BOOK XXX

.

ARGUMENT.

Most of the commentators seem to be agreed that the subject of this book was "matrimonial life." Mercer considers that it contained an altercation between a married couple, in which the lady strenuously refuses to submit to the lawful authority of her husband. Van Heusde says that in it were depicted the miseries of married life generally; especially of those husbands who are so devoted to their wives, that they surrender the reins of government into the hands of those, for whom the law compels them to provide subsistence, not only at the expense of their own personal labor, but also at the risk of life itself: the only return which they receive as an equivalent from the hands of their wives, being opprobrious language, ill temper, haughty exaction, treachery, and unfaithfulness to the marriage-bed. In addition to this, Gerlach thinks that in this, his last book, Lucilius recapitulated the subjects of his previous Satires; and consequently many Fragments are assigned to this book, which might easily be inserted in others. Among other matters, the poet also defends himself against the malignant charges of envious critics, one, Gaius, being especially noticed. The story of the old lion, which Horace has copied «i., Ep. i., 74», may also lead us to suppose that the treachery of false friends formed part of the matter of the poem.

N.B.--Gerlach considers that the 80th was undoubtedly the _last_ book. The passages quoted from subsequent books are the result of the carelessness of the Librarii. These passages, therefore, will all be found incorporated into the preceding books.

1 † ... Lamia and Pytho ... with sharp teeth ... those gluttonous, abandoned, obscene hags....[1952]

2 ... a sick and exhausted lion....[1953]

3 Then the lion said with subdued voice, "Why will you not come hither yourself?"[1954]

4 What does it mean? how does it happen that the footsteps, all without exception, lead inward and toward you?

5 For, be assured that disease is far enough removed from men in wine, when one has regaled himself pretty sumptuously.[1955]

6 † ... in face and features ... sport, and in our conversation ... this is the virgin's prize, and let us pay this honor....[1956]

7 ... Should you first fasten me to the yoke, and force me against my will to submit to the plow, and break up the clods with the coulter.[1957]

8 Immediately, as soon as the gale has blown a little more violently, it has raised and lifted up the waves.

9 You may see all things glittering within, in the glowing recess.[1958]

10 must I first break you in, fierce and haughty as you are, with a Thessalian bit, like an unbroken filly, and tame you down by war?[1959]

11 or when I am going somewhere, and have invented some pretext as to the goldsmiths, to my mother, a relation or female friend's.[1960]

12 Much fiercer than she of whom we spoke before: the milder she is, the more savagely she bites.

13. † who not expecting ... entering on the impulse of an evil omen.[1961]

14 ... hoping that time will bring forth the same--

... will give chewed food from her mouth--[1962]

15 So when fame, making thy fight illustrious, having been borne to our ears, shall have reported.[1963]

16 Take care there are in the house a webster, waiting maids, men-servants, a girdle-maker, a weaver--[1964]

17 You clean me out, then turn me out; ruin and insult me--[1965]

18 If Maximus left sixteen hundred ... of silver.[1966]

19 beardless hermaphrodites, bearded pathic-adulterers[1967]

20 What is it, if you possess a hundred or two hundred thousand

21 † ... what we seek in this matter ... deceived ... guarded against[1968]

22 ... here like a mouse-trap laid, ... and like a scorpion with tail erect....

23 ... and what great sorrows and afflictions you have now endured.[1969]

24 † it was better you should be born, ... like a beast or ass.

25 ... on the ground, in the dung, stalls, manure, and swine-dung.[1970]

26 ... as much as my fancy delights to draw from the Muses' fountain.

27 ... and that our poems alone out of many are now praised.

28 Now, Gaius, since rebuking, you attack us in turn....[1971]

29 ... and would perceive that his ... lay neglected ... left behind....

30 ... since you do not choose to recognize me at this time, trifler!

31 ... still I will try to write briefly and compendiously back.[1972]

32 ... and that by your harsh acts and cruel words....

33 ... no one's mind ought to be so confident--

34 ... if I may do this, and repay by verses....

35 ... just as you who ... those things which we consider to be an example of life--

36 ... when having well drunk, he has retired from the midst....

37 Calvus Palatina, a man of renown, and good in war.[1973]

38 and in a fierce and stubborn war by far the noblest enemy.

39 ... as to your praising your own ... blaming, you profit not a whit.[1974]

40 ... but tell me this, if it is not disagreeable, what is it?[1975]

41 all the labor bestowed on the wool is wasted; neglect, and the moths destroy all.[1976]

42 † ... one is flat-footed, with rotten feet....[1977]

43 ... no one gives to them: no one lets them in: nor do they think that life....

44 by whose means the Trogine cup was renowned through the camp.[1978]

45 ... thanks are returned to both: to them, and to themselves together.[1979]

46 ... little mattresses besides for each, with two coverlets.[1980]

47 What do you care, where I am befouled, and wallow?

48 Why do you watch where I go, what I do? What affair is that of yours?

49 What he could give, what expend, what afford....

50 So the mind is insnared by nooses, shackles, fetters.

51 You are delighted when you spread that report about me, in your conversations abroad.

52 and by evil-speaking you publish in many conversations

53 While you accuse me of this, do you not before revolve in your mind?

54 ... let us kick them all out, master and all.

55 ... when once I saw you eager for a contest with Cælius.[1981]

56 These monuments of your skill and excellence are erected.

57 ... and remain, meanwhile, content with these verses.

58 They bring me forth to you, and compel me to show you these

59 ... at what our friends value us, when they can spare us.

60 ... both by your virtue and your illustrious writings to contribute....

61 ... What? Do the Muses intrust their strong-holds to a mortal?

62 Listen to this also which I tell you; for it relates to the matter.

63 The quæstor is at hand that you may serve....[1982]

64 ... receive laws by which the people is outlawed....

65 ... or to sacrifice with her fellows at some much frequented temple.[1983]

66 Whom you know to be acquainted with all your disgrace and infamy.

67 Then he sees this himself.... in sullied garments.

68 ... What you squander on the stews, prowling through the town.[1984]

69 ... that she is sworn to one, to whom she is given and consecrated.

70 ... serves him as a slave, allures his lips, fascinates with love.[1985]

71 † ... himself oppresses ... a head nourished with sense.[1986]

72 ... fingers, and the bodkin in her beautifully-clustering hair.[1987]

73 ... and beccaficos, and thrushes, flutter round ... carefully tended for the cooks.[1988]

74 ... but why do I give vent to these words with trembling mind.

75 Think not that I could curse thee!

76 Sorry and marred with mange, and full of scab....[1989]

77 Which wearies out the people's eyes and ears and hearts.[1990]

78 † No one will thrust through that belly of yours ... and create pleasure ... use force and you will see--[1991]

79 This you will omit: in that employ me gladly....

80 All modesty is banished--licentiousness and usury restored.

81 That too is a soft mischief, wheedling and treacherous.

82 They appear, on the contrary, to have invited, or instigated these things.

83 ... all ... to you, handsome and rich--but I ... so be it![1992]

84 The husband traverses the wide sea, and commits himself to the waves.

85 † whose whole body you know has grown up ... with cloven hoofs.

86 to be able to write out ... the thievish hand of Musco.[1993]

87 Time itself will give sometimes what it can for keeping up....[1994]

88 and then fly, like a dog, at your face and eyes--[1995]

89 ... published it in conversation in many places....

90 He departed unexpectedly; in one hour quinsy carried him off.[1996]

91 An old bed, fitted with ropes, is prepared for us....[1997]

92 that no one, without your knowledge, could remove from your servants.

93 † And that they who despised you were so proud[1998]

94 and contract the pupil of their eyes at the glittering splendor.[1999]

95 ... you rush hence, and collect all stealthily.

96 ... and since modesty has retreated from your breast

97 ... nor suffer that beard of yours to grow.

98 ... he destroys and devours me....

FOOTNOTES:

[1952] _Lamia._ Cf. lib. xx., Fr. 1. _Oxyodontes._ Scaliger's emendation for Ixiodontes. _Gumiæ._ Vid. lib. iv., Fr. 1.

[1953] _Leonem ægrotum._ Horace has copied the fable, i., Epist. i., 73, "Olim quod vulpes ægroto cauta leoni respondit, referam. Quia me vestigia terrent omnia te advorsum spectantia, nulla retrorsum."

[1954] _Deductus_, "tenuis; a lanâ quæ ad tenuitatem nendo deducitur." Serv. Cf. Virg., Ecl., vi., 5, "pastorem pingues pascere oportet oves, deductum dicere carmen."

[1955] _Invitare_, Nonius explains by "repleri," and quotes Sallust. Hist., "Se ibi cibo vinoque invitarent." So Plaut., Amph., I., i., 130, "Invitavit sese in cœna plusculum." Suet., Aug., 77, "quoties largissimè se invitaret senos sextantes non excessit." _Dapsilius._ So "Dapsiliter suos amicos alit." Næv. ap. Charis.

[1956] _Pretium_, "præmium." Non. Virg., Æn., v., 111, "Et palmæ pretium victoribus."

[1957] _Proscindere._ Cf. Varr., R. R., i., 29, "terram quum primum arant _proscindere_ appellant: quum iterum, _affringere_ quod primâ aratione gleba grandes solent excitari." Virg., Georg., ii., 237. Ov., Met., vii., 219.

[1958] _Lege_, "Omnia tum endo mucho (μυχῷ) videas fervente micare."--Turnebe's emendation.

[1959] The invention of bits is ascribed by Pliny and Virgil to the Thessalian Lapithæ. Plin., vii., 56. Virg., Georg., iii., 15, "Frena Pelethronii Lapithæ, gyrosque dedere." Cf. Lucan., Phars., vi., 396, _seq_. Val. Flac., i., 424, "Oraque Thessalico melior contundere fræno Castor." Gerlach proposes, therefore, to read _equam_ for _acrem_, as young ladies are often compared by the poets to fillies. Cf. Hor., iii., Od. xi., 9, "Quæ velut latis equa trima campis, ludit exultim." Anacr., Fr. 75. Heraclid. Pont., All. Hom., p. 16. «Vid. Theogn., 257. Arist., Lys., 1308. Eurip., Hec., 144. Hip., 546.»

[1960] _Commentavi._ The words of an adulterous wife, inventing some excuse to keep her assignation. _Aurifex._ Cf. Plaut., Aul., III., v., 34. Cic., Orat., ii., 38.

[1961] Dusa refers this to the fox in the fable, quoted above. _Ominis_ is Gerlach's emendation for _hominis_ and _hemonis_. (_Hemo_ was an older form of _Homo_, hence Nemo, ne hemo.)

[1962] _Mansum_ is the food that has been chewed by the nurse preparatory to its being given to the child. Cf. Cic., Orat., ii., 39, "tenuissimas particulas, atque omnia minima _mansa_, ut nutrices infantibus pueris, in os inserant." Quint., X., i. Pers., iii., 17, "pappare minutum poscis." Plaut., Epid., V., ii., 62. It is expressed by the Greek ψωμίζειν. Arist., Lys., 19. Thesm., 692.

[1963] _Clarans._ Cf. Hor., iv., Od. iii., 3, "Ilium non labor Isthmius clarabit pugilem."

[1964] These are the demands of an imperious, perhaps a dowered wife. The speech of Megadorus in the Aulularia of Plautus (iii., Sc. v.), admirably illustrates this Fragment. In the list of slaves which the "dotata" expects, we find the Aurifex, Lanarius, Sarcinatores, strophiarii, semizonarii, textores. The Gerdius is probably the same as the Lenarius: as it is explained in the Glos. γέρδιος, ὑφαντής. _Zonarius._ Cf. Cic. p. Flac, vii., 17.

[1965] Probably the indignant expostulation of some young man to a Lena. Compare the scene between Argyrippus and Cleæreta, in the Asinaria of Plautus (i., Sc. iii.). _Exsultare_, "Gestu vel dictu injuriam facere." Non. Gerlach reads _deures_. The old reading is _deaures_, which is defensible. Cf. xxvi., Fr. 8, _deargentassere_.

[1966] _Maximus._ Q. Fabius Maximus Cunctator, whose son was notorious for his profligacy and luxuriousness. This is probably, therefore, part of the old man's speech against the licentiousness of the young.

[1967] _Androgyni._ Cf. Herod., iv., 67, c. not. Bähr. Juv., vi., 373, "Tonsoris damno tantum rapit Heliodorus."

[1968] _Inductum._ Thus explained by Nonius. Cf. Tibul., I., vi., 1, "Semper ut inducar blandos offers mihi vultus."

[1969] _Exanclaris._ Ennius in Andromacha, "Quantis cum ærumnis illum exantlavi diem." Fr. 6, p. 36, ed. Bothe. Cic., Tusc., i., 49; ii., 8. Acad., ii., 34. On the difference of the forms "exanclare and exantlare," vid. Burmann, ad Quintil., Inst., i., 6. Cf. Æsch., P. V., 375. Choëph., 746. Eurip., Hipp., 898.

[1970] _Sucerda_, from sus and cerno.

[1971] _Gai._ Van Heusde, Burmann, and Merula agree in supposing these to be the words of Fabius Cunctator to C. Minutius Rufus. «Cf. Liv., xxii., 8, 12, where, however, most of the Edd. call him Marcus.» _Incilare_, "increpare, improbare." Non. Pacuv. in Dulor, "Si quis hâc me oratione incilet, quid respondeam?" Fr. 28, p. 121, ed. Bothe. Lucret., iii., 976, "jure increpet inciletque."

[1972] _Summatim._ Cic, Att., v., 16. Suet., Tib., 61, "Commentario quem summatim breviterque composuit."

[1973] _Calvus_, probably either L. Cæcilius Metellus Calvus, consul with Q. Fabius Maximus Servilianus, B.C. 142, or his son L. Cæcilius Metellus Calvus Dalmaticus, consul with L. Aurelius Cotta, B.C. 119, who repaired out of his spoils the temple of Castor and Pollux. From the form of the word _Palatina_, Dusa and Gerlach suppose it to imply the name of a tribe; though Gerlach says we have no evidence of the existence of a tribe called from the hill «but cf. Cic., Verr., II., ii., 43». Cf. ad Pers., v., 73, "Publius Velina."

[1974] _Hilum_ is the primitive from which nihilum is formed (i. e., ne-hilum). Cf. Poet. ap. Cic., Tusc., I., vi., "Sisyphus versat saxum sudans nitendo neque proficit hilum." Lucret., iii., 221, "nec defit ponderis hilum."

[1975] _Nænum_, probably "ne unum," written also _nenum_, _nena_ the Archaic form of Non. Cf. Varro, Epist. ad Fusium, ap. Non. "Si hodie nænum venis, cras quidem." Lucret., iii., 20, "Nenu potest."

[1976] _Pallor_, "negligentia, vetustas." Non.

[1977] _Plautus_, an Umbrian word implying "flat-footed." From this peculiarity the poet derived his name, "Plotos appellant Umbri pedibus planis natos." Fest. The end of the line is hopeless. Turnebe reads "mens elephanti," and says it refers to "the horrors of matrimony, and the bodily defects of wives." Gerlach reads "mensa Libonis," and says, "Lucilius compares women to the tables of the money-changers." Cf. Hor., Sat., II., vi., 35. Cf. ad Pers., Sat., iv., 49.

[1978] Cic., de Div., ii., 37, mentions a people of Galatia, called Trogini. The name does not occur elsewhere.

[1979] The Archaic _Simitû_ for _simul_ occurs repeatedly in Plautus.

[1980] _Privæ._ Cf. i., Fr. 13. Privum, "proprium uniuscujusque." Non. _Centonibus._ Cf. xxviii., Fr. 33. _Culcitulæ_, "small cushions or pillows," from _calco_. Fest. Cf. Plaut., Most., IV., i., 49.

[1981] _Invadere_, i. e., "appetenter incipere." _Cæli._ Cicero tells us (Auct. ad Her., ii., 13, 19) that Cælius was the name of the judge who acquitted the man on the charge of defamation, who had libeled Lucilius on the stage.

[1982] _Publica._ Fruter conjectures _Publicià_; but the Publician law is not mentioned.

[1983] _Operatum._ So ῥέζειν. Cf. Virg., Georg., i., 339, "Sacra refer Cereri lætis operatus in herbis." Liv., i., 81. Propert., ii., 24, 1. Nonius explains it "Deos religiose et cum summâ veneratione sacrificiis litare."

[1984] _Lustris._ Plaut., Asin., V., ii., 17, "Is liberis lustris studet." Casin., II., iii., 28, "Ubi in lustra jacuisti?" Cic., Phil., xiii., 11. Probest., "Aliquis emersus ex tenebris lustrorum ac stuprorum." The Fragment probably forms part of a speech of a jealous wife upbraiding her husband, as Cleostrata, in the Casina of Plautus, quoted above.

[1985] _Præservit._ Cf. Plaut., Amph., Prol., 126, "Ut præservire amanti meo possem patri." _Delicere_, "to allure from the right path." Titinius ap. Non. in voc., "parasitus habeat qui illum sciat delicere, et noctem facere possit de die." _Delenit._ Cf. xxviii., Fr. 1, "to inthrall the senses by the passion of love." So Titinius, "Dotibus deleniti ultro etiam uxoribus ancillantur."

[1986] _Nutricari_ for "nutrire." Cf. Cic., de Nat. Deor., ii., 34, "Educator et altor est mundus omniaque sicut membra et partis suas nutricatur et continet."

[1987] _Discerniculum_, "the bodkin in a woman's headdress for parting the hair."

[1988] _Ficedulæ._ Cf. ad Juv., xiv., 9. _Turdi._ Cf. ad Pers., vi., 24. Read perhaps "curatique cocis."

[1989] Cf. Juv., ii., 79, "Dedit hanc contagio labem et dabit in plures: sicut grex totus in agris unius _scabie_ cadit et _porrigine_ porci."

[1990] _Rumpit_, "defatigat." Non.

[1991] _Pertundet._ So Ennius, "latus pertudit hasta." Juv., vi., 46, "Mediam pertundite venam." vii., 26, "Aut claude et positos tineâ pertunde libellos." _Deliciet_ Gerlach explains by "Juvare, voluptatem creare:" and reads "_Utere vi atque videbis._"

[1992] _Fortis_ etiam "dives." Non.

[1993] Gerlach retains _Musconis_. _Tagax_, from the old form tago. "Furunculus a tangendo." Fest, "light-fingered." _Perscribere_ may mean (like conscribellare in Catullus) "to mark letters upon," i. e., brand him with the word Fur on the hand: hence trium literarum homo.

[1994] _Habendo._ Cf. Virg., Georg., iii., 159, "Et quos aut pecori malint summittere habendo."

[1995] _Involem._ Ter., Eun., V., ii., 20, "Vix me contineo quin involem in capillum." So "Castra involare." Tac., Hist., iv., 33.

[1996] _Angina_, "genus morbi; eo quod angat." Non. Cf. Plaut., Trin., II., iv., 139, "Sues moriuntur anginâ." Most., I., iii., 61, "In anginam ego nunc me velim vorti, ut veneficæ illi fauces prehendam."

[1997] _Consternere_ is applied "to preparing a couch." Cf. Catul., lxiv., 163, "Purpureâve tuum consternens veste cubile." This seems to be the meaning here; as there seems to be a vibration of the reading between consternitur, nobis lectus, and vetus, for Restes. Cf. ad lib. vi., Fr. 13.

[1998] Dusa's conjecture is followed. Scaliger supposes temnere to be an old form of the perfect "tempsere."

[1999] _Præstringere_ "non valdè stringere et claudere." Non.

THE SATIRES

OF

DECIMUS JUNIUS JUVENALIS,

AND OF

AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS.

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE,

BY WILLIAM GIFFORD, ESQ.

SATIRE I.

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! Forever at my side, shall this rehearse 5 His elegiac, that his comic verse, Unpunished? 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! 10 Away, away!--None knows his home so well 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 15 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. 20 I, TOO, CAN WRITE--and, at a pedant's frown, ONCE poured my fustian rhetoric on the town: And idly proved that Sylla, far from power, Had passed, unknown to fear, the tranquil hour:-- Now I resume my pen; for, since we meet 25 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, 30 Follow his burning wheels, attentive hear, 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 appeared, 35 Has trimmed 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; 40 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. For who so slow of heart, so dull of brain, 45 So patient of the town, as to contain His bursting spleen, when, full before his eye, Swings the new chair of lawyer Matho by, Crammed with himself! then, with no less parade, That caitiff's, who his noble friend betrayed, 50 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! When those supplant thee in thy dearest rights, 55 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, 60 And Proculeius mourns his scanty share, While Gillo triumphs, hers and nature's heir! And let him triumph! 'tis the price of blood: While, thus defrauded of the generous flood. The color flies his cheek, as though he prest, 65 With unsuspecting foot, a serpent's crest; Or stood engaged at Lyons to declaim, Where the least peril is the loss of fame. Ye gods!--what rage, what phrensy fires my brain, When that false guardian, with his splendid train, 70 Crowds the long street, and leaves his orphan charge To prostitution, and the world at large! When, by a juggling sentence damned in vain, (For who, that holds the plunder, heeds the pain?) Marius to wine devotes his morning hours, 75 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, 80 And not pursue them? I 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, 85 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; 90 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, 95 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 superior bliss, And toyed and wantoned with his master-miss. 100 Who would not, reckless of the swarm he meets, Fill his wide tablets, in the public streets, With angry verse? when, through the midday glare, Borne by six slaves, and in an open chair, The forger comes, who owes this blaze of state 105 To a wet seal and a fictitious date; Comes, like the soft Mæcenas, lolling by, And impudently braves the public eye! Or the rich dame, who stanched her husband's thirst With generous wine, but--drugged it deeply first! 110 And now, more dext'rous 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. Dare nobly, man! if greatness be thy aim, 115 And practice 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, 120 The goblet high-embossed, 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, 125 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! 130 E'er since Deucalion, while, on every side, The bursting clouds upraised the whelming tide, Reached, in his little skiff, the forked hill, And sought, at Themis' shrine, the Immortals' will; When softening stones grew warm with gradual life, 135 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. 140 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 145 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, 150 Yet want the soul, a single piece to spare, To clothe the slave, that shivering stands and bare! Who called, of old, so many seats his own, Or on seven sumptuous dishes supped alone?-- Then plain and open was the cheerful feast, 155 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, 160 And pries in every face; then calls aloud, "Come forth, ye great Dardanians, from the crowd!" For, mixed with us, e'en these besiege the door, And scramble for--the pittance of the poor! "Dispatch the Prætor first," the master cries, 165 "And next the Tribune." "No, not so;" replies The Freedman, bustling through, "first come is, still, First served; and I may claim my right, and will!-- Though born a slave ('tis bootless to deny, What these bored ears betray to every eye), 170 On my own rents, in splendor, now I live, On five fair freeholds! Can the PURPLE give Their Honors, more? when, to Laurentum sped, NOBLE Corvinus tends a flock for bread!-- Pallas and the Licinii, in estate, 175 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 Honor yield, To SACRED HONOR, who, with whitened feet, Was hawked for sale, so lately, through the street. 180 O gold! though Rome beholds no altars flame, No temples rise to thy pernicious name, Such as to Victory, Virtue, Faith are reared, And Concord, where the clamorous stork is heard, Yet is thy full divinity confest, 185 Thy shrine established 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 dependent dread, Whom this small pittance clothed, and lodged, and fed? 190 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, practiced in the gainful art, 195 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!" 200 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, 205 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, 210 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: Stretched on th' unsocial couch, he rolls his eyes 215 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? 220 See! the lone glutton craves whole boars! a beast Designed, by nature, for the social feast!-- But speedy wrath o'ertakes him: gorged with food, And swollen and fretted by the peacock crude, He seeks the bath, his feverish pulse to still, 225 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. 230 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 ATTAINED ITS ZENITH:--Then set sail, 235 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 Enjoyed a freedom, which I dare not name, And gave the public sin to public shame, 240 Heedless who smiled or frowned?--Now, let a line But glance at Tigellinus, and you shine, Chained to a stake, in pitchy robes, and light, Lugubrious torch, the deepening shades of night; Or, writhing on a hook, are dragged around, 245 And, with your mangled members, plow the ground. What, shall the wretch of hard, unpitying soul, Who for THREE uncles mixed the deadly bowl, Propped on his plumy couch, that all may see, Tower by triumphant, and look down on me! 250 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, 255 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. 260 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, 265 And growing terrors harrow up his soul: Then tears of shame, and dire revenge succeed-- Say, have you pondered well the advent'rous deed? Now--ere the trumpet sounds--your strength debate; The soldier, once engaged, repents too late. 270 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.

SATIRE II.

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! Devoid of knowledge, as of worth, they thrust, 5 In every nook, some philosophic 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! 10 TRUST NOT TO OUTWARD SHOW: in every street Obscenity, in formal garb, we meet.-- And dost thou, hypocrite, our lusts arraign, Thou! of Socratic catamites the drain! Nature thy rough and shaggy limbs designed 15 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, 20 In solemn state, the affected Stoic 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, 25 Not skulks behind a sanctimonious face: Him may his folly, or his fate excuse-- But whip me those, who Virtue's name abuse, And, soiled with all the vices of the times, Thunder damnation on their neighbor's crimes! 30 "Shrink at the pathic 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, 35 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, 40 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, 45 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!-- And must not, now, the most debased and vile, Hear these false Scauri with a scornful smile; 50 And, while the hypocrites their crimes arraign, Turn, like the trampled asp, and bite again! They must; they do:--When late, amid the crowd, A zealot of the sect exclaimed aloud, Where sleeps the Julian law? Laronia eyed 55 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! 60 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 show the vender's name. "If ancient laws must reassume their course, 65 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! 70 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, 75 And proved, by turns, the bridegroom and the bride! We ne'er, with misspent 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 athletic bread. 80 Ye fling the shuttle with a female grace, And spin more subtly than Arachne's race; Cowered o'er your labor, like the squalid jade, That plies the distaff, to a block belayed. "Why Hister's freedman heired his wealth, and why 85 His consort, while he lived, was bribed so high, I spare to tell; the wife that, swayed by gain, Can make a third in bed, and near complain, Must ever thrive: on secrets jewels wait: Then wed, my girls; be silent, and--be great!" 90 "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 95 Of conscious truth, and slunk, abashed, 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?-- 100 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; 105 'Twill thus be madness, and the scandal less. O! could our legions, with fresh laurels crowned, And smarting still from many a glorious wound, Our rustic mountaineers (the plow laid by, For city cares), a judge so drest descry, 110 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, 115 Wide and more wide the flagrant pest will spread; As swine take measles from distempered swine, And one infected grape pollutes the vine. Yes, Rome shall see you, lewdlier clad, erewhile, (FOR NONE BECOME, AT ONCE, COMPLETELY VILE,) 120 In some opprobrious den of shame, combined With that vile herd, the horror of their kind, Who twine gay fillets round the forehead; deck With strings of orient pearl the breast and neck; Soothe the GOOD GODDESS with large bowls of wine, 125 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!" 130 --At Athens thus, involved 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. With tiring-pins, these spread the sooty dye, 135 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! 140 This grasps a mirror--pathic Otho's boast (Auruncan Actor's spoil), where, while his host, With shouts, the signal of the fight required, He viewed his mailed form; viewed, and admired! Lo, a new subject for the historic page, 145 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! 150 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 viewed. Nor reverence for the table here is found; 155 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, silvered o'er with age, Yet fired by lust's ungovernable rage, 160 Of most insatiate throat, is named the priest, And sits fit umpire of th' unhallowed 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, 165 And, with an ample dower, became his wife. The contract signed, 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!-- 170 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 dissolved with heat, 175 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! Father of Rome! from what pernicious clime, Did Latian swains derive so foul a crime? 180 Tell where the poisonous nettle first arose, Whose baneful juice through all thy offspring flows. Behold! a man for rank and power renowned, Marries a man!--and yet, with thundering sound, Thy brazen helmet shakes not! earth yet stands, 185 Fixed on its base, nor feels thy wrathful hands! Is thy arm shortened? 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. 190 "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 formed without or shame or fear, 195 And entered on THE RECORDS OF THE YEAR! Meanwhile, one pang these passive monsters find, One ceaseless pang, that preys upon the mind; They can not shift their sex, and pregnant prove With the dear pledges of a husband's love: 200 Wisely confined by Nature's steady plan, Which counteracts the wild desires of man. For them, no drugs prolific powers retain, And the Luperci strike their palms in vain. And yet these prodigies of vice appear, 205 Less monstrous, Gracchus, than the net and spear, With which equipped, you urged the unequal fight, And fled, dishonored, in a nation's sight; Though nobler far than each illustrious name That thronged the pit (spectators of your shame), 210 Nay, than the Prætor, who the SHOW supplied, At which your base dexterity was tried. That angry Justice formed a dreadful hell, That ghosts in subterraneous regions dwell, That hateful Styx his sable current rolls, 215 And Charon ferries o'er unbodied souls, Are now as tales or idle fables prized; By children questioned, and by men despised: YET THESE, DO THOU BELIEVE. What thoughts, declare, Ye Scipios, once the thunderbolts of war! 220 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, 225 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. } And yet--to these abodes we all must come, 230 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. 235 But why of conquest boast? the conquered climes Are free, O Rome, from thy detested crimes. No;--one Armenian all our youth outgoes, And, with cursed fires, for a base tribune glows. True: such thy power, Example! He was brought 240 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), 245 Thus taught, and thus debauched, they hasten home, To spread the morals of Imperial Rome!

