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A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace

With the Original Text, and Critical Notes collected from his best Latin and French Commentators. By the Revd Mr. Philip Francis...The third edition
Francis, Philip (1708?-1773)
  
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VOL. I.
  
[dedication]
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THE ODES OF HORACE.
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THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE.
 I. 
Ode I. To Mæcenas.
 II. 
Ode II. To Augustus.
 III. 
Ode III. To the Ship in which Virgil sailed to Athens.
 IV. 
Ode IV. To Sestius.
 V. 
Ode V. To Pyrrha.
 VI. 
Ode VI. To Agrippa.
 VII. 
Ode VII. To Munatius Plancus.
 VIII. 
Ode VIII. To Lydia.
 IX. 
Ode IX. To Thaliarchus.
 X. 
Ode X. Hymn to Mercury.
 XI. 
Ode XI. To Leuconoe.
 XII. 
Ode XII. Hymn to Jove.
 XIII. 
Ode XIII. To Lydia.
 XIV. 
Ode XIV. To the Republic.
 XV. 
Ode XV. The Prophecy of Nereus.
 XVI. 
Ode XVI. To Tyndaris.
 XVII. 
Ode XVII. To Tyndaris.
 XVIII. 
Ode XVIII. To Varus.
 XIX. 
Ode XIX. On Glycera.
 XX. 
Ode XX. To Mæcenas.
 XXII. 
Ode XXII. To Aristius Fuscus.
 XXIII. 
Ode XXIII. To Chloe.
 XXIV. 
Ode XXIV. To Virgil.
 XXV. 
Ode XXV. To Lydia.
 XXVI. 
Ode XXVI. To his Muse.
 XXVII. 
Ode XXVII. To his Companions.
 XXVIII. 
Ode XXVIII. A Mariner and the Ghost of Archytas.
 XXIX. 
Ode XXIX. To Iccius.
 XXX. 
Ode XXX. To Venus.
 XXXI. 
Ode XXXI. To Apollo.
 XXXII. 
Ode XXXII. To his Lyre.
 XXXIII. 
Ode XXXIII. To Albius Tibullus.
 XXXIV. 
Ode XXXIV.
 XXXV. 
Ode XXXV. To Fortune.
 XXXVI. 
Ode XXXVI.
 XXXVII. 
Ode XXXVII. To his Companions.
 XXXVIII. 
Ode XXXVIII. To his Slave.
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THE SECOND BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE.
 I. 
Ode I. To Asinius Pollio.
 II. 
Ode II. To Crispus Sallustius.
 III. 
Ode III. To Dellius.
 IV. 
Ode IV. To Xanthias Phoceus.
 V. 
Ode V.
 VI. 
Ode VI. To Septimius.
 VII. 
Ode VII. To Pompeius Varus.
 VIII. 
Ode VIII. To Barine.
 IX. 
Ode IX. To Valgius.
 X. 
Ode X. To Licinius Murena.
 XI. 
Ode XI. To Quintius Hirpinus.
 XII. 
Ode XII. To Mæcenas.
 XIII. 
Ode XIII.
 XIV. 
Ode XIV. To Postumus.
 XV. 
Ode XV.
 XVI. 
Ode XVI. To Pompeius Grosphus.
 XVII. 
Ode XVII. To Mæcenas.
 XVIII. 
Ode XVIII.
 XIX. 
Ode XIX. To Bacchus.
 XX. 
Ode XX. To Mæcenas.
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THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE.
 I. 
Ode I.
 II. 
Ode II. To his Friends.
 III. 
Ode III.
 IV. 
Ode IV. To Calliope.
 V. 
Ode V. The Praises of Augustus.
 VI. 
Ode VI. To the Romans.
 VII. 
Ode VII. To Asterie.
 VIII. 
Ode VIII. To Mæcenas.
 IX. 
Ode IX. A Dialogue between Horace and Lydia.
 X. 
Ode X. To Lyce.
 XI. 
Ode XI. To Mercury.
 XII. 
Ode XII. To Neobule.
 XIII. 
Ode XIII. To the Fountain Bandusia.
 XIV. 
Ode XIV. On the Return of Augustus from Spain.
 XV. 
Ode XV. To Chloris.
 XVI. 
Ode XVI. To Mæcenas.
 XVII. 
Ode XVII. To Ælius Lamia.
 XVIII. 
Ode XVIII. To Faunus.
 XIX. 
Ode XIX. To Telephus.
 XX. 
Ode XX. To Pyrrhus.
 XXI. 
Ode XXI. To his Cask.
 XXII. 
Ode XXII. To Diana.
 XXIII. 
Ode XXIII. To Phidyle.
 XXIV. 
Ode XXIV. Against Misers.
 XXV. 
Ode XXV. To Bacchus.
 XXVI. 
Ode XXVI. To Venus.
 XXVII. 
Ode XXVII. To Galatea.
 XXVIII. 
Ode XXVIII. To Lyde.
 XXIX. 
Ode XXIX. To Mæcenas.
 XXX. 
Ode XXX. To Melpomene.
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THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE ODES of HORACE.
 I. 
Ode I. To Venus.
 II. 
Ode II. To Antonius Julus.
 III. 
Ode III. To Melpomene.
 IV. 
Ode IV. The Praises of Drusus.
 V. 
Ode V. To Augustus.
 VII. 
Ode VII. To Torquatus.
 VIII. 
Ode VIII. To Censorinus.
 IX. 
Ode IX. To Lollius.
 X. 
Ode X. To Ligurinus.
 XI. 
Ode XI. To Phyllis.
 XII. 
Ode XII. To Virgil.
 XIII. 
Ode XIII. To Lyce.
 XIV. 
Ode XIV. To Augustus.
 XV. 
Ode XV. To Augustus.
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THE BOOK OF THE EPODES of HORACE.
 I. 
Epode I. To Mæcenas.
 II. 
Epode II. The Praises of a Country-Life.
 III. 
Epode III. To Mæcenas.
 IV. 
Epode IV.
 V. 
Epode V: On the Witch Canidia.
 VI. 
Epode VI. To Cassius Severus.
 VII. 
Epode VII. To the Roman People.
 IX. 
Epode IX. To Mæcenas.
 X. 
Epode X. To Mævius.
 XI. 
Epode XI. To Pettius.
 XIII. 
Epode XIII. To a Friend.
 XV. 
Epode XV. To Neæra.
 XVI. 
Epode XVI. To the Romans.
 XVII. 
Epode XVII. To Canidia.
  
Canidia's Answer.
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THE SECULAR POEM.
  
The Poet to the People.
  
To the Chorus of Youths and Virgins.
 1. 
First Concert. HYMN TO APOLLO.
 2. 
Second Concert.
 3. 
Third Concert. TO APOLLO AND DIANA.
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VOL. II.
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THE SATIRES OF HORACE.
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THE FIRST BOOK OF THE SATIRES of HORACE.
 I. 
Sat. I. To Mæcenas.
 II. 
Sat. II. To Mæcenas.
 III. 
Sat. III.
 IV. 
Sat. IV.
 V. 
Sat. V.
 VI. 
Sat. VI. To Mæcenas.
 VII. 
Sat. VII.
 VIII. 
Sat. VIII.
 IX. 
Sat. IX.
 X. 
Sat. X.
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THE SECOND BOOK OF THE SATIRES of HORACE.
 I. 
Sat. I. Horace. Trebatius.
 II. 
Sat. II.
 III. 
Sat. III. Damasippus. Horace.
 VI. 
Sat. VI. Horace. Catius.
 V. 
Sat. V. Ulysses. Tiresias.
 VI. 
Sat. VI.
 VII. 
Sat. VII. Davus. Horace.
 VIII. 
Sat. VIII. Horace. Fundanius.
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THE EPISTLES OF HORACE.
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THE FIRST BOOK OF THE EPISTLES of HORACE.
 I. 
Epistle I. To Mæcenas.
 II. 
Epist. II. To Lollius.
 III. 
Epist. III. To Julius Florus.
 IV. 
Epist. IV. To Albius Tibullus.
 V. 
Epist. V. To Torquatus.
 VI. 
Epist. VI. To Numicius.
 VII. 
Epist. VII. To Mæcenas.
 VIII. 
Epist. VIII. To Celsus Albinovanus.
 IX. 
Epist. IX. To Tiberius Nero.
 X. 
Epist. X. To Aristius Fuscus.
 XI. 
Epist. XI. To Bullatius.
 XII. 
Epist. XII. To Iccius.
 XIII. 
Epist. XIII. To Vinius Asella.
 XIV. 
Epist. XIV. To His Steward in the Country.
 XV. 
Epist. XV. To Vala.
 XVI. 
Epist. XVI. To Quintius.
 XVII. 
Epist. XVII. To Scæva.
 XVIII. 
Epist. XVIII. To Lollius.
 XIX. 
Epist. XIX. To Mæcenas.
 XX. 
Epist. XX. To His Book.
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THE SECOND BOOK OF THE EPISTLES of HORACE.
 I. 
Epist. I. To Augustus.
 II. 
Epist. II. To Julius Florus.
  
HORACE's ART of POETRY.

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19

Sat. II. To Mæcenas.

The Tribes of Minstrels, stroling Priests and Players,
Perfumers, and Buffoons, are all in Tears,
For ah! Tigellius, sweetest Songster's dead,
And sure the Soul of Bounty with him fled.
Behold a Wretch, in opposite Extreme,
So fearful of a Spendthrift's odious Name,
He dare not even a sordid Pittance give,
To raise a worthy Friend, and bid him live.
Or ask another, why, in thankless Feasts
The Wealth of all his frugal Sires he wastes;
Then the luxurious Treat profuse supplies
With borrow'd Sums; because I scorn, he cries,
To be a Wretch of narrow Spirit deem'd,
By some condemn'd, by others he's esteem'd.
Fufidius, rich in Lands, and large Increase
Of growing Usury, dreads the foul Disgrace
21

To be call'd Rake; and, ere the Money's lent,
He prudently deducts his Cent per Cent.
Then, as he finds the Borrower distrest,
Cruel demands a higher Interest,
But lends profusely to the lavish Heir,
Whose Guardians prove too frugally severe.
All-powerful Jove, th' indignant Reader cries,
“But his Expences, with his Income, rise.”
No. 'Tis amazing, that this Man of Pelf
Hath yet so little Friendship for himself,
That even the Self-Tormentor in the Play,
Cruel who drove his much-lov'd Son away,
Amidst the willing Tortures of Despair,
Could not with Wretchedness like his compare.
But say, at what this tedious Preface aims,
That Fools are ever vicious in Extremes.
The soft Malthinus trails a Length of Train:
See that short Robe, how filthily obscene!
Rufillus with Perfumes distracts your Head;
With his own Scents Gargonius strikes you dead.
That Youth, when wanton Wishes fires his Veins,
All but a flowing-ermin'd Dame disdains;
Others their safer, cheaper Pleasures chuse,
And take a willing Mistress from the Stews.
When awful Cato saw a noted Spark
From a Night-Cellar stealing in the dark,
“Well done, my Friend, if Love thy Breast inflame,
“Indulge it here, and spare the married Dame.”
23

Be mine the silken Veil, Cupiennius cries,
Such vulgar Praise and Pleasure I despise.
All ye, who wish some dire Mishap may wait
This horning Tribe, attend while I relate
What Dangers and Disasters they sustain,
How few their Pleasures, and how mix'd with Pain.
A desperate Leap one luckless Caitiff tries;
Torn by the flagrant Lash another dies;
Some are by Robbers plunder'd as they fly;
Others with Gold a wretched Safety buy.
Nor seldom do they feel, with keener Smart,
Their Cuckold's Vengeance on th' offending Part.
Such various Woes pursue these Sons of Lust,
And all, but Galba, own the Sentence just.
Far safer they, who venture their Estate,
And trade with Females of the second Rate.
“Yet Sallust rages here with wild Desires,
“As mad as those, which lawless Love inspires.”
But had he been with less profusion kind,
Had common Sense his lavish Hand confin'd,
He had not now been wholly lost to Shame,
In Fortune ruin'd, as undone in Fame.
But here's the Joy and Comfort of his Life;
To swear, he never touch'd his Neighbour's Wife.
Thus, to an Actress when with lavish Hand
Marsæus gave his Mansion-House and Land;
My Soul, thank Heaven, he cries, from Guilt is free;
The wedded Dames are vestal Maids for me.
Actress or not, the Crime is still the same,
Equal the Ruin of Estate and Fame;
Equal the Folly, whether in Pursuit
Of Wife, or Slave, or loose rob'd Prostitute;
25

Unless you mean, content to be undone,
To hate the Person, not the Vice to shun.
Of Sylla's wanton Daughter when possest,
Villius believ'd himself supremely blest:
To a Dictator thus to be ally'd,
Dazled his Senses, and indulg'd his Pride;
But sure, if Vanity were fairly rated,
Methinks, poor Villius was full hardly treated,
When buffeted and stab'd the Coxcomb dies,
While in the Wanton's Arms a Scoundrel lies.
Suppose, his secret Something had addrest
The luckless Youth with all these Woes opprest;
“Did I, when burning with my wildest Fire,”
“Did I a Maid of Quality require?”
What could he answer to the poor Forlorn?
“The jilting Quean, forsooth, was nobly born.”
But Nature, rich in her own proper Wealth,
In Youth and Beauty; Chearfulness and Health,
In her Pursuit of Happiness disclaims
The Pride of Titles and the Pomp of Names.
Be thine, her wise Oeconomy to learn,
And real, from affected Bliss, discern.
Then, lest Repentance punish such a Life,
Never, ah! never kiss your Neighbour's Wife.
For see, what thousand Mischiefs round you rise,
And, few the Pleasures, though you gain the Prize.
What though Cerinthus doats upon the Girl,
Who flames with Emerald green, or snowy Pearl,
Is she beyond a common Mistress blest
With Leg more taper, or a softer Breast?
Besides, the public Nymph no Varnish knows,
But all her venal Beauties frankly shows,
27

Nor boasts some happier Charm with conscious Pride,
Nor strives a vile Deformity to hide.
When skilful Jockeys would a Courser buy,
They strip him naked to the curious Eye;
For oft an eager Chapman is betray'd
To buy a founder'd or a spavin'd Jade,
While he admires a thin, lighted-shoulder'd Chest,
A little Head, broad back and rising Crest.
Th' Example's good; then keep it in thy Mind,
Nor to the Fair-one's Faults be over-blind,
Nor gaze with idle Rapture on her Charms,
“Oh! what a taper Leg! what snowy Arms!”
For she may hide, whate'er she vainly shows,
Low Hips, short Waist, splay Feet, and hideous Nose.
All but her Face the Matron's Robe conceals,
Catia alone th' Et-cætera reveals.
But if you still pursue this dangerous Game,
(Perhaps the Dangers your Desires inflame)
What military Works around her rise!
Maids, Chairmen, Footmen, Flatterers, guard the Prize.
The flowing Robe and closely muffled Veil
With envious Folds the precious Thing conceal;
But what from Nature's Commoners you buy,
Through the thin Robe stands naked to your Eye:
Or, if you will be cheated, pay the Fair,
With foolish Fondness, ere she shews her Ware.
As when a Sportsman through the snowy Waste
Pursues a Hare, which he disdains to taste,
So (sings the Rake) my Passion can despise
An easy Prey, but follows when it flies.
29

Yet can a Song or Simile remove
The Griefs and Tortures of unlawful Love?
Were it not better Wisdom to inquire
How Nature bounds each impotent Desire;
What she with Ease resigns, or wants with Pain,
And thus divide the Solid from the Vain?
Say, should your Jaws with Thirst severely burn,
Would you a cleanly, earthen Pitcher spurn?
Should Hunger on your gnawing Entrails seize,
Will Turbot only, or a Peacock please?
And will you, when a willing Girl's at hand,
With swelling Veins deliberating stand?
No—be the yielding, ready Venus mine;
To cooler Lovers I the Dame resign,
Who plays the Coy-one, with a cold “Anon,”
“A Guinea more;” or “when my Husband's gone.”
Give me the Nymph, who flies into my Arms,
And sets at easy Rate her willing Charms;
Let her be streight and fair; nor wish to have,
Or Height or Colour, Nature never gave:
Then, while with Joy I clasp the pleasing Fair,
What mortal Goddess can with mine compare?
No Terrours rise to interrupt my Joys,
No jealous Husband, nor the fearful Noise
Of bursting Doors, nor the loud, hideous Yelling
Of barking Dogs, that shakes the Matron's Dwelling,
When the pale Wanton leaps from off her Bed,
The conscious Chamber-maid screams out her Dread
Of horrid Tortures; loudly cries the Wife,
“My Jointure's lost,”—I tremble for my Life:
Unbutton'd, without Shoes, I speed away,
Lest I in Fame, or Purse, or Person pay.
To be surpris'd is, sure, a wretched Tale,
And for the Truth to Fabius I appeal.
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