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 |
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Epist. XIX. To Mæcenas.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
Epist. XIX. To Mæcenas.
To sage Cratinus if You Credit give,
No Water-drinker's Verses long shall live,
Or long shall please. Among his motley Fold,
Satyrs and Fawns, when Bacchus had enrol'd
The brain-sick Rhimer, soon the tuneful Nine
At Morning breath'd, and not too sweet, of Wine.
When Homer sings the Joys of Wine, 'tis plain,
Great Homer was not of a sober Strain,
And Father Ennius, 'till with drinking fir'd,
Was never to the martial Song inspir'd.
Let thirsty Spirits make the Bar their Choice,
Nor dare in chearful Song to raise their Voice.
No Water-drinker's Verses long shall live,
Or long shall please. Among his motley Fold,
Satyrs and Fawns, when Bacchus had enrol'd
The brain-sick Rhimer, soon the tuneful Nine
At Morning breath'd, and not too sweet, of Wine.
When Homer sings the Joys of Wine, 'tis plain,
Great Homer was not of a sober Strain,
371
Was never to the martial Song inspir'd.
Let thirsty Spirits make the Bar their Choice,
Nor dare in chearful Song to raise their Voice.
Soon as I spoke, our rival Bards engage,
And o'er their Wine eternal Warfare wage.
What! If with naked Feet, and savage Air,
Cato's short Coat some mimic Coxcomb wear,
Say, shall his Habit and affected Gloom,
Great Cato's Virtues, or his Worth assume?
And o'er their Wine eternal Warfare wage.
What! If with naked Feet, and savage Air,
Cato's short Coat some mimic Coxcomb wear,
Say, shall his Habit and affected Gloom,
Great Cato's Virtues, or his Worth assume?
When yonder Moor was well resolv'd to please
With well-bred Raillery, and talking Ease,
To rival gay Timagenes he try'd,
Yet burst with disappointed Spleen and Pride;
By such Examples many a Coxcomb's caught,
Whose utmost Art can imitate a Fault.
With well-bred Raillery, and talking Ease,
To rival gay Timagenes he try'd,
Yet burst with disappointed Spleen and Pride;
By such Examples many a Coxcomb's caught,
Whose utmost Art can imitate a Fault.
Should I by chance grow pale, our Bardlings think,
That bloodless Cumin's the true rhiming Drink.
Ye wretched Mimics, whose fond Heats have been,
How oft! the Objects of my Mirth and Spleen.
That bloodless Cumin's the true rhiming Drink.
Ye wretched Mimics, whose fond Heats have been,
How oft! the Objects of my Mirth and Spleen.
Through open Worlds of Rhime I dar'd to tread
In Paths unknown, by no bold Footsteps led;
And he, who knows himself with conscious Pride,
Most certainly the buzzing Hive shall guide.
To keen Iambics I first tun'd the Lyre,
And warm'd with great Archilochus's Fire
His rapid Numbers chose, but shun'd with Care
The Style, that drove Lycambes to Despair.
In Paths unknown, by no bold Footsteps led;
And he, who knows himself with conscious Pride,
Most certainly the buzzing Hive shall guide.
To keen Iambics I first tun'd the Lyre,
And warm'd with great Archilochus's Fire
His rapid Numbers chose, but shun'd with Care
The Style, that drove Lycambes to Despair.
373
I fear'd to change the Structure of his Line,
And shall a short-liv'd Wreath be therefore mine?
Sappho, whose Verse with manly Spirit glows,
And great Alcæus his Iambics chose
In different Stanza though he forms his Lines,
And to a Theme more merciful inclines;
No perjur'd Sire with blood-stain'd Verse pursues,
Nor tyes, in damning Rhime, his Fair-one's Noose.
I first attempted in the Lyric Tone
His Numbers, to the Roman Lyre, unknown,
And joy, that Works of such unheard-of Taste
By Men of Worth and Genius were embrac'd.
And shall a short-liv'd Wreath be therefore mine?
Sappho, whose Verse with manly Spirit glows,
And great Alcæus his Iambics chose
In different Stanza though he forms his Lines,
And to a Theme more merciful inclines;
No perjur'd Sire with blood-stain'd Verse pursues,
Nor tyes, in damning Rhime, his Fair-one's Noose.
I first attempted in the Lyric Tone
His Numbers, to the Roman Lyre, unknown,
And joy, that Works of such unheard-of Taste
By Men of Worth and Genius were embrac'd.
But would You know, why some condemn abroad,
Thankless, unjust, what they at home applaud?
I never hunt th' inconstant People's Vote
With costly Suppers, or a thread-bare Coat;
The Works of titled Wits I never hear,
Nor vengeful in my Turn assault their Ear.
The Tribe of Grammar-Pedants I despise,
And hence their Tears of Spleen and Anger rise.
I blush in grand Assemblies to repeat
My worthless Works, and give such Trifles Weight;
Yet these Professions they with Wonder hear—
“No. You reserve them for dread Cæsar's Ear;
“With your own Beauties charm'd, you surely know
“Your Verses with a honey'd Sweetness flow.”
Nor dare I railly with such dangerous Folk,
Lest I be torn in pieces for a Joke,
Yet beg, they would appoint another Day,
A Place more proper to decide the Fray,
For Jests a fearful Strife and Anger breed,
Whence Quarrels fierce, and funeral Wars proceed.
Thankless, unjust, what they at home applaud?
I never hunt th' inconstant People's Vote
With costly Suppers, or a thread-bare Coat;
The Works of titled Wits I never hear,
Nor vengeful in my Turn assault their Ear.
375
And hence their Tears of Spleen and Anger rise.
I blush in grand Assemblies to repeat
My worthless Works, and give such Trifles Weight;
Yet these Professions they with Wonder hear—
“No. You reserve them for dread Cæsar's Ear;
“With your own Beauties charm'd, you surely know
“Your Verses with a honey'd Sweetness flow.”
Nor dare I railly with such dangerous Folk,
Lest I be torn in pieces for a Joke,
Yet beg, they would appoint another Day,
A Place more proper to decide the Fray,
For Jests a fearful Strife and Anger breed,
Whence Quarrels fierce, and funeral Wars proceed.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |