The Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry of Horace Part 10

H. Inform me, pray, What first was served your hunger to allay.

F. First a Lucanian boar; 'twas captured wild (So the host told us) when the wind was mild; Around it, turnips, lettuce, radishes, By way of whet, with brine and Coan lees.

Then, when the board, a maple one, was cleared, A high-girt slave with purple cloth appeared And rubbed and wiped it clean: another boy Removed the sc.r.a.ps, and all that might annoy: "While dark Hydaspes, like an Attic maid Who carries Ceres' basket, grave and staid, Came in with Caecuban, and, close behind, Alcon with Chian, which had ne'er been brined.

Then said our host: "If Alban you'd prefer, Maecenas, or Falern, we have them, Sir."

H. What sorry riches! but I fail to glean Who else was present at so rare a scene.

F. Myself at top, then Viscus, and below Was Varius: after us came Balatro, Vibidius also, present at the treat Unasked, as members of Maecenas' suite.

Porcius and Nomenta.n.u.s last, and he, Our host, who lay betwixt them, made the three: Porcius the undermost, a witty droll, Who makes you laugh by swallowing cheesecakes whole: While Nomenta.n.u.s' specialty was this, To point things out that vulgar eyes might miss; For fish and fowl, in fact whate'er was placed Before us, had, we found, a novel taste, As one experiment sufficed to show, Made on a flounder and a turbot's roe.

Then, turning the discourse to fruit, he treats Of the right time for gathering honey-sweets; Plucked when the moon's on wane, it seems they're red; For further details see the fountain-head.

When thus to Balatro Vibidius: "Fie!

Let's drink him out, or unrevenged we die; Here, bigger cups." Our entertainer's cheek Turned deadly white, as thus he heard him speak; For of the nuisances that can befall A man like him, your toper's worst of all, Because, you know, hot wines do double wrong; They dull the palate, and they edge the tongue.

On go Vibidius and his mate, and tilt Whole flagons into cups Allifae-built: We follow suit: the host's two friends alone Forbore to treat the wine-flask as their own.

A lamprey now appears, a sprawling fish, With shrimps about it swimming in the dish.

Whereon our host remarks: "This fish was caught While pregnant: after sp.a.w.ning it is naught.

We make our sauce with oil, of the best strain Venafrum yields, and caviare from Spain, Pour in Italian wine, five years in tun, While yet 'tis boiling; when the boiling's done, Chian suits best of all; white pepper add, And vinegar, from Lesbian wine turned bad.

Rockets and elecampanes with this mess To boil, is my invention, I profess: To put sea-urchins in, unwashed as caught, 'Stead of made pickle, was Curtillus' thought."

Meantime the curtains o'er the table spread Came tumbling in a heap from overhead, Dragging withal black dust in whirlwinds, more Than Boreas raises on Campania's floor: We, when the shock is over, smile to see The danger less than we had feared 'twould be, And breathe again. Poor Rufus drooped his head And wept so sore, you'd think his son was dead: And things seemed hastening to a tragic end, But Nomenta.n.u.s thus consoled his friend: "O Fortune, cruellest of heavenly powers, Why make such game of this poor life of ours?"

Varius his napkin to his mouth applied, A laugh to stifle, or at least to hide: But Balatro, with his perpetual sneer, Cries, "Such is life, capricious and severe, And hence it comes that merit never gains A meed of praise proportioned to its pains.

What gross injustice! just that I may get A handsome dinner, you must fume and fret, See that the bread's not burned, the sauce not spoiled, The servants in their places, curled and oiled.

Then too the risks; the tapestry, as of late, May fall; a stumbling groom may break a plate.

But gifts, concealed by sunshine, are displayed In hosts, as in commanders, by the shade."

Rufus returned, "Heaven speed things to your mind!

Sure ne'er was guest so friendly and so kind;"

Then takes his slippers. Head to head draws near, And each man's lips are at his neighbour's ear.

H. 'Tis better than a play: but please report What further things occurred to make you sport.

F. Well, while Vibidius takes the slaves to task, Enquiring if the tumble broke the flask, And Balatro keeps starting some pretence For mirth, that we may laugh without offence, With altered brow returns our sumptuous friend, Resolved, what chance has damaged, art shall mend.

More servants follow, staggering 'neath the load Of a huge dish where limbs of crane were stowed, Salted and floured; a goose's liver, crammed To twice its bulk, so close the figs were jammed; And wings of hares dressed separate, better so Than eaten with the back, as gourmands know.

Then blackbirds with their b.r.e.a.s.t.s all burnt to coal, And pigeons without rumps, not served up whole, Dainties, no doubt, but then there came a speech About the laws and properties of each; At last the feeder and the food we quit, Taking revenge by tasting ne'er a bit, As if Canidia's mouth had breathed an air Of viperous poison on the whole affair.

THE EPISTLES.

BOOK I.

I. To Maecenas.

PRIMA DICTE MIHI.

Theme of my earliest Muse in days long past, Theme that shall be hereafter of my last, Why summon back, Maecenas, to the list Your worn-out swordsman, pensioned and dismissed?

My age, my mind, no longer are the same As when I first was 'prenticed to the game.

Veianius fastens to Alcides' gate His arms, then nestles in his snug estate: Think you once more upon the arena's marge He'd care to stand and supplicate discharge?

No: I've a Mentor who, not once nor twice, Breathes in my well-rinsed ear his sound advice, "Give rest in time to that old horse, for fear At last he founder 'mid the general jeer."

So now I bid my idle songs adieu, And turn my thoughts to what is right and true; I search and search, and when I find, I lay The wisdom up against a rainy day.

But what's my sect? you ask me; I must be A member sure of some fraternity: Why no; I've taken no man's shilling; none Of all your fathers owns me for his son; Just where the weather drives me, I invite Myself to take up quarters for the night.

Now, all alert, I cope with life's rough main, A loyal follower in true virtue's train: Anon, to Aristippus' camp I flit, And say, the world's for me, not I for it.

Long as the night to him whose love is gone, Long as the day to slaves that must work on, Slow as the year to the impatient ward Who finds a mother's tutelage too hard, So long, so slow the moments that prevent The execution of my high intent, Of studying truths that rich and poor concern, Which young and old are lost unless they learn.

Well, if I cannot be a student, yet There's good in spelling at the alphabet.

Your eyes will never see like Lynceus'; still You rub them with an ointment when they're ill: You cannot hope for Glyco's stalwart frame, Yet you'd avoid the gout that makes you lame.

Some point of moral progress each may gain, Though to aspire beyond it should prove vain.

Say, is your bosom fevered with the fire Of sordid avarice or unchecked desire?

Know, there are spells will help you to allay The pain, and put good part of it away.

You're bloated by ambition? take advice; Yon book will ease you if you read it thrice.

Run through the list of faults; whate'er you be, Coward, pickthank, spitfire, drunkard, debauchee, Submit to culture patiently, you'll find Her charms can humanize the rudest mind.

To fly from vice is virtue: to be free From foolishness is wisdom's first degree.

Think of some ill you feel a real disgrace, The loss of money or the loss of place; To keep yourself from these, how keen the strain!

How dire the sweat of body and of brain!

Through tropic heat, o'er rocks and seas you run To furthest India, poverty to shun, Yet scorn the sage who offers you release From vagrant wishes that disturb your peace.

Take some provincial pugilist, who gains A paltry cross-way prize for all his pains; Place on his brow Olympia's chaplet, earned Without a struggle, would the gift be spurned?

Gold counts for more than silver, all men hold: Why doubt that virtue counts for more than gold?

"Seek money first, good friends, and virtue next,"

Each Ja.n.u.s lectures on the well-worn text; Lads learn it for their lessons; grey-haired men, Like schoolboys, drawl the sing-song o'er again.

You lack, say, some six thousand of the rate The law has settled as a knight's estate; Though soul, tongue, morals, credit, all the while Are yours, you reckon with the rank and file.

But mark those children at their play; they sing, "Deal fairly, youngster, and we'll crown you king."

Be this your wall of bra.s.s, your coat of mail, A guileless heart, a cheek no crime turns pale.

"Which is the better teacher, tell me, pray, The law of Roscius, or the children's lay That crowns fair dealing, by Camillus trolled, And manly Curius, in the days of old; The voice that says, "Make money, money, man; Well, if so be,--if not, which way you can,"

That from a nearer distance you may gaze At honest Pupius' all too moving plays; Or that which bids you meet with dauntless brow, The frowns of Fortune, aye, and shows you how?

Suppose the world of Rome accosts me thus: "You walk where we walk; why not think with us, Be ours for better or for worse, pursue The things we love, the things we hate eschew?"

I answer as sly Reynard answered, when The ailing lion asked him to his den: "I'm frightened at those footsteps: every track Leads to your home, but ne'er a one leads back."

Nay, you're a perfect Hydra: who shall choose Which view to follow out of all your views?

Some farm the taxes; some delight to see Their money grow by usury, like a tree; Some bait a widow-trap with fruits and cakes, And net old men, to stock their private lakes.

But grant that folks have different hobbies; say, Does one man ride one hobby one whole day?

"Baiae's the place!" cries Croesus: all is haste; The lake, the sea, soon feel their master's taste: A new whim prompts: 'tis "Pack your tools tonight!

Off for Teanum with the dawn of light!"

The nuptial bed is in his hall; he swears None but a single life is free from cares: Is he a bachelor? all human bliss, He vows, is centred in a wedded kiss.

How shall I hold this Proteus in my gripe?

How fix him down in one enduring type?

Turn to the poor: their megrims are as strange; Bath, c.o.c.kloft, barber, eating-house, they change; They hire a boat; your born aristocrat Is not more squeamish, tossing in his yacht.

If, when we meet, I'm cropped in awkward style By some uneven barber, then you smile; You smile, if, as it haps, my gown's askew, If my shirt's ragged while my tunic's new: How, if my mind's inconsequent, rejects What late it longed for, what it loathed affects, Shifts every moment, with itself at strife, And makes a chaos of an ordered life, Builds castles up, then pulls them to the ground, Keeps changing round for square and square for round?

You smile not; 'tis an every-day affair; I need no doctor's, no, nor keeper's care: Yet you're my patron, and would blush to fail In taking notice of an ill-pared nail.