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. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| II. |
|
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. | SATIRE IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis |  |
89
SATIRE IV.
91
What! you, my Alcibiades, aspire
To sway the state!—(Suppose that bearded sire,
Whom hemlock from a guilty world remov'd,
Thus to address the stripling that he lov'd.)—
On what apt talents for a charge so high,
Ward of great Pericles, do you rely?
Forecast on others by gray hairs conferr'd,
Haply, with you, anticipates the beard!
And prompts you, prescient of the public weal,
Now to disclose your thoughts, and now conceal!
Hence, when the rabble form some daring plan,
And factious murmurs spread from man to man,
Mute and attentive you can bid them stand,
By the majestick wafture of your hand!
To sway the state!—(Suppose that bearded sire,
Whom hemlock from a guilty world remov'd,
Thus to address the stripling that he lov'd.)—
On what apt talents for a charge so high,
Ward of great Pericles, do you rely?
Forecast on others by gray hairs conferr'd,
Haply, with you, anticipates the beard!
92
Now to disclose your thoughts, and now conceal!
Hence, when the rabble form some daring plan,
And factious murmurs spread from man to man,
Mute and attentive you can bid them stand,
By the majestick wafture of your hand!
Lo! all is hush'd: what now, what will he speak,
What floods of sense from his charg'd bosom break!
“Romans! I think—I fear—I think, I say,
This is not well:—perhaps, the better way.”—
What floods of sense from his charg'd bosom break!
“Romans! I think—I fear—I think, I say,
This is not well:—perhaps, the better way.”—
93
O power of eloquence! But you, forsooth,
In the nice, trembling scale can poise the truth,
With even hand; can with intentive view,
Amidst deflecting curves, the right pursue;
Or, where the rule deceives the vulgar eye
With its warp'd foot, th' unerring line apply:
And, while your sentence strikes with doom precise,
Stamp the black Theta on the front of vice!
In the nice, trembling scale can poise the truth,
With even hand; can with intentive view,
Amidst deflecting curves, the right pursue;
94
With its warp'd foot, th' unerring line apply:
And, while your sentence strikes with doom precise,
Stamp the black Theta on the front of vice!
Rash youth! relying on a specious skin,
While all is dark deformity within,
Check the fond thought; nor, like the peacock proud,
Spread your gay plumage to the applauding crowd,
Before your hour arrive:—Ah, rather drain
Whole isles of hellebore, to cool your brain!
For, what is your chief good? “To heap my board
With every dainty earth and sea afford;
To bathe, and bask me in the sunny ray,
And doze the careless hours of life away.”—
While all is dark deformity within,
Check the fond thought; nor, like the peacock proud,
Spread your gay plumage to the applauding crowd,
Before your hour arrive:—Ah, rather drain
Whole isles of hellebore, to cool your brain!
For, what is your chief good? “To heap my board
With every dainty earth and sea afford;
95
And doze the careless hours of life away.”—
Hold, hold! yon tatter'd beldame, hobbling by,
If haply ask'd, would make the same reply.
“But I am nobly born.” Agreed. “And fair.”
'Tis granted too: yet goody Baucis there,
Who, to the looser slaves, her pot-herbs cries,
Is just as philosophick, just as wise.—
If haply ask'd, would make the same reply.
“But I am nobly born.” Agreed. “And fair.”
'Tis granted too: yet goody Baucis there,
Who, to the looser slaves, her pot-herbs cries,
Is just as philosophick, just as wise.—
96
How few, alas! their proper faults explore!
While, on his loaded back, who walks before,
Each eye is fix'd,—You touch a stranger's arm,
And ask him, if he knows Vectidius' farm?
“Whose,” he replies? That rich old chuff's, whose ground
Would tire a hawk to wheel it fairly round.
While, on his loaded back, who walks before,
97
And ask him, if he knows Vectidius' farm?
“Whose,” he replies? That rich old chuff's, whose ground
Would tire a hawk to wheel it fairly round.
“O, ho! that wretch, on whose devoted head,
Ill stars and angry gods their rage have shed!
Who, on high festivals, when all is glee,
And the loose yoke hangs on the cross-way tree,
As, from the jar, he scrapes the incrusted clay,
Groans o'er the revels of so dear a day;
Champs on a coated onion dipt in brine;
And, while his hungry hinds, exulting dine
On barley-broth, sucks up, with thrifty care,
The mothery dregs of his pall'd vinegar!”
Ill stars and angry gods their rage have shed!
98
And the loose yoke hangs on the cross-way tree,
As, from the jar, he scrapes the incrusted clay,
Groans o'er the revels of so dear a day;
Champs on a coated onion dipt in brine;
And, while his hungry hinds, exulting dine
On barley-broth, sucks up, with thrifty care,
The mothery dregs of his pall'd vinegar!”
But, if “you bask you in the sunny ray,
And doze the careless hours of youth away,”
There are, who at such gross delights will spurn,
And spit their venom on your life, in turn;
Expose, with eager hate, your low desires,
Your secret passions, and unhallow'd fires.—
“Why, while the beard is nurst with every art,
Those anxious pains to bare the shameful part?
In vain:—should five athletick knaves essay,
To pluck, with ceaseless care, the weeds away,
Still the rank fern, congenial to the soil,
Would spread luxuriant, and defeat their toil!”
And doze the careless hours of youth away,”
There are, who at such gross delights will spurn,
And spit their venom on your life, in turn;
Expose, with eager hate, your low desires,
Your secret passions, and unhallow'd fires.—
“Why, while the beard is nurst with every art,
Those anxious pains to bare the shameful part?
99
To pluck, with ceaseless care, the weeds away,
Still the rank fern, congenial to the soil,
Would spread luxuriant, and defeat their toil!”
Misled by rage, our bodies we expose,
And while we give, forget to ward, the blows;
This, this is life! and thus our faults are shown,
By mutual spleen: we know—and we are known!
But your defects elude inquiring eyes!—
Beneath the groin the ulcerous evil lies,
Impervious to the view; and o'er the wound,
The broad effulgence of the zone is bound!
But can you, thus, the inward pang restrain,
Thus, cheat the sense of languor and of pain?
And while we give, forget to ward, the blows;
This, this is life! and thus our faults are shown,
By mutual spleen: we know—and we are known!
But your defects elude inquiring eyes!—
Beneath the groin the ulcerous evil lies,
Impervious to the view; and o'er the wound,
The broad effulgence of the zone is bound!
But can you, thus, the inward pang restrain,
Thus, cheat the sense of languor and of pain?
100
“But if the people call me wise and just,
Sure, I may take the general voice on trust!”—
Sure, I may take the general voice on trust!”—
No:—If you tremble at the sight of gold;
Indulge lust's wildest sallies uncontroll'd;
Or, bent on outrage, at the midnight hour,
Girt with a ruffian band, the Forum scour;
Then, wretch! in vain the voice of praise you hear,
And drink the vulgar shout with greedy ear.
Indulge lust's wildest sallies uncontroll'd;
Or, bent on outrage, at the midnight hour,
Girt with a ruffian band, the Forum scour;
101
And drink the vulgar shout with greedy ear.
102
Hence, with your spurious claims! Rejudge your cause,
And fling the rabble back their vile applause:
To your own breast, in quest of worth, repair,
And blush to find how poor a stock is there!
And fling the rabble back their vile applause:
To your own breast, in quest of worth, repair,
And blush to find how poor a stock is there!
| The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis | |