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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| I. | SATIRE I. |
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| VIII. |
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| XIII. |
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| XV. |
| XVI. |
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 | The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis |  |
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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,
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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,
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A slave-born, slave-bred, vagabond of Nile,
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His purple open, fans his summer rings;
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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,
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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;
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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,
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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;
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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,
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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,
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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!
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With generous wine, but—drugg'd it deeply first!
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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,
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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.
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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?—
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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!”
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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;
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“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—
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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
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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,
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Lugubrous torch, the deepening shades of night;
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And, with your mangled members, plough the ground.
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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,
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And pour its gall on each obnoxious head.
| The Satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis | |