Horace, Book II Satire VII. Imitated: or, A Dialogue between A Man of Fashion and His Valet. Inscribed to Richard Owen Cambridge, Esq; By Sir Nicholas Nemo, Knt [i.e. John Duncombe] |
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 | Horace, Book II |  |
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Horace, Book the IId, Satire the VIIth, Imitated:
OR, A Dialogue between a Man of Fashion, and his Valet.
[_]
Speakers' names in this text have been abbreviated. The abbreviations used for major characters are as follows:
- For V. read Valet;
- For M. read Man of Fashion.
Sir, I have list'ned long, yet fear'd to speak—
May I at last, a painful Silence break?
Man of Fashion.
My Valet?
V.
Yes, your faithful Valet still—
An honest Drudge—observant of your Will—
True to my Master—healthy, sober, strong;
One that will live to serve you well and long.
M.
Well, speak—What wise thing have you now to say?
For once, as an old Servant, take your Way.
V.
Pleasure, the secret Spring that actuates Man,
Forms for both high and low, his future Plan;
Constant and pleas'd in Vice, some never change,
But, thoughtless, thro' each gay Delusion range;
Half-flesh'd in Vice, and trembling as he sins,
One Moment This gives off—the next begins;
To good or bad alternately inclin'd,
As Fear disturbs, or Joy elates, the Mind.
Forms for both high and low, his future Plan;
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But, thoughtless, thro' each gay Delusion range;
Half-flesh'd in Vice, and trembling as he sins,
One Moment This gives off—the next begins;
To good or bad alternately inclin'd,
As Fear disturbs, or Joy elates, the Mind.
Unstable in his Taste—To-day the Peer,
Affecting State, moves in his proper Sphere;
Just to his Rank, his Equipage and Dress,
The Man of Fortune, and of Birth, confess:
Ambitious Thoughts enlarge his swelling Heart,
He acts the Man of Quality's true Part—
Shines in the Senate, pleads his Country's Cause,
The Maker and Observer of its Laws:
To-morrow chang'd, to Vice a Convert grown,
The Peer no longer in the Peer is known;
New Passions lead, in different Pleasures tost,
The future great Man in one Hour is lost;
The glorious Plan impatient to decline,
'Mers'd in the stronger Joys of Love and Wine,
Behold him now, skulking from Place to Place,
Where I should almost blush to shew my Face;
In Taverns, Brothels, wasting Night and Day,
A Dupe to Wh***s, a greater Dupe to Play;
Still fond of Change, ev'n here, he can't forget,
But sometimes thinks of Oxford with Regret:
No Foe to Virtue, and no Friend to Vice,
He yields to both, as both by Turns entice;
By neither bound, nor yet from either free,
Vertumnus never chang'd so much as he.
Affecting State, moves in his proper Sphere;
Just to his Rank, his Equipage and Dress,
The Man of Fortune, and of Birth, confess:
Ambitious Thoughts enlarge his swelling Heart,
He acts the Man of Quality's true Part—
Shines in the Senate, pleads his Country's Cause,
The Maker and Observer of its Laws:
To-morrow chang'd, to Vice a Convert grown,
The Peer no longer in the Peer is known;
New Passions lead, in different Pleasures tost,
The future great Man in one Hour is lost;
The glorious Plan impatient to decline,
'Mers'd in the stronger Joys of Love and Wine,
Behold him now, skulking from Place to Place,
Where I should almost blush to shew my Face;
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A Dupe to Wh***s, a greater Dupe to Play;
Still fond of Change, ev'n here, he can't forget,
But sometimes thinks of Oxford with Regret:
No Foe to Virtue, and no Friend to Vice,
He yields to both, as both by Turns entice;
By neither bound, nor yet from either free,
Vertumnus never chang'd so much as he.
Rack'd with the Gout, and lame in both his Hands,
Avaro's Servant near his Master stands;
And as the Box and Dice go round the Board,
Loses and wins a Fortune for his Lord.
Worse than the other—Whom, thus robb'd of Pow'r.
His former Passions fatally devour!
Who, past the Act, will not the Pleasure miss,
But tastes by Proxy the forbidden Bliss!
Avaro's Servant near his Master stands;
And as the Box and Dice go round the Board,
Loses and wins a Fortune for his Lord.
Worse than the other—Whom, thus robb'd of Pow'r.
His former Passions fatally devour!
Who, past the Act, will not the Pleasure miss,
But tastes by Proxy the forbidden Bliss!
M.
Speak to the Point—Whom have you in your View?
V.
Why—to be free, no other Sir, but you.
M.
Rascal!
V.
