AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS HIS SATYRS TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH, BY BARTEN HOLIDAY Mr of Arts, and Student of Christ-Church in Oxford.  
Hinc trahe que dicas, mensamque relinque Mycenis  
Cum capite & pedibus—  
The second Impression.   printer's or publisher's device 
AT OXFORD, Printed By joseph Barnes, Printer to the University, 1616.   

TO THE READER.  
Judicious Reader (for to Thee as to a Just Patron, I make my Dedication) with the true stingenuity I submit these my endeavours, the not unprofitable recreations only of severer studies. To exsite thy attention, I may without ambition say it ●s a New thing, Persius Understood. When first entertained the attempt, I was opposed by see●ing-insuperable difficulties: The labouring to apprehended, to Express the sense of my Author: ●he reconciling of contrary expositions: the fining out the order of his passages, grounded on a natural, but much concealed dependency of his ●ecedent and subsequent matter: the endeavo●ng to render him with brevity, perspicuity and ●s Own Strength: Lastly the amputation of ●necessarie Criticisms of some Interpreters, ●om whom on just reason I sometimes departed.  
And that in this point I may stand clear from ●●e private surmise of some  censurer: I will show unto thee, among many, two only of their curiosities, and those in the front of the work.  
The first is about the word Prolui, which some would have to be here used, to signify that the Poet had modestly wet his lips in Hippocrene, but never endrenched them, or drank deep thereof. I grant that the word in the original Can bear that sense; but that it doth in This place, I confidently deny. And stand confirmed by this reason: because the Poet satirically Derideth those, that attributed the faculty of poetric to so insufficient and vain a cause, as the drinking of that Well was. (He himself afterwards confessing, ironically, his Own skill to be Constrained: howsoever, not proceeding from so Fond a cause;) and therefore in the like sort presently after, he saith (if the Critics had observed it) tha● he never slept on Parnassus: which was also held as another cause of the poetic faculty. Where with reason, as good as theirs, one might say, H● never slept Sound or Snorted on that hill, bu● had lightly taken a gentle nap. The parts of th● similitude hold an equal proportion: and then refer the ridiculous curiosity to the secret smile of the judicious.  
The second is about the next word Caballino with which, according to Their exposition, th● epithet which in my translation I give to Pegasus, may seem somewhat to strain courtesy: inasmuch as it implieth the swiftness (and so by consequent the praise) of the horse, to which it is (justly) applied: when as They would have it to be used in the disgrace of the vain Poets, which are here derided. Deriving so the ignominy of the word Caballus from the Well to the persons: implying Them to be base packhorse poets. A pretty, but imposed meaning, if farther inquired into. For if the poet use this word especially for that reason, it might seem (me thinks) that he did forget what horse he himself meant: there being as great difference between Pegasus a winged horse, and Caballus a packhorse, as well-nigh could be between two creatures of one kind. But if they once come to Conjectures, I may assume the like liberty to interpose Mine also; And then I Can think (which, I wonder, the Critics did not see) that the Poet used this word before others, for a most natural & strong reason drawn from the Etymology of the word Caballus; which, as Isidore in his Originals hath it, Lib. 12. cap. 1. is derived, à cavando: propter quòd gradiens ungulâ impressâ terram concavet, quod reliqua animalia non habent; And than who seethe not how excellently the history of Pegasus is intimated in this word? This Etymology is much strengthened by the letter v changed into b. For in the Modern languages which have drawn their original from the Latin, we see the v still retained, as in the Italian and Spanish Cavallo, and in the French Cheval; and which may be observed, These words in none of these Modern languages imply any disgrace, but are generally attributed to all horses; Nay, from these words are drawn Titles of dignity, as Cavaliero, in the Italian, Chevalier in the French, and Cavallero in the Spanish.  
But (that I may follow them no farther in these their wandering speculations) to speak freely: I think the Poet neither thought as They think, nor as I show how I Can think, and think as well as They. I am persuaded that more is picked out of these Poets, than they themselves ever meant. For indeed when a Satirist, through the heat of his love to virtue, is set on fire to see the desperate security of profaneness: the fury of his passion doth so transport him: that there is no time left for the placing or displacing, choosing or rejecting of some particular word: but as most commonly their passions are uneven, rough, and furious: so is that also which they writ being in this poetical perturbation.  
The difficulties which I have here set down, were by my peculiar affection to This Author, at last all overcome. I have not herein bound myself with a ferulary superstition to the letter: but with the ancient liberty of a Translator, have used a moderate paraphrase, where the obscurity did more require it: yet so, that with all convenient possibility, I stick unto his Words. To have added Large annotations, had been but to transcribe a Commentary or a Dictionary. Such brief ones notwithstanding, as without which, the sense could not be sufficiently explicate, yet could not be well inserted into the text; with all compendious perspicuity I have adiected in the margin: prefixing Arguments to every Satire.  
From the affected obscurity, wherewith this Author hath hitherto laboured, I cannot altogether quit him, yet doubtless, it in part, proceeded from the want of Liberty, which in his desperate times, was altogether lost; though, I confess, He durst say Somewhat.  
As for My labours: I much abhor so sickly an impotency, as to overweane myself with a conceit of mine own work; though, if my best friends tell me truth, It may bear a judge. But howsoever; If the truly judicious (who are always attended with perspicacity, & a mild censure that true exciter of promising ingenuities) shall courteously accept it: I am Crowned: and having thus finished this work of an Others invention, I may be excited to a second and more liberal attempt of mine own.  
But if any Lefthanded Pythagorians (who enforce Writers now adays as the Ancients did their Comedians, to use instead of Prologues expressing their arguments, Apologies against the malicious) shall sinisterly accept, what is courteously offered: I only wish them the other good quality of the Pythagorians, Silemce. For the oversights which I may be perchance convinced of (as the purest eye seethe not its own blemishes, but by reflection) I will, being showed them, with free ingenuity confess: & doubt not of pardon; having two so good solicitors in the eye of any, but moderately courteous; Mine Own Infancy (in respect of any Maturity of judgement) & the unacquainted Difficulty of my attempt. To have committed No faults in my Translation, had been to Translate Myself, and put off man..  
What other faults Detractors would Make (by their Own Reading, or Interpretation) let them know, they are committed not out of Ignorance, but Election, after a just consultation with more than a 
* Cornutus. Author veterum Glossarun. Murmellius. Vinetus. Pithoeus. Marcilius. Foquelinus. Tornorupaeus. Lubinus. Casaubonus. Frischlinus. Bondus. Farnabius.  Dozen Expositors. But why do I in the Indiscretion of Toomuch humility prostrate my endeavours to the Tyranny of the Ignorant: who stand Herein so Many degrees below the faculty of judging censurers? If any in the procacity of base malice (raised commonly from a despair of Imitation) shall proceed farther unto contumelies: I shall not need, as some do (though I approve Their course also) to arm myself with a confidence of Religion; I will not put it to the stress: nor against the stroke of so leaden a sword, use the protection of so golden a shield. A little assumed Stoicism shall serve the turn; and with a Secure Contempt, I'll let them Scowl aloud Unheard. Farewell.  
Thine BARTEN HOLIDAY,   

A LETTER OF A JUDICIOUS FRIEND requested by the Author to deliver his censure on his Translation.  
Mr. B.H. I have read your smooth translation of rough Persius, and send it home to you with my Censure (such as you wish) ingenuously free. I will deal justly with you Now, Friendly at Other times. In My judgement, when you conversed in this familiar and friendly manner with Persius his Satyrs, your wit stooped far below the elevation of its own worth. But as Scaliger said of Claudian and his works, Solo argumento ignobiliore oppressus addit de ingenio, quantum deest materiae: (Lib. 6. cap. 5. Poetic:) So I of You and Your Poem; Whatsoever is mean in your Author, is (me thinks) so choicely adorned by Your Genius: that if it stand out of the presence of Ignorance or Desperate Emulation, it may be Graceful. Which I do more heartily affirm, because you have Chastised your Poet with modest, yet significant terms: where some ranke-breathed Interpretet would have rendered him with a strong savour of lasciviousness. I know not now, what should stay You from sending it abroad, or Others from giving it welcome entertainment. If Old Persius were ever worth the having: Yours, I doubt not, will be thought Well worth the reading; yet look for Other censures and Neglect them. Farewell.  
Your loving friend, JOHN LEY.   



Dark Persius, Ambrose threw thy book on ground  
With indignation, 'cause 'twas so profound:  
But now in father's room a child is sprung,  
That reader thy Satyrs in a vulgar tongue.  
No Ambrose, yet with ambrose to be fed,  
That could so wisely track, where thou couldst tread,  
He takes away thy vail, and makes that line  
Transalpine, which the Romans would confine:  
Now let thy wandering shadow freely roave,  
And seek great place in the Elysian grove,  
Where since there's store of bay, for him one knit,  
That makes the loser Britons fear thy wit.  
Needs must his own inventions radiant be,  
That casts such beams through thy opacity.  
Hence forth (bright Holiday) to change refuse  
Thine Own Terpsichore, with translated Muse.   

In Latio latuit Saturnum filius: Aulum  
Sic poterat soboles ista latere suum,  
Ante tuas (Holydaie) faces; hâc luce refulget  
Pluribus, & caeco, tector ante, patri.  
Gymnasiarcha, puer, festivus ludat uterque:  
Per Festum vobis otia quanta diem?   

Nunquam Pegaseas libavit Persius undas, 
Ne font, etc. Nec in bic: etc.   
Aut clausit docto lumina pigra jugo.  
Nempe tibi, fontem laticesque & culmina Phoebus  
Seruârat: pleno dum satur o'er maids.  
Quidve Aulus traheret? cum fie Helicona refundas,  
 natet Angligenis Jtala Musa labris.   

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
JOHN WALL.   

UPON THE HAPPY TRANSLATIon of the most difficult Satirist, performed by his dear friend Mr. B. H.  
I Sing the Conquest, which an English rhyme,  
With all its force ne'er won before This Time.  
Who thought that there would extant be the Man  
That such stiff, sullen, hardy Romans can  
Subdue, and with an hand, learnedly fierce,  
Bind in the fetters of a Britain verse?  
Yet here is one that doth: But not as those  
That 
* Ovid: Met. Virg: Aeneid.  changed shapes, and wandering Trojans chose  
For to translate, with lines a mile in length,  
Or Paraphrase that tires. Such is His strength  
And strictness, he his Author without wrong  
Lodges in prisons but of five foot long.  
Some I have known, that did Attempt the same  
Which that they Durst, it was their Greatest fame,  
But it was He, that could disdain to stay  
At this praise Margin, only to Assay:  
He with impetuous and all-conquering wit  
That only had the power to finish it.  
For had They done't, I know they must have left  
Their graver studies, and have filched with theft  
Guilty of too much sacrilege, more hours,  
Then time would lose; or else those sister powers  
Jnvoke to lend them Others lives, to pluck  
A vessel with such Remora's bestucke  
To wished shore. But as for Him, with strange  
And easy haste, he did his Roman change  
Without complaint of time: No serious part  
Of learning murmured, that he did impart  
Hours to the work. For all this was begot  
(I speak my conscience) when it was his lot  
To be at Truce with study. Then judge you  
That shall upon his happy pains, a view  
Bestow, that near the Muse's Holidays  
Or times of leisure, were with greater Praise,  
Or Thrift, or Business spent: and likewise since  
He conquered hath so fierce a Latin Prince  
Unto the Rhymes and Phrases of Our tongue:  
Decree that bays unto his brow belong.  
A. WHITE.   

