A collection of poems on various subjects including the theatre, a didactic essay; in the course of which are pointed out, the rocks and shoals to which deluded adventurers are inevitably exposed. Ornamented with cuts and illustrated with notes, original letters and curious incidental anecdotes [by Samuel Whyte] |
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JUVENAL'S STATE OF THE LEARNED, SATIRE VII.
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 | A collection of poems on various subjects |  |
228
JUVENAL'S STATE OF THE LEARNED, SATIRE VII.
ALTERED FROM DRYDEN.
Vexations numberless, thro' every state,
All learned professions, all bright talents wait.
But, Oh! what stock of patience wants the fool,
Who wastes his time and lungs in teaching school?
To hear the babbling of untoward boys,
Conning trite forms, on mischief bent and noise!
Sitting, or standing, still confin'd to roar
In one dull round the same thing o'er and o'er;
Prelecting still, enforcing and expounding;
Their unsusceptive ears still all confounding;
What part of speech, declension, number, case,
Mood, tense, voice, person, government and place?—
Themes to discuss, epistles to indite,
Accounts to shine in, and with grace to write;
The world's extensive volume, old and new,
With Scientific mastery to view;
Historic lore, and chronologic too;
Then to pronounce the various works of wit,
With sound discretion, and with action fit;
All aim at these: but at the quarter-day,
The parent grumbles, and is loath to pay.
‘Pay, Sir! for what? The boy knows nothing more,
‘The six months past, than what he knew before:’—
Taught or untaught, dunces are still the same;
Yet still the master undergoes the blame;
Without exception, though each single boy
In open school his utmost care employ;
Tho' hours on hours, day after day, he has tried
With shame to check, or stimulate with pride;
Encourag'd, threaten'd, reason'd, sooth'd, caress'd,
To rouse the latent spark within his breast,
Defeated and perplex'd, 'till his parch'd tongue
With sheer fatigue has to his palate clung.
The murder'd master cries, would parent's hear
But half the stuff that I am doom'd to bear,
For that revenge I'd quit the whole arrear—
But, if my friendly counsel might be us'd,
In purse and fame egregiously abus'd,
Such barren soil let not the learned try,
But to more grateful occupations fly:
The meanest trade, the spade and pick-ax take,
Rather the sweltering hod your option make.
More to be envied, easier and more sure,
The drudge's dole, who plies from door to door,
Than his, who, counting on his hard-earn'd gains,
Reaps such a sorry harvest for his pains.
Music and dancing lavishly are bought;
Those youth are long and sedulously taught;
But sense and learning deem'd not worth a groat
All learned professions, all bright talents wait.
But, Oh! what stock of patience wants the fool,
Who wastes his time and lungs in teaching school?
To hear the babbling of untoward boys,
Conning trite forms, on mischief bent and noise!
Sitting, or standing, still confin'd to roar
In one dull round the same thing o'er and o'er;
Prelecting still, enforcing and expounding;
Their unsusceptive ears still all confounding;
What part of speech, declension, number, case,
Mood, tense, voice, person, government and place?—
Themes to discuss, epistles to indite,
Accounts to shine in, and with grace to write;
The world's extensive volume, old and new,
With Scientific mastery to view;
Historic lore, and chronologic too;
Then to pronounce the various works of wit,
With sound discretion, and with action fit;
229
The parent grumbles, and is loath to pay.
‘Pay, Sir! for what? The boy knows nothing more,
‘The six months past, than what he knew before:’—
Taught or untaught, dunces are still the same;
Yet still the master undergoes the blame;
Without exception, though each single boy
In open school his utmost care employ;
Tho' hours on hours, day after day, he has tried
With shame to check, or stimulate with pride;
Encourag'd, threaten'd, reason'd, sooth'd, caress'd,
To rouse the latent spark within his breast,
Defeated and perplex'd, 'till his parch'd tongue
With sheer fatigue has to his palate clung.
The murder'd master cries, would parent's hear
But half the stuff that I am doom'd to bear,
For that revenge I'd quit the whole arrear—
But, if my friendly counsel might be us'd,
In purse and fame egregiously abus'd,
Such barren soil let not the learned try,
But to more grateful occupations fly:
The meanest trade, the spade and pick-ax take,
Rather the sweltering hod your option make.
More to be envied, easier and more sure,
The drudge's dole, who plies from door to door,
Than his, who, counting on his hard-earn'd gains,
Reaps such a sorry harvest for his pains.
230
Those youth are long and sedulously taught;
But sense and learning deem'd not worth a groat
Whate'er connects with luxury and show,
Largely our prodigals on that bestow.
Capacious palaces and villas, grac'd
With all the wild extravagance of taste;
Exotics nurs'd with counterfeited sun,
And whole estates to pleasure gardens run;
Coursers of blood, and matchless in the race,
Train'd to the turf, or destin'd to the chace;
Expensive services of curious plate;
Suites of domestics, carriages of state,
And troops of duns announce them wise and great.
But, tho' superb the mansion be or not,
The cook and cellar never are forgot;
And, nought to risk in serious matters, here
Talents and breeding must be made appear:
In scorn of character, of time and health,
The table groans with the parade of wealth;
Here rich and poor, of high and low degree,
Strain all alike, and scorn oeconomy.
Claudius, to fashion and his taste a dupe,
Rags half an ox in a turrene of soup;
But more, if possible, profusion shines
In wild variety of costly wines:
Yet, 'midst this wasteful riot, there accrues
A thrifty pittance for Quintilian's dues;
For, to breed up the heir to common sense,
Is evermore the parents least expence.
‘From whence then, comes Quintilian's vast estate?’
Because he was the darling son of fate;
And, out of mere caprice, luck made him great.
Urge not in precedent one single man,
As rare as a white crow or sable swan;
Some friendly stars exerted all their power,
And smiled propitious on his natal hour;
To them, not merit his success was due;
For fortune never was to merit true;
And they who draw from fortune's ample source,
Are good and wise, and all things else of course:
'Tis she that flings the die; and, as she flings,
Of kings makes pedants, and of pedants, kings.
Largely our prodigals on that bestow.
Capacious palaces and villas, grac'd
With all the wild extravagance of taste;
Exotics nurs'd with counterfeited sun,
And whole estates to pleasure gardens run;
Coursers of blood, and matchless in the race,
Train'd to the turf, or destin'd to the chace;
Expensive services of curious plate;
Suites of domestics, carriages of state,
And troops of duns announce them wise and great.
But, tho' superb the mansion be or not,
The cook and cellar never are forgot;
And, nought to risk in serious matters, here
Talents and breeding must be made appear:
In scorn of character, of time and health,
The table groans with the parade of wealth;
Here rich and poor, of high and low degree,
Strain all alike, and scorn oeconomy.
Claudius, to fashion and his taste a dupe,
Rags half an ox in a turrene of soup;
But more, if possible, profusion shines
In wild variety of costly wines:
231
A thrifty pittance for Quintilian's dues;
For, to breed up the heir to common sense,
Is evermore the parents least expence.
‘From whence then, comes Quintilian's vast estate?’
Because he was the darling son of fate;
And, out of mere caprice, luck made him great.
Urge not in precedent one single man,
As rare as a white crow or sable swan;
Some friendly stars exerted all their power,
And smiled propitious on his natal hour;
To them, not merit his success was due;
For fortune never was to merit true;
And they who draw from fortune's ample source,
Are good and wise, and all things else of course:
'Tis she that flings the die; and, as she flings,
Of kings makes pedants, and of pedants, kings.
Most masters execrate the barren chair;
Like him who hang'd himself through mere despair
And poverty; or him, whom Caius sent,
For liberty of speech, to banishment.
Even Socrates, ungrateful Athens sees
In want, and sentenced by unjust decrees.
Like him who hang'd himself through mere despair
And poverty; or him, whom Caius sent,
For liberty of speech, to banishment.
Even Socrates, ungrateful Athens sees
In want, and sentenced by unjust decrees.
In peace, ye shades of our forefathers! rest;
No heavy earth your sacred bones molest:
Eternal spring, and rising flowers adorn
The relics of each venerable urn,
Who pious reverence their preceptors paid,
As parents honour'd, and as gods obey'd.
Achilles, grown in stature, feared the rod,
And stood corrected at the Centaur's nod;
In useful learning did his years employ,
And promised all the hero in the boy.
No heavy earth your sacred bones molest:
Eternal spring, and rising flowers adorn
The relics of each venerable urn,
232
As parents honour'd, and as gods obey'd.
Achilles, grown in stature, feared the rod,
And stood corrected at the Centaur's nod;
In useful learning did his years employ,
And promised all the hero in the boy.
The scene's much alter'd in our modern schools;
For, blind the parent, every Tony rules;
And masters but mere cyphers prove and tools.
Young Sulky, by his tutor once reprov'd,
Swell'd with revenge, and swore he'd be remov'd;
And, lo! a miracle, to make it good,
A bottle of red ink is turn'd to blood;
He smears his shirt, and Abigail, his friend,
Alarms mama, and so he gains his end;
And every tattling gossip thro' the nation
Brands the fell tyrant's name, and blasts his reputation.
For, blind the parent, every Tony rules;
And masters but mere cyphers prove and tools.
Young Sulky, by his tutor once reprov'd,
Swell'd with revenge, and swore he'd be remov'd;
And, lo! a miracle, to make it good,
A bottle of red ink is turn'd to blood;
He smears his shirt, and Abigail, his friend,
Alarms mama, and so he gains his end;
And every tattling gossip thro' the nation
Brands the fell tyrant's name, and blasts his reputation.
Go ask what fruit Palemon's pains produce,
And how he's paid? Why amply—in abuse:
And, tho' approv'd his care, confess'd his toil,
They hardly claim one supercilious smile:
Some ten days over, or perchance a score,
He's pass'd unnotic'd, and is known no more.
As to his profits, tho' confin'd and bare,
Yet even of those the ushers must have share:
Besides, the rents and servants must be paid;
And thus of little still a less is made.
Yet, in the bargain, every sly device
Is tried, to screw out something of the stated price:
And, after chaffering as with porters, still,
Dear generous souls! they tax the quarter's bill:
If not contented, take your bill away;
Commence your suit, and try the law's delay;
Or, acquiescing to avoid the suit,
They bleed your purse and character to boot.
But who the dues curtail, and thus protract,
Most from the abject pedagogue exact.
‘Be sure you perfect him in grammar rules,
‘And all the best historians read in schools;
‘The authors; every poet to a hair;
‘I, as your own, commit him to your care;
‘Your daily pains, 'beseech you, to employ,
‘To form the future conduct of my boy,
‘And work him, like a waxen babe, with art,
‘To perfect symmetry in every part;
‘His principles and morals strictly guide;
‘Spare no expence, but all his wants provide:
‘He always show'd a generous, docile spirit;
‘Is tender, gentle, and you'll find has merit.
‘Be, Sir! his better parent; and beware
‘No improprieties his health impair.
‘This be your task’—and literally pursu'd,
The great reward is—Black Ingratitude.
And how he's paid? Why amply—in abuse:
And, tho' approv'd his care, confess'd his toil,
They hardly claim one supercilious smile:
Some ten days over, or perchance a score,
He's pass'd unnotic'd, and is known no more.
As to his profits, tho' confin'd and bare,
Yet even of those the ushers must have share:
Besides, the rents and servants must be paid;
And thus of little still a less is made.
233
Is tried, to screw out something of the stated price:
And, after chaffering as with porters, still,
Dear generous souls! they tax the quarter's bill:
If not contented, take your bill away;
Commence your suit, and try the law's delay;
Or, acquiescing to avoid the suit,
They bleed your purse and character to boot.
But who the dues curtail, and thus protract,
Most from the abject pedagogue exact.
‘Be sure you perfect him in grammar rules,
‘And all the best historians read in schools;
‘The authors; every poet to a hair;
‘I, as your own, commit him to your care;
‘Your daily pains, 'beseech you, to employ,
‘To form the future conduct of my boy,
‘And work him, like a waxen babe, with art,
‘To perfect symmetry in every part;
‘His principles and morals strictly guide;
‘Spare no expence, but all his wants provide:
‘He always show'd a generous, docile spirit;
‘Is tender, gentle, and you'll find has merit.
‘Be, Sir! his better parent; and beware
‘No improprieties his health impair.
‘This be your task’—and literally pursu'd,
The great reward is—Black Ingratitude.
| A collection of poems on various subjects | |