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 |
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| V. | SATIRE V. |
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 | The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis |  |
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,
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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.
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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!
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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:
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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:
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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,
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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!
| The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis | |