Satires, Epistles, and Art of Poetry | Page 7

your hand, and keep them friends,?'Twere but lost labour, as if one should train?A donkey for the course by bit and rein.
Make then an end of getting: know, the more?Your wealth, the less the risk of being poor;?And, having gained the object of your quest,?Begin to slack your efforts and take rest;?Nor act like one Ummidius (never fear,?The tale is short, and 'tis the last you'll hear),?So rich, his gold he by the peck would tell,?So mean, the slave that served him dressed as well;?E'en to his dying day he went in dread?Of perishing for simple want of bread,?Till a brave damsel, of Tyndarid line?The true descendant, clove him down the chine.
"What? would you have me live like some we know,?Maenius or Nomentanus?" There you go!?Still in extremes! in bidding you forsake?A miser's ways, I say not, Be a rake.?'Twixt Tanais and Visellius' sire-in-law?A step there is, and broader than a straw.?Yes, there's a mean in morals: life has lines,?To north or south of which all virtue pines.
Now to resume our subject: why, I say,?Should each man act the miser in his way,?Still discontented with his natural lot,?Still praising those who have what he has not??Why should he waste with very spite, to see?His neighbour has a milkier cow than he,?Ne'er think how much he's richer than the mass,?But always strive this man or that to pass??In such a contest, speed we as we may,?There's some one wealthier ever in the way.?So from their base when vying chariots pour,?Each driver presses on the car before,?Wastes not a thought on rivals overpast,?But leaves them to lag on among the last.?Hence comes it that the man is rarely seen?Who owns that his a happy life has been,?And, thankful for past blessings, with good will?Retires, like one who has enjoyed his fill.?Enough: you'll think I've rifled the scrutore?Of blind Crispinus, if I prose on more.
SATIRE III.
OMNIBUS HOC VITIUM.
All singers have a fault: if asked to use?Their talent among friends, they never choose;?Unask'd, they ne'er leave off. Just such a one?Tigellius was, Sardinia's famous son.?Caesar, who could have forced him to obey,?By his sire's friendship and his own might pray,?Yet not draw forth a note: then, if the whim?Took him, he'd troll a Bacchanalian hymn,?From top to bottom of the tetrachord,?Till the last course was set upon the board.?One mass of inconsistence, oft he'd fly?As if the foe were following in full cry,?While oft he'd stalk with a majestic gait,?Like Juno's priest in ceremonial-state.?Now, he would keep two hundred serving-men,?And now, a bare establishment of ten.?Of kings and tetrarchs with an equal's air?He'd talk: next day he'd breathe the hermit's prayer:?"A table with three legs, a shell to hold?My salt, and clothes, though coarse, to keep out cold."?Yet give this man, so frugal, so content,?A thousand, in a week 'twould all be spent.?All night he would sit up, all day would snore:?So strange a jumble ne'er was seen before.
"Hold!" some one cries, "have you no failings?" Yes;?Failings enough, but different, maybe less.?One day when Maenius happened to attack?Novius the usurer behind his back,?"Do you not know yourself?" said one, "or think?That if you play the stranger, we shall wink?"?"Not know myself!" he answered, "you say true:?I do not: so I take a stranger's due."?Self-love like this is knavish and absurd,?And well deserves a damnatory word.?You glance at your own faults; your eyes are blear:?You eye your neighbour's; straightway you see clear,?Like hawk or basilisk: your neighbours pry?Into your frailties with as keen an eye.?A man is passionate, perhaps misplaced?In social circles of fastidious taste;?His ill-trimmed beard, his dress of uncouth style,?His shoes ill-fitting, may provoke a smile:?But he's the soul of virtue; but he's kind;?But that coarse body hides a mighty mind.?Now, having scanned his breast, inspect your own,?And see if there no failings have been sown?By Nature or by habit, as the fern?Springs in neglected fields, for men to burn.
True love, we know, is blind: defects that blight?The loved one's charms escape the lover's sight,?Nay, pass for beauties, as Balbinus glows?With admiration of his Hagna's nose.?Ah, if in friendship we e'en did the same,?And virtue cloaked the error with her name!?Come, let us learn how friends at friends should look?By a leaf taken from a father's book.?Has the dear child a squint? at home he's classed?With Venus' self; "her eyes have just that cast:"?Is he a dwarf like Sisyphus? his sire?Calls him "sweet pet," and would not have him higher,?Gives Varus' name to knock-kneed boys, and dubs?His club-foot youngster Scaurus, king of clubs.?E'en so let us our neighbours' frailties scan:?A friend is close; call him a careful man:?Another's vain and fond of boasting; say,?He talks in an engaging, friendly way:?A third is a barbarian, rude and free;?Straightforward and courageous let him be:?A fourth is apt to break into a flame;?An ardent spirit--make we