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THE SECOND SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE PRAPRHASED.
By the Author of the FIRST.
LONDON: Printed by J. Wright for LAWTON GILLIVER at Homer's Head againſt St. Dunſtan's Church in Fleetſtreet, M.DCC.XXXV. Price 1 s.
[]
THE SECOND SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE PARAPHRASED.
SATIRE II.da.
[] QUAE virtus & quanta, boni, ſit vivere parvo,
(Nec meus hic Sermo, ſed quem praecepit Ofellus
Ruſticus, abnormis ſapiens, craſſaueq Minerva)
Diſcite non inter lanceis, menſaſque nitenteis,
Cum ſtupet inſanis acies fulgoribus, & cum
Acclinis falſis animus meliora recuſat;
Verum hic impranſi mecum diſquirite. Cur hoc?
Dicam ſi potero—
— Leporem ſectatus, equove Laſſus—
Cum labor extuderit faſtidia, ſiccus, inanis,
[4] Sperne cibum vilem.— Foris eſt Promus, & atrum
Defendens piſces hyemat mare: cum ſale panis
Latrantem ſtomachum bene leniet: unde? putas, aut
Quo partum? Non in caro nidore voluptas
Summa, ſed in teipſo eſt ***
Vix tamen eripiam, poſito pavone, velis quin
Hoc potius quam gallina, tergere palatum—
Tanquam ad rem attineat quidquam. Num veſceris iſta
Quam laudas, pluma?— Laudas inſane, trilibrem
Mullum, in ſingula quem minuas pulmenta neceſſe eſt.
Ducit te ſpecies video. Quo pertinet ergo
Proceros odiſſe lupos? quia ſcilicet illis
Majorem natura modum dedit, his breve pondus.
Porrectum magno magnum ſpectare catino
Vellem (ait Harpyiis gula digna rapacibus) at vos
Praeſentes Auſtri! coquite horum opſonia: Quamvis
Putet aper, rhombuſque recens, mala copia quando
Aegrum ſollicitat ſtomachum, cum rapula plenus
[6] Atque acidas mavult inulus, Necdum omnis abacta
Pauperies epulis regum: nam vilibus ovis
Nigriſque eſt oleis hodie locus.—
Tutus erat rhombus, tutoque ciconia nido,
Donec vos auctor docuit Pretorius. Ergo
Siquis nunc mergos ſuaves edixerit aſſos,
Parebit pravi docilis Romana Juventus.
Sordidus a tenui victus diſtabit, Ofello
Judice: nam fruſtra vitium vitaveris iſtud,
Si te alio pravum detorſeris. Avidienus
(Cui Canis ex vero ductum cognomen adhaeret)
Quinquennes oleas eſt, & ſylveſtria corna.
Ac niſi mutatum parcit defundere vinum, &
Cujus odorem olei nequeas perferre (licebit
Ille repotia, natales, alioſque dierum
Feſtus albatus celebret) cornu ipſe bilibri
[8] Caulibus inſtillat; veteris non parcus aceti.
Quali igitur victu ſapiens utetur, & horum
Utrum imitabitur? hac urget lupus, hac canis, aiunt.
Mundus erit qui non offendat ſordibus, atque
In neutram partem cultus miſer. Hic neque ſervis
Albuti ſenis exemplo, dum munia didit,
Saevus erit: nec ſic ut ſimplex Naevius, unctam
Convivis praebebit aquam: vitium hoc quoque magnum.
Accipe nunc, victus tenuis quae quantaque ſecum
Afferat. In primis valeas bene: nam variae res
Ut noceant homini credas, memor illius eſcae
Quae ſimplex olim tibi ſederat; at ſimul aſſis
Miſcueris elixa, ſimul conchylia turdis,
Dulcia ſe in bilem vertunt, ſtomachoque tumultum
Lenta feret pituita. Vides, ut pallidus omnis
Caena deſurgat dubia? quin corpus onuſtum
Heſternis vitiis, animum quoque praegravat una,
[10] Atque affigit humo divinae particulam aurae.
Alter ubi dicto citius curata ſopori
Membra dedit, vegetus praeſcripta ad munia ſurgit.
Hic tamen ad melius poterit tranſcurrere quondam:
Sive diem feſtum rediens advexerit annus,
Seu recreare volet tenuatum corpus: ubique
Accedent anni, & tractari mollius aetas
Imbecilla volet. Tibi quidnam accedet ad iſtam
Quam puer & validus prae-ſumis mollitiem, ſeu
Dura valetudo inciderit, ſeu tarda ſenectus?
Rancidum aprum antiqui laudabant, non quia naſus
Illis nullus erat, ſed (credo) hac mente, quod hoſpes
Tardius adveniens, vitiatum commodius, quam
Integrum edax dominus conſumeret. Hos utinam inter
Heroas natum tellus me prima tuliſſet!
Das aliquid Famae? (quae carmine gratior aurem
[12] Occupat humanam.) Grandes rhombi, patinaeque
Grande ferent una cum damno dedecus. Adde
Iratum patruum, vicinos, te tibi iniquum,
Et fruſtra mortis cupidum, cum deerit egenti
As, laquei pretium.—
— Jure, inquis, Thraſius iſtis
Jurgatur verbis; ego vectigalia magna
Divitiaſque habeo tribus amplas regibus. Ergo
Quod ſuperat, non eſt melius quo inſumere poſſis?
Cur eget indignus quiſquam te divite? quare
Templa ruunt antiqua Deum? cur improbe! carae
Non aliquid patriae tanto emetiris acervo?
Uni nimirum tibi recte ſemper erunt res?
[14] O magnus poſthac inimicis riſus! uter-ne
Ad caſus dubios fidet ſibi certius? hic, qui
Pluribus aſſuerit mentem corpuſque ſuperbum?
An qui contentus parvo, metuenſque futuri,
In pace, ut ſapiens, aptarit idonea bello?
Quo magis hoc credas, puer hunc ego parvus Ofellum
Integris opibus novi non latius uſum,
Quam nunc acciſis. Videas, metato in agello,
Non ego, narrantem, temere edi luce profeſta
Quidquam praeter olus, fumoſae cum pede pernae.
At mihi cum longum poſt tempus venerit hoſpes,
Sive operum vacuo, &c.—bene erit, non piſcibus urbe petitis,
Sed pullo atque haedo; tum—
[16]
— penſilis uva ſecundas
Et nux ornabit menſas, cum duplice ficu.
Poſthac ludus erit Cuppa potare Magiſtra,
Ac venerata Ceres, ut culmo ſurgeret alto,
Explicuit vino contractae ſeria frontis.
Saeviat atque novas moveat Fortuna tumultus!
Quantum hinc imminuit? quanto aut ego parcius, aut vos
O pueri nituiſtis, ut huc novus Incola venit?
Nam propriae telluris herum natura neque illum
Nec me, aut quemquam ſtatuit; nos expulit ille,
Illum aut Nequities, aut vafri inſcitia juris,
Poſtremo expellit certe vivacior haeres,
Nunc ager Umbreni ſub nomine, nuper Ofelli
Dictus, erit nulli proprius, ſed cedet in uſum
Nunc mihi, nunc alii. Quocirca vivite fortes!
Fortiaque adverſis opponite pectora rebus.
SATIRE II.
[] WHAT, and how great, the Virtue and the Art
To live on little with a chearful heart,
(A Doctrine ſage, but truly none of mine)
Lets talk, my friends, but talk before we dine:
Not when a gilt Buffet's reflected pride
'Turns you from ſound Philoſophy aſide;
Not when from Plate to Plate your eyeballs roll,
And the brain dances to the mantling bowl.
Hear Bethel's Sermon, one not vers'd in ſchools,
But ſtrong in ſenſe, and wiſe without the rules.
Go work, hunt, exerciſe! (he thus began)
Then ſcorn a homely dinner if you can.
[5] Your wine lock'd up, your Butler ſtroll'd abroad,
Or kept from fiſh, (the River yet un-thaw'd)
If then plain bread and milk will do the feat,
The pleaſure lies in you, not in the meat.
Preach as I pleaſe, I doubt our curious men
Will chuſe a Pheaſant ſtill before a Hen;
Yet Hens of Guinea full as good I hold,
Except you eat the feathers green and gold.
