Medulla Poetarum Romanorum Or, the Most Beautiful and Instructive Passages of the Roman Poets. Being a Collection, (Disposed under proper Heads,) Of such Descriptions, Allusions, Comparisons, Characters, and Sentiments, as may best serve to shew the Religion, Learning, Politicks, Arts, Customs, Opinions, Manners, and Circumstances of the Antients. With Translations of the same in English Verse. By Mr. Henry Baker |
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Ambition.
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Ambition.
The Sisyphus is he, whom Noise and StrifeSeduce from all the soft Retreats of Life:
To vex the Government, disturb the Laws
Drunk with the Fumes of popular Applause,
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And sweats, and toils in vain to mount the Sov'reign Seat.
For still to aim at Pow'r, and still to fail,
Ever to strive, and never to prevail,
What is it, but, in Reason's true Account,
To heave the Stone against the rising Mount:
Which, urg'd, and labour'd, and forc'd up with Pain,
Recoils, and rolls impetuous down, and smokes along the Plain.—
But write him down a Slave, who humbly proud,
With Presents begs Preferment 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.—
He who sued for any Office among 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 chuse their Magistrates: and distributed a Largess among them to gain their Voices: much resembling our Elections of Parliament-Men. —Dryden.
In publick at the Monarch's Side,
In solemn State to pass along,
Envy'd by all the gaping Throng:
Vain Wretch! Ambition fires his Breast,
Impetuous, dire, tormenting Guest!—
The Spoils of War, brought to Feretrian Jove;
An empty Coat of Armour hung above
The Conqueror's Chariot, and in Triumph born;
A Streamer, from a boarded Galley torn;
A Chap fall'n Beaver loosely hanging by
The cloven Helm: an Arch of Victory,
On whose high Convex sits a captive Foe,
And sighing casts a mournful Look below:
Of ev'ry Nation, each illustrious Name,
Such Toys as these have cheated into Fame:
Exchanging solid Quiet, to obtain
The windy Satisfaction of the Brain.—
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Coop'd up, he seem'd, in Earth and Seas confin'd:
And, struggling, stretch'd his restless Limbs about
The narrow Globe, to find a Passage out.
Till enter'd the fam'd Brick-built Town, he try'd
The Tomb, and found it's strait Dimensions wide.—
As They could bring Content, or make a Chain
To fix inconstant Fortune:—but in vain!
For often those who climb'd the dang'rous Way,
And reach'd the Pinnacle where Honours lay,
Envy, like Lightning, tumbled headlong down,
And in the Grave they sunk who wore the Crown:
So that 'tis better safely to obey,
Than sit on Thrones, and bear Imperial Sway.—
Some ask for envy'd Pow'r, which publick Hate
Pursues, and hurries headlong to their Fate:
Down go the Titles: and the Statue crown'd
Is by base Hands in the next River drown'd.
The guiltless Horses, and the Chariot-wheel
The same Effects of vulgar Fury feel.
The Smith prepares his Hammer for the Stroke,
While the lung'd Bellows hissing Fire provoke.
Sejanus almost first of Roman Names,
The great Sejanus crackles in the Flames.
Form'd in the Forge, the pliant Brass is laid
On Anvils, and of Head and Limbs are made
Pans, Cans, and Piss-Pots, a whole Kitchen Trade.
Adorn your Doors with Laurels, and a Bull,
Milk white, and large, lead to the Capitol:
Sejanus with a Rope is dragg'd along,
The Sport and Laughter of the giddy Throng!
Good Lord! they cry, what Ethiop Lips he has!
How foul a Snout, and what a hanging Face!
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But say, how came his monstrous Crimes to Light?
What is the Charge, and who the Evidence?—
Nothing at all of this; but Cæsar sent
A blust'ring Letter to his Parliament.
Nay, Sirs, if Cæsar writ, I ask no more,
He's guilty: and the Question's out o' Door.—
Prime Minister of Tiberius Cæsar: Statues and triumphal Chariots were every where erected to him, but falling under his Master's Displeasure, they were all broken down, and the Senate and common People insulted over him as meanly as they had fawned on him just before.
