The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis and of Aulus Persius Flaccus, Translated into English Verse. By William Gifford ... with Notes and Illustrations. In Two Volumes |
 | 1. | VOL. I. |
 |
| II. |
 | The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis |  |
lxxix
1. VOL. I.
xxxi
TO RICHARD EARL GROSVENOR, VISCOUNT BELGRAVE, BARON GROSVENOR,
THIS TRANSLATION OF JUVENAL IS INSCRIBED, AS AN HUMBLE, BUT SINCERE TESTIMONY,
OF THE GRATITUDE AND RESPECT OF THE TRANSLATOR.
May 1st, 1802.
1
THE SATIRES OF JUVENAL.
3
SATIRE I.
5
Oh! heavens—while thus hoarse Codrus perseveres
To force his Theseid on my tortured ears,
Shall I not once attempt “to quit the score,”
Always an auditor, and nothing more!
To force his Theseid on my tortured ears,
Shall I not once attempt “to quit the score,”
Always an auditor, and nothing more!
6
Forever at my side, shall this rehearse,
His elegiack, that his comick verse,
Unpunish'd? shall huge Telephus, at will,
The livelong day consume, or, huger still,
Orestes, closely written, written, too,
Down the broad marge, and yet—no end in view!
His elegiack, that his comick verse,
Unpunish'd? shall huge Telephus, at will,
The livelong day consume, or, huger still,
Orestes, closely written, written, too,
Down the broad marge, and yet—no end in view!
7
Away, away!—None knows his home so well,
As I the grove of Mars, and Vulcan's cell,
Fast by the Æolian rocks!—
As I the grove of Mars, and Vulcan's cell,
Fast by the Æolian rocks!—
How the Winds roar
How ghosts are tortured on the Stygian shore,
How Jason stole the golden fleece, and how,
The Centaurs fought on Othrys' shaggy brow,
The walks of Fronto echo round and round—
The columns trembling with the eternal sound,
While high and low, as the mad fit invades,
Bellow the same trite nonsense through the shades.
How ghosts are tortured on the Stygian shore,
How Jason stole the golden fleece, and how,
The Centaurs fought on Othrys' shaggy brow,
8
The columns trembling with the eternal sound,
While high and low, as the mad fit invades,
Bellow the same trite nonsense through the shades.
I, too, can write,—and, at a pedant's frown,
Once pour'd my fustian rhetorick on the town;
And idly proved that Sylla, far from power,
Had pass'd, unknown to fear, the tranquil hour:—
Now I resume my pen; for, since we meet
Such swarms of desperate bards in every street,
'Tis vicious clemency, to spare the oil,
And hapless paper they are sure to spoil.
Once pour'd my fustian rhetorick on the town;
And idly proved that Sylla, far from power,
Had pass'd, unknown to fear, the tranquil hour:—
Now I resume my pen; for, since we meet
Such swarms of desperate bards in every street,
'Tis vicious clemency, to spare the oil,
And hapless paper they are sure to spoil.
But why I choose, adventurous, to retrace
The Auruncan's route, and, in the arduous race,
Follow his burning wheels, attentive hear,
If leisure serve, and truth be worth your ear.
The Auruncan's route, and, in the arduous race,
9
If leisure serve, and truth be worth your ear.
When the soft eunuch weds, and the bold fair
Tilts at the Tuscan boar, with bosom bare;
When one that oft, since manhood first appear'd,
Has trimm'd the exuberance of this sounding beard,
In wealth, outvies the senate; when a vile,
A slave-born, slave-bred, vagabond of Nile,
Crispinus, while he gathers now, now flings
His purple open, fans his summer rings;
And, as his fingers sweat beneath the freight,
Cries, “Save me—from a gem of greater weight!”
'Tis hard a less adventurous course to choose,
While folly plagues, and vice inflames the Muse.
Tilts at the Tuscan boar, with bosom bare;
When one that oft, since manhood first appear'd,
Has trimm'd the exuberance of this sounding beard,
10
A slave-born, slave-bred, vagabond of Nile,
11
His purple open, fans his summer rings;
12
Cries, “Save me—from a gem of greater weight!”
13
While folly plagues, and vice inflames the Muse.
For who so slow of heart, so dull of brain,
So patient of the town, as to contain
His bursting spleen, when, full before his eye,
Swings the new chair of lawyer Matho by,
Cramm'd with himself! then, with no less parade,
That caitiff's, who his noble friend betray'd,
Who now, in fancy, prostrate greatness tears,
And preys on what the imperial vulture spares!
Whom Massa dreads, Latinus, trembling, plies
With a fair wife, and anxious Carus buys!
So patient of the town, as to contain
His bursting spleen, when, full before his eye,
Swings the new chair of lawyer Matho by,
Cramm'd with himself! then, with no less parade,
That caitiff's, who his noble friend betray'd,
14
And preys on what the imperial vulture spares!
Whom Massa dreads, Latinus, trembling, plies
With a fair wife, and anxious Carus buys!
15
When those supplant thee in thy dearest rights,
Who earn rich legacies by active nights;
Those, whom (the shortest, surest way to rise,)
The widow's itch, advances to the skies!—
Not that an equal rank her minions hold:
Just to their various powers, she metes her gold,
And Proculeius mourns his scanty share,
While Gillo triumphs, her's and nature's heir!
And let him triumph! 'tis the price of blood:
While, thus defrauded of the generous flood,
The colour flies his cheek, as though he prest,
With unsuspecting foot, a serpent's crest;
Or stood engaged at Lyons to declaim,
Where the least peril is the loss of fame.
Who earn rich legacies by active nights;
Those, whom (the shortest, surest way to rise,)
The widow's itch, advances to the skies!—
Not that an equal rank her minions hold:
Just to their various powers, she metes her gold,
And Proculeius mourns his scanty share,
While Gillo triumphs, her's and nature's heir!
And let him triumph! 'tis the price of blood:
While, thus defrauded of the generous flood,
The colour flies his cheek, as though he prest,
With unsuspecting foot, a serpent's crest;
16
Where the least peril is the loss of fame.
Ye Gods!—what rage, what frenzy fires my brain,
When that false guardian, with his splendid train,
Crowds the long street, and leaves his orphan charge
To prostitution, and the world at large!
When, by a juggling sentence damn'd in vain,
(For who, that holds the plunder, heeds the pain?)
Marius to wine devotes his morning hours,
And laughs, in exile, at the offended Powers:
While, sighing o'er the victory she won,
The Province finds herself but more undone!
When that false guardian, with his splendid train,
17
To prostitution, and the world at large!
When, by a juggling sentence damn'd in vain,
(For who, that holds the plunder, heeds the pain?)
Marius to wine devotes his morning hours,
And laughs, in exile, at the offended Powers:
While, sighing o'er the victory she won,
The Province finds herself but more undone!
And shall I feel, that crimes like these require
The avenging strains of the Venusian lyre,
And not pursue them? shall I still repeat
The legendary tales of Troy and Crete;
The toils of Hercules, the horses fed,
On human flesh, by savage Diomed,
The lowing labyrinth, the builder's flight,
And the rash boy, hurl'd from his airy height?
When, what the law forbids the wife to heir,
The adulterer's Will may to the wittol bear,
Who gave, with wand'ring eye, and vacant face,
A tacit sanction to his own disgrace;
And, while at every turn a look he stole,
Snored, unsuspected, o'er the treacherous bowl!
The avenging strains of the Venusian lyre,
And not pursue them? shall I still repeat
The legendary tales of Troy and Crete;
18
On human flesh, by savage Diomed,
The lowing labyrinth, the builder's flight,
And the rash boy, hurl'd from his airy height?
When, what the law forbids the wife to heir,
The adulterer's Will may to the wittol bear,
19
A tacit sanction to his own disgrace;
And, while at every turn a look he stole,
Snored, unsuspected, o'er the treacherous bowl!
When He presumes to ask a troop's command,
Who spent on horses all his father's land,
While, proud the experienced driver to display,
His glowing wheels smoked o'er the Appian way:—
For there, our young Automedon first tried
His powers, there loved the rapid car to guide;
While great Pelides sought superiour bliss,
And toy'd and wanton'd with his master-miss.
Who spent on horses all his father's land,
20
His glowing wheels smoked o'er the Appian way:—
For there, our young Automedon first tried
His powers, there loved the rapid car to guide;
While great Pelides sought superiour bliss,
And toy'd and wanton'd with his master-miss.
Who would not, reckless of the swarm he meets,
Fill his wide tablets, in the publick streets,
With angry verse? when, through the mid-day glare,
Born by six slaves, and in an open chair,
The forger comes, who owes this blaze of state,
To a wet seal, and a fictitious date;
Comes, like the soft Mæcenas, lolling by,
And impudently braves the publick eye!
Or the rich dame, who stanch'd her husband's thirst
With generous wine, but—drugg'd it deeply first!
And now, more dextrous than Locusta, shows
Her country friends, the beverage to compose,
And, midst the curses of the indignant throng,
Bear, in broad day, the spotted corpse along.
Fill his wide tablets, in the publick streets,
With angry verse? when, through the mid-day glare,
Born by six slaves, and in an open chair,
The forger comes, who owes this blaze of state,
To a wet seal, and a fictitious date;
Comes, like the soft Mæcenas, lolling by,
And impudently braves the publick eye!
21
With generous wine, but—drugg'd it deeply first!
22
Her country friends, the beverage to compose,
And, midst the curses of the indignant throng,
Bear, in broad day, the spotted corpse along.
23
Dare nobly, man! if greatness be thy aim,
And practise what may chains and exile claim:
On Guilt's broad base thy towering fortunes raise,
For Virtue starves on—universal praise!
While crimes, in scorn of niggard fate, afford
The ivory couches, and the citron board,
The goblet high-emboss'd, the antique plate,
The lordly mansion, and the fair estate!
And practise what may chains and exile claim:
On Guilt's broad base thy towering fortunes raise,
For Virtue starves on—universal praise!
While crimes, in scorn of niggard fate, afford
The ivory couches, and the citron board,
The goblet high-emboss'd, the antique plate,
The lordly mansion, and the fair estate!
O! who can rest—who taste the sweets of life,
When sires debauch the son's too greedy wife;
When males to males, abjuring shame, are wed,
And beardless boys pollute the nuptial bed!
No: Indignation, kindling as she views,
Shall, in each breast, a generous warmth infuse,
And pour, in Nature and the Nine's despite,
Such strains as I, or Cluvienus, write!
When sires debauch the son's too greedy wife;
When males to males, abjuring shame, are wed,
And beardless boys pollute the nuptial bed!
No: Indignation, kindling as she views,
Shall, in each breast, a generous warmth infuse,
And pour, in Nature and the Nine's despite,
Such strains as I, or Cluvienus, write!
E'er since Deucalion, while, on every side,
The bursting clouds uprais'd the whelming tide,
Reach'd, in his little skiff, the forked hill,
And sought, at Themis' shrine, the Immortals' will;
When softening stones grew warm with gradual life,
And Pyrrha brought each male a virgin wife;
Whatever passions have the soul possest,
Whatever wild desires inflamed the breast,
Joy, Sorrow, Fear, Love, Hatred, Transport, Rage,
Shall form the motley subject of my page.
The bursting clouds uprais'd the whelming tide,
24
And sought, at Themis' shrine, the Immortals' will;
When softening stones grew warm with gradual life,
And Pyrrha brought each male a virgin wife;
Whatever passions have the soul possest,
Whatever wild desires inflamed the breast,
Joy, Sorrow, Fear, Love, Hatred, Transport, Rage,
Shall form the motley subject of my page.
And when could Satire boast so fair a field?
Say, when did Vice a richer harvest yield?
When did fell Avarice so engross the mind?
Or when the lust of play so curse mankind?—
No longer now, the pocket's stores supply
The boundless charges of the desperate die:
The chest is staked!—muttering the steward stands,
And scarce resigns it, at his lord's commands.
Is it a simple madness,—I would know,
To venture countless thousands on a throw,
Yet want the soul, a single piece to spare,
To clothe the slave, that shivering stands and bare!
Say, when did Vice a richer harvest yield?
When did fell Avarice so engross the mind?
Or when the lust of play so curse mankind?—
No longer now, the pocket's stores supply
The boundless charges of the desperate die:
The chest is staked!—muttering the steward stands,
And scarce resigns it, at his lord's commands.
25
To venture countless thousands on a throw,
Yet want the soul, a single piece to spare,
To clothe the slave, that shivering stands and bare!
Who call'd, of old, so many seats his own,
Or on seven sumptuous dishes supp'd alone?—
Then plain and open was the cheerful feast,
And every client was a bidden guest;
Now, at the gate, a paltry largess lies,
And eager hands and tongues dispute the prize.
But first (lest some false claimant should be found,)
The wary steward takes his anxious round,
And pries in every face; then calls aloud,
“Come forth, ye great Dardanians, from the crowd!”
For, mix'd with us, e'en these besiege the door,
And scramble for—the pittance of the poor!
“Despatch the Prætor first,” the master cries,
“And next the Tribune.” ‘No, not so;’ replies
The Freedman, bustling through, ‘first come is, still,
‘First serv'd; and I may claim my right, and will!—
‘Though born a slave, ('tis bootless to deny,
‘What these bored ears betray to every eye,)
‘On my own rents, in splendour, now I live,
‘On five fair freeholds! Can the purple give
‘Their Honours, more? when, to Laurentum sped,
‘Noble Corvinus tends a flock for bread!—
‘Pallas and the Licînii, in estate,
‘Must yield to me: let, then, the Tribunes wait.’
Yes, let them wait! thine, Riches, be the field!—
It is not meet, that he to Honour yield,
To sacred Honour, who, with whiten'd feet,
Was hawk'd for sale, so lately, through the street.
O gold! though Rome beholds no altars flame,
No temples rise to thy pernicious name,
Such as to Victory, Virtue, Faith are rear'd,
And Concord, where the clamorous stork is heard,
Yet is thy full divinity confest,
Thy shrine establish'd here, in every breast.
Or on seven sumptuous dishes supp'd alone?—
26
And every client was a bidden guest;
Now, at the gate, a paltry largess lies,
And eager hands and tongues dispute the prize.
But first (lest some false claimant should be found,)
The wary steward takes his anxious round,
And pries in every face; then calls aloud,
“Come forth, ye great Dardanians, from the crowd!”
27
And scramble for—the pittance of the poor!
“Despatch the Prætor first,” the master cries,
“And next the Tribune.” ‘No, not so;’ replies
The Freedman, bustling through, ‘first come is, still,
‘First serv'd; and I may claim my right, and will!—
‘Though born a slave, ('tis bootless to deny,
‘What these bored ears betray to every eye,)
‘On my own rents, in splendour, now I live,
‘On five fair freeholds! Can the purple give
‘Their Honours, more? when, to Laurentum sped,
‘Noble Corvinus tends a flock for bread!—
28
‘Must yield to me: let, then, the Tribunes wait.’
Yes, let them wait! thine, Riches, be the field!—
It is not meet, that he to Honour yield,
29
Was hawk'd for sale, so lately, through the street.
O gold! though Rome beholds no altars flame,
No temples rise to thy pernicious name,
Such as to Victory, Virtue, Faith are rear'd,
And Concord, where the clamorous stork is heard,
Yet is thy full divinity confest,
Thy shrine establish'd here, in every breast.
But while, with anxious eyes, the great explore
How much the dole augments their annual store,
What misery must the poor dependant dread,
Whom this small pittance, cloth'd, and lodg'd, and fed?
Wedged in thick ranks before the donor's gates,
A phalanx firm, of chairs and litters, waits:
Thither one husband, at the risk of life,
Hurries his teeming, or his bedrid wife;
Another, practised in the gainful art,
With deeper cunning tops the beggar's part;
Plants at his side a close and empty chair:
“My Galla, master;—give me Galla's share.”
‘Galla!’ the porter cries; ‘let her look out.’
“Sir, she's asleep. Nay, give me;—can you doubt!”
How much the dole augments their annual store,
What misery must the poor dependant dread,
Whom this small pittance, cloth'd, and lodg'd, and fed?
Wedged in thick ranks before the donor's gates,
A phalanx firm, of chairs and litters, waits:
Thither one husband, at the risk of life,
Hurries his teeming, or his bedrid wife;
Another, practised in the gainful art,
With deeper cunning tops the beggar's part;
30
“My Galla, master;—give me Galla's share.”
‘Galla!’ the porter cries; ‘let her look out.’
“Sir, she's asleep. Nay, give me;—can you doubt!”
What rare pursuits employ the clients' day!
First to the patron's door, their court to pay,
Next to the forum, to support his cause,
Thence to Apollo, learned in the laws,
And the triumphal statues; where some Jew,
Some mongrel Arab, some—I know not who—
Has impudently dared a niche to seize,
Fit to be p--- against, or—what you please.—
Returning home, he drops them at the gate:
And now the weary clients, wise too late,
Resign their hopes, and supperless retire,
To spend the paltry dole in herbs and fire.
First to the patron's door, their court to pay,
Next to the forum, to support his cause,
Thence to Apollo, learned in the laws,
And the triumphal statues; where some Jew,
Some mongrel Arab, some—I know not who—
31
Fit to be p--- against, or—what you please.—
Returning home, he drops them at the gate:
And now the weary clients, wise too late,
Resign their hopes, and supperless retire,
To spend the paltry dole in herbs and fire.
Meanwhile, their patron sees his palace stored,
With every dainty earth and sea afford:
Stretch'd on th' unsocial couch, he rolls his eyes
O'er many an orb of matchless form and size,
Selects the fairest to receive his plate,
And, at one meal, devours a whole estate!—
But who, (for not a parasite is there,)
The selfishness of luxury can bear?
See! the lone glutton craves whole boars! a beast
Design'd, by nature, for the social feast!—
But speedy wrath o'ertakes him: Gorged with food,
And swoll'n and fretted by the peacock crude,
He seeks the bath, his feverish pulse to still,
Hence sudden death, and age without a Will!
Swift flies the tale, by witty spleen increast,
And furnishes a laugh at every feast;
The laugh, his friends not undelighted hear,
And, fallen from all their hopes, insult his bier.
With every dainty earth and sea afford:
Stretch'd on th' unsocial couch, he rolls his eyes
O'er many an orb of matchless form and size,
32
And, at one meal, devours a whole estate!—
But who, (for not a parasite is there,)
The selfishness of luxury can bear?
See! the lone glutton craves whole boars! a beast
Design'd, by nature, for the social feast!—
But speedy wrath o'ertakes him: Gorged with food,
And swoll'n and fretted by the peacock crude,
He seeks the bath, his feverish pulse to still,
Hence sudden death, and age without a Will!
33
And furnishes a laugh at every feast;
The laugh, his friends not undelighted hear,
And, fallen from all their hopes, insult his bier.
Nothing is left, nothing, for future times,
To add to the full catalogue of crimes;
The baffled sons must feel the same desires,
And act the same mad follies, as their sires.
Vice has attain'd its zenith:—Then set sail,
Spread all thy canvas, Satire, to the gale—
To add to the full catalogue of crimes;
The baffled sons must feel the same desires,
And act the same mad follies, as their sires.
Vice has attain'd its zenith:—Then set sail,
Spread all thy canvas, Satire, to the gale—
But where the powers so vast a theme requires?
Where the plain times, the simple, when our sires
Enjoy'd a freedom, which I dare not name,
And gave the publick sin to publick shame,
Heedless who smiled or frown'd?—Now, let a line,
But glance at Tigellinus, and you shine,
Chain'd to a stake, in pitchy robes, and light,
Lugubrous torch, the deepening shades of night;
Or, writhing on a hook, are dragg'd around,
And, with your mangled members, plough the ground.
Where the plain times, the simple, when our sires
34
And gave the publick sin to publick shame,
Heedless who smiled or frown'd?—Now, let a line,
But glance at Tigellinus, and you shine,
35
Lugubrous torch, the deepening shades of night;
36
And, with your mangled members, plough the ground.
37
What, shall the wretch of hard, unpitying soul,
Who, for three uncles, mix'd the deadly bowl,
Propp'd on his plumy couch, that all may see,
Tower by triumphant, and look down on me!
Who, for three uncles, mix'd the deadly bowl,
Propp'd on his plumy couch, that all may see,
Tower by triumphant, and look down on me!
38
Yes; let him look. He comes! avoid his way,
And on your lip your cautious finger lay;
Crowds of informers linger in his rear,
And, if a whisper pass, will overhear.
Bring, if you please, Æneas on the stage,
Fierce war, with the Rutulian prince, to wage;
Subdue the stern Achilles; and once more,
With Hylas! Hylas! fill the echoing shore;
Harmless, nay pleasant, shall the tale be found,
It bares no ulcer, and it probes no wound.
But when Lucilius, fired with virtuous rage,
Waves his keen falchion o'er a guilty age,
The conscious villain shudders at his sin,
And burning blushes speak the pangs within;
Cold drops of sweat from every member roll,
And growing terrours harrow up his soul:
Then tears of shame, and dire revenge succeed—
Say, have you ponder'd well the advent'rous deed?
Now—ere the trumpet sounds—your strength debate;
The soldier, once engaged, repents too late.
And on your lip your cautious finger lay;
Crowds of informers linger in his rear,
And, if a whisper pass, will overhear.
Bring, if you please, Æneas on the stage,
Fierce war, with the Rutulian prince, to wage;
39
With Hylas! Hylas! fill the echoing shore;
Harmless, nay pleasant, shall the tale be found,
It bares no ulcer, and it probes no wound.
But when Lucilius, fired with virtuous rage,
Waves his keen falchion o'er a guilty age,
The conscious villain shudders at his sin,
And burning blushes speak the pangs within;
Cold drops of sweat from every member roll,
And growing terrours harrow up his soul:
Then tears of shame, and dire revenge succeed—
Say, have you ponder'd well the advent'rous deed?
Now—ere the trumpet sounds—your strength debate;
The soldier, once engaged, repents too late.
40
J. Yet I must write: and since these iron times,
From living knaves preclude my angry rhymes,
I point my pen against the guilty dead,
And pour its gall on each obnoxious head.
From living knaves preclude my angry rhymes,
41
And pour its gall on each obnoxious head.
43
SATIRE II.
45
O for an eagle's wings! that I might fly
To the bleak regions of the polar sky,
When from their lips the cant of virtue falls,
Who preach like Curii, live like Bacchanals!
To the bleak regions of the polar sky,
When from their lips the cant of virtue falls,
Who preach like Curii, live like Bacchanals!
Devoid of knowledge, as of worth, they thrust,
In every nook, some philosophick bust;
For he, among them, counts himself most wise,
Who most old sages of the sculptor buys;
Sets most true Zenos, or Cleanthes' heads,
To guard the volumes which he—never reads!
In every nook, some philosophick bust;
For he, among them, counts himself most wise,
Who most old sages of the sculptor buys;
Sets most true Zenos, or Cleanthes' heads,
To guard the volumes which he—never reads!
46
Trust not to outward show: in every street,
Obscenity, in formal garb, we meet.—
And dost thou, hypocrite, our lusts arraign,
Thou! of Socratick catamites the drain!
Nature thy rough and shaggy limbs design'd,
To mark a stern inexorable mind;
But all's so smooth below!—“the surgeon smiles,
“And scarcely can, for laughter, lance the piles.”
Obscenity, in formal garb, we meet.—
And dost thou, hypocrite, our lusts arraign,
Thou! of Socratick catamites the drain!
47
To mark a stern inexorable mind;
But all's so smooth below!—“the surgeon smiles,
“And scarcely can, for laughter, lance the piles.”
Gravely demure, in wisdom's awful chair,
His beetling eyebrows longer than his hair,
In solemn state, the affected Stoick sits,
And drops his maxims on the crowd by fits!—
Yon Peribomius, whose emaciate air,
And tottering gait, his foul disease declare,
With patience I can view; he braves disgrace,
Nor skulks behind a sanctimonious face:
Him may his folly, or his fate excuse—
But whip me those, who Virtue's name abuse,
And, soil'd with all the vices of the times,
Thunder damnation on their neighbour's crimes!
His beetling eyebrows longer than his hair,
In solemn state, the affected Stoick sits,
And drops his maxims on the crowd by fits!—
Yon Peribomius, whose emaciate air,
And tottering gait, his foul disease declare,
With patience I can view; he braves disgrace,
Nor skulks behind a sanctimonious face:
Him may his folly, or his fate excuse—
But whip me those, who Virtue's name abuse,
And, soil'd with all the vices of the times,
Thunder damnation on their neighbour's crimes!
“Shrink at the pathick Sextus! Can I be,
Whate'er my guilt, more infamous than he?”
Varillus cries: Let those who tread aright,
Deride the halt, the swarthy Moor, the white;
This we might bear; but who his spleen could rein,
And hear the Gracchi of the mob complain?
Who would not mingle earth, and sea, and sky,
Should Milo murder, Verres theft, decry,
Clodius adultery? Catiline accuse
Cethegus, Lentulus, of factious views,
Or Sylla's pupils, soil'd with deeper guilt,
Arraign their master for the blood he spilt?
Yet have we seen,—O Shame, for ever fled!—
A barbarous judge start from the incestuous bed,
And, with stern voice, those rigid laws awake,
At which the Powers of War and Beauty quake,
What time his drugs were speeding to the tomb
The abortive fruit of Julia's teeming womb!—
Whate'er my guilt, more infamous than he?”
48
Deride the halt, the swarthy Moor, the white;
This we might bear; but who his spleen could rein,
And hear the Gracchi of the mob complain?
49
Should Milo murder, Verres theft, decry,
Clodius adultery? Catiline accuse
Cethegus, Lentulus, of factious views,
Or Sylla's pupils, soil'd with deeper guilt,
Arraign their master for the blood he spilt?
50
A barbarous judge start from the incestuous bed,
And, with stern voice, those rigid laws awake,
At which the Powers of War and Beauty quake,
51
The abortive fruit of Julia's teeming womb!—
And must not, now, the most debased and vile,
Hear these false Scauri with a scornful smile;
And, while the hypocrites their crimes arraign,
Turn, like the trampled asp, and bite again!
They must; they do:—When late, amidst the crowd,
A zealot of the sect exclaim'd aloud,
Where sleeps the Julian law? Laronia eyed
The scowling Stoicide, and taunting, cried,
“Blest be the age, that such a censor gave,
“The groaning world to chasten and to save!
“Blush, Rome, and from the sink of sin arise—
“Lo! a third Cato, sent thee from the skies!
“But—tell me yet—What shop the balm supplied,
“Which, from your brawny neck and bristly hide,
“Such potent fragrance breathes? nor let it shame
“Your Gravity, to shew the vender's name.
Hear these false Scauri with a scornful smile;
And, while the hypocrites their crimes arraign,
Turn, like the trampled asp, and bite again!
They must; they do:—When late, amidst the crowd,
A zealot of the sect exclaim'd aloud,
Where sleeps the Julian law? Laronia eyed
The scowling Stoicide, and taunting, cried,
52
“The groaning world to chasten and to save!
“Blush, Rome, and from the sink of sin arise—
“Lo! a third Cato, sent thee from the skies!
“But—tell me yet—What shop the balm supplied,
“Which, from your brawny neck and bristly hide,
“Such potent fragrance breathes? nor let it shame
“Your Gravity, to shew the vender's name.
“If ancient laws must reassume their course,
“Give the Scantinian first its proper force.
“Look, look at home; the ways of men explore—
“Our faults, you say, are many; theirs are more:
“Yet safe from censure, as from fear, they stand,
“A firm, compact, impenetrable band!
“We know your monstrous leagues; but can you find
“One proof in us, of this detested kind?
“Pure days and nights with Cluvia, Flora led,
“And Tedia chastely shared Catulla's bed;
“While Hippo's brutal itch both sexes tried,
“And proved, by turns, the bridegroom and the bride!
“We ne'er, with mis-spent zeal, explore the laws,
“We throng no forum, and we plead no cause:
“Some few, perhaps, may wrestle, some be fed,
“To aid their breath, with strong athletick bread.
“Ye fling the shuttle with a female grace,
“And spin more subtly than Arachne's race;
“Cower'd o'er your labour, like the squalid jade,
“That plies the distaff, to a block belay'd.
“Give the Scantinian first its proper force.
“Look, look at home; the ways of men explore—
“Our faults, you say, are many; theirs are more:
“Yet safe from censure, as from fear, they stand,
“A firm, compact, impenetrable band!
53
“One proof in us, of this detested kind?
“Pure days and nights with Cluvia, Flora led,
“And Tedia chastely shared Catulla's bed;
“While Hippo's brutal itch both sexes tried,
“And proved, by turns, the bridegroom and the bride!
“We ne'er, with mis-spent zeal, explore the laws,
“We throng no forum, and we plead no cause:
“Some few, perhaps, may wrestle, some be fed,
“To aid their breath, with strong athletick bread.
“Ye fling the shuttle with a female grace,
“And spin more subtly than Arachne's race;
“Cower'd o'er your labour, like the squalid jade,
“That plies the distaff, to a block belay'd.
54
“Why Hister's freedman heir'd his wealth, and why
“His consort, while he lived, was bribed so high,
“I spare to tell; the wife that, sway'd by gain,
“Can make a third in bed, and ne'er complain,
“Must ever thrive: on secrets jewels wait:
“Then wed, my girls; be silent, and—be great!
“His consort, while he lived, was bribed so high,
“I spare to tell; the wife that, sway'd by gain,
“Can make a third in bed, and ne'er complain,
“Must ever thrive: on secrets jewels wait:
“Then wed, my girls; be silent, and—be great!
“Yet these are they, who, fierce in Virtue's cause,
“Consign our venial frailties to the laws;
“And, while with partial aim their censure moves,
“Acquit the vultures, and condemn the doves!”
She paused: the unmanly zealots felt the sway
Of conscious truth, and slunk, abash'd, away.
“Consign our venial frailties to the laws;
“And, while with partial aim their censure moves,
“Acquit the vultures, and condemn the doves!”
She paused: the unmanly zealots felt the sway
Of conscious truth, and slunk, abash'd, away.
But how shall vice be shamed, when, loosely drest,
In the light texture of a cobweb vest,
You, Creticus, amid the indignant crowd,
At Procla and Pollinea rail aloud?—
These, he rejoins, are “daughters of the game.”
Strike, then;—yet know, though lost to honest fame,
The wantons would reject a veil so thin,
And blush, while suffering, to display their skin.
“But Sirius glows; I burn.” Then, quit your dress;
'Twill thus be madness, and the scandal less.
O! could our legions, with fresh laurels crown'd,
And smarting still from many a glorious wound,
Our rustick mountaineers, (the plough laid by,
For city cares,) a judge so drest descry,
What thoughts would rise? Lo! robes, which misbecome
A witness, deck the awful bench of Rome;
And Creticus, stern champion of the laws,
Gleams through the tissue of pellucid gauze!
In the light texture of a cobweb vest,
You, Creticus, amid the indignant crowd,
At Procla and Pollinea rail aloud?—
55
Strike, then;—yet know, though lost to honest fame,
56
And blush, while suffering, to display their skin.
57
'Twill thus be madness, and the scandal less.
O! could our legions, with fresh laurels crown'd,
And smarting still from many a glorious wound,
Our rustick mountaineers, (the plough laid by,
For city cares,) a judge so drest descry,
What thoughts would rise? Lo! robes, which misbecome
A witness, deck the awful bench of Rome;
And Creticus, stern champion of the laws,
Gleams through the tissue of pellucid gauze!
Anon from you, as from its fountain head,
Wide and more wide the flagrant pest will spread;
As swine take measles from distemper'd swine,
And one infected grape pollutes the vine.
Yes, Rome shall see you, lewdlier clad, erewhile,
(For none become, at once, completely vile,)
In some opprobrious den of shame, combined
With that vile herd, the horrour of their kind,
Who twine gay fillets round the forehead; deck
With strings of orient pearl, the breast and neck;
Sooth the Good Goddess with large bowls of wine,
And the soft belly of a pregnant swine.—
No female, foul perversion! dares appear,
For males, and males alone, officiate here;
“Far hence,” they cry, “unholy sex retire,
“Our purer rites no lowing horn require!”
—At Athens thus, involv'd in thickest gloom,
Cotytto's priests her secret torch illume;
And to such orgies give the lustful night,
That e'en Cotytto sickens at the sight.
Wide and more wide the flagrant pest will spread;
As swine take measles from distemper'd swine,
And one infected grape pollutes the vine.
58
(For none become, at once, completely vile,)
59
With that vile herd, the horrour of their kind,
60
With strings of orient pearl, the breast and neck;
Sooth the Good Goddess with large bowls of wine,
And the soft belly of a pregnant swine.—
No female, foul perversion! dares appear,
For males, and males alone, officiate here;
“Far hence,” they cry, “unholy sex retire,
“Our purer rites no lowing horn require!”
61
Cotytto's priests her secret torch illume;
And to such orgies give the lustful night,
That e'en Cotytto sickens at the sight.
With tiring-pins, these spread the sooty dye,
Arch the full brow, and tinge the trembling eye;
Those bind their flowing locks in cawls of gold,
Swill from huge glasses of immodest mould,
Light, filmy robes of azure net-work wear;
And, by their Juno, hark! the attendants swear!
This grasps a mirror—pathick Otho's boast,
(Auruncan Actor's spoil,) where, while his host,
With shouts, the signal of the fight required,
He view'd his mailed form; view'd, and admired!
Lo, a new subject for the historick page,
A mirror, midst the arms of civil rage!—
To murder Galba, was—a general's part!
A stern republican's—to dress with art!
The empire of the world in arms to seek,
And spread—a softening poultice o'er the cheek!
Preposterous vanity! and never seen,
Or in the Assyrian or Egyptian queen,
Though one in arms near old Euphrates stood,
And one the doubtful fight at Actium view'd.
Arch the full brow, and tinge the trembling eye;
62
Swill from huge glasses of immodest mould,
63
And, by their Juno, hark! the attendants swear!
64
(Auruncan Actor's spoil,) where, while his host,
65
He view'd his mailed form; view'd, and admired!
Lo, a new subject for the historick page,
A mirror, midst the arms of civil rage!—
To murder Galba, was—a general's part!
A stern republican's—to dress with art!
66
And spread—a softening poultice o'er the cheek!
Preposterous vanity! and never seen,
Or in the Assyrian or Egyptian queen,
Though one in arms near old Euphrates stood,
And one the doubtful fight at Actium view'd.
No reverence for the table here is found;
But brutal mirth, and jests obscene go round:
They lisp, they squeal, and the rank language use,
Of Cybele's lewd votaries, or the stews:
Some wild enthusiast, silver'd o'er with age,
Yet fired by lust's ungovernable rage,
Of most insatiate throat, is named the priest,
And sits fit umpire of th' unhallow'd feast;
Why pause they here? Phrygians long since in heart,
Whence this delay, to lop a useless part?
But brutal mirth, and jests obscene go round:
67
Of Cybele's lewd votaries, or the stews:
68
Yet fired by lust's ungovernable rage,
Of most insatiate throat, is named the priest,
And sits fit umpire of th' unhallow'd feast;
Why pause they here? Phrygians long since in heart,
Whence this delay, to lop a useless part?
Gracchus admired a cornet or a fife,
And, with an ample dower, became his wife.
The contract sign'd, the wonted bliss implored,
A costly supper decks the nuptial board;
And the new bride, amid the wondering room,
Lies in the bosom of the accursed groom!—
Say now, ye Nobles, claims this monstrous deed,
The Aruspex or the Censor? Can we need
More expiations?—sacrifices?—vows?
For calving women, or for lambing cows?
And, with an ample dower, became his wife.
69
A costly supper decks the nuptial board;
And the new bride, amid the wondering room,
Lies in the bosom of the accursed groom!—
Say now, ye Nobles, claims this monstrous deed,
The Aruspex or the Censor? Can we need
More expiations?—sacrifices?—vows?
For calving women, or for lambing cows?
The lusty priest, whose limbs dissolv'd with heat,
What time he danced beneath the Ancilia's weight,
Now flings the ensigns of his god aside,
And takes the stole and flammea of a bride!
What time he danced beneath the Ancilia's weight,
70
And takes the stole and flammea of a bride!
71
Father of Rome! from what pernicious clime,
Did Latian swains derive so foul a crime?
Tell where the poisonous nettle first arose,
Whose baneful juice through all thy offspring flows.
Behold! a man for rank and power renown'd,
Marries a man!—and yet, with thundering sound,
Thy brazen helmet shakes not! earth yet stands,
Fix'd on its base, nor feels thy wrathful hands!
Is thy arm shorten'd? Raise to Jove thy prayer—
But Rome no longer knows thy guardian care;
Quit then the charge to some severer Power,
Of strength to punish in the obnoxious hour.
“To-morrow, with the dawn, I must attend
“In yonder valley!” Why so soon? “A friend
“Takes him a husband there, and bids a few”—
Few, yet: but wait awhile; and we shall view
Such contracts form'd without or shame or fear,
And enter'd on the records of the year!
Did Latian swains derive so foul a crime?
Tell where the poisonous nettle first arose,
Whose baneful juice through all thy offspring flows.
Behold! a man for rank and power renown'd,
Marries a man!—and yet, with thundering sound,
Thy brazen helmet shakes not! earth yet stands,
Fix'd on its base, nor feels thy wrathful hands!
Is thy arm shorten'd? Raise to Jove thy prayer—
But Rome no longer knows thy guardian care;
Quit then the charge to some severer Power,
Of strength to punish in the obnoxious hour.
“To-morrow, with the dawn, I must attend
“In yonder valley!” Why so soon? “A friend
“Takes him a husband there, and bids a few”—
Few, yet: but wait awhile; and we shall view
Such contracts form'd without or shame or fear,
And enter'd on the records of the year!
Meanwhile, one pang these passive monsters find,
One ceaseless pang, that preys upon the mind;
They cannot shift their sex, and pregnant prove
With the dear pledges of a husband's love:
Wisely confined by Nature's steady plan,
Which counteracts the wild desires of man.
For them, no drugs prolifick powers retain,
And the Luperci strike their palms in vain.
One ceaseless pang, that preys upon the mind;
72
With the dear pledges of a husband's love:
Wisely confined by Nature's steady plan,
Which counteracts the wild desires of man.
For them, no drugs prolifick powers retain,
And the Luperci strike their palms in vain.
73
And yet these prodigies of vice appear,
Less monstrous, Gracchus, than the net and spear,
With which equipp'd, you urged th' unequal fight,
And fled, dishonour'd, in a nation's sight:
Though nobler far than each illustrious name,
That throng'd the pit, (spectators of your shame,)
Nay, than the Prætor, who the Show supplied,
At which your base dexterity was tried.
Less monstrous, Gracchus, than the net and spear,
With which equipp'd, you urged th' unequal fight,
And fled, dishonour'd, in a nation's sight:
74
That throng'd the pit, (spectators of your shame,)
Nay, than the Prætor, who the Show supplied,
At which your base dexterity was tried.
That angry Justice form'd a dreadful hell,
That ghosts in subterraneous regions dwell,
That hateful Styx his sable current rolls,
And Charon ferries o'er unbodied souls,
Are now as tales or idle fables prized;
By children question'd, and by men despised:
Yet these, do thou believe. What thoughts, declare,
Ye Scipios, once the thunderbolts of war!
Fabricius, Curius, great Camillus' ghost!
Ye valiant Fabii, in yourselves an host!
Ye dauntless youths at fatal Cannæ slain!
Spirits of many a brave and bloody plain!
What thoughts are yours, whene'er, with feet unblest,
An unbelieving shade invades your rest?
—Ye fly, to expiate the blasting view;
Fling on the pine-tree torch the sulphur blue,
And from the dripping bay, dash round the lustral dew.
That ghosts in subterraneous regions dwell,
That hateful Styx his sable current rolls,
And Charon ferries o'er unbodied souls,
Are now as tales or idle fables prized;
By children question'd, and by men despised:
Yet these, do thou believe. What thoughts, declare,
Ye Scipios, once the thunderbolts of war!
Fabricius, Curius, great Camillus' ghost!
Ye valiant Fabii, in yourselves an host!
75
Spirits of many a brave and bloody plain!
What thoughts are yours, whene'er, with feet unblest,
An unbelieving shade invades your rest?
—Ye fly, to expiate the blasting view;
Fling on the pine-tree torch the sulphur blue,
And from the dripping bay, dash round the lustral dew.
76
And yet—to these abodes we all must come,
Believe, or not, these are our final home;
Though now Iërne tremble at our sway,
And Britain, boastful of her length of day;
Though the blue Orcades receive our chain,
And isles that slumber in the frozen main.
Believe, or not, these are our final home;
77
And Britain, boastful of her length of day;
78
And isles that slumber in the frozen main.
79
But why of conquest boast? the conquer'd climes
Are free, O Rome, from thy detested crimes.
No;—one Armenian all our youth outgoes,
And, with curs'd fires, for a base tribune glows.
True: such thy power, Example! He was brought
An hostage hither, and the infection caught.—
O, bid the striplings flee! for sensual art,
Here lurks to snare the unsuspecting heart;
Then farewell, simple nature!—Pleased no more,
With knives, whips, bridles, (all they prized of yore,)
Thus taught, and thus debauch'd, they hasten home,
To spread the morals of Imperial Rome!
Are free, O Rome, from thy detested crimes.
80
And, with curs'd fires, for a base tribune glows.
True: such thy power, Example! He was brought
An hostage hither, and the infection caught.—
O, bid the striplings flee! for sensual art,
Here lurks to snare the unsuspecting heart;
Then farewell, simple nature!—Pleased no more,
With knives, whips, bridles, (all they prized of yore,)
81
To spread the morals of Imperial Rome!
83
SATIRE III.
85
Grieved though I am to see the man depart,
Who long has shared, and still must share my heart,
Yet (when I call my better judgment home)
I praise his purpose; to retire from Rome,
And give, on Cumæ's solitary coast,
The Sibyl—one inhabitant to boast!
Who long has shared, and still must share my heart,
Yet (when I call my better judgment home)
I praise his purpose; to retire from Rome,
And give, on Cumæ's solitary coast,
The Sibyl—one inhabitant to boast!
86
Full on the road to Baiæ, Cumæ lies,
And many a sweet retreat her shore supplies—
Though I prefer even Prochyta's bare strand,
To the Suburra:—for, what desert land,
What wild, uncultured spot, can more affright,
Than fires, wide blazing through the gloom of night,
Houses, with ceaseless ruin, thundering down,
And all the horrours of this hateful town?
Where poets, while the dogstar glows, rehearse,
To gasping multitudes, their barbarous verse!
And many a sweet retreat her shore supplies—
Though I prefer even Prochyta's bare strand,
To the Suburra:—for, what desert land,
What wild, uncultured spot, can more affright,
Than fires, wide blazing through the gloom of night,
Houses, with ceaseless ruin, thundering down,
And all the horrours of this hateful town?
Where poets, while the dogstar glows, rehearse,
To gasping multitudes, their barbarous verse!
87
Now had my friend, impatient to depart,
Consign'd his little all to one poor cart:
For this, without the town, he chose to wait;
But stopp'd a moment at the Conduit-gate.—
Here Numa erst his nightly visits paid,
And held high converse with the Egerian maid:
Now the once-hallow'd fountain, grove, and fane,
Are let to Jews, a wretched, wandering train,
Whose furniture's, a basket fill'd with hay,—
For every tree is forced a tax to pay;
And while the heaven-born Nine in exile rove,
The beggar rents their consecrated grove!
Consign'd his little all to one poor cart:
For this, without the town, he chose to wait;
But stopp'd a moment at the Conduit-gate.—
Here Numa erst his nightly visits paid,
And held high converse with the Egerian maid:
Now the once-hallow'd fountain, grove, and fane,
Are let to Jews, a wretched, wandering train,
88
For every tree is forced a tax to pay;
89
The beggar rents their consecrated grove!
Thence slowly winding down the vale, we view
The Egerian grots—ah, how unlike the true!
Nymph of the Spring! more honour'd hadst thou been,
If, free from art, an edge of living green,
Thy bubbling fount had circumscribed alone,
And marble ne'er profaned the native stone.
The Egerian grots—ah, how unlike the true!
Nymph of the Spring! more honour'd hadst thou been,
If, free from art, an edge of living green,
Thy bubbling fount had circumscribed alone,
And marble ne'er profaned the native stone.
Umbritius here his sullen silence broke,
And turn'd on Rome, indignant, as he spoke.
Since virtue droops, he cried, without regard,
And honest toil scarce hopes a poor reward;
Since every morrow sees my means decay,
And still makes less the little of to-day;
I go, where Dædalus, as poets sing,
First check'd his flight, and closed his weary wing:
While something yet of health and strength remains,
And yet no staff my faultering step sustains;
While few gray hairs upon my head are seen,
And my old age is vigorous still, and green.
Here then, I bid my much loved home farewell—
Ah, mine no more!—there let Arturius dwell,
And Catulus; knaves, who, in truth's despite,
Can white to black transform, and black to white,
Build temples, furnish funerals, auctions hold,
Farm rivers, ports, and scour the drains for gold!
And turn'd on Rome, indignant, as he spoke.
90
And honest toil scarce hopes a poor reward;
Since every morrow sees my means decay,
And still makes less the little of to-day;
I go, where Dædalus, as poets sing,
First check'd his flight, and closed his weary wing:
While something yet of health and strength remains,
And yet no staff my faultering step sustains;
While few gray hairs upon my head are seen,
And my old age is vigorous still, and green.
Here then, I bid my much loved home farewell—
Ah, mine no more!—there let Arturius dwell,
And Catulus; knaves, who, in truth's despite,
Can white to black transform, and black to white,
Build temples, furnish funerals, auctions hold,
Farm rivers, ports, and scour the drains for gold!
91
Once they were trumpeters, and always found,
With strolling fencers, in their annual round,
While their puff'd cheeks, which every village knew,
Call'd to “high feats of arms,” the rustick crew:
Now they give Shows themselves; and, at the will,
Of the base rabble, raise the sign—to kill,
Ambitious of their voice: then turn, once more,
To their vile gains, and farm the common shore!
And why not every thing?—since Fortune throws
Her more peculiar smiles on such as those,
Whene'er, to wanton merriment inclined,
She lifts to thrones, the dregs of human kind!
With strolling fencers, in their annual round,
While their puff'd cheeks, which every village knew,
Call'd to “high feats of arms,” the rustick crew:
Now they give Shows themselves; and, at the will,
Of the base rabble, raise the sign—to kill,
92
To their vile gains, and farm the common shore!
93
Her more peculiar smiles on such as those,
94
She lifts to thrones, the dregs of human kind!
But why, my friend, should I at Rome remain?
I cannot teach my stubborn lips to feign;
Nor, when I hear a great man's verses, smile,
And beg a copy, if I think them vile.
A sublunary wight, I have no skill
To read the stars; I neither can, nor will,
Presage a father's death; I never pried,
In toads, for poison, nor—in aught beside.
Others may aid the adulterer's vile design,
And bear the insidious gift, and melting line,
Seduction's agents! I such deeds detest;
And, honest, let no thief partake my breast.
For this, without a friend, the world I quit;
A palsied limb, for every use unfit.
I cannot teach my stubborn lips to feign;
95
And beg a copy, if I think them vile.
A sublunary wight, I have no skill
To read the stars; I neither can, nor will,
96
In toads, for poison, nor—in aught beside.
97
And bear the insidious gift, and melting line,
Seduction's agents! I such deeds detest;
And, honest, let no thief partake my breast.
For this, without a friend, the world I quit;
A palsied limb, for every use unfit.
Who now is loved, but he whose conscious breast,
Swells with dark deeds, still, still to be supprest?
He pays, he owes, thee nothing, (strictly just,)
Who gives an honest secret to thy trust;
But, a dishonest!—there, he feels thy power,
And buys thy friendship high from hour to hour.
But let not all the wealth which Tagus pours
In Ocean's lap, not all his glittering stores,
Be deem'd a bribe, sufficient to requite
The loss of peace by day, of sleep by night:—
O take not, take not, what thy soul rejects,
Nor sell the faith, which he, who buys, suspects!
Swells with dark deeds, still, still to be supprest?
He pays, he owes, thee nothing, (strictly just,)
Who gives an honest secret to thy trust;
But, a dishonest!—there, he feels thy power,
And buys thy friendship high from hour to hour.
But let not all the wealth which Tagus pours
In Ocean's lap, not all his glittering stores,
Be deem'd a bribe, sufficient to requite
The loss of peace by day, of sleep by night:—
O take not, take not, what thy soul rejects,
Nor sell the faith, which he, who buys, suspects!
The nation, by the great, admired, carest,
And hated, shunn'd by Me, above the rest,
No longer, now, restrain'd by wounded pride,
I haste to shew, (nor thou my warmth deride,)
I cannot rule my spleen, and calmly see,
A grecian capital, in italy!
Grecian? O, no! with this vast sewer compared,
The dregs of Greece are scarcely worth regard:
Long since, the stream that wanton Syria laves,
Has disembogued its filth in Tiber's waves,
Its language, arts; o'erwhelm'd us with the scum
Of Antioch's streets, its minstrel, harp, and drum.
Hie to the Circus! ye who pant to prove
A barbarous mistress, an outlandish love;
Hie to the Circus! there, in crowds they stand,
Tires on their head, and timbrels in their hand.
And hated, shunn'd by Me, above the rest,
No longer, now, restrain'd by wounded pride,
I haste to shew, (nor thou my warmth deride,)
98
A grecian capital, in italy!
99
The dregs of Greece are scarcely worth regard:
Long since, the stream that wanton Syria laves,
Has disembogued its filth in Tiber's waves,
Its language, arts; o'erwhelm'd us with the scum
Of Antioch's streets, its minstrel, harp, and drum.
Hie to the Circus! ye who pant to prove
A barbarous mistress, an outlandish love;
Hie to the Circus! there, in crowds they stand,
Tires on their head, and timbrels in their hand.
Thy rustick, Mars, the trechedipna wears,
And on his breast, smear'd with ceroma, bears
A paltry prize, well-pleased; while every land,
Sicyon, and Amydos, and Alaband,
Tralles, and Samos, and a thousand more,
Thrive on his indolence, and daily pour
Their starving myriads forth: hither they come,
And batten on the genial soil of Rome;
Minions, then lords, of every princely dome!
A flattering, cringing, treacherous, artful race,
Of torrent tongue, and never-blushing face;
A Protean tribe, one knows not what to call,
Which shifts to every form, and shines in all:
Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician,
Rope-dancer, conjuror, fidler, and physician,
All trades his own, your hungry Greekling counts;
And bid him mount the sky,—the sky he mounts!
You smile—was't a barbarian, then, that flew?
No, 'twas a Greek; 'twas an Athenian, too!
—Bear with their state who will: for I disdain,
To feed their upstart pride, or swell their train:
Slaves, that in Syrian lighters stow'd, so late,
With figs and prunes, (an inauspicious freight,)
Already see their faith preferr'd to mine,
And sit above me! and before me sign!—
That on the Aventine I first drew air,
And, from the womb, was nurs'd on Sabine fare,
Avails me not! our birthright now is lost,
And all our privilege, an empty boast!
And on his breast, smear'd with ceroma, bears
100
Sicyon, and Amydos, and Alaband,
Tralles, and Samos, and a thousand more,
Thrive on his indolence, and daily pour
101
And batten on the genial soil of Rome;
Minions, then lords, of every princely dome!
A flattering, cringing, treacherous, artful race,
Of torrent tongue, and never-blushing face;
A Protean tribe, one knows not what to call,
Which shifts to every form, and shines in all:
Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician,
Rope-dancer, conjuror, fidler, and physician,
All trades his own, your hungry Greekling counts;
And bid him mount the sky,—the sky he mounts!
You smile—was't a barbarian, then, that flew?
No, 'twas a Greek; 'twas an Athenian, too!
—Bear with their state who will: for I disdain,
To feed their upstart pride, or swell their train:
Slaves, that in Syrian lighters stow'd, so late,
With figs and prunes, (an inauspicious freight,)
Already see their faith preferr'd to mine,
And sit above me! and before me sign!—
That on the Aventine I first drew air,
And, from the womb, was nurs'd on Sabine fare,
Avails me not! our birthright now is lost,
And all our privilege, an empty boast!
For lo! where vers'd in every soothing art,
The wily Greek assails his patron's heart,
Finds in each dull harangue an air, a grace,
And all Adonis in a Gorgon face;
Admires the voice that grates upon the ear,
Like the shrill scream of amorous chanticleer;
And equals the crane neck, and narrow chest,
To Hercules, when, straining to his breast
The giant son of Earth, his every vein
Swells with the toil, and more than mortal pain.
The wily Greek assails his patron's heart,
Finds in each dull harangue an air, a grace,
And all Adonis in a Gorgon face;
102
Like the shrill scream of amorous chanticleer;
And equals the crane neck, and narrow chest,
To Hercules, when, straining to his breast
The giant son of Earth, his every vein
Swells with the toil, and more than mortal pain.
We too can cringe as low, and praise as warm,
But flattery from the Greeks alone can charm.
See! they step forth, and figure to the life,
The naked nymph, the mistress, or the wife,
So just, you view the very woman there,
And fancy all beneath the girdle bare!
No longer now, the favourites of the stage
Boast their exclusive power to charm the age;
The happy art with them a nation shares,
Greece is a theatre, where all are players.
For lo! their patron smiles,—they burst with mirth;
He weeps,—they droop, the saddest souls on earth;
He calls for fire,—they court the mantle's heat;
'Tis warm, he cries,—and they dissolve in sweat.
Ill-match'd!—secure of victory they start,
Who, taught from youth to play a borrow'd part,
Can, with a glance, the rising passion trace,
And mould their own, to suit their patron's face;
At deeds of shame their hands admiring raise,
And mad debauchery's worst excesses praise.
But flattery from the Greeks alone can charm.
See! they step forth, and figure to the life,
The naked nymph, the mistress, or the wife,
So just, you view the very woman there,
And fancy all beneath the girdle bare!
No longer now, the favourites of the stage
Boast their exclusive power to charm the age;
The happy art with them a nation shares,
Greece is a theatre, where all are players.
For lo! their patron smiles,—they burst with mirth;
He weeps,—they droop, the saddest souls on earth;
103
'Tis warm, he cries,—and they dissolve in sweat.
Ill-match'd!—secure of victory they start,
Who, taught from youth to play a borrow'd part,
Can, with a glance, the rising passion trace,
And mould their own, to suit their patron's face;
At deeds of shame their hands admiring raise,
And mad debauchery's worst excesses praise.
Besides, no mound their raging lust restrains,
All ties it breaks, all sanctity profanes;
Wife, virgin-daughter, son unstain'd before,—
And, where these fail, they tempt the grandam hoar:
They notice every word, haunt every ear,
Your secrets learn, and fix you theirs from fear.
All ties it breaks, all sanctity profanes;
Wife, virgin-daughter, son unstain'd before,—
And, where these fail, they tempt the grandam hoar:
104
Your secrets learn, and fix you theirs from fear.
Turn to their schools:—yon gray professor see,
Smear'd with the sanguine stains of perfidy!
That tutor most accurs'd his pupil sold!
That Stoick sacrificed his friend to gold!
A true born Grecian! litter'd on the coast,
Where the Gorgonian hack a pinion lost.
Smear'd with the sanguine stains of perfidy!
That tutor most accurs'd his pupil sold!
That Stoick sacrificed his friend to gold!
A true born Grecian! litter'd on the coast,
Where the Gorgonian hack a pinion lost.
105
Hence, Romans, hence! no place for you remains,
Where Diphilus, where Erimanthus reigns;
Miscreants, who, faithful to their native art,
Admit no rival in a patron's heart:—
For let them fasten on his easy ear,
And drop one hint, one secret slander there,
Suck'd from their country's venom, or their own,
That instant they possess the man alone;
While we are spurn'd, contemptuous, from the door,
Our long, long slavery, thought upon no more.
'Tis but a client lost!—and that, we find,
Sits wondrous lightly on a patron's mind:
And (not to flatter our poor pride, my friend)
What merit with the great can we pretend,
Though, in our duty, we prevent the day,
And, darkling run our humble court to pay;
When the brisk prætor, long before, is gone,
And hastening, with stern voice, his lictors on,
Lest his colleagues o'erpass him in the street,
And first the rich and childless matrons greet,
Alba and Modia, who impatient wait,
And think the morning homage comes too late!
Where Diphilus, where Erimanthus reigns;
Miscreants, who, faithful to their native art,
Admit no rival in a patron's heart:—
For let them fasten on his easy ear,
And drop one hint, one secret slander there,
Suck'd from their country's venom, or their own,
That instant they possess the man alone;
106
Our long, long slavery, thought upon no more.
'Tis but a client lost!—and that, we find,
Sits wondrous lightly on a patron's mind:
And (not to flatter our poor pride, my friend)
What merit with the great can we pretend,
Though, in our duty, we prevent the day,
And, darkling run our humble court to pay;
When the brisk prætor, long before, is gone,
And hastening, with stern voice, his lictors on,
Lest his colleagues o'erpass him in the street,
And first the rich and childless matrons greet,
Alba and Modia, who impatient wait,
And think the morning homage comes too late!
107
Here freeborn youths wait the rich servant's call,
And, if they walk beside him, yield the wall;
And wherefore? this, forsooth, can fling away,
On one voluptuous night, a legion's pay,
While those, when some Calvina, sweeping by,
Inflames the fancy, check their roving eye,
And frugal of their scanty means, forbear,
To tempt the wanton from her splendid chair.
And, if they walk beside him, yield the wall;
And wherefore? this, forsooth, can fling away,
On one voluptuous night, a legion's pay,
While those, when some Calvina, sweeping by,
Inflames the fancy, check their roving eye,
And frugal of their scanty means, forbear,
To tempt the wanton from her splendid chair.
Produce, at Rome, your witness: let him boast,
The sanctity of Berecynthia's host,
Of Numa, or of Him, whose zeal divine
Snatch'd pale Minerva from her blazing shrine:
To search his rent-roll, first the bench prepares,
His honesty employs their latest cares:
What table does he keep, what slaves maintain,
And what, they ask, and where, is his domain?
These weighty matters known, his faith they rate,
And square his probity to his estate.
The poor may swear by all the immortal Powers,
By the Great Gods of Samothrace, and ours,
His oaths are false, they cry; he scoffs at heaven,
And all its thunders; scoffs,—and is forgiven!
Add, that the wretch is still the theme of scorn,
If the soil'd cloak be patch'd, the gown o'erworn;
If, through the bursting shoe, the foot be seen,
Or the coarse seam tell where the rent has been.
O Poverty, thy thousand ills combined,
Sink not so deep into the generous mind,
As the contempt and laughter of mankind!
The sanctity of Berecynthia's host,
108
Snatch'd pale Minerva from her blazing shrine:
To search his rent-roll, first the bench prepares,
His honesty employs their latest cares:
What table does he keep, what slaves maintain,
And what, they ask, and where, is his domain?
These weighty matters known, his faith they rate,
And square his probity to his estate.
The poor may swear by all the immortal Powers,
By the Great Gods of Samothrace, and ours,
109
And all its thunders; scoffs,—and is forgiven!
Add, that the wretch is still the theme of scorn,
If the soil'd cloak be patch'd, the gown o'erworn;
If, through the bursting shoe, the foot be seen,
Or the coarse seam tell where the rent has been.
O Poverty, thy thousand ills combined,
Sink not so deep into the generous mind,
As the contempt and laughter of mankind!
“Up! up! these cushion'd benches,” Lectius cries,
“Befit not your estates: for shame! arise.”
For “shame!”—but you say well: the pander's heir,
The spawn of bulks and stews, is seated there;
The cry'r's spruce son, fresh from the fencer's school,
And prompt the taste to settle and to rule.—
So Otho fix'd it, whose preposterous pride,
First dared to chase us from their Honours' side.
“Befit not your estates: for shame! arise.”
110
The spawn of bulks and stews, is seated there;
111
And prompt the taste to settle and to rule.—
So Otho fix'd it, whose preposterous pride,
First dared to chase us from their Honours' side.
In these curs'd walls, devote alone to gain,
When do the poor a wealthy wife obtain?
When are they named in wills? when call'd to share
The Ædile's council, and assist the chair?—
Long since should they have ris'n, thus slighted, spurn'd,
And left their home, but—not to have return'd!
When do the poor a wealthy wife obtain?
When are they named in wills? when call'd to share
The Ædile's council, and assist the chair?—
112
And left their home, but—not to have return'd!
Depress'd by indigence, the good and wise,
In every clime, by painful efforts rise;
Here, by more painful still, where scanty cheer,
Poor lodging, mean attendance,—all is dear.
In earthen ware he scorns, at Rome, to eat,
Who, call'd abruptly to the Marsian's seat,
From such, well pleased, would take his simple food,
Nor blush to wear the cheap Venetian hood.
In every clime, by painful efforts rise;
Here, by more painful still, where scanty cheer,
Poor lodging, mean attendance,—all is dear.
In earthen ware he scorns, at Rome, to eat,
Who, call'd abruptly to the Marsian's seat,
113
Nor blush to wear the cheap Venetian hood.
There's many a part of Italy, 'tis said,
Where none assume the toga, but the dead:
There, when the toil forgone and annual play,
Mark, from the rest, some high and solemn day,
To theatres of turf the rusticks throng,
Charm'd with the farce which charm'd their sires so long;
While the pale infant, of the mask in dread,
Hides, in his mother's breast, his little head.
No modes of dress high birth distinguish there;
All ranks, all orders, the same habit wear,
And the dread Ædile's dignity is known,
O sacred badge! by his white vest alone.
But here, beyond our power, array'd we go,
In all the gay varieties of show;
And when our purse supplies the charge no more,
Borrow, unblushing, from our neighbour's store:
Such is the reigning vice; and so we flaunt,
Proud in distress, and prodigal in want!
Briefly, my friend, here all are slaves to gold,
And words, and smiles, and every thing is sold.
What will you give for Cossus' nod? how high,
The silent notice of Veiento buy?
—One favourite youth is shaved, another shorn;
And, while to Jove the precious spoil is borne,
Clients are tax'd for offerings, and, (yet more,
To gall their patience,) from their little store,
Constrain'd to swell the minion's ample hoard,
And bribe the page, for leave to bribe his lord.
Where none assume the toga, but the dead:
114
Mark, from the rest, some high and solemn day,
To theatres of turf the rusticks throng,
Charm'd with the farce which charm'd their sires so long;
115
Hides, in his mother's breast, his little head.
No modes of dress high birth distinguish there;
All ranks, all orders, the same habit wear,
116
O sacred badge! by his white vest alone.
But here, beyond our power, array'd we go,
In all the gay varieties of show;
And when our purse supplies the charge no more,
Borrow, unblushing, from our neighbour's store:
117
Proud in distress, and prodigal in want!
Briefly, my friend, here all are slaves to gold,
And words, and smiles, and every thing is sold.
What will you give for Cossus' nod? how high,
The silent notice of Veiento buy?
—One favourite youth is shaved, another shorn;
And, while to Jove the precious spoil is borne,
118
To gall their patience,) from their little store,
Constrain'd to swell the minion's ample hoard,
And bribe the page, for leave to bribe his lord.
Who fears the crash of houses in retreat?
At simple Gabii, bleak Præneste's seat,
Volsinium's craggy heights, embower'd in wood,
Or Tibur, beetling o'er prone Anio's flood?
While half the city here by shores is staid,
And feeble cramps, that lend a treacherous aid:
For thus the stewards patch the riven wall,
Thus prop the mansion, tottering to its fall;
Then bid the tenant court secure repose,
While the pile nods to every blast that blows.
At simple Gabii, bleak Præneste's seat,
Volsinium's craggy heights, embower'd in wood,
Or Tibur, beetling o'er prone Anio's flood?
While half the city here by shores is staid,
And feeble cramps, that lend a treacherous aid:
For thus the stewards patch the riven wall,
Thus prop the mansion, tottering to its fall;
Then bid the tenant court secure repose,
While the pile nods to every blast that blows.
O! may I live where no such fears molest,
No midnight fires burst on my hour of rest!
For here 'tis terrour all: midst the loud cry
Of “water! water!” the scared neighbours fly,
With all their haste can seize—the flames aspire,
And the third floor is wrapt in smoke and fire,
While you, unconscious, doze: Up, ho! and know,
The impetuous blaze which spreads dismay below,
By swift degrees will reach the aerial cell,
Where, crouching, underneath the tiles you dwell,
Where your tame doves their golden couplets rear,
“And you could no mischance, but drowning fear!”
No midnight fires burst on my hour of rest!
For here 'tis terrour all: midst the loud cry
Of “water! water!” the scared neighbours fly,
With all their haste can seize—the flames aspire,
And the third floor is wrapt in smoke and fire,
While you, unconscious, doze: Up, ho! and know,
The impetuous blaze which spreads dismay below,
119
Where, crouching, underneath the tiles you dwell,
Where your tame doves their golden couplets rear,
“And you could no mischance, but drowning fear!”
“Codrus had but one bed, and that, too short,
For his short wife;” his goods, of every sort,
Were else but few:—six little pipkins graced
His cupboard head, a little can was placed
On a snug shelf beneath, and near it lay,
A Chiron, of the same cheap marble,—clay.
And was this all! O no: he yet possest,
A few Greek books, shrined in an ancient chest,
Where barbarous mice through many an inlet crept,
And fed on heavenly numbers, while he slept.—
“Codrus, in short, had nothing.” You say true;
And yet poor Codrus lost that nothing, too!
One curse alone was wanting, to complete
His woes: that, cold and hungry, through the street,
The wretch should beg, and, in the hour of need,
Find none to lodge, to clothe him, or to feed!
For his short wife;” his goods, of every sort,
Were else but few:—six little pipkins graced
His cupboard head, a little can was placed
On a snug shelf beneath, and near it lay,
A Chiron, of the same cheap marble,—clay.
And was this all! O no: he yet possest,
A few Greek books, shrined in an ancient chest,
Where barbarous mice through many an inlet crept,
And fed on heavenly numbers, while he slept.—
“Codrus, in short, had nothing.” You say true;
And yet poor Codrus lost that nothing, too!
120
His woes: that, cold and hungry, through the street,
121
Find none to lodge, to clothe him, or to feed!
But should the raging flames on grandeur prey,
And low in dust Asturius' palace lay,
The squalid matron sighs, the senate mourns,
The pleaders cease, the judge the court adjourns;
All join to wail the city's hapless fate,
And rail at fire with more than common hate.
Lo! while it burns, the obsequious courtiers haste,
With rich materials, to repair the waste:
This, brings him marble, that, a finish'd piece,
The far-famed boast of Polyclete and Greece;
This, ornaments, which graced of old the fane
Of Asia's gods; that, figured plate and plain;
This, cases, books, and busts the shelves to grace,
And piles of coin his specie to replace—
So much the childless Persian swells his store,
(Though deem'd the richest of the rich before,)
That all ascribe the flames to thirst of pelf,
And swear, Asturius fired his house himself.
And low in dust Asturius' palace lay,
The squalid matron sighs, the senate mourns,
The pleaders cease, the judge the court adjourns;
All join to wail the city's hapless fate,
And rail at fire with more than common hate.
Lo! while it burns, the obsequious courtiers haste,
With rich materials, to repair the waste:
122
The far-famed boast of Polyclete and Greece;
This, ornaments, which graced of old the fane
Of Asia's gods; that, figured plate and plain;
This, cases, books, and busts the shelves to grace,
And piles of coin his specie to replace—
So much the childless Persian swells his store,
(Though deem'd the richest of the rich before,)
That all ascribe the flames to thirst of pelf,
And swear, Asturius fired his house himself.
O, had you, from the Circus, power to fly,
In many a halcyon village, might you buy
Some elegant retreat, for what will, here,
Scarce hire a gloomy dungeon through the year!
There wells, by nature form'd, which need no rope,
No labouring arm, to crane their waters up,
Around your lawn their facile streams shall shower,
And cheer the springing plant, and opening flower.
There live, delighted with the rustick's lot,
And till, with your own hands, the little spot;
The little spot shall yield you large amends,
And glad, with many a feast, your Samian friends.
And, sure,—in any corner we can get,
To call one lizard ours, is something yet!
In many a halcyon village, might you buy
123
Scarce hire a gloomy dungeon through the year!
There wells, by nature form'd, which need no rope,
No labouring arm, to crane their waters up,
Around your lawn their facile streams shall shower,
And cheer the springing plant, and opening flower.
There live, delighted with the rustick's lot,
And till, with your own hands, the little spot;
The little spot shall yield you large amends,
And glad, with many a feast, your Samian friends.
124
To call one lizard ours, is something yet!
125
Flush'd with a mass of indigested food,
Which clogs the stomach, and inflames the blood,
What crowds, with watching wearied and o'erprest,
Curse the slow hours, and die for want of rest!
For who can hope his languid lids to close,
Where brawling taverns banish all repose?
Sleep, to the rich alone, “his visits pays:”
And hence the seeds of many a dire disease.
The carts loud rumbling through the narrow way,
The drivers' clamours at each casual stay,
From drowsy Drusus would his slumber take,
And keep the calves of Proteus broad awake!
Which clogs the stomach, and inflames the blood,
What crowds, with watching wearied and o'erprest,
Curse the slow hours, and die for want of rest!
For who can hope his languid lids to close,
Where brawling taverns banish all repose?
126
And hence the seeds of many a dire disease.
The carts loud rumbling through the narrow way,
The drivers' clamours at each casual stay,
From drowsy Drusus would his slumber take,
And keep the calves of Proteus broad awake!
127
If business call, obsequious crowds divide,
While o'er their heads the rich securely ride,
By tall Illyrians borne, and read, or write,
Or (should the early hour to rest invite,)
Close the soft litter, and enjoy the night.
Yet reach they first the goal; while, by the throng
Elbow'd and jostled, scarce we creep along;
Sharp strokes from poles, tubs, rafters, doom'd to feel;
And plaister'd o'er with mud, from head to heel:
While the rude soldier gores us as he goes,
Or marks, in blood, his progress on our toes!
While o'er their heads the rich securely ride,
By tall Illyrians borne, and read, or write,
Or (should the early hour to rest invite,)
Close the soft litter, and enjoy the night.
Yet reach they first the goal; while, by the throng
Elbow'd and jostled, scarce we creep along;
Sharp strokes from poles, tubs, rafters, doom'd to feel;
And plaister'd o'er with mud, from head to heel:
While the rude soldier gores us as he goes,
Or marks, in blood, his progress on our toes!
See, from the Dole, a vast tumultuous throng,
Each follow'd by his kitchen, pours along!
Huge pans, which Corbulo could scarce uprear,
With steady neck a puny slave must bear,
And, lest amid the way the flames expire,
Glide nimbly on, and gliding, fan the fire;
Through the close press with sinuous efforts wind,
And, piece by piece, leave his botch'd rags behind.
Each follow'd by his kitchen, pours along!
128
With steady neck a puny slave must bear,
129
Glide nimbly on, and gliding, fan the fire;
Through the close press with sinuous efforts wind,
And, piece by piece, leave his botch'd rags behind.
Hark! groaning on, the unwieldy waggon spreads
Its cumbrous load, tremendous! o'er our heads,
Projecting elm or pine, that nods on high,
And threatens death to every passer by.
Heavens! should the axle crack, which bears a weight
Of huge Ligurian stone, and pour the freight
On the pale crowd beneath, what would remain,
What joint, what bone, what atom of the slain?
The body, with the soul, would vanish quite,
Invisible as air, to mortal sight!—
Meanwhile, unconscious of their fellow's fate,
At home, they heat the water, scour the plate,
Arrange the strigils, fill the cruise with oil,
And ply their several tasks with fruitless toil:
For he who bore the dole, poor mangled ghost,
Sits pale and trembling on the Stygian coast,
Scared at the horrours of the novel scene,
At Charon's threatening voice, and scowling mien;
Nor hopes a passage, thus abruptly hurl'd,
Without his farthing, to the nether world.
Its cumbrous load, tremendous! o'er our heads,
Projecting elm or pine, that nods on high,
And threatens death to every passer by.
Heavens! should the axle crack, which bears a weight
Of huge Ligurian stone, and pour the freight
On the pale crowd beneath, what would remain,
What joint, what bone, what atom of the slain?
130
Invisible as air, to mortal sight!—
Meanwhile, unconscious of their fellow's fate,
At home, they heat the water, scour the plate,
Arrange the strigils, fill the cruise with oil,
And ply their several tasks with fruitless toil:
For he who bore the dole, poor mangled ghost,
Sits pale and trembling on the Stygian coast,
Scared at the horrours of the novel scene,
At Charon's threatening voice, and scowling mien;
Nor hopes a passage, thus abruptly hurl'd,
Without his farthing, to the nether world.
131
Pass we these fearful dangers, and survey,
What other evils threat our nightly way.
And first, behold the mansion's towering size,
Where floors on floors to the tenth story rise;
Whence heedless garretteers their potsherds throw,
And crush the unwary wretch that walks below!
Clattering the storm descends from heights unknown,
Ploughs up the street, and wounds the flinty stone!
'Tis madness, dire improvidence of ill,
To sup abroad, before you sign your Will;
Since fate in ambush lies, and marks his prey,
From every wakeful window in the way:
Pray, then,—and count your humble prayer well sped,
If pots be only—emptied on your head.
What other evils threat our nightly way.
And first, behold the mansion's towering size,
Where floors on floors to the tenth story rise;
Whence heedless garretteers their potsherds throw,
And crush the unwary wretch that walks below!
Clattering the storm descends from heights unknown,
Ploughs up the street, and wounds the flinty stone!
'Tis madness, dire improvidence of ill,
To sup abroad, before you sign your Will;
Since fate in ambush lies, and marks his prey,
From every wakeful window in the way:
132
If pots be only—emptied on your head.
The drunken bully, ere his man be slain,
Frets through the night, and courts repose in vain;
And while the thirst of blood his bosom burns,
From side to side, in restless anguish, turns,
Like Peleus' son, when, quell'd by Hector's hand,
His loved Patroclus prest the Phrygian strand.
Frets through the night, and courts repose in vain;
And while the thirst of blood his bosom burns,
From side to side, in restless anguish, turns,
Like Peleus' son, when, quell'd by Hector's hand,
His loved Patroclus prest the Phrygian strand.
There are, who murder as an opiate take,
And only, when no brawls await them, wake:
Yet even these heroes, flush'd with youth and wine,
All contest with the purple robe decline;
Securely give the lengthen'd train to pass,
The sun-bright flambeaux, and the lamps of brass.—
Me, whom the moon, or candle's paler gleam,
Whose wick I husband to the last extreme,
Guides through the gloom, he braves, devoid of fear:
The prelude to our doughty quarrel hear,
If that be deem'd a quarrel, where, heaven knows,
He only gives, and I receive, the blows!
Across my path he strides, and bids me Stand!
I bow, obsequious to the dread command;
What else remains, where madness, rage, combine
With youth, and strength superiour far to mine?
And only, when no brawls await them, wake:
133
All contest with the purple robe decline;
Securely give the lengthen'd train to pass,
The sun-bright flambeaux, and the lamps of brass.—
134
Whose wick I husband to the last extreme,
Guides through the gloom, he braves, devoid of fear:
The prelude to our doughty quarrel hear,
If that be deem'd a quarrel, where, heaven knows,
He only gives, and I receive, the blows!
Across my path he strides, and bids me Stand!
I bow, obsequious to the dread command;
What else remains, where madness, rage, combine
With youth, and strength superiour far to mine?
“Whence come you, rogue?” he cries; “whose beans, to-night,
Have stuff'd you, thus? what cobler clubb'd his mite,
For leeks, and sheep's-head porridge? Dumb! quite dumb!
Speak, or be kick'd.—Yet, once again! your home?
Where shall I find you? At what beggar's stand,
(Temple, or bridge) whimp'ring, with outstretch'd hand?”
Have stuff'd you, thus? what cobler clubb'd his mite,
For leeks, and sheep's-head porridge? Dumb! quite dumb!
Speak, or be kick'd.—Yet, once again! your home?
Where shall I find you? At what beggar's stand,
(Temple, or bridge) whimp'ring, with outstretch'd hand?”
Whether I strive some humble plea to frame,
Or steal in silence by, 'tis just the same;
I'm beaten first, then dragg'd in rage away;
Bound to the peace, or punish'd for the fray!
Or steal in silence by, 'tis just the same;
I'm beaten first, then dragg'd in rage away;
Bound to the peace, or punish'd for the fray!
Mark here the boasted freedom of the poor!
Beaten and bruis'd, that goodness to adore,
Which, at their humble prayer, suspends its ire,
And sends them home, with yet a bone entire!
Beaten and bruis'd, that goodness to adore,
Which, at their humble prayer, suspends its ire,
And sends them home, with yet a bone entire!
135
Nor this the worst; for when deep midnight reigns,
And bolts secure our doors, and massy chains,
When noisy inns a transient silence keep,
And harass'd nature woos the balm of sleep,
Then, thieves and murderers ply their dreadful trade;
With stealthy steps our secret couch invade:—
Roused from the treacherous calm, aghast we start,
And the flesh'd sword—is buried in our heart!
And bolts secure our doors, and massy chains,
When noisy inns a transient silence keep,
And harass'd nature woos the balm of sleep,
Then, thieves and murderers ply their dreadful trade;
With stealthy steps our secret couch invade:—
Roused from the treacherous calm, aghast we start,
And the flesh'd sword—is buried in our heart!
Hither from bogs, from rocks, and caves pursued,
(The Pontine marsh, and Gallinarian wood,)
The dark assassins flock, as to their home,
And fill with dire alarms the streets of Rome.
Such countless multitudes our peace annoy,
That bolts and shackles every forge employ,
And cause so wide a waste, the country fears
A want of ore for mattocks, rakes, and shares.
(The Pontine marsh, and Gallinarian wood,)
The dark assassins flock, as to their home,
And fill with dire alarms the streets of Rome.
Such countless multitudes our peace annoy,
That bolts and shackles every forge employ,
And cause so wide a waste, the country fears
A want of ore for mattocks, rakes, and shares.
136
O! happy were our sires, estranged from crimes;
And happy, happy, were the good old times,
Which saw, beneath their kings, their tribunes' reign,
One cell the nation's criminals contain!
And happy, happy, were the good old times,
Which saw, beneath their kings, their tribunes' reign,
One cell the nation's criminals contain!
Much could I add, more reasons could I cite,
If time were ours, to justify my flight;
But see! the impatient team is moving on,
The sun declining; and I must be gone:
Long since, the driver murmur'd at my stay,
And jerk'd his whip, to beckon me away.
Farewell, my friend! with this embrace we part:
Cherish my memory ever in your heart;
And when, from crowds and business, you repair,
To breathe at your Aquinum, freer air,
Fail not to draw me from my loved retreat,
To Elvine Ceres, and Diana's seat:—
For your bleak hills my Cumæ I'll resign,
And (if you blush not at such aid as mine)
Come well equipp'd, to wage, in angry rhymes,
Fierce war, with you, on follies and on crimes.
If time were ours, to justify my flight;
But see! the impatient team is moving on,
The sun declining; and I must be gone:
Long since, the driver murmur'd at my stay,
And jerk'd his whip, to beckon me away.
Farewell, my friend! with this embrace we part:
Cherish my memory ever in your heart;
And when, from crowds and business, you repair,
To breathe at your Aquinum, freer air,
Fail not to draw me from my loved retreat,
To Elvine Ceres, and Diana's seat:—
137
And (if you blush not at such aid as mine)
Come well equipp'd, to wage, in angry rhymes,
Fierce war, with you, on follies and on crimes.
139
SATIRE IV.
141
Again Crispinus comes! and yet again,
And oft, shall he be summon'd to sustain
His dreadful part:—the monster of the times,
Without one virtue to redeem his crimes!
Diseased, emaciate, weak in all but lust,
And whom the widow's sweets alone disgust.
And oft, shall he be summon'd to sustain
His dreadful part:—the monster of the times,
Without one virtue to redeem his crimes!
Diseased, emaciate, weak in all but lust,
And whom the widow's sweets alone disgust.
142
Avails it then, in what long colonnades
He tires his mules? through what extensive glades
His chair is borne? what vast estates he buys,
What splendid domes, that round the Forum rise?
Ah, no!—Peace visits not the guilty mind,
Least his, who incest to adultery join'd,
And stain'd thy priestess, Vesta;—whom, dire fate!
The long dark night and living tomb await.
He tires his mules? through what extensive glades
His chair is borne? what vast estates he buys,
What splendid domes, that round the Forum rise?
Ah, no!—Peace visits not the guilty mind,
Least his, who incest to adultery join'd,
And stain'd thy priestess, Vesta;—whom, dire fate!
The long dark night and living tomb await.
143
Turn we to slighter vices:—yet had these,
In others, Seius, Titius, whom you please,
The Censor roused; for what the good would shame,
Becomes Crispinus, and is honest fame.
But when the actor's person far exceeds,
In native loathsomeness, his loathsom'st deeds,
Say, what can satire? For a fish that weigh'd
Six pounds, six thousand sesterces he paid!
As those report, who catch, with greedy ear,
And magnify the mighty things they hear.
Had this expense been meant, with well-timed skill,
To gull some childless dotard of a Will;
Or bribe some rich and fashionable fair,
Who flaunts it in a close, wide-window'd, chair;
'Twere worth our praise:—but no such plot was here:
'Twas for himself he bought a treat so dear!
This, all past gluttony from shame redeems,
And even Apicius poor and frugal seems.
What! You, Crispinus, brought to Rome, erewhile,
Lapt in the rushes of your native Nile,
Buy scales, at such a price! you might, I guess,
Have bought the fisherman himself for less;
Bought, in some countries, manors at this rate,
And, in Apulia, an immense estate!
In others, Seius, Titius, whom you please,
144
Becomes Crispinus, and is honest fame.
But when the actor's person far exceeds,
In native loathsomeness, his loathsom'st deeds,
Say, what can satire? For a fish that weigh'd
Six pounds, six thousand sesterces he paid!
As those report, who catch, with greedy ear,
And magnify the mighty things they hear.
145
To gull some childless dotard of a Will;
Or bribe some rich and fashionable fair,
Who flaunts it in a close, wide-window'd, chair;
146
'Twas for himself he bought a treat so dear!
This, all past gluttony from shame redeems,
And even Apicius poor and frugal seems.
What! You, Crispinus, brought to Rome, erewhile,
Lapt in the rushes of your native Nile,
Buy scales, at such a price! you might, I guess,
Have bought the fisherman himself for less;
147
And, in Apulia, an immense estate!
How gorged the Emperour, when so dear a fish,
Yet, of his cheapest meals, the cheapest dish,
Was guttled down by this impurpled lord,
Chief knight, chief parasite, at Cæsar's board,
Whom Memphis heard so late, with ceaseless yell,
Clamouring through all her streets—“Ho! shads to sell!”
Yet, of his cheapest meals, the cheapest dish,
Was guttled down by this impurpled lord,
Chief knight, chief parasite, at Cæsar's board,
Whom Memphis heard so late, with ceaseless yell,
Clamouring through all her streets—“Ho! shads to sell!”
Pierian Maids, begin;—but, quit your lyres,
The fact I bring, no lofty chord requires:
Relate it, then, and in the simplest strain,
Nor let the poet style you Maids, in vain.
The fact I bring, no lofty chord requires:
Relate it, then, and in the simplest strain,
Nor let the poet style you Maids, in vain.
When the last Flavius, drunk with fury, tore
The prostrate world, which bled at every pore,
And Rome beheld, in body as in mind,
A bald-pate Nero rise, to curse mankind;
It chanced, that where the sane of Venus stands,
Rear'd on Ancona's coast by Grecian hands,
A turbot, wandering from the Illyrian main,
Fill'd the wide bosom of the bursting seine.
Monsters so bulky, from its frozen stream,
Mæotis renders to the solar beam,
And pours them, fat with a whole winter's ease,
Through the bleak Euxine, into warmer seas.
The prostrate world, which bled at every pore,
And Rome beheld, in body as in mind,
A bald-pate Nero rise, to curse mankind;
148
Rear'd on Ancona's coast by Grecian hands,
149
Fill'd the wide bosom of the bursting seine.
Monsters so bulky, from its frozen stream,
Mæotis renders to the solar beam,
And pours them, fat with a whole winter's ease,
Through the bleak Euxine, into warmer seas.
The mighty draught the astonish'd boatman eyes,
And, to the Pontiff's table, dooms his prize:
For who would dare to sell it? who to buy?
When the coast swarm'd with many a practis'd spy,
Mud-rakers, prompt to swear the fish had fled
From Cæsar's ponds, ingrate! where long it fed,
And thus recaptured, claim'd to be restored,
To the dominion of its ancient lord!
Nay, if Palphurius may our credit gain,
Whatever rare or precious swims the main,
Is forfeit to the crown, and you may seize
The obnoxious dainty, when and where you please.
This point allow'd, our wary boatman chose
To give—what else, he had not fail'd to lose.
And, to the Pontiff's table, dooms his prize:
For who would dare to sell it? who to buy?
When the coast swarm'd with many a practis'd spy,
150
From Cæsar's ponds, ingrate! where long it fed,
And thus recaptured, claim'd to be restored,
To the dominion of its ancient lord!
Nay, if Palphurius may our credit gain,
Whatever rare or precious swims the main,
Is forfeit to the crown, and you may seize
The obnoxious dainty, when and where you please.
This point allow'd, our wary boatman chose
To give—what else, he had not fail'd to lose.
Now were the dogstar's sickly fervours o'er,
Earth, pinch'd with cold, her frozen livery wore;
The old began their quartan fits to fear,
And wintry blasts deform'd the beauteous year,
And kept the turbot sweet: yet on he flew,
As if the sultry South corruption blew.—
And now the lake, and now the hill he gains,
Where Alba, though in ruins, still maintains
The Trojan fire, which, but for her, were lost,
And worships Vesta, though with less of cost.
Earth, pinch'd with cold, her frozen livery wore;
151
And wintry blasts deform'd the beauteous year,
And kept the turbot sweet: yet on he flew,
As if the sultry South corruption blew.—
And now the lake, and now the hill he gains,
Where Alba, though in ruins, still maintains
The Trojan fire, which, but for her, were lost,
And worships Vesta, though with less of cost.
The wondering crowd, that gather'd to survey
The enormous fish, and barr'd the fisher's way,
Satiate, at length retires; the gates unfold!—
Murmuring, th' excluded senators behold
The envied dainty enter;—On the man
To great Atrides press'd, and thus began.
The enormous fish, and barr'd the fisher's way,
Satiate, at length retires; the gates unfold!—
Murmuring, th' excluded senators behold
152
To great Atrides press'd, and thus began.
“This, for a private table far too great,
“Accept, and sumptuously your Genius treat:
“Haste to unload your stomach, and devour,
“A turbot, destined to this happy hour.
“I sought him not;—he mark'd the toils I set,
“And rush'd, a willing victim, to the net.”
“Accept, and sumptuously your Genius treat:
153
“A turbot, destined to this happy hour.
“I sought him not;—he mark'd the toils I set,
“And rush'd, a willing victim, to the net.”
Was flattery e'er so rank! yet he grows vain,
And his crest rises at the fulsome strain.
When, to divine, a mortal power we raise,
He looks for no hyperboles in praise.
And his crest rises at the fulsome strain.
When, to divine, a mortal power we raise,
He looks for no hyperboles in praise.
But when was joy unmix'd? no pot is found,
Capacious of the turbot's ample round:
In this distress, he calls the chiefs of state,
At once the objects of his scorn and hate,
In whose pale cheeks distrust and doubt appear,
And all a tyrant's friendship breeds of fear.
Capacious of the turbot's ample round:
In this distress, he calls the chiefs of state,
At once the objects of his scorn and hate,
154
And all a tyrant's friendship breeds of fear.
Scarce was the loud Liburnian heard to say,
“He sits,” ere Pegasus was on his way;
Yes:—the new bailiff of the affrighted town,
(For what were Præfects more?) had snatch'd his gown,
And rush'd to council: From the ivory chair,
He dealt out justice with no common care;
But yielded oft to those licentious times,
And where he could not punish, wink'd at crimes.
“He sits,” ere Pegasus was on his way;
155
(For what were Præfects more?) had snatch'd his gown,
156
He dealt out justice with no common care;
But yielded oft to those licentious times,
And where he could not punish, wink'd at crimes.
Then old, facetious Crispus tript along,
Of gentle manners, and persuasive tongue:
None fitter to advise the Lord of All,
Had that pernicious pest, whom thus we call,
Allow'd a friend to sooth his savage mood,
And give him counsel, wise at once and good.
But who shall dare this liberty to take,
When, every word you hazard, life's at stake?
Though but of stormy summers, showery springs—
For tyrants' ears, alas! are ticklish things.
So did the good old man his tongue restrain;
Nor strove to stem the torrent's force in vain.
Not one of those, who, by no fears deterr'd,
Spoke the free soul, and truth to life preferr'd,
He temporized—thus fourscore summers fled,
Even in that court, securely, o'er his head.
Of gentle manners, and persuasive tongue:
157
Had that pernicious pest, whom thus we call,
Allow'd a friend to sooth his savage mood,
And give him counsel, wise at once and good.
But who shall dare this liberty to take,
When, every word you hazard, life's at stake?
Though but of stormy summers, showery springs—
For tyrants' ears, alas! are ticklish things.
So did the good old man his tongue restrain;
Nor strove to stem the torrent's force in vain.
Not one of those, who, by no fears deterr'd,
Spoke the free soul, and truth to life preferr'd,
He temporized—thus fourscore summers fled,
Even in that court, securely, o'er his head.
Next him, appear'd Acilius hurrying on,
Of equal age,—and follow'd by his son;
Who fell, unjustly fell, in early years,
A victim to the tyrant's jealous fears:
But long ere this, were hoary hairs become,
A prodigy, among the great, at Rome;
Hence, had I rather owe my humble birth,
Frail brother of the giant-brood, to earth.
Poor youth! in vain the ancient sleight you try;
In vain, with frantick air, and ardent eye,
Fling every robe aside, and battle wage,
With bears and lions, on the Alban stage.
All see the trick: and, spite of Brutus' skill,
There are who count him but a driveller still;
Since, in his days, it cost no mighty pains,
T' outwit a prince, with much more beard than brains.
Of equal age,—and follow'd by his son;
158
A victim to the tyrant's jealous fears:
159
A prodigy, among the great, at Rome;
Hence, had I rather owe my humble birth,
Frail brother of the giant-brood, to earth.
Poor youth! in vain the ancient sleight you try;
In vain, with frantick air, and ardent eye,
Fling every robe aside, and battle wage,
With bears and lions, on the Alban stage.
All see the trick: and, spite of Brutus' skill,
There are who count him but a driveller still;
Since, in his days, it cost no mighty pains,
T' outwit a prince, with much more beard than brains.
Rubrius, though not, like these, of noble race,
Follow'd with equal terrour in his face;
And, labouring with a crime too foul to name,
More, than the pathick satirist, lost to shame.
Follow'd with equal terrour in his face;
160
More, than the pathick satirist, lost to shame.
Montanus' belly next, and next appear'd
The legs, on which that monstrous pile was rear'd.
The legs, on which that monstrous pile was rear'd.
Crispinus follow'd, daub'd with more perfume,
Thus early! than two funerals consume.
Then bloodier Pompey, practised to betray,
And hesitate the noblest lives away.
Then Fuscus, who in studious pomp at home,
Plann'd future triumphs for the Arms of Rome.
Blind to the event! those arms, a different fate,
Inglorious wounds, and Dacian vultures, wait.
Thus early! than two funerals consume.
161
And hesitate the noblest lives away.
Then Fuscus, who in studious pomp at home,
Plann'd future triumphs for the Arms of Rome.
Blind to the event! those arms, a different fate,
Inglorious wounds, and Dacian vultures, wait.
Last, sly Veiento with Catullus came,
Deadly Catullus, who, at beauty's name,
Took fire, although unseen: a wretch, whose crimes
Struck with amaze even those prodigious times.
A base, blind parasite, a murderous lord,
From the bridge-end, raised to the council-board;
Yet fitter still to dog the traveller's heels,
And whine for alms to the descending wheels!
None dwelt so largely on the turbot's size,
Or raised, with such applause, his wondering eyes;
But to the left (O, treacherous want of sight)
He pour'd his praise;—the fish was on the right!
Thus would he at the fencer's matches sit,
And shout with rapture, at some fancied hit;
And thus applaud the stage-machinery, where
The youths were rapt aloft, and lost in air.
Deadly Catullus, who, at beauty's name,
162
Struck with amaze even those prodigious times.
163
From the bridge-end, raised to the council-board;
Yet fitter still to dog the traveller's heels,
And whine for alms to the descending wheels!
None dwelt so largely on the turbot's size,
Or raised, with such applause, his wondering eyes;
But to the left (O, treacherous want of sight)
He pour'd his praise;—the fish was on the right!
Thus would he at the fencer's matches sit,
And shout with rapture, at some fancied hit;
164
The youths were rapt aloft, and lost in air.
165
Nor fell Veiento short:—as if possest,
With all Bellona's rage, his labouring breast
Burst forth in prophecy; “I see, I see,
“The omens of some glorious victory!
“Some powerful monarch captured!—lo, he rears,
“Horrent on every side, his pointed spears!
“Arviragus hurl'd from the British car:
“The fish is foreign, foreign is the war.”
With all Bellona's rage, his labouring breast
Burst forth in prophecy; “I see, I see,
“The omens of some glorious victory!
“Some powerful monarch captured!—lo, he rears,
“Horrent on every side, his pointed spears!
166
“The fish is foreign, foreign is the war.”
Proceed, great Seer, and what remains untold,
The turbot's age and country, next unfold;
So shall your lord his fortunes better know,
And where the conquest waits, and who the foe.
The turbot's age and country, next unfold;
So shall your lord his fortunes better know,
And where the conquest waits, and who the foe.
The Emperour now the important question put,
“How say ye, Fathers, shall the fish be cut?”
“O, far be that disgrace,” Montanus cries;
“No, let a pot be form'd, of amplest size,
“Within whose slender sides, the fish, dread Sire,
“May spread his vast circumference intire!
“Bring, bring the temper'd clay, and let it feel
“The quick gyrations of the plastick wheel:—
“But, Cæsar, thus forewarn'd, make no campaign,
“Unless your potters follow in your train!”
“How say ye, Fathers, shall the fish be cut?”
167
“No, let a pot be form'd, of amplest size,
“Within whose slender sides, the fish, dread Sire,
“May spread his vast circumference intire!
“Bring, bring the temper'd clay, and let it feel
“The quick gyrations of the plastick wheel:—
“But, Cæsar, thus forewarn'd, make no campaign,
“Unless your potters follow in your train!”
Montanus ended; all approved the plan,
And all, the speech, so worthy of the man!
Vers'd in the old court luxury, he knew,
The feasts of Nero, and his midnight crew;
Where, oft, when potent draughts had fired the brain,
The jaded taste, was spurr'd to gorge again.—
And, in my time, none understood so well,
The science of good eating: he could tell,
At the first relish, if his oysters fed
On the Rutupian, or the Lucrine bed;
And from a crab, or lobster's colour, name,
The country, nay the district, whence it came.
And all, the speech, so worthy of the man!
Vers'd in the old court luxury, he knew,
The feasts of Nero, and his midnight crew;
168
The jaded taste, was spurr'd to gorge again.—
And, in my time, none understood so well,
The science of good eating: he could tell,
At the first relish, if his oysters fed
On the Rutupian, or the Lucrine bed;
And from a crab, or lobster's colour, name,
The country, nay the district, whence it came.
Here closed the solemn farce. The Fathers rise,
And each, submissive, from the presence hies:—
Pale, trembling wretches, whom the Chief, in sport,
Had dragg'd, astonish'd, to the Alban court;
As if the stern Sicambri were in arms,
Or the fierce Catti threaten'd new alarms;
As if ill news by flying posts had come,
And gathering nations sought the fall of Rome!
And each, submissive, from the presence hies:—
Pale, trembling wretches, whom the Chief, in sport,
Had dragg'd, astonish'd, to the Alban court;
As if the stern Sicambri were in arms,
Or the fierce Catti threaten'd new alarms;
169
And gathering nations sought the fall of Rome!
O! that such scenes, (disgraceful at the most,)
Had all those years of cruelty engrost,
Through which, his rage pursued the great and good,
Uncheck'd, while vengeance slumber'd o'er their blood!
And yet he fell!—for when he changed his game,
And first grew dreadful to the vulgar name,
They seized the murderer, drench'd with Lamian gore,
And hurl'd him, headlong, to the infernal shore!
Had all those years of cruelty engrost,
Through which, his rage pursued the great and good,
Uncheck'd, while vengeance slumber'd o'er their blood!
And yet he fell!—for when he changed his game,
And first grew dreadful to the vulgar name,
They seized the murderer, drench'd with Lamian gore,
And hurl'd him, headlong, to the infernal shore!
171
SATIRE V.
173
TO TREBIUS.
If—by reiterated scorn made bold,
Your mind can still its shameless tenour hold,
Still think the greatest blessing earth can give,
Is, solely at another's cost to live;
If—you can brook, what Galba would have spurn'd,
And mean Sarmentus with a frown return'd,
At Cæsar's haughty board, dependents both,
I scarce would take your evidence on oath.
Your mind can still its shameless tenour hold,
Still think the greatest blessing earth can give,
Is, solely at another's cost to live;
If—you can brook, what Galba would have spurn'd,
And mean Sarmentus with a frown return'd,
174
I scarce would take your evidence on oath.
The belly's fed with little cost: yet grant,
You should, unhappily, that little want,
Some vacant bridge might surely still be found,
Some highway side; where, grovelling on the ground,
Your shivering limbs compassion's sigh might wake,
And gain an alms for “Charity's sweet sake!”
What! can a meal, thus sauced, deserve your care?
Is hunger so importunate? when there,
There, in your tatter'd rug, you may, my friend,
On casual scraps more honestly depend;
With chattering teeth toil o'er your wretched treat,
And gnaw the crusts, which dogs refuse to eat!—
You should, unhappily, that little want,
Some vacant bridge might surely still be found,
Some highway side; where, grovelling on the ground,
175
And gain an alms for “Charity's sweet sake!”
What! can a meal, thus sauced, deserve your care?
Is hunger so importunate? when there,
There, in your tatter'd rug, you may, my friend,
On casual scraps more honestly depend;
With chattering teeth toil o'er your wretched treat,
And gnaw the crusts, which dogs refuse to eat!—
For, first, of this be sure: whene'er your lord
Thinks proper to invite you to his board,
He pays, or thinks he pays, the total sum
Of all your pains, past, present, and to come.
Behold the meed of servitude! the great
Reward their humble followers with a treat,
And count it current coin:—they count it such,
And, though it be but little, think it much.
Thinks proper to invite you to his board,
He pays, or thinks he pays, the total sum
Of all your pains, past, present, and to come.
Behold the meed of servitude! the great
Reward their humble followers with a treat,
And count it current coin:—they count it such,
And, though it be but little, think it much.
If, after two long months, he condescend
To waste a thought upon a humble friend,
Reminded by a vacant seat, and write,
“You, Master Trebius, sup with me to-night.”
'Tis rapture all! Go now, supremely blest,
Enjoy the meed for which you broke your rest,
And, loose and slipshod, ran your vows to pay,
What time the fading stars announced the day;
Or at that earlier hour, when, with slow roll,
Thy frozen wain, Boötes, turn'd the pole;
Yet trembling, lest the levee should be o'er,
And the full court retiring from the door!
To waste a thought upon a humble friend,
Reminded by a vacant seat, and write,
“You, Master Trebius, sup with me to-night.”
'Tis rapture all! Go now, supremely blest,
Enjoy the meed for which you broke your rest,
And, loose and slipshod, ran your vows to pay,
What time the fading stars announced the day;
Or at that earlier hour, when, with slow roll,
Thy frozen wain, Boötes, turn'd the pole;
176
And the full court retiring from the door!
And what a meal at last! such ropy wine,
As wool, which takes all liquids, would decline;
Hot, heady lees, to fire the wretched guests,
And turn them all to Corybants, or beasts.—
At first, with sneers and sarcasms, they engage,
Then hurl the jugs around, with mutual rage;
Or, stung to madness by the household train,
With coarse stone pots a desperate fight maintain;
While streams of blood in smoking torrents flow,
And my lord smiles to see the battle glow!
As wool, which takes all liquids, would decline;
Hot, heady lees, to fire the wretched guests,
And turn them all to Corybants, or beasts.—
At first, with sneers and sarcasms, they engage,
Then hurl the jugs around, with mutual rage;
Or, stung to madness by the household train,
With coarse stone pots a desperate fight maintain;
While streams of blood in smoking torrents flow,
And my lord smiles to see the battle glow!
Not such his beverage: he enjoys the juice
Of ancient days, when beards were yet in use,
Press'd in the Social War!—but will not send
One cordial drop, to cheer a fainting friend.
To-morrow, he will change, and, haply, fill
The mellow vintage of the Alban hill,
Or Setian; wines, which cannot now be known,
So much the mould of age has overgrown
The district, and the date; such generous bowls,
As Thrasea and Helvidius, patriot souls!
