The works of Horace, translated into verse With a prose interpretation, for the help of students. And occasional notes. By Christopher Smart ... In four volumes |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. | EPISTLE XVI. To Quintius. |
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| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
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 | The works of Horace, translated into verse |  |
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?
119
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.
121
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.
123
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:
125
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.
| The works of Horace, translated into verse | |