FOOTNOTES:[206]Note I.[207]Note II.[208]Note III.[209]Note IV.[210]Note V.[211]Note VI.[212]Note VII.[213]Note VIII.[214]Note IX.[215]Two learned physicians of the period. Dryden mentions Guibbons more than once, as a friend.[216]Note X.[217]Note XI.[218]Note XII.
[206]Note I.
[206]Note I.
[207]Note II.
[207]Note II.
[208]Note III.
[208]Note III.
[209]Note IV.
[209]Note IV.
[210]Note V.
[210]Note V.
[211]Note VI.
[211]Note VI.
[212]Note VII.
[212]Note VII.
[213]Note VIII.
[213]Note VIII.
[214]Note IX.
[214]Note IX.
[215]Two learned physicians of the period. Dryden mentions Guibbons more than once, as a friend.
[215]Two learned physicians of the period. Dryden mentions Guibbons more than once, as a friend.
[216]Note X.
[216]Note X.
[217]Note XI.
[217]Note XI.
[218]Note XII.
[218]Note XII.
And parchment with the smoother side displayed.—P.231.
The students used to write their notes on parchments; the inside, on which they wrote, was white; the other side was hairy, and commonly yellow. Quintilian reproves this custom, and advises rather table-books, lined with wax, and a stile, like that we use in our vellum table-books, as more easy.
A fuming-pan thy Lares to appease.—P.232.
Before eating, it was customary to cut off some part of the meat, which was first put into a pan, or little dish, then into the fire, as an offering to the household gods: this they called a Libation.
Drawn from the root of some old Tuscan tree.—P.232.
The Tuscans were accounted of most ancient nobility. Horace observes this in most of his compliments to Mæcenas, who was derived from the old kings of Tuscany; now the dominion of the Great Duke.
Who, clad in purple, canst thy censor greet.—P.232.
The Roman knights, attired in the robe calledtrabea, were summoned by the censor to appear before him, and to salute him in passing by, as their names were called over. They led their horses in their hand. See more of this in Pompey's Life, written by Plutarch.
Sicilian tortures, and the brazen bull.—P.233.
Some of the Sicilian kings were so great tyrants, that the name is become proverbial. The brazen bull is a known story of Phalaris, one of those tyrants, who, when Perillus, a famous artist, had presented him with a bull of that metal hollowed within, which, when the condemned person was inclosed in it, would render the sound of a bull's roaring, caused the workman to make the first experiment,—docuitque suum mugire juvencum.
The wretch, who, sitting at his plenteous board,Looked up, and viewed on high the pointed sword.—P.233.
The wretch, who, sitting at his plenteous board,Looked up, and viewed on high the pointed sword.—P.233.
He alludes to the story of Damocles, a flatterer of one of those Sicilian tyrants, namely Dionysius. Damocles had infinitely extolled the happiness of kings: Dionysius, to convince him of the contrary, invited him to a feast, and clothed him in purple; but caused a sword, with the point downward, to be hung over his head by a silken twine; which, when he perceived, he could eat nothing of the delicates that were set before him.
Thou in the Stoic-porch, severely bred.—P.233.
The Stoics taught their philosophy under a porticus, to secure their scholars from the weather. Zeno was the chief of that sect.
Where on the walls, by Polygnotus' hand,The conquered Medians in trunk-breeches stand.—P.233.
Where on the walls, by Polygnotus' hand,The conquered Medians in trunk-breeches stand.—P.233.
Polygnotus, a famous painter, who drew the pictures of the Medes and Persians, conquered by Miltiades, Themistocles, and other Athenian captains, on the walls of the portico, in their natural habits.
And where the Samian Y directs thy steps to runTo Virtue's narrow steep, and broad-way Vice to shun.—P.234.
And where the Samian Y directs thy steps to runTo Virtue's narrow steep, and broad-way Vice to shun.—P.234.
Pythagoras, of Samos, made the allusion of the Y, or Greekupsilon, to Vice and Virtue. One side of the letter being broad, characters Vice, to which the ascent is wide and easy; the other side represents Virtue, to which the passage is strait and difficult; and perhaps our Saviour might also allude to this, in those noted words of the evangelist, "The way to heaven," &c.
Fat fees from the defended Umbrian draws.—P.235.
Casaubon here notes, that, among all the Romans, who were brought up to learning, few, besides the orators or lawyers, grew rich.
His heels stretched out, and pointing to the gate.—P.237.
The Romans were buried without the city; for which reason, the poet says, that the dead man's heels were stretched out towards the gate.
----Mad Orestes.—P.238.
Orestes was son to Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. Agamemnon, at his return from the Trojan wars, was slain by Ægysthus, the adulterer of Clytemnestra. Orestes, to revenge his father's death, slew both Ægysthus and his mother; for which he was punished with madness by the Eumenides, or Furies, who continually haunted him.
THE ARGUMENT.
Our author, living in the time of Nero, was contemporary and friendto the noble poet Lucan. Both of them were sufficiently sensible,with all good men, how unskilfully he managed the commonwealth;and perhaps might guess at his future tyranny, by some passages, duringthe latter part of his first five years; though he broke not outinto his great excesses, while he was restrained by the counsels and authorityof Seneca. Lucan has not spared him in the poem of hisPharsalia; for his very compliment looked asquint, as well asNero.[219]Persius has been bolder, but with caution likewise. Forhere, in the person of young Alcibiades, he arraigns his ambition ofmeddling with state-affairs without judgment, or experience. It isprobable, that he makes Seneca, in this satire, sustain the part ofSocrates, under a borrowed name; and, withal, discovers some secretvices of Nero, concerning his lust, his drunkenness, find his effeminacy,which had not yet arrived to public notice. He also reprehendsthe flattery of his courtiers, who endeavoured to make allhis vices pass for virtues. Covetousness was undoubtedly none ofhis faults; but it is here described as a veil cast over the true meaningof the poet, which was to satirize his prodigality and voluptuousness;to which he makes a transition. I find no instance inhistory of that emperor's being a Pathic, though Persius seems tobrand him with it. From the two dialogues of Plato, both called"Alcibiades," the poet took the arguments of the second and third satires;but he inverted the order of them, for the third satire is takenfrom the first of those dialogues.The commentators before Casaubon were ignorant of our author's secretmeaning; and thought he had only written against young noblemenin general, who were too forward in aspiring to public magistracy;but this excellent scholiast has unravelled the whole mystery,and made it apparent, that the sting of the satire was particularlyaimed at Nero.
Our author, living in the time of Nero, was contemporary and friendto the noble poet Lucan. Both of them were sufficiently sensible,with all good men, how unskilfully he managed the commonwealth;and perhaps might guess at his future tyranny, by some passages, duringthe latter part of his first five years; though he broke not outinto his great excesses, while he was restrained by the counsels and authorityof Seneca. Lucan has not spared him in the poem of hisPharsalia; for his very compliment looked asquint, as well asNero.[219]Persius has been bolder, but with caution likewise. Forhere, in the person of young Alcibiades, he arraigns his ambition ofmeddling with state-affairs without judgment, or experience. It isprobable, that he makes Seneca, in this satire, sustain the part ofSocrates, under a borrowed name; and, withal, discovers some secretvices of Nero, concerning his lust, his drunkenness, find his effeminacy,which had not yet arrived to public notice. He also reprehendsthe flattery of his courtiers, who endeavoured to make allhis vices pass for virtues. Covetousness was undoubtedly none ofhis faults; but it is here described as a veil cast over the true meaningof the poet, which was to satirize his prodigality and voluptuousness;to which he makes a transition. I find no instance inhistory of that emperor's being a Pathic, though Persius seems tobrand him with it. From the two dialogues of Plato, both called"Alcibiades," the poet took the arguments of the second and third satires;but he inverted the order of them, for the third satire is takenfrom the first of those dialogues.
The commentators before Casaubon were ignorant of our author's secretmeaning; and thought he had only written against young noblemenin general, who were too forward in aspiring to public magistracy;but this excellent scholiast has unravelled the whole mystery,and made it apparent, that the sting of the satire was particularlyaimed at Nero.
Whoe'er thou art, whose forward years are bentOn state affairs, to guide the government;Hear first what Socrates[220]of old has saidTo the loved youth, whom he at Athens bred.Tell me, thou pupil to great Pericles,Our second hope, my Alcibiades,[221]What are the grounds from whence thou dost prepareTo undertake, so young, so vast a care?Perhaps thy wit; (a chance not often heard,That parts and prudence should prevent the beard;)'Tis seldom seen, that senators so youngKnow when to speak, and when to hold their tongue.Sure thou art born to some peculiar fate,When the mad people rise against the state,To look them into duty, and commandAn awful silence with thy lifted hand;Then to bespeak them thus:—Athenians, knowAgainst right reason all your counsels go;This is not fair, nor profitable that,Nor t'other question proper for debate.—But thou, no doubt, can'st set the business right,And give each argument its proper weight;Know'st, with an equal hand, to hold the scale;}Seest where the reasons pinch, and where they fail,}And where exceptions o'er the general rule prevail;}And, taught by inspiration, in a trice,Can'st punish crimes,[222]and brand offending vice.Leave, leave to fathom such high points as these,Nor be ambitious, e'er thy time, to please,Unseasonably wise; till age and caresHave formed thy soul to manage great affairs.Thy face, thy shape, thy outside, are but vain;}Thou hast not strength such labours to sustain;}Drink hellebore,[223]my boy; drink deep, and purge thy brain.}What aim'st thou at, and whither tends thy care,}In what thy utmost good? Delicious fare;}And then, to sun thyself in open air.