While crown'd with flowers, in sacred pomp, they lay,
To Freedom quaff'd, on Brutus' natal day.
Of ancient days, when beards were yet in use,
Press'd in the Social War!—but will not send
One cordial drop, to cheer a fainting friend.
177
The mellow vintage of the Alban hill,
Or Setian; wines, which cannot now be known,
So much the mould of age has overgrown
The district, and the date; such generous bowls,
As Thrasea and Helvidius, patriot souls!
178
To Freedom quaff'd, on Brutus' natal day.
Before your patron, cups of price are placed,
Amber and gold, with rows of beryls graced:
Cups, you can only at a distance view,
And never trusted to such guests as you!
Or, if they be,—a faithful slave attends,
To count the gems, and watch your finger's ends.
You'll pardon him; but lo! a jasper there,
Of matchless worth, which justifies his care:
For Virro, like his brother peers, of late,
Has stripp'd his fingers to adorn his plate;
And jewels now emblaze the festive board,
Which deck'd, with nobler grace, the hero's sword,
Whom Dido prized, above the Libyan lord.
From such he drinks: to you, the slaves allot
The Beneventine cobbler's four-lugg'd pot,
A fragment, a mere shard, of little worth,
But to be truck'd for matches—and so forth.
Amber and gold, with rows of beryls graced:
179
And never trusted to such guests as you!
Or, if they be,—a faithful slave attends,
To count the gems, and watch your finger's ends.
You'll pardon him; but lo! a jasper there,
Of matchless worth, which justifies his care:
For Virro, like his brother peers, of late,
Has stripp'd his fingers to adorn his plate;
And jewels now emblaze the festive board,
Which deck'd, with nobler grace, the hero's sword,
Whom Dido prized, above the Libyan lord.
From such he drinks: to you, the slaves allot
The Beneventine cobbler's four-lugg'd pot,
A fragment, a mere shard, of little worth,
But to be truck'd for matches—and so forth.
180
If Virro's veins with indigestion glow,
They bring him water cool'd in Scythian snow:
What! did I late complain a different wine
Fell to thy share? A different water's thine!
They bring him water cool'd in Scythian snow:
What! did I late complain a different wine
Fell to thy share? A different water's thine!
Getulian slaves your vile potations pour,
Or the coarse paws of some huge, raw-boned Moor,
Whose hideous form the stoutest would affray,
If met, by moonlight, near the Latian way:
On him, a youth, the flower of Asia waits,
So dearly purchased, that the joint estates
Of Tullus, Ancus, would not yield the sum,
Nor all the wealth—of all the kings of Rome!
Bear this in mind; and when the cup you need,
Look to your own Getulian Ganymede;
A page who cost so much, will ne'er, be sure,
Come at your beck: he heeds not, he, the poor;
But, of his youth and beauty justly vain,
Trips by them, with indifference, or disdain.
If call'd, he hears not, or, with rage inflamed—
Indignant, that his services are claim'd
By an old client, who, ye gods! commands,
And sits at ease, while his superiour stands!
Such proud, audacious minions swarm in Rome,
And trample on the poor, where'er they come.
Or the coarse paws of some huge, raw-boned Moor,
Whose hideous form the stoutest would affray,
If met, by moonlight, near the Latian way:
181
So dearly purchased, that the joint estates
Of Tullus, Ancus, would not yield the sum,
Nor all the wealth—of all the kings of Rome!
Bear this in mind; and when the cup you need,
Look to your own Getulian Ganymede;
A page who cost so much, will ne'er, be sure,
Come at your beck: he heeds not, he, the poor;
But, of his youth and beauty justly vain,
Trips by them, with indifference, or disdain.
If call'd, he hears not, or, with rage inflamed—
Indignant, that his services are claim'd
By an old client, who, ye gods! commands,
And sits at ease, while his superiour stands!
Such proud, audacious minions swarm in Rome,
And trample on the poor, where'er they come.
Mark with what insolence another thrusts,
Before your plate, th' impenetrable crusts,
Black, mouldy fragments, which defy the saw,
The mere despair of every aching jaw!
While manchets, of the finest flour, are set
Before your lord; but be you mindful, yet,
And taste not, touch not: of the pantler stand
In trembling awe, and check your desperate hand—
Yet, should you dare—a slave springs forth, to wrest
The sacred morsel from you. “Saucy guest,”
He frowns, and mutters, “wilt thou ne'er divine,
“What's for thy patron's tooth, and what for thine?
“Never take notice from what tray thou'rt fed,
“Nor know the colour of thy proper bread?”
Before your plate, th' impenetrable crusts,
Black, mouldy fragments, which defy the saw,
The mere despair of every aching jaw!
While manchets, of the finest flour, are set
Before your lord; but be you mindful, yet,
182
In trembling awe, and check your desperate hand—
Yet, should you dare—a slave springs forth, to wrest
The sacred morsel from you. “Saucy guest,”
He frowns, and mutters, “wilt thou ne'er divine,
“What's for thy patron's tooth, and what for thine?
“Never take notice from what tray thou'rt fed,
“Nor know the colour of thy proper bread?”
Was it for this, the baffled client cries,
The tears indignant starting from his eyes,
Was it for this, I left my wife ere day,
And up the bleak Esquilian urged my way,
While the wind howl'd, the hail-storm beat amain,
And my cloak smoak'd beneath the driving rain!
The tears indignant starting from his eyes,
Was it for this, I left my wife ere day,
And up the bleak Esquilian urged my way,
183
And my cloak smoak'd beneath the driving rain!
But lo, a lobster introduced in state,
Stretches, enormous, o'er the bending plate!
Proud of a length of tail, he seems to eye
The humbler guests with scorn, as towering by,
He takes the place of honour at the board,
And crown'd with costly pickles, greets his lord!
A crab is yours, ill garnish'd and ill fed,
With half an egg—a supper for the dead!
Stretches, enormous, o'er the bending plate!
Proud of a length of tail, he seems to eye
The humbler guests with scorn, as towering by,
He takes the place of honour at the board,
And crown'd with costly pickles, greets his lord!
A crab is yours, ill garnish'd and ill fed,
With half an egg—a supper for the dead!
184
He pours Venafran oil upon his fish,
While the stale coleworts in your wooden dish,
Stink of the lamp; for such to you is thrown,
Such rancid grease, as Africk sends to town;
So strong! that when her factors seek the bath,
All wind, and all avoid, the noisome path;
So pestilent! that her own serpents fly
The horrid stench, or meet it but to die.
While the stale coleworts in your wooden dish,
Stink of the lamp; for such to you is thrown,
Such rancid grease, as Africk sends to town;
So strong! that when her factors seek the bath,
All wind, and all avoid, the noisome path;
So pestilent! that her own serpents fly
The horrid stench, or meet it but to die.
See! a sur-mullet now before him set,
From Corsica, or isles more distant yet,
Brought post to Rome; since Ostia's shores no more,
Supply the insatiate glutton, as of yore,
Thinn'd by the net, whose everlasting throw
Allows no Tuscan fish, in peace, to grow.
Still luxury yawns, unfill'd; the nations rise,
And ransack all their coasts for fresh supplies:
Thence come your presents; thence, as rumour tells,
The dainties Lenas buys, Aurelia sells.
From Corsica, or isles more distant yet,
Brought post to Rome; since Ostia's shores no more,
Supply the insatiate glutton, as of yore,
Thinn'd by the net, whose everlasting throw
Allows no Tuscan fish, in peace, to grow.
Still luxury yawns, unfill'd; the nations rise,
And ransack all their coasts for fresh supplies:
Thence come your presents; thence, as rumour tells,
The dainties Lenas buys, Aurelia sells.
185
A lamprey next, from the Sicilian straits,
Of more than common size, on Virro waits—
For oft as Auster seeks his cave, and flings
The cumbrous moisture from his dripping wings,
Forth flies the daring fisher, lured by gain,
While rocks oppose, and whirlpools threat in vain.
To you an eel is brought, whose slender make,
Speaks him a famish'd cousin to the snake;
Or some frost-bitten pike, who, day by day,
Through half the city's ordure, suck'd his way!
Of more than common size, on Virro waits—
For oft as Auster seeks his cave, and flings
The cumbrous moisture from his dripping wings,
Forth flies the daring fisher, lured by gain,
While rocks oppose, and whirlpools threat in vain.
To you an eel is brought, whose slender make,
Speaks him a famish'd cousin to the snake;
Or some frost-bitten pike, who, day by day,
Through half the city's ordure, suck'd his way!
Would Virro deign to hear me, I could give
A few brief hints:—We look not to receive,
What Seneca, what Cotta used to send,
What the good Piso, to an humble friend;—
For bounty once preferr'd a fairer claim,
Than birth or power, to honourable fame:
No; all we ask (and you may this afford,)
Is simply—civil treatment at your board;
Indulge us here; and be, like numbers more,
Rich to yourself, to your dependents poor!
A few brief hints:—We look not to receive,
What Seneca, what Cotta used to send,
What the good Piso, to an humble friend;—
For bounty once preferr'd a fairer claim,
Than birth or power, to honourable fame:
186
Is simply—civil treatment at your board;
Indulge us here; and be, like numbers more,
Rich to yourself, to your dependents poor!
Vain hope! Near him a goose's liver lies,
A capon, equal to a goose in size;
A boar, too, smokes, like that which fell, of old,
By the famed hero, with the locks of gold.
Last, if the spring its genial influence shed,
And welcome thunders call them from their bed,
Large mushrooms enter: Ravish'd with their size,
“O Libya, keep thy grain!” Alledius cries,
“And bid thy oxen to their stalls retreat,
“Nor, while thou grow'st such mushrooms, think of wheat!”
A capon, equal to a goose in size;
187
By the famed hero, with the locks of gold.
Last, if the spring its genial influence shed,
And welcome thunders call them from their bed,
Large mushrooms enter: Ravish'd with their size,
“O Libya, keep thy grain!” Alledius cries,
“And bid thy oxen to their stalls retreat,
“Nor, while thou grow'st such mushrooms, think of wheat!”
Meanwhile, to put your patience to the test,
Lo! the spruce carver, to his task addrest,
Skips, like a harlequin, from place to place,
And waves his knife with pantomimick grace,
Till every dish be ranged, and every joint
Severed, by nicest rules, from point to point.
You think this folly—'tis a simple thought—
To such perfection, now, is carving brought,
That different gestures, by our curious men,
Are used for different dishes, hare and hen.
But, think whate'er you may, your comments spare;
For should you, like a free-born Roman, dare
To hint your thoughts, forth springs some sturdy groom,
And drags you straight, heels foremost, from the room!
Lo! the spruce carver, to his task addrest,
188
And waves his knife with pantomimick grace,
Till every dish be ranged, and every joint
Severed, by nicest rules, from point to point.
You think this folly—'tis a simple thought—
To such perfection, now, is carving brought,
That different gestures, by our curious men,
Are used for different dishes, hare and hen.
But, think whate'er you may, your comments spare;
For should you, like a free-born Roman, dare
189
And drags you straight, heels foremost, from the room!
Does Virro ever pledge you? ever sip
The liquor touch'd by your unhallow'd lip?
Or is there one of all your tribe so free,
So desperate, as to say—“Sir, drink to me?”
O, there is much, that never can be spoke
By a poor client, in a threadbare cloak!
The liquor touch'd by your unhallow'd lip?
Or is there one of all your tribe so free,
So desperate, as to say—“Sir, drink to me?”
O, there is much, that never can be spoke
By a poor client, in a threadbare cloak!
But should some godlike man, more kind than fate,
Some god, present you with a knight's estate,
Heavens, what a change! how infinitely dear
Would Trebius then become! How great appear,
From nothing! Virro, so reserv'd of late,
Grows quite familiar: “Brother, send your plate,
“Dear brother Trebius! you were wont to say,
“You liked this trail, I think—Oblige me, pray.”—
O riches!—this “dear brother” is your own,
To you this friendship, this respect is shown:
Some god, present you with a knight's estate,
Heavens, what a change! how infinitely dear
Would Trebius then become! How great appear,
190
Grows quite familiar: “Brother, send your plate,
“Dear brother Trebius! you were wont to say,
“You liked this trail, I think—Oblige me, pray.”—
O riches!—this “dear brother” is your own,
To you this friendship, this respect is shown:
But would you now your patron's patron be?
Let no young Trebius wanton round your knee,
No Trebia, none: a barren wife procures
The kindest, truest friends! such then be yours.—
Yet, should she breed, and, to augment your joys,
Pour in your lap, at once, three bouncing boys,
Virro will still, so you be wealthy, deign
To toy and prattle with the lisping train;
Will have his pockets too with farthings stored,
And when the sweet young rogues approach his board,
Bring out his pretty corslets for the breast,
His nuts, and apples, for each coaxing guest.
Let no young Trebius wanton round your knee,
No Trebia, none: a barren wife procures
The kindest, truest friends! such then be yours.—
Yet, should she breed, and, to augment your joys,
Pour in your lap, at once, three bouncing boys,
Virro will still, so you be wealthy, deign
To toy and prattle with the lisping train;
191
And when the sweet young rogues approach his board,
Bring out his pretty corslets for the breast,
His nuts, and apples, for each coaxing guest.
You champ on spongy toadstools, hateful treat!
Fearful of poison, in each bit you eat:
He feasts, secure, on mushrooms, fine as those
Which Claudius, for his special eating, chose,
Till one more fine, provided by his wife,
Finish'd at once his feasting, and his life!
Fearful of poison, in each bit you eat:
He feasts, secure, on mushrooms, fine as those
Which Claudius, for his special eating, chose,
Till one more fine, provided by his wife,
Finish'd at once his feasting, and his life!
Apples, as fragrant, and as bright of hue,
As those which in Alcinoüs' gardens grew,
Mellow'd by constant sunshine; or as those,
Which graced the Hesperides, in burnish'd rows;
Apples, which you may smell, but never taste,
Before your lord and his great friends are placed:
While you enjoy mere windfalls; such stale fruit,
As serves to mortify the raw recruit,
When, arm'd with helm and shield, the lance he throws,
And trembles at the shaggy master's blows.
As those which in Alcinoüs' gardens grew,
Mellow'd by constant sunshine; or as those,
Which graced the Hesperides, in burnish'd rows;
Apples, which you may smell, but never taste,
Before your lord and his great friends are placed:
192
As serves to mortify the raw recruit,
193
And trembles at the shaggy master's blows.
194
You think, perhaps, that Virro treats so ill,
To save his gold: no, 'tis to vex you still:
For, say, what comedy such mirth can raise,
As hunger, tortured thus a thousand ways?
No; (if you know it not,) 'tis to excite
Your rage, your frenzy, for his mere delight;
'Tis to compel you all your gall to show,
And gnash your teeth in agonies of woe.
You deem yourself, (such pride inflates your breast,)
Forsooth, a freeman, and your patron's guest;
He thinks you a vile slave, drawn, by the smell
Of his warm kitchen, there; and he thinks well:
For who so low, so wretched, as to bear
Such treatment twice, whose fortune 'twas, to wear
The golden boss; nay, to whose humbler lot,
The poor man's ensign fell, the leathern knot!
To save his gold: no, 'tis to vex you still:
For, say, what comedy such mirth can raise,
As hunger, tortured thus a thousand ways?
No; (if you know it not,) 'tis to excite
Your rage, your frenzy, for his mere delight;
'Tis to compel you all your gall to show,
And gnash your teeth in agonies of woe.
You deem yourself, (such pride inflates your breast,)
Forsooth, a freeman, and your patron's guest;
He thinks you a vile slave, drawn, by the smell
Of his warm kitchen, there; and he thinks well:
For who so low, so wretched, as to bear
Such treatment twice, whose fortune 'twas, to wear
The golden boss; nay, to whose humbler lot,
The poor man's ensign fell, the leathern knot!
195
Your palate still beguiles you: Ah, how nice
That smoking haunch! now we shall have a slice!
Now that half hare is coming! NOW a bit
Of that young pullet! now—and thus you sit,
Thumbing your bread in silence; watching still,
For what has never reach'd you, never will!
That smoking haunch! now we shall have a slice!
Now that half hare is coming! NOW a bit
Of that young pullet! now—and thus you sit,
Thumbing your bread in silence; watching still,
For what has never reach'd you, never will!
No more of freedom! 'tis a vain pretence:
Your patron treats you like a man of sense.
For, if your can, without a murmur, bear,
You well deserve the insults which you share.
Anon, like voluntary slaves, you'll throw
Your humbled necks, beneath the oppressor's blow,
Nay, with bare backs, solicit to be beat,
And merit such a friend, and such a treat!
Your patron treats you like a man of sense.
For, if your can, without a murmur, bear,
You well deserve the insults which you share.
196
Your humbled necks, beneath the oppressor's blow,
Nay, with bare backs, solicit to be beat,
And merit such a friend, and such a treat!
197
SATIRE VI.
199
TO URSIDIUS POSTHUMUS.
Yes, I believe that Chastity was known,
And prized on earth, while Saturn fill'd the throne;
When rocks a bleak and scanty shelter gave,
When sheep and shepherds throng'd one common cave,
And when the mountain wife her couch bestrew'd
With skins of beasts, joint tenants of the wood,
And reeds, and leaves pluck'd from the neighbouring tree:—
A woman, Cynthia, far unlike to thee,
Or thee, weak child of fondness and of fears,
Whose eyes a sparrow's death suffused with tears:
But strong, and reaching to her burly brood
Her big-swoll'n breasts, replete with wholesome food,
And rougher than her husband, gorged with mast,
And frequent belching from the coarse repast.
For when the world was new, the race that broke,
Unfather'd, from the soil or opening oak,
Lived most unlike the men of later times,
The puling brood of follies and of crimes.
And prized on earth, while Saturn fill'd the throne;
When rocks a bleak and scanty shelter gave,
When sheep and shepherds throng'd one common cave,
And when the mountain wife her couch bestrew'd
With skins of beasts, joint tenants of the wood,
And reeds, and leaves pluck'd from the neighbouring tree:—
A woman, Cynthia, far unlike to thee,
200
Whose eyes a sparrow's death suffused with tears:
201
Her big-swoll'n breasts, replete with wholesome food,
And rougher than her husband, gorged with mast,
And frequent belching from the coarse repast.
For when the world was new, the race that broke,
Unfather'd, from the soil or opening oak,
Lived most unlike the men of later times,
The puling brood of follies and of crimes.
Haply some trace of Chastity remain'd,
While Jove, but Jove as yet unbearded, reign'd:
Before the Greek bound, by another's head,
His doubtful faith; or men, of theft in dread,
Had learn'd their herbs and fruitage to immure,
But all was unenclosed, and all secure!
At length Astrea, from these confines driven,
Regain'd by slow degrees, her native heaven;
With her retired her sister in disgust,
And left the world to rapine, and to lust.
While Jove, but Jove as yet unbearded, reign'd:
Before the Greek bound, by another's head,
His doubtful faith; or men, of theft in dread,
202
But all was unenclosed, and all secure!
At length Astrea, from these confines driven,
Regain'd by slow degrees, her native heaven;
With her retired her sister in disgust,
And left the world to rapine, and to lust.
203
'Tis not a practice, friend, of recent date,
But old, establish'd, and inveterate,
To climb another's couch, and boldly slight
The sacred Genius of the nuptial rite:
All other crimes the Age of Iron curst;
But that of Silver, saw adulterers first.
Yet thou, it seems, art eager to engage
Thy witless neck, in this degenerate age!
Even now, thy hair the modish curl is taught,
By master-hands; even now, the ring is bought;
Even now—thou once, Ursidius, hadst thy wits,
But thus to talk of wiving!—O, these fits!
What more than madness has thy soul possest?
What snakes, what Furies, agitate thy breast?
Heavens! wilt thou tamely drag the galling chain,
While hemp is to be bought, while knives remain?
While windows woo thee so divinely high,
And Tiber and the Æmilian bridge are nigh?—
But old, establish'd, and inveterate,
To climb another's couch, and boldly slight
The sacred Genius of the nuptial rite:
All other crimes the Age of Iron curst;
But that of Silver, saw adulterers first.
Yet thou, it seems, art eager to engage
Thy witless neck, in this degenerate age!
Even now, thy hair the modish curl is taught,
By master-hands; even now, the ring is bought;
Even now—thou once, Ursidius, hadst thy wits,
But thus to talk of wiving!—O, these fits!
What more than madness has thy soul possest?
What snakes, what Furies, agitate thy breast?
Heavens! wilt thou tamely drag the galling chain,
While hemp is to be bought, while knives remain?
While windows woo thee so divinely high,
And Tiber and the Æmilian bridge are nigh?—
“O, but the law,” thou criest, “the Julian law,
“Will keep my destined wife from every flaw;
“Besides, I die for heirs.” Good! and for those,
Wilt thou the turtle and the turbot lose,
And all the dainties, which the flatterer, still,
Heaps on the childless, to secure his Will?
“Will keep my destined wife from every flaw;
204
Wilt thou the turtle and the turbot lose,
And all the dainties, which the flatterer, still,
Heaps on the childless, to secure his Will?
But what will hence impossible be held,
If thou, old friend, to wedlock art impell'd?
If thou, the veriest debauchee in town,
With whom wives, widows, every thing went down,
Shouldst stretch the unsuspecting neck, and poke
Thy foolish nose into the marriage yoke?
Thou, famed for scapes, and, by the trembling wife,
Thrust in a chest so oft, to save thy life!—
If thou, old friend, to wedlock art impell'd?
If thou, the veriest debauchee in town,
With whom wives, widows, every thing went down,
Shouldst stretch the unsuspecting neck, and poke
Thy foolish nose into the marriage yoke?
Thou, famed for scapes, and, by the trembling wife,
Thrust in a chest so oft, to save thy life!—
But what! Ursidius hopes a mate to gain,
Frugal, and chaste, and of the good old strain:
Alas, he's frantick! ope a vein with speed,
And bleed him copiously, good doctor, bleed.
Jewel of men! thy knees to Jove incline,
And let a heifer fall at Juno's shrine,
If thy researches for a wife be blest,
With one, who is not—need I speak the rest?
Ah! few the matrons Ceres now can find,
Her hallow'd fillets, with chaste hands, to bind;
Few whom their fathers with their lips can trust,
So strong their filial kisses smack of lust!
Frugal, and chaste, and of the good old strain:
205
And bleed him copiously, good doctor, bleed.
Jewel of men! thy knees to Jove incline,
And let a heifer fall at Juno's shrine,
If thy researches for a wife be blest,
With one, who is not—need I speak the rest?
Ah! few the matrons Ceres now can find,
Her hallow'd fillets, with chaste hands, to bind;
Few whom their fathers with their lips can trust,
So strong their filial kisses smack of lust!
Go then, prepare to bring your mistress home,
And crown your doors with garlands, ere she come.—
But will one man suffice, methinks, you cry,
For all her wants and wishes? Will one eye!
And crown your doors with garlands, ere she come.—
But will one man suffice, methinks, you cry,
For all her wants and wishes? Will one eye!
206
And yet there runs, 'tis said, a wondrous tale,
Of some pure maid, who lives—in some lone vale.
There she may live; but let the phœnix, placed
At Gabii or Fidenæ, prove as chaste,
As at her father's farm!—Yet who will swear,
That nought is done in night and silence there?
Time was, when Jupiter and Mars, we're told,
With many a nymph, in woods and caves made bold;
And still, perhaps, they may not be too old.
Of some pure maid, who lives—in some lone vale.
There she may live; but let the phœnix, placed
At Gabii or Fidenæ, prove as chaste,
As at her father's farm!—Yet who will swear,
That nought is done in night and silence there?
Time was, when Jupiter and Mars, we're told,
With many a nymph, in woods and caves made bold;
And still, perhaps, they may not be too old.
Survey our publick places; see you there,
One woman worthy of your serious care?
See you, through all the crowded benches, one,
Whom you might take securely for your own?—
Lo! while Bathyllus, with his flexile limbs,
Acts Leda, and through every posture swims,
Tuccia delights to realize the play,
And in lascivious trances melts away;
While rustick Thymelè, with curious eye,
Marks the quick pant, the lingering, deep-drawn sigh,
And while her cheeks with burning blushes glow,
Learns this—learns all the city matrons know.
One woman worthy of your serious care?
See you, through all the crowded benches, one,
Whom you might take securely for your own?—
207
Acts Leda, and through every posture swims,
208
And in lascivious trances melts away;
209
Marks the quick pant, the lingering, deep-drawn sigh,
And while her cheeks with burning blushes glow,
Learns this—learns all the city matrons know.
210
Others, when of the theatres bereft,
When nothing, but the wrangling bar, is left,
In the long, tedious months, which interpose
'Twixt the Cybelian and Plebeian Shows,
Sicken for action, and assume the airs,
The mask and thyrsus, of their favourite players.
—Midst peals of mirth, see Urbicus advance,
(Poor Ælia's choice,) and, in a wanton dance,
Burlesque Autonoë's woes! the rich engage
In higher frolicks, and defraud the stage;
Take from Chrysogonus the power to sing,
Loose, at vast prices, the comedian's ring,
Tempt the tragedian—but I see you moved—
Heavens! dream'd you that Quintilian would be loved!
When nothing, but the wrangling bar, is left,
In the long, tedious months, which interpose
'Twixt the Cybelian and Plebeian Shows,
Sicken for action, and assume the airs,
The mask and thyrsus, of their favourite players.
—Midst peals of mirth, see Urbicus advance,
(Poor Ælia's choice,) and, in a wanton dance,
Burlesque Autonoë's woes! the rich engage
In higher frolicks, and defraud the stage;
Take from Chrysogonus the power to sing,
Loose, at vast prices, the comedian's ring,
211
Heavens! dream'd you that Quintilian would be loved!
Then hie thee, Lentulus, and boldly wed,
That the chaste partner of thy fruitful bed
May kindly single from this motley race,
Some sturdy Glaphyrus, thy brows to grace:
Haste; in the narrow streets long scaffolds raise,
And deck thy portals with triumphant bays;
That, in thy heir, as swath'd in state he lies,
The guests may trace Mirmillo's nose and eyes!
That the chaste partner of thy fruitful bed
May kindly single from this motley race,
Some sturdy Glaphyrus, thy brows to grace:
212
And deck thy portals with triumphant bays;
That, in thy heir, as swath'd in state he lies,
The guests may trace Mirmillo's nose and eyes!
Hippia, who shared a rich patrician's bed,
To Egypt, with a gladiator, fled,
While rank Canopus eyed, with strong disgust,
This ranker specimen of Roman lust.
Without one pang, the profligate resign'd
Her husband, sister, sire; gave to the wind
Her children's tears; yea, tore herself away,
(To strike you more,)—from Paris and the play!
And though, in affluence born, her infant head
Had press'd the down of an embroider'd bed,
She braved the deep, (she long had braved her fame;
But this is little—to the courtly dame,)
And, with undaunted breast, the changes bore
Of many a sea, the swelling and the roar.
To Egypt, with a gladiator, fled,
While rank Canopus eyed, with strong disgust,
This ranker specimen of Roman lust.
213
Her husband, sister, sire; gave to the wind
Her children's tears; yea, tore herself away,
(To strike you more,)—from Paris and the play!
And though, in affluence born, her infant head
Had press'd the down of an embroider'd bed,
She braved the deep, (she long had braved her fame;
But this is little—to the courtly dame,)
And, with undaunted breast, the changes bore
Of many a sea, the swelling and the roar.
214
Have they an honest call, such ills to bear?
Cold shiverings seize them, and they shrink with fear;
But set illicit pleasure in their eye,
Onward they rush, and every toil defy!
Cold shiverings seize them, and they shrink with fear;
But set illicit pleasure in their eye,
Onward they rush, and every toil defy!
Summon'd by duty, to attend her lord,
How, cries the lady, can I get on board?
How bear the dizzy motion? how the smell?
But—when the adulterer calls her, all is well!
She roams the deck, with pleasure ever new,
Tugs at the ropes, and messes with the crew;
But with her husband—O, how chang'd the case!
Sick! sick! she cries, and vomits in his face;
How, cries the lady, can I get on board?
How bear the dizzy motion? how the smell?
But—when the adulterer calls her, all is well!
She roams the deck, with pleasure ever new,
Tugs at the ropes, and messes with the crew;
But with her husband—O, how chang'd the case!
Sick! sick! she cries, and vomits in his face;
But by what youthful charms, what shape, what air,
Was Hippia won, the opprobrious name to bear,
Of Fencer's trull? The wanton well might doat!
For the sweet Sergius long had scraped his throat,
Long look'd for leave to quit the publick stage,
Maim'd in his limbs, and verging now to age.
Add, that his face was batter'd and decay'd;
The helmet on his brow huge galls had made,
A wen deform'd his nose, of monstrous size,
And sharp rheum trickled from his bloodshot eyes:
But then he was a swordsman! that alone,
Made every charm, and every grace his own;
That made him dearer than her nuptial vows,
Dearer than country, sister, children, spouse.—
'Tis blood they love: Let Sergius quit the sword,
And he'll appear, at once,—so like her lord!
Was Hippia won, the opprobrious name to bear,
Of Fencer's trull? The wanton well might doat!
For the sweet Sergius long had scraped his throat,
Long look'd for leave to quit the publick stage,
Maim'd in his limbs, and verging now to age.
Add, that his face was batter'd and decay'd;
The helmet on his brow huge galls had made,
A wen deform'd his nose, of monstrous size,
And sharp rheum trickled from his bloodshot eyes:
215
Made every charm, and every grace his own;
That made him dearer than her nuptial vows,
Dearer than country, sister, children, spouse.—
'Tis blood they love: Let Sergius quit the sword,
And he'll appear, at once,—so like her lord!
Start you at wrongs that touch a private name,
At Hippia's lewdness, and Veiento's shame?
Turn to the rivals of the immortal Powers,
And mark how like their fortunes are to ours!
Claudius had scarce begun his eyes to close,
Ere from his pillow Messalina rose;
(Accustom'd long the bed of state to slight
For the coarse mattress, and the hood of night;)
And with one maid, and her dark hair conceal'd
Beneath a yellow tire, a strumpet veil'd!
She slipt into the stews, unseen, unknown,
And hired a cell, yet reeking, for her own.
There, flinging off her dress, the imperial whore
Stood, with bare breasts and gilded, at the door,
And show'd, Britannicus, to all who came,
The womb that bore thee, in Lycisca's name!
Allured the passers by with many a wile,
And ask'd her price, and took it, with a smile.
And when the hour of business now was spent,
And all the trulls dismiss'd, repining went;
Yet what she could, she did; slowly she past,
And saw her man, and shut her cell, the last.
—Still raging with the fever of desire,
Her veins all turgid, and her blood all fire,
With joyless pace, the imperial couch she sought,
And to her happy spouse (yet slumb'ring) brought,
Cheeks rank with sweat, limbs drench'd with poisonous dews,
The steam of lamps, and odour of the stews!
At Hippia's lewdness, and Veiento's shame?
Turn to the rivals of the immortal Powers,
And mark how like their fortunes are to ours!
Claudius had scarce begun his eyes to close,
Ere from his pillow Messalina rose;
(Accustom'd long the bed of state to slight
For the coarse mattress, and the hood of night;)
And with one maid, and her dark hair conceal'd
Beneath a yellow tire, a strumpet veil'd!
216
And hired a cell, yet reeking, for her own.
There, flinging off her dress, the imperial whore
Stood, with bare breasts and gilded, at the door,
217
The womb that bore thee, in Lycisca's name!
Allured the passers by with many a wile,
And ask'd her price, and took it, with a smile.
And when the hour of business now was spent,
And all the trulls dismiss'd, repining went;
Yet what she could, she did; slowly she past,
And saw her man, and shut her cell, the last.
—Still raging with the fever of desire,
Her veins all turgid, and her blood all fire,
With joyless pace, the imperial couch she sought,
And to her happy spouse (yet slumb'ring) brought,
Cheeks rank with sweat, limbs drench'd with poisonous dews,
The steam of lamps, and odour of the stews!
'Twere long to tell what philters they provide,
What drugs, to set a son-in-law aside.
Women, in judgment weak, in feeling strong,
By every gust of passion borne along,
Act, in their fits, such crimes, that, to be just,
The least pernicious of their sins is lust.
What drugs, to set a son-in-law aside.
Women, in judgment weak, in feeling strong,
By every gust of passion borne along,
Act, in their fits, such crimes, that, to be just,
The least pernicious of their sins is lust.
218
But why's Cesennia then, you say, adored,
And styled the first of women, by her lord?
Because she brought him thousands: such the price,
It cost the lady to be free from vice!—
Not for her charms the wounded lover pined,
Nor felt the flame which fires the ardent mind,
Plutus, not Cupid, touch'd his sordid heart;
And 'twas her dower that wing'd the unerring dart.
She brought enough her liberty to buy,
And tip the wink before her husband's eye.
A wealthy wanton, to a miser wed,
Has all the license of a widow'd bed.
And styled the first of women, by her lord?
219
It cost the lady to be free from vice!—
Not for her charms the wounded lover pined,
Nor felt the flame which fires the ardent mind,
Plutus, not Cupid, touch'd his sordid heart;
And 'twas her dower that wing'd the unerring dart.
She brought enough her liberty to buy,
And tip the wink before her husband's eye.
A wealthy wanton, to a miser wed,
Has all the license of a widow'd bed.
But yet, Sertorius what I say disproves,
For though his Bibula is poor, he loves.
True! but examine him; and, on my life,
You'll find he loves the beauty, not the wife.
Let but a wrinkle on her forehead rise,
And time obscure the lustre of her eyes;
Let but the moisture leave her flaccid skin,
And her teeth blacken, and her cheeks grow thin;
And you shall hear the insulting freedman say,
“Pack up your trumpery, madam, and away!
“Nay, bustle, bustle; here you give offence,
“With snivelling night and day:—take your nose hence!”—
For though his Bibula is poor, he loves.
True! but examine him; and, on my life,
You'll find he loves the beauty, not the wife.
