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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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Epistle I. To Mæcenas.

O thou, to whom the Muse first tun'd her Lyre,
Whose Friendship shall her latest Song inspire,
Wherefore, Mæcenas, would You thus engage
Your Bard, dismist with Honour from the Stage,
Again to venture in the Lists of Fame,
His Youth, his Genius, now no more the same?
Secure in his Retreat Vejanius lies,
Hangs up his Arms, nor courts the doubtful Prize;
Wisely resolv'd to tempt his Fate no more,
Or the light Croud for his Discharge implore.
259

The Voice of Reason cries with piercing Force,
Loose from the rapid Car your aged Horse,
Lest in the Race derided, left behind,
He drag his jaded Limbs, and burst his Wind.
Then farewel all th' Amusements of my Youth,
Farewel to Verses, for the Search of Truth
And moral Decency hath fill'd my Breast,
Hath every Thought, and Faculty possest;
And now I form my Philosophic Lore,
For all my future Life a treasur'd Store.
You ask, perhaps, what Sect, what Chief I own;
I'm of all Sects, but blindly sworn to none;
For as the Tempest drives I shape my Way,
Now active plunge into the World's wide Sea:
Now Virtue's Precepts rigidly defend,
Nor to the World—the World to me shall bend:
Then make a looser Moralist my Guide,
And to a School less rigid smoothly glide.
261

As Night seems tedious to th' expecting Youth,
Whose Fair-one breaks her Assignation-Truth;
As to a Slave appears the lengthen'd Day,
Who owes his Task—for he receiv'd his Pay;
As, when the Guardian Mother's too severe,
Impatient Minors waste their last, long Year;
So sadly slow the Time ungrateful flows,
Which breaks th' important Systems I propose;
Systems, whose useful Precepts might engage
Both Rich and Poor; both Infancy and Age;
But meaner Precepts now my Life must rule,
These, the first Principles of Wisdom's School.
What though you cannot hope for Eagle's Eyes,
Will you a lenient, strengthening Salve despise?
Though matchless Glycon's Limbs You cannot gain,
Will you not cure the Gout's decrepid Pain?
Though of exact Perfection you despair,
Yet every Step to Virtue's worth your Care.
Even while You fear to use your present Store,
Yet glows your Bosom with a Lust of more?
The Power of Words, and soothing Sounds appease
The raging Pain, and lessen the Disease.
Is Fame your Passion? Wisdom's powerful Charm,
If thrice read over, shall its Force disarm.
263

The Slave to Envy, Anger, Wine or Love,
The Wretch of Sloth, its Excellence shall prove:
Fierceness itself shall bear its Rage away,
When listening calmly to th' instructive Lay.
Even in our Flight from Vice some Virtue lies,
And free from Folly, we to Wisdom rise.
A little Fortune, and the foul Disgrace,
To urge in vain your Interest for a Place;
These are the Ills you shun with deepest Dread;
With how much Labour both of Heart and Head?
To distant Climes, that burn with other Suns,
Through Seas, and Rocks, th' undaunted Merchant runs
In search of Wealth, yet heedless to attend
To the calm Lectures of some wiser Friend,
Who bids him scorn, what now he most desires,
And with an Idiot's Ignorance admires.
What stroling Gladiator would engage
For vile Applause to mount a Country-Stage,
Who at th' Olympic Games could gain Renown,
And without Danger bear away the Crown?
Silver to Gold, we own, must yield the Prize,
And Gold to Virtue; louder Folly cries,
Ye Sons of Rome, let Money first be sought;
Virtue is only worth a second Thought.
265

This Maxim echoes through the Banker's Street,
While Young and Old, the pleasing Strain repeat:
For though you boast a larger Fund of Sense,
Untainted Morals, Honour, Eloquence,
Yet want a little of the Sum, that buys
The titled Honour, and you ne'er shall rise
Above the Croud: yet Boys, at play, proclaim,
IF you do well, be Monarch of the Game.
Be this thy brazen Bulwark of Defence,
Still to preserve thy conscious Innocence,
Nor e'er turn pale with Guilt. But prithee tell,
Shall Otho's Law the Children's Song excel?
The Sons of ancient Rome first sung the Strain,
Which bids the Wise, the Brave, the Virtuous reign.
My Friend, get Money; get a large Estate,
By honest Means; but get, at any Rate,
That You may rise distinguish'd in the Pit,
And view the weeping Scenes that Pupius writ.
But is He not a Friend of nobler Kind,
Who wisely fashions, and informs thy Mind,
To answer, with a Soul erect and brave,
To Fortune's Pride, and scorn to be her Slave
267

But should the People ask me, while I use
The publick Converse, wherefore I refuse
To join the publick Judgement, and approve,
Or fly whatever they dislike, or love;
Mine be the Answer prudent Reynard made
To the sick Lion—Truly I'm afraid,
When I behold the Steps, that to thy Den
Look forward all, but none return again.
But what a many-headed Beast is Rome?
For what Opinion shall I chuse, or whom?
Some joy the public Revenues to farm;
By Presents some the ravening Widow charm;
Others their Nets for dying Dotards lay,
And make the childless Batchelor their Prey;
By dark Extortion some their Fortunes raise;
Thus every Man some different Passion sways:
But where is He, who can with steady View
Even for an Hour his favourite Scheme pursue?
If a rich Lord in wanton Rapture, cries,
What Place on Earth with charming Baiæ vies!
Soon the broad Lake and spreading Sea shall prove
Th' impatient Whims of his impetuous Love;
But if his Fancy point some other Way
(Which like a Sign from Heaven he must obey)
269

Instant, ye Builders, to Teanum haste,
An inland Country is his Lordship's Taste.
Knows he the genial Bed, and fruitful Wife?
“How happy then is an unmarried Life!”
Is he a Batchelor? the only blest,
He swears, are of the bridal Joy possest.
Say, while he changes thus, what Chains can bind
These various Forms; this Proteus of the Mind?
But now to lower Objects turn your Eyes,
And lo! what Scenes of Ridicule arise.
The Poor, in mimickry of Heart, presumes
To change his Barbers, Baths, and Beds and Rooms,
And, since the Rich in their own Barges ride,
He hires a Boat and pukes with mimic Pride.
If some unlucky Barber notch my Hair,
Or if my Robes of different Length I wear;
If my worn Vest a tatter'd Shirt confess,
You laugh to see such Quarrels in my Dress:
But if my Judgement, with itself at Strife,
Should contradict my general Course of Life;
Should now despise, what it with Warmth pursu'd,
And earnest wish for what with Scorn it view'd;
Float like the Tide; now high the Building raise;
Now pull it down; nor round, nor square can please;
You call it Madness of the usual Kind,
Nor laugh, nor think Trustees should be assign'd
To manage my Estate; nor seem afraid
That I shall want the kind Physician's Aid,
271

While yet, my great Protector and my Friend,
On whom my Fortune and my Hopes depend,
An ill-par'd Nail you with Resentment see
In one, who loves and honours You like me.
In short, the Wise is only less than Jove,
Rich, free, and handsome; nay a King above
All earthly Kings; with Health supremely blest—
Except when driveling Phlegm disturbs his Rest.
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