The Works of Horace In English Verse By several hands. Collected and Published By Mr. Duncombe. With Notes Historical and Critical |
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 | The Works of Horace In English Verse |  |
191
SATIRE III. Damasippus. Horace.
In this Dialogue Damasippus explains at large, and illustrates by Examples the Doctrine of the Stoics, That every wicked Man is a Fool or Lunatic, as he himself had learned it in a Lecture from the Stoic Philosopher Stertinius.
Damasippus.
If you so rarely write, that, through the Year,
You scarce four times your Pens and Scrolls demand,
Retouching all you have already writ;
And nought produce, that merits public Praise,
Though conscious you indulge in Wine and Sleep,
If this must be allow'd, what can you plead?
Hither from Saturn's Revellers you fled,
More sober, sure: Then now, retir'd, perform
Your mighty Promises. Begin. What—Nothing?—
Nay, 'tis in vain to blame your Pens, and curse
The harmless Wall, in evil Hour uprear'd.
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Soon as you reach'd your Villa, snug and warm.
Why bring you hither your Menander, Plato,
Archilochus, and Eupolis? Why such
Illustrious Company?—Think you to blunt
The Shafts of Envy, by forsaking Virtue?
Wretch as you are, Contempt shall be your Lot.
You must avoid that wicked Siren, Sloth;
Or be content to give up all th'Applause
The Studies of your better Life have won.
Horace.
May, Damasippus, for thy sage Advice,
The Gods and Goddesses a Barber give thee!
But whence hast thou acquir'd this Knowledge of me?
Damasippus.
Since at th'Exchange I lost my whole Estate
By unsuccessful Barter, I attend
Th'Affairs of other Men, driv'n from my own.
I dealt before in Statues, Pictures, Coins;
Knew to distinguish modern from antique;
And lov'd to purchase Cauldrons rare, in which
The subtle Sisyphus had lav'd his Feet;
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Discern'd the Hand of each Artificer,
Who cast each Vase, and who each Busto wrought;
And for one Statue gave six hundred Pounds;
For I was shrewd, and knew it cheaply purchas'd.
Gardens, and stately Houses too, I bought;
And sold again with Profit: Hence the Crowd
Were pleas'd to style me Hermes' Favourite.
Horace.
This I have heard; but wonder by what Means
You were restor'd to Sanity of Mind.
Damasippus.
A new Distemper oft expells the old:
Thus Pleuresies and Head-achs shift their Seat,
And, flying to the Bowels, there assume
Another Shape: Thus the lethargic Man,
Rouz'd from his Slumber, his Physician beats.
Horace.
This Frenzy spare, and act what Part you please.
Damasippus.
Be not deceiv'd, my Friend; nor think that I
Am mad alone; for you, and every Fool,
Are mad no less than I; if true the Lore
Stertinius boasts; from whom I docile learnt
These wondrous Precepts, when, oppress'd with Grief,
On the Fabrician Bridge, with muffled Head
I stood, prepar'd to plunge into the Stream.
He taught me first to wear this reverend Beard,
Compos'd my Mind, when frantic with my Loss,
And made me thence return sedate and calm;
For, luckily, he then was by—‘Beware,
‘(He cry'd) how you commit so rash a Deed.
‘Idle your Shame: Why should you fear alone
‘To be thought mad, among a Crowd of Madmen?
‘First, let us seek the Meaning of the Word;
‘And if it should agree with you alone,
‘Fulfill your Purpose; nor will I oppose it.
Am mad alone; for you, and every Fool,
Are mad no less than I; if true the Lore
194
These wondrous Precepts, when, oppress'd with Grief,
On the Fabrician Bridge, with muffled Head
I stood, prepar'd to plunge into the Stream.
He taught me first to wear this reverend Beard,
Compos'd my Mind, when frantic with my Loss,
And made me thence return sedate and calm;
For, luckily, he then was by—‘Beware,
‘(He cry'd) how you commit so rash a Deed.
‘Idle your Shame: Why should you fear alone
‘To be thought mad, among a Crowd of Madmen?
‘First, let us seek the Meaning of the Word;
‘And if it should agree with you alone,
‘Fulfill your Purpose; nor will I oppose it.
‘The Man, by restless Passions blindly led,
‘Or Ignorance of Truth; this Man, I say,
‘Chrysippus and his School condemn as mad.
‘The Charge, you see, is general; and includes
‘Both High and Low, the Subject and the King;
‘All but the Wise—Attend, and you shall hear,
‘How those, who call you mad, are mad themselves.
‘As in a Forest, Crowds, by Error led,
‘Mistake their Way; this, on the right, proceeds;
‘That, on the left; yet both are in the wrong;
‘Though eagerly they different Paths pursue;
‘Just such is Life! Then think yourself indeed
‘(As you are call'd) a Fool; and yet the Man,
‘Who laughs at you, trails his own dangling Tail.
‘Or Ignorance of Truth; this Man, I say,
‘Chrysippus and his School condemn as mad.
‘The Charge, you see, is general; and includes
‘Both High and Low, the Subject and the King;
‘All but the Wise—Attend, and you shall hear,
‘How those, who call you mad, are mad themselves.
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‘Mistake their Way; this, on the right, proceeds;
‘That, on the left; yet both are in the wrong;
‘Though eagerly they different Paths pursue;
‘Just such is Life! Then think yourself indeed
‘(As you are call'd) a Fool; and yet the Man,
‘Who laughs at you, trails his own dangling Tail.
‘One sort of Frenzy makes Men stand aghast,
‘And tremble at imaginary Ills.
‘When walking on the level Ground, they cry,
‘That Trees, and Rocks, and Rivers bar their Way.
‘And tremble at imaginary Ills.
‘When walking on the level Ground, they cry,
‘That Trees, and Rocks, and Rivers bar their Way.
‘Another kind, not less extravagant,
‘Through Flames, or boisterous Floods, will headlong rush.
‘To Him his Mother, Sister, Friends and Wife
‘Cry out in vain, Lo! here a Precipice;
‘And there a mighty Rock obstructs your Passage,
‘He hears no more than Fusius, when of old,
‘Ilioné he play'd, suppos'd to sleep;
‘But, in a drunken Fit, he slept so sound,
‘That Catiënus and two thousand Mouths
‘Bellow'd in vain; “Sister! awake, and help me.”
‘Through Flames, or boisterous Floods, will headlong rush.
‘To Him his Mother, Sister, Friends and Wife
‘Cry out in vain, Lo! here a Precipice;
‘And there a mighty Rock obstructs your Passage,
‘He hears no more than Fusius, when of old,
‘Ilioné he play'd, suppos'd to sleep;
‘But, in a drunken Fit, he slept so sound,
‘That Catiënus and two thousand Mouths
‘Bellow'd in vain; “Sister! awake, and help me.”
196
‘I now proceed to show, that all Mankind
‘Are with some epidemic Frenzy seiz'd.
‘You, Damasippus, act a frantic Part
‘In purchasing Antiques. But frankly say,
‘Is not your Creditor as mad as you?
‘Are with some epidemic Frenzy seiz'd.
‘You, Damasippus, act a frantic Part
‘In purchasing Antiques. But frankly say,
‘Is not your Creditor as mad as you?
‘Let us now fully canvas this Affair:
‘Should I accost you thus, “Here take this Gold;
“Employ it for your Use without Account,”
‘Would you be deem'd a Fool to take the Gift;
‘Or would you not be mad, if you refus'd?
‘But now methinks I hear the Creditor
‘Reply; He gives his Bond for all I lend him.
‘'Tis well: Consult Cicuta too, who knows
‘To tie the strongest Knots of Law; and yet
‘This wicked Proteus will elude your Skill;
‘And, when arraign'd, will laugh at your Expence;
‘Transform himself into a Tree, or Rock;
‘Be now a Bird, and now a bristly Boar.
‘If bad Oeconomy from Folly springs;
‘Wisdom's the Source of good Oeconomy.
‘Then is Perillius' Head less sane than yours,
‘Who takes a Bond, You never can discharge.
‘Should I accost you thus, “Here take this Gold;
“Employ it for your Use without Account,”
‘Would you be deem'd a Fool to take the Gift;
‘Or would you not be mad, if you refus'd?
‘But now methinks I hear the Creditor
‘Reply; He gives his Bond for all I lend him.
‘'Tis well: Consult Cicuta too, who knows
‘To tie the strongest Knots of Law; and yet
‘This wicked Proteus will elude your Skill;
‘And, when arraign'd, will laugh at your Expence;
‘Transform himself into a Tree, or Rock;
‘Be now a Bird, and now a bristly Boar.
‘If bad Oeconomy from Folly springs;
‘Wisdom's the Source of good Oeconomy.
‘Then is Perillius' Head less sane than yours,
‘Who takes a Bond, You never can discharge.
‘Ho! to my Lecture haste, whatever Wretch
‘Is pale with wild Ambition, or the Love
‘Of Wealth: Compose your Robes, and silent hear.
‘Let such, as gloomy Superstition haunts,
‘And those, that glow with Riot, sensual Joys,
‘Or other baneful Malady of Mind,
‘In order come; and listen, while I prove,
‘That each of these must rank with Lunatics.
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‘Of Wealth: Compose your Robes, and silent hear.
‘Let such, as gloomy Superstition haunts,
‘And those, that glow with Riot, sensual Joys,
‘Or other baneful Malady of Mind,
‘In order come; and listen, while I prove,
‘That each of these must rank with Lunatics.
‘The Miser justly claims the largest Share
‘Of Hellebore: I know not, if good Sense
‘Will not allot him all Anticyra.
‘Staberius order'd his Executors
‘To grave upon his Tomb-stone what he left 'em.
‘Which if they should neglect, they were to feast
‘The Citizens, as Arrius should direct;
‘To give an hundred Pair of Gladiators,
‘And as much Corn, as Afric's Harvests yield.
‘If this be right or wrong, says the Testator,
‘Is not your Care. I will it: That's enough.
‘Staberius, as I guess, might argue thus’—
‘Of Hellebore: I know not, if good Sense
‘Will not allot him all Anticyra.
‘Staberius order'd his Executors
‘To grave upon his Tomb-stone what he left 'em.
‘Which if they should neglect, they were to feast
‘The Citizens, as Arrius should direct;
‘To give an hundred Pair of Gladiators,
‘And as much Corn, as Afric's Harvests yield.
‘If this be right or wrong, says the Testator,
‘Is not your Care. I will it: That's enough.
‘Staberius, as I guess, might argue thus’—
Damasippus.
Argue?—Could he have Cause t'enjoin his Heirs
To carve, upon his Tomb, the Sums he left 'em?
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Long as he liv'd, he reckon'd Poverty
The greatest Vice; and nothing so much fear'd,
As to have died in lower Circumstance.
His Conscience would have check'd him, as more wicked
By how much less he left—For every Grace,
Or Human or Divine; Courage and Honour,
Beauty and Fame, fair Wealth! are giv'n by Thee
And he, who piles up Gold, will strait become
Renown'd, brave, just and wise; and ev'n a King;
Or whatsoe'er he please—By this he thought
To merit the Applause of future Times,
As Riches are the strongest Test of Wisdom.
The greatest Vice; and nothing so much fear'd,
As to have died in lower Circumstance.
His Conscience would have check'd him, as more wicked
By how much less he left—For every Grace,
Or Human or Divine; Courage and Honour,
Beauty and Fame, fair Wealth! are giv'n by Thee
And he, who piles up Gold, will strait become
Renown'd, brave, just and wise; and ev'n a King;
Or whatsoe'er he please—By this he thought
To merit the Applause of future Times,
As Riches are the strongest Test of Wisdom.
But how unlike to him was Aristippus?
For as he travell'd o'er the Libyan Plains,
He bid his Slaves, retarded by the Gold,
To throw it all away. Which of these two
Should be rank'd first among the Class of Madmen?
For as he travell'd o'er the Libyan Plains,
He bid his Slaves, retarded by the Gold,
To throw it all away. Which of these two
Should be rank'd first among the Class of Madmen?
Damasippus.
Examples but perplex, not solve the Question.
199
Suppose we now a Man to purchase Lutes,
And them, so purchas'd, in a Store-house keep,
Unskill'd to play, and tasteless of each Muse;
Or to provide himself with Paring-knives
And Lasts, though he had never made a Shoe;
Or Sails and Tackling for a Ship; unvers'd
In Sea Affairs, to Commerce never bred;
Would not the Crowd with Justice say, that he
Was in a State of Lunacy, or Dotage?
But is his Head more sound, who Sums immense
Of Gold and Silver hides; and ever dreads,
As if 'twere Sacrilege, to spend a Doit?
What if the Owner, with his out-stretch'd Staff,
Watches his Stores of Corn both Day and Night;
Nor dares, though hungry, touch a single Grain;
His meager Body feeds with bitter Herbs;
And, though his Vaults a thousand Casks contain
Of Chian, or of old Falernian Wine,
Drinks nought but what is sour as Vinegar;
Tho' in his eightieth Year, should sleep on Flocks,
While Moths and Worms his Quilts and Down devour,
Which, rotting in his Chests, are hoarded up.
If such a Man is thought insane by few,
The Reason is, because the same Disease
Infects so great a Part of Human-kind.
And them, so purchas'd, in a Store-house keep,
Unskill'd to play, and tasteless of each Muse;
Or to provide himself with Paring-knives
And Lasts, though he had never made a Shoe;
Or Sails and Tackling for a Ship; unvers'd
In Sea Affairs, to Commerce never bred;
Would not the Crowd with Justice say, that he
Was in a State of Lunacy, or Dotage?
But is his Head more sound, who Sums immense
Of Gold and Silver hides; and ever dreads,
As if 'twere Sacrilege, to spend a Doit?
What if the Owner, with his out-stretch'd Staff,
Watches his Stores of Corn both Day and Night;
Nor dares, though hungry, touch a single Grain;
His meager Body feeds with bitter Herbs;
And, though his Vaults a thousand Casks contain
Of Chian, or of old Falernian Wine,
Drinks nought but what is sour as Vinegar;
Tho' in his eightieth Year, should sleep on Flocks,
While Moths and Worms his Quilts and Down devour,
Which, rotting in his Chests, are hoarded up.
200
The Reason is, because the same Disease
Infects so great a Part of Human-kind.
Dotard! ungrateful to the bounteous Gods,
Who dost defraud thyself for fear of Want,
That thy wild Son, or manumitted Slave,
May squander all thy Wealth on vagrant Lust.
How little would, each Day, thy Treasures sink,
Should'st thou sweet Oyl upon thy Lettuce pour,
Go neatly drest, and feed on wholesome Fare?
How few are frugal Nature's just Demands?
Why then forswear thyself, pilfer and steal,
To heap up useless Wealth? Is not this Madness?
Should'st thou with Stones pursue the gaping Crowd,
And ev'n the Slaves which thy own Pelf has bought,
The Boys and Girls would hoot thee through the Street.
And is not he of Mind insane, who strangles
His portion'd Wife, or kills by baneful Drugs
His jointur'd Mother—True; the Fact, indeed,
Was not at Argos done; nor, with thy Sword,
Did'st thou, like mad Orestes, stab the Dame.
What! dost thou think, his Brain was only touch'd
After the Murder? No; th'infernal Hags
Haunted his Soul, before his vengeful Hand
Plung'd in his Mother's Breast the pointed Steel.