Let but a wrinkle on her forehead rise,
And time obscure the lustre of her eyes;
Let but the moisture leave her flaccid skin,
And her teeth blacken, and her cheeks grow thin;
And you shall hear the insulting freedman say,
“Pack up your trumpery, madam, and away!
“Nay, bustle, bustle; here you give offence,
“With snivelling night and day:—take your nose hence!”—
220
But, ere that hour arrive, she reigns indeed!
Shepherds, and sheep of Canusinian breed,
Falernian vineyards, (trifles these,) she craves,
And store of boys, and troops of country slaves;
Briefly, for all her neighbour has, she sighs,
And plagues her doting husband, till he buys.
Shepherds, and sheep of Canusinian breed,
Falernian vineyards, (trifles these,) she craves,
And store of boys, and troops of country slaves;
Briefly, for all her neighbour has, she sighs,
And plagues her doting husband, till he buys.
In winter, when the merchant fears to roam,
And snow confines the shivering crew at home;
She ransacks every shop for precious ware,
Here cheapens myrrh and crystal vases; there,
That far-famed gem which Berenice wore,
The hire of incest, and thence valued more;
A brother's present, in that barbarous State,
Where kings the Sabbath, barefoot, celebrate;
And old indulgence grants a length of life
To hogs, that fatten fearless of the knife.
And snow confines the shivering crew at home;
She ransacks every shop for precious ware,
Here cheapens myrrh and crystal vases; there,
That far-famed gem which Berenice wore,
The hire of incest, and thence valued more;
221
Where kings the Sabbath, barefoot, celebrate;
222
To hogs, that fatten fearless of the knife.
What! and is none of all this numerous herd,
Worthy your choice? not one, to be preferr'd?
Suppose her nobly born, young, rich, and fair,
And (though a coal-black swan be far less rare)
Chaste as the Sabine wives, who rush'd between
The kindred hosts, and closed the unnatural scene;
Yet who could bear to lead an humbled life,
Curs'd with that veriest plague, a faultless wife!—
Some simple rustick at Venusium bred,
O let me, rather than Cornelia, wed,
If, to great virtues, greater pride she join,
And count her ancestors as current coin.
Take back, for mercy's sake, thy Hannibal!
Away, with vanquish'd Syphax, camp and all!
Troop, with the whole of Carthage! I'd be free,
From all this pageantry of worth—and thee.
Worthy your choice? not one, to be preferr'd?
Suppose her nobly born, young, rich, and fair,
And (though a coal-black swan be far less rare)
Chaste as the Sabine wives, who rush'd between
The kindred hosts, and closed the unnatural scene;
Yet who could bear to lead an humbled life,
Curs'd with that veriest plague, a faultless wife!—
Some simple rustick at Venusium bred,
O let me, rather than Cornelia, wed,
223
And count her ancestors as current coin.
Take back, for mercy's sake, thy Hannibal!
Away, with vanquish'd Syphax, camp and all!
Troop, with the whole of Carthage! I'd be free,
From all this pageantry of worth—and thee.
224
“O let, Apollo, let my children live,
“And thou, Diana, pity, and forgive;”
Amphion cries; “they, they are guiltless all:
“The mother sinn'd, let then the mother fall.”
In vain he cries; Apollo bends his bow,
And, with the children, lays the father low?
They fell; while Niobe aspired to place
Her birth and blood above Latona's race;
And boast her womb,—too fruitful, to be named
With that White Sow, for thirty sucklings famed.
“And thou, Diana, pity, and forgive;”
Amphion cries; “they, they are guiltless all:
“The mother sinn'd, let then the mother fall.”
In vain he cries; Apollo bends his bow,
And, with the children, lays the father low?
They fell; while Niobe aspired to place
Her birth and blood above Latona's race;
And boast her womb,—too fruitful, to be named
With that White Sow, for thirty sucklings famed.
Beauty and worth are purchased much too dear,
If a wife force them hourly on your ear;
For, say, what pleasure can you hope to find,
Even in this boast, this phœnix of her kind,
If, warp'd by pride, on all around she lour,
And in your cup more gall than honey pour?
Ah! who so blindly wedded to the state,
As not to shrink from such a perfect mate,
Of every virtue feel the oppressive weight,
And curse the worth he loves, seven hours in eight?
If a wife force them hourly on your ear;
225
Even in this boast, this phœnix of her kind,
If, warp'd by pride, on all around she lour,
And in your cup more gall than honey pour?
Ah! who so blindly wedded to the state,
As not to shrink from such a perfect mate,
Of every virtue feel the oppressive weight,
And curse the worth he loves, seven hours in eight?
Some faults, though small, no husband yet can bear:
'Tis now the nauseous cant, that none is fair,
Unless her thoughts in attick terms she dress;
A mere Cecropian of a Sulmoness!
All now is Greek: in Greek their souls they pour,
In Greek their fears, hopes, joys;—what would you more?
In Greek they clasp their lovers. We allow
These fooleries, to girls: but thou, O thou,
Who tremblest on the verge of eighty-eight,
To Greek it still!—'tis, now, a day too late.
Foh! how it savours of the dregs of lust,
When an old hag, whose blandishments disgust,
Affects the infant lisp, the girlish squeak,
And mumbles out, “My life! My soul!” in Greek!
Words, which the secret sheets alone should hear,
But which she trumpets in the publick ear.
And words, indeed, have power—But though she woo
In softer strains than e'er Carpophorus knew,
Her wrinkles still employ her favourite's cares;
And while she murmurs love, he counts her years!
'Tis now the nauseous cant, that none is fair,
Unless her thoughts in attick terms she dress;
A mere Cecropian of a Sulmoness!
All now is Greek: in Greek their souls they pour,
In Greek their fears, hopes, joys;—what would you more?
226
These fooleries, to girls: but thou, O thou,
Who tremblest on the verge of eighty-eight,
To Greek it still!—'tis, now, a day too late.
Foh! how it savours of the dregs of lust,
When an old hag, whose blandishments disgust,
Affects the infant lisp, the girlish squeak,
And mumbles out, “My life! My soul!” in Greek!
Words, which the secret sheets alone should hear,
But which she trumpets in the publick ear.
And words, indeed, have power—But though she woo
In softer strains than e'er Carpophorus knew,
Her wrinkles still employ her favourite's cares;
And while she murmurs love, he counts her years!
But tell me;—if thou canst not love a wife,
Made thine by every tie, and thine for life,
Why wed at all? why waste the wine and cakes,
The queasy-stomach'd guest, at parting, takes?
And the rich present, which the bridal right
Claims for the favours of the happy night?
The charger, where, triumphantly inscroll'd,
The Dacian Hero shines in current gold!
If thou canst love, and thy besotted mind
Is, so uxoriously, to one inclined,
Then bow thy neck, and with submissive air,
Receive the yoke—thou must for ever wear.
Made thine by every tie, and thine for life,
Why wed at all? why waste the wine and cakes,
The queasy-stomach'd guest, at parting, takes?
And the rich present, which the bridal right
Claims for the favours of the happy night?
227
The Dacian Hero shines in current gold!
If thou canst love, and thy besotted mind
Is, so uxoriously, to one inclined,
Then bow thy neck, and with submissive air,
Receive the yoke—thou must for ever wear.
To a fond spouse, a wife no mercy shows:—
Though warm'd with equal fires, she mocks his woes,
And triumphs in his spoils: her wayward will
Defeats his bliss, and turns his good to ill!
Nought must be given, if she opposes; nought,
If she opposes, must be sold or bought;
She tells him where to love, and where to hate,
Shuts out the ancient friend, whose beard his gate
Knew, from its downy, to its hoary state:
And when pimps, parasites, of all degrees,
Have power to will their fortunes as they please,
She dictates his; and impudently dares,
To name his very rivals for his heirs!
Though warm'd with equal fires, she mocks his woes,
And triumphs in his spoils: her wayward will
Defeats his bliss, and turns his good to ill!
228
If she opposes, must be sold or bought;
She tells him where to love, and where to hate,
Shuts out the ancient friend, whose beard his gate
Knew, from its downy, to its hoary state:
And when pimps, parasites, of all degrees,
Have power to will their fortunes as they please,
She dictates his; and impudently dares,
To name his very rivals for his heirs!
“Go, crucify that slave.” For what offence?
Who the accuser? Where the evidence?
For when the life of man is in debate,
No time can be too long, no care too great;
Hear all, weigh all with caution, I advise—
“Thou sniveller! is a slave a man?” she cries.
“He's innocent! be't so:—'tis my command,
“My will; let that, sir, for a reason stand.”
Who the accuser? Where the evidence?
For when the life of man is in debate,
No time can be too long, no care too great;
Hear all, weigh all with caution, I advise—
“Thou sniveller! is a slave a man?” she cries.
229
“My will; let that, sir, for a reason stand.”
Thus the virago triumphs, thus she reigns:
Anon she sickens of her first domains,
And seeks for new; husband on husband takes,
Till of her bridal veil one rent she makes.
Again she tires, again for change she burns,
And to the bed she lately left returns,
While the fresh garlands, and unfaded boughs,
Yet deck the portal of her wondering spouse.
Thus swells the list; eight husbands in five years:
A rare inscription for their sepulchres!
Anon she sickens of her first domains,
And seeks for new; husband on husband takes,
Till of her bridal veil one rent she makes.
Again she tires, again for change she burns,
And to the bed she lately left returns,
While the fresh garlands, and unfaded boughs,
Yet deck the portal of her wondering spouse.
Thus swells the list; eight husbands in five years:
A rare inscription for their sepulchres!
230
While your wife's mother lives, expect no peace.
She teaches her, with savage joy, to fleece
A bankrupt spouse: kind creature! she befriends
The lover's hopes, and, when her daughter sends
An answer to his prayer, the style inspects,
Softens the cruel, and the wrong corrects:
Experienced bawd! she blinds, or bribes all eyes,
And brings the adulterer, in despite of spies.
And now the farce begins; the lady falls
“Sick, sick, oh! sick;” and for the doctor calls:
Sweltering she lies till the dull visit's o'er,
While the rank letcher, at the closet door,
Lurking in silence, maddens with delay,
And in his own impatience melts away.
Nor count it strange: What mother e'er was known,
To teach severer morals than her own?—
No;—with their daughters' lusts they swell their stores,
And thrive as bawds, when out of date as whores!
She teaches her, with savage joy, to fleece
A bankrupt spouse: kind creature! she befriends
The lover's hopes, and, when her daughter sends
An answer to his prayer, the style inspects,
Softens the cruel, and the wrong corrects:
Experienced bawd! she blinds, or bribes all eyes,
And brings the adulterer, in despite of spies.
And now the farce begins; the lady falls
“Sick, sick, oh! sick;” and for the doctor calls:
Sweltering she lies till the dull visit's o'er,
While the rank letcher, at the closet door,
Lurking in silence, maddens with delay,
And in his own impatience melts away.
231
To teach severer morals than her own?—
No;—with their daughters' lusts they swell their stores,
And thrive as bawds, when out of date as whores!
Women support the bar: they love the law,
And raise litigious questions for a straw;
They meet in private, and prepare the Bill,
Draw up the Instructions with a lawyer's skill,
Suggest to Celsus where the merits lie,
And dictate points for statement, or reply.
And raise litigious questions for a straw;
They meet in private, and prepare the Bill,
Draw up the Instructions with a lawyer's skill,
Suggest to Celsus where the merits lie,
And dictate points for statement, or reply.
Nay more, they fence! who has not mark'd their oil,
Their purple rugs, for this preposterous toil?
Room for the lady—lo! she seeks the list,
And fiercely tilts at her antagonist,
A post! which, with her buckler, she provokes,
And bores and batters with repeated strokes;
Till all the fencer's art can do she shows,
And the glad master interrupts her blows.
O worthy, sure, to head those wanton dames,
Who foot it naked at the Floral Games;
Unless, with nobler daring, she aspire,
And tempt the Arena's bloody field—for hire!
Their purple rugs, for this preposterous toil?
232
And fiercely tilts at her antagonist,
A post! which, with her buckler, she provokes,
And bores and batters with repeated strokes;
Till all the fencer's art can do she shows,
And the glad master interrupts her blows.
O worthy, sure, to head those wanton dames,
Who foot it naked at the Floral Games;
233
And tempt the Arena's bloody field—for hire!
234
What sense of shame is to that female known,
Who envies our pursuits, and hates her own?
Yet would she not, though proud in arms to shine,
(True woman still) her sex for ours resign;
For there's a thing she loves beyond compare,
And we, alas! have no advantage there.—
Who envies our pursuits, and hates her own?
Yet would she not, though proud in arms to shine,
(True woman still) her sex for ours resign;
For there's a thing she loves beyond compare,
And we, alas! have no advantage there.—
Heavens! with what glee a husband must behold
His wife's accoutrements, in publick, sold;
And auctioneers displaying to the throng,
Her crest, her belt, her gauntlet, and her thong!
Or, if in wilder frolicks she engage,
And take her private lessons for the stage,
Then three-fold rapture must expand his breast,
To see her greaves “a-going,” with the rest.
His wife's accoutrements, in publick, sold;
235
Her crest, her belt, her gauntlet, and her thong!
Or, if in wilder frolicks she engage,
And take her private lessons for the stage,
Then three-fold rapture must expand his breast,
To see her greaves “a-going,” with the rest.
Yet these are they, the tender souls! who sweat
In muslin, and in silk expire with heat.—
Mark, with what force, as the full blow descends,
She thunders “hah!” again, how low she bends
Beneath the opposer's stroke; how firm she rests,
Poised on her hams, and every step contests:
How close tuck'd up for fight, behind, before,
Then laugh—to see her squat, when all is o'er!
In muslin, and in silk expire with heat.—
Mark, with what force, as the full blow descends,
She thunders “hah!” again, how low she bends
Beneath the opposer's stroke; how firm she rests,
Poised on her hams, and every step contests:
How close tuck'd up for fight, behind, before,
Then laugh—to see her squat, when all is o'er!
Daughters of Lepidus, and Gurges old,
And blind Metellus, did ye e'er behold
Asylla (though a fencer's trull confest)
Tilt at a stake, thus impudently drest!
And blind Metellus, did ye e'er behold
Asylla (though a fencer's trull confest)
Tilt at a stake, thus impudently drest!
236
'Tis night; yet hope no slumbers with your wife;
The nuptial bed is still the scene of strife:
There lives the keen debate, the clamorous brawl,
And quiet “never comes, that comes to all.”
Fierce as a tigress plunder'd of her young,
Rage fires her breast, and loosens all her tongue,
When, conscious of her guilt, she feigns to groan,
And chides your loose amours, to hide her own;
Storms at the scandal of your baser flames,
And weeps her injuries from imagined names,
With tears that, marshall'd, at their station stand,
And flow impassion'd, as she gives command.
You think those showers her true affection prove,
And deem yourself—so happy, in her love!
With fond caresses strive her heart to cheer,
And from her eyelids suck the starting tear:
—But could you now examine the scrutore,
Of this most loving, this most jealous whore,
What amorous lays, what letters would you see,
Proofs, damning proofs, of her sincerity!
The nuptial bed is still the scene of strife:
There lives the keen debate, the clamorous brawl,
And quiet “never comes, that comes to all.”
Fierce as a tigress plunder'd of her young,
Rage fires her breast, and loosens all her tongue,
When, conscious of her guilt, she feigns to groan,
And chides your loose amours, to hide her own;
Storms at the scandal of your baser flames,
And weeps her injuries from imagined names,
With tears that, marshall'd, at their station stand,
And flow impassion'd, as she gives command.
You think those showers her true affection prove,
And deem yourself—so happy, in her love!
With fond caresses strive her heart to cheer,
And from her eyelids suck the starting tear:
—But could you now examine the scrutore,
Of this most loving, this most jealous whore,
What amorous lays, what letters would you see,
Proofs, damning proofs, of her sincerity!
But these are doubtful—Put a clearer case:
Suppose her taken in a loose embrace,
A slave's or knight's. Now, my Quintilian, come,
And fashion an excuse. What! you are dumb?
Then, let the lady speak. “Was't not agreed
“The man might please himself?” It was; proceed.
“Then, so may I”—O, Jupiter! “No oath:
“Man is a general term, and takes in both.”
When once surprised, the sex all shame forego;
And more audacious, as more guilty, grow.
Suppose her taken in a loose embrace,
A slave's or knight's. Now, my Quintilian, come,
And fashion an excuse. What! you are dumb?
Then, let the lady speak. “Was't not agreed
“The man might please himself?” It was; proceed.
237
“Man is a general term, and takes in both.”
When once surprised, the sex all shame forego;
And more audacious, as more guilty, grow.
Whence shall these prodigies of vice be traced?
From wealth, my friend. Our matrons, then, were chaste,
When days of labour, nights of short repose,
Hands still employ'd the Tuscan wool to tose,
Their husbands arm'd, and anxious for the State,
And Carthage hovering near the Colline gate,
Conspired to keep all thoughts of ill aloof,
And banish'd vice, far from their lowly roof.
Now, all the evils of long peace are ours;
Luxury, more terrible than hostile powers,
Her baleful influence wide around has hurl'd,
And well avenged the subjugated world!
—Since Poverty, our better Genius, fled,
Vice, like a deluge, o'er the State has spread.
Now, shame to Rome! in every street are found,
The essenced Sybarite, with roses crown'd,
The gay Miletan, and the Tarentine,
Lewd, petulant, and reeling ripe with wine!
Wealth first, the ready pander to all sin,
Brought foreign manners, foreign vices in;
Enervate wealth, and with seductive art,
Sapp'd every homebred virtue of the heart;
Yes, every:—for what cares the drunken dame,
(Take head or tail, to her 'tis just the same,)
Who, at deep midnight, on fat oysters sups,
And froths with unguents her Falernian cups;
Who swallows oceans, till the tables rise,
And double lustres dance before her eyes!
From wealth, my friend. Our matrons, then, were chaste,
When days of labour, nights of short repose,
Hands still employ'd the Tuscan wool to tose,
Their husbands arm'd, and anxious for the State,
And Carthage hovering near the Colline gate,
Conspired to keep all thoughts of ill aloof,
And banish'd vice, far from their lowly roof.
Now, all the evils of long peace are ours;
Luxury, more terrible than hostile powers,
Her baleful influence wide around has hurl'd,
And well avenged the subjugated world!
—Since Poverty, our better Genius, fled,
Vice, like a deluge, o'er the State has spread.
Now, shame to Rome! in every street are found,
The essenced Sybarite, with roses crown'd,
The gay Miletan, and the Tarentine,
Lewd, petulant, and reeling ripe with wine!
Wealth first, the ready pander to all sin,
Brought foreign manners, foreign vices in;
Enervate wealth, and with seductive art,
Sapp'd every homebred virtue of the heart;
238
(Take head or tail, to her 'tis just the same,)
Who, at deep midnight, on fat oysters sups,
And froths with unguents her Falernian cups;
239
And double lustres dance before her eyes!
Thus flush'd, conceive, as Tullia homeward goes,
With what contempt she tosses up her nose,
At Chastity's hoar fane! what impious jeers,
Collatia pours in Maura's tingling ears!
Here stop their litters, here they all alight,
And squat together in the Goddess' sight:—
You pass, aroused at dawn your court to pay,
The loathsome scene of their licentious play.
With what contempt she tosses up her nose,
At Chastity's hoar fane! what impious jeers,
Collatia pours in Maura's tingling ears!
Here stop their litters, here they all alight,
And squat together in the Goddess' sight:—
You pass, aroused at dawn your court to pay,
The loathsome scene of their licentious play.
Who knows not now, my friend, the secret rites
Of the Good Goddess; when the dance excites
The boiling blood; when, to distraction wound,
By wine, and musick's stimulating sound,
The mænads of Priapus, with wild air,
Howl horrible, and toss their flowing hair!
Then, how the wine at every pore o'erflows!
How the eye sparkles! how the bosom glows!
How the cheek burns! and, as the passions rise,
How the strong feeling bursts in eager cries!—
Saufeia now springs forth, and tries a fall
With the town prostitutes, and throws them all;
But yields, herself, to Medullina, known
For parts, and powers, superiour to her own.
Maids, mistresses, alike the contest share,
And 'tis not always birth that triumphs there.
Of the Good Goddess; when the dance excites
240
By wine, and musick's stimulating sound,
The mænads of Priapus, with wild air,
Howl horrible, and toss their flowing hair!
Then, how the wine at every pore o'erflows!
How the eye sparkles! how the bosom glows!
How the cheek burns! and, as the passions rise,
How the strong feeling bursts in eager cries!—
Saufeia now springs forth, and tries a fall
With the town prostitutes, and throws them all;
But yields, herself, to Medullina, known
For parts, and powers, superiour to her own.
Maids, mistresses, alike the contest share,
And 'tis not always birth that triumphs there.
Nothing is feign'd in this accursed game:
'Tis genuine all; and such as would inflame
The frozen age of Priam, and inspire,
The ruptur'd, bedrid Nestor with desire.
Stung with their mimick feats, a hollow groan
Of lust breaks forth; the sex, the sex, is shown!
And one loud yell re-echoes through the den,
“Now, now, 'tis lawful! now admit the men!”
There's none arrived. “Not yet! then scour the street,
“And bring us quickly, here, the first you meet.”
There's none abroad, “Then fetch our slaves.” They're gone.
“Then hire a waterman.” There's none. “Not one!”—
Nature's strong barrier scarcely now restrains
The baffled fury in their boiling veins!
'Tis genuine all; and such as would inflame
The frozen age of Priam, and inspire,
The ruptur'd, bedrid Nestor with desire.
Stung with their mimick feats, a hollow groan
Of lust breaks forth; the sex, the sex, is shown!
And one loud yell re-echoes through the den,
“Now, now, 'tis lawful! now admit the men!”
There's none arrived. “Not yet! then scour the street,
“And bring us quickly, here, the first you meet.”
There's none abroad, “Then fetch our slaves.” They're gone.
“Then hire a waterman.” There's none. “Not one!”—
241
The baffled fury in their boiling veins!
And would to heaven our ancient rites were free!—
But Africa and India, earth and sea,
Have heard, what singing-wench produced his ware,
Vast as two Anti-Catos, there, even there,
Where the he-mouse, in reverence, lies conceal'd,
And every picture of a male is veil'd.
And who was then a scoffer? who despised
The simple rites by infant Rome devised,
The wooden bowl of pious Numa's day,
The coarse brown dish, and pot of homely clay?
Now, woe the while! religion's in its wane;
And daring Clodii swarm in every fane.
But Africa and India, earth and sea,
Have heard, what singing-wench produced his ware,
Vast as two Anti-Catos, there, even there,
242
And every picture of a male is veil'd.
And who was then a scoffer? who despised
The simple rites by infant Rome devised,
The wooden bowl of pious Numa's day,
The coarse brown dish, and pot of homely clay?
Now, woe the while! religion's in its wane;
And daring Clodii swarm in every fane.
I hear, old friends, I hear you: “Make all sure:
“Let spies surround her, and let bolts secure.”
But who shall keep the keepers? Wives contemn
Our poor precautions, and begin with them.
Lust is the master passion; it inflames,
Alike, both high and low; alike, the dames,
Who, on tall Syrians' necks, their pomp display,
And those who pick, on foot, their miry way.
“Let spies surround her, and let bolts secure.”
243
Our poor precautions, and begin with them.
Lust is the master passion; it inflames,
Alike, both high and low; alike, the dames,
Who, on tall Syrians' necks, their pomp display,
And those who pick, on foot, their miry way.
Whene'er Ogulnia to the Circus goes,
To emulate the rich, she hires her clothes,
Hires followers, friends, and cushions; hires a chair,
A nurse, and a trim girl, with golden hair,
To slip her billets:—prodigal and poor,
She wastes the wreck of her paternal store
On smooth-faced wrestlers; wastes her little all,
And strips her shivering mansion to the wall!
There's many a woman knows distress at home;
Not one who feels it, and, ere ruin come,
To her small means conforms. Taught by the ant,
Men sometimes guard against the extreme of want,
And stretch, though late, their providential fears,
To food and raiment for their future years:
But women never see their wealth decay;
With lavish hands they scatter night and day,
As if the gold, with vegetative power,
Would spring afresh, and bloom from hour to hour;
As if the mass its present size would keep,
And no expense reduce the eternal heap.
To emulate the rich, she hires her clothes,
Hires followers, friends, and cushions; hires a chair,
A nurse, and a trim girl, with golden hair,
To slip her billets:—prodigal and poor,
She wastes the wreck of her paternal store
On smooth-faced wrestlers; wastes her little all,
And strips her shivering mansion to the wall!
There's many a woman knows distress at home;
Not one who feels it, and, ere ruin come,
To her small means conforms. Taught by the ant,
Men sometimes guard against the extreme of want,
And stretch, though late, their providential fears,
To food and raiment for their future years:
But women never see their wealth decay;
With lavish hands they scatter night and day,
As if the gold, with vegetative power,
Would spring afresh, and bloom from hour to hour;
244
And no expense reduce the eternal heap.
Others there are, who centre all their bliss,
In the soft eunuch, and the beardless kiss:
They need not from his chin avert their face,
Nor use abortive drugs, for his embrace.
But oh! their joys run high, if he be form'd,
When his full veins the fire of love has warm'd;
When every part's to full perfection rear'd,
And nought of manhood wanting, but the beard.
In the soft eunuch, and the beardless kiss:
They need not from his chin avert their face,
Nor use abortive drugs, for his embrace.
But oh! their joys run high, if he be form'd,
When his full veins the fire of love has warm'd;
When every part's to full perfection rear'd,
And nought of manhood wanting, but the beard.
But should the dame in musick take delight,
The publick singer is disabled quite:
In vain the prætor guards him all he can;
She slips the buckle, and enjoys her man.
Still in her hand his instrument is found,
Thick set with gems, that shed a lustre round;
Still o'er his lyre the ivory quill she flings,
Still runs divisions on the trembling strings,
The trembling strings, which the loved Hedymel
Was wont to strike—so sweetly, and so well!
These still she holds, with these she sooths her woes,
And kisses on the dear, dear wire bestows.
The publick singer is disabled quite:
In vain the prætor guards him all he can;
She slips the buckle, and enjoys her man.
Still in her hand his instrument is found,
Thick set with gems, that shed a lustre round;
Still o'er his lyre the ivory quill she flings,
Still runs divisions on the trembling strings,
245
Was wont to strike—so sweetly, and so well!
These still she holds, with these she sooths her woes,
And kisses on the dear, dear wire bestows.
A noble matron of the Lamian line,
Inquired of Janus, (offering meal and wine,)
If Pollio, at the Harmonick Games, would speed,
And wear the oaken crown, the victor's meed!
What could she for a husband, more, have done,
What for an only, an expiring son?
Yes; for a harper, the besotted dame
Approach'd the altar, reckless of her fame,
And veil'd her head, and, with a pious air,
Follow'd the Aruspex through the form of prayer;
And trembled, and turn'd pale, as he explored
The entrails, breathless for the fatal word!
But, tell me, father Janus, if you please,
Tell me, most ancient of the deities,
Is your attention to such suppliants given?
If so—there is not much to do in heaven!
For a comedian, this consults your will,
For a tragedian, that; kept standing, still,
By this eternal route, the wretched priest
Feels his legs swell, and dies to be releast.
Inquired of Janus, (offering meal and wine,)
If Pollio, at the Harmonick Games, would speed,
And wear the oaken crown, the victor's meed!
246
What for an only, an expiring son?
Yes; for a harper, the besotted dame
Approach'd the altar, reckless of her fame,
And veil'd her head, and, with a pious air,
Follow'd the Aruspex through the form of prayer;
And trembled, and turn'd pale, as he explored
The entrails, breathless for the fatal word!
But, tell me, father Janus, if you please,
Tell me, most ancient of the deities,
Is your attention to such suppliants given?
If so—there is not much to do in heaven!
For a comedian, this consults your will,
For a tragedian, that; kept standing, still,
By this eternal route, the wretched priest
Feels his legs swell, and dies to be releast.
But let her rather sing, than roam the streets,
And thrust herself in every crowd she meets;
Chat with great generals, though her lord be there,
With lawless eye, bold front, and bosom bare.
And thrust herself in every crowd she meets;
247
With lawless eye, bold front, and bosom bare.
She too, with curiosity o'erflows,
And all the news of all the world she knows;
Knows what in Scythia, what in Thrace is done;
The secrets of the step-dame and the son;
Who speeds, and who is jilted; and can swear,
Who made the widow pregnant, when and where,
And what she said, and how she frolick'd there.—
And all the news of all the world she knows;
Knows what in Scythia, what in Thrace is done;
The secrets of the step-dame and the son;
Who speeds, and who is jilted; and can swear,
Who made the widow pregnant, when and where,
And what she said, and how she frolick'd there.—
She first espied the star, whose baleful ray,
O'er Parthia, and Armenia, shed dismay:
She watches at the gates, for news to come,
And intercepts it, as it enters Rome;
Then, fraught with full intelligence, she flies
Through every street, and, mingling truth with lies,
Tells how Niphates bore down every mound,
And pour'd his desolating flood around;
How earth, convuls'd, disclosed her caverns hoar,
And cities trembled, and—were seen no more!
O'er Parthia, and Armenia, shed dismay:
She watches at the gates, for news to come,
And intercepts it, as it enters Rome;
Then, fraught with full intelligence, she flies
Through every street, and, mingling truth with lies,
Tells how Niphates bore down every mound,
And pour'd his desolating flood around;
248
And cities trembled, and—were seen no more!
And yet this itch, though never to be cured,
Is easier, than her cruelty, endured.
Should a poor neighbour's dog but discompose
Her rest, a moment, wild with rage she grows;
“Ho! whips,” she cries, “and flay that brute accurst;
“But flay that rascal, there, who owns him, first.”
Dangerous to meet while in these frantick airs,
And terrible to look at, she prepares
To bathe at night; she issues her commands,
And in long ranks, forth march the obedient bands,
With tubs, cloths, oils:—for 'tis her dear delight,
To sweat in clamour, tumult, and affright.
Is easier, than her cruelty, endured.
Should a poor neighbour's dog but discompose
Her rest, a moment, wild with rage she grows;
“Ho! whips,” she cries, “and flay that brute accurst;
“But flay that rascal, there, who owns him, first.”
Dangerous to meet while in these frantick airs,
And terrible to look at, she prepares
To bathe at night; she issues her commands,
And in long ranks, forth march the obedient bands,
With tubs, cloths, oils:—for 'tis her dear delight,
To sweat in clamour, tumult, and affright.
When her tired arms refuse the balls to ply,
And the lewd bath-keeper has rubb'd her dry,
She calls to mind each miserable guest,
Long since with hunger, and with sleep opprest,
And hurries home; all glowing, all athirst,
For wine, whole flasks of wine! and swallows, first,
Two quarts, to clear her stomach, and excite
A ravenous, an unbounded appetite!
Huisch! up it comes, good heavens! meat, drink, and all,
And flows in purple torrents round the hall;
Or a gilt ewer receives the foul contents,
And poisons all the house with vinous scents.
So, dropt into a vat, a snake is said
To drink and spew:—the husband turns his head,
Sick to the soul, from this disgusting scene,
And struggles to suppress his rising spleen.
And the lewd bath-keeper has rubb'd her dry,
She calls to mind each miserable guest,
Long since with hunger, and with sleep opprest,
And hurries home; all glowing, all athirst,
For wine, whole flasks of wine! and swallows, first,
249
A ravenous, an unbounded appetite!
Huisch! up it comes, good heavens! meat, drink, and all,
And flows in purple torrents round the hall;
Or a gilt ewer receives the foul contents,
And poisons all the house with vinous scents.
So, dropt into a vat, a snake is said
To drink and spew:—the husband turns his head,
Sick to the soul, from this disgusting scene,
And struggles to suppress his rising spleen.
But she is more intolerable yet,
Who plays the critick, when at table set;
Calls Virgil charming, and attempts to prove,
Poor Dido right, in venturing all for love.
From Maro, and Mæonides, she quotes
The striking passages, and, while she notes
Their beauties and defects, adjusts her scales,
And accurately weighs, which bard prevails.
The astonish'd guests sit mute: grammarians yield,
Loud rhetoricians, baffled, quit the field;
Even auctioneers and lawyers stand aghast,
And not a woman speaks!—So thick, and fast,
The wordy shower descends, that you would swear,
A thousand bells were jangling in your ear,
A thousand basins clattering. Vex no more,
Your trumpets, and your timbrels, as of yore,
To ease the labouring moon; her single yell
Can drown their clangour, and dissolve the spell.
Who plays the critick, when at table set;
Calls Virgil charming, and attempts to prove,
Poor Dido right, in venturing all for love.
From Maro, and Mæonides, she quotes
The striking passages, and, while she notes
Their beauties and defects, adjusts her scales,
And accurately weighs, which bard prevails.
The astonish'd guests sit mute: grammarians yield,
Loud rhetoricians, baffled, quit the field;
250
And not a woman speaks!—So thick, and fast,
The wordy shower descends, that you would swear,
A thousand bells were jangling in your ear,
A thousand basins clattering. Vex no more,
Your trumpets, and your timbrels, as of yore,
To ease the labouring moon; her single yell
Can drown their clangour, and dissolve the spell.
She lectures too in Ethicks, and declaims,
On the Chief Good!—but, surely, she who aims
To seem too learn'd, should take the male array;
A hog, due offering, to Sylvanus slay,
And, with the Stoick's privilege, repair
To farthing baths, and strip in publick there!
On the Chief Good!—but, surely, she who aims
251
A hog, due offering, to Sylvanus slay,
And, with the Stoick's privilege, repair
To farthing baths, and strip in publick there!
252
O, never may the partner of my bed,
With subtleties of logick stuff her head;
Nor whirl her rapid syllogisms around,
Nor with imperfect enthymemes confound!
Enough for me, if common things she know,
And boast the little learning schools bestow
I hate the female pedagogue, who pores
O'er her Palæmon hourly; who explores
All modes of speech, regardless of the sense,
But tremblingly alive to mood and tense:
Who puzzles me with many an uncouth phrase,
From some old canticle of Numa's days;
Corrects her country friends, and cannot hear
Her husband solecise, without a sneer!
With subtleties of logick stuff her head;
Nor whirl her rapid syllogisms around,
Nor with imperfect enthymemes confound!
Enough for me, if common things she know,
And boast the little learning schools bestow
I hate the female pedagogue, who pores
O'er her Palæmon hourly; who explores
All modes of speech, regardless of the sense,
But tremblingly alive to mood and tense:
Who puzzles me with many an uncouth phrase,
From some old canticle of Numa's days;
253
Her husband solecise, without a sneer!
A woman stops at nothing, when she wears
Rich emeralds round her neck, and, in her ears,
Pearls of enormous size; these justify
Her faults, and make all lawful in her eye.
Sure, of all ills with which mankind are curst,
A wife who brings you money is the worst.
Behold! her face a spectacle appears,
Bloated, and foul, and plaister'd to the ears,
With viscous paste:—the husband looks askew,
And sticks his lips in this detested glue.
She meets the adulterer bath'd, perfumed, and drest,
But rots in filth at home, a very pest!
For him she breathes of nard; for him alone,
She makes the sweets of Araby her own;
For him, at length, she ventures to uncase,
Scales the first layer of roughcast from her face,
And, while the maids to know her now begin,
Clears, with that precious milk, her frowzy skin,
For which, though exiled to the frozen main,
She'd lead a drove of asses in her train!
But tell me yet; this thing, thus daub'd and oil'd,
Thus poulticed, plaister'd, baked by turns and boil'd,
Thus with pomatums, ointments, lacker'd o'er,
Is it a face, Ursidius, or a sore?
Rich emeralds round her neck, and, in her ears,
Pearls of enormous size; these justify
Her faults, and make all lawful in her eye.
Sure, of all ills with which mankind are curst,
A wife who brings you money is the worst.
Behold! her face a spectacle appears,
Bloated, and foul, and plaister'd to the ears,
With viscous paste:—the husband looks askew,
And sticks his lips in this detested glue.
254
But rots in filth at home, a very pest!
For him she breathes of nard; for him alone,
She makes the sweets of Araby her own;
For him, at length, she ventures to uncase,
Scales the first layer of roughcast from her face,
And, while the maids to know her now begin,
Clears, with that precious milk, her frowzy skin,
255
She'd lead a drove of asses in her train!
But tell me yet; this thing, thus daub'd and oil'd,
Thus poulticed, plaister'd, baked by turns and boil'd,
Thus with pomatums, ointments, lacker'd o'er,
Is it a face, Ursidius, or a sore?
'Tis worth a little labour, to survey
Our wives more near, and trace 'em through the day.
If, dreadful to relate! the night foregone,
The husband turn'd his back, or lay alone,
All, all is lost; the housekeeper is stripp'd,
The tiremaid chidden, and the chairman whipp'd:
Rods, cords, and thongs, avenge the master's sleep,
And force the guiltless house to wake, and weep.
Our wives more near, and trace 'em through the day.
256
The husband turn'd his back, or lay alone,
All, all is lost; the housekeeper is stripp'd,
The tiremaid chidden, and the chairman whipp'd:
Rods, cords, and thongs, avenge the master's sleep,
And force the guiltless house to wake, and weep.
There are, who hire a beadle by the year,
To lash their servants round; who, pleased to hear
The eternal thong, bid him lay on, while they,
At perfect ease, the silkman's stores survey,
Chat with their female gossips, or replace
The crack'd enamel on their treacherous face.
No respite yet:—they leisurely hum o'er
The countless items of the day before,
And bid him still lay on; till, faint with toil,
He drops the scourge; when, with a rancorous smile,
“Begone!” they thunder in a horrid tone,
“Now your accounts are settled, rogues, begone!”
To lash their servants round; who, pleased to hear
The eternal thong, bid him lay on, while they,
At perfect ease, the silkman's stores survey,
Chat with their female gossips, or replace
The crack'd enamel on their treacherous face.
No respite yet:—they leisurely hum o'er
The countless items of the day before,
And bid him still lay on; till, faint with toil,
He drops the scourge; when, with a rancorous smile,
“Begone!” they thunder in a horrid tone,
“Now your accounts are settled, rogues, begone!”
But should she wish with nicer care to dress,
And now the hour of assignation press,
(Whether the adulterer, for her coming, wait
In Isis' fane, to bawdry consecrate,
Or in Lucullus' walks,) the house appears,
A true Sicilian court, all gloom and tears.
The wretched Psecas, for the whip prepared,
With locks dishevell'd, and with shoulders bared,
Attempts her hair: fire flashes from her eyes,
And, “Strumpet! why this curl so high?” she cries.
Instant the lash, without remorse, is plied,
And the blood stains her bosom, back, and side.
But why this fury?—Is the girl to blame,
If your air shocks you, or your features shame?
And now the hour of assignation press,
(Whether the adulterer, for her coming, wait
In Isis' fane, to bawdry consecrate,
Or in Lucullus' walks,) the house appears,
A true Sicilian court, all gloom and tears.
257
With locks dishevell'd, and with shoulders bared,
Attempts her hair: fire flashes from her eyes,
And, “Strumpet! why this curl so high?” she cries.
Instant the lash, without remorse, is plied,
And the blood stains her bosom, back, and side.
But why this fury?—Is the girl to blame,
If your air shocks you, or your features shame?
Another, trembling, on the left, prepares
To open, and arrange the straggling hairs
In ringlets trim: meanwhile, the council meet:
And first the nurse, a personage discreet,
Late from the toilet to the wheel removed,
(The effect of time,) yet still of taste approved,
Gives her opinion: then the rest, in course,
As age, or practice, lends their judgment force.
So warm they grow, and so much pains they take,
You'd think her honour, or her life at stake!
So high they build her head, such tiers on tiers,
With wary hands, they pile, that she appears,
Andromache, before:—and what, behind?
A dwarf, a creature of a different kind:—
To open, and arrange the straggling hairs
In ringlets trim: meanwhile, the council meet:
And first the nurse, a personage discreet,
Late from the toilet to the wheel removed,
(The effect of time,) yet still of taste approved,
Gives her opinion: then the rest, in course,
As age, or practice, lends their judgment force.
So warm they grow, and so much pains they take,
You'd think her honour, or her life at stake!
So high they build her head, such tiers on tiers,
With wary hands, they pile, that she appears,
Andromache, before:—and what, behind?
A dwarf, a creature of a different kind:—
258
Meanwhile, engross'd by these important cares,
She thinks not on her lord's distrest affairs,
Scarce on himself; but leads a separate life,
As if she were his neighbour, not his wife?
Or, but in this,—that all control she braves;
Hates where he loves, and squanders where he saves.
She thinks not on her lord's distrest affairs,
Scarce on himself; but leads a separate life,
As if she were his neighbour, not his wife?
Or, but in this,—that all control she braves;
Hates where he loves, and squanders where he saves.
259
Room for Bellona's frantick votaries! room
For Cybele's mad enthusiasts! lo, they come!
A lusty semivir, whose part obscene,
A broken shell has sever'd smooth and clean,
A raw-boned, mitred priest, whom the whole choir
Of curtail'd priestlings, reverence and admire,
Enters, with his wild rout; and bids the fair,
Of autumn, and its sultry blasts, beware,
Unless she lustrate, with an hundred eggs,
Her household straight:—then, impudently begs
Her cast-off clothes, that every plague they fear,
May enter them, and expiate all the year!
For Cybele's mad enthusiasts! lo, they come!
A lusty semivir, whose part obscene,
A broken shell has sever'd smooth and clean,
260
Of curtail'd priestlings, reverence and admire,
Enters, with his wild rout; and bids the fair,
Of autumn, and its sultry blasts, beware,
Unless she lustrate, with an hundred eggs,
Her household straight:—then, impudently begs
Her cast-off clothes, that every plague they fear,
May enter them, and expiate all the year!
But lo! another tribe! at whose command,
See her, in winter, near the Tiber stand,
Break the thick ice, and, ere the sun appears,
Plunge in the crashing eddy to the ears;
Then, shivering from the keen and eager breeze,
Crawl round the banks, on bare and bleeding knees.
See her, in winter, near the Tiber stand,
261
Plunge in the crashing eddy to the ears;
262
Crawl round the banks, on bare and bleeding knees.
263
Should milkwhite Iö bid, from Meroë's isle,
She'd fetch the sunburnt waters of the Nile,
To sprinkle in her fane; for she, it seems,
Has heavenly visitations, in her dreams—
Mark the pure soul, with whom the gods delight,
To hold high converse, at the noon of night!
For this she cherishes above the rest,
Her Iö's favourite priest, a knave profest,
A holy hypocrite, who strolls abroad,
With his Anubis, his dog-headed god!
Girt by a linen-clad, a bald-pate crew,
Of howling vagrants, who their cries renew,
In every street, as up and down they run,
To find Osire, fit father to fit son!
She'd fetch the sunburnt waters of the Nile,
To sprinkle in her fane; for she, it seems,
Has heavenly visitations, in her dreams—
Mark the pure soul, with whom the gods delight,
To hold high converse, at the noon of night!
For this she cherishes above the rest,
Her Iö's favourite priest, a knave profest,
A holy hypocrite, who strolls abroad,
With his Anubis, his dog-headed god!
264
Of howling vagrants, who their cries renew,
In every street, as up and down they run,
To find Osire, fit father to fit son!
He sues for pardon, when the liquorish dame
Abstains not from the interdicted game,
On high and solemn days; for great the crime,
To stain the nuptial couch at such a time,
And great the atonement due;—the silver snake,
Abhorrent of the deed, was seen to quake!
Yet he prevails:—Osiris hears his prayers,
And, soften'd by a goose, the culprit spares.
Abstains not from the interdicted game,
On high and solemn days; for great the crime,
To stain the nuptial couch at such a time,
And great the atonement due;—the silver snake,
Abhorrent of the deed, was seen to quake!
265
And, soften'd by a goose, the culprit spares.
Without her badge, a Jewess now draws near,
And, trembling, begs a trifle in her ear.
No common personage! she knows full well
The laws of Solyma, and she can tell
The dark decrees of heaven; a priestess she,
An hierarch of the consecrated tree!
Moved by these claims thus modestly set forth,
She gives her a few coins of little worth;
For Jews are moderate, and, for farthing fees,
Will sell what fortune, or what dreams you please.
And, trembling, begs a trifle in her ear.
266
The laws of Solyma, and she can tell
The dark decrees of heaven; a priestess she,
An hierarch of the consecrated tree!
Moved by these claims thus modestly set forth,
She gives her a few coins of little worth;
For Jews are moderate, and, for farthing fees,
Will sell what fortune, or what dreams you please.
The prophetess dismiss'd, a Syrian sage
Now enters, and explores the future page,
In a dove's entrails: there he sees exprest,
A youthful lover; there, a rich bequest,
From some kind dotard: then a chick he takes,
And in its breast, and in a puppy's, rakes,
And sometimes in—an infant's: he will teach
The art to others, and, when taught, impeach!
Now enters, and explores the future page,
In a dove's entrails: there he sees exprest,
A youthful lover; there, a rich bequest,
From some kind dotard: then a chick he takes,
And in its breast, and in a puppy's, rakes,
And sometimes in—an infant's: he will teach
The art to others, and, when taught, impeach!
267
But chiefly in Chaldeans she believes:
Whate'er they say, with reverence she receives,
As if from Hammon's secret fount it came;
Since Delphi now, if we may credit fame,
Gives no responses, and a long dark night,
Conceals the future hour, from mortal sight.
Of these, the chief (such credit guilt obtains!)
Is he, who, banish'd oft, and oft in chains,
Stands forth the veriest knave; he who foretold
The death of Galba,—to his rival sold!
Whate'er they say, with reverence she receives,
As if from Hammon's secret fount it came;
Since Delphi now, if we may credit fame,
Gives no responses, and a long dark night,
Conceals the future hour, from mortal sight.
Of these, the chief (such credit guilt obtains!)
Is he, who, banish'd oft, and oft in chains,
Stands forth the veriest knave; he who foretold
The death of Galba,—to his rival sold!
268
No juggler must for fame or profit hope,
Who has not narrowly escaped the rope;
Begg'd hard for exile, and, by special grace,
Obtain'd confinement in some desert place.—
To him your Tanaquil applies, in doubt
How long her jaundiced mother may hold out;
But first, how long her husband: next inquires,
When she shall follow, to their funeral pyres,
Her sisters, and her uncles; last, if fate
Will kindly lengthen out the adulterer's date,
Beyond her own;—content, if he but live,
And sure that heaven has nothing more to give!
Who has not narrowly escaped the rope;
Begg'd hard for exile, and, by special grace,
Obtain'd confinement in some desert place.—
To him your Tanaquil applies, in doubt
How long her jaundiced mother may hold out;
269
When she shall follow, to their funeral pyres,
Her sisters, and her uncles; last, if fate
Will kindly lengthen out the adulterer's date,
Beyond her own;—content, if he but live,
And sure that heaven has nothing more to give!
Yet she may still be suffer'd; for, what woes
The louring aspect of old Saturn shows;
Or in what sign bright Venus ought to rise,
To shed her mildest influence from the skies;
Or what fore-fated month to gain is given,
And what to loss, (the mysteries of heaven,)
She knows not, nor pretends to know: but flee
The dame, whose Manual of Astrology
Still dangles at her side, smooth as chafed gum,
And fretted by her everlasting thumb!—
Deep in the Science now, she leaves her mate
To go, or stay; but will not share his fate,
Withheld by trines and sextiles; she will look,
Before her chair be order'd, in the book,
For the fit hour; an itching eye endure,
Nor, till her scheme be raised, attempt the cure;
Nay, languishing in bed, receive no meat,
Till Petosyris bid her rise and eat.
The louring aspect of old Saturn shows;
Or in what sign bright Venus ought to rise,
To shed her mildest influence from the skies;
Or what fore-fated month to gain is given,
And what to loss, (the mysteries of heaven,)
She knows not, nor pretends to know: but flee
The dame, whose Manual of Astrology
Still dangles at her side, smooth as chafed gum,
And fretted by her everlasting thumb!—
Deep in the Science now, she leaves her mate
To go, or stay; but will not share his fate,
270
Before her chair be order'd, in the book,
For the fit hour; an itching eye endure,
Nor, till her scheme be raised, attempt the cure;
Nay, languishing in bed, receive no meat,
Till Petosyris bid her rise and eat.
The curse is universal: high and low,
Are mad alike the future hour to know.
The rich consult a Babylonian seer,
Skill'd in the mysteries of either sphere;
Or a gray-headed priest, hired by the state,
To watch the lightning, and to expiate.
The middle sort, a quack, at whose command
They lift the forehead, and make bare the hand;
While the sly letcher in the table pries,
And claps it wantonly, with gloating eyes.
The poor apply to humbler cheats, still found
Beside the Circus wall, or city mound;
While she, whose neck no golden trinket bears,
To the dry ditch, or dolphin's tower, repairs,
And anxiously inquires, which she shall choose,
The tapster, or old-clothes man? which refuse?
Are mad alike the future hour to know.
The rich consult a Babylonian seer,
Skill'd in the mysteries of either sphere;
Or a gray-headed priest, hired by the state,
To watch the lightning, and to expiate.
271
They lift the forehead, and make bare the hand;
While the sly letcher in the table pries,
And claps it wantonly, with gloating eyes.
The poor apply to humbler cheats, still found
Beside the Circus wall, or city mound;
While she, whose neck no golden trinket bears,
To the dry ditch, or dolphin's tower, repairs,
272
The tapster, or old-clothes man? which refuse?
Yet these the pangs of childbirth undergo,
And all the yearnings of a mother know;
These, urged by want, assume the nurse's care,
And learn to breed the children which they bear.
Those shun both toil and danger; for, though sped,
The wealthy dame is seldom brought to bed:
Such the dire power of drugs; and such the skill,
They boast, to cause miscarriages at will!
Weep'st thou? O fool! the blest invention hail,
And give the potion, if the gossips fail;
For, should thy wife her nine months burthen bear,
An Æthiop's offspring might thy fortunes heir;
A sooty thing, fit only to affray,
And, seen at morn, to poison all the day!
And all the yearnings of a mother know;
These, urged by want, assume the nurse's care,
And learn to breed the children which they bear.
Those shun both toil and danger; for, though sped,
The wealthy dame is seldom brought to bed:
Such the dire power of drugs; and such the skill,
They boast, to cause miscarriages at will!
Weep'st thou? O fool! the blest invention hail,
And give the potion, if the gossips fail;
For, should thy wife her nine months burthen bear,
An Æthiop's offspring might thy fortunes heir;
A sooty thing, fit only to affray,
And, seen at morn, to poison all the day!
273
Supposititious breeds, the hope, and joy
Of fond, believing, husbands, I pass by;
The beggars' bantlings, spawn'd in open air,
And left by some pond side, to perish there.—
From hence your Flamens, hence your Salians come;
Your Scauri, chiefs and magistrates of Rome!
Fortune stands tittering by, in playful mood,
And smiles, complacent, on the sprawling brood;
Takes them all naked to her fostering arms,
Feeds from her mouth, and in her bosom warms:
Then, to the mansions of the great, she bears
The precious brats, and, for herself, prepares
A secret farce; adopts them for her own:
And when her nurslings are to manhood grown,
She brings them forth, rejoiced to see them sped,
And wealth and honours dropping on their head!
Of fond, believing, husbands, I pass by;
The beggars' bantlings, spawn'd in open air,
And left by some pond side, to perish there.—
From hence your Flamens, hence your Salians come;
Your Scauri, chiefs and magistrates of Rome!
Fortune stands tittering by, in playful mood,
And smiles, complacent, on the sprawling brood;
274
Feeds from her mouth, and in her bosom warms:
Then, to the mansions of the great, she bears
The precious brats, and, for herself, prepares
A secret farce; adopts them for her own:
And when her nurslings are to manhood grown,
She brings them forth, rejoiced to see them sped,
And wealth and honours dropping on their head!
Some purchase charms, some, more pernicious still,
Thessalian philters, to subdue the will
Of an uxorious spouse, and make him bear,
Blows, insults, all a saucy wife can dare.
Hence that swift lapse to second childhood; hence,
Those vapours which envelop every sense;
This strange forgetfulness from hour to hour;
And well, if this be all:—more fatal power,
More terrible effects, the dose may have,
And force you, like Caligula, to rave,
When his Cæsonia squeezed into the bowl,
The dire excrescence of a new-dropt foal.—
Then Uproar rose; the universal chain
Of Order snapp'd, and Anarchy's wild reign
Came on apace, as if the queen of heaven
Had fired the Thunderer, and to madness driven.
Thessalian philters, to subdue the will
Of an uxorious spouse, and make him bear,
Blows, insults, all a saucy wife can dare.
Hence that swift lapse to second childhood; hence,
Those vapours which envelop every sense;
This strange forgetfulness from hour to hour;
And well, if this be all:—more fatal power,
275
And force you, like Caligula, to rave,
When his Cæsonia squeezed into the bowl,
The dire excrescence of a new-dropt foal.—
Then Uproar rose; the universal chain
Of Order snapp'd, and Anarchy's wild reign
Came on apace, as if the queen of heaven
Had fired the Thunderer, and to madness driven.
276
Thy mushroom, Agrippine! was innocent,
To this accursed draught; that only sent
One palsied, bedrid sot, with gummy eyes,
And slavering lips, heels foremost to the skies:
This, to wild fury roused a bloody mind,
And call'd for fire and sword; this potion join'd,
In one promiscuous slaughter, high and low,
And levell'd half the nation at a blow.
Such is the power of philters! such the ill,
One sorceress can effect by wicked skill!
To this accursed draught; that only sent
277
And slavering lips, heels foremost to the skies:
This, to wild fury roused a bloody mind,
And call'd for fire and sword; this potion join'd,
In one promiscuous slaughter, high and low,
And levell'd half the nation at a blow.
Such is the power of philters! such the ill,
One sorceress can effect by wicked skill!
They hate their husband's spurious issue:—this,
If this were all, were not, perhaps, amiss:
But they go further; and 'tis now some time,
Since poisoning sons-in-law scarce seem'd a crime.
Mark then, ye fatherless! what I advise,
And trust, O, trust no dainties, if you're wise:
Ye heirs to large estates! touch not that fare,
Your mother's fingers have been busy there;
See! it looks livid, swoll'n:—O check your haste,
And let your wary fosterfather taste,
Whate'er she sets before you: fear her meat,
And be the first to look, the last to eat.
If this were all, were not, perhaps, amiss:
But they go further; and 'tis now some time,
Since poisoning sons-in-law scarce seem'd a crime.
Mark then, ye fatherless! what I advise,
And trust, O, trust no dainties, if you're wise:
Ye heirs to large estates! touch not that fare,
Your mother's fingers have been busy there;
See! it looks livid, swoll'n:—O check your haste,
And let your wary fosterfather taste,
Whate'er she sets before you: fear her meat,
And be the first to look, the last to eat.
But this is fiction all! I pass the bound
Of Satire, and encroach on Tragick ground!
Deserting truth, I choose a fabled theme,
And, like the buskin'd bards of Greece, declaim,
In deep-mouth'd tones, in swelling strains, on crimes
As yet unknown to our Rutulian climes!
Would it were so! but Pontia cries aloud,
“No, I perform'd it.” See! the fact's avow'd—
“I mingled poison for my children, I;
“'Twas found upon me, wherefore then deny?”
What, two at once, most barbarous viper! two!
“Nay, sev'n, had sev'n been mine: believe it true!”
Of Satire, and encroach on Tragick ground!
Deserting truth, I choose a fabled theme,
And, like the buskin'd bards of Greece, declaim,
278
As yet unknown to our Rutulian climes!
Would it were so! but Pontia cries aloud,
“No, I perform'd it.” See! the fact's avow'd—
279
“'Twas found upon me, wherefore then deny?”
What, two at once, most barbarous viper! two!
“Nay, sev'n, had sev'n been mine: believe it true!”
Now let us credit what the tragick stage,
Displays of Progne, and Medea's rage;
Crimes of dire name, which, disbelieved of yore,
Become familiar, and revolt no more.
Those ancient dames, in scenes of blood were bold,
And wrought fell deeds, but not, as ours, for gold:—
In every age, we view, with less surprise,
Such horrours as from bursts of fury rise,
When stormy passions, scorning all control,
Rend the mad bosom, and unseat the soul.
As when impetuous winds, and driving rain,
Mine some huge rock that overhangs the plain,
The cumbrous mass descends with thundering force,
And spreads resistless ruin in its course.
Displays of Progne, and Medea's rage;
Crimes of dire name, which, disbelieved of yore,
Become familiar, and revolt no more.
Those ancient dames, in scenes of blood were bold,
And wrought fell deeds, but not, as ours, for gold:—
In every age, we view, with less surprise,
Such horrours as from bursts of fury rise,
280
Rend the mad bosom, and unseat the soul.
As when impetuous winds, and driving rain,
Mine some huge rock that overhangs the plain,
The cumbrous mass descends with thundering force,
And spreads resistless ruin in its course.
Curse on the woman, who reflects by fits,
And in cold blood her cruelties commits!—
They see, upon the stage, the Grecian wife
Redeeming, with her own, her husband's life;
Yet, in her place, would willingly deprive
Their lords of breath, to keep their dogs alive!
And in cold blood her cruelties commits!—
They see, upon the stage, the Grecian wife
Redeeming, with her own, her husband's life;
Yet, in her place, would willingly deprive
Their lords of breath, to keep their dogs alive!
Abroad, at home, the Belides you meet,
And Clytemnestras swarm in every street;
But here the difference lies:—those bungling wives,
With a blunt axe, hack'd out their husbands' lives;
While now, the deed is done with dextrous art,
And a drugg'd bowl performs the axe's part.
Yet, if-the husband, prescient of his fate,
Have fortified his breast with mithridate,
She baffles him e'en there, and has recourse
To the old weapon, for a last resource.
And Clytemnestras swarm in every street;
But here the difference lies:—those bungling wives,
With a blunt axe, hack'd out their husbands' lives;
281
And a drugg'd bowl performs the axe's part.
Yet, if-the husband, prescient of his fate,
Have fortified his breast with mithridate,
She baffles him e'en there, and has recourse
To the old weapon, for a last resource.
283
SATIRE VII
285
TO TELESINUS.
Yes, all the hopes of learning, 'tis confest,
And all the patronage, on Cæsar rest:
For he alone the drooping Nine regards—
When, now, our best, and most illustrious bards,
Quit their ungrateful studies, and retire,
Bagnios and bakehouses, for bread, to hire;
With humbled views, a life of toil embrace,
And deem a crier's business no disgrace;
Since Clio, driven by hunger from the shade,
Mixes in crowds, and bustles for a trade.
And all the patronage, on Cæsar rest:
286
When, now, our best, and most illustrious bards,
287
Bagnios and bakehouses, for bread, to hire;
With humbled views, a life of toil embrace,
And deem a crier's business no disgrace;
Since Clio, driven by hunger from the shade,
Mixes in crowds, and bustles for a trade.
And truly, if (the bard's too frequent curse)
No coin be found in your Pierian purse,
'Twere not ill done to copy, for the nonce,
Machæra, and turn auctioneer at once.
Hie, my poetick friend; in accents loud,
Commend your precious lumber to the crowd,
Old tubs, stools, presses, wrecks of many a chest,
Paccius' damn'd plays, Thebes, Tereus, and the rest.—
And better so—than haunt the courts of law,
And swear, for hire, to what you never saw:
Leave this resource to Cappadocian knights,
To Gallogreeks, and such newfangled wights,
As want, or infamy, has chased from home,
And driven, in barefoot multitudes, to Rome.
No coin be found in your Pierian purse,
'Twere not ill done to copy, for the nonce,
Machæra, and turn auctioneer at once.
288
Commend your precious lumber to the crowd,
Old tubs, stools, presses, wrecks of many a chest,
Paccius' damn'd plays, Thebes, Tereus, and the rest.—
And better so—than haunt the courts of law,
And swear, for hire, to what you never saw:
Leave this resource to Cappadocian knights,
To Gallogreeks, and such newfangled wights,
289
And driven, in barefoot multitudes, to Rome.
Come, my brave youths!—the genuine sons of rhyme,
Who, in sweet numbers, couch the true sublime,
Shall, from this hour, no more their fate accuse,
Or stoop to pains unworthy of the Muse.
Come, my brave youths! your tuneful labours ply,
Secure of favour; lo! the imperial eye
Looks round, attentive, on each rising bard,
For worth to praise, for genius to reward!
Who, in sweet numbers, couch the true sublime,
Shall, from this hour, no more their fate accuse,
Or stoop to pains unworthy of the Muse.
Come, my brave youths! your tuneful labours ply,
Secure of favour; lo! the imperial eye
Looks round, attentive, on each rising bard,
For worth to praise, for genius to reward!
But if for other patronage you look,
And therefore write, and therefore swell your book,
Quick, call for wood, and let the flames devour
The hapless produce of the studious hour;
Or lock it up, to moths and worms a prey,
And break your pens, and fling your ink away:—
Or pour it rather o'er your epick flights,
Your battles, sieges, (fruit of sleepless nights,)
Pour it, mistaken men, who rack your brains,
In dungeons, cocklofts, for heroick strains;
Who toil and sweat to purchase mere renown,
A meagre statue, and an ivy crown!
And therefore write, and therefore swell your book,
290
The hapless produce of the studious hour;
Or lock it up, to moths and worms a prey,
And break your pens, and fling your ink away:—
Or pour it rather o'er your epick flights,
Your battles, sieges, (fruit of sleepless nights,)
Pour it, mistaken men, who rack your brains,
In dungeons, cocklofts, for heroick strains;
Who toil and sweat to purchase mere renown,
A meagre statue, and an ivy crown!
291
Here bound your expectations: for the great,
Grown, wisely, covetous, have learn'd, of late,
To praise, and only praise, the high-wrought strain,
As boys, the bird of Juno's glittering train.
Meanwhile those vigorous years, so fit to bear
The toils of agriculture, commerce, war,
Spent in this idle trade, decline apace,
And age, unthought of, stares you in the face:—
O then, appall'd to find your better days
Have earn'd you nought but poverty and praise,
At all your barren glories you repine,
And curse, too late, the unavailing Nine!
Grown, wisely, covetous, have learn'd, of late,
To praise, and only praise, the high-wrought strain,
As boys, the bird of Juno's glittering train.
Meanwhile those vigorous years, so fit to bear
The toils of agriculture, commerce, war,
Spent in this idle trade, decline apace,
And age, unthought of, stares you in the face:—
O then, appall'd to find your better days
Have earn'd you nought but poverty and praise,
292
And curse, too late, the unavailing Nine!
Hear now, what sneaking ways your patrons find,
To save their darling gold:—they pay in kind!
Verses, composed in every Muse's spite,
To the starv'd bard they, in their turn, recite;
And, if they yield to Homer, let him know,
'Tis—that He lived a thousand years ago!
To save their darling gold:—they pay in kind!
Verses, composed in every Muse's spite,
To the starv'd bard they, in their turn, recite;
293
'Tis—that He lived a thousand years ago!
But if, inspired with genuine love of fame,
A dry rehearsal only, be your aim,
The miser's breast with sudden warmth dilates,
And lo! he opes his triple-bolted gates;
Nay, sends his clients to support your cause,
And rouse the tardy audience to applause:
But will not spare one farthing, to defray
The numerous charges of this glorious day,
The desk, where throned in conscious pride, you sit,
The joists and beams, th' orchestra and the pit.
A dry rehearsal only, be your aim,
The miser's breast with sudden warmth dilates,
And lo! he opes his triple-bolted gates;
Nay, sends his clients to support your cause,
And rouse the tardy audience to applause:
But will not spare one farthing, to defray
The numerous charges of this glorious day,
294
The joists and beams, th' orchestra and the pit.
Still we persist; plough the light sand, and sow
Seed after seed, where none can ever grow:
Nay, should we, conscious of our fruitless pain,
Strive to escape, we strive, alas! in vain;
Long habit, and the thirst of praise beset,
And close us in the inextricable net.
The insatiate itch of scribbling, hateful pest
Creeps, like a tetter, through the human breast,
Nor knows, nor hopes a cure; since years, which chill
All other passions, but inflame the ill!
Seed after seed, where none can ever grow:
Nay, should we, conscious of our fruitless pain,
Strive to escape, we strive, alas! in vain;
Long habit, and the thirst of praise beset,
And close us in the inextricable net.
The insatiate itch of scribbling, hateful pest
Creeps, like a tetter, through the human breast,
Nor knows, nor hopes a cure; since years, which chill
All other passions, but inflame the ill!
But he, the bard of every age and clime,
Of genius fruitful, ardent and sublime,
Who, from the glowing mint of fancy, pours
No spurious metal, fused from common ores,
But gold, to matchless purity refined,
And stamp'd with all the godhead in his mind;
He whom I feel, but want the power to paint,
Springs from a soul impatient of restraint,
And free from every care; a soul that loves
The Muse's haunts, clear founts, and shady groves.
Never, no never, did He wildly rave,
And shake his thyrsus in the Aonian cave,
Whom poverty kept sober, and the cries
Of a lean stomach, clamorous for supplies:
No; the wine circled briskly through the veins,
When Horace pour'd his dithyrambick strains!—
What room for fancy, say, unless the mind,
And all its thoughts, to poesy resign'd,
Be hurried with resistless force along,
By the two kindred Powers of Wine and Song!
O! 'tis the exclusive business of a breast
Impetuous, uncontroll'd,—not one distrest
With household cares, to view the bright abodes,
The steeds, the chariots, and the forms of gods:
And the fierce Fury, as her snakes she shook,
And wither'd the Rutulian with a look!
Those snakes, had Virgil no Mæcenas found,
Had dropt, in listless length, upon the ground;
And the still slumbering trump, groan'd with no mortal sound.
Of genius fruitful, ardent and sublime,
Who, from the glowing mint of fancy, pours
No spurious metal, fused from common ores,
But gold, to matchless purity refined,
And stamp'd with all the godhead in his mind;
He whom I feel, but want the power to paint,
Springs from a soul impatient of restraint,
295
The Muse's haunts, clear founts, and shady groves.
Never, no never, did He wildly rave,
And shake his thyrsus in the Aonian cave,
Whom poverty kept sober, and the cries
Of a lean stomach, clamorous for supplies:
No; the wine circled briskly through the veins,
When Horace pour'd his dithyrambick strains!—
What room for fancy, say, unless the mind,
And all its thoughts, to poesy resign'd,
Be hurried with resistless force along,
By the two kindred Powers of Wine and Song!
296
Impetuous, uncontroll'd,—not one distrest
With household cares, to view the bright abodes,
The steeds, the chariots, and the forms of gods:
And the fierce Fury, as her snakes she shook,
And wither'd the Rutulian with a look!
297
Had dropt, in listless length, upon the ground;
And the still slumbering trump, groan'd with no mortal sound.
Yet we expect, from Lappa's tragick rage,
Such scenes as graced, of old, the Athenian stage:
Though he, poor man, from hand to mouth be fed,
And driven to pawn his furniture for bread!
Such scenes as graced, of old, the Athenian stage:
Though he, poor man, from hand to mouth be fed,
And driven to pawn his furniture for bread!
When Numitor is ask'd to serve a friend,
“He cannot; he is poor.” Yet he can send
Rich presents to his mistress! he can buy
Tame lions, and find means to keep them high!
What then? the beasts are still the lightest charge;
For your starv'd bards have maws so devilish large!
“He cannot; he is poor.” Yet he can send
Rich presents to his mistress! he can buy
Tame lions, and find means to keep them high!
