Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookdeemed a quarrel, where, heaven knows, 430 He only gives, and I receive, the blows! Across my path he strides, and bids me STAND! I bow, obsequious to the dread command; What else remains, where madness, rage, combine With youth, and strength superior far to mine? 435 "Whence come you, rogue?" he cries; "whose beans to-night Have stuffed you thus? what cobbler clubbed his mite, For leeks and sheep's-head porridge? Dumb! quite dumb! Speak, or be kicked.--Yet, once again! your home? Where shall I find you? At what beggar's stand 440 (Temple, or bridge) whimp'ring with outstretched hand?" Whether I strive some humble plea to frame, Or steal in silence by, 'tis just the same; I'm beaten first, then dragged in rage away: Bound to the peace, or punished for the fray! 445 Mark here the boasted freedom of the poor! Beaten and bruised, that goodness to adore, Which, at their humble prayer, suspends its ire, And sends them home, with yet a bone entire! Nor this the worst; for when deep midnight reigns, 450 And bolts secure our doors, and massy chains, When noisy inns a transient silence keep, And harassed nature woos the balm of sleep, Then, thieves and murderers ply their dreadful trade; With stealthy steps our secret couch invade:-- 455 Roused from the treacherous calm, aghast we start, And the fleshed sword--is buried in our heart! Hither from bogs, from rocks, and caves pursued (The Pontine marsh, and Gallinarian wood), The dark assassins flock, as to their home, 460 And fill with dire alarms the streets of Rome. Such countless multitudes our peace annoy, That bolts and shackles every forge employ, And cause so wide a waste, the country fears A want of ore for mattocks, rakes, and shares. 465 O! happy were our sires, estranged from crimes; And happy, happy, were the good old times, Which saw, beneath their kings', their tribunes' reign, One cell the nation's criminals contain! Much could I add, more reasons could I cite, 470 If time were ours, to justify my flight; But see! the impatient team is moving on, The sun declining; and I must be gone: Long since, the driver murmured at my stay, And jerked his whip, to beckon me away. 475 Farewell, my friend! with this embrace we part! Cherish my memory ever in your heart; And when, from crowds and business, you repair, To breathe at your Aquinum freer air, Fail not to draw me from my loved retreat, 480 To Elvine Ceres, and Diana's seat: For your bleak hills my Cumæ I'll resign, And (if you blush not at such aid as mine) Come well equipped, to wage, in angry rhymes, Fierce war, with you, on follies and on crimes. 485 SATIRE IV. Again Crispinus comes! and yet again, And oft, shall he be summoned to sustain His dreadful part:--the monster of the times, Without ONE virtue to redeem his crimes! Diseased, emaciate, weak in all but lust, 5 And whom the widow's sweets alone disgust. Avails it, then, in what long colonnades He tires his mules? through what extensive glades His chair is borne? what vast estates he buys, What splendid domes, that round the Forum rise? 10 Ah! no--Peace visits not the guilty mind, Least his, who incest to adultery joined, And stained thy priestess, Vesta;--whom, dire fate! The long dark night and living tomb await. Turn we to slighter vices:--yet had these, 15 In others, Seius, Titius, whom you please, The Censor roused; for what the good would shame, Becomes Crispinus, and is honest fame. But when the actor's person far exceeds, In native loathsomeness, his loathsom'st deeds, 20 Say, what can satire? For a fish that weighed Six pounds, six thousand sesterces he paid! As those report, who catch, with greedy ear, And magnify the mighty things they hear. Had this expense been meant, with well-timed skill, 25 To gull some childless dotard of a Will; Or bribe some rich and fashionable fair, Who flaunts it in a close, wide-windowed chair; 'Twere worth our praise:--but no such plot was here. 'Twas for HIMSELF he bought a treat so dear! 30 This, all past gluttony from shame redeems, And even Apicius poor and frugal seems. What! You, Crispinus, brought to Rome, erewhile, Lapt in the rushes of your native Nile, Buy scales, at such a price! you might, I guess, 35 Have bought the fisherman himself for less; Bought, in some countries, manors at this rate, And, in Apulia, an immense estate! How gorged the emperor, when so dear a fish, Yet, of his cheapest meals, the cheapest dish, 40 Was guttled down by this impurpled lord, Chief knight, chief parasite, at Cæsar's board, Whom Memphis heard so late, with ceaseless yell, Clamoring through all her streets--"Ho! shads to sell!" Pierian MAIDS, begin;--but, quit your lyres, 45 The fact I bring no lofty chord requires: Relate it, then, and in the simplest strain, Nor let the poet style you MAIDS, in vain. When the last Flavius, drunk with fury, tore The prostrate world, which bled at every pore, 50 And Rome beheld, in body as in mind, A bald-pate Nero rise, to curse mankind; It chanced, that where the fane of Venus stands, Reared on Ancona's coast by Grecian hands, A turbot, wandering from the Illyrian main, 55 Fill'd the wide bosom of the bursting seine. Monsters so bulky, from its frozen stream, Mæotis renders to the solar beam, And pours them, fat with a whole winter's ease, Through the bleak Euxine, into warmer seas. 60 The mighty draught the astonished boatman eyes, And to the Pontiff's table dooms his prize: For who would dare to sell it? who to buy? When the coast swarmed with many a practiced spy, Mud-rakers, prompt to swear the fish had fled 65 From Cæsar's ponds, ingrate! where long it fed, And thus recaptured, claimed to be restored To the dominion of its ancient lord! Nay, if Palphurius may our credit gain, Whatever rare or precious swims the main, 70 Is forfeit to the crown, and you may seize The obnoxious dainty, when and where you please. This point allowed, our wary boatman chose To give--what, else, he had not failed to lose. Now were the dogstar's sickly fervors o'er, 75 Earth, pinched with cold, her frozen livery wore; The old began their quartan fits to fear, And wintry blasts deformed the beauteous year, And kept the turbot sweet: yet on he flew, As if the sultry South corruption blew.-- 80 And now the lake, and now the hill he gains, Where Alba, though in ruins, still maintains The Trojan fire, which, but for her, were lost, And worships Vesta, though with less of cost. The wondering crowd, that gathered to survey 85 The enormous fish, and barred the fisher's way, Satiate, at length retires; the gates unfold!-- Murmuring, the excluded senators behold The envied dainty enter:--On the man To great Atrides pressed, and thus began. 90 "This, for a private table far too great, Accept, and sumptuously your Genius treat: Haste to unload your stomach, and devour A turbot, destined to this happy hour. I sought hi |