The ladies charg'd 'em home, and turn'd the tale; With shame they redden'd, and with spight grew pale.

'Tis dang'rous to deny the longing dame; She lofes pity, who has loft her shame.

Now Silius wants thy counfel, gives advice; Wed Cæfar's wife, or die; the choice is nice. Her comet-eyes she darts on ev'ry grace; And takes a fatal liking to his face. Adorn'd with bridal pomp fhe fits in state; The public notaries and Arufpex wait: The genial bed is in the garden drest : The portion paid, and ev'ry rite exprefs'd, Which in a Roman marriage is profest. 'Tis no ftol'n wedding, this, rejecting awe, She fcorns to marry, but in form of law: In this moot cafe, your judgment: to refuse Is prefent death, befides the night you lose : If you confent, 'tis hardly worth your pain; A day or two of anxious life you gain : Till loud reports thro all the town have past, And reach the prince: for cuckolds hear the

}

laft.

Indulge thy pleasure, youth, and take thy fwing; For not to take is but the felf-fame thing:

Inevitable death before thee lies;
But looks more kindly thro a lady's eyes.
What then remains? Are we depriv'd of will,
Must we not wifh, for fear of wishing ill?
Receive my counfel, and fecurely move;
Intrust thy fortune to the Pow'rs above.
Leave them to manage for thee, and to grant
What their unerring wisdom fees thee want:
In goodness as in greatness they excel;

Ah that we lov'd ourselves but half fo well!
We, blindly by our headstrong paflions led,
Are hot for action, and defire to wed;

Then with for heirs: but to the Gods alone
Our future offspring, and our wives, are known;
Th'audacious ftrumpet, and ungracious fon.

Yet not to rob the priests of pious gain, That altars be not wholly built in vain; Forgive the Gods the reft, and ftand confin'd To health of body, and content of mind: A foul, that can fecurely death defy, And count it nature's privilege to die; Serene and manly, harden'd to sustain The load of life, and exercis'd in pain: Guiltless of hate, and proof against defire; That all things weighs, and nothing can admire:

That dares prefer the toils of Hercules
To dalliance, banquet, and ignoble ease.
The path to peace is virtue: what I show,
Thyself may freely on thyfelf beftow:
Fortune was never worthipp'd by the wife;
But, fet aloft by fools, ufurps the skies.

THE

SIXTEENTH SATIRE

OF

JUVENAL.

THE ARGUMENT.

The poet in this fatire, proves, that the condition of a foldier is much better than that of a countryman: first, because a country-man, however affronted, provoked, and ftruck himself, dares not frike a foldier; who is only to be judged by a court-martial: and by the law of Camillus, which obliges him not to quarrel without the trenches, he is alfo affured to have a speedy hearing, and quick dispatch: whereas, the townsman or peafant is delayed in his fuit by frivolous pretences, and not fure of juflice when he is heard in the court. The foldier is also privileged to make a will, and to give away his eftate, which he got in war, to whom he pleases, without confideration of parentage, or relations; which is denied to all other Romans. This fatire was written by Ju

venal, when he was a commander in Egypt: it is certainly his, tho I think it not finished. And if it be well obferved, you will find he intended an invective against a ftanding army.

W1

HAT vaft prerogatives, my Gallus, are Accruing to the mighty man of war! For, if into a lucky camp I light,

Tho raw in arms, and yet afraid to fight,
Befriend me, my good stars, and all
goes right:
One happy hour is to a soldier better,
Than mother Juno's recommending letter,
Or Venus, when to Mars fhe would prefer
My fuit, and own the kindnefs done to her.

See what our common privileges are: As, first, no faucy citizen shall dare To ftrike a foldier, nor when struck, refent The wrong, for fear of farther punishment: Not tho his teeth are beaten out, his eyes Hang by a ftring, in bumps his forehead rife, Shall he prefume to mention his disgrace, Or beg amends for his demolish'd face. A booted judge fhall fit to try his caufe, Not by the statute, but by martial laws; Which old Camillus order'd, to confine The brawls of foldiers to the trench and line: