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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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Sat. IX.

[Musing, as wont, on this and that]

Musing, as wont, on this and that,
Such Trifles, as I know not what,
When late the Street I saunter'd through,
A Wight, whose Name I hardly knew,
101

Approaching pertly makes me stand,
And thus accosts me, Hand in Hand.
“How do you do, my sweetest Man?”
Quoth I, as well as Mortal can,
And my best Wishes yours—When he
Would follow—What's your Will with me?
“That one of your profound discerning
“Should know me: I'm a Man of Learning.”—
Why then be sure upon that Score
You merit my Regard the more.
Impatient to discard the Fop,
One while I run, another stop,
And whisper, as he presses near,
Some nothing in my Servant's Ear.
But while at every Pore I sweated,
And thus in muttering Silence fretted—
“Bolanus, happy in a Skull
“Of Proof, impenetrably dull,
“O for a Portion of thy Brains”—
He on the Town and Streets and Lanes
His prating, praising Talent try'd,
And, when I answered not, he cry'd,
Ay, 'tis too plain; you can't deceive me,
You miserably wish to leave me.
But I shall never quit you so:
Command me—whither would you go?—
You do me Honour—but, in short,
There's not the least Occasion for't.
I visit one—to cut the Strife,
You never saw him in your Life;
Nor would I lead you such a Round—
He lives above a Mile of Ground
103

Beyond the Tyber—“Never talk
“Of Distance, for I love a Walk.
“I never have the least Enjoyment
“In Idleness: I want Employment.
“Come on; I must and will attend
“Your Person to your Journey's End.”
Like vicious Ass, that fretting bears
A wicked Load, I hang my Ears;
While he, renewing his Civilities,
“If well I know my own Abilities,
“Not Viscus, though your Friend of yore,
“Not Varius could engage you more;
“For who can write melodious Lays
“With greater Elegance or Ease?
“Who moves with smoother Grace his Limbs
“While through the mazy Dance he swims?
“Besides, I sing to that Degree
“Hermogenes might envy me.”
Have you no Mother, Sister, Friends,
Whose Welfare on your Health depends?—
“Not one; I saw them all by Turns
“Securely settled in their Urns.”
Thrice happy they, secure from Pain!
And I thy Victim now remain;
Dispatch me: for my Goody-Nurse
Early presag'd this heavy Curse.
She con'd it by the Sieve and Shears,
And now it falls upon my Ears—
Nor Poison fell, with Ruin stor'd,
Nor horrid Point of hostile Sword,
Nor Pleurisy, nor Asthma-Cough,
Nor Cripple-Gout shall cut him off:
105

A noisy Tongue and babbling Breath
Shall teize and talk my Child to Death.
But if he would avert his Fate,
When he arrives at Man's Estate
Let him avoid, as he would Hanging,
Your Folks long-winded in Haranging.
We came to Vesta's about Ten,
And he was bound in Person then
To stand a Suit, or by the Laws
He must have forfeited his Cause.
Sir, if you love me, step aside
A little into Court, he cry'd.
If I can stand it out, quoth I,
Or know the Practice, let me die:
Besides, I am oblig'd to go
Precisely to the Place you know.—
“I am divided what to do
“Whether to leave my Cause, or you.”—
Sir, I beseech you spare your Pains.
Your humble Servant—“By no Means.”
I follow, for he leads the Way;
'Tis Death; but Captives must obey.
Then he renews his plaguy Strain, as
“How stands your Friendship with Mæcenas?—
“For Friendships, he contracts but few,
“And shews in that his Judgement true.—
“Commend me to you, Brother-Bard,
“No Man has play'd a surer Card.
“But you should have a Man of Art:
“One, who might act an under-part.
“If you were pleas'd to recommend,
“The Man I mention, to your Friend,
107

“Sir, may I never see the Light
“But you shall rout your Rivals quite.”—
We live not there, as you suppose,
On such precarious Terms as those:
No Family was ever purer:
From such Infections none securer.
It never hurts me in the least,
That one excels in Wealth, or Taste;
Each Person there of course inherits
A Place proportion'd to his Merits—
“'Tis wonderful, and to be brief,
“A Thing almost beyond Belief.”—
But, whether you believe, or no,
The Matter is exactly so.
“This adds but Fewel to the Fire,
“The more you kindle my Desire
“To kiss his Hand, and pay my Court.”—
Assail, and you shall take the Fort.
Such is the Vigour of your Wit,
And he is one, who can submit;
The first Attack is therefore nice
The Matter is to break the Ice.
“I shan't be wanting there, he cry'd,
“I'll bribe his Servants to my Side;
“To-Day shut out still onward press,
“And watch the Seasons of Access;
“In private haunt, in public meet,
“Salute, escort him through the Street.
“There's nothing gotten in this Life,
“Without a World of Toil and Strife!”
While thus he racks my tortur'd Ears,
A much-lov'd Friend of mine appears,
109

Aristius Fuscus, one who knew
My sweet Companion through and through.
We stop, exchanging “So and so:”
“Whence come, and whither do you go?”
I then began in woful wise
To nod my Head, distort my Eyes,
And pull his Renegado Sleeve,
That he would grant me a Reprieve;
But he was absent all the while,
Malicious with a leering Smile.
Provok'd at his Dissimulation
I burst with Spleen and Indignation.
“I know not what you had to tell
“In private.”—I remember well:
But shall a Day of Business chuse,
This is the Sabbath of the Jews;
You would not thus offend the leathern-
curtail'd Assemblies of the Brethren.—
“I have no Scruples, by your Leave,
“On that account.”—But, Sir, I have:
I am a little superstitious,
Like many of the Croud capricious:
Forgive me, if it be a Crime,
And I shall talk another Time.—
Oh! that so black a Sun should rise!
Away the cruel Creature flies,
And leaves me panting for my Life
Aghast beneath the Butcher's Knife.
At last, by special Act of Grace
The Plaintiff meets him Face to Face,
And bawls as loud as he could bellow:
“Ha! whither now, thou vilest Fellow?
111

“Sir, will you witness for my Capture?”
I signified, I would with Rapture;
And then to magnify the Sport
He drags my Pratler into Court;
And thus, amidst the Noise and Rabble,
Apollo sav'd me in the Squabble.
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