Horace His arte of Poetrie, Epistles, and Satyrs Englished ::

The poet is at Altercation withe himselfe, and reasoneth if hee shoulde anye further procede, in inditynge of Satyres, sithens hee vvas thought of some enuious persones to be sharpe spoken, and indede a backbyter. Hee demaundeth counsell of the lavvyer Trebatius: hee defendeth hys ovvne dede, and conuincethe his misiudgers.

Some thinke my Satyres too to tarte,
to kepe no constant law,
And some haue thought it lously pende
what so of mine they sawe.
And weane a thousand suche like rimes,
one might within a day,
Write and dispatche: (old frend Trebate)
what would I doo? a way
To me prescrbe: you byd me rest,
my Musies to appal.
Na, trust me truly by my thryfte,
that were the best of all.
But I must nedes be doing still,
you bid me, I know what,

To swymme in Tyber all the day
at night to kepe a chat.
To drinke for life, to quaffe carouse,
to loade my tottye noule,
And by such meanes restraine my pen,
and to surcharge my soule.
Or if I haue such vrgent lust,
and lyking to indite,
That then I should of Cesars fraies
and passing triumphes write.
For that wold fetche vs in the pence,
and helpe me for to liue.
Alas (God knowes) full faine would I.
my courage wil not geue
Me so to doo. Not euery man
the warlike troupes so gaye,
The morishe pikes, and broching speares,
the frenchemen slaine in fray,
The puissaunt Percie pluckte from horse
praise worthie can displaye.
Why might I not iuste Scipio,
thy martial feates haue praysed,
As learned Lucille once tofore
such bloodie bankets blased?
I will assaye as time shall serue,
vnlesse I waite my time,
It is in vaine, to exhibite
to Cesar any rime.
Whom, if a man attempte to claw,
inflexible he standes,
Yet, better were so to presume,
then for to file our handes
With bankroute slaue Pantobolus
and Nomentanus prankes
Sithe causeles all mistrust them selues,
and cannes me little thankes,
What way for me? they say, that I

am subiecte vnto drinke,
And shotishely vppon excesse,
lay out what so I thinke:
Like dronken folke that hoppe and skippe,
when lickour lodes their braine,
And when through ill affected eie,
one candell semeth twayne.
Borne of one egge, Pollux on foote,

Pollux and Castor, Iupiter and Ledas sonnes brethren to Helena.

and Castor loues to ryde,
Eche man his minde. In studying
howe many wayes be tryde?
I kepe one staye, writinge (they saye)
in melancholie moode,
Like Lucill, sauing that my witte,
is not all out so good.
Lucill, as to his very frende,
so woulde he to his booke
His secretes good or bad bewray,
looke on them, who woulde looke.
Hym followe I, in Lucanie,
or bred in Appulie
I wote not: For Venuce my towne

Venucinum, iuste betvven Lucanie, and Appulie, ther vvas the poet borne.

betwixte them both doth lye.
The Romains Venucine possesse,
so sente into that place,
Leste people nigh abordering
might wyn the same in space.
And therby noy the Romishe welth,
what so my countrey is:
What so my wytte, my bytter style
strikes not a whytte amis.
It may bee lykened to a sworde,
In sheathe for my defence.
Synce no false losels hurte me then,
why doo I drawe it thence?
O kyng, O father Iupiter,
Woulde God the tymes were so

That ruste myght well deuoure this sworde,
that none woulde worke me wo.
But worke they doo, but who so does,
though he be diuelyshe fell,
I blason farre and nere his armes,
and wanton touches tell.
He may go howle, and pule for wo,
the citizens will scorn hym,
And cause him wyshe full many a tyme,
his damme had neuer borne hym.
The Lawyer when that he is chaft,
will threaten iudgement fell.
So Cannadie our sorceresse
with poyson will vs quell:
Eche officer dothe menace eke,
the worste that they can doe:
All bragge of that, whiche is theyr best,
and therwith feare their foe.
And that nature allowes of this.
marke thou these notes with me:
The wolfe with toothe, the bull with horne.
and how this same myght be,
Dame Nature teacheth inwardly.
thou doste agayne reply,
Stronge Sheua wold not with his sworde,
his mother cause to dye,
Though she had wrought him much mischief.
No maruayle, for the oxe
Strikes not with tooth, nor wolfe with hele,
strong poyson vsde this foxe.
So he and they, the good and lewde
theyr weapons haue by kynde,
And vse the same to worke theyr weale:
the gyftes therfore of mynde
Shall be my beste artillerie:
For whether quiet age

Abydeth me, or blacke wyngde death
encompasse me in rage,
Come wealth or want, at home, or els
perchaunce an exilde man,
I will not fayle, to write my state,
if possiebly I can.

Trebare
My sonne, if that thou write to sharpe,
no doubt thou shalt not liue,
Some one or other, wil to the
Thy fatall wounde ygeue.

Horace.
Why? Lucill lyude, who euer vsde,
all fayners to detecte
With Satyres sharpe, and quippies rounde,
of death he neuer reckt.
But blamed those, which outwardly
do geue a shyning shoe,
And inwardly are chargde with sinne,
that vnnethes they can goe.
Good Lelie did not hate his witte,
not he that got renowne
For pollecie, and pruice too.
For beating Carthage downe.
I say they were not miscontent,
That lewde Metellus once,

Metellus and Lupus noble men, yet reprehended for vice: Scipio and Lelius not repyning:

And lowtishe Lupus were reformde,
with Satyres for the nonce.
He would not spare the officers,
nor priuate men to blame.
A frende to none saue honestie,
and those that vse the same.
With doughtie stoute duke Scipio,
and Lelie learnde and wise,

One point of vvisedom, not to be mery amongst a multitude:

He woulde ieste very iocondlye,
and franckly in his guise,
At meales when he sequestred was
from the vnlettred sort.

What so I am, though farre I wote
from Lucils witte and port.
Yet enuie selfe cannot denie,
but I haue ledde my life
Amongst the beste, though some men thinke
me dedicate to strife:
Me thinks my grounde is good and sure,
except you frende Trebate,
By law doo disalowe of it,
I wil pursue my state.

Trebate
Beware, beware, the warnde may lyue,
be circumspect, and slawe,
Leste you by wordes vndoo your selfe,
through ignorance of lawe.
For who that writeth slaundrously,
we lawyers must amend him:

Hor.
And who that writeth true and well,
our Cesar must defend him:
If that a man speake of a zeale,
And blame the bad alone,
Dispatche your rowles, ther is no gaine,
the Lawyer may be gone.

University of Virginia Library

The firste satyre [of Horace]