No More Learning

For, what is YOUR chief good? "To heap my board
With every dainty earth and sea afford;
To bathe, and bask me in the sunny ray, 35
And doze the careless hours of life away. "
Hold, hold! you tattered beldame, hobbling by,
If haply asked, would make the same reply.
"But I am nobly born. " Agreed. "And fair. "
'Tis granted too: yet goody Baucis there, 40
Who, to the looser slaves, her pot-herbs cries,
Is just as philosophic, just as wise. --
How few, alas! their proper faults explore!
While, on his loaded back, who walks before,
Each eye is fixed. --You touch a stranger's arm, 45
And ask him if he knows Vectidius' farm?
"Whose," he replies? That rich old chuff's, whose ground
Would tire a hawk to wheel it fairly round.
"O ho! that wretch, on whose devoted head
Ill stars and angry gods their rage have shed! 50
Who on high festivals, when all is glee,
And the loose yoke hangs on the cross-way tree,
As, from the jar, he scrapes the incrusted clay,
Groans o'er the revels of so dear a day;
Champs on a coated onion dipt in brine; 55
And while his hungry hinds exulting dine
On barley broth, sucks up, with thrifty care,
The mothery dregs of his palled vinegar! "
But, if "YOU bask you in the sunny ray,
And doze the careless hours of youth away," 60
There are, who at such gross delights will spurn,
And spit their venom on your life in turn;
Expose, with eager hate, your low desires,
Your secret passions, and unhallowed fires. --
"Why, while the beard is nursed with every art, 65
Those anxious pains to bare the shameful part?
In vain:--should five athletic knaves essay
To pluck, with ceaseless care, the weeds away,
Still the rank fern, congenial to the soil,
Would spread luxuriant, and defeat their toil! " 70
Misled by rage, our bodies we expose,
And while we give, forget to ward, the blows;
This, this is life! and thus our faults are shown,
By mutual spleen: we know--and we are known!
But your defects elude inquiring eyes! -- 75
Beneath the groin the ulcerous evil lies,
Impervious to the view; and o'er the wound
The broad effulgence of the zone is bound!
But can you, thus, the inward pang restrain,
Thus cheat the sense of languor and of pain? 80
"But if the people call me wise and just,
Sure I may take the general voice on trust! "--
No:--If you tremble at the sight of gold;
Indulge lust's wildest sallies uncontrolled;
Or, bent on outrage, at the midnight hour, 85
Girt with a ruffian band, the Forum scour;
Then, wretch! in vain the voice of praise you hear,
And drink the vulgar shout with greedy ear.
Hence, with your spurious claims! Rejudge your cause
And fling the rabble back their vile applause; 90
To your own breast, in quest of worth, repair,
And blush to find how poor a stock is there!


SATIRE V.

TO ANNÆUS CORNUTUS.

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


SATIRE VI.

TO CÆSIUS BASSUS.

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

THE END.




TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES


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

Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
errors.

Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.

Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

Enclosed distinctive font in ~tildes~.





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