The works of Horace, translated into verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

The works of Horace, translated into verse

With a prose interpretation, for the help of students. And occasional notes. By Christopher Smart ... In four volumes

Smart, Christopher (1722-1771)

VOLUME I.

[dedication]

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.

ODE I. TO MÆCENAS.

II.

ODE II. TO AUGUSTUS CÆSAR.

III.

ODE III.

IV.

ODE IV. TO SEXTIUS, A PERSON OF CONSULAR DIGNITY .

ODE V. TO PYRRHA.

VI.

ODE VI. TO AGRIPPA.

VII.

ODE VII. TO MUNATIUS PLANCUS, A PERSON OF CONSULAR DIGNITY

VIII.

ODE VIII. TO LYDIA.

IX.

ODE IX. TO THALIARCHUS.

ODE X. TO MERCURY.

XI.

ODE XI. TO LEUCONOE.

XII.

ODE XII. TO AUGUSTUS.

XIII.

ODE XIII. TO LYDIA.

XIV.

ODE XIV. TO THE REPUBLIC OF ROME, ON THE RENEWAL OF THE CIVIL WAR.

XV.

ODE XV. THE PREDICTIONS OF NEREUS CONCERNING THE DESTRUCTION OF TROY.

XVI.

ODE XVI. TO HIS MISTRESS.

XVII.

ODE XVII. TO TYNDARIS.

XVIII.

ODE XVIII. TO QUINTILIUS VARUS.

XIX.

ODE XIX. OF GLYCERA.

XX.

ODE XX. TO MÆCENAS.

XXI.

ODE XXI. TO APOLLO AND DIANA.

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 THE MUSE, CONCERNING ÆLIUS LAMIA.

XXVII.

ODE XXVII. TO HIS BOTTLE-COMPANIONS.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

ODE XXXII. TO HIS LYRE.

XXXIII.

ODE XXXIII. TO ALBIUS TIBULLUS.

XXXIV.

ODE XXXIV. TO HIMSELF.

XXXV.

ODE XXXV. TO FORTUNE.

XXXVI.

ODE XXXVI. TO POMPONIUS NUMIDA.

XXXVII.

ODE XXXVII. TO HIS COMPANIONS.

XXXVIII.

ODE XXXVIII. TO HIS SERVANT.

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.

ODE I. TO C. ASINIUS POLLIO.

II.

ODE II. TO C. SALLUSTIUS CRISPUS.

III.

ODE III. TO DELLIUS.

IV.

ODE IV. TO XANTHIUS PHOCEUS.

ODE V. ON LALAGE.

VI.

ODE VI. TO SEPTIMIUS.

VII.

ODE VII. TO POMPEIUS VARUS.

VIII.

ODE VIII. TO JULIA BARINE.

IX.

ODE IX. TO VALGIUS.

ODE X. TO LICINIUS.

XI.

ODE XI. TO QUINTIUS HIRPINUS.

XII.

ODE XII. TO MÆCENAS.

XIII.

ODE XIII. UPON THE TREE BY WHOSE SUDDEN FALL HE HAD LIKE TO HAVE BEEN CRUSHED.

XIV.

ODE XIV. TO POSTHUMUS.

XV.

ODE XV. UPON THE LUXURY OF THE AGE HE LIVED IN.

XVI.

ODE XVI. TO GROSPHUS.

XVII.

ODE XVII. TO MÆCENAS, WHEN SICK.

XVIII.

ODE XVIII.

XIX.

ODE XIX. ON BACCHUS.

XX.

ODE XX. TO MÆCENAS.

THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.

ODE I.

II.

ODE II. TO HIS FRIRNDS.

III.

ODE III.

IV.

ODE IV.

ODE V.

VI.

ODE VI. TO THE ROMANS, ON THE CORRUPT MANNERS OF HIS AGE.

VII.

ODE VII. TO ASTERIE.

VIII.

ODE VIII. TO MÆCENAS.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

ODE XIII. TO THE FOUNTAIN BLANDUSIA.

XIV.

ODE XIV. TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE.

II.

VOLUME II.

THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE [Cont'd.].

XV.

ODE XV. ON 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 WINE-JAR.

XXII.

ODE XXII. TO DIANA.

XXIII.

ODE XXIII TO PHIDILE.

XXIV.

ODE XXIV. UPON THE RICH AND COVETOUS.

XXV.

ODE XXV. TO BACCHUS.

XXVI.

ODE XXVI. TO VENUS.

XXVII.

ODE XXVII. TO GALATEA, ON POINT TO GO ABROAD.

XXVIII.

ODE XXVIII. TO LYDE.

XXIX.

ODE XXIX. TO MÆCENAS.

XXX.

ODE XXX. TO THE MUSE MELPOMENE.

THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE ODES OF HORACE.

ODE I. TO VENUS.

II.

ODE II. TO ANTONIUS JULUS, THE SON OF MARK ANTONY, OF THE TRIUMVIRATE.

III.

ODE III. TO MELPOMENE.

IV.

ODE IV. TO THE CITY OF ROME, CONCERNING THE GENIUS OF DRUSUS, AND HIS EDUCATION UNDER AUGUSTUS.

ODE V. TO AUGUSTUS.

VI.

ODE VI. TO APOLLO AND DIANA.

VII.

ODE VII. TO L. MANLIUS TORQUATUS.

VIII.

ODE VIII. TO MARTIUS CENSORINUS.

IX.

ODE IX. TO LOLLIUS.

ODE X. TO PHYLLIS.

XI.

ODE XI. TO VIRGIL.

XII.

ODE XII. UPON LYCE, AN ANTIQUATED COURTEZAN.

XIII.

ODE XIII. TO AUGUSTUS.

XIV.

ODE XIV. THE PRAISES OF AUGUSTUS.

THE BOOK OF THE EPODES OF HORACE.

EPODE I. TO MÆCENAS.

II.

EPODE II. THE PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE.

III.

EPODE III. TO MÆCENAS.

IV.

EPODE IV. TO VOLTEIUS MENA.

EPODE V. UPON CANIDIA THE SORCERESS.

VI.

EPODE VI. AGAINST CASSIUS SEVERUS.

VII.

EPODE VII. TO THE ROMAN PEOPLE.

VIII.

EPODE VIII. TO MÆCENAS.

IX.

EPODE IX. AGAINST MÆVIUS THE POET.

EPODE X. TO PETTIUS, A BON-COMPANION OF HIS.

XI.

EFODE XI. TO HIS HUMOUROUS FRIENDS, THAT THEY WOULD PASS THE WINTER MERRILY.

XII.

EPODE XII. TO MÆCENAS.

XIII.

EPODE XIII. TO HIS MISTRESS NEÆRA

XIV.

EPODE XIV. TO THE PEOPLE OF ROME.

XV.

EPODE XV. TO CANIDIA.

XVI.

EPODE XVI. CANIDIA'S ANSWER

THE SECULAR ODE

[section]

ODE ON SAINT CECILIA'S DAY

III.

VOLUME III.

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE SATIRES OF HORACE.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

SATIRE VI. To Mæcenas.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE SATIRES OF HORACE.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IV.

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE EPISTLES OF HORACE.

EPISTLE I. To Mæcenas.

II.

EPISTLE II. To Lollius.

III.

EPISTLE III. To Julius Florus.

IV.

EPISTLE IV. To Albius Tibullus.

EPISTLE V. To Torquatus.

VI.

EPISTLE VI. To Numicius.

VII.

EPISTLE VII. To Mæcenas.

VIII.

EPISTLE VIII. To Celsus Albinovanus.

IX.

EPISTLE IX. To Claudius Nero.

EPISTLE X. To Fuscus Aristius.

XI.

EPISTLE XI. To Bullatius returned from Asia.

XII.

EPISTLE XII. To Iccius.

XIII.

EPISTLE XIII. To Vinnius Asella.

XIV.

EPISTLE XIV. To his Steward in the Country.

XV.

EPISTLE XV. To Vala.

XVI.

EPISTLE XVI. To Quintius.

XVII.

EPISTLE XVII. To Scæva.

XVIII.

EPISTLE XVIII. To Lollius.

XIX.

EPISTLE XIX. To Mæcenas.

XX.

EPISTLE XX. To his Book.

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE EPISTLES OF HORACE.

EPISTLE I. To Augustus.

II.

EPISTLE II. To Julius Florus.

HORACE HIS ART OF POETRY.

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

139

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE SATIRES OF HORACE.

141

SATIRE I.

[There are to whom my lines appear]

He sets forth the advice given him by Trebatius, in respect to writing the atchievements of Augustus, rather than Satires, and gives his reasons why he cannot follow it.