For, from the Time that he was deem'd insane,
Nothing he wrought, that could be justly tax'd.
He did not with his Sword Electra strike,
Nor Pylades; but only call'd her, Fury,
And branded him, as splendid Choler prompted.
Who dost defraud thyself for fear of Want,
That thy wild Son, or manumitted Slave,
May squander all thy Wealth on vagrant Lust.
How little would, each Day, thy Treasures sink,
Should'st thou sweet Oyl upon thy Lettuce pour,
Go neatly drest, and feed on wholesome Fare?
How few are frugal Nature's just Demands?
Why then forswear thyself, pilfer and steal,
To heap up useless Wealth? Is not this Madness?
Should'st thou with Stones pursue the gaping Crowd,
And ev'n the Slaves which thy own Pelf has bought,
The Boys and Girls would hoot thee through the Street.
And is not he of Mind insane, who strangles
His portion'd Wife, or kills by baneful Drugs
His jointur'd Mother—True; the Fact, indeed,
Was not at Argos done; nor, with thy Sword,
Did'st thou, like mad Orestes, stab the Dame.
201
After the Murder? No; th'infernal Hags
Haunted his Soul, before his vengeful Hand
Plung'd in his Mother's Breast the pointed Steel.
For, from the Time that he was deem'd insane,
Nothing he wrought, that could be justly tax'd.
He did not with his Sword Electra strike,
Nor Pylades; but only call'd her, Fury,
And branded him, as splendid Choler prompted.
Opimius, in the midst of Plenty poor,
And brooding o'er his Heaps of Gold and Silver,
On Festivals would drink prick'd Veian Wine
In Earthen Vases; and, on common Days,
Such as was flat and vapid: Heretofore
So deep a Lethargy had seiz'd his Senses,
That his glad Heir was rifling all his Chests.
When, to his Aid, his faithful Doctor flew,
Who diligently watch'd the happy Crisis,
And by this Stratagem awak'd the Wretch;
‘Close to his Bed (he cry'd) a Table place,
‘And Bags of Money jingling on it throw;
‘Then various Hands employ to count it o'er.’
He halloo'd in his Ears, while this was doing,
‘Awake! arise! or your rapacious Heir
‘Will plunder all.’ ‘What! while I live?’ said he.
‘Then rouze yourself, and to my Words attend;
‘Your Appetite will quite be pall'd, unless
‘Buoy'd up with wholesome Broths; your Veins are empty.
‘Here! here! be quick! pour down this Soup of Rice.’
‘What is the Cost?’—‘A Trifle.’ ‘What?’—‘But Eightpence.’
‘Ah! what avails it that I Thieves escape,
‘If I by Doctors' Fees and Slops must die?’
And brooding o'er his Heaps of Gold and Silver,
On Festivals would drink prick'd Veian Wine
In Earthen Vases; and, on common Days,
Such as was flat and vapid: Heretofore
So deep a Lethargy had seiz'd his Senses,
That his glad Heir was rifling all his Chests.
When, to his Aid, his faithful Doctor flew,
Who diligently watch'd the happy Crisis,
And by this Stratagem awak'd the Wretch;
‘Close to his Bed (he cry'd) a Table place,
‘And Bags of Money jingling on it throw;
‘Then various Hands employ to count it o'er.’
He halloo'd in his Ears, while this was doing,
‘Awake! arise! or your rapacious Heir
202
‘Then rouze yourself, and to my Words attend;
‘Your Appetite will quite be pall'd, unless
‘Buoy'd up with wholesome Broths; your Veins are empty.
‘Here! here! be quick! pour down this Soup of Rice.’
‘What is the Cost?’—‘A Trifle.’ ‘What?’—‘But Eightpence.’
‘Ah! what avails it that I Thieves escape,
‘If I by Doctors' Fees and Slops must die?’
Damasippus.
Who then is sane?
Stertinius.
The Man, who is no Fool.
Damasippus.
The Miser, what?
Stertinius.
A Madman and a Fool.
Damasippus.
But is the Man unstain'd with Avarice
To be accounted sane?
203
By no means so.
Damasippus.
Your Reasons, Stoic?
Stertinius.
Thus in order take them.
‘This Patient's Appetite,’ says Craterus,
‘Is not amiss.’ But should you thence infer,
That he is well, and from his Bed may rise,
The Doctor thus would check you; ‘It is true,
‘A bad Digestion is not his Complaint;
‘But he's afflicted with the Gout, or Stone.’
You are not perjur'd, nor a Slave to Gold.
'Tis well: Then pay your Lares with a Pig.
But if, ambitious, your Estate you waste
In rash Pursuits; hie to Anticyra!
For is he wiser, who consumes his Wealth
On Scoundrels, than the Man who will not use it?
‘This Patient's Appetite,’ says Craterus,
‘Is not amiss.’ But should you thence infer,
That he is well, and from his Bed may rise,
The Doctor thus would check you; ‘It is true,
‘A bad Digestion is not his Complaint;
‘But he's afflicted with the Gout, or Stone.’
You are not perjur'd, nor a Slave to Gold.
'Tis well: Then pay your Lares with a Pig.
But if, ambitious, your Estate you waste
In rash Pursuits; hie to Anticyra!
For is he wiser, who consumes his Wealth
On Scoundrels, than the Man who will not use it?
Servius Oppidius, who was rich, and own'd
Two ancient Farms, that near Canusium lay,
Tradition says, on his two Sons bestow'd 'em,
And, calling to his Bed, address'd them thus:
‘When I have seen thee, Aulus, in thy Vest
‘Thy Ivory Balls and Marbles careless bear,
‘And to thy Play-mates give, or twirl away;
‘And thee, Tiberius, count thy Toys with Care;
‘Then anxious hide them in some secret Place;
‘I seem'd to read your Characters and Fates,
‘And that a various Frenzy would infect you;
‘That one of you would prove a Nomentanus;
‘The other, like Cicuta, scrape and save.
‘Wherefore I, by our Houshold Gods, adjure ye,
‘That thou, my Aulus, wilt preserve entire
‘What I shall leave; nor thou, Tiberius, seek
‘T'increase that little, which I think enough;
‘But keep within the Bounds by Nature set.
‘And, lest Ambition should your Fancies cheat,
‘Let each of you engage himself by Oath,
‘Not to aspire at Honours in the State.
‘Whoever breaks it, let him be accurs'd,
‘Debarr'd from all the Rights of Citizens.’
What! would'st thou, Madman! waste thy Wealth, to bribe
The Crowd by Largesses of Beans and Vetches,
To have thy Statue in the Forum plac'd,
And be in Pomp along the Circus borne;
Stript of paternal Goods, paternal Lands,
‘Think'st thou to share Agrippa's Praise? The Fox
‘Affected thus the lordly Lion's Gait.’—
Two ancient Farms, that near Canusium lay,
Tradition says, on his two Sons bestow'd 'em,
And, calling to his Bed, address'd them thus:
‘When I have seen thee, Aulus, in thy Vest
204
‘And to thy Play-mates give, or twirl away;
‘And thee, Tiberius, count thy Toys with Care;
‘Then anxious hide them in some secret Place;
‘I seem'd to read your Characters and Fates,
‘And that a various Frenzy would infect you;
‘That one of you would prove a Nomentanus;
‘The other, like Cicuta, scrape and save.
‘Wherefore I, by our Houshold Gods, adjure ye,
‘That thou, my Aulus, wilt preserve entire
‘What I shall leave; nor thou, Tiberius, seek
‘T'increase that little, which I think enough;
‘But keep within the Bounds by Nature set.
‘And, lest Ambition should your Fancies cheat,
‘Let each of you engage himself by Oath,
‘Not to aspire at Honours in the State.
‘Whoever breaks it, let him be accurs'd,
‘Debarr'd from all the Rights of Citizens.’
What! would'st thou, Madman! waste thy Wealth, to bribe
The Crowd by Largesses of Beans and Vetches,
To have thy Statue in the Forum plac'd,
And be in Pomp along the Circus borne;
Stript of paternal Goods, paternal Lands,
205
‘Affected thus the lordly Lion's Gait.’—
O Son of Atreus, why dost thou deny
Ajax a Grave?
Ajax a Grave?
Agamemnon.
Because I am a King.
Stertinius.
I, a Plebeian born, will ask no more.
Agamemnon.
What I ordain is just: If any Man
Judge otherwise, he is allow'd by Me
To speak his Thoughts with Freedom, unreprov'd.
Stertinius.
Greatest of Kings! may your triumphant Fleet
Return from conquer'd Troy with prosperous Gales!
May I then Questions ask, and make Replies?
Agamemnon.
Proceed.
Stertinius.
Why does the Hero Ajax rot,
Whose Arm renown'd so often sav'd the Greeks,
Second to none in Valour but Achilles?
Say, is the Man, by whom so many Youths
Of Troy unbury'd lie, himself deny'd
206
Of joyful Priam, and the Trojan Foe?
Agamemnon.
He, frantic, slew a thousand Sheep; and cry'd,
‘There, both the Sons of Atreus fell; and, here,
‘Their vaunted Orator Ulysses lies.’
Stertinius.
But when at Aulis Agamemnon led
His blooming Iphigenia to the Altar,
Like some devoted Heifer to be slain,
And scatter'd on her Head the salted Meal;
Wretch that he was! did he enjoy his Senses?
Agamemnon.
Why not?
Stertinius.
And what were then the Deeds of Ajax,
That so much merited the Name of Frenzy?
True, with his Sword he slaughter'd many Sheep,
But to his Wife, or Son, no Outrage offer'd.
He pour'd forth horrid Oaths against th'Atridæ,
But neither injur'd Teucer, or Ulysses.
207
Our lingering Fleet from Aulis to release,
I wisely chose to sooth the Gods with Blood.
Stertinius.
What, Madman, with thy own?
Agamemnon,
Yes, with my own;
And yet not mad.
Stertinius.
The Man, by Passion sway'd,
Who blends the Forms distinct of Right and Wrong,
Deserves a Place among the frantic Tribe:
And if he err through Folly, or through Passion,
'Tis all alike: Th'Effect is still the same.
