No More Learning

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?