Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookif a day's precarious life Be worth his study, make the fair his wife; For wed or not, poor youth, 'tis still the same, 505 And still the axe must mangle that fine frame! Say then, shall man, deprived all power of choice, Ne'er raise to heaven the supplicating voice? Not so; but to the gods his fortunes trust: Their thoughts are wise, their dispensations just. 510 What best may profit or delight they know, And real good for fancied bliss bestow: With eyes of pity they our frailties scan; More dear to them, than to himself, is man. By blind desire, by headlong passion driven, 515 For wife and heirs we daily weary Heaven: Yet still 'tis Heaven's prerogative to know, If heirs, or wife, will bring us weal or woe. But (for 'tis good our humble hope to prove), That thou may'st, still, ask something from above, 520 Thy pious offerings to the temple bear, And, while the altars blaze, be this thy prayer. O THOU, who know'st the wants of human kind, Vouchsafe me health of body, health of mind; A soul prepared to meet the frowns of fate, 525 And look undaunted on a future state; That reckons death a blessing, yet can bear Existence nobly, with its weight of care; That anger and desire alike restrains, And counts Alcides' toils, and cruel pains, 530 Superior far to banquets, wanton nights, And all the Assyrian monarch's soft delights! Here bound, at length, thy wishes. I but teach What blessings man, by his own powers, may reach. THE PATH TO PEACE IS VIRTUE. We should see, 535 If wise, O Fortune, naught divine in thee: But we have deified a name alone, And fixed in heaven thy visionary throne! SATIRE XI. TO PERSICUS. If Atticus in sumptuous fare delight, 'Tis taste: if Rutilus, 'tis madness quite: And what diverts the sneering rabble more Than an Apicius miserably poor? In every company, go where you will, 5 Bath, forum, theatre, the talk is still Of Rutilus!--While fit (they cry) to wield, With firm and vigorous arm, the spear and shield, While his full veins beat high with youthful blood, Forced by no tribune--yet by none withstood, 10 He cultivates the gladiator's trade, And learns the imperious language of the blade. What swarms we see of this degenerate kind! Swarms whom their creditors can only find At flesh and fish-stalls:--thither they repair, 15 Sure, though deceived at home, to catch them there. These live but for their palate; and, of these, The most distressed (while Ruin hastes to seize The crumbling mansion and disparting wall), Spread richer feasts, and riot as they fall!-- 20 Meanwhile, ere yet the last supply be spent, They search for dainties every element, Awed by no price; nay, making this their boast, And still preferring that which costs them most, Joyous, and reckless of to-morrow's fate, 25 To raise a desperate sum, they pledge their plate, Or mother's fractured image; to prepare Yet one treat more, though but in earthen ware! Then to the fencer's mess they come, of course, And mount the scaffold as a last resource. 30 No foe to sumptuous boards, I only scan, When such are spread, the motives, and the man, And praise or censure, as I see the feast Or by the noble or the beggar dress'd: In this, 'tis gluttony; in that, fit pride, 35 Sanctioned by wealth, by station dignified.-- Whip me the fool, who marks how Atlas soars O'er every hill on Mauritania's shores, Yet sees no difference 'twixt the coffer's hoards, And the poor pittance a small purse affords! 40 Heaven sent us "KNOW THYSELF!"--Be this impress'd In living characters, upon thy breast, And still revolved; whether a wife thou choose, Or to the SACRED SENATE point thy views.-- Or seek'st thou rather, in some doubtful cause, 45 To vindicate thy country's injured laws? Knock at thy bosom, play the censor's part, And note with caution what and who thou art, An orator of force and skill profound, Or a mere Matho, emptiness and sound! 50 Yes, KNOW THYSELF: in great concerns, in small, Be this thy care, for this, my friend, is all: Nor, when thy purse will scarce a gudgeon buy, With fond intemperance for turbots sigh! O think what end awaits thee, timely think, 55 If thy throat widens as thy pockets shrink, Thy throat, of all thy father's thrift could save, Flocks, herds, and fields, the insatiable grave!-- At length, when naught remains a meal to bring, The last poor shift, off comes the knightly ring, 60 And "sad Sir Pollio" begs his daily fare, With undistinguished hands, and finger bare! To these, an early grave no terror brings, "A short and merry life!" the spendthrift sings; Death seems to him a refuge from despair, 65 And far less terrible than hoary hair. Mark now the progress of their rapid fate! Money (regardless of the monthly rate), On every side, they borrow, and apace, Waste what is borrowed before the lender's face: 70 Then, while they yet some wretched remnant hold, And the pale usurer trembles for his gold, They wisely sicken for the country air, And flock to Baiæ, Ostia, Jove knows where.-- For now 'tis held (so rife the evil's grown) 75 No greater shame, for debt, to flee the town, Than from the thronged Suburra to remove, In dog-days, to the Esquilian shades above. One thought alone, what time they leave behind Friends, country, all, weighs heavy on their mind, 80 One thought alone--for twelve long months to lose The dear delights of Rome, the public shows! Where sleeps the modest blood! In all our veins, No conscious drop, to form a blush, remains: SHAME, from the town, derided, speeds her way, 85 And few, alas! solicit her to stay. Enough: to-day my Persicus shall see Whether my precepts with my life agree; Whether, with feigned austerity, I prize The spare repast, a glutton in disguise! 90 Bawl for coarse pottage, that my friends may hear, But whisper "sweetmeats!" in my servant's ear. For since, by promise, you are now my guest, Know, I invite you to no sumptuous feast, But to such simple fare, as long, long since, 95 The good Evander bade the Trojan prince. Come then, my friend, you will not, sure, despise The food that pleased the offspring of the skies; Come, and while fancy brings past times to view, I'll think myself the king, the hero you. 100 Take now your bill of fare: my simple board Is with no dainties from the market stored, But dishes all my own. From Tibur's stock A kid shall come, the fattest of the flock, The tenderest too, and yet too young to browse 105 The thistle's shoots, the willow's watery boughs, With more of milk than blood; and pullets dress'd With new-laid eggs, yet tepid from the nest, And sperage wild, which, from the mountain's side, My housemaid left her spindle to provide; 110 And grapes long kept, yet pulpy still, and fair, And the rich Signian and the Syrian pear; And apples, that in flavor and in smell The boasted Picene equal, or excel:-- Nor need you fear, my friend, their liberal use, 115 Fo |