The works of Horace, translated into verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

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

Smart, Christopher (1722-1771)

VOLUME I.

[dedication]

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.

ODE I. TO MÆCENAS.

II.

ODE II. TO AUGUSTUS CÆSAR.

III.

ODE III.

IV.

ODE IV. TO SEXTIUS, A PERSON OF CONSULAR DIGNITY .

ODE V. TO PYRRHA.

VI.

ODE VI. TO AGRIPPA.

VII.

ODE VII. TO MUNATIUS PLANCUS, A PERSON OF CONSULAR DIGNITY

VIII.

ODE VIII. TO LYDIA.

IX.

ODE IX. TO THALIARCHUS.

ODE X. TO MERCURY.

XI.

ODE XI. TO LEUCONOE.

XII.

ODE XII. TO AUGUSTUS.

XIII.

ODE XIII. TO LYDIA.

XIV.

ODE XIV. TO THE REPUBLIC OF ROME, ON THE RENEWAL OF THE CIVIL WAR.

XV.

ODE XV. THE PREDICTIONS OF NEREUS CONCERNING THE DESTRUCTION OF TROY.

XVI.

ODE XVI. TO HIS MISTRESS.

XVII.

ODE XVII. TO TYNDARIS.

XVIII.

ODE XVIII. TO QUINTILIUS VARUS.

XIX.

ODE XIX. OF GLYCERA.

XX.

ODE XX. TO MÆCENAS.

XXI.

ODE XXI. TO APOLLO AND DIANA.

XXII.

ODE XXII. TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS.

XXIII.

ODE XXIII. TO CHLOE.

XXIV.

ODE XXIV. TO VIRGIL.

XXV.

ODE XXV. TO LYDIA.

XXVI.

ODE XXVI. TO THE MUSE, CONCERNING ÆLIUS LAMIA.

XXVII.

ODE XXVII. TO HIS BOTTLE-COMPANIONS.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

ODE XXXII. TO HIS LYRE.

XXXIII.

ODE XXXIII. TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS.

XXXIV.

ODE XXXIV. TO HIMSELF.

XXXV.

ODE XXXV. TO FORTUNE.

XXXVI.

ODE XXXVI. TO POMPONIUS NUMIDA.

XXXVII.

ODE XXXVII. TO HIS COMPANIONS.

XXXVIII.

ODE XXXVIII. TO HIS SERVANT.

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.

ODE I. TO C. ASINIUS POLLIO.

II.

ODE II. TO C. SALLUSTIUS CRISPUS.

III.

ODE III. TO DELLIUS.

IV.

ODE IV. TO XANTHIUS PHOCEUS.

ODE V. ON LALAGE.

VI.

ODE VI. TO SEPTIMIUS.

VII.

ODE VII. TO POMPEIUS VARUS.

VIII.

ODE VIII. TO JULIA BARINE.

IX.

ODE IX. TO VALGIUS.

ODE X. TO LICINIUS.

XI.

ODE XI. TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS.

XII.

ODE XII. TO MÆCENAS.

XIII.

ODE XIII. UPON THE TREE BY WHOSE SUDDEN FALL HE HAD LIKE TO HAVE BEEN CRUSHED.

XIV.

ODE XIV. TO POSTHUMUS.

XV.

ODE XV. UPON THE LUXURY OF THE AGE HE LIVED IN.

XVI.

ODE XVI. TO GROSPHUS.

XVII.

ODE XVII. TO MÆCENAS, WHEN SICK.

XVIII.

ODE XVIII.

XIX.

ODE XIX. ON BACCHUS.

XX.

ODE XX. TO MÆCENAS.

THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.

ODE I.

II.

ODE II. TO HIS FRIRNDS.

III.

ODE III.

IV.

ODE IV.

ODE V.

VI.

ODE VI. TO THE ROMANS, ON THE CORRUPT MANNERS OF HIS AGE.

VII.

ODE VII. TO ASTERIE.

VIII.

ODE VIII. TO MÆCENAS.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

ODE XIII. TO THE FOUNTAIN BLANDUSIA.

XIV.

ODE XIV. TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE.

II.

VOLUME II.

THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE [Cont'd.].

XV.

ODE XV. ON CHLORIS.

XVI.

ODE XVI. TO MÆCENAS.

XVII.

ODE XVII. TO ÆLIUS LAMIA.

XVIII.

ODE XVIII. TO FAUNUS.

XIX.

ODE XIX. TO TELEPHUS.

XX.