Have Patience Sir—You warmly praise
The sober Manners of Eliza's Days;
Yet if some God would bring those Days again,
You'd sigh for these, nor could yourself contain:
“What you commend, you either think not right,
“Or have not Virtue to maintain the Fight.”
Stuck in the Mire, which first your Feet betray'd,
All your vain Struggles are untimely made;
Weak, impotent, yet wishing to be free,
You are by much a greater Slave, than me;
A Slave, to ev'ry Gust that shakes your Mind,
Your Eyes broad open, and your Senses blind.
The sober Manners of Eliza's Days;
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You'd sigh for these, nor could yourself contain:
“What you commend, you either think not right,
“Or have not Virtue to maintain the Fight.”
Stuck in the Mire, which first your Feet betray'd,
All your vain Struggles are untimely made;
Weak, impotent, yet wishing to be free,
You are by much a greater Slave, than me;
A Slave, to ev'ry Gust that shakes your Mind,
Your Eyes broad open, and your Senses blind.
Fond of Retirement only, when in Town,
A Country Life is now your Pleasure grown;
Once there, the Still-Life palls, the Pleasure dies,
And London's gay Attractions charm your Eyes.
A Country Life is now your Pleasure grown;
Once there, the Still-Life palls, the Pleasure dies,
And London's gay Attractions charm your Eyes.
To day if none should ask you to a Treat,
What Happiness, you cry, alone to eat!
How great the Joy! How pure the vast Delight!
P**x on each Coxcomb-Lord, that will invite!
A Card now comes just at the Close of Day—
Her Grace invites you, Sir, to sup or play;
You rave, you swear—Your Servants are too few
The necessary Offices to do—
“Here! scent this Handkerchief—Here! curl my Hair—
“Where are my Rogues? How slow these Fellows are!”
Your very Friends, whom you had ask'd before,
Depart, and mutt'ring, curse you at the Door.
What Happiness, you cry, alone to eat!
How great the Joy! How pure the vast Delight!
P**x on each Coxcomb-Lord, that will invite!
A Card now comes just at the Close of Day—
Her Grace invites you, Sir, to sup or play;
You rave, you swear—Your Servants are too few
The necessary Offices to do—
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“Where are my Rogues? How slow these Fellows are!”
Your very Friends, whom you had ask'd before,
Depart, and mutt'ring, curse you at the Door.
But some may say (or you, Sir, if you please)
That I have Faults, perhaps as bad as these;
“That tho' a Valet I distinguish Smells,
“And know as well as you, which Dish excels;
“Am heedless, lazy—Say, a Glutton too;
“And have an Alehouse always in my View:
An honest Culprit, to the Charge I plead,
And own the Sentence, Justice has decreed.
But why should you, as bad or worse than I,
The honest Truths, which I confess, deny?
Why, with false Colours daub your Vices o'er?
Will Colours whiten, what was foul before?”
Suppose for once—nay, keep your Temper, pray—
Suppose I prove, in Vice you lead the Way—
For 'tis an Axiom, I was taught at School,
Master or Man—A Fool is still a Fool.
That I have Faults, perhaps as bad as these;
“That tho' a Valet I distinguish Smells,
“And know as well as you, which Dish excels;
“Am heedless, lazy—Say, a Glutton too;
“And have an Alehouse always in my View:
An honest Culprit, to the Charge I plead,
And own the Sentence, Justice has decreed.
But why should you, as bad or worse than I,
The honest Truths, which I confess, deny?
Why, with false Colours daub your Vices o'er?
Will Colours whiten, what was foul before?”
Suppose for once—nay, keep your Temper, pray—
Suppose I prove, in Vice you lead the Way—
For 'tis an Axiom, I was taught at School,
Master or Man—A Fool is still a Fool.
You seek the marry'd Dame—I walk the Street,
And pick up the first willing Wench I meet;
Lust eggs us both—Lust is in both the same;
Our Passions differ not, unless in Name;
She takes me to her Room—We kiss, we toy;
I task her to the Height of am'rous Joy—
Unhurt in Character, I quit her Charms,
Nor care what happier Rival fills her Arms.
Whilst you, disguis'd, and fearful to be known,
Quit, for the Habit of a Slave, your own.
Disguis'd in vain, wake from your foolish Dream,
And own yourself the very Slave you seem;
The Slave of Passion; which perverts Truth's Plan,
And sinks the virtuous in the vicious Man.
With Caution introduc'd, you trembling move,
Unfit for the rough Exercise of Love:
Behold, the Object of your Pleasure near,
You thrill with Rapture, and you shake with Fear.
The Husband comes—New Terrors fill your Head;
The dreaded Sword already dooms you dead.