Who blends the Forms distinct of Right and Wrong,
Deserves a Place among the frantic Tribe:
And if he err through Folly, or through Passion,
'Tis all alike: Th'Effect is still the same.
Was Ajax mad, when harmless Sheep he slew?
And art thou sound of Mind, who durst commit
Unnatural Crimes, for vain and empty Names?
Is that Heart pure, which wild Ambition swells?
And art thou sound of Mind, who durst commit
Unnatural Crimes, for vain and empty Names?
Is that Heart pure, which wild Ambition swells?
Should any one delight to bear a Lamb,
Where'er he travels, with him in his Litter;
And deck her out, as if she were his Daughter,
With gay Attire; give her a Train of Slaves,
And a rich Portion too, and thus address her:
My Dear! my Child! my Puppet! and my Darling!
And a fit Husband for his Girl provide;
The Prætor would adjudge him lunatic,
Place in sure Hands his Fortune and his Goods,
And to his Heirs assign him as a Ward.
Where'er he travels, with him in his Litter;
And deck her out, as if she were his Daughter,
With gay Attire; give her a Train of Slaves,
And a rich Portion too, and thus address her:
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And a fit Husband for his Girl provide;
The Prætor would adjudge him lunatic,
Place in sure Hands his Fortune and his Goods,
And to his Heirs assign him as a Ward.
But now suppose a Man should sacrifice,
For a dumb Lamb, his lovely blooming Daughter;
Will you pretend, that he is less insane?
I know you dare not. When such Folly, therefore,
Is join'd with Vice, it is the Height of Madness:
Each wicked Man is Lunatic convict.
Bellona, who delights in Fields of Blood,
Thundering from her wild Car, infects his Head
With frantic Rage, whom splendid Glory charms!—
For a dumb Lamb, his lovely blooming Daughter;
Will you pretend, that he is less insane?
I know you dare not. When such Folly, therefore,
Is join'd with Vice, it is the Height of Madness:
Each wicked Man is Lunatic convict.
Bellona, who delights in Fields of Blood,
Thundering from her wild Car, infects his Head
With frantic Rage, whom splendid Glory charms!—
Attend, while Nomentanus I indict:
Reason demonstrates every Spendthrift mad.
Soon as his Father died, and he possess'd
A thousand Talents, he proclaim'd around,
That Taylors and Perfumers, Huntsmen, Cooks,
All the vile Tenants of the Tuscan Street,
Fishmongers, Poulterers, Panders, and Buffoons
Should the next Morning at his Palace wait.
What then?—They all obey: The Pander first
Accosts the Heir; ‘Whatever I possess,
‘Or any of my Brethren, is your own;
‘To-day, To-morrow send; or when you please.’
Mark, how the Youth reply'd, benevolent;
‘Huntsman, you watch in the Lucanian Snow
‘Booted, that I may feast upon a Boar;
‘You, Sailor, bear Fatigues, and sweep the Seas
‘In Winter, to supply my Board with Fish;
‘While I, at Ease, regale myself at home;
‘Unworthy to enjoy such copious Wealth,
‘Were I not glad to share it with my Friends:
‘Take then this Tribute of a grateful Heart.
‘Here are for each of you five hundred Pounds.
‘But for the Man, who gives me daintier Fare,
‘And, when I call, will send his blooming Bride,
(He nods Consent) ‘three times that Sum be his!’
Reason demonstrates every Spendthrift mad.
Soon as his Father died, and he possess'd
A thousand Talents, he proclaim'd around,
That Taylors and Perfumers, Huntsmen, Cooks,
All the vile Tenants of the Tuscan Street,
Fishmongers, Poulterers, Panders, and Buffoons
Should the next Morning at his Palace wait.
What then?—They all obey: The Pander first
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‘Or any of my Brethren, is your own;
‘To-day, To-morrow send; or when you please.’
Mark, how the Youth reply'd, benevolent;
‘Huntsman, you watch in the Lucanian Snow
‘Booted, that I may feast upon a Boar;
‘You, Sailor, bear Fatigues, and sweep the Seas
‘In Winter, to supply my Board with Fish;
‘While I, at Ease, regale myself at home;
‘Unworthy to enjoy such copious Wealth,
‘Were I not glad to share it with my Friends:
‘Take then this Tribute of a grateful Heart.
‘Here are for each of you five hundred Pounds.
‘But for the Man, who gives me daintier Fare,
‘And, when I call, will send his blooming Bride,
(He nods Consent) ‘three times that Sum be his!’
Æsopus' Son dissolv'd in Vinegar
A precious Pearl, which from her Ear, Metella
Had bounteously bestow'd; and, drinking, cry'd,
‘I swallow at a Draught eight thousand Pounds.’
Could he have giv'n a stronger Proof of Madness,
Supposing he had thrown it in the Sea?
The Sons of Quintius Arrius, Twins in Folly
And every Vice, no less than Twins by Nature,
On costly Nightingales were wont to dine.
Shall we with Chalk, or Charcoal, mark their Names;
Esteem them wise, or think their Brain was touch'd?
A precious Pearl, which from her Ear, Metella
Had bounteously bestow'd; and, drinking, cry'd,
‘I swallow at a Draught eight thousand Pounds.’