There are to whom my lines appear
Far too satiric and severe,
As driving things too great a length—
Others conceive there is no strength
In any thing I sing or say,
And that a thousand lines a day
May be spun out, if such as mine—
Trebatius, what do you opine?—

143

Be quiet—you advise, I see,
That I shou'd leave off poetry—
—Aye—may I make a sorry end,
If you are not my worthiest friend,
But then I cannot rest, but start
A nights—why, if your sleep depart,
Good oiling is the best advice,
And then to swim cross Tiber thrice,
Or take strong liquor in your head,
Some hours before you go to bed.
But if so great an itch to write
Infect you—stand forth to recite
Augustus an unconquer'd Lord,
Sure to acquire a vast reward—
Old boy—tho' fervent be my zeal,
Yet I inferior skill must feel;
Nor can a common pen presume
To draw the troops, which horrors plume,
And Gauls from shiver'd darts, that bleed,
And Parthian dying off his steed.
—Yet you might paint him just and brave,
The character Lucillius gave
To Scipio, and was therefore wise—
I'll not be hindmost for the prize,
Cou'd I bring things to have a face:
Unless in proper time and place
The words of Horace will not speed,
To make a mighty chief give heed,

145

Who like a horse, when strok'd too hard
Will kick, at all times on his guard.—
—Yet better this—than to defame
Pantolabus of merry name,
And Nomentanus, son of shame;
While all men fear you and detest,
Ev'n those, not yet the public jest.—
What shall I do? the dance is led
By brisk Milonius, when his head
Is hot, and all the lights augment;
Castor with horses is content,
But he that sprung from the same shell,
Prefers to box, or wrestle well.
For many men of many minds—
My spirit consolation finds
To scribble verses, on the plan
Lucillius chose, a better man
Than you or I can boast to be,
Whether in genius or degree.
He, as to faithful friends, he chose,
Did to his books his mind disclose,
And this was his amusement still,
If his affairs went well or ill.
Whence the whole tenor of his days,
His own descriptive page displays,
As if, enjoy'd or undergone,
His life were in a picture drawn.
Him follow I—no matter whom
You're please to call me here in Rome,

147

Lucanian, or Apulian wight,
For all Venusium has a right
The borders of them both to plough;
A race (as old records allow)
Were sent, and this same country held,
What time the Sabines were expell'd,
To such intent, that station'd here,
They might keep guard on this frontier,
If an Apulian disobey'd,
Or fierce Lucanian shou'd invade.

But this same pointed style of mine,
Shall not hurt any by design,
And like a scabbard-loving sword,
Mere personal defence afford;
For why shou'd I my weapon draw,
Secure from knaves against the law!
O sire and sov'reign Jove on high,
Grant this my steel in rust may lie,
Nor any person make a breach,
Upon the peace I love and teach!
But he, who such a deed shall dare,
(I give due warning to forbear)
Shall rue, and be a song and jest
Thro' all the city in request.—

If Cervius you to wrath inflame,
He threats to take the law—the dame,
Albucius keeps, with poison fights:
Judge Turius all his foes affrights,
Who can such damages denounce—
Thus how all creatures crack and bounce

149

Against their foes with all their force,
As nature orders in her course,
Observe with me—The wolf with fangs,
The bull with horns will give you pangs,
Whence but by instinct?—to the care
Of rakish Scæva, who is heir,
Shou'd you his long-liv'd mother lend,
His pious hand will not offend.
Strange! but upon the very plan,
That wolves will never kick a man,
Nor bullock bite you, if he can:
He'll only take th'old lady off
With honey'd hemlock for her cough.
But to make short with our debate,
Whether a tranquil age await,
Or death already be my doom,
Poor, wealthy, shou'd I live in Rome,
Or be expell'd for God knows what,
Whate'er the colour of my lot,
I'll still write on—O youth! I fear,
You cannot long continue here,
But that some favourite bustling slave
Of state, will send you to your grave:—
What if the bold Lucillius durst,
To make these kind of verses first,
And all that borrow'd skin to bare,
Which make th'external man seem fair,
Tho' foul within—Did Lælius blame,
Or who from Afric won his name!

151

Griev'd they at what Metellus hurt,
Or Lupus tumbl'd in the dirt.
But he cou'd at the great ones gibe,
And lash the people tribe by tribe;
As he profess'd to favour none,
But Virtue and her friends alone.
With him when Scipio brave and great,
And Lælius gentle and sedate,
Retir'd into the rural scene,
And went to sport upon the green,
And strip'd them of their robes, and toil'd
At tennis, till the sallad boil'd.
Whate'er I am, tho' something worse
Than him in genius and in purse,
Envy must own, till she be griev'd,
That with the great I am receiv'd,
And aiming with the file to deal,
Will break her teeth against the steel,
Unless, learn'd Sir, you should dissent—
—No, on the whole I am content.
But that you may be upon guard,
And lest you push your fun too hard,
Thro' inexperience in the laws,
You must observe there is a clause,
“If any man bad verse devise,
“His neighbour's fame to scandalize,
“He may be cast—an action lies.”—
Granted—bad verse—but if my pen
Shou'd only write good verse—what then?

153

Shou'd a man send such lines abroad,
Judicious Cæsar will applaud,
And shou'd he bring a wretch to shame,
Himself the while exempt from blame?—
The cause will drop—the judges scoff—
And you may decently walk off.

There is a passage in Cicero which mentions Trebatius as extravagantly fond of swimming; his advice to Horace is therefore very natural.

155

SATIRE II.

[What and how great it is to be]

Under the person of Ofellus he inveighs against persons given to luxury: and as he recounts the inconveniencies that attend this high way of living, so he likewise enumerates the benefits which are in a moderate and frugal diet.

What and how great it is to be
A pattern of œconomy;
(Nor is this doctrine fairly mine,
But what Ofellus wou'd injoin,
A rustic without learning taught,
And wise by downright strength of thought)
Learn, my good friends, while I debate,
But not amongst a glare of plate,
When the maz'd eye is at a loss,
And mind mis-judges, dup'd by gloss,
But here, while fasting, let us weigh—
Why so?—I'll tell you, if I may—
A judge corrupted with a fee,
Cannot the truth so clearly see;
If after hunting of the hare,
Or gall'd by some unruly mare,
Or Roman Manual make you weak,
As you are us'd to play the Greek,

157

Or while the rapid ball recoils,
The heat of contest cheat your toils,
Or if your pleasure is the quoit,
You smite the air in that exploit;
When exercise has cur'd your squeam,
And drougth and hunger are extream,
Then let me see you scorn plain fare,
Nor for the best Falernian care,
Unless there's honey in the wine—
Your butler is gone out to dine,
And the tempestuous ocean saves
The fish, by his black wintry waves,
Why then a bit of bread and cheese,
The barking stomach will appease.
From whence do you think this wisdom's gain'd?
Whence this philosophy obtain'd?
Not the rich flavour gives delight,
The relish is your appetite;
Seek, and you'll not be at a loss,
By downright exercise for sauce;
Nor fowls that fly, nor fish that swim,
Can give the least content to him,
Who's bloated with th'effects of vice—
Yet I might fail, shou'd I intice
Your palate to an humble chick,
A peacock ent'ring in the nick,
Struck by appearance, you regale
Upon th'idea of his tail;
Scarce bird! that cost the lord knows what,
As if that signified a jot.

159

What do you eat those gaudy dies,
Which you so much extol and prize,
And is the bird as much possess'd
Of beauty, when 'tis pluck'd and dress'd.
Yet as there is no odds betwixt
Their several tastes, the truth is fix'd,
That you're deceiv'd by outward shew—
Yet grant in this it were not so—
By what conjecture can you dive,
Whether this pike that gapes alive,
Was in main ocean trepann'd
Or Tiber, and was thrown to land
Between the bridges, or the head
From whence the Tuscan river's fed—
You ninny, you are apt to praise
A mullet that full three pound weighs,
Which you must mangle, as a dupe
To stupid custom in your soupe.
I see appearance is your guide;
Why are the pikes so much decried?
Because they're of a longer sort,
And mullets naturally short.
An appetite with hunger keen,
Will seldom loath the coarse and clean.—
O cou'd I see a banging fish,
Extended in a swinging dish,
A rav'nous glutton cries aloud,
Whose maw might make a harpy proud!
But, O ye blasts! that taint the air,
Come blow upon their luscious fare;

161

Tho' there's no mighty need of you,
Since both the boar and turbot too,
First taken are offence to them,
Whose stomach now o'ercharg'd with phlegm
Prefer the rising food to curb,
The turnip, and the acid herb.
Yet still at sumptuous boards we see
Some traits of old oeconomy;
Ev'n to this day eggs first appear,
And the black olives in the rear—
But now the table of the Cry'r,
Did most notoriously aspire,
Exhibiting a sturgeon whole—
Had sea no turbot, nor a sole?
The turbot late was undistress'd,
And safe the stork within her nest,
Until th'exploded Prætor taught,
That they might be devour'd and caught;
Wherefore if any fool shou'd boast,
That cormorants were good to roast,
So fond of lies, the Roman youth
Wou'd all receive it as a truth.

But if Ofellus we retain
As judge, there's difference again,
Betwixt the sordid and the plain.
For pomp and pride in vain you shun,
If you to downright meanness run.

163

Avidienus, whom they call
A cur, in justice after all,
Eats olives, which have fairly stood
Five years, and cornels of the wood,
And even spares his wine to pour
Into the cup, till chang'd and sour:
Then for his oil, you cannot bear
The scent, (tho' 'tis some great affair
He celebrates in white array,
His birth, perhaps, or wedding-day)
By his own hand it is distill'd,
From horn that holds two pounds when fill'd,
Upon the cabbage—but for tart
He is no niggard, and can part
From vinegar with all his heart!

What food then shall a wise man use,
And which of this examples choose!
For difficulties press around,
And here's the wolf, and there's the hound.
He shall be neat who does not sin
In nastiness, and keeps within
Due bounds, no wretch on either side,
Who will not imitate the pride
Of old Albucius, who raves,
When'er he's tasking of his slaves—
Nor will he bear for want of thought,
That greasy water shou'd be brought,
As noodle Nævius serves his guest,
Which is as bad as all the rest.

165

Now hear how many and how great
The comforts that spare meals await—
First then there is your health preserv'd,
For various things, when they are serv'd,
You well may think can do no good,
When you reflect upon the food,
So well digested when a boy,
Too simple to offend or cloy.
But when you once begin your tricks,
And boil'd and roast together mix,
And fish and foul—the sweetest juice
Will turn to bile by gross abuse,
And the tough phlegm, that forms and stays,
Will tumults in your stomach raise.
Observe how pale the guests arise
From courses of varieties;
Besides the body overpower'd
With what you yesternight devour'd,
Afflicts the mind, and brings to shame,
Your portion of th'etherial flame.
Another, who but plainly fed
Springs active to his early bed,
Betimes arises fresh and gay,
For all the duties of the day.
But he sometimes may have recourse
To better cheer without remorse,
At some great festal revolution,
Or on defect of constitution,
When weakness comes, and years implore
More tender usage than before.