SATIRE III.

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, 5 The Sibyl--one inhabitant to boast! Full on the road to Baiæ, Cumæ lies, And many a sweet retreat her shore supplies-- Though I prefer ev'n Prochyta's bare strand To the Suburra:--for, what desert land, 10 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 horrors of this hateful town? Where poets, while the dog-star glows, rehearse, 15 To gasping multitudes, their barbarous verse! Now had my friend, impatient to depart, Consigned his little all to one poor cart: For this, without the town he chose to wait; But stopped a moment at the Conduit-gate.-- 20 Here Numa erst his nightly visits paid, And held high converse with the Egerian maid: Now the once-hallowed fountain, grove, and fane, Are let to Jews, a wretched, wandering train, Whose furniture's a basket filled with hay-- 25 For every tree is forced a tax to pay; And while the heaven-born Nine in exile rove, The beggar rents their consecrated grove! Thence slowly winding down the vale, we view The Egerian grots--ah, how unlike the true! 30 Nymph of the Spring; more honored 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, 35 And turned 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; 40 I go, where Dædalus, as poets sing, First checked his flight, and closed his weary wing: While something yet of health and strength remains, And yet no staff my faltering step sustains; While few gray hairs upon my head are seen, 45 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, 50 Build temples, furnish funerals, auctions hold, Farm rivers, ports, and scour the drains for gold! ONCE they were trumpeters, and always found, With strolling fencers, in their annual round, While their puffed cheeks, which every village knew, 55 Called to "high feats of arms" the rustic 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! 60 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! But why, my friend, should I at Rome remain? 65 I can not 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, 70 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; 75 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? 80 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 85 In Ocean's lap, not all his glittering stores, Be deemed a bribe, sufficient to requite The loss of peace by day, of sleep by night:-- Oh take not, take not, what thy soul rejects, Nor sell the faith, which he, who buys, suspects! 90 The nation, by the GREAT, admired, carest, And hated, shunned by ME, above the rest, No longer, now, restrained by wounded pride, I haste to show (nor thou my warmth deride), I can not rule my spleen, and calmly see, 95 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, 100 Its language, arts; o'erwhelmed 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, 105 Tires on their head, and timbrels in their hand. Thy rustic, Mars, the trechedipna wears, And on his breast, smeared with ceroma, bears A paltry prize, well-pleased; while every land, Sicyon, and Amydos, and Alaband, 110 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! } 115 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, 120 Rope-dancer, conjurer, fiddler, 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! 125 --Bear with their state who will: for I disdain To feed their upstart pride, or swell their train: Slaves, that in Syrian lighters stowed, so late, With figs and prunes (an inauspicious freight), Already see their faith preferred to mine, 130 And sit above me! and before me sign!-- That on the Aventine I first drew air, And, from the womb, was nursed on Sabine fare, Avails me not! our birthright now is lost, And all our privilege, an empty boast! 135 For lo! where versed 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, 140 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. 145 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, 150 And fancy all beneath the girdle bare! No longer now, the favorites 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. 155 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-matched!--secure of victory they start, 160 Who, taught from youth to play a borrowed 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. 165 Besides, no mound their raging lust restrains, All ties it breaks, all sanctity profanes; Wife, virgin-daughter, son unstained before-- And, where these fail, they tempt the grandam hoar: They notice every word, haunt every ear, 170 Your secrets learn, and fix you theirs from fear. Turn to their schools:--yon gray professor see, Smeared with the sanguine stains of perfidy! That tutor most accursed his pupil sold! That Stoic sacrificed his friend to gold! 175 A true-born Grecian! littered on the coast, Where the Gorgonian hack a pinion lost. Hence, Romans, hence! no place for you remains, Where Diphilus, where Erimanthus reigns; Miscreants, who, faithful to their native art, 180 Admit no rival in a patron's heart: For let them fasten on his easy ear, And drop one hint, one secret slander there, Sucked from their country's venom, or their own, That instant they possess the man alone; 185 While we are spurned, 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) 190 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, 195 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! Here freeborn youths wait the rich servant's call, 200 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, 205 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 210 Snatched 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? 215 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, 220 And all its thunders; scoffs--and is forgiven! Add, that the wretch is still the theme of scorn, If the soiled cloak be patched, the gown o'erworn; If, through the bursting shoe, the foot be seen, Or the coarse seam tell where the rent has been. 225 O Poverty, thy thousand ills combined } Sink not so deep into the generous mind, } As the contempt and laughter of mankind! } "Up! up! these cushioned benches," Lectius cries, "Befit not your estates: for shame! arise." 230 For "shame!"--but you say well: the pander's heir, The spawn of bulks and stews, is seated there; The crier's spruce son, fresh from the fencer's school, And prompt the taste to settle and to rule.-- So Otho fixed it, whose preposterous pride 235 First dared to chase us from their Honors' side. In these cursed walls, devote alone to gain, When do the poor a wealthy wife obtain? When are they named in Wills? when called to share The Ædile's council, and assist the chair?-- 240 Long since should they have risen, thus slighted, spurned, And left their home, but--not to have returned! Depressed by indigence, the good and wise, In every clime, by painful efforts rise; HERE, by more painful still, where scanty cheer, 245 Poor lodging, mean attendance--all is dear. In earthen-ware HE scorns, at Rome, to eat, WHO, called abruptly to the Marsian's seat, From such, well pleased, would take his simple food, Nor blush to wear the cheap Venetian hood. 250 There's many a part of Italy, 'tis said, Where none assume the toga but the dead: There, when the toil foregone and annual play, Mark, from the rest, some high and solemn day, To theatres of turf the rustics throng, 255 Charmed with the farce that charmed 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, 260 And the dread Ædile's dignity is known, O sacred badge! by his white vest alone. But HERE, beyond our power arrayed we go, In all the gay varieties of show; And when our purse supplies the charge no more, 265 Borrow, unblushing, from our neighbor'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. 270 What will you give for Cossus' nod? how high The silent notice of Veiento buy? --One favorite youth is shaved, another shorn; And, while to Jove the precious spoil is borne, Clients are taxed for offerings, and, (yet more 275 To gall their patience), from their little store, Constrained 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, 280 Volsinium's craggy heights, embowered 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, 285 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! 290 For here 'tis terror all; mid the loud cry Of "water! water!" the scared neighbors 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, 295 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!" 300 "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 305 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.-- 310 "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, 315 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; 320 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 finished piece, 325 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-- 330 So much the childless Persian swells his store, (Though deemed 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, 335 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 formed, which need no rope, No laboring arm, to crane their waters up, 340 Around your lawn their facile streams shall shower, And cheer the springing plant and opening flower. There live, delighted with the rustic's lot, And till, with your own hands, the little spot; The little spot shall yield you large amends, 345 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! Flushed with a mass of indigested food, Which clogs the stomach and inflames the blood, 350 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:" 355 And hence the seeds of many a dire disease. The carts loud rumbling through the narrow way, The drivers' clamors at each casual stay, From drowsy Drusus would his slumber take, And keep the calves of Proteus broad awake! 360 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. } 365 Yet reach they first the goal; while, by the throng Elbowed and jostled, scarce we creep along; Sharp strokes from poles, tubs, rafters, doomed to feel; And plastered o'er with mud, from head to heel: While the rude soldier gores us as he goes, 370 Or marks, in blood, his progress on our toes! See, from the Dole, a vast tumultuous throng, Each followed by his kitchen, pours along! Huge pans, which Corbulo could scarce uprear, With steady neck a puny slave must bear, 375 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 botched rags behind. Hark! groaning on, the unwieldy wagon spreads 380 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 385 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, 390 At home, they heat the water, scour the plate, Arrange the strigils, fill the cruse 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, 395 Scared at the horrors of the novel scene, At Charon's threatening voice, and scowling mien; Nor hopes a passage, thus abruptly hurled, Without his farthing, to the nether world. Pass we these fearful dangers, and survey 400 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 garreteers their potsherds throw, And crush the unwary wretch that walks below! 405 Clattering the storm descends from heights unknown. Plows 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, 410 From every wakeful window in the way: Pray, then--and count your humble prayer well sped, 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; 415 And while the thirst of blood his bosom burns, From side to side, in restless anguish, turns, Like Peleus' son, when, quelled by Hector's hand, His loved Patroclus prest the Phrygian strand. There are, who murder as an opiate take, 420 And only when no brawls await them wake: Yet even these heroes, flushed with youth and wine, All contest with the purple robe decline; Securely give the lengthened train to pass, The sun-bright flambeaux, and the lamps of brass.-- 425 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 deemed a quarrel, where, heaven knows, 430 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 superior far to mine? 435 "Whence come you, rogue?" he cries; "whose beans to-night Have stuffed you thus? what cobbler clubbed his mite, For leeks and sheep's-head porridge? Dumb! quite dumb! Speak, or be kicked.--Yet, once again! your home? Where shall I find you? At what beggar's stand 440 (Temple, or bridge) whimp'ring with outstretched hand?" Whether I strive some humble plea to frame, Or steal in silence by, 'tis just the same; I'm beaten first, then dragged in rage away: Bound to the peace, or punished for the fray! 445 Mark here the boasted freedom of the poor! Beaten and bruised, that goodness to adore, Which, at their humble prayer, suspends its ire, And sends them home, with yet a bone entire! Nor this the worst; for when deep midnight reigns, 450 And bolts secure our doors, and massy chains, When noisy inns a transient silence keep, And harassed nature woos the balm of sleep, Then, thieves and murderers ply their dreadful trade; With stealthy steps our secret couch invade:-- 455 Roused from the treacherous calm, aghast we start, And the fleshed 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, 460 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. 465 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! Much could I add, more reasons could I cite, 470 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 murmured at my stay, And jerked his whip, to beckon me away. 475 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, 480 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 equipped, to wage, in angry rhymes, Fierce war, with you, on follies and on crimes. 485

SATIRE IV.

Again Crispinus comes! and yet again, And oft, shall he be summoned to sustain His dreadful part:--the monster of the times, Without ONE virtue to redeem his crimes! Diseased, emaciate, weak in all but lust, 5 And whom the widow's sweets alone disgust. 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? 10 Ah! no--Peace visits not the guilty mind, Least his, who incest to adultery joined, And stained thy priestess, Vesta;--whom, dire fate! The long dark night and living tomb await. Turn we to slighter vices:--yet had these, 15 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, 20 Say, what can satire? For a fish that weighed 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, 25 To gull some childless dotard of a Will; Or bribe some rich and fashionable fair, Who flaunts it in a close, wide-windowed chair; 'Twere worth our praise:--but no such plot was here. 'Twas for HIMSELF he bought a treat so dear! 30 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, 35 Have bought the fisherman himself for less; Bought, in some countries, manors at this rate, And, in Apulia, an immense estate! How gorged the emperor, when so dear a fish, Yet, of his cheapest meals, the cheapest dish, 40 Was guttled down by this impurpled lord, Chief knight, chief parasite, at Cæsar's board, Whom Memphis heard so late, with ceaseless yell, Clamoring through all her streets--"Ho! shads to sell!" Pierian MAIDS, begin;--but, quit your lyres, 45 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, 50 And Rome beheld, in body as in mind, A bald-pate Nero rise, to curse mankind; It chanced, that where the fane of Venus stands, Reared on Ancona's coast by Grecian hands, A turbot, wandering from the Illyrian main, 55 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. 60 The mighty draught the astonished boatman eyes, And to the Pontiff's table dooms his prize: For who would dare to sell it? who to buy? When the coast swarmed with many a practiced spy, Mud-rakers, prompt to swear the fish had fled 65 From Cæsar's ponds, ingrate! where long it fed, And thus recaptured, claimed to be restored To the dominion of its ancient lord! Nay, if Palphurius may our credit gain, Whatever rare or precious swims the main, 70 Is forfeit to the crown, and you may seize The obnoxious dainty, when and where you please. This point allowed, our wary boatman chose To give--what, else, he had not failed to lose. Now were the dogstar's sickly fervors o'er, 75 Earth, pinched with cold, her frozen livery wore; The old began their quartan fits to fear, And wintry blasts deformed the beauteous year, And kept the turbot sweet: yet on he flew, As if the sultry South corruption blew.-- 80 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 gathered to survey 85 The enormous fish, and barred the fisher's way, Satiate, at length retires; the gates unfold!-- Murmuring, the excluded senators behold The envied dainty enter:--On the man To great Atrides pressed, and thus began. 90 "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 marked the toils I set, 95 And rushed, a willing victim, to my 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. 100 But when was joy unmixed? 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, 105 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 snatched his gown, 110 And rushed 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, winked at crimes. Then old, facetious Crispus tript along, 115 Of gentle manners, and persuasive tongue: None fitter to advise the lord of all, Had that pernicious pest, whom thus we call, Allowed a friend to soothe his savage mood, And give him counsel, wise at once and good. 120 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; 125 Nor strove to stem the torrent's force in vain. Not one of those, who, by no fears deterred, Spoke the free soul, and truth to life preferred. He temporized--thus fourscore summers fled, Even in that court, securely, o'er his head. 130 Next him, appeared Acilius hurrying on, Of equal age--and followed 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 135 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 frantic air, and ardent eye, 140 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 driveler still; Since, in his days, it cost no mighty pains 145 To outwit a prince, with much more beard than brains. Rubrius, though not, like these, of noble race, Followed with equal terror in his face; And, laboring with a crime too foul to name, More, than the pathic satirist, lost to shame. 150 Montanus' belly next, and next appeared The legs, on which that monstrous pile was reared. Crispinus followed, daubed with more perfume, Thus early! than two funerals consume. Then bloodier Pompey, practiced to betray, 155 And hesitate the noblest lives away. Then Fuscus, who in studious pomp at home, Planned future triumphs for the Arms of Rome. Blind to the event! those arms, a different fate, Inglorious wounds, and Dacian vultures, wait. 160 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, 165 From the bridge-end raised to the council-board; Yet fitter still to dog the traveler'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; 170 But to the left (O, treacherous want of sight) He poured 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 175 The youths were rapt aloft, and lost in air. Nor fell Veiento short:--as if possest With all Bellona's rage, his laboring breast Burst forth in prophecy; "I see, I see The omens of some glorious victory! 180 Some powerful monarch captured!--lo, he rears, Horrent on every side, his pointed spears! Arviragus hurled from the British car: The fish is foreign, foreign is the war." Proceed, great seer, and what remains untold, 185 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 emperor now the important question put, "How say ye, Fathers, SHALL THE FISH BE CUT?" 190 "O, far be that disgrace," Montanus cries; "No, let a pot be formed, of amplest size, Within whose slender sides the fish, dread sire, May spread his vast circumference entire! Bring, bring the tempered clay, and let it feel 195 The quick gyrations of the plastic wheel:-- But, Cæsar, thus forewarned, 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! 200 Versed 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 spurred to gorge again.-- And, in my time, none understood so well 205 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 color, name The country, nay, the district, whence it came. 210 Here closed the solemn farce. The Fathers rise, And each, submissive, from the presence hies:-- Pale, trembling wretches, whom the chief, in sport, Had dragged, astonished, to the Alban court; As if the stern Sicambri were in arms, 215 Or the fierce Catti threatened new alarms; As if ill news by flying posts had come, And gathering nations sought the fall of Rome! O! that such scenes (disgraceful at the most) Had all those years of cruelty engrost, 220 Through which his rage pursued the great and good, Unchecked, while vengeance slumbered 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, drenched with Lamian gore, 225 And hurled him, headlong, to the infernal shore!

SATIRE V.

TO TREBIUS.

If--by reiterated scorn made bold, Your mind can still its shameless tenor 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 spurned, 5 And mean Sarmentus with a frown returned, At Cæsar's haughty board, dependents both, I scarce would take your evidence on oath. The belly's fed with little cost: yet grant You should, unhappily, that little want, 10 Some vacant bridge might surely still be found, Some highway side; where, groveling 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? 15 Is hunger so importunate? when THERE, THERE, in your tattered 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!-- 20 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 25 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 an humble friend, 30 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, 35 What time the fading stars announced the day; Or at that earlier hour, when, with slow roll, Thy frozen wain, Boötes, turned the pole; Yet trembling, lest the levee should be o'er, And the full court retiring from the door! 40 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, 45 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! 50 Not such his beverage: he enjoys the juice Of ancient days, when beards were yet in use, Pressed in the Social War!--but will not send One cordial drop, to cheer a fainting friend. To-morrow, he will change, and, haply, fill 55 The mellow vintage of the Alban hill, Or Setian; wines, which can not 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! 60 While crowned with flowers, in sacred pomp, they lay, To FREEDOM quaffed, 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, 65 And never trusted to such guests as you! Or, if they be--a faithful slave attends, To count the gems, and watch your fingers' ends. You'll pardon him; but lo! a jasper there, Of matchless worth, which justifies his care: 70 For Virro, like his brother peers, of late, Has stripped his fingers to adorn his plate; And jewels now emblaze the festive board, } Which decked with nobler grace the hero's sword, } Whom Dido prized, above the Libyan lord. } 75 From such he drinks: to you the slaves allot The Beneventine cobbler's four-lugged pot, A fragment, a mere shard, of little worth, But to be trucked for matches--and so forth. If Virro's veins with indigestion glow, 80 They bring him water cooled 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, 85 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, 90 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; 95 But, of his youth and beauty justly vain, Trips by them, with indifference and disdain. If called, he hears not, or, with rage inflamed-- Indignant, that his services are claimed By an old client, who, ye gods! commands, 100 And sits at ease, while his superior 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, 105 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 110 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? 115 Never take notice from what tray thou'rt fed, Nor know the color 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, 120 And up the bleak Esquilian urged my way, While the wind howled, the hail-storm beat amain, And my cloak smoked beneath the driving rain! But lo, a lobster, introduced in state, Stretches, enormous, o'er the bending plate; 125 Proud of a length of tail, he seems to eye The humbler guests with scorn, as, towering by, He takes the place of honor at the board, And crowned with costly pickles, greets his lord! A crab is yours, ill garnished and ill fed, 130 With half an egg--a supper for the dead! 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 Afric sends to town; 135 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, 140 From Corsica, or isles more distant yet, Brought post to Rome; since Ostia's shores no more Supply the insatiate glutton, as of yore, Thinned by the net, whose everlasting throw Allows no Tuscan fish in peace to grow. 145 Still luxury yawns, unfilled; the nations rise, And ransack all their coasts for fresh supplies: Thence come your presents; thence, as rumor tells, The dainties Lenas buys, Aurelia sells. A lamprey next, from the Sicilian straits, 150 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. 155 To you an eel is brought, whose slender make Speaks him a famished cousin to the snake; Or some frost-bitten pike, who, day by day, Through half the city's ordure sucked his way! Would Virro deign to hear me, I could give 160 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 preferred a fairer claim, Than birth or power, to honorable fame: 165 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! Vain hope! Near him a goose's liver lies; 170 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, 175 Large mushrooms enter; ravished 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, 180 Lo! the spruce carver, to his task addrest, Skips, like a harlequin, from place to place, And waves his knife with pantomimic grace, Till every dish be ranged, and every joint Severed, by nicest rules, from point to point. 185 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; 190 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! Does Virro ever pledge you? ever sip The liquor touched by your unhallowed lip? 195 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, 200 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 reserved of late, Grows quite familiar: "Brother, send your plate. 205 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? 210 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, 215 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 corselets for the breast, 220 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, 225 Till one more fine, provided by his wife, Finished at once his feasting, and his life! Apples, as fragrant, and as bright of hue, As those which in Alcinoüs' gardens grew, Mellowed by constant sunshine; or as those, 230 Which graced the Hesperides, in burnished 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, 235 When, armed with helm and shield, the lance he throws, And trembles at the shaggy master's blows. 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, 240 As hunger, tortured thus a thousand ways? No (if you know it not), 'tis to excite Your rage, your phrensy, for his mere delight; 'Tis to compel you all your gall to show, And gnash your teeth in agonies of woe. 245 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 250 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! Your palate still beguiles you: Ah, how nice That smoking haunch! NOW we shall have a slice! 255 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 reached you, never will! No more of freedom! 'tis a vain pretense: 260 Your patron treats you like a man of sense: For, if you 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, 265 Nay, with bare backs, solicit to be beat, And merit SUCH A FRIEND, and SUCH A TREAT!

SATIRE VI.

TO URSIDIUS POSTHUMUS.

Yes, I believe that CHASTITY was known, And prized on earth, while Saturn filled the throne; When rocks a bleak and scanty shelter gave, When sheep and shepherds thronged one common cave, And when the mountain wife her couch bestrewed 5 With skins of beasts, joint tenants of the wood, And reeds, and leaves plucked from the neighboring 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: 10 But strong, and reaching to her burly brood Her big-swollen 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, 15 Unfathered, 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 remained, While Jove, but Jove as yet unbearded, reigned: 20 Before the Greek bound, by another's head, His doubtful faith; or men, of theft in dread, Had learned their herbs and fruitage to immure, But all was uninclosed, and all secure! At length Astrea, from these confines driven, 25 Regained by slow degrees her native heaven; With her retired her sister in disgust, And left the world to rapine, and to lust. 'Tis not a practice, friend, of recent date, But old, established, and inveterate, 30 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 35 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! 40 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, 45 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, 50 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 impelled? If thou, the veriest debauchee in town, 55 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!-- 60 But what! Ursidius hopes a mate to gain, Frugal, and chaste, and of the good old strain: Alas, he's frantic! ope a vein with speed, And bleed him copiously, good doctor, bleed. Jewel of men! thy knees to Jove incline, 65 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 hallowed fillets, with chaste hands, to bind; 70 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, 75 For all her wants and wishes? Will one eye! 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 80 As at her father's farm!--Yet who will swear, That naught 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. } 85 Survey our public 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, 90 Acts Leda, and through every posture swims, Tuccia delights to realize the play, And in lascivious trances melts away; While rustic Thymele, with curious eye, Marks the quick pant, the lingering, deep-drawn sigh, 95 And while her cheeks with burning blushes glow, Learns this--learns all the city matrons know. Others, when of the theatres bereft, When nothing but the wrangling bar is left, In the long tedious months which interpose 100 'Twixt the Cybelian and Plebeian shows, Sicken for action, and assume the airs, The mask and thyrsus, of their favorite players. --Midst peals of mirth, see Urbicus advance (Poor Ælia's choice), and, in a wanton dance, 105 Burlesque Autonoë's woes! the rich engage In higher frolics, 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-- 110 Heavens! dreamed 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: 115 Haste; in the narrow streets long scaffolds raise, And deck thy portals with triumphant bays; That in thy heir, as swathed in state he lies, The guests may trace Mirmillo's nose and eyes! Hippia, who shared a rich patrician's bed, 120 To Egypt with a gladiator fled, While rank Canopus eyed, with strong disgust, This ranker specimen of Roman lust. Without one pang, the profligate resigned Her husband, sister, sire; gave to the wind 125 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 pressed the down of an embroidered bed, She braved the deep (she long had braved her fame; 130 But this is little--to the courtly dame), And, with undaunted breast, the changes bore, Of many a sea, the swelling and the roar. Have they an honest call, such ills to bear? Cold shiverings seize them, and they shrink with fear; 135 But set illicit pleasure in their eye, Onward they rush, and every toil defy! Summoned by duty, to attend her lord, How, cries the lady, can I get on board? How bear the dizzy motion? how the smell? 140 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 changed the case! Sick! sick! she cries, and vomits in his face. 145 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 dote! For the sweet Sergius long had scraped his throat, Long looked for leave to quit the public stage, 150 Maimed in his limbs, and verging now to age. Add, that his face was battered and decayed; The helmet on his brow huge galls had made, A wen deformed his nose, of monstrous size, And sharp rheum trickled from his bloodshot eyes: 155 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, 160 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! 165 Claudius had scarce begun his eyes to close, Ere from his pillow Messalina rose (Accustomed long the bed of state to slight For the coarse mattress, and the hood of night); And with one maid, and her dark hair concealed 170 Beneath a yellow tire, a strumpet veiled! 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, 175 And showed, Britannicus, to all who came, The womb that bore thee, in Lycisca's name! Allured the passers by with many a wile, And asked her price, and took it, with a smile. And when the hour of business now was spent, 180 And all the trulls dismissed, 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, 185 With joyless pace, the imperial couch she sought, And to her happy spouse (yet slumbering) brought Cheeks rank with sweat, limbs drenched with poisonous dews, The steam of lamps, and odor of the stews! 'Twere long to tell what philters they provide, 190 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. 195 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, 200 Nor felt the flame which fires the ardent mind, Plutus, not Cupid, touched his sordid heart; And 'twas her dower that winged the unerring dart. She brought enough her liberty to buy, And tip the wink before her husband's eye. 205 A wealthy wanton, to a miser wed, Has all the license of a widowed bed. But yet, Sertorius what I say disproves, For though his Bibula is poor, he loves. True! but examine him; and, on my life, 210 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; 215 And you shall hear the insulting freedman say, "Pack up your trumpery, madam, and away! Nay, bustle, bustle; here you give offense, With sniveling night and day;--take your nose hence!"-- But, ere that hour arrives, she reigns indeed! 220 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 neighbor has, she sighs, And plagues her doting husband, till he buys. 225 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, 230 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. 235 What! and is none of all this numerous herd Worthy your choice? not one, to be preferred? Suppose her nobly born, young, rich, and fair, And (though a coal-black swan be far less rare) Chaste as the Sabine wives, who rushed between 240 The kindred hosts, and closed the unnatural scene; Yet who could bear to lead an humbled life, Cursed with that veriest plague, a faultless wife!-- Some simple rustic at Venusium bred, O let me, rather than Cornelia, wed, 245 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 vanquished Syphax, camp and all! Troop, with the whole of Carthage! I'd be free 250 From all this pageantry of worth--and thee. "O let, Apollo, let my children live, And thou, Diana, pity, and forgive;" Amphion cries; "they, they are guiltless all! The mother sinned, let then the mother fall." 255 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 260 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, 265 If, warped 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, 270 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 Attic terms she dress; A mere Cecropian of a Sulmoness! 275 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, 280 To Greek it still!--'tis, now, a day too late. Foh! how it savors 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! 285 Words, which the secret sheets alone should hear, But which she trumpets in the public ear. And words, indeed, have power--But though she woo In softer strains than e'er Carpophorus knew, Her wrinkles still employ her favorite's cares; 290 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-stomached guest, at parting, takes? 295 And the rich present, which the bridal right Claims for the favors of the happy night? The charger, where, triumphantly inscrolled, The Dacian Hero shines in current gold! If thou CANST love, and thy besotted mind 300 Is, so uxoriously, to one inclined, Then bow thy neck, and with submissive air Receive the yoke--thou must forever wear. To a fond spouse a wife no mercy shows:-- Though warmed with equal fires, she mocks his woes, 305 And triumphs in his spoils: her wayward will Defeats his bliss, and turns his good to ill! Naught must be given, if she opposes; naught, If she opposes, must be sold or bought; She tells him where to love, and where to hate, } 310 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 315 To name his very rivals for his heirs! "Go, crucify that slave." For what offense? 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; 320 Hear all, weigh all with caution, I advise-- "Thou sniveler! 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." Thus the virago triumphs, thus she reigns: 325 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, 330 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! While your wife's mother lives, expect no peace. 335 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: 340 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, 345 While the rank lecher, 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?-- 350 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, 355 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 marked their oil, Their purple rugs, for this preposterous toil? 360 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, 365 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! 370 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, 375 And we, alas! have no advantage there.-- Heavens! with what glee a husband must behold His wife's accoutrements, in public, sold; And auctioneers displaying to the throng Her crest, her belt, her gauntlet, and her thong! 380 Or, if in wilder frolics 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 385 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: 390 How close tucked 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 confess'd) 395 Tilt at a stake, thus impudently dress'd! '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." 400 Fierce as a tigress plundered 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, 405 And weeps her injuries from imagined names, With tears that, marshaled, at their station stand, And flow impassioned, as she gives command. You think those showers her true affection prove, And deem yourself--so happy in her love! 410 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, 415 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! are you dumb? 420 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; 425 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 labor, nights of short repose, Hands still employed the Tuscan wool to tose, 430 Their husbands armed, and anxious for the State, And Carthage hovering near the Colline gate, Conspired to keep all thoughts of ill aloof, And banished vice far from their lowly roof. Now, all the evils of long peace are ours; 435 Luxury, more terrible than hostile powers, Her baleful influence wide around has hurled, And well avenged the subjugated world! --Since Poverty, our better Genius, fled, Vice, like a deluge, o'er the State has spread. 440 Now, shame to Rome! in every street are found The essenced Sybarite, with roses crowned, The gay Miletan, and the Tarentine, Lewd, petulant, and reeling ripe with wine! Wealth first, the ready pander to all sin, 445 Brought foreign manners, foreign vices in; Enervate wealth, and with seductive art, Sapped every homebred virtue of the heart; Yes, every:--for what cares the drunken dame (Take head or tail, to her 'tis just the same), 450 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! Thus flushed, conceive, as Tullia homeward goes, 455 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:-- 460 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, 465 By wine, and music'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! 470 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 475 For parts, and powers, superior to her own. Maids, mistresses, alike the contest share, And 'tis not always birth that triumphs there. Nothing is feigned in this accursed game: 'Tis genuine all; and such as would inflame 480 The frozen age of Priam, and inspire The ruptured, bedrid Nestor with desire. Stung with their mimic feats, a hollow groan Of lust breaks forth; the sex, the sex is shown! And one loud yell re-echoes through the den, 485 "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!"-- 490 Nature's strong barrier scarcely now restrains 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, 495 Vast as two Anti Catos, there, even there, Where the he-mouse, in reverence, lies concealed, And every picture of a male is veiled. And who was THEN a scoffer? who despised The simple rites by infant Rome devised, 500 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: 505 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, 510 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, 515 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! 520 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, 525 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; 530 As if the mass its present size would keep, 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, 535 Nor use abortive drugs, for his embrace. But oh! their joys run high, if he be formed, When his full veins the fire of love has warmed; When every part's to full perfection reared, And naught of manhood wanting, but the beard. 540 But should the dame in music take delight, The public 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, 545 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! 550 These still she holds, with these she soothes 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 Harmonic Games, would speed, 555 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 Approached the altar, reckless of her fame, 560 And veiled her head, and, with a pious air, Followed the Aruspex through the form of prayer; And trembled, and turned pale, as he explored The entrails, breathless for the fatal word! But, tell me, father Janus, if you please, 565 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, 570 By this eternal route, the wretched priest Feels his legs swell, and dies to be releas'd. 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, 575 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; 580 Who speeds, and who is jilted: and can swear, } Who made the widow pregnant, when and where, } And what she said, and how she frolicked there.-- } She first espied the star, whose baleful ray, O'er Parthia, and Armenia, shed dismay: 585 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, 590 And poured his desolating flood around; How earth, convulsed, disclosed its caverns hoar, And cities trembled, and--were seen no more! And yet this itch, though never to be cured, Is easier, than her cruelty, endured. 595 Should a poor neighbor's dog but discompose Her rest a moment, wild with rage she grows; "Ho! whips," she cries, "and flay that brute accurs'd;" "But flay that rascal there, who owns him, first." Dangerous to meet while in these frantic airs, 600 And terrible to look at, she prepares To bathe at night; she issues her commands, And in long ranks forth poor the obedient bands, With tubs, cloths, oils:--for 'tis her dear delight To sweat in clamor, tumult, and affright. 605 When her tired arms refuse the balls to ply, And the lewd bath-keeper has rubbed her dry, She calls to mind each miserable guest, Long since with hunger, and with sleep oppress'd, And hurries home; all glowing, all athirst, 610 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; 615 Or a gilt ewer receives the foul contents, And poisons all the house with vinous scents. So, dropp'd into a vat, a snake is said To drink and spew:--the husband turns his head, Sick to the soul, from this disgusting scene, 620 And struggles to suppress his rising spleen. But she is more intolerable yet, Who plays the critic when at table set; Calls Virgil charming, and attempts to prove Poor Dido right, in venturing all for love. 625 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 astonished guests sit mute: grammarians yield, 630 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, 635 A thousand basins clattering. Vex no more Your trumpets and your timbrels, as of yore, To ease the laboring moon; her single yell Can drown their clangor, and dissolve the spell. She lectures too in Ethics, and declaims 640 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 Stoic's privilege, repair To farthing baths, and strip in public there! 645 Oh, never may the partner of my bed With subtleties of logic stuff her head; Nor whirl her rapid syllogisms around, Nor with imperfect enthymemes confound! Enough for me, if common things she know, 650 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: 655 Who puzzles me with many an uncouth phrase, From some old canticle of Numa's days; Corrects her country friends, and can not hear Her husband solecize without a sneer! A woman stops at nothing, when she wears 660 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 curs'd, A wife who brings you money is the worst. 665 Behold! her face a spectacle appears, Bloated, and foul, and plastered to the ears With viscous paste:--the husband looks askew, And sticks his lips in this detested glue. She meets the adulterer bathed, perfumed, and dress'd, 670 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, 675 And, while the maids to know her now begin, Clears, with that precious milk, her frouzy 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 daubed and oiled, 680 Thus poulticed, plastered, baked by turns and boiled, Thus with pomatums, ointments, lackered o'er, Is it a FACE, Ursidius, or a SORE? 'Tis worth a little labor to survey Our wives more near and trace 'em through the day. 685 If, dreadful to relate! the night foregone, The husband turned his back, or lay alone, All, all is lost; the housekeeper is stripped, The tiremaid chidden, and the chairman whipped: Rods, cords, and thongs avenge the master's sleep, 690 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, 695 Chat with their female gossips, or replace The cracked 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, 700 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 705 (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, 710 With locks disheveled, 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. 715 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: 720 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. 725 So warm they grow, and so much pains they take, You'd think her honor 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? 730 A dwarf, a creature of a different kind.-- Meanwhile, engrossed by these important cares, She thinks not on her lord's distress'd affairs, Scarce on himself; but leads a separate life, As if she were his neighbor, not his wife? 735 Or, but in this--that all control she braves; Hates where he loves, and squanders where he saves. Room for Bellona's frantic votaries! room For Cybele's mad enthusiasts! lo, they come! A lusty semivir, whose part obscene, 740 A broken shell has severed smooth and clean, A raw-boned, mitred priest, whom the whole choir Of curtailed priestlings reverence and admire, Enters, with his wild rout; and bids the fair Of autumn, and its sultry blasts, beware, 745 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, 750 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. 755 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 760 To hold high converse at the noon of night! For this she cherishes, above the rest, Her Iö's favorite priest, a knave profess'd, A holy hypocrite, who strolls abroad, With his Anubis, his dog-headed god! 765 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! He sues for pardon, when the liquorish dame 770 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! 775 Yet he prevails:--Osiris hears his prayers, And, softened 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 780 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; 785 For Jews are moderate, and, for farthing fees, Will sell what fortune, or what dreams you please. The prophetess dismissed, a Syrian sage Now enters, and explores the future page, In a dove's entrails: there he sees express'd 790 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! 795 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 800 Conceals the future hour from mortal sight. Of these, the chief (such credit guilt obtains!) Is he, who, banished oft, and oft in chains, Stands forth the veriest knave; he who foretold The death of Galba--to his rival sold! 805 No juggler must for fame or profit hope, Who has not narrowly escaped the rope; Begged hard for exile, and, by special grace, Obtained confinement in some desert place.-- To him your Tanaquil applies, in doubt 810 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 815 Beyond her own;--content, if he but live, And sure that heaven has nothing more to give! Yet she may still be suffered; for, what woes The louring aspect of old Saturn shows; Or in what sign bright Venus ought to rise, 820 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 825 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, 830 Before her chair be ordered, 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. 835 The curse is universal: high and low Are mad alike the future hour to know. The rich consult a Babylonian seer, Skilled in the mysteries of either sphere; Or a gray-headed priest, hired by the state, 840 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 lecher in the table pries, And claps it wantonly, with gloating eyes. 845 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, 850 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. 855 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, 860 And give the potion, if the gossips fail; For, should thy wife her nine months' burden 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! 865 Supposititious breeds, the hope and joy Of fond, believing husbands, I pass by; The beggars' bantlings, spawned in open air, And left by some pond side, to perish there.-- From hence your Flamens, hence your Salians come; 870 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: 875 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, 880 And wealth and honors 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. 885 Hence that swift lapse to second childhood; hence Those vapors 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, 890 And force you, like Caligula, to rave, When his Cæsonia squeezed into the bowl The dire excrescence of a new-dropp'd foal.-- Then Uproar rose; the universal chain Of Order snapped, and Anarchy's wild reign 895 Came on apace, as if the queen of heaven Had fired the Thunderer, and to madness driven. Thy mushroom, Agrippine! was innocent, To this accursed draught; that only sent One palsied, bedrid sot, with gummy eyes, 900 And slavering lips, heels foremost to the skies: This, to wild fury roused a bloody mind, And called for fire and sword; this potion joined In one promiscuous slaughter high and low, And leveled half the nation at a blow. 905 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 farther; and 'tis now some time 910 Since poisoning sons-in-law scarce seemed 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; 915 See! it looks livid, swollen:--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 920 Of Satire, and encroach on Tragic ground! Deserting truth, I choose a fabled theme, And, like the buskined bards of Greece, declaim, In deep-mouthed tones, in swelling strains, on crimes As yet unknown to our Rutulian climes! 925 Would it were so! but Pontia cries aloud, "No, I performed it." See! the fact's avowed-- "I mingled poison for my children, I; 'Twas found upon me, wherefore then deny?" What, two at once, most barbarous viper! two! 930 "Nay, seven, had seven been mine: believe it true!" Now let us credit what the tragic stage Displays of Progne and Medea's rage; Crimes of dire name, which, disbelieved of yore, Become familiar, and revolt no more; 935 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 horrors as from bursts of fury rise, When stormy passions, scorning all control, 940 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. 945 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 950 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 hacked out their husbands' lives; 955 While now, the deed is done with dexterous art, And a drugged 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 960 To the old weapon for a last resource.

SATIRE VII.

TO TELESINUS.

Yes, all the hopes of learning, 'tis confess'd, 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, 5 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. 10 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 poetic friend; in accents loud, 15 Commend your precious lumber to the crowd, Old tubs, stools, presses, wrecks of many a chest, Paccius' damned plays, Thebes, Tereus, and the rest.-- And better so--than haunt the courts of law, And swear, for hire, to what you never saw: 20 Leave this resource to Cappadocian knights, To Gallogreeks, and such new-fangled wights, As want, or infamy, has chased from home, And driven, in barefoot multitudes, to Rome. Come, my brave youths!--the genuine sons of rhyme, 25 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 labors ply, Secure of favor; lo! the imperial eye 30 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 35 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 epic flights, Your battles, sieges (fruit of sleepless nights), 40 Pour it, mistaken men, who rack your brains In dungeons, cocklofts, for heroic strains; Who toil and sweat to purchase mere renown, A meagre statue, and an ivy crown! Here bound your expectations: for the great, 45 Grown, wisely, covetous, have learned, 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, 50 Spent in this idle trade, decline apace, And age, unthought of, stares you in the face:-- O then, appalled to find your better days Have earned you naught but poverty and praise, At all your barren glories you repine, 55 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 starved bard, they, in their turn, recite; 60 And, if they yield to Homer, let him know, '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, 65 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, 70 The desk where, throned in conscious pride, you sit, The joists and beams, the orchestra and the pit. Still we persist; plow the light sand, and sow Seed after seed, where none can ever grow: Nay, should we, conscious of our fruitless pain, 75 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, 80 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 85 No spurious metal, fused from common ores, But gold, to matchless purity refined, And stamped with all the godhead in his mind; He whom I feel, but want the power to paint, Springs from a soul impatient of restraint, 90 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 95 Of a lean stomach, clamorous for supplies: No; the wine circled briskly through the veins, When Horace poured his dithyrambic strains!-- What room for fancy, say, unless the mind, And all its thoughts, to poesy resigned, 100 Be hurried with resistless force along, By the two kindred Powers of Wine and Song! O! 'tis the exclusive business of a breast Impetuous, uncontrolled--not one distress'd With household cares, to view the bright abodes, 105 The steeds, the chariots, and the forms of gods: And the fierce Fury, as her snakes she shook, And withered the Rutulian with a look! Those snakes, had Virgil no Mæcenas found, } Had dropp'd, in listless length, upon the ground; } 110 And the still slumbering trump, groaned with no mortal sound. } Yet we expect, from Lappa's tragic 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! 115 When Numitor is asked to serve a friend, "He can not; 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; 120 For your starved bards have maws so devilish large! Stretched 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! 125 When Statius fixed a morning, to recite His Thebaid to the town, with what delight They flocked 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 130 Of boisterous praise, the bard had lacked a meal, Unless with Paris he had better sped, And trucked a virgin tragedy for bread. Mirror of men! he showers, with liberal hands, On needy poets, honors and commands:-- 135 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 labors take, 140 And at one lucky stroke your fortune make! 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! 145 THEN worth was cherished, then the bard might toil, Secure of favor, 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 150 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 conjoined to fact with thought intense, The work is closed, at many a ream's expense! 155 Say now, what harvest was there ever found, What golden crop, from this long-labored ground? 'Tis barren all; and one poor plodding scribe Gets more by framing pleas than all the tribe. True:--'tis a slothful breed, that, nursed in ease, 160 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, 165 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 swollen lungs! then, the white foam appears, 170 And, driveling down his beard, his vest besmears! Ask you the profit of this painful race? 'Tis quickly summed: Here, the joint fortunes place Of five-score lawyers; there, Lacerta's sole-- And that one charioteer's, shall poise the whole! 175 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 180 Your clamors, 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 shriveled onions from the Nile, 185 A rusty ham, a jar of broken sprats, And wine, the refuse of our country vats; Five flagons for four causes! if you hold, Though this indeed be rare, a piece of gold; The brethren, _as per contract_, on you fall, 190 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: 195 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. Such arts as these, to beggary Matho brought, 200 And such the ruin of Tongillus wrought, Who, with his troop of slaves, a draggled train, Annoyed the baths, of his huge oil-horn vain; Swept through the Forum, in a chair of state, To every auction--villas, slaves, or plate; 205 And, trading on the credit of his dress, Cheapened whate'er he saw, though penniless! And some, indeed, have thriven by tricks like these: Purple and violet swell a lawyer's fees; Bustle and show above his means conduce 210 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, 215 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, 220 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? 225 Who gives poor Basilus a cause of state? When, to avert a trembling culprit's fate, Shows he a weeping mother? or who heeds How close he argues, and how well he pleads? Unhappy Basilus!--but he is wrong: 230 Would he procure subsistence by his tongue, Let him renounce the forum, and withdraw To Gaul, or Afric, the dry-nurse of law. But Vectius, yet more desperate than the rest, Has opened (O that adamantine breast!) 235 A RHETORIC 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 240 The selfsame subjects, in the selfsame words; Till, like hashed cabbage served 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, 245 All wish to know; but none the price will pay. "The price," retorts the scholar, "do you say! What have I learned?" There go the master's pains, Because, forsooth, the Arcadian brute lacks brains! And yet this oaf, every sixth morn, prepares 250 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 alarmed, And all the elements against him armed, 255 The dangerous expedition to delay, And lead his harassed 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, 260 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 soporific drug, the golden fleece, 265 The faithless husband, and the abandoned 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, would'st thou my counsel hear, 270 Should'st 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 275 (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, 280 They ride, and bid defiance to the showers. Shall they, for brighter skies, at home remain, Or dash their pampered mules through mud and rain? No: let them pace beneath the stately roof, For there no mire can soil the shining hoof. 285 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, Sewers for arrangement of the board admired, 290 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. 295 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, 300 May take, at will, the senatorial shoe; Be first-rate speakers, pleaders, every thing; 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! 305 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 mystic influence alone, 310 Bestows, on captives triumphs, slaves a throne? He, then, is lucky; and, amid 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. 315 Witness thy end, Thrasymachus! and thine, Unblest Charinas!--Thou beheld'st him pine, Thou, Athens! and would'st naught but bane bestow; The only charity--thou seem'st to know! Shades of our sires! O, sacred be your rest, 320 And lightly lie the turf upon your breast! Flowers round your urns breathe sweets beyond compare, And spring eternal shed its influence there! You honored tutors, now a slighted race, And gave them all a parent's power and place. 325 Achilles, grown a man, the lyre assayed On his paternal hills, and, while he played, 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, 330 And boys with bibs strike Rufus on his chair, Fastidious Rufus, who, with critic rage, Arraigned the purity of Tully's page! Enough of these. Let the last wretched band, The poor GRAMMARIANS, say, what liberal hand 335 Rewards their toil: let learned 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, 340 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. 345 Yes, suffer this; while something's left to pay Your rising hours before the dawn of day, When e'en the laboring poor their slumbers take, And not a weaver, not a smith's awake: While something's left to pay you for the stench 350 Of smouldering lamps, thick spread o'er every bench, Where ropy vapors Virgil's pages soil, And Horace looks one blot, all soot and oil! Even then, the stipend thus reduced, thus small, Without a lawsuit, rarely comes at all. 355 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 possessed by heart; That general history with our own they blend, 360 And have all authors at their fingers' end: Still ready to inform you, should you meet, And ask them at the bath, or in the street, Who nursed Anchises; from what country came The step-dame of Archemorus, what her name; 365 How long Acestes flourished, 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 370 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. 375 All this, and more, exact; and, having found The man you seek, say--When the year comes round, We'll give thee for thy twelve months' anxious pains, As much--as, IN AN HOUR, A FENCER GAINS!

SATIRE VIII.

TO PONTICUS.

"Your ancient house!" no more.--I can not see The wondrous merits of a pedigree: No, Ponticus;--nor of a proud display Of smoky ancestors, in wax or clay; Æmilius, mounted on his car sublime, 5 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, 10 Time-honored 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 15 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 unfurled, And drew their legions forth, and won the world? 20 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, 25 If, a vile trafficker in secret bane, He blast his wretched kindred with a bust, For public vengeance to--reduce to dust! Fond man! though all the heroes of your line Bedeck your halls, and round your galleries shine 30 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, 35 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 recognize the peer. 40 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 Egypt, when her priests have found, 45 A new Osiris, for the old one drowned! 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; 50 The crookbacked 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 55 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. 60 Thou vaunt'st thy pedigree, on every side To noble and imperial blood allied; As if thy honors by thyself were won, And thou hadst some illustrious action done, To make the world believe thee Julia's heir, 65 And not the offspring of some easy fair, Who, shivering in the wind, near yon dead wall, Plies her vile labor, and is all to all. "Away, away! ye slaves of humblest birth, Ye dregs of Rome, ye nothings of the earth, 70 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, 75 Will those be found whom arts and arms adorn: Some, skilled 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: 80 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 chipped the head of Hermes on: For 'tis no bar to kindred, that thy block 85 Is formed of flesh and blood, and theirs of rock. Of beasts, great son of Troy, who vaunts the breed, Unless renowned 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! 90 Whom many a well-earned palm and trophy grace, And the Cirque hails, unrivaled 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, 95 If Victory perch but rarely on their head: For no respect to pedigree is paid, No honor to a sire's illustrious shade. Flung cheaply off, they drag the cumbrous wain, With shoulders bare and bleeding from the chain; 100 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 borrowed light alone, 105 But with your father's glories blend your own. THIS to the youth, whom Rumor 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. 110 But were my Ponticus content to raise His honors 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 115 Your baseless pile be hurled, in fragments, round.-- Stretched on the plain, the vine's weak tendrils try 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, 120 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 honor's cost a feverish span extend, 125 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! 130 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, drained by legal thieves. Revere the laws, obey the parent state; 135 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; 140 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; 145 Thou could'st not keep the hatchet--save the haft. Not such the cries of old, nor such the stroke, When first the nations bowed beneath our yoke. Wealth, then, was theirs, wealth without fear possess'd, Full every house, and bursting every chest-- 150 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 viewed, 155 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 shipped their secret plunder; and brought home 160 More treasures from our friends, in peace obtained, Than from our foes, in war, were ever gained! Now all is gone! the stallion made a prey, The few brood mares and oxen swept away, The Lares--if the sacred hearth possess'd } 165 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, 170 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 Afric hind, whose ceaseless pain Fills our wide granaries with autumnal grain, 175 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, 180 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; 185 THE PLUNDERED NE'ER WANT ARMS. What I foretell } Is no trite apophthegm, but--mark me well-- } True as a Sibyl's leaf! fixed as an oracle! } If men of worth the posts beneath you hold, And no spruce favorite barter law for gold; 190 If no inherent stain your wife disgrace, Nor, harpy-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 195 From Picus, or those elder sons of earth, Who shook the throne of heaven; call him your sire, Who first informed our clay with living fire; Or single from the songs of ancient days, What tale may suit you, and what parent raise. 200 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 honor, by your father won, 205 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 public eye, As he who sins, in power or place is high. 210 SEE! by his great progenitors' remains Fat Damasippus sweeps, with loosened 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. 215 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, 220 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 225 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, daubed on the reeking walls! 230 At night, to his old haunts he scours, elate (The tavern by the Idumean gate), Where, while the host, bedrenched with liquid sweets, With many a courteous phrase his entrance greets, And many a smile; the hostess nimbly moves, 235 And gets the flagon 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 stopped in time, Nor hugged our darling faults beyond our prime. 240 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 vigor, ripe in age, 245 Of Cæsar's foes to check the headlong rage, On Tigris' banks, in burnished 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! 250 Go, search the taverns; there the chief you'll find, With cut-throats, plunderers, rogues of every kind, Bier-jobbers, bargemen, drenched in fumes of wine, And Cybele's priests, mid their loose drums, supine! There none are less, none greater than the rest, 255 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: Owned you a slave like this degenerate lord, 260 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 265 In what would tinge a cobbler's cheek with shame. And have I wreaked on such foul deeds my rage, That worse should yet remain to blot my page!-- See Damasippus, all his fortune lost, Compelled, for hire, to play a squealing ghost! 270 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. Nor deem the heedless rabble void of blame:-- 275 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! 280 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 public shows! But grant the worst: suppose the arena here, 285 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!-- 290 But 'tis not strange, that, when the Emperor 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-- 295 No helmet, shield--such armor 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 frantic terror flies 300 Round the thronged 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 305 The glittering ribbons float redundant down. O spare him, spare!"--The brave Secutor heard, And, blushing, stopped the chase; for he preferred Wounds, death itself, to the contemptuous smile, Of conquering one so noble, and--so vile! 310 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, 315 As deep in guilt, and as accursed in fame; Orestes slew HIS mother. True; but know, The same effects from different causes flow: A father murdered at the social board, And heaven's command, unsheathed his righteous sword. 320 Besides, Orestes, in his wildest mood, Poisoned no cousin, shed no consort's blood, Buried no poniard in a sister's throat, Sung on no public stage, NO TROICS WROTE.-- THIS topped his frantic crimes! THIS roused mankind! 325 For what could Galba, what Virginius find, In the dire annals of that bloody reign, Which called for vengeance in a louder strain? Lo here, the arts, the studies that engage The world's great master! on a foreign stage, 330 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, 335 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! 340 Cethegus! Catiline! whose ancestors Were nobler born, were higher ranked, than yours? Yet ye conspired, with more than Gallic hate, To wrap in midnight flames this hapless state; On men and gods your barbarous rage to pour, 345 And deluge Rome with her own children's gore: Horrors, which called, indeed, for vengeance dire, For the pitched coat and stake, and smouldering fire! But Tully watched--your league in silence broke, And crushed your impious arms, without a stroke. 350 Yes he, poor Arpine, of no name at home, And scarcely ranked among the knights at Rome, Secured the trembling town, placed a firm guard In every street, and toiled in every ward:-- And thus, within the walls, the GOWN obtained, 355 More fame, for Tully, than Octavius gained At Actium and Philippi, from a SWORD, Drenched in the eternal stream by patriots poured! For Rome, free Rome, hailed him, with loud acclaim, THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY--glorious name! 360 Another Arpine, trained the ground to till, Tired of the plow, forsook his native hill, And joined the camp; where, if his adze was slow, The vine-twig whelked his back with many a blow: And yet, when the fierce Cimbri threatened Rome 365 With swift, and scarcely evitable doom, This man, in the dread hour, to save her rose, And turned the impending ruin on her foes! For which, while ravening birds devoured the slain, And their huge bones lay whitening on the plain, 370 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, 375 Their heads to Earth, and each infernal Power; And by that solemn act, redeemed from fate, } Auxiliars, legions, all the Latian state; } More prized than those they saved, in heaven's just estimate! } And him, who graced the purple which he wore 380 (The last good king of Rome), a bondmaid bore. The Consul's sons (while storms yet shook the state, And Tarquin thundered vengeance at the gate), Who should, to crown the labors of their sire, Have dared what Cocles, Mutius, might admire, 385 And she, who mocked 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 stretched upon his honored bier, 390 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! 395 For me, who naught but innate worth admire, I'd rather vile Thersites were thy sire, So thou wert like Achilles, and could'st wield Vulcanian arms, the terror of the field, Than that Achilles should thy father be, 400 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. 405 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.

SATIRE IX.

JUVENAL, NÆVOLUS.

Juv. still drooping, Nævolus! What, prithee, say, Portends this show of grief from day to day, This copy of flayed Marsyas? what dost thou With such a rueful face, and such a brow, As Ravola wore, when caught--Not so cast down 5 Looked Pollio, when, of late, he scoured the town, And, proffering treble rate, from friend to friend, Found none so foolish, none so mad, to lend! But, seriously, for thine's a serious case, Whence came those sudden wrinkles in thy face? 10 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 reversed: dejected is thy mien, 15 Thy locks are like a tangled thicket seen; And every limb, once smoothed with nicest care, Rank with neglect, a shrubbery of hair! What dost thou with that dull, dead, withered look, Like some old debauchee, long ague-shook? 20 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, 25 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, 30 Nay, at chaste Ceres' (for at shame they spurn, And even her temples now to brothels turn), None was so famed: the favorites of the town, Baffled alike in business and renown, Murmuring retired; wives, daughters, were thy own, 35 And--if the truth MUST come--not THEY alone. NÆV. Right: and to some this trade has answered 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, } 40 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 vigor stead, or boundless powers avail: 45 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 cursed pathics have such winning ways! Hear now this prodigy, this mass impure, 50 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:" 55 What! "overpays?"--but you are formed 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, 60 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 favors as he sits in state, And sees adoring crowds besiege his gate! 65 Insatiate sparrow! whom do your domains, Your numerous hills await, your numerous plains? Regions, that such a tract of land embrace, That kites are tired within the unmeasured space! For you the purple vine luxuriant glows, 70 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 lechery and want? 75 Sure yonder female, with the child she bred, The dog their playmate, and their little shed, Had, with more justice, been conferred on me, Than on a cymbal-beating debauchee! "I'm troublesome," you say, when I apply, 80 "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, clamoring in as loud a tone As Polyphemus, when his prey was flown. 85 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? 90 "Be merry, boys, the spring will soon be here!" But though my other merits you deny, One yet must be allowed--that had not I, I, your devoted client, lent my aid, Your wife had to this hour remained a maid. 95 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, Even when she'd canceled all her former vows, 100 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. 105 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, 110 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 stopp'd the babbling of malicious fame. 115 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 120 My pains, and make the number THREE complete. JUV. 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-legged ass. 125 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-- 130 And your smooth pathics 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 blabbed already all I knew. 135 Sad situation mine! for, in your ear, 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, 140 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; 145 Let not a whisper reach the listening ear, No noise, no motion; let no soul be near; Yet all that passed at the cock's second crow, The neighboring vintner shall, ere daybreak, know; With what besides the cook and carver's brain, 150 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, 155 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 160 The dear, dear privilege--to see and tell, For more stolen wine than late Saufeia boused, When, for the people's welfare, she--caroused! LIVE VIRTUOUSLY:--thus many a reason cries, But chiefly this, that so thou may'st despise 165 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 domestic spies that--eat his bread. NÆV. Well have you taught, how we may best disdain 170 The envenomed babbling of our household train; But this is general, and to all applies:-- What, in my proper case, would you advise? After such flattering expectations cross'd, And so much time in vain dependence lost? 175 For youth, too transient flower! of life's short day The shortest part, but blossoms--to decay. Lo! while we give the unregarded hour To revelry and joy, in Pleasure's bower, While now for rosy wreaths our brows to twine, 180 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 pathic friend, while these seven hills remain. 185 Hither in crowds the master-misses come, From every point, as to their proper home: One hope has failed, another may succeed; Meanwhile do thou on hot eringo feed. NÆV. Tell this to happier men; the Fates ne'er meant 190 Such luck for me: my Clotho is content, When all my oil a bare subsistence gains, And fills my belly, by my back and reins. O, my poor Lares! dear, domestic Powers! To whom I come with incense, cakes, and flowers, 195 When shall my prayers, so long preferred 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, 200 A little sideboard, which, for overweight, Fabricius would have censured; a stout pair Of hireling Mæsians, to support my chair, In the thronged Circus: add to these, one slave Well skilled to paint, another to engrave; 205 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, } 210 When by the Syrens' rocks and songs they flew, } False songs and treacherous rocks, that all to ruin drew. }

SATIRE X.

In every clime, from Ganges' distant stream To Gades, gilded by the western beam, Few, from the clouds of mental error free, In its true light or good or evil see. For what, with reason, do we seek or shun? 5 What plan, how happily soe'er begun, But, finished, we our own success lament, And rue the pains, so fatally misspent?-- To headlong ruin see whole houses driven, Cursed with their prayers, by too indulgent heaven! 10 Bewildered thus by folly or by fate, We beg pernicious gifts in every state, In peace, in war. A full and rapid flow Of eloquence, lays many a speaker low: Even strength itself is fatal; Milo tries 15 His wondrous arms, and--in the trial dies! But avarice wider spreads her deadly snare, And hoards amassed with too successful care, Hoards, which o'er all paternal fortunes rise, As o'er the dolphin towers the whale in size. 20 For this, in other times, at Nero's word, The ruffian bands unsheathed the murderous sword, Rushed to the swelling coffers of the great, Chased Lateranus from his lordly seat, Besieged too-wealthy Seneca's wide walls, 25 And closed, terrific, round Longinus' halls: While sweetly in their cocklofts slept the poor, And heard no soldier thundering at their door. The traveler, freighted with a little wealth, Sets forth at night, and wins his way by stealth: 30 Even then, he fears the bludgeon and the blade, And starts and trembles at a rush's shade; While, void of care, the beggar trips along, And, in the spoiler's presence, trolls his song. The first great wish, that all with rapture own, 35 The general cry, to every temple known, Is, gold, gold, gold!--"and let, all-gracious Powers, The largest chest the Forum boasts be ours!" Yet none from earthen bowls destruction sip: Dread then the draught, when, mantling, at your lip, 40 The goblet sparkles, radiant from the mine, And the broad gold inflames the ruby wine. And do we, now, admire the stories told Of the two Sages, so renowned of old; How this forever laughed, whene'er he stepp'd 45 Beyond the threshold; that, forever wept? But all can laugh:--the wonder yet appears, What fount supplied the eternal stream of tears! Democritus, at every step he took, His sides with unextinguished laughter shook, 50 Though, in his days, Abdera's simple towns No fasces knew, chairs, litters, purple gowns.-- What! had he seen, in his triumphal car, Amid the dusty Cirque, conspicuous far, The Prætor perched aloft, superbly dress'd 55 In Jove's proud tunic, with a trailing vest Of Tyrian tapestry, and o'er him spread A crown, too bulky for a mortal head, Borne by a sweating slave, maintained to ride In the same car, and mortify his pride! 60 Add now the bird, that, with expanded wing, From the raised sceptre seems prepared to spring; And trumpets here; and there the long parade Of duteous friends, who head the cavalcade; Add, too, the zeal of clients robed in white, } 65 Who hang upon his reins, and grace the sight, } Unbribed, unbought--save by the dole, at night! } Yes, in those days, in every varied scene, The good old man found matter for his spleen: A wondrous sage! whose story makes it clear 70 That men may rise in folly's atmosphere, Beneath Bœotian fogs, of soul sublime, And great examples to the coming time.-- He laughed aloud to see the vulgar fears, Laughed at their joys, and sometimes at their tears: 75 Secure the while, he mocked at Fortune's frown, And when she threatened, bade her hang or drown! Superfluous then, or fatal, is the prayer, Which, to the Immortals' knees, we fondly bear. Some, POWER hurls headlong from her envied height, 80 Some, the broad tablet, flashing on the sight, With titles, names: the statues, tumbled down, Are dragged by hooting thousands through the town; The brazen cars torn rudely from the yoke, And, with the blameless steeds, to shivers broke-- 85 Then roar the flames! the sooty artist blows, And all Sejanus in the furnace glows; Sejanus, once so honored, so adored, And only second to the world's great lord, Runs glittering from the mould, in cups and cans, 90 Basins and ewers, plates, pitchers, pots, and pans. "Crown all your doors with bay, triumphant bay! Sacred to Jove, the milk-white victim slay, For lo! where great Sejanus by the throng, A joyful spectacle! is dragged along. 95 What lips! what cheeks! ha, traitor!--for my part, I never loved the fellow--in my heart." "But tell me; Why was he adjudged to bleed? And who discovered? and who proved the deed?" "Proved!--a huge, wordy letter came to-day 100 From Capreæ." Good! what think the people? They! They follow fortune, as of old, and hate, With their whole souls, the victim of the state. Yet would the herd, thus zealous, thus on fire, Had Nurscia met the Tuscan's fond desire, 105 And crushed the unwary prince, have all combined, And hailed Sejanus, MASTER OF MANKIND! For since their votes have been no longer bought, All public care has vanished from their thought; And those who once, with unresisted sway, 110 Gave armies, empire, every thing, away, For two poor claims have long renounced the whole, And only ask--the Circus and the Dole. "But there are more to suffer." "So I find; A fire so fierce for one was ne'er designed. 115 I met my friend Brutidius, and I fear, From his pale looks, he thinks there's danger near. What if this Ajax, in his phrensy, strike, Suspicious of our zeal, at all alike!" "True: fly we then, our loyalty to show; 120 And trample on the carcass of his foe, While yet exposed on Tiber's banks it lies"-- "But let our slaves be there," another cries: "Yes; let them (lest our ardor they forswear, And drag us, pinioned, to the Bar) be there." 125 Thus of the favorite's fall the converse ran, And thus the whisper passed from man to man. Lured by the splendor of his happier hour, Would'st thou possess Sejanus' wealth and power; See crowds of suppliants at thy levee wait, 130 Give this to sway the army, that the state; And keep a prince in ward, retired to reign O'er Capreæ's crags, with his Chaldean train? Yes, yes, thou would'st (for I can read thy breast) Enjoy that favor which he once possess'd, 135 Assume all offices, grasp all commands, The Imperial Horse, and the Prætorian Bands. 'Tis nature, this; even those who want the will, Pant for the dreadful privilege to kill: Yet what delight can rank and power bestow, 140 Since every joy is balanced by its woe! --STILL would'st thou choose the favorite's purple, say? Or, thus forewarned, some paltry hamlet sway? At Gabii, or Fidenæ, rules propound, For faulty measures, and for wares unsound; 145 And take the tarnished robe, and petty state, Of poor Ulubræ's ragged magistrate?-- You grant me then, Sejanus grossly erred, Nor knew what prayer his folly had preferred: For when he begged for too much wealth and power, 150 Stage above stage, he raised a tottering tower, And higher still, and higher; to be thrown, With louder crash, and wider ruin down! What wrought the Crassi, what the Pompeys' doom, And his, who bowed the stubborn neck of Rome? 155 What but the wild, the unbounded wish to rise, Heard, in malignant kindness, by the skies! Few kings, few tyrants, find a bloodless end, Or to the grave, without a wound, descend. The child, with whom a trusty slave is sent, 160 Charged with his little scrip, has scarcely spent His mite at school, ere all his bosom glows With the fond hope he never more foregoes, To reach Demosthenes' or Tully's name, Rival of both in eloquence and fame!-- 165 Yet by this eloquence, alas! expired Each orator, so envied, so admired! Yet by the rapid and resistless sway Of torrent genius, each was swept away! Genius, for that, the baneful potion sped, 170 And lopp'd, from this, the hands and gory head: While meaner pleaders unmolested stood, Nor stained the rostrum with their wretched blood. "_How fortuNATE A NATAL day was thine,_ _In that LATE conSULATE, O Rome, of mine!_" 175 Oh, soul of eloquence! had all been found An empty vaunt, like this, a jingling sound, Thou might'st, in peace, thy humble fame have borne, And laughed the swords of Antony to scorn! Yet this would I prefer, the common jest, 180 To that which fired the fierce triumvir's breast, That second scroll, where eloquence divine Burst on the ear from every glowing line. And he too fell, whom Athens, wondering, saw Her fierce democracy, at will, o'erawe, 185 And "fulmine over Greece!" some angry Power Scowled, with dire influence, on his natal hour.-- Bleared with the glowing mass, the ambitious sire, From anvils, sledges, bellows, tongs, and fire, From tempting swords, his own more safe employ, 190 To study RHETORIC, sent his hopeful boy. The spoils of WAR; the trunk in triumph placed With all the trophies of the battle graced, Crushed helms, and battered shields; and streamers borne From vanquished fleets, and beams from chariots torn; 195 And arcs of triumph, where the captive foe Bends, in mute anguish, o'er the pomp below, Are blessings, which the slaves of glory rate Beyond a mortal's hope, a mortal's fate! Fired with the love of these, what countless swarms, 200 Barbarians, Romans, Greeks, have rushed to arms, All danger slighted, and all toil defied, And madly conquered, or as madly died! So much the raging thirst of fame exceeds The generous warmth, which prompts to worthy deeds, 205 That none confess fair virtue's genuine power, Or woo her to their breast, without a dower. Yet has this wild desire, in other days, This boundless avarice of a few for praise, This frantic rage for names to grace a tomb, 210 Involved whole countries in one general doom; Vain "rage!" the roots of the wild fig-tree rise, Strike through the marble, and their memory dies! For, like their mouldering tenants, tombs decay, And, with the dust they hide, are swept away. 215 Produce the urn that Hannibal contains, And weigh the mighty dust, which yet remains: AND IS THIS ALL! Yet THIS was once the bold, The aspiring chief, whom Afric could not hold, Though stretched in breadth from where the Atlantic roars, 220 To distant Nilus, and his sun-burnt shores; In length, from Carthage to the burning zone, Where other moors, and elephants are known. --Spain conquered, o'er the Pyrenees he bounds: Nature opposed her everlasting mounds, 225 Her Alps, and snows; o'er these, with torrent force, He pours, and rends through rocks his dreadful course. Already at his feet, Italia lies;-- Yet thundering on, "Think nothing done," he cries, "Till Rome, proud Rome, beneath my fury falls, 230 And Afric's standards float along her walls!" Big words!--but view his figure! view his face! O, for some master-hand the lines to trace, As through the Etrurian swamps, by floods increas'd, The one-eyed chief urged his Getulian beast! 235 But what ensued? Illusive Glory, say. Subdued on Zama's memorable day, He flies in exile to a petty state, With headlong haste! and, at a despot's gate, Sits, mighty suppliant! of his life in doubt, 240 Till the Bithynian's morning nap be out. No swords, nor spears, nor stones from engines hurled, Shall quell the man whose frown alarmed the world: The vengeance due to Cannæ's fatal field, And floods of human gore, a ring shall yield!-- 245 Fly, madman, fly! at toil and danger mock, Pierce the deep snow, and scale the eternal rock, To please the rhetoricians, and become A DECLAMATION for the boys of Rome! One world, the ambitious youth of Pella found 250 Too small; and tossed his feverish limbs around, And gasped for breath, as if immured the while In Gyaræ, or Seripho's rocky isle: But entering Babylon, found ample room Within the narrow limits of a tomb! 255 Death, the great teacher, Death alone proclaims The true dimensions of our puny frames. The daring tales, in Grecian story found, Were once believed:--of Athos sailed around, Of fleets, that bridges o'er the waves supplied, 260 Of chariots, rolling on the steadfast tide, Of lakes exhausted, and of rivers quaff'd, By countless nations, at a morning's draught, And all that Sostratus so wildly sings, Besotted poet, of the king of kings. 265 But how returned he, say? this soul of fire, This proud barbarian, whose impatient ire Chastised the winds, that disobeyed his nod, With stripes, ne'er suffered from the Æolian god; Fettered the Shaker of the sea and land-- 270 But, in pure clemency, forbode to brand! And sure, if aught can touch the Powers above, This calls for all their service, all their love! But how returned he? say;--His navy lost, In a small bark he fled the hostile coast, 275 And, urged by terror, drove his laboring prore, Through floating carcasses, and floods of gore. So Xerxes sped, so speed the conquering race; They catch at glory, and they clasp disgrace! "LIFE! LENGTH OF LIFE!" For this, with earnest cries, 280 Or sick or well, we supplicate the skies. Pernicious prayer! for mark what ills attend, Still, on the old, as to the grave they bend: A ghastly visage, to themselves unknown, For a smooth skin, a hide with scurf o'ergrown, 285 And such a cheek, as many a grandam ape, In Tabraca's thick woods, is seen to scrape. Strength, beauty, and a thousand charms beside, With sweet distinction, youth from youth divide; While age presents one universal face: 290 A faltering voice, a weak and trembling pace, An ever-dropping nose, a forehead bare, And toothless gums to mumble o'er its fare. Poor wretch, behold him, tottering to his fall, So loathsome to himself, wife, children, all, 295 That those who hoped the legacy to share, And flattered long--disgusted, disappear. The sluggish palate dulled, the feast no more Excites the same sensations as of yore; Taste, feeling, all, a universal blot, 300 And e'en the rites of love remembered not: Or if--through the long night he feebly strives To raise a flame where not a spark survives; While Venus marks the effort with distrust, And hates the gray decrepitude of lust. 305 Another loss!--no joy can song inspire, Though famed Seleucus lead the warbling quire: The sweetest airs escape him; and the lute, Which thrills the general ear, to him is mute.-- He sits, perhaps, too distant: bring him near; 310 Alas! 'tis still the same: he scarce can hear The deep-toned horn, the trumpet's clanging sound, And the loud blast which shakes the benches round. Even at his ear, his slave must bawl the hour, And shout the comer's name, with all his power! 315 Add that a fever only warms his veins, And thaws the little blood which yet remains; That ills of every kind, and every name, Rush in, and seize the unresisting frame. Ask you how many? I could sooner say 320 How many drudges Hippia kept in pay, How many orphans Basilus beguiled, How many pupils Hæmolus defiled, How many men long Maura overmatched, How many patients Themison dispatched 325 In one short autumn; nay, perhaps, record, How many villas call my quondam barber lord! These their shrunk shoulders, those their hams bemoan; This hath no eyes, and envies that with one: This takes, as helpless at the board he stands, 330 His food, with bloodless lips, from others' hands; While that, whose eager jaws, instinctive, spread At every feast, gapes feebly to be fed, Like Progne's brood, when, laden with supplies, From bill to bill, the fasting mother flies. 335 But other ills, and worse, succeed to those: His limbs long since were gone; his memory goes. Poor driveler! he forgets his servants quite, Forgets, at morn, with whom he supped at night; Forgets the children he begot and bred; 340 And makes a strumpet heiress in their stead.-- So much avails it the rank arts to use, Gained, by long practice, in the loathsome stews! But grant his senses unimpaired remain; Still woes on woes succeed, a mournful train! 345 He sees his sons, his daughters, all expire, His faithful consort on the funeral pyre, Sees brothers, sisters, friends, to ashes turn, And all he loved, or loved him, in their urn. Lo here, the dreadful fine we ever pay 350 For life protracted to a distant day! To see our house by sickness, pain pursued, And scenes of death incessantly renewed: In sable weeds to waste the joyless years, And drop, at last, mid solitude and tears! 355 The Pylian's (if we credit Homer's page) Was only second to the raven's age. "O happy, sure, beyond the common rate, Who warded off, so long, the stroke of fate! Who told his years by centuries, who so oft 360 Quaffed the new must! O happy, sure"--But, soft. This "happy" man of destiny complained, Cursed his gray hairs, and every god arraigned; What time he lit the pyre, with streaming eyes, And, in dark volumes, saw the flames arise 365 Round his Antilochus:--"Tell me," he cried, To every friend who lingered at his side, "Tell me what crimes have roused the Immortals' hate, That thus, in vengeance, they protract my date?" So questioned heaven Laertes--Peleus so-- 370 (Their hoary heads bowed to the grave with woe) While this bewailed his son, at Ilium slain; That his, long wandering o'er the faithless main. While Troy yet flourished, had her Priam died, With what solemnity, what funeral pride, 375 Had he descended, every duty paid, To old Assaracus, illustrious shade!-- Hector himself, bedewed with many a tear, Had joined his brothers to support the bier; While Troy's dejected dames, a numerous train, 380 Followed, in sable pomp, and wept amain, As sad Polyxena her pall had rent, And wild Cassandra raised the loud lament: Had he but fallen, ere his adulterous boy Spread his bold sails, and left the shores of Troy. 385 But what did lengthened life avail the sire? To see his realm laid waste by sword and fire. Then too, too late, the feeble soldier tried Unequal arms, and flung his crown aside; Tottered, his children's murderer to repel, 390 With trembling haste, and at Jove's altar fell, Fell without effort; like the steer, that, now, Time-worn and weak, and, by the ungrateful plow, Spurned forth to slaughter, to the master's knife Yields his shrunk veins and miserable life. 395 His end, howe'er, was human; while his mate, Doomed, in a brute, to drain the dregs of fate, Pursued the foes of Troy from shore to shore, And barked and howled at those she cursed before. I pass, while hastening to the Roman page, 400 The Pontic king, and Crœsus, whom the Sage Wisely forbade in fortune to confide, Or take the name of HAPPY, till he died. That Marius, exiled from his native plains, Was hid in fens, discovered, bound in chains; 405 That, bursting these, to Africa he fled, And, through the realms he conquered, begged his bread, Arose from age, from treacherous age alone: For what had Rome, or earth, so happy known, Had he, in that bless'd moment, ceased to live, 410 When, graced with all that Victory could give, "Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war," He first alighted from his Cimbrian car! Campania, prescient of her Pompey's fate, Send a kind fever to arrest his date: 415 When lo! a thousand suppliant altars rise, And public prayers obtain him of the skies. Ill done! that head, thus rescued from the grave, His Evil Fate and ours, by Nilus' wave, Lopp'd from the trunk:--such mutilation dire } 420 Cornelius 'scaped; Cethegus fell entire; } And Catiline pressed, whole, the funeral pyre. } Whene'er the fane of Venus meets her eye, The anxious mother breathes a secret sigh For handsome boys; but asks, with bolder prayer, 425 That all her girls be exquisitely fair! "And wherefore not? Latona, in the sight Of Dian's beauty, took unblamed delight." True; but Lucretia cursed her fatal charms, When spent with struggling in a Tarquin's arms; 430 And poor Virginia would have changed her grace For Rutila's crooked back and homely face. "But boys may still be fair?" No; they destroy Their parents' peace, and murder all their joy; For rarely do we meet, in one combined, 435 A beauteous body and a virtuous mind, Though, through the rugged line, there still has run A Sabine sanctity, from sire to son.-- Besides, should Nature, in her kindest mood, Confer the ingenuous flush of modest blood, 440 The disposition chaste as unsunned snow-- (And what can Nature more than these bestow, These, which no art, no care can give)?--even then, They can not hope, they must not, to be men! Smit with their charms, the imps of hell appear, 445 And pour their proffers in a parent's ear, For prostitution!--infamously bold, And trusting to the almighty power of gold: While youths in shape and air less formed to please No tyrants mutilate, no Neros seize. 450 Go now, and triumph in your beauteous boy, Your Ganymede! whom other ills annoy, And other dangers wait: his graces known, He stands professed, the favorite of the town; And dreads, incessant dreads, on every hand, 455 The vengeance which a husband's wrongs demand: For sure detection follows soon or late; Born under Mars, he can not scape his fate. Oft on the adulterer, too, the furious spouse Inflicts worse evils than the law allows; 460 By blows, stripes, gashes some are robbed of breath And others, by the mullet, racked to death. "But my Endymion will more lucky prove, And serve a beauteous mistress, all for love." No; he will soon to ugliness be sold, 465 And serve a toothless grandam, all for gold. Servilia will not lose him; jewels, clothes, All, all she sells, and all on him bestows; For women naught to the dear youth deny, Or think his labors can be bought too high: 470 When love's the word, the naked sex appear, And every niggard is a spendthrift here. "But if my boy with virtue be endued, What harm will beauty do him?" Nay, what good? Say, what availed, of old, to Theseus' son, 475 The stern resolve? what to Bellerophon?-- O, then did Phædra redden, then her pride Took fire, to be so steadfastly denied! Then, too, did Sthenobœa glow with shame, And both burst forth with unextinguished flame! 480 A woman scorned is pitiless as fate, For, there, the dread of shame adds stings to hate. But Silius comes.--Now, be thy judgment tried: Shall he accept, or not, the proffered bride, And marry Cæsar's wife? hard point, in truth: 485 Lo! this most noble, this most beauteous youth, Is hurried off, a helpless sacrifice To the lewd glance of Messalina's eyes! --Haste, bring the victim: in the nuptial vest Already see the impatient Empress dress'd; 490 The genial couch prepared, the accustomed sum Told out, the augurs and the notaries come. "But why all these?" You think, perhaps, the rite Were better, known to few, and kept from sight; Not so the lady; she abhors a flaw, 495 And wisely calls for every form of law. But what shall Silius do? refuse to wed? A moment sees him numbered with the dead. Consent, and gratify the eager dame? He gains a respite, till the tale of shame, 500 Through town and country, reach the Emperor's ear, Still sure the last--his own disgrace to hear. Then let him, if a day's precarious life Be worth his study, make the fair his wife; For wed or not, poor youth, 'tis still the same, 505 And still the axe must mangle that fine frame! Say then, shall man, deprived all power of choice, Ne'er raise to heaven the supplicating voice? Not so; but to the gods his fortunes trust: Their thoughts are wise, their dispensations just. 510 What best may profit or delight they know, And real good for fancied bliss bestow: With eyes of pity they our frailties scan; More dear to them, than to himself, is man. By blind desire, by headlong passion driven, 515 For wife and heirs we daily weary Heaven: Yet still 'tis Heaven's prerogative to know, If heirs, or wife, will bring us weal or woe. But (for 'tis good our humble hope to prove), That thou may'st, still, ask something from above, 520 Thy pious offerings to the temple bear, And, while the altars blaze, be this thy prayer. O THOU, who know'st the wants of human kind, Vouchsafe me health of body, health of mind; A soul prepared to meet the frowns of fate, 525 And look undaunted on a future state; That reckons death a blessing, yet can bear Existence nobly, with its weight of care; That anger and desire alike restrains, And counts Alcides' toils, and cruel pains, 530 Superior far to banquets, wanton nights, And all the Assyrian monarch's soft delights! Here bound, at length, thy wishes. I but teach What blessings man, by his own powers, may reach. THE PATH TO PEACE IS VIRTUE. We should see, 535 If wise, O Fortune, naught divine in thee: But we have deified a name alone, And fixed in heaven thy visionary throne!

SATIRE XI.

TO PERSICUS.

