The Satires of Juvenal, Persius, Sulpicia, and Lucilius
And note with caution what and who thou art,
An orator of force and skill profound,
Or a mere Matho, emptiness and sound! 50
Yes, KNOW THYSELF: in great concerns, in small,
Be this thy care, for this, my friend, is all:
Nor, when thy purse will scarce a gudgeon buy,
With fond intemperance for turbots sigh!
O think what end awaits thee, timely think, 55
If thy throat widens as thy pockets shrink,
Thy throat, of all thy father's thrift could save,
Flocks, herds, and fields, the insatiable grave!--
At length, when naught remains a meal to bring,
The last poor shift, off comes the knightly ring, 60
And "sad Sir Pollio" begs his daily fare,
With undistinguished hands, and finger bare!
To these, an early grave no terror brings,
"A short and merry life!" the spendthrift sings;
Death seems to him a refuge from despair, 65
And far less terrible than hoary hair.
Mark now the progress of their rapid fate!
Money (regardless of the monthly rate),
On every side, they borrow, and apace,
Waste what is borrowed before the lender's face: 70
Then, while they yet some wretched remnant hold,
And the pale usurer trembles for his gold,
They wisely sicken for the country air,
And flock to Baiæ, Ostia, Jove knows where.--
For now 'tis held (so rife the evil's grown) 75
No greater shame, for debt, to flee the town,
Than from the thronged Suburra to remove,
In dog-days, to the Esquilian shades above.
One thought alone, what time they leave behind
Friends, country, all, weighs heavy on their mind, 80
One thought alone--for twelve long months to lose
The dear delights of Rome, the public shows!
Where sleeps the modest blood! In all our veins,
No conscious drop, to form a blush, remains:
SHAME, from the town, derided, speeds her way, 85
And few, alas! solicit her to stay.
Enough: to-day my Persicus shall see
Whether my precepts with my life agree;
Whether, with feigned austerity, I prize
The spare repast, a glutton in disguise! 90
Bawl for coarse pottage, that my friends may hear,
But whisper "sweetmeats!" in my servant's ear.
For since, by promise, you are now my guest,
Know, I invite you to no sumptuous feast,
But to such simple fare, as long, long since, 95
The good Evander bade the Trojan prince.
Come then, my friend, you will not, sure, despise
The food that pleased the offspring of the skies;
Come, and while fancy brings past times to view,
I'll think myself the king, the hero you. 100
Take now your bill of fare: my simple board
Is with no dainties from the market stored,
But dishes all my own. From Tibur's stock
A kid shall come, the fattest of the flock,
The tenderest too, and yet too young to browse 105
The thistle's shoots, the willow's watery boughs,
With more of milk than blood; and pullets dress'd
With new-laid eggs, yet tepid from the nest,
And sperage wild, which, from the mountain's side,
My housemaid left her spindle to provide; 110
And grapes long kept, yet pulpy still, and fair,
And the rich Signian and the Syrian pear;
And apples, that in flavor and in smell
The boasted Picene equal, or excel:--
Nor need you fear, my friend, their liberal use, 115
For age has mellowed and improved their juice.
How homely this! and yet this homely fare
A senator would, once, have counted rare;
When the good Curius thought it no disgrace
O'er a few sticks a little pot to place, 120
With herbs by his small garden-plot supplied--
Food, which the squalid wretch would now deride,
Who digs in fetters, and, with fond regret,
The tavern's savory dish remembers yet!
Time was, when, on the rack, a man would lay 125
The seasoned flitch, against a solemn day;
And think the friends who met, with decent mirth,
To celebrate the hour which gave him birth,
On this, and what of fresh the altars spared
(For altars then were honored), nobly fared. 130
Some kinsman, who had camps and senates swayed,
Had thrice been consul, once dictator made,
From public cares retired, would gayly haste,
Before the wonted hour, to such repast,
Shouldering the spade, that, with no common toil, 135
Had tamed the genius of the mountain soil.--
Yes, when the world was filled with Rome's just fame,
And Romans trembled at the Fabian name,
The Scauran, and Fabrician; when they saw
A censor's rigor even a censor awe, 140
No son of Troy e'er thought it his concern,
Or worth a moment's serious care, to learn,
What land, what sea, the fairest tortoise bred,
Whose clouded shell might best adorn his bed.--
His bed was small, and did no signs impart 145
Or of the painter's or the sculptor's art,
Save where the front, cheaply inlaid with brass,
Showed the rude features of a vine-crowned ass;
An uncouth brute, round which his children played,
And laughed and jested at the face it made! 150
Briefly, his house, his furniture, his food,
Were uniformly plain, and simply good.
Then the rough soldier, yet untaught by Greece
To hang, enraptured, o'er a finished piece,
If haply, 'mid the congregated spoils 155
(Proofs of his power, and guerdon of his toils),
Some antique vase of master-hands were found,
Would dash the glittering bauble on the ground;
That, in new forms, the molten fragments dress'd,
Might blaze illustrious round his courser's chest, 160
Or, flashing from his burnished helmet, show
(A dreadful omen to the trembling foe)
The mighty sire, with glittering shield and spear,
Hovering, enamored, o'er the sleeping fair,
The wolf, by Rome's high destinies made mild, 165
And, playful at her side, each wondrous child.
Thus, all the wealth those simple times could boast,
Small wealth! their horses and their arms engross'd;
The rest was homely, and their frugal fare,
Cooked without art, was served in earthen ware: 170
Yet worthy all our envy, were the breast
But with one spark of noble spleen possess'd.
THEN shone the fanes with majesty divine,
A present god was felt at every shrine!
And solemn sounds, heard from the sacred walls, 175
At midnight's solemn hour, announced the Gauls,
Now rushing from the main; while, prompt to save,
Stood Jove, the prophet of the signs he gave!
Yet, when he thus revealed the will of fate,
And watched attentive o'er the Latian state, 180
His shrine, his statue, rose of humble mould,
Of artless form, and unprofaned with gold.
Those good old times no foreign tables sought;
From their own woods the walnut-tree was brought,
When withering limbs declared its pith unsound, 185
Or winds uptore, and stretched it on the ground.
But now, such strange caprice has seized the great,
They find no pleasure in the costliest treat,
Suspect the flowers a sickly scent exhale,
And think the ven'son rank, the turbot stale, 190
Unless wide-yawning panthers, towering high--
Enormous pedestals of ivory,
Formed of the teeth which Elephantis sends,
Which the dark Moor, or darker Indian, vends,
Or those which, now, too heavy for the head, 195
The beasts in Nabathea's forest shed--
The spacious ORBS support: then they can feed,
And every dish is delicate indeed!
For silver feet are viewed with equal scorn,
As iron rings upon the finger worn. 200
To me, forever be the guest unknown,
Who, measuring my expenses by his own,
Remarks the difference with a scornful leer,
And slights my humble house and homely cheer.
Look not to me for ivory; I have none: 205
My chess-board and my men are all of bone;
Nay, my knife-handles; yet, my friend, for this,
My pullets neither cut nor taste amiss.
I boast no artist, tutored in the school
Of learned Trypherus, to carve by rule; 210
Where large sow-paps of elm, and boar, and hare,
And phœnicopter, and pygargus rare,
Getulian oryx, Scythian pheasants, point,
The nice anatomy of every joint;
And dull blunt tools, severing the wooden treat, 215
Clatter around, and deafen all the street.
My simple lad, whose highest efforts rise
To broil a steak in the plain country guise,
Knows no such art; humbly content to serve,
And bring the dishes which he can not kerve. 220
Another lad (for I have two to-day),
Clad, like the first, in homespun russet gray,
Shall fill our earthen bowls: no Phrygian he,
No pampered attribute of luxury,
But a rude rustic:--when you want him, speak, 225
And speak in Latin, for he knows not Greek.
Both go alike, with close-cropp'd hair, undress'd,
But spruced to-day in honor of my guest;
And both were born on my estate, and one
Is my rough shepherd's, one, my neatherd's son. 230
Poor youth! he mourns, with many an artless tear,
His long, long absence from his mother dear;
Sighs for his little cottage, and would fain
Meet his old playfellows, the goats, again.
Though humble be his birth, ingenuous grace 235
Beams from his eye, and flushes in his face;
Charming suffusion! that would well become
The youthful offspring of the chiefs of Rome.--
He, Persicus, shall fill us wine which grew
Where first the breath of life the stripling drew, 240
On Tibur's hills;--dear hills, that many a day
Witnessed the transports of his infant play.
But you, perhaps, expect a wanton throng
Of Gaditanian girls, with dance and song,
To kindle loose desire; girls, that now bound } 245
Aloft with active grace, now, on the ground, }
Quivering, alight, while peals of praise go round. }
Lo! wives, beside their husbands placed, behold,
What could not in their ear, for shame, be told;
Expedients of the rich, the blood to fire, 250
And wake the dying embers of desire.
Behold? O heavens! they view, with keenest gust,
These strong provocatives of jaded lust;
With every gesture feel their passions rise,
And draw in pleasure both at ears and eyes! 255
Such vicious fancies are too great for me.
Let him the wanton dance unblushing see,
And hear the immodest terms which, in the stews,
The veriest strumpet would disdain to use,
Whose drunken spawlings roll, tumultuous, o'er 260
The proud expansion of a marble floor:
For there the world a large allowance make,
And spare the folly for the fortune's sake.--
Dice, and adultery, with a small estate,
Are damning crimes; but venial, with a great; 265
Venial? nay, graceful: witty, gallant, brave,