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A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace

With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition
Francis, Philip (1708?-1773)
  
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VOL. I.
  
[dedication]
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THE ODES OF HORACE.
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THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE.
 I. 
Ode I. To Mæcenas.
 II. 
Ode II. To Augustus.
 III. 
Ode III. To the Ship in which Virgil sailed to Athens.
 IV. 
Ode IV. To Sestius.
 V. 
Ode V. To Pyrrha.
 VI. 
Ode VI. To Agrippa.
 VII. 
Ode VII. To Munatius Plancus.
 VIII. 
Ode VIII. To Lydia.
 IX. 
Ode IX. To Thaliarchus.
 X. 
Ode X. Hymn to Mercury.
 XI. 
Ode XI. To Leuconoe.
 XII. 
Ode XII. Hymn to Jove.
 XIII. 
Ode XIII. To Lydia.
 XIV. 
Ode XIV. To the Republic.
 XV. 
Ode XV. The Prophecy of Nereus.
 XVI. 
Ode XVI. To Tyndaris.
 XVII. 
Ode XVII. To Tyndaris.
 XVIII. 
Ode XVIII. To Varus.
 XIX. 
Ode XIX. On Glycera.
 XX. 
Ode XX. To Mæcenas.
 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 his Muse.
 XXVII. 
Ode XXVII. To his Companions.
 XXVIII. 
Ode XXVIII. A Mariner and the Ghost of Archytas.
 XXIX. 
Ode XXIX. To Iccius.
 XXX. 
Ode XXX. To Venus.
 XXXI. 
Ode XXXI. To Apollo.
 XXXII. 
Ode XXXII. To his Lyre.
 XXXIII. 
Ode XXXIII. To Albius Tibullus.
 XXXIV. 
Ode XXXIV.
 XXXV. 
Ode XXXV. To Fortune.
 XXXVI. 
Ode XXXVI.
 XXXVII. 
Ode XXXVII. To his Companions.
 XXXVIII. 
Ode XXXVIII. To his Slave.
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THE SECOND BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE.
 I. 
Ode I. To Asinius Pollio.
 II. 
Ode II. To Crispus Sallustius.
 III. 
Ode III. To Dellius.
 IV. 
Ode IV. To Xanthias Phoceus.
 V. 
Ode V.
 VI. 
Ode VI. To Septimius.
 VII. 
Ode VII. To Pompeius Varus.
 VIII. 
Ode VIII. To Barine.
 IX. 
Ode IX. To Valgius.
 X. 
Ode X. To Licinius Murena.
 XI. 
Ode XI. To Quintius Hirpinus.
 XII. 
Ode XII. To Mæcenas.
 XIII. 
Ode XIII.
 XIV. 
Ode XIV. To Postumus.
 XV. 
Ode XV.
 XVI. 
Ode XVI. To Pompeius Grosphus.
 XVII. 
Ode XVII. To Mæcenas.
 XVIII. 
Ode XVIII.
 XIX. 
Ode XIX. To Bacchus.
 XX. 
Ode XX. To Mæcenas.
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THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE.
 I. 
Ode I.
 II. 
Ode II. To his Friends.
 III. 
Ode III.
 IV. 
Ode IV. To Calliope.
 V. 
Ode V. The Praises of Augustus.
 VI. 
Ode VI. To the Romans.
 VII. 
Ode VII. To Asterie.
 VIII. 
Ode VIII. To Mæcenas.
 IX. 
Ode IX. A Dialogue between Horace and Lydia.
 X. 
Ode X. To Lyce.
 XI. 
Ode XI. To Mercury.
 XII. 
Ode XII. To Neobule.
 XIII. 
Ode XIII. To the Fountain Bandusia.
 XIV. 
Ode XIV. On the Return of Augustus from Spain.
 XV. 
Ode XV. To 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 Cask.
 XXII. 
Ode XXII. To Diana.
 XXIII. 
Ode XXIII. To Phidyle.
 XXIV. 
Ode XXIV. Against Misers.
 XXV. 
Ode XXV. To Bacchus.
 XXVI. 
Ode XXVI. To Venus.
 XXVII. 
Ode XXVII. To Galatea.
 XXVIII. 
Ode XXVIII. To Lyde.
 XXIX. 
Ode XXIX. To Mæcenas.
 XXX. 
Ode XXX. To Melpomene.
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THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE.
 I. 
Ode I. To Venus.
 II. 
Ode II. To Antonius Julus.
 III. 
Ode III. To Melpomene.
 IV. 
Ode IV. The Praises of Drusus.
 V. 
Ode V. To Augustus.
 VII. 
Ode VII. To Torquatus.
 VIII. 
Ode VIII. To Censorinus.
 IX. 
Ode IX. To Lollius.
 X. 
Ode X. To Ligurinus.
 XI. 
Ode XI. To Phyllis.
 XII. 
Ode XII. To Virgil.
 XIII. 
Ode XIII. To Lyce.
 XIV. 
Ode XIV. To Augustus.
 XV. 
Ode XV. To Augustus.
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THE BOOK OF THE EPODES of HORACE.
 I. 
Epode I. To Mæcenas.
 II. 
Epode II. The Praises of a Country-Life.
 III. 
Epode III. To Mæcenas.
 IV. 
Epode IV.
 V. 
Epode V: On the Witch Canidia.
 VI. 
Epode VI. To Cassius Severus.
 VII. 
Epode VII. To the Roman People.
 IX. 
Epode IX. To Mæcenas.
 X. 
Epode X. To Mævius.
 XI. 
Epode XI. To Pettius.
 XIII. 
Epode XIII. To a Friend.
 XV. 
Epode XV. To Neæra.
 XVI. 
Epode XVI. To the Romans.
 XVII. 
Epode XVII. To Canidia.
  
Canidia's Answer.
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THE SECULAR POEM.
  
The Poet to the People.
  
To the Chorus of Youths and Virgins.
 1. 
First Concert. HYMN TO APOLLO.
 2. 
Second Concert.
 3. 
Third Concert. TO APOLLO AND DIANA.
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VOL. II.
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THE SATIRES OF HORACE.
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THE FIRST BOOK OF THE SATIRES of HORACE.
 I. 
Sat. I. To Mæcenas.
 II. 
Sat. II. To Mæcenas.
 III. 
Sat. III.
 IV. 
Sat. IV.
 V. 
Sat. V.
 VI. 
Sat. VI. To Mæcenas.
 VII. 
Sat. VII.
 VIII. 
Sat. VIII.
 IX. 
Sat. IX.
 X. 
Sat. X.
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THE SECOND BOOK OF THE SATIRES of HORACE.
 I. 
Sat. I. Horace. Trebatius.
 II. 
Sat. II.
 III. 
Sat. III. Damasippus. Horace.
 VI. 
Sat. VI. Horace. Catius.
 V. 
Sat. V. Ulysses. Tiresias.
 VI. 
Sat. VI.
 VII. 
Sat. VII. Davus. Horace.
 VIII. 
Sat. VIII. Horace. Fundanius.
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THE EPISTLES OF HORACE.
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THE FIRST BOOK OF THE EPISTLES of HORACE.
 I. 
Epistle I. To Mæcenas.
 II. 
Epist. II. To Lollius.
 III. 
Epist. III. To Julius Florus.
 IV. 
Epist. IV. To Albius Tibullus.
 V. 
Epist. V. To Torquatus.
 VI. 
Epist. VI. To Numicius.
 VII. 
Epist. VII. To Mæcenas.
 VIII. 
Epist. VIII. To Celsus Albinovanus.
 IX. 
Epist. IX. To Tiberius Nero.
 X. 
Epist. X. To Aristius Fuscus.
 XI. 
Epist. XI. To Bullatius.
 XII. 
Epist. XII. To Iccius.
 XIII. 
Epist. XIII. To Vinius Asella.
 XIV. 
Epist. XIV. To His Steward in the Country.
 XV. 
Epist. XV. To Vala.
 XVI. 
Epist. XVI. To Quintius.
 XVII. 
Epist. XVII. To Scæva.
 XVIII. 
Epist. XVIII. To Lollius.
 XIX. 
Epist. XIX. To Mæcenas.
 XX. 
Epist. XX. To His Book.
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THE SECOND BOOK OF THE EPISTLES of HORACE.
 I. 
Epist. I. To Augustus.
 II. 
Epist. II. To Julius Florus.
  
