Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookm not;--he marked the toils I set, 95 And rushed, a willing victim, to my net." Was flattery e'er so rank! yet he grows vain, And his crest rises at the fulsome strain. When, to divine, a mortal power we raise, He looks for no hyperboles in praise. 100 But when was joy unmixed? no pot is found, Capacious of the turbot's ample round: In this distress, he calls the chiefs of state, At once the objects of his scorn and hate, In whose pale cheeks distrust and doubt appear, 105 And all a tyrant's friendship breeds of fear. Scarce was the loud Liburnian heard to say, "He sits," ere Pegasus was on his way; Yes:--the new bailiff of the affrighted town, (For what were Præfects more?) had snatched his gown, 110 And rushed to council: from the ivory chair, He dealt out justice with no common care; But yielded oft to those licentious times, And where he could not punish, winked at crimes. Then old, facetious Crispus tript along, 115 Of gentle manners, and persuasive tongue: None fitter to advise the lord of all, Had that pernicious pest, whom thus we call, Allowed a friend to soothe his savage mood, And give him counsel, wise at once and good. 120 But who shall dare this liberty to take, When, every word you hazard, life's at stake? Though but of stormy summers, showery springs-- For tyrants' ears, alas! are ticklish things. So did the good old man his tongue restrain; 125 Nor strove to stem the torrent's force in vain. Not one of those, who, by no fears deterred, Spoke the free soul, and truth to life preferred. He temporized--thus fourscore summers fled, Even in that court, securely, o'er his head. 130 Next him, appeared Acilius hurrying on, Of equal age--and followed by his son; Who fell, unjustly fell, in early years, A victim to the tyrant's jealous fears: But long ere this were hoary hairs become 135 A prodigy, among the great, at Rome; Hence, had I rather owe my humble birth, Frail brother of the giant-brood, to earth. Poor youth! in vain the ancient sleight you try; In vain, with frantic air, and ardent eye, 140 Fling every robe aside, and battle wage With bears and lions, on the Alban stage. All see the trick: and, spite of Brutus' skill, There are who count him but a driveler still; Since, in his days, it cost no mighty pains 145 To outwit a prince, with much more beard than brains. Rubrius, though not, like these, of noble race, Followed with equal terror in his face; And, laboring with a crime too foul to name, More, than the pathic satirist, lost to shame. 150 Montanus' belly next, and next appeared The legs, on which that monstrous pile was reared. Crispinus followed, daubed with more perfume, Thus early! than two funerals consume. Then bloodier Pompey, practiced to betray, 155 And hesitate the noblest lives away. Then Fuscus, who in studious pomp at home, Planned future triumphs for the Arms of Rome. Blind to the event! those arms, a different fate, Inglorious wounds, and Dacian vultures, wait. 160 Last, sly Veiento with Catullus came, Deadly Catullus, who, at beauty's name Took fire, although unseen: a wretch, whose crimes Struck with amaze even those prodigious times. A base, blind parasite, a murderous lord, 165 From the bridge-end raised to the council-board; Yet fitter still to dog the traveler's heels, And whine for alms to the descending wheels! None dwelt so largely on the turbot's size, Or raised with such applause his wondering eyes; 170 But to the left (O, treacherous want of sight) He poured his praise;--the fish was on the right! Thus would he at the fencer's matches sit, And shout with rapture, at some fancied hit; And thus applaud the stage-machinery, where 175 The youths were rapt aloft, and lost in air. Nor fell Veiento short:--as if possest With all Bellona's rage, his laboring breast Burst forth in prophecy; "I see, I see The omens of some glorious victory! 180 Some powerful monarch captured!--lo, he rears, Horrent on every side, his pointed spears! Arviragus hurled from the British car: The fish is foreign, foreign is the war." Proceed, great seer, and what remains untold, 185 The turbot's age and country, next unfold; So shall your lord his fortunes better know, And where the conquest waits and who the foe. The emperor now the important question put, "How say ye, Fathers, SHALL THE FISH BE CUT?" 190 "O, far be that disgrace," Montanus cries; "No, let a pot be formed, of amplest size, Within whose slender sides the fish, dread sire, May spread his vast circumference entire! Bring, bring the tempered clay, and let it feel 195 The quick gyrations of the plastic wheel:-- But, Cæsar, thus forewarned, make no campaign, Unless your potters follow in your train!" Montanus ended; all approved the plan, And all, the speech, so worthy of the man! 200 Versed in the old court luxury, he knew The feasts of Nero, and his midnight crew; Where oft, when potent draughts had fired the brain, The jaded taste was spurred to gorge again.-- And, in my time, none understood so well 205 The science of good eating: he could tell, At the first relish, if his oysters fed On the Rutupian, or the Lucrine bed; And from a crab, or lobster's color, name The country, nay, the district, whence it came. 210 Here closed the solemn farce. The Fathers rise, And each, submissive, from the presence hies:-- Pale, trembling wretches, whom the chief, in sport, Had dragged, astonished, to the Alban court; As if the stern Sicambri were in arms, 215 Or the fierce Catti threatened new alarms; As if ill news by flying posts had come, And gathering nations sought the fall of Rome! O! that such scenes (disgraceful at the most) Had all those years of cruelty engrost, 220 Through which his rage pursued the great and good, Unchecked, while vengeance slumbered o'er their blood! And yet he fell!--for when he changed his game, And first grew dreadful to the vulgar name, They seized the murderer, drenched with Lamian gore, 225 And hurled him, headlong, to the infernal shore! SATIRE V. TO TREBIUS. If--by reiterated scorn made bold, Your mind can still its shameless tenor hold, Still think the greatest blessing earth can give, Is, solely at another's cost to live; If--you can brook, what Galba would have spurned, 5 And mean Sarmentus with a frown returned, At Cæsar's haughty board, dependents both, I scarce would take your evidence on oath. The belly's fed with little cost: yet grant You should, unhappily, that little want, 10 Some vacant bridge might surely still be found, Some highway side; where, groveling on the ground, Your shivering limbs compassion's sigh might wake, And gain an alms for "Charity's sweet sake!" What! can a meal, thus sauced, deserve your care? 15 Is hunger so importunate? when THERE, THERE, in your tattered rug, you may, my friend, On casual scraps more honestly depend; With chattering teeth toil o'er your wretched treat, And |