The Third Volume of the Works of Mr. William Congreve containing Poems upon Several Occasions |
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The ELEVENTH Satire of Juvenal. |
 | The Third Volume of the Works of Mr. William Congreve |  |
The ELEVENTH Satire of Juvenal.
The ARGUMENT.
The Design of this Satire is to expose and reprehend
all Manner of Intemperance and Debauchery;
but more particularly that exorbitant Luxury
used by the Romans, in their Feasting. The Poet
draws the Occasion from an Invitation, which
he here makes to his Friend, to dine with him;
very artfully preparing him, with what he was
to expect from his Treat, by beginning the Satire
with a particular Invective against the Vanity
and Folly of some Persons, who having but mean
Fortunes in the World, attempted to live up to
the heighth of Men of great Estates and Quality.
He shews us, the miserable End of such
Spend-thrifts and Gluttons; with the Manner
and Courses, which they took to bring themselves
to it; advising Men to live within Bounds, and
to proportion their Inclinations to the Extent
of their Fortune. He gives his Friend a Bill of
Fare, of the Entertainment he has provided for
him; and from thence he takes Occasion to reflect
upon the Temperance and Frugality of the
And with expensive Food indulge his Guests;
His Wealth and Quality support the Treat:
Nor is it Luxury in him, but State.
But when Poor Rutilus spends all he's Worth,
In hopes of setting one good Dinner forth;
'Tis down-right Madness; for what greater Jests,
Than Begging Gluttons, or than Beggars Feasts?
And proves the Common Theme of all the Town.
Able for Arms, and for his Country's good;
Urg'd
Restrain'd by no Advice. Sometimes Persons were compell'd, by the Tyranny of Nero, to practise the Trade of Fencing, and to Fight upon the Stage, for his inhuman Diversion; otherwise, seldom any but Common Slaves or Condemn'd Malefactors were so employ'd: Which made it the greater Reflection on any Person, who either voluntarily, or forced by his own Extravagance, for a Livelyhood (like Rutilus) apply'd himself to that wretched Trade.
Hinting, that though he was not compell'd to such a Practice of Fencing; yet it was a Shame that he was suffer'd to undertake it, and not advised, or commanded by the Magistracy, to the contrary.
But following his own inglorious Choice:
'Mongst common Fencers, practises the Trade,
That End debasing, for which Arms were made;
Arms, which to Man ne'er-dying Fame afford,
But his Disgrace is owing to his Sword.
Many there are of the same wretched Kind,
Whom, their despairing Creditors, may find
Lurking in Shambles; where with borrow'd Coin
They buy choice Meats, and in cheap Plenty dine;
Such, whose sole Bliss, is Eating; who can give
But that one Brutal Reason why they live.
And yet what's more ridiculous: Of these,
The poorest Wretch, is still most hard to please;
And he whose thin transparent Rags, declare
How much, his tatter'd Fortune wants repair,
Wou'd ransack ev'ry Element, for Choice
Of ev'ry Fish and Fowl, at any Price;
It has a Flavour then, which pleases most,
And he devours it with a greater Gust.
And that exhausted, still new Pledges gives;
'Till forc'd of meer Necessity, to eat,
He comes to pawn his Dish, to buy his Meat.
Nothing of Silver, or of Gold he spares,
Not what his Mother's Sacred Image bears;
The broken Relick, he with speed devours,
As he wou'd all the rest of's Ancestors,
If wrought in Gold, or if expos'd to Sale,
They'd pay the Price of one Luxurious Meal.
Thus certain Ruin treads upon his Heels,
The Stings of Hunger, soon, and Want he feels;
And thus is he reduc'd at length, to serve
Fencers, for miserable Scraps, or starve.
The Question is, at whose Expence 'tis drest.
In Rutilus, the Vanity despise.
Strange Ignorance! That the same Man, who knows
How far yond' Mount above this Mole-hill shows,
Shou'd not perceive a difference as great,
Between small Incomes and a vast Estate!
From Heav'n, to Mortals, sure, that Rule was sent,
Of Know thy self, and by some God was meant
To be our never-erring Pilot here,
Through all the various Courses, which we steer.
Thersites,
An Impudent, Deformed, Ill-Tongu'd Fellow (as Homer describes him, Iliad 2.) who accompany'd the Grecian Army to the Siege of Troy; where he took a Privilege often to rail and snarle at the Commanders. Some relate, that at last Achilles, for his Sawciness, kill'd him with a Blow of his Fist. Therefore we are not to understand Juvenal, here, as relating a matter of Fact; but Thersites is used here, to signifie any body of the same kind: As before, Atticus and Rutilus. The Meaning is, that such as he ought not (neither would he, had he been present) have presumed to oppose Ajax and Ulysses in contending for Achilles his Armour. See his Character admirably improv'd by Mr. Dryden in his Tragedy of Truth found too late.
