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 |
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Epist. VII. To Mæcenas.
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 | A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace |  |
Epist. VII. To Mæcenas.
I promis'd at my Country-Farm to stay
But a few Days; yet August roll'd away,
And left your Loiterer here: But kind forgive
(In chearful Health if you would have me live)
And to my Fears the same Indulgence show,
As to my real Illness You bestow.
But a few Days; yet August roll'd away,
And left your Loiterer here: But kind forgive
(In chearful Health if you would have me live)
And to my Fears the same Indulgence show,
As to my real Illness You bestow.
The purpled Fig now paints the sickly Year,
And Undertakers in black Pomp appear;
The Father, and, with softer Passions warm'd,
The tender Mother for her Son's alarm'd;
The crouded Levee with a Fever kills,
And the long Lawyer's Plea unseals our Wills;
But when the Snows on Alba's Mountain lie,
To some warm Sea-port Town your Bard shall fly,
There o'er a Book not too severely bend;
Resolv'd to visit his illustrious Friend,
When western Winds, and the first Swallows bring
The welcome Tidings of returning Spring.
And Undertakers in black Pomp appear;
The Father, and, with softer Passions warm'd,
The tender Mother for her Son's alarm'd;
The crouded Levee with a Fever kills,
And the long Lawyer's Plea unseals our Wills;
But when the Snows on Alba's Mountain lie,
To some warm Sea-port Town your Bard shall fly,
301
Resolv'd to visit his illustrious Friend,
When western Winds, and the first Swallows bring
The welcome Tidings of returning Spring.
In other Taste to me your Bounty flow'd,
Than to his Guest the rough Calabrian show'd—
“These Pears are excellent, then prithee feed”—
I've eaten quite enough—“Well. You indeed
“Shall take some home—as many as You please,
“For Children love such little Gifts as these.”
I thank you, Sir, as if they all were mine—
“Nay! if You leave, You leave them for the Swine.”
Thus Fools and Spendthrifts give what they despise,
And hence such thankless Crops for ever rise.
The Wise and Good with better Choice bestow,
And real Gold from Play-house Counters know.
But thus much Merit let me boldly claim,
No base Ingratitude shall stain my Name;
And yet if I must never leave You more,
Give me my former Vigour, and restore
The Hair, that on the youthful Forehead plays;
Give me to prate with Joy, to laugh with Ease,
And o'er the flowing Bowl, in sighing Strain,
To talk of wanton Cinera's Disdain.
Than to his Guest the rough Calabrian show'd—
“These Pears are excellent, then prithee feed”—
I've eaten quite enough—“Well. You indeed
“Shall take some home—as many as You please,
“For Children love such little Gifts as these.”
I thank you, Sir, as if they all were mine—
“Nay! if You leave, You leave them for the Swine.”
Thus Fools and Spendthrifts give what they despise,
And hence such thankless Crops for ever rise.
The Wise and Good with better Choice bestow,
And real Gold from Play-house Counters know.
But thus much Merit let me boldly claim,
No base Ingratitude shall stain my Name;
And yet if I must never leave You more,
Give me my former Vigour, and restore
The Hair, that on the youthful Forehead plays;
Give me to prate with Joy, to laugh with Ease,
And o'er the flowing Bowl, in sighing Strain,
To talk of wanton Cinera's Disdain.
303
Into a wicker Cask, where Corn was kept,
Perchance of meagre Corps a Field-mouse crept,
But when she fill'd her Paunch, and sleek'd her Hide,
How to get out again, in vain she try'd.
A Weezel, who beheld her thus distrest,
In friendly sort the luckless Mouse addrest,
“Would you escape, You must be poor and thin,
“To pass the Hole through which you ventur'd in.”
Perchance of meagre Corps a Field-mouse crept,
But when she fill'd her Paunch, and sleek'd her Hide,
How to get out again, in vain she try'd.
A Weezel, who beheld her thus distrest,
In friendly sort the luckless Mouse addrest,
“Would you escape, You must be poor and thin,
“To pass the Hole through which you ventur'd in.”
If in this Tale th' unlucky Picture's mine,
Chearful the Gifts of Fortune I resign;
Nor, with a Load of Luxury opprest,
Applaud the Sleep, that purer Meals digest.
Nor would exchange, for blest Arabia's Gold,
My native Ease, and Freedom uncontroul'd.
Chearful the Gifts of Fortune I resign;
Nor, with a Load of Luxury opprest,
Applaud the Sleep, that purer Meals digest.
Nor would exchange, for blest Arabia's Gold,
My native Ease, and Freedom uncontroul'd.
You oft have prais'd me, that no bold Request,
A modest Poet! on Your Friendship prest;
My grateful Language ever was the same,
I call'd you every tender, awful Name;
However try me, whether I can part
From all your Bounty, with a chearful Heart.
A modest Poet! on Your Friendship prest;
My grateful Language ever was the same,
I call'd you every tender, awful Name;
However try me, whether I can part
From all your Bounty, with a chearful Heart.
The Youth, whose Sire such various Woes had try'd,
To Menelaus, not unwise, reply'd,
“Our Island hath no rich and fertile Plain,
“No wide-extended Course, in which to train
“The generous Horse; then grant me to refuse
“A Present, that You better know to use.”
For little Folks become their little Fate,
And, at my Age, not Rome's imperial Seat,
But soft Tarentum's more delicious Ease,
Or Tibur's Solitude my Taste can please.
To Menelaus, not unwise, reply'd,
“Our Island hath no rich and fertile Plain,
“No wide-extended Course, in which to train
“The generous Horse; then grant me to refuse
“A Present, that You better know to use.”
For little Folks become their little Fate,
And, at my Age, not Rome's imperial Seat,
305
Or Tibur's Solitude my Taste can please.
Philip, whose Youth was spent in Feats of War,
Nor grown a famous Lawyer at the Bar,
Returning home from Court one sultry Day,
Complain'd, how tedious was the lengthen'd Way
To Folks in Years; then wistfully survey'd
A new trim'd Spark, who, joying in the Shade,
Loll'd in a Barber's Shop, with Ease reclin'd,
And par'd his Nails, full indolent of Mind.
“Demetrius (so was call'd his favourite Slave,
“For such Commissions a right trusty Knave)
“Run and inquire of yonder Fellow straight,
“His Name, Friends, Country, Patron and Estate.”
He goes, returns—“Vulteius is his Name;
“Of little Fortune, but of honest Fame;
“A public Crier, who a thousand Ways
“Bustles to get what he enjoys with Ease.
“A boon Companion 'mongst his Equals known,
“And the small House he lives in is his own.
“His Business over, to the public Shows,
“Or to the Field of Mars he sauntering goes.”
Nor grown a famous Lawyer at the Bar,
Returning home from Court one sultry Day,
Complain'd, how tedious was the lengthen'd Way
To Folks in Years; then wistfully survey'd
A new trim'd Spark, who, joying in the Shade,
Loll'd in a Barber's Shop, with Ease reclin'd,
And par'd his Nails, full indolent of Mind.
“Demetrius (so was call'd his favourite Slave,
“For such Commissions a right trusty Knave)
“Run and inquire of yonder Fellow straight,
“His Name, Friends, Country, Patron and Estate.”
He goes, returns—“Vulteius is his Name;
“Of little Fortune, but of honest Fame;
“A public Crier, who a thousand Ways
“Bustles to get what he enjoys with Ease.
“A boon Companion 'mongst his Equals known,
“And the small House he lives in is his own.
“His Business over, to the public Shows,
“Or to the Field of Mars he sauntering goes.”
Methinks, I long to see this wonderous Wight;
Bid him be sure to sup with me to-night.
Menas, with aukward Wonder, scarce believes
The courteous Invitation he receives:
At last, politely begs to be excus'd—
“And am I then with Insolence refus'd?
“Whether from too much Fear, or too much Pride,
“I know not, but he flatly has denied.”
Bid him be sure to sup with me to-night.
Menas, with aukward Wonder, scarce believes
The courteous Invitation he receives:
At last, politely begs to be excus'd—
“And am I then with Insolence refus'd?