TO HIS KIND FRIEND Mr. B. H. upon his Persius.  
AS if in travails far engaged, at last  
Returned, I gratulate thy labours past.  
But when unto thy ways I turn mine eye  
Dangers obscured with dangers I espy.  
I think't a task too great for human sleights,  
ungraveled or undasht to pass those straits.  
Admiring thy chaste notes, in which unharmd  
The Sirens lustful language thou hast charmed.  
That Art I love, when as 'gainst faith of sense  
By sense of faith I see things flow from thence.  
Nor do I (like to his ore'wheeling brain)  
Persius still a cloud, embrace in vain;  
This's the substance gives vice the fatal blow  
The others thunder few to fear do know.  
On envy, summon all the vices spite:  
Better they should be conquered then not Fight.  
R. WELDON.   

UNTO HIS LOVING FRIEND Mr. B. H. upon Persius translated.  
THis work me thinks makes my conjecture bold  
T' affirm th' Athenians paradox is true, 
Annus Platonicus.   
When by years revolution I behold  
Men dead revive, things long since old, grow new.  
For should dead Rome awake, and those lose times  
Which feared and felt this scourging Satirist,  
She might again in us review her crimes;  
As fertile is Our age. Nor hath it missed  
The worst of all Her ills. Vainly we thought  
Thy ashes (Persius) Slept within thine urn:  
feared not thy lash: hoped negligence had wrought  
Thy lines worse Funeral: and at length would turn  
All to obscurity; For how few did strive  
T' enlighten thy dark phrase, unless some vice  
Made an acute bad comment: So to thrive  
And purchase perspicuity, is a price  
Thou wouldst have grieved to give. Yet since in ill  
We have ore'tune past times: I must rejoice  
That Constant industry should get such skill  
As to tell us our bad in Persius' voice:  
Whom now All understand: all may endure  
To read, but Such as would their crimes obscure.  
T. GOFFE.   

TO THE AUTHOR HIS most loved friend.  
WHat None have Dared, Thou hast; and mightst again  
With praise, were it undared. Didst thou abstain  
Yet longer, none would dare Thee to Prevent;  
If any, what could breed thy more Content  
Then, when by victory, thy glory should  
Be doubled? yea, although recall some could,  
From fields of rest, thy Persius to consult:  
Yet would no less praise from thy lines result,  
Then that unparalleled, which now is due  
From those that read thee. Who when they shall view  
How Truly with thine Author thou dost place  
How hand in hand ye go, what equal grace  
Thou dost with him observe in every term:  
They cannot, but, if just, justly affirm:  
That did your Times as do your Lines agree,  
He might be thought to have translated Thee;  
But that he's Darker, not so Strong; Wherein  
Thy Greater art more clearly may be seen;  
Which dost thy Persius cloudy storms display  
With lightning and with thunder; Both which lay  
Couched perchance in him, but wanted force  
To break, or light from darkness to divorce;  
Till Thine Exhaled skill compressed it so,  
That forced the clouds to break, the light to show,  
The thunder to be heard. That now each child  
Can prattle what was meant: whilst Thou art styled  
Of all, with titles of true dignity,  
For Lofty Phrase, and perspicuity.  
I. KNIGHT.   

TO THE AUTHOR HIS very good friend.  
Reliving Persius, Daies-Birth, Heir of Fame:  
I wrong not Persius, giving Thee His name;  
If any, I wrong thee for what He did  
Hadst Thou him not Illustred, had been hid.  
This being but thy Pedestal of praise,  
Oh what a Pyramid will thy Next work raise?  
True Laureate, with blessed Omens go thou on;  
All-imitable, imitating none.  
I speak not this (nor needest thou it) of Favour.  
But as one conscious of thy Great works labour.  
My tongue was never oiled i'th' base claw-art.  
In Others read thou Wit, in Me my Heart.  
W. W.   

TO HIS LEARNED FRIEND Mr B. H. upon his judicious translation of Persius.  
WHat lay imprisoned, and confined alone  
Only to deeper apprehension;  
Thy more benign, sublimed, transcendent wit  
Hath reached, and conquered, and imparted it.  
And giu'ned to all, which makes it more thine own  
Since all are heirs of that invention.  
Nor doth one jot, so sweet congruity,  
Adulterate the Latin chastity,  
All things conserved, so terse, so nothing lost  
As if thou didst consult with th' Author's Ghost,  
●uch height, such sacred indignation  
As seems a Persius, no Translation.  
On, learned Quill; thus vindicate thy name  
From times proud Injury, Traitor to fame:  
Nor suffer yet, that Italy so long  
Should make her Vice speak English, not her Tong.  
Whip back her basiards, send them home to Rome,  
Let her that was their parent, be their tomb.  
Mean while I dare Congratulate our Crimes  
Made Happy that they could produce These Rhymes.  
T. G.    

AULUS PERSIUS FLACCUS. THE PROLOGUE.  
Argument.  
Need and not Inspired skill  
Makes our Author try his quill.  
MY lips did never touch the spring  
Of the winged horse: nor can I bring  
To mind, that e'er I dreamed upon  
Two-topped Parnassus, that thereon  
I might be ' Inspired and So Upstart  
A Poet by Infused art.  
And all the Muses that do dwell  
'Bout pale Pirene, and the well  
Of Helicon, to Those I leave,  
Unto whose statue's brows doth cleave  
The Jvy-greene encircling Crown.  
In humbleness I half a Clown  
Do only bring this my rude line,  
Unto Apollo's sacred shrine.  
Yet blame me not for my bold deed:  
Alas! I writ enforced by 
a A satirical Irony Persius was a Knight of Rome of sufficient wealth.  need.  
Who taught the Parrot his kind Hail?  
Who taught the Pie so to prevail  
To frame Our words? 'Twas but to fill  
Their belly, master of their skill;  
Which skilful is to make them reach  
Voices, which Nature cannot teach.  
Nay; if there chance to shine but some  
Hope, of deceitful Gain to come:  
Crow-poets and poetic Pies  
You'd think did chant sweet eyries;  
And make (when as they harshly Cry)  
A Pegaseian Melody.   

SATIRE. 1. THE FIRST SATIRE IN form of a Dialogue. The Speakers. PERSIUS. MONITOR.  
Argument.  
Inspired poets Art and Pride  
Our Satirist doth here deride.  P. 
O Cares of men! O empty Vanity  P. 

a Out of the too abundant variety of the interpunctions of these three verses following, I could find none more accurate, than this I have extracted, and here used.  Why?  
Of things!  M. 
who'll read these Wondering Satyrs?  
Dost Thou say so my Friend?  M. 
Faith I think none.  P. 
How sayst thou? None?  M. 
Perchance some two, or—  P. 
None?  M. 
'tis hard.  P. 

Yet why? Lest Rome's 
b Ironically here the Poet calls Nero Polydamas who is much famoused by Homer in divers places for his virtue, yea and compared with Hector. Iliad. μ.  Polydamas  
And doughty Troyans' should prefer the ass  

c A ridiculous Poet, that translated five books of Homer's Iliads into verse, word for word, with extreme obscurity, and no less absurdity.  Labeo before Me? Tush; their false doom  
Is but a trifle. If disturbed Rome  
Proudly slight any thing, scorn to descend  
To Their Vain censure: neither strive to mend  
The tongue of thy false balance in Their scale  
Which is as wrong: but if thou'dst never fail  
Know This: To try thy secret innocence,  
The surest witness is thy conscience.  
For Who is Not at Rome? O that I might  
But freely speak, yet speak no more then Right.  
And So I May. Then, when I cast mine eye  
On those whose Faces promise Gravity:  
On our sad Stoics: on the things we do  
Since we left off to play with nuts: and view  
Our actions, when we labour much to be  
Stern Uncles. Then! then! But, oh, pardon me,  
I will not touch. Yet can I hold my peace  
Urged Thus? and from revenge so lust, Thus cease?  
I'm of a Scoffing spleen. I Love to Flout  
At Hypocrites: therefore it now Must out.  
Then Thus.   

Being immured from each man's sight  
In some obscure retired place, we writ  
Some, ev'n-paced numbers, Some freefooted prose,  
Some weighty thing, which th' Author strongly blows  
From his large-winded lungs. For he rehearses  
Unto the people strait his well-penned verses;  
His hair being first combed smooth, and then he dight,  
In a fair comely garment fresh and white,  
Wearing some precious jewel, which some friend  
On's birthday to him for a gift did send,  
With moistening syrup having cleared his throat  
Apt Now to sound it in a various note.  
Then is he reading in a seat on high,  
Dissolved unto a lustful Acting eye.   

Where thou mayst see even those that bear the name  
Of Rome's brave Titi (but unto their shame)  
To shake with trembling lust, and to rejoice  
Obscenely, with a broken skreaking voice  
When a lewd line their inward loins doth pierce,  
And touch them with a lust-provoking verse.   

But thou Old Dotard, dost Thou strive to feed  
Other men's ears? nay, Theirs who without heed  
Or moderate discretion praise thee so,  
That (skinne-peeled Ass!) thyself dost first cry, Ho?  

d Here the Poet feigneth a reply of this old ambitious Poet defending himself.  Why did I learn unless this leaven here  
Inbred, this strong wild-figtree should appear?  
And from its seat the liver breaking forth  
Show to the world it's own, though unknown worth?   P. 
O see ambitious paleness! see Old Age!  
At such corrupted times Who could not rage's?  
Thinkest thou, thou nothing knowst, if it be so,  
That others know not, that thou this dost know?  

e A second reply.  O but 'tis brave to hear men cry, See, see?  
And pointing with their fingers, say, That's he.  
Say you ' had a poem which so smoothly runs,  
That 'twere for lectures read to great men's sons,  
Brave lads with curled locks, like gold so yellow:  
Would not you think yourself a pretty fellow?  P. 

O that's not all! See, our Romulidans  
Profane our sacred poems with foul hands!  
Reading, amidst their bowls, poems divine,  
Being full up to the throat with flesh and wine.  
Where if forsooth one clad in purple cloth's,  
Snaffle some musty stuff through's muffling nose  
Melting forth fair Hypsipyle's sad song  
Or Phyllis fortune with a moistened tongue  
Or some such tales which poetry affords  
His dainty palate tripping forth his words,  
The Men assent! And are not th' ashes then  
Of this Rare poet blest? This man of men  
Hath he not now a 
f The Ancient Ethniques did use to pray that the tombe-stones of their dead friends might be light unto them; because they believed that their Manes or souls remained in their sepulchres, and were sensible of such accidents. They held likewise the springing of flowers from the grave of a deceased friend, an argument of his happiness.  lighter mole of earth  
Gently pressing his bones? A general mirth  
Ensues: the guest with hands and voices ring  
His due applause; And shall there not now spring  
Even from his Manes, from the hollow womb  
Of his thrise-happy urne-inclosing tomb  
Sweet Violets? But, Oh, says one, you touch  
Too scoffingly, wrinkling your nose Too much.  
For doth there breathe a man that can reject  
A general praise? and his own lines neglect?  
Lines worth immortal Cedars recompense,  
Near fearing new-sold Fish or Frankincense?   

Well; whosoe'er thou art whom I did make  
But now, the Adverse part to undertake;  
When I myself do write, if from my brain  
Do flow by greatest chance some happy strain  
(For 'tis by chance) My heart is not so hard  
So horny, as to fear the due reward,  
Of deserved fame. Only I do deny  
The scope of virtuous actions to lie  
In thy O brave! O fine! for search but this  
Thy O fine! and within it What not is?  
No; in These papers know thou shalt not find  
Labeo's helleborated lines confined  
Too superstitiously to Words: nor weak  
Love-elegies, such as Rome's Nobles speak:  
Whose judgement like their overcharged maw,  
Wants strong concoctions heat, & is Yet raw.  
Briefly whatsoever on 
g The Romans had their lecti lucubratorii on which they studied, and tricliniares, on which they eat the latter are rather understood in this place, for he principally speaketh against the verses they writ amongst their cups.  Citrean beds is writ,  
We hence exclude as th' excrement of wit.   

Thou dost some dish of good hot meat provide  
For some poor wretch (whose bellie's his tongues guide)  
Or to thy quaking foll'wer thou dost cast  
Thy threadbare cloak (which could no longer last)  
Then thus thou speakest. You know even from my youth  
I hated lies, now therefore tell me truth.  
Of me (P. Can He tell truth? Wilt let Me speak?  
Thou triflest (baldpate ass!) and thy skill's weak.  
Seeing a fat-hogge-trough-panch before thee struts  
Full Eighteen inches with a load of guts.  
O blessed janus! happy is Thy luck!  
Behind 
h Three manner of flouts were used by the Ancients. The first was with their hand to make a Storks bill, their fingers being all collected together, and then let out with a flirt. The second was to put their thumbs to the temples of their heads, and then wag their fingers like asses ears, which within are somewhat white. The third was to lill out their tongues, like dogs in the heat of summer, especially in hot countries, such as is Apulia a region in Italy.  thy back, whom never Storks bill struck:  
At whom no nimble fingered hand being framed  
Like asses white ears, ever Yet was aimed:  
Nor so much tongue thrust forth in a base flout  
As an Apulian bitch for thirst lils out.  
You O Patrician blood whose heads are blind  
I'th' hinder part, prevent a scorn behind.)  
What do men say? 
i The answer of the flatteres  That now your verses flow  
In a soft numbered pace both sweet and slow,  
Whose well-smoothed parts are so exactly joined  
That the severest nail can never find  
The least vnev'nesse. O says one, he makes  
A verse, as he that his true level takes,  
Shutting one eye, for to direct his line,  
Which drawing, with red oaker he doth sign.  
Whether he scourge with his deepe-wounding rhymes  
The delicate soft manners of the times,  
Or th'impious banquets of revenging Kings:  
Our Poet's Muse can well express great things.  
P. I, You shall see a fellow dare assay  
To write Heroic acts, who th' other day  
But trifeled out some Fables of small worth  
In scarce true Greek: whose skill cannot paint forth  
A pleasant selfe-describing Groue's delights;  
Nor praise the full-stored Country, that even writes  
The story of its Own abundant store;  
Where fruits and firewood and the fat'ned Boar  
Are never wanting; where the shepherds feast  
Sacred to Pales is, t' expel the beast  
That hates the lamb: where shepherds on that day  
Are purged in a fire of smoking hay.  
Whence Remus sprung: where (
k Q. Cincinnatus.  Quintius) thou wast borne,  
And where thy ploughshare was in furrows worn;  
When as thy wife trembling with joy and fear,  
Made thee the great Dictator's robes to wear  
Before thine Oxen, and to leave them Now,  
Making the Lictor carry home thy plow.  
Behold then this brave Poet.  
Some there are  
To whom 
l Furius Accius Labeo. Briseus, is the surname of Bacchus, fitly here attributed to Labeo, because of his mad verses.  Brisean Labeo's book seems rare:  
Whose lines swell like full Veins. Others desire  
Pacuvius, whom much they do admire,  
And love often to read, and even to stay  
Upon his knotty harsh Antiopa;  
Whose woeful heart was nourished with grief,  
The Depth of sorrow yielding Some relief.  
When thou shalt see the blear-eied father teach  
His son these things; canst thou not quickly reach  
To know the cause how this our vile disgrace,  
This hissing frying-pan of Speech took place  
First, in our tongues? And yet wherein our smooth  

m The Knights of Rome were anciently so called, because they surprised a town in Hetruria called Trossulum, without the help of the footmen.  Trossulians vainly themselves do sooth,  
And even leap in their seats, when as they hear  
Old words, which please their thick false-judging ear.  
When thou'rt accused, art not ashamed to be  
Not able thy now-Aged head to free  
From fear o'th' law, but love the lukewarm cry  
Of all thy hearers crying, Decently?  
Pedius says one, unto thy charge I lay  
The guilt of theft. What now doth Pedius say?  
In smooth Antitheta's his fault he weighs,  
And for his learned Figures, wins much praise.  
O neat! O neat? In judging thou dost fail,  
Base fawning Roman, dost thou wag thy tail?  
for thinkest thou, if some ship-wrecked wretch should Sing.  
He e'er from me one Halfpenny should wring?  
Dost Sing, when at thy shoulder thou dost wear  
Thyself and ship, which the sharp rocks did tear?  
His tears shall be expressed through's Misery,  
Not-studied for by Night, that would move Me  
To pity. M. Yet in Numbers, O, there shines  
Beauteous composure added to those lines  
Which were before but raw. P. I, so it seems;  
For one, this as the only skill esteems  
To end his verse (But, O ridiculous!)  
With Berecinthian Atys; or else, thus;  
The Dolphin which did cut Cerulean Nereus.  
Excellent! and this our Romans count most serious!  
So thus another draws his numbered line,  
We drew a rib from the long Apennine.   M. 

n Virgil's Aeneads, which begin so, Arma virumque cano.  Arms, and the man I sing, perchance you'll dare  
To term This frothy, fat-barked.  P. 
O no; spare  
Your Too-quicke censure, & dissolve your brow.  
This Poem as an aged well-grown bough  
Seasoned with time, is with the warm Sun's heat  
Well boiled in its own bark; grown strong and great.  M. 
What then do you term soft, and to be read  
With a loose-bending neck, and bow'd-downe head?  P. 
Their writhed horns the Mimallones did fill  
With sounds, and Bassaris about to kill  
The scornful calf, snatching from him his head,  
And Moenas as the spotted Lynx she lead  
With Joy-bridles, oft did Evion sound:  
The reparable Echo did rebound.  
These, these are brave I But, Oh, should Such lines be  
If any vein of Old Nobility  
Did live in us? These Weak lines in the Brim  
Of every mouth, in th'utmost spittle swim.  
Moenas and Atys or some foolish Songs  
Are always in the moisture of their tongues.  
They never Buffeted a Desk for These,  
Or Bit their Nails: such lines are writ with ease.  M. 
Grant this be true: yet Sir You have no need  
With biting truth to make their soft ears bleed.  
Well, look you to't; I fear; be not too bold,  
Lest great men's thresholds towards you grow cold.  
Me thinks, th' are touched already, and I hear,  
The doggish letter R sound in mine ear.  P. 
Nay, Sir, rather than so, all's white and free:  
All, all is admirable well for Me.  
I will not hindered. Now y'are pleased I think.  
You'll say, Let no man make My verses stink,  
Making a place for 
o This place is thus against the common interpretation more mannerly and truly expounded by Mr. Bond.  urine, in a scorn,  
Among My papers.  P. 
See than you adorn  
Your book, and paint two 
p These represented the Genius of the place, and were painted there to deter any from violating the place by any pollution.  Serpents on't; Boys, None  
Must urine in This Sacred place: be gone:  
And I'll go first.  
Yet did Lucilius cut  
Lewd Rome, and thee, O Lupus, that didst glut  
Thy appetite, and thee (Mutius) grown weak  
With lust, & did on us his jaw-tooth break.  
So subtle Horace laughing with his friend  
Would cunningly his vices reprehend,  
And lying in his bosom, in his heart,  
Would bitterly deride him with great art.  
Skilful he was basely t'esteem the rout,  
Yet near wrinkled his nose, or Seemed to flout.  
And may not I then Mutter? not to th' 
q An allusion to the fable of Midas.  Dust?  
Not, though Alone? No where? I will; I must  
Dig here, even here. (My book) I speak to Thee;  
I seen, I say, I seen; (my tongue's born free)  
Who has not Asses ears? Thou shalt not buy  
This my obscure concealed mystery,  
This my dear scoff, my Nothing, for whole miliads  
Of any base Poets long-winded Iliads.  
Thou whosoe'er thou art, that art inspired  
With bold Cratinus; or with zeal art fired  
Like angry Eupolis; and art grown pale  
With that 
r Aristophanes.  old man, whose style with a full sail  
Bears strong against foul vice: vouchsafe a glance  
On these My Satyrs also; where by chance  
If any thing more perfect thou shalt hear,  
Among my lines; grow hot with a purged ear.  
But him with deepest scorn I do detest  
That basely loves to break a bitter jest  
At a Philosopher's poor Shoe: and winks  
At him, whose sight is bad, calling him Blinkes:  
Counting himself no mean man, bearing some  
Italian honour at Aretium;  
'Cause, being Market-Clarke (such was his pleasure)  
He broke their earthen vessels less than measure.  
Nor love I him that counts the counting-table  
Of deep Arithmeticians but a fable.  
Nor him that scoffs at Figures made in 
s An allusion to the story of Archimedes; see Plutarch's Marcellus.  dust  
By sound Geometry. Such are unjust,  
And Enemies to th'Arts. They much delight  
To see the boldfaced quean Nonaria fight  
With a good honest Cynic; and will grin  
If that she pull his beard off from his chin.  
These, in the morning next their hearts I'll send  
To study the Edicts lest they offend:  
Yet after dinner (for they'll turn no more  
From vice) unto Callirhoe their Whore.   

SATIRE. 2. THE SECOND SATIRE UNTO his friend Plotius Macrinus.  
Argument.  
Profane desires: true sacrifice:  
Bold sins: our Poet here descries.  

Sign This day (Macrine) with a Purer stone,  
Which doth present to thee times long since gone.  
power wine unto thy Genius; for Thy care  
Is not to win jove with a Bribing prayer.  
Nor crav'st Thou, what thou sham'st to name for fear  
Except Jove's drawn aside that none may hear.  
Though no small part of Rome's chief Nobles can  
Sacrifice with a low-voiced incense-pan.  
'tis not an easy thing to take away  
The murmured whisperings of those that pray  
From the God's Temples. 'tis no easy thing  
To live with Known desires. 
a This was but the manner of some hypocrites; for it was the Custom of the Romans to pray softly to themselves, as Ios. Scaliger well observes in his Castigations on the 2. li. of Tibullus. p. 137. & Wowerius in his Animadversions on Petronius. p. 428.  They use to sing  
Aloud, that strangers and the standers-by  
May hear 'em, when they pray for honesty  
Or a good mind, good fame. But for the rest  
Of their desires, inwardly th' are suppressed  
Under their murmuring tongues; such as are these  
Profane requests; O that some strong disease  
Would make my Vnckl's brave rich funeral  
To bubble up. O that my rake would fall,  
As I were working, on some sounding pot  
Of silver; 
b Antiquity made Hercules the propitious God for the finding out of hidden Treasure.  Hercules blessing my lot.  
Or would I might expunge this young, rich Ward  
By whom from great possessions I am barred  
Being the next heir; for he's with scabs perplexed,  
And is with swelling choler sharply vexed.  
There's Nereus to, has buried ye three wives,  
And I scarce—! O Such men lead Happy lives!   

That these things thou religiously mayst crave  
Of jove, in swelling Tiber's silver wave  
Early thou washest twice or thrice thy ' head  
Purging the 
c Of this, see Casaubon on Theophrastus; p. 292. where he shows their twofold manner of expiation. And Brissonius at large, lib. 1. de Formulis, p. 8.  night pollutions of thy bed.   

Dost hear? answer me this: and but disclose  
Thy thought in one small question I'll propose.  
What thinkest of Jove? thinkest he may be preferred  
'Fore Some? Whom? be't even 
d A wicked fellow, that poisoned his brother and brother's wife.  Staius; art afeard?  
And doubtst thou Whether is the fittest Guard  
And juster judge for a young guidlesse Ward?  
This then, wherewith thou darest to press Iou's ear,  
Tell but to Staius: would he not even fear  
To hear thee Speak? and casting up his eye  
Cry, O good Jove! and shall not Jove then cry  
Unto himself for vengeance? What? dost think  
Thou art Forgiven, because he's pleased to Wink  
At thy black deeds, and sooner strikes a Tree,  
With horrid Sulphur, than Thy house and Thee,  
When with his roaring thunders he doth chide  
The proud high-mounting air? Darest thou deride  
The power of Heaven, and lay with Jove's Fond beard,  
As if th'hadst Leave, because thou ne'er was feared.  
With some strange judgement? or ne'er yet didst lie  
A woeful spectacle to each man's eye,  
Unholy, to be shunned in some sad grove,  
Then ceasing to be sacred unto Jove,  
Or th'other Gods, until with sacrifice  
Th'Aruspex great Ergenna purifies  
The same, by offering th'entrails of two sheep?  
Or else, what be't? with what reward dost keep  
The bribed ears of the corrupted Gods  
That they should only give indulgent nods  
At thy vast crimes? be't thy fat offering  
Which to their sacred altars thou dost bring?   

Now you shall see some grandames, or fond Aunts,  
Whom women's Fury Superstition haunts,  
Take up a tender infant in their arms,  
And being skilful to depel the harms.  
Of an 
e Of Fascination, see Del Rio: Mag: disquis: l. 3. q. 4. Sect. 1. and Ramirez, in his learned Pentecontarchus, cap. 31. at large.  effascinating eye, they'll spit  
Upon their middle finger, and then wet  
With this their purging spittle, the child's brow  
And pretty lips. Then with a humble vow  
Dancing him in their arms, they'll vainly spend▪  
Their poor lean hope, in praying jove to send  
This babe in time to come such happiness  
As once wealthy Licinius did possess  
In fruitful lands: or such as Crassus held,  
Who for brave houses, Rome's chief Lords excelled.  
They wish that Kings and Queens may be at strife  
To make even their best daughter His blessed wife.  
And as for Maids (say they) Ye Gods above!  
O let'hem strongly, strangely fall in love  
With his rare beauty: and that wheresoever  
He treads, a crimson rose may spring up there.   

Brave! brave! But yet I will not bid My nurse  
Pray so: or if she do; then Good jove Curse  
Her Prayers; Though cloth'd-White she strongly Cry,  
Yet for thine Own sake, Strongly still Deny.   

Thou wishest for firm nerves, and for a sure  
Sound body, that would healthfully endure  
Until Old age; why be it, that thy wish  
Is Granted by the Gods; yet thy Large dish  
And full fat sasage make the Gods Delay  
To bless thee, and do Force good jove to stay.   

Thou'dst feign grow rich: yet dost thou sacrifice  
An Ox, (is that the way in wealth to rise?)  
Then upon Mercury the God of gain  
With this thy offering, thus thou criest amain,  
Let my domestic Gods (great Mercury)  
Make all things happy in my family!  
Bless thou my herds of beasts, bless thou my lambs,  
And make my tender yewes the happy damm's  
Of many young-ones. Madman! wilt thou see?  
This is impossible! It cannot be!  
When as so many heifers fats do fry  
In flames of sacrifice? Yet doth he cry,  
And with his Entrails and his dainty Cake  
Strives to o'ercome, and forcingly will Make  
The Gods to hear; nor yet will hold his peace.  
Now doth my field, now doth my fold increase:  
Now 'twill be given: now, now, until at last  
Deceived, his great hope proving but a blast:  
His Money in his chest may make its moan  
For want of company; yet sigh alone.   

If for a gift to Thee some friend presents  
A silver goblet, or rich ornaments  
Curiously graven in a massy bowl  
Of purest gold: straightway thy very soul  
Is touched with a strong passion: and thou shak'st  
Even Drops from thy left breast (Vain heart that qual●'st  
Thus with a trembling joy?) Now because gold  
Thus pleaseth Thee; hence 'tis that Thou dost hold,  
The Gods are pleased so too, and over lai'st  
Their statues faces (that thereby thou mayst  
Procure their favour) with gold purchased  
From th'enemy, which was in triumph led.  
For those 
f The brazen Statues of the sons of Aegyptus, all, except one, slain by their new wives the daughters of Danaus. Which brothers the Romans adored as Gods: and were vainly persuaded that they sent dreams unto men.  brasse-brother-gods that send a dream  
Most true, and purged from thick, corrupted phlegm,  
Whereby in sleep men are disturbed, or feared,  
Let those be chief, and wear a golden beard.   

Gold hath the pots of earth, and brass disdaigned,  
Though used when Numa, and good Saturn reigned.  
Gold likewise hath expelled the Vestal Urn:  
Gold doth the Tuscan Earth to Gold now turn.   

Base stooping souls, that grooule on the Earth,  
In whom there's Nothing testifies their birth  
To be from Heaven!   

Yet, doth not this suffice?  
But we must bring these our iniquities,  
To the God's Temples, where their powers divine  
Do dwell; and even profane their holy Shrine?  
As if there could be any thing in these  
Infected Carcases, the Gods to please?   

This Flesh of ours makes us in vain to spoil  
Sweet Casia, by mixing it with oil  
To make us ointments. This doth make us stain  
The soft Portuguese fleece in Purple grain,  
This makes us with much art to polish well  
Mother of Pearl, drawn from the fishes shell.  
This from th'unpurged earth made us desire  
To strain out veins of gold by purging fire.  
This sins; and sins; yet persevers in sin.  
But you great Priests, tell; what doth gold within  
The holy Temples? sure, no greater thing  
Than 
g It was acustome among the Ancients, for Virgins about to marry to offer their Babies as an ensign of their Virginities to Venus, hoping that by her benefit, shortly after, they should have true Babes of their own.  puppets, which to Venus' Virgins bring.   

No; let us strive to bring to th'Gods, that which  
Messala's blear-eyed offspring, from his rich  
Large incense-bason near could give; A mind  
By Law and by Religion well confined;  
A retired soul; a heart not stained by  
Fowl lust, concoct in Noble honesty.   

This let me bring to th'Gods, and I'll obtain  
Offering but a Small Cake of some Course grain.    

SATIRE 3. THE THIRD SATIRE.  
Argument.  
Young Gallants Sloth, and their Neglect  
Of Arts, this Satire doth detect.  

WHat Every day thus long? fie, fie, arise:  
See how the clear light shamefully descries  
Thy sloth & through thy windows shining bright  
Stretcheth the narrow chinks with his broadlight.  
We snort till the 
a An hypall: for, till the shadow touch the fift line; which is about our Eleven of the clock. He understands this of Sun-dials'. You may see the form of an ancient Roman sun-dial, in Ramirez his Pentecont. cap. 23.  Fift shadow touch the line,  
Enough even to digest strong Falerne wine.  
Now what dost do? The furious dog-stars heat  
Upon the parched corn hath long since beat  
With its fierce scalding influence, and made  
The beasts to seek the spreading Elms cool shade   

Thus the companion of some slothful youth  
Does freely chide him. Then saith he, in truth  
And ist so late? indeed? some body then  
Come presently and reach my : why when?  
If then no body come, Oh how he swells,  
And breaks with 
b Because it is as soon raised as glass is, by those that make it.  glasse-like choler; & then yels  
With such a foul loud noise, that you would say  
Surely some great Arcadian ass did bray.   

At last, with much ado he doth begin  
To take his book in hand and some fair skin  
Of smooth 
c Yellow on the side the hair grew, and white on the other side.  two-colourd parchment: he takes then  
Some paper and his knotty reed-like pen.  
Then he complains how that his ink doth stick  
In clots at his pens nose, it is so thick.  
power water then to his black 
d Sepia is a sea-fish called a Cuttell, whose blood the Romans used in stead of ink.  Sepian juice,  
He cries, now 'tis too white. Has a device  
For every thing. So Sometimes he doth plead  
His pen writes double, or his ink doth spread.   

Wretched, unhappy man! yet growing still  
More wretched! Thinkest we're borne to take our fill  
Of sloth? Why dost not then like the soft Dove  
Or great men's little children, rather love  
In delicatest wantonness to lap  
Some soft sweet spoon-meat, as, a little pap?  
Or angry with the tear, why dost not cry,  
Refusing to be stilled with Lullaby.   


e This verse is an interjected reply of the slothful youth: the next is spoken in the person of his companion which reprehendeth him.  Why can I study, sir, with such a quill?  

e This verse is an interjected reply of the slothful youth: the next is spoken in the person of his companion which reprehendeth him.  Alas! whom dost thou mock? why pleadest thou still  
Such vain ambages? wretched man to flout  
Thyself! thou'rt broken! lo, thou leakest out!  
And know thou Shalt be Scorned! strike but a pot  
Of some raw earth halfe-boild, and will it not  
Tell its own fault, yielding a dull crazd sound?  
Well; Yet thou'rt soft moist clay, and mayst be wound  
To any form: Now therefore, Now make haste  
To virtue: Present time must be embraced.  
Now like the potter's clay, now thou must feel  
Sharp disciplines effigiating wheel.  

f His companions ironical defence of the others carelessness.  But, oh, thy father left Thee Land enough,  
And a clean Saltseller, with household stuff  
Sufficient, needst Thou then fear any thing?  
So th' hast a secure pan wherein to bring  
Incense to thy protecting Lares. Well;  
But thinkest thou this enough? wilt therefore swell,  
And break thy lungs with an ambitious wind,  
Because that thou thy thousanth off, dost find  
Thy branch to be perchance drawn from a tree  
Of some high Tuscan true nobility?  
Or that because clad in the purple grain  
Meeting Rome's Censor with his pompous train  
Thou canst salute him, by the name of Cousin,  
And arrogantly ask him how he does?  
Away: go pranse before the multitude  
In these thy trappings; seek not to delude  
My judgement: for I know thy soul within,  
And see thy faults writ in thy outmost skin.  
Art not ashamed to live like dissolute  
Lose Natta? but (alas!) he's destitute  
Of Sense! He stands Amazed in vice! the deep  
Fat brawn of sin makes his heart sound sleep!  
That now he doth not sin! No, he's so gross,  
So stupid, that he's senseless of his loss!  
And sunk down to the depth of vice he'll swim  
No more again up to the waters brim!   

Great father of the Gods! when cruel lust  
Touched with inflaming venom, moves th'unjust  
Corrupted disposition of fierce kings,  
To act unworthy and unkingly things:  
Punish them only thus; Let them but see  
Fair virtue, and their lost felicity.  
Then shall their bowels yearn, and they shall cry  
In secret, and wax pale, and pine, and die.  
Did ever the Sicilian brazen bull  
Roar out his torments with a throat more full?  
Or did the sword hung by a slender thread  
Up in the golden roof over the head  
Of the 
g Damocles.  crowned flatterer, more terrify  
His soul, then when a man shall truly cry  
Unto himself, I fall, Oh, I do fall  
Down headlong; & shall Know he's past recall?  
And Inwardly grow pale (O wretched life!)  
Which he's afeard to tell his near dear wife?   

Indeed, when I was Young, I like a fool  
Would 'noint my eyes with oil to stay from school:  
When I'd not learn, through sloth, the stately part  
Of dying Cato, though 'twere penned with art.  
And my too-carefull Master praised it much:  
And my glad father being moved with such  
His praises, brought his friends to here his boy  
Bravely act Cato, and would sweat for joy.  
For than I cared not to know any thing:  
Except how much the lucky Sice would bring:  
Or what the losing Ace would scrape away  
Or that my fellow might not put false play  
Upon me, neatly cogging forth a die  
Out of the small-necked 
h They used to cast their dice out of boxes, (as now adays some do out of small saucers) to prevent the sleight of the hand, which notwithstanding some more cunning gamesters did often practise.  casting-box. This I  
Did learn: and for the scourge-stick I did strive,  
That none his top with greater art might drive.   

But now, Thou art not at This age to learn  
Between good and bad manners to discern.  
No; thou Hast learned the precepts that are taught  
In the wise porch, where curiously are wrought  
By Polygnotus skill, the conquered Medes  
In their short slops: whose story overspreads  
The Walls: and where in searching hidden truths  
The little-sleeping close-shorne Stoic Youths,  
That feed on husks and a course barley cake,  
Early and late industriously do wake.  
And unto Thee the 
i The letter of Pythagoras, who by birth was a Samian.  Samian letter Y  
Whose spreading branches teach Philosophy,  
Hath marked out even as it were with chalk,  
The high-reared right-hand path, wherein to walk.   

And snort'st thou Yet? What? is thy head grown slack?  
Art jawfalne? Doth their frame begin to crack?  
Liest yawning, to evaporate th' excess  
Of yesterdays oppressing drunkenness?  
Hast thou proposed thyself a certain end?  
And with thy best endeavour dost thou bend  
Thy bow at that? Or, careless of thy hurt,  
Dost throw at crows, with stones and clots of dirt  
Neglecting where thou runnest? Hast thou no drift,  
But only for the Present how to shift?   

Well, yet be provident; when our sick skin  
Doth with the puffing dropsy once begin  
To swell, 'tis then, thou knowst, but vain to cry  
For Hellebore; when a disease draws nigh,  
And yet but threatens thee; Then, then prevent  
And meet a danger that is imminent.  
But if thou dost delay, till't be too late,  
And that thy sickness once grow desperate:  
Then wouldst thou give Craterus half thy wealth  
Yet can he not restore thee to thy health.   

Learn then, O wretched youths the mystery  
Of Nature in profound Philosophy.  
Learn who we are: why we were borne: th' estate  
Wherein we're set; And know that not by fate  
But wisdom, we may turn our ship with ease  
About high-vertues 
k An allusion to the Romans Naumachia.  mark placed in the seas  
Of this our life. Temperately desire  
Silver: learn what 'tis lawful to require  
In prayer: and the perfect use, aright,  
Of Money: for which, men so sharply fight:  
What likewise to thy Country thou dost owe,  
And what to thy dear kinsmen; Learn to know  
Whom 
l Me thinks, these lines of mine Author, and especially this word Deus, seem to be of that high strain of Divinity (in a Heathen) which Plato reached unto, when he did profess that he writ but in jest, when he said, Gods.  God hath made thee, and in what degree  
And state of life, he here hath placed thee.   

Learn: neither envy thou at the full store  
Of the greased Lawyer, though he have much more  
Provision, than his family can spend  
Whilst it is sweet: which the fat Vmbrians send,  
As gifts to bribe his tongue. Nor grudge to see  
His Marsian Client bring him for a fee,  
Pepper, gammons of bacon, or such kind  
Remembrances. Nor let it vex thy mind,  
Because he hath fresh Pilchars' to him sent,  
Before the former barrel be quite spent.   

But here, me thinks, I hear some boisterous rough  
Centurion say; Tush, I have wit enough  
To serve mine own turn; And I'll never care  
To be Arcesilas, or to impair  
My health, like Solon: who do lean awry  
Their heads, piercing the earth with a fixed eye:  
When by themselves they gnaw their murmuring  
And furious silence, as 'twere balancing  
Each word upon their out-stretchd lip: And when  
They meditate the dreams of old sick men,  
As, Out of nothing, nothing can be brought:  
And that which is, can ne'er be turned to nought.  
Is it for This they're pale? and that they miss  
Their dinner oftentimes, is it for This?  
Why yet they are but scorned even by the Rout,  
The People: and our Lusty Lads but flout  
Them, and with crisped noses aloof off,  
Strongly ingeminate a trembling scoff.   


m Perfius his answer to the objection, which he makes the Centurion here use.  Yet, scorn not learning: lest thy falling state  
Prove such, as this which here I will relate.   

One said to his Physician, Pray Sir see;  
methinks I am not as I use to be.  
My heart doth quake as if it boded death:  
And my sick jaws send forth a loathsome breath;  
Pray good Sir feel my Pulse: and play your part.  
Well, the Physician used his chiefest art,  
And bid him rest Four days. But when each vain  
Began composedly to flow again,  
On the Third night: he bid his servant take  
A 
n A small flagon.  little thirsting-flaggon, and strait make  
All speed, to the great house of such a friend,  
And tell him, he desired him for to send  
Some of his mild Surrentine wine: and so  
Having drank that, unto the Baths he'd go.  
When being there, thither did come by chance  
His own Physician: who strait cast a glance  
On this his patient, and to him said,  
Why You are Pale, and are you not afraid?  
Tush man, saith he, that's Nothing. Yet beware,  
Said his Physician, and pray have a care,  
What ere this Nothing is. For I do see,  
Your yellow sickly skin swells secretly.  
Well, prithee now, said he, do not thou rail  
At Me: for thou thyself dost look more pale  
And worse: be not a Tutor unto Me.  
One I have had, and buried: now for Thee,  
Thou yet remainest. On then, and do not cease,  
Said his Physician, and I'll hold my peace.   

This gallant then swelling with dainty cheer  
Baths his pale belly, and without all fear:  
His throat half stopped with gross corrupted phlegm,  
Leisurely breathing a sulphureous steam.  
But midst his wines a sudden trembling seized  
Upon each joint of him▪ that his diseased  
Weak hand could not his lukewarm bowl retain:  
And his vncover'd teeth even gnashed again:  
And then through his lose lips, his fine-oild meat  
He vomits, which he greedily had eat.  
Then were prepared for his funeral  
The 
o At the Funerals of Great Men, they used Trumpets: as pipes at the Burials of the meaner sort.  Trumpet, and the Lights: And last of all,  
This seeming-happy man, that would not doubt,  
His health, being composedly laid out  
On his high bed, his bier; and now daubed o'er  
And even bedurted with th'abundant store  
Of ointments; stretcheth towered the Citie-gate  
His cold dead heels; & those whose best estate  
But yesterday, was but to be his slave,  

p It was the custom of the Romans before their deaths to Manumitte their servants: which was by shaving their heads, and putting a cap on.  Now wear their caps, and bear him to his grave.   


q The scornful reply of the Centurion.  What? then belike ye apply this same to Me?  
But (wretched fool!) th' art out. For know, I'm free.  
Touch but my veins: feel how my heart doth beat:  
There's but a wont moderated heat.  
Or feel the bottoms of my feet: or hold  
My hands: thou shalt perceive they are not cold.   


r The answer of Persius.  'tis true. But know seduced man; there stick  
Diseases in thy Soul; 'tis That is sick.  
For if thou see by chance much gold: or spy  
Thy neighbours smooth-cheeked wench to cast an eye  
Upon thee, smiling with a wanton glance:  
Speak true: doth Then thy heart Orderly dance?  
There's set before thee on thy board, to eat,  
In a cold dish hard herbs, somewhat rough meat;  
And course bread sifted in the people's searce:  
Let's try your chaps. Oh are ye now averse?  
In thy soft mouth there's hid a putrid soar,  
Which touched with Common herbs, would make thee roar.  
So thy heart's cold, when pale fear doth affright  
Thy hair like ears of corn standing upright.  
Again, fierce anger makes thy blood grow hot,  
Even as a firebrand doth a seething pot;  
And than thy flaring eyes sparkling forth fire  
Thou sayst and dost So in thy furious ire:  
That mad Orestes dares swear, Such a fact  
None but a man stark mad, ere durst to act.    

THE FOURTH SATIRE.  
Argument.  
Young Rulers: The complaint of Lust  
On Avarice, unfit though just.  

ARt thou a commonwealths chief Governor?  
(Suppose the bearded grave 
a Socrates.  Philosopher,  
Whom the cold draft of Hemlock forced to die,  
Thus to demand) On what dost thou rely?  
What are thy grounds? speak Alcibiades,  
Pupil unto the famous Pericles.  
Oh, wit and grave discretion, I have heard  
Indeed, do many times Prevent a Beard!  
And so Thou know'st no doubt, though thou'rt but young,  
Both when to Speak, and when to hold thy tongue.  
When therefore the vexed multitude grow hot  
With choler, and their duty have forgot:  
Thou dost but lift up thy majestic hand,  
And strait a general silence dost command  
o'er the tumultuous rout. Then what dost say?  

b These three lines are spoken in the person of this young Governor.  O ye Quiritians (if prevail I may)  
I think This is not just that's done by you:  
Nor This: 'ttwere better if you Thus did do.  
For thou canst weigh truth in the double scale  
Of the most doubtful balance. If it fail,  
Straightways Thou knowst it: yea, though hide it lie  
Between a double crooked falsity:  
Or if a Rule (so perfect is Thy sight)  
Measure not every thing exactly right.  
And the black 
c The judges being about to give sentence of death against a man, were wont to write his name in a table, and prefix before it, the letter ● as being the first of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, signifying he was to be delivered over to Death.  Theta sign of deadly shame  
Thou canst prefix 'fore an offender's name.   

Thou Canst do this. Oh, 'ttwere a crime to Doubt.  
Come, come: Thou being fair only without  
And in the skin, in vain: leave off to shake  
Thy tail, before the flattering rout, or make  
Suit for great offices, till age and cares  
Have made thee Fit to manage such affairs.  
Thou being fitter yet to drink good store  
Of pure unmixed braine-purging Hellebore.   

Wherein consists thy last, thy greatest wish?  

d The answer of this vain fellow: and the reply of Persius.  In having every day a full fat dish:  
Then with sweet oil to'noint my skin, and lie  
In the suns pleasant warmth till it be dry.   


d The answer of this vain fellow: and the reply of Persius.  Why hadst thou with the self same question tried  
This poor old woman; she had so replied.  
Go now and boast how thy Nobility  
Comes from th' Illustrious Dinomache.  
Puff out thy vaunts, and say, I'm comely, fair,  
To grant thee such Vain praises I'll not care.  
When ragged gran'ame Baucis, that does cry  
Unto the loser servants, Will ye buy  
Any sweet herbs, has as much wit as Thee,  
That thus dost boast of thy vain pedigree.   

That no man will descend to his Own heart,  
And search the secrets of that hidden part!  
No man! But have their eyes fixed evermore  
Upon His back and bag that goes Before!  
For do but ask a man, by Chance; D' ye know  
Vectidius farms? he'll say, Vectidius? Who?  
The Chuff of Cures, he whose grounds they say  
A kite can scarce fly o'er in a whole day?  
Him even the Gods oppose and the sure fate  
Of an unlucky Genius. Who (the date  
Of time, bringing again the ploughmen's 
e These feasts were called Compitalia, and were celebrated in honour of their Lares.  feast,  
When from their painful labours they have ceased,  
And now hung up their weary Oxens' yoke  
By the worn path upon some aged oak)  
When he should freely laugh, and make good cheer  
For other ploughmen ('tis but Once a year)  
Most basely fearing to pull off the clay  
From his small wine-vessel; he'll sigh, and say,  
Pray jove, that this my Prodigality  
Bring me not in the end, to beggary!  
A coated oignion then with salt he eats;  
(His servants much applauding such brave meats:  
Nay, and rejoicing for their happy lot  
And for the barly-pudding in the pot)  
Then sparingly he sups in steed of beer,  
The cloathy dregs of dying Vinegar.  
But strait replies the other, If Thou 'noint'st  
With supple oil thy foul lubberly joints  
And liest in the hot Sun letting it beat  
Upon thy skin, with its strong parching heat:  
There's one whom Thou scarce knowst, stands here hard by,  
Even at thine elbow, that could likewise cry  
Against Thy manners, and thy lewder art,  
The depilation of thy modest part,  
And of thy lungs, to prostitute thereby  
Unto a barren lust thy pathic thigh.  
Thy Cheeks bearing a combed, oiled beard: Elsewhere  

f Reader, in This line, I intendedly departed from the Letter of mine Author, yet without thy loss.  Why dost thou too-uniustly-smooth appear?  
Scrape on: but though five lusty wrestlers would  
Root up these springing plants: yea though they should  
With crooked pincers, by their tugging oft,  
Weaken thy parts of shame, though first made soft  
With Barber's soapie water, so to yield  
The better, to the plowers of this field:  
Yet this o're-spreading fern will never bow  
Unto the deepest furrow-making plow.   

Thus we wound Others: and do yield again  
Our thighs unto the darts of other men.  
And thus we know man's life pursued to be  
By this too-much-assumed Liberty.   


g The passage here, was too-obscure: wherefore I was forced to be a little diffuse in the opening of the connection; and so inserted these four verses.  Yet some men's faults, because they hidden lie  
From the inquiry of their Enemy,  
Are not objected to them; yet are known  
To him, to whom they cry, We are thine Own.  
Thou hast a secret wound under thy side:  
But thy broad gold-bossed girdle doth it hide:  
So though thou make Men say, thou'rt well (in Vain):  
Will thy Side say so too, that feels the pain?   

Thou'lt here perchance reply, What? when as all  
My neighbours Me an excellent fellow, call;  
And say, I am not as your Common men.  
Shall I, ah, Can I not believe 'em then?   


h The reply of Persius to his own objection.  Alas, blind wretch! if at the sight of gold  
With avaricious love thou waxest cold  
And pale: if every thing thou likewise do,  
Which griefe-procuring Lust provokes thee to:  
If on the table of thy Usury,  
By most oppressing heavy cruelty,  
As by a strong deepe-wounding scourge, thou make  
Many a sure-imprinted grievous struck:  
To the false-praising People thou mayst lend  
Thy spongy, sucking ears; but to no end.   

Seem not more than thou art: neither believe  
The ignorant applause base Cobblers give.  
Live with thyself, and quickly thou shalt see,  
The curtaled store of thy bare poverty.    

THE FIFT SATIRE IN FORM of a Dialogue. The Speakers. Persius, Cornutus.  
Argument.  
Cornutus' praise: Philosophy:  
Opposed desires: true Liberty.  P. 
Our Poets use to wish they had large lungs,  
And a whole hundred voices, mouths, and tongues:  
When they would write a buskined Tragedy,  
To be yawned out with the sad Majesty  
Of a Tragedian: or describe the high  
Brave-minded Parthian pulling from his thigh  
A hooke-like bearded dart.  C. 
Why speakest Thou thus?  
And heapest up such vast robustious  
And swelling lines, that Thou Thyself dost need  
A hundred throats, if thou'dst attain indeed  
The end which such endeavours tend to? Rather  
Let Them, who'll write some Lofty matter, gather  
Clouds off of Helicon, to whom the pot  
Of Progne, or Thyestes shall grow hot;  
Of which, the fond Tragedian Glyco must  
Oft make his supper. But Thou neither dust  
Puff from thy mouths full bellows much vain wind  
The whilst the matters boiling in thy mind,  
Thy forge: nor with an inward murmuring  
Hoarsly crow-like caw'st out some idle thing,  
● know not what: nor dost Thou strive to stuff  
Thy swelling cheeks, to break 'em with a puff.  
Thy words are words of peace, and accurate  
Thy style; thy mouth not swollen, but moderate  
Smooths out thy numbers; Thou canst touch to th'quick,  
Pale manners: and with an ingenuous trick  
Strike a crime Through; And Hence indeed from Crimes  
Do Thou draw still the subject of Thy rhymes;  
And leave the feast made with the feet and head  
Of Plysthenes woefully murdered,  
At sad Mycenae: and do Thou descry  
The People's banquets, full of Luxury.  ●. 

Surely, I strive not that My leaf may rise  
Wi●h swelling bubbles of vain fopperies,  
●it to give weight to smoke. We speak retired:  
And inwardly I by my Muse inspired  
Hear offer even my secret heart to be  
By Thee tried fully. For I'd have thee see  
Cornutus, dearest friend, how great a part  
Of my dear, yet divided soul Thou art.  
Knock on my breast: for Thou hast skill to know  
What soundeth solid, and the covered show  
Of a gilt tongue. And oh here I could crave  
A hundred voices: that how much I have  
●ixt thee within my many-seated breast,  
●… a pure fluent style might be expressed:  
●nd that which now ineffable doth dwell  
Within my heart, in words I here could tell.  
When first I did begin to leave to fear  
●nder a Master: and left off to wear  
●…y purple-Coate, that still preserved free  
From violation my weak infancy:  
And when my Golden Boss I newly had  
Hung up to my 
a To signify their readiness and expedition in defence of the hous● which was committed to their tutelary charge.  succinct House-Gods: when bad,  
And stuttering companions guarded me:  
When now my White Shield granted Liberty  
Unto mine eyes, freely to rove throughout  
The lewd Suburra: when I was in doubt  
Which way to take: and when my trembling mind  
Was by pernicious error almost blind,  
Misled into divided paths: I then  
Offered myself to thy Instruction. When  
Thou straightway didst embrace my tender youth  
In thy Socratique bosom: and the truth  
Of Thy rule well-applied, skilful to draw  
Feeble inclining minds to reasons law,  
Showed me intorted manners: and my mind  
Was pressed by reason, thoroughly confined  
To learned precepts, strove to be o'ercome;  
And took a Fair form from Thy skilful thumb.  
For I remember oft I with delight  
Have spent long days with Thee: and of the Night  
Have borrowed the first hours, feasting with Thee  
On the choice dainties of Philosophy.  
One work we wrought: we rested both one rest:  
Mixing severeness, with a Modest jest.  
For doubt not, both our birth-days joined in one  
Sure league, drawn from one constellation:  
Or the unchanged Parca weighed our time  
With an even balance: or that first, that prime  
Birth-howre of us true friends did blessedly  
Place our embracing fates in Gemini:  
And heavy Saturn's stern malignity  
Was broke by our good Ioues benignity.  
I know not What, but sure Some Star I see,  
Which inwardly disposes me towrds Thee.   

Yet there's a thousand sorts of men: and strange  
Variety doth human actions change.  
Each hath his several will: nor do All live  
With One desire, For, One his mind doth give  
To Merchandizing, and with care doth run  
Out to the East under the rising Sun,  
To get rough pepper, and pale Cummin seed  
For Roman wares Another loves to feed  
His paunch, and then swell with distilling sleep;  
A third doth Marsfield wrestlings duly keep;  
A fourth turns bankrupt by the  die;  
A fift grows rotten by damned Venery.  
But when the knotty hand-gout has once broke  
Their joints, as th'boughs of some decayed oak:  
Anger and grief do then begin a strife  
Within them, for their base and dirty life  
Now spent: when now, but now too late, they look  
Upon the life they wretchedly forsook.  
But Thou in learned writings dost by night  
Grow pale. Thou makest it thy chief delight  
To sow young purged ears with fruitful truths,  
With good Cleanthes fruit. Draw Hence ye youths,  
Ye old men, for yourselves, some Certain end:  
●ome helps from cares your old age to defend.   

To Morrow we'll do this. 
b He brings them in answering for themselves and then be replies a●ine unto them.  Alas! you'll do  
The same, tomorrow. ' Why ask we of you  
●o much, to wit, only One Day? 
c Another answer of theirs, with his own reply.  But when  
The Third day comes, we have consumed then  
Tomorrow Yesterday: and thus to borrow  
Of time, though yet to come, still one To-morrow●  
Will secretly drive out our Years at last,  
When Every day a New day will be past,  
Never to be recovered. For Thou Wheel  
Which dost about the Second Axle reel  
Hindermost, mayst in vain strive to o'ertake  
The First still turning forward, which doth make  
Like haste, with equal swiftness: though thou be  
Hard by it placed under the self-same tree.   

