The works of John Dryden Illustrated with notes, historical, critical, and explanatory, and a life of the author, by Sir Walter Scott |
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| 5. | THE FIFTH SATIRE OF PERSIUS. |
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 | The works of John Dryden |  |
THE FIFTH SATIRE OF PERSIUS.
THE ARGUMENT.
The judicious Casaubon, in his proem to this Satire, tells us that Aristophanes, the grammarian, being asked what poem of Archilochus' iambics he preferred before the rest, answered, the longest. His answer may justly be applied to the Fifth Satire; which, being of a greater length than any of the rest, is also by far the most instructive. For this reason I have selected it from all the others, and inscribed it to my learned master, Dr. Busby; to whom I am not only obliged myself for the best part of my own education, and that of my two sons; but have also received from him the first and truest taste of Persius. May he be pleased to find, in this translation, the gratitude, or at least some small acknowledgment, of his unworthy scholar, at the distance of forty-two years from the time when I departed from under his tuition.
This Satire consists of two distinct parts: the first contains the
praises of the Stoic philosopher, Cornutus, master and tutor
to our Persius; it also declares the love and piety of Persius
to his well-deserving master; and the mutual friendship
Of ancient use to poets it belongs,
To wish themselves an hundred mouths and tongues:
Whether to the well-lunged tragedian's rage
They recommend their labours of the stage,
Or sing the Parthian, when transfixed he lies,
Wrenching the Roman javelin from his thighs.
CORNUTUS.
And why would'st thou these mighty morsels choose,
Of words unchewed, and fit to choke the muse?
Let fustian poets with their stuff begone,
And suck the mists that hang o'er Helicon;
When Progne, or Thyestes' feast they write;
And, for the mouthing actor, verse indite.
Thou neither like a bellows swell'st thy face,
As if thou wert to blow the burning mass
Or murmur in an undistinguished note,
Like rolling thunder, till it breaks the cloud,
And rattling nonsense is discharged aloud.
Soft elocution does thy style renown,
And the sweet accents of the peaceful gown:
Gentle or sharp, according to thy choice,
To laugh at follies, or to lash at vice.
Hence draw thy theme, and to the stage permit
Raw-head and bloody-bones, and hands and feet,
Ragouts for Tereus or Thyestes drest;
'Tis task enough for thee t'expose a Roman feast.
PERSIUS.
In lofty trifles, or to swell my page
With wind and noise; but freely to impart,
As to a friend, the secrets of my heart,
And, in familiar speech, to let thee know
How much I love thee, and how much I owe
Knock on my heart; for thou hast skill to find
If it sound solid, or be filled with wind;
And, through the veil of words, thou view'st the naked mind.
To tell thee what an hundred tongues would tire,
Yet never could be worthily exprest,—
How deeply thou art seated in my breast.
When first my childish robe resigned the charge,
And left me, unconfined, to live at large;
To household gods) declared me past a boy,
And my white shield proclaimed my liberty;
When, with my wild companions, I could roll
From street to street, and sin without control;
Just at that age, when manhood set me free,
I then deposed myself, and left the reins to thee;
On thy wise bosom I reposed my head,
And by my better Socrates was bred.
Then thy straight rule set virtue in my sight,
The crooked line reforming by the right.
My reason took the bent of thy command,
Was formed and polished by thy skilful hand;
Long summer-days thy precepts I rehearse,
And winter-nights were short in our converse;
One was our labour, one was our repose,
One frugal supper did our studies close.
And, as our souls, our horoscope was one:
Whether the mounting Twins did heaven adorn,
Or with the rising Balance we were born;
Both have the same impressions from above,
And both have Saturn's rage, repelled by Jove.
Has given thee an ascendant o'er my mind.
CORNUTUS.
Nature is ever various in her frame;
Each has a different will, and few the same.
The greedy merchants, led by lucre, run
To the parched Indies, and the rising sun;
From thence hot pepper and rich drugs they bear,
Bartering for spices their Italian ware;
The lazy glutton safe at home will keep,
Indulge his sloth, and batten with his sleep:
One bribes for high preferments in the state;
A second shakes the box, and sits up late;
Another shakes the bed, dissolving there,
Till knots upon his gouty joints appear,
And chalk is in his crippled fingers found;
Rots, like a doddered oak, and piecemeal falls to ground;
Then his lewd follies he would late repent,
And his past years, that in a mist were spent.
PERSIUS.
But thou art pale in nightly studies grown,
To make the Stoic institutes thy own:
Thou long, with studious care, hast tilled our youth,
And sown our well-purged ears with wholesome truth.
The bounds of good and evil to discern.
CORNUTUS.
Unhappy he who does this work adjourn,
And to to-morrow would the search delay;
His lazy morrow will be like to-day.
PERSIUS.
But is one day of ease too much to borrow?
CORNUTUS.
That yesterday is gone, and nothing gained,
And all thy fruitless days will thus be drained;
For thou hast more to-morrows yet to ask,
And wilt be ever to begin thy task;
Who, like the hindmost chariot-wheels, art curst,
Still to be near, but ne'er to reach the first.
O freedom, first delight of humankind!
Not that which bondmen from their masters find,
The privilege of doles; nor yet to inscribe
Their names in this or t'other Roman tribe;
That false enfranchisement with ease is found,
Slaves are made citizens by turning round.
Here's Dama, once a groom of low degree,
Not worth a farthing, and a sot beside,
So true a rogue, for lying's sake he lied;
But, with a turn, a freeman he became,
Now Marcus Dama is his worship's name.
Good gods! who would refuse to lend a sum,
If wealthy Marcus surety will become!
Marcus is made a judge, and for a proof
Of certain truth, ‘He said it,’ is enough.
A will is to be proved;—put in your claim;—
'Tis clear, if Marcus has subscribed his name.
This is true liberty, as I believe;
What further can we from our caps receive,
Than as we please without control to live?
Not more to noble Brutus could belong.”
“Hold,” says the Stoic, “your assumption's wrong:
I grant true freedom you have well defined:
But, living as you list, and to your mind,
Are loosely tacked, and must be left behind.”
“What! since the prætor did my fetters loose,
And left me freely at my own dispose,
May I not live without control or awe,
Excepting still the letter of the law?”
From those fond notions of false liberty:
'Tis not the prætor's province to bestow
True freedom; nor to teach mankind to know
What to ourselves, or to our friends, we owe.
He could not set thee free from cares and strife,
Nor give the reins to a lewd vicious life:
As well he for an ass a harp might string,
Which is against the reason of the thing;
For reason still is whispering in your ear,
Where you are sure to fail, the attempt forbear.
No need of public sanctions this to bind,
Which nature has implanted in the mind,—
Not to pursue the work, to which we're not designed.
Unskilled in hellebore, if thou should'st try
To mix it, and mistake the quantity,
The rules of physic would against thee cry.
The high-shoed ploughman, should he quit the land,
To take the pilot's rudder in his hand,
Artless of stars, and of the moving sand,
The gods would leave him to the waves and wind,
And think all shame was lost in humankind.
Tell me, my friend, from whence hadst thou the skill,
So nicely to distinguish good from ill?
Or by the sound to judge of gold and brass,
What piece is tinkers' metal, what will pass?
And what thou art to follow, what to fly,
This to condemn, and that to ratify?
When to be bountiful, and when to spare,
But never craving, or oppressed with care?
The baits of gifts, and money to despise,
And look on wealth with undesiring eyes?
When thou canst truly call these virtues thine,
Be wise and free, by heaven's consent and mine.
Wert one of us, if still thou dost retain
The same ill habits, the same follies too,
Glossed over only with a saint-like show,
Then I resume the freedom which I gave;
Still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave.
Thou canst not wag thy finger, or begin
The least light motion, but it tends to sin.”
“No, friend; nor fuming gums, nor sacrifice,
Can ever make a madman free, or wise.
‘Virtue and vice are never in one soul;
A man is wholly wise, or wholly is a fool.’
A heavy bumpkin, taught with daily care,
Can never dance three steps with a becoming air.”
PERSIUS.
In spite of this, my freedom still remains.
CORNUTUS.
Canst thou no other master understand
Than him that freed thee by the prætor's wand?
Should he, who was thy lord, command thee now,
With a harsh voice, and supercilious brow,
The gallows and the whip are out of door.
But if thy passions lord it in thy breast,
Art thou not still a slave, and still opprest?
Whether alone, or in thy harlot's lap,
When thou wouldst take a lazy morning's nap,
“Up, up,” says Avarice;—thou snor'st again,
Stretchest thy limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain;
The tyrant Lucre no denial takes;
At his command the unwilling sluggard wakes.
“What must I do?” he cries.—“What?” says his lord;
“Why rise, make ready, and go straight aboard;
With fish, from Euxine seas, thy vessel freight;
Flax, castor, Coan wines, the precious weight
Of pepper, and Sabæan incense, take,
With thy own hands, from the tired camel's back,
And with post haste thy running markets make.
Be sure to turn the penny; lie and swear,
'Tis wholesome sin.”—“But Jove,” thou say'st, “will hear.”—
“Swear, fool, or starve; for the dilemma's even:
A tradesman thou, and hope to go to heaven!”
Each saddled with his burden on his back:
Nothing retards thy voyage now, unless
Thy other lord forbids, Voluptuousness:
And he may ask this civil question,—“Friend,
What dost thou make a-shipboard? to what end?
Art thou of Bethlem's noble college free,
Stark, staring mad, that thou wouldst tempt the sea?
Cubbed in a cabin, on a mattress laid,
On a brown george with lousy swobbers fed,
From a foul jack, or greasy maple-cup?
Say, wouldst thou bear all this, to raise thy store
From six i' the hundred, to six hundred more?
Indulge, and to thy genius freely give;
For, not to live at ease, is not to live;
Death stalks behind thee, and each flying hour
Does some loose remnant of thy life devour.
Live while thou liv'st; for death will make us all
A name, a nothing but an old wife's tale.”
To be thy lord? Take one, and one refuse.
But both by turns the rule of thee will have,
And thou betwixt them both wilt be a slave.
That all thy marks of servitude are gone:
The struggling greyhound gnaws his leash in vain,
If, when 'tis broken, still he drags the chain.
To this uneasy love I'll put an end.”
“Shall I run out of all, my friends disgrace,
And be the first lewd unthrift of my race?
Shall I the neighbour's nightly rest invade
At her deaf doors, with some vile serenade?”
“Go, thank the gods, and offer sacrifice.”
“Ah,” says the youth, “if we unkindly part,
Will not the poor fond creature break her heart?”
“Weak soul! and blindly to destruction led!
She break her heart! she'll sooner break your head.
She knows her man, and when you rant and swear,
Can draw you to her with a single hair.”
“But shall I not return? Now, when she sues!
Shall I my own and her desires refuse?”
“Sir, take your course; but my advice is plain:
Once freed, 'tis madness to resume your chain.”
Less to the prætor owes than to himself.
But write him down a slave, who, humbly proud,
With presents begs preferments from the crowd;
That early suppliant, who salutes the tribes,
And sets the mob to scramble for his bribes,
That some old dotard, sitting in the sun,
On holidays may tell, that such a feat was done:
In future times this will be counted rare.
When flowers are strewed, and lamps in order placed,
And windows with illuminations graced,
And tunny's tails in savoury sauce are drowned,
Thou mutter'st prayers obscene; nor dost refuse
The fasts and Sabbaths of the curtailed Jews.
Then a cracked egg-shell thy sick fancy frights,
Besides the childish fear of walking sprites.
Of o'ergrown gelding priests thou art afraid;
The timbrel, and the squintifego maid
Of Isis, awe thee; lest the gods for sin,
Should with a swelling dropsy stuff thy skin:
Unless three garlic heads the curse avert,
Eaten each morn devoutly next thy heart.
“And see if they thy doctrine will allow:”
The dull, fat captain, with a hound's deep throat,
Would bellow out a laugh in a bass note,
And prize a hundred Zenos just as much
As a clipt sixpence, or a schilling Dutch.