HORACE's ART of POETRY.

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Epist. X. To Aristius Fuscus.

To Fuscus, who in City-sports delights,
A Country-Bard with gentle Greeting writes;
In this we differ, but in all beside,
Like twin-born Brothers, are our Souls allied;
And, as a Pair of fondly-constant Doves,
What one dislikes the other disapproves.
You keep the Nest, I love the rural Mead,
The Brook, the mossy Rock and woody Glade;
In short, I live and reign, whene'er I fly
The Joys, You vaunt with Rapture to the Sky,
And like a Slave, from the Priest's Service fled,
I nauseate honey'd Cakes, and long for Bread.
Would you to Nature's Laws Obedience yield,
Would you a House for Health or Pleasure build,
Where is there such a Situation found,
As where the Country spreads its Blessings round?
Where is the temperate Winter less severe?
Or, when the Sun ascending fires the Year,
317

Where breathes a milder Zephyr to asswage
The Dogstar's Fury, or the Lion's Rage?
Where do less envious Cares disturb our Rest?
Or are the Fields, in Nature's Colours drest,
Less grateful to the Smell, or to the Sight,
Than the rich Floor, with inlaid Marble bright?
Is Water purer from the bursting Lead,
Than gently murmuring down its native Bed?
Among your Columns, rich with various Dyes,
Unnatural Woods with aukward Art arise:
You praise the House, whose Situation yields
An open Prospect to the distant Fields.
Though Nature's driven out with proud Disdain,
The powerful Goddess will return again;
Return in silent Triumph to deride
The weak Attempts of Luxury and Pride.
The Man, who cannot with judicious Eye
Compare the Fleece, that drinks the Tyrian Dye,
With the pale Latian, yet shall ne'er sustain
A Loss so touching, of such heart-self Pain,
As he, who can't, with Sense of happier Kind,
Distinguish Truth from Falshood in the Mind.
They, who in Fortune's Smiles too much delight,
Shall tremble when the Goddess takes her Flight,
For if her Gifts our fonder Passions gain,
The frail Possession we resign with Pain.
Then leave the gaudy Blessings of the Great,
The Cottage offers a secure Retreat,
Where You may make a solid Bliss your own,
To Kings, and Favourites of Kings, unknown.
319

A lordly Stag, arm'd with superior Force,
Drove from their common Field a vanquish'd Horse,
Who for Revenge to Man his Strength enslav'd,
Took up his Rider, and the Bitt receiv'd:
But, when he saw his Foe with Triumph slain,
In vain He strove his Freedom to regain,
He felt the Weight and yielded to the Rein.
So he, who Poverty with Horrour views,
Nor frugal Nature's Bounty knows to use;
Who sells his Freedom in Exchange for Gold
(Freedom for Mines of Wealth too cheaply sold)
Shall make eternal Servitude his Fate,
And feel a haughty Master's galling Weight.
Our Fortunes and our Shoes are near allied;
We're pinch'd in strait, and stumble in the wide.
Then learn thy present Fortune to enjoy,
And on my Head thy just Reproach employ,
If e'er, forgetful of my former Self,
I toil to raise unnecessary Pelf,
For Gold will either govern or obey,
But better shall the Slave, than Tyrant play.
This near the Shrine of Idleness I pen'd,
Sincerely blest, but that I want my Friend.
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