Says Phædria to his man, Believe me,
friend,*

To this uneasy love I'll put an end:
Shall I run out of all? My friends disgrace,
And be the first lewd unthrift of my race?
Shall I the neighbours' nightly rest invade
At her deaf doors, with some vile serenade?
Well hast thou freed thyself, his man replies,
Go, thank the gods, and offer sacrifice.
Ah, says the youth, if we unkindly part,
Will not the poor fond creature break her heart?
Weak soul! and blindly to destruction led!
She break her heart! she'll sooner break your
head.
[swear,
She knows her man, and when you rant and
Can draw you to her with a single hair:
But shall I not return? Now, when she sues?
Shall I my own, and her desires refuse?
Sir, take your course; but my advice is plain :
Once freed, 't is madness to resume your chain.
Ay; there's the man, who loos'd from lust
and pelf,

Less to the pretor owes, than to himself.

But write him down a slave, who, humbly proud
With presents begs preferments from the crowd;
That early suppliant, who salutes the tribes,
And sets the mob to scramble for his bribes;
That some old dotard, sitting in the sun,
On holydays may tell, that such a feat was done :
In future times this will be counted rare.

Thy superstition too may claim a share; When flowers are strew'd, and lamps in order plac'd,

And windows with illuminations grac'd,

On Herod's day; when sparkling bowls go round,

And tunny's tails in savoury sauce are drown'd, Thou mutter'st prayers obscene; nor durst refuse

The fasts and sabbaths of the curtail'd Jews.

Preach this among the brawny guards, say'st thou,

And see if they thy doctrine will allow;
The dull fat captain, with a hound's deep throat,
Would bellow out a laugh, in a base note,
And prize a hundred Zenos just as much
As a clipt sixpence, or a schilling Dutch.

THE SIXTH SATIRE OF PERSIUS.
TO CESIUS BASSUS, A LYRIC POET;
THE ARGUMENT.

This sixth satire treats an admirable common-place
of Moral Philosophy; Of the true Use of Riches.
They are certainly intended, by the Power who
bestows them, as instruments and helps of living
commodiously ourselves, and of administering to
the wants of others who are oppressed by for-
tune. There are two extremes in the opinions of
men concerning them. One error, though on the
right hand, yet a great one, is, That they are no
helps to a virtuous life; The other places all our
happiness in the acquisition and possession of
them; and this is, undoubtedly, the worse ex-
treme. The mean betwixt these is the opinion of
the Stoics; which is, That riches may be useful
to the leading a virtuous life; in case we rightly
understand how to give according to right reason,
and how to receive what is given us by others.
The virtue of giving well is called Liberality; and
it is of this virtue that Persius writes in this satire,
wherein he not only shows the lawful use of
riches, but also sharply inveighs against the vices
which are opposed to it; and especially of those,
which consist in the defects of giving or spending,
or in the abuse of riches. He writes to Cæsius Bas-
sus, his friend, and a poet also. Inquires first of
his health and studies; and afterwards informs him
of his own, and where he is now resident.
gives an account of himself, that he is endeavour-
ing by little and little to wear off his vices; and
particularly, that he is combating ambition and the
desire of wealth. He dwells upon the latter vice;
and being sensible that few men either desire or
use riches as they ought, he endeavours to con-
vince them of their folly; which is the main de-
sign of the whole satire.

seat,

He

• This alludes to the play of Terence, called the Eunuch, which was excellently imitated of late in English by Sir Charles Sedley. In the first scene of that comedy, Phædria was introduced with this man Pamphilus, discoursing, whether he should leave his mistress Thaias, or return to her, now that she had invited him.

The ancients had a superstition, concerning eggshells; they thought that if an egg-shell were cracked, or a hole bored in the bottom of it, they were subject to the power of sorcery.

And seek, in Sabine air, a warm retreat?
Say, dost thou yet the Roman harp command?
Do the strings answer to thy noble hand?
Great master of the muse, inspir'd to sing
The beauties of the first created spring;
The pedigree of nature to rehearse,
And sound the Maker's work, in equal verse.
Now sporting on thy lyre the loves of youth,
Now virtuous age, and venerable truth;
Expressing justly Sappho's wanton art
Of odes, and Pindar's more majestic part.

For me, my warmer constitution wants
More cold, than our Ligurian winter grants;
And therefore to my native shores retir'd,
I view the coast old Ennius once admir'd⚫

Where clifts on either side their points display;
And, after opening in an ampler way,
Afford the pleasing prospect of the bay.
'Tis worth your while, O Romans, to regard
The port of Luna, says our learned hard;
Who, in a drunken dream, beheld his soul
The fifth within the transmigrating roll;
Which first a peacock, then Euphorbus was,
Then Homer next, and next Pythagoras;
And last of all the line did into Ennius pass.
Secure and free from business of the state;
And more secure of what the vulgar prate,
Here I enjoy my private thoughts; nor care
What rots for sheep the southern winds prepare:
Survey the neighb'ring fields, and not repine,
When I behold a larger crop than mine:
To see a beggar's brat in riches flow
Adds not a wrinkle to my even brow;
Nor, envious at the sight, will I forbear [cheer;
My plenteous bowl, nor bate my bounteous
Nor yet unseal the dregs of wine that stink
Of cask; nor in a nasty flagon drink;
Let others stuff their guts with homely fare :
For men of different inclinations are; [star.
Though born, perhaps, beneath one common
In minds and manners twins oppos'd we see
In the same sign, almost the same degree:
One, frugal, on his birth-day fears to dine,
Does at a penny's cost in herbs repine,
And hardly dares to dip his fingers in the brine.
Prepar'd as priest of his own rites to stand,
He sprinkles pepper with a sparing hand.
His jolly brother, opposite in sense
Laughs at his thrift; and, lavish of expense,
Quaffs, crams, and guttles, in his own defence.

For me, I'll use my own; and take my share
Yet will not turbots for my slaves prepare ;
Nor be so nice in taste myself to know
If what I swallow be a thrush, or no.
Live on thy annual income; spend thy store;
And freely grind, from thy full threshing floor;
Next harvest promises as much, or more.

Thus I would live ; but friendship's holy band, And offices of kindness hold my hand : My friend is shipwreck'd on the Brutian strand, His riches in the Ionian main are lost; And he himself stands shivering on the coast; Where, destitute of help, forlorn, and bare, He wearies the deaf gods with fruitless prayer. Their images, the relics of the wreck, Torn from the naked poop, are tided back By the wild waves, and rudely thrown ashore, Lie impotent; nor can themselves restore. The vessel sticks, and shows her open side, And on her shatter'd mast the mews in triumph [store, From thy new hope, and from thy growing Now lend assistance, and relieve the poor.

ride.

Come; do a noble act of charity;
A pittance of thy land will set him free
Let him not bear the badges of a wrack,
Nor beg with a blue table on his back :*
Nor tell me that thy frowning heir will say,
'Tis mine that wealth thou squander'st thus
away:

What is 't to thee, if he neglect thy urn,
Or without spices lets thy body burn?†
If odours to thy ashes he refuse,
Or buys corrupted cassia from the Jews?
All these, the wiser Bestius will reply,
Are empty pomp, and dead men's luxury:
We never knew this vain expense, before
The effeminated Grecians brought it o'er:
Now toys and trifles from their Athens come;
And dates and pepper have unsinew'd Rome.
Our sweating hinds their salads, now, defile,
Infecting homely herbs with fragrant oil.
But, to thy fortune be not thou a slave:
For what hast thou to fear beyond the grave?
And thou who gap'st for my estate, draw

near;

For I would whisper somewhat in thy ear. Hear'st thou the news, my friend? the express

is come

With laurell'd letters from the camp to Rome;
Cæsar salutes the queen and senate thus: §
My arms are, on the Rhine, victorious.
From mourning altars sweep the dust away:
Cease fasting, and proclaim a fat thanksgiving
day.

The goodly empress, ‡ jollily inclin'd,
Is to the welcome bearer wondrous kind:
And, setting her good housewifery aside
Prepares for all the pageantry of pride.

Nor beg with a blue table, &c.] The table was painted of the sea colour, which the shipwrecked person carried on his back, expressing his losses thereby, to excite the charity of the spectators.

Or without spices, &c.] The bodies of the rich, before they were burnt, were embalmed with spices, or rather spices were put into the urn, with the relics of the ashes.

1 Cæsar salutes &c.] The Cæsar here mentioned is Caius Caligula, who affected to triumph over the Germans, whom he never conquered, as he did over the Britons; and accordingly sent letters, wrapt about with laurels, to the Senate, and the Empress Cæsonia, whom I here call Queen, though I know that name was not used among the Romans; but the word Empress would not stand in that verse, for which reason I adjourned it to another. The dust which was to be swept away from the altars was either the ashes which were left there, after the last sacrifice for victory, or might perhaps mean the dust or ashes which were left on the altars since some former defeat of the Romans by the Germans; after which overthrow, the altars had been ne

glected.

