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 not say that these
are interesting to us; but they were eminently so to those for whom
they were written; and by their pertinency at the time, should they,
by every rule of fair criticism, be estimated. The version of such
passages is one of the miseries of translation.

I have also heard it objected to Juvenal, that there is in many of
his Satires a want of arrangement; this is particularly observed of
the sixth and tenth. I scarcely know what to reply to this. Those
who are inclined to object, would not be better satisfied, perhaps,
if the form of both were changed; for I suspect that there is no
natural gradation in the innumerable passions which agitate the human
breast. Some must precede, and others follow; but the order of march
is not, nor ever was, invariable. While I acquit him of this, however,
I readily acknowledge a want of care in many places, unless it be
rather attributable to a want of taste. On some occasions, too, when
he changed or enlarged his first sketch, he forgot to strike out the
unnecessary verses: to this are owing the repetitions to be found in
his longer works, as well as the transpositions, which have so often
perplexed the critics and translators.

Now I am upon this subject, I must not pass over a slovenliness in some
of his lines, for which he has been justly reproached by Jortin and
others, as it would have cost him no great pains to improve them. Why
he should voluntarily debase his poetry, it is difficult to say: if he
thought that he was imitating Horace in his laxity, his judgment must
suffer considerably. The verses of Horace are indeed akin to prose; but
as he seldom rises, he has the art of making his low flights, in which
all his motions are easy and graceful, appear the effect of choice.
Juvenal was qualified to "sit where he dared not soar." His element was
that of the eagle, "descent and fall to him were adverse," and, indeed,
he never appears more awkward than when he flutters, or rather waddles,
along the ground.

I have observed in the course of the translation, that he embraced no
sect with warmth. In a man of such lively passions, the retention with
which he speaks of them all, is to be admired. From his attachment
to the writings of Seneca, I should incline to think that he leaned
toward Stoicism; his predilection for the school, however, was not
very strong: perhaps it is to be wished that he had entered a little
more deeply into it, as he seems not to have those distinct ideas
of the nature of virtue and vice, which were entertained by many of
the ancient philosophers, and indeed, by his immediate predecessor,
Persius. As a general champion for virtue, he is commonly successful,
but he sometimes misses his aim; and, in more than one instance,
confounds the nature of the several vices in his mode of attacking
them: he confounds too the very essence of virtue, which, in his
hands, has often "no local habitation and name," but varies with the
ever-varying passions and caprices of mankind. I know not whether it be
worth while to add, that he is accused of holding a different language
at different times respecting the gods, since in this he differs little
from the Greek and Roman poets in general; who, as often as they
introduce their divinities, state, as Juvenal does, the mythological
circumstances coupled with their names, without regard to the existing
system of physic or morals. When they speak from themselves, indeed,
they give us exalted sentiments of virtue and sound philosophy; when
they indulge in poetic recollections, they present us with the fables
of antiquity. Hence the gods are alternately, and as the subject
requires, venerable or contemptible; and this could not but happen
through the want of some acknowledged religious standard, to which all
might with confidence refer.

I come now to a more serious charge against Juvenal, that of indecency.
To hear the clamor raised against him, it might be supposed, by one
unacquainted with the times, that he was the only indelicate writer
of his age and country. Yet Horace and Persius wrote with equal
grossness: yet the rigid Stoicism of Seneca did not deter him from
the use of expressions, which Juvenal perhaps would have rejected:
yet the courtly Pliny poured out gratuitous indecencies in his frigid
hendecasyllables, which he attempts to justify by the example of a
writer to whose freedom the licentiousness of Juvenal is purity! It
seems as if there was something of pique in the singular severity with
which he is censured. His pure and sublime morality operates as a tacit
reproach on the generality of mankind, who seek to indemnify themselves
by questioning the sanctity which they can not but respect; and find a
secret pleasure in persuading one another that "this dreaded satirist"
was at heart no inveterate enemy to the licentiousness which he so
vehemently reprehends.

When we consider the unnatural vices at which Juvenal directs his
indignation, and reflect, at the same time, on the peculiar qualities
of his mind, we shall not find much cause, perhaps, for wonder at the
strength of his expressions. I should resign him in silence to the
hatred of mankind, if his aim, like that of too many others, whose
works are read with delight, had been to render vice amiable, to
fling his seducing colors over impurity, and inflame the passions by
meretricious hints at what is only innoxious when exposed in native
deformity: but when I find that his views are to render depravity
loathsome; that every thing which can alarm and disgust is directed at
her in his terrible page, I forget the grossness of the execution in
the excellence of the design; and pay my involuntary homage to that
integrity, which fearlessly calling in strong description to the aid
of virtue, attempts to purify the passions, at the hazard of wounding
delicacy and offending taste. This is due to Juvenal: in justice to
myself, let me add, that I could have been better pleased to have had
no occasion to speak at all on the subject.

Whether any considerations of this or a similar nature deterred our
literati from turning these Satires into English, I can not say; but,
though partial versions might be made, it was not until the beginning
of the seventeenth century that a complete translation was thought of;
when two men, of celebrity in their days, undertook it about the same
time; these were Barten Holyday and Sir Robert Stapylton. Who entered
first upon the task, can not well be told. There appears somewhat of
a querulousness on both sides; a jealousy that their versions had
been communicated in manuscript to each other: Stapylton's, however,
was first published, though that of Holyday seems to have been first
finished.

Of this ingenious man it is not easy to speak with too much
respect. His learning, industry, judgment, and taste are every
where conspicuous: nor is he without a very considerable portion of
shrewdness to season his observations. His poetry indeed, or rather
his ill-measured prose, is intoler

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