No More Learning

What to the minor thieves, who, missing these,
Abrade the gilded thighs of Hercules, 205
Strip Neptune of his silvery beard, and peel
Castor's leaf gold, where spread from head to heel?
Or what to those, who, with pernicious craft,
Mingle and set to sale the deadly draught;
Or those, who in a raw ox-hide are bound, 210
And, with an ill-starred ape, poor sufferer! drowned?
Yet these--how small a portion of the crimes,
That stain the records of those dreadful times,
And Gallicus, the city præfect, hears,
From light's first dawning, till it disappears! 215
The state of morals would you learn at Rome?
No farther seek than his judicial dome:
Give one short morning to the horrors there,
And then complain, then murmur, if you dare!
Say, whom do goitres on the Alps surprise? 220
In Meroë, whom the breast's enormous size?
Whom locks, in Germany, of golden hue,
And spiral curls, and eyes of sapphire blue?
None; for the prodigy, among them shared,
Becomes mere nature, and escapes regard. 225
When clouds of Thracian birds obscure the sky,
To arms! to arms! the desperate Pigmies cry:
But soon, defeated in the unequal fray,
Disordered flee; while, pouncing on their prey,
The victor cranes descend, and, clamoring, bear 230
The wriggling manikins aloft in air.
Here, could our climes to such a scene give birth,
We all should burst with agonies of mirth;
There, unsurprised, they view the frequent fight,
Nor smile at heroes scarce a foot in height. 235
"Shall then no ill the perjured head attend,
No punishment o'ertake this faithless friend? "
Suppose him seized, abandoned to your will,
What more would rage? to torture or to kill;
Yet still your loss, your injury would remain, 240
And draw no retribution from his pain.
"True,; but methinks the smallest drop of blood,
Squeezed from his mangled limbs, would do me good:
Revenge, THEY SAY, and I believe their words,
A pleasure sweeter far than life affords. " 245
WHO SAY? the fools, whose passions, prone to ire,
At slightest causes, or at none take fire;
Whose boiling breasts, at every turn, o'erflow
With rancorous gall: Chrysippus SAID not so;
Nor Thales, to our frailties clement still; 250
Nor that old man, by sweet Hymettus' hill,
Who drank the poison with unruffled soul,
And dying, from his foes withheld the bowl.
Divine philosophy! by whose pure light
We first distinguish, then pursue the right, 255
Thy power the breast from every error frees,
And weeds out all its vices by degrees:--
Illumined by thy beam, revenge we find, }
The abject pleasure of an abject mind, }
And hence so dear to poor, weak, womankind. } 260
But why are those, Calvinus, thought to scape
Unpunished, whom, in every fearful shape,
Guilt still alarms, and conscience, ne'er asleep,
Wounds with incessant strokes, "not loud but deep,"
While the vexed mind, her own tormentor, plies 265
A scorpion scourge, unmarked by human eyes!
Trust me, no tortures which the poets feign,
Can match the fierce, the unutterable pain
He feels, who night and day, devoid of rest,
Carries his own accuser in his breast. 270
A Spartan once the Oracle besought
To solve a scruple which perplexed his thought,
And plainly tell him, if he might forswear
A purse, of old confided to his care.
Incensed, the priestess answered--"Waverer, no! 275
Nor shalt thou, for the doubt, unpunished go. "
With that, he hastened to restore the trust;
But fear alone, not virtue, made him just:
Hence, he soon proved the Oracle divine,
And all the answer worthy of the shrine; 280
For plagues pursued his race without delay,
And swept them from the earth, like dust, away.
By such dire sufferings did the wretch atone
The crime of meditated fraud alone!
For, IN THE EYE OF HEAVEN, a wicked deed 285
Devised, is done: What, then, if we proceed? --
Perpetual fears the offender's peace destroy,
And rob the social hour of all its joy:
Feverish, and parched, he chews, with many a pause,
The tasteless food, that swells beneath his jaws: 290
Spits out the produce of the Albanian hill,
Mellowed by age;--you bring him mellower still,
And lo, such wrinkles on his brow appear,
As if you brought Falernian vinegar!
At night, should sleep his harassed limbs compose, 295
And steal him one short moment from his woes,
Then dreams invade; sudden, before his eyes
The violated fane and altar rise;
And (what disturbs him most) your injured shade,
In more than mortal majesty arrayed, 300
Frowns on the wretch, alarms his treacherous rest,
And wrings the dreadful secret from his breast.
These, these are they, who tremble and turn pale
At the first mutterings of the hollow gale! 305
Who sink with terror at the transient glare
Of meteors, glancing through the turbid air!
Oh, 'tis not chance, they cry; this hideous crash
Is not the war of winds; nor this dread flash
The encounter of dark clouds; but blasting fire,
Charged with the wrath of heaven's insulted sire! 310
That dreaded peal, innoxious, dies away;
Shuddering, they wait the next with more dismay,
As if the short reprieve were only sent
To add new horrors to their punishment.
Yet more; when the first symptoms of disease, 315
When feverish heats, their restless members seize,
They think the plague by wrath divine bestowed,
And feel, in every pang, the avenging God.
Racked at the thought, in hopeless grief they lie,
And dare not tempt the mercy of the sky: 320
For what can such expect! what victim slay,
That is not worthier far to live than they!
With what a rapid change of fancy roll
The varying passions of the guilty soul! --
Bold to offend, they scarce commit the offense, 325
Ere the mind labors with an innate sense
Of right and wrong;--not long, for nature still,
Incapable of change, and fixed in ill,
Recurs to her old habits:--never yet
Could sinner to his sin a period set. 330
When did the flush of modest blood inflame
The cheek, once hardened to the sense of shame?
Or when the offender, since the birth of time,
Retire, contented with a single crime?
And this false friend of ours shall still pursue 335
His dangerous course, till vengeance, doubly due,
O'ertake his guilt; then shalt thou see him cast
In chains, 'mid tortures to expire his last;
Or hurried off, to join the wretched train
Of exiled great ones in the Ægean main. 340
THIS, THOU SHALT SEE; and, while thy voice applauds
The dreadful justice of the offended gods,
Reform thy creed, and, with an humble mind,
Confess that Heaven is NEITHER DEAF NOR BLIND!


SATIRE XIV.

TO FUSCINUS.

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


SATIRE XV.

TO VOLUSIUS BITHYNICUS.

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


SATIRE XVI.

TO GALLUS.

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




PERSIUS.


PROLOGUE.

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


SATIRE I.

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


SATIRE II.

TO PLOTIUS MACRINUS (ON HIS BIRTHDAY).

Health to my friend! and while my vows I pay,
O mark, Macrinus, this auspicious day,
Which, to your sum of years already flown,
Adds yet another--with a whiter stone.
Indulge your Genius, drench in wine your cares:-- 5
It is not yours, with mercenary prayers
To ask of Heaven what you would die with shame,
Unless you drew the gods aside, to name;
While other great ones stand, with down-cast eyes,
And with a silent censer tempt the skies! -- 10
Hard, hard the task, from the low, muttered prayer,
To free the fanes; or find one suppliant there,
Who dares to ask but what his state requires,
And live to heaven and earth with known desires!
Sound sense, integrity, a conscience clear, 15
Are begged aloud, that all at hand may hear:
But prayers like these (half whispered, half supprest)
The tongue scarce hazards from the conscious breast:
_O that I could my rich old uncle see,_
_In funeral pomp! --O that some deity 20_
_To pots of buried gold would guide my share! _
_O that my ward, whom I succeed as heir,_
_Were once at rest! poor child, he lives in pain,_
_And death to him must be accounted gain. --_
_By wedlock, thrice has Nerius swelled his store, 25_
_And now--is he a widower once more!