Yet durst not for Achilles Armour speak;
When scarce Ulysses had a good Pretence,
With all th'advantage of his Eloquence.
Who-e'er attempts weak Causes to support,
Ought to be very sure he's able for't;
And not mistake strong Lungs and Impudence,
For Harmony of Words, and Force of Sense:
A Wise Man's Pow'r's the Limit of his Will.
Devote thy self to Thrift, not Luxury;
And wisely make that kind of Food thy Choice,
To which Necessity confines thy Price.
Well may they fear some miserable End,
Whom Gluttony and Want, at once attend;
Whose large voracious Throats have swallow'd All,
Both Land and Stock, Int'rest and Principal:
Well may they fear, at length, vile Pollio's Fate,
Who sold his very Ring, to purchase Meat;
And tho' a Knight, 'mongst common Slaves now stands,
Begging an Alms, with undistinguish'd Hands.
Sure sudden Death to such shou'd welcome be,
On whom, each added Year heaps Misery,
Scorn, Poverty, Reproach and Infamy.
Observe to tread and follow, by degrees.
Mony they borrow, and from all that lend,
Which, never meaning to restore, they spend;
But that and their small Stock of Credit gone,
Lest Rome should grow too warm, from thence they run:
For of late Years 'tis no more Scandal grown,
For Debt and Roguery to quit the Town,
Than in the midst of Summer's scorching Heat,
From Crouds, and Noise, and Business to retreat.
One only Grief such Fugitives can find;
Reflecting on the Pleasures left behind;
The Plays and loose Diversions of the Place,
But not one Blush appears for the Disgrace.
Ne'er was of Modesty so great a Dearth,
That out of Count'nance Vertue's fled from Earth;
Baffled, expos'd to Ridicule and Scorn,
She's with Astreæ gone, not to return.
Whether, my self I keep those Rules I give,
Or else, an unsuspected Glutton live;
If mod'rate Fare and Abstinence, I prize
In publick, yet in private Gormondize.
Evander's Feast reviv'd, to Day thou'lt see;
The poor Evander, I, and thou shalt be
Alcides and Æneas both to me.
Mean time, I send you now your Bill of Fare;
Be not surpriz'd, that 'tis all homely Cheer:
For nothing from the Shambles I provide,
But from my own small Farm, the tend'rest Kid
And fattest of my Flock, a Suckling yet,
That ne'er had Nourishment, but from the Teat;
No bitter Willow-tops have been its Food,
Scarce Grass; its Veins have more of Milk than Blood.
Next that, shall Mountain Sparagus be laid,
Pull'd by some plain, but cleanly Country-Maid.
Together with the Hens which laid 'em, drest;
Clusters of Grapes, preserv'd for half a Year,
Which, plump and fresh as on the Vines appear;
Apples, of a ripe Flavour, fresh and fair;
Mixt with the Syrian and the Signian Pear,
Mellow'd by Winter, from their cruder Juice,
Light of Digestion now, and fit for use.
Accounted Riot, in a Senator:
When the good Curius thought it no Disgrace,
With his own Hands, a few small Herbs to dress;
And from his little Garden, cull'd a Feast,
Which fetter'd Slaves wou'd now disdain to taste;
For scarce a Slave, but has to Dinner now,
The well-dress'd Paps of a fat pregnant Sow.
On Birth-Days, Festivals, or Days of State;
If they had fresh Meat, 'twas delicious Fare!
Which rarely hapned: And 'twas highly priz'd
If ought was left of what they sacrific'd.
To Entertainments of this Kind, wou'd come
The Worthiest and the Greatest Men in Rome;
Nay, seldom any at such Treats were seen,
But those who had at least thrice
By the Tyranny of Tarquinius Superbus, (the last Roman King) the very Name of King became hateful to the People. After his Expulsion, they assembled, and resolv'd to commit the Government, for the future, into the Hands of two Persons, who were to be chosen every Year anew, and whom they call'd Consuls.
Or the
Was a General chosen upon some emergent Occasion; his Office was limited to six Months; which Time expired, (if Occasion were) they chose another, or continued the same, by a new Election. The Dictator differ'd in nothing from a King, but in his Name, and the Duration of his Authority: His Power being full as great, but his Name not so hateful to the Romans.
And now from Honourable Toil enlarg'd,
Retir'd to Husband and Manure their Land,
Humbling themselves to those they might Command.
Then might y'have seen the good old Gen'ral haste,
Before th'appointed Hour, to such a Feast;
His Spade aloft, as 'twere in Triumph held,
Proud of the Conquest of some stubborn Field.
'Twas then, when pious Consuls bore the Sway,
And Vice discourag'd, pale and trembling lay.
Ev'n Pow'r it self, of Justice stood in awe.
