"Auriculas asini Mida rex habet *, King Midas has a pair of ass's ears," Cornutus, apprehensive lest the Emperor should perceive it to be pointed against himself, softened into "Auriculas asini quis non habet, Who has not now a pair of ass's ears?"

* Casaubon, upon the authority of this anecdote, reinstates the words supposed to have been rejected, and Koenig follows him. For my own part, I think the anonymous biographer very insufficient authority for altering any passage of Persius. Koenig thinks the story was made up to account for a variety of the text, and it seems very likely to be so. But I still think quis non habet the original reading. The evident allusion of Persius to the words which Ovid puts into the gossip Barber's mouth, probably induced some one to interline his copy of Persius with those words, and thus by degrees they were foisted into the text. But quis non habet could never arise from a gloss on the words Mida rex habet. The old Scholiast says that the four verses in Sat. 1, beginning Torva Mimalloneis are Nero's. But Cornutus would surely not have thought it worth his pains to turn off an oblique stroke at the Emperor, contained in the story of Midas's Barber, and at the same time have left Persius to fling Nero's own verses in his face. Both accounts are improbable in themselves, and inconsistent with each other.

THE

SATIRES

OF

A. PERSIUS FLACCUS.

PROLOGUE.

I NE'ER remember to have quaff'd
The hoof-struck well's inspiring draught,
Where happier poets take their fill:
No dream upon the forked Hill
Has ever yet my slumbers blest,
That I might rise-a Bard profest.
Pirené's springs, with all the Nine,
I to the favor'd Few resign,

Whose busts, by learned critics crown'd,
The clasping ivy twines around.

My rustic rhimes I bring myself

To deck the Poet's sacred shelf.

PROLOGUS.

NEC fonte labra prolui Caballino, Nec in bicipiti somniâsse Parnasso Memini, ut repente sic Poëta prodirem. Heliconidasque pallidamque Pirenen Illis remitto, quorum imagines lambunt Hederæ sequaces: Ipse semipaganus Ad sacra vatum carmen affero nostrum.

B

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Who bade the chattering Parrot cry
Good-morrow to each passer-by?
What wondrous influence could teach
The Pie to mimic human speech?
This magic power that gives at once
Words to the dumb, wit to the dunce-
This mighty master shall I tell ye?
What is it but an empty belly?
Place but the pelf before their eyes,
Our parrot-bards and rhyming pies,
Lured by the dazzling hope of gain,
Shall pour so ravishing a strain,
You'ld swear you heard Apollo sing
With all the Muses in a ring!

Quis expedivit Psittaco suum Xaïge, Picasque docuit verba nostra conari ? Magister artis ingenîque largitor, Venter, negatas artifex sequi voces. Quod si dolosi spes refulserit nummi, Corvos poëtas et poëtridas picas Cantare credas Pegaseïum nectar!

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SATIRE I.

How vain is Man! his every thought how vain! "Tush, who will read this moralizing strain?" Speak'st thou to me, and dost thou ask me, who?

"Troth, none-or (next to none) but one or two. "Why, this is vile and pitiful indeed !

"Think what disgrace-to write what none will read !" Say rather, honour,-their contempt to raise

Whose praise is scandal, and whose scandal praise.
What if Polydamas should rate me low,

And Trojan dames prefer a Labeo ?

Is this disgraceful? No-let bustling Rome
Poise the false beam; but look thou still at home:
There scan thy merit, howsoe'er she rail;

There trim the balance and adjust the scale :
Heed not her sickly taste and judgment blind,
Nor seek but in thyself, thyself to find.
For who at Rome is not-Ah! might I say-
And sure, when grey-beards are the theme, I may :

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SATIRA I.

CURAS hominum! o quantum est in rebus inane!

¶ Quis leget hæc? ¶ Mîn' tu istud ais? nemo, hercule, nemo ;

Vel duo vel nemo. Turpe et miserabile! ¶ Quare?

Ne mihi Polydamas et Troïades Labeonem

Prætulerint?-Nugæ! non, si quid turbida Roma

Elevet, accedas, examenve improbum in illa
Castiges trutina; nec te quæsiveris extra.

Nam Romæ quis non-Ah! si fas dicere ;—sed fas
Tunc cum ad canitiem et nostrum istud vivere triste

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"Never."

When grave-air'd Folly stares me in the face,
And nuts thrown by to lighter toys give place,
When with tutorial sternness we endeavour
To play the fool,-then, then indulge me.
I cannot help it; Humour, take thy fill!
My spleen o'erflows, and laugh I must and will.
Immured within their closets, all compose

(This in poetic numbers, that in prose)

Something so vastly grand that, when they spout,
Their well-breath'd lungs can hardly heave it out.
At length this fulsome fustian you recite,

With spruce-comb'd hair and gown of glossy-white! 30
Throned in the lofty desk you take your stand,

A birth-day onyx glittering on your hand:
With liquid gargles first (that every note
May softly flow) you rince the pliant throat;
Then pausing oft, upon the standers by
Fling round the luscious leer and languid eye.

There many a high-born Titus may be view'd,

Whose faultering tongue, short breath, and gestures lewd,

Aspexi, et nucibus facimus quæcunque relictis:

Cum sapimus patruos, tunc, tunc ignoscite. Nolo,
¶ Quid faciam?-sed sum petulanti splene cachinno.
Scribimus inclusi (numeros ille, hic pede liber)
Grande aliquid, quod pulmo animæ prælargus anhelet.
Scilicet hæc populo, pexusque togaque recenti
Et natalitia tandem cum Sardonyçhe albus,
Sede leges celsa, liquido cum plasmate guttur
Mobile collueris, patranti fractus ocello.
Hic neque more probo videas neque voce serena
Ingentes trepidare Titos, cum carmina lumbum

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