SATIRA PRIMA.
HORATIUS. TREBATIUS.
HOR.
SUNT quibus in Satyra videar nimis acer, & ultra
Legem tendere opus; ſine nervis altera quicquid
Compoſui pars eſſe putat, ſimileſque meorum
Mille die verſus deduci poſſe. Trebati!
Quid faciam? Praeſcribe.
TREB.
[6] Quieſcas.
HOR.
Ne faciam inquis,
Omnino verſus?
TREB.
Aio.
HOR.
Peream male ſi non
Optimum erat: verum nequeo dormire.
TREB.
Ter uncti
Tranſnanto Tiberim, ſomno quibus eſt opus alto,
Irriguumve mero ſub noctem corpus habento.
Aut, ſi tantus amor ſcribendi te rapit, aude
CAESARIS invicti res dicere, multa laborum
Praemia laturus.
HOR.
Cupidum, pater optime! vires
Deficiunt: neque enim quivis horrentia pilis
Agmina, nec fracta pereuntes cuſpide Gallos,
Aut labentis equo deſcribat vulnera Parthi.
TREB.
At tamen & juſtum poteras & ſcribere fortem,
Scipiadam ut ſapiens Lucilius.
HOR.
[8]Haud mihi deero,
Cum res ipſa feret. Niſi dextro tempore Flacci
Verba per attentam non ibunt Caeſaris aurem;
Cui male ſi palpere, recalcitrat undique tutus.
TREB.
Quanto rectius hoc, quam triſti loedere verſu
Pantolabum Scurram, Nomentanumve nepotem?
Cum ſibi quiſque timet, quanquam eſt intactus, & odit.
HOR.
Quid faciam? Saltat Milonius, ut ſemel icto
Acceſſit fervor capiti numeruſque lucernis.
Caſtor gaudet equis; ovo prognatus eodem
Pugnis: quot capitum vivunt, totidem ſtudiorum
Millia: me pedibus delectat claudere verba,
Lucili ritu, noſtrum melioris utroque.
Ille, velut fidis arcana ſodalibus olim
[10] Credebat libris; neque ſi male geſſerat, uſquam
Decurrens alio, neque ſi bene: quo fit ut omnis
Votiva pateat veluti deſcripta tabella
Vita ſenis. Sequor hunc, Lucanus an Appulus anceps:
[Nam Venuſinus arat finem ſub utrumque colonus,
Miſſus ad hoc pulſis (vetus eſt ut fama) Sabellis;
Quo ne per vacuum Romano incurreret hoſtis,
Sive quod Appula gens, ſeu quod Lucania Bellum
Incuteret violenta.]
Sed hic ſtylus haud petet ultro
Quenquam animantem; & me veluti cuſtodiet enſis
Vagina tectus, quem cur diſtringere coner,
Tutus ab infeſtis latronibus? O Pater & Rex
Jupiter! ut pereat poſitum rubigine telum,
[12] Nec quiſquam noceat cupido mihi pacis! at ille,
Qui me eommorit (melius non tangere clamo)
Flebit, & inſignis tota cantabitur urbe.
Cervius iratus leges minitatur & urnam;
Canidia Albuti, quibus eſt inimica, Venenum;
Grande malum Turius, ſi quid ſe judice certes;
Ut, quo quiſque valet, ſuſpectus terreat, utque
Imperet hoc natura potens; ſic collige mecum.
Dente lupus, cornu taurus petit; unde niſi intus
Monſtratum? Scaevae vivacem credi nepoti
Matrem: nil faciet ſceleris pia dextra (mirum
Ut neque calce lupus quenquam, neque dente petit bos)
Sed mala tollet anum vitiato melle cicuta.
Ne longum faciam; ſeu me tranquilla ſenectus
Expectat, ſeu mors atris circumvolat alis;
[14] Dives, inops, Romae ſeu ſors ita juſſerit, exul,
Quiſquis erit vitae, ſcribam, color.
TREB.
O puer, ut ſis
Vitalis, metuo; & majorum ne quis amicus
Frigore te feriat.
HOR.
Quid? cum eſt Lucilius auſus
Primus in hunc operis componere carmina morem,
Detrahere & pellem, nitidus qua quiſque per ora
Cederet, introrſum turpis; num Laelius, & qui
Duxit ab oppreſſa meritum Carthagine nomen,
Ingenio ofſenſi? aut laeſo doluere Metello,
Famoſiſque Lupo cooperto verſibus? Atqui
Primores populi arripuit, populumque tributim;
[16]Scilicet UNI AEQUUS VIRTUTI ATQUAE EJUS AMICIS.