It was not then, a Roman's anxious Thought,
Where largest Tortoise-Shells were to be bought,
Where Pearls might of the greatest Price be had,
And shining Jewels to adorn his Bed,
That he at vast Expence might loll his Head.
Plain was his Couch, and only rich his Mind;
Contentedly he slept, as cheaply, as he din'd.
The Soldier then, in Græcian Arts unskill'd,
Returning rich with Plunder, from the Field:
If Cups of Silver, or of Gold he Brought,
With Jewels set, and exquisitely wrought,
To glorious Trappings, streight the Plate he turn'd,
And with the glitt'ring Spoil his Horse adorn'd;
Or else a Helmet for himself he made,
Where various Warlike Figures were inlaid:
The Roman Wolf, suckling the Twins was there,
And Mars himself, arm'd with his Shield and Spear,
As threatning Death, to each resisting Foe.
No use of Silver, but in Arms was known,
Splendid they were in War, and there alone.
No Side-boards then, with gilded Plate were dress'd,
No sweating Slaves, with massive Dishes press'd;
Expensive Riot was not understood,
But Earthen Platters held their homely Food.
Who wou'd not envy them, that Age of Bliss,
That sees with shame the Luxury of This?
Heav'n unwearied then, did Blessings pour,
And pitying Jove foretold each dang'rous Hour;
Mankind were then familiar with the God,
He snuff'd their Incense with a gracious Nod;
And wou'd have still been bounteous, as of Old,
Had we not left him for that Idol, Gold.
His Golden Statues, hence the God have driv'n:
For well he knows, where our Devotion's giv'n,
'Tis Gold we Worship, though we pray to Heav'n.
Tho' none can please us now but from Japan.
Invite my Lord to Dine, and let him have
The nicest Dish his Appetite can crave;
But let it on an Oaken Board be set,
His Lordship will grow sick, and cannot eat:
Something's amiss, he knows not what to think,
Either your Venson's Rank, or Ointments stink.
Order some other Table to be brought,
Something, at great Expence in India bought,
Beneath whose Orb, large yawning Panthers lie,
Carv'd on rich Pedestals of Ivory:
He finds no more of that offensive Smell,
The Meat recovers, and my Lord grows well.
An Iv'ry Table is a certain whet;
You would not think how heartily he'll eat,
As if new Vigour to his Teeth were sent,
By Sympathy from those o'th' Elephant.
Riot agrees not with Frugality;
With me they'd starve, for want of Ivory:
For not one inch does my whole House afford,
Not in my very Tables, or Chess-board;
Of Bone, the Handles of my Knives are made,
Yet no ill Taste from thence affects the Blade,
Or what I carve; nor is there ever left
Any unsav'ry Haut-goust from the Haft.
You'll find, but serv'd up in no formal state;
No Sew'rs, nor dextrous Carvers have I got,
Such as by skilful Trypherus are taught:
In whose fam'd Schools the various Forms appear
Of Fishes, Beasts, and all the Fowls o'th' Air;
And where, with blunted Knives, his Scholars learn
How to dissect, and the nice Joints discern;
From the harsh Carving of his wooden Feast.
On me attends a raw unskilful Lad,
On Fragments fed, in homely Garments clad,
At once my Carver, and my Ganymede;
With diligence he'll serve us while we Dine,
And in plain Beechen Vessels, fill our Wine.
No Beauteous Boys I keep, from Phrygia brought,
No Catamites, by shameful Pandars taught:
Only to me two home-bred Youths belong,
Unskill'd in any but their Mother-Tongue;
Alike in Feature both, and Garb appear,
With honest Faces, though with uncurl'd Hair.
This Day thou shalt my Rural Pages see,
For I have drest 'em both to wait on thee.
Of Country Swains they both were born, and one
My Ploughman's is, t'other my Shepherd's Son;
A chearful Sweetness in his Looks he has,
And Innocence unartful in his Face:
And gentle Sighs break from the tender Boy;
His absence from his Mother, oft he'll mourn,
And with his Eyes look Wishes to return.
Longing to see his tender Kids, again,
And feed his Lambs upon the flowry Plain;
A modest Blush he wears, not form'd by Art,
Free from Deceit his Face, and full as free his Heart.
Such Looks, such Bashfulness, might well adorn
The Cheeks of Youths that are more Nobly born,
But Noblemen those humble Graces scorn.
This Youth, to Day shall my small Treat attend,
And only he with Wine shall serve my Friend,
With Wine from his own Country brought, and made
From the same Vines, beneath whose fruitful Shade
He and his wanton Kids have often play'd.
With am'rous Songs and wanton Dances grac'd;
Where sprightly Females, to the Middle bare,
Trip lightly o'er the Ground, and frisk in Air;
Whose pliant Limbs in various Postures move,
And twine and bound, as in the Rage of Love.