}Hold, hold; are all thy empty wishes such?A good old woman would have said as much.But thou art nobly born: 'tis true; go boastThy pedigree, the thing thou valuest most:Besides, thou art a beau; what's that, my child?A fop, well drest, extravagant, and wild:She that cries herbs, has less impertinence,And in her calling more of common sense.None, none descends into himself, to findThe secret imperfections of his mind;But every one is eagle-eyed, to seeAnother's faults, and his deformity.Say, dost thou know Vectidius?[224]—Who? the wretchWhose lands beyond the Sabines largely stretch;Cover the country, that a sailing kiteCan scarce o'er fly them in a day and night;Him dost thou mean, who, spite of all his store,Is ever craving, and will still be poor?Who cheats for half-pence, and who doffs his coat,To save a farthing in a ferry-boat?Ever a glutton at another's cost,But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost?Who eats and drinks with his domestic slaves,A verier hind than any of his knaves?Born with the curse and anger of the gods,And that indulgent genius he defrauds?At harvest-home, and on the shearing-day,When he should thanks to Pan and Pales pay,And better Ceres,[225]trembling to approachThe little barrel, which he fears to broach;He 'says the wimble, often draws it back,And deals to thirsty servants but a smack.To a short meal he makes a tedious grace,Before the barley-pudding comes in place:Then bids fall on; himself, for saving charges,A peeled sliced onion eats, and tipples verjuice.—Thus fares the drudge: but thou, whose life's a dreamOf lazy pleasures, takest a worse extreme.'Tis all thy business, business how to shun;To bask thy naked body in the sun;Suppling thy stiffened joints with fragrant oil:Then, in thy spacious garden walk a while,To suck the moisture up, and soak it in;And this, thou think'st, but vainly think'st, unseen.But know, thou art observed; and there are those,Who, if they durst, would all thy secret sins expose;The depilation of thy modest part;}Thy catamite, the darling of thy heart,}His engine-hand, and every lewder art,}When, prone to bear, and patient to receive,Thou tak'st the pleasure which thou canst not give.With odorous oil thy head and hair are sleek,And then thou kemb'st the tuzzes on thy cheek;Of these thy barbers take a costly care,While thy salt tail is overgrown with hair.Not all thy pincers, nor unmanly arts,Can smooth the roughness of thy shameful parts.Not five, the strongest that the Circus breeds,[226]From the rank soil can root those wicked weeds,Though suppled first with soap, to ease thy pain;The stubborn fern springs up, and sprouts again.Thus others we with defamations wound,While they stab us, and so the jest goes round.Vain are thy hopes, to 'scape censorious eyes;Truth will appear through all the thin disguise:Thou hast an ulcer which no leach can heal,Though thy broad shoulder-belt the wound conceal.Say thou art sound and hale in every part,We know, we know thee rotten at thy heart.We know thee sullen, impotent, and proud:Nor canst thou cheat thy nerve, who cheat'st the crowd.—But when they praise me in the neighbourhood,When the pleased people take me for a god,Shall I refuse their incense? Not receiveThe loud applauses which the vulgar give?—If thou dost wealth with longing eyes behold,And greedily art gaping after gold;If some alluring girl, in gliding by,}Shall tip the wink, with a lascivious eye,}And thou, with a consenting glance, reply;}If thou thy own solicitor become,And bidst arise the lumpish pendulum;If thy lewd lust provokes an empty storm,And prompts to more than nature can perform;If, with thy guards, thou scour'st the streets by night,And dost in murders, rapes, and spoils delight;[227]Please not thyself, the flattering crowd to hear,'Tis fulsome stuff to feed thy itching ear.Reject the nauseous praises of the times;Give thy base poets back their cobled rhimes:Survey thy soul, not what thou dost appear,But what thou art, and find the beggar there.[228]
Whoe'er thou art, whose forward years are bentOn state affairs, to guide the government;Hear first what Socrates[220]of old has saidTo the loved youth, whom he at Athens bred.Tell me, thou pupil to great Pericles,Our second hope, my Alcibiades,[221]What are the grounds from whence thou dost prepareTo undertake, so young, so vast a care?Perhaps thy wit; (a chance not often heard,That parts and prudence should prevent the beard;)'Tis seldom seen, that senators so youngKnow when to speak, and when to hold their tongue.Sure thou art born to some peculiar fate,When the mad people rise against the state,To look them into duty, and commandAn awful silence with thy lifted hand;Then to bespeak them thus:—Athenians, knowAgainst right reason all your counsels go;This is not fair, nor profitable that,Nor t'other question proper for debate.—But thou, no doubt, can'st set the business right,And give each argument its proper weight;Know'st, with an equal hand, to hold the scale;}Seest where the reasons pinch, and where they fail,}And where exceptions o'er the general rule prevail;}And, taught by inspiration, in a trice,Can'st punish crimes,[222]and brand offending vice.Leave, leave to fathom such high points as these,Nor be ambitious, e'er thy time, to please,Unseasonably wise; till age and caresHave formed thy soul to manage great affairs.Thy face, thy shape, thy outside, are but vain;}Thou hast not strength such labours to sustain;}Drink hellebore,[223]my boy; drink deep, and purge thy brain.}What aim'st thou at, and whither tends thy care,}In what thy utmost good? Delicious fare;}And then, to sun thyself in open air.}Hold, hold; are all thy empty wishes such?A good old woman would have said as much.But thou art nobly born: 'tis true; go boastThy pedigree, the thing thou valuest most:Besides, thou art a beau; what's that, my child?A fop, well drest, extravagant, and wild:She that cries herbs, has less impertinence,And in her calling more of common sense.None, none descends into himself, to findThe secret imperfections of his mind;But every one is eagle-eyed, to seeAnother's faults, and his deformity.Say, dost thou know Vectidius?[224]—Who? the wretchWhose lands beyond the Sabines largely stretch;Cover the country, that a sailing kiteCan scarce o'er fly them in a day and night;Him dost thou mean, who, spite of all his store,Is ever craving, and will still be poor?Who cheats for half-pence, and who doffs his coat,To save a farthing in a ferry-boat?Ever a glutton at another's cost,But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost?Who eats and drinks with his domestic slaves,A verier hind than any of his knaves?Born with the curse and anger of the gods,And that indulgent genius he defrauds?At harvest-home, and on the shearing-day,When he should thanks to Pan and Pales pay,And better Ceres,[225]trembling to approachThe little barrel, which he fears to broach;He 'says the wimble, often draws it back,And deals to thirsty servants but a smack.To a short meal he makes a tedious grace,Before the barley-pudding comes in place:Then bids fall on; himself, for saving charges,A peeled sliced onion eats, and tipples verjuice.—Thus fares the drudge: but thou, whose life's a dreamOf lazy pleasures, takest a worse extreme.'Tis all thy business, business how to shun;To bask thy naked body in the sun;Suppling thy stiffened joints with fragrant oil:Then, in thy spacious garden walk a while,To suck the moisture up, and soak it in;And this, thou think'st, but vainly think'st, unseen.But know, thou art observed; and there are those,Who, if they durst, would all thy secret sins expose;The depilation of thy modest part;}Thy catamite, the darling of thy heart,}His engine-hand, and every lewder art,}When, prone to bear, and patient to receive,Thou tak'st the pleasure which thou canst not give.With odorous oil thy head and hair are sleek,And then thou kemb'st the tuzzes on thy cheek;Of these thy barbers take a costly care,While thy salt tail is overgrown with hair.Not all thy pincers, nor unmanly arts,Can smooth the roughness of thy shameful parts.Not five, the strongest that the Circus breeds,[226]From the rank soil can root those wicked weeds,Though suppled first with soap, to ease thy pain;The stubborn fern springs up, and sprouts again.Thus others we with defamations wound,While they stab us, and so the jest goes round.Vain are thy hopes, to 'scape censorious eyes;Truth will appear through all the thin disguise:Thou hast an ulcer which no leach can heal,Though thy broad shoulder-belt the wound conceal.Say thou art sound and hale in every part,We know, we know thee rotten at thy heart.We know thee sullen, impotent, and proud:Nor canst thou cheat thy nerve, who cheat'st the crowd.—But when they praise me in the neighbourhood,When the pleased people take me for a god,Shall I refuse their incense? Not receiveThe loud applauses which the vulgar give?—If thou dost wealth with longing eyes behold,And greedily art gaping after gold;If some alluring girl, in gliding by,}Shall tip the wink, with a lascivious eye,}And thou, with a consenting glance, reply;}If thou thy own solicitor become,And bidst arise the lumpish pendulum;If thy lewd lust provokes an empty storm,And prompts to more than nature can perform;If, with thy guards, thou scour'st the streets by night,And dost in murders, rapes, and spoils delight;[227]Please not thyself, the flattering crowd to hear,'Tis fulsome stuff to feed thy itching ear.Reject the nauseous praises of the times;Give thy base poets back their cobled rhimes:Survey thy soul, not what thou dost appear,But what thou art, and find the beggar there.[228]
FOOTNOTES:[219]The compliment, at the opening of the Pharsalia, has been thought sarcastic. It certainly sounds so in modern ears: if Nero could only attain empireby civil war, as the gods by that of the giants, then says the poet,----Scelera ipsa nefasqueHac mercede placent.——[220]Note I.[221]Note II.[222]Note III.[223]Note IV.[224]Note V.[225]Note VI.[226]Note VII.[227]Note VIII.[228]Note IX.
[219]The compliment, at the opening of the Pharsalia, has been thought sarcastic. It certainly sounds so in modern ears: if Nero could only attain empireby civil war, as the gods by that of the giants, then says the poet,----Scelera ipsa nefasqueHac mercede placent.——
[219]The compliment, at the opening of the Pharsalia, has been thought sarcastic. It certainly sounds so in modern ears: if Nero could only attain empireby civil war, as the gods by that of the giants, then says the poet,
----Scelera ipsa nefasqueHac mercede placent.——
----Scelera ipsa nefasqueHac mercede placent.——
[220]Note I.
[220]Note I.
[221]Note II.
[221]Note II.
[222]Note III.
[222]Note III.
[223]Note IV.
[223]Note IV.
[224]Note V.
[224]Note V.
[225]Note VI.
[225]Note VI.
[226]Note VII.
[226]Note VII.
[227]Note VIII.
[227]Note VIII.
[228]Note IX.
[228]Note IX.
Socrates.—P.243.
Socrates, whom the oracle of Delphos praised as the wisest man of his age, lived in the time of the Peloponnesian war. He, finding the uncertainty of natural philosophy, applied himself wholly to the moral. He was master to Xenophon and Plato, and to many of the Athenian young noblemen; amongst the rest to Alcibiades, the most lovely youth then living; afterwards a famous captain, whose life is written by Plutarch.
