Book 30 — THE SATIRES OF DECIMUS JUNIUS JUVENALIS, AND OF AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS. TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE, BY WILLIAM GIFFORD, ESQ.

Oh! heavens—while THUS hoarse Codrus perseveres To force his Theseid on my tortured ears, Shall I not ONCE attempt "to quit the score," Always an auditor, and nothing more! Forever at my side, shall this rehearse 5 His elegiac, that his comic verse, Unpunished? shall huge Telephus, at will, The livelong day consume, or, huger still, Orestes, closely written, written, too, Down the broad marge, and yet—no end in view! 10 Away, away!—None knows his home so well As I the grove of Mars, and Vulcan's cell, Fast by the Æolian rocks!—How the Winds roar, How ghosts are tortured on the Stygian shore, How Jason stole the golden fleece, and how 15 The Centaurs fought on Othrys' shaggy brow; The walks of Fronto echo round and round— The columns trembling with the eternal sound, While high and low, as the mad fit invades, Bellow the same trite nonsense through the shades. 20 I, too, can write—and, at a pedant's frown, Once poured my fustian rhetoric on the town: And idly proved that Sylla, far from power, Had passed, unknown to fear, the tranquil hour:— Now I resume my pen; for, since we meet 25 Such swarms of desperate bards in every street, 'Tis vicious clemency to spare the oil, And hapless paper they are sure to spoil. But why I choose, adventurous, to retrace The Auruncan's route, and, in the arduous race, 30 Follow his burning wheels, attentive hear, If leisure serve, and truth be worth your ear. When the soft eunuch weds, and the bold fair Tilts at the Tuscan boar, with bosom bare; When one that oft, since manhood first appeared, 35 Has trimmed the exuberance of this sounding beard, In wealth outvies the senate; when a vile, A slave-born, slave-bred, vagabond of Nile, Crispinus, while he gathers now, now flings His purple open, fans his summer rings; 40 And, as his fingers sweat beneath the freight, Cries, "Save me—from a gem of greater weight!" 'Tis hard a less adventurous course to choose, While folly plagues, and vice inflames the Muse. For who so slow of heart, so dull of brain, 45 So patient of the town, as to contain His bursting spleen, when, full before his eye, Swings the new chair of lawyer Matho by, Crammed with himself! then, with no less parade, That caitiff's, who his noble friend betrayed, 50 Who now, in fancy, prostrate greatness tears, And preys on what the imperial vulture spares! Whom Massa dreads, Latinus, trembling, plies With a fair wife, and anxious Carus buys! When those supplant thee in thy dearest rights, 55 Who earn rich legacies by active nights; Those, whom (the shortest, surest way to rise) The widow's itch advances to the skies!— Not that an equal rank her minions hold; Just to their various powers, she metes her gold, 60 And Proculeius mourns his scanty share, While Gillo triumphs, hers and nature's heir! And let him triumph! 'tis the price of blood: While, thus defrauded of the generous flood. The color flies his cheek, as though he prest, 65 With unsuspecting foot, a serpent's crest; Or stood engaged at Lyons to declaim, Where the least peril is the loss of fame. Ye gods!—what rage, what phrensy fires my brain, When that false guardian, with his splendid train, 70 Crowds the long street, and leaves his orphan charge To prostitution, and the world at large! When, by a juggling sentence damned in vain, (For who, that holds the plunder, heeds the pain?) Marius to wine devotes his morning hours, 75 And laughs, in exile, at the offended Powers: While, sighing o'er the victory she won, The Province finds herself but more undone! And shall I feel, that crimes like these require The avenging strains of the Venusian lyre, 80 And not pursue them? I shall I still repeat The legendary tales of Troy and Crete; The toils of Hercules, the horses fed On human flesh by savage Diomed, The lowing labyrinth, the builder's flight, 85 And the rash boy, hurl'd from his airy height? When, what the law forbids the wife to heir, The adulterer's Will may to the wittol bear, Who gave, with wand'ring eye and vacant face, A tacit sanction to his own disgrace; 90 And, while at every turn a look he stole, Snored, unsuspected, o'er the treacherous bowl! When he presumes to ask a troop's command, Who spent on horses all his father's land, While, proud the experienced driver to display, 95 His glowing wheels smoked o'er the Appian way:— For there our young Automedon first tried His powers, there loved the rapid car to guide; While great Pelides sought superior bliss, And toyed and wantoned with his master-miss. 100 Who would not, reckless of the swarm he meets, Fill his wide tablets, in the public streets, With angry verse? when, through the midday glare, Borne by six slaves, and in an open chair, The forger comes, who owes this blaze of state 105 To a wet seal and a fictitious date; Comes, like the soft Mæcenas, lolling by, And impudently braves the public eye! Or the rich dame, who stanched her husband's thirst With generous wine, but—drugged it deeply first! 110 And now, more dext'rous than Locusta, shows Her country friends the beverage to compose, And, midst the curses of the indignant throng, Bear, in broad day, the spotted corpse along. Dare nobly, man! if greatness be thy aim, 115 And practice what may chains and exile claim: On Guilt's broad base thy towering fortunes raise, For virtue starves on—universal praise! While crimes, in scorn of niggard fate, afford The ivory couches, and the citron board, 120 The goblet high-embossed, the antique plate, The lordly mansion, and the fair estate! O! who can rest—who taste the sweets of life, When sires debauch the son's too greedy wife; When males to males, abjuring shame, are wed, 125 And beardless boys pollute the nuptial bed! No: Indignation, kindling as she views, Shall, in each breast, a generous warmth infuse, And pour, in Nature and the Nine's despite, Such strains as I, or Cluvienus, write! 130 E'er since Deucalion, while, on every side, The bursting clouds upraised the whelming tide, Reached, in his little skiff, the forked hill, And sought, at Themis' shrine, the Immortals' will; When softening stones grew warm with gradual life, 135 And Pyrrha brought each male a virgin wife; Whatever, passions have the soul possest, Whatever wild desires inflamed the breast, Joy, Sorrow, Fear, Love, Hatred, Transport, Rage, Shall form the motley subject of my page. 140 And when could Satire boast so fair a field? Say, when did Vice a richer harvest yield? When did fell Avarice so engross the mind? Or when the lust of play so curse mankind?— No longer, now, the pocket's stores supply 145 The boundless charges of the desperate die: The chest is staked!—muttering the steward stands, And scarce resigns it, at his lord's commands. Is it a SIMPLE MADNESS,—I would know, To venture countless thousands on a throw, 150 Yet want the soul, a single piece to spare, To clothe the slave, that shivering stands and bare! Who called, of old, so many seats his own, Or on seven sumptuous dishes supped alone?— Then plain and open was the cheerful feast, 155 And every client was a bidden guest; Now, at the gate, a paltry largess lies, And eager hands and tongues dispute the prize. But first (lest some false claimant should be found), The wary steward takes his anxious round, 160 And pries in every face; then calls aloud, "Come forth, ye great Dardanians, from the crowd!" For, mixed with us, e'en these besiege the door, And scramble for—the pittance of the poor! "Dispatch the Prætor first," the master cries, 165 "And next the Tribune." "No, not so;" replies The Freedman, bustling through, "first come is, still, First served; and I may claim my right, and will!— Though born a slave ('tis bootless to deny, What these bored ears betray to every eye), 170 On my own rents, in splendor, now I live, On five fair freeholds! Can the PURPLE give Their Honors, more? when, to Laurentum sped, Noble Corvinus tends a flock for bread!— Pallas and the Licinii, in estate, 175 Must yield to me: let, then, the Tribunes wait." Yes, let them wait! thine, Riches, be the field!— It is not meet, that he to Honor yield, To sacred Honor, who, with whitened feet, Was hawked for sale, so lately, through the street. 180 O gold! though Rome beholds no altars flame, No temples rise to thy pernicious name, Such as to Victory, Virtue, Faith are reared, And Concord, where the clamorous stork is heard, Yet is thy full divinity confest, 185 Thy shrine established here, in every breast. But while, with anxious eyes, the great explore How much the dole augments their annual store, What misery must the poor dependent dread, Whom this small pittance clothed, and lodged, and fed? 190 Wedged in thick ranks before the donor's gates, A phalanx firm, of chairs and litters, waits: Thither one husband, at the risk of life, Hurries his teeming, or his bedrid wife; Another, practiced in the gainful art, 195 With deeper cunning tops the beggar's part; Plants at his side a close and empty chair: "My Galla, master;—give me Galla's share." "Galla!" the porter cries; "let her look out." "Sir, she's asleep. Nay, give me;—can you doubt!" 200 What rare pursuits employ the clients' day! First to the patron's door their court to pay, Next to the forum, to support his cause, Thence to Apollo, learned in the laws, And the triumphal statues; where some Jew, 205 Some mongrel Arab, some—I know not who— Has impudently dared a niche to seize, Fit to be p—— against, or—what you please.— Returning home, he drops them at the gate: And now the weary clients, wise too late, 210 Resign their hopes, and supperless retire, To spend the paltry dole in herbs and fire. Meanwhile, their patron sees his palace stored With every dainty earth and sea afford: Stretched on th' unsocial couch, he rolls his eyes 215 O'er many an orb of matchless form and size, Selects the fairest to receive his plate, And, at one meal, devours a whole estate!— But who (for not a parasite is there) The selfishness of luxury can bear? 220 See! the lone glutton craves whole boars! a beast Designed, by nature, for the social feast!— But speedy wrath o'ertakes him: gorged with food, And swollen and fretted by the peacock crude, He seeks the bath, his feverish pulse to still, 225 Hence sudden death, and age without a Will! Swift flies the tale, by witty spleen increast, And furnishes a laugh at every feast; The laugh, his friends not undelighted hear, And, fallen from all their hopes, insult his bier. 230 Nothing is left, NOTHING, for future times To add to the full catalogue of crimes; The baffled sons must feel the same desires, And act the same mad follies, as their sires. Vice has attained its zenith:—Then set sail, 235 Spread all thy canvas, Satire, to the gale— But where the powers so vast a theme requires? Where the plain times, the simple, when our sires Enjoyed a freedom, which I dare not name, And gave the public sin to public shame, 240 Heedless who smiled or frowned?—Now, let a line But glance at Tigellinus, and you shine, Chained to a stake, in pitchy robes, and light, Lugubrious torch, the deepening shades of night; Or, writhing on a hook, are dragged around, 245 And, with your mangled members, plow the ground. What, shall the wretch of hard, unpitying soul, Who for THREE uncles mixed the deadly bowl, Propped on his plumy couch, that all may see, Tower by triumphant, and look down on me! 250 Yes; let him look. He comes! avoid his way, And on your lip your cautious finger lay; Crowds of informers linger in his rear, And, if a whisper pass, will overhear. Bring, if you please, Æneas on the stage, 255 Fierce war, with the Rutulian prince, to wage; Subdue the stern Achilles; and once more, With Hylas! Hylas! fill the echoing shore; Harmless, nay pleasant, shall the tale be found, It bares no ulcer, and it probes no wound. 260 But when Lucilius, fired with virtuous rage, Waves his keen falchion o'er a guilty age, The conscious villain shudders at his sin, And burning blushes speak the pangs within; Cold drops of sweat from every member roll, 265 And growing terrors harrow up his soul: Then tears of shame, and dire revenge succeed— Say, have you pondered well the advent'rous deed? Now—ere the trumpet sounds—your strength debate; The soldier, once engaged, repents too late. 270 J. Yet I MUST write: and since these iron times, From living knaves preclude my angry rhymes, I point my pen against the guilty dead, And pour its gall on each obnoxious head.

O for an eagle's wings! that I might fly To the bleak regions of the polar sky, When from their lips the cant of virtue falls, Who preach like Curii, live like Bacchanals! Devoid of knowledge, as of worth, they thrust, 5 In every nook, some philosophic bust; For he, among them, counts himself most wise, Who most old sages of the sculptor buys; Sets most true Zenos, or Cleanthes' heads, To guard the volumes which he—never reads! 10 Trust not to outward show: in every street Obscenity, in formal garb, we meet.— And dost thou, hypocrite, our lusts arraign, Thou! of Socratic catamites the drain! Nature thy rough and shaggy limbs designed 15 To mark a stern, inexorable mind; But all's so smooth below!—"the surgeon smiles, And scarcely can, for laughter, lance the piles." Gravely demure, in wisdom's awful chair, His beetling eyebrows longer than his hair, 20 In solemn state, the affected Stoic sits, And drops his maxims on the crowd by fits!— Yon Peribomius, whose emaciate air, And tottering gait, his foul disease declare, With patience I can view; he braves disgrace, 25 Not skulks behind a sanctimonious face: Him may his folly, or his fate excuse— But whip me those, who Virtue's name abuse, And, soiled with all the vices of the times, Thunder damnation on their neighbor's crimes! 30 "Shrink at the pathic Sextus! Can I be, Whate'er my guilt, more infamous than he?" Varillus cries: Let those who tread aright, Deride the halt; the swarthy Moor, the white; This we might bear; but who his spleen could rein, 35 And hear the Gracchi of the mob complain? Who would not mingle earth, and sea, and sky, Should Milo murder, Verres theft, decry, Clodius adultery? Catiline accuse Cethegus, Lentulus, of factious views, 40 Or Sylla's pupils, soil'd with deeper guilt, Arraign their master for the blood he spilt? Yet have we seen—O shame, for ever fled!— A barbarous judge start from the incestuous bed, And, with stern voice, those rigid laws awake, 45 At which the powers of War and Beauty quake, What time his drugs were speeding to the tomb The abortive fruit of Julia's teeming womb!— And must not, now, the most debased and vile, Hear these false Scauri with a scornful smile; 50 And, while the hypocrites their crimes arraign, Turn, like the trampled asp, and bite again! They must; they do:—When late, amid the crowd, A zealot of the sect exclaimed aloud, Where sleeps the Julian law? Laronia eyed 55 The scowling Stoicide, and taunting, cried, "Blest be the age that such a censor gave, The groaning world to chasten and to save! Blush, Rome, and from the sink of sin arise— Lo! a third Cato, sent thee from the skies! 60 But—tell me yet—What shop the balm supplied, Which, from your brawny neck and bristly hide, Such potent fragrance breathes? nor let it shame Your gravity, to show the vender's name. "If ancient laws must reassume their course, 65 Give the Scantinian first its proper force. Look, look at home; the ways of men explore— Our faults, you say, are many; theirs are more: Yet safe from censure, as from fear, they stand, A firm, compact, impenetrable band! 70 We know your monstrous leagues; but can you find One proof in us, of this detested kind? Pure days and nights with Cluvia, Flora led, And Tedia chastely shared Catulla's bed; While Hippo's brutal itch both sexes tried, 75 And proved, by turns, the bridegroom and the bride! We ne'er, with misspent zeal, explore the laws, We throng no forum, and we plead no cause: Some few, perhaps, may wrestle, some be fed, To aid their breath, with strong athletic bread. 80 Ye fling the shuttle with a female grace, And spin more subtly than Arachne's race; Cowered o'er your labor, like the squalid jade, That plies the distaff, to a block belayed. "Why Hister's freedman heired his wealth, and why 85 His consort, while he lived, was bribed so high, I spare to tell; the wife that, swayed by gain, Can make a third in bed, and near complain, Must ever thrive: on secrets jewels wait: Then wed, my girls; be silent, and—be great!" 90 "Yet these are they, who, fierce in Virtue's cause, Consign our venial frailties to the laws; And, while with partial aim their censure moves, Acquit the vultures, and condemn the doves!" She paused: the unmanly zealots felt the sway 95 Of conscious truth, and slunk, abashed, away. But how shall vice be shamed, when, loosely drest, In the light texture of a cobweb vest, You, Creticus, amid the indignant crowd At Procla and Pollinea rail aloud?— 100 These, he rejoins, are "daughters of the game." Strike, then;—yet know, though lost to honest fame, The wantons would reject a veil so thin, And blush, while suffering, to display their skin. "But Sirius glows; I burn." Then, quit your dress; 105 'Twill thus be madness, and the scandal less. O! could our legions, with fresh laurels crowned, And smarting still from many a glorious wound, Our rustic mountaineers (the plow laid by, For city cares), a judge so drest descry, 110 What thoughts would rise? Lo! robes which misbecome A witness, deck the awful bench of Rome; And Creticus, stern champion of the laws, Gleams through the tissue of pellucid gauze! Anon from you, as from its fountain-head, 115 Wide and more wide the flagrant pest will spread; As swine take measles from distempered swine, And one infected grape pollutes the vine. Yes, Rome shall see you, lewdlier clad, erewhile, (For none become, at once, completely vile,) 120 In some opprobrious den of shame, combined With that vile herd, the horror of their kind, Who twine gay fillets round the forehead; deck With strings of orient pearl the breast and neck; Soothe the Good Goddess with large bowls of wine, 125 And the soft belly of a pregnant swine.— No female, foul perversion! dares appear, For males, and males alone, officiate here; "Far hence," they cry, "unholy sex, retire, Our purer rites no lowing horn require!" 130 —At Athens thus, involved in thickest gloom, Cotytto's priests her secret torch illume; And to such orgies give the lustful night, That e'en Cotytto sickens at the sight. With tiring-pins, these spread the sooty dye, 135 Arch the full brow, and tinge the trembling eye; Those bind their flowing locks in cawls of gold, Swill from huge glasses of immodest mould, Light, filmy robes of azure net-work wear; And, by their Juno, hark! the attendants swear! 140 This grasps a mirror—pathic Otho's boast (Auruncan Actor's spoil), where, while his host, With shouts, the signal of the fight required, He viewed his mailed form; viewed, and admired! Lo, a new subject for the historic page, 145 A MIRROR, midst the arms of civil rage!— To murder Galba, was—a general's part! A stern republican's—to dress with art! The empire of the world in arms to seek, And spread—a softening poultice o'er the cheek! 150 Preposterous vanity! and never seen, Or in the Assyrian or Egyptian queen, Though one in arms near old Euphrates stood, And one the doubtful fight at Actium viewed. Nor reverence for the table here is found; 155 But brutal mirth and jests obscene go round: They lisp, they squeal, and the rank language use Of Cybele's lewd votaries, or the stews: Some wild enthusiast, silvered o'er with age, Yet fired by lust's ungovernable rage, 160 Of most insatiate throat, is named the priest, And sits fit umpire of th' unhallowed feast; Why pause they here? Phrygians long since in heart, Whence this delay to lop a useless part? Gracchus admired a cornet or a fife, 165 And, with an ample dower, became his wife. The contract signed, the wonted bliss implored, A costly supper decks the nuptial board; And the new bride, amid the wondering room, Lies in the bosom of the accursed groom!— 170 Say now, ye nobles, claims this monstrous deed, The Aruspex or the Censor? Can we need More expiations?—sacrifices?—vows? For calving women, or for lambing cows? The lusty priest, whose limbs dissolved with heat, 175 What time he danced beneath the Ancilia's weight, Now flings the ensigns of his god aside, And takes the stole and flammea of a bride! Father of Rome! from what pernicious clime, Did Latian swains derive so foul a crime? 180 Tell where the poisonous nettle first arose, Whose baneful juice through all thy offspring flows. Behold! a man for rank and power renowned, Marries a man!—and yet, with thundering sound, Thy brazen helmet shakes not! earth yet stands, 185 Fixed on its base, nor feels thy wrathful hands! Is thy arm shortened? Raise to Jove thy prayer— But Rome no longer knows thy guardian care; Quit, then, the charge to some severer Power, Of strength to punish in the obnoxious hour. 190 "To-morrow, with the dawn, I must attend In yonder valley!" Why so soon? "A friend Takes HIM a husband there, and bids a few"— Few, yet: but wait awhile; and we shall view Such contracts formed without or shame or fear, 195 And entered on THE RECORDS OF THE YEAR! Meanwhile, one pang these passive monsters find, One ceaseless pang, that preys upon the mind; They can not shift their sex, and pregnant prove With the dear pledges of a husband's love: 200 Wisely confined by Nature's steady plan, Which counteracts the wild desires of man. For them, no drugs prolific powers retain, And the Luperci strike their palms in vain. And yet these prodigies of vice appear, 205 Less monstrous, Gracchus, than the net and spear, With which equipped, you urged the unequal fight, And fled, dishonored, in a nation's sight; Though nobler far than each illustrious name That thronged the pit (spectators of your shame), 210 Nay, than the Prætor, who the Show supplied, At which your base dexterity was tried. That angry Justice formed a dreadful hell, That ghosts in subterraneous regions dwell, That hateful Styx his sable current rolls, 215 And Charon ferries o'er unbodied souls, Are now as tales or idle fables prized; By children questioned, and by men despised: Yet these, do thou believe. What thoughts, declare, Ye Scipios, once the thunderbolts of war! 220 Fabricius, Curius, great Camillus' ghost! Ye valiant Fabii, in yourselves an host! Ye dauntless youths at fatal Cannæ slain! Spirits of many a brave and bloody plain! What thoughts are yours, whene'er, with feet unblest, 225 An UNBELIEVING SHADE invades your rest? —Ye fly, to expiate the blasting view;} Fling on the pine-tree torch the sulphur blue,} And from the dripping bay, dash round the lustral dew.} And yet—to these abodes we all must come, 230 Believe, or not, these are our final home; Though now Iërne tremble at our sway, And Britain, boastful of her length of day; Though the blue Orcades receive our chain, And isles that slumber in the frozen main. 235 But why of conquest boast? the conquered climes Are free, O Rome, from thy detested crimes. No;—one Armenian all our youth outgoes, And, with cursed fires, for a base tribune glows. True: such thy power, Example! He was brought 240 An hostage hither, and the infection caught.— O, bid the striplings flee! for sensual art Here lurks to snare the unsuspecting heart; Then farewell, simple nature!—Pleased no more, With knives, whips, bridles (all they prized of yore), 245 Thus taught, and thus debauched, they hasten home, To spread the morals of Imperial Rome!

Grieved though I am to see the man depart, Who long has shared, and still must share, my heart, Yet (when I call my better judgment home) I praise his purpose; to retire from Rome, And give, on Cumæ's solitary coast, 5 The Sibyl—one inhabitant to boast! Full on the road to Baiæ, Cumæ lies, And many a sweet retreat her shore supplies— Though I prefer ev'n Prochyta's bare strand To the Suburra:—for, what desert land, 10 What wild, uncultured spot, can more affright, Than fires, wide blazing through the gloom of night, Houses, with ceaseless ruin, thundering down, And all the horrors of this hateful town? Where poets, while the dog-star glows, rehearse, 15 To gasping multitudes, their barbarous verse! Now had my friend, impatient to depart, Consigned his little all to one poor cart: For this, without the town he chose to wait; But stopped a moment at the Conduit-gate.— 20 Here Numa erst his nightly visits paid, And held high converse with the Egerian maid: Now the once-hallowed fountain, grove, and fane, Are let to Jews, a wretched, wandering train, Whose furniture's a basket filled with hay— 25 For every tree is forced a tax to pay; And while the heaven-born Nine in exile rove, The beggar rents their consecrated grove! Thence slowly winding down the vale, we view The Egerian grots—ah, how unlike the true! 30 Nymph of the Spring; more honored hadst thou been, If, free from art, an edge of living green, Thy bubbling fount had circumscribed alone, And marble ne'er profaned the native stone. Umbritius here his sullen silence broke, 35 And turned on Rome, indignant, as he spoke. Since virtue droops, he cried, without regard, And honest toil scarce hopes a poor reward; Since every morrow sees my means decay, And still makes less the little of to-day; 40 I go, where Dædalus, as poets sing, First checked his flight, and closed his weary wing: While something yet of health and strength remains, And yet no staff my faltering step sustains; While few gray hairs upon my head are seen, 45 And my old age is vigorous still, and green. Here, then, I bid my much-loved home farewell— Ah, mine no more!—there let Arturius dwell, And Catulus; knaves, who, in truth's despite, Can white to black transform, and black to white, 50 Build temples, furnish funerals, auctions hold, Farm rivers, ports, and scour the drains for gold! Once they were trumpeters, and always found, With strolling fencers, in their annual round, While their puffed cheeks, which every village knew, 55 Called to "high feats of arms" the rustic crew: Now they give Shows themselves; and, at the will Of the base rabble, raise the sign—to kill, Ambitious of their voice: then turn, once more, To their vile gains, and farm the common shore! 60 And why not every thing?—since Fortune throws Her more peculiar smiles on such as those, Whene'er, to wanton merriment inclined, She lifts to thrones the dregs of human kind! But why, my friend, should I at Rome remain? 65 I can not teach my stubborn lips to feign; Nor, when I hear a great man's verses, smile, And beg a copy, if I think them vile. A sublunary wight, I have no skill To read the stars; I neither can, nor will, 70 Presage a father's death; I never pried, In toads, for poison, nor—in aught beside. Others may aid the adulterer's vile design, And bear the insidious gift, and melting line, Seduction's agents! I such deeds detest; 75 And, honest, let no thief partake my breast. For this, without a friend, the world I quit; A palsied limb, for every use unfit. Who now is loved, but he whose conscious breast Swells with dark deeds, still, still to be supprest? 80 He pays, he owes, thee nothing (strictly just), Who gives an honest secret to thy trust; But, a dishonest!—there, he feels thy power, And buys thy friendship high from hour to hour. But let not all the wealth which Tagus pours 85 In Ocean's lap, not all his glittering stores, Be deemed a bribe, sufficient to requite The loss of peace by day, of sleep by night:— Oh take not, take not, what thy soul rejects, Nor sell the faith, which he, who buys, suspects! 90 The nation, by the GREAT, admired, carest, And hated, shunned by Me, above the rest, No longer, now, restrained by wounded pride, I haste to show (nor thou my warmth deride), I can not rule my spleen, and calmly see, 95 A Grecian capital, in Italy! Grecian? O no! with this vast sewer compared, The dregs of Greece are scarcely worth regard: Long since, the stream that wanton Syria laves Has disembogued its filth in Tiber's waves, 100 Its language, arts; o'erwhelmed us with the scum Of Antioch's streets, its minstrel, harp, and drum. Hie to the Circus! ye who pant to prove A barbarous mistress, an outlandish love; Hie to the Circus! there, in crowds they stand, 105 Tires on their head, and timbrels in their hand. Thy rustic, Mars, the trechedipna wears, And on his breast, smeared with ceroma, bears A paltry prize, well-pleased; while every land, Sicyon, and Amydos, and Alaband, 110 Tralles, and Samos, and a thousand more, Thrive on his indolence, and daily pour Their starving myriads forth: hither they come,} And batten on the genial soil of Rome;} Minions, then lords, of every princely dome!} 115 A flattering, cringing, treacherous, artful race, Of torrent tongue, and never-blushing face; A Protean tribe, one knows not what to call, Which shifts to every form, and shines in all: Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician, 120 Rope-dancer, conjurer, fiddler, and physician, All trades his own, your hungry Greekling counts; And bid him mount the sky—the sky he mounts! You smile—was't a barbarian, then, that flew? No, 'twas a Greek! 'twas an Athenian, too! 125 —Bear with their state who will: for I disdain To feed their upstart pride, or swell their train: Slaves, that in Syrian lighters stowed, so late, With figs and prunes (an inauspicious freight), Already see their faith preferred to mine, 130 And sit above me! and before me sign!— That on the Aventine I first drew air, And, from the womb, was nursed on Sabine fare, Avails me not! our birthright now is lost, And all our privilege, an empty boast! 135 For lo! where versed in every soothing art, The wily Greek assails his patron's heart, Finds in each dull harangue an air, a grace, And all Adonis in a Gorgon face; Admires the voice that grates upon the ear, 140 Like the shrill scream of amorous chanticleer; And equals the crane neck, and narrow chest, To Hercules, when, straining to his breast The giant son of Earth, his every vein Swells with the toil, and more than mortal pain. 145 We too can cringe as low, and praise as warm, But flattery from the Greeks alone can charm. See! they step forth, and figure to the life, The naked nymph, the mistress, or the wife, So just, you view the very woman there, 150 And fancy all beneath the girdle bare! No longer now, the favorites of the stage Boast their exclusive power to charm the age: The happy art with them a nation shares, Greece is a theatre, where all are players. 155 For lo! their patron smiles,—they burst with mirth; He weeps—they droop, the saddest souls on earth; He calls for fire—they court the mantle's heat; 'Tis warm, he cries—and they dissolve in sweat. Ill-matched!—secure of victory they start, 160 Who, taught from youth to play a borrowed part, Can, with a glance, the rising passion trace, And mould their own, to suit their patron's face; At deeds of shame their hands admiring raise, And mad debauchery's worst excesses praise. 165 Besides, no mound their raging lust restrains, All ties it breaks, all sanctity profanes; Wife, virgin-daughter, son unstained before— And, where these fail, they tempt the grandam hoar: They notice every word, haunt every ear, 170 Your secrets learn, and fix you theirs from fear. Turn to their schools:—yon gray professor see, Smeared with the sanguine stains of perfidy! That tutor most accursed his pupil sold! That Stoic sacrificed his friend to gold! 175 A true-born Grecian! littered on the coast, Where the Gorgonian hack a pinion lost. Hence, Romans, hence! no place for you remains, Where Diphilus, where Erimanthus reigns; Miscreants, who, faithful to their native art, 180 Admit no rival in a patron's heart: For let them fasten on his easy ear, And drop one hint, one secret slander there, Sucked from their country's venom, or their own, That instant they possess the man alone; 185 While we are spurned, contemptuous, from the door, Our long, long slavery thought upon no more. 'Tis but a client lost!—and that, we find, Sits wondrous lightly on a patron's mind: And (not to flatter our poor pride, my friend) 190 What merit with the great can we pretend, Though, in our duty we prevent the day, And, darkling, run our humble court to pay; When the brisk prætor, long before, is gone, And hastening, with stern voice, his lictors on, 195 Lest his colleagues o'erpass him in the street, And first the rich and childless matrons greet, Alba and Modia, who impatient wait, And think the morning homage comes too late! Here freeborn youths wait the rich servant's call, 200 And, if they walk beside him, yield the wall; And wherefore? this, forsooth, can fling away, On one voluptuous night, a legion's pay, While those, when some Calvina, sweeping by, Inflames the fancy, check their roving eye, 205 And frugal of their scanty means, forbear, To tempt the wanton from her splendid chair. Produce, at Rome, your witness: let him boast, The sanctity of Berecynthia's host, Of Numa, or of him, whose zeal divine 210 Snatched pale Minerva from her blazing shrine: To search his rent-roll, first the bench prepares, His honesty employs their latest cares: What table does he keep, what slaves maintain, And what, they ask, and where, is his domain? 215 These weighty matters known, his faith they rate, And square his probity to his estate. The poor may swear by all the immortal Powers, By the Great Gods of Samothrace, and ours, His oaths are false, they cry; he scoffs at heaven, 220 And all its thunders; scoffs—and is forgiven! Add, that the wretch is still the theme of scorn, If the soiled cloak be patched, the gown o'erworn; If, through the bursting shoe, the foot be seen, Or the coarse seam tell where the rent has been. 225 O Poverty, thy thousand ills combined} Sink not so deep into the generous mind,} As the contempt and laughter of mankind!} "Up! up! these cushioned benches," Lectius cries, "Befit not your estates: for shame! arise." 230 For "shame!"—but you say well: the pander's heir, The spawn of bulks and stews, is seated there; The crier's spruce son, fresh from the fencer's school, And prompt the taste to settle and to rule.— So Otho fixed it, whose preposterous pride 235 First dared to chase us from their Honors' side. In these cursed walls, devote alone to gain, When do the poor a wealthy wife obtain? When are they named in Wills? when called to share The Ædile's council, and assist the chair?— 240 Long since should they have risen, thus slighted, spurned, And left their home, but—not to have returned! Depressed by indigence, the good and wise, In every clime, by painful efforts rise; Here, by more painful still, where scanty cheer, 245 Poor lodging, mean attendance—all is dear. In earthen-ware HE scorns, at Rome, to eat, Who, called abruptly to the Marsian's seat, From such, well pleased, would take his simple food, Nor blush to wear the cheap Venetian hood. 250 There's many a part of Italy, 'tis said, Where none assume the toga but the dead: There, when the toil foregone and annual play, Mark, from the rest, some high and solemn day, To theatres of turf the rustics throng, 255 Charmed with the farce that charmed their sires so long; While the pale infant, of the mask in dread, Hides, in his mother's breast, his little head. No modes of dress high birth distinguish THERE; All ranks, all orders, the same habit wear, 260 And the dread Ædile's dignity is known, O sacred badge! by his white vest alone. But HERE, beyond our power arrayed we go, In all the gay varieties of show; And when our purse supplies the charge no more, 265 Borrow, unblushing, from our neighbor's store: Such is the reigning vice; and so we flaunt, Proud in distress, and prodigal in want! Briefly, my friend, here all are slaves to gold, And words, and smiles, and every thing is sold. 270 What will you give for Cossus' nod? how high The silent notice of Veiento buy? —One favorite youth is shaved, another shorn; And, while to Jove the precious spoil is borne, Clients are taxed for offerings, and, (yet more 275 To gall their patience), from their little store, Constrained to swell the minion's ample hoard, And bribe the page, for leave to bribe his lord. Who fears the crash of houses in retreat? At simple Gabii, bleak Præneste's seat, 280 Volsinium's craggy heights, embowered in wood, Or Tibur, beetling o'er prone Anio's flood? While half the city here by shores is staid, And feeble cramps, that lend a treacherous aid: For thus the stewards patch the riven wall, 285 Thus prop the mansion, tottering to its fall; Then bid the tenant court secure repose, While the pile nods to every blast that blows. O! may I live where no such fears molest, No midnight fires burst on my hour of rest! 290 For here 'tis terror all; mid the loud cry Of "water! water!" the scared neighbors fly, With all their haste can seize—the flames aspire, And the third floor is wrapt in smoke and fire, While you, unconscious, doze: Up, ho! and know, 295 The impetuous blaze which spreads dismay below, By swift degrees will reach the aerial cell, Where, crouching, underneath the tiles you dwell, Where your tame doves their golden couplets rear, "And you could no mischance, but drowning, fear!" 300 "Codrus had but one bed, and that too short For his short wife;" his goods, of every sort, Were else but few:—six little pipkins graced His cupboard head, a little can was placed On a snug shelf beneath, and near it lay 305 A Chiron, of the same cheap marble—clay. And was this all? O no: he yet possest A few Greek books, shrined in an ancient chest, Where barbarous mice through many an inlet crept, And fed on heavenly numbers, while he slept.— 310 "Codrus, in short, had nothing." You say true; And yet poor Codrus lost that nothing too! One curse alone was wanting, to complete His woes: that, cold and hungry, through the street, The wretch should beg, and, in the hour of need, 315 Find none to lodge, to clothe him, or to feed! But should the raging flames on grandeur prey, And low in dust Asturius' palace lay, The squalid matron sighs, the senate mourns, The pleaders cease, the judge the court adjourns; 320 All join to wail the city's hapless fate, And rail at fire with more than common hate. Lo! while it burns, the obsequious courtiers haste, With rich materials, to repair the waste: This, brings him marble, that, a finished piece, 325 The far-famed boast of Polyclete and Greece; This, ornaments, which graced of old the fane Of Asia's gods; that, figured plate and plain; This, cases, books, and busts the shelves to grace, And piles of coin his specie to replace— 330 So much the childless Persian swells his store, (Though deemed the richest of the rich before,) That all ascribe the flames to thirst of pelf, And swear, Asturius fired his house himself. O, had you, from the Circus, power to fly, 335 In many a halcyon village might you buy Some elegant retreat, for what will, here, Scarce hire a gloomy dungeon through the year! There wells, by nature formed, which need no rope, No laboring arm, to crane their waters up, 340 Around your lawn their facile streams shall shower, And cheer the springing plant and opening flower. There live, delighted with the rustic's lot, And till, with your own hands, the little spot; The little spot shall yield you large amends, 345 And glad, with many a feast, your Samian friends. And, sure,—in any corner we can get, To call one lizard ours, is something yet! Flushed with a mass of indigested food, Which clogs the stomach and inflames the blood, 350 What crowds, with watching wearied and o'erprest, Curse the slow hours, and die for want of rest! For who can hope his languid lids to close, Where brawling taverns banish all repose? Sleep, to the rich alone, "his visits pays:" 355 And hence the seeds of many a dire disease. The carts loud rumbling through the narrow way, The drivers' clamors at each casual stay, From drowsy Drusus would his slumber take, And keep the calves of Proteus broad awake! 