167

But as for you, if sickness come,
Or creeping old-age shou'd benumb,
What kind indulgence can be lent,
Which you in youth and strength prevent.
A rancid boar our fathers chose,
And yet these Romans had a nose.
But I presume this was their view,
That for a visitor or two,
At times they'd take it from their shelves,
Rather than eat it all themselves.
O that I had been born and nurst,
Amongst such heroes at the first!
Come are your ears for fame inclin'd,
The more than music of the mind,
Plate, turbots, e'en such show and cheer
Are scandalous as well as dear:
To all these items you may add,
Your uncle, and your neighbours mad,
Desp'rate yourself, and without hope
Of death, or credit for a rope.—

That Trasius, (you'll be apt to urge)
With these invectives you may scourge,
But I have very great estates,
Enough to keep three potentates.
Why therefore do you not prepare
A fund of what you have to spare?
Why shou'd one good man be distress'd,
While you are of such wealth possess'd?
Why do the holy temples fall,
Ingrate! have you no love at all

169

For native Rome? but she may reap
A little, from your monst'rous heap.—
Must thou alone be still exempt,
O object of your foes contempt
Hereafter—which shall best confide
In his own heart, when he is tried,
He who has us'd to more than due,
His pamper'd mind and body too,
Or who with meaner things content,
Prepar'd and cautious of event,
In wisdom knows what peace is for,
And hoards supplies against a war.

But that my doctrine may appear
More acceptable, you shall hear—
I knew Ofellus, when a boy,
Who did not formerly enjoy
With more expence his lands intire,
Than now oblig'd those lands to hire.
There may you see him walk about
In fields with elegance laid out,
Stout farmer, tho' his rent be large,
With wife and children, all his charge,
Having such things as these to say:
“I never on a common day,
“Ought more than herbs and bacon eat,
“But when compell'd a friend to treat,
“After long interval receiv'd,
“Or when from all our toils reliev'd,
“A neighbour, whom the tempest drives,
“Most acceptable guest arrives—

171

“Then we liv'd well, but not so high,
“As fishes ev'n from Rome to buy:
“But pullets, or a kid was caught;
“And for the second course they brought
“Some grapes, for raisins, hung and dried,
“With nuts, and a few figs beside.
“After this fare we had a play,
“To take our glass in turn, or pay.
“Then Ceres by our vows ador'd,
“A plenteous harvest to afford,
“Smil'd on our jovial cup, to chace
“The wrinkles of each serious face.
“Let fortune rage, new broils foment,
“What more 'gainst me can she invent?
“Have I my boys more sparing been,
“Or have we gone less tight and clean,
“Since the new lord has here been seen?
“For nature has appointed none,
“To call an earthly thing his own,
“Nor him, nor me, nor any third—
“He drove us out by war preferr'd;
“To him his conduct past all shame,
“Or quirks in law shall do the same,
“Or heir surviving after all—
“This field Umbrenus's they call,
“Which lately did to me pertain,
“For none long while shall it remain—

173

“But still be ceded to the plea
“Of any person, you or me—
“Wherefore act bravely, and oppose
“A manly heart to worldly woes.”

The manual exercise of the sword and spear.

To be effeminate.

Gallonius, an infamous gutler, of whom see Cic. lib. ii. de finibus.

A game like snip, snap, snorum.

175

SATIRE III.

[Your works so seldom now appear]

He introduces Damasippus accusing him, that he wrote nothing; and then under the same person he handles that paradox of the Stoics, viz. that all fools are mad.

Your works so seldom now appear,
You scarcely wrote four times a year;
Employ'd your poems to retouch,
And wroth you have indulg'd so much
In wine and sleep, till all your lays
Are far beneath the public praise.
What now? you come here with a view,
The feast of Saturn to eschew—
So now you're sober, drive your trade,
And keep the promise that you made.
Begin—there is no let at all,
In vain you blame your pen, and scrawl
Upon the harmless, helpless wall.
And yet your features were intent,
As pregnant with some huge event,
If once you compass'd your retreat
To leisure, and your country-seat,
What boots it to make such ado
With Plato and Menander too,
To bring down Eupolis to us,
And that great bard Archilochus;

177

If you shall think to silence spite,
By quitting valour and the fight,
They'll call you a most wretched wight.
That siren indolence divorce,
Or you must lose all fame of course,
You gain'd in better days of yore—
—O Damasippus! I implore
All male and female pow'rs above,
For your good council and your love,
A shaver for your beard to send;
But whence are you so much my friend,
And see so deep in my affairs?—
To other men I give my cares,
By no concerns of self controul'd,
E'er since my goods were 'prais'd and sold;
For formerly my chief employ,
Was to be curious in a toy,
And at th'identic vase I guess'd,
Corinthian Sisyphus possess'd.
What cut without the master's hand,
And what too roughly cast, I scan'd,
As connoisseur for such a head,
Some thousand sesterces I bled.
I was the only man, that knew
To buy fine seat and gardens too,
And that to such advantage, Sir,
That I was call'd the Manager,
Both in the streets and at the 'change—
I know it, and to me 'tis strange,

179

So frantic you shou'd e'er get well—
Some new disorders came t'expel
The old, which sometimes is the case,
When pain and sickness shift their place,
And from the head and sides depart,
To make advances on the heart.
Or as it is when from his bed
The dull lethargic lifts his head,
And beats the doctor for his fee—
So that you do not this to me,
Be things as you wou'd have them be.
—Do not deceive yourself, good sir,
You're mad, and so are all that err
From wisdom mad, or nearly so,
If truth our great Stertinius know,
From whom these admirable rules
I have deriv'd, concerning fools,
What time he order'd me to save
A sapient beard, and never shave,
And speed without concern and pain,
From that Fabrician bridge again.
For when, as all my wealth was spent,
I there for self-destruction went,
He very happily stood near,
And have a care (says he) for fear
You thro' false shame are on a plan,
Which is unworthy of a man,
Since born amongst the mad-brain'd race,
You dread a personal disgrace.

181

First then I will inquire to see
What's madness? if alone in thee,
I will not add a word, not I
But you may bravely plunge and die.

Crysippus both his school and sect,
Do madness to all men object.
For fools of a malicious mind,
While ignorant of truth, and blind,
Are madmen properly defin'd.
In this we comprehend you all
Both king and people, great and small,
Except the stoic great and wise,
Who bade us thus philosophize.
Now hear how those, that give to you
The name of madman, are so too.
As in the woods when people stray,
Driv'n by some blunder from the way,
If right or left their route's oblique,
The error ends to each alike.
In such conceive yourself insane,
So that another, who is vain,
And laughs at you is no less mad,
And hangs his hamper'd tail as bad.
One kind of folly is to fear
All peril, when no hurt is near:
So that upon the open lea
Fires, rivers, rocks, they seem to see.
Another opposite direct,
Nor wiser in the least respect:

183

That is thro' floods and flames to fly,
Let mistress, mother, sister cry,
With all his kindred, and his wife:
“This ditch is dreadful—save your life—
“This precipice is monstrous steep,
“From headlong death your footsteps keep.”
He wou'd not hear or be controul'd,
Better than Fusius did of old,
When he was drunk to that degree,
He overslept Ilione,
The while two hundred thousand roar,
“Hear, mother, hear thy Polydore.”

Now I shall shew you, that the case,
Is parallel with all our race.
If Damasippus is unwise,
For ancient bustos, that he buys,
Are they that lend him money sane?
Well be it so—but to explain.
Here, sir, receive, if I shou'd say,
That which you never can repay,
Is't mad to take me at my word,
Or wou'd you not be more absurd,
To spare the purse and its contents,
Which lucky Mercury presents.
Grant that to Nerius there are due
Ten thousand pieces—'twill not do.

185

Add then a million forms and ties,
That quaint Cicuta can devise:
Yet Proteus shifting off his shape,
Shall all these chains and bars escape,
And when you drag him into court,
With your misfortunes making sport,
At pleasure boar, or bird, or rock,
Or oak he'll be to stand the shock.
Misconduct if his want of sense,
And care to wisdom claims pretence.
Perillius forward to advance
The sum, for which he stands no chance,
Is of a head by far more weak
Than thee, if I my mind may speak.

Whome'er ambitious thoughts assail,
Who are with watching money pale,
Who for luxurious viands pants,
Or sour with superstition cants,
Or finds his intellectual man
At all impair'd, come rear and van
To me, your most especial friend;
Adjust your garments and attend,
While I demonstrate to your face,
That madness is your common case.

First to the avaritious tribe,
Most hellebore I must prescribe:
Perhaps, these wretches with their hoards,
Claim all Anticyra affords.