Progne was wife to Tereus, king of Thracia. Tereus fell in love with Philomela, sister to Progne, ravished her, and cut out her tongue; in revenge of which, Progne killed Itys, her own son by Tereus, and served him up at a feast, to be eaten by his father.
Thyestes and Atreus were brothers, both kings. Atreus, to revenge himself of his unnatural brother, killed the sons of Thyestes, and invited him to eat them.
By the childish robe is meant the Prœtexta, or first gowns which the Roman children of quality wore. These were welted with purple; and on those welts were fastened the bullæ, or little bells; which, when they came to the age of puberty, were hung up, and consecrated to the Lares, or household gods.
The first shields which the Roman youths wore were white, and without any impress or device on them, to show they had yet achieved nothing in the wars.
Socrates, by the oracle, was declared to be the wisest of mankind: he instructed many of the Athenian young noblemen in morality, and amongst the rest Alcibiades.
Astrologers divide the heaven into twelve parts, according to the number of the twelve signs of the zodiac. The sign, or constellation, which rises in the east at the birth of any man, is called the Ascendant: Persius therefore judges that Cornutus and he had the same or a like nativity.
Astrologers have an axiom, that whatsoever Saturn ties is loosed by Jupiter. They account Saturn to be a planet of a malevolent nature, and Jupiter of a propitious influence.
Zeno was the great master of the Stoic philosophy; and Cleanthes was second to him in reputation. Cornutus, who was master or tutor to Persius, was of the same school.
When a slave was made free, he had the privilege of a Roman born; which was to have a share in the donatives, or doles of bread, etc., which were distributed by the magistrates among the people.
The Roman people was distributed into several tribes. He who was made free was enrolled into some one of them; and thereupon enjoyed the common privileges of a Roman citizen.
The master who intended to enfranchise a slave carried him before the city prætor, and turned him round, using these words, “I will that this man be free.”
Slaves had only one name before their freedom; after it they were admitted to a prænomen like our christened names: so Dama is now called Marcus Dama.
At the proof of a testament, the magistrates were to subscribe their names, as allowing the legality of the will.
Brutus freed the Roman people from the tyranny of the Tarquins, and changed the form of the government into a glorious commonwealth.
The text of the Roman laws was written in red letters, which was called the Rubric; translated here, in more general words, “The letter of the law.”
The Stoics held this paradox, that any one vice, or notorious folly, which they called madness, hindered a man from being virtuous; that a man was of a piece, without a mixture, either wholly vicious, or good; one virtue or vice, according to them, including all the rest.
The prætor held a wand in his hand, with which he softly struck the slave on the head, when he declared him free.
This alludes to the play of Terence, called “The Eunuch;” which was excellently imitated of late in English, by Sir Charles Sedley. In the first scene of that comedy Phædria was introduced with his man, Pamphilus, discoursing whether he should leave his mistress Thais, or return to her, now that she had invited him.
He who sued for any office amongst the Romans was called a candidate, because he wore a white gown; and sometimes chalked it, to make it appear whiter. He rose early, and went to the levees of those who headed the people; saluted also the tribes severally, when they were gathered together to choose their magistrates; and distributed a largess amongst them, to engage them for their voices; much resembling our elections of Parliament-men.
The commentators are divided what Herod this was, whom our author mentions; whether Herod the Great, whose birthday might possibly be celebrated, after his death, by the Herodians, a sect amongst the Jews, who thought him their Messiah; or Herod Agrippa, living in the author's time and after it. The latter seems the more probable opinion.
The ancients had a superstition, contrary to ours, concerning egg-shells: they thought that if an egg-shell were cracked, or a hole bored in the bottom of it, they were subject to the power of sorcery. We as vainly break the bottom of an egg-shell, and cross it when we have eaten the egg, lest some hag should make use of it in bewitching us, or sailing over the sea in it, if it were whole. The rest of the priests of Isis, and her one-eyed or squinting priestess, is more largely treated in the Sixth Satire of Juvenal, where the superstitions of women are related.
| The works of John Dryden | |