If Atticus in sumptuous fare delight, 'Tis taste: if Rutilus, 'tis madness quite: And what diverts the sneering rabble more Than an Apicius miserably poor? In every company, go where you will, 5 Bath, forum, theatre, the talk is still Of Rutilus!--While fit (they cry) to wield, With firm and vigorous arm, the spear and shield, While his full veins beat high with youthful blood, Forced by no tribune--yet by none withstood, 10 He cultivates the gladiator's trade, And learns the imperious language of the blade. What swarms we see of this degenerate kind! Swarms whom their creditors can only find At flesh and fish-stalls:--thither they repair, 15 Sure, though deceived at home, to catch them there. These live but for their palate; and, of these, The most distressed (while Ruin hastes to seize The crumbling mansion and disparting wall), Spread richer feasts, and riot as they fall!-- 20 Meanwhile, ere yet the last supply be spent, They search for dainties every element, Awed by no price; nay, making this their boast, And still preferring that which costs them most, Joyous, and reckless of to-morrow's fate, 25 To raise a desperate sum, they pledge their plate, Or mother's fractured image; to prepare Yet one treat more, though but in earthen ware! Then to the fencer's mess they come, of course, And mount the scaffold as a last resource. 30 No foe to sumptuous boards, I only scan, When such are spread, the motives, and the man, And praise or censure, as I see the feast Or by the noble or the beggar dress'd: In this, 'tis gluttony; in that, fit pride, 35 Sanctioned by wealth, by station dignified.-- Whip me the fool, who marks how Atlas soars O'er every hill on Mauritania's shores, Yet sees no difference 'twixt the coffer's hoards, And the poor pittance a small purse affords! 40 Heaven sent us "KNOW THYSELF!"--Be this impress'd In living characters, upon thy breast, And still revolved; whether a wife thou choose, Or to the SACRED SENATE point thy views.-- Or seek'st thou rather, in some doubtful cause, 45 To vindicate thy country's injured laws? Knock at thy bosom, play the censor's part, And note with caution what and who thou art, An orator of force and skill profound, Or a mere Matho, emptiness and sound! 50 Yes, KNOW THYSELF: in great concerns, in small, Be this thy care, for this, my friend, is all: Nor, when thy purse will scarce a gudgeon buy, With fond intemperance for turbots sigh! O think what end awaits thee, timely think, 55 If thy throat widens as thy pockets shrink, Thy throat, of all thy father's thrift could save, Flocks, herds, and fields, the insatiable grave!-- At length, when naught remains a meal to bring, The last poor shift, off comes the knightly ring, 60 And "sad Sir Pollio" begs his daily fare, With undistinguished hands, and finger bare! To these, an early grave no terror brings, "A short and merry life!" the spendthrift sings; Death seems to him a refuge from despair, 65 And far less terrible than hoary hair. Mark now the progress of their rapid fate! Money (regardless of the monthly rate), On every side, they borrow, and apace, Waste what is borrowed before the lender's face: 70 Then, while they yet some wretched remnant hold, And the pale usurer trembles for his gold, They wisely sicken for the country air, And flock to Baiæ, Ostia, Jove knows where.-- For now 'tis held (so rife the evil's grown) 75 No greater shame, for debt, to flee the town, Than from the thronged Suburra to remove, In dog-days, to the Esquilian shades above. One thought alone, what time they leave behind Friends, country, all, weighs heavy on their mind, 80 One thought alone--for twelve long months to lose The dear delights of Rome, the public shows! Where sleeps the modest blood! In all our veins, No conscious drop, to form a blush, remains: SHAME, from the town, derided, speeds her way, 85 And few, alas! solicit her to stay. Enough: to-day my Persicus shall see Whether my precepts with my life agree; Whether, with feigned austerity, I prize The spare repast, a glutton in disguise! 90 Bawl for coarse pottage, that my friends may hear, But whisper "sweetmeats!" in my servant's ear. For since, by promise, you are now my guest, Know, I invite you to no sumptuous feast, But to such simple fare, as long, long since, 95 The good Evander bade the Trojan prince. Come then, my friend, you will not, sure, despise The food that pleased the offspring of the skies; Come, and while fancy brings past times to view, I'll think myself the king, the hero you. 100 Take now your bill of fare: my simple board Is with no dainties from the market stored, But dishes all my own. From Tibur's stock A kid shall come, the fattest of the flock, The tenderest too, and yet too young to browse 105 The thistle's shoots, the willow's watery boughs, With more of milk than blood; and pullets dress'd With new-laid eggs, yet tepid from the nest, And sperage wild, which, from the mountain's side, My housemaid left her spindle to provide; 110 And grapes long kept, yet pulpy still, and fair, And the rich Signian and the Syrian pear; And apples, that in flavor and in smell The boasted Picene equal, or excel:-- Nor need you fear, my friend, their liberal use, 115 For age has mellowed and improved their juice. How homely this! and yet this homely fare A senator would, once, have counted rare; When the good Curius thought it no disgrace O'er a few sticks a little pot to place, 120 With herbs by his small garden-plot supplied-- Food, which the squalid wretch would now deride, Who digs in fetters, and, with fond regret, The tavern's savory dish remembers yet! Time was, when, on the rack, a man would lay 125 The seasoned flitch, against a solemn day; And think the friends who met, with decent mirth, To celebrate the hour which gave him birth, On this, and what of fresh the altars spared (For altars then were honored), nobly fared. 130 Some kinsman, who had camps and senates swayed, Had thrice been consul, once dictator made, From public cares retired, would gayly haste, Before the wonted hour, to such repast, Shouldering the spade, that, with no common toil, 135 Had tamed the genius of the mountain soil.-- Yes, when the world was filled with Rome's just fame, And Romans trembled at the Fabian name, The Scauran, and Fabrician; when they saw A censor's rigor even a censor awe, 140 No son of Troy e'er thought it his concern, Or worth a moment's serious care, to learn, What land, what sea, the fairest tortoise bred, Whose clouded shell might best adorn his bed.-- His bed was small, and did no signs impart 145 Or of the painter's or the sculptor's art, Save where the front, cheaply inlaid with brass, Showed the rude features of a vine-crowned ass; An uncouth brute, round which his children played, And laughed and jested at the face it made! 150 Briefly, his house, his furniture, his food, Were uniformly plain, and simply good. Then the rough soldier, yet untaught by Greece To hang, enraptured, o'er a finished piece, If haply, 'mid the congregated spoils 155 (Proofs of his power, and guerdon of his toils), Some antique vase of master-hands were found, Would dash the glittering bauble on the ground; That, in new forms, the molten fragments dress'd, Might blaze illustrious round his courser's chest, 160 Or, flashing from his burnished helmet, show (A dreadful omen to the trembling foe) The mighty sire, with glittering shield and spear, Hovering, enamored, o'er the sleeping fair, The wolf, by Rome's high destinies made mild, 165 And, playful at her side, each wondrous child. Thus, all the wealth those simple times could boast, Small wealth! their horses and their arms engross'd; The rest was homely, and their frugal fare, Cooked without art, was served in earthen ware: 170 Yet worthy all our envy, were the breast But with one spark of noble spleen possess'd. THEN shone the fanes with majesty divine, A present god was felt at every shrine! And solemn sounds, heard from the sacred walls, 175 At midnight's solemn hour, announced the Gauls, Now rushing from the main; while, prompt to save, Stood Jove, the prophet of the signs he gave! Yet, when he thus revealed the will of fate, And watched attentive o'er the Latian state, 180 His shrine, his statue, rose of humble mould, Of artless form, and unprofaned with gold. Those good old times no foreign tables sought; From their own woods the walnut-tree was brought, When withering limbs declared its pith unsound, 185 Or winds uptore, and stretched it on the ground. But now, such strange caprice has seized the great, They find no pleasure in the costliest treat, Suspect the flowers a sickly scent exhale, And think the ven'son rank, the turbot stale, 190 Unless wide-yawning panthers, towering high-- Enormous pedestals of ivory, Formed of the teeth which Elephantis sends, Which the dark Moor, or darker Indian, vends, Or those which, now, too heavy for the head, 195 The beasts in Nabathea's forest shed-- The spacious ORBS support: then they can feed, And every dish is delicate indeed! For silver feet are viewed with equal scorn, As iron rings upon the finger worn. 200 To me, forever be the guest unknown, Who, measuring my expenses by his own, Remarks the difference with a scornful leer, And slights my humble house and homely cheer. Look not to me for ivory; I have none: 205 My chess-board and my men are all of bone; Nay, my knife-handles; yet, my friend, for this, My pullets neither cut nor taste amiss. I boast no artist, tutored in the school Of learned Trypherus, to carve by rule; 210 Where large sow-paps of elm, and boar, and hare, And phœnicopter, and pygargus rare, Getulian oryx, Scythian pheasants, point, The nice anatomy of every joint; And dull blunt tools, severing the wooden treat, 215 Clatter around, and deafen all the street. My simple lad, whose highest efforts rise To broil a steak in the plain country guise, Knows no such art; humbly content to serve, And bring the dishes which he can not kerve. 220 Another lad (for I have two to-day), Clad, like the first, in homespun russet gray, Shall fill our earthen bowls: no Phrygian he, No pampered attribute of luxury, But a rude rustic:--when you want him, speak, 225 And speak in Latin, for he knows not Greek. Both go alike, with close-cropp'd hair, undress'd, But spruced to-day in honor of my guest; And both were born on my estate, and one Is my rough shepherd's, one, my neatherd's son. 230 Poor youth! he mourns, with many an artless tear, His long, long absence from his mother dear; Sighs for his little cottage, and would fain Meet his old playfellows, the goats, again. Though humble be his birth, ingenuous grace 235 Beams from his eye, and flushes in his face; Charming suffusion! that would well become The youthful offspring of the chiefs of Rome.-- He, Persicus, shall fill us wine which grew Where first the breath of life the stripling drew, 240 On Tibur's hills;--dear hills, that many a day Witnessed the transports of his infant play. But you, perhaps, expect a wanton throng Of Gaditanian girls, with dance and song, To kindle loose desire; girls, that now bound } 245 Aloft with active grace, now, on the ground, } Quivering, alight, while peals of praise go round. } Lo! wives, beside their husbands placed, behold, What could not in their ear, for shame, be told; Expedients of the rich, the blood to fire, 250 And wake the dying embers of desire. Behold? O heavens! they view, with keenest gust, These strong provocatives of jaded lust; With every gesture feel their passions rise, And draw in pleasure both at ears and eyes! 255 Such vicious fancies are too great for me. Let him the wanton dance unblushing see, And hear the immodest terms which, in the stews, The veriest strumpet would disdain to use, Whose drunken spawlings roll, tumultuous, o'er 260 The proud expansion of a marble floor: For there the world a large allowance make, And spare the folly for the fortune's sake.-- Dice, and adultery, with a small estate, Are damning crimes; but venial, with a great; 265 Venial? nay, graceful: witty, gallant, brave, And such wild tricks "as gentlemen should have!" My feast, to-day, shall other joys afford: Hushed as we sit around the frugal board. Great Homer shall his deep-toned thunder roll, 270 And mighty Maro elevate the soul; Maro, who, warmed with all the poet's fire, Disputes the palm of victory with his sire: Nor fear my rustic clerks; read as they will, The bard, the bard, shall rise superior still! 275 Come then, my friend, an hour to pleasure spare, And quit awhile your business and your care; The day is all our own: come, and forget Bonds, interest, all; the credit and the debt; Nay, e'en your wife: though, with the dawning light, 280 She left your couch, and late returned at night; Though her loose hair in wild disorder flowed, Her eye yet glistened, and her cheek yet glowed, Her rumpled girdle busy hands express'd-- Yet, at my threshold, tranquilize your breast; 285 There leave the thoughts of home, and what the haste Of heedless slaves may in your absence waste; And, what the generous spirit most offends, O, more than all, leave there UNGRATEFUL FRIENDS. But see! the napkin, waved aloft, proclaims 290 The glad commencement of the Idæan games, And the proud prætor, in triumphal state, Ascends his car, the arbiter of fate! Ere this, all Rome (if 'tis, for once, allowed, To say all Rome, of so immense a crowd) 295 The Circus throngs, and--Hark! loud shouts arise-- From these, I guess the GREEN has won the prize; For had it lost, all joy had been suppress'd, And grief and horror seized the public breast; As when dire Carthage forced our arms to yield, 300 And poured our noblest blood on Cannæ's field. Thither let youth, whom it befits, repair, And seat themselves beside some favorite fair, Wrangle, and urge the desperate bet aloud; While we, retired from business and the crowd, 305 Stretch our shrunk limbs by sunny bank or stream, And drink, at every pore, the vernal beam. Haste, then: for we may use our freedom now, And bathe, an hour ere noon, with fearless brow-- Indulge for once:--Yet such delights as these, 310 In five short morns, would lose the power to please; For still, the sweetest pleasures soonest cloy, And its best flavor temperance gives to joy.

SATIRE XII.

TO CORVINUS.

Not with such joy, Corvinus, I survey My natal hour, as this auspicious day; This day, on which the festive turf demands The promised victims, at my willing hands. A snow-white lamb to Juno I decree, 5 Another to Minerva; and to thee, Tarpeian Jove! a steer, which, from afar, Shakes his long rope, and meditates the war. 'Tis a fierce animal, that proudly scorns The dug, since first he tried his budding horns 10 Against an oak; free mettled, and, in fine, Fit for the knife, and sacrificial wine. O, were my power but equal to my love, A nobler victim should my rapture prove! A bull high fed, and boasting in his veins, 15 The luscious juices of Clitumnus' plains, Fatter than fat Hispulla, huge and slow, Should fall, but fall beneath no common blow-- Fall for my friend, who now, from danger free, Revolves the recent perils of the sea; 20 Shrinks at the roaring waves, the howling winds, And scarcely trusts the safety which he finds! For not the gods' inevitable fire, The surging billows that to heaven aspire, Alone, perdition threat; black clouds arise, 25 And blot out all the splendor of the skies; Loud and more loud the thunder's voice is heard, And sulphurous fires flash dreadful on the yard.-- Trembled the crew, and, fixed in wild amaze, Saw the rent sails burst into sudden blaze; 30 While shipwreck, late so dreadful, now appeared A refuge from the flames, more wished than feared. Horror on horror! earth, and sea, and skies, Convulsed, as when POETIC TEMPESTS rise! From the same source another danger view, 35 With pitying eye--though dire alas! not new; But known too well, as Isis' temples show, By many a pictured scene of votive woe; Isis, by whom the painters now are fed, Since our own gods no longer yield them bread!-- 40 And such befell our friend: for now a sea, Upsurging, poured tremendous o'er the lee, And filled the hold; while, pressed by wave and wind, To right and left, by turns, the ship inclined: Then, while Catullus viewed, with drooping heart, 45 The storm prevailing o'er the pilot's art, He wisely hastened to compound the strife, And gave his treasure to preserve his life. The beaver thus to scape his hunter tries, And leaves behind the medicated prize; 50 Happy to purchase with his dearest blood, A timely refuge in the well-known flood. "Away with all that's mine," he cries, "away!" And plunges in the deep, without delay, Purples, which soft Mæcenases might wear, 55 Crimsons, deep-tinctured in the Bætic air, Where herbs, and springs of secret virtues, stain The flocks at feed, with Nature's richest grain. With these, neat baskets from the Britons bought, Rare silver chargers by Parthenius wrought, 60 A huge two-handed goblet, which might strain A Pholus, or a Fuscus' wife, to drain; Followed by numerous services of plate, Plain, and enchased; with cups of ancient date, In which, while at the city's strength he laughed, 65 The wily chapman of Olynthus quaffed. Yet show me, in this elemental strife, Another, who would barter wealth for life!-- Few GAIN TO LIVE, Corvinus, few or none, But, blind with avarice, LIVE TO GAIN alone. 70 Now had the deep devoured their richest store; Nor seems their safety nearer than before: The last resource alone was unexplored-- To cut the mast and rigging by the board; Haply the vessel so might steadier ride 75 O'er the vexed surface of the raging tide. Dire threats the impending blow, when, thus distress'd, We sacrifice a part, to save the rest! Go now, fond man, the faithless ocean brave, Commit your fortune to the wind and wave; 80 Trust to a plank, and draw precarious breath, At most, seven inches from the jaws of death! Go, but forget not that a storm may rise, And put up hatchets with your sea supplies. But now the winds were hushed; the wearied main 85 Sunk to repose, a calm, unruffled plain; For fate, superior to the tempest's power, Averted from my friend the mortal hour: A whiter thread the cheerful Sisters spun, And lo, with favoring hands their spindles run! 90 Mild as the breeze of eve, a rising gale Rippled the wave, and filled their only sail; Others the crew supplied, of vests combined, And spread to catch each vagrant breath of wind: By aids like these, slow o'er the deep impelled, 95 The shattered bark her course for Ostia held; While the glad sun uprose, supremely bright, And hope returned with the returning light. At length the heights, where, from Lavinum moved, Iülus built the city which he loved, 100 Burst on the view; auspicious heights! whose name From a white sow and thirty sucklings came. And now, the port they gain; the tower, whose ray Guides the poor wanderer o'er the watery way, And the huge mole, whose arms the waves embrace, 105 And stretching, an immeasurable space, Far into Ocean's bosom, leave the coast, Till, in the distance, Italy is lost!-- Less wonderful the bays which Nature forms, And less secure against assailing storms: 110 Here rides the wave-worn bark, devoid of fear; For Baian skiffs might ply with safety here. The joyful crew, with shaven crowns, relate Their timely rescue from the jaws of fate; On every ill a pomp of words bestow, 115 And dwell delighted on the tale of woe. Go then, my boys--but let no boding strain Break on the sacred silence--dress the fane With garlands, bind the sod with ribbons gay, And on the knives the salted offering lay: 120 This done, I'll speed, myself the rites to share, And finish what remains, with pious care. Then, hastening home, where chaplets of sweet flowers Bedeck my Lares, dear, domestic Powers! I'll offer incense there, and at the shrine 125 Of highest Jove, my father's god, and mine; There will I scatter every bud that blows, And every tint the various violet knows. All savors here of joy; luxuriant bay } O'ershades my portal, while the taper's ray } 130 Anticipates the feast, and chides the tardy day: } Nor think, Corvinus, interest fires my breast: Catullus, for whose sake my house is dress'd, Has three sweet boys, who all such hopes destroy, And nobler views excite my boundless joy. 135 Yet who besides, on such a barren friend, Would waste a sickly pullet? who would spend So vast a treasure, where no hopes prevail, Or, for a FATHER, sacrifice a quail?-- But should the symptoms of a slight disease 140 The childless Paccius or Gallita seize, Legions of flatterers to the fanes repair, And hang in rows their votive tablets there. Nay, some with vows of hecatombs will come-- For yet no elephants are sold at Rome; 145 The breed, to Latium and to us unknown, Is only found beneath the burning zone: Thence to our shore, by swarthy Moors conveyed, They roam at large through the Rutulian shade, Kept for the imperial pleasure, envied fate! 150 And sacred from the subject, and the state. Though their progenitors, in days of yore, Did worthy service, and to battle bore Whole cohorts; taught the general's voice to know, And rush, themselves an army, on the foe. 155 But what avails their worth! could gold obtain So rare a creature, worth might plead in vain: Novius, without delay, their blood would shed, To raise his Paccius from affliction's bed; An offering, sacred to the great design, 160 And worthy of the votary and the shrine! Pacuvius, did our laws the crime allow, The fairest of his numerous slaves would vow; The blooming boy, the love-inspiring maid, With garlands crown, and to the temple lead; 165 Nay, seize his Iphigene, prepared to wed, And drag her to the altar, from the bed; Though hopeless, like the Grecian sire, to find, In happy hour, the substituted hind. And who shall say my countryman does ill? 170 A thousand ships are trifles to a Will! For Paccius, should the fates his health restore, May cancel every _item_ framed before (Won by his friend's vast merits, and beset, On all sides, by the inextricable net), 175 And, in one line, convey plate, jewels, gold, Lands, every thing to him, "to have and hold." With victory crowned, Pacuvius struts along, And smiles contemptuous on the baffled throng; Then counts his gains, and deems himself o'erpaid 180 For the cheap murder of one wretched maid. Health to the man! and may he THUS get more Than Nero plundered! pile his shining store High, mountain high; in years a Nestor prove, And, loving none, ne'er know another's love! 185

SATIRE XIII.

TO CALVINUS.

Man, wretched man, whene'er he stoops to sin, Feels, with the act, a strong remorse within; 'Tis the first vengeance: Conscience tries the cause, And vindicates the violated laws; Though the bribed Prætor at their sentence spurn, 5 And falsify the verdict of the Urn. What says the world, not always, friend, unjust, Of his late injury, this breach of trust? That thy estate so small a loss can bear, And that the evil, now no longer rare, 10 Is one of that inevitable set, Which man is born to suffer and forget. Then moderate thy grief: 'tis mean to show An anguish disproportioned to the blow. But thou, so new to crosses, as to feel 15 The slightest portion of the slightest ill, Art tired with rage, because a friend forswears The sacred pledge, intrusted to his cares. What, thou, Calvinus, bear so weak a mind! Thou, who hast left full three-score years behind! 20 Heaven, have they taught thee nothing! nothing, friend! And art thou grown gray-headed to no end!-- Wisdom, I know, contains a sovereign charm, To vanquish fortune, or at least disarm: Blest they who walk in her unerring rule!-- 25 Nor those unblest, who, tutored in life's school, Have learned of old experience to submit, And lightly bear the yoke they can not quit. What day so sacred, which no guilt profanes, No secret fraud, no open rapine stains? 30 What hour, in which no dark assassins prowl, Nor point the sword for hire, nor drug the bowl? THE GOOD, ALAS, ARE FEW! "The valued file," Less than the gates of Thebes, the mouths of Nile! For now an age is come, that teems with crimes, 35 Beyond all precedent of former times; An age so bad, that Nature can not frame A metal base enough to give it name! Yet you, indignant at a paltry cheat, Call heaven and earth to witness the deceit, 40 With cries as deafening, as the shout that breaks From the bribed audience, when Fæsidius speaks. Dotard in nonage! are you to be told What loves, what graces, deck another's gold? Are you to learn, what peals of mirth resound, 45 At your simplicity, from all around? When you step forth, and, with a serious air, } Bid them abstain from perjury, and beware } To tempt the altars--for A GOD IS THERE! } Idle old man! there was, indeed, a time, 50 When the rude natives of this happy clime Cherished such dreams: 'twas ere the king of heaven, To change his sceptre for a scythe was driven; Ere Juno yet the sweets of love had tried, Or Jove advanced beyond the caves of Ide. 55 'Twas when no gods indulged in sumptuous feasts, No Ganymede, no Hebe served the guests; No Vulcan, with his sooty labors foul, Limped round, officious, with the nectared bowl; But each in private dined: 'twas when the throng 60 Of godlings, now beyond the scope of song, The courts of heaven, in spacious ease, possess'd, And with a lighter load poor Atlas press'd!-- Ere Neptune's lot the watery world obtained, Or Dis and his Sicilian consort reigned; 65 Ere Tityus and his ravening bird were known, Ixion's wheel, or Sisyphus's stone: While yet the shades confessed no tyrant's power, And all below was one Elysian bower! Vice was a phœnix in that blissful time, 70 Believed, but never seen: and 'twas a crime, Worthy of death, such awe did years engage, If manhood rose not up to reverend age, And youth to manhood, though a larger hoard Of hips and acorns graced the stripling's board. 75 Then, then was age so venerable thought, That every day increase of honor brought; And children, in the springing down, revered The sacred promise of a hoary beard! Now, if a friend, miraculously just, 80 Restore the pledge, with all its gathered rust, 'Tis deemed a portent, worthy to appear Among the wonders of the Tuscan year; A prodigy of faith, which threats the state, And a ewe lamb can scarcely expiate!-- 85 Struck at the view, if now I chance to see A man of ancient worth and probity, To pregnant mules the MONSTER I compare, Or fish upturned beneath the wondering share: Anxious and trembling for the woe to come, 90 As if a shower of stones had fallen on Rome; As if a swarm of bees, together clung, Down from the Capitol, thick-clustering, hung; Or Tiber, swollen to madness, burst away, And roll'd, a milky deluge, to the sea. 95 And dost thou at a trivial loss repine! What, if another, by a friend like thine, Is stripp'd of ten times more! a third, again, Of what his bursting chest would scarce contain! For 'tis so common, in this age of ours, 100 So easy, to contemn the Immortal Powers, That, can we but elude man's searching eyes. We laugh to scorn the witness of the skies. Mark, with how bold a voice, and fixed a brow, The villain dares his treachery disavow! 105 "By the all-hallowed orb that flames above, I HAD IT NOT! By the red bolts of Jove, By the winged shaft that laid the Centaur low, By Dian's arrows, by Apollo's bow, By the strong lance that Mars delights to wield, 110 By Neptune's trident, by Minerva's shield, And every weapon that, to vengeance given, Stores the tremendous magazine of heaven!-- Nay, IF I HAD, I'll slay this son of mine, And eat his head, soused in Egyptian brine." 115 There are, who think that chance is all in all, That no First Cause directs the eternal ball; But that brute Nature, in her blind career, Varies the seasons, and brings round the year: These rush to every shrine, with equal ease, 120 And, owning none, swear by what Power you please. Others believe, and but believe, a god, And think that punishment MAY follow fraud; Yet they forswear, and, reasoning on the deed, Thus reconcile their actions with their creed: 125 "Let Isis storm, if to revenge inclined, And with her angry sistrum strike me blind, So, with my eyes, she ravish not my ore, But let me keep the pledge which I forswore. Are putrid sores, catarrhs that seldom kill, 130 And crippled limbs, forsooth, so great an ill! Ladas, if not stark mad, would change, no doubt, His flying feet for riches and the gout; For what do those procure him? mere renown, And the starved honor of an olive crown." 135 "But grant the wrath of heaven be great; 'tis slow, And days, and months, and years precede the blow. If, then, to punish ALL, the gods decree, When, in their vengeance, will they come to me? But I, perhaps, their anger may appease-- 140 For they are wont to pardon faults like these: At worst, there's hope; since every age and clime See different fates attend the self-same crime; Some made by villainy, and some undone, And this ascend a scaffold, that a throne." 145 These sophistries, to fix a while suffice The mind, yet shuddering at the thought of vice; And, thus confirmed, at the first call they come, Nay, rush before you to the sacred dome: Chide your slow pace, drag you, amazed, along, 150 And play the raving Phasma, to the throng. (For impudence the vulgar suffrage draws, And seems the assurance of a righteous cause.) While you, poor wretch, suspected by the crowd, With Stentor's lungs, or Mars', exclaim aloud: 155 "Jove! Jove! will naught thy indignation rouse? Canst thou, in silence, hear these faithless vows? When all thy fury, on the slaves accurst, From lips of marble or of brass should burst!-- Or else, why burn we incense at thy shrine, 160 And heap thy altars with the fat of swine, When we might crave redress, for aught I see, As wisely of Bathyllus as of thee!" Rash man!--but hear, in turn, what I propose, To mitigate, if not to heal, your woes; 165 I, who no knowledge of the schools possess, Cynic, or Stoic, differing but in dress, Or thine, calm Epicurus, whose pure mind To one small garden every wish confined. In desperate cases, able doctors fee; 170 But trust your pulse to Philip's boy--or me. If no example of so foul a deed On earth be found, I urge no more: proceed, And beat your breast, and rend your hoary hair; 'Tis just:-for thus our losses we declare; 175 And money is bewailed with deeper sighs, Than friends or kindred, and with louder cries. There none dissemble, none, with scenic art, Affect a sorrow, foreign from the heart; Content in squalid garments to appear, 180 And vex their lids for one hard-gotten tear: No, genuine drops fall copious from their eyes, And their breasts labor with unbidden sighs. But when you see each court of justice thronged With crowds, like you, by faithless friendship wronged, 185 See men abjure their bonds, though duly framed, And oft revised, by all the parties named, While their own hand and seal, in every eye, Flash broad conviction, and evince the lie; Shall you alone on Fortune's smiles presume, 190 And claim exemption from the common doom? --From a white hen, forsooth, 'twas yours to spring, Ours, to be hatched beneath some luckless wing! Pause from your grief, and, with impartial eyes, Survey the daring crimes which round you rise; 195 Your injuries, then, will scarce deserve a name, And your false friend be half absolved from blame! What's he, poor knave! to those who stab for hire, Who kindle, and then spread, the midnight fire? Say, what to those, who, from the hoary shrine, 200 Tear the huge vessels age hath stamped divine, Offerings of price, by grateful nations given, And crowns inscribed, by pious kings, to heaven? What to the minor thieves, who, missing these, Abrade the gilded thighs of Hercules, 205 Strip Neptune of his silvery beard, and peel Castor's leaf gold, where spread from head to heel? Or what to those, who, with pernicious craft, Mingle and set to sale the deadly draught; Or those, who in a raw ox-hide are bound, 210 And, with an ill-starred ape, poor sufferer! drowned? Yet these--how small a portion of the crimes, That stain the records of those dreadful times, And Gallicus, the city præfect, hears, From light's first dawning, till it disappears! 215 The state of morals would you learn at Rome? No farther seek than his judicial dome: Give one short morning to the horrors there, And then complain, then murmur, if you dare! Say, whom do goitres on the Alps surprise? 220 In Meroë, whom the breast's enormous size? Whom locks, in Germany, of golden hue, And spiral curls, and eyes of sapphire blue? None; for the prodigy, among them shared, Becomes mere nature, and escapes regard. 225 When clouds of Thracian birds obscure the sky, To arms! to arms! the desperate Pigmies cry: But soon, defeated in the unequal fray, Disordered flee; while, pouncing on their prey, The victor cranes descend, and, clamoring, bear 230 The wriggling manikins aloft in air. Here, could our climes to such a scene give birth, We all should burst with agonies of mirth; There, unsurprised, they view the frequent fight, Nor smile at heroes scarce a foot in height. 235 "Shall then no ill the perjured head attend, No punishment o'ertake this faithless friend?" Suppose him seized, abandoned to your will, What more would rage? to torture or to kill; Yet still your loss, your injury would remain, 240 And draw no retribution from his pain. "True,; but methinks the smallest drop of blood, Squeezed from his mangled limbs, would do me good: Revenge, THEY SAY, and I believe their words, A pleasure sweeter far than life affords." 245 WHO SAY? the fools, whose passions, prone to ire, At slightest causes, or at none take fire; Whose boiling breasts, at every turn, o'erflow With rancorous gall: Chrysippus SAID not so; Nor Thales, to our frailties clement still; 250 Nor that old man, by sweet Hymettus' hill, Who drank the poison with unruffled soul, And dying, from his foes withheld the bowl. Divine philosophy! by whose pure light We first distinguish, then pursue the right, 255 Thy power the breast from every error frees, And weeds out all its vices by degrees:-- Illumined by thy beam, revenge we find, } The abject pleasure of an abject mind, } And hence so dear to poor, weak, womankind. } 260 But why are those, Calvinus, thought to scape Unpunished, whom, in every fearful shape, Guilt still alarms, and conscience, ne'er asleep, Wounds with incessant strokes, "not loud but deep," While the vexed mind, her own tormentor, plies 265 A scorpion scourge, unmarked by human eyes! Trust me, no tortures which the poets feign, Can match the fierce, the unutterable pain He feels, who night and day, devoid of rest, Carries his own accuser in his breast. 270 A Spartan once the Oracle besought To solve a scruple which perplexed his thought, And plainly tell him, if he might forswear A purse, of old confided to his care. Incensed, the priestess answered--"Waverer, no! 275 Nor shalt thou, for the doubt, unpunished go." With that, he hastened to restore the trust; But fear alone, not virtue, made him just: Hence, he soon proved the Oracle divine, And all the answer worthy of the shrine; 280 For plagues pursued his race without delay, And swept them from the earth, like dust, away. By such dire sufferings did the wretch atone The crime of meditated fraud alone! For, IN THE EYE OF HEAVEN, a wicked deed 285 Devised, is done: What, then, if we proceed?-- Perpetual fears the offender's peace destroy, And rob the social hour of all its joy: Feverish, and parched, he chews, with many a pause, The tasteless food, that swells beneath his jaws: 290 Spits out the produce of the Albanian hill, Mellowed by age;--you bring him mellower still, And lo, such wrinkles on his brow appear, As if you brought Falernian vinegar! At night, should sleep his harassed limbs compose, 295 And steal him one short moment from his woes, Then dreams invade; sudden, before his eyes The violated fane and altar rise; And (what disturbs him most) your injured shade, In more than mortal majesty arrayed, 300 Frowns on the wretch, alarms his treacherous rest, And wrings the dreadful secret from his breast. These, these are they, who tremble and turn pale At the first mutterings of the hollow gale! 305 Who sink with terror at the transient glare Of meteors, glancing through the turbid air! Oh, 'tis not chance, they cry; this hideous crash Is not the war of winds; nor this dread flash The encounter of dark clouds; but blasting fire, Charged with the wrath of heaven's insulted sire! 310 That dreaded peal, innoxious, dies away; Shuddering, they wait the next with more dismay, As if the short reprieve were only sent To add new horrors to their punishment. Yet more; when the first symptoms of disease, 315 When feverish heats, their restless members seize, They think the plague by wrath divine bestowed, And feel, in every pang, the avenging God. Racked at the thought, in hopeless grief they lie, And dare not tempt the mercy of the sky: 320 For what can such expect! what victim slay, That is not worthier far to live than they! With what a rapid change of fancy roll The varying passions of the guilty soul!-- Bold to offend, they scarce commit the offense, 325 Ere the mind labors with an innate sense Of right and wrong;--not long, for nature still, Incapable of change, and fixed in ill, Recurs to her old habits:--never yet Could sinner to his sin a period set. 330 When did the flush of modest blood inflame The cheek, once hardened to the sense of shame? Or when the offender, since the birth of time, Retire, contented with a single crime? And this false friend of ours shall still pursue 335 His dangerous course, till vengeance, doubly due, O'ertake his guilt; then shalt thou see him cast In chains, 'mid tortures to expire his last; Or hurried off, to join the wretched train Of exiled great ones in the Ægean main. 340 THIS, THOU SHALT SEE; and, while thy voice applauds The dreadful justice of the offended gods, Reform thy creed, and, with an humble mind, Confess that Heaven is NEITHER DEAF NOR BLIND!

SATIRE XIV.

TO FUSCINUS.

Yes, there are faults, Fuscinus, that disgrace The noblest qualities of birth and place; Which, like infectious blood, transmitted, run, In one eternal stream, from sire to son. If, in destructive play, the senior waste 5 His joyous nights, the child, with kindred taste, Repeats, in miniature, the darling vice, Shakes the small box, and cogs the little dice. Nor does that infant fairer hopes inspire, Who, trained by the gray epicure, his sire, 10 Has learned to pickle mushrooms, and, like him, To souse the becaficos, till they swim!-- For take him, thus to early luxury bred, Ere twice four springs have blossomed o'er his head, And let ten thousand teachers, hoar with age, 15 Inculcate temperance from the stoic page; His wish will ever be, in state to dine, And keep his kitchen's honor from decline! Does Rutilus inspire a generous mind, Prone to forgive, and to slight errors blind; 20 Instill the liberal thought, that slaves have powers, Sense, feeling, all, as exquisite as ours; Or fury? He, who hears the sounding thong With far more pleasure than the Siren's song; Who, the stern tyrant of his small domain, 25 The Polypheme of his domestic train, Knows no delight, save when the torturer's hand Stamps, for low theft, the agonizing brand.-- O, what but rage can fill that stripling's breast, Who sees his savage sire then only blest, 30 When his stretched ears drink in the wretches' cries, And racks and prisons fill his vengeful eyes! And dare we hope, yon girl, from Larga sprung, Will e'er prove virtuous; when her little tongue Ne'er told so fast her mother's wanton train, 35 But that she stopped and breathed, and stopped again? Even from her tender years, unnatural trust! The child was privy to the matron's lust:-- Scarce ripe for man, with her own hand, she writes The billets, which the ancient bawd indites, 40 Employs the self-same pimps, and looks, ere long, To share the visits of the amorous throng! So Nature prompts: drawn by her secret tie, We view a parent's deeds with reverent eye; With fatal haste, alas! the example take, 45 And love the sin, for the dear sinner's sake.-- One youth, perhaps, formed of superior clay, And warmed, by Titan, with a purer ray, May dare to slight proximity of blood, And, in despite of nature, to be good: 50 One youth--the rest the beaten pathway tread, And blindly follow where their fathers led. O fatal guides! this reason should suffice To win you from the slippery route of vice, This powerful reason; lest your sons pursue 55 The guilty track, thus plainly marked by you! For youth is facile, and its yielding will Receives, with fatal ease, the imprint of ill: Hence Catilines in every clime abound; But where are Cato and his nephew found! 60 Swift from the roof where youth, Fuscinus, dwell, Immodest sights, immodest sounds expel; THE PLACE IS SACRED: Far, far hence, remove, Ye venal votaries of illicit love! Ye dangerous knaves, who pander to be fed, 65 And sell yourselves to infamy for bread! REVERENCE TO CHILDREN, AS TO HEAVEN, IS DUE: When you would, then, some darling sin pursue, Think that your infant offspring eyes the deed; And let the thought abate your guilty speed, 70 Back from the headlong steep your steps entice, And check you, tottering on the verge of vice. O yet reflect! for should he e'er provoke, In riper age, the law's avenging stroke (Since not alone in person and in face, 75 But even in morals, he will prove his race, And, while example acts with fatal force, Side, nay outstrip, you, in the vicious course), Vexed, you will rave and storm; perhaps, prepare, Should threatening fail, to name another heir! 80 --Audacious! with what front do you aspire To exercise the license of a sire? When all, with rising indignation, view The youth, in turpitude, surpassed by you, By you, old fool, whose windy, brainless head, 85 Long since required the cupping-glass's aid! Is there a guest expected? all is haste, All hurry in the house, from first to last. "Sweep the dry cobwebs down!" the master cries, Whips in his hand, and fury in his eyes, 90 "Let not a spot the clouded columns stain; Scour you the figured silver; you, the plain!" O inconsistent wretch! is all this coil, Lest the front hall, or gallery, daubed with soil (Which, yet, a little sand removes), offend 95 The prying eye of some indifferent friend? And do you stir not, that your son may see The house from moral filth, from vices free! True, you have given a citizen to Rome; And she shall thank you, if the youth become, 100 By your o'er-ruling care, or soon or late, A useful member of the parent state: For all depends on you; the stamp he'll take, From the strong impress which, at first, you make; And prove, as vice or virtue was your aim, 105 His country's glory, or his country's shame. The stork, with snakes and lizards from the wood And pathless wild, supports her callow brood; And the fledged storklings, when to wing they take, Seek the same reptiles, through the devious brake. 110 The vulture snuffs from far the tainted gale, And, hurrying where the putrid scents exhale, From gibbets and from graves the carcass tears, And to her young the loathsome dainty bears; Her young, grown vigorous, hasten from the nest, 115 And gorge on carrion, with the parent's zest. While Jove's own eagle, bird of noble blood, Scours the wide champaign for untainted food, Bears the swift hare, or swifter fawn away, And feeds her nestlings with the generous prey; 120 Her nestlings hence, when from the rock they spring, And, pinched by hunger, to the quarry wing, Stoop only to the game they tasted first, When, clamorous, from the shell, to light they burst. Centronius planned and built, and built and planned; 125 And now along Cajeta's winding strand, And now amid Præneste's hills, and now On lofty Tibur's solitary brow, He reared prodigious piles, with marble brought From distant realms, and exquisitely wrought: 130 Prodigious piles! that towered o'er Fortune's shrine, As those of gelt Posides, Jove, o'er thine! While thus Centronius crowded seat on seat, He spent his cash, and mortgaged his estate; Yet left enough his family to content: 135 Which his mad son, to the last farthing, spent, While, building on, he strove, with fond desire, To shame the stately structures of his sire! Sprung from a father who the sabbath fears, There is, who naught but clouds and skies reveres; 140 And shuns the taste, by old tradition led, Of human flesh, and swine's, with equal dread:-- This first: the prepuce next he lays aside, And, taught the Roman ritual to deride, Clings to the Jewish, and observes with awe 145 All Moses bade in his mysterious law: And, therefore, to the circumcised alone Will point the road, or make the fountain known; Warned by his bigot sire, who whiled away, Sacred to sloth, each seventh revolving day. 150 But youth, so prone to follow other ills, Are driven to AVARICE, against their wills; For this grave vice, assuming Virtue's guise, Seems Virtue's self, to undiscerning eyes. The miser, hence, a frugal man, they name; 155 And hence, they follow, with their whole acclaim, The griping wretch, who strictlier guards his store, Than if the Hesperian dragon kept the door.-- Add that the vulgar, still a slave to gold, The worthy, in the wealthy, man behold; 160 And, reasoning from the fortune he has made, Hail him, A perfect master of his trade! And true, indeed, it is--such MASTERS raise Immense estates; no matter, by what ways; But raise they do, with brows in sweat still dyed, 165 With forge still glowing, and with sledge still plied. The father, by the love of wealth possest, Convinced--the covetous alone are blest, And that, nor past, nor present times, e'er knew A poor man happy--bids his son pursue 170 The paths they take, the courses they affect, And follow, at the heels, this thriving sect. Vice boasts its elements, like other arts; These, he inculcates first: anon, imparts The petty tricks of saving; last, inspires, 175 Of endless wealth, the insatiable desires.-- Hungry himself, his hungry slaves he cheats, With scanty measures, and unfaithful weights; And sees them lessen, with increasing dread, The flinty fragments of his vinewed bread. 180 In dog-days, when the sun, with fervent power, Corrupts the freshest meat from hour to hour, He saves the last night's hash, sets by a dish Of sodden beans, and scraps of summer fish, And half a stinking shad, and a few strings 185 Of a chopped leek--all told, like sacred things, And sealed with caution, though the sight and smell Would a starved beggar from the board repel. But why this dire avidity of gain? This mass collected with such toil and pain? 190 Since 'tis the veriest madness, to live poor, And die with bags and coffers running o'er. Besides, while thus the streams of affluence roll, They nurse the eternal dropsy of the soul, For thirst of wealth still grows with wealth increast, 195 And they desire it less, who have it least.-- Now swell his wants: one manor is too small, Another must be bought, house, lands, and all; Still "cribbed confined," he spurns the narrow bounds, And turns an eye on every neighbor's grounds: 200 There all allures; his crops appear a foil To the rich produce of their happier soil. "And this, I'll purchase, with the grove," he cries, "And that fair hill, where the gray olives rise." Then, if the owner to no price will yield 205 (Resolved to keep the hereditary field), Whole droves of oxen, starved to this intent, Among his springing corn, by night, are sent, To revel there, till not a blade be seen, And all appear like a close-shaven green. 210 "Monstrous!" you say--And yet, 'twere hard to tell, What numbers, tricks like these have forced to sell. But, sure, the general voice has marked his name, And given him up to infamy and shame:-- "And what of that?" he cries. "I valued more 215 A single lupine, added to my store, Than all the country's praise; if cursed by fate With the scant produce of a small estate."-- 'Tis well! no more shall age or grief annoy, But nights of peace succeed to days of joy, 220 If more of ground to you alone pertain, Than Rome possessed, in Numa's pious reign! Since then, the veteran, whose brave breast was gored, By the fierce Pyrrhic, or Molossian sword, Hardly received for all his service past, 225 And all his wounds, TWO ACRES at the last; The meed of toil and blood! yet never thought His country thankless, or his pains ill bought. For then, this little glebe, improved with care, Largely supplied, with vegetable fare, 230 The good old man, the wife in childbed laid, And four hale boys, that round the cottage played, Three free-born, one a slave: while, on the board, Huge porringers, with wholesome pottage stored, Smoked for their elder brothers, who were now, 235 Hungry and tired, expected from the plow.-- TWO ACRES will not now, so changed the times, Afford a garden plot:--and hence our crimes! For not a vice that taints the human soul, More frequent points the sword, or drugs the bowl, 240 Than the dire lust of an "untamed estate"-- Since, he who covets wealth, disdains to wait: Law threatens, Conscience calls--yet on he hies, And this he silences, and that defies, Fear, Shame--he bears down all, and, with loose rein, 245 Sweeps headlong o'er the alluring paths of gain! "Let us, my sons, contented with our lot, Enjoy, in peace, our hillock and our cot" (The good old Marsian to his children said), "And from our labor seek our daily bread. 250 So shall we please the rural Powers, whose care, And kindly aid, first taught us to prepare The golden grain, what time we ranged the wood, A savage race, for acorns, savage food! The poor who, with inverted skins, defy 255 The lowering tempest and the freezing sky, Who, without shame, without reluctance go, In clouted brogues, through mire and drifted snow, Ne'er think of ill: 'tis purple, boys, alone, Which leads to guilt--purple, to us unknown." 260 Thus, to their children, spoke the sires of yore. Now, autumn's sickly heats are scarcely o'er, Ere, while deep midnight yet involves the skies, The impatient father shakes his son, and cries, "What, ho, boy, wake! Up; pleas, rejoinders draw, 265 Turn o'er the rubric of our ancient law; Up, up, and study: or, with brief in hand, Petition Lælius for a small command, A captain's!--Lælius loves a spreading chest, Broad shoulders, tangled locks, and hairy breast: 270 The British towers, the Moorish tents destroy, And the rich Eagle, at threescore, enjoy!" "But if the trump, prelusive to the fight, And the long labors of the camp affright, Go, look for merchandise of readiest vent, 275 Which yields a sure return of cent. per cent. Buy this, no matter what; the ware is good, Though not allowed on this side Tiber's flood: Hides, unguents, mark me, boy, are equal things, And gain smells sweet, from whatsoe'er it springs. 280 This golden sentence, which the Powers of heaven, Which Jove himself, might glory to have given, Will never, never, from your thoughts, I trust-- NONE QUESTION WHENCE IT COMES; BUT COME IT MUST." This, when the lisping race a farthing ask, 285 Old women set them, as a previous task; The wondrous apophthegm all run to get, And learn it sooner than their alphabet. But why this haste? Without your care, vain fool! The pupil will, ere long, the tutor school: 290 Sleep, then, in peace; secure to be outdone, Like Telamon, or Peleus, by your son. O, yet indulge awhile his tender years: The seeds of vice, sown by your fostering cares, Have scarce ta'en root; but they will spring at length, 295 "Grow with his growth, and strengthen with his strength." Then, when the firstlings of his youth are paid, And his rough chin requires the razor's aid, Then he will swear, then to the altar come, And sell deep perjuries for a paltry sum!-- 300 Believe your step-daughter already dead, If, with an ample dower, she mount his bed: Lo! scarcely laid, his murderous fingers creep, And close her eyes in everlasting sleep. For that vast wealth which, with long years of pain, 305 You thought would be acquired by land and main, He gets a readier way: the skill's not great, The toil not much, to make a knave complete. But you will say hereafter, "I am free: He never learned those practices of me." 310 Yes, all of you:--for he who, madly blind, Imbues with avarice his children's mind, Fires with the thirst of riches, and applauds The attempt, to double their estate by frauds, Unconscious, flings the headlong wheels the rein, 315 Which he may wish to stop, but wish in vain; Deaf to his voice, with growing speed they roll, Smoke down the steep, and spurn the distant goal! None sin by rule; none heed the charge precise, THUS, AND NO FARTHER, MAY YE STEP IN VICE; 320 But leap the bounds prescribed, and, with free pace, Scour far and wide the interdicted space. So, when you tell the youth, that FOOLS alone Regard a friend's distresses as their own; You bid the willing hearer riches raise, 325 By fraud, by rapine, by the worst of ways; Riches, whose love is on your soul imprest, Deep as their country's on the Decii's breast; Or Thebes on his, who sought an early grave (If Greece say true), her sacred walls to save. 330 Thebes, where, impregned with serpents' teeth, the earth Poured forth a marshaled host, prodigious birth! Horrent with arms, that fought with headlong rage, Nor asked the trumpet's signal, to engage.-- But mark the end! the fire, derived, at first, 335 From a small sparkle, by your folly nurst, Blown to a flame, on all around it preys, And wraps you in the universal blaze. So the young lion rent, with hideous roar, His keeper's trembling limbs, and drank his gore. 340 "Tush! I am safe," you cry; "Chaldæan seers Have raised my Scheme, and promised length of years." But has your son subscribed? will he await The lingering distaff of decrepit Fate? No; his impatience will the work confound, 345 And snap the vital thread, ere half unwound. Even now your long and stag-like age annoys His future hopes, and palls his present joys. Fly then, and bid Archigenes prepare An antidote, if life be worth your care; 350 If you would see another autumn close, And pluck another fig, another rose:-- Take mithridate, rash man, before your meat, A FATHER, you? and without medicine eat! Come, my Fuscinus, come with me, and view 355 A scene more comic than the stage e'er knew. Lo! with what toil, what danger, wealth is sought, And to the fane of watchful Castor brought; Since MARS THE AVENGER slumbered, to his cost, And, with his helmet, all his credit lost! 360 Quit then the plays! the FARCE OF LIFE supplies A scene more comic in the sage's eyes. For who amuses most?--the man who springs, Light, through the hoop, and on the tight-rope swings; Or he, who, to a fragile bark confined, 365 Dwells on the deep, the sport of wave and wind? Fool-hardy wretch! scrambling for every bale Of stinking merchandise, exposed to sale; And proud to Crete, for ropy wine, to rove, And jars, the fellow-citizens of Jove! 370 THAT skips along the rope, with wavering tread, Dangerous dexterity, which brings him bread; THIS ventures life, for wealth too vast to spend, Farm joined to farm, and villas without end! Lo! every harbor thronged and every bay, 375 And half mankind upon the watery way! For, where he hears the attractive voice of gain, The merchant hurries, and defies the main.-- Nor will he only range the Libyan shore, But, passing Calpé, other worlds explore; 380 See Phœbus, sinking in the Atlantic, lave His fiery car, and hear the hissing wave. And all for what? O glorious end! to come, His toils o'erpast, with purse replenished, home, And, with a traveler's privilege, vent his boasts, 385 Of unknown monsters seen on unknown coasts. What varying forms in madness may we trace!-- Safe in his loved Electra's fond embrace, Orestes sees the avenging Furies rise, And flash their bloody torches in his eyes; 390 While Ajax strikes an ox, and, at the blow, Hears Agamemnon or Ulysses low: And surely he (though, haply, he forbear, Like these, his keeper and his clothes to tear) Is just as mad, who to the water's brim 395 Loads his frail bark--a plank 'twixt death and him! When all this risk is but to swell his store With a few coins, a few gold pieces more. Heaven lowers, and frequent, through the muttering air, The nimble lightning glares, or seems to glare: 400 "Weigh! weigh!" the impatient man of traffic cries, "These gathering clouds, this rack that dims the skies, Are but the pageants of a sultry day; A thunder shower, that frowns, and melts away." Deluded wretch! dashed on some dangerous coast, 405 This night, this hour, perhaps, his bark is lost; While he still strives, though whelmed beneath the wave, His darling purse with teeth or hand to save. Thus he, who sighed, of late, for all the gold Down the bright Tagus and Pactolus rolled, 410 Now bounds his wishes to one poor request, A scanty morsel and a tattered vest; And shows, where tears, where supplications fail, A daubing of his melancholy tale! Wealth, by such dangers earned, such anxious pain, 415 Requires more care to keep it, than to gain: Whate'er my miseries, make me not, kind Fate, The sleepless Argus of a vast estate! The slaves of Licinus, a numerous band, Watch through the night, with buckets in their hand, 420 While their rich master trembling lies, afraid Lest fire his ivory, amber, gold, invade, The naked Cynic mocks such restless cares, His earthen tub no conflagration fears; If cracked, to-morrow he procures a new, 425 Or, coarsely soldering, makes the old one do. Even Philip's son, when, in his little cell Content, he saw the mighty master dwell, Owned, with a sigh, that he, who naught desired, Was happier far, than he who worlds required, 430 And whose ambition certain dangers brought, Vast, and unbounded, as the object sought.-- Fortune, advanced to heaven by fools alone, Would lose, were wisdom ours, her shadowy throne. "What call I, then, ENOUGH?" What will afford 435 A decent habit, and a frugal board; What Epicurus' little garden bore, And Socrates sufficient thought, before: These squared by Nature's rules their blameless life-- Nature and Wisdom never are at strife. 440 You think, perhaps, these rigid means too scant, And that I ground philosophy on want; Take then (for I will be indulgent now, And something for the change of times allow), As much as Otho for a knight requires:-- 445 If this, unequal to your wild desires, Contract your brow; enlarge the sum, and take As much as two--as much as three--will make. If yet, in spite of this prodigious store, Your craving bosom yawn, unfilled, for more, 450 Then, all the wealth of Lydia's king, increast By all the treasures of the gorgeous East, Will not content you; no, nor all the gold Of that proud slave, whose mandate Rome controlled, Who swayed the Emperor, and whose fatal word 455 Plunged in the Empress' breast the lingering sword!

SATIRE XV.

TO VOLUSIUS BITHYNICUS.

Who knows not to what monstrous gods, my friend, The mad inhabitants of Egypt bend?-- The snake-devouring ibis, these enshrine, Those think the crocodile alone divine; Others, where Thebes' vast ruins strew the ground, 5 And shattered Memnon yields a magic sound, Set up a glittering brute of uncouth shape, And bow before the image of an ape! Thousands regard the hound with holy fear, Not one, Diana: and 'tis dangerous here, 10 To violate an onion, or to stain The sanctity of leeks with tooth profane. O holy nations! Sacro-sanct abodes! Where every garden propagates its gods! They spare the fleecy kind, and think it ill, 15 The blood of lambkins, or of kids, to spill: But, human flesh--O! that is lawful fare. And you may eat it without scandal there. When, at the amazed Alcinous' board, of old, Ulysses of so strange an action told, 20 He moved of some the mirth, of more the gall, And, for a lying vagrant, passed with all. "Will no one plunge this babbler in the waves (Worthy a true Charybdis)--while he raves Of monsters seen not since the world began, 25 Cyclops and Læstrigons, who feed on man! For me--I less should doubt of Scylla's train, Of rocks that float and jostle in the main, Of bladders filled with storms, of men, in fine, By magic changed, and driven to grunt with swine, 30 Than of his cannibals:--the fellow feigns, As if he thought Phæacians had no brains." Thus, one, perhaps, more sober than the rest, Observed, and justly, of their traveled guest, Who spoke of prodigies till then unknown; 35 Yet brought no attestation but his own. --I bring my wonders, too; and I can tell, When Junius, late, was consul, what befell, Near Coptus' walls; tell of a people stained With deeper guilt than tragedy e'er feigned: 40 For, sure, no buskined bard, from Pyrrha's time, E'er taxed a whole community with crime; Take then a scene yet to the stage unknown, And, by a nation, acted--IN OUR OWN! Between two neighboring towns a deadly hate, 45 Sprung from a sacred grudge of ancient date, Yet burns; a hate no lenients can assuage, No time subdue, a rooted, rancorous rage! Blind bigotry, at first, the evil wrought: For each despised the other's gods, and thought 50 Its own the true, the genuine, in a word, The only deities to be adored! And now the Ombite festival drew near: When the prime Tent'rites, envious of their cheer, Resolved to seize the occasion, to annoy 55 Their feast, and spoil the sacred week of joy.-- It came: the hour the thoughtless Ombites greet, And crowd the porches, crowd the public street, With tables richly spread; where, night and day, Plunged in the abyss of gluttony, they lay: 60 (For savage as the nome appears, it vies In luxury, if I MAY TRUST MY EYES, With dissolute Canopus:) Six were past, Six days of riot, and the seventh and last Rose on the feast; and now the Tent'rites thought, 65 A cheap, a bloodless victory might be bought, O'er such a helpless crew: nor thought they wrong, Nor could the event be doubtful, where a throng Of drunken revelers, stammering, reeling-ripe, And capering to a sooty minstrel's pipe. 70 Coarse unguents, chaplets, flowers, on this side fight, On that, keen hatred, and deliberate spite! At first both sides, though eager to engage. With taunts and jeers, the heralds of their rage, Blow up their mutual fury; and anon, 75 Kindled to madness, with loud shouts rush on; Deal, though unarmed, their vengeance blindly round, And with clenched fists print many a ghastly wound. Then might you see, amid the desperate fray, Features disfigured, noses torn away, 80 Hands, where the gore of mangled eyes yet reeks, And jaw-bones starting through the cloven cheeks! But this is sport, mere children's play, they cry-- As yet beneath their feet no bodies lie, And, to what purpose should such armies fight 85 The cause of heaven, if none be slain outright? Roused at the thought, more fiercely they engage, With stones, the weapons of intestine rage; Yet not precisely such, to tell you true, As Turnus erst, or mightier Ajax, threw: 90 Nor quite so large as that two-handed stone, Which bruised Æneas on the huckle-bone; But such as men, in our degenerate days, Ah, how unlike to theirs! make shift to raise. Even in his time, Mæonides could trace 95 Some diminution of the human race: Now, earth, grown old and frigid, rears with pain A pigmy brood, a weak and wicked train; Which every god, who marks their passions vile, Regards with laughter, though he loathes the while. 100 But to our tale. Enforced with armed supplies. The zealous Tent'rites feel their courage rise, And wave their swords, and, kindling at the sight, Press on, and with fell rage renew the fight. The Ombites flee; they follow:--in the rear, 105 A luckless wretch, confounded by his fear, Trips and falls headlong; with loud yelling cries, The pack rush in, and seize him as he lies. And now the conquerors, none to disappoint Of the dire banquet, tear him joint by joint, 110 And dole him round; the bones yet warm, they gnaw, And champ the flesh that heaves beneath their jaw. They want no cook to dress it--'twould be long, And appetite is keen, and rage is strong. And here, Volusius, I rejoice at least, 115 That fire was unprofaned by this cursed feast, Fire, rapt from heaven! and you will, sure, agree To greet the element's escape, with me. --But all who ventured on the carcass, swore They never tasted--aught so sweet before! 120 Nor did the relish charm the first alone-- Those who arrived too late for flesh, or bone, Stooped down, and scraping where the wretch had lain, With savage pleasure licked the gory plain! The Vascons once (the story yet is rife), 125 With such dire sustenance prolonged their life; But then the cause was different: Fortune, there, Proved adverse: they had borne the extremes of war, The rage of famine, the still-watchful foe, And all the ills beleaguered cities know. 130 (And nothing else should prompt mankind to use Such desperate means.) May this their crime excuse! For after every root and herb were gone, And every aliment to hunger known; When their lean frames, and cheeks of sallow hue, 135 Struck even the foe with pity at the view, And all were ready their own flesh to tear, They first adventured on this horrid fare. And surely every god would pity grant To men so worn by wretchedness and want, 140 And even the very ghosts of those they ate, Absolve them, mindful of their dreadful state! True, we are wiser; and, by Zeno taught, Know life itself may be too dearly bought; But the poor Vascon, in that early age, 145 Knew naught of Zeno, or the Stoic page.-- Now, thanks to Greece and Rome, in wisdom's robe The bearded tribes rush forth, and seize the globe; Already, learned Gaul aspires to teach Your British orators the Art of Speech, 150 And Thulé, blessings on her, seems to say, She'll hire a good grammarian, cost what may. The Vascons, then, who thus prolonged their breath, And the Saguntines, true, like them, to death, Brave too, like them, but by worse ills subdued, 155 Had some small plea for this abhorred food. Diana first (and let us doubt no more The barbarous rites we disbelieved of yore) Reared her dread altar near the Tauric flood, And asked the sacrifice of human blood: 160 Yet there the victim only lost his life, And feared no cruelty beyond the knife. Far, far more savage Egypt's frantic train, They butcher first, and then devour the slain! But say, what causa impelled them to proceed, 165 What siege, what famine, to this monstrous deed? What could they more, had Nile refused to rise, And the soil gaped with ever-glowing skies, What could they more, the guilty Flood to shame, And heap opprobrium on his hateful name! 170 Lo! what the barbarous hordes of Scythia, Thrace, Gaul, Britain, never dared--dared by a race Of puny dastards, who, with fingers frail, Tug the light oar, and hoist the little sail, In painted pans! What tortures can the mind 175 Suggest for miscreants of this abject kind, Whom spite impelled worse horrors to pursue, Than famine, in its deadliest form, e'er knew! NATURE, who gave us tears, by that alone Proclaims she made the feeling heart our own; 180 And 'tis her noblest boon: This bids us fly, To wipe the drops from sorrowing friendship's eye, Sorrowing ourselves; to wail the prisoner's state, And sympathize in the wronged orphan's fate, Compelled his treacherous guardian to accuse, 185 While many a shower his blooming cheek bedews, And through his scattered tresses, wet with tears, A doubtful face, or boy or girl's, appears. As Nature bids, we sigh, when some bright maid Is, ere her spousals, to the pyre conveyed; 190 Some babe--by fate's inexorable doom, Just shown on earth, and hurried to the tomb. For who, that to the sanctity aspires Which Ceres, for her mystic torch, requires, Feels not another's woes? This marks our birth; 195 The great distinction from the beasts of earth! And therefore--gifted with superior powers, And capable of things divine--'tis ours, To learn, and practice, every useful art; And, from high heaven, deduce that better part, 200 That moral sense, denied to creatures prone, And downward bent, and found with man alone!-- For He, who gave this vast machine to roll, Breathed LIFE in them, in us a REASONING SOUL; That kindred feelings might our state improve, 205 And mutual wants conduct to mutual love; Woo to one spot the scattered hordes of men, From their old forest and paternal den; Raise the fair dome, extend the social line, And, to our mansion, those of others join, 210 Join too our faith, our confidence to theirs, And sleep, relying on the general cares:-- In war, that each to each support might lend, When wounded, succor, and when fallen, defend; At the same trumpet's clangor rush to arms, 215 By the same walls be sheltered from alarms, Near the same tower the foe's incursions wait, And trust their safety to one common gate. --But serpents, now, more links of concord bind: The cruel leopard spares the spotted kind; 220 No lion spills a weaker lion's gore, No boar expires beneath a stronger boar; In leagues of friendship tigers roam the plain, And bears with bears perpetual peace maintain. While man, alas! fleshed in the dreadful trade, 225 Forges without remorse the murderous blade, On that dire anvil, where primæval skill, As yet untaught a brother's blood to spill, Wrought only what meek nature would allow, Goads for the ox, and coulters for the plow! 230 Even this is trifling: we have seen a rage Too fierce for murder only to assuage; Seen a whole state their victim piecemeal tear, And count each quivering limb delicious fare. O, could the Samian Sage these horrors see, 235 What would he say? or to what deserts flee? He, who the flesh of beasts, like man's, declined, And scarce indulged in pulse--of every kind!

