Speak how your tickling rhymes, like amorous spells,
Wake slumbering Lust within her secret cells.
And is it you, grey wretch, opprest with years,
Who pimp and pander thus for others' ears?
What is your aim? what, I would gladly learn,
But that their praise may soothe your ears in turn ?
Till surfeited you cry, with bashful air,

"Oh, spare my blushes! oh, in mercy spare!"
"But what," you say, "is learning while it lurks
"Unseen, or what is leaven 'till it works?

"Wit's a wild fig-tree that takes root in vain,
"Unless it rive the cerements of the brain :
"This furrow'd brow, this sallow cheek behold!—"
Heavens, what a world is this! must all be told
That you're a genius, truly, and a poet?
Is knowledge nothing-worth, 'till others know it?
"But oh! how sweet the pointing hand to see,
"And hear the passing whisper-That is he !
"Then, is it nothing to be made," you ask,
"The frizzle-pated Lordling's daily task?

40

50

Intrant, et tremulo scalpuntur ubi intima versu.
Tun', vetule, auriculis alienis colligis escas?-
Auriculis, quibus et dicas, cute perditus, Ohe!

¶ Quo didicisse, nisi hoc fermentum, et quæ semel intus Innata est, rupto jecore exierit caprificus?

En pallor seniumque! O mores! usque adeone
Scire tuum nihil est, nisi te scire hoc sciat alter?

At pulchrum est digito monstrari, et dicier, Hic est !

Ten' cirratorum centum dictata fuisse

25

"See, on soft couches Rome's great sons reclined,
"When to the feast the rich repast of mind
"Succeeds, and Bacchus crowns the sparkling bowl,
"Call for the songs divine that lift the soul."
Then starts up one, around whose shoulders thrown
Trails on the floor an Hyacinthine gown,
And pours, with whining tone and snuffling nose,
Hypsipyle's or Phyllis' love-lorn woes,

Or some such tale by whimpering poets sung,
And trips each word upon the lisping tongue.
The guests lift up their hands with wild amaze,
And pay the customary debt of praise :-
Shall not the ashes of that poet rest?

Shall not, the turf lie lighter on his breast?
The herd of flatterers catch the pleasing sound,
And hark! the thunder of applause goes round :-
From his blest urn and o'er his hallow'd tomb

Say, shall not violets spring and roses bloom?

Nay, but you trespass now on common sense, "And merry-make, methinks, at truth's expense,"

60

70

Pro nihilo pendas? Ecce, inter pocula quærunt
Romulidæ saturi, quid dia poëmata narrent.

30

¶ Hic aliquis, cui circum hunieros hyacinthina lana est,

Rancidulum quiddam balba de nare locutus,

Phyllidas, Hypsipylas, vatum et plorabile si quid,

Eliquat, et tenero supplantat verba palato,

35

Assensere viri :-Nunc non cinis ille poëtæ
Felix? non levior cippus nunc imprimit ossa?
Laudant convivæ :-Nunc non e manibus illis,
Nunc non e tumulo fortunataque favilla

Nascentur violæ ? ¶ Rides (ait) et nimis uncis

40

The modern poet's advocate replies:

"For is there that man breathing, who denies
"His love of fame? is there who can refuse
"The proffer'd praises that await his muse?-
"Who scorns to rescue from the book-worm's rage
"Strains that might live to charm a distant age,
"And, deaf to glory's voice, can leave his books
"A prey to fishmongers and pastry-cooks?"

Know, brother disputant! (whoe'er thou art
Whom I have made to bear the' opponent's part)
If aught by chance of happier vein appear—
In me a chance indeed !-but yet, if e'er
Some brighter thought be by the muse inspired,
I am not one that scorns to be admired :
To well-earn'd praise I am not callous grown,
Nor is my heart philosophiz'd to stone.
But that your bravo and bravissimo

Should be the end and aim of all we do,-
That Aimsy compliment should form the test
And touch-stone of all merit-'tis a jest!

80

90

Naribus indulges. An erit qui velle recuset
Os populi meruisse, et, cedro digna locutus,
Linquere nec scombros metuentia carmina nec thus ?

¶ Quisquis es, o modo quem ex adverso dicere feci!

Non ego, cum scribo, si forte quid aptius exit-
Quando hæc rara avis est-si quid tamen aptius exit,
Laudari metuam: neque enim mihi cornea fibra est.
Sed recti finemque extremumque esse recuso
Euge tuum et Belle: nam Belle hoc excute totum ;
Quid non intus habet? non hic est Ilias Attî

45

50

"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

10

5