The Satires of Juvenal, Persius, Sulpicia, and Lucilius
"What! is one day, forsooth, so great a boon?"
But when it comes (and come it will too soon),
Reflect, that yesterday's to-morrow's o'er.--
Thus "one to-morrow! one to-morrow! more," 120
Have seen long years before them fade away;
And still appear no nearer than to-day!
So while the wheels on different axles roll,
In vain (though governed by the self-same pole)
The hindmost to o'ertake the foremost tries: 125
Fast as the one pursues the other flies!
FREEDOM, in truth, it steads us much to have:
Not that by which each manumitted slave,
Each Publius, with his tally, may obtain
A casual dole of coarse and damaged grain. 130
--O souls! involved in Error's thickest shade,
Who think a Roman with one turn is made!
Look on this paltry groom, this Dama here,
Who at three farthings would be prized too dear;
This blear-eyed scoundrel, who your husks would steal, 135
And outface truth to hide the starving meal;
Yet--let his master twirl this knave about,
And MARCUS DAMA in a trice steps out!
Amazing! MARCUS surety?--yet distrust!
MARCUS your judge?--yet fear a doom unjust! 140
MARCUS avouch it?--then the fact is clear.
The writings!--set your hand, good MARCUS, here."
This is mere liberty--a name, alone:
Yet this is all the cap can make our own.
"Sure, there's no other. All mankind agree 145
That those who live without control are free:
_I_ live without control; and _therefore_ hold
Myself more free than Brutus was of old."
Absurdly put; a Stoic cries, whose ear,
Rinsed with sharp vinegar, is quick to hear: 150
True;--all who live without control are free;
But that YOU live so, I can ne'er agree.
"No? From the Prætor's wand when I withdrew,
Lord of myself, why, might I not pursue
My pleasure unrestrained, respect still had 155
To what the rubric of the law forbad?"
Listen--but first your brows from anger clear,
And bid your nose dismiss that rising sneer;
Listen, while I the genuine truth impart,
And root those old wives' fables from your heart. 160
It was not, is not in the "Prætor's wand,"
To gift a fool with power, to understand
The nicer shades of duty, and educe,
From short and rapid life, its end and use;
The laboring hind shall sooner seize the quill, 165
And strike the lyre with all a master's skill.
Reason condemns the thought, with mien severe,
And drops this maxim in the secret ear,
"Forbear to venture, with preposterous toil,
On what, in venturing, you are sure to spoil." 170
In this plain sense of what is just and right
The laws of nature and of man unite;
That Inexperience should some caution show,
And spare to reach at what she does not know.
Prescribe you hellebore! without the skill 175
To weigh the ingredients, or compound the pill?--
Physic, alarmed, the rash attempt withstands,
And wrests the dangerous mixture from your hands.
Should the rude clown, skilled in no star to guide
His dubious course, rush on the trackless tide, 180
Would not Palemon at the fact exclaim,
And swear the world had lost all sense of shame!
Say, is it yours, by wisdom's steady rays,
To walk secure through life's entangled maze?
Yours to discern the specious from the true, 185
And where the gilt conceals the brass from view?
Speak, can you mark, with some appropriate sign,
What to pursue, and what, in turn, decline?
Does moderation all your wishes guide,
And temperance at your cheerful board preside? 190
Do friends your love experience? are your stores
Now dealt with closed and now with open doors,
As fit occasion calls? Can you restrain
The eager appetite of sordid gain?
Nor feel, when in the mire a doit, you note, 195
Mercurial spittle gurgle in your throat?
If you can say, and truly, "THESE ARE MINE,
And THIS I CAN:"--suffice it. I decline
All farther question; you are wise and free,
No less by Jove's than by the law's decree. 200
But if, good Marcus, you who formed so late
One of our batch, of our enslaved estate,
Beneath a specious outside, still retain
The foul contagion of your ancient strain;
If the sly fox still burrow in some part, 205
Some secret corner, of your tainted heart;
I straight retract the freedom which I gave,
And hold your Dama still, and still a slave!
Reason concedes you nothing. Let us try.
Thrust forth your finger. "See." O, heavens, awry! 210
Yet what so trifling?--But, though altars smoke,
Though clouds of incense every god invoke,
In vain you sue, one drachm of RIGHT to find,
One scruple, lurking in the foolish mind.
Nature abhors the mixture; the rude clown 215
As well may lay his spade and mattock down,
And with light foot and agile limbs prepare
To dance three steps with soft Bathyllus' air!
"Still I am free." You! subject to the sway
Of countless masters, FREE! What _datum_, pray, 220
Supports your claim? Is there no other yoke
Than that which, from your neck, the Prætor broke!
"Go, bear these scrapers to the bath with speed;
What! loitering, knave?"--Here's servitude indeed!
Yet you unmoved the angry sounds would hear; 225
You owe no duty, and can know no fear.
But if within you feel the strong control--
If stormy passions lord it o'er your soul,
Are you more free than he whom threatenings urge
To bear the strigils and escape the scourge? 230
'Tis morn; yet sunk in sloth you snoring lie.
"Up! up!" cries Avarice, "and to business hie;
Nay, stir." I will not. Still she presses, "Rise!"
I can not. "But you must and shall," she cries.
And to what purpose? "This a question! Go, 235
Bear fish to Pontus, and bring wines from Co;
Bring ebon, flax, whate'er the East supplies,
Musk for perfumes, and gums for sacrifice:
Prevent the mart, and the first pepper take
From the tired camel ere his thirst he slake. 240
Traffic forswear, if interest intervene"--
But Jove will overhear me.--"Hold, my spleen!
O dolt; but, mark--that thumb will bore and bore
The empty salt (scraped to the quick before)
For one poor grain, a vapid meal to mend, 245
If you aspire to thrive with Jove your friend!"
You rouse (for who can truths like these withstand?),
Victual your slaves, and urge them to the strand.
Prepared in haste to follow; and, ere now,
Had to the Ægean turned your vent'rous prow, 250
But that sly Luxury the process eyed,
Waylaid your desperate steps, and, taunting, cried,
"Ho, madman, whither, in this hasty plight?
What passion drives you forth? what furies fright?
Whole urns of hellebore might hope in vain 255
To cool this high-wrought fever of the brain.
What! quit your peaceful couch, renounce your ease,
To rush on hardships, and to dare the seas!
And while a broken plank supports your meat,
And a coiled cable proves your softest seat, 260
Suck from squab jugs that pitchy scents exhale,
The seaman's beverage, sour at once and stale!
And all for what? that sums, which now are lent,
At modest five, may sweat out twelve per cent.!--
"O rather cultivate the joys of sense, 265
And crop the sweets which youth and health dispense;
Give the light hours to banquets, love, and wine:
THESE are the zest of life, and THESE are mine!
Dust and a shade are all you soon must be:
Live, thou, while yet you may. Time presses.--See! 270
Even while I speak, the present is become
The past, and lessens still life's little sum."
Now, sir, decide; shall this, or that, command?
Alas, the bait, displayed on either hand,
Distracts your choice:--but, ponder as you may, 275
Of this be sure; both, with alternate sway,
Will lord it o'er you, while, with slavish fears,
From side to side your doubtful duty veers.
Nor must you, though in some auspicious hour
You spurn their mandate, and resist their power, 280
At once conclude their future influence vain:--
With struggling hard the dog may snap his chain;
Yet little freedom from the effort find,
If, as he flies, he trails its length behind.
"Yes, I am fixed; to Love a long adieu!-- 285
Nay, smile not, Davus; you will find it true."
So, while his nails, gnawn to the quick, yet bled,
The sage Chærestratus, deep-musing, said.--
"Shall I my virtuous ancestry defame,
Consume my fortune, and disgrace my name, 290
While, at a harlot's wanton threshold laid,
Darkling, I whine my drunken serenade!"
Tis nobly spoken:--Let a lamb be brought
To the Twin Powers that this deliverance wrought.
"But--if I quit her, will she not complain? 295
Will she not grieve? Good Davus, think again."
Fond trifler! you will find her "grief" too late;
When the red slipper rattles round your pate,
Vindictive of the mad attempt to foil
Her potent spell, and all-involving toil. 300
Dismissed, you storm and bluster: hark! she calls
And, at the word, your boasted manhood falls.
"Mark, Davus; of her own accord, she sues!
Mark, she invites me! Can I now refuse?"
Yes, Now, and EVER. If you left her door 305
Whole and entire, you must return no more.
Right. This is He, the man whom I demand;
This, Davus; not the creature of a wand
Waved by some foolish lictor.--And is he,
This master of himself, this truly free, 310
Who marks the dazzling lure Ambition spreads,
And headlong follows where the meteor leads?
"Watch the nice hour, and on the scrambling tribes
Pour, without stint, your mercenary bribes,
Vetches and pulse; that, many a year gone by, 315
Graybeards, as basking in the sun they lie,
May boast how much your Floral Games surpast,
In cost and splendor, those they witnessed last!"
A glorious motive! And on Herod's day,
When every room is decked in meet array, 320
And lamps along the greasy windows spread,
Profuse of flowers, gross, oily vapors shed;
When the vast tunny's tail in pickle swims,
And the crude must foams o'er the pitcher's brims;
You mutter secret prayers, by fear devised, 325
And dread the sabbaths of the circumcised!
Then a cracked egg-shell fills you with affright,
And ghosts and goblins haunt your sleepless night.
Last, the blind priestess, with her sistrum shrill,
And Galli, huge and high, a dread instill 330
Of gods, prepared to vex the human frame
With dropsies, palsies, ills of every name,
Unless the trembling victim champ, in bed,
Thrice every morn, on a charmed garlic-head.