Quin ubi ſe a Vulgo & Scena, in Secreta remorant
Virtus Scipiadae, & mitis Sapientia Laeli;
Nugari cum illo, & diſcincti ludere, donec
Decoqueretur olus, ſoliti.
—Quicquid ſum ego, quamvis
Infra Lucili cenſum, ingeniumque, tamen me
Cum magnis vixiſſe invita fatebitur uſque
Invidia, & fragili quaerens illidere dentem,
Offendet ſolido;—
[18]— Niſi quid tu, docte Trebati,
Diſſentis.
TREB.
Equidem nihil hinc diffindere poſſum.
Sed tamen ut monitus caveas, ne forte negoti
Incutiat tibi quid ſanctarum inſcitia legum.
"Si mala condiderit in quem quis carmina jus eſt Judiciumque."
HOR.
Eſto, ſiquis mala; ſed bona ſiquis
Judice condiderit laudatur CAESARE: ſiquis
Opprobrijs dignum laceraverit, integer ipſe,
Solventur riſu tabulae; tu miſſus abibis.
FINIS.
THE FIRST SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.
[]P.
THERE are (I ſcarce can think it, but am told)
There are to whom my Satire ſeems too bold,
Scarce to wiſe Peter complaiſant enough,
And ſomething ſaid of Chartres much too rough.
The Lines are weak, another's pleas'd to ſay,
Lord Fanny ſpins a thouſand ſuch a Day.
Tim'rous by Nature, of the Rich in awe,
I come to Council learned in the Law.
You'll give me, like a Friend both ſage and free,
Advice; and (as you uſe) without a Fee.
L.
[7] I'd write no more.
P.
Not write? but then I think,
And for my Soul I cannot ſleep a wink.
I nod in Company, I wake at Night,
Fools ruſh into my Head, and ſo I write.
L.
You could not do a worſe thing for your Life.
Why, if the Nights ſeem tedious—take a Wife;
Or rather truly, if your Point be Reſt,
Lettuce and Cowſlip Wine; Probatum eſt.
But talk with Celſus, Celſus may adviſe
Hartſhorn, or ſomething that ſhall cloſe your Eyes.
Or if you needs muſt write, write CAESAR'S Praiſe:
You'll gain at leaſt a Knighthood, or the Bays.
P.
What? like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough and fierce,
With ARMS and GEORGE, and BRUNSWICK crowd the Verſe?
Or nobly wild, with Budgell's Fire and Force,
Paint Angels trembling round his falling Horſe?
L.
Then all your Muſe's ſofter Art diſplay,
Let Carolina ſmooth the tuneful Lay,
Lull with Amelia's liquid Name the Nine,
And ſweetly flow through all the Royal Line.
P.
[9] Alas! few Verſes touch their nicer Ear;
They ſcarce can bear their Laureate twice a Year:
And juſtly CAESAR ſcorns the Poet's Lays,
It is to Hiſtory he truſts for Praiſe.
L.
Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it ſtill,
Than ridicule all Taſte, blaſpheme Quadrille,
Abuſe the City's beſt good Men in Metre,
And laugh at Peers that put their Truſt in Peter.
Ev'n thoſe you touch not, hate you.
P.
What ſhould ail 'em?
L.
A hundred ſmart in Timon and in Balaam:
The fewer ſtill you name, you wound the more;
B—nd is but one, but Harpax is a Score.
P.
Each Mortal has his Pleaſure: None deny
Sc—le his Bottle, D—ty his Ham-Pye;
Ridotta ſips and dances, till ſhe ſee
The doubling Luſtres dance as well as ſhe;
—loves the Senate, Hockley-Hole his Brother,
Like in all elſe, as one Egg to another.
I love to pour out all myſelf, as plain
As downright Shippen, or as old Montagne.
[11] In them, as certain to be lov'd as ſeen,
The Soul ſtood forth, nor kept a Thought within;
In me what Spots (for Spots I have) appear,
Will prove at leaſt the Medium muſt be clear.
In this impartial Glaſs, my Muſe intends
Fair to expoſe myſelf, my Foes, my Friends;
Publiſh the preſent Age, but where my Text
Is Vice too high, reſerve it for the next:
My Foes ſhall wiſh my Life a longer date,
And ev'ry Friend the leſs lament my Fate.
My Head and Heart thus flowing thro' my Quill,
Verſe-man or Proſe-man, term me which you will,
Papiſt or Proteſtant, or both between,
Like good Eraſinus in an honeſt Mean,
In Moderation placing all my Glory,
While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory.
Satire's my Weapon, but I'm too diſcreet
To run a Muck, and tilt at all I meet;
I only wear it in a Land of Hectors,
Thieves, Supercargoes, Sharpers, and Directors.
Save but our Army! and let Jove incruſt
Swords, Pikes, and Guns, with everlaſting Ruſt!
[13] Peace is my dear Delight—not Fleury's more:
But touch me, and no Miniſter ſo ſore.
Who-e'er offends, at ſome unlucky Time
Slides into Verſe, and hitches in a Rhyme,
Sacred to Ridicule! his whole Life long,
And the ſad Burthen of ſome merry Song.
Slander or Poyſon, dread from Delia's Rage,
Hard Words or Hanging, if your J—ge be—
From furious Sappho yet a ſadder Fate,
P—x'd by her Love, or libell'd by her Hate:
Its proper Pow'r to hurt, each Creature feels,
Bulls aim their horns, and Aſſes lift their heels,
'Tis a Bear's Talent not to kick, but hug,
And no man wonders he's not ſtung by Pug:
So drink with W—t—rs, or with Ch—t—rs eat,
They'll never poiſon you, they'll only cheat.
Then learned Sir! (to cut the Matter ſhort)
What-e'er my Fate, or well or ill at Court,
Whether old Age, with faint, but chearful Ray,
Attends to gild the Evening of my Day,
Or Death's black Wing already be diſplay'd
To wrap me in the Univerſal Shade;
[15] Whether the darken'd Room to muſe invite,
Or whiten'd Wall provoke the Skew'r to write,
In Durance, Exile, Bedlam, or the Mint,
Like Lee or B—ll, I will Rhyme and Print.
L.
Alas young Man! your Days can ne'r be long,
In Flow'r of Age you periſh for a Song!
Plums, and Directors, Shylock and his Wife,
Will club their Teſters, now, to take your Life!
P.
What? arm'd for Virtue when I point the Pen,
Brand the bold Front of ſhameleſs, guilty Men,
Daſh the proud Gameſter in his gilded Car,
Bare the mean Heart that lurks beneath a Star;
Can there be wanting to defend Her Cauſe,
Lights of the Church, or Guardians of the Laws?
Could penſion'd Boileau laſh in honeſt Strain
Flatt'rers and Bigots ev'n in Louis' Reign?
Could Laureate Dryden Pimp and Fry'r engage,
Yet neither Charles nor James be in a Rage?
And I not ſtrip the Gilding off a Knave,
Un-plac'd, un-penſion'd, no Man's Heir, or Slave?
[17] I will, or periſh in the gen'rous Cauſe.
Hear this, and tremble! you, who 'ſcape the Laws.
To VIRTUE ONLY and HER FRIENDS, A FRIEND,
The World beſide may murmur, or commend.
Know, all the diſtant Din that World can keep
Rolls o'er my Grotto, and but ſooths my Sleep.
There, my Retreat the beſt Companions grace,
Chiefs, out of War, and Stateſmen, out of Place.
There St. John mingles with my friendly Bowl,
The Feaſt of Reaſon and the Flow of Soul:
And He, whoſe Lightning pierc'd th' Iberian Lines,
Now, forms my Quincunx, and now ranks my Vines,
Or tames the Genius of the ſtubborn Plain,
Almoſt as quickly, as he conquer'd Spain.
Envy muſt own, I live among the Great,
No Pimp of Pleaſure, and no Spy of State,
With Eyes that pry not, Tongue that ne'er repeats,
Fond to ſpread Friendſhips, but to cover Heats,
To help who want, to forward who excel;
This, all who know me, know; who love me, tell;
And who unknown defame me, let them be
Scriblers or Peers, alike are Mob to me.
[19] This is my Plea, on this I reſt my Cauſe—
What ſaith my Council learned in the Laws?
L.
Your Plea is good. But ſtill I ſay, beware!
Laws are explain'd by Men—ſo have a care.
It ſtands on record, that in ancient Times
A Man was hang'd for very honeſt Rhymes.
Conſult the Statute: quart. I think it is,
Edwardi Sext. or prim. & quint. Eliz:
See Libels, Satires— there you have it—read.
P.
Libels and Satires! lawleſs Things indeed!
But grave Epiſtles, bringing Vice to light,
Such as a King might read, a Biſhop write,
Such as Sir Robert would approve—
L.
Indeed?
The Caſe is alter'd—you may then proceed.
In ſuch a Cauſe the Plaintiff will be hiſs'd,
My Lords the Judges laugh, and you're diſmiſs'd.
FINIS.