No More Learning

Note XI.

_Mænas and Atys. _--P. 214.

Poems on the Mænades, who were priestesses of Bacchus; and of Atys, who
made himself an eunuch to attend on the sacrifices of Cybele, called
Berecynthia by the poets. She was mother of the gods.


Note XII.

_Two painted serpents shall on high appear. _--P. 215.

Two snakes, twined with each other, were painted on the walls, by the
ancients, to show the place was holy.


Note XIII.

_Old Lucilius. _--P. 215.

Lucilius wrote long before Horace, who imitates his manner of satire,
but far excels him in the design.


Note XIV.

_King Midas has a snout, and asses ears. _--P. 215.

The story is vulgar, that Midas, king of Phrygia, was made judge
betwixt Apollo and Pan, who was the best musician: he gave the prize
to Pan; and Apollo, in revenge, gave him asses ears. He wore his hair
long to hide them; but his barber discovering them, and not daring to
divulge the secret, dug a hole in the ground, and whispered into it:
the place was marshy; and, when the reeds grew up, they repeated the
words which were spoken by the barber. By Midas, the poet meant Nero.


Note XV.


_Who dares, with angry Eupolis, to frown;
He who, with bold Cratinus, is inspired
With zeal. _--P. 215.

Eupolis and Cratinus, as also Aristophanes, mentioned afterwards, were
all Athenian poets; who wrote that sort of comedy which was called the
Old Comedy, where the people were named who were satirized by those
authors.


Note XVI.

_Who fortune's fault upon the poor can throw. _--P. 216.

The people of Rome, in the time of Persius, were apt to scorn the
Grecian philosophers, particularly the Cynics and Stoics, who were the
poorest of them.


Note XVII.

_Who counts geometry, and numbers toys,
And with his foot the sacred dust destroys. _--P. 216.

Arithmetic and geometry were taught on floors, which were strewed with
dust, or sand; in which the numbers and diagrams were made and drawn,
which they might strike out at pleasure.




THE

SECOND SATIRE

OF

PERSIUS.

DEDICATED TO HIS FRIEND

PLOTIUS MACRINUS,

ON HIS BIRTH-DAY.


THE ARGUMENT.

_This Satire contains a most grave and philosophical argument,
concerning prayers and wishes. Undoubtedly it gave
occasion to Juvenal's tenth satire; and both of them had
their original from one of Plato's dialogues, called the
"Second Alcibiades. " Our author has induced it with great
mystery of art, by taking his rise from the birth-day of
his friend; on which occasions, prayers were made, and
sacrifices offered by the native. Persius, commending,
first, the purity of his friend's vows, descends to the
impious and immoral requests of others. The satire is
divided into three parts. The first is the exordium to
Macrinus, which the poet confines within the compass of
four verses: the second relates to the matter of the prayers
and vows, and an enumeration of those things, wherein
men commonly sinned against right reason, and offended
in their requests: the third part consists in showing
the repugnances of those prayers and wishes, to those of
other men, and inconsistencies with themselves. He shows
the original of these vows, and sharply inveighs against
them; and, lastly, not only corrects the false opinion of
mankind concerning them, but gives the true doctrine of
all addresses made to heaven, and how they may be made
acceptable to the powers above, in excellent precepts, and
more worthy of a Christian than a Heathen. _


Let this auspicious morning be exprest
With a white stone,[195] distinguished from the rest,
White as thy fame, and as thy honour clear,
And let new joys attend on thy new added year.
Indulge thy genius, and o'erflow thy soul,
Till thy wit sparkle, like the cheerful bowl.
Pray; for thy prayers the test of heaven will bear,
Nor need'st thou take the gods aside to hear;
While others, even the mighty men of Rome,
Big swelled with mischief, to the temples come,
And in low murmurs, and with costly smoke,
Heaven's help to prosper their black vows, invoke:
So boldly to the gods mankind reveal
What from each other they, for shame, conceal.
Give me good fame, ye powers, and make me just;
Thus much the rogue to public ears will trust:
In private then,--When wilt thou, mighty Jove;
My wealthy uncle from this world remove?
Or, O thou Thunderer's son, great Hercules,
That once thy bounteous deity would please
To guide my rake upon the chinking sound
Of some vast treasure, hidden under ground! [196]
O were my pupil fairly knocked o' the head,
I should possess the estate if he were dead!
He's so far gone with rickets, and with the evil,
That one small dose would send him to the devil.
This is my neighbour Nerius his third spouse,
Of whom in happy time he rids his house;
But my eternal wife! --Grant, heaven, I may
Survive to see the fellow of this day!
Thus, that thou may'st the better bring about
Thy wishes, thou art wickedly devout;
In Tyber ducking thrice, by break of day,
To wash the obscenities of night away. [197]
But, pr'ythee, tell me, ('tis a small request,)
With what ill thoughts of Jove art thou possest?
Wouldst thou prefer him to some man? Suppose
I dipped among the worst, and Staius chose?
Which of the two would thy wise head declare
The trustier tutor to an orphan heir?
Or, put it thus:--Unfold to Staius, straight,
What to Jove's ear thou didst impart of late:
He'll stare, and O, good Jupiter! will cry,
Canst thou indulge him in this villainy?
And think'st thou Jove himself with patience then
Can hear a prayer condemned by wicked men?
That, void of care, he lolls supine in state,
And leaves his business to be done by fate,
Because his thunder splits some burly tree,
And is not darted at thy house and thee;
Or that his vengeance falls not at the time,
Just at the perpetration of thy crime,
And makes thee a sad object of our eyes,
Fit for Ergenna's prayer and sacrifice? [198]
What well-fed offering to appease the God,
What powerful present to procure a nod,
Hast thou in store? What bribe hast thou prepared,
To pull him, thus unpunished, by the beard?
Our superstitions with our life begin;[199]
The obscene old grandam, or the next of kin,
The new-born infant from the cradle takes,
And, first, of spittle a lustration makes;
Then in the spawl her middle-finger dips,
Anoints the temples, forehead, and the lips,
Pretending force of magic to prevent,
By virtue of her nasty excrement;
Then dandles him with many a muttered prayer,
That heaven would make him some rich miser's heir,
Lucky to ladies, and in time a king;
Which to ensure, she adds a length of navel-string.
But no fond nurse is fit to make a prayer,
And Jove, if Jove be wise, will never hear;
Not though she prays in white, with lifted hands.
A body made of brass the crone demands
For her loved nursling, strung with nerves of wire,
Tough to the last, and with no toil to tire;
Unconscionable vows, which, when we use,
We teach the gods, in reason, to refuse.
Suppose they were indulgent to thy wish,
Yet the fat entrails in the spacious dish
Would stop the grant; the very over-care
And nauseous pomp, would hinder half the prayer.
Thou hop'st with sacrifice of oxen slain
To compass wealth, and bribe the god of gain
To give thee flocks and herds, with large increase;
Fool! to expect them from a bullock's grease!
And think'st that when the fattened flames aspire,
Thou see'st the accomplishment of thy desire!
Now, now, my bearded harvest gilds the plain, }
The scanty folds can scarce my sheep contain, }
And showers of gold come pouring in amain! }
Thus dreams the wretch, and vainly thus dreams on,
Till his lank purse declares his money gone.
Should I present them with rare figured plate,
Or gold as rich in workmanship as weight;
O how thy rising heart would throb and beat,
And thy left side, with trembling pleasure, sweat!
Thou measur'st by thyself the powers divine;
Thy gods are burnished gold, and silver is their shrine.
The puny godlings of inferior race,
Whose humble statues are content with brass,
Should some of these, in visions purged from phlegm,
Foretel events, or in a morning dream;[200]
Even those thou would'st in veneration hold,
And, if not faces, give them beards of gold.
The priests in temples now no longer care
For Saturn's brass,[201] or Numa's earthen ware;[202]
Or vestal urns, in each religious rite;
This wicked gold has put them all to flight.
O souls, in whom no heavenly fire is found,
Fat minds, and ever grovelling on the ground!
We bring our manners to the blest abodes,
And think what pleases us must please the gods.
Of oil and cassia one the ingredients takes,
And, of the mixture, a rich ointment makes;
Another finds the way to dye in grain,
And makes Calabrian wool[203] receive the Tyrian stain;
Or from the shells their orient treasure takes,
Or for their golden ore in rivers rakes,
Then melts the mass. All these are vanities,
Yet still some profit from their pains may rise:
But tell me, priest, if I may be so bold,
What are the gods the better for this gold?
The wretch, that offers from his wealthy store
These presents, bribes the powers to give him more;
As maids to Venus offer baby-toys,[204]
To bless the marriage-bed with girls and boys.
But let us for the gods a gift prepare,
Which the great man's great chargers cannot bear;
A soul, where laws, both human and divine,
In practice more than speculation shine;
A genuine virtue, of a vigorous kind,
Pure in the last recesses of the mind:
When with such offerings to the gods I come,
A cake, thus given, is worth a hecatomb. [205]

FOOTNOTES:

[195] Note I.

[196] Note II.

[197] Note III.

[198] Note IV.

[199] Note V.

[200] Note VI.

[201] Note VII.

[202] Note VIII.

[203] Note IX.

[204] Note X.

[205] Note XI.




NOTES

ON

TRANSLATIONS FROM PERSIUS.

SATIRE II.


Note I.

_Let this auspicious morning be exprest
With a white stone. _----P. 222.

The Romans were used to mark their fortunate days, or any thing that
luckily befel them, with a white stone, which they had from the island
Creta, and their unfortunate with a coal.


Note II.

----_Great Hercules,
That once thy bounteous deity would please
To guide my rake upon the chinking sound
Of some vast treasure, hidden under ground. _--P. 222.

Hercules was thought to have the key and power of bestowing all hidden
treasure.


Note III.

_In Tyber ducking thrice, by break of day,
To wash the obscenities of night away. _--P. 223.

The ancients thought themselves tainted and polluted by night itself,
as well as bad dreams in the night; and therefore purified themselves
by washing their heads and hands every morning, which custom the Turks
observe to this day.


Note IV.

_Fit for Ergenna's prayer and sacrifice_. --P. 223.

When any one was thunderstruck, the soothsayer (who is here called
Ergenna) immediately repaired to the place, to expiate the displeasure
of the gods, by sacrificing two sheep.


Note V.

_Our superstitions with our life begin_. --P. 223.

The poet laughs at the superstitious ceremonies which the old women
made use of in their lustration, or purification days, when they named
their children, which was done on the eighth day to females, and on the
ninth to males.


Note VI.

_Should some of these, in visions purged from phlegm,
Foretel events, or in a morning dream. _--P. 225.

It was the opinion both of Grecians and Romans, that the gods, in
visions and dreams, often revealed to their favourites a cure for
their diseases, and sometimes those of others. Thus Alexander dreamed
of an herb which cured Ptolemy. These gods were principally Apollo
and Esculapius; but, in aftertimes, the same virtue and good-will was
attributed to Isis and Osiris. Which brings to my remembrance an odd
passage in Sir Thomas Brown's Religio Medici, or in his Vulgar Errors;
the sense whereof is, that we are beholden, for many of our discoveries
in physic, to the courteous revelation of spirits. By the expression,
of "visions purged from phlegm," our author means such dreams or
visions as proceed not from natural causes, or humours of the body, but
such as are sent from heaven; and are, therefore, certain remedies.


Note VII.

_The priests in temples, now no longer care
For Saturn's brass. _--P. 225.

Brazen vessels, in which the public treasures of the Romans were kept:
it may be the poet means only old vessels, which were called #Kronia#,
from the Greek name of Saturn. Note also, that the Roman treasury was
in the temple of Saturn.


Note VIII.

----_Or Numa's earthen ware. _--P. 225.

Under Numa, the second king of Rome, and for a long time after him,
the holy vessels for sacrifice were of earthen-ware; according to the
superstitious rites which were introduced by the same Numa: though
afterwards, when Memmius had taken Corinth, and Paulus Emilius had
conquered Macedonia, luxury began amongst the Romans, and then their
utensils of devotion were of gold and silver, &c.


Note IX.

_And makes Calabrian wool, &c. _--P. 225.

The wool of Calabria was of the finest sort in Italy, as Juvenal also
tells us. The Tyrian stain is the purple colour dyed at Tyrus; and I
suppose, but dare not positively affirm, that the richest of that dye
was nearest our crimson, and not scarlet, or that other colour more
approaching to the blue. I have not room to justify my conjecture.


Note X.

_As maids to Venus offer baby-toys. _--P. 225.

Those baby-toys were little babies, or poppets, as we call them; in
Latin, pupæ; which the girls, when they came to the age of puberty, or
child bearing, offered to Venus; as the boys, at fourteen or fifteen,
offered their _bullæ_, or bosses.


Note XI.

_A cake, thus given, is worth a hecatomb. _--P. 226.

A cake of barley, or coarse wheat-meal, with the bran in it. The
meaning is, that God is pleased with the pure and spotless heart of
the offerer, and not with the riches of the offering. Laberius, in the
fragments of his "Mimes," has a verse like this--_Puras, Deus, non
plenas aspicit manus_. --What I had forgotten before, in its due place,
I must here tell the reader, that the first half of this satire was
translated by one of my sons, now in Italy; but I thought so well of
it, that I let it pass without any alteration.




THE

THIRD SATIRE

OF

PERSIUS.


THE ARGUMENT.

