The Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry of Horace Part 9

And so my day between my fingers slips, While fond regrets keep rising to my lips: O my dear homestead in the country! when Shall I behold your pleasant face again; And, studying now, now dozing and at ease, Imbibe forgetfulness of all this tease?

O when, Pythagoras, shall thy brother bean, With pork and cabbage, on my board be seen?

O happy nights and suppers half divine, When, at the home-G.o.ds' altar, I and mine Enjoy a frugal meal, and leave the treat Unfinished for my merry slaves to eat!

Not bound by mad-cap rules, but free to choose Big cups or small, each follows his own views: You toss your wine off boldly, if you please, Or gently sip, and mellow by degrees.

We talk of--not our neighbour's house or field, Nor the last feat of Lepos, the light-heeled-- But matters which to know concerns us more, Which none but at his peril can ignore; Whether 'tis wealth or virtue makes men blest, What leads to friends.h.i.+p, worth or interest, In what the good consists, and what the end And chief of goods, on which the rest depend: While neighbour Cervius, with his rustic wit, Tells old wives' tales, this case or that to hit.

Should some one be unwise enough to praise Arellius' toilsome wealth, he straightway says: "One day a country mouse in his poor home Received an ancient friend, a mouse from Rome: The host, though close and careful, to a guest Could open still: so now he did his best.

He spares not oats or vetches: in his chaps Raisins he brings and nibbled bacon-sc.r.a.ps, Hoping by varied dainties to entice His town-bred guest, so delicate and nice, Who condescended graciously to touch Thing after thing, but never would take much, While he, the owner of the mansion, sate On threshed-out straw, and spelt and darnels ate.

At length the townsman cries: "I wonder how You can live here, friend, on this hill's rough brow: Take my advice, and leave these ups and downs, This hill and dale, for humankind and towns.

Come now, go home with me: remember, all Who live on earth are mortal, great and small: Then take, good sir, your pleasure while you may; With life so short, 'twere wrong to lose a day."

This reasoning made the rustic's head turn round; Forth from his hole he issues with a bound, And they two make together for their mark, In hopes to reach the city during dark.

The midnight sky was bending over all, When they set foot within a stately hall, Where couches of wrought ivory had been spread With gorgeous coverlets of Tyrian red, And viands piled up high in baskets lay, The relics of a feast of yesterday.

The townsman does the honours, lays his guest At ease upon a couch with crimson dressed, Then nimbly moves in character of host, And offers in succession boiled and roast; Nay, like a well-trained slave, each wish prevents, And tastes before the t.i.t-bits he presents.

The guest, rejoicing in his altered fare, a.s.sumes in turn a genial diner's air, When hark! a sudden banging of the door: Each from his couch is tumbled on the floor: Half dead, they scurry round the room, poor things, While the whole house with barking mastiffs rings.

Then says the rustic: "It may do for you, This life, but I don't like it; so adieu: Give me my hole, secure from all alarms, I'll prove that tares and vetches still have charms."

SATIRE VII.

JAMDUDUM AUSCULTO.

DAVUS. HORACE.

DAVUS.

I've listened long, and fain a word would say, But, as a slave, I dare not.

H. Davus, eh?

D. Yes, Davus, true and faithful, good enough, But not too good to be of lasting stuff.

H. Well, take December's licence: I'll not balk Our fathers' good intentions: have your talk.

D. Some men there are take pleasure in what's ill Persistently, and do it with a will: The greater part keep wavering to and fro, And now all right, and now all wrong they go.

Prisons, we all remember, oft would wear Three rings at once, then show his finger bare; First he'd be senator, then knight, and then In an hour's time a senator again; Flit from a palace to a crib so mean, A decent freedman scarce would there be seen; Now with Athenian wits he'd make his home, Now live with scamps and profligates at Rome; Born in a luckless hour, when every face Vertumnus wears was pulling a grimace.

Shark Volanerius tried to disappoint The gout that left his fingers ne'er a joint By hiring some one at so much per day To shake the dicebox while he sat at play; Consistent in his faults, so less a goose Than your poor wretch who s.h.i.+fts from fast to loose.

H. For whom d'ye mean this twaddle, tell me now, You hang-dog?

D. Why, for you.

H. Good varlet, how?

D. You praise the life that people lived of old, When Rome was frugal and the age was gold, And yet, if on a sudden forced to dwell With men like those, you'd strenuously rebel, Either because you don't believe at heart That what you bawl for is the happier part, Or that you can't act out what you avow, But stand with one foot sticking in the slough.

At Rome you hanker for your country home; Once in the country, there's no place like Rome.

If not asked out to supper, then you bless The stars that let you eat your quiet mess, Vow that engagements are mere clogs, and think You're happy that you've no one's wine to drink.

But should Maecenas, somewhat late, invite His favourite bard to come by candle-light, "Bring me the oil this instant! is there none Hears me?" you scream, and in a trice are gone: While Milvius and his brother beasts of prey, With curses best not quoted, walk away.

Yet what says Milvius? "Honest truth to tell, I turn my nose up at a kitchen's smell; I'm guided by my stomach; call me weak, Coward, tavern-spunger, still by book you'll speak.

But who are you to treat me to your raps?

You're just as bad as I, nay worse perhaps, Though you've a cloak of decent words, forsooth, To throw at pleasure o'er the ugly truth."

What if at last a greater fool you're found Than I, the slave you bought for twenty pound?

Nay, nay, don't scare me with that threatening eye: Unclench your fist and lay your anger by, While I retail the lessons which of late The porter taught me at Crispinus' gate.

You're no adulterer:--nor a thief am I, When I see plate and wisely pa.s.s it by: But take away the danger, in a trice Nature unbridled plunges into vice.

What? you to be my master, who obey More persons, nay, more things than words can say, Whom not the praetor's wand, though four times waved, Could make less tyrant-ridden, less enslaved?

Press home the matter further: how d'ye call The thrall who's servant to another thrall?

An understrapper, say; the name will do; Or fellow-servant: such am I to you: For you, whose work I do, do others' work, And move as dolls move when their wires we jerk.

Who then is free? The sage, who keeps in check His baser self, who lives at his own beck, Whom neither poverty nor dungeon drear Nor death itself can ever put in fear, Who can reject life's goods, resist desire, Strong, firmly braced, and in himself entire, A hard smooth ball that gives you ne'er a grip, 'Gainst whom when Fortune runs, she's sure to trip.

Such are the marks of freedom: look them through, And tell me, is there one belongs to you?

Your mistress begs for money, plagues you sore, Ducks you with water, drives you from her door, Then calls you back: break the vile bondage; cry "I'm free, I'm free."--Alas, you cannot. Why?

There's one within you, armed with spur and stick, Who turns and drives you, howsoe'er you kick.

On one of Pausias' masterworks you pore, As you were crazy: what does Davus more, Standing agape and straining knees and eyes At some rude sketch of fencers for a prize, Where, drawn in charcoal or red ochre, just As if alive, they parry and they thrust?

Davus gets called a loiterer and a scamp, You (save the mark!) a critic of high stamp.

If hot sweet-cakes should tempt me, I am naught: Do you say no to dainties as you ought?

Am I worse trounced than you when I obey My stomach? true, my back is made to pay: But when you let rich t.i.t-bits pa.s.s your lip That cost no trifle, do you 'scape the whip?

Indulging to excess, you loathe your meat, And the bloat trunk betrays the gouty feet.

The lad's a rogue who goes by night to chop A stolen flesh-brush at a fruiterer's shop: The man who sells a farm to buy good fare, Is there no slavery to the stomach there?

Then too you cannot spend an hour alone; No company's more hateful than your own; You dodge and give yourself the slip; you seek In bed or in your cups from care to sneak: In vain: the black dog follows you, and hangs Close on your flying skirts with hungry fangs.

H. Where's there a stone?

D. Who wants it?

H. Or a pike?

D. Mere raving this, or verse-making belike.

H. Unless you're off at once, you'll join the eight Who do their digging down at my estate.

SATIRE VIII.

UT NASIDIENI.

HORACE. FUNDANIUS.

HORACE.

That rich Nasidienus--let me hear How yesterday you relished his good cheer: For when I tried to get you, I was told You'd been there since the day was six hours old.

F. O, 'twas the finest treat.