To be, like him, first Minister of State?
To have thy Levees crowded with Resort
Of a depending, gaping, servile Court:
Dispose all Honours of the Sword and Gown,
Raise with a Nod, and ruin with a Frown:
To hold thy Prince in Pupilage, and sway
That Monarch whom the master'd World obey?—
Yes, I believe Thou would'st be Great as He:
For ev'ry Man's a Fool to that Degree,
All wish the dire Prerogative to kill:
Ev'n they would have the Pow'r who want the Will.
But would'st Thou have thy Wishes understood,
To take the Bad together with the Good?
Would'st Thou not rather chuse the small Renown,
To be the Mayor of some poor paltry Town,
Bigly to look, and barb'rously to speak,
To pound false Weights, and scanty Measures break,
Than be Sejanus?—
Great Hannibal within the Ballance lay,
And tell how many Pounds his Ashes weigh:
Him Africk was not able to contain;
Whose Length runs level with th' Atlantic Main,
And weakens fruitful Nilus, to convey
His Sun-beat Waters by so long a Way.
Spain first he won, the Pyrenœans past,
And frozen Alps, the Mounds that Nature cast:
And with corroding Juices, as he went,
A Passage thro' the living Rocks he rent.
Tho' Italy was conquer'd, and o'er-run:
Uneasy still, he cry'd, There's nothing done,
Till, level with the Ground their Gates are laid,
And Punic Flags on Roman Tow'rs display'd.
But, what's his End, O charming Glory! say
What rare fifth Act to crown this huffing Play?
In one deciding Battle overcome,
He flies, is banish'd from his native Home,
Begs Refuge in a foreign Court, and there
Attends, his mean Petition to prefer:
The Man who was so wonderful, so great,
Does the Bythinean Tyrant's Rising wait.
And tell how many Pounds his Ashes weigh:
Him Africk was not able to contain;
Whose Length runs level with th' Atlantic Main,
And weakens fruitful Nilus, to convey
His Sun-beat Waters by so long a Way.
Spain first he won, the Pyrenœans past,
And frozen Alps, the Mounds that Nature cast:
And with corroding Juices, as he went,
A Passage thro' the living Rocks he rent.
Tho' Italy was conquer'd, and o'er-run:
Uneasy still, he cry'd, There's nothing done,
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And Punic Flags on Roman Tow'rs display'd.
But, what's his End, O charming Glory! say
What rare fifth Act to crown this huffing Play?
In one deciding Battle overcome,
He flies, is banish'd from his native Home,
Begs Refuge in a foreign Court, and there
Attends, his mean Petition to prefer:
The Man who was so wonderful, so great,
Does the Bythinean Tyrant's Rising wait.
What Death, at last, distinguish'd from Mankind,
For so untam'd, so turbulent a Mind!
Nor Swords at Hand, nor hissing Darts from far,
Do Canna's Field avenge, and all the Rage of War:
This Justice by a little Ring is done.—
Go, climb the rugged Alps, ambitious Fool!
To please the Boys, and be a Theme at School.—
For so untam'd, so turbulent a Mind!
Nor Swords at Hand, nor hissing Darts from far,
Do Canna's Field avenge, and all the Rage of War:
This Justice by a little Ring is done.—
Go, climb the rugged Alps, ambitious Fool!
To please the Boys, and be a Theme at School.—
After Hannibal was overcome by Scipio, a prevailing Faction at Carthage condemned him to Banishment, and then he fled for Succour to the King of Bythinia.
Hannibal always carried Poyson in a hollow Ring, and therewith ended himself at last, lest he should fall into the Hands of his Enemies. This Ring is therefore call'd the Avenger of the Battle of Canna, where so many of the Roman Knights were slain, that Hannibal sent to Carthage three Measures of Gold Rings, taken from off their Fingers.
| Medulla Poetarum Romanorum | |