No More Learning

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.