SATIRES. BOOK I.

Satire I.

How is it that we find, my friend Maecenas,
No man contented with his proper lot ?
Whether by reason led he may be seen as

Guided by choice, or chance gave all he got;
But praising all pursuits beside, as keen as
If he loved best whatever he is not.
Happy, ye merchants, the old soldier cries,
As, worn with age and many toils, he lies.

The merchant, when south winds his ship have

shaken,

"Better the soldier's fate," is heard to cry; "He fights; in one short hour his life is taken, "Or that same hour brings glorious victory." The skilful lawyer, whom his clients waken

lie:"

At cock-crow, thinks, “Now farmers easy
By sureties forced from home, the country clown,
Deems they alone are blest who live in town.

Others like these, so numerous the kind,
To count, loquacious Fabius would tire ;
Lest I detain you, hear what hence I find.
Should any god cry, "Have your own desire,

LIBER PRIMUS.

Satira I.

Qui fit, Mæcenas, ut nemo, quam sibi sortem
Seu ratio dederit seu fors objecerit, illa
Contentus vivat, laudet diversa sequentes ?
"O fortunati mercatores! " gravis annis
Miles ait multo jam fractus membra labore.
Contra mercator, navem jactantibus Austris:

"Militia est potior. Quid enim? concurritur: horæ Momento cita mors venit aut victoria læta."

Agricolam laudat juris legumque peritus,

Sub galli cantum consultor ubi ostia pulsat.

Ille datis vadibus qui rure extractus in urbem est,

Solos felices viventes clamat in urbe.

Cetera de genere hoc, adea sunt multa, loquacem
Delassare valent Fabium. Ne te morer, audi,

Quo rem deducam. Si quis Deus, "En ego," dicat, "Jam faciam quod vultis: eris tu, qui modo miles,

hind:

"Let soldier merchant turn, let lawyer, "With changed condition, all may now Ah! then, why stay? The offer all refuse, Nor to be happy, as they fancied, choose.

Should not, then, angry Jove both cheeks outswell

Against such men? nor henceforth hear their prayer ?

But I no more in jest such things must tell.

Tho' to tell jesting truths I need not spare:
Kind masters thus to teach young pupils well;
Let them sometimes the welcome cheesecake
share.

But things more serious we must now provide,
And gravely write, and joking throw aside.

He with strong plough who turns the heavy soil, Or fraudful vintner, soldier, sailor bold

Who navigates each sea, all say they toil

With this one wish, to rest secure when old;
When each has gained enough of pelf or spoil.
The little ant may as example hold,

Who with laborious mouth her heap collects,
And, wisely cautious, future days expects;

But when Aquarius chills the rolling year,

No longer hides, but useful makes her store; Whilst summer heats nor winter colds appear

To drive you from your gain, nor iron, nor Fire, nor the sea; no adverse thing you fear If any lives who than yourself has more. What are great heaps of gold or silver worth Hid by you, timid miser, deep in earth?

Mercator; tu, consultus modo, rusticus: hinc vos,
Vos hinc mutatis discedite partibus. Eia!
Quid statis?" nolint. Atqui licet esse beatis.
Quid causæ est, merito quin illis Jupiter ambas
Iratus buccas inflet neque se fore posthac
Tam facilem dicat, votis ut præbeat aurem ?
Præterea, ne sic, ut qui jocularia, ridens

Percurram :-quamquam ridentem dicere verum
Quid vetat? ut pueris olim dant crustula blandi
Doctores, elementa velint ut discere prima;—
Sed tamen amoto quæramus seria ludo.
Ille gravem duro terram qui vertit aratro,
Perfidus hic caupo, miles nautæque, per omne
Audaces mare qui currunt, hac mente laborem
Sese ferre, senes ut in otia tuta recedant,
Aiunt, quum sibi sint congesta cibaria: sicut
Parvula, nam exemplo est, magni formica laboris
Ore trahit quodcunque potest atque addit acervo,
Quem struit, haud ignara ac non incauta futuri.
Quæ, simul inversum contristat Aquarius annum,
Non usquam prorepit et illis utitur ante
Quæsitis sapiens, quum te neque fervidus æstus
Demoveat lucro, neque hiems, ignis, mare, ferrum,
Nil obstet tibi, dum ne sit te ditior alter.

Quid juvat immensum te argenti pondus et auri

Furtim defossa timidum deponere terra?

MISER:

Once touched, to one poor as sink all your treasures."

POET: "But if untouched, what charm do they display?

"Perhaps you have some hundred thousand

measures

"Of corn upon your threshing-floor to day;
"Yet both our stomachs thence find equal
pleasures.

"Slaves eat no more, though they in nets

convey

"Loaves on their laden shoulders :- -but say how "It matters if he hundred acres plough,

"Or thousand, so by nature's law he live?" MISER: "Ah! but to gather from large heaps is

sweet."

POET: "Whilst me enough my scanty stores can

give,

"Why rather praise your granaries, I repeat, "Than my small meal-tubs ? You can thirst relieve

"From cup or pitcher, yet you think more

meet

"To drink from some great river of the land, "Than from this little fountain close at hand.

"But hence it follows, he who craves too much "Is with torn banks by Aufidus swept down, "Whilst he who would a little only touch

"According to his need, shall never drown,