The Satires of Juvenal, Persius, Sulpicia, and Lucilius / Literally translated into English prose, with notes, chronological tables, arguments, &c.

by Juvenal; Gaius Lucilius; Persius; Sulpicia

SATIRE IV.

Again Crispinus comes! and yet again,
And oft, shall he be summoned to sustain
His dreadful part:—the monster of the times,
Without ONE virtue to redeem his crimes!
Diseased, emaciate, weak in all but lust, 5
And whom the widow's sweets alone disgust.
Avails it, then, in what long colonnades
He tires his mules? through what extensive glades
His chair is borne? what vast estates he buys,
What splendid domes, that round the Forum rise? 10
Ah! no—Peace visits not the guilty mind,
Least his, who incest to adultery joined,
And stained thy priestess, Vesta;—whom, dire fate!
The long dark night and living tomb await.
Turn we to slighter vices:—yet had these, 15
In others, Seius, Titius, whom you please,
The Censor roused; for what the good would shame,
Becomes Crispinus, and is honest fame.
But when the actor's person far exceeds,
In native loathsomeness, his loathsom'st deeds, 20
Say, what can satire? For a fish that weighed
Six pounds, six thousand sesterces he paid!
As those report, who catch, with greedy ear,
And magnify the mighty things they hear.
Had this expense been meant, with well-timed skill, 25
To gull some childless dotard of a Will;
Or bribe some rich and fashionable fair,
Who flaunts it in a close, wide-windowed chair;
'Twere worth our praise:—but no such plot was here.
'Twas for HIMSELF he bought a treat so dear! 30
This, all past gluttony from shame redeems,
And even Apicius poor and frugal seems.
What! You, Crispinus, brought to Rome, erewhile,
Lapt in the rushes of your native Nile,
Buy scales, at such a price! you might, I guess, 35
Have bought the fisherman himself for less;
Bought, in some countries, manors at this rate,
And, in Apulia, an immense estate!
How gorged the emperor, when so dear a fish,
Yet, of his cheapest meals, the cheapest dish, 40
Was guttled down by this impurpled lord,
Chief knight, chief parasite, at Cæsar's board,
Whom Memphis heard so late, with ceaseless yell,
Clamoring through all her streets—"Ho! shads to sell!"
Pierian Maids, begin;—but, quit your lyres, 45
The fact I bring no lofty chord requires:
Relate it, then, and in the simplest strain,
Nor let the poet style you Maids, in vain.
When the last Flavius, drunk with fury, tore
The prostrate world, which bled at every pore, 50
And Rome beheld, in body as in mind,
A bald-pate Nero rise, to curse mankind;
It chanced, that where the fane of Venus stands,
Reared on Ancona's coast by Grecian hands,
A turbot, wandering from the Illyrian main, 55
Fill'd the wide bosom of the bursting seine.
Monsters so bulky, from its frozen stream,
Mæotis renders to the solar beam,
And pours them, fat with a whole winter's ease,
Through the bleak Euxine, into warmer seas. 60
The mighty draught the astonished boatman eyes,
And to the Pontiff's table dooms his prize:
For who would dare to sell it? who to buy?
When the coast swarmed with many a practiced spy,
Mud-rakers, prompt to swear the fish had fled 65
From Cæsar's ponds, ingrate! where long it fed,
And thus recaptured, claimed to be restored
To the dominion of its ancient lord!
Nay, if Palphurius may our credit gain,
Whatever rare or precious swims the main, 70
Is forfeit to the crown, and you may seize
The obnoxious dainty, when and where you please.
This point allowed, our wary boatman chose
To give—what, else, he had not failed to lose.
Now were the dogstar's sickly fervors o'er, 75
Earth, pinched with cold, her frozen livery wore;
The old began their quartan fits to fear,
And wintry blasts deformed the beauteous year,
And kept the turbot sweet: yet on he flew,
As if the sultry South corruption blew.— 80
And now the lake, and now the hill he gains,
Where Alba, though in ruins, still maintains
The Trojan fire, which, but for her, were lost,
And worships Vesta, though with less of cost.
The wondering crowd, that gathered to survey 85
The enormous fish, and barred the fisher's way,
Satiate, at length retires; the gates unfold!—
Murmuring, the excluded senators behold
The envied dainty enter:—On the man
To great Atrides pressed, and thus began. 90
"This, for a private table far too great,
Accept, and sumptuously your Genius treat:
Haste to unload your stomach, and devour
A turbot, destined to this happy hour.
I sought him not;—he marked the toils I set, 95
And rushed, a willing victim, to my net."
Was flattery e'er so rank! yet he grows vain,
And his crest rises at the fulsome strain.
When, to divine, a mortal power we raise,
He looks for no hyperboles in praise. 100
But when was joy unmixed? no pot is found,
Capacious of the turbot's ample round:
In this distress, he calls the chiefs of state,
At once the objects of his scorn and hate,
In whose pale cheeks distrust and doubt appear, 105
And all a tyrant's friendship breeds of fear.
Scarce was the loud Liburnian heard to say,
"He sits," ere Pegasus was on his way;
Yes:—the new bailiff of the affrighted town,
(For what were Præfects more?) had snatched his gown, 110
And rushed to council: from the ivory chair,
He dealt out justice with no common care;
But yielded oft to those licentious times,
And where he could not punish, winked at crimes.
Then old, facetious Crispus tript along, 115
Of gentle manners, and persuasive tongue:
None fitter to advise the lord of all,
Had that pernicious pest, whom thus we call,
Allowed a friend to soothe his savage mood,
And give him counsel, wise at once and good. 120
But who shall dare this liberty to take,
When, every word you hazard, life's at stake?
Though but of stormy summers, showery springs—
For tyrants' ears, alas! are ticklish things.
So did the good old man his tongue restrain; 125
Nor strove to stem the torrent's force in vain.
Not one of those, who, by no fears deterred,
Spoke the free soul, and truth to life preferred.
He temporized—thus fourscore summers fled,
Even in that court, securely, o'er his head. 130
Next him, appeared Acilius hurrying on,
Of equal age—and followed by his son;
Who fell, unjustly fell, in early years,
A victim to the tyrant's jealous fears:
But long ere this were hoary hairs become 135
A prodigy, among the great, at Rome;
Hence, had I rather owe my humble birth,
Frail brother of the giant-brood, to earth.
Poor youth! in vain the ancient sleight you try;
In vain, with frantic air, and ardent eye, 140
Fling every robe aside, and battle wage
With bears and lions, on the Alban stage.
All see the trick: and, spite of Brutus' skill,
There are who count him but a driveler still;
Since, in his days, it cost no mighty pains 145
To outwit a prince, with much more beard than brains.
Rubrius, though not, like these, of noble race,
Followed with equal terror in his face;
And, laboring with a crime too foul to name,
More, than the pathic satirist, lost to shame. 150
Montanus' belly next, and next appeared
The legs, on which that monstrous pile was reared.
Crispinus followed, daubed with more perfume,
Thus early! than two funerals consume.
Then bloodier Pompey, practiced to betray, 155
And hesitate the noblest lives away.
Then Fuscus, who in studious pomp at home,
Planned future triumphs for the Arms of Rome.
Blind to the event! those arms, a different fate,
Inglorious wounds, and Dacian vultures, wait. 160
Last, sly Veiento with Catullus came,
Deadly Catullus, who, at beauty's name
Took fire, although unseen: a wretch, whose crimes
Struck with amaze even those prodigious times.
A base, blind parasite, a murderous lord, 165
From the bridge-end raised to the council-board;
Yet fitter still to dog the traveler's heels,
And whine for alms to the descending wheels!
None dwelt so largely on the turbot's size,
Or raised with such applause his wondering eyes; 170
But to the left (O, treacherous want of sight)
He poured his praise;—the fish was on the right!
Thus would he at the fencer's matches sit,
And shout with rapture, at some fancied hit;
And thus applaud the stage-machinery, where 175
The youths were rapt aloft, and lost in air.
Nor fell Veiento short:—as if possest
With all Bellona's rage, his laboring breast
Burst forth in prophecy; "I see, I see
The omens of some glorious victory! 180
Some powerful monarch captured!—lo, he rears,
Horrent on every side, his pointed spears!
Arviragus hurled from the British car:
The fish is foreign, foreign is the war."
Proceed, great seer, and what remains untold, 185
The turbot's age and country, next unfold;
So shall your lord his fortunes better know,
And where the conquest waits and who the foe.
The emperor now the important question put,
"How say ye, Fathers, SHALL THE FISH BE CUT?" 190
"O, far be that disgrace," Montanus cries;
"No, let a pot be formed, of amplest size,
Within whose slender sides the fish, dread sire,
May spread his vast circumference entire!
Bring, bring the tempered clay, and let it feel 195
The quick gyrations of the plastic wheel:—
But, Cæsar, thus forewarned, make no campaign,
Unless your potters follow in your train!"
Montanus ended; all approved the plan,
And all, the speech, so worthy of the man! 200
Versed in the old court luxury, he knew
The feasts of Nero, and his midnight crew;
Where oft, when potent draughts had fired the brain,
The jaded taste was spurred to gorge again.—
And, in my time, none understood so well 205
The science of good eating: he could tell,
At the first relish, if his oysters fed
On the Rutupian, or the Lucrine bed;
And from a crab, or lobster's color, name
The country, nay, the district, whence it came. 210
Here closed the solemn farce. The Fathers rise,
And each, submissive, from the presence hies:—
Pale, trembling wretches, whom the chief, in sport,
Had dragged, astonished, to the Alban court;
As if the stern Sicambri were in arms, 215
Or the fierce Catti threatened new alarms;
As if ill news by flying posts had come,
And gathering nations sought the fall of Rome!
O! that such scenes (disgraceful at the most)
Had all those years of cruelty engrost, 220
Through which his rage pursued the great and good,
Unchecked, while vengeance slumbered o'er their blood!
And yet he fell!—for when he changed his game,
And first grew dreadful to the vulgar name,
They seized the murderer, drenched with Lamian gore, 225
And hurled him, headlong, to the infernal shore!

SATIRE V.
TO TREBIUS.

If—by reiterated scorn made bold,
Your mind can still its shameless tenor hold,
Still think the greatest blessing earth can give,
Is, solely at another's cost to live;
If—you can brook, what Galba would have spurned, 5
And mean Sarmentus with a frown returned,
At Cæsar's haughty board, dependents both,
I scarce would take your evidence on oath.
The belly's fed with little cost: yet grant
You should, unhappily, that little want, 10
Some vacant bridge might surely still be found,
Some highway side; where, groveling on the ground,
Your shivering limbs compassion's sigh might wake,
And gain an alms for "Charity's sweet sake!"
What! can a meal, thus sauced, deserve your care? 15
Is hunger so importunate? when THERE,
There, in your tattered rug, you may, my friend,
On casual scraps more honestly depend;
With chattering teeth toil o'er your wretched treat,
And gnaw the crusts, which dogs refuse to eat!— 20
For, first, of this be sure: whene'er your lord
Thinks proper to invite you to his board,
He pays, or thinks he pays, the total sum
Of all your pains, past, present, and to come.
Behold the meed of servitude! the great 25
Reward their humble followers with a treat,
And count it current coin:—they count it such,
And, though it be but little, think it much.
If, after two long months, he condescend
To waste a thought upon an humble friend, 30
Reminded by a vacant seat, and write,
"You, Master Trebius, sup with me to-night,"
'Tis rapture all! Go now, supremely blest,
Enjoy the meed for which you broke your rest,
And, loose and slipshod, ran your vows to pay, 35
What time the fading stars announced the day;
Or at that earlier hour, when, with slow roll,
Thy frozen wain, Boötes, turned the pole;
Yet trembling, lest the levee should be o'er,
And the full court retiring from the door! 40
And what a meal at last! such ropy wine,
As wool, which takes all liquids, would decline;
Hot, heady lees, to fire the wretched guests,
And turn them all to Corybants, or beasts.—
At first, with sneers and sarcasms, they engage, 45
Then hurl the jugs around, with mutual rage;
Or, stung to madness by the household train,
With coarse stone pots a desperate fight maintain;
While streams of blood in smoking torrents flow,
And my lord smiles to see the battle glow! 50
Not such his beverage: he enjoys the juice
Of ancient days, when beards were yet in use,
Pressed in the Social War!—but will not send
One cordial drop, to cheer a fainting friend.
To-morrow, he will change, and, haply, fill 55
The mellow vintage of the Alban hill,
Or Setian; wines, which can not now be known,
So much the mould of age has overgrown
The district, and the date; such generous bowls,
As Thrasea and Helvidius, patriot souls! 60
While crowned with flowers, in sacred pomp, they lay,
To Freedom quaffed, on Brutus' natal day.
Before your patron, cups of price are placed,
Amber and gold, with rows of beryls graced:
Cups, you can only at a distance view, 65
And never trusted to such guests as you!
Or, if they be—a faithful slave attends,
To count the gems, and watch your fingers' ends.
You'll pardon him; but lo! a jasper there,
Of matchless worth, which justifies his care: 70
For Virro, like his brother peers, of late,
Has stripped his fingers to adorn his plate;
And jewels now emblaze the festive board,}
Which decked with nobler grace the hero's sword,}
Whom Dido prized, above the Libyan lord.} 75
From such he drinks: to you the slaves allot
The Beneventine cobbler's four-lugged pot,
A fragment, a mere shard, of little worth,
But to be trucked for matches—and so forth.
If Virro's veins with indigestion glow, 80
They bring him water cooled in Scythian snow:
What! did I late complain a different wine
Fell to thy share? A different water's thine!
Getulian slaves your vile potations pour,
Or the coarse paws of some huge, raw-boned Moor, 85
Whose hideous form the stoutest would affray,
If met, by moonlight, near the Latian way:
On him a youth, the flower of Asia, waits,
So dearly purchased, that the joint estates
Of Tullus, Ancus, would not yield the sum, 90
Nor all the wealth—of all the kings of Rome!
Bear this in mind; and when the cup you need,
Look to your own Getulian Ganymede;
A page who cost so much, will ne'er, be sure,
Come at your beck: he heeds not, he, the poor; 95
But, of his youth and beauty justly vain,
Trips by them, with indifference and disdain.
If called, he hears not, or, with rage inflamed—
Indignant, that his services are claimed
By an old client, who, ye gods! commands, 100
And sits at ease, while his superior stands!
Such proud, audacious minions swarm in Rome,
And trample on the poor, where'er they come.
Mark with what insolence another thrusts
Before your plate th' impenetrable crusts, 105
Black mouldy fragments, which defy the saw,
The mere despair of every aching jaw!
While manchets, of the finest flour, are set
Before your lord; but be you mindful, yet,
And taste not, touch not: of the pantler stand 110
In trembling awe, and check your desperate hand—
Yet, should you dare—a slave springs forth, to wrest
The sacred morsel from you. "Saucy guest,"
He frowns, and mutters, "wilt thou ne'er divine
What's for thy patron's tooth, and what for thine? 115
Never take notice from what tray thou'rt fed,
Nor know the color of thy proper bread?"
Was it for this, the baffled client cries,
The tears indignant starting from his eyes,
Was it for this I left my wife ere day, 120
And up the bleak Esquilian urged my way,
While the wind howled, the hail-storm beat amain,
And my cloak smoked beneath the driving rain!
But lo, a lobster, introduced in state,
Stretches, enormous, o'er the bending plate; 125
Proud of a length of tail, he seems to eye
The humbler guests with scorn, as, towering by,
He takes the place of honor at the board,
And crowned with costly pickles, greets his lord!
A crab is yours, ill garnished and ill fed, 130
With half an egg—a supper for the dead!
He pours Venafran oil upon his fish,
While the stale coleworts, in your wooden dish,
Stink of the lamp; for such to you is thrown,
Such rancid grease, as Afric sends to town; 135
So strong, that when her factors seek the bath,
All wind, and all avoid, the noisome path;
So pestilent! that her own serpents fly
The horrid stench, or meet it but to die.
See! a sur-mullet now before him set, 140
From Corsica, or isles more distant yet,
Brought post to Rome; since Ostia's shores no more
Supply the insatiate glutton, as of yore,
Thinned by the net, whose everlasting throw
Allows no Tuscan fish in peace to grow. 145
Still luxury yawns, unfilled; the nations rise,
And ransack all their coasts for fresh supplies:
Thence come your presents; thence, as rumor tells,
The dainties Lenas buys, Aurelia sells.
A lamprey next, from the Sicilian straits, 150
Of more than common size, on Virro waits—
For oft as Auster seeks his cave, and flings
The cumbrous moisture from his dripping wings,
Forth flies the daring fisher, lured by gain,
While rocks oppose, and whirlpools threat in vain. 155
To you an eel is brought, whose slender make
Speaks him a famished cousin to the snake;
Or some frost-bitten pike, who, day by day,
Through half the city's ordure sucked his way!
Would Virro deign to hear me, I could give 160
A few brief hints:—We look not to receive
What Seneca, what Cotta used to send,
What the good Piso, to an humble friend:—
For bounty once preferred a fairer claim,
Than birth or power, to honorable fame: 165
No; all we ask (and you may this afford)
Is, simply, civil treatment at your board;
Indulge us here; and be, like numbers more,
Rich to yourself, to your dependents poor!
Vain hope! Near him a goose's liver lies; 170
A capon, equal to a goose in size;
A boar, too, smokes, like that which fell, of old,
By the famed hero with the locks of gold.
Last, if the spring its genial influence shed,
And welcome thunders call them from their bed, 175
Large mushrooms enter; ravished with their size,
"O Libya, keep thy grain!" Alledius cries,
"And bid thy oxen to their stalls retreat,
Nor, while thou grow'st such mushrooms, think of wheat!"
Meanwhile, to put your patience to the test, 180
Lo! the spruce carver, to his task addrest,
Skips, like a harlequin, from place to place,
And waves his knife with pantomimic grace,
Till every dish be ranged, and every joint
Severed, by nicest rules, from point to point. 185
You think this folly—'tis a simple thought—
To such perfection, now, is carving brought,
That different gestures, by our curious men,
Are used for different dishes, hare and hen.
But think whate'er you may, your comments spare; 190
For should you, like a free-born Roman, dare
To hint your thoughts, forth springs some sturdy groom,
And drags you straight, heels foremost, from the room!
Does Virro ever pledge you? ever sip
The liquor touched by your unhallowed lip? 195
Or is there one of all your tribe so free,
So desperate, as to say—"Sir, drink to me?"
O, there is much, that never can be spoke
By a poor client in a threadbare cloak!
But should some godlike man, more kind than fate, 200
Some god, present you with a knight's estate,
Heavens, what a change! how infinitely dear
Would Trebius then become! How great appear,
From nothing! Virro, so reserved of late,
Grows quite familiar: "Brother, send your plate. 205
Dear brother Trebius! you were wont to say
You liked this trail, I think—Oblige me, pray."—
O Riches!—this "dear brother" is your own,
To you this friendship, this respect is shown.
But would you now your patron's patron be? 210
Let no young Trebius wanton round your knee,
No Trebia, none: a barren wife procures
The kindest, truest friends! such then be yours.—
Yet, should she breed, and, to augment your joys,
Pour in your lap, at once, three bouncing boys, 215
Virro will still, so you be wealthy, deign
To toy and prattle with the lisping train;
Will have his pockets too with farthings stored,
And when the sweet young rogues approach his board,
Bring out his pretty corselets for the breast, 220
His nuts, and apples, for each coaxing guest.
You champ on spongy toadstools, hateful treat!
Fearful of poison in each bit you eat;
He feasts secure on mushrooms, fine as those
Which Claudius, for his special eating chose, 225
Till one more fine, provided by his wife,
Finished at once his feasting, and his life!
Apples, as fragrant, and as bright of hue,
As those which in Alcinoüs' gardens grew,
Mellowed by constant sunshine; or as those, 230
Which graced the Hesperides, in burnished rows;
Apples, which you may smell, but never taste,
Before your lord and his great friends are placed:
While you enjoy mere windfalls, such stale fruit,
As serves to mortify the raw recruit, 235
When, armed with helm and shield, the lance he throws,
And trembles at the shaggy master's blows.
You think, perhaps, that Virro treats so ill
To save his gold; no, 'tis to vex you still:
For, say, what comedy such mirth can raise, 240
As hunger, tortured thus a thousand ways?
No (if you know it not), 'tis to excite
Your rage, your phrensy, for his mere delight;
'Tis to compel you all your gall to show,
And gnash your teeth in agonies of woe. 245
You deem yourself (such pride inflates your breast),
Forsooth, a freeman, and your patron's guest;
He thinks you a vile slave, drawn, by the smell
Of his warm kitchen, there; and he thinks well:
For who so low, so wretched as to bear 250
Such treatment twice, whose fortune 'twas to wear
The golden boss; nay, to whose humbler lot,
The poor man's ensign fell, the leathern knot!
Your palate still beguiles you: Ah, how nice
That smoking haunch! NOW we shall have a slice! 255
Now that half hare is coming! NOW a bit
Of that young pullet! NOW—and thus you sit,
Thumbing your bread in silence; watching still,
For what has never reached you, never will!
No more of freedom! 'tis a vain pretense: 260
Your patron treats you like a man of sense:
For, if you can, without a murmur, bear,
You well deserve the insults which you share.
Anon, like voluntary slaves, you'll throw
Your humbled necks beneath the oppressor's blow, 265
Nay, with bare backs, solicit to be beat,
And merit SUCH A FRIEND, and SUCH A TREAT!

SATIRE VI.
TO URSIDIUS POSTHUMUS.

Yes, I believe that Chastity was known,
And prized on earth, while Saturn filled the throne;
When rocks a bleak and scanty shelter gave,
When sheep and shepherds thronged one common cave,
And when the mountain wife her couch bestrewed 5
With skins of beasts, joint tenants of the wood,
And reeds, and leaves plucked from the neighboring tree:—
A woman, Cynthia, far unlike to thee,
Or thee, weak child of fondness and of fears,
Whose eyes a sparrow's death suffused with tears: 10
But strong, and reaching to her burly brood
Her big-swollen breasts, replete with wholesome food,
And rougher than her husband, gorged with mast,
And frequent belching from the coarse repast.
For when the world was new, the race that broke, 15
Unfathered, from the soil or opening oak,
Lived most unlike the men of later times,
The puling brood of follies and of crimes.
Haply some trace of Chastity remained,
While Jove, but Jove as yet unbearded, reigned: 20
Before the Greek bound, by another's head,
His doubtful faith; or men, of theft in dread,
Had learned their herbs and fruitage to immure,
But all was uninclosed, and all secure!
At length Astrea, from these confines driven, 25
Regained by slow degrees her native heaven;
With her retired her sister in disgust,
And left the world to rapine, and to lust.
'Tis not a practice, friend, of recent date,
But old, established, and inveterate, 30
To climb another's couch, and boldly slight
The sacred Genius of the nuptial rite:
All other crimes the Age of Iron curst;
But that of Silver saw adulterers first.
Yet thou, it seems, art eager to engage 35
Thy witless neck, in this degenerate age!
Even now, thy hair the modish curl is taught,
By master-hands; even now, the ring is bought;
Even now—thou once, Ursidius, hadst thy wits,
But thus to talk of wiving!—O, these fits! 40
What more than madness has thy soul possest?
What snakes, what Furies, agitate thy breast?
Heavens! wilt thou tamely drag the galling chain,
While hemp is to be bought, while knives remain?
While windows woo thee so divinely high, 45
And Tiber and the Æmilian bridge are nigh?—
"O, but the law," thou criest, "the Julian law,
Will keep my destined wife from every flaw;
Besides, I die for heirs." Good! and for those,
Wilt thou the turtle and the turbot lose, 50
And all the dainties, which the flatterer, still
Heaps on the childless, to secure his Will?
But what will hence impossible be held,
If thou, old friend, to wedlock art impelled?
If thou, the veriest debauchee in town, 55
With whom wives, widows, every thing went down,
Shouldst stretch the unsuspecting neck, and poke
Thy foolish nose into the marriage yoke?
Thou, famed for scapes, and, by the trembling wife,
Thrust in a chest so oft, to save thy life!— 60
But what! Ursidius hopes a mate to gain,
Frugal, and chaste, and of the good old strain:
Alas, he's frantic! ope a vein with speed,
And bleed him copiously, good doctor, bleed.
Jewel of men! thy knees to Jove incline, 65
And let a heifer fall at Juno's shrine,
If thy researches for a wife be blest,
With one, who is not—need I speak the rest?
Ah! few the matrons Ceres now can find,
Her hallowed fillets, with chaste hands, to bind; 70
Few whom their fathers with their lips can trust,
So strong their filial kisses smack of lust!
Go then, prepare to bring your mistress home,
And crown your doors with garlands, ere she come.—
But will one man suffice, methinks, you cry, 75
For all her wants and wishes? Will one eye!
And yet there runs, 'tis said, a wondrous tale,
Of some pure maid, who lives—in some lone vale.
There she MAY live; but let the phœnix, placed
At Gabii or Fidenæ, prove as chaste 80
As at her father's farm!—Yet who will swear,
That naught is done in night and silence there?
Time was, when Jupiter and Mars, we're told,}
With many a nymph in woods and caves made bold;}
And still, perhaps, they may not be too old.} 85
Survey our public places; see you there
One woman worthy of your serious care?
See you, through all the crowded benches, one
Whom you might take securely for your own?—
Lo! while Bathyllus, with his flexile limbs, 90
Acts Leda, and through every posture swims,
Tuccia delights to realize the play,
And in lascivious trances melts away;
While rustic Thymele, with curious eye,
Marks the quick pant, the lingering, deep-drawn sigh, 95
And while her cheeks with burning blushes glow,
Learns this—learns all the city matrons know.
Others, when of the theatres bereft,
When nothing but the wrangling bar is left,
In the long tedious months which interpose 100
'Twixt the Cybelian and Plebeian shows,
Sicken for action, and assume the airs,
The mask and thyrsus, of their favorite players.
—Midst peals of mirth, see Urbicus advance
(Poor Ælia's choice), and, in a wanton dance, 105
Burlesque Autonoë's woes! the rich engage
In higher frolics, and defraud the stage;
Take from Chrysogonus the power to sing,
Loose, at vast prices, the comedian's ring,
Tempt the tragedian—but I see you moved— 110
Heavens! dreamed you that Quintilian would be loved!
Then hie thee, Lentulus, and boldly wed,
That the chaste partner of thy fruitful bed
May kindly single from this motley race
Some sturdy Glaphyrus, thy brows to grace: 115
Haste; in the narrow streets long scaffolds raise,
And deck thy portals with triumphant bays;
That in thy heir, as swathed in state he lies,
The guests may trace Mirmillo's nose and eyes!
Hippia, who shared a rich patrician's bed, 120
To Egypt with a gladiator fled,
While rank Canopus eyed, with strong disgust,
This ranker specimen of Roman lust.
Without one pang, the profligate resigned
Her husband, sister, sire; gave to the wind 125
Her children's tears; yea, tore herself away
(To strike you more)—from Paris and the PLAY!
And though, in affluence born, her infant head
Had pressed the down of an embroidered bed,
She braved the deep (she long had braved her fame; 130
But this is little—to the courtly dame),
And, with undaunted breast, the changes bore,
Of many a sea, the swelling and the roar.
Have they an honest call, such ills to bear?
Cold shiverings seize them, and they shrink with fear; 135
But set illicit pleasure in their eye,
Onward they rush, and every toil defy!
Summoned by duty, to attend her lord,
How, cries the lady, can I get on board?
How bear the dizzy motion? how the smell? 140
But—when the adulterer calls her, all is well!
She roams the deck, with pleasure ever new,
Tugs at the ropes, and messes with the crew;
But with her husband—O, how changed the case!
Sick! sick! she cries, and vomits in his face. 145
But by what youthful charms, what shape, what air,
Was Hippia won, the opprobrious name to bear
Of Fencer's trull? The wanton well might dote!
For the sweet Sergius long had scraped his throat,
Long looked for leave to quit the public stage, 150
Maimed in his limbs, and verging now to age.
Add, that his face was battered and decayed;
The helmet on his brow huge galls had made,
A wen deformed his nose, of monstrous size,
And sharp rheum trickled from his bloodshot eyes: 155
But then he was a SWORDSMAN! that alone
Made every charm and every grace his own;
That made him dearer than her nuptial vows,
Dearer than country, sister, children, spouse.—
'Tis blood they love: Let Sergius quit the sword, 160
And he'll appear, at once—so like her lord!
Start you at wrongs that touch a private name,
At Hippia's lewdness, and Veiento's shame?
Turn to the rivals of the immortal Powers,
And mark how like their fortunes are to ours! 165
Claudius had scarce begun his eyes to close,
Ere from his pillow Messalina rose
(Accustomed long the bed of state to slight
For the coarse mattress, and the hood of night);
And with one maid, and her dark hair concealed 170
Beneath a yellow tire, a strumpet veiled!
She slipt into the stews, unseen, unknown,
And hired a cell, yet reeking, for her own.
There, flinging off her dress, the imperial whore
Stood, with bare breasts and gilded, at the door, 175
And showed, Britannicus, to all who came,
The womb that bore thee, in Lycisca's name!
Allured the passers by with many a wile,
And asked her price, and took it, with a smile.
And when the hour of business now was spent, 180
And all the trulls dismissed, repining went;
Yet what she could, she did; slowly she past,
And saw her man, and shut her cell, the last,
—Still raging with the fever of desire,
Her veins all turgid, and her blood all fire, 185
With joyless pace, the imperial couch she sought,
And to her happy spouse (yet slumbering) brought
Cheeks rank with sweat, limbs drenched with poisonous dews,
The steam of lamps, and odor of the stews!
'Twere long to tell what philters they provide, 190
What drugs, to set a son-in-law aside.
Women, in judgment weak, in feeling strong,
By every, gust of passion borne along,
Act, in their fits, such crimes, that, to be just,
The least pernicious of their sins is lust. 195
But why's Cesennia then, you say, adored,
And styled the first of women, by her lord?
Because she brought him thousands: such the price
It cost the lady to be free from vice!—
Not for her charms the wounded lover pined, 200
Nor felt the flame which fires the ardent mind,
Plutus, not Cupid, touched his sordid heart;
And 'twas her dower that winged the unerring dart.
She brought enough her liberty to buy,
And tip the wink before her husband's eye. 205
A wealthy wanton, to a miser wed,
Has all the license of a widowed bed.
But yet, Sertorius what I say disproves,
For though his Bibula is poor, he loves.
True! but examine him; and, on my life, 210
You'll find he loves the beauty, not the wife.
Let but a wrinkle on her forehead rise,
And time obscure the lustre of her eyes;
Let but the moisture leave her flaccid skin,
And her teeth blacken, and her cheeks grow thin; 215
And you shall hear the insulting freedman say,
"Pack up your trumpery, madam, and away!
Nay, bustle, bustle; here you give offense,
With sniveling night and day;—take your nose hence!"—
But, ere that hour arrives, she reigns indeed! 220
Shepherds, and sheep of Canusinian breed,
Falernian vineyards (trifles these), she craves,
And store of boys, and troops of country slaves;
Briefly, for all her neighbor has, she sighs,
And plagues her doting husband, till he buys. 225
In winter, when the merchant fears to roam,
And snow confines the shivering crew at home;
She ransacks every shop for precious ware,
Here cheapens myrrh and crystal vases; there,
That far-famed gem which Berenice wore, 230
The hire of incest, and thence valued more;
A brother's present, in that barbarous State,
Where kings the sabbath, barefoot, celebrate;
And old indulgence grants a length of life
To hogs, that fatten fearless of the knife. 235
What! and is none of all this numerous herd
Worthy your choice? not one, to be preferred?
Suppose her nobly born, young, rich, and fair,
And (though a coal-black swan be far less rare)
Chaste as the Sabine wives, who rushed between 240
The kindred hosts, and closed the unnatural scene;
Yet who could bear to lead an humbled life,
Cursed with that veriest plague, a faultless wife!—
Some simple rustic at Venusium bred,
O let me, rather than Cornelia, wed, 245
If, to great virtues, greater pride she join,
And count her ancestors as current coin.
Take back, for mercy's sake, thy Hannibal!
Away with vanquished Syphax, camp and all!
Troop, with the whole of Carthage! I'd be free 250
From all this pageantry of worth—and thee.
"O let, Apollo, let my children live,
And thou, Diana, pity, and forgive;"
Amphion cries; "they, they are guiltless all!
The mother sinned, let then the mother fall." 255
In vain he cries; Apollo bends his bow,
And, with the children, lays the father low?
They fell; while Niobe aspired to place
Her birth and blood above Latona's race;
And boast her womb—too fruitful, to be named 260
With that White Sow, for thirty sucklings famed.
Beauty and worth are purchased much too dear,
If a wife force them hourly on your ear;
For, say, what pleasure can you hope to find,
Even in this boast, this phœnix of her kind, 265
If, warped by pride, on all around she lour,
And in your cup more gall than honey pour?
Ah! who so blindly wedded to the state,
As not to shrink from such a perfect mate,
Of every virtue feel the oppressive weight, 270
And curse the worth he loves, seven hours in eight?
Some faults, though small, no husband yet can bear:
'Tis now the nauseous cant, that none is fair,
Unless her thoughts in Attic terms she dress;
A mere Cecropian of a Sulmoness! 275
All now is Greek: in Greek their souls they pour,
In Greek their fears, hopes, joys;—what would you more?
In Greek they clasp their lovers. We allow
These fooleries to girls: but thou, O thou,
Who tremblest on the verge of eighty-eight, 280
To Greek it still!—'tis, now, a day too late.
Foh! how it savors of the dregs of lust,
When an old hag, whose blandishments disgust,
Affects the infant lisp, the girlish squeak,
And mumbles out, "My life!" "My soul!" in Greek! 285
Words, which the secret sheets alone should hear,
But which she trumpets in the public ear.
And words, indeed, have power—But though she woo
In softer strains than e'er Carpophorus knew,
Her wrinkles still employ her favorite's cares; 290
And while she murmurs love, he counts her years!
But tell me;—if thou CANST NOT love a wife,
Made thine by every tie, and thine for life,
Why wed at all? why waste the wine and cakes,
The queasy-stomached guest, at parting, takes? 295
And the rich present, which the bridal right
Claims for the favors of the happy night?
The charger, where, triumphantly inscrolled,
The Dacian Hero shines in current gold!
If thou CANST love, and thy besotted mind 300
Is, so uxoriously, to one inclined,
Then bow thy neck, and with submissive air
Receive the yoke—thou must forever wear.
To a fond spouse a wife no mercy shows:—
Though warmed with equal fires, she mocks his woes, 305
And triumphs in his spoils: her wayward will
Defeats his bliss, and turns his good to ill!
Naught must be given, if she opposes; naught,
If she opposes, must be sold or bought;
She tells him where to love, and where to hate,} 310
Shuts out the ancient friend, whose beard his gate}
Knew, from its downy to its hoary state:}
And when pimps, parasites, of all degrees
Have power to will their fortunes as they please,
She dictates his; and impudently dares 315
To name his very rivals for his heirs!
"Go, crucify that slave." For what offense?
Who the accuser? Where the evidence?
For when the life of MAN is in debate,
No time can be too long, no care too great; 320
Hear all, weigh all with caution, I advise—
"Thou sniveler! is a slave a MAN?" she cries.
"He's innocent! be't so:—'tis my command,
My will; let that, sir, for a reason stand."
Thus the virago triumphs, thus she reigns: 325
Anon she sickens of her first domains,
And seeks for new; husband on husband takes,
Till of her bridal veil one rent she makes.
Again she tires, again for change she burns,
And to the bed she lately left returns, 330
While the fresh garlands, and unfaded boughs,
Yet deck the portal of her wondering spouse.
Thus swells the list; EIGHT HUSBANDS IN FIVE YEARS:
A rare inscription for their sepulchres!
While your wife's mother lives, expect no peace. 335
She teaches her, with savage joy, to fleece
A bankrupt spouse: kind creature! she befriends
The lover's hopes, and, when her daughter sends
An answer to his prayer, the style inspects,
Softens the cruel, and the wrong corrects: 340
Experienced bawd! she blinds, or bribes all eyes,
And brings the adulterer, in despite of spies.
And now the farce begins; the lady falls
"Sick, sick, oh! sick;" and for the doctor calls:
Sweltering she lies, till the dull visit's o'er, 345
While the rank lecher, at the closet door
Lurking in silence, maddens with delay,
And in his own impatience melts away.
Nor count it strange: What mother e'er was known
To teach severer morals than her own?— 350
No;—with their daughters' lusts they swell their stores,
And thrive as bawds when out of date as whores!
Women support the BAR; they love the law,
And raise litigious questions for a straw;
They meet in private, and prepare the Bill, 355
Draw up the Instructions with a lawyer's skill,
Suggest to Celsus where the merits lie,
And dictate points for statement or reply.
Nay, more, they FENCE! who has not marked their oil,
Their purple rugs, for this preposterous toil? 360
Room for the lady—lo! she seeks the list,
And fiercely tilts at her antagonist,
A post! which, with her buckler, she provokes,
And bores and batters with repeated strokes;
Till all the fencer's art can do she shows, 365
And the glad master interrupts her blows.
O worthy, sure, to head those wanton dames,
Who foot it naked at the Floral games;
Unless, with nobler daring, she aspire,
And tempt the arena's bloody field—for hire! 370
What sense of shame is to that female known,
Who envies our pursuits, and hates her own?
Yet would she not, though proud in arms to shine
(True woman still), her sex for ours resign;
For there's a thing she loves beyond compare, 375
And we, alas! have no advantage there.—
Heavens! with what glee a husband must behold
His wife's accoutrements, in public, sold;
And auctioneers displaying to the throng
Her crest, her belt, her gauntlet, and her thong! 380
Or, if in wilder frolics she engage,
And take her private lessons for the stage,
Then three-fold rapture must expand his breast,
To see her greaves "a-going" with the rest.
Yet these are they, the tender souls! who sweat 385
In muslin, and in silk expire with heat.—
Mark, with what force, as the full blow descends,
She thunders "hah!" again, how low she bends
Beneath the opposer's stroke; how firm she rests,
Poised on her hams, and every step contests: 390
How close tucked up for fight, behind, before,
Then laugh—to see her squat, when all is o'er!
Daughters of Lepidus, and Gurges old,
And blind Metellus, did ye e'er behold
Asylla (though a fencer's trull confess'd) 395
Tilt at a stake, thus impudently dress'd!
'Tis night; yet hope no slumbers with your wife;
The nuptial bed is still the scene of strife:
There lives the keen debate, the clamorous brawl,
And quiet "never comes, that comes to all." 400
Fierce as a tigress plundered of her young,
Rage fires her breast, and loosens all her tongue,
When, conscious of her guilt, she feigns to groan,
And chides your loose amours, to hide her own;
Storms at the scandal of your baser flames, 405
And weeps her injuries from imagined names,
With tears that, marshaled, at their station stand,
And flow impassioned, as she gives command.
You think those showers her true affection prove,
And deem yourself—so happy in her love! 410
With fond caresses strive her heart to cheer,
And from her eyelids suck the starting tear:
—But could you now examine the scrutore
Of this most loving, this most jealous whore,
What amorous lays, what letters would you see, 415
Proofs, damning proofs, of her sincerity!
But these are doubtful—Put a clearer case:
Suppose her taken in a loose embrace,
A slave's or knight's. Now, my Quintilian, come,
And fashion an excuse. What! are you dumb? 420
Then, let the lady speak. "Was't not agreed
The MAN might please himself?" It was; proceed.
"Then, so may I"—O, Jupiter! "No oath:
Man is a general term, and takes in both."
When once surprised, the sex all shame forego; 425
And more audacious, as more guilty, grow.
Whence shall these prodigies of vice be traced?
From wealth, my friend. Our matrons then were chaste,
When days of labor, nights of short repose,
Hands still employed the Tuscan wool to tose, 430
Their husbands armed, and anxious for the State,
And Carthage hovering near the Colline gate,
Conspired to keep all thoughts of ill aloof,
And banished vice far from their lowly roof.
Now, all the evils of long peace are ours; 435
Luxury, more terrible than hostile powers,
Her baleful influence wide around has hurled,
And well avenged the subjugated world!
—Since Poverty, our better Genius, fled,
Vice, like a deluge, o'er the State has spread. 440
Now, shame to Rome! in every street are found
The essenced Sybarite, with roses crowned,
The gay Miletan, and the Tarentine,
Lewd, petulant, and reeling ripe with wine!
Wealth first, the ready pander to all sin, 445
Brought foreign manners, foreign vices in;
Enervate wealth, and with seductive art,
Sapped every homebred virtue of the heart;
Yes, every:—for what cares the drunken dame
(Take head or tail, to her 'tis just the same), 450
Who, at deep midnight, on fat oysters sups,
And froths with unguents her Falernian cups;
Who swallows oceans, till the tables rise,
And double lustres dance before her eyes!
Thus flushed, conceive, as Tullia homeward goes, 455
With what contempt she tosses up her nose
At Chastity's hoar fane! what impious jeers
Collatia pours in Maura's tingling ears!
Here stop their litters, here they all alight,
And squat together in the goddess' sight:— 460
You pass, aroused at dawn your court to pay,
The loathsome scene of their licentious play.
Who knows not now, my friend, the secret rites
Of the Good Goddess; when the dance excites
The boiling blood; when, to distraction wound, 465
By wine, and music's stimulating sound,
The mænads of Priapus, with wild air,
Howl horrible, and toss their flowing hair!
Then, how the wine at every pore o'erflows!
How the eye sparkles! how the bosom glows! 470
How the cheek burns! and, as the passions rise,
How the strong feeling bursts in eager cries!—
Saufeia now springs forth, and tries a fall
With the town prostitutes, and throws them all;
But yields, herself, to Medullina, known 475
For parts, and powers, superior to her own.
Maids, mistresses, alike the contest share,
And 'tis not always birth that triumphs there.
Nothing is feigned in this accursed game:
'Tis genuine all; and such as would inflame 480
The frozen age of Priam, and inspire
The ruptured, bedrid Nestor with desire.
Stung with their mimic feats, a hollow groan
Of lust breaks forth; the sex, the sex is shown!
And one loud yell re-echoes through the den, 485
"Now, now, 'tis lawful! now admit the men!"
There's none arrived. "Not yet! then scour the street,
And bring us quickly, here, the first you meet."
There's none abroad. "Then fetch our slaves." They're gone.
"Then hire a waterman." There's none. "Not one!"— 490
Nature's strong barrier scarcely now restrains
The baffled fury in their boiling veins!
And would to heaven our ancient rites were free!—
But Africa and India, earth and sea,
Have heard, what singing-wench produced his ware, 495
Vast as two Anti Catos, there, even there,
Where the he-mouse, in reverence, lies concealed,
And every picture of a male is veiled.
And who was THEN a scoffer? who despised
The simple rites by infant Rome devised, 500
The wooden bowl of pious Numa's day,
The coarse brown dish, and pot of homely clay?
Now, woe the while! religion's in its wane;
And daring Clodii swarm in every fane.
I hear, old friends, I hear you: "Make all sure: 505
Let spies surround her, and let bolts secure."
But who shall KEEP THE KEEPERS? Wives contemn
Our poor precautions, and begin with THEM.
Lust is the master passion; it inflames,
Alike, both high and low; alike, the dames, 510
Who, on tall Syrians' necks, their pomp display,
And those who pick, on foot, their miry way.
Whene'er Ogulnia to the Circus goes,
To emulate the rich, she hires her clothes,
Hires followers, friends, and cushions; hires a chair, 515
A nurse, and a trim girl, with golden hair,
To slip her billets:—prodigal and poor,
She wastes the wreck of her paternal store
On smooth-faced wrestlers; wastes her little all,
And strips her shivering mansion to the wall! 520
There's many a woman knows distress at home;
Not one who feels it, and, ere ruin come,
To her small means conforms. Taught by the ant,
Men sometimes guard against the extreme of want,
And stretch, though late, their providential fears, 525
To food and raiment for their future years:
But women never see their wealth decay;
With lavish hands they scatter night and day,
As if the gold, with vegetative power,
Would spring afresh, and bloom from hour to hour; 530
As if the mass its present size would keep,
And no expense reduce the eternal heap.
Others there are, who centre all their bliss
In the soft eunuch, and the beardless kiss:
They need not from his chin avert their face, 535
Nor use abortive drugs, for his embrace.
But oh! their joys run high, if he be formed,
When his full veins the fire of love has warmed;
When every part's to full perfection reared,
And naught of manhood wanting, but the beard. 540
But should the dame in music take delight,
The public singer is disabled quite:
In vain the prætor guards him all he can;
She slips the buckle, and enjoys her man.
Still in her hand his instrument is found, 545
Thick set with gems, that shed a lustre round;
Still o'er his lyre the ivory quill she flings,
Still runs divisions on the trembling strings,
The trembling strings, which the loved Hedymel
Was wont to strike—so sweetly, and so well! 550
These still she holds, with these she soothes her woes,
And kisses on the dear, dear wire bestows.
A noble matron of the Lamian line
Inquired of Janus (offering meal and wine)
If Pollio, at the Harmonic Games, would speed, 555
And wear the oaken crown, the victor's meed!
What could she for a husband, more, have done,
What for an only, an expiring son?
Yes; for a harper, the besotted dame
Approached the altar, reckless of her fame, 560
And veiled her head, and, with a pious air,
Followed the Aruspex through the form of prayer;
And trembled, and turned pale, as he explored
The entrails, breathless for the fatal word!
But, tell me, father Janus, if you please, 565
Tell me, most ancient of the deities,
Is your attention to such suppliants given?
If so—there is not much to do in heaven!
For a comedian, this consults your will,
For a tragedian, that; kept standing, still, 570
By this eternal route, the wretched priest
Feels his legs swell, and dies to be releas'd.
But let her rather sing, than roam the streets,
And thrust herself in every crowd she meets;
Chat with great generals, though her lord be there, 575
With lawless eye, bold front, and bosom bare.
She, too, with curiosity o'erflows,
And all the news of all the world she knows;
Knows what in Scythia, what in Thrace is done;
The secrets of the step-dame and the son; 580
Who speeds, and who is jilted: and can swear,}
Who made the widow pregnant, when and where,}
And what she said, and how she frolicked there.—}
She first espied the star, whose baleful ray,
O'er Parthia, and Armenia, shed dismay: 585
She watches at the gates, for news to come,
And intercepts it, as it enters Rome;
Then, fraught with full intelligence, she flies
Through every street, and, mingling truth with lies,
Tells how Niphates bore down every mound, 590
And poured his desolating flood around;
How earth, convulsed, disclosed its caverns hoar,
And cities trembled, and—were seen no more!
And yet this itch, though never to be cured,
Is easier, than her cruelty, endured. 595
Should a poor neighbor's dog but discompose
Her rest a moment, wild with rage she grows;
"Ho! whips," she cries, "and flay that brute accurs'd;"
"But flay that rascal there, who owns him, first."
Dangerous to meet while in these frantic airs, 600
And terrible to look at, she prepares
To bathe at night; she issues her commands,
And in long ranks forth poor the obedient bands,
With tubs, cloths, oils:—for 'tis her dear delight
To sweat in clamor, tumult, and affright. 605
When her tired arms refuse the balls to ply,
And the lewd bath-keeper has rubbed her dry,
She calls to mind each miserable guest,
Long since with hunger, and with sleep oppress'd,
And hurries home; all glowing, all athirst, 610
For wine, whole flasks of wine! and swallows, first,
Two quarts, to clear her stomach, and excite
A ravenous, an unbounded appetite!
Huisch! up it comes, good heavens! meat, drink, and all,
And flows in purple torrents round the hall; 615
Or a gilt ewer receives the foul contents,
And poisons all the house with vinous scents.
So, dropp'd into a vat, a snake is said
To drink and spew:—the husband turns his head,
Sick to the soul, from this disgusting scene, 620
And struggles to suppress his rising spleen.
But she is more intolerable yet,
Who plays the critic when at table set;
Calls Virgil charming, and attempts to prove
Poor Dido right, in venturing all for love. 625
From Maro, and Mæonides, she quotes
The striking passages, and, while she notes
Their beauties and defects, adjusts her scales,
And accurately weighs which bard prevails.
The astonished guests sit mute: grammarians yield, 630
Loud rhetoricians, baffled, quit the field;
Even auctioneers and lawyers stand aghast,
And not a woman speaks!—So thick, and fast,
The wordy shower descends, that you would swear
A thousand bells were jangling in your ear, 635
A thousand basins clattering. Vex no more
Your trumpets and your timbrels, as of yore,
To ease the laboring moon; her single yell
Can drown their clangor, and dissolve the spell.
She lectures too in Ethics, and declaims 640
On the Chief Good!—but, surely, she who aims
To seem too learn'd, should take the male array;
A hog, due offering, to Sylvanus slay,
And, with the Stoic's privilege, repair
To farthing baths, and strip in public there! 645
Oh, never may the partner of my bed
With subtleties of logic stuff her head;
Nor whirl her rapid syllogisms around,
Nor with imperfect enthymemes confound!
Enough for me, if common things she know, 650
And boast the little learning schools bestow.
I hate the female pedagogue, who pores
O'er her Palæmon hourly; who explores
All modes of speech, regardless of the sense,
But tremblingly alive to mood and tense: 655
Who puzzles me with many an uncouth phrase,
From some old canticle of Numa's days;
Corrects her country friends, and can not hear
Her husband solecize without a sneer!
A woman stops at nothing, when she wears 660
Rich emeralds round her neck, and in her ears
Pearls of enormous size; these justify
Her faults, and make all lawful in her eye.
Sure, of all ills with which mankind are curs'd,
A wife who brings you money is the worst. 665
Behold! her face a spectacle appears,
Bloated, and foul, and plastered to the ears
With viscous paste:—the husband looks askew,
And sticks his lips in this detested glue.
She meets the adulterer bathed, perfumed, and dress'd, 670
But rots in filth at home, a very pest!
For him she breathes of nard; for him alone
She makes the sweets of Araby her own;
For him, at length, she ventures to uncase,
Scales the first layer of roughcast from her face, 675
And, while the maids to know her now begin,
Clears, with that precious milk, her frouzy skin,
For which, though exiled to the frozen main,
She'd lead a drove of asses in her train!
But tell me yet; this thing, thus daubed and oiled, 680
Thus poulticed, plastered, baked by turns and boiled,
Thus with pomatums, ointments, lackered o'er,
Is it a FACE, Ursidius, or a SORE?
'Tis worth a little labor to survey
Our wives more near and trace 'em through the day. 685
If, dreadful to relate! the night foregone,
The husband turned his back, or lay alone,
All, all is lost; the housekeeper is stripped,
The tiremaid chidden, and the chairman whipped:
Rods, cords, and thongs avenge the master's sleep, 690
And force the guiltless house to wake and weep.
There are, who hire a beadle by the year,
To lash their servants round; who, pleased to hear
The eternal thong, bid him lay on, while they,
At perfect ease, the silkman's stores survey, 695
Chat with their female gossips, or replace
The cracked enamel on their treacherous face.
No respite yet:—they leisurely hum o'er
The countless items of the day before,
And bid him still lay on; till, faint with toil, 700
He drops the scourge; when, with a rancorous smile,
"Begone!" they thunder in a horrid tone,
"Now your accounts are settled, rogues, begone!"
But should she wish with nicer care to dress,
And now the hour of assignation press 705
(Whether the adulterer for her coming wait
In Isis' fane, to bawdry consecrate,
Or in Lucullus' walks), the house appears
A true Sicilian court, all gloom and tears.
The wretched Psecas, for the whip prepared, 710
With locks disheveled, and with shoulders bared,
Attempts her hair: fire flashes from her eyes,
And, "Strumpet! why this curl so high?" she cries.
Instant the lash, without remorse, is plied,
And the blood stains her bosom, back, and side. 715
But why this fury?—Is the girl to blame,
If your air shocks you, or your features shame?
Another, trembling, on the left prepares
To open and arrange the straggling hairs
In ringlets trim: meanwhile, the council meet: 720
And first the nurse, a personage discreet,
Late from the toilet to the wheel removed
(The effect of time), yet still of taste approved,
Gives her opinion: then the rest, in course,
As age, or practice, lends their judgment force. 725
So warm they grow, and so much pains they take,
You'd think her honor or her life at stake!
So high they build her head, such tiers on tiers,
With wary hands, they pile, that she appears,
Andromache, before:—and what behind? 730
A dwarf, a creature of a different kind.—
Meanwhile, engrossed by these important cares,
She thinks not on her lord's distress'd affairs,
Scarce on himself; but leads a separate life,
As if she were his neighbor, not his wife? 735
Or, but in this—that all control she braves;
Hates where he loves, and squanders where he saves.
Room for Bellona's frantic votaries! room
For Cybele's mad enthusiasts! lo, they come!
A lusty semivir, whose part obscene, 740
A broken shell has severed smooth and clean,
A raw-boned, mitred priest, whom the whole choir
Of curtailed priestlings reverence and admire,
Enters, with his wild rout; and bids the fair
Of autumn, and its sultry blasts, beware, 745
Unless she lustrate, with an hundred eggs,
Her household straight:—then, impudently begs
Her cast-off clothes, that every plague they fear
May enter them, and expiate all the year!
But lo! another tribe! at whose command, 750
See her, in winter, near the Tiber stand,
Break the thick ice, and, ere the sun appears,
Plunge in the crashing eddy to the ears;
Then, shivering from the keen and eager breeze,
Crawl round the banks, on bare and bleeding knees. 755
Should milkwhite Iö bid, from Meroë's isle
She'd fetch the sunburnt waters of the Nile,
To sprinkle in her fane; for she, it seems,
Has heavenly visitations in her dreams—
Mark the pure soul, with whom the gods delight 760
To hold high converse at the noon of night!
For this she cherishes, above the rest,
Her Iö's favorite priest, a knave profess'd,
A holy hypocrite, who strolls abroad,
With his Anubis, his dog-headed god! 765
Girt by a linen-clad, a bald-pate crew
Of howling vagrants, who their cries renew
In every street, as up and down they run,
To find Osire, fit father to fit son!
He sues for pardon, when the liquorish dame 770
Abstains not from the interdicted game
On high and solemn days; for great the crime,
To stain the nuptial couch at such a time,
And great the atonement due;—the silver snake,
Abhorrent of the deed, was seen to quake! 775
Yet he prevails:—Osiris hears his prayers,
And, softened by a goose, the culprit spares.
Without her badge, a Jewess now draws near,
And, trembling, begs a trifle in her ear.
No common personage! she knows full well 780
The laws of Solyma, and she can tell
The dark decrees of heaven; a priestess she,
An hierarch of the consecrated tree!
Moved by these claims thus modestly set forth,
She gives her a few coins of little worth; 785
For Jews are moderate, and, for farthing fees,
Will sell what fortune, or what dreams you please.
The prophetess dismissed, a Syrian sage
Now enters, and explores the future page,
In a dove's entrails: there he sees express'd 790
A youthful lover: there, a rich bequest,
From some kind dotard: then a chick he takes,
And in its breast, and in a puppy's, rakes,
And sometimes in—an infant's: he will teach
The art to others, and, when taught, impeach! 795
But chiefly in Chaldeans she believes:
Whate'er they say, with reverence she receives,
As if from Hammon's secret fount it came;
Since Delphi now, if we may credit fame,
Gives no responses, and a long dark night 800
Conceals the future hour from mortal sight.
Of these, the chief (such credit guilt obtains!)
Is he, who, banished oft, and oft in chains,
Stands forth the veriest knave; he who foretold
The death of Galba—to his rival sold! 805
No juggler must for fame or profit hope,
Who has not narrowly escaped the rope;
Begged hard for exile, and, by special grace,
Obtained confinement in some desert place.—
To him your Tanaquil applies, in doubt 810
How long her jaundiced mother may hold out;
But first, how long her husband: next, inquires,
When she shall follow, to their funeral pyres,
Her sisters, and her uncles; last, if fate
Will kindly lengthen out the adulterer's date 815
Beyond her own;—content, if he but live,
And sure that heaven has nothing more to give!
Yet she may still be suffered; for, what woes
The louring aspect of old Saturn shows;
Or in what sign bright Venus ought to rise, 820
To shed her mildest influence from the skies;
Or what fore-fated month to gain is given,
And what to loss (the mysteries of heaven),
She knows not, nor pretends to know: but flee
The dame, whose Manual of Astrology 825
Still dangles at her side, smooth as chafed gum,
And fretted by her everlasting thumb!—
Deep in the science now, she leaves her mate
To go, or stay; but will not share his fate,
Withheld by trines and sextiles; she will look, 830
Before her chair be ordered, in the book,
For the fit hour; an itching eye endure,
Nor, till her scheme be raised, attempt the cure;
Nay, languishing in bed, receive no meat,
Till Petosyris bid her rise and eat. 835
The curse is universal: high and low
Are mad alike the future hour to know.
The rich consult a Babylonian seer,
Skilled in the mysteries of either sphere;
Or a gray-headed priest, hired by the state, 840
To watch the lightning, and to expiate.
The middle sort, a quack, at whose command
They lift the forehead, and make bare the hand;
While the sly lecher in the table pries,
And claps it wantonly, with gloating eyes. 845
The poor apply to humbler cheats, still found
Beside the Circus wall, or city mound;
While she, whose neck no golden trinket bears,
To the dry ditch, or dolphin's tower, repairs,
And anxiously inquires which she shall choose, 850
The tapster, or old-clothes man? which refuse?
Yet these the pangs of childbirth undergo,
And all the yearnings of a mother know;
These, urged by want, assume the nurse's care,
And learn to breed the children which they bear. 855
Those shun both toil and danger; for, though sped,
The wealthy dame is seldom brought to bed:
Such the dire power of drugs, and such the skill
They boast, to cause miscarriages at will!
Weep'st thou? O fool! the blest invention hail, 860
And give the potion, if the gossips fail;
For, should thy wife her nine months' burden bear,
An Æthiop's offspring might thy fortunes heir;
A sooty thing, fit only to affray,
And, seen at morn, to poison all the day! 865
Supposititious breeds, the hope and joy
Of fond, believing husbands, I pass by;
The beggars' bantlings, spawned in open air,
And left by some pond side, to perish there.—
From hence your Flamens, hence your Salians come; 870
Your Scauri, chiefs and magistrates of Rome!
Fortune stands tittering by, in playful mood,
And smiles, complacent, on the sprawling brood;
Takes them all naked to her fostering arms,
Feeds from her mouth, and in her bosom warms: 875
Then, to the mansions of the great she bears
The precious brats, and, for herself, prepares
A secret farce; adopts them for her own:
And, when her nurslings are to manhood grown,
She brings them forth, rejoiced to see them sped, 880
And wealth and honors dropping on their head!
Some purchase charms, some, more pernicious still,
Thessalian philters, to subdue the will
Of an uxorious spouse, and make him bear
Blows, insults, all a saucy wife can dare. 885
Hence that swift lapse to second childhood; hence
Those vapors which envelop every sense;
This strange forgetfulness from hour to hour;
And well, if this be all:—more fatal power,
More terrible effects, the dose may have, 890
And force you, like Caligula, to rave,
When his Cæsonia squeezed into the bowl
The dire excrescence of a new-dropp'd foal.—
Then Uproar rose; the universal chain
Of Order snapped, and Anarchy's wild reign 895
Came on apace, as if the queen of heaven
Had fired the Thunderer, and to madness driven.
Thy mushroom, Agrippine! was innocent,
To this accursed draught; that only sent
One palsied, bedrid sot, with gummy eyes, 900
And slavering lips, heels foremost to the skies:
This, to wild fury roused a bloody mind,
And called for fire and sword; this potion joined
In one promiscuous slaughter high and low,
And leveled half the nation at a blow. 905
Such is the power of philters! such the ill,
One sorceress can effect by wicked skill!
They hate their husband's spurious issue:—this,
If this were all, were not, perhaps, amiss:
But they go farther; and 'tis now some time 910
Since poisoning sons-in-law scarce seemed a crime.
Mark then, ye fatherless! what I advise,
And trust, O, trust no dainties, if you're wise:
Ye heirs to large estates! touch not that fare,
Your mother's fingers have been busy there; 915
See! it looks livid, swollen:—O check your haste,
And let your wary fosterfather taste,
Whate'er she sets before you: fear her meat,
And be the first to look, the last to eat.
But this is fiction all! I pass the bound 920
Of Satire, and encroach on Tragic ground!
Deserting truth, I choose a fabled theme,
And, like the buskined bards of Greece, declaim,
In deep-mouthed tones, in swelling strains, on crimes
As yet unknown to our Rutulian climes! 925
Would it were so! but Pontia cries aloud,
"No, I performed it." See! the fact's avowed—
"I mingled poison for my children, I;
'Twas found upon me, wherefore then deny?"
What, two at once, most barbarous viper! two! 930
"Nay, seven, had seven been mine: believe it true!"
Now let us credit what the tragic stage
Displays of Progne and Medea's rage;
Crimes of dire name, which, disbelieved of yore,
Become familiar, and revolt no more; 935
Those ancient dames in scenes of blood were bold,
And wrought fell deeds, but not, as ours, for gold:—
In every age, we view, with less surprise,
Such horrors as from bursts of fury rise,
When stormy passions, scorning all control, 940
Rend the mad bosom, and unseat the soul.
As when impetuous winds, and driving rain,
Mine some huge rock that overhangs the plain,
The cumbrous mass descends with thundering force,
And spreads resistless ruin in its course. 945
Curse on the woman, who reflects by fits,
And in cold blood her cruelties commits!—
They see, upon the stage, the Grecian wife
Redeeming with her own her husband's life;
Yet, in her place, would willingly deprive 950
Their lords of breath to keep their dogs alive!
Abroad, at home, the Belides you meet,
And Clytemnestras swarm in every street;
But here the difference lies:—those bungling wives,
With a blunt axe hacked out their husbands' lives; 955
While now, the deed is done with dexterous art,
And a drugged bowl performs the axe's part.
Yet, if the husband, prescient of his fate,
Have fortified his breast with mithridate,
She baffles him e'en there, and has recourse 960
To the old weapon for a last resource.

SATIRE VII.
TO TELESINUS.

Yes, all the hopes of learning, 'tis confess'd,
And all the patronage, on Cæsar rest:
For he alone the drooping Nine regards—
When, now, our best, and most illustrious bards,
Quit their ungrateful studies, and retire, 5
Bagnios and bakehouses, for bread, to hire;
With humbled views, a life of toil embrace,
And deem a crier's business no disgrace;
Since Clio, driven by hunger from the shade,
Mixes in crowds, and bustles for a trade. 10
And truly, if (the bard's too frequent curse)
No coin be found in your Pierian purse,
'Twere not ill done to copy, for the nonce,
Machæra, and turn auctioneer at once.
Hie, my poetic friend; in accents loud, 15
Commend your precious lumber to the crowd,
Old tubs, stools, presses, wrecks of many a chest,
Paccius' damned plays, Thebes, Tereus, and the rest.—
And better so—than haunt the courts of law,
And swear, for hire, to what you never saw: 20
Leave this resource to Cappadocian knights,
To Gallogreeks, and such new-fangled wights,
As want, or infamy, has chased from home,
And driven, in barefoot multitudes, to Rome.
Come, my brave youths!—the genuine sons of rhyme, 25
Who, in sweet numbers, couch the true sublime,
Shall, from this hour, no more their fate accuse,
Or stoop to pains unworthy of the Muse.
Come, my brave youths! your tuneful labors ply,
Secure of favor; lo! the imperial eye 30
Looks round, attentive, on each rising bard,
For worth to praise, for genius to reward!
But if for other patronage you look,
And therefore write, and therefore swell your book,
Quick, call for wood, and let the flames devour 35
The hapless produce of the studious hour;
Or lock it up, to moths and worms a prey,
And break your pens, and fling your ink away:—
Or pour it rather o'er your epic flights,
Your battles, sieges (fruit of sleepless nights), 40
Pour it, mistaken men, who rack your brains
In dungeons, cocklofts, for heroic strains;
Who toil and sweat to purchase mere renown,
A meagre statue, and an ivy crown!
Here bound your expectations: for the great, 45
Grown, wisely, covetous, have learned, of late,
To praise, and only praise, the high-wrought strain,
As boys, the bird of Juno's glittering train.
Meanwhile those vigorous years, so fit to bear
The toils of agriculture, commerce, war, 50
Spent in this idle trade, decline apace,
And age, unthought of, stares you in the face:—
O then, appalled to find your better days
Have earned you naught but poverty and praise,
At all your barren glories you repine, 55
And curse, too late, the unavailing Nine!
Hear, now, what sneaking ways your patrons find,
To save their darling gold:—they pay in kind!
Verses, composed in every Muse's spite,
To the starved bard, they, in their turn, recite; 60
And, if they yield to Homer, let him know,
'Tis—that he lived a thousand years ago!
But if, inspired with genuine love of fame,
A dry rehearsal only be your aim,
The miser's breast with sudden warmth dilates, 65
And lo! he opes his triple-bolted gates;
Nay, sends his clients to support your cause,
And rouse the tardy audience to applause:
But will not spare one farthing to defray
The numerous charges of this glorious day, 70
The desk where, throned in conscious pride, you sit,
The joists and beams, the orchestra and the pit.
Still we persist; plow the light sand, and sow
Seed after seed, where none can ever grow:
Nay, should we, conscious of our fruitless pain, 75
Strive to escape, we strive, alas! in vain;
Long habit and the thirst of praise beset,
And close us in the inextricable net.
The insatiate itch of scribbling, hateful pest,
Creeps like a tetter, through the human breast, 80
Nor knows, nor hopes a cure; since years, which chill
All other passions, but inflame the ill!
But HE, the bard of every age and clime,
Of genius fruitful, ardent and sublime,
Who, from the glowing mint of fancy, pours 85
No spurious metal, fused from common ores,
But gold, to matchless purity refined,
And stamped with all the godhead in his mind;
He whom I feel, but want the power to paint,
Springs from a soul impatient of restraint, 90
And free from every care; a soul that loves
The Muse's haunts, clear founts and shady groves.
Never, no never, did He wildly rave,
And shake his thyrsus in the Aonian cave,
Whom poverty kept sober, and the cries 95
Of a lean stomach, clamorous for supplies:
No; the wine circled briskly through the veins,
When Horace poured his dithyrambic strains!—
What room for fancy, say, unless the mind,
And all its thoughts, to poesy resigned, 100
Be hurried with resistless force along,
By the two kindred Powers of Wine and Song!
O! 'tis the exclusive business of a breast
Impetuous, uncontrolled—not one distress'd
With household cares, to view the bright abodes, 105
The steeds, the chariots, and the forms of gods:
And the fierce Fury, as her snakes she shook,
And withered the Rutulian with a look!
Those snakes, had Virgil no Mæcenas found,}
Had dropp'd, in listless length, upon the ground;} 110
And the still slumbering trump, groaned with no mortal sound.}
Yet we expect, from Lappa's tragic rage,
Such scenes as graced, of old, the Athenian stage;
Though he, poor man, from hand to mouth be fed,
And driven to pawn his furniture for bread! 115
When Numitor is asked to serve a friend,
"He can not; he is poor." Yet he can send
Rich presents to his mistress! he can buy
Tame lions, and find means to keep them high!
What then? the beasts are still the lightest charge; 120
For your starved bards have maws so devilish large!
Stretched in his marble palace, at his ease,
Lucan may write, and only ask to please;
But what is this, if this be all you give,
To Bassus and Serranus? They must live! 125
When Statius fixed a morning, to recite
His Thebaid to the town, with what delight
They flocked to hear! with what fond rapture hung
On the sweet strains, made sweeter by his tongue!
Yet, while the seats rung with a general peal 130
Of boisterous praise, the bard had lacked a meal,
Unless with Paris he had better sped,
And trucked a virgin tragedy for bread.
Mirror of men! he showers, with liberal hands,
On needy poets, honors and commands:— 135
An actor's patronage a peer's outgoes,
And what the last withholds, the first bestows!
—And will you still on Camerinus wait,
And Bareas? will you still frequent the great?
Ah, rather to the player your labors take, 140
And at one lucky stroke your fortune make!
Yet envy not the man who earns hard bread
By tragedy: the Muses' friends are fled!—
Mæcenas, Proculeius, Fabius, gone,
And Lentulus, and Cotta—every one! 145
Then worth was cherished, then the bard might toil,
Secure of favor, o'er the midnight oil;
Then all December's revelries refuse,
And give the festive moments to the Muse.
So fare the tuneful race: but ampler gains 150
Await, no doubt, the grave HISTORIANS' pains!
More time, more study they require, and pile
Page upon page, heedless of bulk the while,
Till, fact conjoined to fact with thought intense,
The work is closed, at many a ream's expense! 155
Say now, what harvest was there ever found,
What golden crop, from this long-labored ground?
'Tis barren all; and one poor plodding scribe
Gets more by framing pleas than all the tribe.
True:—'tis a slothful breed, that, nursed in ease, 160
Soft beds, and whispering shades, alone can please.
Say then, what gain the LAWYER'S toil affords,
His sacks of papers, and his war of words?
Heavens! how he bellows in our tortured ears;
But then, then chiefly, when the client hears, 165
Or one prepared, with vouchers, to attest
Some desperate debt, more anxious than the rest,
Twitches his elbow: then, his passions rise!
Then, forth he puffs the immeasurable lies
From his swollen lungs! then, the white foam appears, 170
And, driveling down his beard, his vest besmears!
Ask you the profit of this painful race?
'Tis quickly summed: Here, the joint fortunes place
Of five-score lawyers; there, Lacerta's sole—
And that one charioteer's, shall poise the whole! 175
The Generals take their seats in regal wise.
You, my pale Ajax, watch the hour, and rise,
In act to plead a trembling client's cause,
Before Judge Jolthead—learned in the laws.
Now stretch your throat, unhappy man! now raise 180
Your clamors, that, when hoarse, a bunch of bays,
Stuck in your garret window, may declare,
That some victorious pleader nestles there!
O glorious hour! but what your fee, the while?
A rope of shriveled onions from the Nile, 185
A rusty ham, a jar of broken sprats,
And wine, the refuse of our country vats;
Five flagons for four causes! if you hold,
Though this indeed be rare, a piece of gold;
The brethren, as per contract, on you fall, 190
And share the prize, solicitors and all!
Whate'er he asks, Æmilius may command,
Though more of law be ours: but lo! there stand
Before his gate, conspicuous from afar,
Four stately steeds, yoked to a brazen car: 195
And the great pleader, looking wary round,
On a fierce charger that disdains the ground,
Levels his threatening spear, in act to throw,
And seems to meditate no common blow.
Such arts as these, to beggary Matho brought, 200
And such the ruin of Tongillus wrought,
Who, with his troop of slaves, a draggled train,
Annoyed the baths, of his huge oil-horn vain;
Swept through the Forum, in a chair of state,
To every auction—villas, slaves, or plate; 205
And, trading on the credit of his dress,
Cheapened whate'er he saw, though penniless!
And some, indeed, have thriven by tricks like these:
Purple and violet swell a lawyer's fees;
Bustle and show above his means conduce 210
To business, and profusion proves of use.
The vice is universal: Rome confounds
The wealthiest;—prodigal beyond all bounds!
Could our old pleaders visit earth again,
Tully himself would scarce a brief obtain, 215
Unless his robe were purple, and a stone,
Diamond or ruby, on his finger shone.
The wary plaintiff, ere a fee he gives,
Inquires at what expense his counsel lives;
Has he eight slaves, ten followers? chairs to wait, 220
And clients to precede his march in state?
This Paulus knows full well, and, therefore, hires
A ring to plead in; therefore, too, acquires
More briefs than Cossus:—preference not unsound,
For how should eloquence in rags be found? 225
Who gives poor Basilus a cause of state?
When, to avert a trembling culprit's fate,
Shows he a weeping mother? or who heeds
How close he argues, and how well he pleads?
Unhappy Basilus!—but he is wrong: 230
Would he procure subsistence by his tongue,
Let him renounce the forum, and withdraw
To Gaul, or Afric, the dry-nurse of law.
But Vectius, yet more desperate than the rest,
Has opened (O that adamantine breast!) 235
A RHETORIC school; where striplings rave and storm
At tyranny, through many a crowded form.—
The exercises lately, sitting, read,
Standing, distract his miserable head,
And every day and every hour affords 240
The selfsame subjects, in the selfsame words;
Till, like hashed cabbage served for each repast,
The repetition—kills the wretch at last!
Where the main jet of every question lies,
And whence the chief objections may arise, 245
All wish to know; but none the price will pay.
"The price," retorts the scholar, "do you say!
What have I learned?" There go the master's pains,
Because, forsooth, the Arcadian brute lacks brains!
And yet this oaf, every sixth morn, prepares 250
To split my head with Hannibal's affairs,
While he debates at large, "Whether 'twere right
To take advantage of the general fright,
And march to Rome; or, by the storm alarmed,
And all the elements against him armed, 255
The dangerous expedition to delay,
And lead his harassed troops some other way."
—Sick of the theme, which still returns, and still
The exhausted wretch exclaims, Ask what you will,
I'll give it, so you on his sire prevail, 260
To hear, thus oft, the booby's endless tale!
So Vectius speeds: his brethren, wiser far,
Have shut up school, and hurried to the bar.
Adieu the idle fooleries of Greece,
The soporific drug, the golden fleece, 265
The faithless husband, and the abandoned wife,
And Æson, coddled to new light and life,
A long adieu! on more productive themes,
On actual crimes, the sophist now declaims:
Thou too, my friend, would'st thou my counsel hear, 270
Should'st free thyself from this ungrateful care;
Lest all be lost, and thou reduced, poor sage,
To want a tally in thy helpless age!
Bread still the lawyer earns; but tell me yet,
What your Chrysogonus and Pollio get 275
(The chief of rhetoricians), though they teach
Our youth of quality, the Art of Speech?
Oh, no! the great pursue a nobler end:—
Five thousand on a bath they freely spend;
More on a portico, where, while it lours, 280
They ride, and bid defiance to the showers.
Shall they, for brighter skies, at home remain,
Or dash their pampered mules through mud and rain?
No: let them pace beneath the stately roof,
For there no mire can soil the shining hoof. 285
See next, on proud Numidian columns rise
An eating-room, that fronts the eastern skies,
And drinks the cooler sun. Expensive these!
But (cost whate'er they may), the times to please,
Sewers for arrangement of the board admired, 290
And cooks of taste and skill must yet be hired.
Mid this extravagance, which knows no bounds,
Quintilian gets, and hardly gets, ten pounds:—
On education all is grudged as lost,
And sons are still a father's lightest cost. 295
Whence has Quintilian, then, his vast estate?
Urge not an instance of peculiar fate:
Perhaps, by luck. The lucky, I admit,
Have all advantages; have beauty, wit,
And wisdom, and high blood: the lucky, too, 300
May take, at will, the senatorial shoe;
Be first-rate speakers, pleaders, every thing;
And, though they croak like frogs, be thought to sing.
O, there's a difference, friend, beneath what sign
We spring to light, or kindly or malign! 305
Fortune is all: She, as the fancy springs,
Makes kings of pedants, and of pedants kings.
For, what were Tullius, and Ventidius, say,
But great examples of the wondrous sway
Of stars, whose mystic influence alone, 310
Bestows, on captives triumphs, slaves a throne?
He, then, is lucky; and, amid the clan,
Ranks with the milk-white crow, or sable swan:
While all his hapless brethren count their gains,
And execrate, too late, their fruitless pains. 315
Witness thy end, Thrasymachus! and thine,
Unblest Charinas!—Thou beheld'st him pine,
Thou, Athens! and would'st naught but bane bestow;
The only charity—thou seem'st to know!
Shades of our sires! O, sacred be your rest, 320
And lightly lie the turf upon your breast!
Flowers round your urns breathe sweets beyond compare,
And spring eternal shed its influence there!
You honored tutors, now a slighted race,
And gave them all a parent's power and place. 325
Achilles, grown a man, the lyre assayed
On his paternal hills, and, while he played,
With trembling eyed the rod;—and yet, the tail
Of the good Centaur, scarcely, then, could fail
To force a smile: such reverence now is rare, 330
And boys with bibs strike Rufus on his chair,
Fastidious Rufus, who, with critic rage,
Arraigned the purity of Tully's page!
Enough of these. Let the last wretched band,
The poor GRAMMARIANS, say, what liberal hand 335
Rewards their toil: let learned Palæmon tell,
Who proffers what his skill deserves so well.
Yet from this pittance, whatsoe'er it be
(Less, surely, than the rhetorician's fee),
The usher snips off something for his pains, 340
And the purveyor nibbles what remains.
Courage, Palæmon! be not over-nice,
But suffer some abatement in your price;
As those who deal in rugs, will ask you high,
And sink by pence and half-pence, till you buy. 345
Yes, suffer this; while something's left to pay
Your rising hours before the dawn of day,
When e'en the laboring poor their slumbers take,
And not a weaver, not a smith's awake:
While something's left to pay you for the stench 350
Of smouldering lamps, thick spread o'er every bench,
Where ropy vapors Virgil's pages soil,
And Horace looks one blot, all soot and oil!
Even then, the stipend thus reduced, thus small,
Without a lawsuit, rarely comes at all. 355
Add yet, ye parents, add to the disgrace,
And heap new hardships on this wretched race.
Make it a point that all, and every part,
Of their own science, be possessed by heart;
That general history with our own they blend, 360
And have all authors at their fingers' end:
Still ready to inform you, should you meet,
And ask them at the bath, or in the street,
Who nursed Anchises; from what country came
The step-dame of Archemorus, what her name; 365
How long Acestes flourished, and what store
Of generous wine the Phrygians from him bore—
Make it a point too, that, like ductile clay,
They mould the tender mind, and day by day
Bring out the form of Virtue; that they prove 370
A father to the youths, in care and love;
And watch that no obscenities prevail—
And trust me, friend, even Argus' self might fail,
The busy hands of schoolboys to espy,
And the lewd fires which twinkle in their eye. 375
All this, and more, exact; and, having found
The man you seek, say—When the year comes round,
We'll give thee for thy twelve months' anxious pains,
As much—as, IN AN HOUR, A FENCER GAINS!

SATIRE VIII.
TO PONTICUS.

"Your ancient house!" no more.—I can not see
The wondrous merits of a pedigree:
No, Ponticus;—nor of a proud display
Of smoky ancestors, in wax or clay;
Æmilius, mounted on his car sublime, 5
Curius, half wasted by the teeth of time,
Corvinus, dwindled to a shapeless bust,
And high-born Galba, crumbling into dust.
What boots it, on the LINEAL TREE to trace,
Through many a branch, the founders of our race, 10
Time-honored chiefs; if, in their sight, we give
A loose to vice, and like low villains live?
Say, what avails it, that, on either hand,
The stern Numantii, an illustrious band,
Frown from the walls, if their degenerate race 15
Waste the long night at dice, before their face?
If, staggering, to a drowsy bed they creep,
At that prime hour when, starting from their sleep,
Their sires the signal of the fight unfurled,
And drew their legions forth, and won the world? 20
Say, why should Fabius, of the Herculean name,
To the GREAT ALTAR vaunt his lineal claim,
If, softer than Euganean lambs, the youth,
His wanton limbs, with Ætna's pumice, smooth,
And shame his rough-hewn sires? if greedy, vain, 25
If, a vile trafficker in secret bane,
He blast his wretched kindred with a bust,
For public vengeance to—reduce to dust!
Fond man! though all the heroes of your line
Bedeck your halls, and round your galleries shine 30
In proud display; yet, take this truth from me,
Virtue alone is true nobility.
Set Cossus, Drusus, Paulus, then, in view,
The bright example of their lives pursue;
Let these precede the statues of your race, 35
And these, when Consul, of your rods take place.
O give me inborn worth! dare to be just,
Firm to your word, and faithful to your trust:
These praises hear, at least deserve to hear,
I grant your claim, and recognize the peer. 40
Hail! from whatever stock you draw your birth,
The son of Cossus, or the son of Earth,
All hail! in you, exulting Rome espies
Her guardian Power, her great Palladium rise;
And shouts like Egypt, when her priests have found, 45
A new Osiris, for the old one drowned!
But shall we call those noble, who disgrace
Their lineage, proud of an illustrious race?
Vain thought!—but thus, with many a taunting smile,
The dwarf an Atlas, Moor a swan, we style; 50
The crookbacked wench, Europa; and the hound,
With age enfeebled, toothless, and unsound,
That listless lies, and licks the lamps for food,
Lord of the chase, and tyrant of the wood!
You, too, beware, lest Satire's piercing eye 55
The slave of guilt through grandeur's blaze espy,
And, drawing from your crime some sounding name,
Declare at once your greatness and your shame.
Ask you for whom this picture I design?
Plautus, thy birth and folly make it thine. 60
Thou vaunt'st thy pedigree, on every side
To noble and imperial blood allied;
As if thy honors by thyself were won,
And thou hadst some illustrious action done,
To make the world believe thee Julia's heir, 65
And not the offspring of some easy fair,
Who, shivering in the wind, near yon dead wall,
Plies her vile labor, and is all to all.
"Away, away! ye slaves of humblest birth,
Ye dregs of Rome, ye nothings of the earth, 70
Whose fathers who shall tell! my ancient line
Descends from Cecrops." Man of blood divine!
Live, and enjoy the secret sweets which spring
In breasts, affined to so remote a king!—
Yet know, amid these "dregs," low grandeur's scorn, 75
Will those be found whom arts and arms adorn:
Some, skilled to plead a noble blockhead's cause,
And solve the dark enigmas of the laws;
Some, who the Tigris' hostile banks explore,
And plant our eagles on Batavia's shore: 80
While thou, in mean, inglorious pleasure lost,
With "Cecrops! Cecrops!" all thou hast to boast,
Art a full brother to the crossway stone,
Which clowns have chipped the head of Hermes on:
For 'tis no bar to kindred, that thy block 85
Is formed of flesh and blood, and theirs of rock.
Of beasts, great son of Troy, who vaunts the breed,
Unless renowned for courage, strength, or speed?
'Tis thus we praise the horse, who mocks our eyes,
While, to the goal, with lightning's speed, he flies! 90
Whom many a well-earned palm and trophy grace,
And the Cirque hails, unrivaled in the race!
—Yes, he is noble, spring from whom he will,
Whose footsteps, in the dust, are foremost still;
While Hirpine's stock are to the market led, 95
If Victory perch but rarely on their head:
For no respect to pedigree is paid,
No honor to a sire's illustrious shade.
Flung cheaply off, they drag the cumbrous wain,
With shoulders bare and bleeding from the chain; 100
Or take, with some blind ass in concert found,
At Nepo's mill, their everlasting round.
That Rome may, therefore, YOU, not YOURS, admire,
By virtuous actions, first, to praise aspire;
Seek not to shine by borrowed light alone, 105
But with your father's glories blend your own.
This to the youth, whom Rumor brands as vain,
And swelling—full of his Neronian strain;
Perhaps, with truth:—for rarely shall we find
A sense of modesty in that proud kind. 110
But were my Ponticus content to raise
His honors thus, on a forefather's praise,
Worthless the while—'twould tinge my cheeks with shame—
'Tis dangerous building on another's fame,
Lest the substructure fail, and on the ground 115
Your baseless pile be hurled, in fragments, round.—
Stretched on the plain, the vine's weak tendrils try
To clasp the elm they drop from; fail—and die!
Be brave, be just; and when your country's laws
Call you to witness in a dubious cause, 120
Though Phalaris plant his bull before your eye,
And, frowning, dictate to your lips the lie,
Think it a crime no tears can e'er efface,
To purchase safety with compliance base,
At honor's cost a feverish span extend, 125
And sacrifice for life, life's only end!
Life! 'tis not life—who merits death is dead;
Though Gauran oysters for his feasts be spread,
Though his limbs drip with exquisite perfume,
And the late rose around his temples bloom! 130
O, when the province, long desired, you gain,
Your boiling rage, your lust of wealth, restrain,
And pity our allies: all Asia grieves—
Her blood, her marrow, drained by legal thieves.
Revere the laws, obey the parent state; 135
Observe what rich rewards the good await.
What punishments the bad: how Tutor sped,
While Rome's whole thunder rattled round his head!
And yet what boots it, that one spoiler bleed,
If still a worse, and still a worse succeed; 140
If neither fear nor shame control their theft,
And Pansa seize the little Natta left?
Haste then, Chærippus, ere thy rags be known,
And sell the few thou yet canst call thine own,
And O, conceal the price! 'tis honest craft; 145
Thou could'st not keep the hatchet—save the haft.
Not such the cries of old, nor such the stroke,
When first the nations bowed beneath our yoke.
Wealth, then, was theirs, wealth without fear possess'd,
Full every house, and bursting every chest— 150
Crimson, in looms of Sparta taught to glow,
And purple, deeply dyed in grain of Co;
Busts, to which Myro's touch did motion give,
And ivory, taught by Phidias' skill to live;
On every side a Polyclete you viewed, 155
And scarce a board without a Mentor stood.
These, these, the lust of rapine first inspired,
These, Antony and Dolabella fired.
And sacrilegious Verres:—so, for Rome
They shipped their secret plunder; and brought home 160
More treasures from our friends, in peace obtained,
Than from our foes, in war, were ever gained!
Now all is gone! the stallion made a prey,
The few brood mares and oxen swept away,
The Lares—if the sacred hearth possess'd} 165
One little god, that pleased above the rest—}
Mean spoils, indeed! but such were now their best}
Perhaps you scorn (and may securely scorn)
The essenced Greek, whom arts, not arms, adorn:
Soft limbs, and spirits by refinement broke, 170
Would feebly struggle with the oppressive yoke.
But spare the Gaul, the fierce Illyrian spare,
And the rough Spaniard, terrible in war;
Spare too the Afric hind, whose ceaseless pain
Fills our wide granaries with autumnal grain, 175
And pampers Rome, while weightier cares engage
Her precious hours—the Circus and the Stage!
For, should you rifle them, O think in time,
What spoil would pay the execrable crime,
When greedy Marius fleeced them all so late, 180
And bare and bleeding left the hapless state!
But chief the brave, and wretched—tremble there;
Nor tempt too far the madness of despair:
For, should you all their little treasures drain,
Helmets, and spears, and swords, would still remain; 185
The plundered ne'er want arms. What I foretell}
Is no trite apophthegm, but—mark me well—}
True as a Sibyl's leaf! fixed as an oracle!}
If men of worth the posts beneath you hold,
And no spruce favorite barter law for gold; 190
If no inherent stain your wife disgrace,
Nor, harpy-like, she flit from place to place,
A fell Celæno, ever on the watch,
And ever furious, all she sees to snatch;
Then choose what race you will: derive your birth 195
From Picus, or those elder sons of earth,
Who shook the throne of heaven; call him your sire,
Who first informed our clay with living fire;
Or single from the songs of ancient days,
What tale may suit you, and what parent raise. 200
But—if rash pride, and lust, your bosom sway,
If, with stern joy, you ply, from day to day
The ensanguined rods, and head on head demand,
Till the tired axe drop from the lictor's hand;
Then, every honor, by your father won, 205
Indignant to be borne by such a son,
Will, to his blood, oppose your daring claim,
And fire a torch to blaze upon your shame!—
Vice glares more strongly in the public eye,
As he who sins, in power or place is high. 210
See! by his great progenitors' remains
Fat Damasippus sweeps, with loosened reins.
Good Consul! he no pride of office feels,
But stoops, himself, to clog his headlong wheels.
"But this is all by night," the hero cries. 215
Yet the MOON sees! yet the STARS stretch their eyes,
Full on your shame!—A few short moments wait,
And Damasippus quits the pomp of state:
Then, proud the experienced driver to display,
He mounts his chariot in the face of day, 220
Whirls, with bold front, his grave associate by,
And jerks his whip, to catch the senior's eye:
Unyokes his weary steeds, and, to requite
Their service, feeds and litters them, at night.
Meanwhile, 'tis all he can, what time he stands 225
At Jove's high altar, as the law commands,
And offers sheep and oxen, he forswears
The Eternal King, and gives his silent prayers
To thee, Hippona, goddess of the stalls,
And gods more vile, daubed on the reeking walls! 230
At night, to his old haunts he scours, elate
(The tavern by the Idumean gate),
Where, while the host, bedrenched with liquid sweets,
With many a courteous phrase his entrance greets,
And many a smile; the hostess nimbly moves, 235
And gets the flagon ready, which he loves.
Here some, perhaps, my growing warmth may blame:
"In youth's wild hours," they urge, "we did the same."
'Tis granted, friends; but then we stopped in time,
Nor hugged our darling faults beyond our prime. 240
Brief let our follies be! and youthful sin
Fall, with the firstlings of the manly chin!—
Boys we may pity, nay, perhaps, excuse:
But Damasippus STILL frequents the stews,
Though now mature in vigor, ripe in age, 245
Of Cæsar's foes to check the headlong rage,
On Tigris' banks, in burnished arms, to shine,
And sternly guard the Danube, or the Rhine.
"The East revolts." Ho! let the troops repair
To Ostium, quick! "But where's the General?" Where! 250
Go, search the taverns; there the chief you'll find,
With cut-throats, plunderers, rogues of every kind,
Bier-jobbers, bargemen, drenched in fumes of wine,
And Cybele's priests, mid their loose drums, supine!
There none are less, none greater than the rest, 255
There my lord gives, and takes the scurvy jest;
There all who can, round the same table sprawl.
And there one greasy tankard serves for all.
Blessings of birth!—but, Ponticus, a word:
Owned you a slave like this degenerate lord, 260
What were his fate? your Lucan farm to till,
Or aid the mules to turn your Tuscan mill.
But Troy's great sons dispense with being good,
And boldly sin by courtesy of blood;
Wink at each other's crimes, and look for fame 265
In what would tinge a cobbler's cheek with shame.
And have I wreaked on such foul deeds my rage,
That worse should yet remain to blot my page!—
See Damasippus, all his fortune lost,
Compelled, for hire, to play a squealing ghost! 270
While Lentulus, his brother in renown,
Performs, with so much art, the perjured clown,
And suffers with such grace, that, for his pains,
I hold him worthy of—the CROSS he feigns.
Nor deem the heedless rabble void of blame:— 275
Strangers alike to decency and shame,
They sit with brazen front, and calmly see
The hired patrician's low buffoonery;
Laugh at the Fabii's tricks, and grin to hear
The cuffs resound from the Mamerci's ear! 280
Who cares how low their blood is sold, how high?—
No Nero drives them, now, their fate to try:
Freely they come, and freely they expose
Their lives for hire, to grace the public shows!
But grant the worst: suppose the arena here, 285
And there the stage; on which would you appear?
The first: for who of death so much in dread,
As not to tremble more, the stage to tread,
Squat on his hams, in some blind nook to sit,
And watch his mistress, in a jealous fit!— 290
But 'tis not strange, that, when the Emperor tunes
A scurvy harp, the lords should turn buffoons;
The wonder is, they turn not fencers too,
Secutors, Retiarians—AND THEY DO!
Gracchus steps forth: No sword his thigh invests— 295
No helmet, shield—such armor he detests,
Detests and spurns; and impudently stands,
With the poised net and trident in his hands.
The foe advances—lo! a cast he tries,
But misses, and in frantic terror flies 300
Round the thronged Cirque; and, anxious to be known,
Lifts his bare face, with many a piteous moan.
"'Tis he! 'tis he!—I know the Salian vest,
With golden fringes, pendent from the breast;
The Salian bonnet, from whose pointed crown 305
The glittering ribbons float redundant down.
O spare him, spare!"—The brave Secutor heard,
And, blushing, stopped the chase; for he preferred
Wounds, death itself, to the contemptuous smile,
Of conquering one so noble, and—so vile! 310
Who, Nero, so depraved, if choice were free,
To hesitate 'twixt Seneca and thee?
Whose crimes, so much have they all crimes outgone,
Deserve more serpents, apes, and sacks, than one.
Not so, thou say'st; there are, whom I could name, 315
As deep in guilt, and as accursed in fame;
Orestes slew HIS mother. True; but know,
The same effects from different causes flow:
A father murdered at the social board,
And heaven's command, unsheathed his righteous sword. 320
Besides, Orestes, in his wildest mood,
Poisoned no cousin, shed no consort's blood,
Buried no poniard in a sister's throat,
Sung on no public stage, no Troics wrote.—
This topped his frantic crimes! THIS roused mankind! 325
For what could Galba, what Virginius find,
In the dire annals of that bloody reign,
Which called for vengeance in a louder strain?
Lo here, the arts, the studies that engage
The world's great master! on a foreign stage, 330
To prostitute his voice for base renown,
And ravish, from the Greeks, a parsley crown!
Come then, great prince, great poet! while we throng
To greet thee, recent from triumphant song,
Come, place the unfading wreath, with reverence meet, 335
On the Domitii's brows! before their feet
The mask and pall of old Thyestes lay,
And Menalippé; while, in proud display,
From the colossal marble of thy sire,
Depends, the boast of Rome, thy conquering lyre! 340
Cethegus! Catiline! whose ancestors
Were nobler born, were higher ranked, than yours?
Yet ye conspired, with more than Gallic hate,
To wrap in midnight flames this hapless state;
On men and gods your barbarous rage to pour, 345
And deluge Rome with her own children's gore:
Horrors, which called, indeed, for vengeance dire,
For the pitched coat and stake, and smouldering fire!
But Tully watched—your league in silence broke,
And crushed your impious arms, without a stroke. 350
Yes he, poor Arpine, of no name at home,
And scarcely ranked among the knights at Rome,
Secured the trembling town, placed a firm guard
In every street, and toiled in every ward:—
And thus, within the walls, the GOWN obtained, 355
More fame, for Tully, than Octavius gained
At Actium and Philippi, from a sword,
Drenched in the eternal stream by patriots poured!
For Rome, free Rome, hailed him, with loud acclaim,
The Father of his Country—glorious name! 360
Another Arpine, trained the ground to till,
Tired of the plow, forsook his native hill,
And joined the camp; where, if his adze was slow,
The vine-twig whelked his back with many a blow:
And yet, when the fierce Cimbri threatened Rome 365
With swift, and scarcely evitable doom,
This man, in the dread hour, to save her rose,
And turned the impending ruin on her foes!
For which, while ravening birds devoured the slain,
And their huge bones lay whitening on the plain, 370
His high-born colleague to his worth gave way,
And took, well pleased, the secondary bay.
The Decii were plebeians! mean their name,
And mean the parent stock from which they came:
Yet they devoted, in the trying hour, 375
Their heads to Earth, and each infernal Power;
And by that solemn act, redeemed from fate,}
Auxiliars, legions, all the Latian state;}
More prized than those they saved, in heaven's just estimate!}
And him, who graced the purple which he wore 380
(The last good king of Rome), a bondmaid bore.
The Consul's sons (while storms yet shook the state,
And Tarquin thundered vengeance at the gate),
Who should, to crown the labors of their sire,
Have dared what Cocles, Mutius, might admire, 385
And she, who mocked the javelins whistling round,
And swam the Tiber, then the empire's bound;
Had to the tyrant's rage the town exposed,
But that a slave their dark designs disclosed.—
For Him, when stretched upon his honored bier, 390
The grateful matrons shed the pious tear,
While, with stern eye, the patriot and the sire
Saw, by the axe, the high-born pair expire:
They fell—just victims to the offended laws,
And the first sacrifice to FREEDOM'S cause! 395
For me, who naught but innate worth admire,
I'd rather vile Thersites were thy sire,
So thou wert like Achilles, and could'st wield
Vulcanian arms, the terror of the field,
Than that Achilles should thy father be, 400
And, in his offspring, vile Thersites see.
And yet, how high soe'er thy pride may trace
The long-forgotten founders of thy race,
Still must the search with that Asylum end,
From whose polluted source we all descend. 405
Haste then, the inquiry haste; secure to find
Thy sire some vagrant slave, some bankrupt hind,
Some—but I mark the kindling glow of shame,
And will not shock thee with a baser name.

SATIRE IX.
JUVENAL, NÆVOLUS.

Juv. Still drooping, Nævolus! What, prithee, say,
Portends this show of grief from day to day,
This copy of flayed Marsyas? what dost thou
With such a rueful face, and such a brow,
As Ravola wore, when caught—Not so cast down 5
Looked Pollio, when, of late, he scoured the town,
And, proffering treble rate, from friend to friend,
Found none so foolish, none so mad, to lend!
But, seriously, for thine's a serious case,
Whence came those sudden wrinkles in thy face? 10
I knew thee once, a gay, light-hearted slave,
Contented with the little fortune gave;
A sprightly guest, of every table free,
And famed for modish wit and repartee.
Now all's reversed: dejected is thy mien, 15
Thy locks are like a tangled thicket seen;
And every limb, once smoothed with nicest care,
Rank with neglect, a shrubbery of hair!
What dost thou with that dull, dead, withered look,
Like some old debauchee, long ague-shook? 20
All is not well within; for, still we find
The face the unerring index of the mind,
And as THIS feels or fancies joys or woes,
That pales with sorrow, or with rapture glows.
What should I think? Too sure the scene is changed, 25
And thou from thy old course of life estranged:
For late, as I remember, at all haunts,
Where dames of fashion flock to hire gallants,
At Isis and at Ganymede's abodes,
At Cybele's, dread mother of the gods, 30
Nay, at chaste Ceres' (for at shame they spurn,
And even her temples now to brothels turn),
None was so famed: the favorites of the town,
Baffled alike in business and renown,
Murmuring retired; wives, daughters, were thy own, 35
And—if the truth MUST come—not THEY alone.
Næv. Right: and to some this trade has answered yet;
But not to me: for what is all I get?
A drugget cloak, to save my gown from rain,}
Coarse in its texture, dingy in its grain,} 40
And a few pieces of the "second vein!"}
Fate governs all. Fate, with full sway, presides
Even o'er those parts, which modest nature hides;
And little, if her genial influence fail,
Will vigor stead, or boundless powers avail: 45
Though Virro, gloating on your naked charms,
Foam with desire, and woo you to his arms,
With many a soothing, many a flattering phrase—
For your cursed pathics have such winning ways!
Hear now this prodigy, this mass impure, 50
Of lust and avarice! "Let us, friend, be sure:
I've given thee this, and this;—now count the sums:"
(He counts, and woos the while), "behold! it comes
To five sestertia, five!—now, look again,
And see how much it overpays thy pain:" 55
What! "overpays?"—but you are formed for love,
And worthy of the cup and couch of Jove!
—Will those relieve a client!—those, who grudge
A wretched pittance to the painful drudge
That toils in their disease?—O mark, my friend, 60
The blooming youth, to whom we presents send,
Or on the Female Calends, or the day
Which gave him birth! in what a lady-way
He takes our favors as he sits in state,
And sees adoring crowds besiege his gate! 65
Insatiate sparrow! whom do your domains,
Your numerous hills await, your numerous plains?
Regions, that such a tract of land embrace,
That kites are tired within the unmeasured space!
For you the purple vine luxuriant glows, 70
On Trifoline's plain, and on Misenus' brows;
And hollow Gaurus, from his fruitful hills,
Your spacious vaults with generous nectar fills:
What were it, then, a few poor roods to grant
To one so worn with lechery and want? 75
Sure yonder female, with the child she bred,
The dog their playmate, and their little shed,
Had, with more justice, been conferred on me,
Than on a cymbal-beating debauchee!
"I'm troublesome," you say, when I apply, 80
"And give! give! give! is my eternal cry."—
But house-rent due solicits to be sped,
And my sole slave, importunate for bread,
Follows me, clamoring in as loud a tone
As Polyphemus, when his prey was flown. 85
Nor will this one suffice, the toil's so great!
Another must be bought; and both must eat.
What shall I say, when cold December blows,
And their bare limbs shrink at the driving snows,
What shall I say, their drooping hearts to cheer? 90
"Be merry, boys, the spring will soon be here!"
But though my other merits you deny,
One yet must be allowed—that had not I,
I, your devoted client, lent my aid,
Your wife had to this hour remained a maid. 95
You know what motives urged me to the deed,
And what was promised, could I but succeed:—
Oft in my arms the flying fair I caught,
And back to your cold bed, reluctant, brought,
Even when she'd canceled all her former vows, 100
And now was signing to another spouse.
What pains it cost to set these matters right,
While you stood whimpering at the door all night,
I spare to tell:—a friend like me has tied
Full many a knot, when ready to divide. 105
Where will you turn you now, sir? whither fly?
What, to my charges, first, or last, reply?
Is it no merit, speak, ungrateful! none,
To give you thus a daughter, or a son,
Whom you may breed with credit at your board, 110
And prove yourself a man upon record?—
Haste, with triumphal wreaths your gates adorn,
You're now a father, now no theme for scorn;
My toils have ta'en the opprobrium from your name,
And stopp'd the babbling of malicious fame. 115
A parent's rights you now may proudly share,
Now, thank my industry, be named an heir;
Take now the whole bequest, with what beside,
From lucky windfalls, may in time betide;
And other blessings, if I but repeat 120
My pains, and make the number THREE complete.
Juv. Nay, thou hast reason to complain, I feel:
But, what says Virro?
Næv. Not a syllable;
But, while my wrongs and I unnoticed pass,
Hunts out some other drudge, some two-legged ass. 125
Enough;—and never, on your life, unfold
The secret thus to you, in friendship told;
But let my injuries, undivulged, still rest
Within the closest chamber of your breast:
How the discovery might be borne, none knows— 130
And your smooth pathics are such fatal foes!
Virro, who trusts me yet, may soon repent,
And hate me for the confidence he lent;
With fire and sword my wretched life pursue,
As if I'd blabbed already all I knew. 135
Sad situation mine! for, in your ear,
The rich can never buy revenge too dear;
And—but enough: be cautious, I entreat,
And secret as the Athenian judgment-seat.
Juv. And dost thou seriously believe, fond swain, 140
The actions of the great unknown remain?
Poor Corydon! even beasts would silence break,
And stocks and stones, if servants did not, speak.
Bolt every door, stop every cranny tight,
Close every window, put out every light; 145
Let not a whisper reach the listening ear,
No noise, no motion; let no soul be near;
Yet all that passed at the cock's second crow,
The neighboring vintner shall, ere daybreak, know;
With what besides the cook and carver's brain, 150
Subtly malicious, can in vengeance feign!
For thus they glory, with licentious tongue,
To quit the harsh command and galling thong.
Should these be mute, some drunkard in the streets
Will pour out all he knows to all he meets, 155
Force them, unwilling, the long tale to hear,
And with his stories drench their hapless ear.
Go now, and earnestly of those request,
To lock, like me, the secret in their breast:
Alas! they hear thee not; and will not sell 160
The dear, dear privilege—to see and tell,
For more stolen wine than late Saufeia boused,
When, for the people's welfare, she—caroused!
Live virtuously:—thus many a reason cries,
But chiefly this, that so thou may'st despise 165
Thy servant's tongue; for, lay this truth to heart,
The tongue is the vile servant's vilest part:
Yet viler he, who lives in constant dread
Of the domestic spies that—eat his bread.
Næv. Well have you taught, how we may best disdain 170
The envenomed babbling of our household train;
But this is general, and to all applies:—
What, in my proper case, would you advise?
After such flattering expectations cross'd,
And so much time in vain dependence lost? 175
For youth, too transient flower! of life's short day
The shortest part, but blossoms—to decay.
Lo! while we give the unregarded hour
To revelry and joy, in Pleasure's bower,
While now for rosy wreaths our brows to twine, 180
And now for nymphs we call, and now for wine,
The noiseless foot of Time steals swiftly by,
And ere we dream of manhood, age is nigh!
Juv. Oh, fear not: thou canst never seek in vain
A pathic friend, while these seven hills remain. 185
Hither in crowds the master-misses come,
From every point, as to their proper home:
One hope has failed, another may succeed;
Meanwhile do thou on hot eringo feed.
Næv. Tell this to happier men; the Fates ne'er meant 190
Such luck for me: my Clotho is content,
When all my oil a bare subsistence gains,
And fills my belly, by my back and reins.
O, my poor Lares! dear, domestic Powers!
To whom I come with incense, cakes, and flowers, 195
When shall my prayers, so long preferred in vain,
Acceptance find? O, when shall I obtain
Enough to free me from the constant dread
Of life's worst ill, gray hairs and want of bread?
On mortgage, six-score pounds a year, or eight, 200
A little sideboard, which, for overweight,
Fabricius would have censured; a stout pair
Of hireling Mæsians, to support my chair,
In the thronged Circus: add to these, one slave
Well skilled to paint, another to engrave; 205
And I—but let me give these day-dreams o'er—
Wish as I may, I ever shall be poor;
For when to Fortune I prefer my prayers,
The obdurate goddess stops at once her ears;
Stops with that wax which saved Ulysses' crew,} 210
When by the Syrens' rocks and songs they flew,}
False songs and treacherous rocks, that all to ruin drew.}