A heavy bumpkin, taught with daily care,
Can never dance three steps with a becoming air.
In spite of this, my freedom still remains.
Free! what, and fetter'd with so many chains? Canst thou no other master understand
Than him that freed thee by the prætor's wand?*
Should he, who was thy lord, command thee now,
With a harsh voice, and supercilious brow,
To servile duties, thou would'st fear no more;
The gallows and the whip are out of door.
But if thy passions lord it in thy breast,
Art thou not still a slave, and still opprest?
Whether alone, or in thy harlot's lap,
When thou would'st take a lazy morning's nap,
Up, up, says Avarice ;-thou snorest again,
Stretchest thy limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain;
The tyrant Lucre no denial takes;
At his command the unwilling sluggard wakes.
What must I do? he cries ;-What? says his lord;
Why rise, make ready, and go straight aboard;
With fish, from Euxine seas, thy vessel freight;
Flax, castor, Coan wines, the precious weight
Of pepper, and Sabæan incense, take,
With thy own hands, from the tired camel's back,
And with post haste thy running markets make.
Be sure to turn the penny; lie and swear,
'Tis wholesome sin but Jove, thou say'st, will
hear :-
Swear, fool, or starve; for the dilemma's even : A tradesman thou, and hope to go to heaven! Resolved for sea, the slaves thy baggage pack, Each saddled with his burden on his back:
Nothing retards thy voyage now, unless
Thy other lord forbids, Voluptuousness:
And he may ask this civil question,-Friend,
What dost thou make a shipboard? to what end ?
Art thou of Bethlem's noble college free,
Stark, staring mad, that thou would'st tempt the sea?
Cubb'd in a cabin, on a mattress laid,
On a brown george, with lousy swobbers fed,
Dead wine, that stinks of the borrachio, sup
From a foul jack,* or greasy maple-cup?
Say, would'st thou bear all this, to raise thy store
From six i'the hundred, to six hundred more?
Indulge, and to thy genius freely give;
For, not to live at ease, is not to live;
Death stalks behind thee, and each flying hour
Does some loose remnant of thy life devour.
Live while thou liv'st; for death will make us all
A name, a nothing but an old wife's tale.
Speak, wilt thou Avarice, or Pleasure, chuse
To be thy lord? Take one, and one refuse.
But both by turns the rule of thee will have,
And thou betwixt them both wilt be a slave.
Nor think when once thou hast resisted one,
That all thy marks of servitude are gone:
The struggling greyhound gnaws his leash in vain ;
If, when 'tis broken, still he drags the chain.
Says Phædria to his man,† Believe me, friend,
To this uneasy love I'll put an end:
Shall I run out of all? My friend's disgrace,
And be the first lewd unthrift of my race?
Shall I the neighbour's nightly rest invade
At her deaf doors, with some vile serenade ?—
Well hast thou freed thyself, his man replies,
Go, thank the gods, and offer sacrifice.
* A leathern pitcher, called a black-jack, used by our homely ancestors for quaffing their ale. E.
Ah, says the youth, if we unkindly part,
Will not the poor fond creature break her heart ?—
Weak soul! and blindly to destruction led!
She break her heart! she'll sooner break your head.
She knows her man, and when you rant and swear,
Can draw you to her with a single hair.-
But shall I not return? Now, when she sues !
Shall I my own and her desires refuse ?-
Sir, take your course; but my advice is plain
Once freed, 'tis madness to resume your chain.
Ay; there's the man, who, loosed from lust and
pelf,
Less to the prætor owes than to himself.
But write him down a slave, who, humbly proud,
With presents begs preferments from the crowd ;*
That early suppliant, who salutes the tribes,
And sets the mob to scramble for his bribes,
That some old dotard, sitting in the sun,
On holidays may tell, that such a feat was done :
In future times this will be counted rare.
Thy superstition too may claim a share : When flowers are strew'd, and lamps in order placed,
And windows with illuminations graced,
On Herod's day ;t when sparkling bowls go round,
And tunny's tails in savoury sauce are drown'd,
Thou mutter'st prayers obscene; nor dost refuse
The fasts and sabbaths of the curtail'd Jews.
Then a crack'd egg-shell thy sick fancy frights,‡
Besides the childish fear of walking sprites.
Of o'ergrown gelding priests thou art afraid;
The timbrel, and the squintifego maid
Of Isis, awe thee; lest the gods for sin,
Should with a swelling dropsy stuff thy skin;
Unless three garlic heads the curse avert,
Eaten each morn devoutly next thy heart.
Preach this among the brawny guards, say'st thou, And see if they thy doctrine will allow :
The dull, fat captain, with a hound's deep throat,
Would bellow out a laugh in a bass note,
And prize a hundred Zeno's just as much.
As a clipt sixpence, or a schilling Dutch.
TRANSLATIONS FROM PERSIUS.
Progne was wife to Tereus, king of Thracia. Tereus fell in love with Philomela, sister to Progne, ravished her, and cut out her tongue; in revenge of which, Progne killed Itys, her own son by Tereus, and served him up at a feast, to be eaten by his father.
Thyestes and Atreus were brothers, both kings. Atreus, to revenge himself of his unnatural brother, killed the sons of Thyestes, and invited him to eat them.
When first my childish robe resign'd the charge.-P. 253. By the childish robe, is meant the Prætexta, or first gowns which the Roman children of quality wore. These were welted
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