'd to the Lucanian Fair.—
Next mention if the country there
113
And write what shallows near the shores
Most fishes, and sea-urchins breed,
That I with you so well may feed,
As to do credit to the place,
And part with a Phæacian face.
To all these queries you, my friend,
Must speak, and Horace shall attend.
Mænius, who manfully had spent
His father's, and his mother's rent,
Begun upon the comic plan,
And vague from post to pillar ran.
He with a citizen wou'd deal
As with a foe, denied a meal:
Made up of most inveterate lies,
Who ought on any wou'd devise;
The dearth, and hurricane, and draught
Of markets, whatsoe'er he caught
He greedily bestow'd within,
And when with winkers at his sin,
And those poor souls he fill'd with dread,
He little, or ev'n nothing sped,
Whole harslets at a time he'd cram,
With all th'intestines of a lamb,
Devouring as his proper share,
What wou'd have sated many a bear,
Now being frugal, as it were:
115
The guts of Epicurus' band.
Yet this same Mænius, when he turn'd
Some special booty that he earn'd,
All into ashes, and to smoke,
Then wou'd he Hercules invoke,
And swear he cou'd not think it strange,
That men shou'd eat both house and grange,
While they fat thrushes cou'd prepare,
And feast upon a banging bear.
In fact, ev'n such a one am I,
And when I cannot beg, or buy,
Am very stout 'mongst sorry fare,
But midst the viands nice and rare:
I have another thing to say,
That happiest of all men are they,
Who by neat villas make it clear,
They're worth some thousand pounds a year.
And when I cannot beg, or buy,
Am very stout 'mongst sorry fare,
But midst the viands nice and rare:
I have another thing to say,
That happiest of all men are they,
Who by neat villas make it clear,
They're worth some thousand pounds a year.
Antonius Musa, a physician, celebrated at Rome, and all over Italy, for his curing Augustus, in the year of Rome 731, of a grievous disease, by making him bath and drink the waters; for which event, he received a large sum of money both from Cæsar and the Senate, with the privilege of the gold ring, which he had not before on account of his being only a free'd-man.
117
EPISTLE XVI. To Quintius.
After he has described the shape and situation of his Sabine farm, and mentioned his happiness in living there, he enquires into the life of his friend, and warns him not to depend upon vulgar report, but that he should prefer the reality, rather than the character of a good man.
Lest you shou'd with yourself debate,
Best friend, concerning my estate;
Whether it feeds it's lord with corn,
Or olive-yards the spot adorn,
Or rich with fruit and meads it shines,
Or elms, that are array'd with vines;
To you I will diffusely write
Of its dimensions, shape, and site.
A chain of mountains wou'd appear,
Did not a valley interfere,
Which wou'd be darken'd by the shade,
Did not the morning sun invade,
Where on the right-hand side 'tis cleft,
And beams at eve upon the left:
What if upon my thorny fence
Grow cornels, and the dam'sines dense,
If oak and holmes, whose acrons show'r
To feed the beasts, their lord embow'r?
You'd think Tarentum nearer Rome,
In all its verdant pride and bloom.
A fountain too, that well might claim
The rank to give a river name,
(Than which cool Hebrus bounding Thrace,
Shows not a more transparent face)
Flows fraught with salutary aid,
When head or bowels pains invade.
This sweet retreat, which dale and hill,
Believe me, are enchanting still,
Preserve your Horace hale and stout,
What time September comes about.
Best friend, concerning my estate;
Whether it feeds it's lord with corn,
Or olive-yards the spot adorn,
Or rich with fruit and meads it shines,
Or elms, that are array'd with vines;
To you I will diffusely write
Of its dimensions, shape, and site.
A chain of mountains wou'd appear,
Did not a valley interfere,
Which wou'd be darken'd by the shade,
Did not the morning sun invade,
Where on the right-hand side 'tis cleft,
And beams at eve upon the left:
What if upon my thorny fence
Grow cornels, and the dam'sines dense,
If oak and holmes, whose acrons show'r
To feed the beasts, their lord embow'r?
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In all its verdant pride and bloom.
A fountain too, that well might claim
The rank to give a river name,
(Than which cool Hebrus bounding Thrace,
Shows not a more transparent face)
Flows fraught with salutary aid,
When head or bowels pains invade.
This sweet retreat, which dale and hill,
Believe me, are enchanting still,
Preserve your Horace hale and stout,
What time September comes about.
You're a good man, if you take care
To earn the character, you bear.
I will all Rome have long agreed,
That you're a happy man indeed;
But fear from symptoms, that I trace,
You any evidence embrace,
Rather than conscience in this case;
And think man's happiness the prize
Of others, than the good and wise.
Lest, tho' the people call you sound
In mind and body, there be found
A fever, which you wou'd conceal,
In order to resume your meal,
Until a nervous trembling seize
Your hands, which with good cheer you grease.
A fool's false shame his sores will hide,
Till med'cines are in vain applied.
If any man shou'd name to thee,
Fights you had fought by land and sea,
And strive your ticklish ear to please,
With compliments as great as these:
“May Jove! and all the pow'rs divine!
“Who guard the common-wealth and thine,
“Still make it doubtful on review,
“Which is most anxious of the two,
“Or you for Rome, or Rome for you!”
What wou'd you challenge as your own,
That which is Cæsar's praise alone?
When you sit still to hear men call
Thee wise, and without blame at all,
Pray will you answer to these terms,
And warrant what a fool affirms.
'Tis granted I, as well as you,
Love to be held both wise and true.
But he, who gives this praise to-day,
The next can take it all away;
Ev'n as, when they have giv'n their voice
For one unworthy of their choice
As consul, they can turn him out
Soon as the year is come about—
“Resign—'tis ours:”—with aching heart
I do resign, and must depart.
To earn the character, you bear.
I will all Rome have long agreed,
That you're a happy man indeed;
But fear from symptoms, that I trace,
You any evidence embrace,
Rather than conscience in this case;
And think man's happiness the prize
Of others, than the good and wise.
Lest, tho' the people call you sound
In mind and body, there be found
A fever, which you wou'd conceal,
In order to resume your meal,
Until a nervous trembling seize
Your hands, which with good cheer you grease.
A fool's false shame his sores will hide,
Till med'cines are in vain applied.
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Fights you had fought by land and sea,
And strive your ticklish ear to please,
With compliments as great as these:
“May Jove! and all the pow'rs divine!
“Who guard the common-wealth and thine,
“Still make it doubtful on review,
“Which is most anxious of the two,
“Or you for Rome, or Rome for you!”
What wou'd you challenge as your own,
That which is Cæsar's praise alone?
When you sit still to hear men call
Thee wise, and without blame at all,
Pray will you answer to these terms,
And warrant what a fool affirms.
'Tis granted I, as well as you,
Love to be held both wise and true.
But he, who gives this praise to-day,
The next can take it all away;
Ev'n as, when they have giv'n their voice
For one unworthy of their choice
As consul, they can turn him out
Soon as the year is come about—
“Resign—'tis ours:”—with aching heart
I do resign, and must depart.
But shou'd the same tongues call me rogue,
Or tax me with each vice in vogue,
Or urge, I with a rope had tied
My father's neck, until he died.
Shou'd I change colour, or be stung
At such lies of an evil tongue?
Wrong-prais'd who's pleas'd, and wrong-arraign'd
Who's griev'd, except the false and feign'd?
Who then is good?—I'll tell thee who—
He that observes with rev'rence due
The statutes of the Conscript seers,
And law and equity reveres:
Who great and many things right fair
Determines, when he takes the chair;
Whose bond will property maintain,
And testimony causes gain.
Yet he is better understood
In his own house and neighbourhood,
To be all filthiness within,
And clad but in a specious skin.
If by a slave it shou'd be said,
I have not robb'd your house, nor fled,
I answer you have your reward,
Ungall'd your shoulders with the cord.
I've kill'd no man—you feed no crows
Upon the gallows—I suppose,
Still I am virtuous good and wise,
All which your Sabine friend denies.
Or tax me with each vice in vogue,
Or urge, I with a rope had tied
My father's neck, until he died.
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At such lies of an evil tongue?
Wrong-prais'd who's pleas'd, and wrong-arraign'd
Who's griev'd, except the false and feign'd?
Who then is good?—I'll tell thee who—
He that observes with rev'rence due
The statutes of the Conscript seers,
And law and equity reveres:
Who great and many things right fair
Determines, when he takes the chair;
Whose bond will property maintain,
And testimony causes gain.
Yet he is better understood
In his own house and neighbourhood,
To be all filthiness within,
And clad but in a specious skin.
If by a slave it shou'd be said,
I have not robb'd your house, nor fled,
I answer you have your reward,
Ungall'd your shoulders with the cord.
I've kill'd no man—you feed no crows
Upon the gallows—I suppose,
Still I am virtuous good and wise,
All which your Sabine friend denies.
The cautious wolf the pit forbears,
As does the hawk suspected snares,
Nor kite the cover'd hook will take—
Wise men love good for goodness sake.
If you from guilt still keep you clear,
'Tis on the principle of fear:
But sure to come off safe and sound,
You sacred and prophane confound.
For if of garner'd beans you stole,
From out a thousand but one bowl,
The lighter is my loss and grief,
But you by no means less a thief.
As does the hawk suspected snares,
Nor kite the cover'd hook will take—
Wise men love good for goodness sake.
If you from guilt still keep you clear,
'Tis on the principle of fear:
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You sacred and prophane confound.
For if of garner'd beans you stole,
From out a thousand but one bowl,
The lighter is my loss and grief,
But you by no means less a thief.
An honest man upon your scheme,
Whom every bar and court esteem,
If he appease the pow'rs divine,
At any day with beeves or swine,
Upon Apollo loud he calls,
And after father Janus bawls,
Mean time he mutters to himself,
As dreading hearers, “Charming elf!
“Laverna! goddess of deceit,
“Grant me the happy knack to cheat!
“Grant me a seeming honest face,
“And full of sanctified grimace:
“In night my gross offences shroud,
“And o'er my knav'ry cast a cloud!”
I cannot see, the niggard dupe,
Who for a farthing deigns to stoop,
Stuck in the road—how he can be
In any circumstance more free,
Or better than a common slave;
For he that is so prone to crave,
Must ever lead a life of dread,
And one with terrors in his head,
Cannot have freedom in my sense—
Whom every bar and court esteem,
If he appease the pow'rs divine,
At any day with beeves or swine,
Upon Apollo loud he calls,
And after father Janus bawls,
Mean time he mutters to himself,
As dreading hearers, “Charming elf!
“Laverna! goddess of deceit,
“Grant me the happy knack to cheat!
“Grant me a seeming honest face,
“And full of sanctified grimace:
“In night my gross offences shroud,
“And o'er my knav'ry cast a cloud!”
I cannot see, the niggard dupe,
Who for a farthing deigns to stoop,
Stuck in the road—how he can be
In any circumstance more free,
Or better than a common slave;
For he that is so prone to crave,
Must ever lead a life of dread,
And one with terrors in his head,
Cannot have freedom in my sense—
They lose their weapons of defence,
And all desert fair virtue's post
That hurry, who shall scrape the most.
Yet if this slave a price will fetch,
'Tis better not destroy the wretch:
He may turn out a useful hand,
To feed the flock, or plough the land,
Let him to sea, and winter there,
To stock the market and the fair.
127
That hurry, who shall scrape the most.
Yet if this slave a price will fetch,
'Tis better not destroy the wretch:
He may turn out a useful hand,
To feed the flock, or plough the land,
Let him to sea, and winter there,
To stock the market and the fair.
A wise and good man will be bold
To say with Bacchus kept in hold:
“O king of Thebans! how much pain
“Will you compel me to sustain,
“So much unworthy this foul play?”
Why I will take your goods away—
“My cattle, bedding, and my plate,
“I do suppose—then take them straight.”
Beneath a surly keeper's nod
You shall be pris'ner here, “A God
“Shall save me, whenso'er I choose,
“And all these bonds and fetters loose.”
As hinting to the last event,
Death here, I think, the poet meant;
For death's the extremity suppos'd,
By which the line of life is clos'd.
To say with Bacchus kept in hold:
“O king of Thebans! how much pain
“Will you compel me to sustain,
“So much unworthy this foul play?”
Why I will take your goods away—
“My cattle, bedding, and my plate,
“I do suppose—then take them straight.”
Beneath a surly keeper's nod
You shall be pris'ner here, “A God
“Shall save me, whenso'er I choose,
“And all these bonds and fetters loose.”
As hinting to the last event,
Death here, I think, the poet meant;
For death's the extremity suppos'd,
By which the line of life is clos'd.
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EPISTLE XVII. To Scæva.
He admonishes Scæva not to despise the friendship of people in Power, and that in his cast of life, he should rather imitate Aristippus than Diogenes.
Tho', Scæva, of yourself discrete,
You know how with grandees to treat,
Yet still to these remarks attend,
And take th'opinion of a friend,
Who'll teach you things of great concern,
Himself not yet too old to learn,
As tho' the blind shou'd lead the way;
Howev'r, observing what I say,
You'll see some things, that must conduce
To be of most peculiar use.
If self-indulgence make thee gay,
And kindly sleep till break of day,
If dust and rumbling of the wheels,
And noise in which the tavern deals,
Offend thee, then you must repair
To Ferentinum, I declare.
For all the joys beneath the skies,
The rich cannot monopolize;
Nor has he done amiss, whose lease
Of life were secrecy and peace.
You know how with grandees to treat,
Yet still to these remarks attend,
And take th'opinion of a friend,
Who'll teach you things of great concern,
Himself not yet too old to learn,
As tho' the blind shou'd lead the way;
Howev'r, observing what I say,
You'll see some things, that must conduce
To be of most peculiar use.
If self-indulgence make thee gay,
And kindly sleep till break of day,
If dust and rumbling of the wheels,
And noise in which the tavern deals,
Offend thee, then you must repair
To Ferentinum, I declare.
For all the joys beneath the skies,
The rich cannot monopolize;
Nor has he done amiss, whose lease
Of life were secrecy and peace.
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If you your family wou'd serve,
And for your own content reserve
A cast upon a higher die,
Betimes you must the nobles ply.
And for your own content reserve
A cast upon a higher die,
Betimes you must the nobles ply.
Had Aristippus been content
To dine on herbs, he ne'er had went
Unto the tables of the grand—
Diogenes on t'other hand,
Who to our notions will object,
If he had skill'd in that respect,
Might so have liv'd in splendid scenes,
And wou'd have scorn'd his roots and greens:
Whose words and actions of the two
You best approve, I prithee shew;
Or as you're junior hear the test,
Why Aristippus reasons best.
For he was wont (as stories say)
To keep the Cynic thus at bay.
The jester's province I profess,
To serve myself with some address,
But you to give the mob delight,
So what I practise, as more right,
Is a more honourable thing
To ride and revel with the king.
I am obsequious in my turn—
You beg for what the donors spurn,
Yet are inferior in your soul
To him, that gives the sorry dole,
Tho' you mean while your boast have made,
You need not any human aid.
Rare Aristippus, genius born,
All lot and station to adorn,
Each look of things a grace he lent,
Tho' still aspiring, still content.
But I shou'd think it very strange,
If e'er the churl shou'd brook a change,
Whose obstinacy will but wear
Two rags, against th'inclement air.
The one if summon'd to the great,
Will not for purple vestments wait:
But be his habit as it may,
To the first place will make his way,
And without awkardness and pain,
Will any character sustain.
The other fellow a fine cloak,
Wrought at Miletum, wou'd provoke
Worse than a mastiff, or a snake,
And he with shiv'ring cold will ache,
Unless his rags you give him back—
Give them—and let him live and lack.
Great actions of heroic lives,
To shew to Rome her foe in gyves,
Ev'n at Jove's throne directly aim,
And there celestial honours claim.
And such immortal chiefs as these,
'Tis not the meanest praise to please:
But 'tis not ev'ry fawner's fate,
To gain a point so very great.
To dine on herbs, he ne'er had went
Unto the tables of the grand—
Diogenes on t'other hand,
Who to our notions will object,
If he had skill'd in that respect,
Might so have liv'd in splendid scenes,
And wou'd have scorn'd his roots and greens:
Whose words and actions of the two
You best approve, I prithee shew;
Or as you're junior hear the test,
Why Aristippus reasons best.
For he was wont (as stories say)
To keep the Cynic thus at bay.
The jester's province I profess,
To serve myself with some address,
But you to give the mob delight,
So what I practise, as more right,
Is a more honourable thing
To ride and revel with the king.
I am obsequious in my turn—
You beg for what the donors spurn,
Yet are inferior in your soul
To him, that gives the sorry dole,
Tho' you mean while your boast have made,
You need not any human aid.
133
All lot and station to adorn,
Each look of things a grace he lent,
Tho' still aspiring, still content.
But I shou'd think it very strange,
If e'er the churl shou'd brook a change,
Whose obstinacy will but wear
Two rags, against th'inclement air.
The one if summon'd to the great,
Will not for purple vestments wait:
But be his habit as it may,
To the first place will make his way,
And without awkardness and pain,
Will any character sustain.
The other fellow a fine cloak,
Wrought at Miletum, wou'd provoke
Worse than a mastiff, or a snake,
And he with shiv'ring cold will ache,
Unless his rags you give him back—
Give them—and let him live and lack.
Great actions of heroic lives,
To shew to Rome her foe in gyves,
Ev'n at Jove's throne directly aim,
And there celestial honours claim.
And such immortal chiefs as these,
'Tis not the meanest praise to please:
But 'tis not ev'ry fawner's fate,
To gain a point so very great.
One fearing he shou'd not succeed,
Was prudent to sit still—agreed—
What then? was it not bravely done
By him, that hit the mark and won.
Was prudent to sit still—agreed—
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By him, that hit the mark and won.
But here, or no where we must end
The matter, which we now contend.
One dreads the weight, too weak and poor
In limbs and spirit to endure;
The other makes the bus'ness sure.
The man whose resolution tries
Thro' hardship to attain the prize,
Shou'd be rewarded and renown'd,
Or virtue is an empty sound.
He that before his Lord forbears
To hint the dearth of his affairs,
Is likely to take more away,
Than one too apt to beg and pray.
It differs much with modest ease
To take, or greedily to seize;
For in the conduct of your part,
Lies all the myst'ry of your art.
If thus a man his Lord address,
“I have a sister portionless,
“A mother poor with an estate,
“Which will not sell at any rate,
“Nor yields it, whence we may be fed:”
Such an one plainly begs his bread;
A second will keep up the cant,
For you a dividend to grant.
But if the crow had held her prate,
She'd had more victuals and less hate,
When bick'ring at her cruel fate.
The matter, which we now contend.
One dreads the weight, too weak and poor
In limbs and spirit to endure;
The other makes the bus'ness sure.
The man whose resolution tries
Thro' hardship to attain the prize,
Shou'd be rewarded and renown'd,
Or virtue is an empty sound.
He that before his Lord forbears
To hint the dearth of his affairs,
Is likely to take more away,
Than one too apt to beg and pray.
It differs much with modest ease
To take, or greedily to seize;
For in the conduct of your part,
Lies all the myst'ry of your art.
If thus a man his Lord address,
“I have a sister portionless,
“A mother poor with an estate,
“Which will not sell at any rate,
“Nor yields it, whence we may be fed:”
Such an one plainly begs his bread;
A second will keep up the cant,
For you a dividend to grant.
But if the crow had held her prate,
She'd had more victuals and less hate,
When bick'ring at her cruel fate.
137
If when your Lord shou'd take his rout
Far as Brundusium, or set out
For fair Surrentum, and as friend
Invite his client to attend:
He who of rugged roads complains,
Or bitter cold, or heavy rains,
Or for his broken trunk laments,
And for the loss of the contents,
Resembles but too stale a bite,
Which harlots practice every night,
Oft wailing they've a garter lost,
Or string of pearls of mighty cost:
So that when really made a prey,
No faith is giv'n to what they say.
Nor cares a man, once made a fool,
To be again th'impostor's tool,
Who with pretended broken legs,
Thrown in the road for succour begs,
Ev'n tho' the gypsy stream with tears,
And by the great Osiris swears—
“This is no fraud, I pray believe,
“And on your backs the lame receive.”
Your tricks upon some stranger try,
All the hoarse neighbourhood reply.
Far as Brundusium, or set out
For fair Surrentum, and as friend
Invite his client to attend:
He who of rugged roads complains,
Or bitter cold, or heavy rains,
Or for his broken trunk laments,
And for the loss of the contents,
Resembles but too stale a bite,
Which harlots practice every night,
Oft wailing they've a garter lost,
Or string of pearls of mighty cost:
So that when really made a prey,
No faith is giv'n to what they say.
Nor cares a man, once made a fool,
To be again th'impostor's tool,
Who with pretended broken legs,
Thrown in the road for succour begs,
Ev'n tho' the gypsy stream with tears,
And by the great Osiris swears—
“This is no fraud, I pray believe,
“And on your backs the lame receive.”
Your tricks upon some stranger try,
All the hoarse neighbourhood reply.
139
EPISTLE XVIII. To Lollius.
He instructs Lollius what is to be done, and what avoided, in order to render friendships permanent; and is particular upon a man's conduct in respect to a friend in power.
Dear Lollius, if right well I ken
The most ingenuous of men,
Professor of a friendly heart,
You scorn to act a flatt'rer's part.
A Roman matron is not more
Distinguish'd from a painted whore,
Than a true friend, from the disguise
Of him that faithless deals in lies.
There is a vice reverse of this,
And of the two the more amiss,
A clownish harshness blunt and base,
Which wou'd commend itself to grace,
With tweazer'd face, and shaven skin,
And teeth all dirty-black within,
Intending that it shou'd appear,
As downright honest and sincere.
Virtue between each vice resides,
Alike remote from both the sides.
The most ingenuous of men,
Professor of a friendly heart,
You scorn to act a flatt'rer's part.
A Roman matron is not more
Distinguish'd from a painted whore,
Than a true friend, from the disguise
Of him that faithless deals in lies.
There is a vice reverse of this,
And of the two the more amiss,
A clownish harshness blunt and base,
Which wou'd commend itself to grace,
With tweazer'd face, and shaven skin,
And teeth all dirty-black within,
Intending that it shou'd appear,
As downright honest and sincere.
Virtue between each vice resides,
Alike remote from both the sides.
The one's submission's far too great,
And jester of the lowest seat
The rich-man's nod he so reveres,
And so respects, whate'er he hears,
And catches up each word that falls,
Like boys, whose rigid master calls
To say their lesson, or a play'r,
That must his under-part prepare.
The other's full of gross abuse,
About the milking of a goose,
And fights with trifles arm'd, “How now?
“What? credit not to me allow?
“What boldly shall not I give vent,
“Unto my heart's true sentiment?
“I wou'd not hold another year,
“On terms so monstrously severe?”
But what's the theme of all this fray?
If Castor best his weapon play,
Or Docilis shall win the day?
Or if Brundusium best to make,
A man the Appian road shou'd take?
And jester of the lowest seat
141
And so respects, whate'er he hears,
And catches up each word that falls,
Like boys, whose rigid master calls
To say their lesson, or a play'r,
That must his under-part prepare.
The other's full of gross abuse,
About the milking of a goose,
And fights with trifles arm'd, “How now?
“What? credit not to me allow?
“What boldly shall not I give vent,
“Unto my heart's true sentiment?
“I wou'd not hold another year,
“On terms so monstrously severe?”
But what's the theme of all this fray?
If Castor best his weapon play,
Or Docilis shall win the day?
Or if Brundusium best to make,
A man the Appian road shou'd take?
Whom deadly lewdness strips, or dice
That speediest lead to want by vice,
Whom vanity too grand shall dress,
And dawbs with essence to excess,
Whom thirst and hunger after gold
Possesses, not to be controul'd,
Blushing and shunning to be poor,
Him his rich friend cannot endure,
And oft persues with dread and hate,
Himself far more inordinate.
And, if he does not hate, he rules,
And as a pious mother schools
Her son, her virtues to out-do,
He thus adds something pretty true.
“My wealth (pray do not you contend)
“Admits of all my follies, friend,
“Your small estate shou'd make you loth
“To cut your coat beyond your cloath,
“And, if your senses you retain,
“Cease contest, where the contest's vain.”
Eutrapelus whene'er intent
To do a man much detriment,
Wou'd give him gaudy cloaths, “For so
“Blest in the notion of a beau,
“He'll take new measures, form new schemes,
“Indulge till noon in pleasing dreams:
“Will for a whore his trade postpone,
“Will give huge int'rest for a loan;
“Will learn at last the fencer's art,
“Or drive for hire a gard'ner's cart.”—
Into no secrecies inquire;
Keep confidence repos'd intire,
Tho' put to torture by the force
Of wine, or passionate discourse.
Nor must you praise your own persuit,
And that of your great friend dispute:
Nor with your poetry solace
Your muse, when he prefers the chace.
For by such means Amphion cross'd
His brother, and his kindness lost;
Till he gave up his lyre, at last,
To him of the severer cast.
Amphion therefore did give way
To Zethus' temper, as they say.
And do you in likewise attend
The mild injunctions of your friend,
And when into the field he gets
His dogs, and his Etolian nets,
Arise, and for a while refuse,
Th'ill-bred moroseness of your Muse,
That you may sup upon the spoil,
Thus purchas'd by your mutual toil.
This exercise for health and bloom,
Habitual to the sons of Rome,
Is useful ev'n to life, and fame,
And keeps the feet from being lame;
But chiefly while you're young and sound,
And can in speed out-strip the hound,
And foil the fury of the boar.
That speediest lead to want by vice,
Whom vanity too grand shall dress,
And dawbs with essence to excess,
Whom thirst and hunger after gold
Possesses, not to be controul'd,
Blushing and shunning to be poor,
Him his rich friend cannot endure,
And oft persues with dread and hate,
Himself far more inordinate.
143
And as a pious mother schools
Her son, her virtues to out-do,
He thus adds something pretty true.
“My wealth (pray do not you contend)
“Admits of all my follies, friend,
“Your small estate shou'd make you loth
“To cut your coat beyond your cloath,
“And, if your senses you retain,
“Cease contest, where the contest's vain.”
Eutrapelus whene'er intent
To do a man much detriment,
Wou'd give him gaudy cloaths, “For so
“Blest in the notion of a beau,
“He'll take new measures, form new schemes,
“Indulge till noon in pleasing dreams:
“Will for a whore his trade postpone,
“Will give huge int'rest for a loan;
“Will learn at last the fencer's art,
“Or drive for hire a gard'ner's cart.”—
Into no secrecies inquire;
Keep confidence repos'd intire,
Tho' put to torture by the force
Of wine, or passionate discourse.
Nor must you praise your own persuit,
And that of your great friend dispute:
Nor with your poetry solace
Your muse, when he prefers the chace.
For by such means Amphion cross'd
His brother, and his kindness lost;
145
To him of the severer cast.
Amphion therefore did give way
To Zethus' temper, as they say.
And do you in likewise attend
The mild injunctions of your friend,
And when into the field he gets
His dogs, and his Etolian nets,
Arise, and for a while refuse,
Th'ill-bred moroseness of your Muse,
That you may sup upon the spoil,
Thus purchas'd by your mutual toil.
This exercise for health and bloom,
Habitual to the sons of Rome,
Is useful ev'n to life, and fame,
And keeps the feet from being lame;
But chiefly while you're young and sound,
And can in speed out-strip the hound,
And foil the fury of the boar.
Then add to what we've urg'd before,
Not one of those, which arms profess,
Can handle them with more address.
You know what vast applause you gain,
In all those feats on Mars's plain:
In fine, as yet of tender age,
You cou'd in cruel fights engage,
And those Cantabrian wars endur'd,
Beneath that chief, who has procur'd
Our standards from the Parthian host,
And fix'd them in their wonted post;
And now does all the acts that tend
To make the Roman arms transcend.
Not one of those, which arms profess,
Can handle them with more address.
You know what vast applause you gain,
In all those feats on Mars's plain:
In fine, as yet of tender age,
You cou'd in cruel fights engage,
And those Cantabrian wars endur'd,
Beneath that chief, who has procur'd
Our standards from the Parthian host,
And fix'd them in their wonted post;
147
To make the Roman arms transcend.
And lest you from the sports recede,
Without a good excuse to plead,
(Tho' nothing trifling, or uncooth,
You e'er committed from your youth)
Yet, where your rural villa lies,
You pleasant pastimes can devise.
The naval troops divide the boats,
And all the Actian battle floats,
Acted by boys, in hostile pride,
Which you, as their commander, guide;
Your brother's the fictitious foe,
And Adria's sea the ponds below,
Till victory, with bays, come down,
And one or other champion crown.
Without a good excuse to plead,
(Tho' nothing trifling, or uncooth,
You e'er committed from your youth)
Yet, where your rural villa lies,
You pleasant pastimes can devise.
The naval troops divide the boats,
And all the Actian battle floats,
Acted by boys, in hostile pride,
Which you, as their commander, guide;
Your brother's the fictitious foe,
And Adria's sea the ponds below,
Till victory, with bays, come down,
And one or other champion crown.
Great Cæsar, when he once shall see
Your taste and his so well agree,
Shall give you, and your little bands
Immense applause, with both his hands,
Now let me (if a man like you
Can need advice) advise you true.
Oft take good heed what, and to whom,
You speak of every man in Rome;
A pumper shun, who will not fail
To bear materials of a tale,
Nor can the ears that spring a leak,
With faith retain the things you speak,
And when one word to such you pawn,
It is irrevocably gone.
Your taste and his so well agree,
Shall give you, and your little bands
Immense applause, with both his hands,
Now let me (if a man like you
Can need advice) advise you true.
Oft take good heed what, and to whom,
You speak of every man in Rome;
A pumper shun, who will not fail
To bear materials of a tale,
Nor can the ears that spring a leak,
With faith retain the things you speak,
And when one word to such you pawn,
It is irrevocably gone.
149
By frequent observations trace,
Him you wou'd recommend to grace;
Lest you anon shou'd be asham'd
Of faults, for which another's blam'd.
We sometimes are deceiv'd, and raise
A person who's not worthy praise.
Thus chous'd, forbear to vindicate
Him, whose own conduct mars his fate.
So one well prov'd you shall protect,
If false accusers ought object,
And shield him confident in you;
If slander's tooth his fame persue,
Perceive you not your danger too?
For 'tis a very near concern
To you, when neighb'ring houses burn,
And flames by negligence are fed,
And still are wont to get a head.
Him you wou'd recommend to grace;
Lest you anon shou'd be asham'd
Of faults, for which another's blam'd.
We sometimes are deceiv'd, and raise
A person who's not worthy praise.
Thus chous'd, forbear to vindicate
Him, whose own conduct mars his fate.
So one well prov'd you shall protect,
If false accusers ought object,
And shield him confident in you;
If slander's tooth his fame persue,
Perceive you not your danger too?
For 'tis a very near concern
To you, when neighb'ring houses burn,
And flames by negligence are fed,
And still are wont to get a head.
The cultivation of esteem
With men in pow'r, to those may seem
Desirous, who have never tried,
But by experience is decried.
When once your vessel's under sail,
Ply well your business, lest the gale
Shou'd shift upon th'inconstant main,
And drive your vessel back again.
With men in pow'r, to those may seem
Desirous, who have never tried,
But by experience is decried.
When once your vessel's under sail,
Ply well your business, lest the gale
Shou'd shift upon th'inconstant main,
And drive your vessel back again.
The sad, abominate the gay;
These scorn the children of dismay;
The volatile the dull sedate;
Idlers, the brisk and active hate.
They that all night will ply the glass,
Despise you, if your turn you pass,
Tho' with solemnity you swear,
You dread th'effects of midnight air.
Your forehead of its gloom uncloud,
For 'tis in general allow'd,
Too modest men appear, as dark,
Too silent, curs that cannot bark.
These scorn the children of dismay;
The volatile the dull sedate;
Idlers, the brisk and active hate.
151
Despise you, if your turn you pass,
Tho' with solemnity you swear,
You dread th'effects of midnight air.
Your forehead of its gloom uncloud,
For 'tis in general allow'd,
Too modest men appear, as dark,
Too silent, curs that cannot bark.
In all, with which you are concern'd,
You must consult and read the learn'd,
Who on the proper measures treat,
To make your life serene and sweet;
Lest greedy av'rice, ever poor,
Still make you anxious thoughts endure,
Lest fear and hope distract your mind,
For things of an indifferent kind:
That you may know if nature teach,
Or virtue be what scholars preach,
What lessens care, encreases smiles,
And your own conscience reconciles,
What makes a perfect calm, a name,
Or wealth, which still is pleasure's aim,
Or life's whole passage to fulfil,
Thro' flowery bye-paths snug and still.
As oft as on Digentia's brink,
Whose cool streams all Mandela drink,
A little village chopt with cold,
Myself I at my ease behold,
What are my sentiments, my friend,
For what do you think my knees I bend?
That what I have of present store
Be kept, or rather less than more,
That if the Gods more life shou'd give,
I may for self-improvement live,
With choice of the best books to read,
And year's provision for my need,
Lest I shou'd be in fortune's pow'r,
Dependent on th'uncertain hour;
Thus much is fit of Jove to pray,
Ev'n he that gives and takes away:
Let him long life and wealth bestow,
I trust from my own heart to know,
All things that make for peace below.
You must consult and read the learn'd,
Who on the proper measures treat,
To make your life serene and sweet;
Lest greedy av'rice, ever poor,
Still make you anxious thoughts endure,
Lest fear and hope distract your mind,
For things of an indifferent kind:
That you may know if nature teach,
Or virtue be what scholars preach,
What lessens care, encreases smiles,
And your own conscience reconciles,
What makes a perfect calm, a name,
Or wealth, which still is pleasure's aim,
Or life's whole passage to fulfil,
Thro' flowery bye-paths snug and still.
As oft as on Digentia's brink,
Whose cool streams all Mandela drink,
A little village chopt with cold,
Myself I at my ease behold,
What are my sentiments, my friend,
For what do you think my knees I bend?
153
Be kept, or rather less than more,
That if the Gods more life shou'd give,
I may for self-improvement live,
With choice of the best books to read,
And year's provision for my need,
Lest I shou'd be in fortune's pow'r,
Dependent on th'uncertain hour;
Thus much is fit of Jove to pray,
Ev'n he that gives and takes away:
Let him long life and wealth bestow,
I trust from my own heart to know,
All things that make for peace below.
155
EPISTLE XIX. To Mæcenas.
He reprehends the false zeal certain writers had to imitate the defects, rather than the perfections of the poets.
Dear Friend, if you the lore embrace
Of old Cratinus, in this case
No verse can last, or charm the age,
Wrote by the water-drinking sage;
And this has been a maxim fix'd,
E'er since the brain-sick bards were mix'd,
By Liber's laws injoin'd to rove
With fawns and satyrs of the grove:
Hence all the muses sweetly gay,
Oft smell of wine at early day.
When Homer call'd the grape divine,
He wrote his verses by his wine;
And Ennius, our reverend sire,
Wou'd not to sing of arms aspire,
Till for his subject made a match
By drink—I therefore shall dispatch
The sneaking milk-sops one and all,
For sentence to the judgment-hall,
Nor will I any licence grant,
For those to sing, who whine and cant.
Soon as this edict was promulg'd,
The poets night and day indulg'd
The bumpers they wou'd not abate.—
Of old Cratinus, in this case
No verse can last, or charm the age,
Wrote by the water-drinking sage;
And this has been a maxim fix'd,
E'er since the brain-sick bards were mix'd,
By Liber's laws injoin'd to rove
With fawns and satyrs of the grove:
Hence all the muses sweetly gay,
Oft smell of wine at early day.
When Homer call'd the grape divine,
He wrote his verses by his wine;
And Ennius, our reverend sire,
Wou'd not to sing of arms aspire,
Till for his subject made a match
By drink—I therefore shall dispatch
The sneaking milk-sops one and all,
For sentence to the judgment-hall,
Nor will I any licence grant,
For those to sing, who whine and cant.
157
The poets night and day indulg'd
The bumpers they wou'd not abate.—
What if a man shou'd imitate
The naked feet, and surly frown
Of Cato, with his scanty gown?
Wou'd he be instantly endued
With Cato's worth and rectitude.
The mimic, who propos'd to please
By taking off Timagenes,
With envy burst, as he in vain
Did after wit and utt'rance strain.
The naked feet, and surly frown
Of Cato, with his scanty gown?
Wou'd he be instantly endued
With Cato's worth and rectitude.
The mimic, who propos'd to please
By taking off Timagenes,
With envy burst, as he in vain
Did after wit and utt'rance strain.
Mean imitation foils the base,
As faults are all that they can trace,
As tho', when I've a pallid hue,
They shou'd take drugs to be so too.
O mimics! scarce above the brutes!
How very frequently the fruits,
Of that in which each bungler prides,
Provok'd my wrath, or split my sides?
As faults are all that they can trace,
As tho', when I've a pallid hue,
They shou'd take drugs to be so too.
O mimics! scarce above the brutes!
How very frequently the fruits,
Of that in which each bungler prides,
Provok'd my wrath, or split my sides?
A sheer original from God,
I stalk'd upon the vacant sod,
Nor in another's footsteps trod.
He who as leader can perform
His part in justice heads the swarm.
I first made Italy repeat,
Iambics of the Parian beat,
Form'd on Archilochus, to tow'r
At once in harmony and pow'r,
But not pursuing of his scheme,
To kill my brother with my phlegm;
And lest I shou'd from Rome receive
A crown that sparing critics weave,
Because I fear'd to undertake
The changing measure of his make:
There's Sappho, writing like a man,
Corrects and variegates my plan;
Alcæus too—but all the while
Diverse in numbers and in stile,
Nor does he now unto his shame,
Seek his step-father to defame,
Nor strangle, in poetic wrath,
The maid to whom he pledg'd his troth:
Him, who was never known before,
I harp'd upon the Latian shore:
For 'tis my pleasure to be new,
And read by an ingenuous few.
I stalk'd upon the vacant sod,
Nor in another's footsteps trod.
He who as leader can perform
His part in justice heads the swarm.
I first made Italy repeat,
Iambics of the Parian beat,
Form'd on Archilochus, to tow'r
At once in harmony and pow'r,
159
To kill my brother with my phlegm;
And lest I shou'd from Rome receive
A crown that sparing critics weave,
Because I fear'd to undertake
The changing measure of his make:
There's Sappho, writing like a man,
Corrects and variegates my plan;
Alcæus too—but all the while
Diverse in numbers and in stile,
Nor does he now unto his shame,
Seek his step-father to defame,
Nor strangle, in poetic wrath,
The maid to whom he pledg'd his troth:
Him, who was never known before,
I harp'd upon the Latian shore:
For 'tis my pleasure to be new,
And read by an ingenuous few.
Now wou'd you know the real cause,
My readers give me such applause,
Fond of my arch-instructive tomes,
When sung within their private homes;
But soon as e'er they quit their place
Degrade me—this is then the case.
To count the suffrage of the mob,
I ever thought too mean a job,
By treating them with dainty fare,
And rags and tatters for their wear.
I hear no writings of the great,
Nor in revenge my own repeat;
Nor do I hie me to the schools
Of those, that teach the grammar-rules—
Hence all this grievance—if I say,
I am asham'd my worthless lay
In crouds theatric to recite;
As tho' I wou'd to things so light
A thought of dignity and weight
In rank presumption arrogate.
At us (says one) your honour sneers,
Preserving for celestial ears
Your poetry—for you distill
Alone, it seems, the honey'd rill,
A person in your own sweet eyes,
Extremely beautiful and wise.
At taunts like these, I do not dare
To let my nose have too much air,
And lest their nails my skin deface,
I cry, I do not like this place,
And beg a truce—for gamesome jest
Brings on a trial, who is best,
Then emulation furthers strife,
And that ill-blood, and loss of life.
My readers give me such applause,
Fond of my arch-instructive tomes,
When sung within their private homes;
But soon as e'er they quit their place
Degrade me—this is then the case.
To count the suffrage of the mob,
I ever thought too mean a job,
By treating them with dainty fare,
And rags and tatters for their wear.
I hear no writings of the great,
Nor in revenge my own repeat;
161
Of those, that teach the grammar-rules—
Hence all this grievance—if I say,
I am asham'd my worthless lay
In crouds theatric to recite;
As tho' I wou'd to things so light
A thought of dignity and weight
In rank presumption arrogate.
At us (says one) your honour sneers,
Preserving for celestial ears
Your poetry—for you distill
Alone, it seems, the honey'd rill,
A person in your own sweet eyes,
Extremely beautiful and wise.
At taunts like these, I do not dare
To let my nose have too much air,
And lest their nails my skin deface,
I cry, I do not like this place,
And beg a truce—for gamesome jest
Brings on a trial, who is best,
Then emulation furthers strife,
And that ill-blood, and loss of life.
163
EPISTLE XX. To his Book.
You seem to cast, my vent'rous book,Towards the town a wishful look,
That thee the chapmen may demand,
Where Janus, and Vertumnus stand;
When polish'd by the binder's art.—
Both keys and seals, with all your heart,
You hate, and every thing refuse
Which all your modest volumes chuse.
You grudge that you are shewn to few,
Desirous of the public view,
On other principles compil'd—
Away then, since you are so wild—
When once set off there's no return—
Soon shall you say with much concern—
Ah! wretch, what wou'd I, when your pride
Is by some reader mortified,
And in some narrow nook you stick,
When curiosity is sick,
But if the augur do not dream,
In wrath for this your desp'rate scheme;
At Rome you'll be a welcome guest,
As long as you are new at least.
But when all dirty you become,
In witness of the vulgar thumb,
165
Or for us Utica shall speed;
Or bundled up in packthread chain,
Be sent a transport into Spain.
The good adviser, all the while,
To whom you gave no heed, will smile:
As he who from the mountain threw
The sulky ass, that wou'd not do
His bus'ness—“then go down the hill—
“Who'd save an ass against his will.”
This destiny too must remain—
Thee faultring dotage shall detain
About the city-skirts to teach
The boys their rudiments of speech.
And when the servency of day
Brings you more hearers, you must say,
That poor and meanly born at best,
I spread my wings beyond my nest,
And what you from my birth subtract,
You for my virtues must exact;
That peace or war, I still was great,
With the first pillars of the state,
Short-siz'd, and prematurely grey,
Form'd for th'intensity of day,
With passion ev'n to phrenzy seiz'd,
But very easily appeas'd.
If any person by the bye
Shou'd ask how old I am, reply,
167
To Lepidus and Lollius join'd,
I was full out, and fairly told,
Four times eleven Decembers old.
| The works of Horace, translated into verse | |