Could he have giv'n a stronger Proof of Madness,
Supposing he had thrown it in the Sea?
The Sons of Quintius Arrius, Twins in Folly
And every Vice, no less than Twins by Nature,
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Shall we with Chalk, or Charcoal, mark their Names;
Esteem them wise, or think their Brain was touch'd?
Were we to see a Man, with reverend Beard,
Delight to build Clay Houses, and to drive
A little Cart with Mice; at Ev'n or Odd
To play; and ride upon a Hobby-Horse;
We should condemn him as a Fool, or mad.
But now if Reason will evince, that Love
Is still more Boyish than these trifling Sports;
And that the Child, who blubbers for his Toy,
Is not so silly, as the Man who weeps,
Because his perjur'd Harlot has elop'd;
Would you, I say, convinc'd, then lay aside
Your foppish Dress, the Sign of your Disease,
Your nice Cravat, your little Cloak, and Ruff,
And act like Polemo, who, when of old,
He, in a drunken Fit, had chanc'd to stray
Into the School of sage Xenocrates,
And heard his wholesome Lore on Temperance;
Stole from his Head, abash'd, his flowery Wreath,
And turn'd a Convert to Philosophy.
Delight to build Clay Houses, and to drive
A little Cart with Mice; at Ev'n or Odd
To play; and ride upon a Hobby-Horse;
We should condemn him as a Fool, or mad.
But now if Reason will evince, that Love
Is still more Boyish than these trifling Sports;
And that the Child, who blubbers for his Toy,
Is not so silly, as the Man who weeps,
Because his perjur'd Harlot has elop'd;
Would you, I say, convinc'd, then lay aside
Your foppish Dress, the Sign of your Disease,
Your nice Cravat, your little Cloak, and Ruff,
And act like Polemo, who, when of old,
He, in a drunken Fit, had chanc'd to stray
Into the School of sage Xenocrates,
And heard his wholesome Lore on Temperance;
Stole from his Head, abash'd, his flowery Wreath,
And turn'd a Convert to Philosophy.
Offer an Apple to a peevish Boy;
He will refuse. ‘My Darling take it.’ ‘No!’
Yet dies to have it, when it is deny'd.
How differs from this Boy th'excluded Lover,
Whose Picture on our Stage so lively shines?
Where with himself he argues, if he shall,
Or shall not to his Mistress' House return;
Though conscious he will surely go, unask'd;
And still he lingers near her hated Door.
‘Shall I not go, ev'n now, when I am call'd?
‘Or shall I end at once this Weight of Woes?
‘She thrust me out; invites: Shall I return?
‘No! I'd not go, were she herself to come.’
But thus the wiser Slave his Master chides:
‘Love, which the Bounds of Reason and Advice
‘Disclaims, not Reason nor Advice can rule,
‘Nor any Curb restrain: Here, Peace and War
‘Alternately succeed: And he, who strives
‘These changeful things to fix, which on Caprice
‘Alone depend, still veering like the Winds,
‘No better will prevail, than should he strive
‘To run by Reason, Mood, and Figure, mad.’
He will refuse. ‘My Darling take it.’ ‘No!’
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How differs from this Boy th'excluded Lover,
Whose Picture on our Stage so lively shines?
Where with himself he argues, if he shall,
Or shall not to his Mistress' House return;
Though conscious he will surely go, unask'd;
And still he lingers near her hated Door.
‘Shall I not go, ev'n now, when I am call'd?
‘Or shall I end at once this Weight of Woes?
‘She thrust me out; invites: Shall I return?
‘No! I'd not go, were she herself to come.’
But thus the wiser Slave his Master chides:
‘Love, which the Bounds of Reason and Advice
‘Disclaims, not Reason nor Advice can rule,
‘Nor any Curb restrain: Here, Peace and War
‘Alternately succeed: And he, who strives
‘These changeful things to fix, which on Caprice
‘Alone depend, still veering like the Winds,
‘No better will prevail, than should he strive
‘To run by Reason, Mood, and Figure, mad.’
When, from an Apple picking out the Kernels,
And pressing them between your Thumb and Fingers,
You chance to strike the Cieling of the Room,
And leap with Joy; are you then sane of Mind?
And pressing them between your Thumb and Fingers,
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And leap with Joy; are you then sane of Mind?
Or when an old Man stammers out half Words,
To please his Puppet's Ear, is he more wise
Than wanton Boys, who Castles build with Clay?
To please his Puppet's Ear, is he more wise
Than wanton Boys, who Castles build with Clay?
To all this add the Rage of wild Desire,
The Murders that attend this frantic Flame.
When Marius late his Mistress Hellas slew,
And, stung with just Remorse, leap'd headlong down
A Precipice; will you allow him mad?
Or, to the same Thing giving different Names,
(As is the Mode) charge him with Vice alone?
The Murders that attend this frantic Flame.
When Marius late his Mistress Hellas slew,
And, stung with just Remorse, leap'd headlong down
A Precipice; will you allow him mad?
Or, to the same Thing giving different Names,
(As is the Mode) charge him with Vice alone?
An ancient Slave about the Cross-ways ran,
At Break of Day, fasting, with clean-wash'd Hands;
And thus devoutly to the Lares pray'd:
‘Ye Powers benign, to Me this Favour grant;
‘(Easy to you) that I may never die!’