Staberius' heirs were forc'd to write,
The sum he left in black and white

187

Upon his tomb, for on neglect
They were injoin'd to this affect:
That they shou'd to the mob bestow
An hundred fencers, for a show,
With a grand banqueting beside,
Ev'n such as Arrius shou'd provide,
With as much corn as in a year,
The fields of fertile Afric bear:
“Whether you deem that this my will
“Be right or wrong, yet pray fulfill,
“Nor on my mem'ry be too hard.”
The man, I think, was on his guard.
What therefore do you think he dreamt,
When he commanded on contempt,
His heirs upon his tomb shou'd grave
The money he was said to have.
Know then, while yet alive, he sneer'd
At want, as vice, which most he fear'd,
So that he all wou'd self deny,
Lest one mite poorer he shou'd die.
For all things, virtue, fame, and grace,
Divine and human must give place
To wealth, which if one can acquire,
He's just, fam'd, brave, and sov'reign sire,
With all things else he can desire.
These heaps, as if for merits gain
He thought wou'd to his land remain.—
With him, how little of a piece,
Was Aristippus sprung from Greece,

189

Who made his slaves by his commands,
Disperse his gold on Lybian sands?
As going slowly on the road,
Encumber'd with so great a load.
Which is the madder of the two—
—An instance here will little do,
Which strives to help a question out,
By bringing up another doubt.—
If any man shou'd buy guittars,
And keep them up with locks and bars,
Unskill'd the lyre or lute to use,
And wholly inscious of the muse;
Or be worth many a last and awl,
That is no shoemaker at all;
Or sails and ropes a fool shou'd hoard,
Who never dar'd to go aboard,
Why sure delirious and unsound,
He wou'd by all his peers be found.
And now I wou'd be told is he
From such-like imputations free,
Who dreads to use his hoarded plate,
And money, as if consecrate.
Shou'd any person stand before,
A heap of corn upon his floor,
And arm'd upon the watch remain,
Yet dare not take a single grain,
And tho' his heart with hunger grieves,
Had rather fare upon dry leaves—
Or shou'd a thousand casks possess,
From Chian or Falernian press,

191

Nay more, three hundred thousand say,
And yet drink vinegar all day.
Again, shou'd one of sev'nty-nine,
Lie down on straw, tho' on his line
The bedding rot, and in his chest
The food of moths and worms at best,
Yet few wou'd hold him as possest.
Because the bulk of all mankind,
Are equally absurd and blind.
Thou dotard scorn'd in heav'n and here,
Do you still watch your wealth, for fear
Of want yourself, when in the end,
Your son and servant all shall spend?
For what a trifle wou'd each day,
Take from your capital away,
Shou'd you once venture to produce,
Some better oil from out your cruise;
Both for your cabbage and your hair,
Uncomb'd, and scurf'd for want of care?
If any pittance will suffice,
For what are all your oaths and lies,
Why do your frauds and thefts abound
In ev'ry quarter? are you sound?
If you shou'd be so indiscreet,
To pelt the mob along the streets,
Or use, the slaves you bought, as bad,
Each boy and girl wou'd call you mad.
You hang your wife, and in despight
Your mother poison, are you right?

193

For why? because you did not do
The fact at the same place, nor drew
The sword to perpetrate your shame,
As mad Orestes slew the dame?
Think you his madness did proceed,
Merely from this flagitious deed,
Or that he was not rather wrought
By furies, e'er he ev'n in thought
Cou'd cut his mother's throat—but stay—
Ev'n from the time that you wou'd say,
A dang'rous fit had seiz'd her son,
Nought reprehensible was done.
He did not dare Electra seize,
Nor draw his sword on Pylades,
He only his hot wrath to vend,
Call'd her a fury, and his friend
Some other most outrageous name,
Which from his indignation came.

Opimius, who amidst his hoard,
Cou'd nothing to himself afford,
Who us'd to drink from potter's clay
Veientan, on a holiday,
While dregs, or any kind of stuff,
Were for a work-day well enough,
Was lately seiz'd, and like to die
Of a prodigious lethargy,
In such that his triumphant heir,
With eager joy already there,

195

About his keys and coffers ran—
His doctor, a most active man,
And faithful too, did thus contrive
The means his patient to revive,
He bade them bring the table out,
And throw the money bags about,
Then certain came to count the pelf—
Which, rais'd at once, he did himself.
Then thus the doctor spake, “beware,
“Or all goes to your greedy heir;”
What, while I am living?—“if you chuse
“To live, you must the methods use,
“Watch—bustle,” what wou'd you persuade?
“Why your poor body's so decay'd,
“Unless your stomach is renew'd,
“Your veins will fail for lack of food—
“Why do you hesitate, th'advice
“Is good, here take this bowl of rice:”
What cost it? “never mind the price;”
But what I say? “three farthings;” oh!
What signifies which way I go,
Whether I die of my disease,
Or rapine, theft, and doctor's fees.—

Who therefore is quite sane and cool?
Why ev'ry man, that's not a fool,
What is the churl? give him his due,
He is both fool and madman too.
But say a person is not near,
Are therefore his conceptions clear?

197

By no means in the world—why so,
Good master Stoic?—you shall know;
Suppose that Craterus shou'd tell
This patient, that his heart is well.
Is he then right, and shall he rise?
The doctor certainly denies,
If in his reins, or either side,
The poignant symptoms still abide.

This person is quite clear of both,
The miser's crime, and breach of oath.
Let him then sacrifice a swine,
In honour to the pow'rs divine—
But he is vain and bold—away
Conduct him to Anticyra.
For what's the diff'rence in th'abuse,
Whether you waste your wealth profuse,
Or let it have no end or use?
Opidius Servius, rich and great,
In an old family estate
Divided (as the story runs)
Two of his farms betwixt his sons,
And when upon his dying bed
He call'd his sons, and thus he said—
“Aulus, when thee a little lad,
“I saw so free with what you had,
“And bear more losely than the rest
“Your nuts, and play-things in your breast,

199

“Which you wou'd give or game away—
“Thee too, Tiberius, when at play,
“I mark'd to count your toys, and hide;
“I fear'd lest both there shou'd betide
“A phrenzy, of a diff'rent cast,
“Lest he shou'd learn to live too fast
“Of Nomentanus, and that you
“Might, like the scrub Cicuta, do;
“Wherefore, by all the Gods adjur'd,
“Let me have each of you secur'd;
“Aulus, lest all by you be spent—
“Tiberius, or that you augment
“Too much, what in your father's sense
“And nature, is a competence.
“Besides lest glory with its glare
“Beguile you, both of you shall swear,
“That he who shall be Edile first,
“Or Prætor, be cut off and curst.
“Wou'd you destroy your wealth and ease,
“By largesses of beans and pease,
“That in the Circus you may strut
“At large, or have your statue cut,
“And there in brazen dulness stand,
“A dupe depriv'd of cash and land?
“Yes, you wou'd have Agrippa's praise—
“A silly fox that over-plays
“His cunning, nor can have the heart
“To act the lion's noble part.”

201

Atrides, whence the royal word,
That Ajax shou'd not be interr'd?
“I am a king,”—as you think fit,
Born a plebeian I submit.
“And just was the severe decree,
“Which if you do not clearly see,
“You have my leave to speak your mind.”
Great king, may all the gods combin'd,
Grant you from conquer'd Troy to make
A happy voy'ge—so I may take
The liberty of pro and con,
To ask and to reply—“Go on.”—
Then why does Ajax so renown'd,
And only to Achilles found
Inferior, rot above the ground?
Oft fam'd for faving yours and you,
That Priam, and his people too,
May triumph in his fate and shame,
That made their youths endure the same.
“So great the phrenzy of his brain,
“By him a thousand sheep were slain,
“Which at the time he thought to be
“My brother, and my friends and me.”
When thou humanity's disgrace,
At Aulis didst thy daughter place
Before the shrine, and on her head
The consecrated salt you shed,
Cou'd you a man of sense be said?
“Why not?”—why what did Ajax do.
“Who without cause the mutton slew.”—

203

Why he abstain'd from wife and child,
Tho' each Atrides he revil'd:
He hurt not Teucer in his rage,
Nor with Ulysses did engage.
“To loose my fleet from th'hostile shore
“Wise I appeas'd the gods with gore.”—
What with your own, thou madman?—“yea—
“But mad not in the least degree.”
Who'er false images has built,
Form'd in the hurry of his guilt,
Will be esteem'd disturb'd in mind,
Nor does it boot what he's defin'd,
Or fool or furious—Ajax doats,
Who harmless sheep to death devotes:
He who for empty fame commits
An horror, is he in his wits?
And is your wicked heart allied,
To purity, when swoln with pride?
If any man shou'd in his chair,
Conduct a lamb to take the air,
And for her maids, gold, garments get,
And call it bantling or pusette,
And ev'n design her for the bed
Of some stout youth, to such a head,
The Prætor wou'd without delay,
All conduct of itself gainsay;
And give up to his friends and heirs,
The management of his affairs.
What if a sire his girl depute,
A victim for the bleating mute,
Are his brains right?—no, 'twill not suit.

205

Wherefore whenever in one mind
Are folly and perverseness join'd,
There's rank insanity, for sin
And raving madness are a-kin.
Fond of frail fame, the warrior's pains,
End in the cracking of his brains.

Come on—let Nomentanus bear
The lash, that is the squand'rer's share:
For reason this conclusion makes,
None are more mad than foolish rakes.
This fellow, after he was paid
A thousand talents, instant made
An edict, that next morn for state,
The fruit'rer, fishmonger shou'd wait,
The poult'rer and perfumer too,
The play'rs, with that indecent crew
That traffic in the Tuscan street,
With all that dealt in oil or meat.
Well what was the event?—they came.

The bawd the first began to frame
His speech, “whatever I or these
“Possess at home, is, if you please
“Your own, which you may take away,
“Alike to-morrow, or to-day.”

Now hear with what benign concern,
The youth bespeaks them in his turn.

“In boots upon Lucanian snows,
“You take a comfortless repose,

207

“That I may sup upon a boar,
“You fish upon the wintry shore.
“I pass my time without employ,
“This wealth unworthy to enjoy.
“Here take ye, every one your due—
“A million sesterces for you;
“For you as much; for you twice-told,
“With whose fair spouse I make so bold,
“When to my call at midnight sold.
Æsopus' son by folly taught,
To waste a million at a draught,
Dissolv'd in vinegar a pearl,
He ravish'd from his fav'rite girl;
Not one jot wiser to be sure,
Than if he'd thrown it in the sew'r.

The boys of Arrius, curious twins,
In trifles as enormous sins,
Were wont on nightingales to feed
At any price—say, was their deed
Of sense or fondness, and of right,
To be put down in black or white?

