THE FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. A HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OF THE AUTHOR'S JOURNEY FROM ROKK TO BRUNDUSIUM.
'Twas a long journey lay before us, When I and honest Heliodorus, Who far in point of rhetoric Surpasses every living Greek, Each leaving our respective home, Together sallied forth from Rome. First at Aricia we alight,
And there refresh, and pass the night, Our entertainment rather coarse
Than sumptuous, but I've met with worse. Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair To Appii Forum we repair.
But as this road is well supplied (Temptation strong!) on either side With inns commodious, snug, and warm, We split the journey, and perform In two days' time what's often done By brisker travellers in one. Here, rather choosing not to sup Than with bad water mix my cup, After a warm debate in spite Of a provoking appetite,
I sturdily resolved at last
To balk it, and pronounce a fast, And in a moody humour wait,
less dainty comrades bait. Now o'er the spangled hemisphere Diffused the starry train appear,
When there arose a desperate brawl; The slaves and bargemen, one and all Rending their throats (have mercy on us!) As if they were resolved to stun us. "Steer the barge this way to the shore; I tell you we'll admit no more; Plague! will you never be content?" Thus a whole hour at least is spent, While they receive the several fares, And kick the mule into his gears. Happy, these difficulties past, Could we have fallen asleep at last!
But, what with humming, croaking, biting,
Gnats, frogs, and all their plagues uniting,
These tuneful natives of the lake
Conspired to keep us broad awake. Besides, to make the concert full, Two maudlin wights, exceeding dull, The bargeman and a passenger, Each in his turn, essay'd an air In honour of his absent fair. At length the passenger, opprest With wine, left off, and snored the rest.
The weary bargeman too gave o'er, And, hearing his companion snore, Seized the occasion, fix'd the barge, Turn'd out his mule to graze at large, And slept forgetful of his charge. And now the sun o'er eastern hill Discover'd that our barge stood still; When one, whose anger vex'd him sore, With malice fraught, leaps quick on shore: Plucks up a stake, with many a thwack Assails the mule and driver's back. Then slowly moving on with pain, At ten Feronia's stream we gain, And in her pure and glassy wave Our hands and faces gladly lave. Climbing three miles, fair Anxur's height We reach, with stony quarries white. While here, as was agreed, we wait, Till, charged with business of the state, Mæcenas and Cocceius come,
The messengers of peace from Rome. My eyes, by watery humours blear And sore, I with black balsam smear. At length they join us, and with them Our worthy friend Fonteius came; A man of such complete desert, Antony loved him at his heart. At Fundi we refused to bait, And laugh'd at vain Aufidius' state, A prætor now, a scribe before, The purple border'd robe he wore, His slave the smoking censer bore. Tired, at Muræna's we repose, At Formia sup at Capito's.
With smiles the rising morn we greet,
At Sinuessa pleased to meet
With Plotius, Varius, and the bard
Whom Mantua first with wonder heard. The world no purer spirits knows; For none my heart more warmly glows. O! what embraces we bestow'd,
And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd! Sure, while my sense is sound and clear, Long as I live, I shall prefer Agay, good-natured, easy friend To every blessing heaven can send. At a small village, the next night, Near the Vulturnus we alight; Where, as employ'd on state affairs, We were supplied by the purveyors, Frankly at once, and without hire, With food for man and horse, and fire. Capua next day betimes we reach, Where Virgil and myself, who each
Labour'd with different maladies, His such a stomach, mine such eyes, As would not bear strong exercise, In drowsy mood to sleep resort; Mæcenas to the tennis-court. Next at Cocceius' farm we're treated, Above the Caudian tavern seated; His kind and hospitable board
With choice of wholesome food was stored. Now, O ye Nine, inspire my lays! To nobler themes my fancy raise! Two combatants, who scorn to yield The noisy, tongue-disputed field, Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim A poet's tribute to their fame; Cicirrus of true Oscian breed, Sarmentus, who was never freed, But ran away. We don't defame him; His lady lives, and still may claim him. Thus dignified, in harder fray
These champions their keen wit display, And first Sarmentus led the way.
"Thy locks," quoth he, "so rough and coarse, Look like the mane of some wild horse."
We laugh; Cicirrus undismay'd
"Have at you!" cries, and shakes his head. ""Tis well," Sarmentus says, "you've lost That horn your forehead once could boast; Since, maim'd and mangled as you are, You seem to butt." A hideous scar Improved, 'tis true, with double grace The native horrors of his face. Well, after much jocosely said Of his grim front, so fiery red (For carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er As usual on Campania's shore), "Give us," he cried, "since you're so big,
A sample of the Cyclop's jig!
Your shanks methinks no buskins ask, Nor does your phiz require a mask." To this Cicirrus: "In return Of you, sir, now I fain would learn, When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave, Your chains you to the Lares gave? For though a scrivener's right you claim, Your lady's title is the same.
But what could make you run away, Since, pigmy as you are, each day
A single pound of bread would quite
O'erpower your puny appetite?"
Thus joked the champions, while we laugh'd,
And many a cheerful bumper quaff"d.
To Beneventum next we steer;
Where our good host by over care
In roasting thrushes lean as mice Had almost fallen a sacrifice. The kitchen soon was all on fire, And to the roof the flames aspire; There might you see each man and master Striving, amidst this sad disaster,
To save the supper. Then they came With speed enough to quench the flame. From hence we first at distance see The Apulian hills, well known to me, Parch'd by the sultry western blast; And which we never should have past, Had not Trivicius by the way Received us at the close of day. But each was forced at entering here To pay the tribute of a tear,
For more of smoke than fire was seen-. The hearth was piled with logs so green, From hence in chaises we were carried Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried At a small town, whose name my verse (So barbarous is it) can't rehearse. Know it you may by many a sign, Water is dearer far than wine; There bread is deem'd such dainty fare, That every prudent traveller
His wallet loads with many a crust; For at Canusium you might just As well attempt to gnaw a stone As think to get a morsel down: That too with scanty streams is fed; Its founder was brave Diomed.
Good Varius (ah, that friends must part!) Here left us all with aching heart.
At Rubi we arrived that day, Well jaded by the length of way,
And sure poor mortals ne'er were wetter: Next day no weather could be better; No roads so bad; we scarce could crawl Along to fishy Barium's wall.
The Egnatians next, who by the rules Of common sense are knaves or fools, Made all our sides with laughter heave, Since we with them must needs believe That incense in their temples burns, And without fire to ashes turns. To circumcision's bigots tell Such tales! for me, I know full well That in high heaven, unmoved by care, The gods eternal quiet share:
Nor can I deem their spleen the cause, While fickle Nature breaks her laws. Brundusium last we reach: and there Stop short the muse and traveller.
THE NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.
DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPERTINENT. ADAPTED TO THE PRESENT TIMES, 1758
SAUNTERING along the street one day, On trifles musing by the way-
Up steps a free familiar wight (I scarcely knew the man by sight.) Carlos," he cried, ". your hand, my dear; I rejoice to meet you here!
Pray I see you well?" "So, so; E'en well enough, as times now go The same good wishes, sir, to you.' Finding he still pursued me close- "Sir, you have business I suppose." "My business, sir, is quickly done, 'Tis but to make my merit known. Sir, I have read"" O learned sir, You and your learning I revere." Then sweating with anxiety, And sadly longing to get free, Gods, how I scampered, scuffled for't, Ran, halted, ran again, stopp'd short, Beckon'd my boy, and pull'd him near, And whisper'd nothing in his ear.
Teased with his loose unjointed chat- "What street is this? What house is that?" O Harlow, how I envied thee
Thy unabashed effrontery,
Who darest a foe with freedom blame,
And call a coxcomb by his name!
When I returned him answer none, Obligingly the fool ran on,
"I see you're dismally distress'd, Would give the world to be released. But by your leave, sir, I shall still Stick to your skirts, do what you will. Pray which way does your journey tend?" "O, 'tis a tedious way, my friend; Across the Thames, knows where, I would not trouble you so far." "Well, I'm at leisure to attend you.' "Are you?" thought I, - befriend you." No ass with double panniers rack'd, Oppress'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd, E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull As I, nor half so like a fool. "Sir, I know little of myself (Proceeds the pert conceited elf), If Gray or Mason you will deem Than me more worthy your esteem Poems I write by folios
As fast as other men write prose; Then I can sing so loud, so clear,
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