Whos'ever then True Liberty would gain,  
Let him embrace Philosophy: for vain  
Is Other freedom; Such, to wit, whereby  
Any new Publius may familiarly  
In his (the Veline) tribe course corn demand  
By bringing but his Token in his hand.  
O men barren of truth, that think they can  
Make, with a Turning, a Quiritian!  
here's Dama a base horse-keeper not worth  
Three halfpences, a mere sot, that can't look forth  
From out the mist of Ignorance, and one  
Who'll lie even for the least occasion,  
For horsebread; whom if 's Master turn about,  
I' th' moment of the Whirling he goes out  
Strait, Marcus Dama. The Gods! darest deny  
To trust one, Marcus being surety?  
Or, Marcus being judge, art pale with fear  
Of Wrong? Marcus said it: then thou mayst swear  
'tis true. Now Marcus seal the Bond. Oh, here's  
Brave Liberty and true, which our Cap wears  
As well as We! 
d The answer of Dama now Manumissed.  Why is there any free,  
But he, the which doth live at Liberty?  
I live at liberty, and am not I  
More free than Brutus then? 
e The reply of Persius.  Oh here stands by  
A well-taught Stoic, whose more purged ear  
Is washed, as 'twere, with Truth's sharp vinegar,  
That says, I grant the First; but where you say,  
I live at Liberty, take That away.  

f Another answer of Dama.  Why? since I came from th' Praetor's rod Mine Own  
Free man, I'll Now be subject unto none;  
And why may ned I do with full liberty  
Whats'e're 
g A famous Lawyer, and afterwards a Knight of Rome.  Masurius doth not deny?  

h Another reply of Persius.  Oh, learn: but this thine anger first depose,  
And let fall from thy too-much-wrinkled nose,  
Thy rugged scoff? whilst from thy lungs I pull  
These old wives tales, of which thy breast's Yet full.  
It was not in the Praetor's power to give  
Pure Wisdom unto Fools, or make Them live  
By Reason's rule. No; thou shalt sooner fit  
Unto the harp, a rough rude soldiers wit.  
'Gainst which Reason doth stand, and secretly  
Whispers him in the ear, and says, Fie, Fie:  
Never attempt what thou canst near reach to,  
And only spoil, whilst thou dost strive to do.  
The law of man and nature both deny  
Weak Ignorance the privilege to try  
Forbidden things. Dost Thou mix Hellebore  
For a sick patient, who ne'er tri'd'st before  
To weigh it exactly to a Dram? The art  
Of Physic bids thee not-dare act This part.  
If a rude high-shooed clown offer to steer  
A ship, not knowing his guide Lucifer:  
The Sea-God Melicerta may exclaim.  
The brow of modesty has lost all shame?  
Has virtues art taught thee to walk upright?  
And canst thou with a perspicacious sight  
Discern the Show of Truth from truth? Dost know  
Counterfeit gold by th'Sound? and canst thou show  
What things to follow, what things to decline,  
The first with Chalk, the last with Coal to sign?  
Art of confined desires? hast thou a small  
And pretty well-trimmed house? art kind to all  
Thy friends? canst wisely sometimes Shut thy store,  
Sometimes Open thy garners to the poor,  
And with a pure affection unhurt  
Canst thou pass over money 
i An allusion to the sport that children used: who tying a piece of money to the end of a string, would cover the string with dirt and let the money be seen, which, when any greedy fellow passing by, would stoop to take up, they would plucke-in the string; and so delude him.  fixed i'th' dirt?  
Nor, as a greedy glutton, love to lick  
Mercurial spittle, which doth use to stick  
Upon the lips of Niggard's? When as all  
These things thou mayst thine own most truly call;  
Then, Oh be wise, enjoy true Liberty,  
The Praetors, yea, and great Jove blessing thee.  
But Thou but th'other day of Our degree,  
Retaining still thy Old skin, being free  
Only in a smooth brow, that outward part,  
Deep subtlety lurking in thy foul heart:  
The Liberty I gave thee, I again  
Recall, and do tie Shorter Now thy chain.  
For Reason unto Thee doth Nothing lend:  
Lift but thy 
k Ramirez (in his Commentary on Martial: lib. 1. Epig. 1.) would persuade us that this place is meant de Medio digito, but his exposition is somewhat rank, and I will justly oppose him with that discreet admonition of Turnebus (Advers. lib. 23. cap. 23.) Non sunt tam ex alto ducendi sensus, de quibus poeta nihil cogitârit.  Finger up, thou dost offend;  
And what's so small? But, thou shalt near obtain  
By any francke-incense, that the Least Grain  
Of wisdom shall ere rest within a fool:  
To mix These Two, is against Nature's rule.  
Nor shalt thou, thou remaining a Clown still,  
Ere dance three measures with Bathyllus skill.  
●●'me Free. 
l An other reply of Dama, and the answer of Persius.  How canst thou say so, thy affection  
Being in vassaled to the worst subjection?  
Know'st thou no other Master, but he whom  
The Manumitting rod did free thee from?  
Indeed if Now, one say imperiously  
To is slave; Go, Sirrah, carry presently  
This linen to Crispinus Baths; dost stand  
Still, Lazy knave? This his severe command  
Doth move thee nothing: because now no whip  
May scourge Thy Lazy sides, to make Thee skip.  
But if within, in thy sick lungs do spring  
Headstrong desires, art Thou in any thing  
Less servile then, then is such a poor knave,  
Whom th' whip & fear of's Master made a slave?   

Thou lying long in bed, avarice cries,  
Up, up, Not yet, sayst thou: For shame arise,  
Cries she; I can't, thou dost reply: Why so,  
Says she again? Rise, Rise; dost thou not know  
What thou shouldst do? Why go to th' Sea, bring thence  
Fish, Beaver-oile, flax, Eben, frankincense,  
And loosening wines of Co; and be the first  
To fetch from th' Camel, whilst he yet doth thirst,  
Fresh pepper: exchange somewhat, and forswear  
For Gain. O but (alas!) than jove will hear  
Why, fool, if thou wilt dwell with Jove, thou shalt  
Striving but to get out one taste of salt,  
Boar a hole through thy oft-licked saltseller.  
Well; being got up, thou dost (not to defer  
To execute her will) provide thy men  
Bags for to lay their clothes in, and then  
Lai'st-in wine, with such other things thou know'st  
Are fit for Navigation: then strait go'st  
To ship; where nothing hinders thee to sail  
O'er the Aegaean Sea with a full gail,  
But Luxury. That doth seduce thy weak  
Vnstayednesse, and thus with art doth speak.   

Whether, Oh whether madman, dost thou run?  
Whether? What lackest thou? What wouldst thou have done?  
(
m These two lines, the Poet interiects in his own person.  And now thy hot breast with strong ire doth swell,  
Which a whole pot of Hemlock can scarce quell.)  
Wilt Thou pass o'er the Seas? Wilt Thou ere eat  
Thy Supper, making a Stretched Rope thy seat?  
Shall a broad-bottomed tankard that does st●●ke  
Of pitch, fume out the wine, that Thou must drink?  
Nay, vile ruddy Veientane wine? strivest thou  
To make thy labouring money sweat forth now  
Eleav'n in twelve, the which did Hear obtain  
ne'er above Five in Twelve, a modest gain?  
Come, come: cherish thy Genius: let's be free  
T' enjoy a full delight: for without Me  
Life is Not: and remember that ere long.  
Thou shalt be but a Ghost, dust, and the song  
O' th' People. Think how thou by death shalt pass  
Away, like Time. This which I Spoke, It was.  
What dost thou now? Two hooks a double way  
Now draw thee; Wilt thou this, or I his obey?  
Thou must be slave to both alternately:  
Now serving Avarice, now Luxury.  
Nor mayst thou, if thou dost for Once withstand  
Their instant and importunate command,  
Say strait, I broke their bands; For, lo,  
A dog by tugging breaks his knot, just so,  
Who, though he run away and bite and strain,  
Yet at his neck doth trail much of his chain.   

Chaerestratus in serious meditation  
Biting his nail to th' quick through deep vexation  
Says to his man; Davus, I now intent  
All my forepassed griefs and Love to end;  
Believe me. For shall I be still a shame,  
Unto my sober careful friends good name?  
Shall I spend all my stock with infamy  
At the lewd threshold of a Stews? Shall I  
Drunk before Chrysis anointed moist doors stand  
Singing, my torch extinguished in my hand?  
O 
n Davus his rejoicing at his Masters promised reformation.  rare young Master! Be henceforward wise:  
And offer up a lamb in sacrifice,  
To thy protecting Gods. 
o The interrogation of Chaerestratus to his servant Davus.  But dost believe  
Davus, if I forsake her, that she'll grieve?  

p Davus his indignation, at his Master's weak inconstancy.  Dost trifle, Idle boy? Then she shall break  
Thy pate with her red pantofle, and wreak  
Her spite upon thee, that thou shalt not dare  
To quake, nor bite her fast-entangling snare.  
thou'rt Now averse and violent; but when  
She shall perchance but call thee: thou'lt say then,  
I come straightways; for, why? what should I do?  
Sha'ned I go to my Love, when She doth Woo,  
And Sends for me? But if thou canst Now, Now  
Redeem thyself All and Entire; Thou, Thou  
Art that thrise-happy man, that only He  
Whom Only, We judge to be Truly free.  
Not he, o'er whom the foolish Lictor wags  
His rod, and of him, as His Freeman brags.  
For, Oh, can he be truly called his own  
Whom Candidate Chaulkie Ambition  
Draws gaping to Her lure? To whom she cries,  

q The words of Ambition.  Unto thy Clients salutations rise  
By time, and give a liberal dole of pease  
Unto the scrambling multitude: that these  
Our large Floralia may be made the talk  
Of Aged men hereafter as they walk  
In the warm Sun; For what can be More brave?   


r These words are spoken in the person of Persius.  And art not Superstitious to have  
On Herod's birthday, many candles placed  
In order i'th' oiled window, much defaced  
By the fat cloud the which they vomit out,  
Though with sweet violets theyare decked about;  
And t'have a Tunies tail, as ' twe●e to swim  
In a red dish, thy white bowl full to th' brim  
With wine, yet dost nor fast till night, and pray  
All the jews circumcised Saboth-day?  
Then with Hobgoblins, and the feigned fear  
Of danger from a cracked egg, and th' austere  
Grave Priests of Cybell, and the one-eied maid  
Of Isis with her timbrel, thou'rt dismayed.  
And thinkest the Gods will puff with some disease  
Thy swelling skin: if thou shalt them displease:  
Refusing by their grave rules to be led,  
To taste each morn three times a Garlicke-head.   

And sayest thou yet, thou liv'st at liberty,  
Being subject to th' extremest vanity?   

Yet speak this, which the Gods do know, is true,  
'Mongst full-veind Soldiers: what would strait ensue?  
Some vast Volpenius with a full deep throat  
Would bellow out a laugh, in a base note:  
And ten times ten Philosophers of Greece  
Would scarcely prise at a clipped Ten-groats piece.    

THE sixth AND LAST SATIRE TO his friend Caesius Bassus a Lyrique Poet.  
Argument.  
The pining Niggard's fruitless care,  
To feed the lust of his lewd heir.  

NOw, Bassus hath the cold made thee retire  
Thyself, this winter, to the Sabine fire?  
Do thy old harp and strings live to thee still,  
Sounding loud music with a stiffer quill?  
Great workman! whose blessed Muse sweet lines affords,  
Full of the Native beauty of Old words:  
And on the Roman harp with happiness  
Of skill, a masculine, strong sound t● express:  
Now playing young men's sports, now playing some  
Brave Old men's actions, with an honest thumb.  
The warm Ligurian shore grows hot to Me:  
And I'm now winterd at my Native Sea;  
Where the rocks yield a shore to them that sail  
And where the haven into a large vale  
Retires itself. 'tis fairly worth the sight,  
The port of Luna, full of much delight.  
Thus said wise Ennius' Aft'r he had dreamt he was  
Homer, the fift formed by Pythagoras  
His peacocks soul. Here I retired live free  
From caring what the People think of me:  
And what th' unlucky Southwind doth prepare  
For cattle; Nor do I take grief or care  
If that my neighbour's fields more fat than mine.  
Let all poore-borne grow rich, I'll never pine  
With stooping age, for That: or want good cheer:  
Or touch the sign of dreggy sealed beer  
In a hoared flagon. Yet another may  
Dissent from this. For oft the same birthday  
Hath an Ascendent strongly influent  
Producing even in twins a different  
Yea an opposed Genius. For the one  
Warily with great circumspection,  
And on his Birthday only, dips his dry  
Course herbs in brinish sauce, which he doth buy  
In a small cup, His Own self sprinkling  
His dish with Pepper as a Holy thing.  
The other a brave boy courageously  
Spends his large portion in luxury  
On his consuming tooth. But as for Mine,  
I'll Use it: yet near let my Freedmen dine  
With Turbets: nor be curious-mouthed to know  
But by the taste if it be a Thrush or Noah.  
Proportion thy expenses by thy gain:  
And grind out freely (for thou mayst) thy grain  
Laid up within thy barns. What shouldst thou fear?  
But harrow, and behold strait will appear  
Another harvest. 
a The covetous man's pretended reason in defence of himself.  Why, I Would thus spend,  
But Duty hinders me. For my poor friend,  
His ship being split, held by the Brutian  
Sharp rocks; and buried in th' Ionian  
Rough waves all his estate, and his deaf cries  
Neglected by the Gods: and himself lies  
Upon the shore with his great Gods, which he  
Caught from his broken ship, whose ribs now be  
Exposed unto the Cormorant. 
b Persius' his reply.  Nay, Now  
Give him some of thy Land: and do not thou  
Think thou canst be Too free; Let him not lack,  
wandering with a Green 
* The table of his shipwreck  Table at his back.  
But if thou ' impair thy wealth, thy angered heir  
Of thy last funerall-feast will take small care:  
And with neglect into thy urn will throw  
Thy bones without perfumes, careless to know  
Whether he buy dull-smelling Cinnamon,  
Or Casia corrupt with Cherry-gumme.  
he'll say. What dost thou idly spend thy wealth.  
My portion, being in thy perfect Health?  
But more; I'm sure there's thrifty Bestius  
Doth press your learnedst Grecian Doctors, thus;  
Thus 'tis, since your Fond Liberality,  
Rather 
c Thus with the most accurate Interpreters, I render Maris Expers, taking Maris for the genitive case of Mas, not of Mare; For then there were a manifest contradiction in the sense; because presently after, he says, it came from Greece, and so by consequent, over the Sea.  emasculate soft Luxury,  
With pepper, dates, and other ware hath come  
From your lewd Greece unto our City Rome,  
Our very Mowers do with too much oil  
Their ancient wholesome meat Saucily spoil.  

d Persius here answers to the objection, which he himself brought for the covetous man.  But fearest these things beyond thy Grave-draw near,  
Thou whosoe'er shalt be My heir, and hear:  
And that into our talk none may intrude,  
Let us retire from the thick multitude.  
My friend, knowst not the news? Caesar hath sent  
A Laurel for a sign and ornament  
Of his great conquest over Germany:  
And the cold ashes which before did lie  
Upon the Altars, are now swept away:  
And with great care and joy 
e The Emperor Caligula's wife makes all things ready for the triumph.  Caesonia  
Fixeth the conquered King's armour of proof  
And all their weapons to the temples roof:  
Clads all the captives in a durt-browne freise:  
Placeth the Rheni of a huge vast size:  
And orders all their coaches: Wherefore I  
Will bring for this so happy victory  

f The Romans counted their Fencers-shewes and Plays a part of their Religion; as Turnebus well observes, in his Advers. lib. 39 cap. 7. p. 1093.  To th' Gods and our great captains Genius  
A hundred pair of fencers. I being thus  
Freely disposed, who doth forbid? Darest Thou?  
Woe, if thou yield'st not. Say, that I'm pleased now  
Upon the people to bestow a dole  
Of oil and flesh-pies: dost thou dare control?  
Speak out, and plainly. Why, your land, thou'lt say,  
Is not so fat, so bonelesse, but I may,  
For any cause I see, not greatly care,  
Whether or Noah, you do make Me your Heir.  
Well then, scorn Thou my Love; yet thus much know:  
Enough will be my heir, and thank me too.  
For were none of my father's sisters left:  
No cousen-germane: or were I bereft  
Of all my vnkle's neece's daughters: say,  
My mother's sister had died barren: nay,  
That none sprung from my grandam did survive:  
Briefly, that not one kinsman were alive:  
I'll go but to 
g These were places not far from Rome, where beggars used to ask alms of passengers.  Bovillae, or the 
g These were places not far from Rome, where beggars used to ask alms of passengers.  hill  
Of Virbius, where standeth ready still,  
Poor Mannius: He shall be my heir. 
h The interrogation of his covetous heir, and the reply of Persius.  What He?  
A son o' th' Earth? Obscure? 
h The interrogation of his covetous heir, and the reply of Persius.  Why ask of Me,  
Who was my fourth Forefather, I can't Well  
And Readily declare; though I Can tell.  
But if you ' de know His father, and again  
That father's father: sure you must remain  
Satisfied thus; That He did draw His birth  
Immediately from his mother earth;  
And so at last, you'll find Mannius to be  
By right of kin, great uncle unto Me.  
Yet why at all shouldst Thou indeed desire  
To be my Heir, when thou mightst be my Sire  
For Age? and why shouldst thou demand of Me  
My torch, when I in 
i An allusion to the race celebrated in honour of Prometheus, where the first running with a torch in his hand, when he was weary, gave it to the next after him.  course run After Thee?  
Yet if thou be my heir, me thinks, thou oughtest  
To be content, with what thou never boughtst▪  
I'm Mercury, and come, to Thee, a God,  
As he is 
k With a purse of money in his hand.  Painted. With a churlish nod  
Scornest my free offer? Wilt not thou be glad  
For what is left? 
l The murmuring objection of his covetous heir, and the reply of Persius.  Why, here's not all You had  
Left to You by Your father. 
l The murmuring objection of his covetous heir, and the reply of Persius.  True indeed.  
Much I did spend on mine own proper need.  
But, briefly, this is all is left: which All  
I'll Give to thee; And do not thou now brawl  
Unkindly with me: neither ask me where  
Is that which Tadius left me: and ne'er  
Give me hard words, as father's drawing nigh  
Their end, do give their sons before they die;  
Saying, See thou put out the Principal:  
And spend but of the Use: let That be all.  

m One murmuring interrogation more, of his greedy heir; and the reply of Persius' full of indignation.  But yet, What's Left? 
m One murmuring interrogation more, of his greedy heir; and the reply of Persius' full of indignation.  What's left? Now liberally  
Power boy, power oil upon my herbs. Shall I  
Upon a high festival day, be fed  
With a sod nettle, and a lean swine's head  
Hung up i'th'smoake by th'ear; unto the end  
This lewd knave may My goods hereafter spend?  
And filled with dainty giblets, without shame  
Lewdly embrace a soft Patrician Dame;  
When as his wayward, full-swolne, chiding vein;  
With an uncertain lust doth sob again?  
Shall I be like the warp of bare cloth, that  
To him a strutting paunch may quagge with fat?  

n A satirical Irony in the person of some Third Speaker.  Oh, sell thy Soul for Gain, to leave thy heir  
Wealthy: and so thou gettest by thy ware,  
ne'er care how honestly. Sift every coast  
Of the whole world, that thou mayst truly boast,  
No man feeds fatter Cappadocian knaves  
In a rough cage, then are Thy lusty slaves.  
Double thy wealth. 
o The answer of Persius.  'tis done; nayed has increased  
Three, four, tenfold as much. Yet scarce is ceased   

And now, where likewise I may rest, design,  
Chrysippus, thou that didst Thy 
p Sorites, of which kind of Argumentation, Chrysippus was the Author.  heap confine.   
THE END OF PERSIUS.   

AN APOSTROPHE OF THE Translator to his Author Persius.  

THou art Redeemed; Nor has the Fate of Time  
And Vice seized on thy glory. The Worst crime  
Which does o'recloud the Guilty, adds to Thee  
A Lustre, which out shines obscurity.  
Who thought not, that the Great-borne Spirit of Rome  
Had lain o'erwhelmed in her Last Brutus tomb?  
Yet did it Not: but did at last bring forth  
Thee, the Example of her Ancient worth.  
In whom, had Vesta's fire by which Rome Stood  
Been out, there might have yet been found as good.  
Mount then, thou purer fire, and let thy heat  
Strongly exhale from their infectious seat  
Th' envenomed fogs of vice; And then inflame  
Them, that they may be lights to their Own shame;  
Which, as a Comet, may affright the earth  
With horror, at its own prodigious birth;  
And, with its darting tail threatening dread  
Vengeance, point-out to wrath each guilty head.  
Be thou the Vestal fire, thy Priest I'll be,  
And consecrate my vigilance to Thee.  
Be thou th' enlifening Sun, I'll be the Earth,  
And offer up to Thee this grateful birth  
Of thanks: which thus now given, though strait it Die,  
It has lived Ages in its Infancy.  
Action, not Time, does number age. Who gives  
A just praise to great virtues Patron, lives  
Himself by his just Gratitude. Let Spite  
Then do its worst, and with eternal night  
Labour to cloud my name. Obscure to lie  
With Virtue, is an immortality.   

THis lash has but Six knots: but see thou mend;  
Or peradventure Else I shall intend.  
(Although my Angry Muse says She will be  
No more thus Wit-bound, thus Tonguetied, not She)  
To come in Fury; and thee Naked strip;  
And Scourge thee with a Sixteene-knotted whip.   
FINIS.