Such Sights, the languid Nerves to Action stir,
And jaded Lust springs forward with this Spur.
Vertue
Which Husbands, now, do with their Wives behold.
These Lines in Juvenal,
Quod pudeat narrasse aliquem præsentibus ipsis.
in some late Editions, are plac'd nearer the latter End of this Satire: And in the Order of this Translation, wou'd so have follow'd, after Line 349, viz.
But vig'rous Youth to active Sports inclin'd.
But I have continued 'em in this Place after Lubin. Besides the Example of the Learned Holyday for the same Position; agreeing better here, in my Mind, with the Sense both before and after. For the Megalensian Games consisting chiefly of Races, and such like Exercises; I cannot conceive where the extraordirary Cause of Shame lay in Female Spectators: But it was a manifest Immodesty, for them to lye by their Husbands, and see the lewd Actions of their own Sex, in the manner describ'd.
Which Husbands, now, do with their Wives behold;
A needful Help, to make 'em both approve
The dry Embraces of long-wedded Love.
In Nuptial Cinders, this revives the Fire,
And turns their mutual Loathing to Desire.
But she, who by her Sexes Charter, must
Have double Pleasure paid, feels double Lust;
Apace she warms, with an immod'rate Heat,
Strongly her Bosom heaves, and Pulses beat;
With Arms expanded, and with naked Thighs,
Sucking in Passion both at Ears and Eyes.
But this becomes not me, nor my Estate;
These are the vicious Follies of the Great.
Let him who does on Iv'ry Tables dine,
Whose Marble Floors, with drunken Spawlings shine;
Let him lascivious Songs and Dances have,
Which, or to see, or hear, the lewdest Slave,
The vilest Prostitute in all the Stews,
With bashful Indignation wou'd refuse.
But Fortune, there, extenuates the Crime;
What's Vice in me, is only Mirth in him:
The Fruits which Murder, Cards, or Dice afford,
A Vestal ravish'd, or a Matron whor'd,
Are laudable Diversions in a Lord.
T'afford you Pleasures of another kind:
And Homer's Sacred Lines, and Virgil's read;
Either of whom does all Mankind excel,
Tho' which exceeds the other, none can tell.
It matters not with what ill Tone they're Sung,
Verse so sublimely good, no Voice can wrong.
Thy Jealousies and Fears, and while you may
To Peace and soft Repose, give all the Day.
From Thoughts of Debt, or any worldly Ill
Be free, be all uneasie Passions still.
What tho' thy Wife do with the Morning Light,
(When thou in vain has toil'd and drudg'd all Night)
Steal from thy Bed and House, abroad to roam,
And having quech'd her Flame, come breathless home,
Fleck'd in her Face, and with disorder'd Hair,
Her Garments ruffled, and her Bosom bare;
Half drown'd in Sin, still burning in Desire:
Whilst you are forc'd to wink, and seem content,
Swelling with Passion, which you dare not vent;
Nay, if you wou'd be free, from Night-alarms,
You must seem fond, and doating on her Charms,
Take her (the last of Twenty) to your Arms.
At th'Entrance of my Threshold be forgot;
All thy Domestick Griefs at home be left,
The Wife's Adult'ry, with the Servants Theft;
And (the most racking Thought, which can intrude)
Forget false Friends and their Ingratitude.
While Megalensian Shows are in the Circus seen:
The Prætor sits, on a Triumphal Seat;
Vainly with Ensigns, and with Robes adorn'd,
As if with Conquest, from the Wars return'd.
This Day all Rome, (if I may be allow'd,
Without Offence to such a num'rous Crowd,
To say all Rome) will in the Circus sweat;
Echos already do their Shouts repeat:
Methinks I hear the Cry—Away, away,
The
In running the Races in the Circus, with Horses in Chariots; there were four distinct Factions, known by their Liveries: Which were Green, a kind of Russet Red, White, and Blue. One of these Factions was always favoured by the Court, and at this time probably the Green. Which makes our Poet fancy he hears the Shouts, for Joy of their Party. Afterward Domitian added two more, the Golden and Purple Factions.
Rome would in Tears her lov'd Diversion mourn;
For that would now a Cause of Sorrow yield,
Great as the loss of Cannæ's fatal Field.
Such Shows as these, were not for us design'd,
But vig'rous Youth to active Sports inclin'd.
On Beds of Roses laid, let us repose,
While round our Heads refreshing Ointment flows;
And live this Day devoted to our Ease.
Early to Day we'll to the Bath repair,
Nor need we now the common Censure fear:
On Festivals, it is allow'd no Crime
To Bath, and Eat, before the usual time;
But that continu'd, wou'd a loathing give,
Nor could you thus a Week together live:
For, frequent Use would the Delight exclude:
Pleasure's a Toil, when constantly pursu'd.
| The Third Volume of the Works of Mr. William Congreve | |