M. VAL. MARTIALIS.  
LONDON. Printed for Henry Bonwicke.    

EPIGRAMS OF MARTIAL, ENGLISHED. With some Other Pieces, Ancient and Modern.  
Dicitur & nostros cantare Britannia versus.  Mart. Lib. IX. Ep. 4. 

On the Frontispiece.  
Whose chance it is, to take in hand this Book,  
In the Satyric-Mirror let him look;  
Wherein, if Wise, with much delight he'll see,  
From what fond Vice his Nobler Soul is free:  
If Foolish, he'll astonished be to find,  
A Stranger better knew, than he, his Mind:  
And if he flies from so severe a School,  
To wink, boots not, when others see the Fool.   
LONDON, Printed for Henry Bonwicke at the Red Lion in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1695.   

TO THE READER.  
On Translation in General.  

HE that Translates, than he that Writes, does more;  
For he must please upon a double Score;  
That of his Author first, then on his own,  
Hold out compared, be Good when read alone.  
When he that from his Brain does first indite,  
Has paid all Debts, if well he does but write.   

Translation then a Comment ought to be,  
Not only change the Tongue, but Author free  
From Darkness; clear his Sense, sometimes improve:  
For if the Second Pen soar not above  
His lowest Stoops, 'twill ne'er that Grace repay,  
Which in the Work, too oft, will slip away.   

But then, who will translate to this Degree,  
Be held the Author's Second Self to be,  
Must not cleave servilely to every Phrase,  
And think, therein, he has deserved the Bays:  
Sometimes, 'tis true, a Word's an Epigram,  
There he must Sweat, till he express the same  
With like Felicity: But on each Word  
Who equal Pains and Travel shall afford,  
And thinkest a Mastery the same to hit,  
Will oft spend Cost on Weakness 'stead of Wit;  
Make his Verse strut, and pride it in that part,  
Which was the Author's Shift, perhaps, not Art.  
Some things will bear, some will require a Change  
And the chief Purpose will appear less strange  
I● new Terms, than its own. A nobler Aim  
He will pursue, if he shall seek a Name,  
By keeping of the Force, not Words; the Wit  
And Grace, and evermore the Genius hit,  
That powerful Thing so hard 'tis to expound,  
But in whatever is well Writ, is found.   

But then no Law with them will e'er dispense,  
Who wildly ramble from the Author's sense;  
Not only shift his Phrase, but leave his way;  
Follow not his, but their own Fancies sway;  
Little regarding what they undertook,  
Namely, to English, not to write a Book.  
To such we say, Martial we hoped to see,  
His Epigrams, not those were writ by Thee.  
Obj. But th' Author seems sometimes to droop & drowz.  
Ans. If there a brisk but wary Touch do rowz  
His Vein, the well-placed judgement all will praise,  
And with his Worth your Own you'll jointly raise.  
But when he's excellent, if you balk or range,  
Write what you will, none will accept the change,  
But rigidly the Author's Sense require.  
As he that of a Painter shall desire  
To copy some much-loved or honoured Face,  
Unlikeness will not please with better grace.  
Although, alas, what some more graceful deem,  
Mere Blunders, and not Master-strokes do seem.  
How Rash must he be then, who nothing fears,  
To change a Work approved a thousand Years?  
But, when he faithfully should the Text express,  
Prefers to show himself a Beau in Verse;  
And with such confidence does act this part,  
As if his Error were a Rule of Art.   

Others there are, who to this Work address,  
With more pretence, but with as small success:  
Who, when it is their Province to explain  
The Author's Excellence and noble Vein,  
His beauteous Schemes to best advantage show,  
Their Pains in searching Manuscripts bestow;  
To criticise upon the Text affect,  
The Poet not t' illustrate, but correct;  
Think if their Toil retrieve from Mould and Rust,  
Some Various Reading long obscured in Dust,  
Th'ave reached the highest Point, tho' nought it tend  
T' improve the Sense, or any grace to lend.  
What boots it, how the words are understood,  
If the exchange produces nothing good?  
These men's Abilities their Margins speak,  
Their Notes are learned, their Version dull and weak.   

Dost ask, If I have all these Laws obeyed?  
Th'ave been my aim, however I have strayed.    

TO THE READER.  
On the Present Translation.  

WHo, for the Public View, employs his Pen,  
Writes to as many judges, as to Men;  
To those know more than he, to those know less;  
To those are skilled, to those can only guests;  
He must submit (altho' he lose his Cause)  
To trifling Fancies, as to equal Laws:  
Nay, and as if th' Objections were too few,  
Himself, against Himself, must find out new  
And curious ones, such as much Pains have taught,  
And great Experience only could have brought:  
And answering all, he's yet not freed from Fear:  
For when thus armed at every Point, even where  
He lest does think of Wounds, the fatal Steel  
(Tho' like Achilles dipped) will find his Heel.  
Thus I am charged—   Cens. 

— From th' Author thou dost range,  
His Sense abridge, enlarge, and sometimes change.   Trans. 

If, as thou sayest, I did not sometimes stray,  
I oft should lose the End, to keep the Way;  
And tho' the Author, to Translate, might boast,  
His Wit would vanish, and his Drift be lost.  
Again, where he does blaze, tho' tax, that Sin,  
The Heathen World was so engulphed in,  
If any scaped the knowledge of't before,  
I liked not that my Pen should teach them more.   Cens. 

But while this Sin thou fond dost detest,  
Thou slightest his smartest Epigrams and best.   Trans. 

Who shall translate martials licentious Rage,  
Unless he also could translate the Age  
In which he lived, with Vice 'twould him oppress,  
Who never against Decorum did transgress.  
But this so little we observed do find,  
Men speak the Author's Words without his Mind:  
For whereas he with Gall the Vice did press,  
They set it forth exalted in their Verse;  
No scruple make to bring it into Vogue,  
Brand not and lash, but glorify the Rogue;  
Bold Nomenclators they delight to show  
Themselves of Vice, but little Good to know;  
And if we rightly their Performance state,  
'Tis their Lewd Selves, not others, they translate.   Cens. 
Yet with some loser Touches you dispense.  Trans. 

Conclude not that I break my Rule from thence:  
But as a Painter, that will likeness take,  
Must not refuse i'th' Face a Scar to make,  
If such he finds: So I engaged to draw  
martials Resemblance, fettered by this Law,  
Some Tracts must take, which not so comely be,  
That those who see the Piece, may say, 'Tis He;  
And tho' I his Obsceneness do omit,  
Have merry, tho' not wanton, Martial hit.   Cens. 
You might have let the Work wholly alone.  Trans. 

O candid Censor! in amends for one  
Default, how many Noble Precepts shine,  
How many sharp Reproofs enrich each Line?  
When the flat Preacher does exhort in vain,  
A thousand Vices by his Verse are slain,  
And Virtues taught; Men rather would be dead,  
Than in his Poem branded and ill-read.   Cens. 

Oft thou insertest Verses of thine own,  
Ambitious that the Author them should own.   Trans 

If in some parts I have the Text enlarged,  
My Margent's fair, and with few Notes is charged:  
Nor do I rove from the prescribed Intent,  
But plainer show what 'twas the Poet meant:  
Which Glosses, tho' not Children of his Brain,  
Yet for his children's Children may be ta'en.  
And who the Latin, vainly shall contend,  
In as few English words to comprehend;  
Against this Evil he will never fence,  
But render oft a cramped abortive sense;  
And when his Author and himself h'as vexed,  
His Version shall be dark, tho' clear the Text.   

Heaps of dry Names, in part too, I omit,  
When more they clog, than they advance the Wit;  
Customs, again, I change, when exolete,  
Coins, Names of Fishes, Fowls, and various Meat,  
Of which best Critics doubt, altho' they treat:  
For in those times, tho' these were known to all,  
Now for a tedious Comment they do call;  
Which no more grateful way I could prevent,  
Than by a Modern pat Equivalent.  
Censure not then the Changes that I make,  
If they illustrate, from the Sense not take;  
In Zeal to Martial load me with Dispraise,  
Where he himself, alive, would give me Bays.  
When to speak English, is imposed my Task;  
'Tis foolish to affect a Roman Mask.  
And, learned Censor, thou wert not my Care  
In this, who canst the Original compare,  
But who their Mother-tongue do only know,  
And further than I lead them, cannot go.   Cens. 
Epigrams thou disorderd'st without cause.  Trans. 

Nor for their Order know I any Laws:  
If Fancy place a few, Reason can none;  
Beside, of Fifteen Books, I make but 
* The first Design was so.  One.   Cens. 
Thy Verse is rough and harsh—  Trans. 

— With this dispense,  
I forfeit Number oft, to give thee Sense,  
And Metre too, it fuller to impart,  
Tho' I poclaim thereby my want of Art.  
And oft the Craggy Epigramick Strain  
Will not allow a smooth Maronian Vein:  
And who a flowing Verse shall here affect,  
The Sting, the Force, the Genius, must neglect.   Cens. 

Then to this Paradox we must agree,  
Epigrammatist and Poet none can be.   Trans. 

No; but this Truth, by whomsoever spoke,  
Martial and Virgil 'tis in vain to yoke.   Cens. 

All who this Work have hitherto essayed,  
Martial have not translated, but betrayed;  
Debased his Muse, and all the Good th'ave done,  
Th'ave forestalled others, and no Glory won.   Trans. 

The vain Attempts of such as go before,  
The Generous and Brave encourage more;  
And more Illustrious still is his Renown,  
Who takes, when many are repulsed, the Town.  
But here is no forestall in the Case,  
Every new Pen may start, and show, new Grace.  
The Wits of Old would share among a Score  
One Epigram, and thought their Pains so poor,  
That Trial yet was left for Hundreds more.  
And if thou'lt show the Age, by doing better,  
Nought yet is done, it will be still thy Debtor.   Cens. 

Thou but few Epigrams, and not chosen well,  
Dost to the World present—   Trans. 

— Those that Excel  
To nobler Pens I leave; which I wish may  
Far outdo mine, and every weak Essay  
The World has known. Nor shall I grieve to see,  
On this Account, my Leaves condemned to be  
Mantles for Soap and Spice, Carpets for Pies,  
While in the Desk th' Illustrious Version lies,  
Adorned with Art and Cost, rich Gilt and Strung,  
Th' Applause and joy of every Ear and Tongue.    

TO THE Judicious READER.  

THat with no Verses I come ushered forth,  
Proceeds not from Opinion of my Worth:  
But for such Grace I did forbear to sue,  
'Cause Friends write all they can, not what is due;  
And in these Cases it is always known,  
They show not th' Author's Merit, but their own.   

But if that Thou, on prospect of my Book,  
Shalt Martial take, and on the Latin look,  
And say, A just Translation I have made,  
Diluted not the Force, nor Grace betrayed.  
Such Words, without Hyperbole of Praise,  
Will heap upon me a whole Grove of Bays.    

EPIGRAMS OF MARTIAL ENGLISHED.  
LIB. SPECTAC.  

Epigr. 1. On Caesar's Amphitheatre.  

EGYPT, forbear thy Pyramids to praise,  
A barbarous Work up to a Wonder raise;  
Let Babylon cease th' incessant Toil to prize,  
Which made her Walls to such immenseness rise;  
Nor let th' Ephesians boast the curious Art,  
Which Wonder to their Temple does impart.  
Delos dissemble too the high Renown,  
Which did thy Horn-framed Altar lately crown;  
Caria to vaunt thy Mausoleum spare,  
Sumptuous for Cost, and yet for Art more rare,  
As not borne up, but pendulous i'th' Air:  
All Works to Caesar's Theatre give place,  
This Wonder Fame above the rest does grace.    

Ep. 2. On the Public Works.  

Where the Etherial Coloss does appear,  
The towering Machine to the Stars draw near,  
The hated Court, which so much Blood did spill,  
Late stood; one House the City seemed to fill!   

Where the stupendious Theatre's vast Pile  
Is reared, there Nero's Fishponds were e'er-while.   

Here, where the Baths, a great, yet speedy, Gift,  
All Men admire, (the People left to shift  
For Dwellings) late was a proud ample Space,  
Reserved to boast an insolent State and Grace.   

Where now a goodly Terrace does extend,  
The City both with Shade and Walks befriend,  
Was but the Court's Fag and expiring End.   

Rome's to itself restored; in Caesar's Reign,  
The Prince's Pleasures now the People gain.    

Ep. 3. To Caesar, exhibiting Shows.  

What Land's so barbarous, Caesar, so remote,  
Whose Natives come not to admire thy Court?  
Rough Thracians hither from Mount Hemus speed,  
Fierce Tartars, who on Flesh of Horses feed;  
Who the Nile drink at the first Spring and Head,  
Britain's from utmost Thule hither led;  
Arabs make haste, Cilicians posting come,  
And in their Saffron Showers are drenched at Rome;  
Germane with rolling Locks in knots up furled,  
Ethiopes after a different manner curled.  
Various their Voices sound, but Hearts, we see,  
And the whole Jargon, does in One agree,  
When Father of thy Country All style thee.    

Ep. 4. To Caesar, upon his banishing Informers.  

The hateful Crew to Peace and sweet Repose,  
Informers, anxious Wealth's molesting Foes,  
(The Lions not sufficing to destroy  
The numerous Caitiffs, that did all annoy)  
To th' Isles, and furthest Africa are sent,  
And those that caused, now suffer, Banishment.  
Thus while from Rome, sad Exiles, they do stray,  
Even Life, 'mong Caesar's Boons, we reckon may.    

Ep. 6. To Caesar, on a Woman's fight with a Lion.  

'Tis not enough, in this our Martial Age,  
That Men, but Women in fierce Combat gage.  
Among the noblest Acts Fame does resound,  
Alcides laid a Lion on the Ground.  
Let Fables cease: Caesar, at thy Command,  
This hath been acted by a Female Hand.    

Ep. 10. On a Lion that hurt his Keeper.  

A traitorous Lion on his Keeper flew,  
In him that fed him, durst his Teeth imbrue:  
But Vengeance worthy of his Crime, he found,  
Who bore not Stripes, was forced to bear 
* Condemned to be killed in the Theatre.  a Wound.  
To such a Prince what Manners ought Men show,  
Who Beasts commands a Gratitude to know?    

Ep. 12. On a Sow that farrowed through a Wound she received.  

I' th' public Hunt Caesar did allow,  
A Javelin swift transfixed a pregnant Sow.  
Strait from the wounded Dam the Litter sprung.  
Lucina, call'st thou this, to bring forth Young?  
The dying Sow wished that her wounds were more,  
That Issues had been made for all her Store.  
Who denies Bacchus from the Womb was torn?  
A God might well, when Beasts were this way born.    

Ep. 13. On the same.  

A Pregnant Sow, pierced with a deadly Blow,  
Her Life at once did lose, and Life bestow.  
How sure an Aim did the dire Steel command!  
Lucina, 'twas believed to be thy Hand:  
For dying both thy Deities she found,  
The Huntress, and the Midwife, in her Wound.    

Ep. 14. On the same.  

A Sow, her Litter ready to have laid,  
Was by a fatal Struck a Mother made;  
The Young, not staying Birth, ran forth the Wound.  
How quick a Wit in sudden Streights is found!    

Ep. 15. On Carpophorus.  

A Boar Meleager which gave thee a Name,  
Adds little to Carpophorus his Fame;  
Who a vast Bear, rushing upon him, flew,  
The Northern Clime a fiercer never knew;  
A Lion, which became Alcides' hand,  
Of immense Bulk he laid upon the Sand;  
Also a Pard: And when the Prize was won,  
He still was fresh, and could yet more have done.    

Ep. 16. To Caesar, On Hercules carried to the Clouds upon a Bull.  

That from the Stage a Bull towards Heaven did fly,  
Was not th' Exploit of Art, but Deity.  
A Bull Europa through the Surges bore,  
But with Alcides now 'bove Clouds doth soar.  
The Fact of Caesar, and of jove compare,  
Which of the two shall we pronounce most rare?  
Suppose the Burdens even; were that true,  
The Lighter loaded swum, the heavier flew.    

Ep. 17. On an Elephant's kneeling to Caesar.  

That thee an Elephant suppliant did adore,  
Who stroke with Terror a fierce Bull before,  
To's Keeper's Art, cannot imputed be;  
We must ascribe it to thy Deity.    

Ep. 18. On a Tyger's killing a Lion.  

The rare-seen Glory of th' Hyrcanian Land,  
A Tiger, wont to lick his Master's Hand,  
In Pieces tore a Lion in his Rage,  
A thing not known before in any Age.  
He durst not this attempt in Forests high,  
Beasts among Men learn greater Cruelty.    

Ep. 21. On the Fable of Orpheus acted in the Theatre.  

What in the Thracian Mount's of Orpheus told,  
Thy Theatre, Great Caesar, did unfold,  
The Rocks were seen to move, the Woods to run,  
When to his Harp the wondrous Minstrel sung;  
Together with the Trees the Beasts were led,  
And hovering Birds circled his Sacred Head.  
At last a Bear the Prophet piece-meal tore,  
Acted in truth, what fabled was before.    

Ep. 25. On Leander.  

Leander, cease t'admire the Seas did spare  
Thy last-nights Passage, Caesar's Seas they were.  
While to enjoy Love's Sweets thou didst address,  
And boisterous Waves thee threatened to oppress,  
Thus, Wretch, the raging Seas thou didst implore,  
Drown me returning, waft me safely over.    

Ep. 26. On the Representation of the Sea and Sea-Gods.  

The feigned Sea-Gods sport i'th' Waves with ease,  
Figuring with various Forms the yielding Seas;  
One shakes a Trident, while another rides  
A Fish, or in a Fish-drawn Chariot Glides.  
Barks moved with Oars, Sails swelled with Wind, we see,  
Castor and Pollux there appeared to be.  
Not real Seas so gratify the Sense,  
Thetis taught here, or framed her Realm from hence.    

Ep. 27. On Carpophorus.  

If former Ages had Carpoph'rus known,  
Beside himself, there would have needed none,  
The Monsters through the World to have subdued,  
Being, in truth, with all that Might endued,  
Which to the fabulous Heroes gave a Name,  
Raised jasons', Perseus, Meleager's Fame.  
Theseus, for th' Minotaur, had ne'er been crowned;  
For th' Nemean Lion Hercules renowned;  
The Hydra, which so oft renewed the Fight,  
At first Assault he would have slain outright;  
Chimaera, of such various Figures formed,  
His powerful Hand would all at Once have stormed;  
The Bulls, which from their Nostrils breathed a Flame,  
Without a Charm, his Courage knew to tame;  
Hesione's devouring Ork to quail,  
Andromeda to rescue from the Whale.   

Let Poets then their specious Lies relate,  
How jove, a Matchless Hero to create,  
Two Nights did turn to one; to him allow  
A Term of Life, twelve Labours to go through.  
Carpoph'rus' Glory yet does his excel,  
By whom, in one day, twenty Monsters fell.    

Ep. 29. On two Gladiators.  

Priscus and Verus, while with equal Might,  
Prolonged an obstinate and doubtful Fight,  
The People, oft, their Mission did desire;  
But Caesar from the Law would not retire,  
Which did the Prize and Victory unite,  
Yet gave them what Encouragement he might;  
Largess of Meat and Money did bestow,  
Which also 'mong the People he did throw.  
I'th' end, however, the Strife was equal found,  
Both fought alike, and both alike gave ground:  
So that the Palm was upon each conferred,  
Their undecided Valour this deserved.   

Under no Prince before we e'er did see,  
That two should fight, and both should Victors be.    

Ep. 30. To Caesar.  

My Haste, tho' faulty, ought thee to appease,  
Pardon his Haste, who hasted thee to please.     

LIB. I.  

Epigr. 1. To Cato.  

WHen thou the Wanton Rites of Flora's Feast  
Didst know, the People's Licence then expressed  
Why cam'st thou in, four Cato, 'mong the Rout?  
Didst enter only, that thou mightst go out?    

Ep. 2. Martial to the Reader.  

He whom thou readest, is he by thee desired,  
Martial, throughout the World known and admired  
For his keen Epigrams: And unto whom  
Th'indulgent Reader did the Laurel doom,  
While yet he lived, and could enjoy his Fame;  
When others after Death scarce get a Name.    

Ep. 4. To his Book.  

In public Hands thyself thou'dst rather see,  
Adventurous Book, than longer stay with me,  
Thou know'st not, ah, the Pride great Rome will show,  
Trust me, the Sons of Mars too much do know:  
No where both Young and Old so practise Scorn,  
Even Children show 
* A proverbial Expression for Censoriousness.  Rhinoceros' Horn.  
While loud Applauses, and Reception fair,  
Thou hope'st, they'll Scoffing, toss thee in the Air.  
But thou impatient Blots to undergo,  
And my Pen's sharp Corrections still to know,  
Thou seekest through the wide World, Wanton, to room:  
Go then, but safer 'twere to stay at Home.    

Ep. 5. To Caesar.  

If my Book, Caesar, comes into thy Hand,  
Lay by those Looks, which do the World command.  
When thou in Triumph rid'st, thou dost submit,  
To be the Subject of the Soldier's Wit.  
My Verses read with so serene a Face,  
As 
* Two famous Mimics.  Thymele and 
* Two famous Mimics.  Latin thou dost Grace.  
The Censor does with harmless Pastime bear,  
My Leaves are wanton, but my Life's severe.    

Ep. 9 To Decian.  

Consummate Cato's, and great Thrasea's Strain,  
As far as Prudence goes, thou dost maintain,  
And not thy Breast on naked Swords dost run;  
What Men judge best, that Decian, thou hast done.  
He's not approved, who cheaply dies for Fame;  
But without Death, who gets a glorious Name.    

Ep. 10. On Cotta.  

A pretty, and a great Man, thou'dst be deemed;  
But Prettiness is Littleness esteemed.    

Ep. 11. On Gemellus and Maronilla.  

Gemellus, Maronilla fain would wed,  
Aspires by Prayers, by Gifts, unto her Bed,  
By Friends, by Tears: So wondrous fair is she?  
Nothing that lives can more deformed be.  
What is't that pleases then, and takes his Eye?  
She's rich, and coughs, and gives good hopes she'll die.    

Ep. 13. On Regulus.  

Near Hercules Fane, and Tibur's cooling Streams,  
Where Alba Vapours forth pale sulphurous Steams.  
Meadows, and Lands, are seen, a sacred Grove,  
Four Miles from Rome, the Muse's Care and Love:  
A rude old Portico, near to these high raised,  
For grateful Shade, in Heats of Summer, praised,  
A monstrous Fact committed had well nigh,  
As Regulus in's Chariot passed by;  
The ponderous Fabric rushed unto the Ground,  
And him, and's Train did, only not, confound;  
But Fortune did our Plaints, and Curses fear,  
Nor equal was the odious Crime to bear.   

The Ruin pleases now; which did not prove  
While yet it stood, what Care the Gods above  
Have of good Men, their Guardianship and Love.    

Ep. 14. On Arria and Petus.  

When Arria to her Petus gave the Sword,  
With which her chaste and faithful Breast she'd gored,  
Trust me, said she, that I myself have slain,  
I do not grieve, 'tis thy Death gives me Pain.    

Ep. 16. To Julius.  

julius, who comest not my best Friends behind,  
If constant Faith avail, a sincere Mind;  
The Term of threescore Years thoust passed almost,  
And but few happy Days thou yet canst boast.  
Ill thou deferr'st those Joys may never come,  
And which, when past, thou only thine canst sum.  
Evils on Evils cease not us to ply,  
But Joys return not, tho' they swiftly fly.  
Use all thy Force to hold them, yet you'll find,  
You may as well embrace the Waves or Wind.   

That he will live, a wise Man should not say,  
To Morrow's late, he ought to live to Day.    

Ep. 17. To Avitus.  

Some things are good, indifferent some, some nought  
You read: A Book can't otherwise be wrote.    

Ep. 18. To Titus.  

Thou urgest me to plead, dost oft repeat,  
How great it is, a wrong Cause to defeat?  
That which the Ploughman does, is also great.    

Ep. 19 To Tucca.  

Tucca, what strange Delight is this of thine,  
To mix the Noblest with the Vilest Wine?  
What so great Good, from Bad, didst e'er receive?  
Or of what Good did thee the Good bereave?  
Our Throats to cut, may no great Matter be:  
To slay Falernum is a high Degree  
Of Murder, rich Campanian Wine t'abuse,  
I'th' Generous Grape rank Poison to infuse.  
Thy Guests may possibly deserve their Bane:  
Such Precious Liquor, cannot, to be Slain.    

Ep. 20. On AElia.  

Four Teeth, as I remember, were thy Store,  
One Cough spit-out two, and one Cough two more.  
Now safely thou mayst Cough thy whole Life through,  
For the third Cough has nothing lest to do.    

Ep. 21. To Caecilian.  

What Brutishness is this? when Friends you treat,  
They looking on, alone you Mushrooms eat.  
What on such Gluttony shall I implore?  
Mayst Claudiu's Mushrooms eat, and ne'er eat more.    

Ep. 22. On Mucius Scevola.  

When, for the King, his Scribe bold Mucius slew,  
In Flames, instead of Blood, he did imbrue  
His erring Hand. The Foe, not steeled to see 〈…〉  
A Prodigy so fell, bade him Go free.  
What Mucius, in contempt of Pain, was bold  
To act, Porsena fainted to behold.  
His Failing Hand thus Greater Glory found,  
Had he not Erred, he had been less Renowned.    

Ep. 26. On Faustinus.  

At length, Faustinus, let the World obtain,  
The polished Pieces of thy learned Brain:  
Which the Athenian Schools would highly praise,  
And our old Sages to the Stars will raise!  
Dost doubt, t'admit Fame standing at thy Gate?  
Thy Labours just Reward to bear, dost hate?  
That which will After, In thy Time let live;  
Too late Men Praise unto our Ashes give.    

Ep. 28. To Procillus.  

To Sup with me, to thee I did propound,  
But 'twas when our full Cups had oft gone round.  
The thing thou strait concluded'st to be done,  
Merry and Sober words counting all one:  
Th'elephant dangerous at the highest rate,  
A Memorative Drunkard all Men hate.    

Ep. 30. To Fidentinus.  

'Tis said, my Books thou dost abroad recite,  
As if my Verses thou thyself didst write.  
Verses I'll Gratis send, let them be mine,  
Otherwise buy them, that they may be thine.    

Ep. 33. To Sabidius.  

I love thee not, but why, I can't display,  
I love thee not, is all that I can say.    

Ep. 34. On Galla.  

Galla, alone, her Father's Death ne'er weeps,  
When any come, in Tears her Cheeks she steeps.  
That, Galla, is not Grief, for Praise is shown;  
She truly grieves, that grieves when she's alone.    

Ep. 36. To Cornelius.  

Cornelius, thou complainest, I Verses write  
So loose and wanton, Masters they affright  
From reading in the Schools. But these my Books,  
Please, if not wanton, none who on them looks,  
More than the Marriagebed, without due Rites,  
The Sob'rest Man, or Chastest Wife delights.  
Thou may'st say too, A Nuptial Song indite,  
But in the Nuptial Language do not write.  
Who e'er did Flora gravely dress before?  
Or put a Matron's Stole upon a Whore?  
To Epigrams much Licence is allowed,  
Nor please they, speaking always in a Cloud.  
Wherefore lay by thy Grave and Sourer Mind,  
And judge my Sportive Muse in her own Kind;  
Geld not my Verse, for foul is his Mistake,  
Who a Priapus, Cybel's Priest, would make.    

Ep. 37 To Lucanus and Tullius.  

If to thee Tullius, or to, Lucan, thee,  
Castor and Pollux Fate allowed might be,  
Your Pious Strife both mutually would show,  
Each before other unto Death would go:  
And He whose lot it was to lead the Way,  
Live my Time, Brother, and your own, would say.    

Ep. 39 On Fidentinus.  

The Book, Fidentine, which thou readest, is mine;  
But while thou readest it Ill, thou mak'st it thine.    

Ep. 40. To Decianus.  

If a rare Friend I would essay to show,  
So faithful, Ages past did only know;  
If one embued with Greek and Latin lore,  
Whom single Goodness through all Dangers bore;  
Guardian, and Friend of Truth, who would not fear;  
That Men, of what he asks the Gods, should hear;  
Who leans alone on's Virtue great and sound,  
Decian is he, in whom all these are found.    

Ep. 41. To the Envious.  

Who readest these Lines, from rancorous Spleen not free,  
May'st Envy all, and none e'er Envy thee.    

Ep. 42. On Cecilius.  

Thou seem'st Facetious, to thyself, to be,  
But others no such thing, in thee, can see.  
What then? Brutish Buffoonery and Rank,  
Such as the Criers show on Tibur's Bank.  
That which for Wit among some People passes,  
Chaffering for Brimstone, Matches, broken Glasses.  
Such as the Sellers of warm Pulse and Meat,  
Delight those with, who in the Streets do eat;  
Such as from Boys and Butchers you shall hear,  
When Pug goes by, the Bagpipe, and the Bear;  
From Ballad-singers of the meanest Strain,  
When People make a Ring, t' applaud their Vein;  
Such as old Bawds do undertake to make,  
Whose shameless Impudence, for Wit, some take.   

Cease then, at length, fond thyself to deem,  
What none, beside thyself, do thee esteem:  
That from 
* Two famous Jessers in those Days.  Caballus thou dost bear the Bell,  
In Drollery, famed 
* Two famous Jessers in those Days.  Galba, far excel.  
It is not given to all, to have a Wit,  
True Ralliery in the right Vein to hit:  
Who utters sottish Jests, and scurrilous Dross,  
Sextus Caballus acts not, but the Horse.    

Ep. 43. On Porcia.  

When Brutus death Fame unto Porcia brought,  
And Friends withheld the Arms, her Sorrow sought.  
I thought, said she, my 
* Cato  Father when he died,  
Taught ye, that Death to none can be denied.  
She spoke, and greedily devoured the Fire:  
Go now, officious Throng, vainly conspire  
The Weapons to deny, my Grief desire.    

Ep. 45. To Stella.  

If twice the Hares and Lions sporting be  
A Subject, Stella, trivial unto thee,  
Revenge thyself upon me with like Fare,  
Invite me twice, and set before me Hare.    

Ep. 54. To Fidentine.  

I'th' Book thoust filched from me, one Page alone  
Is thine, and to be thine is so well known,  
It all the rest proclaims to be purloined.  
So greasy homespun Cloth to Scarlet joined,  
Its Lustre, as it wrongs, and does defile  
Itself, it also renders the more vile:  
So Earthen Cups, with Crystal set in place,  
The worse they suit, the more themselves disgrace:  
In Consort thus ridiculous does show,  
Among the Milk-white Swans a Rascal Crow:  
A chattering Pies harsh Notes in Groves so sound,  
Where Quires of charming Nightingales abound.  
I need no Critics Aid for my Relief,  
Thy own vile Verse rights me, and calls thee Thief.    

Ep. 55. To Fuscus.  

If thou hast room t' admit a Friend yet more,  
Fuscus on all sides thronged with Friends before,  
I beg the place: And do not me refuse,  
Because I'm new, into the List to choose.  
Those that now boast, thy oldest Friends they are,  
Had once a time, when they but new ones were.  
Look only thou, if he that now does sue  
To be thy Friend, may prove an Old and True.    

Ep. 56. To Fronto.  

Wouldst thou know what my highest Wishes are,  
Fronto, the Glory both of Peace and War?  
They are, to plough my own, tho' little, Field;  
Small Means to have, which may much Leisure yield.  
Will any wise, the Morning Ave pay  
To frozen Marbles, e'er the break of Day,  
Who may unfold, before his Fire, and warm,  
Nets loaded from his small, but fruitful, Farm?  
Or with his Line may take the Fish alive?  
Fetch Amber Honey from the dropping Hive?  
Whose propt-up Table by his Hind is pressed  
With his own Cates, which unbought Fuel dressed?  
May they not love this Life, that love not me,  
But aged grow in City-drudgery.    

Ep. 58. To Flaccus.  

Wouldst know what Temper I to love would choose?  
What Maid I like, and what I would refuse;  
I neither like the facile, nor the coy;  
The Overhard, nor easy to enjoy.  
A mean, 'twixt both, I rather do approve,  
She that nor Racks, nor Cloys, the Sweets of Love.    

Ep. 63. On Levina.  

Levina chaste as Sabins were of old,  
Than her strict Husband yet more strict and cold:  
While in the common Baths she did descend,  
And in those Freedoms many Hours did spend,  
She fell in Love; in the cold Streams took Fire;  
And burning with a Youth in loose Desire,  
She left her Husband, and her virtuous Name,  
Helen went thence, Penelope that came.    

Ep. 64. On Celer.  

Celer, to read my Epigrams, does crave:  
But to recite his own's the thing he'd have.    

Ep. 65. To Fabulla.  

thouart fair and young, Fabulla, it is true,  
And also rich, to give thee but thy Due:  
But when of these thou dost so often vaunt,  
Wealth, Youth, and Beauty, none so much does want    

Ep. 67. To one that stole his Verses.  

Thou sordid Felon of my Verse and Fame,  
So cheap dost hope to get a Poet's Name,  
As by the Purchase barely of my Book  
For ten vile Pence Eternal Glory rook?  
Find out some Virgin Poem ne'er saw Day,  
Which wary Writers in their Desks do lay  
Locked up, and known unto themselves alone;  
Not one with Using torn, and sordid grown.  
A Published Work can ne'er the Author change,  
Like one ne'er passed the Press, that ne'er did range  
The World trimly bound up: And such I'll sell,  
Give me my Price, nor will the Secret tell.  
He that another's Wit and Fame will own,  
Must Silence buy, and not a Book that's known.    

Ep. 68 To Choerilus.  

Thou blamest me often, that I write too free;  
I seem to do so when I write of Thee. 
* Who art so notoriously Vicious.     

Ep. 69. On Rufus.  

All Rufus Thoughts and Actions Nevia fills,  
His Grief, Joy, Silence, all speak Nevia still;  
Wherever he feasts, Nevia's ino's Speech alone,  
He wants all Powers, if Nevia makes not one.  
Meaning to wish his Father the Good Day,  
Nevia my Light, Ave, his Tongue did say!  
Nevia read this, and closely smiled thereon,  
Why Fool dost rave, Nevia's not thine alone.    

Ep. 71. To his Book.  

Go Book, to Proculus splendid Seat resort,  
And, in my Stead, make thy officious Court.  
Let not his State and Grandeur thee dismay,  
To th' Learned no Gate affords an op'ner way,  
To Phoebus and the Muses is more dear;  
If he shall ask, Why is himself not here?  
Reply, I could not (were my Verses slight)  
Attend the great, and even such mean ones write.    

Ep. 73. On Fidentine.  

For Verses, Fidentine, thou stealest from me,  
A Poet fain thou wouldst reputed be;  
Old AEgle so, well-toothed would yet be thought,  
When she a Set of Ivory Teeth hath bought;  
Painted Lycoris to herself seems fair,  
Who only with a Gipsy can compare,  
On like Account, a Poet thou art named,  
And may'st, tho' bald, for youthful Locks be famed.    

Ep. 77. To Flaccus.  

Among my Noblest Friends, thou who hast place,  
Flaccus, the Offspring of Antenor's Race;  
Renounce the Muse's Songs, and charming Choir,  
Not one of them Enrich those they inspire.  
Court not Apollo, Pallas has the Gold,  
She's wise, and does the Gods in Mortgage hold.  
What Profit is there in an Ivy Wreath?  
Its Fruits the loaden Olive sinks beneath,  
In Helicon there's nought but Springs and Bays,  
The Muse's Harps, loud-sounding empty Praise.  
What with Parnassus' Streams hast thou to do?  
The Roman Forum's rich, and nearer too;  
There the Cash chinks: But 'bout the Poet's Chai●  
The Smacks of Kisses only fill the Air.    

Ep. 79. On Festus.  

When a foul Gangrene seized on Festus Face,  
And the Black Venom spread o'er all the Place;  
With unwet Eyes, his weeping Friends he told,  
Th' infernal Shades he purposed to behold.  
But then his pious Throat he did not slain  
With Poison, nor choose Famin's lingering Pain:  
But by a Roman Death he did decree,  
(The noblest way) to set his Spirit free.  
Far more Renoun'd was his, than Cato's End;  
Cato was Cesar's Foe, but he his Friend.    

Ep. 84. On Manneja.  

That thy Dog loves to lick thy Lips, thouart pleased  
He'll lick that too, of which thy Belly's eased;  
And not to flatter, and the Truth to smother,  
I do believe, he knows not one from the other.    

Ep. 85. On Quirinus, a Roman Knight.  

Quirinus likes by no Means to be wed,  
Yet Fruit desires, and has, o'th' Marriage Bed.  
How can this be? His Maids can solve the Doubt,  
By whom he has of Young Slave-Knights a rout  
To stock his Farm and Fields. Truly may he  
Be styled, the Father of his Family.    

Ep. 87. On Novius.  

Novius so very near my Neighbour is,  
That from my Window my Hand reaches his.  
Who does not envy me, that in my Power,  
Have thus a Friend t' enjoy at every Hour?  
But Rufus is not more remote to me,  
Who now in Egypt does command, than he.  
We never meet; nor in the Town there are,  
(However near) yet any Two so far.  
'Tis requisite, that either he, or I,  
Further remove, but so to bring us nigh.  
For he that wishes Novius ne'er to see,  
Let him his Neighbour, or his Inmate, be.    

Ep. 88 To Fescennia.  

Lest thy o'er-nights Debauch thy Breath disclose  
Thou seekest, Fescennia, on us to impose,  
By eating rich Pasteels, and Amber Plums,  
These fur thy Teeth: But when the foul Belch comes  
From thy crude Maw, they help thee in no wise,  
But the Stink's stronger made by this Disguise,  
Doubl'd, and trebled, and does further go.  
When thus, thy Tricks discovered, all do know,  
Henceforth, to free us from this compound Stink,  
Be Sober, otherwise avow'dly Drink.    

Ep. 89. An Epitaph on Alcimus.  

Alcime, who didst in Years yet blooming die,  
And, by a light Turf covered, here dost lie.  
I rear no towering Tombs of massy Stone,  
A vain Expense, that Fame confers on None:  
But plant frail Box and Palms, whose verdant shade.  
Drenched by my Tears, shall be immortal made.  
Receive thou then the Monument I give,  
A Verse that will unto all Ages live:  
And when my Life is spun, and Days expire,  
No nobler Monument I myself Desire.    

Ep. 90. To Cinna.  

Cinna, th' art ever wisp'ring in the Ear,  
And wisp'ring that which all the World may hear.  
Thou laughest i' th' Ear, weepst, quarrel'st, dost dispute,  
Thou sighest in th' Ear, dost hollow, and art mute:  
So far th' art gone in this Disease, I swear,  
Thou praisest Caesar often in the Ear.    

Ep. 92. To Laetius.  

Thou blamest my Verses, and concealest thine own,  
Or publish thine, or else let mine alone.    

Ep. 98. On Nevolus.  

When all a Clamour make, at once contend,  
Then thou art loudest too, dost most pretend  
T'have much to say: For this wouldst learned seem.  
Have all, a powerful Patron, thee to deem.  
Behold, the Court is hushed, now speak you may,  
But for thy Client now th' hast nought to say.    

Ep. 99 On Diodorus.  

thoust Gouty Feet, yet stoutly dost withstand  
At Law, and payest no Fees the Courts demand.  
Is not the Gout, Diodore, in thy Hand?    

Ep. 100 To one that grew sordid upon obtaining great Riches.  

When yet thou wert not worth an Hundred Pound,  
So Generous, so Noble, thou wert found,  
So Sumptuous, that it was the Wish of all,  
Calenus, an Estate might thee befall,  
Suiting thy Mind. The Gods our Prayers did hear,  
And less than in the Compass of a Year,  
Vast Wealth, by four dead Friends, was to thee left:  
But thou (as if of thousands now bereft,  
And not enriched) so sordid straight dost grow,  
That in a solemn Feast thou didst bestow  
(Which Annual was, and seven old Friends did treat)  
A pound of Leaden Coin, for all thy Meat.  
What does this Baseness bid us next to pray?  
The Gods would snatch their Ill-placed Wealth away?  
No; But to give thee many thousands more.  
That starve thou may'st outright in so much Store.    

Ep. 104. On the like.  

Thou saidst, when yet thou hadst not a Knights-Fee,  
If Heaven would grant four thousand Pounds to me,  
Oh, in what Ease, what Splendour, I would live!  
The easy Gods smiled, and the Sum did give.  
But then thy Gown was sordid, Cloak threadbare,  
Shoes, thrice and fourtimes clouted, thou didst wear;  
Of poor ten Olives, some were still set up;  
On the same Meat thou used'st twice to Sup;  
Lees of Wine served thee, which Vientus bore;  
A pennyworth of Pulse, a Penny Whore.  
We'll sue the Cheat: Live better, or refund  
Unto the Gods; th' hast mocked, four thousand Pound.    

Ep. 108. To Lucius Julius.  

Oft, Noble Lucius, thou dost this repeat,  
The art Idle, Martial, something write that's Great.  
Then give me Ease, such as Maecenas gave,  
When the like Work from Virgil he would have;  
I'll frame a Verse with such immortal Flame,  
As to all Ages shall preserve my Name.  
The Yoke does pinch that's born in Barren Soil,  
The Rich Ground tires, but Sweeter is the Toil.    

Ep. 109. To Gallus.  

May thy fair Farm (though beyond Tibur site)  
As it does now, thee more and more delight:  
My Rooms V●psanian Laurels do behold,  
In the which Region I am now grown Old;  
A Journey 'tis, to give thee the Good-Morn,  
But such thou art, though further, to be born:  
One Gown-man more, yet were not much to thee,  
Tho to detain this One, is much to me.  
My Book shall th' Early Ave for me pay,  
And I'll attend when ended is the Day.    

Ep. 110. On Issa, a little Bitch.  

Issa's Toying wittier are,  
Than those of Lesbia's Sparrow were.  
Issa's Caresses, and her Loves,  
Are purer than the Billing Doves.  
Than Virgins she's more Soft and Nice,  
Than richest Gems of higher Price.  
Bitch Issa is to Publius dear,  
Bitch Issa has no where her Peer.  
Her Whining you would Speaking deem,  
She, her Lord's Cares to know, does seem.  
Tho' in his Neck, close to his Ear  
She Sleeps, no Breathing he can hear.  
When she has need herself to Ease,  
Her Lord she courts, that he would please  
To set her down, and gently scrapes;  
Be sure, no Drop from her escapes.  
To Venus she was ne'er inclined,  
And hard a Husband 'twere to find  
So soft a Bride. Lest Death's sad Day  
Should wholly ravish her away,  
Publius' caused her drawn to be,  
And Issa you so like may see,  
(Do but the Piece with Her compare)  
Issa herself you'd think were there:  
So rare is Arts and Nature's Strife,  
Both Pictures seem, and both seem Life.    

Ep. 111. To Velox.  

Too long my Epigrams, thou thinkest are;  
Thine, who writ'st none, Velox, are shorter far.    

Ep. 113. On Priscus  

I styled thee, Lord, and King, while yet unknown,  
Plain Priscus, now's the most that thou canst own.    

Ep. 118. On Lupercus.  

As oft as I, Lupercus, thee do meet,  
With the same Words thou me dost always greet.  
Thy Epigrams, dear Martial, to me lend,  
When for them shall my Boy on thee attend?  
But to divert me, I shall read them over,  
And speedily again the Book restore.   

Out of the Road, remote, three Stories high,  
ay, near the Pidg'ons in a Garret lie;  
Whither to send your Boy, were him to tyre,  
When nearer you may have, what you desire.  
In Forum julii is your daily Way,  
Where you will see Atrectus Shop display  
All Poet's Names, your Eye may run them over,  
Inscribed, or pasted on his Posts and Dore.  
My Book, from's Shelves he'll hand you at first word,  
And for three Shillings, bound and gilt afford.  
The Price Three Shillings? muttering low, dost say.  
The Purchase will not, such my Cost, repay.   

Although thy sordid Nature I despise,  
I'm forced to say, Lupercus, thou art Wise.    

Ep. 119. To the Reader.  

He who an hundred Epigrams reads over,  
No Ill's enough for him, if he wants more.     

LIB. II.  

Ep. 1. To his Book.  

THree Hundred Epigrams thou mightst contain,  
But who, to read so many, can sustain?  
Hear what in Praise of Brevity is said.  
First, less Expense, and Wast of Paper's made;  
The Printer's Labour, next, does sooner end,  
And to more serious Works he may attend;  
Thirdly, to whomsoe'er thou shalt be read,  
Tho naught, not tedious yet thou canst be said;  
Again, in Length, while thou dost not abound,  
Thou mayst be heard, while yet the Cups goround.  
And when this Caution's used, alas, I fear,  
To many, yet, thou wilt too long appear.    

Ep. 3. To Sextus.  

Sextus says, Nought he owes, and so I say.  
He only Owes, who knows which way to Pay.    

Ep. 5. To Decian.  

O Decian, may I never happy be,  
If Night and Day I could not spend with thee:  
But two long Miles unto thy House do lead,  
Which are made four, when them I backward tread:  
Oft thou art not at Home, and oft denied;  
To thyself vacant, or to Business tied.  
To walk two Miles, to see thee, is not much,  
But not to see thee, and walk four, I grudge.    

Ep. 8. To the Reader.  

If in my Leaves ought, Reader, to thee seem  
Obscure, or which less Latin thou dost deem.  
To th' Printer these impute, not me: Who while  
More Books he hasts to vend, cares not how vile.  
If yet thou think'st not him, but me to blame,  
Thou fearest not Want of Candour to proclaim.  
But still my Verse, for naught, thou dost decry,  
As if what's manifest I would deny.  
Naught be they then: But them for good Ones take,  
Till thou dost show, that thou canst better make.    

Ep. 10. On Posthumus.  

That but with half a Lip thou me dost kiss,  
I like; and yet can spare the half of this:  
And wouldst thou unexpressible Kindness show?  
Thy Half-kiss keep, or elsewhere it bestow.    

Ep. 11. To Selius.  

That such a Cloud you see in Selius Face,  
Him treading late, alone, a mournful Pace;  
His pensive Looks concealing Grief profound,  
That bows him, till his Nose even rakes the Ground;  
Makes him oft beat his Breast, and his Locks tear:  
No Death of Friends has caused this sad Despair,  
His Wife's in Health, his Sons are both alive,  
And longer than he would, like to survive;  
By Bailiff, Tenant, he has had no Loss,  
Nor any Way that's known, received a Cross.  
Why droops he then, and makes so sad a Moan?  
Alas! he, uninvited, Sups at Home,    

Ep. 12. On Posthumus.  

Why does thy Breath always of Amber smell?  
And without Foreign Scents thouart never well.  
It justly, Posthumus, may be presumed,  
He ever stinks, who ever is perfumed.    

Ep. 13. On Sextus.  

While Sextus did refuse his Debts to pay,  
Both Judge and Advocate bore Bribes away.  
Now to discharge all Scores, he makes no stay.    

Ep. 14. On Selius.  

Nothing does Selius unattempted leave,  
When, he's to sup at home, he does conceive.  
He trots to th' 
* These were all places of great Resort in Rome.  Race; where, Paulus, he will swear,  
Thy Feet are swifter than Achilles were.  
Nothing here got, the Place of Votes 
* These were all places of great Resort in Rome.  he tries,  
If Aught will come from the AEsonides.  
Where failing too; to th' Memphian 
* These were all places of great Resort in Rome.  Temple next,  
Near the sad Heifer, Calves-Head sits perplexed.  
Thence runs to th' Porch a hundred Props sustain,  
To Pompey's Arch and Groves: Nor does disdain  
The vulgar Baths, which Gryllus, Lupus, keep,  
One on the Hill, the other low and deep:  
Where having bathed in all, and all in vain,  
No pity'ng God favouring his glutt'nous Pain,  
Back to the Race he flies, to see, if there  
Some Friend be yet, taking the Evening Air.  
Th' adjoining Porch of various Paintings full,  
Shows fair Europa bor'n upon a Bull.   

jove, I adjure thee, by the Virgn bright,  
Make forlorn Selius thy 
* That is, kill him: To Sup with the Gods was a Phrase among the He▪ then, to be Dead.  own Guest this Night.    

Ep. 15. On one that had a sore Mouth.  

That when thoust drunk, thou offerest none thy Glass▪  
Aught not for Pride, but for good Breeding pass.    

Ep. 16. On Zoilus.  

Zoilus is sick; His rich Stuff makes him so:  
If he were well, what should his Scarlets do?  
His Bed from Nile, his Hangings died at Tyre?  
He's sick, we may his Sottish Wealth admire.  
Dismiss the Doctors, the 
* A Name used proverbially for any Physician.  Machaon's all,  
To make him well, for my Rug only call.    

Ep. 20. To paulus.  

Poems thou buyest, and readest them for thine own.  
What's bought, is thine, can be denied by none.    

Ep. 21. On Posthumus.  

Some thou dost kiss, to some extend thy Hand.  
Which Grace seek I? The last I do demand.    

Ep. 22. On the same.  

Phoebus' farewell, farewell my merry Muse  
Your Poet who adores ye, ye abuse.  
Posthume with one Kiss used to let me go,  
Pleased with my Verse, now many doth bestow.    

Ep. 23. On the same.  

No; tho' thou beg'st a thousand times to know,  
Who 'tis by Name of Posthumus does go,  
I will not tell. What need I to offend  
Such Kisses, and their Fury against me bend?    

Ep. 24. To Candidus.  

By unjust Verdict wert thou guilty found,  
To thy Misfortune I'd be strictly bound.  
Wert thou condemned thy Native Soil to leave,  
Through Seas, through Rocks, I'd to the Banished cleave.  
But thy Lot's Wealth: Here shall I also share?  
Wilt thou give half? 'Tis much, if ought thou spare.  
In Suffering, I may be admitted One,  
But happy, Candidus, thou'lt be Alone.    

Ep. 25. On Galla.  

Galla to none makes good, to all says, ay,  
If thou speakest always False, to me deny.    

Ep. 26. To Bithynicus.  

That Nevia coughs, and groans, and finds no Rest,  
Letting the Slaver fall upon her Breast;  
Thou hop'st, Bithynicus, her Hour is nigh:  
Nevia but flatters, she don't mean to Die.    

Ep. 27. On Selius, to Rufus.  

Whether you plead, or any Work recite,  
Hoping to Supper you will him invite,  
Selius, your Praises thus like Nets does spread;  
`` Nothing can weightier, or more learned be said,  
`` More home, more smart, or yet with greater Grace,  
`` So would I wish to speak, set in your Place.  
Such Words alone can make his Flatteries cease,  
Y'ave gained your Point, for this time hold your Peace.    

Ep. 29. To Rufus.  

See'st thou him, Rufus, that does so frequent  
The Nobles Seat? from whose bright Gems are sent  
Rays to this Place, in twice-dipt Purple goes,  
Or Garments whiter than the driven Snows.  
Costly Amomum, from whose Locks does flow,  
Whose sleek blanched Arms no Hair upon them show?  
The Lunar-Buckles were not his of old,  
Nor Sandals pinched his Feet, garnished with Gold.  
No secret Pain his numerous Patches need;  
Look underneath, and him, a Slave, you'll read.    

Ep. 30. On Caius.  

To borrow of a Friend, I did entreat  
A Sum, which had he given, had not been great.  
'Twas one, whose Chests brimful of unbaged Cash,  
Being clapped to, do Echo with the Lash.  
But he replied, Wouldst plead, Enough thou'dst have.  
Spare Counsel, Caius, give me what I crave.    

Ep. 31. On Ponticus.  

With Balbus I'm at Law, thou nought dar'st do.  
Licinius next; but he's a great Man too.  
Patrobas oft trespasses on my Field:  
He's Caesar's Freeman, 'tis best here to yield.  
Laronia my Servant does deny:  
She's rich, old, childless, every Hour may die.  
His Patronage, it little boots, to crave.  
Who to so many is himself a Slave.    

Ep. 37. On Cecilianus.  

Whate'er was served of Souse, thou didst purloin,  
A young Sow's Unctuous Paps, a Porker's Chine,  
A fat Heath-Poult, for two designed a Dish,  
A Pike, a Mullet, half another Fish,  
Tame Pigeons dropping Fat, a Hen with Egg,  
A piece of Lampry, and a Capon's Leg.  
All which, stowed in a Clout, committed were  
Unto thy Boy, that Home he them should bear.  
We, in mean Time, the idle Guests do sit,  
And of a costly Feast scarce taste a bit.  
If any Shame thou hast, restore our Meat:  
To Morrow I designed not thee to treat.    

Ep. 38. To Linus.  

What my Farm yields me, dost thou urge to know?  
This, that I see not thee, when there I go.    

Ep. 40 On Tongelinus.  

That Tongelin is feav'rish many think:  
I know the Man, he wants choice Meat and Drink.  
Straight, for fat Thrush and Cocks, Springs are set,  
For Pike and carps employed the Casting-Net;  
Purveyance for old Caecubum is made,  
Such as the sound drink sparing and allayed;  
Bathing, Physicians, with one Voice prescribe.  
To cure his Fever, Fools, his Belly bribe.    

Ep. 41. On an old Woman.  

Laugh, lovely Maid, laugh oft, if thou art wise.  
As I remember, Ovid does advise:  
But this to every Maid he never said,  
Or if he did, 'twas always to a Maid;  
'Twas never spoke to wretched-aged-Thee,  
To whom remains, of all thy Teeth, but three,  
And those coal-black: Therefore if this do pass  
For Truth, informed the same by thine own Glass,  
A Smile thou ought'st t' avoid with no less Dread,  
Than Gallants fear the Wind for their curled Head;  
Than painted Madams fear a dashing Shower,  
Or when Pomatumed, the Sun's Raging Power:  
Rather old Hecuba's sad Mood put on,  
When Troy was burnt, and all her Glory gone.  
Mimics, and Droles, a Laughter-moving Jest,  
What ever makes thee Gern or Gape, detest.  
Mourn by your Mother's side, your equal Cross,  
Your Father's and your pious Brother's Loss;  
Your Hours, in what is sad and serious, spend,  
An Ear to Tragic Stories only lend.  
The Counsels good, if to it you can keep.  
Weep, if you're prudent, Old Mumps, often weep.    

Ep. 44. On Sextus.  

Having some small Commodity to buy,  
I'th● ' Change (the Usurer Sextus standing nigh,  
My old Cam'rade, you know) lest I should pray  
To borrow, for Prevention thus does say,  
Softly Computing with himself, but so  
As I may hear him. I to Secundus owe  
Seven thousand, four to Phoebus, eleven more  
To Philet; and I Wretch, have not in Store  
One Doit, should now these Men for Money send:  
O wondrous Fetch of an old Cankered Friend!  
'Tis hard, when one is asked, not to supply:  
But harder far, when not asked, to deny.    

Ep. 46. On Nevolus.  

As various Flowers in Spring paint Hybla's Field,  
Which to the rifling Bees much Honey yield:  
So do thy various coloured Garments show,  
Which thou, heaped up in Wardrobes, dost bestow.  
The Woolthou, from more Flocks than one, dost sheer,  
Would a whole Tribeclothe sumptuously each Year.  
Thy thin-clad Friend, unmoved, yet canst behold  
(O Sin!) tattered, his Sides pierced through with Cold.  
Unhappy Wretch, how little would it be,  
To givetwo Garments, from Moths, not from thee.    

Ep. 48. To Rufus.  

Afford me but the Requisites of Life,  
Plain Food, and wholesome Air, a pleasing Wife,  
Not many Books, but such as I shall choose,  
A Friend not wholly rude, my Thoughts t'unloose,  
And let my Station in a Village be,  
All Rome's Magnificence I'll leave to thee.    

Ep. 50. On Lesbian.  

Lesbian talks Bawdy, and does Water drink,  
Thou dost well, Lesbian, so to wash the Sink.    

Ep. 53. To Maximus.  

Thou but feign'st, Maximus, thou'dst not be Free:  
Or if thou wouldst, by these Means thou may'st be.  
Thou shalt be Free; if thou at Home canst Dine;  
If thou canst quench thy Thirst with common Wine;  
If Rich Men thou canst Miserable deem,  
And such a threadbare Coat, as mine, esteem;  
If in a cheap and vulgar Form delight,  
A Room, in which thou scarce canst stand upright;  
If thy Desires, to this Lure, thou canst bring,  
Thou may'st live Freer than the Parthian King.    

Ep. 55. To Sextus.  

Sextus, thou seekest Observance, when I'd love;  
I shall do that which thou dost most approve:  
But where I must observe, I cannot Love.    

Ep. 56. To Gallus.  

Gallus, thy Wife is taxed for the Vice  
(Among the Lybians) of foul Avarice:  
But she is wronged, and all are Lies they tell,  
None cheaper does herself both give and sell,    

Ep. 57 On one that acted the great Man.  

He, whom you see to walk in so much State,  
Waving, and slow, with a Majestic Gate;  
In Purple clad, passing the Nobles Seat,  
My Publius not in Garments more complete;  
Whose new rich Coach, with gilt and studded Reins,  
Fair Boys and Gownsmen follow in great Trains,  
Lately his very Ring in Pawn did lay,  
For four poor Crowns, his Supper to defray.    

Ep. 58. On Zoilus.  

Zoilus, in's Nappy, scoffs my Threadbare, Gown,  
'Tis Threadbare, Zoilus, but 'tis yet my own.    

Ep. 60. On Hyllus.  

Y'are o'er-familiar with a Soldiers Wife,  
While a Boy's mulct you fear, and not your Life.  
Woe to thee! But, you say, Upon what Score?  
The Law forbids to castrate any more,  
Allows it then to make a Wife thy Whore?    

Ep. 64. On Taurus.  

While now to Law, to Rhetoric then thou'lt take,  
And knowst not what Profession thine to make;  
Thou Peleus, Priam's, Nestor's, Years dost lose,  
And when thou shouldst give off, art still to Choose.  
Begin; if either Heart thou hast, or Skill;  
Three Rhetors Chairs are void, one thou may'st fill:  
Or if the Schools dislike, the pleading-Bars  
Reek with the Fervour of Litigious Wars;  
So much, that Marsya's Statue that is nigh,  
May Vocal plead, through th' obstrep'rous Cry.  
Courage, break-off Delays, when shall we see?  
Thou wilt Demur, till Nothing thou canst be.    

Ep. 65. To Saleitanus.  

Thouseem'st, Saleitane, much to hang thy Head.  
Have I not Cause? Thou sayest, my Wife is dead.  
O heavy Chance! O sad Decree of Fate!  
She, she! The rich Nicostrata so late  
Deceased, who twenty thousand brought in Dowry?  
I wish thou'dst never known this Evil Hour.    

Ep. 67. On Posthumus.  

Who e'er thee, Posthumus, does chance to meet,  
Thou sayest, What dost thou? Thus thou all dost greet  
Ten times an Hour, if met: by which dost show,  
That thou thyself but little haste to do.    

Ep. 68 To Olus.  

That I salute thee by thy Name, no more  
Style thee my Lord and King, as heretofore,  
It is not Pride. My Chains and Cap I have  
Redeemed, with all the Badges of a Slave.  
A Lord and Master he should have alone,  
Who, not being Master of Himself, does groan,  
Like great Men, after Riches not his own.  
Who can, without a Servant, Olus, be,  
May also from a King, Olus, be free.    

Ep. 69. On a Smell-Feast.  

Unwillingly, thou Supp'st abroad. I'll die,  
If what thou sayest be not a splendid Lie.  
In others Treats Apicius did Delight,  
And, with Regret, at Home did pass the Night.  
If thou unwilling art, why dost thou go?  
thouart forced, thou sayest. All Smell-Feasts are forced so.   

Melior invites thee to a Sumptuous Feast:  
Where are thy Brags? Deny: Now is the Test.    

Ep. 71. To Cecilianus.  

There's none, than thee, more Candid can be said,  
Who when some Parcels in my Book thou'st read,  
From Marsus or Catullus dost recite  
The like, to show how much I better write,  
Compared with them. Thy Good-will's to me known,  
But would, thou'dst read some Verses of thine own.    

Ep. 75. On a Lion.  

A Lion wont his Keeper's Stripes to bear,  
Into whose Mouth, his Hand, without all Fear,  
He used to thrust, such Tameness he was taught:  
But suddenly so high his Fury wrought,  
'Twas 'bove what from the Lybian Clime he brought.  
For while two Boys did rake the sandy Floor,  
With Savage Rage he both in Pieces tore,  
The Theatre like Crime ne'er knew before.  
Romans may well say, Treacherous Beast forbear;  
Of Romulus' Wolf young Children learn to spare.    

Ep. 77. To Cosconius.  

Thou think'st my Epigrams in length exceed,  
To grease the Charret-Wheels, to make them speed.  
thou'rt only fit: Who Poems Lengths dost rate  
By the Foot-Rule, not Reason, Wit, and Weight.  
By the same Law, Colossus, thou mayst call  
Too long, the Figure of a Child too small.  
Of Marsus, Pedo, learn what you don't know,  
Two Pages, on one Subject, they'd bestow.  
That is not long, from which thou nought canst take,  
But, Coscon, thou canst long a Distich make.    

Ep. 80. On Fannius.  

When Fannius from his Foe did fly,  
Himself, with his own Hands, he slew.  
Who e'er a greater Madness knew;  
Life to destroy, for fear to Die.    

Ep. 82. On Ponticus.  

What vails it thee to make thy Slave a Mute?  
Of thy foul Crimes much louder's now the Bruit.    

Ep. 85. To a Friend.  

A Summer Gift that I in Winter make,  
In evil part I would not have thee take;  
Or, for my Present hold me for a Clown;  
But, while 'tis Cold, send me a Summer Gown,    

Ep. 86. To Classicus.  

That I Acrosticks Glory not to write,  
In Verses, backwards read, take no Delight;  
Make not the Echo in my Verses play,  
After the Grecian Poetastring way:  
Nor yet soft melting Numbers so respect,  
As more the Chime, than even the Sense t' affect.  
So bad a Poet, as these ways to take,  
I am not, Classicus. What Hire would make  
Lada for Swiftness famed, so meanly stoop,  
To leave the Race, and tumble through a Hoop?  
Disgraceful 'tis unto a Poet's Name,  
Difficult Toys to make his highest Aim;  
The ●●bours foolish, that does rack the Brains,  
For Things have nothing in them, but much pains.  
Let Gallus chant, while the Rout make a Ring:  
To choicest Ears I only joy to sing.    

Ep. 88 On Mamercus.  

Thou wouldst a Poet be, yet nought dost write,  
Be what thou wilt, so nought thou dost indite.    

Ep. 89. To Gaurus.  

In Profuse Drinking, that thy Nights are spent,  
Gaurus, thou Cato hast for Precedent;  
Tully, for barbarous Verses thou dost write,  
As if the Muses bore to thee a Spite.  
Antony, Apicius, Vomitings did use;  
Thy horrid Lust no Patron can excuse.    

Ep. 90. To Quintilianus.  

Of Giddy Youth, thou Guide of high Renown,  
Quintilian, Glory of the Roman Gown,  
That I do haste, tho' Poor, thy Licence give,  
T' enjoy my Life; None haste enough to live.  
Who aim t'increase their Father's Wealth, to throng  
Their Courts with Statues, this defer too long.  
I only to these easy things aspire,  
A Spring with Natural Turf, a shining Fire,  
Servants well fed, a plain unlearned Wife,  
Nights passed away in Sleep, Days without Strife.    

Ep. 91. To Caesar.  

Welfare and Glory of the Earth, while thee  
We safe behold, we Gods believe to be:  
If my slight Books did e'er thee entertain,  
And oft to read them, thou didst not disdain:  
What Nature does deny, do Thou bestow,  
For Father of three Children make me go.  
When my Verse takes not, this will be an Ease,  
A high Reward, in case they thee do please.    

Ep. 92. To his Wife.  

He, Father of three Children, me has made,  
And all my Muse's Labours richly paid,  
Who only could: thee, Wife, I'll not retain,  
Lest I the Prince's Bounty render vain.     

LIB. III.  

Ep. 1. To the Reader.  

THis third Book, good or bad, what e'er it be,  
Gallia Togata sends from far to thee.  
If, reading this, my former thou dost praise,  
Both yet are mine, that which least claims the Bays▪  
Those must excel, born, Rome, within thy Wall,  
A Slave of thine, above a freeborn Gaul.    

Ep. 2. To his Book.  

To whom shall I a Present make thee, Book?  
Speedily, for a Patron, round thee look;  
Lest Cooks, as if waste-Paper or astray,  
To wrap up Spices ravish thee away.  
Shall Faustine thee protect, dost say? thouart wise,  
Now, richly bound, Contempt thou mayst despise;  
Twisted with Silk and Gold thy Head-bands show  
Luxuriously, all gilded over go.  
For if Faustinus shall approve of thee,  
No Critic fear, though Probus self he be.    

Ep. 3. On an ill Shaped Woman.  

Thy Face, that's fair, thou vail'st when thou dost go  
To bath, an ugly Body naked show,  
Believe the Water Nymph, thee thus does pray,  
Bath in thy Clothes, or cast thy Veil away.    

Ep. 4. To his Book  

Book haste to Rome. Whence comest thou? If men say:  
Reply, From th' Track of the Emilian way.  
If they demand the City where I dwell:  
Imola or Cornelii Forum tell.  
If for what Cause I'm Absent, they inquire:  
The Follies of the City me did Tyre.  
If when I do return: A Poet, say,  
I went; when on a Fiddle I can play.    

Ep. 5. To his Book.  

My Book, while thee to Rome alone I send,  
Shall I to many Friends, or one, commend?  
One's enough, where no Stranger thou'lt be found,  
julius, whose Name my Tongue so oft does sound.  
The House, once Daphnis, him does Master call,  
You'll find him straight in the first Court of all:  
His Wife will thee into her Bosom Store,  
Although, with Highway-Dust, all covered over,  
If them together, or apart, you meet,  
Say only thus, you, Marcus, bids me greet.  
This is enough. Who Letters brings, offends;  
Thinking he Commendations needs to Friends.    

Ep. 8. On Quintus.  

Quintus loves Thais. Which? Thais the blind.  
As she wants one Eye, he wants both, I find.    

Ep. 9 On Cinna.  

Cinna, 'tis said, does Verses write against me.  
He does not write, whose Verse none cares to see.    

Ep. 10. On Philomusus.  

Thy Father knowing thy Luxurious way,  
Assigned thee an Allowance for each Day,  
Such as thy Table might both stint, and serve,  
That neither thou mightst riot, nor yet starve.  
But when he died, he left thee Heir of All.  
What greater Mischief could to thee befall?  
Thy Disinheriting, thou this may'st call.    

Ep. 11. On Quintus.  

If she thou lov'st, nor blind, nor Thais be,  
What makes thee think last Distich writ on thee?  
If Lais 'twere, and her I'd Thais named,  
For such Resemblance I might well be blamed:  
But what Similitude do these two bear?  
How do Hermione and Thais pair?  
But thou art Quintus, and that Name I choose▪  
Be't so: I always feigned Names do use.  
I'll change the Lover's Name if that please more,  
Sextus, not Quintus, Thais loves, the Whore.    

Ep. 12. On fabulus.  

Thy Odours, I confess, were last Night rare:  
But nought to Feast thy Guests thou didst prepare,  
Of Wit or Folly call'st thou this a Cast?  
To give thy Friends Perfumes, and make them fast?  
Who are anointed only, and not fed,  
No treated like the Living are, but Dead.    

Ep. 13. On Nevia.  

While Boar to carve, and Mullets thou dost spare,  
Will't sooner cut thy Father up, than Hare:  
But, as if all were crude, thy Cook dost beat,  
No Crudities they'll find, whom thou dost treat.    

Ep. 14. On Tuccius.  

Starved Tuccius from remotest Spain did come,  
Full of great Hopes, Plenty to find in Rome:  
But at the very Port being told the hard  
Duty of Clients, and their lean Reward,  
He turned strait his Horse's Head again,  
With Switches and Spur posted him back to Spain.    

Ep. 15. On Codrus.  

None trusts so much as Codrus, I do find,  
I'th' Town. How so? He's Poor. He loves, though blind.    

Ep. 16. On a Cobbler.  

An haughty enriched Cobbler durst bestow,  
A most profuse, and princely Fencer's-show:  
What in his Life he earned by the Awl,  
At Sword and Buckler-Fight he made fly all.  
Sure thou wert drunk; thou couldst not, Cobbler, play  
In any Sober Mood, thy Hide away.  
Enough of Shows; now to thy Skins abide:  
Fear what befell the Ass i'th' Lion's Hide.    

Ep. 17. On Sabidius.  

At second Course, where lately I did Dine,  
Hot Tarts were served, so hot, no Hand but thine,  

* Scaevola.  Mutius, could touch: Sabidius yet, than they,  
More hot in Appetite, brooking no stay,  
Blew often on them with his poisonous Breath,  
Blasts of worse Stench than Rottenness and Death.  
After the which, no Man to touch them stirred:  
He cooled the Tarts, but turned them to a T—    

Ep. 19 On a Boy stung to Death.  

In a sweet Grove, where many Shapes were made  
Of Savage Beasts, t' adorn the pleasant Shade,  
A carved Bear with gaping Jaws did stand,  
Into whose Mouth young Hylas thrust his Hand;  
And, Childish wise, provoked the Bear to bite.  
A Viper, lurking in that secret Night,  
Quickened the Stone with more than Natural Rage,  
And bit the Lad, that fearless did engage.   

O heinous Fact! That a dead Bear should do,  
What one alive could not be wrought unto.    

Ep. 20. On Canius.  

Tell me my Muse, how Canius spends his Time  
In lasting Leaves, and in immortal Rhyme,  
Does he the Facts of Nero rightly state,  
From Malice and from Flattery free, relate?  
Light Elegies, or grave Heroics write?  
I' th' Comic, or the Tragic Strain Delight?  
Or in the Poet's School does Canius sit,  
Regaling all with his choice Attic Wit?  
Or else, being free from Study, does he talk  
I' th' Temples, and the Shady Porches walk?  
Baths he? Or from the City Toil retired,  
Are Fields and Rivers more by him admired,  
Baias or Lucrins' Sweet Recess desired?   Muse. 

How Canius spends his Time, wouldst have me show?  
He laughs at all which most Men, serious, do.    

Ep. 21. On a Cruel Master.  

A branded Slave unto his proscribed Lord,  
In's highest Danger, Safety did afford.  
While thus his Goodness did the Cruel save,  
Envy with Life unto his Lord he gave.    

Ep. 25. To Faustus.  

If thy hot Bath, Faustus, thou seekest to cure,  
'Bove what a Paralytic can endure:  
Let Orator, Sabinus, enter in  
Nero's hot Baths, he'll make a cooling Spring.    

Ep. 26. On Candidus.  

Thy pleasant Farm thou dost enjoy alone,  
Thy Money, Plate, communicates to none.  
Alone, thou, aged Massick Wine dost drink,  
Alone thyself both wise and witty think:  
That all thou hast alone, I yet deny,  
Thy Wife is Common, or the People lie.    

Ep. 27. On Gallus.  

That oft I thee, thou me dost never call  
To Sup, I could forgive, if none at all  
Tho didst invite: But, Churl, thou dost afford  
To other Guests a frequent well-served Board.  
W' are faulty Both. In what, dost bid me name?  
I for the want of Wit, and thou of Shame.    

Ep. 30. To Gargilianus.  

Money no more, but Meat the Great bestow,  
For what thou stayest at Rome, I fain would know.  
How wilt thou buy a Gown? Hire a dark Cell?  
Pay for thy Bath? A Thais keep, canst tell?   Garg. 
To make a little serve, great Head I'll give.  Mar. 
Scarce, as things stand, 'tis worth the Care to Live.   

Ep. 31. To Rufus.  

Thy Land, I yield, seems boundless to the Eye,  
And near the Town thy pleasant Farms do lie.  
Numbers of Debtors to thy Lordly Chest,  
Crouch, with Choice Fare thy gilded Table's pressed:  
Disdain not, Rufus, yet, all that are poor;  
There's greater Rogues than thou that yet have more.    

Ep. 32. To Matrinia.  

Dost ask, if an old Woman I could wed?  
An Old I could, Matrinia, not a Dead,  
As thou art. Even Niobe I could take,  
And Mother Hecuba a Mistress make:  
But then before they were transformed so fur.  
One to a Stone, the other to a Cur.    

Ep. 33. What Wife he'd choose.  

A Wife of high Descent I first would wed,  
For want of such, One Freed should share my Bed,  
A Slave the last, yet if she Noble be  
In Form; I'd choose her first, of all the Three.    

Ep. 34. On Chione, or Madam Snow.  

Fit and unfit thy Name to thee doth show,  
For Black and Cold thou art, Snow and not Snow.    

Ep. 36. On Fabianus.  

I would not have thee pleat or curl thy Hair,  
Through slovenly Neglect, nor Elflocks wear;  
Let not thy Skin with Scurf be over run,  
Nicely to blanche and sleek it, no less shun;  
An Eunuches Chin affect not, smooth and bare,  
Nor such a horrid Beard as Prisoners wear;  
By a Wise Mean avoid the best you can,  
To appear less, or yet too much, a Man.   

But while thy Limbs we rough and brisly find,  
Effeminate and wanton is thy Mind.    

Ep. 38. To Sextus.  Mart. 

What Cause, what Confidence, Sextus, does invite  
Thee unto Rome? What Hope, what Aim? Recite.   Sext. 

Than Tully's self more powerfully I'll plead,  
And none like Me, shall the whole Forum lead.   Mart. 

Caius and Atestinus (both you know)  
Do plead, but pay not a poor House-rent so.   Sext. 

If nothing this way come, I'll Verses frame,  
You'll say, that Virgil did compose the same.   Mart. 

thouart mad: That cold and tattered Crew you see,  
No less than Ovid's all, and Virgil's be.   Sext. 
Great Men I'll court.  Mart. 

Scarce two or three do speed  
That way, the rest are pale, and starve through need.   Sext. 

Say, what then? Counsel to a Friend advance,  
Men live at Rome.   Mart. 
The Honest do by chance.   

Ep. 39 On Lycoris.  

One-eyed Lycoris Love's more fair than He  
Kept Flocks on Ida. How the Blind can see!    

Ep. 40. On Telesinus.  

For having lent, forsooth, an hundred pound,  
From full-cramed Chests, and Wealth that does abound,  
Thou think'st that thou much Greatness hast displayed:  
But that the Grandeur's mine, it may be said:  
Who being Poor, so great a Sum repaid.    

Ep. 42. On Polla.  

Thou seekest with Fared to smooth thy wrinkled Skin,  
Bedaub'st thyself, and dost no Lover win.  
Simple Decays Men easily pass by,  
But hid, suspect some great Deformity.    

Ep. 43. On Lentin.  

False-hair thou wear'st to make thee youthful show,  
A Swan were't yesterday, to day a Crow.  
Thou cheats not all, Proserpina knows thee Grey,  
Nor will thy Term of Death one Hour delay,  
But when it comes, snatch Wig and thee away.    

Ep. 44. To Ligurinus.  

That every one, to meet thee, is afraid,  
And where thou comest, a Solitude is made.  
Wouldst, Ligurinus, know the Reason why?  
Too much a Poet, Men do from thee fly.  
And this, I tell thee, is a dangerous Crime,  
A Scorpion is not feared, like ceaseless Rhyme;  
●n Adder, in the scorching Sun, fresh sprung,  
Tiger newly robbed of her young.  
●or, Prithee, who such Tediousness can bear?  
●hou readest to those that sit, that Standing are;  
●o them that Run, to them that are at Stool;  
To those are in the Bath, at the Fish Pool;  
●hat here they cannot Swim, nor wash them there;  
●or thee reciting Verses in their Ear.  
They haste to Sup, the Goers thou dost stay;  
Who'd Sup with thee, thou readest them away;  
Weary, and Sick, they lay them down to Sleep,  
Thy Verses rouse them, and then waking keep.  
Wouldst know what Mischief this to thee has bred?  
Thee, a good Man, Learned, Just, all do Dread.    

Ep. 45. To the same.  

Whether the Sun Thyestes Table fled,  
I know not; but all Men thy Table dread:  
And yet 'tis Sumpt'ous, served with Costly Fare,  
But what can Relish, thou Reciting there;  
Hadst thou no Turbot, were thy Mullets less,  
Bate Oysters, Mushrooms, do but hold thy Peace.    

Ep. 46. To Candidus.  

Thou dost exact, that always I attend:  
Tho' I go not, my Freeman I do send.  
Thou sayest, That's not the same. But I think, more  
When I scarce followed, he thy Litter bore.  
thou'rt thronged: His boisterous Bulk o'erturneth 〈◊〉  
My Strength's ingenuous, and my Force but sma 〈…〉  
Causes thou plead'st: I silently stand by,  
He roars redoubled Euge's to the Sky.  
Thou quarrel'st: Shame forbids loud Speech to 〈◊〉  
But he'll not stick to Spend his Mouth for thee.   Cand. 
There's nought a Friend then should be called 〈…〉  Mart. 
Yes, what a Slave, Candidus, cannot do.   

Ep. 50. On Ligurinus.  

But for one 'Cause thou dost thy Friends invite▪  
That thou thy Verses master to them recite.  
We are but set when with the Sallet's brought,  
A huge vast Tome, full with thy Poems fraught;  
A second's read, while yet the first Course stays,  
A third and fourth the second Course delays;  
Before we rise, a fifth Book we do see;  
Wild Boar, so often served, would nauseous be.  
Thy wicked Verse condemn to wrap-up Fish,  
●r when thou supp'st alone, make 'em thy Dish.    

Ep. 52. To Tongelinus.  

Thy House was lately, Tongeline, burnt down,  
Chance too frequent in a Populous Town.  
thrice o'er thy Loss has been repaired by Friends:  
bid'st thou not fire thy House, to get Amends?    

Ep. 55. On Gellia.  

That Shops of Odours seem with thee to go,  
And rich Perfumes thou dost around thee throw:  
Think not this much, 'tis not thy Natural Smell,  
A Dog, like thee, embalmed, would scent as well.    

Ep. 58. To Bassus, on Faustinus Farm  

Faustinus Farm, O Bassus! is not fraught  
With Idle Myrtles, into Order brought;  
There no trimmed Box, or barren Plane Trees found,  
To fill a vast unprofitable Ground:  
But happy 'tis in rude and fertile Fields,  
Which Ceres Gifts in every Corner yield;  
There Vessels fragrant smell with Autumn Fruit;  
And when November's past, and Time does suit.  
The rough hewed Hind late Grapes does homeward bring,  
While Valleys round with lowing Kine do ring,  
And Lust, the yet unhorned Herd, does sting.   

The straggling Cohorts of the sordid Pens  
I' th' Yards are seen, Cocks treading Rhodian He 〈…〉  
Partridges speckled, Peacock's gay and fair,  
Who in their Trains do seeming Jewels bear;  
Pheasants, which first from impious Colchos came,  
The Birds which to Red Feathers owe their Name  
Streaked Turkeys, Geese loud cackling and shrill,  
All with their Noise and grateful Numbers fill;  
While the Doves greeting from the towers you he 〈…〉  
Sleek Culvers mourning here, soft Turtles there.   

The greedy Swine pursue the Housewife's Pal 〈…〉  
And full bagged Ewes, th' expecting Lambs never 〈◊〉   

Children surround the large Fire shining brigh 〈…〉  
Which on the Lar casts a cheerful Light.  
None here to Labour, backward are, and ●oth,  
None pallid and unhealthy seen through Sloth:  
But Gins for Birds, and Lines for Fish prepare,  
Pitch Toils to catch the lightfoot Deer, or Hare.  
The Orchards plain the merry Maids employ;  
Even Boys of the best Rank their Tasks enjoy,  
Obey the Bailiff, not constrained by Fear,  
But they Delight some Rural-Work to share.   

The Rustic there brings not a vain Salute,  
But Gifts his Ave speak, while he is mute:  
Presents Ambrosian Honey from the Bees,  
A Dormouse from the Woods, or a Cream-Cheese;  
Taken from the Shaggy Goats a bleating Kid,  
Or else a Capon, Venus' Sports forbid.  
The homely Country Maids in Baskets bear  
Their Mother's Gifts, something that's choice and rare.   

And when the Day is past, and his Work done,  
The welcome Neighbour, a glad Guest, does come,  
To the frank Board, from which no Meat's set by,  
The next day's Scant Provision to supply.  
Servants, well fed themselves, from Envy free,  
Grudge not, when they the Guests full gorged see.   

But, Bassus, thy trim Villa joins the Town,  
And for its Paint and Spruceness seeks Renown:  
No Country useful Sordures thee annoy,  
But Neat and splendid Want thou dost enjoy:  
From stately Rooms, fair Laurels strike thy Eye,  
Which fear not Thiefs, were no Priapus by.  
And when to see thy Farm, thou Time canst find,  
With City Meal thou feedest thy Country Hind:  
And Herbs, Eggs, Apples, Cheese, from Rome dost bear,  
All which thou ought'st, in reason, to find there.   

Call not this Toy thy Country House for shame,  
Let the Remote Forlorn House be its Name.    

Ep. 60. On Ponticus.  

When now a Guest, no Hireling, as of yore,  
Me, the same Cheer, why sets thou not before,  
Thou dost thyself? Oysters are served to thee,  
Fatted in Lucrine Lake, but unto me  
Muscles, which in Vileness as much excel,  
That cut my Lips with their accursed Shell;  
And while the Choicest Mushrooms are thy fare,  
For me thou poisonous Toadstools dost prepare;  
With a large Trout, or Turbot thou dost deal,  
But I, on Sprats or Pilchards, make my Meal;  
A well crammed Fowl regalios thee again,  
But me some Carion-thing starved in the Pen.   

When with thee, why not with thee do I eat?  
My 
* The Emperor ordered that instead of the Sportula (which was a kind of Dole) Clients should be invited to Supper, but the Rich Men were so sordid, that they eat of one sort of Meat themselves, and gave another to their Clients.  Dole is lost, not mended by thy Meat.    

Ep. 61. On Cinna.  

What e'er thou beg'st, 'Tis Nothing, thou dost cry,  
If it be Nothing, Nothing I deny.    

Ep. 62. On Quinctus.  

That with vast Sums, Boys in their Beauty's prime  
Thou buyest, drinkest only Wine of Numas time,  
Thy Stuff, of daily Use, did Hundreds cost,  
Common with thee, but what a Prince might boast.  
That thy gilt Coach was purchased at the Rate  
Of a fair House; One Mule of an Estate.  
Think'st thou, a larger Mind thou show'st from hence?  
They're Little Souls delight in Great Expense,    

Ep. 63. On Cotilus  

Men, Cotilus, a Gallant do proclaim:  
But say, who's he deserves a Gallant's Name?  
A Gallants one can order well his Hair,  
And scatter round him a perfumed Air,  
Warble soft Tunes of Italy and France,  
With various Graces move him in the Dance;  
Of Ladies Chat sit Umpire all the Day,  
And still have something in their Ear to say;  
Love-Letters read to one, to others, write;  
Whom nought, like Ruffling of his Clothes affright;  
Runs to all Feasts, can, who loves whom, arread;  
Tell Pedigrees of Horses, and their Breed.  
Is this, Is this, a Gallant then to be?  
A Gallant's than a Trifling Thing, I see.    

Ep. 64. On Canius.  

The Seamen's merry Ruin, killing Joy,  
The Sirens, who with Melody destroy,  
That sly Ulysses had the Power to leave,  
When all besides, with Charms, they did deceive.  
I wonder not: But this I should admire,  
From Canius fettering Tongue could he retire.    

Ep. 65. On the Kisses of a fair Maid.  

As Smells the fragrant Fruit, when bit by thee,  
The Flowering Grapes first blooming on the Tree,  
Spring Meadows, when fresh cropped by Cows they be  
The Air, rich Saffron Beds, do from them yield;  
A Myrtile Grove, Arabian spicy Field;  
The Flavour, Musk and Amber chafed respire:  
Sabean Gums, when they make pale the Fire;  
The fresh Glebe sprinkled with a Summers' Shower;  
Thy Locks when on them thou choice Nard dost pour:  
So redolent, coy Maid, thy Kisses are!  
If freely given, what with them might compare?    

Ep. 66. On Mark Anthony.  

Photin and Anthony like Crimes do slain,  
Pompey by one, by th' other Tully slain.  
Tully, Rome's Tongue, deservedly might be said;  
Pompey, as justly, her triumphant Head.  
Yet Antony o' th' Two, thy Gild was more,  
He sinned on's Lords, thou sinnest on thine own Score.    

Ep. 68 To his modest Matron Reader.  

To thee, Grave Matron, hitherto my Book  
I write. Towards whom, dost ask, the rest doth look?  
Myself, the Race, the Baths; retire thou then,  
We strip, forbear to look on Naked Men.  
Well-soaked, Terpsichore weighs not what she says,  
Niceness, 'mong Cups and Roses down she lays;  
And tho', without Disguise, she plainly names,  
In broadest Terms, what yearly Roman Dames  
To Venus' offer, cares not who her blames;  
'Tis that, I mean, our Hinds in Gardens place,  
And Maids peep at, with Hands before their Face.  
If now I know thee, tho' my Book before  
Tired thee, thou'lt eager be to read it over.    

Ep. 69. To Cosconius.  

That all thy Epigrams thou dost indite  
In cleanest Terms, not one broad Word dost write,  
I praise, admire; how chaste alone thou art;  
Such Crimes my Pages show in every Part,  
The which, the waggish Youth and Maids approve,  
The Older too, who feel the Sting of Love.  
But yet, I must confess, thy Holy Verse  
Deserves much more with Children to converse.     

LIB. IV.  

Ep. 1. On Caesar's Birthday.  

Caesars' bright Birth-Day's to be honoured more  
Than Ioves, on Ida's Top by Rhea bore.  
May Rome this Days Return more often see,  
Than aged Nestor, thine was seen by thee.  
And, than the Present, still more glorious be.  
May he on Earth (his Head adorned with Gold)  
Keep Pallas Feast; as Precedent behold  
The Poets and the Rhetors' Strife, and Crown  
With's mighty Hand the highest in renown.  
May he the Secular Games, none twice e'er saw,  
Behold; be privileged beyond Nature's Law.   

Great things I ask, but which from Heaven are due,  
For such a Prince too much we cannot sue.    

Ep. 5. To Fabianus.  

Mar. Poor, and Upright, whose Tongue and Heart agree,  
What dost Propose, in coming Rome to see?  
Canst act the Bawd, or boon-Companions Part?  
knowst thou the Criers or Informers Art?  
Canst thou debauch the Wife of thy best Friend?  
Thy Strength on Lustful Aged Madams spend;  
Canst sell Court Air? Flatter the Upstart Great?  
Canus and Glaphyrus i'th' right-way treat?  
How, wretch, wilt live?   Fab. 
By Faith's true Square I'll go.  Mar. 
Thou dreamest, thou'lt ne'er be 
* Rich as a Fiddler of that Name.  Philomelus so.   

Ep. 8. To Euphemus.  

The two first Hours o'th' Great consumed are,  
The third in Lawyer's Plead at the Bar;  
The Trades of Rome the fourth and fifth employ,  
The sixth some Rest, the seventh all Rest enjoy:  
From eight to Nine in Exercise is spent,  
The ninth on Feasting all Men are intent:  
The Tenth hour's proper for my Book and me.  
And Euphem thou who dost the Board o'er-see,  
And order our Great Lords Ambrosian Fare,  
When Nectar has dissolved his public Care,  
His mighty Hand the sober Cup does hold,  
To introduce my Mirth, thou may'st be bold.  
My Muse forbears licentiously to rove,  
I'th' Morn, when serious, to importune jove.    

Ep. 10. To Faustinus.  

While yet my Book is new, its Leaves scarce dry,  
But even the chary'st Touch they fear and fly;  
To Faustin, Boy, this little Gift present,  
He first deserves my Toys should him be sent:  
But furnished with a Sponge be sure to go;  
My Book, 'tis fit, should be attended so.  
That if my Verse Faustinus cannot tend  
To Purge, One Blot may all my Failings mend.    

Ep. 11. On Ant. Saturninus.  

While thou wert proud to bear Antonio's name,  
And that of Saturninus didst disclaim;  
Thou Arms in Germany against Caesar bore,  
As Anthony in Egypt did before.  
What Fate attends that Name didst thou not fear?  
Of his Disgrace at Actium never hear?  
Or did the Rhine promise Success to thee,  
Tho' Nile to him denied the Victory?  
That famous Anthony, by Rome's Sword, did fall;  
Compared to thee, who Caesar we might call.    

Ep. 13. Upon the Marriage of Pudens and Claudia Peregrina.  

This Day my Pudens to fair Claudia's wed,  
Swell the Joys, Hymen, of their Nuptial Bed.  
So Musk with Amber Men do fitly join,  
So Attic Honey mix with Massick Wine,  
So Elms, embraced by Vines, do beauteous stand;  
So Reeds do Waters grace; so Myrtles Land!  
Concord, keep all between them ever fair,  
And equal Love unite the equal Pair;  
Let them not find their Flame grows ever Cold,  
Or think each other, when they are so, Old.    

Ep. 14. To Silius Italicus.  

Silius, the Muse's Glory and Renown  
Whose weighty Verse powerfully presses down  
The Punic Falsehood, makes their barbarous Rage  
Stoop to Rome's Valour, which it durst engage;  
Their Elephants, to our Eagles, quit the Field;  
Hannibal's Wiles, to Scipio's Honour yield.   

The time commands thou serious Thoughts lay-by,  
Now in December that the rattling Diego  
In every place does make a loud Report,  
And the most sage indulge unto the Sport.  
My Book, deep drenched in Mirth, thou may'st allow  
This Month to read with a relaxed Brow.  
Catullus now may his slight 
* A Poem so called.  Sparrow send  
To mighty Maro, and the Act defend.    

Ep. 15. To Cecilianus.  

Ten pound thou begg'dst to borrow th' other Day,  
Which speedily, thou promised, to repay.  
I had it not (as civil) I did say.  
But thou, by a Friends Visit, much surprised,  
To borrow of me silver Plate devised.  
Art thou a Fool? or me dost one suppose?  
When ten I would not, fifty Pound I'd lose:    

Ep. 18. On a Boy killed by an Icicle.  

At Fountain-gate, whose Stones do always drop,  
Near to the Porch an hundred Columns prop;  
A ponderous Stream, by Cold, congealed to Glass;  
Fell on a Lad, as he the Arch did pass:  
Soon as the Wretch the fatal Blow had felt,  
The sharpened Ice in the warm Wound did melt.  
What can restrain thee, Death? Where art not found?  
When Water, like a Sword, can cut and wound?    

Ep. 20. On Gellia and Cerellia.  

Cerellia, Young, affects to say, she's Old.  
Old Gellia, 'mong the Girls, would be enroled.  
What either does, Colinus, canst digest?  
The Young One plays the Fool, the Old the Beast.    

Ep. 21. On Selius.  

Selius affirms, in Heaven no Gods there are,  
And while he thrives, and they their Thunder spare,  
His daring Tenet to the World seems fair.    

Ep. 24. On Lycoris.  

Lycoris Friends are rarely of long Life,  
I wish she were acquainted with my Wife.    

Ep. 26. On Posthumus.  

For not attending on thee a whole Year,  
What I have lost thereby, Posthumus, hear.  
Five hundred Pence, at least, upon this Score.  
'Tis much: a Gown would yet have cost me more.    

Ep. 27. To Domitian.  

My Books thou often gracest with thy Praise,  
Tho' Malice it denies, thou oft givest Bays;  
Nor only by thy Words, this Truth is known,  
But Honours too, which thou, canst give, alone;  
Envy to black my Fame, yet goes on still,  
Caesar give more, till thou the Envious kill.    

Ep. 29. To Pudens.  

The Number of my Books does them much Wrong,  
The Reader's tired and glutted with their Throng;  
Scarce things take most, first Fruits please those are nice,  
Roses in Winter bear the highest Price:  
Reservedness recommends a beauteous Whore,  
Her opening, not to all that come, her Dore.  
Perseus One Book's more celebrated far,  
Than Marsus bulky Amazonian War.  
Reading a Book of mine, feign there's no more;  
Thus of my Wit thou'lt make the greater Store.    

Ep. 31. On Hippodamus.  

That in my Book thouart named, thou'dst have it said,  
And think'st it there an Honour to be read.  
May I not live, but grateful 'tis to me,  
And in my Verse, most gladly, thou shouldst ' be;  
But that on thee a Name Men did impose,  
So harsh, that will with no soft Numbers close.  
Which Phoebus, and the whole Pierian Choir,  
Could not in Music sing, should all conspire.  
Assume some Name more sweetly than that sounds,  
Hippodamus the Muses all confounds.    

Ep. 32. On a Bee enclosed in Amber.  

A Drop of Amber did a Bee enclose  
Hid from the Touch but to the Eye expose.  
Thus it deserved, and thus desired to die,  
After much Labour so entombed to lie.    

Ep. 33. On Sosibianus.  

Thou sayest, thoust Poems by thee of great Worth.  
Why dost thou not, Sosibian, bring them forth;  
Thy Heirs, thou sayest, will cause them to be read,  
'Tis pity 'tis not done, and thyself dead.    

Ep. 35. On Deer fight.  

The timorous Deer against themselves make Head,  
The Fight forsake not, till they both lie Dead:  
The Dogs looked on, Huntsmen amazed appear,  
No Prey, Employment found for either here.  
In softest Breasts what moved a Rage so high?  
Bull's rush on Bulls, and stoutest Men so die.    

Ep. 37. On Afer.  

Coranus does a hundred to me owe;  
Mancinus three; Albinus twice this; so  
Sabinus doth; Serranus Ten; I know  
A sixth, ten more: Then from my Lands do come,  
My Flocks, and City Rents, a vaster Sum.   

This thou, whole Days, relatest, and I retain  
With that Exactness, as I do my Name.  
Say not, to what thy Income does amount,  
But something tell, which turns to my Account:  
I cannot hear thee, Gratis, thus excite,  
Be thy Tales true or false, my needy Appetite.    

Ep. 39 On Charinus.  

Charinus, Thou'st a rare Collection made  
Of Silver Works, both massy and o'er-laid;  
Alone dost Mirons, Scopus pieces show,  
What Mentor and Praxetiles could do;  
Alone dost Phidias noble Graving vaunt,  
Alone the true Grantianas' dost not want;  
Enchased Goblets of Pure Spanish Oar,  
All double gilt, thy Father's Table bore.   

What in these Wonder's to be wondered most,  
A Penny Current-Coyn thou canst not boast.    

Ep. 40. On Posthumus.  

Tho Pisos Stem speaks great Nobility,  
Seneca shows a threefold▪ Pedigree,  
And both their Courts to my Access are free;  
Yet my Salutes to thee I first did bring,  
Poor, and a Knight, but unto me a King:  
Ten Years, twice told, in Amity we led,  
One Table served us, and One common Bed.   

thou'rt noble now and Rich, canst throw away;  
What to our Ancient Friendship wilt thou Pay?  
I may expect: but thou hast Nought to say.  
Grown old a Patron I can't seek, tho' Poor.  
On me, or Faith, hast thou imposed more?    

Ep. 41. On a bad Poet.  

When thou thy Poems dost recite, for Fear  
Of catching Cold, Furr 'bout thy Neck dost wear.  
This fitter were for th' Ears of them that hear.    

Ep. 42. To Flaccus.  

If I could such obtain, as I desire,  
Hear then what Beauty, Flaccus, I admire.  
One born in Egypt, i' th' first place I'd choose;  
Such artificial Charms none else do use;  
I'd have her Skin white as the driven Snow,  
From that swarth Clime the fair do fairest show;  
Her Eyes with Stars should vie, her flowing Hair  
Fall on her Neck, which I to Curls prefer.  
Her Forehead should be smooth, well shaped her Nose,  
Her lovely Lips a Rosy red disclose;  
Sometimes I'd have her kind, and sometimes coy,  
In no Man's Courtship, but mine own, to joy;  
Young Men to hate, even her own Sex to fear,  
To others Ice, to me a Maid appear.   

Now, Flaccus, I foreknow, what thou wilt say.  
Caelia, my Caelia, thou dost here display,    

Ep. 44 On Vesuvius.  

Behold Vesuvius green e'er while, and stored  
With Vines which did the noblest Juice afford.  
Bacchus, this Hill,▪ 'bove Nysas did advance,  
His Satyrs, here, did most delight to dance.  
Venus no Seat, like this, did hold so dear,  
The Herculean Fane shone here without a Peer.  
All now in Cinders lies, and Gods resent  
The Loss; their Power, they had to hurt repent.    

Ep. 49. To Flaccus.  

Rightly of Epigrams thou dost not deem,  
ho Toys and Sport, Flaccus dost them esteem.  
He toys and trifles more, who does declare  
Thyestes Board, and Tereus impious Fare;  
Dedalus fitting waxen Wings to fly;  
And Monster Polyphemus with one Eye.  
All Tragic Themes I banish from my Muse,  
Nor huffing Buskin-Language do I use.  
But these, thou sayest, Men praise, admire, adore.  
Praise these they may, but yet they read mine more.    

Ep. 53. On a counterfeit Cynic.  

He who i' th' Temples, you so often meet,  
In public Porches, Cosmus, and the street,  
With Bag and Staff, nasty, and antique dressed,  
His Hair an End, Beard hanging down his Breast;  
Who for a Cloak, a Coverlet does use,  
Barks for his Meat, the Givers of t' abuse;  
A Cynic to be thought, does make this Stir▪  
But he no Cynic is. What then? A Cur.    

Ep. 54. On Colinus.  

As thou Colinus to thy high Renown  
From all Contenders, borest the Oaken Crown;  
If wife, thy Days in genial Pleasures spend,  
As if each Day determined were thy End.  
None with the Parcaes ever could prevail,  
Their Lives, one Hour beyond their Time, to bail;  
Although more rich than Crispus; Thrasea, bold;  
Than Melior they a nobler Port did hold;  
The Sister's Web unchangeable doth run,  
And one still cuts, what t' other two have spun.    

Ep. 56. On Gargilianus.  

That thou large Presents send'st the Rich and Old,  
Wouldst have it for thy Glory to be told?  
There's none, like thee, deserves a Sordid Fame,  
Who, thy vile Snares, dar'st generous Presents name.  
Call too a Hook, by which the Fish are ta'en,  
A Gift; the Train by which wild Beasts are slain.   

What 'tis to give, dost thou desire to know?  
On me, can nought return, thy Wealth bestow.    

Ep. 59 On a Viper enclosed in Amber.  

As 'mong the Poplar Boughs a Viper crawls,  
The Liquid Gum upon him struggling falls:  
With Drops alone, while wondering, to be held,  
He strait within the Amber was congealed.  
Then of thy Tomb, proud 
* Cleopatra.  Queen think not too high.  
A Worm far nobler here entombed doth lie.    

Ep. 60. On Death.  

When Leo rages with the Summer's Sun,  
From pestilential Climates never run;  
Since, in the wholesom'st, and the purest Air,  
The Destinies Croatius did not spare.  
When thy Time's come, Death from no place is bound,  

* Wholesome and unwholesome Places are alike.  Sardinia, in the midst of 
* Wholesome and unwholesome Places are alike.  Tybur's found.    

Ep. 61. On Mancinus.  

Two Thousand Pound lately to thee befell,  
Thou with a fleering vaunting Face didst tell.  
Scarce four Days passed, while thou and I did walk  
I' th' Poet's School, of hundreds thou didst talk  
In Robes which rich Pompilla to thee sent;  
Thou sworest that Bassa did to thee present  
A true Sardonix, with its triple Lines;  
And Caelia gave thee two fair Agmarines.  
I' th' Theatre, as we did hear the Song,  
More yet thou told'st, that did to thee belong;  
Even hasting, and in Motion to depart,  
Of a late Heirship News thou didst impart.   

What have thy Friends deserved of thee so ill,  
That them, with Envy, thou delight'st to kill?  
If pleasing things to blab, thou canst not hold;  
Some Good to us, Ill to thyself, unfold.    

Ep. 66. On Linus.  

A country Life, Linus, thou'st ever led,  
More mean, more homely, nothing can be said;  
A curtail Gown, on Festivals alone,  
Thou worest, and worest but every ten Years one;  
Thy Forest, unbought Hare and Boar, did yield,  
Fat Thrush, thy beaten Woods and neighbouring Field;  
Thy River, Fish afforded, being sought;  
Thy Wine was all, from thine own Vineyard, brought:  
No lovely Boys from Egypt did adorn  
Thy Board, but rustic, at thine own Farm born:  
And if thy lust inflamed was with Wine,  
The foulest Drab thou never didst decline;  
No Loss thou hast received by Sea or Land,  
By gaming deep, and an unlucky Hand;  
When so thou were't disposed to pass the Day,  
Nuts thou didst stake, or else with Nuts didst play  
Say where's the vast Estate, th' immoderate Sum  
Thy Mother left? What is of all become?  
All's gone. 'Tis a hard thing that thou hast done.    

Ep. 67. On a Praetor.  

Gaurus, in's Need, did of the Praetor pray  
A hundred Pound, grown in his Friendship grey:  
And said, that Sum would give him a just Right  
To all the Honours of a Roman Knight.  
But he replied: An hundred Pound I use  
I' th' Race to spend, nor this will me excuse:  
Ah, shames it not, ingrate thy Friend to slight!  
To give a Horse, what thou deniest a Knight?    

Ep. 68 To Sextus.  

My Mess cost cheap, thine the profusest Sum;  
To Sup, not envy, Sextus, I did come.    

Ep. 69. To Papilus.  

Pure Massick Wine thou dost not only drink,  
But giv'st thy Guests: though some this do not think.  
Four Wives, 'tis said, thy Flagon caused to die;  
This I believe not, yet not thirst to try.    

Ep. 70. On Ammianus.  

Nought t' Ammianus did his Father leave  
But a dry Halter. Who can now conceive,  
His Father's Life he gladly would revive;  
Who wished him often Dead, when yet alive?    

Ep. 72. To Quintus.  

To give my Books to thee, thou dost implore:  
But I have none; the Bookseller has Store.  
Thou sayest, none sober will such Trifles buy,  
Thou art not yet so Mad. No more am I    

Ep. 73. On Vestinus.  

Vestinus drawing now his latest Breath,  
And ready to resign his Soul to Death,  
The fatal Sisters he did humbly pray,  
Of his near End to make a little stay;  
That Dead t' Himself, to Others he might Live.  
Way to such Pious Vows the Fates did give.  
Then parting his vast Wealth, he left the Light,  
Seeming now full of Years to take his Flight.    

Ep. 74. Upon Deer fight.  

See how the timorous Herd in Fight engage!  
How fearful Deer express the fiercest Rage!  
Death from themselves they are not seen to fear!  
Caesar, set on the Dogs, to save the Deer.    

Ep. 75. On Nigrina.  

Thou highest Glory of a Latian Wife,  
Blest in thy Spouse, blest, Nigrine, in thy Life.  
Him Master of thy Birthright thou didst make,  
Joying, in all thou hadst, he should partake.  
Evadne perished in the Funeral Flame,  
Nor cheaper did Alceste purchase Fame.  
But thou thy Faith, by surer ways dost prove,  
And needest not Death to testify thy Love.    

Ep. 76. On a niggard Friend  

Ten pound I begged, with half thou didst me speed;  
Next time I'll ask thee, twice what I have need.    

Ep. 77. On Zoilus.  

I ne'er begged Riches from the Gods before,  
Well pleased with what I had and to be poor:  
But, Want, now get thee hence, Heaven grant me Store.  
Whence comes this sudden new Desire of Pelf?  
I'd fain see envious Zoilus hang himself.    

Ep. 78. On Varus.  

Varus, did lately me to Supper call,  
The Table Sumptuous was, the Supper small;  
Loaden it was with weight of Gold, not Meat;  
Much to be Seen was served, little to Eat;  
Varus, our Mouths, not Eyes, to feast weare here;  
Take hence thy Plate, or fill't with better Cheer.    

Ep. 79. On Afer.  

When thou no less than sixty Years hast told,  
Thy silver Hairs and wan Face spoke thee Old:  
Yet thou art seen, through all the Town to run  
Restless, no youthful Offices to shun;  
At early Morn thou great men's Chairs dost meet,  
And them, with thy Officious Aves greet;  
A Tribune comes not forth, but thou attendest;  
Thy Service, unto both the Consuls, lendest.  
Ten times a Day thou climbest the Palace Hill,  
None but 
* The Emperors two Favourites.  Sigerios and 
* The Emperors two Favourites.  Parthenios' fill  
Thy Mouth; those Favourite Names, which while thou vauntest  
Thou think'st, that thou thyself no greatness want'st.  
This Youth may do: But what so wretched Tool,  
As a decrepit and Ambitious Fool?    

Ep. 80. To Matho.  

Thou'st bought my Farm, where thou wert ever more  
My Guest. thouart plainly cheated, on the Score  
I'ave sold thee that, which was thine own before.    

Ep. 81. On Matho.  

Tho in a Fever, Matho, thou dost plead:  
If this not Madness seems, the more thou'st need  
Of Hellebore: thou pleadest in a Fit,  
Hadst thou no other way to sweat, 'twere Wit.  
But Great thou think'st it, feav'rish not to cease:  
See'st not, 'tis greater than to hold thy Peace.    

Ep. 84. On Nevolus.  

In prosperous State, none's so ill-natured found;  
In Adverse, none in Good does more abound;  
When thou art safe, Respect, Regard, to none  
Thou payest, none worthy of thyself thou'lt own:  
But in Distress, to stoop thou canst endure,  
T' oblige. 'Tis pity thou shouldst be secure.    

Ep. 86. On Ponticus.  

Thy Cup's of China, ours of Glass. Why so?  
That we thy Sordid Usage may not know,  
One Glass two Sorts of Wine, would plainly show.    

Ep. 88 On Bassa.  

Bassa, a Little Child has ever near,  
Which she does call her Playfellow and Dear:  
For such yet cares not, if you'll Credit Fame.  
How then? She soists, and the Child bears the blame.    

Ep. 89. On his Country Life.  

When to my Farm retired, how I do live  
If any ask, this short account I give.   

The Gods at the first Light, I do adore;  
And place this Care, all other Cares before.  
My Grounds I visit then, and Servants call,  
And their just Tasks I do impose on all.  
I Study next, rouse my Poetic Vein,  
My Body then anoint, and gently strain  
With some meet Exercise; exult in Mind  
At every Turn, myself both free to find  
From Crimes and Debts. Last, I bath, sup, laugh, drink,  
Jest, sing, rest, and on all that passes, think.  
A little Lamp, the while sends, forth a Ray,  
Which to my Nightly Studies makes a Day.     

LIB. V.  

Ep. 1. To Caesar.  

WHether i' th' Alban Mount thy Station be,  
Where thou the Prospect haste, on one side, Sea,  
Diana's Grove on th' other; or before,  
This, if Caietas Bay delight thee more,  
The Hill named from the Daughter of the Sun,  
Or where the Anxurs wholesome Streams do run.   

O Health and Safety of the public State!  
Whose Evils as our own, we deprecate;  
And whom, when prosp▪ rous and we happy see,  
Grateful we then believe the Gods to be.  
Receive this little Book, I to thee send,  
Only a gracious Hand vouchsafe t' extend;  
I'll think thou readest it, tho' thou cast it by,  
Pleas`d with a 
* As 'tis said in these Days with a Teagish Simplicity.  gallic, rude Credulity.    

Ep. 2. To his Readers.  

To Matrons, Virgins, and unriper Boys,  
I dedicate these Leaves of chaster Toys;  
Those whom obscene, and wanton Verse delight,  
And Wit, not broadly Bawdy, wholly slight;  
My first four Books, for them, I did indite.  
In this my fifth, so with Rome's Lord I drole,  
As he may read, and Pallas not control.    

Ep. 6. To the Muses.  

If what I ask, appears to you not great,  
O Muses! your Parthenius thus entreat.   

May thy Old Age come late, and happy End:  
Caesar be safe, and, to the last, your Friend;  
So above Envy may you ever be,  
Your Son a Scheme of all your Virtues see.  
As you this tim▪ rous bashful Book shall grace  
When in the sacred Presence 'tis in place.  
To you the Princes Gracious Moods are known,  
When with serenest Looks, and most his own,  
He shines on all, who to his Throne address,  
And measures Bounty out to each Distress.  
Nor apprehend, this trifling gilded Book,  
Aims at High things, does for great Matters look;  
You need not offer't, hold it in your Hand,  
As one designing nothing to demand:  
If the Nine Sister's Patron I do know,  
Himself will you command the Book to show.    

Ep. 7. To Vulcan.  

The Phoenix, when a thousand Years expire,  
Renews a glorious Youth again by Fire:  
So Rome decayed through Age, a new does shine,  
And shows a Countenance, like her Lords, Divine.   

Digest old Grudges, Vulcan, we do pray,  
Tho' Mars' Nation, we do also say  
weare Venus' Offspring, so may she forget,  
The Shame thou brought'st her by the Lemnian Net.  
With beauteous and with patient Arms embrace,  
Thy limping Carcase, and thy sooty Face.    

Ep. 8. On Phasis.  

While Phasis in the Theatre of late,  
Phasis in Purple shining did dilate  
On th' Empe'ror's Edict, which each Order graced,  
And 'cording to their Dignity them placed.  
These swelling Words, big with Conceit, he spoke.  
At length we Nobles here our Ease may take,  
Regard's had of us, and our Seats set out,  
W' are neither pressed, nor dirtyed, by the Rout.  
While, lolling, thus he did the Rout despise,  
The Lictor bids his Saucy Purple rise.    

Ep. 9 On Symmachus.  

I drooped; strait Symmachus to me does high,  
An hundred Quacks bearing him Company;  
An hundred frozen Hands my Pulse did crave,  
Before I had no Ague, now I have.    

Ep. 10. On the Fame of Poets.  

What shall I says the Cause, that few do give  
Honour to those, who in their Days do live.?  
From too much Envy this proceeds alone,  
That we Times-past extol above our own  
Ingrate Oldmen Catulus Temple praise,  
And Pompey's simple Porch admire, and raise  
'Bove more stupendious Fabrics of these Days.  
Ennius' Men read, when Virgil did survive;  
And Homer was despised, while yet alive;  
The Stage, Menander, seldom Grace did show,  
But one Corinna, divine Naso, know.   

My Books then patient be i' th' Desk to lie,  
There needs no Haste, for Fame, if I must die.    

Ep. 11. On Stella.  

My Stella does upon his Fingers wear,  
Em'ralds and Diamonds, Saphires, Rubies fair;  
Many bright Gems upon his Hands we see,  
More, and more Radiant, in his Verses be.  
The brillant Fancies in his Lines which stand,  
Seem to proceed from his adorned Hand.    

Ep. 13. On Calistratus.  

I'm poor, Calistratus, was ever so,  
But neither yet, in Fame or Title, low:  
I through the World am read, to all am shown,  
The Praise, few Urns receive, my Life has known,  
But thy Majestic Roofs, which Gold adorn,  
Are by an hundred stately Columns born;  
Thy Chests are crammed brimful of unbagged Cash,  
The Lot of Slaves that underwent the Lash;  
In Egypt rich Possessions thou dost hold,  
And shear'st vast Flocks of the choice gallic Fold.   

This is thy State and mine: Wealth is thy share,  
Glory and Poverty my Portions are.  
But what I am, thou ne'er canst rise to be,  
When any of the Rout may equal thee.    

Ep. 14. On Nanneus.  

Nanneus used in the first Rank to sit,  
While so the sleeping Edict did permit:  
But, that revived, thrice routed, up he trussed  
His Camp, and to the lowest Seat was thrust,  
Even behind Caius, Lucius, straightly penned:  
Where wrapping up his Head, and there content  
Illfavour'dly to see, but with one Eye,  
The Lictor did the Wretch no sooner spy,  
But thence he chased him to the farthest Space,  
Between the Cells; were taking up his Place,  
Half standing, and half leaning against the End  
Of the Knight's Form, which did his Stress befriend.  
Free from Exceptions here on every Hand,  
To some he boasts, to sit; to some, to stand.    

Ep. 15. To Domitian.  

This is the fifth Book of my drolling Muse,  
Yet none complain my Verses them abuse;  
But many given they have a noble Name;  
Who by my Pen enjoy immortal Fame.   

What profits this, some say, though so it be?  
If none it profits, yet it pleases me.    

Ep. 16. To his Reader.  

When I could serious useful things indite,  
That I do only, what is pleasant, write,  
Thou, Reader, art the Cause, who chant'st my Prnise,  
But weighest not at what rate I buy thy Bays.  
If to the Law I did my Study bend,  
And sell my Words, the Guilty to defend;  
Many a Ship would bring me Wares from Spain,  
My Lap would sordid be with frequent Gain.  
Whereas my Book and I, trim Guests, are now  
At Feasts, and Glory's all that Men allow.  
Poets of old such Pay did not content,  
When bright Alexis was the least was sent.  
But well, thou criest, thou'st writ, none can it mend.  
Think'st this enough, to praise me without end.  
O'erseest my Wants, forbearest thy Purse to draw.  
Thou'lt praise me out of Poetry, to Law.    

Ep. 18. On Quinctianus.  

Now in December that the Napkins fly  
About, Spoons, Candles, Paper, Plums, that I  
Only my Home-born Books a Present make,  
For Rude or Covetous thou mayst me take.  
But, know, I hate the vile ensnaring Trade,  
By which a Gift a baited Hook is made;  
Which is not cast, to feed the hungry Fish,  
But for a Prey to fill the Fisher's Dish.  
Then, Quinctianus, to his wealthy Friend,  
A Poor Man's liberal, when he nought does send.    

Ep. 20. To Julius Martialis.  

If, my dear Marshal, 'twere allowed to me,  
An undisturbed Life to spend with thee;  
Our Quiet, to what liked us best, to give,  
And both at leisure were truly to live:  
We'd never know the Powerful in the State,  
Within their Courts, as do their Statues, wait;  
At the vexatious Pleading-Bar attend,  
But all our Time, in Books and Converse spend,  
Taking in shady Groves or Fields the Air,  
In Baths, in Feasts, courting some gentle Fair.  
These, our dear Haunts and Business, should be still,  
And both our spare and serious Hours should fill.  
That now we live, alas, we cannot say,  
Only we find the good Sun's post away,  
And that, tho' lost, imputed is each Day.  
Can those that know to live, to live delay?    

Ep. 22. On Apollonius.  

Instead of Decimus thou didst Quintus greet,  
And Macrus name, when thou didst Crassus meet;  
What Wonders we to Labour may impute!  
Writing, and Cunning, thou canst both salute!    

Ep. 24. On Hermes.  

Hermes, the Martial Glory of the Age,  
Skilful in all the Combats of the Stage;  
Hermes, Master of Fence, and Fencer too;  
The Cock and Terror of the Sword-men's Crew;  
Hermes, whom Helius fears, but fears alone,  
Avolans yields to, yet to him but one;  
Hermes, that knows to conquer without Blows,  
The Second to himself against all Foes;  
Hermes, the Stages Mint, and endless Gain,  
The Love and Strife of all their Female Train;  
Hermes, that proudly shakes the Warlike Spear,  
And fiercely threatening does the Trident bear;  
Hermes, when casked for the blindfold Fight,  
When mopeed and drooping seems, does then affright;  
Hermes engrosses all Men's Gifts in one,  
And Trismegistus Name deserves alone.    

Ep. 26. On Cherestratus.  

Wanting a Knight's Estate, you want the Style;  
The Lictor comes: Stand up, void, stay a while.   

Does any the Degraded Knight call back?  
O noble Deed! Is any Friend not slack,  
Out of vast Wealth his Title to restore,  
Not lost by any Vice, but being Poor?  
His Generous Name we will commit to Verse,  
Which all succeeding Ages shall rehearse!  
Who's thus resolved his better part to save,  
And not descend Entire into the Grave.   

And were't not nobler so great Wealth bestow,  
Than on a vain, ambitious, public Show?  
On brass unfeeling Statues it expend,  
Although the Artifice the Charge commend?   

O rich in vain! O Falsely seeming Wise!  
Who read, approve, and yet true Fame despise.    

Ep. 28. On a counterfeit Knight.  

For Garb, for Parts, all thee would Noble rate,  
If thou, Plebeian, were't not in Estate.  
To sit amongst Knights 'tis not a Grace so high,  
To make thee pale, whenever the Lictor's nigh.    

Ep. 29. On Mamercus.  

Mamercus good Conceit, or Word, to gain,  
The best Endeavours, Aulus, are in vain.  
Excel the Curii in a Pious Fame,  
'Bove Nerva, Rufus, get a Courteous Name,  
In Justice Macrus, Mauricus outdo;  
Renowned Regulus and Paulus too  
For Mirth and Eloquence: Yet all he bites  
With cankered Teeth, and to asperse, delights.  
You judge, perhaps, that Envy's his Disease.  
I think, Unhappiness, whom none does please.    

Ep. 32. On Gellia.  

When thou presentest me, Gellia, with an Hare,  
Marcus, thou sayest, 'twill make the seven Days fair.  
If Hare be such a beautifying Meat,  
Thou ne'er of one in all thy Life didst eat.    

Ep. 32. On Children Sporting upon the Bulls.  

See how th' adventurous Boys insult secure,  
While the mild Bulls their Weight and Sport endure:  
One hangs upon a Horn, while others run  
O'er their broad Backs, skirmish, assault, and shun  
Each other's Blows: The Bulls, as frozen, stand;  
Combat they could not firmer on the Land.  
The Children, strive for th' Palm, without all fear,  
The Bulls, alone, solicitous appear.    

Ep. 33. On Crispus a Glutton.  

Crispus, one Doit of's Wealth to none did leave.  
What came of't then? Who did his Land receive?  
Alive, to 's Belly, he did all bequeath.    

Ep. 35. On Erotion.  

Fronto, 
* Bothdead before Erotion.  Flaccilla, who the Parents were,  
Of young Erotion, to your tender Care  
My Darling I commit; that no grim Ghost,  
Or three-mouthed Dog, that guards the Stygian Coast,  
The gentle Soul affright; but six Years old,  
And those by six days had not fully told.  
With her old Patron she would sport, and game,  
When scarce her lisping tongue could speak my name.  
Now Earth to her a Light interment give,  
To thee no Burden when she here did live.    

Ep. 36. On Euclid.  

While Euclid, clad in Purple, loud did brawl,  
And near together by the Ears did fall  
With Lectius, bidding him his Seat to leave.  
Protesting proudly, that he did receive  
Two thousand yearly Patrimonial Rent,  
And more, which his Corinthian Manor sent;  
Produced an ancient goodly Pedigree,  
Derived from Leda, by which, all might see  
He was in truth a Knight, rich, potent, great:  
An huge foul Key, the Badge of Slaves, i'th' Heat  
Unfortunately from his Bosom fell.  
Did ye e'er, of such a spiteful Key, hear tell?    

Ep. 38. On Erotion.  

Than Swans, O sweetest Girl! thou were't more white▪  
Than driven Snow, than untouched Lilies, bright▪  
Than a Galesian Lamb more soft; more smooth  
Than sea-washed Shells, th'Elephants polished Tooth▪  
Gems, with thy sparkling Eyes, might not compare▪  
The Baetick Wool rival thy glistering Hair;  
Nor Germane yellow Locks in Curls up▪ rolled,  
Or radiant filings of the burnished Gold;  
Thy Breath, than Roses, did more fragrant smell,  
The Virgin Wax, and Amber chafed, excel;  
The Peacoak, had no Beauty, set by thee,  
The Phoenix self but vulgar seemed to be.   

Such my Erotion was at six Years old,  
Snatched hence by Fates, scarce in her Tomb yet cold;  
My Joy she was, my whole Delight and Love:  
Yet Petus, that I mourn, does not approve.  
He says, unmanly 'tis to tore my Hair,  
My Breast to beat, for a young Slave, tho' fair:  
He lost a Wife rich, and of high Renown,  
No Heroine, like her, in all the Town  
So stately great: Yet he holds up his Head,  
His whole Content interrs not with the Dead.  
Of a great Mind, so high a Proof, who gives?  
Petus, by's Loss, has thousands gained, yet lives!    

Ep. 39 On Calliodorus.  

Calliador has a Knight's Estate all know,  
The Mischief is, he has a Brother too,  
Who claims one half, the Fig in twain does split,  
And on one Horse two Knights are fain to sit.  
How can thy Brother's Aim and thine agree?  
No Pollux hadst thou, thou mightst Castor be;  
But being One, as Two, if you take place,  
A Soloecism's plainly in the Case.  
Leda's kind Offspring imitate you may,  
Sat Knights by Turns, not both on the same Day.    

Ep. 40. On Carinus.  

'Bove thirty Wills a Year thou dost subscribe,  
Oftener I send thee Junkets for a Bribe:  
I am exhausted, Carinus, pity me,  
The Bottom of the Chest and Purse I see.  
Delude no more, make thy Will once, and die,  
To show thy Cough was real, not a Lie.  
Tho I in Wealth, like Croesus, did abound,  
Than Irus, I should yet be poorer found,  
Shouldst thou, I say not Tarts, daily devour,  
But of vile Beans and Pompions such a Power.    

Ep. 41. To Artemidorus.  

Dost thou admire, when Pallas is thy Saint,  
That but a sorry Venus thou dost paint?  
When rigid Virtue has thy Study been,  
For wanton Verse wouldst thou the Laurel win?    

Ep. 42. What's given, never perishes.  

A Thief may force thy Chests, and rob thy Gold;  
A Fire thy House may levelly with the Mould;  
A Debtor, Principle and Use, deny;  
The Corn that's sowed, without an Harvest, die;  
A crafty Whore, thy Cashier may surprise;  
The Sea overwhelm thy precious Merchandise;  
But what thou giv'st, no Chance does undergo;  
That Wealth is always thine, thou dost bestow.    

Ep. 45. On Dento  

What is the Cause? What new thing's fallen out?  
That Dento oft invited, is so stout  
(Beyond Belief) my Table to refuse?  
He, who through all the Porticoes did use,  
The Baths, the Theatres, to hunt me out,  
Flies, when I call, and will not turn about.   

The Mystery is, he as found a fatter Treat,  
Like Dogs, is drawn by strongest Scent of Meat.  
But soon as known, the Great, he will disgust;  
Then for my Scraps he'll leap, and for a Crust.    

Ep. 48. On Philo.  

Thou sayest, thou never Supp'st at Home. 'tis right,  
That is, thou fast'st, when none does thee invite.    

Ep. 50. On Rufus.  

He whose left Arm, loaden with Books, you see,  
And throng▪ d with busy Clerks to that Degree;  
Whose Face composed attentively does hear  
Causes and Suits poured in at either Ear,  
Most like a Cato, Tully, or a Brute,  
If put upon the Rack, could not salute  
In Latin, Ave, or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 in the Greek:  
And if thou doubt the Truth, let's to him speak.    

Ep. 52. To Labienus.  

I saw thee lately sitting all alone,  
And, that thou hadst been Three, I durst have sworn,  
Thy seeming numerous Heads so me deceived,  
Thy Pate here locked, and there of Hair bereaved;  
Not with Lovelocks, which beauteous Boys do wear,  
But some Parts tufted were, much broader bare.  
Thy various Baldness stood thee late in stead,  
When Caesar doled the People Meat and Bread;  
For thou borest Home what did belong to Three▪  
The famed Geryon sure was such as Thee.  

* Where was a Statue of Hercules.  Philippus Portico, I advise thee fly:  
If Hercules spy thee, thou art sure to die.    

Ep. 53. On Posthumus.  

Thy Gifts I bear in Mind, and ever will.  
Why don't I speak them then? 'Cause thou dost still:  
I can to none relate them, but they say,  
He told us all himself the other Day.  
Some things are ne'er done well by two: If I  
Must celebrate thy Deeds, make Thou no cry.  
Shouldst, Posthumus, the vastest Gifts bestow,  
Thy after boasting would them all overthrow.    

Ep. 54. To Bassus.  

Why dost thou, Bassus, of Thyestes write?  
Niobe's Tears, or of Medea's Flight?  
A fitter Subject of thy Verse by far,  
Phaeton's burning, or the Deluge, were.    

Ep. 55. On Apollonius.  

Extemporist thou'rt now, and of Renown,  
Calpurnius canst salute, not writing down.    

Ep. 57 On Cinna.  

Thou Lord and Master called, thyself dost prize,  
Slaves I oft term so, when I them chastise.    

Ep. 58. To Posthumus.  

To Morrow Still, to Morrow, thou dost say,  
That thou wilt live. When will arrive the Day?  
How far's this Morrow off? Or where? Canst tell?  
With Parthians or Armenians does it dwell?  
Old Nestor's Years it has already told;  
Say, May we purchase it for any Gold?  
Thou'lt live to Morrow: 'Tis too late to day.  
He, Posthumus, was wise, lived Yesterday.    

Ep. 60. To Stella.  

That I, nor Gold nor Silver, to thee send,  
I this forbear, for thy sake, learned Friend.  
Who gives Great Gifts, expects Great Gifts again,  
My Cheap Ones to return will cause no Pain.    

Ep. 61. On a Detractor.  

Although thou barkest at me yet more and more,  
And such thy Currish Snarlings ne'er giv'st o'er,  
Decreed it is, thou never shalt acquire  
The Fame, to which thou dost so much aspire,  
Within my Books, though ill, but to be read:  
That once thou were't, why should it e'er be said;  
No, Wretch, thy Fate it is, to Die unknown.  
And yet, perhaps, there may be found some one  
Or two, or more, about the Town, who may  
In thy Dog's Hide fasten their Teeth, and bay.  
But from such base Engagements I'll contain;  
My Nails, to Scratch thy Mange, does much disdain▪    

Ep. 62. On Marianus.  

Who is this Crispus, I so often see  
Close to thy Wife? This Crispus, who is he?  
He leans his Elbow nicely on her Chair,  
And always whispers something in her Ear,  
His slender Fingers many Jewels grace,  
Not all his Body for one Hair has place.  
Wilt thou not answer me? Thou sayest, 'tis he  
Does thy Wife's Business, and such must be free.  
In sooth, a sober Man, of a sage Mien,  
The grave Solicitor in his Face is seen;  

* An Infamous Pimp.  Chius Aufidius looked not more Austere.  
To be the sport of Mimics, dost not fear?  
Deserve to be the Fable of the Stage;  
The noted Witall of the present Age?  
He thy Wife's Business do? That Thing so fine?  
He does not thy Wife's Business, but does thine.    

Ep. 63. To Ponticus.  

How I thy Book, Ponticus, do approve,  
To say, thou anxiously dost often move.  
Amazed, astonished, nought I read so rare!  
The best of Wits cannot with thee compare!   Pon. 
Caesar and Jove propitious to thee be, As thus thou think'st.  Mart. 
Or rather unto thee.   

Ep. 64. To his Waiters.  

Pour lusty Wine, Catistus, fill it up;  
With Summer Snow, Alcime, dilute the Cup;  
Let my locks drop, with rich Amomum spread,  
And with a Wreath of Roses crown my Head.  
I'm bid to live, by Caesar's Tomb that's nigh,  
While it proclaim's, the Gods themselves do die.    

Ep. 69. On Mark Anthony.  

So black, Mark Anthony, so foul's thy Name,  
That, even Photinus' Gild, thou dar'st not blame:  
In Tully's Gore alone more deeply died,  
Than all the Sea of Blood thou shedd'st beside.  
How dared thou, Madman, sheath thy impious Blade  
In Rome's own Throat? In Tully's Life invade  
The Commonwealths? A Crime, that put a stand  
To Cat'lin's Soul, and damped his daring Hand.  
Thou Hir'dst a Villain with accursed Gold,  
To gag the Tongue that did thy Life unfold;  
What boots it thee, to silence, at such Price,  
One divine Tongue? Think'st so to hide thy Vice?  
For Virtue now, and Murdered Tully's sake,  
All Tongues inveigh, and all Philippics make.    

Ep. 70. On Syriscus, a Slave.  

In rambling only through base Booths and Huts,  
Vile Tap-Houses, and Cellars among Sluts,  
Syriscus full five hundred Pound made fly,  
(His Lord's vain Gift) i' th' twinkling of an Eye.  
Strange Luxury, to consume all this deal,  
Nor sitting for't the Time allowed a Meal!    

Ep. 73. To Theodorus.  

That I may Books do not to thee impart,  
Although thou su'st, and Instant for them art,  
Dost wonder? For good Cause I this decline,  
For fear, lest, Theodore, thou give me thine.    

Ep. 74. On Pompey, and his Sons.  

Europe, and Asia, Pompey's Sons entomb;  
afric, himself, if he finds any Room.  
No wonder, thus the World they Quarter, slain▪  
What Soil so great a Ruin could contain?    

Ep. 77. On Cinna.  

By th' often Use of Poison he did make,  
The Pontic King, unhurt, could Poison take,  
And, Cinna, thou, by eating ill, tak'st care,  
Neither to die by scant, or evil, Fare.    

Ep. 79. On Zoilus.  

I' th' Meal ten times thou from the Board dost range  
And every time thou dost thy Vestment change,  
For fear, lest, Sweeting, harm thy Body get,  
Between the Air, and Garments that are wet.  
Why sweat not I, who Sup with thee, thou Fool?  
Who has no Change of Clothes, is strangely cool.    

Ep. 81. To Emilianus.  

If thou art Poor, thou shalt be ever so.  
The Rich do only on the Rich bestow.     

LIB. VI  

Ep. 1. To Julius Martialis.  

THis my sixth Book, julius, to thee I send,  
Dear 'mong the first, and my judicious Friend▪  
If it shall pass approved thy learned Ear,  
When 'tis in Caesar's Hand, I less shall fear.    

Ep. 4. To Domitian.  

Censor of Manners is thy Glory more,  
Than Prince of Princes which thou hadst before.  
Tho' for so many Triumphs Rome does owe,  
Which, thy Heroic Valour did bestow,  
So many Temples new, so many old,  
So many Shows, and Gods by thee enroled,  
So many Cities won, or else laid Waste;  
Yet more she owes, that thou hast made her 
* By reviving an old Law against Adultery.  Chast.    

Ep. 5. To Cecilianus.  

I lately purchased have a Piece of Ground.  
Cecilian, lend me, pray, a hundred Pound.  
Dost say, I ne'er will pay? And thereon pause?  
To speak the Truth, I borrow for that cause.    

Ep. 7. On Thelesina.  

Since the Law against Adultery took place,  
And all are forced Chastity t' embrace:  
In less than thirty Days, thou hast been wed  
Ten times, ten Men admitted to thy Bed.  
Who weds so oft, not weds, but plays the Whore:  
And than Adultery offendeth more.    

Ep. 8. To Severus.  

No less than Praetors two, and Tribunes four,  
Seven Advocates, and Poets half a Score,  
Were Suitors lately to a certain Maid;  
Her Father of them all small Reckoning made,  
But on a Crier did the Girl bestow.  
Wherein he played the Fool, I do not know.    

Ep. 10. To Domitian.  

I late of jove a Thousand Crowns did crave,  
He'll give't, says he, who me a Temple gave.  
That he, 'tis true, a Temple gave to thee,  
But yet no thousand Crowns bestows on me.  
I backward was our jove this way t' engage:  
But how serene! How free from cloudy Rage  
He read my Suit! With such a placid Brow,  
To conquered Kings their Crowns he does allow;  
And from the Capitol returns and goes.  
O Virgin! Who alone our great Lord knows;  
If with such Looks, he does our Suits reject,  
Say, with what Mien he does them then accept.  
I prayed. Pallas (her Shield reversed) replied:  
What is not given yet, thinkst thou Fool, denied?    

Ep. 11. On Marcus.  

Thou wonder'st, Friendship now's no more renowned,  
That no Orestes, Pylades, are found!  
Pylades ever, Marcus drank o' th' same,  
Nor fatter Thrushes to Orestes came;  
Each, better than himself, did th'other treat,  
No difference made in Beverage, or in Meat.   

On Lucrine Oysters thou dost gormondize,  
While flashy of Peloris me suffice:  
And yet my Palat's as refined as thine,  
As skilled in the best Meats, and noblest Wine.  
Rich Tyrian Wool, to make thy Garments, sought,  
But mine the coursest which from Gallia's brought:  
Wouldst have me love thee in a Purple Gown,  
While I am clad like some poor rustic Clown?  
If you expect I Pylades should be,  
Orestes you must show yourself to me.  
Friendship by Deeds, not Words, must be approved,  
The Man must Love, that seeks to be Beloved.    

Ep. 13. On the Statue of Julia.  

Who would not think this Peice by Phidias wrought?  
Or to Perfection by Minerva brought?  
The Snow white Marble seemeth even to speak,  
Such Life and Grace does from the Countenance break  
It sporting holds Loves Girdle in its Hand,  
And 'bove the God of Love does Love command.  
When Venus would in Mars lost Flames renew,  
Here for the charming Cestus she must Sue.    

Ep. 14. On Laberius.  

Thou canst write excellent Verse, as thou dost say,  
Why then to write, Laberius, dost delay?  
Who can do aught that's excellent, and withhold,  
Among the greatest Men may be enroled.    

Ep. 15. On an Emmet.  

Under a Poplar while an Emmet goes,  
An Amber Drop did the small Beast enclose.  
Thus that which worthless was while it did live.  
It's Funeral now doth a high Value give.    

Ep. 17. On Cinnamus.  

Thou'dst be called Cinna, Cinnamus is thy Name  
Such barbarous Practice many would defame.  
To be named Theseus, say it thee befell,  
And Men should call thee Thief, wouldst take it well▪    

Ep. 18. On Solinus.  

Solinus sacred Relics rest in Spain,  
Few Ghosts so noble 'mong the Dead remain.  
'Twere Sin to mourn for him, that's yet alive,  
Whose Body's dead, but Glory does survive.    

Ep. 19 To his Advocate.  

Of Murder, Poison, War, thoust nought to say,  
But of three Goats, my Neighbour stole away;  
The Judge requires, I this should make appear;  
To th' Pontic War thou mak'st Excursions here,  
Canna's Fight, Punic Falsehood; thou, with might  
Of Hand and Voice, dost roaring out recite  
Of Sulla's, Marius, Mutius, various Story.  
Speak now to three Goats, lost in so much Glory.    

Ep. 20. To Phoebus.  

Thou saying oft, wil't nought of me command?  
To borrow a small Sum I did demand.  
But then thou humm'st, demurr'dst, thyself and me  
With long Doubts vexed. I nothing ask, thouart free.    

Ep. 22. On Proculina.  

That Proculina's married to her Knave,  
And will her Gallant, for her Husband, have,  
Fearing the julian Law: She does not wed,  
But now proclaims what Life before she led.    

Ep. 24. On Charisianus.  

Charisianus' vainer far than all the Town.  
When others Masquerade, he's seen in's Gown▪    

Ep. 25. To Marcellinus.  

Thou generous Offspring of a Noble Race,  
Bold Marcellinus, who now holds the Place,  
Where horrid Winter wars, no less than Foes;  
Accept the Vows thy Father's Friend bestows.  
Thy Courage still, be prudent; Bravery, wise;  
Who on affected Danger runs, despise:  
Delight in Wounds, only in Fools take place;  
Be thou thy country's Bulwark, and her Grace.    

Ep. 28. An Epitaph on Glaucia.  

Melior's Freeman far renowned,  
Who dying Rome in Sorrow drowned,  
The short Delight of's Patron dear,  
Glaucia beneath this Marble here,  
Near the Flaminian way's interred.  
Tho' from chaste Laws he never erred,  
A modest Blush his Face overspread.  
Quick of Wit, of wondrous Grace,  
Scarce thirteen Years in him took place.  
Who mournest such sad untimely Loss,  
May'st never weep for thine own Cross.    

Ep. 29. On the same.  

None of the abject, prostrate, Crew,  
Which greedy Bawds in Cages mew,  
But fixed all Vices far above,  
And worthy of an Honest Love.  
When not yet sensible to know,  
What Boon his Patron did bestow,  
Glaucia was Melior's Freeman made,  
To his Endowments this was paid.  
For who more charming, who more fair?  
More with Apollo might compare?  
The Graces which in him did dwell,  
Did those o' th' youthful God excel.  
immoderate Virtue, 'tis thy Doom,  
But seldom to Old Age to come.  
To prevent Sorrow's sharp Disease,  
Pray nought thou lov'st may too much please.    

Ep. 30. On Petus.  

If when ten Pound you promised, you had paid,  
And given it home with me, and not delayed,  
I had your Debtor for an Hundred been:  
But Petus, sending it, so tardy in,  
After seven Months, I guess, or nine months' time,  
I know not which to call't, a Gift, or Crime.  
Shall I what's truer, even than Truth, expound,  
Instead of giving, thou hast lost, ten Pound.    

Ep. 31. On Charidemus.  

Oft with thy Wife does the Physician lie,  
Thou knowing, Charidem, and standing by.  
I see, thou wilt not of a Fever die.    

Ep. 32. On the Death of Otho.  

When yet the chance of War did doubtful stand,  
And Otho might have had the upper Hand;  
War he renounced, maintained by Seas of Blood,  
And with his own, restrained the Public Flood.  
Tho Cato's Life, than Caesar's, greater were;  
Otho, in's Death, exceeded Cato far.    

Ep. 39 On Cinna.  

Of thy Marulla's sevenfold Births, not one,  
Cinna, is thine, or yet a freeborn Son:  
For not thyself, thy Neighbour, or thy Friend,  
To their begetting can at all pretend:  
But their Dam's Stealths are shown by every Head,  
To be the Work o'th' Straw, and Trundle-Bed.  
He, who, Moor-like, with woolly Hair we see,  
Of the Cook Santer does confess to be.  
But he with strutting Lips, and a flat Nose,  
The Image of the Wrestler does disclose,  
Pannicus. The third, who's ignorant to be  
The Baker Dama's, who does Dama see,  
And know a bleer Eye? The fourth, fair to sight,  
Showing a wanton Brow, thy Catamite  
Lygdus begot. He with a Copped Crown,  
And Ears, like Asses, bangling up and down,  
Who can deny to Gyrrah, the Buffoon?  
Two Girls, of Fox this, that of Blackbird Hue,  
Their Sires, the Piper Crote, and Carpus show  
The Hind. Complete were now thy Mongrel Race,  
Could thy two Eunuches gen'rate, as embrace.    

Ep. 41. On a Hoarse Poet.  

Verse to recite, though Hoarse, thou dost not cease:  
Which shows that thou canst speak, not hold thy Peace.    

Ep. 50. On Thelesinus.  

When Thelesinus did Observance pay  
To honest Men, he went in poor Array:  
But when to Pimp he did himself apply,  
Houses and Land, he had wherewith, to buy.  
Wouldst thou be Rich? Be Factor to some Sin:  
Honest Employment brings but little in.    

Ep. 55. On Coracinus.  

Of richest Spices thou dost ever scent,  
Nor is the Phoenix Nest more redolent.  
Despisest us, who don't in Sweets excel:  
Of nought 'tis better, than of Odours smell.    

Ep. 59 On Baccara.  

Thy Chests, such store of Winter-garments, hold,  
Thou grievest, and oft complainest, for want of Cold;  
Wishest dark Days and short, sharp Winds, and Snow,  
And hates the Season, if it milder grow.  
Didst thou the worse for my thin Gown e'er far,  
Borne from my Back by every puff of Air?  
How much more Humane, more Sincere, 'twere done,  
Shouldst thou in August Winter-Clothes put on?    

Ep. 60. On Pompillus.  Peop. 

Pompillus Name is up, his Work is done,  
His Fame throughout the Universe doth run.   Mart. 

So may our Germane Foes successful be,  
And all, O Italy! that love not thee.   Peop. 
Pompillus Lines, for Wit, yet have the Name.  Mart. 

But trust me, that is not enough for Fame.  
How many witty, learned, Books do come  
To serve the Kitchen, and to feed the Worm?  
'Tis something else Eternity does give,  
'Tis not the Wit, but 
* i e. A Vital Quality, or kind of Immortal Soul in the Compages of it, like that in the Body of a Man.  Genius, makes Books live.    

Ep. 62. On an Envious Person.  

Rome hugs my Verse, and cries it up for Rare,  
My Books each Hand and every Bosom bear;  
There's one yet lours, disdains, is ill at Ease:  
I'm glad; my Verses now myself do please.    

Ep. 63. To Marianus.  

You know y'are flattered, know the greedy Knave,  
You know what 'tis such Flatterers would have:  
And yet you write him Heir in your Last Deed,  
And will, that he, in all you have, succeed.  
What though he sends great Gifts? 'Tis with an Hook;  
And do the Fish the Angler ever brook?  
Will this Man mourn, when thou no more shalt live?  
Wouldst have him Mourn? Then nothing to him give.    

Ep. 64. On a Detractor.  

When sprung of Fabius Raze you no way are,  
Nor Curius, who himself to's Ploughmen bore  
Their Dinner; whose rough Wife her Childbed made,  
Under the Covert of an Oak's thick shade:  
But of a Father born, trimmed by a Glass,  
A Mother, for a Courtesan, does pass;  
And so effeminate you yourself withal,  
Your Wife, though nice she be, you Wife may call.  
For you to dare my much-famed Verse detract!  
The Momus, on my approved Toys, to act!  
My Toys, I say, all Rome attentive hear,  
To which both Learned and Noble lend an Ear;  
Which deathless Silius with Regard does treat;  
And Regulus fluent Tongue deigns to repeat;  
Which to revolve, Caesar a time does spare,  
Amidst the weight of all the Public Care.   

But you know more, your wise discerning Heart  
Pallas has framed by the Athenian Art.  
May I not live, if th'Heart and Paunch we meet  
The Garbage, Guts, and the great dangling Feet,  
Which loaded Butchers carry through the Street,  
With no small Terror unto every Nose,  
Do not a sharper Wit than thine disclose.  
Yet, with the waste of Paper, against me  
Verses you write, such as none read, or see:  
But if my chafed Choler thee shall brand,  
The Work will live, be read in every Land;  
'Tis not thy Barber's Soap can cleanse the Stain.  
Take heed the Outrage be not thine own Bane,  
To urge a living Bear, cease to presume,  
Until his Rage forth at his Nostrils fume.  
Tho calm, he'll lick the Hand, and Strokings bear;  
Roused and provoked, you'll find him still a Bear.  
Thy Teeth then fasten in some empty Hide,  
Or Beast that's dead, and will the Wrong abide.    

Ep. 66. On a Crier and a Wench.  

Gellian, the Crier, sought a Wench to sell,  
Of their Repute, who in 
* The Courtesans lived there.  Saburra dwell.  
And when he saw his Chapmen offer low  
Her Modesty to praise, and better show,  
He near him pulled the struggling Wench and nice,  
And forceably did Kiss her twice or thrice.  
D' ye ask, what such his Kisses did avail?  
They cut off half was offered for her Sale.    

Ep. 70. On Cotta.  

Cotta has passed his threescore Years and two,  
And ne'er remembers that he had to do  
With Sickness, or yet once laid down his Head;  
For a Distemper felt a tedious Bed:  
But at Physicians he durst point with Scorn,  
At 
* Two Physicians.  Dasius and 
* Two Physicians.  Alcontus make a Horn.  
If, like wise Men, we do our Years compute,  
Raze or subtract the Days that did not suit  
With happy Life, such as in Pain are spent,  
Gouts, Fevers sharp, and the Mind's Discontent.  
We should but Children be, that Aged seem,  
And hugely they're imposed upon, who do deem,  
Priam and Nestor many Years have told:  
Not who live long, but happily, are Old.    

Ep. 72. On Telethusa.  

When Telethusa had been taught t' express  
To th' Timbrel each lascivious Address;  
The high Levalto, brisk Morisco dance,  
Whatever Wanton Baetis does advance;  
Able Old Pelias, to Love's Sports to draw,  
His Strength renew, and frozen Palsy thaw;  
To make sad Priam know a loose Desire,  
Even while he wept at Hector's Funeral Fire.   

Her Lord, who sold her lately for a Slave,  
By these her Charms besotted so does rave,  
That all he'll give, his Mistress, her to have.    

Ep. 77. On Afrus.  

When poorer yet than Irus thou art deemed,  
Than Parthenopaeus younger much esteemed,  
Stronger than Wrestlers in their Prime and Might,  
Why to be borne by Six dost thou delight?  
'Twere a less Jest, shouldst thou in Public go  
Naked, afoot, than with this Pageant Show.  
The State thou tak'st does more absurd appear,  
Than if six Slaves, a seventh, in Pomp should bear;  
A Moor upon an Elephant of like hue,  
Would move less Laughter 'mong the Vulgar Crew;  
So on a Mule as little as himself,  
Mounted, we see, some Pigmy little Elf.  
Wouldst know what Scorn thy Pride to thee has bred?  
Men grudge that six should bear thee, wert thou dead.    

Ep. 78. On Phrix.  

Phrix, a stout Drinker, who no Goblet feared,  
Tho one Eye he had lost, and t'other bleared:  
Who (when Physicians bid of Wine beware,  
And threatened Blindness, if he had not Care,)  
Deriding, said, Farewell my other Eye;  
And ten large Cups bid fill him by and by,  
And more than once. Wouldst know the end o'th' Prank?  
Phrix soaked good Wine, but his Eye Poison drank.    

Ep. 79. To Lupus.  

thouart Rich and Sad; take heed lest Fortune see,  
And, as Ungrateful, do proceed with thee.    

Ep. 80. On Winter Roses.  

Egypt did proudly Winter Roses boast,  
As the sole Product of her fertile Coast:  
But now at Rome her Merchants are surprised,  
To see such Store, the Memphian are despised:  
Where e'er they look, where e'er they take their way  
Hedges of blushing Roses do display.  
So does this Glory of the Spring excel,  
Not Pestan Rosaries more fragrant smell  
Even Goddess Flora seems in Rome to dwell.   

Let not thy Winters, Nile, then vie with ours,  
Go plough, and send us Corn, we'll send thee Flowers.    

Ep. 82. To Rufus.  

One, very strictly, me of late did eye,  
As those that Slaves or Fencers use to buy:  
And when he had surveyed me over and over  
With Eye and Finger too, behind, before.  
Art thou, art thou, (says then astonished he)  
The famous Merry Marshal, that I see?  
Whose Wit not only duller Climes admire,  
But those, who to the noblest Arts aspire?  
ay, blushing, smiled; and, with a light Assent,  
Did not deny, I was the Man he meant.  
How comest thou then, says he, so meanly Clad?  
I did reply, Because my Verse are Bad.  
Lest, Rufus, oft I'm driven to say the same,  
Send Garments, suit not with my State, but Fame.    

Ep. 84. On Philippus.  

Philip, in Health, eight Men to bear him had.  
Who thinks him in good Health, himself is Mad.    

Ep. 93. On Thais.  

Thais stinks worse than a stale Fuller's Vat  
New broken in the way; than a dead Rat;  
A Lion's Mouth; a Rutting Goat's less Rank,  
A Carr'on Dog cast upon Tiber's Bank;  
A putrid Chick that's addled in the Egg,  
Stale pickled Fish corrupted in the Kegg.  
But then the Drab (her Hautgout to disguise,  
When to the Bath she goes,) deals in this wise;  
Herself she husks under thick Pastes, and guards  
With Oils, thrice and four times repeated Fards.  
But when she, by these Arts, hopes all is well,  
Predominant Thais does of Thais smell.     

LIB. VII.  

Ep. 1. To Domitian.  

CAEsar thy dread Palladian Breastplate wear,  
Which even the Gorgon seems itself to fear:  
When on thee buckled, all the AEgis know;  
But when unarmed, it doth plain Armour show.    

Ep. 4. To Caesar.  

If with thee, Caesar, the Desires take place  
Of People, Senate, all the Roman Race:  
Thy Presence graciously to them afford,  
At their impatient Suit, return their Lord.  
Rome her Foes envies, that they Thee detain,  
Tho many Laurels she thereby doth gain;  
That barbarous Nations see her Prince so near,  
Enjoy that Face, which they do so much fear.    

Ep. 8. On Cascelius.  

If thou at Sixty but Ingenious be,  
When shall we thee, Cascelius, Learned see?    

Ep. 11. To Faustinus.  

May Caesar still with the same gracious Ear,  
And serene Brow, my Sportive Verses hear,  
As they wrong none, not those I justly hate;  
As Fame I love not at the odious rate  
Of others Blushes. But what does't avail?  
If in Blood-fetching Lines others do rail,  
And vomit viprous Poison in my Name;  
Such as the Sun, themselves, to own, do shame?  
Who know me, know, my Verses harmless are:  
And by the Muse's sacred Choir I swear,  
By th' Genius of my prevailing Fame,  
By thy Ears, candid Reader, and thy Name,  
Which hold the place of Deities to me,  
From all Malignant Envy I am free.    

Ep. 18. On a Fragment of the Ship Argus.  

This piece thou see'st of rotten useless Wood,  
Was the first Ship that ever ploughed the Flood:  
Which not the Billows of Cyanean Seas  
Of old could wreck, or Scythian worse than these.  
Age conquered it; but in Time's Gulf thus drowned,  
One Plank's more Sacred, than the Vessel sound.    

Ep. 24. On a soft Poet.  

When all the Epigrams are sweet, you write,  
More candid, than a Face that's painted white;  
No grain of Salt throughout them all is seen,  
Or drop of Gall? Fool, to be read, dost mean?  
The choicest Meat won't down without all Sauce,  
Nor finds the Face, that has no Mole, applause.  
To Children give Fruits, that are luscious sweet,  
For Men, what's quick and poinants only meet.    

Ep. 26. To Dexter, on a Wild Boar he sent him.  

A huge unwieldy Boar with much Mast fed,  
That had laid waste the Fields where he was bred,  
A Monster, like to that Meleager slew,  
In's Blood, bold Dexter did his Spear imbrue.  
Th'Invidious Prey before my Fire doth lie,  
And with its cheerful Steam, my Lares by  
Bedews: While of much kindled Wood the Light  
My Kitchen makes all Festival and bright.  
The ranting Cook demands a power of Spice,  
Choice Wines for Pickle, of the highest Price.   

Back to thy Lord return, thou blust'ring Boar,  
My Range, to entertain thee, is too poor.  
Dreadful alive, Destructive even when slain,  
No less the Treaters, than the Huntsman's, Bain.  
Mean Food, and scant, I rather choose to bear,  
Than such Confounding, tho'Voluptuous, Fare.    

Ep. 30. To Regulus.  

The Chian Figs, the Eggs, and Laying Hens,  
The hoarse-voiced Fowl, fat Prisoners of the Pens,  
The shaggy Kid, the Dam lamented, lost,  
Olives preserved from Injury of Frost;  
The hoary Herbs bearing the Morning Dew,  
In my own Farm, thou think'st, all bred, or grew.  
A pompous Error; there is no such store,  
But a starved Owner nought it ever bore.  
Whate'er thy Umbrian Hind to thee does bring,  
Or in thy Tusculan or Tuscan Spring,  
Markets afford, all I on Friends bestow,  
Suburras the rich Soil in which they grow.    

Ep. 32. On Cinna.  

When in a sordid Gown thou lov'st to go,  
But shows as white, as the new fallen Snow;  
Why 'bout thy Feet, thy Gown to wear, dost use?  
Fool, tuck it up, or it will foul thy Shoes.    

Ep. 3●. To Stella.  

When my crazed House heavens Showers could not sustain,  
But floated with vast Deluges of Rain;  
Thou shingles, Stella, seasonably didst send,  
Which from th'impetuous Storms did me defend:  
Now fierce loud sounding Boreas, Rocks does cleave,  
Dost cloth the Farm, and Farmer naked leave?    

Ep. 38. On Caelius.  

Caelius, impatient longer to abide  
The Morning Aves, and the Great men's Pride,  
From vagrant Jants, and dirty toilsome Pain,  
To free himself, began the Gout to feign;  
Which while too much he sought, should true appear,  
And swathed his Feet, and did with Ointments smear,  
Walked as in Pain, the more his Grief to show,  
See what great Art and Industry can do!  
He feigns not now the Gout, his Gout is true.    

Ep. 41. To Castricus.  

If any in Rich Gifts with thee dare vie,  
His Skill with thee, in verse too, let him try:  
I, poor in both, prepared am to yield,  
And find much Ease, by quitting of the Field.  
Why then Ill Verses do I thee present?  
Dost think, none e'er Alcinous Apples sent?    

Ep. 42. To Cinna.  

The best, when thou art asked, is to say, ay:  
The next is, Cinna, quickly to deny.  
I love him Gives; him, that Denies, not hate;  
But thou both givest and deniest too late.    

Ep. 43. To Q. Ovid, on the Statue of Cesonius.  

See thy Cesonius lively figured here,  
Who unto thee, Ovid, was so dear;  
Whom Nero did condemn, but thou didst dare  
Nero condemn, while thou his Fate durst share,  
Despising of thine own, and wentest along  
Through Seas, through Rocks, Great Partner of his Wrong.  
An Exile, him to follow, thou didst choose,  
Tho' this, when Consul, thou didst him refuse.   

If Names shall live, commended by my Verse,  
This Fact to future Ages they'll rehearse,  
That the like Faith from thee Cesonius found,  
For which to Seneca, himself was so renowned.    

Ep. 45. To Priscus.  

While Verses thou wilt have thy Gift attend,  
Which thou desir'st, like Homer's, may be penned,  
Thyself and me thou vexest day and night,  
And, to my Grief, thy Muse takes her Delight.  
Lofty and chiming Verse to th'Rich present,  
Course useful Gifts best to the Poor are sent.    

Ep. 46. To Licinius Sura.  

Thou most Illustrious of our Learned Men,  
Whose Style the Ancients does retrieve again;  
How great a Gift did Fates on us bestow,  
When, ready now to taste the Waves below,  
They sent thee back; when all gave way to Tears,  
And had deposed both their Hopes and Fears.  
Hell's Regent could not so much Envy bear,  
But did himself thy Thread of Life repair.  
Thou ●eest what Grief, were't Dead, would all annoy;  
And may'st, thy Afterlife, in Life, enjoy.  
Live like one snatched from Death, crop Joys brief Flower,  
Who from the Grave's returned, should lose no hour.    

Ep. 50. To Urbicus.  

If you desire my Sportive Books to know,  
Yet care not for them Money to bestow;  
Pompeius Auctus (unknown) from me greet,  
In Mars Revenger's Temple him you'll meet;  
Skilled in all Law and Courts: On him I look,  
Not as my Reader, but my very Book.  
By heart he has so perfect every Line,  
That not a Title can be lost that's mine.  
So that the Author he might claim to be,  
Did he not favour both my Fame and Me.   

You may yourself to him (at ten) invite,  
From Business he is never free till night.  
His little Supper will admit of two,  
He'll Read; to Eat, is all you have to do:  
And when you say, Enough; he'll still go on;  
Nay, though▪ you're tired, he will not yet have done.    

Ep. 51. To Auctus.  

Reading my Books to Celer, pleases me,  
If what thou readest, to him, as pleasing be.  
O'er Spain, my Native Soil, he does preside,  
Such Justice in that World did ne'er reside.  
So Great a Man my reverence does excite,  
Not to a Reader, but a Judge, I write.    

Ep. 52. On Umber.  

All the Saturnal five days to thee sent,  
In one vast Gift, thou didst to me present;  
Twelve Table-books, seven Toothpicks, and a Cup,  
Olives and Beans in Bulrush Frails made up;  
Even pace with these a Spoon and Napkin bore,  
A Flagon stained with Wine, as black as Gore;  
Dried Plums, Prunelloes of the oldest date,  
A Jar of Libyan Figs, of massy weight.  
The Price of all did of four Shillings lack,  
Which eight strong Slaves yet bore upon their Back.   

How easy, more commodious had it been,  
By a little Boy t'have sent four Guinea's in?    

Ep. 53. To Nasidienus.  

There's not a Morn, that me thou dost not vex  
With idle Dreams, that may my Thoughts perplex:  
Which, while to expiate, thou dost pretend,  
The Wine of two years' Vintage to an end  
Is brought; Salt, Meal, whole heaps of Gums are spent;  
And from my dwindling Flocks my Lambs are sent:  
A Pig, an Hen, an Egg, I cannot keep,  
Watch, with a Pox, or, at thine own Charge, sleep.    

Ep. 55. On Rabirius, Domitian's Principal Architect.  

When with such Art, Rabirius did design  
Th'imperial Palace, Models all Divine  
His Soul conceived, his soreing Thoughts did fly  
Up to the starry Pole, and arched Sky.   

Phidias his jove were Pisa now t'inshrine,  
No Structure they'd approve, but what were thine.    

Ep. 58. On Cecilianus.  

Cecilian, without Boar, did never eat.  
How well the Eaters suited, and his Meat.    

Ep. 59 To Jove.  

Great Rome, dread jove, and Heaven, obey thy Nod,  
And all believe, when Caesar's safe, a God.  
While others, for themselves, do thee adore,  
Whate'er a Deity can give, implore:  
That I alone do nought of thee desire,  
As Pride in me, let it not move thine Ire.  
That thou to Caesar wouldst propitious be,  
I only pray, and Caesar unto me.    

Ep. 60. To Domitian.  

Presumptuous Traders did all Rome possess,  
No bounds did set to such their mad Excess:  
Caesar the pestered Streets did open lay,  
Where only was a Path, he made a Way;  
Ground for their Huts, or Vessels none might hire,  
To cause the Praetor t●ead o'er Shoes i'th' Mire:  
And Rogues encouraged secret Arms to bear;  
Cooks, Barbers, Vict'allers, all restrained are:  
Thy Edict, Caesar, their Encroachments stop;  
Rome's Room again, 'twas lately one great Shop.    

Ep. 63. On a Barber.  

When but a Barber thou wert known to be,  
Thy wanton Dame raised thee to Knight's degree:  
But for thy Crimes obnoxious to the Law,  
To Sicily thou thought'st fit to withdraw.  
In thy now useless Age what Art wilt court,  
Thy wretched Life how, saved by flight, support?  
Rhet'rick or Grammar Skill thou dost not own;  
Philosophy is more to thee unknown;  
T'a foreign Stage thyself thou canst not hire;  
Sir Knight, to Barb again, thou must retire.    

Ep. 64. To Gargilianus.  

Ten Winters, Gargilianus, twice over told,  
Thy single Lawsuit in three Courts did hold.  
Ah, Wretch and Madman! Twenty Years to brawl,  
When in thy Power it was, to give up all.    

Ep. 65. On Labienus.  

Fabius' sole Heir did Labienus leave;  
He yet complains, he did his Hopes deceive.    

Ep. 67. To Rufus.  

My Book, to show thy Father, Friend, forbear;  
Perhaps he only likes those Serious are;  
My wanton Verse, if they with him succeed,  
I dare to Curius and Fabricius read.    

Ep. 68 On Theophila.  

This is Theophila, that Learned She,  
The Gods, my Canius, have reserved for thee.  
Whom, his Disciple, Plato's proud to name,  
The Sto● doth as emulously claim.  
The Works will live, that pass her Learned Test,  
So Wise, so above Woman, is her Breast.  
Not fair Pantenis can to her aspire,  
Tho' so Illustrious in the Muses Quire.  
Amorous Sapph may admire her Verse,  
Greater in Virtue, not in Po'sie less.    

Ep. 72. To Maximus.  

Houses in Diana's Mount, in Esquilin,  
More i'th' Patrician Street of thine are seen;  
Hence Cybel's Fane, from thence thou may'st behold  
Vesta's; here Jove's new Temple, there his old.  
Where may we find thee? Say, in what place? Tell.  
Who every where resides, does no where dwell.    

Ep. 75. To Philomusus.  

Our Great ones strive, who first shall catch thee up,  
Who carry thee to Plays, to Walk, to Sup;  
Take high Delight, as often as they may,  
To bathe with thee, to have thee on the way.  
Do not for this, thyself too much admire,  
They do not love thee, but to Laugh, desire.    

Ep. 80. To Lausus.  

Thou thirty Epigrams dost note for bad;  
Call my Book Good, if thirty Good it had.    

Ep. 82. On Eutrapelus.  

Eutrapelus, the Barber, works so slow,  
That while he shaves, the Beard anew does grow.    

Ep. 83. To his Book.  

While my Cecilius to the World would leave  
My Picture; and the rare Piece seems to breath;  
My Book to Peuce, and still Ister go,  
Held by Secundus from the conquered Foe.  
To him a small, but pleasing, Gift thou'lt be,  
And in my Verse, my perfect Face he'll see:  
Which neither Chance, nor power of Time, can raze,  
Even when Apelles Works they shall deface.    

Ep. 84. To Sabellus.  

That thou Tetrastiches writes, not without Wit,  
And Distiches also prettily dost hit,  
I praise, but not admire: 'Tis no hard Task  
Verses to write; a Book more Skill does ask.    

Ep. 85. On Sextus.  

When but a Stranger, to thy Birthday Feast,  
I ever, Sextus, was a constant Guest.  
What's fallen out? What did thy Anger move,  
After so many Years and Proofs of Love,  
That I, thy ancient Friend, am passed by?  
But I myself can tell the Reason why.  
I sent no Plate, no Gift to thee I made;  
For thou call'st that a Treat, in truth's a Trade;  
Profit thou seekest, thou seekest not, Sextus, Friends.  
My Man forgot, thou sayest, his Stripes shall make amends.    

Ep. 86. On Himself.  

If Flaccus in an horned Owl delight,  
And Canius in an Ethiope, black as Night;  
If Publius much a little Bitch does love,  
And Cronius does an Ape no less approve;  
If Marius a vile Indian Mouse affects,  
If, Lausus, thou a prattling Pie respectest;  
Glacilla wreaths about her Neck a Snake,  
Another for her Bird a Tomb does make;  
Why may not I admire a lovely Face,  
When Monsters, like to these, the others grace?    

Ep. 89. To Creticus.  

Matho objects, my Books unequal are,  
If he says true, he praises e'er aware,  
Calvin and Umber write an equal Strain,  
Naught is the Book that's free from heights, and plain.    

Ep. 91. On Baccara.  

If need thou hast, thou needest not me entreat,  
Baccar, these Words thou often dost repeat.  
My Creditor's Rage thou in his Look dost read,  
Thou seest, but knowst not, Baccar, what I need.  
My Rent, thou by, is called for in with speed,  
Thou hearest, but knowst not, Baccar, what I need.  
I shiver in a tattered threadbare Weed,  
Thou seest, yet knowst not, Baccar, what I need.  
I need, that thou wert Planetstruck with speed,  
No more that thou may'st say, What dost thou need?    

Ep. 94. On Linus.  

'Tis Winter, and December's horrid Cold,  
Makes all things stark; yet, Linus, thou layest hold  
On all thou meetest, none can thy Clutches miss,  
But with thy frozen Mouth all Rome dost kiss.  
What couldst more spiteful do, or more severe,  
Hadst thou a Blow o'th' Face, or Box o'th' Ear?  
My Wife, this time, to kiss me does forbear,  
My Daughter too, however debonair.  
But thou more Trim and Sweeter art. No doubt,  
Th'Icicles, hanging at thy Doglike Snout,  
The congealed Sniule dangling on thy Beard,  
Ranker than th' oldest Goat of all the Herd.  
The nasty'st Mouth i'th' Town I'd rather greet,  
Than with thy flowing frozen Nostrils meet.  
If therefore thou hast either Shame or Sense,  
Till April comes no Kisses more dispense.    

Ep. 95. An Epitaph on Urbicus.  

I Infant Urbicus here buried lie,  
My Name and Birth Great Rome did dignify.  
Three Years I had not full attained unto,  
When rigid Fates my Thread did cut in two.  
What served my Childhood, Beauty, early Speech?  
To drop a Tear, is all they can beseech.  
Which if thou dost, may like Chance from thee fly,  
And all thou lov'st, as aged as Nestor die.    

Ep. 96. To his Book.  

If Book, Cesius Sabinus, (the Renown  
Of hilly Umbria, and of the Town  
Of my Friend Aulus Pudens) thou dost know,  
However employed, yet boldly to him go;  
Tho' many urgent Cares oppress his Mind,  
A vacant Time to read thee, he will find.  
For me he loves; and deigns my Verse the Grace,  
Next Turnus Noble Works to hold the Place.  
O, what great Trophies are for thee prepared!  
What numerous Friends! what Glories to be shared!  
There's not a Mart, in which thou'lt not be found,  
A Feast, a Street, but will with thee refound,  
The Baths, the Porticoes, even every Stall,  
To One thou'rt sent, but wilt be read by All.    

Ep. 97. On Castor.  

While all things thou didst buy, it thee befell,  
That all things, Castor, thou dost likewise sell.    

Ep. 98. To Crispus.  

May'st thou the Prince still Gracious to thee find,  
And Rome, no less than Egypt, ever kind:  
If, when in Court, my Verses thou dost hear,  
(For sometimes Caesar deigns to them an Ear)  
Thou me afford'st this free and candid Praise,  
This Man's a Glory, Caesar, to thy days,  
Yields not to Marsus, Pedo, or the best.  
This is enough; to Caesar leave the rest.    

Ep. 101. On Milo.  

While Milo Travels, Fallow lies his Field,  
His Wife, however, a yearly Crop doth yield.  
How comes she Fruitful, and that Barren? Say.  
His Wife was ploughed, his Land neglected lay.     

LIB. VIII.  

Ep. 1. To his Book.  

TO th' Princes laurelled Court, seeing thou'rt to go,  
Learn, Book, a chaste and modest Speech to know.  
No place is left for wanton Venus there,  
Pallas, Caesarian Pallas, rule does bear.    

Ep. 2. To Janus.  

When janus, Lord of Times, beheld of late  
Th' Imperial Victor in triumphant State,  
Tho' Faces he had two, he thought them few,  
And wished that yet more Eyes he had to view.  
With both his Tongues he said unto our Lord,  
Nestor' s four Ages I'll to thee afford.   

O Father janus! thine own also give,  
That he not long, but may for ever live.    

Ep. 3. To his Muses.  

Five had sufficed, six Books or seven do cloy,  
Why dost as yet delight, my Muse, to toy?  
Give over for shame: Fame has not more to grace  
My Verse, the Business made in every place.  
And when proud Tombs, in which for Fame Men trust,  
O'erthrown and broken lie reduced to Dust,  
I shall be read, Strangers will make't their care,  
Unto their several Soils my Works to bear.   

She of the Sacred Nine, (when I had spoke)  
Whose Locks with Odours drop, thus Silence broke.   

And wilt thou then thy pleasant Verse forsake?  
What better Choice, Ungrateful, canst thou make?  
Exchange thy Mirthful for a Tragic Vein;  
Thunder harsh Wars in an Heroic Strain;  
Which strutting Pedants, till they're hoarse, may rant,  
While the Ripe Youth detest to hear the Cant:  
Let the o'er-sowre and dull that way delight,  
Whose Lamps at Midnight see the Wretches write.  
But season thou thy Lines with sharpest Wit,  
That all may read their Vices smartly hit.  
Although thou seem'st to play but on a Reed,  
Thy slender Pipe the Trumpet does exceed.    

Ep. 6. On.▪ Euctus.  

Than Euctus antic Plate, nothing can be  
More hateful; Earthen Pots I wish to see,  
When he their raving Ped'grees to relate,  
Deadens the Wine with his old rusty Prate.  
This Cup, Laomedon' s own Table graced;  
This was Apollo ' s, when Troy ' s Walls he placed;  
This, against the Lapiths, did Rhecus throw,  
See how 'tis crazed, and battered with the blow!  
This, of odd Make, was Nestor' s high Delight,  
Nestor' s own Thumb did wear this Dove so bright.  
Achilles, in this Scyff, large Draughts did pour  
To's Friends, having caroused it off before.  
This Bowl to Bitias Dido quassed, that Night  
She entertained by'r loved Dardanian Knight!  
While thus he boasts Goblets of Priam's Age,  
Wines of 
* That is, Infant Wine, new, and naught.  Astyanax our Thirsts assuage.  
We'd rather of thy Wine thou'dst crack the Odds,  
Give us the Liquor, not the Plate, o'th' Gods.    

Ep. 7. On Cinna.  

Is this to plead, the Learned Lawyer play,  
In ten Hours, Cinna, but nine Words to say?  
Yet thou this Time, four Glasses didst increase.  
'Tis a vast while that thou canst hold thy Peace.    

Ep. 10. On Bassus.  

Bassus a Gown of richest Purple Die,  
But lately, for an hundred Crowns did buy.  
O mighty Bargain! Why? So Cheap d'ye say?  
Yes, unto him, who never means to pay.    

Ep. 11. To Domitian.  

That Caesar's come to Rome, the Rhine does know,  
So far, so fast, the People's Voices go;  
Their iterated Shouts the Scythians fright,  
All Nations, whom their Joy does not delight.  
While in the Cirque their Salve's welcome thee,  
The Races they regard not, tho' they see.  
No Prince, Thyself, was e'er so loved before,  
Rome if she would, she could not love thee more.    

Ep. 12. On Priscus.  

Dost ask, Why a Rich Wi●e I would not wed?  
Because I would be Lord i'th' Marr●'ge Bed.  
Priscus, the Wife, should the Inferior be:  
But Wealth on her part, makes a Parity.    

Ep. 13. On a Fool.  

I bought a Fool, I thought, for twenty Pound,  
Restore my Coin, the Fool his Wit has found.    

Ep. 14. On his Cruel Friend.  

Lest Winter Blasts should th● choice Fruitannoy,  
And keener Air thy tender Plants destroy,  
Fences enclose them of transparent Stone,  
Which, without cold, admit the Sun alone.  
But unto me thou giv'st an open Cell,  
Where Boreas even himself would fear to dwell.   

With Friendship, Cruel, how does this agree?  
Than be thy Friend, 'twere better be thy Tree.    

Ep. 18. To Cirinius.  

Such Epigrams, Cirinius, thou dost frame,  
As with, or before, mine, might get a Name:  
But such Regard to thy old Friend thou'st shown,  
That my Fame's dearer to thee, than thine own.  
Thus Odes, for Horace sake, Virgil forbore,  
Although he Pindar could have gone before.  
To Varus left the proud Cothurnal Vein,  
Tho' himself mightier was i'th' Tragic Strain.  
Many will give their Goods, their Gold, their Ground.  
But, that give place in Wit, there's few are found.    

Ep. 19 On Cinna.  

To pretend Want, like Rich Men, thou art vain,  
Poorer in Truth, than thou thyself canst feign.    

Ep. 20. On Varus.  

Thou heaps of Verses daily dost devise,  
Yet none recite; both Fool thou art, and Wise.    

Ep. 21. On the coming of Caesar.  

Phosphor, bring Light; why dost our Joys delay?  
Caesar's to come; Phosphor, bring on the Day.  
Rome begs it. Art drawn in Boötes' Teem,  
Thou movest so slowly with a lazy Beam?  
Castor will not refuse that thou shouldst mount  
His swift foot Cillaron on this account.  
Impatient Titan why dost thou detain?  
Xanthus and Ethon both desire the Rein;  
Aurora waits: Yet lingering Stars there be,  
As if the Moon th' Ausonian King would see!  
Come, Caesar, tho' in Night, let Stars delay:  
When thou art here, we shall not want a Day.    

Ep. 24. To Domitian.  

If in this little Book of modest Brow,  
I ought do beg, and not too Great, allow:  
Or if thou grantest not, Caesar, let me sue;  
Incense and Prayers never Jove's Displeasure drew.  
Not he that carves the Form, in Stone and Oar,  
Does make a God, but he that does Adore.    

Ep. 29.  

Who Distiches writes, to Brevity does look:  
But where's the Brevity, if't fills a Book?    

Ep. 30. On the Story of M. Scaevola acted.  

In Brutus' time, what was Rome's highest Praise  
Is as a Pastime showed, in Caesar's days:  
The Presentation, the true Story shames,  
His Valiant Hand so bravely grasps the Flames,  
Enjoys its Torment, and derides their Ire,  
Frolicks and Reigns in the astonished Fire!  
His own Spectator he appears to stand,  
T'Applaud, not Feel, the Funeral of his Hand!  
The Altars gluts, and if not torn away,  
Fleshed only, and unwilling to obey,  
His other Hand he'd thrust into the Flame,  
Fresh, when that fainted; Fierce, when that was Tame!  
After so brave a Deed, invidious 'twere,  
To search his Life, or Stock, or to impair  
His Fame, by urging what he was before.  
What he has done's enough, I need no more.    

Ep. 31. On Dento.  

Thou knowst not, Dento, what thou dost give leave  
To Men, pleasantly of thee to conceive:  
Who beg'st that 
* The Benefit given to such as had Three Children, which the Emperor sometimes in favour gave to those that had none.  Grace, as soon as thou art wed,  
Which should be given thee from the Marri'ge Bed.  
But with Requests, to tyre the Prince, forbear,  
And to thy long-left Wife and Home repair;  
Who, while at Rome thou'rt suing on the Score  
Of having Three Sons, will have brought thee Four.    

Ep. 33. On a Cup presented to him.  

A Leaf of gilded Bays your Gift does seem,  
But named a Cup, to gain it more Esteem.  
Sure it was Lacker, Pageants does adorn,  
Whereon the Images of Gods are borne,  
Or else some Bedpost, this rich Plate, did yield,  
Which, by thy Knavish Boy, from thence was peeled.  
So light it is, the Wind, that every Fly  
Makes with its Wings, o'erturned it passing by;  
The Vapour of a Candle bore it up,  
One drop of Wine abolished quite the Cup.  
March-pains are spattered with such Massy Gold,  
When they for children's New-years-Gifts are sold;  
Sunbeams, that make blown Lilies bow the head,  
More solid are; the Gossomer that's spread  
Upon the Grass; Paint on a Lady's Face,  
Which thinest laid, is held the greater Grace.  
To Jars and Goblets, why dost thou pretend,  
When but a Spoon or Bodkin thou mightst send?  
A Spoon or Bodkin? I too much do say;  
When to give Nothing, in thy power it lay.    

Ep. 35. On an Evil Couple.  

When you so well agree in course of Life,  
The vilest Husband, and the vilest Wife,  
'Tis strange, that ever you should live in Strife.    

Ep. 37. To Domitian.  

Smile, Caesar, at the Pyramids loud Fame;  
Memphis no more thy barbarous Wonders name;  
Th' Egyptian Works reach not the smallest part,  
Of the Parrhasian Courts Majestic Art:  
No such Illustrious Piece the day does show;  
Nor Sol in's Universal Travels know.   

Seven vast Pavilions, like seven Mountains, rise,  
Pelion on Ossa scaled not so the Skies;  
Thunder and Clouds beneath, th' aspiring Top  
Enters the Heavens, and against the Stars does knock  
The Sun salutes it with his early'st Ray,  
On highest Hills 'tis Night, when here 'tis Day.  
Thy Palace, 'bove th' Olympian, tho' renowned,  
Unto its Lord is not yet equal found.    

Ep. 39 To Domitian.  

For those that eat the Courts Ambrosian Fare,  
Spacious enough the Rooms not lately were.  
The Structure now adds to the Wine a Grace,  
Which Ganymedes pour forth in every place.  
Rome does implore, Jove's Guest thou late wouldst be  
Or if Impatient, that he'd Sup with thee.    

Ep. 40. To Priapus.  

Priapus, (not my Vines or Fruit to save,  
But a thin Wood) thy Patronage I crave;  
From whence thou cam'st, and may'st a new be made.  
Let me advise thee, spoil the Stealers Trade,  
And for the Owners Fire reserve the Stock;  
If that shall fail, thyself art but a Block.    

Ep. 43. On Fabius and Chrestilla.  

Fabius all Wives, Chrestilla Husbands sped,  
Torches triumphant shaken, when they were dead.  
Their Fortune, Venus, let these Victors try,  
And on one Bier doubtless they both will lie.    

Ep. 44. To Titullus.  

Tho' late, enjoy thy Life, thy short time rate;  
Hadst thou begun a Boy, it had been late:  
But, Wretch, even Old, thou knowst not yet to live,  
T' attend the Great, dost thy last Periods give;  
Through all the Law-Courts thou dost swetting run,  
No kind of Duty, Hardship, Slavery shun.  
Scrape, heap, possess, thou all behind must leave;  
Thee, of thy present Cash, Death will bereave,  
Of all in Bank, or Bond, that's to thee due;  
Nor will thy flattering Heir to thee be true:  
But when he has consum'd thy mighty Store,  
Swear, after all, that thou didst die but Poor:  
Nor will his Lewdness that short time forbore,  
He does the Funeral Bites for thee prepare;  
But, in's false Tears, will with thy Relic lie,  
The very day in which he saw thee die.    

Ep. 46. On a chaste Boy.  

How great's thy Virtue, and thy Form how rare!  
Theseus' chaste Son cannot with thee compare.  
For all the Glory of her Virgin Name,  
To bathe with thee, Diana would not shame.  
And whom, might Cybele alone enjoy,  
She would prefer before her Phrygian Boy.  
Ganymede's Place didst thou to jove supply,  
juno thou wouldst redeem from Jealousy.  
Happy's the Maid, shall thy soft Breast inflame,  
And give thee first a Man's and Husband's Name.    

Ep. 48. On Crispinus' Robe.  

When at the Bath Crispinus did undress,  
To whom he gave his Robe, he cannot guests.  
Restore the Spoil, whoever has it, pray.  
Not this Crispinus, but the Robe does say.  
A Scarlet Gown is not for all men's wear,  
Who are not Noble, this rich Die forbore.  
If Theft delights thee, a dishonest Prize,  
Avoid what will betray thee, if ●●ou▪ rt Wise.    

Ep. 50. To Domitian.  

As was that Ovant Feast, Night swelled with Joy,  
After that jove the Giants did destroy;  
And vulgar Gods, together with the Great,  
Benignly at his Heavenly Table treat;  
And Fauns and Satyrs were allowed to call  
Freely for Nectar i'th' Olympian Hall.   

Such was that Genial Feast, triumphant State,  
When Caesar did his Laurel confecrate,  
And Gods, as well as Men, exhilerate.  
Patricians, People, Knights, all Rome did eat  
With their Great Lord of his Ambrosian Meat,  
Great things thou promised, greater didst bestow,  
Not for a Dole, but Royal Feast we owe.    

Ep. 55. To Domitian.  

Like the amazing Terrors which resound  
In Libyan Pastures, and adjoining Ground,  
When Herds of Lion's rage in Forests nigh,  
And make the fiercest Bulls and Shepherds fly  
Home to their Holds, ready through Fear to die:  
Such was the Roaring late i'th' place of Game,  
A Troop of Lions seemed to make the same;  
It was but One, but One all else did dread,  
And paid Subjection to his Crowned Head.  
O, what a horrid Grace his Neck did show!  
Down to his Feet his curled Main did flow:  
His large spread Breast, for largest Spears did call;  
Great was the Fear, and Triumph, at his Fall.  
Like Glory Libyan Coasts ne'er sent before,  
Nor Ida ever saw in all her Store:  
Was't not the same t' Alcides gave Renown,  
And by thy Father from the 
* The Constellation Leo.  Stars sent down?    

Ep. 56. To Flaccus.  

When former Ages Glory stoops to ours,  
And Rome is greater with her Emperors,  
That Maro's Sacred Vein is no where found,  
And none so deep the Trump of War does sound,  
Thou wonder'st, Flaccus: Whereas do but grant  
Mecenas', and thou'lt not Maro's want:  
Nay, if thy Farm alone thou wilt bestow,  
The World shall to thee for a Virgil owe.   

The Lands which near to sacked Cremona lay,  
The Soldier shared, and drove the Flocks away:  

* Virgil.  Tityrus, alas, involved in the Wrong,  
Wept forth his Losses in a feeble Song.  
The 
* Maecenas,  Tuscan Knight smiled, when his Fortune frowned,  
And all the Poets Care in Plenty drowned.  
Malignant Want, Parent of Mean Conceit.  
(He, Godlike, cried) Make hence thy swift Retreat,  
And take thou Wealth, and best of Poets be,  
'Bove what the World e'er saw, or e'er shall see.  
My fair Alexis too, (you understand)  
Without a Rival is at your Command.   

The lovely Boy, at his new Master's Board,  
With snowy Hands the black 
* A rich Wine.  Falernum poured;  
So bright a Fountain, and so rich a Stream,  
Was never Poet's Love, or Poet's Theme!  
Then with his Rosy Lips he took the Say,  
Had jove looked on, he'd snatched the Boy away.   

Strait from th' astonished Poet's ravished Heart,  
All former Thoughts of his low Rural Art  
Quite vanished, each course, Rude spun Idea,  
His Sunburnt Thestilis and Galate●;  
And in his lofty high inspired Mind,  
Bright Schemes of War, Heroes, and Nations, shined:  
Who, late a Gnat, could scarcely well inhearse,  
In the weak Numbers of his Ill-wrought Verse.  
He drank Heroic Fancy with his Wine,  
Riches and Love turned all his Thoughts Divine.   

What boots it me, to count the enriched Store  
Of Noble Poets? Marsus, Varus, more?  
Whose Names, a Burden 'twere, but to repeat.  
Thou askest then, If Me thou also treat  
Maecenas way, shouldst thou a Virgil see?  
If not a Virgil, I'll a 
* That is, Equal the best Epigrammatist.  Marsus be.    

Ep. 58. To Caesar.  

Tho' thou great Gifts hast given, and wilt give more;  
Victor of Kings, and thine own Deeds before;  
Thou art not loved, 'cause thy Rewards are free;  
But thy Rewards are loved, Caesar, for thee.    

Ep. 59 On a One-eyed Thief.  

Seest him, who shifts so well with his one Eye,  
Under whose bold and brazen Brow does lie  
The others gaping Socket? Th' Man forbear  
To scorn, there no where lives a Snap so rare.  
Autolycus' Fingers never were  
Such Lime-twigs, nor might they with his compare.  
If he's your Guest, cautious you'd need to be,  
For than he lays about him, and does see  
With both his Eyes: And let the Waiters watch  
With ne'er such Circumspection, yet he'll catch  
A Cup, a Spoon, e'er they're aware entrap  
The vagrant Napkins, hoarding all in's Lap:  
If from the Back a Cloak a little stray,  
'Tis his, and double Cloaked he goes away.  
The Lackeys Flamboes', tho' on a light flame,  
He dares attempt, nor does he fear the Shame.  
And if he lights upon no other Prey,  
He'll choose his Boy, steal his own Shoes away.    

Ep. 61. On Carinus.  

Viper's ne'er cease to gnaw Carinus' Breast,  
Anguish and Grief his Quiet to molest;  
His Envy rages to that high degree,  
To hang himself he only wants a Tree.  
Not 'cause my Book's now richly gilded and bound,  
Myself and Verse through all the World renowned:  
But I'ave a House near Rome, and on the Score,  
I'm drawn with Mules, not hired, as heretofore.   

What shall I wish, th'Envious to repay?  
I wish, on him that Fortune also may  
A Farm bestow near Town, and Men may tell,  
That Mules he drives, and Roots and Herbs does sell.    

Ep. 64. On Clitus.  

That many Presents Friends to thee may send,  
Eight Birth-days in one Year thou dost pretend.  
Tho' fresher were thy Looks and brighter shined,  
Than the smooth Stones upon Seashores we find;  
Thy Hair yet blacker than the blackest Jet,  
And all that Youth proclaims, in thee were met;  
Older than Priam, Nestor, thou I'd hold,  
For they so many Birth-days never told:  
For shame thy Rapines then at length forbear,  
And let one Day suffice thee in a Year;  
Lest Men deny to thee a Humane Birth,  
Believe thee some vile Product of the Earth.    

Ep. 65. To Domitian.  

Were this refulgent Temple we behold,  

* The Name of the Temple.  Fortune Returned, her Altar stood of old.  
Great Caesar made a stand first in this Place,  
Showing, through Dust of War, Majestic Grace,  
And darting Beams of Glory from his Face.  
Here Rome, with Laurels crowned, with Hand and Voice  
Honoured their Prince, and highly did rejoice.  
The Place an Ovant Arch does also show,  
And that, the Dacians double Overthrow:  
Two chariots, drawn by Elephants, there stands  
Upon the Top, his Hand their Reins command;  
His Figure, carved in Gold, 's seen both to ride,  
Able, alone, two such vast Teams to guide.   

Caesar, this Arch comports with Rome's Renown,  
The Entrance should be such to Mars' Town.    

Ep. 67. On Cecilianus.  

When the fifth hour not yet is told by thee,  
Thou comest, Cecilian, to Sup with me;  
The Courts of Law yet sit, the Play's not done.  
Calistus, ho, to Grillus baths straight run,  
Although unwashed, my Servant's bid return,  
And lay the Cloth. Cecilianus, sit;  
Call'st for warm Water? Cold's not brought in yet,  
The Kitchin-door is locked, the Fire not lied.  
Why didst thou stay so long, as five, to Sup?  
I'th' Morning cam'st not, when thou first were't up?  
Or why not at an hour, that was too late?  
Come when thou wilt, it must be out of date.    

Ep. 68 To Entellus.  

Those who so high Alcinous Orchards raise,  
With greater reason may thy Villa praise.  
That Winter's rage may not thy Fruit lay waste,  
No chilling Cold Bacchus' rich Clusters blast;  
Transparent Stone thy rarer Plants enclose,  
Guard from the Frost, and to the Eye expose:  
So Virgins Limbs their silken Vestments show,  
And Crystal Streams, the Stones, o'er which they flow.  
Nature, by help of Art, will nought refuse,  
Autumn, in depth of Winter, she'll produce.    

Ep. 69. On Vacerra.  

Vacerra does the Ancients only praise,  
Thinks Poets dead alone deserve the Bays.  
Forgive me, wise Vacerra, if that I  
To have thy Praise, do make no haste to die.    

Ep. 76. On Gallicus.  

Speak the Truth, Martial; of all Love, be bold;  
There's nothing I so gladly would be told.  
So, Gallicus, thou urgently dost say,  
When thou recit'st thy Books, and on the day  
Thou publicly hast pleaded at the Bar.  
'Tis hard to hide, what thou dost press so far.  
Then, Gallicus, if thou the Truth wouldst hear,  
There's nothing, like the Truth, that thou dost fear.    

Ep. 79. On Fabulla.  

All thy Companions aged Beldames are,  
Or more deformed, than Age makes any, far:  
These cattle at thy heels thou trailest always  
To public Walks, to Suppers, and to Plays.  
'Cause when with such alone we thee compare,  
Thou canst be said, Fabulla, Young or Fair.    

Ep. 80. To Caesar.  

Our Father's Deeds, Caesar, thou dost revive,  
Preserve the greyest Ages still alive;  
The antiquated Latian Games renew,  
The Fight with simple Fists, thy Sands do show;  
Temples, tho' old, their Honour thou maintain'st,  
The mean, for th' sake of richer, not disdainest.  
Thus while thou new dost build, the old restore,  
We owe thee for thy own, and all before.    

Ep. 81. On Gellia.  

In Gellia's Vows no God or Goddess share,  
She by their Names, nor Sacred Rites, does swear,  
But by her Pearls, which do so rarely pair.  
These she does hug and kiss, and often call  
Her Brothers and her Sisters, even her All;  
Her dearest Children rates them far above,  
And to them shows a far more ardent Love:  
And should the Wretch by any Chance these lose,  
To live a Minute longer she'd refuse.   

Oh, for a dexterous Cheat what would I give?  
To ' reave a Life, so ill deserves to live.     

LIB. IX.  

Ep. 1. To Avitus.  

THo' thy learned Breast, Great Poet, 's to me known,  
And that thy Verse will raise me 'bove mine own;  
Yet this short Title on my Statue place,  
Which 'mong no common Authors thou dost grace.   

I'm He, in Sportive Verse, none is above,  
Who none astonish, yet all Readers love;  
In vaster Works 
* i e. The old monstrous Poetic Fable of Gorgon's, Centauris, etc.  vast uncouth things are said,  
My Glory is, that I am often read.    

Ep. 2. To Domitian, on the Temple built in Honour of the Flavian Family.  

While Summer, Autumns, Winters shall abide,  
Imperial Names shall o'er the Month's preside;  
While great December's bright and glorious day,  
Shall boast Domitian made the Rhine obey;  
While the Tarpejan Rock shall fixed remain,  
And jove within the Capitol shall reign;  
While Roman Matrons julia shall adore,  
With Frankincense the Goddess mild implore;  
The lofty Temple of the Flavian Race,  
Shall flourish with Divine Immortal Grace;  
Like Sun and Moon, even like Rome's Empire, stand,  
A Heaven is built by a Victorious Hand.    

Ep. 6. On Paulla.  

That, Paulla, thou wouldst Priscus wed, thou'rt wise;  
And he's no Fool, that he does thee despise.    

Ep. 8. On Afer.  

Thee home returned, from afric, I heard say,  
And five days Aves did design to pay:  
But twice and thrice attending, it was said,  
Thou wert employed, or else, thou wert in Bed.  
Enough; thou lik'st not, that I wish thee well,  
'Tis easier too for me to say, Farewell.    

Ep. 9 To Bithinicus.  

Fabius, (to whom thy Presents yearly brought,  
Six thousand) as I hear, has left thee nought.  
Complain not; he has bequeathed more to none:  
Six thousand's left thee yearly of thine own.    

Ep. 11. On Cantharus.  

When, Cantharus, thou'rt a Slave to others Meat▪  
Men with Reproofs and Rail dost thou treat?  
Forbear the Sharpness of a Mind that's Free;  
Cynic and Glutton both thou canst not be.    

Ep. 14. On Earinus.  

Thy Name the sweetest Season in does bring,  
(Joy of the plundering Bees) the flowery Spring;  
Which to decipher Venus may delight,  
Or Cupid, with a Plume from's own Wing, write;  
Which those, that Amber chafe, should only note,  
Or be upon, or with a Jewel wrote;  
A Name the Cranes do figure as they fly,  
And boast to jove, as they approach the Sky:  
A Name that does with no place else comport,  
But where 'tis fixed, only in Caesar's Court.    

Ep. 15. On a Parasite.  

He on thy Cheer and Table does attend,  
Canst thou believe to be a Faithful Friend?  
The Boar, the Mullet, Souse he loves, not thee;  
If I as richly fared, my Friend he'd be.    

Ep. 16. On Cloe.  

Cloe this Tomb, upon seven Husbands dead,  
Caused to be raised, What can be truer said?    

Ep. 20. On Sabellus.  

Ponticus Baths, who frankly thee did treat,  
Thou praised'st in three hundred Verse complete:  
Thy business was not here to bath, but Eat.    

Ep. 23. To Pastor.  

Pastor, thou may'st suppose I Wealth require,  
On like Accounts the Vulgar it desire:  
That in my Setin or rich Tuscan ground,  
The Chains of many working Slaves may sound;  
That Libyan Teeth my Tables may adorn,  
In-laid with Ivory, and with Ivory borne;  
My Beds may creek with Plates of purest Gold,  
Falernian Wine my large bright Crystals hold;  
MY attendant Maids may be of such a frame,  
As may the Hearts of all my Guests inflame,  
With Hebe's self contest a beauteous Name;  
That Slaves in Purple me a loft may bear,  
While numerous Clients throng about my Chair.  
None of all these (the Gods I do attest)  
Have the least place within my temperate Breast.  
Dost ask, Why Riches I do wish for then?  
To build, not Houses, but deserving Men.    

Ep. 25. To Carus, on the Emperor's Statue.  

What Noble Artist has such Glory won?  
In taking Caesar's Face, Phidias outdone?  
Whose polished Ivory is no way so fair,  
As with the Latian Marble to compare.  
Such with delight, we see heavens Face, and wonder,  
When, without Clouds serene, we hear it thunder.  
Pallas not only gave thee th' Olive Wreath,  
But her own Work, this Statue, did bequeath.    

Ep. 26. On Afer.  

If we thy Maid, presenting Wine, behold,  
Thy muddy Looks thy Jealousy unfold.  
What is the Crime on a fair Face to look,  
When this the Stars, the Sun, the Gods do brook?  
Must we avert our Eyes, if Beauty shine,  
As if a Gorgon skinked to us the Wine?  
Stern was Alcides, yet he did permit  
Hylas to open View: No Jealous Fit  
Possesses jove, or does his Peace annoy▪  
When Mercury with Ganymede does toy.  
If thou wouldst, none thy Beauteous Maid should see,  
Thy Guests must 
* Blind Men.  Oedipus and Phineas be.    

Ep. 27. To Nerva.  

Who Verses dares to inspired Nerva send,  
To Cosmus too may some vile Drug commend;  
Violets, where Roses in their Glory be,  
Course Corsic Honey to the Hyblan Bee:  
Yet in my slighter Verse some Grace is found,  
As Olives p●ease, where choicest Cates abound.  
Nor wonder that my conscious Muse does fear  
My Weakness, and thy Judgement does revere;  
When Nero, of no mean Poetic strain,  
In is youthful Flights, dreaded thy stronger Vein.    

Ep. 29. An Epitaph on Latinus.  

The charming Grace, the Glory of the Stage,  
Th' Applause, the Darling, Pastime of the Age;  
Latin lies here, who Cato would have made  
His fixed Spectator, sourness have allayed  
In rough Fabritius. His strict Life ne'er drew  
The Stages Vice, its Arts he only knew.  
Dear to his Lord he must, by Virtue, be,  
His Lord, whose Eyes, the inward Mind, do see.  
Him, 
* Stage-Players were so called.  Phoebus' Parasite, cease, Rome, to name,  
To be thy Ioves Domestic, he did claim.    

Ep. 30. An Epitaph on Philenis.  

When Nestor's years thou couldst but barely tell,  
Poor Hag, so early, wert thou snatched to Hell?  
Sibylla's Age, all out, thou didst not see,  
Her years thou sum'd'st, but Months thou wantedst three.   

Oh, what a Voice is stilled! a hundred Scolds,  
When all a Right pretend, when all their Holds  
Fasten at once, and yell, make not that Din;  
A Pack of Hounds, when all their Throats set in,  
Together with the Huntsmen, and their Horn;  
A School of Boys, cunning at early Morn.   

Who now shall charm the Moon down from her Sphere?  
So sagely who, th' Adulterers Letters bear?  
Oh sad Mischance! Oh heavy fatal Cross!  
Mischief was ne'er before at such a Loss.   

Lie lightly on her, Earth, no weighty Stones,  
That, with more ease, Dogs may scrape up her Bones.    

Ep. 31. On Nigrina.  

Antistus fell in Asia's cruel Clime,  
Which Land does bear the Odium of this Crime.  
His Bones Nigrina in her Bosom brought,  
And the dear Burden made the way seem short.  
Which when within the Envied Tomb she laid,  
Twice she appeared to be a Widow made.    

Ep. 35. On the Flavian Temple.  

When jove the Flavian Temple did behold,  
Like Heaven refulgent, darting Beams of Gold,  
He scorned his Tomb in Ida feigned of old:  
And drenched with Nectar, (which is plenteous found  
At his free Board, where Goblets oft go round)  
He reached a Bowl to Mars, but with his Eye  
Regarding Phoebus and his Sister by,  
Together with Alcides, and the Son of May,  
And to 's immortal Offspring thus did say.  
My Tomb you raised in Cre●t; but see the odds,  
Of Caesar's, and of being Father of the Gods.    

Ep. 36. On Philomusus.  

By these your Arts you many a Supper gain,  
Telling such things for Truths, you merely feign:  
You know the Counsels of the Parthian Court,  
And can the Forces on the Rhine report;  
With th' Dacian General pretend to hold  
Intelligence; nay, beforehand, are bold  
To tell the Chance of War, who'll Victor be,  
When 't Rains in Egypt, at this distance see;  
The Fleet that Carthage will this year equip,  
You can relate, the Rate of every Ship;  
Upon whose Head th' Emperor will bestow  
The Olive Wreath; all this, and more you know.  
Your Arts, this night, within your Breast lock up,  
On which Condition, you with me shall Sup;  
For my good Cheer my Ears do not abuse,  
With grossest Lies, in other Terms, your News.    

Ep. 40. On Caesonia's Birthday.  

This was our Earthly Jove's first happy Morn,  
Rhea oft wished her jove upon it born,  
Which day first light did to Caesonia show,  
No Daughter e'er t' a Mother more did owe;  
Two mighty Joys the day in Rufus moves,  
Which for his Prince, and for his Wife, he loves.    

Ep. 43. To Apollo.  

So may thy Temples, Phoebus, honoured be,  
Prophetic Swans held Sacred unto thee;  
The Muse's glory to make up thy Train,  
The Delphic Oracles prove never vain,  
The Palace Divine Worship to thee pay  
As Caesar (thou inspiring him) shall say,  
The Grace thou ask'st, to Stella I will show,  
Consular Ensigns upon him bestow.   

Thy happy Debtor then, a steer I'll bring,  
With gilded Horns for my glad Offering;  
This Vow upon my rural Altar pay;  
The Victim's ready, Phoebus, why dost stay?    

Ep. 44. On the Statue of Hercules.  

He, with the Lion's Skin beneath him spread  
On the hard Stone, to make a softer Bed;  
Whose left Hand holds a Club, whose right a Cup,  
Supine the Posture, Face to Heaven cast up,  
To Heaven himself once bore; is, tho' you see  
In Figure small, a Mighty Deity!  
No modern Master glories in this Piece,  
It boasts Lysippus hand, and Art of Greece.  
First, Alexander's Beard the God did show,  
By whom, while Young, the World he did subdue;  
Upon his Altar too, while yet a Boy,  
The 
* Hannibal.  Carthaginian vowed Rome to destroy;  
Sylla, at his Command, the Empire eased  
Of his own bloody Reign. At length displeased  
With th' Pride of various Courts, he chose to be  
A private Man's domestic Deity:  
And as he once was Guest to th' Nemean Swain,  
Learned Vindex God hereafter to remain.    

Ep. 46. To Marcellinus.  

Now thou bearest Arms under the Northern Pole,  
Near which the Constellations slowly roll;  
With thy approaching Eyes thou may'st behold  
Prometheus' Rock, the fabulous Scene of old,  
Where th' Aged Hero filled both Earth and Skies  
With hideous Exclamations and loud Cries,  
The Tortures proving, which he there sustained,  
The Rock less hard, to which his Limbs were chained.  
Who can men's Hardships or Hard Hearts admire,  
When they the Offspring are of such a Sire?    

Ep. 48. On Pannicus.  

Thy words the deep recondite Lore resound  
Of Plato, Zeno, what's severest found;  
'Mong those whose horrid Images affect  
To doom all Vice, by their austere Aspect;  
Speak thee Pythag'ras Successor and Heir,  
Nor 'bates thou him in B●sh of Beard an Hair.  
Thou'st yet, what's shameful, and should ne'er be said  
A wanton Groin to this thy awful Head.  
Say thou, who th' Axioms of all Sects dost know,  
Whose Dogma 'tis, the Scars of Lust to show.    

Ep. 49. On Gallicus.  

By what's most Sacred, and your Head you Swore,  
Of part of your Estate you'd make me Heir;  
Which I believed, (for who's that Foolish He,  
To his own Wishes will a hindrance be.)  
These Hopes to Cherish, I did send you store  
Of noble Gifts, among the rest, a Boar,  
So vast, so fat, might be preferred before  
That famed of Calydon. You did decree  
Forthwith to treat Numbers of each Degree,  
People, Patricians, Knights, the Rich, the Poor,  
Through every Ward Rome belches yet my Boar.  
But (strange!) thou to make me a Guest didst fail,  
Affordedst not a Rib, not even the Tail.   

In hope to be thy Heir wouldst have me live,  
Who not a Legacy of mine own Boar didst give?    

Ep. 50. On the Gown given him by Parthenius.  

