University of Virginia Library

ODES OF HORACE PARAPHRASED BY THOMAS FLATMAN.

BOOK II. ODE XIX.

Being half foxt he praiseth Bacchus.

In a blind corner jolly Bacchus taught
The Nymphs, and Satyrs Poetry,
My self (a thing scarce to be thought)
Was at that time a stander by.
And ever since the whim runs in my head,
With heavenly frenzy I'm on fire;
Dear Bacchus let me not be punished
For raving, when thou did'st inspire.
Extatically drunk, I now dare sing
Thy bigot Thyades, and the source
Whence thy brisk Wine, Hony, and Milk did spring,
Enchanell'd by thy Scepters force.
Bold as I am, I dare yet higher fly,
And sing bright Ariadne's Crown,
Rejoyce to see bold Pentheus destiny,
And grave Lycurgus tumbled down.
Rivers, and Seas thine Empire all obey,
When thou thy standard do'st advance,
Wild Mountaineers, thy Vassals, trim, and gay
In tune and time stagger and dance.
Thou when great Jove began to fear his throne;
(In no small danger then he was)
The mighty Rhœcus thou did'st piss upon,
And of that Lion mad'st an Ass.
'Tis true, thy Talent is not War, but mirth;
The Fiddle, not the Trumpet, thine;
Yet did'st thou bravely lay about thee then,
Great Moderator, God of Wine.
And when to Hell in triumph thou did'st ride
'Ore Cerberus thou did'st prevail,
The silly Curr, Thee for his Master own'd,
And like a Puppy wagg'd his tail.

Book III. ODE VIII.

To MÆCENAS.

Learned Mæcenas, wonder not that I,
(A Batchelor) invoke that Deity,
Which at this Feast the married rout adore,
And yearly do implore.
They pray the gods to make their burthen light,
And that their yoke-fellows may never fight:
I praise them, not for giving me a Wife,
But saving of my life.
By heav'n redeem'd, I scap'd a falling Tree,
And yearly own that strange delivery,
Yearly rejoyce, and drink the briskest Wine,
Not spill it at their shrine.
Come (my Mæcenas) let us drink, and thus
Cherish that life, those Pow'rs have given us:
A thousand Cups to Midwife this new birth,
With inoffensive mirth,
No State-affairs near my Mæcenas come,
Since all are faln that fought victorious Rome.
By Civil broils the Medes, our foes, will fall.
The weakest to the Wall.
Our fierce, and ancient Enemy of Spain
Is now subdu'd, and tamely bears our chain.
The Savage Scythian too begins to yield,
About to quit the field.
Bear they the load of Government that can;
Thou, since a private, and good natur'd man,
Enjoy th' advantage of the present Hour,
For why should'st thou look sour?

BOOK III. ODE IX.

Horace and Lydia.

Hor.
While I was lovely in thine eye,
And while no soft embrace but mine
Encircled thy fair Ivory neck,
I did the Persian King out-shine.

Lyd.
While Horace was an honest Lad,
And Chloe less than Lydia lov'd,
Lydia was then a matchless Lass,
And in a sphere 'bove Ilia mov'd.

Hor.
But Chloe now has vanquisht me,
That Lute and Voice who could deny?
Methinks might I but save her life,
I could my self even dare to die.

Lyd.
Young Calais is my Gallant,
He burns me with his flaming Eye,
To save the pretty villians life,
'Twice over I could dare to die.

Hor.
But say I Lydia lov'd agen,
And would new-braze Loves broken chain?
Say I should turn my Chloe off,
And take poor Lydia home again?

Lyd.
Why then though He a fixed Star,
Thou lighter than a Cork should'st be,
Mad, and unquiet as the Sea,
Yet would I live, and die with thee.

Book III. ODE XII.

Book III. ODE XVII.

To Ælius Lamia.

Brave Ælius, sprung from an Heroick line,
Whose Pedigree in long descents do shine,
That add'st new glories to the Lamian Name,
And rear'st fresh Trophies to their fame!
Descended from Prince Lamus, whose command
Reach from the Formian walls, o're Sea and Land;
Well was he known our Ancestors among,
Where gentle Lyris slides along.
Great as thou art, time will not thee obey:
To-morrow's like to be a blustring day,
Some tempest too is threatned from the East,
As by th' unlucky Crow I guest:
'Tis dry to day! Now lay thy feuel in,
'Ere the unwelcome Season do begin,
Good Victuals get, and frolick friends together,
Armour of proof against ill weather.

Book III. ODE XIX.

To Telephus.

Book III. ODE XX.

To Pyrrhus.

Book III. ODE XXI.

To his Wine-Vessels.

Kind Brother Butt! as old, and brisk, as I,
(For we had both the same Nativity,)
Whether to mirth, to brawls, or desperate Love,
Or sleep, thy gentle power do's move;
By what, or name, or title dignifi'd;
Thou need'st not fear the nicest test to 'bide:
Corvinus, health since we may not refuse,
Give down amain thy generous juice.
Corvinus tho' a Stoick, will not balk
Thy charms, for he can drink, as well as talk.
Old Cato, tho he often were morose,
Yet he would sometimes take a Dose.
O Wine! thou mak'st the thick-skull'd fellow soft;
Easest the Statesman, vext with cares full oft;
Unriddlest all intrigues with a free Bowl,
Thou arrant pick-lock of the Soul!
Thou dost our gasping, dying hopes revive,
To Pesants, souls as big as Princes, give;
Inspired by thee they scorn their slavish fears,
And bid their Rulers shake their ears.
All this, and more (great Bacchus) thou canst do,
But if kind Venus be assistant too,
Then bring more Candles to expel the night;
Till Phœbus puts the Stars to flight.

Book III. ODE XXII.

Upon Diana.

Gentle Diana, Goddess bright,
Who midwiv'st Infants into light,
The Mountains Deity tripartite,
And Queen of Night,
To thee I consecrate my Pine,
Henceforth it shall be ever thine,
Yearly I'll offer at this shrine
The blood of Swine.

Book III. ODE III.

To Venus.

Book IV. ODE I.

To Venus.

No more of War:—Dread Cytherea, cease;
Thy feeble Souldier sues for Peace.
Alas I am not now that man of might,
As when fair Cinara bad me fight.
Leave Venus, leave! consider my gray hairs
Snow'd on by fifty tedious years.
My Forts are slighted, and my Bulwarks down:
Go, and beleaguer some strong Town.
Make thy attempts on Maximus; there's game
To entertain thy Sword, and Flame.
There Peace and Plenty dwell: He's of the Court,
Ignorant what 'tis to storm a Fort:
There sound a charge; he's generous and young,
He's unconcern'd, lusty and strong:
He of thy silken Banners will be proud,
And of thy Conquests talk aloud,
His bags are full: the Lad thou may'st prefer
To be thy Treasurer in War.
He may erect Gold Statues to thy name:
And be the Trumpet of thy fame:
Thy Deity the zealous youth will then invoke,
And make thy beauteous Altars smoke.
With Voice, and Instruments thy praise shall sound;
Division he, and Love the ground,
There, twice a day the gamesome company
Of Lads and Lasses in debvoir to thee,
Like Mars's Priests their numbers shall advance,
And sweetly sing, and nimbly dance.
But as for me! I'm quite dispirited,
I court nor Maid, nor Boy to bed!
I cannot drink, nor bind a Garland on,
Alas! my dancing days are done!
But hold—Why do these tears steal from my Eyes?
My lovely Ligurinus, why?
Why does my fault'ring tongue disguise my voice
With rude, and inarticulate noise?
O Ligurin! 'tis thou that break'st my rest,
Methinks I grasp thee in my brest:
Then I pursue thee in my passionate dreams
O're pleasant fields, and purling streams.

Book IV. ODE X.

To Ligurinus, a beauteous Youth.

'Tis true, thou yet art fair (my Ligurine)
No Down as yet environs cheek, or chin:
But when those hairs which now do flow, shall fall,
And when thy Rosie Cheeks turn wan and pale:
When in thy Glass another Ligurine thou
Shalt spy, and scarce thy bearded self shalt know;
Then thou (despis'd) shalt sing this piteous Song;
Why am I old? or why was ever young?