“Whether from too much Fear, or too much Pride,
“I know not, but he flatly has denied.”
Philip next Morn our honest Pedlar found
Dealing his iron Merchandise around
To his small Chaps;—the first Good-morrow gave;
Menas confus'd—“Behold a very Slave,
“To Business chain'd, or I should surely wait
“An early Client at your Worship's Gate;
“Or had I first perceiv'd You—as I live”—
Well, sup with me to-night, and I forgive
All past Neglect. Be punctual to your Hour;
Remember I expect You just at Four.
'Till then farewel; your growing Fortunes mend,
And know me for your Servant and your Friend.
Dealing his iron Merchandise around
307
Menas confus'd—“Behold a very Slave,
“To Business chain'd, or I should surely wait
“An early Client at your Worship's Gate;
“Or had I first perceiv'd You—as I live”—
Well, sup with me to-night, and I forgive
All past Neglect. Be punctual to your Hour;
Remember I expect You just at Four.
'Till then farewel; your growing Fortunes mend,
And know me for your Servant and your Friend.
Behold him now at Supper, where he said,
Or right or wrong, what came into his Head.
When Philip saw his eager Gudgeon bite,
At Morn an early Client, and at Night
A certain Guest, his Project to compleat,
He takes him with him to his Country-Seat.
On Horse-back now he ambles at his Ease,
The Soil, the Climate his incessant Praise.
Or right or wrong, what came into his Head.
When Philip saw his eager Gudgeon bite,
At Morn an early Client, and at Night
A certain Guest, his Project to compleat,
He takes him with him to his Country-Seat.
On Horse-back now he ambles at his Ease,
The Soil, the Climate his incessant Praise.
Philip, who well observ'd our simple Guest,
Laughs in his Sleeve, resolv'd to have his Jest
At any Rate; then lends him fifty Pound,
And promis'd more, to buy a Spot of Ground.
Laughs in his Sleeve, resolv'd to have his Jest
At any Rate; then lends him fifty Pound,
And promis'd more, to buy a Spot of Ground.
But, that our Tale no longer be delay'd,
Bought is the Ground, and our spruce Merchant made
A very Rustic; while at endless Rate,
Vineyards and Furrows are his constant Prate.
He plants his Elms for future Vines to rise,
Grows old with Care, and on the Prospect dies.
But when his Goats by Sickness, and by Thieves
His Sheep are lost, his Crop his Hope deceives,
And his one Ox is kill'd beneath the Yoke,
Such various Losses his best Spirits broke.
At Midnight dragging out his only Horse,
He drives to Philip's House his desperate Course;
Who, when he saw him rough, deform'd with Hair
“Your ardent Love of Pelf, your too much Care
“Hath surely brought You to this dismal Plight”—
Oh! call me Wretch, if You would call me right,
The Caitiff cries; but let this Wretch implore,
By your good Genius—all that You adore,
By that right Hand, sure never pledg'd in vain,
Restore me to my former Life again.
Bought is the Ground, and our spruce Merchant made
A very Rustic; while at endless Rate,
Vineyards and Furrows are his constant Prate.
He plants his Elms for future Vines to rise,
Grows old with Care, and on the Prospect dies.
But when his Goats by Sickness, and by Thieves
His Sheep are lost, his Crop his Hope deceives,
And his one Ox is kill'd beneath the Yoke,
Such various Losses his best Spirits broke.
309
He drives to Philip's House his desperate Course;
Who, when he saw him rough, deform'd with Hair
“Your ardent Love of Pelf, your too much Care
“Hath surely brought You to this dismal Plight”—
Oh! call me Wretch, if You would call me right,
The Caitiff cries; but let this Wretch implore,
By your good Genius—all that You adore,
By that right Hand, sure never pledg'd in vain,
Restore me to my former Life again.
To his first State let him return with Speed,
Who sees how far the Joys he left exceed
His present Choice: for all should be confin'd
Within the Bounds, which Nature hath assign'd.
Who sees how far the Joys he left exceed
His present Choice: for all should be confin'd
Within the Bounds, which Nature hath assign'd.
| A Poetical Translation of the works of Horace | |