THE FIRST SATIRE OF THE
SECOND BOOK
OF HORACE,
Imitated in a DIALOGUE between
ALEXANDER POPE
of
Twickenham
in
Com. Midd.
Esq
on the one Part, and his LEARNED COUNCIL on the other.
Scilicet Uni Aequus Virtuti, at
que
ejus Amicis.
HORAT.
LONDON:
Printed by
L. G.
and sold by A. DODD, near
Temple-Bar;
E. NUTT, at the
Royal Exchange;
and by the Booksellers of
London
and
Westminster.
M.DCC.XXXIII.
Q. HORATII FLACCI
SERMONUM LIBRI SECUNDI SATIRA PRIMA.
QUINTI HORATII FLACCI SERMONUM LIBER SECUNDUS.
SATIRA PRIMA.
HORATIUS. TREBATIUS.
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.
Quiescas.
Ne faciam inquis,
Omnino versus?
Aio.
Peream male si non
Optimum erat:
verum nequeo dormire.
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.
Cupidum, pater optime! vires
Deficiunt:
neque enim quivis
horrentia pilis
Agmina,
nec
fracta pereuntes cuspide Gallos,
Aut
labentis equo
describat vulnera Parthi.
At tamen & justum poteras & scribere fortem,
Scipiadam ut sapiens Lucilius.
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.
Quanto rectius hoc, quam tristi loedere versu
Pantolabum Scurram, Nomentanumve nepotem?
Cum sibi quisque timet, quanquam est intactus, & odit.
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
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,
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;
Dives, inops, Romae seu sors ita jusserit, exul,
Quisquis erit vitae, scribam, color.
O puer, ut sis
Vitalis, metuo; & majorum ne quis amicus
Frigore te feriat.
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;
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;—
—
Nisi quid tu,
docte Trebati,
Dissentis.
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."
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.
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.
I'd write no more.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
What should ail 'em?
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.
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.
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!
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;
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.
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!
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?
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.
This is my Plea, on this I rest my Cause—
What saith my Council learned in the Laws?
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.
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—
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.