Book IV. ODE XI.

To Philllis.

Come Phillis, gentle Phillis! prithee come,
I have a Glass of rich old Wine at home,
And in my Garden curious Flowers do grow,
That languish to adorn thy brow.
The Ivy, and the yellow Crowfoot there
With verdant Chaplets wait to braid thy hair;
With silver Goblets all my house does shine,
And Vervain round my Altar twine,
On which the best of all my flock shall bleed;
Come, and observe with what officious speed
Each Lad, and Lass of all my house attends
Till to my roof the smoke ascends.
If thou would'st know why thou must be my guest.
I tell thee 'tis to celebrate a Feast,
The Ides of April, which have ever been
Devoted to the Cyprian Queen.
A day more sacred, and more fit for mirth
Than that which gave me (worthless mortal) birth:
For on that day Mecænas first saw light,
Born for our wonder, and delight.
My Phyllis, since thy years come on apace,
Substitute me in Telephus his place,
He's now imploy'd by one more rich, more fair,
And proudly does her shackles wear.
Remember what became of Phaeton;
Remember what befel Bellerophon;
That by Ambition from his Fathers Throne,
And this, by Pegasus thrown down.
Content thy self with what is fit for thee,
Happy that couple that in years agree!
Shun others, and accept my parity,
And I will end my Loves with thee.
Thou art the last whom I intend to court,
Come then; and (to prepare thee for the sport)
Learn Prick-song, and my merry Odes reherse,
Many a Care is charm'd by Verse.

EPODE III.

To MÆCENAS.

In time to come, if such a crime should be
As Parricide, (foul villany!)
A Clove of Garlick would revenge that evil;
(Rare dish for Plough-men, or the Devil!)
Accursed root! how does it jounce and claw!
It works like Rats-bane in my maw.
What Witch contriv'd this strat'gem for my breath!
Poison'd at once, and stunk to death;
With this vile juice Medæa (sure) did noint
Jason (her Love) in every joint;
When untam'd Bulls in yokes he led along,
This made his manhood smell so strong:
This gave her Dragon venom to his sting,
And set the Hagg upon the wing.
I burn, I parch, as dry as dust I am,
Such drought on Puglia never came.
Alcides could not bear so much as I,
He oft was wet, but never dry.
Mecænas! do but taste of your own Treat,
And what you gave your Poet, eat;
Then go to Bed, and court your Mistris there,
She'l never kiss you I dare swear.

EPODE VI.

Against Cassius Severus, a revileful and wanton Poet.

Thou Village-Curr! why do'st thou bark at me?
A Wolf might come, and go, for thee.
At me thou open'st wide, and think'st that I
Will bark with thee for company.
I'm of another kind, and bravely dare,
(Like th' Mastiff) watch my flock with care:
Dare hunt through snow, and seize that savage beast
That might my darling folds molest:
Thou (only in the noise thou mak'st) robust
Leav'st off the chase; leap'st at a crust,
But have a care! for if I vent my spleen,
I (for a shift) can make thee grin:
I'le make thee (if Iambicks once I sing)
To die, like Bupalus, in a string.
When any man insults o're me, shall I
Put finger in mine eye, and cry?

EPODE X.

Against Mævius a Poet.

And art thou ship'd, friend Dogrel!—get thee gon
Thou pest of Helicon.
Now for an Hurricane to bang thy sides
(Curst Wood) in which he rides!
An East-wind tear thy Cables, crack thy Oars,
While every billow roars.
With such a Wind let all the Ocean swell
As wafted Noll to Hell:
No friendly Star o'er all the Sea appear
While thou be'st there;
Nor kinder destiny there may'st thou meet,
Than the proud Grecian Fleet,
When Pallas did their Admiral destroy
Return'd from ruin'd Troy.
Methinks I see the Mariners faint, and thee
Look somewhat scurvily:
Thou call'st on Jove, as if great Jove had time
To mind thy Grub street Rhyme,
When the proud waves their heads to Heav'n do rear
Himself scarce free from fear:
Well!—If the Gods should thy wreckt carcase share
To Beasts, or Fowls of th' air,
I'll sacrifice to them, that they may know
I can be civil too.

