"Opimius, who, with gold and silver store
Lodged in his coffers, ne'ertheless was poor
(The man would drink from earthen nipperkin
Flat wine on working-days, on feast-days thin),
Once fell into a lethargy so deep
That his next heir supposed it more than sleep,
And entering on possession at his ease,
Went round the coffers and applied the keys.
The doctor had a conscience and a head:
He had a table moved beside the bed,
Poured out a money-bag, and bade men come
And ring the coin and reckon o'er the sum:
Then, lifting up his patient, he began:
'That heir of yours is plundering you, good man.
'What? while I live?' 'You wish to live? then take
The necessary steps: be wide awake.'
'What steps d'ye mean?' 'Your strength will soon run short,
Unless your stomach have some strong support.
Come, rouse yourself: take this ptisane of rice.'
'The price?' 'A trifle.' 'I will know the price.'
'Eight-pence.' 'O dear! what matters it if I
Die by disease or robbery? still I die.'
"'Who then is sane?' He that's no fool, in troth.
'Then what's a miser?' Fool and madman both.
'Well, if a man's no miser, is he sane
That moment?' No. 'Why, Stoic?' I'll explain.
The stomach here is sound as any bell,
Craterus may say: then is the patient well?
May he get up? Why no; there still are pains
That need attention in the side or reins.
You're not forsworn nor miserly: go kill
A porker to the gods who ward off ill.
You're headlong and ambitious: take a trip
To Madman's Island by the next swift ship.
For where's the difference, down the rabble's throat
To pour your gold, or never spend a groat?
Servius Oppidius, so the story runs,
Rich for his time, bequeathed to his two sons
Two good-sized farms, and calling to his bed
The hopeful youths, in faltering accents said:
'E'er since I saw you, Aulus, give away
Your nuts and taws, or squander them at play,
While you, Tiberius, careful and morose,
Would count them over, hide them, keep them close,
I've feared lest both should err in different ways,
And one have Cassius', one Cicuta's craze.
So now I beg you by the household powers
Who guard, and still shall guard, this roof of ours,
That you diminish not, nor you augment
What I and nature fix for your content.
To bar ambition too, I lay an oath
Of heaviest weight upon the souls of both;
Should either be an aedile, or, still worse,
A praetor, let him feel a father's curse.
What? would you wish to lavish my bequest
In vetches, beech-nuts, lupines and the rest,
You, that in public you may strut, or stand
All bronze, when stripped of money, stripped of land;
You, that Agrippa's plaudits you may win,
A sneaking fox in a brave lion's skin?'
"What moves you, Agamemnon, thus to fling
Great Ajax to the dogs? 'I am a king.'
And I a subject: therefore I forbear
More questions. 'Right; for what I will is fair:
Yet, if there be who fancy me unjust,
I give my conduct up to be discussed.'
Mightiest of mighty kings, may proud success
And safe return your conquering army bless!
May I ask questions then, and shortly speak
When you have answered? 'Take the leave you seek.'
Then why should Ajax, though so oft renowned
For patriot service, rot above the ground,
Your bravest next Achilles, just that Troy
And envious Priam may the scene enjoy,
Beholding him, through whom their children came
To feed the dogs, himself cast out to shame?
'A flock the madman slew, and cried that he
Had killed my brother, Ithacus, and me.'
Well, when you offered in a heifer's stead
Your child, and strewed salt meal upon her head,
Then were you sane, I ask you? 'Why not sane?'
Why, what did Ajax when the flock was slain?
He did no violence to his wife or child:
He cursed the Atridae, true; his words were wild;
But against Teucer ne'er a hand he raised,
Nor e'en Ulysses: yet you call him crazed.
'But I, of purpose, soothed the gods with blood,
To gain our fleet free passage o'er the flood.'
Blood! ay, your own, you madman. 'Nay, not so:
My own, I grant it: but a madman's, no.'
"He that sees things amiss, his mind distraught
By guilty deeds, a madman will be thought;
And, so the path of reason once be missed,
Who cares if rage or folly gave the twist?
When Ajax falls with fury on the fold,
He shows himself a madman, let us hold:
When you, of purpose, do a crime to gain
A meed of empty glory, are you sane?
The heart that air-blown vanities dilate,
Will medicine say 'tis in its normal state?
Suppose a man in public chose to ride
With a white lambkin nestling at his side,
Called it his daughter, had it richly clothed,
And did his best to get it well betrothed,
The law would call him madman, and the care
Of him and of his goods would pass elsewhere.
You offer up your daughter for a lamb;
And are you rational? Don't say, I am.
No; when a man's a fool, he's then insane:
The man that's guilty, he's a maniac plain:
The dupe of bubble glory, war's grim queen
Has dinned away his senses, clear and clean.
"Cassius and luxury! hunt that game with me;
For spendthrifts are insane, the world shall see.
Soon as the youngster had received at last
The thousand talents that his sire amassed,
He sent round word to all the sharking clan,
Perfumer, fowler, fruiterer, fisherman,
Velabrum's refuse, Tuscan Alley's scum,
To come to him. next morning. Well, they come.
First speaks the pimp: 'Whatever I or these
Possess, is yours: command it when you please.'
Now hear his answer, and admire the mind
That thus could speak, so generous and so kind.
'You sleep in Umbrian snow-fields, booted o'er
The hips, that I may banquet on a boar;
You scour the sea for fish in winter's cold,
And I do nought; I don't deserve this gold:
Here, take it; you a hundred, you as much,
But you, the spokesman, thrice that sum shall
touch.'
"AEsopus' son took from his lady dear
A splendid pearl that glittered in her ear,
Then melted it in vinegar, and quaffed
(Such was his boast) a thousand at a draught:
How say you? had the act been more insane
To fling it in a river or a drain?
"Arrius' two sons, twin brothers, of a piece
In vice, perverseness, folly, and caprice,
Would lunch off nightingales: well, what's their mark?
Shall it be chalk or charcoal, white or dark?
"To ride a stick, to build a paper house,
Play odd and even, harness mouse and mouse,
If a grown man professed to find delight
In things like these, you'd call him mad outright.
"Well now, should reason force you to admit
That love is just as childish, every whit;
To own that whimpering at your mistress' door
Is e'en as weak as building on the floor;
Say, will you put conviction into act,
And, like young Polemo, at once retract;
Take off the signs and trappings of disease,
Your leg-bands, tippets, furs, and muffatees,
As he slipped off his chaplets, when the word
Of sober wisdom all his being stirred?
"Give a cross child an apple: 'Take it, pet:'
He sulks and will not: hold it back, he'll fret.
Just so the shut-out lover, who debates
And parleys near the door he vows he hates,
In doubt, when sent for, to go back or no,
Though, if not sent for, he'd be sure to go.
'She calls me: ought I to obey her call,
Or end this long infliction once for all?
The door was shut:'tis open: ah, that door!
Go back? I won't, however she implore.'
So he. Now listen while the slave replies,
And say if of the two he's not more wise:
'Sir, if a thing is senseless, to bring sense
To bear upon it is a mere pretence;
Now love is such a thing, the more's the shame;
First war, then peace, 'tis never twice the same,
For ever heaving, like a sea in storm,
And taking every hour some different form.
You think to fix it? why, the job's as bad
As if you tried by reason to be mad.'
"When you pick apple-pips, and try to hit
The ceiling with them, are you sound of wit?
"When with your withered lips you bill and coo,
Is he that builds card-houses worse than you?
Then, too, the blood that's spilt by fond desires,
The swords that men will use to poke their fires!
When Marius killed his mistress t'other day
And broke his neck, was he demented, say?
Or would you call him criminal instead,
And stigmatize his heart to save his head,
Following the common fallacy, which founds
A different meaning upon different sounds?