ODES OF HORACE
PARAPHRASED BY THOMAS FLATMAN.
Book II. Ode XIX.
Being half foxt he praiseth Bacchus.
In a blind corner jolly Bacchus taught
The Nymphs and Satyrs poetry;
Myself (a thing scarce to be thought)
Was at that time a stander by.
And ever since the whim runs in my head,
With heavenly frenzy I'm on fire;
Dear Bacchus, let me not be punishèd
For raving, when thou didst inspire.
Ecstatically drunk, I now dare sing
10Thy bigot Thyades, and the source
Whence thy brisk wine, honey, and milk did spring,
Enchannell'd by thy sceptre's force.
Bold as I am, I dare yet higher fly,
And sing bright Ariadne's Crown,
Rejoice to see bold Pentheus' destiny,
And grave Lycurgus tumbled down.
Rivers and seas thine empire all obey,
When thou thy standard dost advance,
Wild mountaineers, thy vassals, trim and gay,
20In tune and time stagger and dance.
Thou, when great Jove began to fear his throne
(In no small danger then he was),
The mighty Rhoecus thou didst piss upon,
And of that lion mad'st an ass.
'Tis true, thy talent is not war, but mirth;
The fiddle, not the trumpet, thine;
Yet didst thou bravely lay about thee then,
Great Moderator, God of Wine.
And when to Hell in triumph thou didst ride
30O'er Cerberus thou didst prevail,
The silly cur, thee for his Master own'd,
And like a puppy wagg'd his tail.
Odes of Horace.] On Flatman's Horatian versions generally see Introduction. The notes they call for are few.
14 Crown] Not in the usual vague poetic sense, but the star Corona Ariadnes.
Book III. Ode VIII. To Maecenas.
Learnèd Maecenas, wonder not that I
(A Bachelor) invoke that Deity,
Which at this feast the married rout adore,
And yearly do implore.
They pray the gods to make their burthen light,
And that their yoke-fellows may never fight:
I praise them, not for giving me a wife,
But saving of my life.
By heav'n redeem'd, I 'scap'd a falling tree,
10And yearly own that strange delivery,
Yearly rejoice, and drink the briskest wine,
Not spill it at their shrine.
Come, my Maecenas, let us drink, and thus
Cherish that life those Pow'rs have given us:
A thousand cups to midwife this new birth,
With inoffensive mirth.
No State-affairs near my Maecenas come,
Since all are fall'n that fought victorious Rome.
By civil broils the Medes, our foes, will fall.
20The weakest to the wall.
Our fierce and ancient enemy of Spain
Is now subdu'd, and tamely bears our chain.
The savage Scythian too begins to yield,
About to quit the field.
Bear they the load of government that can;
Thou, since a private, and good-natur'd man,
Enjoy th' advantage of the present hour,
For why shouldst thou look sour?
Book III. Ode IX. Horace and Lydia.
Hor. While I was lovely in thine eye,
And while no soft embrace but mine
Encircled thy fair ivory neck,
I did the Persian King outshine.
Lyd. While Horace was an honest lad,
And Chloe less than Lydia lov'd,
Lydia was then a matchless Lass,
And in a sphere 'bove Ilia mov'd.
Hor. But Chloe now has vanquish'd me,
10That lute and voice who could deny?
Methinks might I but save her life,
I could myself even dare to die.
Lyd. Young Calais is my gallant,
He burns me with his flaming eye;
To save the pretty villain's life,
Twice over I could dare to die.
Hor. But say I Lydia lov'd again,
And would new-braze Love's broken chain?
Say I should turn my Chloe off,
20And take poor Lydia home again?
Lyd. Why then though he a fixèd star.
Thou lighter than a cork shouldst be,
Mad, and unquiet as the sea,
Yet would I live, and die with thee.
Book III. Ode XII.
No more Love's subjects, but his slaves they be,
That dare not o'er a glass of wine be free,
But quit, for fear of friends, their liberty.
Fond Neobule! thou art lazy grown,
Away thy needle, web, and distaff thrown,
Thou hop'st thy work by Hebrus will be done.
A sturdy youth, and a rank rider he,
Can run a race, and box most manfully,
Swim like a duck, and caper like a flea.
10He hunts the stag, and all the forest o'er
With strength and craft pursues the savage boar:
He minds the sport, and thou desir'st no more.
Book III. Ode XVII. To Aelius Lamia.
Brave Aelius, sprung from an heroic line,
Whose pedigree in long descents do shine,
That add'st new glories to the Lamian name,
And rear'st fresh trophies to their fame!
Descended from Prince Lamus, whose command
Reach from the Formian walls, o'er sea and land;
Well was he known our ancestors among,
Where gentle Liris slides along.
Great as thou art, time will not thee obey:
10To-morrow's like to be a blust'ring day,
Some tempest too is threat'ned from the east,
As by th' unlucky crow I guess'd:
'Tis dry to-day! Now lay thy fuel in,
Ere the unwelcome season do begin,
Good victuals get, and frolic friends together,
Armour of proof against ill weather.
xvii. 2 'Do shine' is probably a misprint, due to the contiguous s's, for 'does' or 'do's shine'. So below in l. 6, 'reach' should probably be 'reacht' An apparent but not real false concord between plural nouns and singular verb was common in the seventeenth century.
Book III. Ode XIX. To Telephus.
I.
Thou por'st on Helvicus, and studiest in vain,
How many years pass'd betwixt King and King's reign,
To make an old woman ev'n twitter for joy
At an eighty-eight story, or the scuffle at Troy:
But where the good wine, and best fire is
When the cruel North-wind does blow,
And the trees do penance in snow;
Where the poet's delight and desire is,
Thou, pitiful book-worm, ne'er troublest thy brain.
II.
10Come, drawer, some claret, we'll drown this new Moon.
More candles t' improve this dull night into noon:
let the healths, let the house, and the glasses turn round,
But no tears, except those of the tankard, abound.
Come! here's a good health to the Muses,
Three brimmers to the three times three,
And one to each grace let there be;
The triple-skull'd dog bite him that refuses.
III.
Let's be mad as March-hares, call the minstrels and singers,
Strike up there!—kick that rogue—he has chilblains on's fingers,
20Let that whoreson our neighbour, on his bags that lies thinking,
Bear a part in the storm, but not the calm of our drinking.
Come! bring us a wench, or two, prithee;
Thou Telephus look'st pretty fair,
And hast a good thick head of hair,
Fetch him Chloe, she's buxom, and loves to trade with thee;
Call Glycera to me, for I am one of her swingers.
xix. A good example of the curious 'skimble skamble' anapaests before Dryden and Prior.
4 an eighty-eight story] Of the Armada.
Book III. Ode XX. To Pyrrhus.
Dry Pyrrhus, little dost thou know,
What 'tis to make a whelp forgo
His lioness,—faith 'twill not do!
It will be so.
Nearchus understands his game,
If he resolves to quit his fame,
What's that to you? To save his name
You'll purchase shame.
If before peace you war prefer,
10Shoot at his butt—you'll find from her
A Rowland for your Oliver,
That I dare swear.
He is a gay, and sanguine man,
His periwig the wind does fan,
And she will hug him, now and than,
Do what you can.
Book III. Ode XXI. To his Wine-Vessels.
Kind Brother Butt! as old, and brisk, as I
(For we had both the same nativity),
Whether to mirth, to brawls, or desperate love,
Or sleep, thy gentle power does move;
By what, or name, or title dignifi'd;
Thou need'st not fear the nicest test to 'bide:
Corvinus' health since we may not refuse,
Give down amain thy generous juice.
Corvinus, tho' a Stoic, will not balk
10Thy charms, for he can drink, as well as talk.
Old Cato, tho' he often were morose,
Yet he would sometimes take a dose.
O Wine! thou mak'st the thick-skull'd fellow soft;
Easest the Statesman, vex'd with cares full oft;
Unriddlest all intrigues with a free bowl,
Thou arrant pick-lock of the Soul!
Thou dost our gasping, dying hopes revive;
To peasants, souls as big as princes' give;
Inspired by thee they scorn their slavish fears,
20And bid their rulers shake their ears.
All this, and more (great Bacchus) thou canst do,
But if kind Venus be assistant too,
Then bring more candles to expel the night,
Till Phoebus puts the stars to flight.
Book III. Ode XXII. Upon Diana.
Gentle Diana, Goddess bright,
Who midwiv'st infants into light,
The mountain's Deity tripartite,
And Queen of Night,
To thee I consecrate my Pine,
Henceforth it shall be ever thine,
Yearly I'll offer at this shrine
The blood of swine.
Book III. Ode III. To Venus.
'Tis true, I was a sturdy soldier once,
And bravely under Cupid's banners fought:
Disbanded now, his service I renounce,
My warlike weapons serve for nought.
Here! take my helmet, sword, and shield,
My bow, my quiver, my artillery;
Chloe has beaten me quite out of th' field,
And leads me in captivity.
Great Venus! thou that know'st what I have been,
10How able, and how true a friend to smocks!
Revenge my quarrel on th' imperious quean,
And pay her with a pox!
Book IV. Ode I. To Venus.
No more of War:—Dread Cytherea, cease;
Thy feeble soldier sues for peace.
Alas! I am not now that man of might,
As when fair Cynara bade me fight.
Leave, Venus, leave! consider my gray hairs
Snow'd on by fifty tedious years.
My forts are slighted, and my bulwarks down:
Go, and beleaguer some strong town.
Make thy attempts on Maximus; there's game
10To entertain thy sword and flame.
There Peace and Plenty dwell: He's of the Court,
Ignorant what 'tis to storm a fort:
There sound a charge; he's generous and young,
He's unconcern'd, lusty, and strong:
He of thy silken banners will be proud,
And of thy conquests talk aloud.
His bags are full: the lad thou mayst prefer
To be thy treasurer in war.
He may erect gold statues to thy name,
20And be the trumpet of thy fame:
Thy Deity the zealous youth will then invoke,
And make thy beauteous altars smoke.
With voice and instruments thy praise shall sound,
Division he, and Love the ground;
There, twice a day the gamesome company
Of lads and lasses in debvoir to thee,
Like Mars's priests their numbers shall advance,
And sweetly sing, and nimbly dance.
But as for me! I'm quite dispirited,
30I court nor maid, nor boy to bed!
I cannot drink, nor bind a garland on,
Alas! my dancing days are done!
But hold—Why do these tears steal from my eyes?
My lovely Ligurinus, why?
Why does my falt'ring tongue disguise my voice
With rude and inarticulate noise?
O Ligurin! 'tis thou that break'st my rest,
Methinks I grasp thee in my breast:
Then I pursue thee in my passionate dreams
40O'er pleasant fields and purling streams.
IV. i. 7 'slighted' = 'razed,' the original sense of 'to make level'.
24 I confess this line beat me at first. But no doubt it has a musical sense, for in music both 'division' (notes run together) and 'ground' (a recurrent motive) have technical meanings. The punctuation above, Mr. Simpson's, makes this clearer.
26 'Debvoir' is worth keeping.
Book IV. Ode X. To Ligurinus, a beauteous Youth.
'Tis true, thou yet art fair, my Ligurine,
No down as yet environs cheek or chin:
But when those hairs which now do flow, shall fall,
And when thy rosy cheeks turn wan and pale:
When in thy glass another Ligurine thou
Shalt spy, and scarce thy bearded self shall know;
Then thou (despis'd) shalt sing this piteous song;
Why am I old? or why was ever young?
Book IV. Ode XI. To Phyllis.
Come, Phyllis, gentle Phyllis! prithee come,
I have a glass of rich old wine at home,
And in my garden curious flowers do grow,
That languish to adorn thy brow.
The ivy and the yellow crowfoot there
With verdant chaplets wait to braid thy hair;
With silver goblets all my house does shine,
And vervain round my altar twine,
On which the best of all my flock shall bleed;
10Come, and observe with what officious speed
Each lad and lass of all my house attends
Till to my roof the smoke ascends.
If thou wouldst know why thou must be my guest,
I tell thee 'tis to celebrate a Feast,
The Ides of April, which have ever been
Devoted to the Cyprian Queen.
A day more sacred, and more fit for mirth
Than that which gave me (worthless mortal) birth:
For on that day Maecenas first saw light,
20Born for our wonder and delight.
My Phyllis, since thy years come on apace,
Substitute me in Telephus his place,
He's now employ'd by one more rich, more fair,
And proudly does her shackles wear.
Remember what became of Phaeton;
Remember what befell Bellerophon;
That by ambition from his Father's throne,
And this, by Pegasus thrown down.
Content thyself with what is fit for thee,
30Happy that couple that in years agree!
Shun others, and accept my parity,
And I will end my loves with thee.
Thou art the last whom I intend to court,
Come then; and (to prepare thee for the sport)
Learn prick-song, and my merry odes rehearse:
Many a care is charm'd by verse.
Epode III. To Maecenas.
In time to come, if such a crime should be
As Parricide, (foul villany!)
A clove of garlic would revenge that evil;
(Rare dish for ploughmen, or the Devil!)
Accursed root! how does it jounce and claw!
It works like ratsbane in my maw.
What witch contriv'd this strat'gem for my breath!
Poison'd at once, and stunk to death;
With this vile juice Medea sure did 'noint
10Jason, her love, in every joint;
When untam'd bulls in yokes he led along,
This made his manhood smell so strong:
This gave her dragon venom to his sting,
And set the hag upon the wing.
I burn, I parch, as dry as dust I am,
Such drought on Puglia never came.
Alcides could not bear so much as I,
He oft was wet, but never dry.
Maecenas! do but taste of your own treat,
20And what you gave your poet, eat;
Then go to bed, and court your mistress there,
She'll never kiss you I dare swear.
III. 5 'Jounce', a word worth restoring, is the same as Shakespeare's 'jaunce' and as 'jaunt'. It seems to be still provincial, especially in East Anglia (Flatman had property there), and is equivalent to 'jolt', 'bob up and down', 'wamble in the innerds'.