Who since to sing the Pythian rites is heard, Did learn them first, and once a master feared. But now it is enough to say, I make To say, I'm ignorant. Just as a crier or no. But you, my Piso, carefully beware (Whether yo'are given to, or giver are) You do not bring to judge your verses, one, With joy of what is given him, over-gone: For he'll cry Good, brave, better, excellent ! Look pale, distil a shower (was never meant) Out at his friendly eyes, leap, beat the groun', As those that hired to weep at funerals swoun, Cry, and do more than the true mourners: so The scoffer the true praiser doth out-go. Tibicen, didicit, priùs, extimuitque magis trum. Nunc satis est dixisse, Ego mira poëmata pango: Occupet extremum scabies, mihi turpe relinqui est, Et quod non didici, sanè nescire fateri. 'Jt præco ad merces turbam qui cogit emendas, Adsentatores jubet ad lucrum ire poëta Dives agris, dives positis in fœnore nummis. Si verò est, unctum qui rectè ponere possit, Et spondere levi pro paupere, et eripere atris Litibus implicitum; mirabor, si sciet internoscere mendacem verumque beatus ami cum. Tu seu donaris, seu quid donare voles cui, Nolito ad versus tibi factos ducere plenum Lætitiæ clamabit enim, Pulchrè, benè, rectè. Pallescit super his: etiam stillabit amicis Ex oculis rorem, saliet, tundet pede terram. Ut qui conducti plorant in funere, dicunt, Rich men are said with many cups to ply, And rack with wine the man whom they would try, If of their friendship he be worthy or no: When you write verses, with your judge do so : Look through him, and be sure you take not mocks For praises, where the mind conceals a fox. If to Quintilius you recited aught, He'd say, Mend this, good friend, and this. 'Tis naught. If you denied you had no better strain, And twice or thrice had 'ssayed it, still in vain: He'd bid blot all, and to the anvil bring These ill-torned verses to new hammering. Then if your fault you rather had defend Than change; no word or work more would he spend In vain, but you and yours you should love still Alone, without a rival, by his will. A wise and honest man will cry out shame On artless verse; the hard ones he will blame, Blot out the careless with his turned pen; Cut off superfluous ornaments, and when They're dark, bid clear this: all that's doubtful wrote Reprove, and what is to be changed note; Et faciunt propè plura dolentibus ex animo: sic Derisor vero plus laudatore movetur. Reges dicuntur multis urgere culullis, Et torquere mero, quem perspexisse laborent, An sit amicitiâ dignus: si carmina condes, Nunquam te fallant animi sub vulpe la tentes. Quintilio, si quid recitares, corrige, sodes, Hoc, aiebat, et hoc: meliùs te posse negares, Bis, terque expertum frustra; delere jubebat, Quin sine rivali teque et tua solus amares. Vir bonus et prudens, versus reprehendit inertes, Culpabit duros, incomptis allinet atrum Transverso calamo signum, ambitiosa recidet Ornamenta, parum claris lucem dare coget: Become an Aristarchus. And not say Why should I grieve my friend this trifling way? These trifles into serious mischiefs lead The man once mocked, and suffered wrong to tread. Wise sober folk a frantic poet fear; And shun to touch him, as a man that were Infected with the leprosy, or had The yellow jaundice, or were furious mad, According to the moon. But then the boys They vex, and follow him with shouts and noise; The while he belcheth lofty verses out, There's none will take the care to help him then; For if one should, and with a rope make haste To let it down, who knows if he did cast Himself there purposely or no, and would Not thence be saved, although indeed he could? I'll tell you but the death and the disease Nor did he do this once; for if His cause of making verses none knows why, Whether he pissed upon his father's grave, Or the sad thunder-stroken thing he have Defiléd, touched; but certain he was mad, And as a bear, if he the strength but had To force the grates that hold him in, would fright All: so this grievous writer puts to flight Learned and unlearned, holding whom once he takes, And there an end of him reciting makes; Not letting go his hold, where he draws food, Till he drop off, a horse-leech, full of blood. IORAT. ON. LIB. V. OD. II. VITE RUSTICE LAUDES. Nec excitatur classico miles truci, Solutus omni fœnore: Forumque vitat, et superba civium Potentiorum limina. Ergo aut adultâ vitium propagine Aut in reducta valle mugientium Aut tondet infirmas oves : Vel cum decorum mitibus pomis caput Ut gaudet insitiva decerpens pyra, Qua muneretur te, Priape, et te, pater Libet jacere modò sub antiqua ilice; Fontesque lymphis obstrepunt manantibus, At cum tonentis annus hibernus Jovis Aut trudit acres hinc, et hinc multâ cane Jucunda captat præmia: Quis non malarum, quas amor curas habet, Hæc inter obliviscitur? to a strict and rigid fidelity. As these versions have no date, it is not possible to say whether they were the exercises of the schoolboy or the productions of riper age. None of them were committed to the press by the poet. [Jonson read this translation to Drummond, and admired it.”—F. C.] But if, to boot with these, a chaste wife meet For household aid, and children sweet; Such as the Sabines, or a sun-burnt blowse, Some lusty quick Apulian's spouse, To deck the hallowed hearth with old wood fired Against the husband comes home tired; That penninghe glad flock in hurdles by, Their swelling udders doth draw dry: And from the sweet tub wine of this year takes, And unbought viands ready makes. Not Lucrine oysters I could then more prize, Nor turbot, nor bright golden-eyes: If with bright floods, the winter troubled much, Into our seas send any such : The Ionian godwit, nor the ginny hen From fattest branches of the tree: Or the herb sorrel, that loves meadows still, Or mallows loosing bodies ill : Or at the feast of bounds, the lamb then slain, Or kid forced from the wolf again, Among these cates how glad the sight doth come Of the fed flocks approaching home: To view the weary oxen draw, with bare And fainting necks, the turned share! The wealthy household swarm of bondmen met, And 'bout the steaming chimney set ! Has inter epulas, ut juvat pastas oves Positosque vernas, ditis examen domus, Hæc ubi locutus fœnerator Alphius, These thoughts when usurer Alphius, now | Omnem relegit idibus pecuniam ; Quærit calendis ponere. More timely hie thee to the house, mus: There jest and feast, make him thine host, If a fit liver thou dost seek to toast; For he's both noble, lovely, young, Tempestivius in domo Pauli purpureis ales oloribus, Comessabere Maximi, Si torrere jecur quæris idoneum. Namque et nobilis, et decens, Et pro solicitis non tacitus reis. And for the troubled client files his Et centum puer artium, Late signa feret militiæ tuæ. Et quandoque potentior Largi muneribus riserit æmuli, Albanos prope te lacus Ponet marmoream sub trabe cyprea. Illic plurima naribus Duces tura, lyræque, et Berecynthia Delectabere tibiâ Mistis carminibus non sine fistula. And Phrygian hau'boy, not without the Illic bis pueri die, flute. There twice a day in sacred lays, The youths and tender maids shall sing thy praise: And in the Salian manner meet Thrice 'bout thy altar with their ivory feet. Me now, nor wench, nor wanton boy, Delights, nor credulous hope of mutual joy; Nor care I now healths to propound, Or with fresh flowers to girt my temples round. But why, oh why, my Ligurine, Flow my thin tears down these pale cheeks of mine? Or why my well-graced words among With an uncomely silence fails my tongue? Hard-hearted, I dream every night I hold thee fast! but fled hence, with the light, Whether in Mars his field thou be, Or Tyber's winding streams, I follow thee. Numen cum teneris virginibus tuum Laudantes, pede candido In morem Salium ter quatient humum. Me nec fœmina nec puer Jam, nec spes animi credula mutui, Nec certare juvat mero : Nec vincire novis tempora floribus. Sed cur, heu! Ligurine, cur Manat rara meas lachryma per genas? Cur facunda parum decoro Inter verba cadit lingua silentio ? Nocturnis te ego somniis Jam captum teneo, jam volucrem sequor: Te per gramina Martii Campi, te per aquas, dure, volubiles. |