SATIRE XVI.

TO GALLUS.

Who can recount the advantages that wait, Dear Gallus, on the Military State?-- For let me once, beneath a lucky star, Faint as I am of heart, and new to war, But join the camp, and that ascendant hour 5 Shall lord it o'er my fate with happier power, Than if a line from Venus should commend My suit to Mars, or Juno stand my friend! And first, of benefits which all may share: 'Tis somewhat--that no citizen shall dare 10 To strike you, or, though struck, return the blow: But waive the wrong; nor to the Prætor show His teeth dashed out, his face deformed with gore, And eyes no skill can promise to restore! A Judge, if to the camp your plaints you bear, 15 Coarse shod, and coarser greaved, awaits you there: By antique law proceeds the cassocked sage, And rules prescribed in old Camillus' age; _To wit_, ~Let soldiers seek no foreign bench,~ ~Nor plead to any charge without the trench~. 20 O nicely do Centurions sift the cause, When buff-and-belt-men violate the laws! And ample, if with reason we complain, Is, doubtless, the redress our injuries gain! Even so:--but the whole legion are our foes, 25 And, with determined aim, the award oppose. "These sniveling rogues take special pleasure still To make the punishment outweigh the ill." So runs the cry; and he must be possest Of more, Vagellius, than thy iron breast, 30 Who braves their anger, and, with ten poor toes, Defies such countless hosts of hobnailed shoes. Who so untutored in the ways of Rome, Say, who so true a Pylades, to come Within the camp?--no; let thy tears be dried, 35 Nor ask that kindness, which must be denied, For, when the Court exclaims, "Your witness, here!" Let that firm friend, that man of men, appear, And testify but what he saw and heard; And I pronounce him worthy of the beard 40 And hair of our forefathers! You may find False witnesses against an honest hind, Easier than true (and who their fears can blame?), Against a soldier's purse, a soldier's fame! But there are other benefits, my friend, 45 And greater, which the sons of war attend: Should a litigious neighbor bid me yield My vale irriguous, and paternal field; Or from my bounds the sacred landmark tear, To which, with each revolving spring, I bear, 50 In pious duty to the grateful soil, My humble offerings, honey, meal, and oil; Or a vile debtor my just claims withstand, Deny his signet, and abjure his hand; Term after Term I wait, till months be past, 55 And scarce obtain a hearing at the last. Even when the hour is fixed, a thousand stays Retard my suit, a thousand vague delays: The cause is called, the witnesses attend, Chairs brought, and cushions laid--and there an end: 60 Cæditius finds his cloak or gown too hot, And Fuscus slips aside to seek the pot; Thus, with our dearest hopes the judges sport, And when we rise to speak, dismiss the Court! But spear-and-shield-men may command the hour; 65 The time to plead is always in their power; Nor are their wealth and patience worn away, By the slow drag-chain of the law's delay. Add that the soldier, while his father lives, And he alone, his wealth bequeaths or gives; 70 For what by pay is earned, by plunder won, The law declares, vests solely in the son. Coranus therefore sees his hoary sire, To gain his Will, by every art, aspire!-- He rose by service; rank in fields obtained, 75 And well deserved the fortune which he gained. And every prudent chief must, sure, desire, That still the worthiest should the most acquire; That those who merit, their rewards should have, Trappings, and chains, and all that decks the brave. 80

PERSIUS.

PROLOGUE.

'Twas never yet my luck, I ween, To drench my lips in Hippocrene; Nor, if I recollect aright, On the forked Hill to sleep a night, That I, like others of the trade, 5 Might wake--a poet ready made! Thee, Helicon, with all the Nine, And pale Pyrene, I resign, Unenvied, to the tuneful race, Whose busts (of many a fane the grace) 10 Sequacious ivy climbs, and spreads Unfading verdure round their heads. Enough for me, too mean for praise, To bear my rude, uncultured lays To Phœbus and the Muses' shrine, 15 And place them near their gifts divine. Who bade the parrot χαῖρε cry; And forced our language on the pie? The BELLY: Master, he, of Arts, Bestower of ingenious parts; 20 Powerful the creatures to endue With sounds their natures never knew! For, let the wily hand unfold The glittering bait of tempting gold, And straight the choir of daws and pies, 25 To such poetic heights shall rise, That, lost in wonder, you will swear Apollo and the Nine are there!

SATIRE I.

Alas, for man! how vain are all his cares! And oh! what bubbles, his most grave affairs! Tush! who will read such trite--Heavens! this to me? Not one, by Jove. Not one? Well, two, or three; Or rather--none: a piteous case, in truth! 5 Why piteous? _lest Polydamas_, forsooth, _And Troy's proud dames_, pronounce my merits fall Beneath their Labeo's! I can bear it all. Nor should my friend, though still, as fashion sways, The purblind town conspire to sink or raise, 10 Determine, as her wavering beam prevails, And trust his judgment to her coarser scales. O not abroad for vague opinion roam; The wise man's bosom is his proper home: And Rome is--What? Ah, might the truth be told!-- 15 And, sure it may, it must.--When I behold What fond pursuits have formed our prime employ, Since first we dropped the playthings of the boy, To gray maturity, to this late hour, When every brow frowns with censorial power, 20 Then, then--O yet suppress this carping mood. Impossible! I could not if I would; For nature framed me of satiric mould, And spleen, too petulant to be controlled. Immured within our studies, we compose; 25 Some, shackled metre; some, free-footed prose; But all, bombast; stuff, which the breast may strain, And the huge lungs puff forth with awkward pain. 'Tis done! and now the bard, elate and proud, Prepares a grand rehearsal for the crowd. 30 Lo! he steps forth in birthday splendor bright, Combed and perfumed, and robed in dazzling white; And mounts the desk; his pliant throat he clears, And deals, insidious, round his wanton leers; While Rome's first nobles, by the prelude wrought, 35 Watch, with indecent glee, each prurient thought, And squeal with rapture, as the luscious line Thrills through the marrow, and inflames the chine. Vile dotard! Canst thou thus consent to please! To pander for such itching fools as these! 40 Fools--whose applause must shoot beyond thy aim, And tinge thy cheek, bronzed as it is, with shame! But wherefore have I learned, if, thus represt, The leaven still must swell within my breast? If the wild fig-tree, deeply rooted there, 45 Must never burst its bounds, and shoot in air? Are these the fruits of study! these of age! O times, O manners--Thou misjudging sage, Is science only useful as 'tis shown, And is thy knowledge nothing, if not known? 50 "But, sure, 'tis pleasant, as we walk, to see The pointed finger, hear the loud _That's he_, On every side:--and seems it, in your sight, So poor a trifle, that whate'er we write Is introduced to every school of note, 55 And taught the youth of quality by rote? --Nay, more! Our nobles, gorged, and swilled with wine, Call, o'er the banquet, for a lay divine. Here one, on whom the princely purple glows, Snuffles some musty legend through his nose; 60 Slowly distills Hypsipyle's sad fate, And love-lorn Phillis, dying for her mate, With what of woeful else is said or sung; And trips up every word, with lisping tongue. The maudlin audience, from the couches round, 65 Hum their assent, responsive to the sound.-- And are not now the poet's ashes blest! Now lies the turf not lightly on his breast! They pause a moment--and again, the room Rings with his praise: now will not roses bloom, 70 Now, from his relics, will not violets spring, And o'er his hallowed urn their fragrance fling! "You laugh ('tis answered), and too freely here Indulge that vile propensity to sneer. Lives there, who would not at applause rejoice, 75 And merit, if he could, the public voice? Who would not leave posterity such rhymes, As cedar oil might keep to latest times; Rhymes, which should fear no desperate grocer's hand, Nor fly with fish and spices through the land! 80 Thou, my kind monitor, whoe'er thou art, Whom I suppose to play the opponent's part, Know--when I write, if chance some happier strain (And chance it needs must be) rewards my pain, Know, I can relish praise with genuine zest; 85 Not mine the torpid, mine the unfeeling breast: But that I merely toil for this acclaim, And make these eulogies my end and aim, I must not, can not grant: for--sift them all, Mark well their value, and on what they fall: 90 Are they not showered (to pass these trifles o'er) On Labeo's Iliad, drunk with hellebore? On princely love-lays driveled without thought, And the crude trash on citron couches wrought? You spread the table--'tis a master-stroke, 95 And give the shivering guest a threadbare cloak, Then, while his heart with gratitude dilates At the glad vest and the delicious cates, Tell me, you cry--for truth is my delight, What says the Town of me, and what I write? 100 He can not:--he has neither ears nor eyes. But shall I tell you, who your bribes despise? --Bald trifler! cease at once your thriftless trade; That mountain paunch for verse was never made. O Janus, happiest of thy happy kind!-- 105 No waggish stork can peck at thee behind: No tongue thrust forth, expose to passing jeers; No twinkling fingers, perked like ass's ears, Point to the vulgar mirth:--but you, ye Great, To a blind occiput condemned by fate, 110 Prevent, while yet you may, the rabble's glee, And tremble at the scoff you can not see!-- "What says the Town"--precisely what it ought: All you produce, sir, with such skill is wrought, That o'er the polished surface, far and wide, 115 The critic nail without a jar must glide; Since every verse is drawn as straight and fine As if one eye had fixed the ruddled line. --Whate'er the subject of his varied rhymes, The humors, passions, vices of the times; 120 The pomp of nobles, barbarous pride of kings, All, all is great, and all inspired he sings! Lo! striplings, scarcely from the ferule freed, And smarting yet from Greek, with headlong speed Rush on heroics; though devoid of skill 125 To paint the rustling grove, or purling rill; Or praise the country, robed in cheerful green, Where hogs, and hearths, and osier frails are seen, And happy hinds, who leap o'er smouldering hay, In honor, Pales, of thy sacred day. 130 _--Scenes of delight!--there Remus lived, and there,_ _In grassy furrows Quinctius tired his share;_ _Quinctius, on whom his wife, with trembling haste,_ _The dictatorial robes, exulting, placed,_ _Before his team; while homeward, with his plow, 135_ _The lictors hurried_--Good! a Homer, thou! There are, who hunt out antiquated lore; And never, but on musty authors, pore; These, Accius' jagged and knotty lines engage, And those, Pacuvius' hard and horny page; 140 Where, in quaint tropes, Antiopa is seen To--_prop her dolorific heart with teen_! O, when you mark the sire, to judgment blind, Commend such models to the infant mind, Forbear to wonder whence this olio sprung, 145 This sputtering jargon which infests our tongue; This scandal of the times, which shocks my ear, And which our knights bound from their seats to hear! How monstrous seems it, that we can not plead, When called to answer for some felon deed, 150 Nor danger from the trembling head repel, Without a wish for--_Bravo! Vastly well!_ This Pedius is a thief, the accusers cry. You hear them, Pedius; now, for your reply? In terse antitheses he weighs the crime, 155 Equals the pause, and balances the chime; And with such skill his flowery tropes employs, That the rapt audience scarce contain their joys. _O charming! charming! he must sure prevail._ THIS, _charming_! Can a Roman wag the tail? 160 Were the wrecked mariner to chant his woe, Should I or sympathy or alms bestow? Sing you, when, in that tablet on your breast, I see your story to the life exprest; A shattered bark, dashed madly on the shore, 165 And you, scarce floating, on a broken oar!-- No, he must feel that would my pity share, And drop a natural, not a studied tear. But yet our numbers boast a grace unknown To our rough sires, a smoothness all our own. 170 True: the spruce metre in sweet cadence flows, And answering sounds a tuneful chime compose: Blue Nereus here, the Dolphin swift divides; And Idè there, sees Attin climb her sides: Nor this alone--for, in some happier line, 175 We win the chine of the long Apennine! _Arms and the man_--Here, too, perhaps, you find A pithless branch beneath a fungous rind? Not so;--a seasoned trunk of many a day, Whose gross and watery parts are drawn away. 180 But what, in fine (for still you jeer me), call For the moist eye, bowed head, and lengthened drawl, What strains of genuine pathos?--_O'er the hill_ _The dismal slug-horn sounded, loud and shrill,_ _A Mimallonian blast: fired at the sound, 185_ _In maddening groups the Bacchants pour around,_ _Mangle the haughty calf with gory hands,_ _And scourge the indocile lynx with ivy wands;_ _While Echo lengthens out the barbarous yell,_ _And propagates the din from cell to cell!_ 190 O were not every spark of manly sense, Of pristine vigor quenched, or banished hence, Could this be borne! this cuckoo-spit of Rome, Which gathers round the lips in froth and foam! --The _haughty calf_, and _Attin's_ jangling strain, 195 Dropped, without effort, from the rheumy brain; No savor they of bleeding nails afford, Or desk, oft smitten for the happy word. But why must you, alone, displeased appear, And with harsh truths thus grate the tender ear? 200 O yet beware! think of the closing gate! And dread the cold reception of the great: This currish humor you extend too far, While every word growls with that hateful gnar! Right! From this hour (for now my fault I see) 205 All shall be charming--charming all, for me: What late seemed base, already looks divine, And wonders start to view in every line! Tis well, you cry: this spot let none defile, Or turn to purposes obscene and vile. 210 Paint, then, two snakes entwined; and write around, URINE NOT, CHILDREN, HERE; 'TIS HOLY GROUND. Awed, I retire: and yet--when vice appeared, Lucilius o'er the town his falchion reared; On Lupus, Mutius, poured his rage by name, 215 And broke his grinders on their bleeding fame. And yet--arch Horace, while he strove to mend, Probed all the foibles of his smiling friend; Played lightly round and round the peccant part, And won, unfelt, an entrance to his heart. 220 Well skilled the follies of the crowd to trace, And sneer, with gay good humor in his face. And I!--I must not mutter? No; nor dare-- Not to myself? No. To a ditch? Nowhere. Yes, here I'll dig--here, to sure trust confide 225 The secret which I would, but can not, hide. My darling book, a word;--"King Midas wears (These eyes beheld them, these!) such ass's ears!"-- This quip of mine, which none must hear, or know, This fond conceit, which takes my fancy so, 230 This nothing, if you will; you should not buy With all those Iliads that you prize so high. But thou, whom Eupolis' impassioned page, Hostile to vice, inflames with kindred rage, Whom bold Cratinus, and that awful sire, 235 Force, as thou readest, to tremble and admire; O, view my humbler labors:--there, if aught More highly finished, more maturely wrought, Detain thy ear, and give thy breast to glow With warmth, responsive to the inspiring flow-- 240 I seek no farther:--Far from me the rest, Yes, far the wretch, who, with a low-born jest, Can mock the blind for blindness, and pursue With vulgar ribaldry the Grecian shoe: Bursting with self-conceit, with pride elate, 245 Because, forsooth, in magisterial state, His worship (ædile of some paltry town) Broke scanty weights, and put false measures down. Far too be he--the monstrous witty fool, Who turns the numeral scale to ridicule; 250 Derides the problems traced in dust or sand, And treads out all Geometry has planned-- Who roars outright to see Nonaria seize, And tug the cynic's beard--To such as these I recommend, at morn, the Prætor's bill, 255 At eve, Calirrhoë, or--what they will.

SATIRE II.

TO PLOTIUS MACRINUS (ON HIS BIRTHDAY).

Health to my friend! and while my vows I pay, O mark, Macrinus, this auspicious day, Which, to your sum of years already flown, Adds yet another--with a whiter stone. Indulge your Genius, drench in wine your cares:-- 5 It is not yours, with mercenary prayers To ask of Heaven what you would die with shame, Unless you drew the gods aside, to name; While other great ones stand, with down-cast eyes, And with a silent censer tempt the skies!-- 10 Hard, hard the task, from the low, muttered prayer, To free the fanes; or find one suppliant there, Who dares to ask but what his state requires, And live to heaven and earth with known desires! Sound sense, integrity, a conscience clear, 15 Are begged aloud, that all at hand may hear: But prayers like these (half whispered, half supprest) The tongue scarce hazards from the conscious breast: _O that I could my rich old uncle see,_ _In funeral pomp!--O that some deity 20_ _To pots of buried gold would guide my share!_ _O that my ward, whom I succeed as heir,_ _Were once at rest! poor child, he lives in pain,_ _And death to him must be accounted gain.--_ _By wedlock, thrice has Nerius swelled his store, 25_ _And now--is he a widower once more!_ These blessings, with due sanctity, to crave, Once, twice, and thrice in Tiber's eddying wave He dips each morn, and bids the stream convey The gathered evils of the night, away! 30 One question, friend:--an easy one, in fine-- What are thy thoughts of Jove? My thoughts! Yes; thine. Wouldst thou prefer him to the herd of Rome? To any individual?--But, to whom? To Staius, for example. Heavens! a pause? 35 Which of the two would best dispense the laws? Best shield the unfriended orphan? Good! Now move The suit to Staius, late preferred to Jove:-- "O Jove! good Jove!" he cries, o'erwhelmed with shame, And must not Jove himself, _O Jove!_ exclaim? 40 Or dost thou think the impious wish forgiven, Because, when thunder shakes the vault of heaven, The bolt innoxious flies o'er thee and thine, To rend the forest oak and mountain pine? --Because, yet livid from the lightning's seath, 45 Thy mouldering corpse (a monument of wrath) Lies in no blasted grove, for public care To expiate with sacrifice and prayer; Must, therefore, Jove, unsceptred and unfeared, Give to thy ruder mirth his foolish beard? 50 What bribe hast thou to win the Powers divine, Thus, to thy nod? The lungs and lights of swine. Lo! from his little crib, the grandam hoar, Or aunt, well versed in superstitious lore, Snatches the babe; in lustral spittle dips 55 Her middle finger, and anoints his lips And forehead:--"Charms of potency," she cries, "To break the influence of evil eyes!" The spell complete, she dandles high in air Her starveling hope; and breathes a humble prayer, 60 That heaven would only tender to his hands All Crassus' houses, all Licinius' lands!-- "Let every gazer by his charms be won, And kings and queens aspire to call him son: Contending virgins fly his smiles to meet, 65 And roses spring where'er he sets his feet!" Insane of soul--but I, O Jove, am free. Thou knowest, I trust no nurse with prayers for me: In mercy, then, reject each fond demand, Though, robed in white, she at thy altar stand. 70 This begs for nerves to pain and sickness steeled, A frame of body that shall slowly yield To late old age:--'Tis well, enjoy thy wish.-- But the huge platter, and high-seasoned dish, Day after day the willing gods withstand, 75 And dash the blessing from their opening hand. That sues for wealth: the laboring ox is slain, And frequent victims woo the "god of gain." "O crown my hearth with plenty and with peace, And give my flocks and herds a large increase!" 80 Madman! how can he, when, from day to day, Steer after steer in offerings melt away?-- Still he persists; and still new hopes arise, With harslet and with tripe, to storm the skies. "Now swell my harvests! now my fields! now, now, 85 It comes--it comes--auspicious to my vow!" While thus, poor wretch, he hangs 'twixt hope and fear, He starts, in dreadful certainty, to hear His chest reverberate the hollow groan Of his last piece, to find itself alone? 90 If from my sideboard I should bid you take Goblets of gold or silver, you would shake With eager rapture; drops of joy would start, And your left breast scarce hold your fluttering heart: Hence, you presume the gods are bought and sold; 95 And overlay their busts with captured gold. For, of the brazen brotherhood, the Power Who sends you dreams, at morning's truer hour, Most purged from phlegm, enjoys your best regards, And a gold beard his prescient skill rewards! 100 Now, from the temples, GOLD has chased the plain And frugal ware of Numa's pious reign;. The ritual pots of brass are seen no more, And Vesta's pitchers blaze in burnished ore. O groveling souls! and void of things divine! 105 Why bring our passions to the Immortals' shrine, And judge, from what this CARNAL SENSE delights, Of what is pleasing in their purer sights? THIS, the Calabrian fleece with purple soils, And mingles cassia with our native oils; 110 Tears from the rocky conch its pearly store, And strains the metal from the glowing ore. This, this, indeed, is vicious; yet it tends To gladden life, perhaps; and boasts its ends; But you, ye priests (for, sure, ye can), unfold-- 115 In heavenly things, what boots this pomp of gold? No more, in truth, than dolls to Venus paid (The toys of childhood), by the riper maid! No; let me bring the Immortals, what the race Of great Messala, now depraved and base, 120 On their huge charger, can not;--bring a mind, Where legal and where moral sense are joined With the pure essence; holy thoughts, that dwell In the soul's most retired and sacred cell; A bosom dyed in honor's noblest grain, 125 Deep-dyed:--with these let me approach the fane, And Heaven will hear the humble prayer I make, Though all my offering be a barley cake.

SATIRE III.

What! ever thus? See! while the beams of day In broad effulgence o'er the shutters play, Stream through the crevice, widen on the walls, On the fifth line the gnomon's shadow falls! Yet still you sleep, like one that, stretched supine, 5 Snores off the fumes of strong Falernian wine. Up! up! mad Sirius parches every blade, And flocks and herds lie panting in the shade. Here my youth rouses, rubs his heavy eyes, "Is it _so_ late? so _very_ late?" he cries; 10 "Shame, shame! Who waits? Who waits there? quick, my page! Why, when!" His bile overflows; he foams with rage, And brays so loudly, that you start in fear, And fancy all Arcadia at your ear. Behold him, with his bedgown and his books, 15 His pens and paper, and his studious looks, Intent and earnest! What arrests his speed, Alas! the viscous liquid clogs the reed. Dilute it. Pish! now every word I write Sinks through the paper, and eludes the sight; 20 Now the pen leaves no mark, the point's too fine; Now 'tis too blunt, and doubles every line! O wretch! whom every day more wretched sees-- Are these the fruits of all your studies? these! Give o'er at once: and like same callow dove, 25 Some prince's heir, some lady's infant love, Call for chewed pap; and, pouting at the breast, Scream at the lullaby that woos to rest! "But why such warmth? See what a pen! nay, see!"-- And is this subterfuge employed on me? 30 Fond boy! your time, with your pretext, is lost; And all your arts are at your proper cost. While with occasion thus you madly play, Your best of life unheeded leaks away, And scorn flows in apace: the ill-baked ware, 35 Rung by the potter, will its fault declare; Thus--But you yet are moist and yielding clay: Call for some plastic hand without delay, Nor cease the labor, till the wheel produce A vessel nicely formed, and fit for use. 40 "But wherefore this? My father, thanks to fate, Left me a fair, if not a large, estate:-- A salt unsullied on my table shines, And due oblations, in their little shrines, My household gods receive; my hearth is pure, 45 And all my means of life confirmed and sure: What need I more?" Nay, nothing; it is well. --And it becomes you, too, with pride to swell, Because, the thousandth in descent, you trace Your blood, unmixed, from some high Tuscan race; 50 Or, when the knights march by the censor's chair, In annual pomp, can greet a kinsman there! Away! these trappings to the rabble show: Me they deceive not; for your soul I know, Within, without.--And blush you not to see 55 Loose Natta's life and yours so well agree? --But Natta's is not _life_: the sleep of sin Has seized his powers, and palsied all within; Huge cawls of fat envelope every part, And torpor weighs on his insensate heart: 60 Absolved from blame by ignorance so gross, He neither sees nor comprehends his loss; Content in guilt's profound abyss to drop, Nor, struggling, send one bubble to the top! Dread sire of gods! when lust's envenomed stings 65 Stir the fierce natures of tyrannic kings; When storms of rage within their bosoms roll, And call, in thunder, for thy just control, O, then relax the bolt, suspend the blow, And thus, and thus alone, thy vengeance show, 70 In all her charms, set Virtue in their eye, And let them see their loss, despair, and--die! Say, could the wretch severer tortures feel, Closed in the brazen bull?--Could the bright steel, That, while the board with regal pomp was spread, 75 Gleamed o'er the guest, suspended by a thread, Worse pangs inflict than he endures, who cries (As on the rack of conscious guilt he lies, In mental agony), "Alas! I fall, Down, down the unfathomed steep, without recall!" 80 And withers at the heart, and dares not show His bosom wife the secret of his woe! Oft (I remember yet), my sight to spoil. Oft, when a boy, I bleared my eyes with oil, What time I wished my studies to decline, 85 Nor make great Cato's dying speeches mine; Speeches my master to the skies had raised, Poor pedagogue! unknowing what he praised; And which my sire, suspense 'twixt hope and fear, With venial pride, had brought his friends to hear. 90 For then, alas! 'twas my supreme delight To study chances, and compute aright, What sum the lucky sice would yield in play, And what the fatal aces sweep away: Anxious no rival candidate for fame 95 Should hit the long-necked jar with nicer aim; Nor, while the whirling top beguiled the eye, With happier skill the sounding scourge apply. But you have passed the schools; have studied long, And learned the eternal bounds of Right and Wrong, 100 And what the Porch (by Mycon limned, of yore, With trowsered Medes), unfolds of ethic lore, Where the shorn youth, on herbs and pottage fed, Bend, o'er the midnight page, the sleepless head: And, sure, the letter where, divergent wide, 105 The Samian branches shoot on either side, Has to your view, with no obscure display, Marked, on the right, the strait but better way. And yet you slumber still! and still opprest With last night's revels, knock your head and breast! 110 And stretching o'er your drowsy couch, produce Yawn after yawn, as if your jaws were loose! Is there no certain mark at which to aim?-- Still must your bow be bent at casual game? With clods, and potsherds, must you still pursue 115 Each wandering crow that chance presents to view; And, careless of your life's contracted span, Live from the moment, and without a plan? When bloated dropsies every limb invade. In vain to hellebore you fly for aid: 120 Meet with preventive skill the young disease, And Craterus will boast no golden fees. Mount, hapless youths, on Contemplation's wings, And mark the Causes and the End of things:-- Learn what we are, and for what purpose born, 125 What station here 'tis given us to adorn; How best to blend security with ease, And win our way through life's tempestuous seas; What bounds the love of property requires, And what to wish, with unreproved desires; 130 How far the genuine use of wealth extends; And the just claims of country, kindred, friends What Heaven would have us be, and where our stand, In this GREAT WHOLE, is fixed by high command. Learn these--and envy not the sordid gains 135 Which recompense the well-tongued lawyer's pains; Though Umbrian rustics, for his sage advice, Pour in their jars of fish, and oil, and spice, So thick and fast, that, ere the first be o'er, A second, and a third, are at the door. 140 "But here, some brother of the blade, some coarse And shag-haired captain, bellows loud and hoarse; Away with this cramp, philosophic stuff! My learning serves my turn, and that's enough. I laugh at all your dismal Solons, I; 145 Who stalk with downcast looks, and heads awry, Muttering within themselves, where'er they roam, And churning their mad silence till it foam! Who mope o'er sick men's dreams, howe'er absurd, And on protruded lips poise every word; 150 _Nothing can come from nothing._ Apt and plain! _Nothing return to nothing._ Good, again! And this it is for which they peak and pine, This precious stuff, for which they never dine!" Jove, how he laughs! the brawny youths around 155 Catch the contagion, and return the sound; Convulsive mirth on every cheek appears, And every nose is wrinkled into sneers! "Doctor, a patient said, employ your art, I feel a strange wild fluttering at the heart; 160 My breast seems tightened, and a fetid smell sets my breath--feel here; all is not well," Medicine and rest the fever's rage compose, And the third day his blood more calmly flows. The fourth, unable to contain, he sends 165 A hasty message to his wealthier friends, And _just about to bathe_--requests, in fine, A moderate flask of old Surrentin wine. "Good heavens! my friend, what sallow looks are here?" Pshaw! nonsense! nothing! "Yet 'tis worth your fear, 170 Whate'er it be: the waters rise within, And, though unfelt, distend your sickly skin." --And yours still more! Whence springs this freedom, tro'? Are you, forsooth, my guardian? Long ago I buried him; and thought my nonage o'er: 175 But you remain to school me! "Sir, no more."-- Now to the bath, full gorged with luscious fare, See the pale wretch his bloated carcass bear; While from his lungs, that faintly play by fits, His gasping throat sulphureous steam emits!-- 180 Cold shiverings seize him, as for wine he calls, His grasp betrays him, and the goblet falls! From his loose teeth the lip, convulsed, withdraws, And the rich cates drop through his listless jaws. Then trumpets, torches come, in solemn state; 185 And my fine youth, so confident of late, Stretched on a splendid bier, and essenced o'er, Lies, a stiff corpse, heels foremost at the door. Romans of yesterday, with covered head, Shoulder him to the pyre, and--all is said!-- 190 "But why to me? Examine every part; My pulse:--and lay your finger on my heart; You'll find no fever: touch my hands and feet, A natural warmth, and nothing more, you'll meet." 'Tis well! But if you light on gold by chance, 195 If a fair neighbor cast a sidelong glance, Still will that pulse with equal calmness flow, And still that heart no fiercer throbbings know? Try yet again. In a brown dish behold, Coarse gritty bread, and coleworts stale and old: 200 Now, prove your taste. Why those averted eyes? Hah! I perceive:--a secret ulcer lies Within that pampered mouth, too sore to bear The untender grating of plebeian fare! Where dwells this _natural warmth_, when danger's near, 205 And "each particular hair" starts up with fear? Or where resides it, when vindictive ire Inflames the bosom; when the veins run fire, The reddening eye-balls glare; and all you say, And all you do, a mind so warped betray, 210 That mad Orestes, if the freaks he saw, Would give you up at once to chains and straw!

SATIRE IV.

What! you, my Alcibiades, aspire To sway the state!--(Suppose that bearded sire, Whom hemlock from a guilty world removed, Thus to address the stripling that he loved.) On what apt talents for a charge so high, 5 Ward of great Pericles, do you rely? Forecast on others by gray hairs conferred, Haply, with you, anticipates the beard! And prompts you, prescient of the public weal, Now to disclose your thoughts, and now conceal! 10 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 majestic wafture of your hand! Lo! all is hushed: what now, what will he speak, 15 What floods of sense from his charged bosom break! "Romans! I think--I fear--I think, I say, This is not well:--perhaps, the better way."-- O power of eloquence! But you, forsooth, In the nice, trembling scale can poise the truth, 20 With even hand; can with intentive view, Amid deflecting curves, the right pursue; Or, where the rule deceives the vulgar eye With its warped foot, the unerring line apply: And, while your sentence strikes with doom precise, 25 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, 30 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, 35 And doze the careless hours of life away." Hold, hold! you tattered beldame, hobbling by, If haply asked, would make the same reply. "But I am nobly born." Agreed. "And fair." 'Tis granted too: yet goody Baucis there, 40 Who, to the looser slaves, her pot-herbs cries, Is just as philosophic, just as wise.-- How few, alas! their proper faults explore! While, on his loaded back, who walks before, Each eye is fixed.--You touch a stranger's arm, 45 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! 50 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; 55 And while his hungry hinds exulting dine On barley broth, sucks up, with thrifty care, The mothery dregs of his palled vinegar!" But, if "YOU bask you in the sunny ray, And doze the careless hours of youth away," 60 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 unhallowed fires.-- "Why, while the beard is nursed with every art, 65 Those anxious pains to bare the shameful part? In vain:--should five athletic 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!" 70 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!-- 75 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? 80 "But if the people call me wise and just, Sure I may take the general voice on trust!"-- No:--If you tremble at the sight of gold; Indulge lust's wildest sallies uncontrolled; Or, bent on outrage, at the midnight hour, 85 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. Hence, with your spurious claims! Rejudge your cause And fling the rabble back their vile applause; 90 To your own breast, in quest of worth, repair, And blush to find how poor a stock is there!

SATIRE V.

TO ANNÆUS CORNUTUS.

PERSIUS. Poets are wont a hundred mouths to ask, A hundred tongues--whate'er the purposed task; Whether a tragic tale of Pelops' line For the sad actor, with deep mouth, to whine; Or Epic lay;--the Parthian winged with fear, 5 And wrenching from his groin the Roman spear. CORNUTUS. Heavens! to what purpose (sure I heard thee wrong), Tend those huge gobbets of robustious song, Which, struggling into day, distend thy lungs, And need a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues? 10 Let fustian bards to Helicon repair, And suck the spongy fogs that hover there, Bards, in whose fervid brains, while sense recoils, The pot of Progne, or Thyestes boils, Dull Glyco's feast!--But what canst thou propose? 15 Puffed by thy heaving lungs no metal glows; Nor dost thou, mumbling o'er some close-spent strain, Croak the grave nothings of an idle brain; Nor swell, until thy cheeks, with thundering sound, Displode, and spurt their airy froth around. 20 Confined to common life, thy numbers flow, And neither soar too high, nor sink too low; There strength and ease in graceful union meet, Though polished, subtle, and though poignant, sweet; Yet powerful to abash the front of crime, 25 And crimson error's cheek with sportive rhyme. O still be this thy study, this thy care: Leave to Mycenæ's prince his horrid fare, His head and feet; and seek, with Roman taste, For Roman food--a plain but pure repast. 30 PERSIUS. Mistake me not. Far other thoughts engage My mind, Cornutus, than to swell my page With air-blown trifles, impotent and vain, And grace, with noisy pomp, an empty strain. Oh, no: the world shut out, 'tis my design, 35 To open (prompted by the inspiring Nine) The close recesses of my breast, and bare To your keen eye each thought, each feeling, there; Yes, best of friends! 'tis now my wish to prove How much you fill my heart, engross my love. 40 Ring then--for, to your practiced ear, the sound Will show the solid, and where guile is found Beneath the varnished tongue: for THIS, in fine, I dared to wish a hundred voices mine; Proud to declare, in language void of art, 45 How deep your form is rooted in my heart, And paint, in words--ah! could they paint the whole-- The ineffable sensations of my soul. When first I laid the purple by, and free, Yet trembling at my new-felt liberty, 50 Approached the hearth, and on the Lares hung The bulla, from my willing neck unstrung; When gay associates, sporting at my side. And the white boss, displayed with conscious pride, Gave me, unchecked, the haunts of vice to trace, 55 And throw my wandering eyes on every face, When life's perplexing maze before me lay, And error, heedless of the better way, To straggling paths, far from the route of truth, Woo'd, with blind confidence, my timorous youth, 60 I fled to you, Cornutus, pleased to rest My hopes and fears on your Socratic breast, Nor did you, gentle Sage, the charge decline: Then, dextrous to beguile, your steady line Reclaimed, I know not by what winning force, 65 My morals, warped from virtue's straighter course; While reason pressed incumbent on my soul, That struggled to receive the strong control, And took like wax, tempered by plastic skill; The form your hand imposed; and bears it still! 70 Can I forget how many a summer's day, Spent in your converse, stole, unmarked, away? Or how, while listening with increased delight, I snatched from feasts the earlier hours of night? --One time (for to your bosom still I grew), 75 One time of study, and of rest, we knew; One frugal board where, every care resigned, An hour of blameless mirth relaxed the mind. And sure our lives, which thus accordant move (Indulge me here, Cornutus), clearly prove 80 That both are subject to the self-same law, And from one horoscope their fortunes draw; And whether Destiny's unerring doom In equal Libra poised our days to come; Or friendship's holy hour our fates combined, 85 And to the Twins a sacred charge assigned; Or Jove, benignant, broke the gloomy spell By angry Saturn wove;--I know not well-- But sure some star there is, whose bland control Subdues, to yours, the temper of my soul! 90 Countless the various species of mankind, Countless the shades which separate mind from mind; No general object of desire is known; Each has his will, and each pursues his own; With Latian wares, one roams the Eastern main, 95 To purchase spice, and cummin's blanching grain; Another, gorged with dainties, swilled with wine, Fattens in sloth, and snores out life, supine; This loves the Campus; that, destructive play; And those, in wanton dalliance melt away:-- 100 But when the knotty gout their strength has broke, And their dry joints crack like some withered oak, Then they look back, confounded and aghast, On the gross days in fogs and vapors past; With late regret the waste of life deplore, 105 No purpose gained, and time, alas! no more. But you, my friend, whom nobler views delight, To pallid vigils give the studious night; Cleanse youthful breasts from every noxious weed, And sow the tilth with Cleanthean seed. 110 There seek, ye young, ye old, secure to find That certain end which stays the wavering mind; Stores, which endure, when other means decay, Through life's last stage, a sad and cheerless way. "Right; and to-morrow this shall be our care." 115 Alas! to-morrow, like to-day, will fare. "What! is one day, forsooth, so great a boon?" But when it comes (and come it will too soon), Reflect, that yesterday's to-morrow's o'er.-- Thus "one to-morrow! one to-morrow! more," 120 Have seen long years before them fade away; And still appear no nearer than to-day! So while the wheels on different axles roll, In vain (though governed by the self-same pole) The hindmost to o'ertake the foremost tries: 125 Fast as the one pursues the other flies! FREEDOM, in truth, it steads us much to have: Not that by which each manumitted slave, Each Publius, with his tally, may obtain A casual dole of coarse and damaged grain. 130 --O souls! involved in Error's thickest shade, Who think a Roman with one turn is made! Look on this paltry groom, this Dama here, Who at three farthings would be prized too dear; This blear-eyed scoundrel, who your husks would steal, 135 And outface truth to hide the starving meal; Yet--let his master twirl this knave about, And MARCUS DAMA in a trice steps out! Amazing! MARCUS surety?--yet distrust! MARCUS your judge?--yet fear a doom unjust! 140 MARCUS avouch it?--then the fact is clear. The writings!--set your hand, good MARCUS, here." This is mere liberty--a name, alone: Yet this is all the cap can make our own. "Sure, there's no other. All mankind agree 145 That those who live without control are free: _I_ live without control; and _therefore_ hold Myself more free than Brutus was of old." Absurdly put; a Stoic cries, whose ear, Rinsed with sharp vinegar, is quick to hear: 150 True;--all who live without control are free; But that YOU live so, I can ne'er agree. "No? From the Prætor's wand when I withdrew, Lord of myself, why, might I not pursue My pleasure unrestrained, respect still had 155 To what the rubric of the law forbad?" Listen--but first your brows from anger clear, And bid your nose dismiss that rising sneer; Listen, while I the genuine truth impart, And root those old wives' fables from your heart. 160 It was not, is not in the "Prætor's wand," To gift a fool with power, to understand The nicer shades of duty, and educe, From short and rapid life, its end and use; The laboring hind shall sooner seize the quill, 165 And strike the lyre with all a master's skill. Reason condemns the thought, with mien severe, And drops this maxim in the secret ear, "Forbear to venture, with preposterous toil, On what, in venturing, you are sure to spoil." 170 In this plain sense of what is just and right The laws of nature and of man unite; That Inexperience should some caution show, And spare to reach at what she does not know. Prescribe you hellebore! without the skill 175 To weigh the ingredients, or compound the pill?-- Physic, alarmed, the rash attempt withstands, And wrests the dangerous mixture from your hands. Should the rude clown, skilled in no star to guide His dubious course, rush on the trackless tide, 180 Would not Palemon at the fact exclaim, And swear the world had lost all sense of shame! Say, is it yours, by wisdom's steady rays, To walk secure through life's entangled maze? Yours to discern the specious from the true, 185 And where the gilt conceals the brass from view? Speak, can you mark, with some appropriate sign, What to pursue, and what, in turn, decline? Does moderation all your wishes guide, And temperance at your cheerful board preside? 190 Do friends your love experience? are your stores Now dealt with closed and now with open doors, As fit occasion calls? Can you restrain The eager appetite of sordid gain? Nor feel, when in the mire a doit, you note, 195 Mercurial spittle gurgle in your throat? If you can say, and truly, "THESE ARE MINE, And THIS I CAN:"--suffice it. I decline All farther question; you are wise and free, No less by Jove's than by the law's decree. 200 But if, good Marcus, you who formed so late One of our batch, of our enslaved estate, Beneath a specious outside, still retain The foul contagion of your ancient strain; If the sly fox still burrow in some part, 205 Some secret corner, of your tainted heart; I straight retract the freedom which I gave, And hold your Dama still, and still a slave! Reason concedes you nothing. Let us try. Thrust forth your finger. "See." O, heavens, awry! 210 Yet what so trifling?--But, though altars smoke, Though clouds of incense every god invoke, In vain you sue, one drachm of RIGHT to find, One scruple, lurking in the foolish mind. Nature abhors the mixture; the rude clown 215 As well may lay his spade and mattock down, And with light foot and agile limbs prepare To dance three steps with soft Bathyllus' air! "Still I am free." You! subject to the sway Of countless masters, FREE! What _datum_, pray, 220 Supports your claim? Is there no other yoke Than that which, from your neck, the Prætor broke! "Go, bear these scrapers to the bath with speed; What! loitering, knave?"--Here's servitude indeed! Yet you unmoved the angry sounds would hear; 225 You owe no duty, and can know no fear. But if within you feel the strong control-- If stormy passions lord it o'er your soul, Are you more free than he whom threatenings urge To bear the strigils and escape the scourge? 230 'Tis morn; yet sunk in sloth you snoring lie. "Up! up!" cries Avarice, "and to business hie; Nay, stir." I will not. Still she presses, "Rise!" I can not. "But you must and shall," she cries. And to what purpose? "This a question! Go, 235 Bear fish to Pontus, and bring wines from Co; Bring ebon, flax, whate'er the East supplies, Musk for perfumes, and gums for sacrifice: Prevent the mart, and the first pepper take From the tired camel ere his thirst he slake. 240 Traffic forswear, if interest intervene"-- But Jove will overhear me.--"Hold, my spleen! O dolt; but, mark--that thumb will bore and bore The empty salt (scraped to the quick before) For one poor grain, a vapid meal to mend, 245 If you aspire to thrive with Jove your friend!" You rouse (for who can truths like these withstand?), Victual your slaves, and urge them to the strand. Prepared in haste to follow; and, ere now, Had to the Ægean turned your vent'rous prow, 250 But that sly Luxury the process eyed, Waylaid your desperate steps, and, taunting, cried, "Ho, madman, whither, in this hasty plight? What passion drives you forth? what furies fright? Whole urns of hellebore might hope in vain 255 To cool this high-wrought fever of the brain. What! quit your peaceful couch, renounce your ease, To rush on hardships, and to dare the seas! And while a broken plank supports your meat, And a coiled cable proves your softest seat, 260 Suck from squab jugs that pitchy scents exhale, The seaman's beverage, sour at once and stale! And all for what? that sums, which now are lent, At modest five, may sweat out twelve per cent.!-- "O rather cultivate the joys of sense, 265 And crop the sweets which youth and health dispense; Give the light hours to banquets, love, and wine: THESE are the zest of life, and THESE are mine! Dust and a shade are all you soon must be: Live, thou, while yet you may. Time presses.--See! 270 Even while I speak, the present is become The past, and lessens still life's little sum." Now, sir, decide; shall this, or that, command? Alas, the bait, displayed on either hand, Distracts your choice:--but, ponder as you may, 275 Of this be sure; both, with alternate sway, Will lord it o'er you, while, with slavish fears, From side to side your doubtful duty veers. Nor must you, though in some auspicious hour You spurn their mandate, and resist their power, 280 At once conclude their future influence vain:-- With struggling hard the dog may snap his chain; Yet little freedom from the effort find, If, as he flies, he trails its length behind. "Yes, I am fixed; to Love a long adieu!-- 285 Nay, smile not, Davus; you will find it true." So, while his nails, gnawn to the quick, yet bled, The sage Chærestratus, deep-musing, said.-- "Shall I my virtuous ancestry defame, Consume my fortune, and disgrace my name, 290 While, at a harlot's wanton threshold laid, Darkling, I whine my drunken serenade!" Tis nobly spoken:--Let a lamb be brought To the Twin Powers that this deliverance wrought. "But--if I quit her, will she not complain? 295 Will she not grieve? Good Davus, think again." Fond trifler! you will find her "grief" too late; When the red slipper rattles round your pate, Vindictive of the mad attempt to foil Her potent spell, and all-involving toil. 300 Dismissed, you storm and bluster: hark! she calls And, at the word, your boasted manhood falls. "Mark, Davus; of her own accord, she sues! Mark, she invites me! Can I now refuse?" Yes, Now, and EVER. If you left her door 305 Whole and entire, you must return no more. Right. This is He, the man whom I demand; This, Davus; not the creature of a wand Waved by some foolish lictor.--And is he, This master of himself, this truly free, 310 Who marks the dazzling lure Ambition spreads, And headlong follows where the meteor leads? "Watch the nice hour, and on the scrambling tribes Pour, without stint, your mercenary bribes, Vetches and pulse; that, many a year gone by, 315 Graybeards, as basking in the sun they lie, May boast how much your Floral Games surpast, In cost and splendor, those they witnessed last!" A glorious motive! And on Herod's day, When every room is decked in meet array, 320 And lamps along the greasy windows spread, Profuse of flowers, gross, oily vapors shed; When the vast tunny's tail in pickle swims, And the crude must foams o'er the pitcher's brims; You mutter secret prayers, by fear devised, 325 And dread the sabbaths of the circumcised! Then a cracked egg-shell fills you with affright, And ghosts and goblins haunt your sleepless night. Last, the blind priestess, with her sistrum shrill, And Galli, huge and high, a dread instill 330 Of gods, prepared to vex the human frame With dropsies, palsies, ills of every name, Unless the trembling victim champ, in bed, Thrice every morn, on a charmed garlic-head. Preach to the martial throng these lofty strains, 335 And lo! some chief more famed for bulk than brains, Some vast Vulfenius, blessed with lungs of brass, Laughs loud and long at the scholastic ass; And, for a clipt cent-piece, sets, by the tale, A hundred Greek philosophers to sale! 340

SATIRE VI.

TO CÆSIUS BASSUS.

Say, have the wintry storms, which round us beat, Chased thee, my Bassus, to thy Sabine seat? Does music there thy sacred leisure fill, While the strings quicken to thy manly quill?-- O skilled, in matchless numbers, to disclose 5 How first from Night this fair creation rose; And kindling, as the lofty themes inspire, To smite, with daring hand, the Latian lyre! Anon, with youth and youth's delights to toy, And give the dancing chords to love and joy; 10 Or wake, with moral touch, to accents sage, And hymn the heroes of a nobler age! To me, while tempests howl and billows rise, Liguria's coast a warm retreat supplies, Where the huge cliffs an ample front display, 15 And, deep within, recedes the sheltering bay. _The Port of Luna, friends, is worth your note_-- So, in his sober moments, Ennius wrote, When, all his dreams of transmigration past, He found himself plain Quintus at the last! 20 Here to repose I give the cheerful day, Careless of what the vulgar think or say; Or what the South, from Afric's burning air, Unfriendly to the fold, may haply bear: And careless still, though richer herbage crown 25 My neighbors' fields, or heavier crops embrown. --Nor, Bassus, though capricious Fortune grace Thus with her smiles a low-bred, low-born race, Will e'er thy friend, for that, let Envy plow, One careful furrow on his open brow; 30 Give crooked age upon his youth to steal, Defraud his table of one generous meal; Or, stooping o'er the dregs of mothery wine, Touch, with suspicious nose, the sacred sign. But inclinations vary:--and the Power 35 That beams, ascendant, on the natal hour, Even Twins produces of discordant souls, And tempers, wide asunder as the poles. The one on birthdays, and on those alone, Prepares (but with a forecast all his own) 40 On tunny-pickle, from the shops, to dine, And dips his withered pot-herbs in the brine; Trembles the pepper from his hands to trust, And sprinkles, grain by grain, the sacred dust. The other, large of soul, exhausts his hoard, 45 While yet a stripling, at the festive board. To USE my fortune, Bassus, I intend: Nor, therefore, deem me so profuse, my friend, So prodigally vain, as to afford The costly turbot for my freedmen's board; 50 Or so expert in flavors, as to show How, by the relish, thrush from thrush I know. "Live to your means"--'tis wisdom's voice you hear-- And freely grind the produce of the year: What scruples check you? Ply the hoe and spade, 55 And lo! another crop is in the blade. True; but the claims of duty caution crave. A friend, scarce rescued from the Ionian wave, Grasps a projecting rock, while in the deep His treasures, with his prayers, unheeded sleep: 60 I see him stretched, desponding, on the ground. His tutelary gods all wrecked around, His bark dispersed in fragments o'er the tide, And sea-mews sporting on the ruins wide. Sell, then, a pittance ('tis my prompt advice) 65 Of this your land, and send your friend the price; Lest, with a pictured storm, forlorn and poor, He ask cheap charity from door to door. "But then, my angry heir, displeased to find His prospects lessened by an act so kind, 70 May slight my obsequies; and, in return, Give my cold ashes to a scentless urn; Reckless what vapid drugs he flings thereon, Adulterate cassia, or dead cinnamon!-- Can I (bethink in time) my means impair, 75 And with impunity provoke my heir?" --Here Bestius rails--"A plague on Greece," he cries, "And all her pedants!--there the evil lies; For since their mawkish, their enervate lore, With dates and pepper, cursed our luckless shore, 80 Luxury has tainted all; and plowmen spoil Their wholesome barley-broth with luscious oil." Heavens! can you stretch (to fears like these a slave) Your fond solicitude beyond the grave? Away!--But thou, my heir, whoe'er thou art, 85 Step from the crowd, and let us talk apart. Hearest thou the news? Cæsar has won the day (So, from the camp, his laureled missives say), And Germany is ours! The city wakes, And from her altars the cold ashes shakes.-- 90 Lo! from the imperial spoils, Cæsonia brings Arms, and the martial robes of conquered kings, To deck the temples; while, on either hand, Chariots of war and bulky captives stand In long array. I, too, my joy to prove, 95 Will to the emperor's Genius, and to Jove, Devote, in gratitude for deeds so rare, Two hundred well-matched fencers, pair by pair. Who blames--who ventures to forbid me? You? Woe to your future prospects! if you do. 100 --And, sir, not this alone; for I have vowed A supplemental largess to the crowd, Of corn and oil. What! muttering still? draw near, And speak aloud, for once, that I may hear. "My means are not so low that I should care 105 For that poor pittance you may leave your heir." Just as you please: but were I, sir, bereft Of all my kin; no aunt, no uncle left; No nephew, niece; were all my cousins gone, And all my cousins' cousins, every one, 110 Aricia soon some Manius would supply, Well pleased to take that "pittance," when I die. "Manius! a beggar of the first degree, A son of earth, your heir!" Nay, question me, Ask who my grandsire's sire? I know not well, 115 And yet, on recollection, I might tell; But urge me one step farther--I am mute: A son of earth, like Manius, past dispute. Thus his descent and mine are equal proved, And we at last are cousins, though removed. 120 But why should you, who still before me run, Require my torch ere yet the race be won? Think me your Mercury: Lo! here I stand, As painters represent him, purse in hand: Will you, or not, the proffered boon receive, 125 And take, with thankfulness, whate'er I leave? Something, you murmur, of the heap is spent. True: as occasion called it freely went; In life 'twas mine: but death your chance secures, And what remains, or more or less, is yours. 130 Of Tadius' legacy no questions raise, Nor turn upon me with a grandsire-phrase, "Live on the interest of your fortune, boy; To touch the principal is to destroy." "What, after all, may I expect to have?" 135 _Expect!_--Pour oil upon my viands, slave, Pour with unsparing hand! shall my best cheer On high and solemn days be the singed ear Of some tough, smoke-dried hog, with nettles drest; That your descendant, while in earth I rest, 140 May gorge on dainties, and, when lust excites, Give to patrician beds his wasteful nights? Shall I, a napless figure, pale and thin, Glide by, transparent, in a parchment skin, That he may strut with more than priestly pride, 145 And swag his portly paunch from side to side? Go, truck your soul for gain! buy, sell, exchange; From pole to pole in quest of profit range. Let none more shrewdly play the factor's part; None bring his slaves more timely to the mart; 150 Puff them with happier skill, as caged they stand, Or clap their well-fed sides with nicer hand. Double your fortune--treble it--yet more-- 'Tis four, six, ten-fold what it was before: O bound the heap--You, who could yours confine, 155 Tell me, Chrysippus, how to limit mine!

THE END.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Added missing footnote anchors, e. g. p. 21.

Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors.

Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

Enclosed distinctive font in ~tildes~.