ODE XX. TO PYRRHUS.

XXI.

ODE XXI. TO HIS WINE-JAR.

XXII.

ODE XXII. TO DIANA.

XXIII.

ODE XXIII TO PHIDILE.

XXIV.

ODE XXIV. UPON THE RICH AND COVETOUS.

XXV.

ODE XXV. TO BACCHUS.

XXVI.

ODE XXVI. TO VENUS.

XXVII.

ODE XXVII. TO GALATEA, ON POINT TO GO ABROAD.

XXVIII.

ODE XXVIII. TO LYDE.

XXIX.

ODE XXIX. TO MÆCENAS.

XXX.

ODE XXX. TO THE MUSE MELPOMENE.

THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.

ODE I. TO VENUS.

II.

ODE II. TO ANTONIUS JULUS, THE SON OF MARK ANTONY, OF THE TRIUMVIRATE.

III.

ODE III. TO MELPOMENE.

IV.

ODE IV. TO THE CITY OF ROME, CONCERNING THE GENIUS OF DRUSUS, AND HIS EDUCATION UNDER AUGUSTUS.

ODE V. TO AUGUSTUS.

VI.

ODE VI. TO APOLLO AND DIANA.

VII.

ODE VII. TO L. MANLIUS TORQUATUS.

VIII.

ODE VIII. TO MARTIUS CENSORINUS.

IX.

ODE IX. TO LOLLIUS.

ODE X. TO PHYLLIS.

XI.

ODE XI. TO VIRGIL.

XII.

ODE XII. UPON LYCE, AN ANTIQUATED COURTEZAN.

XIII.

ODE XIII. TO AUGUSTUS.

XIV.

ODE XIV. THE PRAISES OF AUGUSTUS.

THE BOOK OF THE EPODES OF HORACE.

EPODE I. TO MÆCENAS.

II.

EPODE II. THE PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE.

III.

EPODE III. TO MÆCENAS.

IV.

EPODE IV. TO VOLTEIUS MENA.

EPODE V. UPON CANIDIA THE SORCERESS.

VI.

EPODE VI. AGAINST CASSIUS SEVERUS.

VII.

EPODE VII. TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE.

VIII.

EPODE VIII. TO MÆCENAS.

IX.

EPODE IX. AGAINST MÆVIUS THE POET.

EPODE X. TO PETTIUS, A BON-COMPANION OF HIS.

XI.

EFODE XI. TO HIS HUMOUROUS FRIENDS, THAT THEY WOULD PASS THE WINTER MERRILY.

XII.

EPODE XII. TO MÆCENAS.

XIII.

EPODE XIII. TO HIS MISTRESS NEÆRA

XIV.

EPODE XIV. TO THE PEOPLE OF ROME.

XV.

EPODE XV. TO CANIDIA.

XVI.

EPODE XVI. CANIDIA'S ANSWER

THE SECULAR ODE

[section]

ODE ON SAINT CECILIA'S DAY

III.

VOLUME III.

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE SATIRES OF HORACE.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

SATIRE VI. To Mæcenas.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE SATIRES OF HORACE.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IV.

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE EPISTLES OF HORACE.

EPISTLE I. To Mæcenas.

II.

EPISTLE II. To Lollius.

III.

EPISTLE III. To Julius Florus.

IV.

EPISTLE IV. To Albius Tibullus.

EPISTLE V. To Torquatus.

VI.

EPISTLE VI. To Numicius.

VII.

EPISTLE VII. To Mæcenas.

VIII.

EPISTLE VIII. To Celsus Albinovanus.

IX.

EPISTLE IX. To Claudius Nero.

EPISTLE X. To Fuscus Aristius.

XI.

EPISTLE XI. To Bullatius returned from Asia.

XII.

EPISTLE XII. To Iccius.

XIII.

EPISTLE XIII. To Vinnius Asella.

XIV.

EPISTLE XIV. To his Steward in the Country.

XV.

EPISTLE XV. To Vala.

XVI.

EPISTLE XVI. To Quintius.

XVII.

EPISTLE XVII. To Scæva.

XVIII.

EPISTLE XVIII. To Lollius.

XIX.

EPISTLE XIX. To Mæcenas.

XX.

EPISTLE XX. To his Book.

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE EPISTLES OF HORACE.

EPISTLE I. To Augustus.

II.

EPISTLE II. To Julius Florus.

HORACE HIS ART OF POETRY.

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

'Tis just each person shou'd be clear,
What is the compass of his sphere.