298
For your starv'd bards have maws so devilish large!
Stretch'd in his marble palace, at his ease,
Lucan may write, and only ask to please;
But what is this, if this be all you give,
To Bassus and Serranus? They must live!
Lucan may write, and only ask to please;
But what is this, if this be all you give,
To Bassus and Serranus? They must live!
When Statius fix'd a morning, to recite
His Thebaid to the town, with what delight
They flock'd to hear! with what fond rapture hung
On the sweet strains, made sweeter by his tongue!
Yet, while the seats rung with a general peal
Of boisterous praise, the bard had lack'd a meal,
Unless with Paris he had better sped,
And truck'd a virgin tragedy for bread.
Mirror of men! he showers, with liberal hands,
On needy poets, honours and commands:—
An actor's patronage a peer's outgoes,
And what the last withholds, the first bestows!
—And will you still on Camerinus wait,
And Bareas? will you still frequent the great?
Ah, rather to the Player your labours take,
And, at one lucky stroke, your fortune make!
His Thebaid to the town, with what delight
299
On the sweet strains, made sweeter by his tongue!
300
Of boisterous praise, the bard had lack'd a meal,
Unless with Paris he had better sped,
And truck'd a virgin tragedy for bread.
Mirror of men! he showers, with liberal hands,
On needy poets, honours and commands:—
301
And what the last withholds, the first bestows!
302
And Bareas? will you still frequent the great?
Ah, rather to the Player your labours take,
And, at one lucky stroke, your fortune make!
303
Yet envy not the man who earns hard bread,
By tragedy: the Muses' friends are fled!—
Mæcenas, Proculeius, Fabius, gone,
And Lentulus, and Cotta,—every one!
Then worth was cherish'd, then the bard might toil,
Secure of favour, o'er the midnight oil;
Then all December's revelries refuse,
And give the festive moments to the Muse.
By tragedy: the Muses' friends are fled!—
Mæcenas, Proculeius, Fabius, gone,
And Lentulus, and Cotta,—every one!
304
Secure of favour, o'er the midnight oil;
Then all December's revelries refuse,
And give the festive moments to the Muse.
So fare the tuneful race: but ampler gains
Await, no doubt the grave historians' pains!
More time, more study they require, and pile
Page upon page, heedless of bulk the while,
Till, fact conjoin'd to fact with thought intense,
The work is closed, at many a ream's expense!
Say now, what harvest was there ever found,
What golden crop, from this long-labour'd ground?
'Tis barren all: and one poor plodding scribe,
Gets more, by framing pleas, than all the tribe.
Await, no doubt the grave historians' pains!
More time, more study they require, and pile
Page upon page, heedless of bulk the while,
Till, fact conjoin'd to fact with thought intense,
The work is closed, at many a ream's expense!
Say now, what harvest was there ever found,
What golden crop, from this long-labour'd ground?
'Tis barren all: and one poor plodding scribe,
Gets more, by framing pleas, than all the tribe.
True:—'tis a slothful breed, that, nurst in ease,
Soft beds, and whispering shades, alone can please.
Say then, what gain the lawyer's toil affords,
His sacks of papers, and his war of words?
Heavens! how he bellows in our tortured ears;
But then, then chiefly, when the client hears,
Or one prepared, with vouchers, to attest
Some desperate debt, more anxious than the rest,
Twitches his elbow: then, his passions rise!
Then, forth he puffs the immeasurable lies
From his swoll'n lungs! then, the white foam appears,
And, drivelling down his beard, his vest besmears!
Soft beds, and whispering shades, alone can please.
Say then, what gain the lawyer's toil affords,
His sacks of papers, and his war of words?
305
But then, then chiefly, when the client hears,
Or one prepared, with vouchers, to attest
Some desperate debt, more anxious than the rest,
Twitches his elbow: then, his passions rise!
Then, forth he puffs the immeasurable lies
From his swoll'n lungs! then, the white foam appears,
And, drivelling down his beard, his vest besmears!
Ask you the profit of this painful race?
'Tis quickly summ'd: Here, the joint fortunes place,
Of five-score lawyers; there, Lacerta's sole—
And that one charioteer's, shall poise the whole!
'Tis quickly summ'd: Here, the joint fortunes place,
Of five-score lawyers; there, Lacerta's sole—
And that one charioteer's, shall poise the whole!
The Generals take their seats in regal wise.
You, my pale Ajax, watch the hour, and rise,
In act to plead a trembling client's cause,
Before Judge Jolthead—learned in the laws.
Now stretch your throat, unhappy man! now raise
Your clamours, that, when hoarse, a bunch of bays,
Stuck in your garret window, may declare,
That some victorious pleader nestles there!
O glorious hour! but what your fee, the while?
A rope of shrivell'd onions from the Nile,
A rusty ham, a jar of broken sprats,
And wine, the refuse of our country vats;
Five flaggons for four causes! if you hold,
Though this indeed be rare, a piece of gold;
The brethren, as per contract, on you fall,
And share the prize, solicitors and all!
You, my pale Ajax, watch the hour, and rise,
In act to plead a trembling client's cause,
Before Judge Jolthead—learned in the laws.
Now stretch your throat, unhappy man! now raise
Your clamours, that, when hoarse, a bunch of bays,
Stuck in your garret window, may declare,
That some victorious pleader nestles there!
306
A rope of shrivell'd onions from the Nile,
A rusty ham, a jar of broken sprats,
And wine, the refuse of our country vats;
Five flaggons for four causes! if you hold,
Though this indeed be rare, a piece of gold;
The brethren, as per contract, on you fall,
And share the prize, solicitors and all!
Whate'er he asks, Æmilius may command,
Though more of law be ours: but lo! there stand,
Before his gate, conspicuous from afar,
Four stately steeds, yoked to a brazen car:
And the great pleader, looking wary round,
On a fierce charger that disdains the ground,
Levels his threatening spear, in act to throw,
And seems to meditate no common blow.
Though more of law be ours: but lo! there stand,
Before his gate, conspicuous from afar,
Four stately steeds, yoked to a brazen car:
And the great pleader, looking wary round,
On a fierce charger that disdains the ground,
307
And seems to meditate no common blow.
Such arts as these, to beggary Matho brought,
And such, the ruin of Tongillus wrought,
Who, with his troop of slaves, a draggled train,
Annoy'd the baths, of his huge oil-horn vain;
Swept through the Forum, in a chair of state,
To every auction,—villas, slaves, or plate;
And, trading on the credit of his dress,
Cheapen'd whate'er he saw, though penniless!
And such, the ruin of Tongillus wrought,
Who, with his troop of slaves, a draggled train,
Annoy'd the baths, of his huge oil-horn vain;
308
To every auction,—villas, slaves, or plate;
And, trading on the credit of his dress,
Cheapen'd whate'er he saw, though penniless!
309
And some, indeed, have thriven by tricks like these:
Purple and violet swell a lawyer's fees;
Bustle and show above his means, conduce
To business, and profusion proves of use.
The vice is universal: Rome confounds
The wealthiest;—prodigal beyond all bounds!
Purple and violet swell a lawyer's fees;
Bustle and show above his means, conduce
To business, and profusion proves of use.
The vice is universal: Rome confounds
The wealthiest;—prodigal beyond all bounds!
Could our old pleaders visit earth again,
Tully himself would scarce a brief obtain,
Unless his robe were purple, and a stone,
Diamond or ruby, on his finger shone.
The wary plaintiff, ere a fee he gives,
Inquires at what expense his counsel lives;
Has he eight slaves, ten followers? chairs to wait,
And clients to precede his march in state?
This Paulus knows full well, and, therefore, hires
A ring to plead in; therefore, too, acquires
More briefs than Cossus:—preference not unsound,
For how should eloquence in rags be found?
Who gives poor Basilus a cause of state?
When, to avert a trembling culprit's fate,
Shews he a weeping mother? or who heeds,
How close he argues, and how well he pleads?
Unhappy Basilus!—but he is wrong:
Would he procure subsistence by his tongue,
Let him renounce the forum, and withdraw,
To Gaul, or Africk, the dry-nurse of law.
Tully himself would scarce a brief obtain,
310
Diamond or ruby, on his finger shone.
The wary plaintiff, ere a fee he gives,
Inquires at what expense his counsel lives;
Has he eight slaves, ten followers? chairs to wait,
And clients to precede his march in state?
This Paulus knows full well, and, therefore, hires
A ring to plead in; therefore, too, acquires
More briefs than Cossus:—preference not unsound,
For how should eloquence in rags be found?
Who gives poor Basilus a cause of state?
When, to avert a trembling culprit's fate,
311
How close he argues, and how well he pleads?
Unhappy Basilus!—but he is wrong:
Would he procure subsistence by his tongue,
Let him renounce the forum, and withdraw,
To Gaul, or Africk, the dry-nurse of law.
But Vectius, yet more desperate than the rest,
Has open'd (O that adamantine breast!)
A rhetorick school; where striplings rave and storm
At tyranny, through many a crowded form.—
The exercises lately, sitting, read,
Standing, distract his miserable head,
And every day, and every hour affords,
The selfsame subjects, in the selfsame words;
Till, like hash'd cabbage serv'd for each repast,
The repetition—kills the wretch at last!
Has open'd (O that adamantine breast!)
A rhetorick school; where striplings rave and storm
At tyranny, through many a crowded form.—
The exercises lately, sitting, read,
Standing, distract his miserable head,
312
The selfsame subjects, in the selfsame words;
Till, like hash'd cabbage serv'd for each repast,
The repetition—kills the wretch at last!
Where the main jet of every question lies,
And whence, the chief objections may arise,
All wish to know; but none the price will pay.
“The price,” retorts the scholar, “do you say!
What have I learn'd?” There go the master's pains,
Because, forsooth, the Arcadian brute lacks brains!
And yet this oaf, every sixth morn, prepares
To split my head with Hannibal's affairs,
While he debates at large, “Whether 'twere right,
“To take advantage of the general fright,
“And march to Rome; or, by the storm alarm'd,
“And all the elements against him arm'd,
“The dangerous expedition to delay,
“And lead his harass'd troops some other way.”
—Sick of the theme, which still returns, and still,
The exhausted wretch exclaims, Ask what you will,
I'll give it, so you on his sire prevail,
To hear, thus oft, the booby's endless tale!
And whence, the chief objections may arise,
All wish to know; but none the price will pay.
“The price,” retorts the scholar, “do you say!
What have I learn'd?” There go the master's pains,
Because, forsooth, the Arcadian brute lacks brains!
And yet this oaf, every sixth morn, prepares
To split my head with Hannibal's affairs,
While he debates at large, “Whether 'twere right,
“To take advantage of the general fright,
313
“And all the elements against him arm'd,
“The dangerous expedition to delay,
“And lead his harass'd troops some other way.”
—Sick of the theme, which still returns, and still,
The exhausted wretch exclaims, Ask what you will,
I'll give it, so you on his sire prevail,
To hear, thus oft, the booby's endless tale!
So Vectius speeds: his brethren, wiser far,
Have shut up school, and hurried to the bar.
Adieu the idle fooleries of Greece,
The soporifick drug, the golden fleece,
The faithless husband, and the abandon'd wife,
And Æson, coddled to new light and life,
A long adieu! on more productive themes,
On actual crimes, the sophist now declaims:
Thou too, my friend, wouldst thou my counsel hear,
Shouldst free thyself from this ungrateful care;
Lest all be lost, and thou reduced, poor sage,
To want a tally in thy helpless age!
Bread still the lawyer earns; but tell me yet,
What your Chrysogonus and Pollio get,
(The chief of rhetoricians,) though they teach
Our youth of quality, the Art of Speech?
Have shut up school, and hurried to the bar.
Adieu the idle fooleries of Greece,
The soporifick drug, the golden fleece,
The faithless husband, and the abandon'd wife,
And Æson, coddled to new light and life,
A long adieu! on more productive themes,
On actual crimes, the sophist now declaims:
Thou too, my friend, wouldst thou my counsel hear,
Shouldst free thyself from this ungrateful care;
Lest all be lost, and thou reduced, poor sage,
To want a tally in thy helpless age!
314
What your Chrysogonus and Pollio get,
(The chief of rhetoricians,) though they teach
Our youth of quality, the Art of Speech?
Oh, no! the great pursue a nobler end:—
Five thousand on a bath, they freely spend;
More on a portico, where, while it lours,
They ride, and bid defiance to the showers.
Shall they, for brighter skies, at home remain,
Or dash their pamper'd mules through mud and rain?
No: let them pace beneath the stately roof,
For there no mire can soil the shining hoof.
Five thousand on a bath, they freely spend;
More on a portico, where, while it lours,
They ride, and bid defiance to the showers.
Shall they, for brighter skies, at home remain,
Or dash their pamper'd mules through mud and rain?
No: let them pace beneath the stately roof,
For there no mire can soil the shining hoof.
See next, on proud Numidian columns rise
An eating-room, that fronts the eastern skies,
And drinks the cooler sun. Expensive these!
But, (cost whate'er they may,) the times to please,
Sew'rs for arrangement of the board admired,
And cooks of taste and skill, must yet be hired.
Mid this extravagance, which knows no bounds,
Quintilian gets, and hardly gets, ten pounds:—
On education, all is grudged as lost,
And sons are still a father's lightest cost.
An eating-room, that fronts the eastern skies,
And drinks the cooler sun. Expensive these!
But, (cost whate'er they may,) the times to please,
Sew'rs for arrangement of the board admired,
And cooks of taste and skill, must yet be hired.
315
Quintilian gets, and hardly gets, ten pounds:—
On education, all is grudged as lost,
And sons are still a father's lightest cost.
Whence has Quintilian, then, his vast estate?
Urge not an instance of peculiar fate:
Perhaps, by luck. The lucky, I admit,
Have all advantages; have beauty, wit,
And wisdom, and high blood: the lucky, too,
May take, at will, the senatorial shoe;
Be first-rate speakers, pleaders, every thing;
And, though they croak like frogs, be thought to sing.
Urge not an instance of peculiar fate:
Perhaps, by luck. The lucky, I admit,
Have all advantages; have beauty, wit,
And wisdom, and high blood: the lucky, too,
May take, at will, the senatorial shoe;
316
And, though they croak like frogs, be thought to sing.
O, there's a difference, friend, beneath what sign
We spring to light, or kindly or malign!
Fortune is all: She, as the fancy springs,
Makes kings of pedants, and of pedants kings.
For, what were Tullius, and Ventidius, say,
But great examples of the wondrous sway
Of stars, whose mystick influence alone,
Bestows, on captives triumphs, slaves, a throne?
We spring to light, or kindly or malign!
Fortune is all: She, as the fancy springs,
Makes kings of pedants, and of pedants kings.
317
But great examples of the wondrous sway
Of stars, whose mystick influence alone,
Bestows, on captives triumphs, slaves, a throne?
He, then, is lucky; and, amidst the clan,
Ranks with the milk-white crow, or sable swan:
While all his hapless brethren count their gains,
And execrate, too late, their fruitless pains.
Witness thy end, Thrasymachus! and thine,
Unblest Charinas!—Thou beheld'st him pine,
Thou, Athens! and would'st nought but bane bestow;
The only charity—thou seem'st to know!
Ranks with the milk-white crow, or sable swan:
While all his hapless brethren count their gains,
And execrate, too late, their fruitless pains.
Witness thy end, Thrasymachus! and thine,
Unblest Charinas!—Thou beheld'st him pine,
318
The only charity—thou seem'st to know!
Shades of our sires! O sacred be your rest,
And lightly lie the turf upon your breast!
Flowers round your urns breathe sweets beyond compare,
And spring eternal shed its influence there!
You honour'd tutors, now a slighted race,
And gave them all a parent's power and place.
And lightly lie the turf upon your breast!
Flowers round your urns breathe sweets beyond compare,
And spring eternal shed its influence there!
You honour'd tutors, now a slighted race,
And gave them all a parent's power and place.
Achilles, grown a man, the lyre essay'd
On his paternal hills, and, while he play'd,
With trembling eyed the rod;—and yet, the tail
Of the good Centaur, scarcely, then, could fail,
To force a smile: such reverence now is rare,
And boys with bibs strike Rufus on his chair,
Fastidious Rufus, who, with critick rage,
Arraign'd the purity of Tully's page!
On his paternal hills, and, while he play'd,
319
Of the good Centaur, scarcely, then, could fail,
To force a smile: such reverence now is rare,
And boys with bibs strike Rufus on his chair,
Fastidious Rufus, who, with critick rage,
Arraign'd the purity of Tully's page!
Enough of these. Let the last wretched band,
The poor grammarians, say, what liberal hand
Rewards their toil: let learn'd Palæmon tell,
Who proffers what his skill deserves so well.
Yet from this pittance, whatsoe'er it be,
(Less, surely, than the rhetorician's fee,)
The usher snips off something for his pains,
And the purveyor nibbles what remains.
Courage, Palæmon! be not over nice,
But suffer some abatement in your price;
As those who deal in rugs, will ask you high,
And sink by pence, and half-pence, till you buy.
Yes, suffer this; while something's left to pay
Your rising, hours before the dawn of day,
When e'en the labouring poor their slumbers take,
And not a weaver, not a smith's awake:
While something's left, to pay you for the stench
Of smouldering lamps, thick spread o'er every bench,
Where ropy vapours Virgil's pages soil,
And Horace looks one blot, all soot and oil!
The poor grammarians, say, what liberal hand
320
Who proffers what his skill deserves so well.
Yet from this pittance, whatsoe'er it be,
(Less, surely, than the rhetorician's fee,)
The usher snips off something for his pains,
And the purveyor nibbles what remains.
Courage, Palæmon! be not over nice,
But suffer some abatement in your price;
As those who deal in rugs, will ask you high,
And sink by pence, and half-pence, till you buy.
Yes, suffer this; while something's left to pay
Your rising, hours before the dawn of day,
When e'en the labouring poor their slumbers take,
And not a weaver, not a smith's awake:
While something's left, to pay you for the stench
Of smouldering lamps, thick spread o'er every bench,
321
And Horace looks one blot, all soot and oil!
Even then, the stipend thus reduced, thus small,
Without a lawsuit, rarely comes at all.
Without a lawsuit, rarely comes at all.
Add yet, ye parents, add to the disgrace,
And heap new hardships on this wretched race.
Make it a point that all, and every part,
Of their own science, be possess'd by heart;
That general history with our own they blend,
And have all authors at their finger's end:
Still ready to inform you, should you meet,
And ask them at the bath, or in the street,
Who nurs'd Anchises; from what country came
The step-dame of Archemorus, what her name;
How long Acestes flourish'd, and what store
Of generous wine, the Phrygians from him bore—
Make it a point too, that, like ductile clay,
They mould the tender mind, and, day by day,
Bring out the form of Virtue; that they prove,
A father to the youths, in care and love;
And watch that no obscenities prevail—
And trust me, friend, even Argus' self might fail,
The busy hands of schoolboys to espy,
And the lewd fires which twinkle in their eye.
All this, and more, exact; and, having found
The man you seek, say—When the year comes round,
We'll give thee for thy twelvemonth's anxious pains,
As much—as, in an hour, a fencer gains!
And heap new hardships on this wretched race.
Make it a point that all, and every part,
Of their own science, be possess'd by heart;
That general history with our own they blend,
And have all authors at their finger's end:
Still ready to inform you, should you meet,
And ask them at the bath, or in the street,
Who nurs'd Anchises; from what country came
The step-dame of Archemorus, what her name;
322
Of generous wine, the Phrygians from him bore—
Make it a point too, that, like ductile clay,
They mould the tender mind, and, day by day,
Bring out the form of Virtue; that they prove,
A father to the youths, in care and love;
And watch that no obscenities prevail—
And trust me, friend, even Argus' self might fail,
The busy hands of schoolboys to espy,
And the lewd fires which twinkle in their eye.
All this, and more, exact; and, having found
The man you seek, say—When the year comes round,
We'll give thee for thy twelvemonth's anxious pains,
As much—as, in an hour, a fencer gains!
323
SATIRE VIII.
325
TO PONTICUS.
“Your ancient house!” No more.—I cannot see
The wondrous merits of a pedigree:
No, Ponticus;—nor of a proud display
Of smoaky ancestors, in wax or clay;
Æmilius, mounted on his car sublime,
Curius, half wasted by the teeth of time,
Corvinus, dwindled to a shapeless bust,
And high-born Galba, crumbling into dust.
The wondrous merits of a pedigree:
No, Ponticus;—nor of a proud display
Of smoaky ancestors, in wax or clay;
Æmilius, mounted on his car sublime,
Curius, half wasted by the teeth of time,
Corvinus, dwindled to a shapeless bust,
And high-born Galba, crumbling into dust.
What boots it, on the lineal tree to trace,
Through many a branch, the founders of our race,
Time-honour'd chiefs; if, in their sight, we give
A loose to vice, and like low villains live?
Say, what avails it, that, on either hand,
The stern Numantii, an illustrious band,
Frown from the walls, if their degenerate race
Waste the long night at dice, before their face?
If, staggering, to a drowsy bed they creep,
At that prime hour when, starting from their sleep,
Their sires the signal of the fight unfurl'd,
And drew their legions forth, and won the world?
Through many a branch, the founders of our race,
326
A loose to vice, and like low villains live?
Say, what avails it, that, on either hand,
The stern Numantii, an illustrious band,
Frown from the walls, if their degenerate race
Waste the long night at dice, before their face?
If, staggering, to a drowsy bed they creep,
At that prime hour when, starting from their sleep,
Their sires the signal of the fight unfurl'd,
And drew their legions forth, and won the world?
Say, why should Fabius, of the Herculean name,
To the great altar, vaunt his lineal claim,
If, softer than Euganean lambs, the youth,
His wanton limbs, with Ætna's pumice, smooth,
And shame his rough-hewn sires? if greedy, vain,
If, a vile trafficker in secret bane,
He blast his wretched kindred with a bust,
For publick vengeance to—reduce to dust!
To the great altar, vaunt his lineal claim,
327
His wanton limbs, with Ætna's pumice, smooth,
And shame his rough-hewn sires? if greedy, vain,
If, a vile trafficker in secret bane,
He blast his wretched kindred with a bust,
For publick vengeance to—reduce to dust!
328
Fond man! though all the heroes of your line
Bedeck your halls, and round your galleries shine,
In proud display; yet, take this truth from me,
Virtue alone is true nobility.
Set Cossus, Drusus, Paulus, then, in view,
The bright example of their lives pursue;
Let these precede the statues of your race,
And these, when Consul, of your rods take place.
Bedeck your halls, and round your galleries shine,
In proud display; yet, take this truth from me,
Virtue alone is true nobility.
Set Cossus, Drusus, Paulus, then, in view,
The bright example of their lives pursue;
Let these precede the statues of your race,
And these, when Consul, of your rods take place.
O give me inborn worth! Dare to be just,
Firm to your word, and faithful to your trust:
These praises hear, at least deserve to hear,
I grant your claim, and recognise the peer.
Hail! from whatever stock you draw your birth,
The son of Cossus, or the son of Earth,
All hail! in you, exulting Rome espies
Her guardian Power, her great Palladium rise;
And shouts like Ægypt, when her priests have found,
A new Osiris, for the old one drown'd!
Firm to your word, and faithful to your trust:
These praises hear, at least deserve to hear,
I grant your claim, and recognise the peer.
Hail! from whatever stock you draw your birth,
The son of Cossus, or the son of Earth,
All hail! in you, exulting Rome espies
Her guardian Power, her great Palladium rise;
329
A new Osiris, for the old one drown'd!
But shall we call those noble, who disgrace
Their lineage, proud of an illustrious race?
Vain thought!—but thus, with many a taunting smile,
The dwarf an Atlas, Moor a swan, we style;
The crookback'd wench, Europa; and the hound,
With age enfeebled, toothless, and unsound,
That listless lies, and licks the lamps for food,
Lord of the chase, and tyrant of the wood!
You, too, beware, lest Satire's piercing eye
The slave of guilt through grandeur's blaze espy,
And, drawing from your crime some sounding name,
Declare at once your greatness, and your shame.
Their lineage, proud of an illustrious race?
330
The dwarf an Atlas, Moor a swan, we style;
The crookback'd wench, Europa; and the hound,
With age enfeebled, toothless, and unsound,
That listless lies, and licks the lamps for food,
Lord of the chase, and tyrant of the wood!
You, too, beware, lest Satire's piercing eye
The slave of guilt through grandeur's blaze espy,
And, drawing from your crime some sounding name,
Declare at once your greatness, and your shame.
Ask you for whom this picture I design?
Plautus, thy birth and folly make it thine.
Thou vaunt'st thy pedigree, on every side
To noble, and imperial blood, allied;
As if thy honours by thyself were won,
And thou hadst some illustrious action done,
To make the world believe thee Julia's heir,
And not the offspring of some easy fair,
Who, shivering in the wind, near yon dead wall,
Plies her vile labour, and is all to all.
Plautus, thy birth and folly make it thine.
331
To noble, and imperial blood, allied;
As if thy honours by thyself were won,
And thou hadst some illustrious action done,
To make the world believe thee Julia's heir,
And not the offspring of some easy fair,
Who, shivering in the wind, near yon dead wall,
Plies her vile labour, and is all to all.
“Away, away! ye slaves of humblest birth,
“Ye dregs of Rome, ye nothings of the earth,
“Whose fathers who shall tell! my ancient line
“Descends from Cecrops.” Man of blood divine!
Live, and enjoy the secret sweets which spring
In breasts, affined to so remote a king!—
Yet know, amid these “dregs,” low grandeur's scorn,
Will those be found whom arts and arms adorn:
Some, skill'd to plead a noble blockhead's cause,
And solve the dark enigmas of the laws;
Some, who the Tigris' hostile banks explore,
And plant our eagles on Batavia's shore:
While thou, in mean, inglorious pleasure lost,
With “Cecrops! Cecrops!” all thou hast to boast,
Art a full brother to the crossway stone,
Which clowns have chipp'd the head of Hermes on:
For 'tis no bar to kindred, that thy block,
Is form'd of flesh and blood, and their's of rock.
“Ye dregs of Rome, ye nothings of the earth,
“Whose fathers who shall tell! my ancient line
“Descends from Cecrops.” Man of blood divine!
Live, and enjoy the secret sweets which spring
In breasts, affined to so remote a king!—
Yet know, amid these “dregs,” low grandeur's scorn,
Will those be found whom arts and arms adorn:
Some, skill'd to plead a noble blockhead's cause,
And solve the dark enigmas of the laws;
Some, who the Tigris' hostile banks explore,
And plant our eagles on Batavia's shore:
While thou, in mean, inglorious pleasure lost,
With “Cecrops! Cecrops!” all thou hast to boast,
332
Which clowns have chipp'd the head of Hermes on:
For 'tis no bar to kindred, that thy block,
Is form'd of flesh and blood, and their's of rock.
Of beasts, great son of Troy, who vaunts the breed,
Unless renown'd for courage, strength, or speed?
'Tis thus we praise the horse,, who mocks our eyes,
While, to the goal, with lightning's speed, he flies!
Whom many a well-earn'd palm and trophy grace,
And the Cirque hails, unrivall'd in the race!
—Yes, he is noble, spring from whom he will,
Whose footsteps, in the dust, are foremost still;
While Hirpine's stock are to the market led,
If Victory perch but rarely on their head:
For no respect to pedigree is paid,
No honour to a sire's illustrious shade.
Flung cheaply off, they drag the cumbrous wain,
With shoulders bare and bleeding from the chain;
Or take, with some blind ass in concert found,
At Nepo's mill, their everlasting round.
Unless renown'd for courage, strength, or speed?
'Tis thus we praise the horse,, who mocks our eyes,
While, to the goal, with lightning's speed, he flies!
333
And the Cirque hails, unrivall'd in the race!
—Yes, he is noble, spring from whom he will,
Whose footsteps, in the dust, are foremost still;
While Hirpine's stock are to the market led,
If Victory perch but rarely on their head:
For no respect to pedigree is paid,
No honour to a sire's illustrious shade.
Flung cheaply off, they drag the cumbrous wain,
With shoulders bare and bleeding from the chain;
Or take, with some blind ass in concert found,
At Nepo's mill, their everlasting round.
That Rome may, therefore, you, not yours, admire,
By virtuous actions, first, to praise aspire;
Seek not to shine by borrow'd light alone,
But, with your father's glories, blend your own.
By virtuous actions, first, to praise aspire;
334
But, with your father's glories, blend your own.
This to the youth, whom Rumour brands as vain,
And swelling—full of his Neronian strain;
Perhaps, with truth:—for rarely shall we find,
A sense of modesty, in that proud kind.
But were my Ponticus content to raise
His honours thus, on a forefather's praise,
Worthless the while,—'twould tinge my cheeks with shame—
'Tis dangerous building on another's fame,
Lest the substructure fail, and, on the ground,
Your baseless pile be hurl'd, in fragments, round.—
Stretch'd on the plain, the vine's weak tendrils try,
To clasp the elm they drop from; fail—and die!
And swelling—full of his Neronian strain;
Perhaps, with truth:—for rarely shall we find,
A sense of modesty, in that proud kind.
335
His honours thus, on a forefather's praise,
Worthless the while,—'twould tinge my cheeks with shame—
'Tis dangerous building on another's fame,
Lest the substructure fail, and, on the ground,
Your baseless pile be hurl'd, in fragments, round.—
336
To clasp the elm they drop from; fail—and die!
Be brave, be just; and, when your country's laws
Call you to witness in a dubious cause,
Though Phalaris plant his bull before your eye,
And, frowning, dictate to your lips the lie,
Think it a crime no tears can e'er efface,
To purchase safety, with compliance base,
At honour's cost, a feverish, span extend,
And sacrifice for life, life's only end!
Life! 'tis not life—who merits death is dead;
Though Gauran oysters for his feasts be spread,
Though his limbs drip with exquisite perfume,
And the late rose around his temples bloom!
Call you to witness in a dubious cause,
Though Phalaris plant his bull before your eye,
And, frowning, dictate to your lips the lie,
Think it a crime no tears can e'er efface,
To purchase safety, with compliance base,
At honour's cost, a feverish, span extend,
And sacrifice for life, life's only end!
Life! 'tis not life—who merits death is dead;
Though Gauran oysters for his feasts be spread,
Though his limbs drip with exquisite perfume,
And the late rose around his temples bloom!
O, when the Province, long desired, you gain,
Your boiling rage, your lust of wealth restrain,
And pity our allies: all Asia grieves—
Her blood, her marrow, drain'd by legal thieves.
Revere the laws, obey the parent state;
Observe what rich rewards the good await,
What punishments, the bad: how Tutor sped,
While Rome's whole thunder rattled round his head!
And yet what boots it, that one spoiler bleed,
If still a worse, and still a worse succeed;
If neither fear nor shame control their theft,
And Pansa seize the little Natta left?
Haste then, Chærippus, ere thy rags be known,
And sell the few thou yet canst call thine own,
And O, conceal the price! 'tis honest craft;
Thou couldst not keep the hatchet:—save the haft.
Your boiling rage, your lust of wealth restrain,
And pity our allies: all Asia grieves—
Her blood, her marrow, drain'd by legal thieves.
Revere the laws, obey the parent state;
Observe what rich rewards the good await,
What punishments, the bad: how Tutor sped,
While Rome's whole thunder rattled round his head!
And yet what boots it, that one spoiler bleed,
If still a worse, and still a worse succeed;
If neither fear nor shame control their theft,
And Pansa seize the little Natta left?
337
And sell the few thou yet canst call thine own,
And O, conceal the price! 'tis honest craft;
Thou couldst not keep the hatchet:—save the haft.
Not such the cries of old, nor such the stroke,
When first the nations bow'd beneath our yoke.
Wealth, then, was theirs, wealth without fear possest.
Full every house, and bursting every chest—
Crimson, in looms of Sparta taught to glow,
And purple, deeply dyed in grain of Co;
Busts, to which Myro's touch did motion give,
And ivory, taught by Phidias' skill to live:
On every side a Polyclete you view'd,
And scarce a board without a Mentor stood.
These, these, the lust of rapine first inspired,
These, Antony and Dolabella fired,
And sacrilegious Verres:—so, for Rome
They shipp'd their secret plunder; and brought home,
More treasures from our friends, in peace obtain'd,
Than from our foes, in war, were ever gain'd!
When first the nations bow'd beneath our yoke.
Wealth, then, was theirs, wealth without fear possest.
Full every house, and bursting every chest—
Crimson, in looms of Sparta taught to glow,
And purple, deeply dyed in grain of Co;
Busts, to which Myro's touch did motion give,
And ivory, taught by Phidias' skill to live:
338
And scarce a board without a Mentor stood.
These, these, the lust of rapine first inspired,
These, Antony and Dolabella fired,
And sacrilegious Verres:—so, for Rome
They shipp'd their secret plunder; and brought home,
More treasures from our friends, in peace obtain'd,
Than from our foes, in war, were ever gain'd!
Now all is gone! the stallion made a prey,
The few brood-mares and oxen swept away,
The Lares,—if the sacred hearth possest
One little god, that pleased above the rest—
Mean spoils, indeed! but such were now their best.
The few brood-mares and oxen swept away,
The Lares,—if the sacred hearth possest
One little god, that pleased above the rest—
Mean spoils, indeed! but such were now their best.
Perhaps, you scorn (and may securely scorn)
The essenced Greek, whom arts, not arms, adorn:
Soft limbs, and spirits by refinement broke,
Would feebly struggle with the oppressive yoke.
But spare the Gaul, the fierce Illyrian spare,
And the rough Spaniard, terrible in war;
Spare too the Africk hind, whose ceaseless pain
Fills our wide granaries with autumnal grain,
And pampers Rome, while weightier cares engage
Her precious hours—the Circus and the Stage!
For, should you rifle them, O think in time,
What spoil would pay the execrable crime,
When greedy Marius fleeced them all so late,
And bare and bleeding left the hapless state!
