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THE

SATIRES OF PERSIUS.

SATIRE III.

SATIRA III.

V. I-13.

NEMPE hæc assidue. Jam clarum mane fenestras
Intrat, et angustas extendit lumine rimas:
Stertimus indomitum quod despumare Falernum
Sufficiat, quinta dum linea tangitur umbra.
En quid agis? siccas insana canicula messes
Jamdudum coquit, et patula pecus omne sub ulmo est.
Unus ait comitum: verumne? itahe? ocyus adsit
Huc aliquis, nemon'? turgescit vitrea bilis:
Findor: ut Arcadia pecuaria rudere credas.
Jam liber, et bicolor positis membrana capillis,
Inque manus chartæ, nodosaque venit arundo.
Tunc queritur, crassus calamo quod pendeat humor.
Nigra quod infusa vanescat sepia lympha;

THE PHILOSOPHER AND DISCIPLE; OR,

THE REPROACH OF IDLENESS.

V. I-22.

WHAT, always thus? Now in full blaze of day
Sol mounts the skies, and shoots a downward ray;
Breaks on your darken'd chamber's lengthen'd night,
And pours thro' narrow chinks long streams of light:
Yet still subdued by sleep's oppressive power,
You slumber, heedless of the passing hour;
Of strong Falernian dissipate the fumes,
And snore unconscious, while the day consumes.
See the hot sun through reddening Leo roll,
The raging dog-star fire the glowing pole ;
The yellow harvest waving o'er the plain,
The reapers bending o'er the golden grain ;-
Beneath the spreading elm the cattle laid,
And panting flocks recumbent in the shade.
“Is it indeed so late?" the sluggard cries.
"Who waits? here, slaves! be quick-I wish to rise.
At length, to study see the youth proceed,
Charged with his book, his parchment, and his reed.
But now he finds the ink too black to write;
And now, diluted, it escapes the sight:
Now it is made too thick, and now too thin,
And now it sinks too deeply in the skin;

Dilutas queritur geminet quod fistula guttas.
O miser; inque dies ultra miser, huccine rerum
Venimus? at cur non potius, teneroque columbo,
Et similis regum pueris, pappare minutum
Poscis, et iratus mammæ lallare recusas?

An tali studeam calamo? cui verba ? quid istas
Succinis ambages? tibi luditur: effluis amens.
Contemnere, sonat vitium percussa, maligne
Respondet viridi non cocta fidelia limo.

Udum et molle lutum es, nunc, nunc properandus, et acri

Fingendus sine fine rota: sed rure paterno

Est tibi far modicum, purum et sine labe salinum.
Quid metuas ? cultrixque foci secura patella est.
Hoc satis? an deceat pulmonem rumpere ventis,
Stemmate quod Tusco ramum millesime ducis,
Censoremne tuum vel quod trabeate salutas?
Ad populum phaleras: ego te intus, et in cute novi.
Non pudet ad morem discincti vivere Nattæ ?
Sed stupet hic vitio, et fibris increvit opimum
Pingue caret culpa: nescit quid perdat : et alto

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