Of Carps and Mullets why prefer the great,
(Tho' cut in pieces e'er my Lord can eat)
Yet for ſmall Turbots ſuch eſteem profeſs?
Becauſe God made theſe large, the other leſs.
Oldfield, with more than Harpy throat endu'd,
Cries, "ſend me, Gods! a whole Hog† barbecu'd!"
Oh blaſt it, South-winds! till a ſtench exhale
Rank as the ripeneſs of a Rabbit's tail.
By what Criterion do ye eat, d'ye think,
If this is priz'd for ſweetneſs, that for ſtink?
When the tir'd Glutton labours thro' a Treat,
He'll find no reliſh in the ſweeteſt Meat,
He calls for ſomething bitter, ſomething ſour,
And the rich feaſt concludes extremely poor:
[7] Cheap eggs, and herbs, and olives ſtill we ſee,
Thus much is left of old Simplicity!
The Robin-red-breaſt till of late had reſt,
And children ſacred held a Martin's neſt,
Till Becca-ficos ſold ſo dev'liſh dear,
To one that was, or would have been a Peer.
Let me extoll a Cat on Oyſters fed,
I'll have a Party at the Bedford Head,
Or ev'n to crack live Crawfiſh recommend,
I'd never doubt at Court to make a friend.
'Tis yet in vain, I own, to keep a pother
About one vice, and fall into the other:
Between Exceſs and Famine lies a mean,
Plain, but not ſordid, tho' not ſplendid, clean.
Avidien or his Wife (no matter which,
For him you'll call a dog, and her a bitch)
Sell their preſented Partridges, and Fruits,
And humbly live on rabbits and on roots:
One half-pint bottle ſerves them both to dine,
And is at once their vinegar and wine.
But on ſome lucky day (as when they found
A loſt Bank-bill, or heard their Son was drown'd)
[9] At ſuch a feaſt, old vinegar to ſpare,
Is what two ſouls ſo gen'rous cannot bear,
Oyl, tho' it ſtink, they drop by drop impart,
But ſowſe the Cabbage with a bounteous heart.
He knows to live, who keeps the middle ſtate,
And neither leans on this ſide, or on that:
Nor ſtops, for one bad Cork, his Butler's pay,
Swears, like Albutius, a good Cook away;
Nor lets, like Naevius, ev'ry error paſs,
The muſty wine, foul cloth, or greaſy glaſs,
Now hear what bleſſings Temperance can bring:
(Thus ſaid our Friend, and what he ſaid I sing)
Firſt Health: The ſtomach (cramm'd from ev'rydiſh,
A Tomb of boil'd, and roaſt, and fleſh, and fiſh,
When Bile, and wind, and phlegm, and acid jar,
And all the Man is one inteſtine war)
Remembers oft the School-boys ſimple fare,
The temp'rate fleeps, and ſpirits light as air.
How pale, each Worſhipful and rev'rend Gueſt
Riſe from a Clergy, or a City, feaſt!
What life in all that ample Body, ſay,
What heav'nly Particle inſpires the clay?
[11] The Soul ſubſides, and wickedly inclines
To ſeem but mortal, ev'n in ſound Divines.
On morning wings how active ſprings the Mind
That leaves the load of yeſterday behind?
How eaſy ev'ry labour it purſues?
How coming to the Poet ev'ry Muſe?
Not but we may exceed, ſome Holy time,
Or tir'd in ſearch of Truth, or ſearch of Rhyme;
Ill Health ſome juſt indulgence may engage,
And more, the Sickneſs of long Life, Old-age;
For fainting Age what cordial drop remains,
If our intemp'rate Youth the Veſſel drains?
Our Fathers prais'd rank Ven'ſon. You ſuppoſe
Perhaps, young men! our Fathers had no noſe?
Not ſo: a Buck was then a week's repaſt,
And 'twas their point, I ween, to make it laſt:
Better to keep it till their friends could come,
Than eat the ſweeteſt by themſelves at home.
Why had not I in thoſe good times my birth,
E're Coxcomb-pyes or Coxcombs were on earth?
Unworthy He, the voice of Fame to hear,
( That ſweeteſt Muſick to an honeſt ear;
[13] For 'faith Lord Fanny! you are in the wrong,
The World's good word is better than a Song)
Who has not learn'd, freſh Sturgeon and Ham pye
Are no rewards for Want, and Infamy!
When Luxury has lick'd up all thy pelf,
Curs'd by thy Neighbours, thy Truſtees, thy ſelf,
To friends, to fortune, to mankind a ſhame,
Think how Poſterity will treat thy name;
And buy a Rope, that future times may tell
Thou haſt at leaſt beſtow'd one penny well.
"Right, cries his Lordſhip, for a Rogue in need
"To have a Taſte, is Inſolence indeed:
"In me 'tis noble, ſuits my birth and ſtate,
"My wealth unwieldy, and my heap too great."
Then, like the Sun, let Bounty ſpread her ray,
And ſhine that Superfluity away.
Oh Impudence of wealth! with all thy ſtore,
How dar'ſt thou let one worthy man be poor?
Shall half the new-built Churches round thee fall?
Make Keys, build Bridges, or repair White-hall:
Or to thy Country let that heap be lent,
As M ** o's was, but not at five per Cent.
[15] Who thinks that Fortune cannot change her mind,
Prepares a dreadful Jeſt for all mankind!
And who ſtands ſafeſt, tell me? is it he
That ſpreads and ſwells in puff'd Proſperity,
Or bleſt with little, whoſe preventing care
In Peace provides fit arms againſt a War?
Thus Bethel ſpoke, who always ſpeaks his thought,
And always thinks the very thing he ought:
His equal mind I copy what I can,
And as I love, would imitate the Man.
In South-ſea days not happier, when ſurmis'd
The Lord of thouſands, than ev'n now Excis'd;
In Foreſts planted by a Father's hand,
Than in five acres now of rented land.
Content with little, I can piddle here
On Broccoli and mutton, round the year;
But ancient friends, (tho' poor, or out of play)
That touch my Bell, I cannot turn away.
'Tis true, no Turbots dignify my boards,
But gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords:
To Hounſlow-heath I point, and Banſted-down,
Thence comes your mutton, and theſe chicks my own:
[17] From yon old wallnut-tree a ſhow'r ſhall fall;
And grapes, long-lingring on my only wall,
And figs, from ſtandard and Eſpalier join:
The dev'l is in you if you cannot dine.
Then chearful healths (your Miſtreſs ſhall have place.
And, what's more rare, a Poet ſhall ſay Grace.
Fortune not much of humbling me can boaſt;
Tho' double-tax'd, how little have I loſt?
My Life's amuſements have been juſt the ſame,
Before, and after Standing Armies came.
My lands are ſold, my Father's houſe is gone;
I'll hire another's: is not that my own,
And yours, my friends? thro' whoſe free-opening gate
None comes too early, none departs too late;
(For I, who hold ſage Homer's rule the beſt,
Welcome the coming, ſpeed the going gueſt.)
"Pray heav'n it laſt! (cries Swift) as you go on;
"I wiſh to God this houſe had been your own:
"Pity! to build, without a ſon or wife:
"Why, you'll enjoy it only all your life."—
Well, if the Uſe be mine, can it concern one,
Whether the Name belong to Pope or Vernon?
[18] What's Property? dear Swift! you ſee it alter
From you to me, from me to Peter Walter,
Or, in a mortgage, prove the Lawyer's ſhare,
Or, in a jointure, vaniſh from the Heir,
Or in pure Equity (the caſe not clear)
The Chanc'ry takes your rents for twenty year:
At beſt, it falls to ſome ungracious ſon,
That cries, my father's damn'd, and all's my own.
Shades, that to Ba ** n could retreat afford,
Are now the portion of a booby Lord;
And Hemſley, once proud* Buckingham's delight,
Slides to a Scriv'ner or a City Knight.
Let lands and houſes have what Lords they will,
Let Us be fix'd, and our own Maſters ſtill
Notes
†
A Weſt-Indian Term of Gluttony, a Hog roaſted whole, ſtuff'd with Spice, and baſted with Madera Wine.
*
Villers Duke of Buckingham.
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3697 The second satire of the second book of Horace praprhased sic By the author of the first. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5FD2-D