Perhaps the Confidant, to save you, tries,
And hides you from the jealous Husband's Eyes.
Cramm'd in some Chest, you writhe all Night with Pain,
And dare not for your Safety once complain:
The Man whom, by your Rank, abroad you awe,
Sits in your Place, and gives his Lord the Law.
But tell me, Which for Vengeance loudest calls,
The Wretch who tempts, or who, when tempted, falls?
Alike to blame, but diff'ring in Degree,
Each Eye your greater Infamy can see.
Less criminal by far, she sought not you,
Nor chang'd her Garb, to shun the public View;
Ev'n in the Height of Joy, which warms the Heart,
She acted a constrain'd imperfect Part;
A cumb'rous Load within her Arms you lay,
And all her Joys dissolv'd in Fears away.
All this you know—yet risk for this your All,
Life, Fortune, Fame; what Men still dearest call.
But you escape—Well! does that make you wise,
Or open on your Follies, Reason's Eyes!
Caution'd in vain—Oh! ever Passion's Slave!
You tempt your Fate, and the same Dangers brave;
You seek again each Terror to renew,
And meet the Punishment so much your Due.
What Beast but Man, who once has broke his Chain,
Returns, and seeks to put it on again?
And pick up the first willing Wench I meet;
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Our Passions differ not, unless in Name;
She takes me to her Room—We kiss, we toy;
I task her to the Height of am'rous Joy—
Unhurt in Character, I quit her Charms,
Nor care what happier Rival fills her Arms.
Whilst you, disguis'd, and fearful to be known,
Quit, for the Habit of a Slave, your own.
Disguis'd in vain, wake from your foolish Dream,
And own yourself the very Slave you seem;
The Slave of Passion; which perverts Truth's Plan,
And sinks the virtuous in the vicious Man.
With Caution introduc'd, you trembling move,
Unfit for the rough Exercise of Love:
Behold, the Object of your Pleasure near,
You thrill with Rapture, and you shake with Fear.
The Husband comes—New Terrors fill your Head;
The dreaded Sword already dooms you dead.
Perhaps the Confidant, to save you, tries,
And hides you from the jealous Husband's Eyes.
Cramm'd in some Chest, you writhe all Night with Pain,
And dare not for your Safety once complain:
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Sits in your Place, and gives his Lord the Law.
But tell me, Which for Vengeance loudest calls,
The Wretch who tempts, or who, when tempted, falls?
Alike to blame, but diff'ring in Degree,
Each Eye your greater Infamy can see.
Less criminal by far, she sought not you,
Nor chang'd her Garb, to shun the public View;
Ev'n in the Height of Joy, which warms the Heart,
She acted a constrain'd imperfect Part;
A cumb'rous Load within her Arms you lay,
And all her Joys dissolv'd in Fears away.
All this you know—yet risk for this your All,
Life, Fortune, Fame; what Men still dearest call.
But you escape—Well! does that make you wise,
Or open on your Follies, Reason's Eyes!
Caution'd in vain—Oh! ever Passion's Slave!
You tempt your Fate, and the same Dangers brave;
You seek again each Terror to renew,
And meet the Punishment so much your Due.
What Beast but Man, who once has broke his Chain,
Returns, and seeks to put it on again?
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I'm no Adulterer—
V.
Well, be it so—
But will you, Sir, the honest Reason know—
I am no Thief—Safe, to your Servant's Hands,
The Plate committed, in the Bufet stands:
But take away the Cause, which keeps us just,
We both alike should violate our Trust:
The Danger once remov'd, the Tempter nigh,
My Lord would be as great a Rogue, as I!
But you're my Master, as you say—What then!
You are as much the Slave of other Men:
Nor can the Rank in which the Great appear,
Give Freedom to the Mind oppress'd with Fear.
Yet more—This Argument will stand the Test—
Each House one Servant has, who rules the rest:
Yet tho' the others all obey his Will,
Butler or Steward, he's a Servant still.
Enlarge the Thought—I am your Slave, 'tis true;
But tell me honestly, whose Slave are you?
You serve a hundred Masters, I but one:
Your Drudg'ry never ends; mine soon is done:
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The Puppet dances, to their Hearts Desire;
Compell'd by secret Springs, to him unknown,
The Engine moves with Motions not its own.
M.
Who then is free, or is each Man the same?
V.
The Wise alone deserves that glorious Name;
He who commands himself, and does what's right,
Whom neither Want, nor Death, nor Chains, affright;
Who from each dang'rous Passion calmly flies,
And sees a G*****g with unwishing Eyes;
Who laughs at Honours, Titles, Rank, or Pow'r;
And, safe within, fears no unguarded Hour;
Who fenc'd, and inaccessible to all,
Smiles when the Strokes of Fortune heaviest fall!
This Man is free: None else true Freedom have,
But wear the Badge of Slav'ry to the Grave.
He who commands himself, and does what's right,
Whom neither Want, nor Death, nor Chains, affright;
Who from each dang'rous Passion calmly flies,
And sees a G*****g with unwishing Eyes;
Who laughs at Honours, Titles, Rank, or Pow'r;
And, safe within, fears no unguarded Hour;
Who fenc'd, and inaccessible to all,
Smiles when the Strokes of Fortune heaviest fall!
This Man is free: None else true Freedom have,
But wear the Badge of Slav'ry to the Grave.
Now ask yourself, and tell me, if you find
But one of all these Virtues in your Mind.
But one of all these Virtues in your Mind.
A Thousand Pounds your lavish Miss requires:
You answer not at first to her Desires:
Each diff'rent Trick she tries to gain her Ends;
She quarrels with you now, and now is Friends;
Now drives you from her House, now shews Disdain,
And now, capricious, calls you back again.
Break thro' these shameful Bonds—Your Folly see;
Resume yourself, and say at last, I'm free!
In vain—The Master-Passion governs still,
And forces you to yield against your Will.
You answer not at first to her Desires:
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She quarrels with you now, and now is Friends;
Now drives you from her House, now shews Disdain,
And now, capricious, calls you back again.
Break thro' these shameful Bonds—Your Folly see;
Resume yourself, and say at last, I'm free!
In vain—The Master-Passion governs still,
And forces you to yield against your Will.
A Guido strikes with Rapture and Surprize;
The well-drawn Figure charms your wond'ring Eyes;
I like the Sign that hangs at Broughton's Door,
And spy fresh Beauties, unobserv'd before;
The Bruiser there in mimic Action stands,
And seems to threaten with his uprais'd Hands:
Yet I'm an ignorant and idle Fool,
And you a Connoisseur, who judge by Rule.
Lur'd by the Sight, and tickled by the Smell,
The smoaking Ox-Cheek tempts me to rebel:
In me Temptation is a Vice—In you
'Tis Virtue to resist—whene'er you do—
“To eat is yours: If Taste for Dainties calls,
“No Punishment on the rich Glutton falls.”
Greatly mistaken! See how each Disease
Follows the Wretch who will his Palate please!
The weaken'd Body, and the tott'ring Feet,
Are worse than any Treatment I can meet.
The well-drawn Figure charms your wond'ring Eyes;
I like the Sign that hangs at Broughton's Door,
And spy fresh Beauties, unobserv'd before;
The Bruiser there in mimic Action stands,
And seems to threaten with his uprais'd Hands:
Yet I'm an ignorant and idle Fool,
And you a Connoisseur, who judge by Rule.
Lur'd by the Sight, and tickled by the Smell,
The smoaking Ox-Cheek tempts me to rebel:
In me Temptation is a Vice—In you
'Tis Virtue to resist—whene'er you do—
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“No Punishment on the rich Glutton falls.”
Greatly mistaken! See how each Disease
Follows the Wretch who will his Palate please!
The weaken'd Body, and the tott'ring Feet,
Are worse than any Treatment I can meet.
Blameful the Slave, no doubt, who steals by Night,
To purchase what may give his Taste Delight!
You sell your Land to please your pamper'd Taste,
And all your Substance on your Belly waste:
Which is the greater Slave, or he, or you?
Is not the Name, as much as his, your Due?
Worse yet—Incapable to be alone,
Your very Leisure is no more your own;
Time hangs upon your Hands—Yourself you fly,
And ev'ry Care-expeller vainly try.
Striving in Wine and Sleep to drown each Thought,
In his own Snare the wretched Fool is caught;
For Care, the Curse of each unbusy'd Mind,
Sits on your Skirts, and follows you behind.
To purchase what may give his Taste Delight!
You sell your Land to please your pamper'd Taste,
And all your Substance on your Belly waste:
Which is the greater Slave, or he, or you?
Is not the Name, as much as his, your Due?
Worse yet—Incapable to be alone,
Your very Leisure is no more your own;
Time hangs upon your Hands—Yourself you fly,
And ev'ry Care-expeller vainly try.
Striving in Wine and Sleep to drown each Thought,
In his own Snare the wretched Fool is caught;
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Sits on your Skirts, and follows you behind.
M.
A Stick—
V.
For what—
M.
I can no more endure—
V.
My Master's mad, or else makes Verses sure!
M.
Be gone—Let me no more your Figure see:
Who'd keep a Servant better taught than he?
The END.
| Horace, Book II | |