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
An admirable verse. The great scurf take
Him that is last, I scorn to come behind,
Or of the things that ne'er came in my
mind

To say, I'm ignorant. Just as a crier
That to the sale of wares calls every buyer;
So doth the poet, who is rich in land,
Or great in moneys out at use, command
His flatterers to their gain. But say he can
Make a great supper, or for some poor man
Will be a surety, or can help him out
Of an entangling suit, and bring't about:
I wonder how this happy man should know
Whether his soothing friend speak truth

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,
Et malè tornatos incudi reddere versus,
Si defendere delictum, quàm vertere malles,
Nullum ultra verbum, aut operam sume-
bat inanem,

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,
And stalketh, like a fowler, round about,
Busy to catch a black-bird, if he fall
Into a pit or hole, although he call
And cry aloud, Help, gentle country-
men!

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
Of the Sicilian poet Empedocles :
He, while he laboured to be thought a god
Immortal, took a melancholic, odd
Conceit, and into burning Etna leapt.
Let poets perish, that will not be kept.
He that preserves a man against his will,
Doth the same thing with him that would
him kill.

Nor did he do this once; for if
you can
Recall him yet, he'd be no more a man,
Or love of this so famous death lay by.

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.
Beatus ille, qui procul negotiis,
Paterna rura bobus exercet suis,
Ut prisca gens mortalium,

Nec excitatur classico miles truci,
Nec horret iratum mare:

Solutus omni fœnore:

Forumque vitat, et superba civium

Potentiorum limina.

Ergo aut adultâ vitium propagine
Altas maritat populos:
Inutilesque falce ramos amputans,
Feliciores inseret :

Aut in reducta valle mugientium
Prospectat errantes greges:
Aut pressa puris mella condit amphoris,

Aut tondet infirmas oves :

Vel cum decorum mitibus pomis caput
Autumnus arvis extulit :

Ut gaudet insitiva decerpens pyra,
Certantem et uvam purpuræ,

Qua muneretur te, Priape, et te, pater
Sylvane, tutor finium 1

Libet jacere modò sub antiqua ilice;
Modò in tenaci gramine.
Labuntur altis interim ripis aquæ :
Queruntur in sylvis aves,

Fontesque lymphis obstrepunt manantibus,
Somnos quod invitet leves.

At cum tonentis annus hibernus Jovis
Imbres nivesque comparat ;

Aut trudit acres hinc, et hinc multâ cane
Apros in obstantes plagas :
Aut amite levi rara tendit retia ;
Turdis edacibus dolos ;
Pavidumque leporem, et advenam laqueo
gruem,

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
Could not go down my belly then
More sweet than olives, that new-gathered
be

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
Videre properanteis domum !
Videre fessos vomerem inversum boves
Collo trahentes languido !

Positosque vernas, ditis examen domus,
Circum renidentes lares!

Hæc ubi locutus fœnerator Alphius,
Jam jam futurus rusticus,

Quærit calendis ponere.

More timely hie thee to the house,
With thy bright swans, of Paulus Maxi-

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.

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.

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.