_Our author has made two Satires concerning study, the first
and the third: the first related to men; this to young
students, whom he desired to be educated in the Stoic
philosophy. He himself sustains the person of the master,
or preceptor, in this admirable Satire, where he upbraids
the youth of sloth, and negligence in learning. Yet he
begins with one scholar reproaching his fellow-students
with late rising to their books. After which, he takes
upon him the other part of the teacher; and, addressing
himself particularly to young noblemen, tells them, that,
by reason of their high birth, and the great possessions
of their fathers, they are careless of adorning their
minds with precepts of moral philosophy: and, withal,
inculcates to them the miseries which will attend them
in the whole course of their life, if they do not apply
themselves betimes to the knowledge of virtue, and the end
of their creation, which he pathetically insinuates to them.
The title of this satire, in some ancient manuscripts,
was, "the Reproach of Idleness;" though in others of the
scholiasts it is inscribed, "Against the Luxury and Vices
of the Rich. " In both of which, the intention of the poet
is pursued, but principally in the former. _

[I remember I translated this satire when I was a king's
scholar at Westminster school, for a Thursday-night's
exercise; and believe, that it, and many other of my
exercises of this nature in English verse, are still in the
hands of my learned master, the Rev. Dr Busby. ]


Is this thy daily course? The glaring sun }
Breaks in at every chink; the cattle run }
To shades, and noon-tide rays of summer shun; }
Yet plunged in sloth we lie, and snore supine,
As filled with fumes of undigested wine.
This grave advice some sober student bears,
And loudly rings it in his fellow's ears.
The yawning youth, scarce half awake, essays
His lazy limbs and dozy head to raise;
Then rubs his gummy eyes, and scrubs his pate,
And cries,--I thought it had not been so late!
My clothes, make haste! --why then, if none be near,
He mutters, first, and then begins to swear;
And brays aloud, with a more clamorous note,
Than an Arcadian ass can stretch his throat.
With much ado, his book before him laid,
And parchment with the smoother side displayed,[206]
He takes the papers; lays them down again,
And with unwilling fingers tries the pen.
Some peevish quarrel straight he strives to pick,
His quill writes double, or his ink's too thick;
Infuse more water,--now 'tis grown so thin,
It sinks, nor can the characters be seen.
O wretch, and still more wretched every day!
Are mortals born to sleep their lives away?
Go back to what thy infancy began,
Thou, who wert never meant to be a man;
Eat pap and spoon-meat, for thy gewgaws cry;
Be sullen, and refuse the lullaby.
No more accuse thy pen; but charge the crime
On native sloth, and negligence of time.
Think'st thou thy master, or thy friends, to cheat?
Fool, 'tis thyself, and that's a worse deceit.
Beware the public laughter of the town;
Thou spring'st a leak already in thy crown;
A flaw is in thy ill-baked vessel found;
'Tis hollow, and returns a jarring sound.
Yet thy moist clay is pliant to command,
Unwrought, and easy to the potter's hand:
Now take the mould; now bend thy mind to feel
The first sharp motions of the forming wheel.
But thou hast land; a country seat, secure
By a just title; costly furniture;
A fuming pan thy Lares to appease:[207]
What need of learning when a man's at ease?
If this be not enough to swell thy soul,
Then please thy pride, and search the herald's roll,
Where thou shalt find thy famous pedigree }
Drawn from the root of some old Tuscan tree,[208] }
And thou, a thousand off, a fool of long degree; }
Who, clad in purple, can'st thy censor greet,[209]
And loudly call him cousin in the street.
Such pageantry be to the people shown:
There boast thy horse's trappings, and thy own.
I know thee to thy bottom, from within
Thy shallow centre, to the utmost skin:
Dost thou not blush to live so like a beast,
So trim, so dissolute, so loosely drest?
But 'tis in vain; the wretch is drenched too deep,
His soul is stupid, and his heart asleep;
Fattened in vice, so callous, and so gross,
He sins, and sees not, senseless of his loss.
Down goes the wretch at once, unskilled to swim,
Hopeless to bubble up, and reach the water's brim.
Great father of the gods, when for our crimes
Thou send'st some heavy judgment on the times;
Some tyrant-king, the terror of his age,
The type, and true vicegerent of thy rage;
Thus punish him: set virtue in his sight,
With all her charms, adorned with all her graces bright;
But set her distant, make him pale to see
His gains outweighed by lost felicity!
Sicilian tortures, and the brazen bull,[210]
Are emblems, rather than express the full
Of what he feels; yet what he fears is more:
The wretch, who, sitting at his plenteous board,
Looked up, and viewed on high the pointed sword
Hang o'er his head, and hanging by a twine,
Did with less dread, and more securely dine. [211]
Even in his sleep he starts, and fears the knife,
And, trembling, in his arms takes his accomplice wife;
Down, down he goes; and from his darling friend
Conceals the woes his guilty dreams portend.
When I was young, I, like a lazy fool,
Would blear my eyes with oil, to stay from school:
Averse from pains, and loth to learn the part
Of Cato, dying with a dauntless heart;
Though much my master that stern virtue praised,
Which o'er the vanquisher the vanquished raised;
And my pleased father came with pride to see
His boy defend the Roman liberty.
But then my study was to cog the dice,
And dexterously to throw the lucky sice;
To shun ames-ace, that swept my stakes away, }
And watch the box, for fear they should convey }
False bones, and put upon me in the play; }
Careful, besides, the whirling top to whip,
And drive her giddy, till she fell asleep.
Thy years are ripe, nor art thou yet to learn
What's good or ill, and both their ends discern:
Thou in the Stoic-porch,[212] severely bred,
Hast heard the dogmas of great Zeno read;
Where on the walls, by Polygnotus' hand,
The conquered Medians in trunk-breeches stand;[213]
Where the shorn youth to midnight lectures rise,
Roused from their slumbers to be early wise;
Where the coarse cake, and homely husks of beans,
From pampering riot the young stomach weans;
And where the Samian Y directs thy steps to run
To Virtue's narrow steep, and broad-way Vice to shun. [214]
And yet thou snor'st, thou draw'st thy drunken breath,
Sour with debauch, and sleep'st the sleep of death:
Thy chaps are fallen, and thy frame disjoined;
Thy body is dissolved as is thy mind.
Hast thou not yet proposed some certain end,
To which thy life, thy every act, may tend?
Hast thou no mark, at which to bend thy bow?
Or, like a boy, pursuest the carrion crow
With pellets, and with stones, from tree to tree,
A fruitless toil, and livest _extempore_?
Watch the disease in time; for when within
The dropsy rages, and extends the skin,
In vain for hellebore the patient cries,
And fees the doctor, but too late is wise;
Too late, for cure he proffers half his wealth;
Conquest and Guibbons[215] cannot give him health.
Learn, wretches, learn the motions of the mind, }
Why you were made, for what you were designed, }
And the great moral end of human kind. }
Study thyself, what rank, or what degree,
The wise Creator has ordained for thee;
And all the offices of that estate
Perform, and with thy prudence guide thy fate.
Pray justly to be heard, nor more desire
Than what the decencies of life require.
Learn what thou owest thy country, and thy friend;
What's requisite to spare, and what to spend:
Learn this; and after, envy not the store
Of the greased advocate, that grinds the poor;
Fat fees[216] from the defended Umbrian draws,
And only gains the wealthy client's cause;
To whom the Marsians more provision send,
Than he and all his family can spend.
Gammons, that give a relish to the taste,
And potted fowl, and fish come in so fast,
That ere the first is out, the second stinks,
And mouldy mother gathers on the brinks.
But here some captain of the land, or fleet,
Stout of his hands, but of a soldier's wit,
Cries,--I have sense to serve my turn in store,
And he's a rascal who pretends to more.
Damn me, whate'er those book-learned blockheads say,
Solon's the veriest fool in all the play.
Top-heavy drones, and always looking down,
(As over ballasted within the crown,)
Muttering betwixt their lips some mystic thing,
Which, well examined, is flat conjuring;
Mere madmen's dreams; for what the schools have taught, }
Is only this, that nothing can be brought }
From nothing, and what is can ne'er be turned to nought. }
Is it for this they study? to grow pale,
And miss the pleasures of a glorious meal?
For this, in rags accoutered, are they seen,
And made the may-game of the public spleen? --
Proceed, my friend, and rail; but hear me tell
A story, which is just thy parallel:--
A spark, like thee, of the man-killing trade,
Fell sick, and thus to his physician said,--
Methinks I am not right in every part;
I feel a kind of trembling at my heart,
My pulse unequal, and my breath is strong,
Besides a filthy fur upon my tongue.
The doctor heard him, exercised his skill,
And after bade him for four days be still.
Three days he took good counsel, and began
To mend, and look like a recovering man;
The fourth he could not hold from drink, but sends
His boy to one of his old trusty friends,
Adjuring him, by all the powers divine, }
To pity his distress, who could not dine }
Without a flaggon of his healing wine. }
He drinks a swilling draught; and, lined within,
Will supple in the bath his outward skin:
Whom should he find but his physician there,
Who wisely bade him once again beware.
Sir, you look wan, you hardly draw your breath;
Drinking is dangerous, and the bath is death.
'Tis nothing, says the fool; but, says the friend,
This nothing, sir, will bring you to your end.
Do I not see your dropsy belly swell?
Your yellow skin? --No more of that; I'm well.
I have already buried two or three }
That stood betwixt a fair estate and me, }
And, doctor, I may live to bury thee. }
Thou tell'st me, I look ill; and thou look'st worse.
I've done, says the physician; take your course.
The laughing sot, like all unthinking men,
Bathes, and gets drunk; then bathes, and drinks again:
His throat half throttled with corrupted phlegm,
And breathing through his jaws a belching steam,
Amidst his cups with fainting shivering seized,
His limbs disjointed, and all o'er diseased,
His hand refuses to sustain the bowl, }
And his teeth chatter, and his eye-balls roll, }
Till with his meat he vomits out his soul; }
Then trumpets, torches, and a tedious crew
Of hireling mourners, for his funeral due.
Our dear departed brother lies in state, }
His heels stretched out, and pointing to the gate;[217] }
And slaves, now manumized, on their dead master wait. }
They hoist him on the bier, and deal the dole,
And there's an end of a luxurious fool.
But what's thy fulsome parable to me?
My body is from all diseases free;
My temperate pulse does regularly beat; }
Feel, and be satisfied, my hands and feet: }
These are not cold, nor those opprest with heat. }
Or lay thy hand upon my naked heart,
And thou shalt find me hale in every part.
I grant this true; but still the deadly wound
Is in thy soul, 'tis there thou art not sound.
Say, when thou see'st a heap of tempting gold,
Or a more tempting harlot dost behold;
Then, when she casts on thee a side-long glance,
Then try thy heart, and tell me if it dance.
Some coarse cold sallad is before thee set; }
Bread with the bran, perhaps, and broken meat; }
Fall on, and try thy appetite to eat. }
These are not dishes for thy dainty tooth:
What, hast thou got an ulcer in thy mouth?
Why stand'st thou picking? Is thy palate sore,
That bete and radishes will make thee roar?
Such is the unequal temper of thy mind,
Thy passions in extremes, and unconfined;
Thy hair so bristles with unmanly fears,
As fields of corn, that rise in bearded ears;
And when thy cheeks with flushing fury glow, }
The rage of boiling cauldrons is more slow, }
When fed with fuel and with flames below. }
With foam upon thy lips and sparkling eyes,
Thou say'st, and dost, in such outrageous wise,
That mad Orestes,[218] if he saw the show,
Would swear thou wert the madder of the two.

FOOTNOTES:

[206] Note I.

[207] Note II.

[208] Note III.

[209] Note IV.

[210] Note V.

[211] Note VI.

[212] Note VII.

[213] Note VIII.

[214] Note IX.

[215] Two learned physicians of the period. Dryden mentions Guibbons
more than once, as a friend.

[216] Note X.

[217] Note XI.

[218] Note XII.




NOTES

ON

TRANSLATIONS FROM PERSIUS.

SATIRE III.


Note I.

_And parchment with the smoother side displayed. _--P. 231.

The students used to write their notes on parchments; the inside,
on which they wrote, was white; the other side was hairy, and
commonly yellow. Quintilian reproves this custom, and advises rather
table-books, lined with wax, and a stile, like that we use in our
vellum table-books, as more easy.


Note II.

_A fuming-pan thy Lares to appease. _--P. 232.

Before eating, it was customary to cut off some part of the meat, which
was first put into a pan, or little dish, then into the fire, as an
offering to the household gods: this they called a Libation.


Note III.

_Drawn from the root of some old Tuscan tree. _--P. 232.

The Tuscans were accounted of most ancient nobility. Horace observes
this in most of his compliments to Mæcenas, who was derived from the
old kings of Tuscany; now the dominion of the Great Duke.


Note IV.

_Who, clad in purple, canst thy censor greet. _--P. 232.

The Roman knights, attired in the robe called _trabea_, were summoned
by the censor to appear before him, and to salute him in passing by, as
their names were called over. They led their horses in their hand. See
more of this in Pompey's Life, written by Plutarch.


Note V.

_Sicilian tortures, and the brazen bull. _--P. 233.

Some of the Sicilian kings were so great tyrants, that the name is
become proverbial. The brazen bull is a known story of Phalaris, one of
those tyrants, who, when Perillus, a famous artist, had presented him
with a bull of that metal hollowed within, which, when the condemned
person was inclosed in it, would render the sound of a bull's roaring,
caused the workman to make the first experiment,--_docuitque suum
mugire juvencum_.


Note VI.

_The wretch, who, sitting at his plenteous board,
Looked up, and viewed on high the pointed sword. _--P. 233.

He alludes to the story of Damocles, a flatterer of one of those
Sicilian tyrants, namely Dionysius. Damocles had infinitely extolled
the happiness of kings: Dionysius, to convince him of the contrary,
invited him to a feast, and clothed him in purple; but caused a sword,
with the point downward, to be hung over his head by a silken twine;
which, when he perceived, he could eat nothing of the delicates that
were set before him.


Note VII.

_Thou in the Stoic-porch, severely bred. _--P. 233.

The Stoics taught their philosophy under a porticus, to secure their
scholars from the weather. Zeno was the chief of that sect.


Note VIII.

_Where on the walls, by Polygnotus' hand,
The conquered Medians in trunk-breeches stand. _--P. 233.

Polygnotus, a famous painter, who drew the pictures of the Medes and
Persians, conquered by Miltiades, Themistocles, and other Athenian
captains, on the walls of the portico, in their natural habits.


Note IX.

_And where the Samian Y directs thy steps to run
To Virtue's narrow steep, and broad-way Vice to shun. _ P. 234.

Pythagoras, of Samos, made the allusion of the Y, or Greek _upsilon_,
to Vice and Virtue. One side of the letter being broad, characters
Vice, to which the ascent is wide and easy; the other side represents
Virtue, to which the passage is strait and difficult; and perhaps
our Saviour might also allude to this, in those noted words of the
evangelist, "The way to heaven," &c.


Note X.

_Fat fees from the defended Umbrian draws. _--P. 235.

Casaubon here notes, that, among all the Romans, who were brought up to
learning, few, besides the orators or lawyers, grew rich.


Note XI.

_His heels stretched out, and pointing to the gate. _ P. 237.

The Romans were buried without the city; for which reason, the poet
says, that the dead man's heels were stretched out towards the gate.


Note XII.

----_Mad Orestes. _--P. 238.

Orestes was son to Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. Agamemnon, at his
return from the Trojan wars, was slain by Ægysthus, the adulterer
of Clytemnestra. Orestes, to revenge his father's death, slew both
Ægysthus and his mother; for which he was punished with madness by the
Eumenides, or Furies, who continually haunted him.




THE

FOURTH SATIRE

OF

PERSIUS.


THE ARGUMENT.

_Our author, living in the time of Nero, was contemporary
and friend to the noble poet Lucan. Both of them were
sufficiently sensible, with all good men, how unskilfully
he managed the commonwealth; and perhaps might guess at
his future tyranny, by some passages, during the latter
part of his first five years; though he broke not out into
his great excesses, while he was restrained by the counsels
and authority of Seneca. Lucan has not spared him in the
poem of his Pharsalia; for his very compliment looked
asquint, as well as Nero. [219] Persius has been bolder,
but with caution likewise. For here, in the person of
young Alcibiades, he arraigns his ambition of meddling
with state-affairs without judgment, or experience. It is
probable, that he makes Seneca, in this satire, sustain
the part of Socrates, under a borrowed name; and, withal,
discovers some secret vices of Nero, concerning his lust,
his drunkenness, find his effeminacy, which had not yet
arrived to public notice. He also reprehends the flattery
of his courtiers, who endeavoured to make all his vices
pass for virtues. Covetousness was undoubtedly none of his
faults; but it is here described as a veil cast over the true
meaning of the poet, which was to satirize his prodigality
and voluptuousness; to which he makes a transition. I find
no instance in history of that emperor's being a Pathic,
though Persius seems to brand him with it. From the two
dialogues of Plato, both called "Alcibiades," the poet
took the arguments of the second and third satires; but he
inverted the order of them, for the third satire is taken
from the first of those dialogues. _

_The commentators before Casaubon were ignorant of our author's
secret meaning; and thought he had only written against
young noblemen in general, who were too forward in aspiring
to public magistracy; but this excellent scholiast has
unravelled the whole mystery, and made it apparent, that
the sting of the satire was particularly aimed at Nero. _


Whoe'er thou art, whose forward years are bent
On state affairs, to guide the government;
Hear first what Socrates[220] of old has said
To the loved youth, whom he at Athens bred.
Tell me, thou pupil to great Pericles,
Our second hope, my Alcibiades,[221]
What are the grounds from whence thou dost prepare
To undertake, so young, so vast a care?
Perhaps thy wit; (a chance not often heard,
That parts and prudence should prevent the beard;)
'Tis seldom seen, that senators so young
Know when to speak, and when to hold their tongue.
Sure thou art born to some peculiar fate,
When the mad people rise against the state,
To look them into duty, and command
An awful silence with thy lifted hand;
Then to bespeak them thus:--Athenians, know
Against right reason all your counsels go;
This is not fair, nor profitable that,
Nor t'other question proper for debate. --
But thou, no doubt, can'st set the business right,
And give each argument its proper weight;
Know'st, with an equal hand, to hold the scale; }
Seest where the reasons pinch, and where they fail, }
And where exceptions o'er the general rule prevail; }
And, taught by inspiration, in a trice,
Can'st punish crimes,[222] and brand offending vice.
Leave, leave to fathom such high points as these,
Nor be ambitious, e'er thy time, to please,
Unseasonably wise; till age and cares
Have formed thy soul to manage great affairs.
Thy face, thy shape, thy outside, are but vain; }
Thou hast not strength such labours to sustain; }
Drink hellebore,[223] my boy; drink deep, and purge thy brain. }
What aim'st thou at, and whither tends thy care, }
In what thy utmost good? Delicious fare; }
And then, to sun thyself in open air. }
Hold, hold; are all thy empty wishes such?
A good old woman would have said as much.
But thou art nobly born: 'tis true; go boast
Thy pedigree, the thing thou valuest most:
Besides, thou art a beau; what's that, my child?
A fop, well drest, extravagant, and wild:
She that cries herbs, has less impertinence,
And in her calling more of common sense.
None, none descends into himself, to find
The secret imperfections of his mind;
But every one is eagle-eyed, to see
Another's faults, and his deformity.
Say, dost thou know Vectidius? [224]--Who? the wretch
Whose lands beyond the Sabines largely stretch;
Cover the country, that a sailing kite
Can scarce o'er fly them in a day and night;
Him dost thou mean, who, spite of all his store,
Is ever craving, and will still be poor?
Who cheats for half-pence, and who doffs his coat,
To save a farthing in a ferry-boat?
Ever a glutton at another's cost,
But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost?
Who eats and drinks with his domestic slaves,
A verier hind than any of his knaves?
Born with the curse and anger of the gods,
And that indulgent genius he defrauds?
At harvest-home, and on the shearing-day,
When he should thanks to Pan and Pales pay,
And better Ceres,[225] trembling to approach
The little barrel, which he fears to broach;
He 'says the wimble, often draws it back,
And deals to thirsty servants but a smack.
To a short meal he makes a tedious grace,
Before the barley-pudding comes in place:
Then bids fall on; himself, for saving charges,
A peeled sliced onion eats, and tipples verjuice. --
Thus fares the drudge: but thou, whose life's a dream
Of lazy pleasures, takest a worse extreme.
'Tis all thy business, business how to shun;
To bask thy naked body in the sun;
Suppling thy stiffened joints with fragrant oil:
Then, in thy spacious garden walk a while,
To suck the moisture up, and soak it in;
And this, thou think'st, but vainly think'st, unseen.
But know, thou art observed; and there are those,
Who, if they durst, would all thy secret sins expose;
The depilation of thy modest part; }
Thy catamite, the darling of thy heart, }
His engine-hand, and every lewder art, }
When, prone to bear, and patient to receive,
Thou tak'st the pleasure which thou canst not give.
With odorous oil thy head and hair are sleek,
And then thou kemb'st the tuzzes on thy cheek;
Of these thy barbers take a costly care,
While thy salt tail is overgrown with hair.
Not all thy pincers, nor unmanly arts,
Can smooth the roughness of thy shameful parts.
Not five, the strongest that the Circus breeds,[226]
From the rank soil can root those wicked weeds,
Though suppled first with soap, to ease thy pain;
The stubborn fern springs up, and sprouts again.
Thus others we with defamations wound,
While they stab us, and so the jest goes round.
Vain are thy hopes, to 'scape censorious eyes;
Truth will appear through all the thin disguise:
Thou hast an ulcer which no leach can heal,
Though thy broad shoulder-belt the wound conceal.
Say thou art sound and hale in every part,
We know, we know thee rotten at thy heart.
We know thee sullen, impotent, and proud:
Nor canst thou cheat thy nerve, who cheat'st the crowd. --
But when they praise me in the neighbourhood,
When the pleased people take me for a god,
Shall I refuse their incense? Not receive
The loud applauses which the vulgar give? --
If thou dost wealth with longing eyes behold,
And greedily art gaping after gold;
If some alluring girl, in gliding by, }
Shall tip the wink, with a lascivious eye, }
And thou, with a consenting glance, reply; }
If thou thy own solicitor become,
And bidst arise the lumpish pendulum;
If thy lewd lust provokes an empty storm,
And prompts to more than nature can perform;
If, with thy guards, thou scour'st the streets by night,
And dost in murders, rapes, and spoils delight;[227]
Please not thyself, the flattering crowd to hear,
'Tis fulsome stuff to feed thy itching ear.
Reject the nauseous praises of the times;
Give thy base poets back their cobled rhimes:
Survey thy soul, not what thou dost appear,
But what thou art, and find the beggar there. [228]

FOOTNOTES:

[219] The compliment, at the opening of the Pharsalia, has been thought
sarcastic. It certainly sounds so in modern ears: if Nero could only
attain empire by civil war, as the gods by that of the giants, then
says the poet,

----_Scelera ipsa nefasque
Hac mercede placent_. ----

[220] Note I.

[221] Note II.

[222] Note III.

[223] Note IV.

[224] Note V.

[225] Note VI.

[226] Note VII.

[227] Note VIII.

[228] Note IX.




NOTES

ON

TRANSLATIONS FROM PERSIUS.

SATIRE IV.


Note I.

_Socrates. _--P. 243.

Socrates, whom the oracle of Delphos praised as the wisest man of
his age, lived in the time of the Peloponnesian war. He, finding the
uncertainty of natural philosophy, applied himself wholly to the moral.
He was master to Xenophon and Plato, and to many of the Athenian young
noblemen; amongst the rest to Alcibiades, the most lovely youth then
living; afterwards a famous captain, whose life is written by Plutarch.