The Master might have vouch'd him sound of Limb,
When he was sold; but had he said, of Mind,
An Action would have lain against the Vender.
Now all this Crowd is, by Chrysippus' School,
In the large Family of Madmen rank'd.
At Break of Day, fasting, with clean-wash'd Hands;
And thus devoutly to the Lares pray'd:
‘Ye Powers benign, to Me this Favour grant;
‘(Easy to you) that I may never die!’
The Master might have vouch'd him sound of Limb,
When he was sold; but had he said, of Mind,
An Action would have lain against the Vender.
Now all this Crowd is, by Chrysippus' School,
In the large Family of Madmen rank'd.
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The Mother of a Boy, who, for five Months,
Has with a Quartan Ague been confin'd,
Thus stipulates with Heaven for his Relief;
‘Great Jove! from whom both Health and Sickness flow,
‘Have Pity on my Child! and, in return,
‘On the first Fasting-day thy Priests ordain,
‘After his Health shall be restor'd by thee,
‘Ere Morning dawns, he in the Tyber's Stream
‘Shall naked stand!’ Now, should propitious Chance,
Or the Physician's Skill, restore her Child,
The frantic Dame will plunge him in the Waves,
The Fever bring again, and kill her Darling.
Has with a Quartan Ague been confin'd,
Thus stipulates with Heaven for his Relief;
‘Great Jove! from whom both Health and Sickness flow,
‘Have Pity on my Child! and, in return,
‘On the first Fasting-day thy Priests ordain,
‘After his Health shall be restor'd by thee,
‘Ere Morning dawns, he in the Tyber's Stream
‘Shall naked stand!’ Now, should propitious Chance,
Or the Physician's Skill, restore her Child,
The frantic Dame will plunge him in the Waves,
The Fever bring again, and kill her Darling.
Damasippus.
What Frenzy turns her Head?
Stertinius.
The Dread of Heaven.
Damasippus to Horace.
To me these Arms the eighth wise Man, Stertinius,
Has giv'n, to combat my upbraiding Foes;
And now, whoever taxes me as mad
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And be admonish'd to inspect the Pouch,
Behind his Back, which holds his Faults unknown.
Horace.
Stoic! so may you henceforth trade with Profit,
And every Loss retrieve, as you inform me,
(Since Frenzies are, it seems, of various kinds)
What is the Species that disturbs my Brain;
For to myself I seem of sober Mind.
Damasippus.
What! did Agravé think that she was mad,
When on her Thyrsus she in Triumph bore
Her Pentheus' Head, whom she had torn in pieces?
Horace.
Then be it so!—I yield to powerful Truth;
And own, that I am both a Fool and mad.
Yet say, in what my Frenzy does consist?
Damasippus.
Hear then the Charge. Though scarcely two Foot high,
You strut, and give yourself gigantic Airs;
And yet you laugh, when Turbo on the Stage,
(A mighty Spirit in a dwarfish Form)
On Tip-toe stalks, and stern Defiance lours.
And are you less ridiculous than he?
Dare you deny, that You affect to trace,
Though in low Life so vastly his Inferior,
The Customs, Ways, and Manners of Mæcenas?—
You strut, and give yourself gigantic Airs;
And yet you laugh, when Turbo on the Stage,
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On Tip-toe stalks, and stern Defiance lours.
And are you less ridiculous than he?
Dare you deny, that You affect to trace,
Though in low Life so vastly his Inferior,
The Customs, Ways, and Manners of Mæcenas?—
When from her Tadpole Brood the Mother-Frog
By Chance had stray'd, a Heifer in the Mead
Crush'd with his Foot the tender Family.
One, who escap'd, thus to his Dam relates
Their Fate; ‘A monstrous Beast has slain my Brethren.’
‘What! large as I am now?’ replies the Dam;
And swells herself. ‘Abundantly more large.’
‘What! bigger still?’ still puffing out with Wind.
‘Nay, you may burst yourself; but ne'er can match it.’
See your own Picture, Horace, to the Life!
A dd now to this your Itch of scribbling Verse,
Which is but heaping Fuel on the Fire.
If ever Bard was wise, you may be wise.
Not to insist upon your frantic Rage.—
By Chance had stray'd, a Heifer in the Mead
Crush'd with his Foot the tender Family.
One, who escap'd, thus to his Dam relates
Their Fate; ‘A monstrous Beast has slain my Brethren.’
‘What! large as I am now?’ replies the Dam;
And swells herself. ‘Abundantly more large.’
‘What! bigger still?’ still puffing out with Wind.
‘Nay, you may burst yourself; but ne'er can match it.’
See your own Picture, Horace, to the Life!
A dd now to this your Itch of scribbling Verse,
Which is but heaping Fuel on the Fire.
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Not to insist upon your frantic Rage.—
Horace.
Forbear.
Damasippus.
And your Attire, more costly far
Than your Estate allows.—
Horace.
Good Damasippus,
Stick to your own Affairs.
Damasippus.
—Your wild Amours.
Horace.
Hush, Babbler, hush! And thou, more frantic, cease
Against my lesser Follies to declaim.
D.
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