But chief the brave, and wretched—tremble there;
Nor tempt too far the madness of despair:
For, should you all their little treasures drain,
Helmets, and spears, and swords, would still remain;
The plunder'd ne'er want arms. What I foretel,
Is no trite apophthegm, but—mark me well—
True as a Sibyl's leaf! fix'd as an oracle!
The essenced Greek, whom arts, not arms, adorn:
Soft limbs, and spirits by refinement broke,
Would feebly struggle with the oppressive yoke.
339
And the rough Spaniard, terrible in war;
Spare too the Africk hind, whose ceaseless pain
Fills our wide granaries with autumnal grain,
And pampers Rome, while weightier cares engage
Her precious hours—the Circus and the Stage!
For, should you rifle them, O think in time,
What spoil would pay the execrable crime,
When greedy Marius fleeced them all so late,
And bare and bleeding left the hapless state!
340
Nor tempt too far the madness of despair:
For, should you all their little treasures drain,
Helmets, and spears, and swords, would still remain;
The plunder'd ne'er want arms. What I foretel,
Is no trite apophthegm, but—mark me well—
True as a Sibyl's leaf! fix'd as an oracle!
If men of worth the posts beneath you hold,
And no spruce favourite barter law for gold;
If no inherent stain your wife disgrace,
Nor, happy-like, she flit from place to place,
A fell Celæno, ever on the watch,
And ever furious, all she sees to snatch;
Then choose what race you will: derive your birth
From Picus, or those elder sons of earth,
Who shook the throne of heaven; call him your sire,
Who first inform'd our clay with living fire;
Or single from the songs of ancient days,
What tale may suit you, and what parent raise.
And no spruce favourite barter law for gold;
If no inherent stain your wife disgrace,
Nor, happy-like, she flit from place to place,
341
And ever furious, all she sees to snatch;
Then choose what race you will: derive your birth
From Picus, or those elder sons of earth,
Who shook the throne of heaven; call him your sire,
Who first inform'd our clay with living fire;
Or single from the songs of ancient days,
What tale may suit you, and what parent raise.
But—if rash pride, and lust, your bosom sway,
If, with stern joy, you ply, from day to day,
The ensanguined rods, and head on head demand,
Till the tired axe drop from the lictor's hand;
Then, every honour, by your father won,
Indignant to be borne by such a son,
Will, to his blood, oppose your daring claim,
And fire a torch, to blaze upon your shame!—
Vice glares more strongly in the publick eye,
As he who sins, in power or place is high.
If, with stern joy, you ply, from day to day,
The ensanguined rods, and head on head demand,
Till the tired axe drop from the lictor's hand;
Then, every honour, by your father won,
Indignant to be borne by such a son,
Will, to his blood, oppose your daring claim,
And fire a torch, to blaze upon your shame!—
342
As he who sins, in power or place is high.
See! by his great progenitors' remains
Fat Damasippus sweeps, with loosen'd reins.
Good Consul! he no pride of office feels,
But stoops, himself, to clog his headlong wheels.
“But this is all by night,” the hero cries.
Yet the moon sees! yet the stars stretch their eyes,
Full on your shame!—A few short moments wait,
And Damasippus quits the pomp of state:
Then, proud the experienced driver to display,
He mounts his chariot in the face of day,
Whirls, with bold front, his grave associate by,
And jerks his whip, to catch the senior's eye:
Unyokes his weary steeds, and, to requite
Their service, feeds and litters them, at night.
Fat Damasippus sweeps, with loosen'd reins.
Good Consul! he no pride of office feels,
But stoops, himself, to clog his headlong wheels.
343
Yet the moon sees! yet the stars stretch their eyes,
Full on your shame!—A few short moments wait,
And Damasippus quits the pomp of state:
Then, proud the experienced driver to display,
He mounts his chariot in the face of day,
Whirls, with bold front, his grave associate by,
And jerks his whip, to catch the senior's eye:
Unyokes his weary steeds, and, to requite
Their service, feeds and litters them, at night.
Meanwhile, 'tis all he can, what time he stands
At Jove's high altar, as the law commands,
And offers sheep and oxen, he forswears
The Eternal King, and gives his silent prayers
To thee, Hippona, goddess of the stalls,
And gods more vile, dawb'd on the reeking walls!
At night, to his old haunts he scours, elate,
(The tavern by the Idumean gate)
Where, while the host, bedrench'd with liquid sweets,
With many a courteous phrase, his entrance greets,
And many a smile; the hostess nimbly moves,
And gets the flaggon ready, which he loves.
At Jove's high altar, as the law commands,
And offers sheep and oxen, he forswears
The Eternal King, and gives his silent prayers
To thee, Hippona, goddess of the stalls,
And gods more vile, dawb'd on the reeking walls!
344
(The tavern by the Idumean gate)
Where, while the host, bedrench'd with liquid sweets,
With many a courteous phrase, his entrance greets,
And many a smile; the hostess nimbly moves,
And gets the flaggon ready, which he loves.
Here some, perhaps, my growing warmth may blame:
“In youth's wild hours,” they urge, “we did the same.”
'Tis granted, friends; but then we stopp'd in time,
Nor hugg'd our darling faults, beyond our prime.
Brief let our follies be! and youthful sin
Fall, with the firstlings of the manly chin!—
Boys we may pity, nay, perhaps, excuse:
But Damasippus still frequents the stews,
Though, now mature in vigour, ripe in age,
Of Cæsar's foes to check the headlong rage,
On Tigris' banks, in burnish'd arms, to shine,
And sternly guard the Danube, or the Rhine.
“In youth's wild hours,” they urge, “we did the same.”
'Tis granted, friends; but then we stopp'd in time,
Nor hugg'd our darling faults, beyond our prime.
Brief let our follies be! and youthful sin
Fall, with the firstlings of the manly chin!—
345
But Damasippus still frequents the stews,
Though, now mature in vigour, ripe in age,
Of Cæsar's foes to check the headlong rage,
On Tigris' banks, in burnish'd arms, to shine,
And sternly guard the Danube, or the Rhine.
“The East revolts.” Ho! let the troops repair
To Ostium, quick! “But where's the General?” Where!
Go, search the taverns; there the chief you'll find,
With cut-throats, plund'rers, rogues of every kind,
Bier-jobbers, bargemen, drench'd in fumes of wine,
And Cybele's priests, mid their loose drums, supine!
There none are less, none greater than the rest,
There my lord gives, and takes the scurvy jest;
There all who can, round the same table sprawl,
And there one greasy tankard serves for all.
Blessings of birth!—but, Ponticus, a word:
Own'd you a slave like this degenerate lord,
What were his fate? your Lucan farm to till,
Or aid the mules, to turn your Tuscan mill.
But Troy's great sons dispense with being good,
And boldly sin, by courtesy of blood;
Wink at each other's crimes, and look for fame,
In what would tinge a cobbler's cheek with shame.
To Ostium, quick! “But where's the General?” Where!
Go, search the taverns; there the chief you'll find,
With cut-throats, plund'rers, rogues of every kind,
Bier-jobbers, bargemen, drench'd in fumes of wine,
And Cybele's priests, mid their loose drums, supine!
There none are less, none greater than the rest,
There my lord gives, and takes the scurvy jest;
There all who can, round the same table sprawl,
And there one greasy tankard serves for all.
Blessings of birth!—but, Ponticus, a word:
Own'd you a slave like this degenerate lord,
What were his fate? your Lucan farm to till,
Or aid the mules, to turn your Tuscan mill.
346
And boldly sin, by courtesy of blood;
Wink at each other's crimes, and look for fame,
In what would tinge a cobbler's cheek with shame.
And have I wreak'd on such foul deeds my rage,
That worse should yet remain to blot my page!—
See Damasippus, all his fortune lost,
Compell'd, for hire, to play a squealing ghost!
While Lentulus, his brother in renown,
Performs, with so much art, the perjured clown,
And suffers with such grace, that, for his pains,
I hold him worthy of—the cross he feigns.
That worse should yet remain to blot my page!—
See Damasippus, all his fortune lost,
Compell'd, for hire, to play a squealing ghost!
While Lentulus, his brother in renown,
Performs, with so much art, the perjured clown,
And suffers with such grace, that, for his pains,
I hold him worthy of—the cross he feigns.
347
Nor deem the heedless rabble void of blame:—
Strangers alike to decency and shame,
They sit with brazen front, and calmly see
The hired patrician's low buffoonery;
Laugh at the Fabii's tricks, and grin to hear
The cuffs resound from the Mamerci's ear!
Who cares how low their blood is sold, how high?—
No Nero drives them, now, their fate to try:
Freely they come, and freely they expose,
Their lives for hire, to grace the publick shows!
Strangers alike to decency and shame,
They sit with brazen front, and calmly see
The hired patrician's low buffoonery;
Laugh at the Fabii's tricks, and grin to hear
The cuffs resound from the Mamerci's ear!
Who cares how low their blood is sold, how high?—
No Nero drives them, now, their fate to try:
348
Their lives for hire, to grace the publick shows!
But grant the worst: suppose the arena here,
And there the stage; on which would you appear?
The first: for who of death so much in dread,
As not to tremble more, the stage to tread,
Squat on his hams, in some blind nook to sit,
And watch his mistress, in a jealous fit!—
But 'tis not strange, that, when the Emperour tunes
A scurvy harp, the lords should turn buffoons;
The wonder is, they turn not fencers too,
Secutors, Retiarians.—and they do!
Gracchus steps forth: No sword his thigh invests—
No helmet, shield—such armour he detests,
Detests and spurns; and impudently stands,
With the poised net and trident in his hands.
The foe advances—lo! a cast he tries,
But misses, and, in frantick terrour, flies.
Round the throng'd Cirque; and, anxious to be known,
Lifts his bare face, with many a piteous moan.
“'Tis he! 'tis he!—I know the Salian vest,
“With golden fringes, pendent from the breast;
“The Salian bonnet, from whose pointed crown,
“The glittering ribands float redundant down.
“O spare him, spare!”—The brave Secutor heard,
And, blushing, stopp'd the chase; for he preferr'd,
Wounds, death itself, to the contemptuous smile,
Of conquering one so noble, and—so vile!
And there the stage; on which would you appear?
The first: for who of death so much in dread,
As not to tremble more, the stage to tread,
Squat on his hams, in some blind nook to sit,
And watch his mistress, in a jealous fit!—
But 'tis not strange, that, when the Emperour tunes
A scurvy harp, the lords should turn buffoons;
349
Secutors, Retiarians.—and they do!
Gracchus steps forth: No sword his thigh invests—
No helmet, shield—such armour he detests,
350
With the poised net and trident in his hands.
351
But misses, and, in frantick terrour, flies.
352
Lifts his bare face, with many a piteous moan.
353
“With golden fringes, pendent from the breast;
“The Salian bonnet, from whose pointed crown,
“The glittering ribands float redundant down.
“O spare him, spare!”—The brave Secutor heard,
And, blushing, stopp'd the chase; for he preferr'd,
Wounds, death itself, to the contemptuous smile,
Of conquering one so noble, and—so vile!
Who, Nero, so depraved, if choice were free,
To hesitate 'twixt Seneca and thee?
Whose crimes, so much have they all crimes outgone,
Deserve more serpents, apes, and sacks, than one.
Not so, thou say'st; there are, whom I could name,
As deep in guilt, and as accurs'd in fame;
Orestes slew his mother. True; but know,
The same effects from different causes flow:
A father murder'd at the social board,
And heaven's command, unsheath'd his righteous sword.
Besides, Orestes, in his wildest mood,
Poison'd no cousin, shed no consort's blood,
Buried no poniard in a sister's throat,
Sung on no publick stage, no Troicks wrote.—
This topp'd his frantick crimes! this roused mankind!
For what could Galba, what Virginius, find,
In the dire annals of that bloody reign,
Which call'd for vengeance in a louder strain?
To hesitate 'twixt Seneca and thee?
354
Deserve more serpents, apes, and sacks, than one.
355
As deep in guilt, and as accurs'd in fame;
356
The same effects from different causes flow:
A father murder'd at the social board,
And heaven's command, unsheath'd his righteous sword.
357
Poison'd no cousin, shed no consort's blood,
358
Sung on no publick stage, no Troicks wrote.—
This topp'd his frantick crimes! this roused mankind!
For what could Galba, what Virginius, find,
In the dire annals of that bloody reign,
Which call'd for vengeance in a louder strain?
Lo here, the arts, the studies that engage
The world's great master! on a foreign stage,
To prostitute his voice for base renown,
And ravish, from the Greeks, a parsley crown!
The world's great master! on a foreign stage,
To prostitute his voice for base renown,
And ravish, from the Greeks, a parsley crown!
Come then, great prince, great poet! while we throng
To greet thee, recent from triumphant song,
Come, place the unfading wreath, with reverence meet,
On the Domitii's brows! before their feet,
The mask and pall of old Thyestes lay,
And Menalippé; while, in proud display,
From the colossal marble of thy sire,
Depends, the boast of Rome, thy conquering lyre!
To greet thee, recent from triumphant song,
Come, place the unfading wreath, with reverence meet,
On the Domitii's brows! before their feet,
359
And Menalippé; while, in proud display,
360
Depends, the boast of Rome, thy conquering lyre!
Cethegus! Catiline! whose ancestors,
Were nobler born, were higher rank'd, than yours?
Yet ye conspired, with more than Gallick hate,
To wrap in midnight flames this hapless state;
On men and gods your barbarous rage to pour,
And deluge Rome with her own children's gore:
Horrours, which call'd, indeed, for vengeance dire,
For the pitch'd coat and stake, and smouldering fire!
But Tully watch'd—your league in silence broke,
And crush'd your impious arms, without a stroke.
Yes he, poor Arpine, of no name at home,
And scarcely rank'd among the knights, at Rome,
Secured the trembling town, placed a firm guard
In every street, and toil'd in every ward:—
And thus, within the walls, the gown obtain'd,
More fame, for Tully, than Octavius gain'd,
At Actium and Philippi, from a sword,
Drench'd in the eternal stream by patriots pour'd!
For Rome, free Rome, hail'd him, with loud acclaim,
The Father of his Country—glorious name!
Were nobler born, were higher rank'd, than yours?
Yet ye conspired, with more than Gallick hate,
To wrap in midnight flames this hapless state;
On men and gods your barbarous rage to pour,
And deluge Rome with her own children's gore:
Horrours, which call'd, indeed, for vengeance dire,
For the pitch'd coat and stake, and smouldering fire!
361
And crush'd your impious arms, without a stroke.
Yes he, poor Arpine, of no name at home,
And scarcely rank'd among the knights, at Rome,
Secured the trembling town, placed a firm guard
In every street, and toil'd in every ward:—
And thus, within the walls, the gown obtain'd,
More fame, for Tully, than Octavius gain'd,
At Actium and Philippi, from a sword,
Drench'd in the eternal stream by patriots pour'd!
For Rome, free Rome, hail'd him, with loud acclaim,
The Father of his Country—glorious name!
362
Another Arpine, train'd the ground to till,
Tired of the plough, forsook his native hill,
And join'd the camp; where, if his adze was slow,
The vine-twig whelk'd his back with many a blow:
And yet, when the fierce Cimbri threaten'd Rome
With swift, and scarcely evitable doom,
This man, in the dread hour, to save her rose,
And turn'd the impending ruin on her foes!
For which, while ravening birds devour'd the slain,
And their huge bones lay whitening on the plain,
His high-born colleague to his worth gave way,
And took, well pleased, the secondary bay.
Tired of the plough, forsook his native hill,
And join'd the camp; where, if his adze was slow,
The vine-twig whelk'd his back with many a blow:
And yet, when the fierce Cimbri threaten'd Rome
With swift, and scarcely evitable doom,
This man, in the dread hour, to save her rose,
And turn'd the impending ruin on her foes!
363
And their huge bones lay whitening on the plain,
His high-born colleague to his worth gave way,
And took, well pleased, the secondary bay.
The Decii were plebeians! mean their name,
And mean the parent stock from which they came:
Yet they devoted, in the trying hour,
Their heads to Earth, and each infernal Power;
And by that solemn act, redeem'd from fate,
Auxiliars, legions, all the Latian state;
More prized than those they saved, in heaven's just estimate!
And mean the parent stock from which they came:
Yet they devoted, in the trying hour,
Their heads to Earth, and each infernal Power;
And by that solemn act, redeem'd from fate,
Auxiliars, legions, all the Latian state;
More prized than those they saved, in heaven's just estimate!
364
And him, who graced the purple which he wore,
(The last good king of Rome,) a bondmaid bore.
(The last good king of Rome,) a bondmaid bore.
The Consul's sons, (while storms yet shook the state,
And Tarquin thunder'd vengeance at the gate,)
Who should, to crown the labours of their sire,
Have dared what Cocles, Mutius, might admire,
And she, who mock'd the javelins whistling round,
And swam the Tiber, then the empire's bound;
Had, to the tyrant's rage, the town exposed,
But that a slave their dark designs disclosed.—
For Him, when stretch'd upon his honour'd bier,
The grateful matrons shed the pious tear,
While, with stern eye, the patriot and the sire,
Saw, by the axe, the high-born pair expire:
They fell—just victims to the offended laws,
And the first sacrifice to freedom's cause!
And Tarquin thunder'd vengeance at the gate,)
Who should, to crown the labours of their sire,
Have dared what Cocles, Mutius, might admire,
And she, who mock'd the javelins whistling round,
And swam the Tiber, then the empire's bound;
Had, to the tyrant's rage, the town exposed,
But that a slave their dark designs disclosed.—
365
The grateful matrons shed the pious tear,
While, with stern eye, the patriot and the sire,
Saw, by the axe, the high-born pair expire:
They fell—just victims to the offended laws,
And the first sacrifice to freedom's cause!
For me, who nought but innate worth admire,
I'd rather vile Thersites were thy sire,
So thou wert like Achilles, and couldst wield
Vulcanian arms, the terrour of the field,
Than that Achilles should thy father be,
And, in his offspring, vile Thersites see.
I'd rather vile Thersites were thy sire,
So thou wert like Achilles, and couldst wield
Vulcanian arms, the terrour of the field,
Than that Achilles should thy father be,
And, in his offspring, vile Thersites see.
And yet, how high soe'er thy pride may trace
The long-forgotten founders of thy race,
Still must the search with that Asylum end,
From whose polluted source we all descend.
Haste then, the inquiry haste; secure to find
Thy sire some vagrant slave, some bankrupt hind,
Some—but I mark the kindling glow of shame,
And will not shock thee with a baser name.
The long-forgotten founders of thy race,
Still must the search with that Asylum end,
From whose polluted source we all descend.
Haste then, the inquiry haste; secure to find
Thy sire some vagrant slave, some bankrupt hind,
Some—but I mark the kindling glow of shame,
And will not shock thee with a baser name.
367
SATIRE IX.
369
Jun.
Still drooping, Nævolus! What, prithee, say,
Portends this show of grief from day to day,
This copy of flay'd Marsyas? what dost thou
With such a rueful face, and such a brow,
As Ravola wore, when caught—Not so cast down,
Look'd Pollio, when, of late, he scour'd the town,
And, proffering treble rate, from friend to friend,
Found none so foolish, none so mad, to lend!
Portends this show of grief from day to day,
This copy of flay'd Marsyas? what dost thou
With such a rueful face, and such a brow,
As Ravola wore, when caught—Not so cast down,
Look'd Pollio, when, of late, he scour'd the town,
And, proffering treble rate, from friend to friend,
Found none so foolish, none so mad, to lend!
370
But, seriously, for thine's a serious case,
Whence came those sudden wrinkles in thy face?
I knew thee once, a gay, light-hearted slave,
Contented with the little fortune gave;
A sprightly guest, of every table free,
And famed for modish wit and repartee.
Now all's revers'd: dejected is thy mien,
Thy locks are like a tangled thicket seen;
And every limb, once smooth'd with nicest care,
Rank with neglect, a shrubbery of hair!
Whence came those sudden wrinkles in thy face?
I knew thee once, a gay, light-hearted slave,
Contented with the little fortune gave;
A sprightly guest, of every table free,
And famed for modish wit and repartee.
Now all's revers'd: dejected is thy mien,
Thy locks are like a tangled thicket seen;
And every limb, once smooth'd with nicest care,
Rank with neglect, a shrubbery of hair!
What dost thou with that dull, dead, wither'd look,
Like some old debauchee, long ague-shook?
All is not well within; for, still we find,
The face the unerring index of the mind,
And as this feels or fancies joys or woes,
That pales with sorrow, or with rapture glows.
What should I think? Too sure the scene is changed,
And thou, from thy old course of life, estranged:
For late, as I remember, at all haunts,
Where dames of fashion flock to hire gallants,
At Isis and at Ganymede's abodes,
At Cybele's, dread mother of the gods,
Nay, at chaste Ceres', (for at shame they spurn,
And ev'n her temples now to brothels turn,)
None was so famed: the favourites of the town,
Baffled alike in business and renown,
Murmuring retired; wives, daughters, were thy own,
And—if the truth must come—not they alone.
Like some old debauchee, long ague-shook?
All is not well within; for, still we find,
The face the unerring index of the mind,
And as this feels or fancies joys or woes,
That pales with sorrow, or with rapture glows.
371
And thou, from thy old course of life, estranged:
For late, as I remember, at all haunts,
Where dames of fashion flock to hire gallants,
At Isis and at Ganymede's abodes,
At Cybele's, dread mother of the gods,
Nay, at chaste Ceres', (for at shame they spurn,
And ev'n her temples now to brothels turn,)
372
Baffled alike in business and renown,
Murmuring retired; wives, daughters, were thy own,
And—if the truth must come—not they alone.
Næv.
Right: and to some this trade has answer'd yet;
But not to me: for what is all I get?
A drugget cloak, to save my gown from rain,
Coarse in its texture, dingy in its grain,
And a few pieces of the “second vein!”
Fate governs all. Fate, with full sway, presides
Even o'er those parts, which modest nature hides;
And little, if her genial influence fail,
Will vigour stead, or boundless powers avail:
Though Virro, gloating on your naked charms,
Foam with desire, and woo you to his arms,
With many a soothing, many a flattering phrase—
For your curs'd pathicks have such winning ways!
But not to me: for what is all I get?
A drugget cloak, to save my gown from rain,
Coarse in its texture, dingy in its grain,
And a few pieces of the “second vein!”
Fate governs all. Fate, with full sway, presides
Even o'er those parts, which modest nature hides;
And little, if her genial influence fail,
Will vigour stead, or boundless powers avail:
Though Virro, gloating on your naked charms,
Foam with desire, and woo you to his arms,
With many a soothing, many a flattering phrase—
For your curs'd pathicks have such winning ways!
373
Hear now this prodigy, this mass impure,
Of lust and avarice! “Let us, friend, be sure:
“I've given thee this, and this;—now count the sums:”
(He counts, and woos the while,) “behold! it comes
“To five sestertia, five!—now, look again,
“And see how much it overpays thy pain:”
What! “overpays?”—but you are form'd for love,
And worthy of the cup and couch of Jove!
—Will those relieve a client!—those, who grudge
A wretched pittance to the painful drudge
That toils in their disease?—O mark, my friend,
The blooming youth, to whom we presents send,
Or on the Female Calends, or the day
Which gave him birth! in what a lady-way,
He takes our favours as he sits in state,
And sees adoring crowds besiege his gate!
Of lust and avarice! “Let us, friend, be sure:
“I've given thee this, and this;—now count the sums:”
(He counts, and woos the while,) “behold! it comes
“To five sestertia, five!—now, look again,
“And see how much it overpays thy pain:”
What! “overpays?”—but you are form'd for love,
And worthy of the cup and couch of Jove!
—Will those relieve a client!—those, who grudge
A wretched pittance to the painful drudge
That toils in their disease?—O mark, my friend,
The blooming youth, to whom we presents send,
Or on the Female Calends, or the day
Which gave him birth! in what a lady-way,
374
And sees adoring crowds besiege his gate!
Insatiate sparrow! whom do your domains,
Your numerous hills await, your numerous plains?
Regions, which such a tract of land embrace,
That kites are tired within the unmeasured space!
For you, the purple vine luxuriant glows,
On Trifoline's plain, and on Misenus' brows;
And hollow Gaurus, from his fruitful hills,
Your spacious vaults with generous nectar fills:
What were it then, a few poor roods to grant,
To one so worn with letchery and want?
Sure yonder female, with the child she bred,
The dog their playmate, and their little shed,
Had, with more justice, been conferr'd on me,
Than on a cymbal-beating debauchee!
“I'm troublesome;” you say, when I apply,
“And give! give! give! is my eternal cry.”—
But house-rent due, solicits to be sped,
And my sole slave, importunate for bread,
Follows me, clamouring in as loud a tone,
As Polyphemus, when his prey was flown.
Nor will this one suffice, the toil's so great!
Another must be bought; and both must eat.
What shall I say, when cold December blows,
And their bare limbs shrink at the driving snows,
What shall I say, their drooping hearts to cheer?
“Be merry, boys, the spring will soon be here!”
Your numerous hills await, your numerous plains?
Regions, which such a tract of land embrace,
That kites are tired within the unmeasured space!
For you, the purple vine luxuriant glows,
On Trifoline's plain, and on Misenus' brows;
And hollow Gaurus, from his fruitful hills,
Your spacious vaults with generous nectar fills:
What were it then, a few poor roods to grant,
To one so worn with letchery and want?
Sure yonder female, with the child she bred,
The dog their playmate, and their little shed,
Had, with more justice, been conferr'd on me,
Than on a cymbal-beating debauchee!
“I'm troublesome;” you say, when I apply,
“And give! give! give! is my eternal cry.”—
But house-rent due, solicits to be sped,
And my sole slave, importunate for bread,
Follows me, clamouring in as loud a tone,
As Polyphemus, when his prey was flown.
375
Another must be bought; and both must eat.
What shall I say, when cold December blows,
And their bare limbs shrink at the driving snows,
What shall I say, their drooping hearts to cheer?
“Be merry, boys, the spring will soon be here!”
But though my other merits you deny,
One yet must be allow'd—that had not I,
I, your devoted client, lent my aid,
Your wife had to this hour remain'd a maid.
You know what motives urged me to the deed,
And what was promised, could I but succeed:—
Oft in my arms the flying fair I caught,
And back to your cold bed, reluctant, brought,
Ev'n when she'd cancell'd all her former vows,
And now was signing to another spouse.
What pains it cost to set these matters right,
While you stood whimpering at the door all night,
I spare to tell:—a friend, like me, has tied
Full many a knot, when ready to divide.
One yet must be allow'd—that had not I,
I, your devoted client, lent my aid,
Your wife had to this hour remain'd a maid.
You know what motives urged me to the deed,
And what was promised, could I but succeed:—
376
And back to your cold bed, reluctant, brought,
Ev'n when she'd cancell'd all her former vows,
And now was signing to another spouse.
What pains it cost to set these matters right,
While you stood whimpering at the door all night,
I spare to tell:—a friend, like me, has tied
Full many a knot, when ready to divide.
Where will you turn you now, sir? whither fly?
What, to my charges, first, or last, reply?
Is it no merit, speak, ungrateful! none,
To give you thus a daughter, or a son,
Whom you may breed with credit at your board,
And prove yourself a man upon record?—
Haste, with triumphal wreaths your gates adorn,
You're now a father, now no theme for scorn;
My toils have ta'en the opprobrium from your name,
And stopt the babbling of malicious fame.
A parent's rights you now may proudly share,
Now, thank my industry, be named an heir;
Take now the whole bequest, with what beside,
From lucky windfalls, may in time betide;
And other blessings, if I but repeat
My pains, and make the number three complete.”
What, to my charges, first, or last, reply?
Is it no merit, speak, ungrateful! none,
To give you thus a daughter, or a son,
Whom you may breed with credit at your board,
And prove yourself a man upon record?—
Haste, with triumphal wreaths your gates adorn,
You're now a father, now no theme for scorn;
My toils have ta'en the opprobrium from your name,
And stopt the babbling of malicious fame.
A parent's rights you now may proudly share,
Now, thank my industry, be named an heir;
377
From lucky windfalls, may in time betide;
And other blessings, if I but repeat
My pains, and make the number three complete.”
378
Nay, thou hast reason to complain, I feel:
But, what says Virro?
Næv.
Not a syllable;
But, while my wrongs and I unnoticed pass,
Hunts out some other drudge, some two-legg'd ass,
Enough;—and never, on your life, unfold
The secret thus, to you, in friendship told;
But let my injuries, undivulged, still rest
Within the closest chamber of your breast:
How the discovery might be borne, none knows—
And your smooth pathicks, are such fatal foes!
Virro, who trusts me yet, may soon repent,
And hate me for the confidence he lent;
With fire and sword my wretched life pursue,
As if I'd blabb'd already all I knew.
379
The rich can never buy revenge too dear;
And—but enough: be cautious, I entreat,
And secret as the Athenian judgment-seat.
Juv.
And dost thou seriously believe, fond swain,
The actions of the great, unknown remain?
Poor Corydon! even beasts would silence break,
And stocks and stones, if servants did not, speak.
Bolt every door, stop every cranny tight,
Close every window, put out every light;
Let not a whisper reach the listening ear,
No noise, no motion; let no soul be near;
Yet all that pass'd at the cock's second crow,
The neighbouring vintner shall, ere daybreak, know;
With what besides the cook and carver's brain,
Subtly malicious, can in vengeance feign!
For thus they glory, with licentious tongue,
To quit the harsh command and galling thong.
Should these be mute, some drunkard in the streets,
Will pour out all he knows, to all he meets,
Force them, unwilling, the long tale to hear,
And with his stories drench their hapless ear.
Go now, and earnestly of those request,
To lock, like me, the secret in their breast:
Alas! they hear thee not; and will not sell
The dear, dear privilege—to see and tell,
For more stolen wine than late Saufeia boused,
When, for the people's welfare, she—caroused!
The actions of the great, unknown remain?
Poor Corydon! even beasts would silence break,
And stocks and stones, if servants did not, speak.
Bolt every door, stop every cranny tight,
Close every window, put out every light;
Let not a whisper reach the listening ear,
No noise, no motion; let no soul be near;
Yet all that pass'd at the cock's second crow,
The neighbouring vintner shall, ere daybreak, know;
380
Subtly malicious, can in vengeance feign!
For thus they glory, with licentious tongue,
To quit the harsh command and galling thong.
Should these be mute, some drunkard in the streets,
Will pour out all he knows, to all he meets,
Force them, unwilling, the long tale to hear,
And with his stories drench their hapless ear.
Go now, and earnestly of those request,
To lock, like me, the secret in their breast:
Alas! they hear thee not; and will not sell
The dear, dear privilege—to see and tell,
381
When, for the people's welfare, she—caroused!
Live virtuously:—thus many a reason cries,
But chiefly this, that so thou mayst despise
Thy servant's tongue; for, lay this truth to heart,
The tongue is the vile servant's vilest part:
Yet viler he, who lives in constant dread,
Of the domestick spies that—eat his bread.
But chiefly this, that so thou mayst despise
Thy servant's tongue; for, lay this truth to heart,
The tongue is the vile servant's vilest part:
Yet viler he, who lives in constant dread,
Of the domestick spies that—eat his bread.
Næv.
Well have you taught, how we may best disdain
The envenom'd babbling of our household train;
382
What, in my proper case, would you advise?
After such flattering expectations crost,
And so much time, in vain dependence lost?
For youth, too transient flower! of life's short day
The shortest part, but blossoms—to decay.
383
To revelry and joy, in Pleasure's bower,
While now, for rosy wreaths our brows to twine,
And now for nymphs we call, and now for wine,
The noiseless foot of Time steals swiftly by,
And ere we dream of manhood, age is nigh!
Juv.
Oh, fear not: thou canst never seek in vain,
A pathick friend, while these seven hills remain.
Hither in crowds the master-misses come,
From every point, as to their proper home:
One hope has fail'd, another may succeed;
Meanwhile do thou on hot eringo feed.
Næv.
Tell this to happier men; the Fates ne'er meant,
Such luck for me; my Clotho is content,
When all my toil a bare subsistence gains,
And fills my belly, by my back and reins.
Such luck for me; my Clotho is content,
When all my toil a bare subsistence gains,
And fills my belly, by my back and reins.
O, my poor Lares! dear, domestick Powers!
To whom I come with incense, cakes, and flowers,
When shall my prayers, so long preferr'd in vain,
Acceptance find? O, when shall I obtain
Enough to free me from the constant dread
Of life's worst ill, gray hairs and want of bread?
On mortgage, six-score pounds a year, or eight,
A little sideboard, which, for overweight,
Fabricius would have censured; a stout pair
Of hireling Mæsians, to support my chair,
In the throng'd Circus: add to these, one slave,
Well skill'd to paint, another, to engrave;
And I—but let me give these day-dreams o'er—
Wish as I may, I ever shall be poor;
For when to Fortune I prefer my prayers,
The obdurate goddess stops at once her ears;
Stops with that wax which saved Ulysses' crew,
When by the Syrens' rocks and songs they flew,
False songs and treacherous rocks, that all to ruin drew.
To whom I come with incense, cakes, and flowers,
When shall my prayers, so long preferr'd in vain,
Acceptance find? O, when shall I obtain
Enough to free me from the constant dread
Of life's worst ill, gray hairs and want of bread?
On mortgage, six-score pounds a year, or eight,
A little sideboard, which, for overweight,
384
Of hireling Mæsians, to support my chair,
In the throng'd Circus: add to these, one slave,
Well skill'd to paint, another, to engrave;
And I—but let me give these day-dreams o'er—
Wish as I may, I ever shall be poor;
For when to Fortune I prefer my prayers,
The obdurate goddess stops at once her ears;
Stops with that wax which saved Ulysses' crew,
When by the Syrens' rocks and songs they flew,
False songs and treacherous rocks, that all to ruin drew.
END OF VOL. I.
| The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis | |