The Satires of Juvenal, Persius, Sulpicia, and Lucilius
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;