EPODE XI.

To Pettius his Chamber-fellow.

Ah Pettius! I have done with Poetry,
I've parted with my liberty,
For Cupid's slavery.
Cupid that peevish God has singled out
Me, from among the Rhyming rout,
For Boys and Girls to flout:
December now has thrice stript every Tree,
Since bright Inachia's Tyranny
Has laid its chains on me.
Now fie upon me! all about the Town
My Miss I treated up and down,
I for a Squire was known.
Lord what a whelp was I! to pule and whine,
To sigh, to sob, and to repine!
For thy sake (Mistress mine!)
Thou didst my Verse, and thou my Muse despise,
My want debas'd me in thine eyes.
Thou wealth, not wit, didst prize.
Fuddled with Wine, and Love my secrets flew,
Stretcht on those racks, I told thee true,
What did my self undo.
Well!—plague me not too much, imperious Dame,
Lest I blaspheme thy charming name,
And quench my former flame.
I can give others place, and see thee die
Damn'd with their prodigality,
If I set on't, so stout am I.
Thou know'st (my Friend) thus have I often said,
When, by her sorceries misled,
Thou bad'st me home to bed:
Ev'n then my practice gave my tongue the lie,
I could not her curst house pass by:
I fear'd, but could not fly.
Since that, for young Lyciscus I'm grown mad;
Inachia such a face ne're had,
It is a lovely Lad.
From his embraces I shall ne'r get free,
Nor friends advice, nor infamy
Can disintangle me:
Yet if some brighter Object I should spy
That, might perhaps debauch my Eye,
And shake my constancy.

EPODE XV.

To his Sweet-heart Neæra.

It was a lovely melancholy night;
The Moon, and every Star shone bright;
When thou didst swear thou would'st to me be true,
And do as I would have thee do:
False Woman! round my neck thy arms did twine,
Inseparable as the Elm, and Vine:
Then didst thou swear thy passion should endure
To me alone sincere and pure,
Till Sheep and Wolves should quit their enmity,
And not a Wave disturb the Sea.
Treacherous Neæra! I have been too kind,
But Flaccus can draw off thou'lt find;
He can that face (as thou do'st him) forswear,
And find (it may be) one as fair:
And let me tell thee, when my fury's mov'd,
I hate devoutly, as I lov'd.
But thou (blest Gamester) whosoe'r thou be
That proudly do'st my drudgery,
Didst thou abound in numerous Flocks, and Land,
Wer't heir to all Pactolus Sand;
Though in thy brain thou bor'st Pythagoras,
And carriedst Nereus in thy face,
She'd pick another up, and shab thee off,
And then 'twill be my turn to laugh.

EPODE XVII.

To Canidia.

CANIDIA's Answer.

Go—hang thy self:—I will not hear,
The Rocks assoon shall lend an ear
To naked Mariners that be
Left to the mercy of the Sea.
Marry come up!—Shall thy bold pride
The mysteries of the Gods deride?
Presumptuous fool! commit a rape
On my repute, and think to scape?
Make me a Town-talk? Well! e'r thou die
Cupid shall vengeance take; or I.
Go, get some Rats-bane!—'twill not do,
Nay, drink some Aqua-fortis too:
No Witch shall take thy life away;
Who dares say, Go, when I bid Stay?
No!—I'le prolong thy loathed breath,
And make thee wish in vain for death.
In vain does Tantalus espy
Fruits, he may taste but with his Eye.
In vain does poor Prometheus grone,
And Sisyphus stop his rolling stone:
Long may they sigh, long may they cry
But not controul their Destiny.
And thou in vain from some high wall,
Or on thy naked Sword may'st fall,
In vain, (to terminate thy woes)
Thy hands shall knit the fatal noose:
For on thy shoulders then I'll ride,
And make the Earth shake with my pride.
Think'st thou that I, who when I please
Can kill by waxen Images,
Can force the Moon down from her Sphere,
And make departed Ghosts appear,
And mix Love potions!—thinks thy vanity,
I cannot deal with such a worm as thee?