360 If business call, obsequious crowds divide. While o'er their heads the rich securely ride, By tall Illyrians borne, and read, or write,} Or (should the early hour to rest invite),} Close the soft litter, and enjoy the night.} 365 Yet reach they first the goal; while, by the throng Elbowed and jostled, scarce we creep along; Sharp strokes from poles, tubs, rafters, doomed to feel; And plastered o'er with mud, from head to heel: While the rude soldier gores us as he goes, 370 Or marks, in blood, his progress on our toes! See, from the Dole, a vast tumultuous throng, Each followed by his kitchen, pours along! Huge pans, which Corbulo could scarce uprear, With steady neck a puny slave must bear, 375 And, lest amid the way the flames expire, Glide nimbly on, and gliding, fan the fire; Through the close press with sinuous efforts wind, And, piece by piece, leave his botched rags behind. Hark! groaning on, the unwieldy wagon spreads 380 Its cumbrous load, tremendous! o'er our heads, Projecting elm or pine, that nods on high, And threatens death to every passer by. Heavens! should the axle crack, which bears a weight Of huge Ligurian stone, and pour the freight 385 On the pale crowd beneath, what would remain, What joint, what bone, what atom of the slain? The body, with the soul, would vanish quite, Invisible as air, to mortal sight!— Meanwhile, unconscious of their fellow's fate, 390 At home, they heat the water, scour the plate, Arrange the strigils, fill the cruse with oil, And ply their several tasks with fruitless toil: For he who bore the dole, poor mangled ghost, Sits pale and trembling on the Stygian coast, 395 Scared at the horrors of the novel scene, At Charon's threatening voice, and scowling mien; Nor hopes a passage, thus abruptly hurled, Without his farthing, to the nether world. Pass we these fearful dangers, and survey 400 What other evils threat our nightly way. And first, behold the mansion's towering size, Where floors on floors to the tenth story rise; Whence heedless garreteers their potsherds throw, And crush the unwary wretch that walks below! 405 Clattering the storm descends from heights unknown. Plows up the street, and wounds the flinty stone! 'Tis madness, dire improvidence of ill, To sup abroad, before you sign your Will; Since fate in ambush lies, and marks his prey, 410 From every wakeful window in the way: Pray, then—and count your humble prayer well sped, If pots be only—emptied on your head. The drunken bully, ere his man be slain, Frets through the night, and courts repose in vain; 415 And while the thirst of blood his bosom burns, From side to side, in restless anguish, turns, Like Peleus' son, when, quelled by Hector's hand, His loved Patroclus prest the Phrygian strand. There are, who murder as an opiate take, 420 And only when no brawls await them wake: Yet even these heroes, flushed with youth and wine, All contest with the purple robe decline; Securely give the lengthened train to pass, The sun-bright flambeaux, and the lamps of brass.— 425 Me, whom the moon, or candle's paler gleam, Whose wick I husband to the last extreme, Guides through the gloom, he braves, devoid of fear: The prelude to our doughty quarrel hear, If that be deemed a quarrel, where, heaven knows, 430 He only gives, and I receive, the blows! Across my path he strides, and bids me Stand! I bow, obsequious to the dread command; What else remains, where madness, rage, combine With youth, and strength superior far to mine? 435 "Whence come you, rogue?" he cries; "whose beans to-night Have stuffed you thus? what cobbler clubbed his mite, For leeks and sheep's-head porridge? Dumb! quite dumb! Speak, or be kicked.—Yet, once again! your home? Where shall I find you? At what beggar's stand 440 (Temple, or bridge) whimp'ring with outstretched hand?" Whether I strive some humble plea to frame, Or steal in silence by, 'tis just the same; I'm beaten first, then dragged in rage away: Bound to the peace, or punished for the fray! 445 Mark here the boasted freedom of the poor! Beaten and bruised, that goodness to adore, Which, at their humble prayer, suspends its ire, And sends them home, with yet a bone entire! Nor this the worst; for when deep midnight reigns, 450 And bolts secure our doors, and massy chains, When noisy inns a transient silence keep, And harassed nature woos the balm of sleep, Then, thieves and murderers ply their dreadful trade; With stealthy steps our secret couch invade:— 455 Roused from the treacherous calm, aghast we start, And the fleshed sword—is buried in our heart! Hither from bogs, from rocks, and caves pursued (The Pontine marsh, and Gallinarian wood), The dark assassins flock, as to their home, 460 And fill with dire alarms the streets of Rome. Such countless multitudes our peace annoy, That bolts and shackles every forge employ, And cause so wide a waste, the country fears A want of ore for mattocks, rakes, and shares. 465 O! happy were our sires, estranged from crimes; And happy, happy, were the good old times, Which saw, beneath their kings', their tribunes' reign, One cell the nation's criminals contain! Much could I add, more reasons could I cite, 470 If time were ours, to justify my flight; But see! the impatient team is moving on, The sun declining; and I must be gone: Long since, the driver murmured at my stay, And jerked his whip, to beckon me away. 475 Farewell, my friend! with this embrace we part! Cherish my memory ever in your heart; And when, from crowds and business, you repair, To breathe at your Aquinum freer air, Fail not to draw me from my loved retreat, 480 To Elvine Ceres, and Diana's seat: For your bleak hills my Cumæ I'll resign, And (if you blush not at such aid as mine) Come well equipped, to wage, in angry rhymes, Fierce war, with you, on follies and on crimes. 485

Again Crispinus comes! and yet again, And oft, shall he be summoned to sustain His dreadful part:—the monster of the times, Without ONE virtue to redeem his crimes! Diseased, emaciate, weak in all but lust, 5 And whom the widow's sweets alone disgust. Avails it, then, in what long colonnades He tires his mules? through what extensive glades His chair is borne? what vast estates he buys, What splendid domes, that round the Forum rise? 10 Ah! no—Peace visits not the guilty mind, Least his, who incest to adultery joined, And stained thy priestess, Vesta;—whom, dire fate! The long dark night and living tomb await. Turn we to slighter vices:—yet had these, 15 In others, Seius, Titius, whom you please, The Censor roused; for what the good would shame, Becomes Crispinus, and is honest fame. But when the actor's person far exceeds, In native loathsomeness, his loathsom'st deeds, 20 Say, what can satire? For a fish that weighed Six pounds, six thousand sesterces he paid! As those report, who catch, with greedy ear, And magnify the mighty things they hear. Had this expense been meant, with well-timed skill, 25 To gull some childless dotard of a Will; Or bribe some rich and fashionable fair, Who flaunts it in a close, wide-windowed chair; 'Twere worth our praise:—but no such plot was here. 'Twas for HIMSELF he bought a treat so dear! 30 This, all past gluttony from shame redeems, And even Apicius poor and frugal seems. What! You, Crispinus, brought to Rome, erewhile, Lapt in the rushes of your native Nile, Buy scales, at such a price! you might, I guess, 35 Have bought the fisherman himself for less; Bought, in some countries, manors at this rate, And, in Apulia, an immense estate! How gorged the emperor, when so dear a fish, Yet, of his cheapest meals, the cheapest dish, 40 Was guttled down by this impurpled lord, Chief knight, chief parasite, at Cæsar's board, Whom Memphis heard so late, with ceaseless yell, Clamoring through all her streets—"Ho! shads to sell!" Pierian Maids, begin;—but, quit your lyres, 45 The fact I bring no lofty chord requires: Relate it, then, and in the simplest strain, Nor let the poet style you Maids, in vain. When the last Flavius, drunk with fury, tore The prostrate world, which bled at every pore, 50 And Rome beheld, in body as in mind, A bald-pate Nero rise, to curse mankind; It chanced, that where the fane of Venus stands, Reared on Ancona's coast by Grecian hands, A turbot, wandering from the Illyrian main, 55 Fill'd the wide bosom of the bursting seine. Monsters so bulky, from its frozen stream, Mæotis renders to the solar beam, And pours them, fat with a whole winter's ease, Through the bleak Euxine, into warmer seas. 60 The mighty draught the astonished boatman eyes, And to the Pontiff's table dooms his prize: For who would dare to sell it? who to buy? When the coast swarmed with many a practiced spy, Mud-rakers, prompt to swear the fish had fled 65 From Cæsar's ponds, ingrate! where long it fed, And thus recaptured, claimed to be restored To the dominion of its ancient lord! Nay, if Palphurius may our credit gain, Whatever rare or precious swims the main, 70 Is forfeit to the crown, and you may seize The obnoxious dainty, when and where you please. This point allowed, our wary boatman chose To give—what, else, he had not failed to lose. Now were the dogstar's sickly fervors o'er, 75 Earth, pinched with cold, her frozen livery wore; The old began their quartan fits to fear, And wintry blasts deformed the beauteous year, And kept the turbot sweet: yet on he flew, As if the sultry South corruption blew.— 80 And now the lake, and now the hill he gains, Where Alba, though in ruins, still maintains The Trojan fire, which, but for her, were lost, And worships Vesta, though with less of cost. The wondering crowd, that gathered to survey 85 The enormous fish, and barred the fisher's way, Satiate, at length retires; the gates unfold!— Murmuring, the excluded senators behold The envied dainty enter:—On the man To great Atrides pressed, and thus began. 90 "This, for a private table far too great, Accept, and sumptuously your Genius treat: Haste to unload your stomach, and devour A turbot, destined to this happy hour. I sought him not;—he marked the toils I set, 95 And rushed, a willing victim, to my net." Was flattery e'er so rank! yet he grows vain, And his crest rises at the fulsome strain. When, to divine, a mortal power we raise, He looks for no hyperboles in praise. 100 But when was joy unmixed? no pot is found, Capacious of the turbot's ample round: In this distress, he calls the chiefs of state, At once the objects of his scorn and hate, In whose pale cheeks distrust and doubt appear, 105 And all a tyrant's friendship breeds of fear. Scarce was the loud Liburnian heard to say, "He sits," ere Pegasus was on his way; Yes:—the new bailiff of the affrighted town, (For what were Præfects more?) had snatched his gown, 110 And rushed to council: from the ivory chair, He dealt out justice with no common care; But yielded oft to those licentious times, And where he could not punish, winked at crimes. Then old, facetious Crispus tript along, 115 Of gentle manners, and persuasive tongue: None fitter to advise the lord of all, Had that pernicious pest, whom thus we call, Allowed a friend to soothe his savage mood, And give him counsel, wise at once and good. 120 But who shall dare this liberty to take, When, every word you hazard, life's at stake? Though but of stormy summers, showery springs— For tyrants' ears, alas! are ticklish things. So did the good old man his tongue restrain; 125 Nor strove to stem the torrent's force in vain. Not one of those, who, by no fears deterred, Spoke the free soul, and truth to life preferred. He temporized—thus fourscore summers fled, Even in that court, securely, o'er his head. 130 Next him, appeared Acilius hurrying on, Of equal age—and followed by his son; Who fell, unjustly fell, in early years, A victim to the tyrant's jealous fears: But long ere this were hoary hairs become 135 A prodigy, among the great, at Rome; Hence, had I rather owe my humble birth, Frail brother of the giant-brood, to earth. Poor youth! in vain the ancient sleight you try; In vain, with frantic air, and ardent eye, 140 Fling every robe aside, and battle wage With bears and lions, on the Alban stage. All see the trick: and, spite of Brutus' skill, There are who count him but a driveler still; Since, in his days, it cost no mighty pains 145 To outwit a prince, with much more beard than brains. Rubrius, though not, like these, of noble race, Followed with equal terror in his face; And, laboring with a crime too foul to name, More, than the pathic satirist, lost to shame. 150 Montanus' belly next, and next appeared The legs, on which that monstrous pile was reared. Crispinus followed, daubed with more perfume, Thus early! than two funerals consume. Then bloodier Pompey, practiced to betray, 155 And hesitate the noblest lives away. Then Fuscus, who in studious pomp at home, Planned future triumphs for the Arms of Rome. Blind to the event! those arms, a different fate, Inglorious wounds, and Dacian vultures, wait. 160 Last, sly Veiento with Catullus came, Deadly Catullus, who, at beauty's name Took fire, although unseen: a wretch, whose crimes Struck with amaze even those prodigious times. A base, blind parasite, a murderous lord, 165 From the bridge-end raised to the council-board; Yet fitter still to dog the traveler's heels, And whine for alms to the descending wheels! None dwelt so largely on the turbot's size, Or raised with such applause his wondering eyes; 170 But to the left (O, treacherous want of sight) He poured his praise;—the fish was on the right! Thus would he at the fencer's matches sit, And shout with rapture, at some fancied hit; And thus applaud the stage-machinery, where 175 The youths were rapt aloft, and lost in air. Nor fell Veiento short:—as if possest With all Bellona's rage, his laboring breast Burst forth in prophecy; "I see, I see The omens of some glorious victory! 180 Some powerful monarch captured!—lo, he rears, Horrent on every side, his pointed spears! Arviragus hurled from the British car: The fish is foreign, foreign is the war." Proceed, great seer, and what remains untold, 185 The turbot's age and country, next unfold; So shall your lord his fortunes better know, And where the conquest waits and who the foe. The emperor now the important question put, "How say ye, Fathers, SHALL THE FISH BE CUT?" 190 "O, far be that disgrace," Montanus cries; "No, let a pot be formed, of amplest size, Within whose slender sides the fish, dread sire, May spread his vast circumference entire! Bring, bring the tempered clay, and let it feel 195 The quick gyrations of the plastic wheel:— But, Cæsar, thus forewarned, make no campaign, Unless your potters follow in your train!" Montanus ended; all approved the plan, And all, the speech, so worthy of the man! 200 Versed in the old court luxury, he knew The feasts of Nero, and his midnight crew; Where oft, when potent draughts had fired the brain, The jaded taste was spurred to gorge again.— And, in my time, none understood so well 205 The science of good eating: he could tell, At the first relish, if his oysters fed On the Rutupian, or the Lucrine bed; And from a crab, or lobster's color, name The country, nay, the district, whence it came. 210 Here closed the solemn farce. The Fathers rise, And each, submissive, from the presence hies:— Pale, trembling wretches, whom the chief, in sport, Had dragged, astonished, to the Alban court; As if the stern Sicambri were in arms, 215 Or the fierce Catti threatened new alarms; As if ill news by flying posts had come, And gathering nations sought the fall of Rome! O! that such scenes (disgraceful at the most) Had all those years of cruelty engrost, 220 Through which his rage pursued the great and good, Unchecked, while vengeance slumbered o'er their blood! And yet he fell!—for when he changed his game, And first grew dreadful to the vulgar name, They seized the murderer, drenched with Lamian gore, 225 And hurled him, headlong, to the infernal shore!

If—by reiterated scorn made bold, Your mind can still its shameless tenor hold, Still think the greatest blessing earth can give, Is, solely at another's cost to live; If—you can brook, what Galba would have spurned, 5 And mean Sarmentus with a frown returned, At Cæsar's haughty board, dependents both, I scarce would take your evidence on oath. The belly's fed with little cost: yet grant You should, unhappily, that little want, 10 Some vacant bridge might surely still be found, Some highway side; where, groveling on the ground, Your shivering limbs compassion's sigh might wake, And gain an alms for "Charity's sweet sake!" What! can a meal, thus sauced, deserve your care? 15 Is hunger so importunate? when THERE, There, in your tattered rug, you may, my friend, On casual scraps more honestly depend; With chattering teeth toil o'er your wretched treat, And gnaw the crusts, which dogs refuse to eat!— 20 For, first, of this be sure: whene'er your lord Thinks proper to invite you to his board, He pays, or thinks he pays, the total sum Of all your pains, past, present, and to come. Behold the meed of servitude! the great 25 Reward their humble followers with a treat, And count it current coin:—they count it such, And, though it be but little, think it much. If, after two long months, he condescend To waste a thought upon an humble friend, 30 Reminded by a vacant seat, and write, "You, Master Trebius, sup with me to-night," 'Tis rapture all! Go now, supremely blest, Enjoy the meed for which you broke your rest, And, loose and slipshod, ran your vows to pay, 35 What time the fading stars announced the day; Or at that earlier hour, when, with slow roll, Thy frozen wain, Boötes, turned the pole; Yet trembling, lest the levee should be o'er, And the full court retiring from the door! 40 And what a meal at last! such ropy wine, As wool, which takes all liquids, would decline; Hot, heady lees, to fire the wretched guests, And turn them all to Corybants, or beasts.— At first, with sneers and sarcasms, they engage, 45 Then hurl the jugs around, with mutual rage; Or, stung to madness by the household train, With coarse stone pots a desperate fight maintain; While streams of blood in smoking torrents flow, And my lord smiles to see the battle glow! 50 Not such his beverage: he enjoys the juice Of ancient days, when beards were yet in use, Pressed in the Social War!—but will not send One cordial drop, to cheer a fainting friend. To-morrow, he will change, and, haply, fill 55 The mellow vintage of the Alban hill, Or Setian; wines, which can not now be known, So much the mould of age has overgrown The district, and the date; such generous bowls, As Thrasea and Helvidius, patriot souls! 60 While crowned with flowers, in sacred pomp, they lay, To Freedom quaffed, on Brutus' natal day. Before your patron, cups of price are placed, Amber and gold, with rows of beryls graced: Cups, you can only at a distance view, 65 And never trusted to such guests as you! Or, if they be—a faithful slave attends, To count the gems, and watch your fingers' ends. You'll pardon him; but lo! a jasper there, Of matchless worth, which justifies his care: 70 For Virro, like his brother peers, of late, Has stripped his fingers to adorn his plate; And jewels now emblaze the festive board,} Which decked with nobler grace the hero's sword,} Whom Dido prized, above the Libyan lord.} 75 From such he drinks: to you the slaves allot The Beneventine cobbler's four-lugged pot, A fragment, a mere shard, of little worth, But to be trucked for matches—and so forth. If Virro's veins with indigestion glow, 80 They bring him water cooled in Scythian snow: What! did I late complain a different wine Fell to thy share? A different water's thine! Getulian slaves your vile potations pour, Or the coarse paws of some huge, raw-boned Moor, 85 Whose hideous form the stoutest would affray, If met, by moonlight, near the Latian way: On him a youth, the flower of Asia, waits, So dearly purchased, that the joint estates Of Tullus, Ancus, would not yield the sum, 90 Nor all the wealth—of all the kings of Rome! Bear this in mind; and when the cup you need, Look to your own Getulian Ganymede; A page who cost so much, will ne'er, be sure, Come at your beck: he heeds not, he, the poor; 95 But, of his youth and beauty justly vain, Trips by them, with indifference and disdain. If called, he hears not, or, with rage inflamed— Indignant, that his services are claimed By an old client, who, ye gods! commands, 100 And sits at ease, while his superior stands! Such proud, audacious minions swarm in Rome, And trample on the poor, where'er they come. Mark with what insolence another thrusts Before your plate th' impenetrable crusts, 105 Black mouldy fragments, which defy the saw, The mere despair of every aching jaw! While manchets, of the finest flour, are set Before your lord; but be you mindful, yet, And taste not, touch not: of the pantler stand 110 In trembling awe, and check your desperate hand— Yet, should you dare—a slave springs forth, to wrest The sacred morsel from you. "Saucy guest," He frowns, and mutters, "wilt thou ne'er divine What's for thy patron's tooth, and what for thine? 115 Never take notice from what tray thou'rt fed, Nor know the color of thy proper bread?" Was it for this, the baffled client cries, The tears indignant starting from his eyes, Was it for this I left my wife ere day, 120 And up the bleak Esquilian urged my way, While the wind howled, the hail-storm beat amain, And my cloak smoked beneath the driving rain! But lo, a lobster, introduced in state, Stretches, enormous, o'er the bending plate; 125 Proud of a length of tail, he seems to eye The humbler guests with scorn, as, towering by, He takes the place of honor at the board, And crowned with costly pickles, greets his lord! A crab is yours, ill garnished and ill fed, 130 With half an egg—a supper for the dead! He pours Venafran oil upon his fish, While the stale coleworts, in your wooden dish, Stink of the lamp; for such to you is thrown, Such rancid grease, as Afric sends to town; 135 So strong, that when her factors seek the bath, All wind, and all avoid, the noisome path; So pestilent! that her own serpents fly The horrid stench, or meet it but to die. See! a sur-mullet now before him set, 140 From Corsica, or isles more distant yet, Brought post to Rome; since Ostia's shores no more Supply the insatiate glutton, as of yore, Thinned by the net, whose everlasting throw Allows no Tuscan fish in peace to grow. 145 Still luxury yawns, unfilled; the nations rise, And ransack all their coasts for fresh supplies: Thence come your presents; thence, as rumor tells, The dainties Lenas buys, Aurelia sells. A lamprey next, from the Sicilian straits, 150 Of more than common size, on Virro waits— For oft as Auster seeks his cave, and flings The cumbrous moisture from his dripping wings, Forth flies the daring fisher, lured by gain, While rocks oppose, and whirlpools threat in vain. 155 To you an eel is brought, whose slender make Speaks him a famished cousin to the snake; Or some frost-bitten pike, who, day by day, Through half the city's ordure sucked his way! Would Virro deign to hear me, I could give 160 A few brief hints:—We look not to receive What Seneca, what Cotta used to send, What the good Piso, to an humble friend:— For bounty once preferred a fairer claim, Than birth or power, to honorable fame: 165 No; all we ask (and you may this afford) Is, simply, civil treatment at your board; Indulge us here; and be, like numbers more, Rich to yourself, to your dependents poor! Vain hope! Near him a goose's liver lies; 170 A capon, equal to a goose in size; A boar, too, smokes, like that which fell, of old, By the famed hero with the locks of gold. Last, if the spring its genial influence shed, And welcome thunders call them from their bed, 175 Large mushrooms enter; ravished with their size, "O Libya, keep thy grain!" Alledius cries, "And bid thy oxen to their stalls retreat, Nor, while thou grow'st such mushrooms, think of wheat!" Meanwhile, to put your patience to the test, 180 Lo! the spruce carver, to his task addrest, Skips, like a harlequin, from place to place, And waves his knife with pantomimic grace, Till every dish be ranged, and every joint Severed, by nicest rules, from point to point. 185 You think this folly—'tis a simple thought— To such perfection, now, is carving brought, That different gestures, by our curious men, Are used for different dishes, hare and hen. But think whate'er you may, your comments spare; 190 For should you, like a free-born Roman, dare To hint your thoughts, forth springs some sturdy groom, And drags you straight, heels foremost, from the room! Does Virro ever pledge you? ever sip The liquor touched by your unhallowed lip? 195 Or is there one of all your tribe so free, So desperate, as to say—"Sir, drink to me?" O, there is much, that never can be spoke By a poor client in a threadbare cloak! But should some godlike man, more kind than fate, 200 Some god, present you with a knight's estate, Heavens, what a change! how infinitely dear Would Trebius then become! How great appear, From nothing! Virro, so reserved of late, Grows quite familiar: "Brother, send your plate. 205 Dear brother Trebius! you were wont to say You liked this trail, I think—Oblige me, pray."— O Riches!—this "dear brother" is your own, To you this friendship, this respect is shown. But would you now your patron's patron be? 210 Let no young Trebius wanton round your knee, No Trebia, none: a barren wife procures The kindest, truest friends! such then be yours.— Yet, should she breed, and, to augment your joys, Pour in your lap, at once, three bouncing boys, 215 Virro will still, so you be wealthy, deign To toy and prattle with the lisping train; Will have his pockets too with farthings stored, And when the sweet young rogues approach his board, Bring out his pretty corselets for the breast, 220 His nuts, and apples, for each coaxing guest. You champ on spongy toadstools, hateful treat! Fearful of poison in each bit you eat; He feasts secure on mushrooms, fine as those Which Claudius, for his special eating chose, 225 Till one more fine, provided by his wife, Finished at once his feasting, and his life! Apples, as fragrant, and as bright of hue, As those which in Alcinoüs' gardens grew, Mellowed by constant sunshine; or as those, 230 Which graced the Hesperides, in burnished rows; Apples, which you may smell, but never taste, Before your lord and his great friends are placed: While you enjoy mere windfalls, such stale fruit, As serves to mortify the raw recruit, 235 When, armed with helm and shield, the lance he throws, And trembles at the shaggy master's blows. You think, perhaps, that Virro treats so ill To save his gold; no, 'tis to vex you still: For, say, what comedy such mirth can raise, 240 As hunger, tortured thus a thousand ways? No (if you know it not), 'tis to excite Your rage, your phrensy, for his mere delight; 'Tis to compel you all your gall to show, And gnash your teeth in agonies of woe. 245 You deem yourself (such pride inflates your breast), Forsooth, a freeman, and your patron's guest; He thinks you a vile slave, drawn, by the smell Of his warm kitchen, there; and he thinks well: For who so low, so wretched as to bear 250 Such treatment twice, whose fortune 'twas to wear The golden boss; nay, to whose humbler lot, The poor man's ensign fell, the leathern knot! Your palate still beguiles you: Ah, how nice That smoking haunch! NOW we shall have a slice! 255 Now that half hare is coming! NOW a bit Of that young pullet! NOW—and thus you sit, Thumbing your bread in silence; watching still, For what has never reached you, never will! No more of freedom! 'tis a vain pretense: 260 Your patron treats you like a man of sense: For, if you can, without a murmur, bear, You well deserve the insults which you share. Anon, like voluntary slaves, you'll throw Your humbled necks beneath the oppressor's blow, 265 Nay, with bare backs, solicit to be beat, And merit SUCH A FRIEND, and SUCH A TREAT!

Yes, I believe that Chastity was known, And prized on earth, while Saturn filled the throne; When rocks a bleak and scanty shelter gave, When sheep and shepherds thronged one common cave, And when the mountain wife her couch bestrewed 5 With skins of beasts, joint tenants of the wood, And reeds, and leaves plucked from the neighboring tree:— A woman, Cynthia, far unlike to thee, Or thee, weak child of fondness and of fears, Whose eyes a sparrow's death suffused with tears: 10 But strong, and reaching to her burly brood Her big-swollen breasts, replete with wholesome food, And rougher than her husband, gorged with mast, And frequent belching from the coarse repast. For when the world was new, the race that broke, 15 Unfathered, from the soil or opening oak, Lived most unlike the men of later times, The puling brood of follies and of crimes. Haply some trace of Chastity remained, While Jove, but Jove as yet unbearded, reigned: 20 Before the Greek bound, by another's head, His doubtful faith; or men, of theft in dread, Had learned their herbs and fruitage to immure, But all was uninclosed, and all secure! At length Astrea, from these confines driven, 25 Regained by slow degrees her native heaven; With her retired her sister in disgust, And left the world to rapine, and to lust. 'Tis not a practice, friend, of recent date, But old, established, and inveterate, 30 To climb another's couch, and boldly slight The sacred Genius of the nuptial rite: All other crimes the Age of Iron curst; But that of Silver saw adulterers first. Yet thou, it seems, art eager to engage 35 Thy witless neck, in this degenerate age! Even now, thy hair the modish curl is taught, By master-hands; even now, the ring is bought; Even now—thou once, Ursidius, hadst thy wits, But thus to talk of wiving!—O, these fits! 40 What more than madness has thy soul possest? What snakes, what Furies, agitate thy breast? Heavens! wilt thou tamely drag the galling chain, While hemp is to be bought, while knives remain? While windows woo thee so divinely high, 45 And Tiber and the Æmilian bridge are nigh?— "O, but the law," thou criest, "the Julian law, Will keep my destined wife from every flaw; Besides, I die for heirs." Good! and for those, Wilt thou the turtle and the turbot lose, 50 And all the dainties, which the flatterer, still Heaps on the childless, to secure his Will? But what will hence impossible be held, If thou, old friend, to wedlock art impelled? If thou, the veriest debauchee in town, 55 With whom wives, widows, every thing went down, Shouldst stretch the unsuspecting neck, and poke Thy foolish nose into the marriage yoke? Thou, famed for scapes, and, by the trembling wife, Thrust in a chest so oft, to save thy life!— 60 But what! Ursidius hopes a mate to gain, Frugal, and chaste, and of the good old strain: Alas, he's frantic! ope a vein with speed, And bleed him copiously, good doctor, bleed. Jewel of men! thy knees to Jove incline, 65 And let a heifer fall at Juno's shrine, If thy researches for a wife be blest, With one, who is not—need I speak the rest? Ah! few the matrons Ceres now can find, Her hallowed fillets, with chaste hands, to bind; 70 Few whom their fathers with their lips can trust, So strong their filial kisses smack of lust! Go then, prepare to bring your mistress home, And crown your doors with garlands, ere she come.— But will one man suffice, methinks, you cry, 75 For all her wants and wishes? Will one eye! And yet there runs, 'tis said, a wondrous tale, Of some pure maid, who lives—in some lone vale. There she MAY live; but let the phœnix, placed At Gabii or Fidenæ, prove as chaste 80 As at her father's farm!—Yet who will swear, That naught is done in night and silence there? Time was, when Jupiter and Mars, we're told,} With many a nymph in woods and caves made bold;} And still, perhaps, they may not be too old.} 85 Survey our public places; see you there One woman worthy of your serious care? See you, through all the crowded benches, one Whom you might take securely for your own?— Lo! while Bathyllus, with his flexile limbs, 90 Acts Leda, and through every posture swims, Tuccia delights to realize the play, And in lascivious trances melts away; While rustic Thymele, with curious eye, Marks the quick pant, the lingering, deep-drawn sigh, 95 And while her cheeks with burning blushes glow, Learns this—learns all the city matrons know. Others, when of the theatres bereft, When nothing but the wrangling bar is left, In the long tedious months which interpose 100 'Twixt the Cybelian and Plebeian shows, Sicken for action, and assume the airs, The mask and thyrsus, of their favorite players. —Midst peals of mirth, see Urbicus advance (Poor Ælia's choice), and, in a wanton dance, 105 Burlesque Autonoë's woes! the rich engage In higher frolics, and defraud the stage; Take from Chrysogonus the power to sing, Loose, at vast prices, the comedian's ring, Tempt the tragedian—but I see you moved— 110 Heavens! dreamed you that Quintilian would be loved! Then hie thee, Lentulus, and boldly wed, That the chaste partner of thy fruitful bed May kindly single from this motley race Some sturdy Glaphyrus, thy brows to grace: 115 Haste; in the narrow streets long scaffolds raise, And deck thy portals with triumphant bays; That in thy heir, as swathed in state he lies, The guests may trace Mirmillo's nose and eyes! Hippia, who shared a rich patrician's bed, 120 To Egypt with a gladiator fled, While rank Canopus eyed, with strong disgust, This ranker specimen of Roman lust. Without one pang, the profligate resigned Her husband, sister, sire; gave to the wind 125 Her children's tears; yea, tore herself away (To strike you more)—from Paris and the PLAY! And though, in affluence born, her infant head Had pressed the down of an embroidered bed, She braved the deep (she long had braved her fame; 130 But this is little—to the courtly dame), And, with undaunted breast, the changes bore, Of many a sea, the swelling and the roar. Have they an honest call, such ills to bear? Cold shiverings seize them, and they shrink with fear; 135 But set illicit pleasure in their eye, Onward they rush, and every toil defy! Summoned by duty, to attend her lord, How, cries the lady, can I get on board? How bear the dizzy motion? how the smell? 140 But—when the adulterer calls her, all is well! She roams the deck, with pleasure ever new, Tugs at the ropes, and messes with the crew; But with her husband—O, how changed the case! Sick! sick! she cries, and vomits in his face. 145 But by what youthful charms, what shape, what air, Was Hippia won, the opprobrious name to bear Of Fencer's trull? The wanton well might dote! For the sweet Sergius long had scraped his throat, Long looked for leave to quit the public stage, 150 Maimed in his limbs, and verging now to age. Add, that his face was battered and decayed; The helmet on his brow huge galls had made, A wen deformed his nose, of monstrous size, And sharp rheum trickled from his bloodshot eyes: 155 But then he was a SWORDSMAN! that alone Made every charm and every grace his own; That made him dearer than her nuptial vows, Dearer than country, sister, children, spouse.— 'Tis blood they love: Let Sergius quit the sword, 160 And he'll appear, at once—so like her lord! Start you at wrongs that touch a private name, At Hippia's lewdness, and Veiento's shame? Turn to the rivals of the immortal Powers, And mark how like their fortunes are to ours! 165 Claudius had scarce begun his eyes to close, Ere from his pillow Messalina rose (Accustomed long the bed of state to slight For the coarse mattress, and the hood of night); And with one maid, and her dark hair concealed 170 Beneath a yellow tire, a strumpet veiled! She slipt into the stews, unseen, unknown, And hired a cell, yet reeking, for her own. There, flinging off her dress, the imperial whore Stood, with bare breasts and gilded, at the door, 175 And showed, Britannicus, to all who came, The womb that bore thee, in Lycisca's name! Allured the passers by with many a wile, And asked her price, and took it, with a smile. And when the hour of business now was spent, 180 And all the trulls dismissed, repining went; Yet what she could, she did; slowly she past, And saw her man, and shut her cell, the last, —Still raging with the fever of desire, Her veins all turgid, and her blood all fire, 185 With joyless pace, the imperial couch she sought, And to her happy spouse (yet slumbering) brought Cheeks rank with sweat, limbs drenched with poisonous dews, The steam of lamps, and odor of the stews! 'Twere long to tell what philters they provide, 190 What drugs, to set a son-in-law aside. Women, in judgment weak, in feeling strong, By every, gust of passion borne along, Act, in their fits, such crimes, that, to be just, The least pernicious of their sins is lust. 195 But why's Cesennia then, you say, adored, And styled the first of women, by her lord? Because she brought him thousands: such the price It cost the lady to be free from vice!— Not for her charms the wounded lover pined, 200 Nor felt the flame which fires the ardent mind, Plutus, not Cupid, touched his sordid heart; And 'twas her dower that winged the unerring dart. She brought enough her liberty to buy, And tip the wink before her husband's eye. 205 A wealthy wanton, to a miser wed, Has all the license of a widowed bed. But yet, Sertorius what I say disproves, For though his Bibula is poor, he loves. True! but examine him; and, on my life, 210 You'll find he loves the beauty, not the wife. Let but a wrinkle on her forehead rise, And time obscure the lustre of her eyes; Let but the moisture leave her flaccid skin, And her teeth blacken, and her cheeks grow thin; 215 And you shall hear the insulting freedman say, "Pack up your trumpery, madam, and away! Nay, bustle, bustle; here you give offense, With sniveling night and day;—take your nose hence!"— But, ere that hour arrives, she reigns indeed! 220 Shepherds, and sheep of Canusinian breed, Falernian vineyards (trifles these), she craves, And store of boys, and troops of country slaves; Briefly, for all her neighbor has, she sighs, And plagues her doting husband, till he buys. 225 In winter, when the merchant fears to roam, And snow confines the shivering crew at home; She ransacks every shop for precious ware, Here cheapens myrrh and crystal vases; there, That far-famed gem which Berenice wore, 230 The hire of incest, and thence valued more; A brother's present, in that barbarous State, Where kings the sabbath, barefoot, celebrate; And old indulgence grants a length of life To hogs, that fatten fearless of the knife. 235 What! and is none of all this numerous herd Worthy your choice? not one, to be preferred? Suppose her nobly born, young, rich, and fair, And (though a coal-black swan be far less rare) Chaste as the Sabine wives, who rushed between 240 The kindred hosts, and closed the unnatural scene; Yet who could bear to lead an humbled life, Cursed with that veriest plague, a faultless wife!— Some simple rustic at Venusium bred, O let me, rather than Cornelia, wed, 245 If, to great virtues, greater pride she join, And count her ancestors as current coin. Take back, for mercy's sake, thy Hannibal! Away with vanquished Syphax, camp and all! Troop, with the whole of Carthage! I'd be free 250 From all this pageantry of worth—and thee. "O let, Apollo, let my children live, And thou, Diana, pity, and forgive;" Amphion cries; "they, they are guiltless all! The mother sinned, let then the mother fall." 255 In vain he cries; Apollo bends his bow, And, with the children, lays the father low? They fell; while Niobe aspired to place Her birth and blood above Latona's race; And boast her womb—too fruitful, to be named 260 With that White Sow, for thirty sucklings famed. Beauty and worth are purchased much too dear, If a wife force them hourly on your ear; For, say, what pleasure can you hope to find, Even in this boast, this phœnix of her kind, 265 If, warped by pride, on all around she lour, And in your cup more gall than honey pour? Ah! who so blindly wedded to the state, As not to shrink from such a perfect mate, Of every virtue feel the oppressive weight, 270 And curse the worth he loves, seven hours in eight? Some faults, though small, no husband yet can bear: 'Tis now the nauseous cant, that none is fair, Unless her thoughts in Attic terms she dress; A mere Cecropian of a Sulmoness! 275 All now is Greek: in Greek their souls they pour, In Greek their fears, hopes, joys;—what would you more? In Greek they clasp their lovers. We allow These fooleries to girls: but thou, O thou, Who tremblest on the verge of eighty-eight, 280 To Greek it still!—'tis, now, a day too late. Foh! how it savors of the dregs of lust, When an old hag, whose blandishments disgust, Affects the infant lisp, the girlish squeak, And mumbles out, "My life!" "My soul!" in Greek! 285 Words, which the secret sheets alone should hear, But which she trumpets in the public ear. And words, indeed, have power—But though she woo In softer strains than e'er Carpophorus knew, Her wrinkles still employ her favorite's cares; 290 And while she murmurs love, he counts her years! But tell me;—if thou CANST NOT love a wife, Made thine by every tie, and thine for life, Why wed at all? why waste the wine and cakes, The queasy-stomached guest, at parting, takes? 295 And the rich present, which the bridal right Claims for the favors of the happy night? The charger, where, triumphantly inscrolled, The Dacian Hero shines in current gold! If thou CANST love, and thy besotted mind 300 Is, so uxoriously, to one inclined, Then bow thy neck, and with submissive air Receive the yoke—thou must forever wear. To a fond spouse a wife no mercy shows:— Though warmed with equal fires, she mocks his woes, 305 And triumphs in his spoils: her wayward will Defeats his bliss, and turns his good to ill! Naught must be given, if she opposes; naught, If she opposes, must be sold or bought; She tells him where to love, and where to hate,} 310 Shuts out the ancient friend, whose beard his gate} Knew, from its downy to its hoary state:} And when pimps, parasites, of all degrees Have power to will their fortunes as they please, She dictates his; and impudently dares 315 To name his very rivals for his heirs! "Go, crucify that slave." For what offense? Who the accuser? Where the evidence? For when the life of MAN is in debate, No time can be too long, no care too great; 320 Hear all, weigh all with caution, I advise— "Thou sniveler! is a slave a MAN?" she cries. "He's innocent! be't so:—'tis my command, My will; let that, sir, for a reason stand." Thus the virago triumphs, thus she reigns: 325 Anon she sickens of her first domains, And seeks for new; husband on husband takes, Till of her bridal veil one rent she makes. Again she tires, again for change she burns, And to the bed she lately left returns, 330 While the fresh garlands, and unfaded boughs, Yet deck the portal of her wondering spouse. Thus swells the list; EIGHT HUSBANDS IN FIVE YEARS: A rare inscription for their sepulchres! While your wife's mother lives, expect no peace. 335 She teaches her, with savage joy, to fleece A bankrupt spouse: kind creature! she befriends The lover's hopes, and, when her daughter sends An answer to his prayer, the style inspects, Softens the cruel, and the wrong corrects: 340 Experienced bawd! she blinds, or bribes all eyes, And brings the adulterer, in despite of spies. And now the farce begins; the lady falls "Sick, sick, oh! sick;" and for the doctor calls: Sweltering she lies, till the dull visit's o'er, 345 While the rank lecher, at the closet door Lurking in silence, maddens with delay, And in his own impatience melts away. Nor count it strange: What mother e'er was known To teach severer morals than her own?— 350 No;—with their daughters' lusts they swell their stores, And thrive as bawds when out of date as whores! Women support the BAR; they love the law, And raise litigious questions for a straw; They meet in private, and prepare the Bill, 355 Draw up the Instructions with a lawyer's skill, Suggest to Celsus where the merits lie, And dictate points for statement or reply. Nay, more, they FENCE! who has not marked their oil, Their purple rugs, for this preposterous toil? 360 Room for the lady—lo! she seeks the list, And fiercely tilts at her antagonist, A post! which, with her buckler, she provokes, And bores and batters with repeated strokes; Till all the fencer's art can do she shows, 365 And the glad master interrupts her blows. O worthy, sure, to head those wanton dames, Who foot it naked at the Floral games; Unless, with nobler daring, she aspire, And tempt the arena's bloody field—for hire! 370 What sense of shame is to that female known, Who envies our pursuits, and hates her own? Yet would she not, though proud in arms to shine (True woman still), her sex for ours resign; For there's a thing she loves beyond compare, 375 And we, alas! have no advantage there.— Heavens! with what glee a husband must behold His wife's accoutrements, in public, sold; And auctioneers displaying to the throng Her crest, her belt, her gauntlet, and her thong! 380 Or, if in wilder frolics she engage, And take her private lessons for the stage, Then three-fold rapture must expand his breast, To see her greaves "a-going" with the rest. Yet these are they, the tender souls! who sweat 385 In muslin, and in silk expire with heat.— Mark, with what force, as the full blow descends, She thunders "hah!" again, how low she bends Beneath the opposer's stroke; how firm she rests, Poised on her hams, and every step contests: 390 How close tucked up for fight, behind, before, Then laugh—to see her squat, when all is o'er! Daughters of Lepidus, and Gurges old, And blind Metellus, did ye e'er behold Asylla (though a fencer's trull confess'd) 395 Tilt at a stake, thus impudently dress'd! 'Tis night; yet hope no slumbers with your wife; The nuptial bed is still the scene of strife: There lives the keen debate, the clamorous brawl, And quiet "never comes, that comes to all." 400 Fierce as a tigress plundered of her young, Rage fires her breast, and loosens all her tongue, When, conscious of her guilt, she feigns to groan, And chides your loose amours, to hide her own; Storms at the scandal of your baser flames, 405 And weeps her injuries from imagined names, With tears that, marshaled, at their station stand, And flow impassioned, as she gives command. You think those showers her true affection prove, And deem yourself—so happy in her love! 410 With fond caresses strive her heart to cheer, And from her eyelids suck the starting tear: —But could you now examine the scrutore Of this most loving, this most jealous whore, What amorous lays, what letters would you see, 415 Proofs, damning proofs, of her sincerity! But these are doubtful—Put a clearer case: Suppose her taken in a loose embrace, A slave's or knight's. Now, my Quintilian, come, And fashion an excuse. What! are you dumb? 420 Then, let the lady speak. "Was't not agreed The MAN might please himself?" It was; proceed. "Then, so may I"—O, Jupiter! "No oath: Man is a general term, and takes in both." When once surprised, the sex all shame forego; 425 And more audacious, as more guilty, grow. Whence shall these prodigies of vice be traced? From wealth, my friend. Our matrons then were chaste, When days of labor, nights of short repose, Hands still employed the Tuscan wool to tose, 430 Their husbands armed, and anxious for the State, And Carthage hovering near the Colline gate, Conspired to keep all thoughts of ill aloof, And banished vice far from their lowly roof. Now, all the evils of long peace are ours; 435 Luxury, more terrible than hostile powers, Her baleful influence wide around has hurled, And well avenged the subjugated world! —Since Poverty, our better Genius, fled, Vice, like a deluge, o'er the State has spread. 440 Now, shame to Rome! in every street are found The essenced Sybarite, with roses crowned, The gay Miletan, and the Tarentine, Lewd, petulant, and reeling ripe with wine! Wealth first, the ready pander to all sin, 445 Brought foreign manners, foreign vices in; Enervate wealth, and with seductive art, Sapped every homebred virtue of the heart; Yes, every:—for what cares the drunken dame (Take head or tail, to her 'tis just the same), 450 Who, at deep midnight, on fat oysters sups, And froths with unguents her Falernian cups; Who swallows oceans, till the tables rise, And double lustres dance before her eyes! Thus flushed, conceive, as Tullia homeward goes, 455 With what contempt she tosses up her nose At Chastity's hoar fane! what impious jeers Collatia pours in Maura's tingling ears! Here stop their litters, here they all alight, And squat together in the goddess' sight:— 460 You pass, aroused at dawn your court to pay, The loathsome scene of their licentious play. Who knows not now, my friend, the secret rites Of the Good Goddess; when the dance excites The boiling blood; when, to distraction wound, 465 By wine, and music's stimulating sound, The mænads of Priapus, with wild air, Howl horrible, and toss their flowing hair! Then, how the wine at every pore o'erflows! How the eye sparkles! how the bosom glows! 470 How the cheek burns! and, as the passions rise, How the strong feeling bursts in eager cries!— Saufeia now springs forth, and tries a fall With the town prostitutes, and throws them all; But yields, herself, to Medullina, known 475 For parts, and powers, superior to her own. Maids, mistresses, alike the contest share, And 'tis not always birth that triumphs there. Nothing is feigned in this accursed game: 'Tis genuine all; and such as would inflame 480 The frozen age of Priam, and inspire The ruptured, bedrid Nestor with desire. Stung with their mimic feats, a hollow groan Of lust breaks forth; the sex, the sex is shown! And one loud yell re-echoes through the den, 485 "Now, now, 'tis lawful! now admit the men!" There's none arrived. "Not yet! then scour the street, And bring us quickly, here, the first you meet." There's none abroad. "Then fetch our slaves." They're gone. "Then hire a waterman." There's none. "Not one!"— 490 Nature's strong barrier scarcely now restrains The baffled fury in their boiling veins! And would to heaven our ancient rites were free!— But Africa and India, earth and sea, Have heard, what singing-wench produced his ware, 495 Vast as two Anti Catos, there, even there, Where the he-mouse, in reverence, lies concealed, And every picture of a male is veiled. And who was THEN a scoffer? who despised The simple rites by infant Rome devised, 500 The wooden bowl of pious Numa's day, The coarse brown dish, and pot of homely clay? Now, woe the while! religion's in its wane; And daring Clodii swarm in every fane. I hear, old friends, I hear you: "Make all sure: 505 Let spies surround her, and let bolts secure." But who shall KEEP THE KEEPERS? Wives contemn Our poor precautions, and begin with THEM. Lust is the master passion; it inflames, Alike, both high and low; alike, the dames, 510 Who, on tall Syrians' necks, their pomp display, And those who pick, on foot, their miry way. Whene'er Ogulnia to the Circus goes, To emulate the rich, she hires her clothes, Hires followers, friends, and cushions; hires a chair, 515 A nurse, and a trim girl, with golden hair, To slip her billets:—prodigal and poor, She wastes the wreck of her paternal store On smooth-faced wrestlers; wastes her little all, And strips her shivering mansion to the wall! 520 There's many a woman knows distress at home; Not one who feels it, and, ere ruin come, To her small means conforms. Taught by the ant, Men sometimes guard against the extreme of want, And stretch, though late, their providential fears, 525 To food and raiment for their future years: But women never see their wealth decay; With lavish hands they scatter night and day, As if the gold, with vegetative power, Would spring afresh, and bloom from hour to hour; 530 As if the mass its present size would keep, And no expense reduce the eternal heap. Others there are, who centre all their bliss In the soft eunuch, and the beardless kiss: They need not from his chin avert their face, 535 Nor use abortive drugs, for his embrace. But oh! their joys run high, if he be formed, When his full veins the fire of love has warmed; When every part's to full perfection reared, And naught of manhood wanting, but the beard. 540 But should the dame in music take delight, The public singer is disabled quite: In vain the prætor guards him all he can; She slips the buckle, and enjoys her man. Still in her hand his instrument is found, 545 Thick set with gems, that shed a lustre round; Still o'er his lyre the ivory quill she flings, Still runs divisions on the trembling strings, The trembling strings, which the loved Hedymel Was wont to strike—so sweetly, and so well! 550 These still she holds, with these she soothes her woes, And kisses on the dear, dear wire bestows. A noble matron of the Lamian line Inquired of Janus (offering meal and wine) If Pollio, at the Harmonic Games, would speed, 555 And wear the oaken crown, the victor's meed! What could she for a husband, more, have done, What for an only, an expiring son? Yes; for a harper, the besotted dame Approached the altar, reckless of her fame, 560 And veiled her head, and, with a pious air, Followed the Aruspex through the form of prayer; And trembled, and turned pale, as he explored The entrails, breathless for the fatal word! But, tell me, father Janus, if you please, 565 Tell me, most ancient of the deities, Is your attention to such suppliants given? If so—there is not much to do in heaven! For a comedian, this consults your will, For a tragedian, that; kept standing, still, 570 By this eternal route, the wretched priest Feels his legs swell, and dies to be releas'd. But let her rather sing, than roam the streets, And thrust herself in every crowd she meets; Chat with great generals, though her lord be there, 575 With lawless eye, bold front, and bosom bare. She, too, with curiosity o'erflows, And all the news of all the world she knows; Knows what in Scythia, what in Thrace is done; The secrets of the step-dame and the son; 580 Who speeds, and who is jilted: and can swear,} Who made the widow pregnant, when and where,} And what she said, and how she frolicked there.—} She first espied the star, whose baleful ray, O'er Parthia, and Armenia, shed dismay: 585 She watches at the gates, for news to come, And intercepts it, as it enters Rome; Then, fraught with full intelligence, she flies Through every street, and, mingling truth with lies, Tells how Niphates bore down every mound, 590 And poured his desolating flood around; How earth, convulsed, disclosed its caverns hoar, And cities trembled, and—were seen no more! And yet this itch, though never to be cured, Is easier, than her cruelty, endured. 595 Should a poor neighbor's dog but discompose Her rest a moment, wild with rage she grows; "Ho! whips," she cries, "and flay that brute accurs'd;" "But flay that rascal there, who owns him, first." Dangerous to meet while in these frantic airs, 600 And terrible to look at, she prepares To bathe at night; she issues her commands, And in long ranks forth poor the obedient bands, With tubs, cloths, oils:—for 'tis her dear delight To sweat in clamor, tumult, and affright. 605 When her tired arms refuse the balls to ply, And the lewd bath-keeper has rubbed her dry, She calls to mind each miserable guest, Long since with hunger, and with sleep oppress'd, And hurries home; all glowing, all athirst, 610 For wine, whole flasks of wine! and swallows, first, Two quarts, to clear her stomach, and excite A ravenous, an unbounded appetite! Huisch! up it comes, good heavens! meat, drink, and all, And flows in purple torrents round the hall; 615 Or a gilt ewer receives the foul contents, And poisons all the house with vinous scents. So, dropp'd into a vat, a snake is said To drink and spew:—the husband turns his head, Sick to the soul, from this disgusting scene, 620 And struggles to suppress his rising spleen. But she is more intolerable yet, Who plays the critic when at table set; Calls Virgil charming, and attempts to prove Poor Dido right, in venturing all for love. 625 From Maro, and Mæonides, she quotes The striking passages, and, while she notes Their beauties and defects, adjusts her scales, And accurately weighs which bard prevails. The astonished guests sit mute: grammarians yield, 630 Loud rhetoricians, baffled, quit the field; Even auctioneers and lawyers stand aghast, And not a woman speaks!—So thick, and fast, The wordy shower descends, that you would swear A thousand bells were jangling in your ear, 635 A thousand basins clattering. Vex no more Your trumpets and your timbrels, as of yore, To ease the laboring moon; her single yell Can drown their clangor, and dissolve the spell. She lectures too in Ethics, and declaims 640 On the Chief Good!—but, surely, she who aims To seem too learn'd, should take the male array; A hog, due offering, to Sylvanus slay, And, with the Stoic's privilege, repair To farthing baths, and strip in public there! 645 Oh, never may the partner of my bed With subtleties of logic stuff her head; Nor whirl her rapid syllogisms around, Nor with imperfect enthymemes confound! Enough for me, if common things she know, 650 And boast the little learning schools bestow. I hate the female pedagogue, who pores O'er her Palæmon hourly; who explores All modes of speech, regardless of the sense, But tremblingly alive to mood and tense: 655 Who puzzles me with many an uncouth phrase, From some old canticle of Numa's days; Corrects her country friends, and can not hear Her husband solecize without a sneer! A woman stops at nothing, when she wears 660 Rich emeralds round her neck, and in her ears Pearls of enormous size; these justify Her faults, and make all lawful in her eye. Sure, of all ills with which mankind are curs'd, A wife who brings you money is the worst. 665 Behold! her face a spectacle appears, Bloated, and foul, and plastered to the ears With viscous paste:—the husband looks askew, And sticks his lips in this detested glue. She meets the adulterer bathed, perfumed, and dress'd, 670 But rots in filth at home, a very pest! For him she breathes of nard; for him alone She makes the sweets of Araby her own; For him, at length, she ventures to uncase, Scales the first layer of roughcast from her face, 675 And, while the maids to know her now begin, Clears, with that precious milk, her frouzy skin, For which, though exiled to the frozen main, She'd lead a drove of asses in her train! But tell me yet; this thing, thus daubed and oiled, 680 Thus poulticed, plastered, baked by turns and boiled, Thus with pomatums, ointments, lackered o'er, Is it a FACE, Ursidius, or a SORE? 'Tis worth a little labor to survey Our wives more near and trace 'em through the day. 685 If, dreadful to relate! the night foregone, The husband turned his back, or lay alone, All, all is lost; the housekeeper is stripped, The tiremaid chidden, and the chairman whipped: Rods, cords, and thongs avenge the master's sleep, 690 And force the guiltless house to wake and weep. There are, who hire a beadle by the year, To lash their servants round; who, pleased to hear The eternal thong, bid him lay on, while they, At perfect ease, the silkman's stores survey, 695 Chat with their female gossips, or replace The cracked enamel on their treacherous face. No respite yet:—they leisurely hum o'er The countless items of the day before, And bid him still lay on; till, faint with toil, 700 He drops the scourge; when, with a rancorous smile, "Begone!" they thunder in a horrid tone, "Now your accounts are settled, rogues, begone!" But should she wish with nicer care to dress, And now the hour of assignation press 705 (Whether the adulterer for her coming wait In Isis' fane, to bawdry consecrate, Or in Lucullus' walks), the house appears A true Sicilian court, all gloom and tears. The wretched Psecas, for the whip prepared, 710 With locks disheveled, and with shoulders bared, Attempts her hair: fire flashes from her eyes, And, "Strumpet! why this curl so high?" she cries. Instant the lash, without remorse, is plied, And the blood stains her bosom, back, and side. 715 But why this fury?—Is the girl to blame, If your air shocks you, or your features shame? Another, trembling, on the left prepares To open and arrange the straggling hairs In ringlets trim: meanwhile, the council meet: 720 And first the nurse, a personage discreet, Late from the toilet to the wheel removed (The effect of time), yet still of taste approved, Gives her opinion: then the rest, in course, As age, or practice, lends their judgment force. 725 So warm they grow, and so much pains they take, You'd think her honor or her life at stake! So high they build her head, such tiers on tiers, With wary hands, they pile, that she appears, Andromache, before:—and what behind? 730 A dwarf, a creature of a different kind.— Meanwhile, engrossed by these important cares, She thinks not on her lord's distress'd affairs, Scarce on himself; but leads a separate life, As if she were his neighbor, not his wife? 735 Or, but in this—that all control she braves; Hates where he loves, and squanders where he saves. Room for Bellona's frantic votaries! room For Cybele's mad enthusiasts! lo, they come! A lusty semivir, whose part obscene, 740 A broken shell has severed smooth and clean, A raw-boned, mitred priest, whom the whole choir Of curtailed priestlings reverence and admire, Enters, with his wild rout; and bids the fair Of autumn, and its sultry blasts, beware, 745 Unless she lustrate, with an hundred eggs, Her household straight:—then, impudently begs Her cast-off clothes, that every plague they fear May enter them, and expiate all the year! But lo! another tribe! at whose command, 750 See her, in winter, near the Tiber stand, Break the thick ice, and, ere the sun appears, Plunge in the crashing eddy to the ears; Then, shivering from the keen and eager breeze, Crawl round the banks, on bare and bleeding knees. 755 Should milkwhite Iö bid, from Meroë's isle She'd fetch the sunburnt waters of the Nile, To sprinkle in her fane; for she, it seems, Has heavenly visitations in her dreams— Mark the pure soul, with whom the gods delight 760 To hold high converse at the noon of night! For this she cherishes, above the rest, Her Iö's favorite priest, a knave profess'd, A holy hypocrite, who strolls abroad, With his Anubis, his dog-headed god! 765 Girt by a linen-clad, a bald-pate crew Of howling vagrants, who their cries renew In every street, as up and down they run, To find Osire, fit father to fit son! He sues for pardon, when the liquorish dame 770 Abstains not from the interdicted game On high and solemn days; for great the crime, To stain the nuptial couch at such a time, And great the atonement due;—the silver snake, Abhorrent of the deed, was seen to quake! 775 Yet he prevails:—Osiris hears his prayers, And, softened by a goose, the culprit spares. Without her badge, a Jewess now draws near, And, trembling, begs a trifle in her ear. No common personage! she knows full well 780 The laws of Solyma, and she can tell The dark decrees of heaven; a priestess she, An hierarch of the consecrated tree! Moved by these claims thus modestly set forth, She gives her a few coins of little worth; 785 For Jews are moderate, and, for farthing fees, Will sell what fortune, or what dreams you please. The prophetess dismissed, a Syrian sage Now enters, and explores the future page, In a dove's entrails: there he sees express'd 790 A youthful lover: there, a rich bequest, From some kind dotard: then a chick he takes, And in its breast, and in a puppy's, rakes, And sometimes in—an infant's: he will teach The art to others, and, when taught, impeach! 795 But chiefly in Chaldeans she believes: Whate'er they say, with reverence she receives, As if from Hammon's secret fount it came; Since Delphi now, if we may credit fame, Gives no responses, and a long dark night 800 Conceals the future hour from mortal sight. Of these, the chief (such credit guilt obtains!) Is he, who, banished oft, and oft in chains, Stands forth the veriest knave; he who foretold The death of Galba—to his rival sold! 805 No juggler must for fame or profit hope, Who has not narrowly escaped the rope; Begged hard for exile, and, by special grace, Obtained confinement in some desert place.— To him your Tanaquil applies, in doubt 810 How long her jaundiced mother may hold out; But first, how long her husband: next, inquires, When she shall follow, to their funeral pyres, Her sisters, and her uncles; last, if fate Will kindly lengthen out the adulterer's date 815 Beyond her own;—content, if he but live, And sure that heaven has nothing more to give! Yet she may still be suffered; for, what woes The louring aspect of old Saturn shows; Or in what sign bright Venus ought to rise, 820 To shed her mildest influence from the skies; Or what fore-fated month to gain is given, And what to loss (the mysteries of heaven), She knows not, nor pretends to know: but flee The dame, whose Manual of Astrology 825 Still dangles at her side, smooth as chafed gum, And fretted by her everlasting thumb!— Deep in the science now, she leaves her mate To go, or stay; but will not share his fate, Withheld by trines and sextiles; she will look, 830 Before her chair be ordered, in the book, For the fit hour; an itching eye endure, Nor, till her scheme be raised, attempt the cure; Nay, languishing in bed, receive no meat, Till Petosyris bid her rise and eat. 835 The curse is universal: high and low Are mad alike the future hour to know. The rich consult a Babylonian seer, Skilled in the mysteries of either sphere; Or a gray-headed priest, hired by the state, 840 To watch the lightning, and to expiate. The middle sort, a quack, at whose command They lift the forehead, and make bare the hand; While the sly lecher in the table pries, And claps it wantonly, with gloating eyes. 845 The poor apply to humbler cheats, still found Beside the Circus wall, or city mound; While she, whose neck no golden trinket bears, To the dry ditch, or dolphin's tower, repairs, And anxiously inquires which she shall choose, 850 The tapster, or old-clothes man? which refuse? Yet these the pangs of childbirth undergo, And all the yearnings of a mother know; These, urged by want, assume the nurse's care, And learn to breed the children which they bear. 855 Those shun both toil and danger; for, though sped, The wealthy dame is seldom brought to bed: Such the dire power of drugs, and such the skill They boast, to cause miscarriages at will! Weep'st thou? O fool! the blest invention hail, 860 And give the potion, if the gossips fail; For, should thy wife her nine months' burden bear, An Æthiop's offspring might thy fortunes heir; A sooty thing, fit only to affray, And, seen at morn, to poison all the day! 865 Supposititious breeds, the hope and joy Of fond, believing husbands, I pass by; The beggars' bantlings, spawned in open air, And left by some pond side, to perish there.— From hence your Flamens, hence your Salians come; 870 Your Scauri, chiefs and magistrates of Rome! Fortune stands tittering by, in playful mood, And smiles, complacent, on the sprawling brood; Takes them all naked to her fostering arms, Feeds from her mouth, and in her bosom warms: 875 Then, to the mansions of the great she bears The precious brats, and, for herself, prepares A secret farce; adopts them for her own: And, when her nurslings are to manhood grown, She brings them forth, rejoiced to see them sped, 880 And wealth and honors dropping on their head! Some purchase charms, some, more pernicious still, Thessalian philters, to subdue the will Of an uxorious spouse, and make him bear Blows, insults, all a saucy wife can dare. 885 Hence that swift lapse to second childhood; hence Those vapors which envelop every sense; This strange forgetfulness from hour to hour; And well, if this be all:—more fatal power, More terrible effects, the dose may have, 890 And force you, like Caligula, to rave, When his Cæsonia squeezed into the bowl The dire excrescence of a new-dropp'd foal.— Then Uproar rose; the universal chain Of Order snapped, and Anarchy's wild reign 895 Came on apace, as if the queen of heaven Had fired the Thunderer, and to madness driven. Thy mushroom, Agrippine! was innocent, To this accursed draught; that only sent One palsied, bedrid sot, with gummy eyes, 900 And slavering lips, heels foremost to the skies: This, to wild fury roused a bloody mind, And called for fire and sword; this potion joined In one promiscuous slaughter high and low, And leveled half the nation at a blow. 905 Such is the power of philters! such the ill, One sorceress can effect by wicked skill! They hate their husband's spurious issue:—this, If this were all, were not, perhaps, amiss: But they go farther; and 'tis now some time 910 Since poisoning sons-in-law scarce seemed a crime. Mark then, ye fatherless! what I advise, And trust, O, trust no dainties, if you're wise: Ye heirs to large estates! touch not that fare, Your mother's fingers have been busy there; 915 See! it looks livid, swollen:—O check your haste, And let your wary fosterfather taste, Whate'er she sets before you: fear her meat, And be the first to look, the last to eat. But this is fiction all! I pass the bound 920 Of Satire, and encroach on Tragic ground! Deserting truth, I choose a fabled theme, And, like the buskined bards of Greece, declaim, In deep-mouthed tones, in swelling strains, on crimes As yet unknown to our Rutulian climes! 925 Would it were so! but Pontia cries aloud, "No, I performed it." See! the fact's avowed— "I mingled poison for my children, I; 'Twas found upon me, wherefore then deny?" What, two at once, most barbarous viper! two! 930 "Nay, seven, had seven been mine: believe it true!" Now let us credit what the tragic stage Displays of Progne and Medea's rage; Crimes of dire name, which, disbelieved of yore, Become familiar, and revolt no more; 935 Those ancient dames in scenes of blood were bold, And wrought fell deeds, but not, as ours, for gold:— In every age, we view, with less surprise, Such horrors as from bursts of fury rise, When stormy passions, scorning all control, 940 Rend the mad bosom, and unseat the soul. As when impetuous winds, and driving rain, Mine some huge rock that overhangs the plain, The cumbrous mass descends with thundering force, And spreads resistless ruin in its course. 945 Curse on the woman, who reflects by fits, And in cold blood her cruelties commits!— They see, upon the stage, the Grecian wife Redeeming with her own her husband's life; Yet, in her place, would willingly deprive 950 Their lords of breath to keep their dogs alive! Abroad, at home, the Belides you meet, And Clytemnestras swarm in every street; But here the difference lies:—those bungling wives, With a blunt axe hacked out their husbands' lives; 955 While now, the deed is done with dexterous art, And a drugged bowl performs the axe's part. Yet, if the husband, prescient of his fate, Have fortified his breast with mithridate, She baffles him e'en there, and has recourse 960 To the old weapon for a last resource.