Sure on our birth some friendly planet shone; And, as our souls, our horoscope was one : Whether the mounting Twins did Heaven adorn, Or with the rising Balance we were born; Both have the same impressions from above; And both have Saturn's rage, repell'd by Jove. What star I know not, but some star I find, Has given thee an ascendant o'er my mind.

CORNUTUS.

Nature is ever various in her frame : Each has a different will; and few the same: The greedy merchants, led by lucre, run To the parch'd Indies, and the rising Sun; From thence hot pepper and rich drugs they bear, Bartering, for spices, their Italian ware; The lazy glutton safe at home will keep, Indulge his sloth, and batten with his sleep: One bribes for high preferments in the state; A second shakes the box, and sits up late: Another shakes the bed, dissolving there, Till knots upon his gouty joint appear, And chalk is in his crippled fingers found;

This is true liberty, as I believe:
What can we farther from our caps receive,
Than as we please without control to live?
Not more to noble Brutus could belong.”
"Hold," says the Stoic, " your assumption's

wrong:

I grant, true freedom you have well defin'd:
But, living as you list, and to your mind,
And loosely tack'd, all must be left behind.
What, since the pretor did my fetters loose,
And left me freely at my own dispose,
May I not live without control and awe,
Excepting still the letter of the law?"

Hear me with patience, while thy mind I free
From those fond notions of false liberty:
'Tis not the pretor's province to bestow
True freedom; nor to teach mankind to know
What to ourselves, or to our friends, we owe.
He could not set thee free from cares and strife,
Nor give the reins to a lewd vicious life:
As well he for an ass a harp might string,
Which is against the reason of the thing;
For reason still is whispering in your ear,

Yes, sure for yesterday was once to morrow. That yesterday is gone, and nothing gain'd: And all thy fruitless days will thus be drain'd; For thou hast more to morrows yet to ask, And wilt be ever to begin thy task; Who, like the hindmost chariot-wheels, art curst, Still to be near, but ne'er to reach the first. O freedom! first delight of human kind! Not that which bondmen from their masters find, The privilege of doles: not yet t' inscribe Their names in this or t' other Roman tribe: That false enfranchisement with ease is found: Slaves are made citizens, by turning round. "How," replies one," can any be more free? Here's Dama, once a groom of low degree, Not worth a farthing, and a sot beside; So true a rogue, for lying's sake he ly'd; But, with a turn, a freeman he became; Now Marcus Dama is his worship's name. Good gods! who would refuse to lend a sum, If wealthy Marcus surety will become! Marcus is made a judge, and for a proof Of certain truth, he said, it is enough. A will is to be prov'd; put in your claim; 'Tis clear, if Marcus has subscrib'd his name.

No need of public sanctions this to bind,
Which Nature has implanted in the mind:
Not to pursue the work, to which we 're not de-
sign'd.

[land,

[skill,

Unskill'd in hellebore, if thou should'st try To mix it, and mistake the quantity, The rules of physic would against thee ory. The high-shoe'd ploughman, should he quit the To take the pilot's rudder in his hand, Artless of stars, and of the moving sand, The gods would leave him to the waves and wind, And think all shame was lost in human kind. Tell me, my friend, from whence hadst thou the So nicely to distinguish good from ill? Or by the sound to judge of gold and brass, What piece is tinker's metal, what will pass? And what thou art to follow, what to fly, This to condemn, and that to ratify? When to be bountiful, and when to spare, But never craving, or opprest with care? The baits of gifts, and money to despise, And look on wealth with undesiring eyes? When thou can'st truly call these virtues thine, Be wise and free, by Heaven's consent, and mine But thou, who lately, of the common strain, Wert one of us, if still thou dost retain The same ill habits, the same follies too, Gloss'd over only with a saint-like show, Then I resume the freedom which I gave, Still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave. Thou canst not wag my finger, or begin The least light motion, but it tends to sin. "How's this? Not wag thy finger?" he replies. No, friend; nor fuming gums, nor sacrifice, Can ever make a madman free, or wise. Virtue and vice are never in one soul: A man is wholly wise, or wholly is a fool. A heavy bumkin, taught with daily care, Can never dance three steps with a becoming air.

PERSIUS.

In spite of this, my freedom still remains.

CORNUTUS.

Free! what, and fetter'd with so many chains ? Canst thou no other master understand Than him that freed thee by the pretor's wand?

Should he, who was thy lord, command thee now,
With a harsh voice, and supercilious brow,
To servile duties, thou would'st fear no more;
The gallows and the whip are out of door.
But if thy passions lord it in thy breast,
Art thou not still a slave, and still opprest?
Whether alone, or in thy harlot's lap,
When thou would'st take a lazy morning's nap;
"Up, up," says Avarice. Thou snor'st again,
Stretchest thy limbs, and yawn'st, but all in vain;
The tyrant Lucre no denial takes;

At his command th' unwilling sluggard wakes:
"What must I do?" he cries: "What?" says
his lord:

"Why, rise, make ready, and go straight abroad:
With fish, from Euxine seas, thy vessel freight;
Flax, castor, Coan wines, the precious weight
Of pepper, and Sabæan incense, take
With thy own hands, from the tir'd camel's back:
And with post-haste thy running markets make.
Be sure to turn the penny; lye and swear;
'Tis wholesome sin: but Jove, thou say'st, will

hear:

Swear, fool, or starve; for the dilemma 's even:
A tradesman thou! and hope to go to Heaven?
Resolv'd for sea, the slaves thy baggage pack,
Each saddled with his burden on his back:
Nothing retards thy voyage, now, unless
Thy other lord forbids, Voluptuousness:
And he may ask this civil question : Friend,
What dost thou make a ship-board? to what end?
Art thou of Bethlem's noble college free? [sea;
Stark, staring mad, that thou would'st tempt the
Cubb'd in a cabbin, on a mattress laid,
On a brown george, with lowsy swobbers fed,
Dead wine, that stinks of the borrachio, sup
From a foul jack, or greasy maple-cup?

Say, would'st thou bear all this, to raise thy store
From six i' th' hundred, to six hundred more?
Indulge, and to thy genius freely give;
For, not to live at ease, is not to live;
Death stalks behind thee, and each flying hour
Does some loose remnant of thy life devour.
Live, while thou liv'st; for death will make us all
A name, a nothing but an old wife's tale.'"

Speak; wilt thou Avarice, or Pleasure, choose
To be thy lord? take one, and one refuse.
But both, by turns, the rule of thee will have ;
And thou, betwixt them both, wilt be a slave.

Nor think, when once thou hast resisted one, That all thy marks of servitude are gone: The struggling greyhound gnaws his leash in vain; If, when 'tis broken, still he drags the chain. Says Phædra to his man, "Believe me, friend, To this uneasy love I'll put an end : Shall I run out of all? my friends disgrace, And be the first lewd unthrift of my race? Shall I the neighbour's nightly rest invade At her deaf doors, with some vile serenade?" "Well hast thou freed thyself," his man replies, "Go, thank the gods, and offer sacrifice." "Ah," says the youth, "if we unkindly part, Will not the poor fond creature break her heart? Weak soul! and blindly to destruction led!" "She break her heart! she'll soouer break your head.

She knows her man, and, when you rant and swear, Can draw you to her, with a single hair."

But shall I not return? Now, when she sues! Shall I my own, and her desires refuse?"

"Sir, take your course: but my advice is plain: Once freed, 'tis madness to resume your chain."

Ay; there's the man, who, loos'd from lust and Less to the pretor owes, than to himself. [pelf, But write him down a slave, who, humbly proud, With presents begs preferments from the crowd; That early suppliant, who salutes the tribes, And sets the mob to scramble for his bribes: That some old dotard, sitting in the sun, On holidays may tell, that such a feat was done : In future times this will be counted rare.

[plac'd,

Thy superstition too may claim a sbare: When flowers are strew'd, and lamps, in order And windows with illuminations grac'd, On Herod's day; when sparkling bowls go round And tunnies' tails, in savoury sauce are drown'd, Thou mutter'st prayers obscene; nor dost refuse The fasts and sabbaths of the curtail'd Jews. Then a crack'd egg-shell thy sick fancy frights, Besides the childish fear of walking sprites. Of o'ergrown gelding priests thou art afraid; The timbrel, and the squintifego maid Of Isis, awe thee: lest the gods, for sin, Should, with a swelling dropsy, stuff thy skin: Unless three garlic-heads the curse avert, Eaten each morn, devoutly, next thy heart. Preach this among the brawny guards, say'st thou, And see if they thy doctrine will allow; The dull fat captain, with a hound's deep throat, Would bellow out a laugh, in a base note; And prize a hundred Zenos just as much As a clipt sixpence, or a schilling Dutch

one,

THE SIXTH SATIRE OF

PERSIUS.

THE ARGUMENT.

THIS sixth satire treats an admirable commoa: place of moral philosophy; of the true use of riches. They certainly are intended, by the power who bestows them, as instruments and helps of living commodiously ourselves; and of administering to the wants of others, who are oppressed by fortune. There are two extremes in the opinions of men concerning them. One errour, though on the right hand, yet a great is, that they are no helps to a virtuous life; the other places all our happiness in the acquisition and possession of them; and this is, undoubtedly, the worse extreme. The mean betwixt these, is the opinion of the Stoics; which is, that riches may be useful to the leading a virtuous life; in case we rightly understand how to give according to right reason; and how to receive what is given us by others. The virtue of giving well, is called liberality: and it is of this virtue that Persius writes in this satire; wherein he not only shows the lawful use of riches, but also sharply inveighs against the vices which are opposed to it; and especially of those, which consist in the defects of giving or spending; or in the abuse of riches. He writes to Cesius Bassus his friend, and a poet also, inquires first of his health and studies; and afterwards informs him of his own, and where he is now resident. He gives an ac

TO CESIUS BASSUS, A LYRIC POET.

HAS winter caus'd thee, friend, to change thy [seat,

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

For me, my warmer constitution wants
More cold, than our Ligurian winter grants;
And therefore, to my native shores retir'd,
I view the coast old Eunius once admir'd;
Where cliffs on either sides their points display;
And, after, opening in an ampler way,
Afford the pleasing prospect of the bay.
""Tis worth your while, O Romans, to regard
The port of Luna," says our learned bard;
Who in a drunken dream beheld his soul
The fifth within the transmigrating roll;
Which first a peacock, then Euphorbus was,
Then Homer next, and next Pythagoras;
And last of all the line did into Enuius pass.
Secure and free from business of the state,
And more secure of what the vulgar prate,
Here I enjoy my private thoughts; nor care
What rots for sheep the southern winds prepare:
Survey the neighbouring fields, and not repine,
When I behold a larger crop than mine:
To see a beggar's brat in riches flow,
Adds not a wrinkle to my even brow;
Nor, envious at the sight, will I forbear
My plenteous bowl, nor bate my bounteous cheer.
Nor yet unseal the dregs of wine that stink
Of cask; nor in a nasty flaggon drink;
Let others stuff their guts with homely fare;
For men of different inclinations are;

Though born perhaps beneath one common star.
In minds and manners twins oppos'd we see
In the same sign, almost the same degree:
One, frugal on his birth-day fears to dine,
Does at a penny's cost in herbs repine,

And hardly dares to dip his fingers in the brine.
Prepar'd as priest of his own rites to stand,
He sprinkles pepper with a sparing hand.
His jolly brother, opposite in sense,
Laughs at his thrift; and, lavish of expense,
Quaffs, crams, and guttles, in his own defence.
For me, I'll use my own; and take my share;
Yet will not turbots for my slaves prepare;
Nor be so nice in taste myself to know
If what I swallow be a thrush, or no

Live on thy annual income; spend thy store;
And freely grind, from thy full threshing-floor;
Next harvest promises as much, or more.
Thus I would live: but friendship's holy band, ́
And offices of kindness, hold my hand:
My friend is shipwreck'd on the Brutian strand,
His riches in th' Ionian main are lost,
And he himself stands shivering on the coast;
Where, destitute of help, forlorn and bare,
He wearies the deaf gods with fruitless prayer.
Their images, the relics of the wreck,
Torn from the naked poop, are tided back
By the wild waves, and, rudely thrown ashore,
Lie impotent; nor cau themselves restore.
The vessel sticks, and shows her open'd side, [ride.
And on her shatter'd masts the mews in triumph
From thy new hope, and from thy growing store,
Now lend assistance, and relieve the poor.
Come; do a noble act of charity;

A pittance of thy land will set him free.
Let him not bear the badges of a wreck,
Nor beg with a blue table on his back:
Nor tell me that thy frowning heir will say,
""Tis mine that wealth thou squander'st thus
What is 't to thee, if he neglect thy urn, [away;
Or without spices lets thy body burn?
If odours to thy ashes he refuse,

Or buys corrupted cassia from the Jews?"
"All these," the wiser Bestius will reply,
"Are empty pomp, and dead men's luxury:
We never knew this vain expense, before
Th' effeminated Grecians brought it o'er:
Now toys and trifles from their Athens come;
And dates and pepper have unsinew'd Rome.
Our sweating hinds their sallads, now, defile,
Infecting homely herbs with fragrant oil.
But to thy fortune be not thou a slave:
For what hast thou to fear beyond the grave?
And thou who gap'st for my estate, draw near;
For I would whisper somewhat in thy ear. [come,
Hear'st thou the news, my friend' th' express is
With laurel'd letters from the camp to Rome?
Caesar salutes the queen and senate thus:

My arms are on the Rhine victorious.
From mourning altars sweep the dust away:
Cease fasting, and proclaim a fat thanksgiving day.'
The goodly empress, jollily inclin'd,

Is to the welcome bearer wondrous kind:
And setting her good housewifery aside,
Prepares for all the pageantry of pride.
The captive Germans, of gigantic size,
Are rank'd in order, and are clad in frize:
The spoils of kings and conquer'd camps we boast,
Their arms in trophies hang on the triumphal post.
"Now, for so many glorious actions done
In foreign parts, and mighty battles won:
For peace at home, and for the public wealth,
I mean to crown a bow! to Cæsar's health:
Besides, in gratitude for such high matters,
Know I have vow'd two hundred gladiators.
Say would'st thou hinder me from this expense;
I disinherit thee, if thou dar'st take offence.
Yet more, a public largess I design
Of oil and pies, to make the people dine:
Control me not, for fear I change my will.
And yet methinks I hear thee grumbling still,
You give as if you were the Persian king:
Your land does not so large revenues bring.'
Well; on my terms thou wilt not be my heir?
If thou car'st little, less shall be my care:

Were none of all my father's sisters left:
Nay, were I of my mother's kin bereft :
None by an uncle's or a grandame's side,
Yet I could some adopted heir provide.
I need but take my journey half a day
From haughty Rome, and at Aricia stay,
Where fortune throws poor Manius in my way.
Him will I choose:" "What! him of humble birth,
Obscure, a foundling, and a son of earth?"
"Obscure? Why pr'ythee what am I? I know
My father, grandsire, and great grandsire too.
If farther I derive my pedigree,

I can but guess beyond the fourth degree.
The rest of my forgotten ancestors

Were sons of earth, like him, or sons of whores.
"Yet, why would'st thou, old covetous wretch,
aspire

To be my heir, who might'st have been my sire?
In Nature's race, should'st thou demand of me
My torch, when I in course run after thee?
Think I approach thee, like the god of gain,
With wings on head and heels, as poets feign:
Thy moderate fortune from my gift receive;
Now fairly take it, or as fairly leave.
But take it as it is, and ask no more.
"What, when thou hast embezzled all thy store?
Where's all thy father left?"""Tis true, I grant,
Some I have mortgag'd, to supply my want:
The legacies of Tadius too are flown;
All spent, and on the self-same errand gone.
"How little then to my poor share will fall!”
Little indeed; but yet that little's all.

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

"Go, miser, go; for lucre sell thy soul; Truck wares for wares, and trudge from pole to pole:

That men may say, when thou art dead and gone,
See what a vast estate he left his son !
How large a family of brawny knaves,
Well fed, and fat as Cappadocian slaves!
Increase thy wealth, and double all thy store;
'Tis done; now double that, and swell the score;
To every thousand add ten thousand more.
Then say, Chrysippus, thou who would'st confine
Thy heap, where I shall put an end to mine."