Cæsonia, wife to Caius Caligula, who afterwards, in the reign of Claudius, was proposed, but

ineffectually, to be married to him, after he had ex

ecuted Messalina for adultery.

The captive Germans, of gigantic size,*
Are rank'd in order, and are clad in frize :
The spoils of kings, and conquer'd camps we
boast,

Their arms in trophies hang on the triumphal post.

Now, for so many glorious actions done In foreign parts, and mighty battles won : For peace at home, and for the public wealth, I mean to crown a bowl to Caesar's health: Besides, in gratitude for such high matters, Know I have vow'd two hundred gladiators.† Say, wouldst thou hinder me from this expense? I disinherit thee, if thou dar'st take offence. Yet more, a public largess I design Of oil and pies, to make the people dine; Control me not, for fear I change my will.

And yet methinks I hear thee grumbling still,
You give as if you were the Persian king:
Your land does no such large revenues bring.
Well; on my terms thou wilt not be my heir:
If thou car'st little, less shall be my care:
Were none of all my father's sisters left;
Nay, were I of my mother's kin bereft;
None by an uncle's or a grandame's side,
Yet I could some adopted heir provide.
I need but take my journey half a day
From haughty Rome, and at Aricia stay,
Where fortune throws poor Manius in my way.
Him will I choose: What him, of humble birth,
Obscure, a foundling, and a son of earth?
Obscure? Why pr'y thee what am I? I know
My father, grandsire, and great grandsire too:
If farther I derive my pedigree,

I can but guess beyond the fourth degree.
The rest of my forgotten ancestors
Were sons of earth, like him, or sons of whores.
Yet why wouldst thou, old covetous wretch,
aspire

To be my heir, who might'st have been my sire?
In nature's race, shouldst thou demand of me
My torch, when I in course run after thee?
Think I approach thee like the god of gain,
With wings on head and heels, as poets feign:

• The captive Germans, &c.] He means only such as were to pass for Germans in the triumph; large-bodied men, as they are still, whom the Empress clothed new, with coarse garments, for the greater ostentation of the victory.

+ Know, I have vow'd two hundred gladiators] A hundred pair of gladiators were beyond the purse of a private man to give; therefore this is only a threatening to his heir, that he could do what he pleased with his estate.

1 Shouldst thou demand of me my torch, &c.) Why shouldst thou who art an old fellow. hope to outlive me, and be my heir, who am much younger. He who was first in the course or race, delivered the torch, which he carried, to him who was second.

VOL. 1.-25

Thy modern fortune from my gift receive;
Now fairly take it, or as fairly leave.
But take it as it is, and ask no more.
What, when thou hast embezzled all thy store?
Where 's all thy father left? 'T is true, I grant,
Some I have mortgag'd, to supply my want:
The legacies of Tadius too are flown;
All spent, and on the selfsame errand gone.
How little then to my poor share will fall?
Little indeed; but yet that little's all..

Nor tell me, in a dying father's tone,
Be careful still of the main chance, my son;
Put out the principal in trusty hands:
Live of the use; and never dip thy lands:
But yet what's left for me? What's left, my
Ask that again, and all the rest I spend. [friend!
Is not my fortune at my own command?
Pour oil, and pour it with a plenteous hand,
Upon my salads, boy: Shall I be fed
With sodden nettles, and a sing'd sow's head?
'Tis holyday; provide me better cheer;
"T is holyday, and shall be round the year.
Shall I my household gods and Genius cheat,
To make him rich, who grudges me my meat,
That he may loll at ease; and, pamper'd high,
When I am laid, may feed on giblet pie?
And when his throbbing lust extends the vein,
Have wherewithal his whores to entertain?
Shall I in homespun cloth be clad, that he
His paunch in triumph may before him see?
Go, miser, go; for lucre sell thy soul;
Truck wares for wares, and trudge from pole to
pole :
[gone,

That men may say, when thou art dead and See what a vast estate he left his son! How large a family of brawny knaves, Well fed, and fat as Cappadocian slaves !§ Increase thy wealth, and double all thy store; 'Tis done now double that, and swell the score;

To every thousand add ten thousand more. Then say, Chrysippus,|| thou who wouldst con

fine

Thy heap, where I shall put an end to mine.

Well fed, and fat as Cappadocian slaves] Who were famous for their lustiness, and being, as we call it, in good liking. They were set on a stall when they were exposed to sale, to show the good habit of their body, and made to play tricks before the buyers, to show their activity and strength.

Then say, Chrysippus, &c.] Chrysippus, the Stoic, invented a kind of argument, consisting of more than three propositions, which is called Sorites, or a heap. But as Chrysippus could never bring his propositions to a certain stint, so neither can a covetous man bring his craving desires to any certain measure of riches, beyond which he could not wish for any more.

THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAS.

THE ARGUMENT.

Chrysts, priest of Apollo, brings presents to the Grecian princes, to ransom his daughter Chryseis, who was prisoner in the fleet. Agamemnon, the general, whose captive and mistress the young lady was, refuses to deliver her, threatens the venerable old man, and dismisses him with contumely. The priest craves vengeance of his god; who sends a plague among the Greeks: which occasions Achilles, their great champion, to summon a council of the chief officers: he encourages Calchas, the high priest and prophet, to tell the rea son, why the gods were so much incensed against them. Calchas is fearful of provoking Agamemnon, till Achilles engages to protect him; then, imboldened by the hero, he accuses the general as the cause of all, by detaining the fair captive, and refusing the presents offered for her ransom. By this proceeding, Agamemnnon is obliged, against his will, to restore Chryseis, with gifts, that he might appease the wrath of Phoebus; but at the same time, to revenge himself on Achilles, sends to seize his slave Briseis. Achilles, thus affronted, complains to his mother Thetis; and

begs her to revenge his injury, not only on the general, but on all the army, by giving victory to the Trojans, till the ungrateful king became sensible of his injustice. At the same time, he retires from the camp into his ships, and withdraws his aid from his countrymen. Thetis prefers her son's petition to Jupiter, who grants her suit. Juno suspects her errand, and quarrels with her

husband, for his grant; till Vulcan reconciles his parents with a bowl of nectar, and sends them peaceably to bed.

THE wrath of Peleus' son, O Muse, resound; Whose dire effects the Grecian army found, And many a hero, king, and hardy knight, Were sent, in early youth, to shades of night: Their limbs a prey to dogs and vultures made: So was the sovereign will of Jove obey'd: From that ill-omen'd hour when strife begun, Betwixt Atrides great, and Thetis' godlike son, What power provok'd, and for what cause, relate,

Sow'd, in their breasts, the seeds of stern debate:

Jove's and Latona's son his wrath expro s'd,
In vengeance of his violated priest,
Against the king of men; who, swoln with pride,
Refus'd his presents, and his prayers denied.
For this the god a swift contagion spread
Amid the camp, where heaps on heaps lay dead.
For venerable Chryses came to buy,
With gold and gifts of price, his daughter's lib-
erty.

Suppliant before the Grecian chiefs he stood;
Awful, and arm'd with ensigns of his god:
Bare was his hoary head; one holy hand
Held forth his laurel crown, and one his scep-
tre of command.

His suit was common; but above the rest,
To both the brother-princes thus address'd:

Ye sons of Atreus, and ye Grecian powers, So may the gods who dwell in heavenly bowers Succeed your siege, accord the vows you make,

And give you Troy's imperial town to take;
So, by their happy conduct may you come
With conquest back to your sweet native home;
As you receive the ransom which I bring,
(Respecting Jove, and the far-shooting king,)
And break my daughter's bonds, at my desire;
And glad with her return her grieving sire.

With shouts of loud acclaim the Greeks de

Hence on thy life: the captive maid is mine;
Whom not for price or prayers I will resign:
Mine she shall be, till creeping age and time
Her bloom have wither'd, and consum'd her
prime.

Till then my royal bed she shall attend ;
And, having first adorn'd it, late ascend:
This, for the night; by day, the web and loom,
And homely household-task, shall be her doom,
Far from thy lov'd embrace, and her sweet
native home.

He said; the helpless priest replied no more, But sped his steps along the hoarse-resounding shore :

Silent he fled; secure at length he stood, Devoutly curs'd his foes, and thus invok'd his god.

O source of sacred light, attend my prayer, God with the silver bow, and golden hair; Whom Chrysa, Cilla, Tenedos obeys, And whose broad eye their happy soil surveys; If, Smintheus, I have pour'd before thy shrine The blood of oxen, goats, and ruddy wine,