If once you see a grey-beard take
To toys, and baby-houses make,
Yoke mice to go-carts, pebbles hide,
To play at odd and even, ride
About the house upon a cane,
You'd think his phrenzy very plain.
If it's as childish as all this
In reason's eye, to love a miss,

209

And that it matters not, if you
Play in the dust, as wont to do
When three years old, or shou'd deplore
Your fate in fondness to a whore.
I ask you if you will behave
Like Polemo reform'd, and wave
The ensigns of your fond disease,
Your mantle, garters below knees,
And lac'd cravat, as it is said
He did with liquor in his head,
And took by stealth his chaplet off,
Converted by th'abstemious soph.

If to a boy that's cross in grain
You offer apples, he'll refrain—
“Here take them, little rogue.”—Not I—
But if they are not giv'n he'll cry.
A whining lover in disgrace,
Barr'd out is in the self-same case.
When with himself he argues so,
Whether he shall, or shall not go,
Unto the place for which he steers,
Altho', unsent for, and adheres
Ev'n to the hated threshold—“What!
“When dunn'd to see her, shall I not?

211

“Or shall I not myself befriend,
“And rather all my sorrows end?
“Shut out—recall'd—shall I repeat
“My suit—no—shou'd she at my feet
“Implore me;”—lo! the servant here,
Whose head's a thousand times more clear—
“O Sir, in things that have no mean,
“Our conduct cannot be foreseen,
“And govern'd by a rule and form:
“In love these contradictions swarm—
“War—peace anon, which as they veer
“Like fortune or the atmosphere,
“If any one to fix shou'd try,
“He'd do no better, by the bye,
“Than if he rav'd and play'd the fool
“By gamut, or by grammar-rule.”

When taking from Picenian fruit,
The seeds you to the cieling shoot,
It gives you joy—are you yourself?
Or when you act a fondling elf
In impotence, and lisp, and toy,
Are you then wiser than a boy
Who builds dirt-houses, as he plays?
How think you too of bloody frays,
And stirr'd by swords how fire will blaze!
When Marius, who had Hellas smote,
Did death unto himself devote,
Was he then mad, or will you free
The culprit from his lunacy,

213

And so condemn him for the fact
By being in your terms exact?
A wretch in years, a freedman's son,
Was seen about the streets to run
With washen hands, at early day,
And “me alone, (for that I pray,
“Is no great thing for pow'rs like you,
“Ye Gods, which all with ease can do)
“Save me alone from death and hell.”
This man in eyes and ears was well,
But him if e'er his lord should sell,
He must his intellects exclude,
Unless he wanted to be sued.
Such (says Chrysippus) must be clast
'Mongst numbers of Menenian cast.

“O thou! that giv'st, or canst remove
“The worst afflictions, sov'reign Jove!”
(Cries the fond mother of a lad,
Bed-rid five weeks and very bad)
“If this cold quartan shall recede
“The first day, that a fast's decreed,
“In Tiber naked shall he stand.”—
Shou'd luck, or some physician's hand,
From dang'rous case restore the boy,
The mother will herself destroy,
By stripping him in frantic vein,
And bringing back the fit again.
How driv'n to such a foolish freak?
Why superstition makes her weak.

215

These instances, attacks to stave,
That eighth wise man Stertinius gave
In friendship, that some future day
I might the Cavillers repay.
Whoever calls me mad, shall hear
The same re-echoed in his ear,
And be compell'd to turn his mind,
Upon the bag, that hangs behind.

Stoic (so may you re-imburse
Your damages and make a purse)
Of what infatuation, pray,
(Since there are many kinds you say)
Am I by thee as guilty found
For to myself I seem quite sound.

When mad Agave bears the head
Of her unhappy son, that bled
By her own hands, does she conceive
Herself a fury?—give me leave,
I'll own the truth, I am a fool,
And in my senses not quite cool,
Only speak out, and tell me all
That I particularly ail—I shall—
First you're a builder, that's to vie
With giants, tho' but two feet high.
Yet you the self same dwarf deride
When little Turbo's strut and pride

217

In armour far too big you see—
Pray are you less a jest than he?
What if Mæcenas built in Rome,
Must such a chap as you presume
'Gainst all propriety, so small,
And so dissimilar withal?
The young ones of an absent frog,
Crush'd by a bull-calf in the bog,
The mother was inform'd by one
That 'scap'd what an huge beast had done.
She asks him of the monster's size,
And puffing up herself she cries,
“Was he so great?” as great again—
Then after many a grievous strain,
“Was he as big as this?” indeed
You wou'd not, shou'd you burst, succeed.
This little piece, that Esop drew,
Bears a strong likeness, sir, to you.
Now introduce your odes and lyre,
That is, add fewel to the fire,
The verses, which from men of sense
If e're they come, you've some pretence.
I do not name your desp'rate wrath—
Have done—and greater than your cloth
Your coat—my philosophic friend,
Pray to your own affairs attend,
And those that nearer reason rave
Thou maddest of all mad-men wave.

Catienus performed Polydore, and Fusius Ilione, in a tragedy of that name written by Pacuvius. Fusius was only to have shammed to be asleep, which being drunk, he was in earnest.

An exceeding bad wine.

An eminent physician.

A place famous for the growth of hellebore.

Distributed by way of bribery to the populace on elections.

Much such another place as Drury-lane.

Polemo, when drunken and crowned with chaplets, went into the school of Xenocrates, who happened to be upon the topic of temperance, to which the young rake gave such attention, that he became perfectly reformed, insomuch, that he lived to succeed the philosopher in his school.

A crazy person of a numerous family.

Alluding to a fable of Æsop, where Jupiter is feigned to have put bags upon every man, the one filled with his neighbour's faults before, the other filled with his own behind, so that he sees the former, but not the latter.

219

SATIRE IV.

[From whence arriv'd, and where away]

Under the person of one Catius, an Epicurean philosopher, he derides the precepts of that sect, so far as they relate to the culinary art.

From whence arriv'd, and where away
Good Catius?—Sir, I cannot stay—
In haste some maxims to set down,
Form'd to out-rival the renown
And works of Plato's learned ease,
Pythagoras and Socrates—
I own myself a little rude,
At such a juncture to intrude
With interruptions indiscreet;
But pardon me, I do intreat.
If any thought you lost, you'll find,
So great the presence of your mind,
Whether 'tis nature, or mere skill,
You're great in both, a wit at will.
—But I am lab'ring might and main,
How I might every thing retain,
As matters to refinement wrought,
Both in the diction and the thought—
The name of him you thus applaud,
Is he of Rome, or from abroad?—
The author's rules shall be reveal'd,
Which I can do; his name conceal'd.

221

Eggs that are oblong, pray observe,
Are better at a feast to serve,
As being more delicious found,
And likewise whiter than the round;
Besides the toughness of the skin,
Premises a male-yolk within.
The greens that grew in drier land,
Are sweeter far than those at hand.
In over-water'd gardens shoot
The flashy and insipid root.
If on the even-tide a guest
Comes unawares—why then 'tis best
(Lest the tough hen for want of youth
Offend his palate and his tooth)
Live in mix'd wine her body steep—
All this is learning very deep.
The meadow mushroons are the best:
I cannot warrant all the rest.
His summers he in health shall spend,
Who of his dinner makes an end,
With mulberries of blacker die,
Gather'd before the sun's too high.
Aufidius with Falernian wine
Mix'd honey—wrong—as I opine:
Because on empty veins 'tis fit
Th'emollient only we commit.
With more propriety indeed
You'll wash your stomach with soft mead.
If you are costive, in that case
Limpins and cockles shou'd have place,

223

With sorrel leaves of smaller make,
Which with white Coan you shou'd take.
The waxing moons, to th'utmost wish,
Fill out the lubricating fish.
But every sea is not alike
Productive of the sorts that strike.
The Lucrine muscles far exceed
The burret of the Baian breed.
Circean oysters win the prize;
Crabs at Misenum best arise:
But your escallops spreading wide,
Are soft Tarentum's boast and pride.
Let none presumptuously suppose,
The table-decking art he knows,
Unless he weigh with previous care
The laws of taste—a nice affair.
Nor is't enough to clear the stall
Of high-pric'd fishes great and small,
Unskill'd which sort to stew is right,
And which when roasted will invite
The gutler, that has over-eat
Himself, to re-assume his seat.
The Umbrian boar with acrons fed,
Which from the scarlet oak are shed,
The dishes of that person bend,
Whose palate flabby meats offend.
For poorly the Laurentian feeds,
As fatted up with flags and reeds.
A connoisseur will be aware,
To chuse the wings of pregnant hare.

225

Of foul and fish the sorts and age,
Tho' studied much by many a sage,
Has not as yet been fully known,
But by my skill and taste alone.
Some men exhaust their time and taste
In new inventions upon paste.
'Tis not worth labour to discuss
Upon a single point, as thus,
Shou'd a man merely rest on this,
That his wine may not drink amiss,
Careless what oil she shou'd supply,
When he has any fish to fry.
Shou'd you put out the Massic wine,
(The weather being very fine)
If it be foul, the air by night
Will make it clear, and banish quite
That smell bad for the nerves—but drawn
And filtred thro' a sieve of lawn,
'Twill all its zest intirely lose.
He, who shall skillfully infuse
To wine of Surrentinian kind,
The right Falernian lees, will find
That he can best collect the dregs,
By making use of pidgeons eggs;
Because the yolks, as they descend,
Will make the grosser parts attend.
With roasted shrimps, and cockles live
From Afric's coast you may revive
The weary toper—for when sour'd
With too much wine, and over-pow'r'd,

227

Lettuce will on the stomach rise,
Which seeks the rather for supplies
From sausage, ham, or any thing
Which from the slattern-shops they bring.
You'll find 'tis far from any loss
Of time, to learn two kinds of sauce.
The plain is made of oil intire,
Which to improve and render high'r,
Add wine and pickles, best by far
When taken from Byzantian jar.
This mixt with shredded greens, and brought
From Corycus, with saffron fraught,
When it has boil'd and stood—then squeeze
The olives of Venafran trees.
The apples of Picenum beat,
What Tibur bears, as good to eat,
But for their colour these excel,
Venutian grapes for jars are well.
Yet for preserving in the smoke
Th'Albanian fitter are bespoke.
Th'invention was intirely mine,
This grape with apples to combine,
And vinous lees with herring brine.
I was the first who had the knack
White pepper with the salt that's black
Finely to mix, and serve up all
In dishes very neat, tho' small.
'Tis a grand fault to throw away
Vast sums upon a market day,

229

And yet to cramp the spraggling fish
By using of a scanty dish.
'Twill turn your stomach very much,
If waiters take with greasy touch
The glass, as they their fingers lick,
Or grime to your old goblet stick.
In saw-dust, napkins, and in brooms,
How small th'expence about your rooms?
Yet if these things you quite neglect,
'Tis a most horrible defect.
Shou'd you Mosaic pavements sweep,
With dirty palm-brooms, as they're cheap,
And tho' he is in purple drest,
Bring out foul cushions for your guest,
Forgetting in such things the less
Of care and cost, the greater stress
Is still on the defaulter laid,
Nor are they in the ballance weigh'd
With things of vast expence and state,
Pertaining only to the great.—
—Learn'd Catius, by the pow'rs divine,
That love with which I call you mine,
Where'er you shall an audience share
With this great man, let me be there,
For tho' your mem'ry be so good,
That I have most things understood:
Yet by mere narrative in brief,
You cannot please me like the chief.
Then add the manner and the dress,
And countenance besides express,

231

Which strike you not in that degree
As always in your pow'r to see,
But I by vehement desire
Up to the fountain-head aspire,
And make myself adept compleat
In precepts of a life so sweet.

233

SATIRE V.

[Besides the things that you have told]

Under the person of Ulysses, consulting the ghost of Tiresias, the poet describes the wou'd-be-heirs and will-hunters.

Besides the things that you have told,
Tiresias, let me be so bold,
As your opinion to demand
How I the loss of house and land
May be enabled to repair
By what expedient, art, or care?
Why do you laugh?—O fam'd for tricks!
Is't not enough your route to fix,
That you may Ithaca regain,
And in your native country reign?
—O thou that never spoke a lie,
You see how stript, how poor am I,
Returning by your prophecy.
Where my wife's suitors I shall find,
Nor wealth nor flocks have left behind:
But race and virtue without cash,
And property are errant trash—
—Since poverty so much you dread
There is no further to be said:
Learn how to flourish in a trice.
If any thing that's scarce and nice,
A thrush for your own private snack
Be sent you, presto! in a crack,

235

The spoil to some old dupe convey,
Who lives in the most splendid way,
What'er your garden, or your field,
Of fruit, or other dainties yield,
Let him taste first, a guest by far
More venerable than the Lar.
And tho' a wretch of upstart pride,
A fugitive for laws defied,
By perjury or fratricide:
Yet if he chuses at his call
You must attend, and give the wall—
—What cheek by jole, shall I be caught
With a vile Dama, filthy thought?
Not so still arm'd above my match
At Troy I did myself attach—
—The sequel, is you must be poor—
—This my brave spirit shall endure—
And oftentimes I've underwent
Fatigues of greater hardiment,
Yet prithee, prophet, tell me plain,
How I shall cash and substance gain.—
—In troth I told you, and repeat
The lesson, practise your deceit,
To coax old men to make their will,
And put you in a codicile.
Nor if a cunning knave or two,
Shou'd see the hook and bite it thro',
Or from your hope recede dismay'd,
Or for one blank relinquish trade.

237

If any matter great or small,
Be canvass'd in the judgment-hall,
Which'er be rich without a child,
Tho' he his betters has revil'd,
Be you the fav'rer of his cause,
And one of honour or applause
Despise, and more so, if he house
A hopeful son, or breeding spouse.
“My Lord—your Grace”—(a title suits
And in a drunken ear dilutes)
“Me has your virtue made a friend;
“I know the law, can points defend.
“And they shall rather have my eyes,
“Than your great dignity despise,
“And with a deaf-nut fob you off:
“That you shall have nor loss nor scoff,
“Is ever my peculiar care.”
Then bid him to his home repair,
And cocker up his carcase there.
Persist—hold out—your stumps bestir,
And be yourself sollicitor.
Whether the Dog stars fiery feat
Crack poor dumb statues with his heat,
Or fat-gut Furius puff and blow,
And on the Alpine hills below,
Shall disembogue the hoary snow.
“Sir, dont you see” (some one will cry
Jogging his elbow by the bye)

239

“Your indefatigable friend
“So clean the case to comprehend.”
With baits like these your plan pursue,
More fish will come to stock the stew.
Again, if any man shou'd rear
(Worth you some hundred pounds a year)
An ailing son—left you shou'd seem
Too open in your courteous scheme,
As batchelor—by slow degrees
Creep in and gradual offices,
And for the second heir apply
So haply, if the lad shou'd die,
To all you may yourself advance—
This is an admirable chance.

Whoever puts into your hand
His will to read: at first withstand,
And push the parchment rolls aside;
Yet let it be obliquely ey'd
So as to catch a glance of that,
The second item wou'd be at,
Whether with many you're coheir,
Or come into the whole affair.
Full oft some scriv'ner or old fox
The gaping crow deludes and mocks,
And tho' he's shrewder than the rest
Nasica be Coranus' jest—
— What are you mad, or by design
Do you obscurities divine—

241

—Ulysses all that I foresee
Of surety shall, or shall not be,
For from Apollo wise and great,
I have obtain'd this skill in fate.
—Then, if you please, pray, sir, unveil
The mystic meaning of your tale.—
What time that youth of race divine,
Who from Eneas draws his line,
The Parthian's terror shall be crown'd,
And both by sea and land renown'd.
Nasica known for sneaking ways,
Who loves deduction when he pays,
Shall have his stately girl allied
To stout Coranus, as his bride,
The son-in-law shall then proceed
To the old churl to give the deed,
Which, first, he'll frequently refuse,
But, being closely press'd, peruse.
And while in silent mood he hums,
He'll find there's neither sum nor sums,
And nothing left for him and his,
But leave to make a rueful phiz.

To things which we've been led to name,
Add also—if a subtle dame
Or freed-slave manage an old man,
Make one amongst them, if you can.

243

Praise them, that in the self-same strain,
You absent may be prais'd again:
This helps—but it is best of all
By far to storm the Capitol.
Does he write verses? sorry stuff?
Be sure to praise them well enough.
Is he a wencher? do not wait
For him to be importunate;
But forward of your own accord
Your wife to him you call your lord.
—What wou'd you intimate that she,
The chaste and sage Penelope
Can be seduc'd, whom from her course
So many suitors cou'd not force?—
—The reason is, that youths of thrift
Were there still grudging of a gift,
A race that chose with stomachs keen
The cubbard, rather than the queen.
Thus your Penelope is chaste,
Who if she once had got a taste
Of one old dotard, with a view
To share the perquisite with you,
No more wou'd startle from her aim,
Than a staunch hound will quit his game.

The fact that I'm about to tell,
When I was old, at Thebes befell.
Thus by her will an old hag there
Was carried to her grave—the heir
With corpse upon his shoulders went
Naked and oil'd, to this intent,

245

That she might give the slip at last
Tho' dead, to him who stuck so fast.
Wherefore be cautious, nothing spare,
Likewise by no means over-bear.
The splenetic and the morose
Will hate the babler as too gross;
Nor keep too silent by the bye;
Be Davus in the comedy,
Stand with your most obsequious head
Aside, as in a state of dread.
Ply him with complaisant grimace;
Pray him to veil his precious face,
If once you find the air too brisk,
And from the croud at any risk
Shoulder him out—and if inclin'd
To talk, stick to him ear and mind.
If he love praising to excess,
Have at him, keep him up and press,
Till with his hands to heav'n with wrath
He cries, “O 'tis too much in troth.”
But keep it up as at the first,
Until his tumid bladder burst.
When he at last by his decease,
Shall give your service full release,
And you shall fairly look on this,
In certainty of waking bliss,
“Ulysses is the heir I name,
“To the fourth part of all I claim.”
What has my Dama run his race—
O where shall I that man replace?

247

Likewise appearances to save,
Urge now and then how great and brave!
Then cry a little if you will,
'Tis exultation's utmost skill.
Nor be, to your direction left,
His tomb of elegance bereft.
The funeral a concourse draws,
With all the neighbourhood's applause.
Mean time if one of your coheirs
Shou'd think of settling his affairs,
As lab'ring with a dang'rous cough,
Tell him your ready to cut off
Whatever house and farm he likes,
And any sum the bargain strikes.—

But Proserpine, so stern to drive
The Ghosts, recals me—live and thrive.

These lines are citations from one Furius Bibaculus, and another bombastic poet.

Ulysses speaks again.

They sometimes had a dowry for their daughters, instead of giving a portion with them; so Nasica expected a handsome legacy at least, from a man most probably advanced in years.

249

SATIRE VI.

[This was the summit of my views]

He declares himself to be content with such things as he is possessed of, and that he wishes for no more.