Tell me, thou pupil to great Pericles,Our second hope, my Alcibiades.—P.243.
Tell me, thou pupil to great Pericles,Our second hope, my Alcibiades.—P.243.
Pericles was tutor, or rather overseer, of the will of Clinias, father to Alcibiades. While Pericles lived, who was a wise man, and an excellent orator, as well as a great general, the Athenians had the better of the war.
Can'st punish crimes.—P.244.
That is, by death. When the judges would condemn a malefactor, they cast their votes into an urn; as, according to the modern custom, a balloting-box. If the suffrages were marked with Θ, they signified the sentence of death to the offender; as being the first letter of Θάνατος, which, in English, is death.
Drink hellebore.—P.244.
The poet would say, that such an ignorant young man, as he here describes, is fitter to be governed himself than to govern others. He therefore advises him to drink hellebore, which purges the brain.
Say, dost thou know Vectidius?—P.245.
The name of Vectidius is here used appellatively, to signify any rich covetous man, though perhaps there might be a man of that name then living. I have translated this passage paraphrastically, and loosely; and leave it for those to look on, who are not unlike the picture.
When he should thanks to Pan and Pales pay,And better Ceres.—P.245.
When he should thanks to Pan and Pales pay,And better Ceres.—P.245.
Pan, the god of shepherds, and Pales, the goddess presiding over rural affairs; whom Virgil invocates in the beginning of his second Georgic. I give the epithet ofbetterto Ceres, because she first taught the use of corn for bread, as the poets tell us; men, in the first rude ages, feeding only on acorns, or mast, instead of bread.
Not five, the strongest that the Circus breeds.—P.246.
The learned Holyday (who has made us amends for his bad poetry in this and the rest of these satires, with his excellent illustrations), here tells us, from good authority, that the number five does not allude to the five fingers of one man, but to five strong men, such as were skilful in the five robust exercises then in practice at Rome, and were performed in the circus, or public place ordained for them. These five he reckons up in this manner: 1. The Cæstus, or Whirlbatts, described by Virgil in his fifth Æneid; and this was the most dangerous of all the rest. The 2d was the foot-race. The 3d, the discus; like the throwing a weighty ball; a sport now used in Cornwall, and other parts of England; we may see it daily practised in Red-Lyon Fields. The 4th, was the Saltus, or Leaping; and the 5th, wrestling naked, and besmeared with oil. They who practised in these five manly exercises were called Πένταθλοι.
If, with thy guards, thou scour'st the streets by night,And dost in murders, rapes, and spoils, delight.—P.247.
If, with thy guards, thou scour'st the streets by night,And dost in murders, rapes, and spoils, delight.—P.247.
Persius durst not have been so bold with Nero as I dare now; and therefore there is only an intimation of that in him whichI publicly speak: I mean, of Nero's walking the streets by night in disguise, and committing all sorts of outrages, for which he was sometimes well beaten.
Not what thou dost appear,But what thou art, and find the beggar there.—P.247.
Not what thou dost appear,But what thou art, and find the beggar there.—P.247.
Look into thyself, and examine thy own conscience; there thou shalt find, that, how wealthy soever thou appearest to the world, yet thou art but a beggar; because thou art destitute of all virtues, which are the riches of the soul. This also was a paradox of the Stoic school.
THE ARGUMENT.
The judicious Casaubon, in his proem to this Satire, tells us, thatAristophanes, the grammarian, being asked, what poem of Archilochus'Iambics he preferred before the rest; answered, thelongest. His answer may justly be applied to this Fifth Satire;which, being of a greater length than any of the rest, is also byfar the most instructive. For this reason I have selected it fromall the others, and inscribed it to my learned master, Dr Busby;to whom I am not only obliged myself for the best part of my owneducation, and that of my two sons; but have also received fromhim the first and truest taste of Persius. May he be pleased tofind, in this translation, the gratitude, or at least some small acknowledgment,of his unworthy scholar, at the distance of forty-twoyears from the time when I departed from under his tuition.This Satire consists of two distinct parts: The first contains thepraises of the stoic philosopher, Cornutus, master and tutor toour Persius; it also declares the love and piety of Persius tohis well-deserving master; and the mutual friendship which continuedbetwixt them, after Persius was now grown a man; asalso his exhortation to young noblemen, that they would enterthemselves into his institution. From hence he makes an artfultransition into the second part of his subject; wherein he firstcomplains of the sloth of scholars, and afterwards persuadesthem to the pursuit of their true liberty. Here our author excellentlytreats that paradox of the Stoics, which affirms, that thewise or virtuous man is only free, and that all vicious men arenaturally slaves; and, in the illustration of this dogma, hetakes up the remaining part of this inimitable Satire.
The judicious Casaubon, in his proem to this Satire, tells us, thatAristophanes, the grammarian, being asked, what poem of Archilochus'Iambics he preferred before the rest; answered, thelongest. His answer may justly be applied to this Fifth Satire;which, being of a greater length than any of the rest, is also byfar the most instructive. For this reason I have selected it fromall the others, and inscribed it to my learned master, Dr Busby;to whom I am not only obliged myself for the best part of my owneducation, and that of my two sons; but have also received fromhim the first and truest taste of Persius. May he be pleased tofind, in this translation, the gratitude, or at least some small acknowledgment,of his unworthy scholar, at the distance of forty-twoyears from the time when I departed from under his tuition.This Satire consists of two distinct parts: The first contains thepraises of the stoic philosopher, Cornutus, master and tutor toour Persius; it also declares the love and piety of Persius tohis well-deserving master; and the mutual friendship which continuedbetwixt them, after Persius was now grown a man; asalso his exhortation to young noblemen, that they would enterthemselves into his institution. From hence he makes an artfultransition into the second part of his subject; wherein he firstcomplains of the sloth of scholars, and afterwards persuadesthem to the pursuit of their true liberty. Here our author excellentlytreats that paradox of the Stoics, which affirms, that thewise or virtuous man is only free, and that all vicious men arenaturally slaves; and, in the illustration of this dogma, hetakes up the remaining part of this inimitable Satire.
PERSIUS.
Of ancient use to poets it belongs,To wish themselves an hundred mouths and tongues:Whether to the well-lunged tragedian's rageThey recommend their labours of the stage,Or sing the Parthian, when transfixed he lies,Wrenching the Roman javelin from his thighs.
Of ancient use to poets it belongs,To wish themselves an hundred mouths and tongues:Whether to the well-lunged tragedian's rageThey recommend their labours of the stage,Or sing the Parthian, when transfixed he lies,Wrenching the Roman javelin from his thighs.
CORNUTUS.
And why would'st thou these mighty morsels chuse,Of words unchewed, and fit to choke the muse?Let fustian poets with their stuff begone,And suck the mists that hang o'er Helicon;When Progne,[229]or Thyestes'[230]feast they write;And, for the mouthing actor, verse indite.Thou neither like a bellows swell'st thy face,As if thou wert to blow the burning massOf melting ore; nor canst thou strain thy throat,Or murmur in an undistinguished note,Like rolling thunder, till it breaks the cloud,And rattling nonsense is discharged aloud.Soft elocution does thy style renown,And the sweet accents of the peaceful gown:Gentle or sharp, according to thy choice,To laugh at follies, or to lash at vice.Hence draw thy theme, and to the stage permitRaw-head and bloody-bones, and hands and feet,Ragouts for Tereus or Thyestes drest;'Tis task enough for thee t' expose a Roman feast.
And why would'st thou these mighty morsels chuse,Of words unchewed, and fit to choke the muse?Let fustian poets with their stuff begone,And suck the mists that hang o'er Helicon;When Progne,[229]or Thyestes'[230]feast they write;And, for the mouthing actor, verse indite.Thou neither like a bellows swell'st thy face,As if thou wert to blow the burning massOf melting ore; nor canst thou strain thy throat,Or murmur in an undistinguished note,Like rolling thunder, till it breaks the cloud,And rattling nonsense is discharged aloud.Soft elocution does thy style renown,And the sweet accents of the peaceful gown:Gentle or sharp, according to thy choice,To laugh at follies, or to lash at vice.Hence draw thy theme, and to the stage permitRaw-head and bloody-bones, and hands and feet,Ragouts for Tereus or Thyestes drest;'Tis task enough for thee t' expose a Roman feast.
PERSIUS.
'Tis not, indeed, my talent to engageIn lofty trifles, or to swell my pageWith wind and noise; but freely to impart,As to a friend, the secrets of my heart,And, in familiar speech, to let thee knowHow much I love thee, and how much I owe.Knock on my heart; for thou hast skill to find}If it sound solid, or be filled with wind;}And, through the veil of words, thou view'st the naked mind.}For this a hundred voices I desire,To tell thee what an hundred tongues would tire,Yet never could be worthily exprest,—How deeply thou art seated in my breast.When first my childish robe[231]resigned the charge,And left me, unconfined, to live at large;When now my golden bulla (hung on high}To household gods) declared me past a boy,}And my white shield proclaimed my liberty;[232]}When, with my wild companions, I could rollFrom street to street, and sin without controul;Just at that age, when manhood set me free,I then deposed myself, and left the reins to thee;On thy wise bosom I reposed my head,And by my better Socrates was bred.[233]Then thy straight rule set virtue in my sight,The crooked line reforming by the right.My reason took the bent of thy command,Was formed and polished by thy skilful hand;Long summer-days thy precepts I rehearse,And winter-nights were short in our converse;One was our labour, one was our repose,One frugal supper did our studies close.Sure on our birth some friendly planet shone;And, as our souls, our horoscope[234]was one:Whether the mounting Twins[235]did heaven adorn,Or with the rising Balance[236]we were born;Both have the same impressions from above.And both have Saturn's rage, repelled by Jove.[237]What star I know not, but some star, I find,Has given thee an ascendant o'er my mind.
'Tis not, indeed, my talent to engageIn lofty trifles, or to swell my pageWith wind and noise; but freely to impart,As to a friend, the secrets of my heart,And, in familiar speech, to let thee knowHow much I love thee, and how much I owe.Knock on my heart; for thou hast skill to find}If it sound solid, or be filled with wind;}And, through the veil of words, thou view'st the naked mind.}For this a hundred voices I desire,To tell thee what an hundred tongues would tire,Yet never could be worthily exprest,—How deeply thou art seated in my breast.When first my childish robe[231]resigned the charge,And left me, unconfined, to live at large;When now my golden bulla (hung on high}To household gods) declared me past a boy,}And my white shield proclaimed my liberty;[232]}When, with my wild companions, I could rollFrom street to street, and sin without controul;Just at that age, when manhood set me free,I then deposed myself, and left the reins to thee;On thy wise bosom I reposed my head,And by my better Socrates was bred.[233]Then thy straight rule set virtue in my sight,The crooked line reforming by the right.My reason took the bent of thy command,Was formed and polished by thy skilful hand;Long summer-days thy precepts I rehearse,And winter-nights were short in our converse;One was our labour, one was our repose,One frugal supper did our studies close.Sure on our birth some friendly planet shone;And, as our souls, our horoscope[234]was one:Whether the mounting Twins[235]did heaven adorn,Or with the rising Balance[236]we were born;Both have the same impressions from above.And both have Saturn's rage, repelled by Jove.[237]What star I know not, but some star, I find,Has given thee an ascendant o'er my mind.
CORNUTUS.
Nature is ever various in her frame;Each has a different will, and few the same.The greedy merchants, led by lucre, runTo the parched Indies, and the rising sun;From thence hot pepper and rich drugs they bear,Bartering for spices their Italian ware;The lazy glutton, safe at home, will keep,Indulge his sloth, and batten with his sleep:One bribes for high preferments in the state;A second shakes the box, and sits up late;Another shakes the bed, dissolving there,Till knots upon his gouty joints appear,And chalk is in his crippled fingers found;Rots, like a doddered oak, and piecemeal falls to ground;Then his lewd follies he would late repent,And his past years, that in a mist were spent.
Nature is ever various in her frame;Each has a different will, and few the same.The greedy merchants, led by lucre, runTo the parched Indies, and the rising sun;From thence hot pepper and rich drugs they bear,Bartering for spices their Italian ware;The lazy glutton, safe at home, will keep,Indulge his sloth, and batten with his sleep:One bribes for high preferments in the state;A second shakes the box, and sits up late;Another shakes the bed, dissolving there,Till knots upon his gouty joints appear,And chalk is in his crippled fingers found;Rots, like a doddered oak, and piecemeal falls to ground;Then his lewd follies he would late repent,And his past years, that in a mist were spent.
PERSIUS.
But thou art pale in nightly studies grown,To make the Stoic institutes thy own:[238]Thou long, with studious care, hast tilled our youth,And sown our well-purged ears with wholesome truth.From thee both old and young with profit learn}The bounds of good and evil to discern.}
But thou art pale in nightly studies grown,To make the Stoic institutes thy own:[238]Thou long, with studious care, hast tilled our youth,And sown our well-purged ears with wholesome truth.From thee both old and young with profit learn}The bounds of good and evil to discern.}
CORNUTUS.
Unhappy he who does this work adjourn,}And to to-morrow would the search delay;His lazy morrow will be like to-day.
Unhappy he who does this work adjourn,}And to to-morrow would the search delay;His lazy morrow will be like to-day.
PERSIUS.
But is one day of ease too much to borrow?
But is one day of ease too much to borrow?
CORNUTUS.
Yes, sure; for yesterday was once to-morrow.That yesterday is gone, and nothing gained,And all thy fruitless days will thus be drained;For thou hast more to-morrows yet to ask,And wilt be ever to begin thy task;Who, like the hindmost chariot-wheels, art curst,Still to be near, but ne'er to reach the first.O freedom, first delight of human kind!Not that which bondmen from their masters find,The privilege of doles;[239]nor yet to inscribeTheir names in this or t'other Roman tribe;[240]That false enfranchisement with ease is found,Slaves are made citizens by turning round.[241]How, replies one, can any be more free?Here's Dama, once a groom of low degree,Not worth a farthing, and a sot beside,So true a rogue, for lying's sake he lied;But, with a turn, a freeman he became,Now Marcus Dama is his worship's name.[242]Good gods! who would refuse to lend a sum,If wealthy Marcus surety will become!Marcus is made a judge, and for a proofOf certain truth, "He said it," is enough.A will is to be proved;—put in your claim;—'Tis clear, if Marcus has subscribed his name.[243]This is true liberty, as I believe;}What farther can we from our caps receive,}Than as we please without controul to live?[244]}Not more to noble Brutus[245]could belong.Hold, says the Stoic, your assumption's wrong:I grant true freedom you have well defined:}But, living as you list, and to your mind,}Are loosely tacked, and must be left behind.—}What! since the prætor did my fetters loose,And left me freely at my own dispose,May I not live without controul or awe,Excepting still the letter of the law?—[246]Hear me with patience, while thy mind I freeFrom those fond notions of false liberty:'Tis not the prætor's province to bestow}True freedom; nor to teach mankind to know}What to ourselves, or to our friends, we owe.}He could not set thee free from cares and strife,Nor give the reins to a lewd vicious life:As well he for an ass a harp might string,Which is against the reason of the thing;For reason still is whispering in your ear,Where you are sure to fail, the attempt forbear.No need of public sanctions this to bind,}Which nature has implanted in the mind,—}Not to pursue the work, to which we're not designed.}Unskilled in hellebore, if thou should'st try}To mix it, and mistake the quantity,}The rules of physic would against thee cry.}The high-shoe'd ploughman, should he quit the land,}To take the pilot's rudder in his hand,}Artless of stars, and of the moving sand,}The gods would leave him to the waves and wind,And think all shame was lost in human kind.Tell me, my friend, from whence had'st thou the skill,So nicely to distinguish good from ill?Or by the sound to judge of gold and brass,What piece is tinkers' metal, what will pass?And what thou art to follow, what to fly,This to condemn, and that to ratify?When to be bountiful, and when to spare,But never craving, or oppressed with care?The baits of gifts, and money to despise,And look on wealth with undesiring eyes?When thou canst truly call these virtues thine,Be wise and free, by heaven's consent and mine.But thou, who lately of the common strainWert one of us, if still thou dost retainThe same ill habits, the same follies too,Glossed over only with a saint-like show,Then I resume the freedom which I gave;Still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave.Thou canst not wag thy finger, or begin"The least light motion, but it tends to sin."How's this? Not wag my finger, he replies?}No, friend; nor fuming gums, nor sacrifice,}Can ever make a madman free, or wise.}"Virtue and vice are never in one soul;A man is wholly wise, or wholly is a fool."[247]A heavy bumpkin, taught with daily care,Can never dance three steps with a becoming air.
Yes, sure; for yesterday was once to-morrow.That yesterday is gone, and nothing gained,And all thy fruitless days will thus be drained;For thou hast more to-morrows yet to ask,And wilt be ever to begin thy task;Who, like the hindmost chariot-wheels, art curst,Still to be near, but ne'er to reach the first.O freedom, first delight of human kind!Not that which bondmen from their masters find,The privilege of doles;[239]nor yet to inscribeTheir names in this or t'other Roman tribe;[240]That false enfranchisement with ease is found,Slaves are made citizens by turning round.[241]How, replies one, can any be more free?Here's Dama, once a groom of low degree,Not worth a farthing, and a sot beside,So true a rogue, for lying's sake he lied;But, with a turn, a freeman he became,Now Marcus Dama is his worship's name.[242]Good gods! who would refuse to lend a sum,If wealthy Marcus surety will become!Marcus is made a judge, and for a proofOf certain truth, "He said it," is enough.A will is to be proved;—put in your claim;—'Tis clear, if Marcus has subscribed his name.[243]This is true liberty, as I believe;}What farther can we from our caps receive,}Than as we please without controul to live?[244]}Not more to noble Brutus[245]could belong.Hold, says the Stoic, your assumption's wrong:I grant true freedom you have well defined:}But, living as you list, and to your mind,}Are loosely tacked, and must be left behind.—}What! since the prætor did my fetters loose,And left me freely at my own dispose,May I not live without controul or awe,Excepting still the letter of the law?—[246]Hear me with patience, while thy mind I freeFrom those fond notions of false liberty:'Tis not the prætor's province to bestow}True freedom; nor to teach mankind to know}What to ourselves, or to our friends, we owe.}He could not set thee free from cares and strife,Nor give the reins to a lewd vicious life:As well he for an ass a harp might string,Which is against the reason of the thing;For reason still is whispering in your ear,Where you are sure to fail, the attempt forbear.No need of public sanctions this to bind,}Which nature has implanted in the mind,—}Not to pursue the work, to which we're not designed.}Unskilled in hellebore, if thou should'st try}To mix it, and mistake the quantity,}The rules of physic would against thee cry.}The high-shoe'd ploughman, should he quit the land,}To take the pilot's rudder in his hand,}Artless of stars, and of the moving sand,}The gods would leave him to the waves and wind,And think all shame was lost in human kind.Tell me, my friend, from whence had'st thou the skill,So nicely to distinguish good from ill?Or by the sound to judge of gold and brass,What piece is tinkers' metal, what will pass?And what thou art to follow, what to fly,This to condemn, and that to ratify?When to be bountiful, and when to spare,But never craving, or oppressed with care?The baits of gifts, and money to despise,And look on wealth with undesiring eyes?When thou canst truly call these virtues thine,Be wise and free, by heaven's consent and mine.But thou, who lately of the common strainWert one of us, if still thou dost retainThe same ill habits, the same follies too,Glossed over only with a saint-like show,Then I resume the freedom which I gave;Still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave.Thou canst not wag thy finger, or begin"The least light motion, but it tends to sin."How's this? Not wag my finger, he replies?}No, friend; nor fuming gums, nor sacrifice,}Can ever make a madman free, or wise.}"Virtue and vice are never in one soul;A man is wholly wise, or wholly is a fool."[247]A heavy bumpkin, taught with daily care,Can never dance three steps with a becoming air.
PERSIUS.