This was the summit of my views,
A little piece of land to use,
Where was a garden and a well,
Near to the house in which I dwell,
And something of a wood above,
The Gods in their paternal love
Have more and better sent than these,
And, Mercury, I rest at ease,
Nor ask I any thing beside,
But that these blessings may abide.
If I cannot my conscience charge,
That I by fraud my wealth enlarge,
Nor am about by fond excess
To make my little matters less;
If I am not a fool in grain,
To make such wishes weak and vain,
“O that I cou'd that nook command
“That mars the beauty of my land!
“O where there lies a pot of gold,
“Might I by some good God be told!
“Like him who having treasure found,
“No longer till'd, but bought the ground!
“With Hercules so much his friend!”—
If for what I possess, or spend,

251

No mean unthankful mind I bear,
I supplicate you with this pray'r:
May every thing I have be fat,
My servants, cattle, dog, and cat,
All but my genius—and be still
My guardian, if it is your will!
Wherefore, when I from town retreat
To these my mounts, and lofty seat,
How can I of my time dispose
Better than in this measur'd prose?
Here neither worldly pride destroys,
Nor pressure of South wind annoys,
Or sickly Autumn, still the gain
Of Libitina's baleful reign.
O early sire, or Janus hight,
(If that name more your ears delight)
With whom men all their toils commence
In life (for so the Gods dispense)
Do thou thyself begin the song—
At Rome you hurry me along
To give in bail—dispatch me there
Lest some one else shou'd do th'affair.
Well—tho' aground the North wind blow,
Or winter brings the days of snow
To shorter compass—I must go—
About myself to over-reach—
When I in form have made my speech,
At once determinate and loud,
Why I must bustle in the croud,

253

Sure all slow-walkers to offend—
What are you mad? what mean you, friend?
(Some swearing fellow's apt to say)
You jostle all things in your way,
While in post-haste you must be sped,
With great Mæcenas in your head—
This does, and is too by the bye—
A sugar-plumb—I will not lye—
But e'er I reach th'Esquilian gloom,
I'm charg'd with all th'affairs of Rome.
“Roscius desires you, as a friend,
“The court-house early to attend;
“The clerks beseech you wou'd return,
“Upon a thing of vast concern;
“Take care Mæcenas seal and sign,
“To this same instrument of mine.
I will endeavour, shou'd one say,
They'll answer, if you will, you may,
And still keep urging, as before—
'Tis now the seventh year or more,
Since to Mæcenas I was known,
And freely number'd as his own,
So far as one he chose to raise
Just to the honour of his chaise,
Conversing as he took his tour,
About such trifles—What's the hour?
Say is Gallina, who's from Thrace,
A match for Syrus face to face?

255

These morning frosts are very bad
For those who are but thinly clad,
Or any thing, that comes in play,
Which one to leaky ears may say.
E'er since this fortunate event,
Th'invidious sons of discontent
Daily increase—“This friend of ours,
“On whom her favours fortune show'rs;
“A place with great Mæcenas claims,
“With him was present at the games,
“Plays in the field with him at ball.”—
Ah, lucky rogue! cries one and all—
Does any bad disheart'ning news,
Its influence thro' the streets diffuse:
Whoe'er I meet consults with me.
“Good Sir, (for sure you must be he,
“Who all th'affairs of state must know,
“As nearer to the gods below)
“Ought do you of the Dacians hear?”
No—not a syllable—“you jeer:”
May all the gods afflict my heart,
If I know either whole or part.—
“Well—then will Cæsar give the lands,
“He promis'd to his chosen bands,
“In Sicily or here, I pray?”
The more I swear, I cannot say—
The more they stare, they cannot sound
A man so close and so profound!—
Thus do I lose my time and ease,
Not without wishes such as these—

257

O rural scenes! when shall I see
Your beauties, and again be free
Now with those ancient books, I chose
With leisure now, and soft repose,
In grateful thoughtlessness to drown
The anxious business of the town?
When shall Pythagoras his beans,
With bacon, and well-larded greens
Be plac'd before me? O ye nights!
Of suppers and divine delights,
In which within my proper pale
I and my bosom friends regale;
And make ev'n saucy slaves partake
Of those libations that I make.
Each guest according as it suits
May take the glass, no one disputes,
Whether the strong the bumper chuse,
Or weaker chearfully refuse.
A conversation then begins
Not on our neighbours wealth or sins,
Or whether Lepos preference claim
For dancing?—but what's more our aim,
And what 'tis evil not to know—
If happiness from riches flow,
Or be not rather virtues prize,
And which it is cement the ties
Of friendship—rectitude or gain,
And what is real good in grain,
And how perfection to attain?

259

Mean time my neighbour Cervius prates
Old tales, that rise from our debates;
For if a man who does not know
The world, his elogy bestow
On great Arillius cumbrous store
He instantly sets off—“Of yore
“A country mouse, as it befel,
“Received a cit into his cell,
“One chrony to another kind
“As intimate time out of mind,
“This mouse was blunt and giv'n to thrift,
“But now and then cou'd make a shift
“(However rigid or recluse)
“With open heart to give a loose:
“In short he wou'd not grudge his guest
“Or oats or vetches of the best:
“And bringing in some berries dried,
“With nibbled scrap of ham beside,
“Hop'd he variety might plead
“To make his daintiness recede,
“For our grandee wou'd scarcely touch
“The things, his squeamishness was such.—
“Mean time the master of the treat
“Extended on clean straw wou'd eat
“Nothing but tares and crusts, to spare
“For his good friend the nobler fare.
“At length the citizen made free
“To speak his mind—my friend, (said he)
“How can your mouse-ship hold it good,
“To live here on a rugged wood,

261

“And how have patience with the place!
“Will you not rather turn your face
“To view mankind, the town prefer
“To these rough scenes that here occur?
“Come take my counsel and agree
“To make a tour along with me.
“Since mortal lives must have an end,
“And death all earthly things attend,
“Nor is there an escape at all
“For man or mouse, for great or small;
“Wherefore, good friend, these matters weigh,
“And let us for our time be gay,
“Let life's contracted period teach
“Mice to live jollily”—This speech
“Soon as it on the peasant wrought,
“He nimbly springs from forth his grot,
“Then both the distin'd journey take
“By midnight gloom their jaunt to make:
“And now about that time each mouse
“Took refuge in a wealthy house,
“Where gorgeous carpets crimson-red
“Look'd splendid on each ivory bed:
“Where many a bit, in many a tray,
“Was left from feast of yesterday.
“He having then the peasant set
“Upon a purple coverlet,
“Run like my landord here and there—
“Dish after dish with dainty fare,
“And like a handy footman serves,
“First tasting every thing he carves.

263

“The clown by no means making strange
“Begins to chuckle at the change,
“And lying on the couch at ease
“Lives merrily on all he sees.
“But on a sudden, with a roar,
“Bang open flies the folding door,
“And fright our gutlers from their cheer—
“Now round the room half-dead with fear,
“They scout—new terrors still abound,
“With barking dogs the roofs resound.
“Then (quoth the clown) I have no call
“For such a life as this at all;
“My cave and wood be still my share,
“There rather let me skulk from care,
“And live upon a single tare.”

Gallina and Syrus, two great gladiators.

265

SATIRE VII.

[Long while a list'ner, I wou'd speak]

Horace introduces his slave, rating him soundly for living a different life from that which he had promised.

Long while a list'ner, I wou'd speak,
But somewhat dread my mind to break,
As but a slave—What, is it you?
Is't Davus?—Davus good and true:
That is so far as to give hope
There's no occasion for a rope.—
Well, use the right the Roman sire
Allows you by the winter fire,
And since December's come about,
Come let us fairly have it out.

There is a portion of mankind
Who're constantly to vice inclin'd,
And let their faults take root and grow.
Many there are that ebb and flow,
One while a sideling to the right,
One while to sin obnoxious quite,
Priscus, observ'd at times to wear
Three rings, at times his left-hand bare,
Liv'd so irregular, his way
Was still to shift ten times a day.
Sometimes from a most sumptuous scene
He'd seek a place so poor and mean,

267

From whence a servant just made free
Wou'd scarce appear with decency:
One while a rake at Rome, one while
A scholar in th'Athenian style,
Born, when Vertumnus and his airs
Prevail'd the most on man's affairs.

When Volanerius got the gout
His hands deserv'd his life throughout,
The stay'd buffoon hir'd at a price
A substitute to throw the dice:
One, who to sin the more in chains
Was much less wretched for his pains,
Than he who plays at fast and loose,
All abstinence, or all abuse.—
Thou varlet canst thou ever shew
To what this trash pertains?—To you—
How scoundrel?—You are apt to praise
The peace and forms of ancient days,
To which shou'd any God reduce
Your manners, you wou'd beg excuse;
Because you have not that at heart
Which you so clamorously assert,
Or too irresolute and light
To stand by what is just and right
You hesitate with vain desire
To get your foot from out the mire:
In town you for the country sigh,
But Rome's extoll'd up to the sky,
When to your villa you're confin'd
Such is your sickleness of mind,

269

If uninvited by a friend,
Your peace and sallad you commend,
And hug yourself at home and bless
That you shall share no man's excess,
As if by force alone you stirr'd—
But shou'd Mæcenas send you word
Late as the lighting of the rooms.
“Ho! quick, who brings me these perfumes?
“What no one hear a man?”—you cry,
As loud as you can bawl—and fly.
Milvius and play'rs, that hop'd to stay,
In wrath go supperless away,
And leaving many a backward pray'r
Too gross for your nice ears to bear.
Some one may say, nor I deny,
That I with appetite comply,
Snuff up my nose at sav'ry food,
Am weak and dull, and to conclude
A sot—but seeing, sir, you are
As bad as I am, and to spare,
Why do you call me to account,
As if your virtues did surmount,
And veil the error of your ways,
In all the art of specious phrase.
But what, and if you shou'd be found
More fool than him, that cost ten pound,
Why then refrain each threatning look,
The hand and wrath I cannot brook,
While I into your ears relate
The things I learnt at Crispin's gate.

271

You with your robes all thrown aside,
Your ring and your Equestrian pride,
From a grave magistrate evade,
As Dama in a masquerade,
Still in suspence about your fate,
Art not the thing you personate!
And dreading danger for the nonce,
Are trembling in your honour's bones.
What differs it, once bound an oath
For scourge, or broad-sword, or for both,
Or shut within a filthy chest,
Where of the lady's sins possess'd
A maid has cramm'd you neck and heels!
Does not the husband hold the seals,
So far as a just power to claim
Against both whoring rogue and dame!
A juster with regard to you,
For she nor changes place nor hue:
Besides the woman acts in dread,
Nor trusts a word of all you said.
Yet to the yoke you needs must stoop,
The raging husband's destin'd dupe;
Life, body, fortune, soul and all
In a most lamentable thrall,
You have escap'd and will beware—
No, no, you'll seek another snare
Again to fear, again to die,
O wav'rer for servility!
What beast so fond as to obtrude
Upon the snares it cou'd elude?

273

Your'e no adulterer, you will say,
Nor I a felon by my fay,
When prudent I pass by the plate,
But if from Tyburn you'll abate,
Nature, when left unto herself,
Will clear the closet and the shelf.
Inferior then in deed and word
Will you pretend to be my lord,
Who punish'd twice and twice again,
Will never from your sins refrain?

Add we yet more to what we've said
Of equal weight upon this head.
Whether a man, whom slaves obey
Be freeman, or a slave, as they,
(For this sometimes is a dispute)
Are you or I of most repute?
For you, o'er me who domineer
To others are in servile fear,
And like a poppet wir'd and shown
Have not a motion of your own;
Who then is free of all mankind?
One wise and master of his mind
Whom neither want nor death nor bonds
Can terrify—who corresponds
With heav'n and virtue to defy
All lust and fame beneath the sky;
At once by gift and conduct too
As finely turn'd, as polish'd true;
So that no rub or outward force
Retard him in his level course;

275

'Gainst when dame fortune is at fault,
When'er she makes her worst assault!
From all these attributes of fame
Have you a single thing to claim?
A woman of the town demands
Five talents of your honour's hands,
And after your'e turn'd out of bed
Throws down cold water on your head.
Anon she calls you—break the chain,
And say, that “I am free again,”
You are not able for that scourge
And sov'reign of your soul will urge,
And as he calls himself desire
Will spur the more, the more you tire.

When you, in folly so far gone,
Admire a piece by Pausias drawn,
Are you the less to blame than me,
Who, when the prize-fighters I see,
Stare at the men or brown'd and black't
In coal or oaker—“'tis the fact,
“The very thing, the martial strife
“They strike and parry life and life.”
Davus is idle, to be sure,
And you a vet'ran connoisseur.
I, if I smell when people bake,
Am call'd to nothing for a cake,
Does your great virtue, godlike soul,
Resist the ven'son and the jole?
My fondness for my paunch is wrong:
Why so?—I rue it by the thong.

277

But are you of all smarting clear,
Who buy your things so plaguy dear;
Then those titbits, which you repeat
So oft, your palled stomach heat,
And for your body you provide,
Mis-judging feet your steps to guide.

Shou'd any boy a strigil take
By night, and pawn it for plumb-cake,
Is he to blame? and are not you,
Who sell your farms for dainties too?
Besides, you never can command
An hour yourself, nor understand
How you your leisure shou'd amuse,
And self to self wou'd fain excuse
A vagabond from thought, who pine
To banish care by sleep or wine,
In vain—for sticking to your back
He is your constant friend in black.
—A stone where is there to be had?
A dart?—How now, the man is mad,
Or making verse—restrain your speech,
Or quick you go to hedge and ditch.

A scrapter, or flesh-brush, that they used at the baths.

279

SATIRE VIII.

[How far'd you at the miser's feast]

Horace interrogates his friend Fundanius, concerning the supper of Nasidienus, at which he was present.

How far'd you at the miser's feast,
For there, from yester-noon at least,
You plied the glass, as it was clear
By one I sent to bid you here?—
—So well our time we pass'd away,
I never had a merrier day.—
Say, if 'tis not against the law,
What first appeas'd your rav'nous maw?—
—First a Lucanian boar was brought,
Which (as our host affirm'd) was caught,
When the South gently blew—the dish
Was garnish'd with both herbs and fish,
Anchovies, lettuce, skirret too,
Such as the appetite renew,
With vinegar from Coan lees,
Which all dispos'd of by degrees,
One brisk lad wipes, with purple clout,
The maple table round about;
Another clears off all the rest,
Irksome or useless to the guest.
The moor Hydaspes makes parade,
(As with grave rites th' Athenian maid)
Bringing the Cæcuban along;
Alcon comes in with Chian strong,

281

To which no sea had damage done—
Here our good host his speech begun:
“Mæcenas, if you chuse to dine
“With Alban or Falernian wine,
“Rather than any thing you see,
“Straight you may both command of me.”—
O wretched wealth!—but, prithee show,
Fundanius, for I burst to know,
Who was there with you at this treat,
Where all things were so grand and neat.

Well, I was in the highest place
With Viscus, and a little space
Was Varius (as I think) below
Vibidius too and Balatro,
Which last Mæcenas brought to wait
Merely as danglers on his state.
Then Nomentatus took his post,
Upon the right hand of our host,
Porcius beneath—despis'd and hiss'd,
For gorging pan-cakes at a twist.

For this was Nomentanus bid,
If ought was unobserv'd or hid,
To point it out—as for the rest,
I, and each undiscerning guest,
We fish and fowl at random took,
Nor saw th'invention of the cook,
Which shortly I was giv'n to know,
When he did on my plate bestow
Some turbot-guts, and eels, and plaice,
Such as no other table grace.

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Then, willing I shou'd learn, he said,
That honey-apples look'd most red,
Pluck'd when th'moon begins to wane;
Our host himself will best explain
How vast the odds—Vibidius here
Thus whispers in his neighbour's ear—
“Unless we tipple to his cost,
“All hopes of vengeance will be lost;
“Put more capacious tumblers on.”—
On which our host grew wond'rous wan,
As dreading nothing with such hate,
As them that drink inordinate;
Whether because they jest too free,
Or swilling to extreme degree,
They blunt the judgment of the taste—
And now whole casks are drank in waste,
Both by Vibidius and his friend,
And strangers at the lower end:
Mæcenas, and the guests select,
To decency had more respect.

A lamprey next was usher'd in,
With floating prawns in a turrenne.
This (says our host) was caught with spawn,
As tasteless when the row is gone,
For these a sauce of oil was dress'd,
From choice Venufran berries press'd,
With pickle from th'Iberian fry,
Wine five years old—but by the bye
Not made beyond sea—all these three,
While it is stewing best agree,

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But when once stew'd the Chian wine,
No better thing you can divine,
With pepper white, and not without
Such vinegar, as will turn out
By souring Methymnean juice—
“I was the first that brought in use,
“With these the bitter herb to shred,
“And first cut rockets from the bed;
“Tho' 'twas Curtillus, I must say,
“That to sea-urchins gave the day,
“Which in their native salt excel
“Ought you can get from any shell.”

Mean time the tap'stry hung on high
Fell down upon the company,
Bringing black dust, a greater load
Than winds on the Campanian road.
We, frighten'd at the first alarm,
Soon as we found 'twas no great harm,
Return each person to his post—
But with his head reclin'd our host
Began to snivel in despair,
As if he'd lost his son and heir.
What must have been the end—unless
Sage Nomentanus with address,
Had undertook his friend to cheer.
“O Fortune! which is more severe,
“Of all the immortal powr's than thee,
“With what an everlasting glee,
“You love our projects to distress!”
Here Varius, who cou'd not suppress

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His laugh, was forc'd the cloth to cram.—
Servilius, ever apt to bam,
Cries out with sanctity of face,
“Such are the terms of human race,
“Wherefore there's no degree of fame
“Can answer your right noble aim,
“That you shou'd torture and distract
“Yourself, so anxiously exact,
“That I shou'd be thus well receiv'd!
“How, lest the rowls shou'd burn, you griev'd!
“Or broth ill-season'd be serv'd up,
“Or lads in waiting, while we sup,
“Neglect the necessary care
“Of neat apparel, well-comb'd hair,
“Besides, your terror to inhance,
“Lo! all these accidents of chance,
“If hangings shou'd come down, as now,
“Or footman taken from the plough,
“Shou'd tumble with a dish upstairs—
“But with a noble host it fares,
“As with great captains in the field;
“In thriving times their skill's conceal'd,
“Which in adversity breaks out,
“And brings stupendous things about.”
Our Host to this—pray heav'n may grant,
Both all you wish and all you want;
Consid'ring that you are the best
Of men, and most diverting guest—
And for his sandals he applied
In act to take a turn aside.

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Then round the table you might hear
A gen'ral buzzing, mouth to ear
I wou'd not choose a farce, or play,
In preference to such a day.—
—But let me have it in a word,
What next to raise the laugh occurr'd?—
Vibidius with the waiters spoke,
Ask'd if the flaggon too was broke?
Because to his incessant call,
They ministred no wine at all.
And while the laughter is immense,
Kept up on many a false pretence,
With Balatro to help us on—
Re-enter host—no longer wan,
As by an happy after-clap
To remedy his dire mishap.
Him follow servants, which sustain
The sever'd members of a crane,
In a large charger, sprinkled o'er
With salt and flour, a plenteous store,
A gander's liver next he brings,
Fatted with figs, and jointed wings
Of hare, as more the taste to suit
Than if you eat the back to boot.
Then over-roasted mearles appear,
And ring-doves without rumps—fine cheer!
Had not their dull loquacious lord
Plac'd all their hist'ries on record,
And on their natures lectures read,
Whom we in indignation fled,

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Nor tasted of his dainty fare,
As if Canidia had been there,
And with her fetid breath had blown,
In spite to Afric snakes unknown.