This is the Gown so honoured in my Verse,  
Which Readers often with delight rehearse;  
Parthenius Gift, a noble and a bright,  
Which set me forth a most Illustrious Knight;  
When it first new and glossy to me came,  
It worthy was to bear the Donors' Name:  
But now 'tis old and soiled, worn to the thread,  
No more can White, but Cold as Snow, be said.  
What, with much Use and Age, will not decline?  
'twas the Parthenian Gown, but now Poor Mine.    

Ep. 51. On Gaurus.  

Thou provest my Wit, Gaurus, but small to be,  
Because my Pieces please through Brevity.  
But thou, who canst the Trojan War enlarge  
With various Fights, till twenty Books thou charge,  
Art a great Man. My Poem's smart and curt,  
Thine is a Giant, but 'tis one of Dirt.    

Ep. 54. To Q. Ovid.  

A Gift I did design for your Birthday;  
But you forbade it, and I must obey.  
You are a most Imperious Man, I see,  
What I'd have done to you, do you to me.    

Ep. 56. To Flaccus.  

I'th' Feast, in which Friends do their Friends present,  
While I to Stella, and thee, Flaccus, meant,  
My Gifts to send; a numerous throng of Friends,  
And each of which to the first place pretends,  
Beset me. Two t'oblige I did design,  
But dangerous 'tis, so many to decline,  
And more, by costly Gifts, to keep them mine.  
No way to free myself, but this, I see,  
To Stella nought to send, nor, Flaccus, yet to thee.    

Ep. 57 On the Emperor's Page.  

To afric, Hylas, our Lord's Shield does bear,  
Cupid, do thou the Lad fit Arms prepare,  
Such as with which thou softest Breasts dost wound.  
Yet in his Hand let a light Spear be found;  
But Shield and Helm far from him see thou throw,  
Into the Fight he'll safelier Naked go.  
No Sword or Dart Parthenopeus harmed,  
While the fair Boy did range the Field unarmed.  
Whoever's struck by thee, shall die with Love,  
And happy's he, that such a Fate may prove.  
Return while young, and while thy Beauty's bright;  
And grow a Man in Rome's, not Lybia's, sight.    

Ep. 60. On Mamurra.  

Mamurra many Hours does Vagrant tell  
I'th' Shops, where Rome her richest Ware does sell.  
Beholds fair Boys, devours them with his Eyes,  
Not those of common Note, one first espies;  
But which in inner Rooms they closely mew,  
Removed from mine, and from the People's view.  
Glutted with these, choice Tables he uncases,  
Others of Ivory, set high, displaces.  
Rich Tortoise Beds he measures four times over,  
Sighs, they fit not, and leaves them on that score.  
Consults the Statues of Corinthian Brass  
By the Scent; and not without blame le's pass  
Thy Pieces, Polyclet. He next complains  
Of Crystals mixed with Glass, and them disdains.  
Marks Porce'lan Cups, sets ten of them apart:  
Weighs Antic Plate (of Mentor's noble Art,  
If any be) counts, i'th' Enameled Gold,  
The Gems that stand. Rich Pendants does behold:  
For the Sardonix makes a search most nice,  
And of the biggest jasper's beats the Price.   

Tired now at last, after eleven Hours stay,  
Two Farthing Pots he bought, and himself bore away    

Ep. 69. On a Schoolmaster.  

Despiteful Pedant, why dost me pursue,  
Thou hated Head by all the younger Crew?  
Before the Cock proclaims the day is near,  
Thy direful Threats and Lashes stun mine Ear;  
The Anvil rings not out a shriller sound,  
When massy Hammers the hot Irons pound;  
Statues of Brass with lesser Din are made,  
Than thou dost carry on the Grammar Trade;  
Shouts in the Race and Theatre are less,  
When Factions, for their Parties, Zeal express.  
Whole Nights, I ask not, in Repose to keep,  
To Wake's not grievous, but 'tis, ne'er to sleep.  
Wilt leave thy School, thy bawling Lectures cease?  
Thy Gain shall greater be, to hold thy Peace.    

Ep. 71. On Cecilianus.  

O Times! O Manners! Tully did declaim,  
When Cat'line put the State into a flame:  
When Son and Father furious Arms did take,  
And the whole World one Scene of Blood did make.  
Why now, O Times! O Manners! dost thou cry?  
What is't, Severe One, that thou dost descry?  
No Wars we hear, no Treasons hateful Sound,  
But Joy and Peace circled the Empire round.  
'Tis not our Vices makes thee loath the Times,  
But, Cecilianus, thine own Secret Crimes.    

Ep. 74. On a Cobbler.  

A Cobbler want the putrid Soles to retch  
Of dirty Shoes, and with his Teeth to stretch:  
Now of his Patron's Lordship is possessed,  
Where had he but a Stall, one would detest.  
Drunk, he bright Crystals, with rich Wine, o'erturns  
With his Lord's Paramour in Dalliance burns.  
My Simple Parents taught to me the while  
Bawbling Letters, to know a Verse, and Style.  
Gag thy Pen, Muse, and thy Books tore them all,  
When such a FortunesFortunes purchased by the Awl.    

Ep. 78. On Priscus.  

Priscus with Art in many Leaves disputes,  
What Requisites a Sumptuous Feast best suits;  
Many sublime and witty Things he brings,  
All from a Learned and Noble Art which springs.   

What makes a Feast, shall I in one Line say?  
Absence of Scurrilous Jests, and Fiddlers Play.    

Ep. 82. To Avitus.  

Reader and Hearer both my Books delight:  
But there's a Poet says, They are not right.  
I weigh it not: No more than they make Feasts,  
Study to please the Cook's Taste, but the Guests.    

Ep. 83. On Munna.  

That thou shouldst Perish Early, 'twas foretold.  
And the Prediction, methinks, well does hold:  
For while thou mad'st much haste to spend thy ' State,  
That nothing might remain after thy Fate,  
But in one Year, five Thousand threw'st away,  
Didst thou not Perish Early, Munna? Say.    

Ep. 84. To Caesar.  

Among the many Wonders of the Stage,  
With which thou hast adorned the present Age  
'Bove former Princes, Caesar: As we owe  
Much for the Cost and Gallantry of Show,  
Nothing does yet advance thy Glory more,  
Than that the Nobles now, however Poor,  
Spectators sit, that Players were before.    

Ep. 89. To Rufus.  

You first to gain me, many Gifts did send,  
But when once gained, all Gifts you did suspend.  
To hold the Prey, you must still Baits supply.  
The illbred Boar from th'empty Trough will fly.    

Ep. 93. On a Slave and his Lord.  

Thou thy Lord's Evils, nor own Good, dost know  
Who so bewail'st thy State, because 'tis low.  
On thy torn Mattress thou sound Sleeps dost take,  
While Caius upon Down whole Nights doth wake;  
Caius to many Lords performs e'er day  
Duties, which to thy One thou dost not pay;  
Caius, discharge thy Debt, in Court appear,  
Says Phoebus: Thou no such harsh words dost hear;  
Thou feelest the Lash, Him less the Gout does spare,  
And to change Griess, a thousand Stripes would bea●  
Foul Vices Caius brand, and hourly tempt,  
From which thy low Condition is exempt.  
Better it is thyself a Slave to see,  
Than many rich, lewd Caius' to be.    

Ep. 95. On a Physician.  

My Doctor for a Wormwood Draught (O strange!)  
Demands of me Frontiniac in exchange.  
Glaucus I never took for such an Ass,  
Who trucked away his Golden Arms for Brass.  
Did any Sweet for Bitter ask before?  
Well, take't; so thou'lt mix with it 
* Confess, thou art Mad.  Hellebore.    

Ep. 97. On a Quack.  

A Quack attempting late to steal away  
His Patient's Cup, and taken in the Play.  
Why against my Orders dost thou drink? Did say.    

Ep. 102. On Bassus.  

For Drachmas three thou offerd'st to expend,  
Thou requirest gowned, I early thee attend,  
Make up thy Train, and troth before thy Chair,  
When thou Old Ladies court'st to be their Heir.  
My Gown is Threadbare, mean, I not deny,  
Yet such I cannot for three Drachmas buy.    

Ep. 104. To Phoebus.  

My Bond made to thee for an hundred Pound,  
Thou'lt give me up; for Thanks my Debt compound.  
Kinder thou'lt be, to lend me fifty more,  
To show thy Bounty to me on this Score.  
And elsewhere place the other Gift of thine;  
What I can never Pay, 's already mine.     

LIB. X.  

Ep. 1. The Book to the Reader.  

IF I too large, Reader, appear to thee,  
But little read, and I shall little be:  
Oft in each Page I end: Then, for thy ease,  
Make me as long, or short, as thou dost please.    

Ep. 2. To the Reader.  

This my Tenth Book gone forth, I did remand,  
Having too hastily escaped my hand:  
Some things thou'lt find, Reader, that were before,  
But more correct, with much that's added more;  
Favour both Pains. Reader, my Wealth thou art,  
And Rome could nought, like thee, so Rich impart.  
By Praise, said she, thou shalt be kept alive,  
And after Death, thy Nobler Part survive.  
Wild Shrubs Messalan Marbles pierce and cleave,  
And Rustics mock th' Half-Images they leave.  
Books fear not Age, nor at Time's Mercy lie,  
These Monuments, alone, do never die.    

Ep. 4. To Mamurra.  

Who Tales of Colchos, Scylla, Tereus, read,  
What do they, but their Minds with Monsters feed?  
For what are Atys, Hylas Rapes to thee?  
Endymion's Sleep, from Cynthia's Charms, ne'er free?  
The Boy that in himself took such delight?  
Icarus' lofty unadvised Flight?  
What is there, in these wretched Lies, to please?  
Read that may show thee, what's thy Minds Disease:  
No Gorgon's, Centauris, Harpies, stuff my Pen,  
My Pages relish of the Acts of Men.  
Mamurra, if thyself thou fearest to know,  
On Callimachus' Dreams thy time bestow.    

Ep. 5. On a railing Poet.  

Who wounds, of either Sex, the Noble Name,  
Those he should Honour, with his Verse defame,  
May he, a Vagrant, on the Bridge's room,  
Descent of Hills, and know no other Home;  
I'th' lowest Rank of Beggars, may he crave  
Scraps fit for Dogs, and those but hardly have;  
And such his Mis'ry more yet to increase,  
Long be his Winter's Rains that seldom cease;  
Stretched on cold Earth, and Fireless may he lie,  
Proclaim those Happy, who do early die:  
And when his own Last Hour approaches near,  
Dogs, for his Bones that quarrel, may he fear;  
And with a feeble Arm his patched Coat wave,  
His Carcase from the Birds of Prey to save:  
Nor let his Sufferings with his Breath expire,  
But let him prove th'Infernal Judges Ire;  
Roll with false Sisyphus the mount'nous Stone,  
His Thirst, in Waves, with Tantalus, bemoan;  
Tyre all the Fables which the Poets feign,  
The Furies Lashes, and their Snakes, sustain;  
Conscience, and ceaseless Torments, urging still,  
Till he does own the Venom of his Quill.    

Ep. 8. On Paula.  

Paula me oft to marry her does pray;  
But she's so old, I cannot her obey;  
Yet were she older, I'd not say her nay.    

Ep. 9 On Himself.  

Why dost thou envy martials being known  
For his smart Verse, abusive yet to none?  
That Rome, the Provinces, extol his Name?  
Celer, the Race-Horse, has a louder Fame.    

Ep. 10. To Paulus.  

When thou of Consular Rank think'st it no scorn  
An hundred to salute by early Morn;  
What Office, Paulus, leav'st thou unto me,  
And to Rome's numerous Throng of low Degree?  
Who stoops himself, shall I call Lord and King?  
Crutch to one acts the sawning Underling?  
Shall I attend his Chair, who does not shun  
Others to bear, through thick and thin to run?  
To praise men's Verse, what boots it oft to rise,  
When thou, to show Applause, dost not despise  
Always to stand, with hands stretched to the Skies.  
What shall mean Men do, Clients when no more?  
If those are Great share Duties with the Poor?    

Ep. 11. On Calliodorus.  

Of Theseus and Pirithous thou dost prate,  
And dar'st thyself, with Pylades, to mate.  
May I not live, if Pylade's Hogs to keep  
Thou dost deserve, or Theseus Stable sweep.  
Yet a round Sum, thou sayest, (to name no more,)  
And several Gowns I've given to Friends were Poor.   Mart. 

But nought did Pylades to Orestes give,  
For both, in Common, did in all things live.  
Know that, thy narrow Soul ne'er knew before,  
Who gives, tho' much, does yet deny much more.    

Ep. 13. On Tucca.  

When none, like thee, in Riches does overflow,  
So much for Use, so much for Pride, can show,  
Such stately Houses, built for more Delight  
On the adjoining Sea; which thou mak'st white,  
When in the Waves, to bathe, thou dost descend,  
And Floods of Odours, in the Floods, dost spend.  
When Venus sleeps not on a softer Bed,  
Nor choicer Wines do steep God Bacchus' head,  
Than crown thy Cup, and sparkle in thy Glass:  
Yet thou, forlorn, whole Days and Nights dost pass  
At a proud Strumpet's Gate, knowst Sighs and Fears  
More than the Wretched, and dost weep more Tears,  
Why 'tis so Ill with thee, wouldst have me tell?  
Because, fond Tucca, all things are so well.    

Ep. 14. On Crispus.  

Thou sayst, 'mong all my Friends, there's not thy Peer.  
But how, that this is so, does it appear?  
When I desired to borrow fifty Pound,  
Thou didst refuse, tho' Gold did so abound,  
Thy Chests could not contain it. When didst send  
A Present from thy Farm? Or yet pretend  
T'impart a piece of Plate? Or to bestow  
A Gown, to guard me from the Frost and Snow?  
I cannot see in what my Friend thou art,  
But that, before me, thou dost freely F—    

Ep. 16. To Caius.  

If Promises, for Gifts, thou dost account,  
See, Caius, how in Gifts I thee surmount.  
Take all the Gold delved in Asturian Fields,  
The Wealthy Sand the Strand of Tagus yields,  
What e'er the Indians find of Yellow Oar,  
The Spices which the Phoenix Nest do store.  
Tyre's richest Purple, All that All Men have,  
I give you, Caius, just as you me gave.    

Ep. 18. On Marius.  

Marius not Treats, nor yet does Presents send;  
Surety will be for none, to none will lend:  
Crowds yet of Clients court this worthless Lord;  
O Rome, what Fools do thy long Gowns afford!    

Ep. 19 To Pliny.  

My Book not learned enough, enough severe,  
But yet not Rude, to fluent Pliny bear,  
Sportive Thalia. The Saburran way  
Passed, with short labour the next Hill you may  
Ascend: From whence, thou (Orpheus set on high,  
Dashed by the Theatre) plainly shalt descry  
The wondering Beasts, the King of Birds and Air,  
Which the young Phrygian to the Thunder bears:  
There thy Friend Pedo's House stands also by,  
Showing a lesser Eagle carved on high.   

But to learned Pliny, make not thy Address  
Wanton, but when Time suits for thy Access,  
He in severer Studies spends the Day,  
How he the Hundred judges best may sway:  
Studies, which ours, nor no Age, will forbear,  
With Tully's noblest Labours to compare.  
Thou'lt safeli'st go, when it is Candle-light,  
This is the Hour, when Bacchus mads the Night;  
When Odours reign, when Roses crown the Head,  
By rigid Cato than thou may'st be read.    

Ep. 20. To Marius.  

That in my Native Soil I long to be,  
The golden Sands of Spanish Salo see;  
Thou, to whom Love from tender Years I bore,  
Honoured, while yet thou the Praetexta wore,  
Art the chief cause: And yet a sweeter Air  
No Country yields, or may with Spain compare.  
But, were't with thee, I Scythia could enjoy,  
Nor would the Sands of afric me annoy.  
If mutual Love thou bearest, and a like Mind,  
Rome we shall both in every Climate find.    

Ep. 21. To Sextus.  

To write so darkly, what delight dost take,  
That the most Learned nought of it can make?  
Thy Book 
* Two great Critics.  Claranus, nor 
* Two great Critics.  Modestus, can  
Expound, it needs Apollo, not a Man.  
But, thou being Judge, Cinna's obscurer Strain  
Excels the Sunshine found in Maro's Vein.  
May'st so be praised; whilst I am read with Ease,  
And both the Critics, and no Critics, please.    

Ep. 23. On Antonius Primus.  

Antonius, happy in a Calm Old Age,  
Of threescore Years complete, has passed the Rage.  
Ponders the Times h'as lived, his secured Years;  
And Death, that's marching on, he no way fears.  
There's no Day grieves, or shames, him, that is gone;  
None which with Gladness he reflects not on.  
A good Man's Age is doubled, Time twice over,  
He lives, who thus Enjoys his Life before.    

Ep. 25. On Scaevola, acted by a Criminal.  

Who Mutius acted on the Stages Sand,  
So promptly thrust into the Flame his Hand;  
If brave and bold, for this thou him dost deem,  
Thyself, of some dull Clime, I must esteem:  
To save his Life by this means, was his case,  
'Twas braver far, to have refused the Grace.    

Ep. 27. On Diodorus.  

The Senate did thy Birthday celebrate,  
Many Knights also at thy Table sat:  
Largess thou gav'st; yet still thou'rt all men's Scorn  
None will believe, that ever thou wert 
* A base upstart Person of an unknown Descent, was styled, A Son of th' 〈…〉 Earth.  born.    

Ep. 30. To Apollinaris.  

O Bay of Formia, temperate and fair!  
Which, when Apollinaris tired with Care,  
Flies from the toilsome Business of the Town,  
Than pleasant Tybur holds in more Renown,  
His chaste Wife's Soil: Prefers to th' sweet Recess  
Of Tusculane, Praeneste, Lucrine; less  
Esteems Cajeta, or what Men more admire,  
Raised by their Fancy, or by Fiction, higher.   

A gentle Air here glides o'er Thetis Face,  
Such as the Fans of Virgins make, to chase  
Summers ungrateful Heat. The Sea is smooth,  
Not torpid dead, but a soft Gale does soothe  
The active Calm; and painted Galleys move.  
For Fish you need not launch into the Deep,  
These you may take, and yet your Chamber keep,  
Out at your Window cast your Line and Lead,  
And draw the dangling Prey up to your Bed.  
And when the Waves by Winter Winds arise,  
From your safe Board you may the Storm despise.  
Gardens no less, and fresh Springs Formia grace,  
Fountains are seen to flow in every place;  
Fishponds the Stranger Trout and Mullet feed,  
The homebred Pike, which called, does come wi〈…〉 spe 〈…〉  
Fat Carp here know their Names, and to you ma 〈…〉  
And all a Pastime is, no pains, to take.   

But to the Owners when does Rome give leave,  
But a few days these Pleasures to receive?  
Fruition's lost, while they to Business cleave.  
These Sweets, (O Hinds and Gardeners, happy Crew 〈…〉  
Were for your Lords prepared, but are enjoyed by you 〈…〉    

Ep. 31. On Calliodorus.  

Thy Servant thou for a great Sum didst sell,  
That but once, Callidore, thou mightst Fare well.  
Nor far'd'st thou well: A Mullet of four Pound  
Was the head Dish, which the whole Table crown ' 〈…〉  
May we not, Wretch, exclaim against this thy Treat  
Say, 'Twas a Man, not Fish, that thou didst eat.    

Ep. 33. To Munatius Gallus.  

Munatius Gallus more sincere by far  
〈…〉 an Socrates, or ancient Sabins were:  
〈…〉 may thy Wife's chaste Love inflame thy Heart,  
〈…〉 and from her Noble Stock may'st ne'er depart;  
〈…〉 when Black Rhimes defame the Age, or Men,  
〈…〉 and Malice would ascribe them to my Pen,  
〈…〉 ou me acquit, and stoutly dost contend,  
〈…〉 at way none write, who Wit and Fame befriend.  
ever in my Book have had the Care,  
ho' Vice I tax, the Persons still to spare.    

Ep. 35. On Sulpicia.  

All Virgins chaste Sulpicia read,  
〈…〉 ho but in one Love wish to speed;  
〈…〉 ll Husbands chaste Sulpicia read,  
〈…〉 ho hold one Wife the happi'st Meed.  
Medea's Rage she does not write,  
〈…〉 estes horrid Feast recite;  
〈…〉 Scylla, or of Biblis, tell,  
〈…〉 hat Transformations them befell▪  
Such Tales she seeks not to retrieve,  
Nor did she ever them believe.   

Her Verse of Pious Love does treat,  
Fraught with quick Wit, and choice Conceit.  
Who rightly of her Poems deem,  
Nothing more Sportive to them seem,  
Or which more Holy they esteem!  
Such were the Joys, Divine and Sweet,  
When Numa did Egeria meet,  
And him the Goddess did inspire,  
To institute the Vestal Fire.  
Her School had she been trained in,  
Sapph more Chaste and Learned had been.  
Phaon, who Womankind did fly,  
Could not Sulpicia Love deny;  
Her Graces known, he must be ta'en,  
And love her, tho' he loved in vain.  
For were she from Calenus free,  
Calenus the Beloved He,  
Apollo's Wife, nor Jove's, she'd be.    

Ep. 39 On Lesbian.  

Old Lesbian swears, and to be borne, would fain  
Be thought, in Brutus' Days, or Numa's Reign;  
But lies in both: Her AEra we must fetch  
From Elder Times, unto Prometheus stretch.  
Who sees her foul cadav'rous Face, will say,  
Lo, the first Mortal that was made of Day!    

Ep. 43. On Philo.  

Thy Seventh Wife, Philo, 's buried in thy Field.  
No Land, than thine, a Richer Crop doth yield.    

Ep. 44. To Q. Ovid.  

Quinctus Ovid now resolved to see  
The Northern Britain's, and the Ocean Sea,  
Charming Nomentum cannot him withhold,  
His House and sweet Repose, altho' he's Old.  
All do thy Faith deservedly commend,  
Which, in contempt of Life, thou show'st thy Friend,  
While on his exiled Steps thou dost attend.  
But tho' the Joys of Life thou thus delay,  
Thy Thread of Life the Parcaes will not stay,  
But rig'rously impute to thee each day.  
Return at length, and at thy Home remain;  
Nor 'mong thy Friends, to count thyself, disdain.    

Ep. 45. On his Malignant Reader.  

If in my Books ought sweet and gentle sound,  
Aught celebrating famous Acts is found,  
Witless thou deemest, a dry Bone valu'st more,  
Than such choice Morsels of the noblest Boar.  
If rancorous Spleen be thy belov'd Disease,  
My Candid Vein shall ne'er thy Malice please.    

Ep. 47. To Julius Martialis.  

What our Lives render most at ease,  
My dearest Marshal, they are these:  
A'State that's left, not got with Toil;  
A constant Fire, a fruitful Soil;  
A quiet Life, from Law-Suits free;  
But seldom that the Gown doth see;  
Ingenuous Strength, a Body sound;  
Prudent Plainness, Friends equal found;  
An artless Board, with easy Fare;  
A Night not Drunk, yet void of Care;  
A Bed not sour, and yet that's Chaste;  
Sound Sleep, that makes Night seem to haste;  
Nought else, but what thou art, to wish to be,  
The last Hour not to fear, or haste to see.    

Ep. 49. On Cotta.  

When rich Opimian Wine thyself dost quaff,  
Turn th'Amethystin Glasses often off,  
Thou vile Sabinum offerest unto me,  
And sayest, Wilt drink in Gold? To show thou'rt free.  
Who cares (thy Sordid Nature to unfold,)  
For Leaden Wine, tho' in a Cup of Gold?    

Ep. 51. To Faustinus.  

Now that the Vernal Constellations chase  
The Winter's Rage, and Earth renews her Face;  
Now the Fields smile, and Trees fresh Verdure's take,  
And Philomela her charming ' Plaints does make;  
What Days, what Joys, does Rome from thee withhold?  
What Ease from City Toil, not to be told?  
O Woods! O Founts! O Anxur's pleasant Strand!  
Where rolling Waves wash o'er the glittering Sand;  
Where even from Bed you divers Waters see,  
Here Boats on Rivers glide, there on the Sea.   

But some will urge, You do not here behold  
The Capitol, the Temples rich with Gold  
Embellished, which in Gorgeousness draw nigh,  
The heavens they represent, and with them vie;  
Rome's august Baths, nor Theatres, are here,  
Her Grandeur does not in the least appear.   

Before you, both Advantages, I lay,  
And now, I fancy, I do hear you say,  
As Men, when with Ill Wives they can't agree,  
Rome, 
* These were the form of Words used in Divorces.  Take what's thine, render what's mine to me.    

Ep. 53. An Epitaph on Scorpus.  

I am that Scorpus, Glory of the Race,  
Rome's admired Joy, but Joy for a short space.  
Among the Dead, Fates early me enroled,  
Numb'ring my Conquests, they did think me old.    

Ep. 56. On Gallus.  

Gallus, thou'dst have me thee attend always,  
To pass th' Aventine three, four times a day.  
Cascellius Remedies to th' Teeth applies,  
Heginus to all Evils of the Eyes,  
Fannius Defluctions of all sorts can stay,  
Eros the Scars of Branding clear away;  
Hermes inveterate Ruptures will insure,  
Hast thou the Skill a broken State to cure?    

Ep. 57 To Sextus.  

You'd want to send a Pound of Plate each Year,  
But half a Pound does now from you appear,  
And that of Spice. I buy not Spice so dear.    

Ep. 58. To Frontinianus.  

When I with thee near Baia was retired,  
Where all was easy, all to be admired;  
And nothing did the sweet Recess annoy,  
O, how the Muses we did both enjoy!  
Imperious Rome does my whole Life consume,  
To say a Day is mine, I can't presume.  
I'th' City, as in a rough Sea, I'm tossed,  
In fruitless Duties all my Time is lost.  
My barren Fields near Rome should give me Bread,  
Themselves in greater need are to be fed.   

But not alone those Love, who never spare,  
Both day and night, the Great ones Gates to wear  
(A Toil unworthy of a Poet's care)  
By Sacred Muses, and the Gods above,  
When least Officious, I do truly Love.    

Ep. 59 On his Lazy and Nice Reader.  

If one sole Epigram takes up a Page,  
You turn it over, and will not there engage;  
Consulting not its Worth, but your dear Ease;  
And not what's Good, but what is Short, does please.  
I serve a Feast with all the richest Fare  
The Market yields, for Tarts you only care.  
My Books not framed such liq'rish Guests to treat,  
But such as relish Bread, and solid Meat.    

Ep. 61. An Epitaph on Erotion.  

Erotion's early Ghost reposeth here,  
By Crime of Fates extinct in her sixth Year.  
Who after me is Owner of this Field,  
Grudge not the Dead th' annual Rites to yield:  
On all thou hast, so may good Fortune shine,  
And nought, beside this Stone, be sad that's thi●e.    

Ep. 62. To Schoolmasters.  

Masters of Schools, your tender Scholars spare,  
So may you many Noble have and Fair;  
And the choice Crew, that crowns your Table round,  
In Numbers and in Love to you abound;  
That no Professors, whosoever they be,  
A Circle, like to yours, may round them see.   

While burning Suns, the lengthened days, engage,  
The flaming Lion and the Dog-Star rage,  
Your Sceptres fierce, the Ferula and Rod,  
(Feared more by Children, than the rivalled God  
By 
* Marsyas was so scourged by Apollo, that he was fabled to be flayed alive  Marsyas was) till Autumn comes, lay by;  
The Seasons Scourge enough, let all else die.  
Children, in Summer Months, when fierce Heats reign,  
Is Health they keep, Learning enough obtain.    

Ep. 65. To Carmenion.  

When thou dost boast thyself of Corinth free,  
And none can this Pretence deny to thee;  
Carmenion, unriddle by what Claim  
Thou call'st me Brother, that was born in Spain.  
So much do we resemble one the other,  
That 'tis for Likeness thou may'st call me Brother?  
Thou always combed and curled dost trimly go,  
My harsh unruly Hair no Laws will know;  
Thy Skin with Oyntment's ever soft and sleek,  
Mine is overgrown with Bristles rough and thick;  
In Lisping Speech thou greatly dost rejoice,  
My Daughter speaks with a more Manly Voice;  
A Dove more like an Eagle does appear,  
Than thou to me; a Lion to a Deer.  
The name of Brother, prithee, then let fall,  
Unless thou wouldst, I should thee Sister call.    

Ep. 66. On Theopompus.  

Who could so Cruel, who so Brutish be,  
For a Cook, Theopomp, to destiny thee?  
Could any Soil that Face so sweetly Fair?  
Condemn to Soot and Grease that lovely Hair?  
None worthier with the Crystal Glass to stand,  
And praise the Wine with his more Crystal Hand.  
For such a Fate, if beauteous Boys must look,  
Next News we hear; jove dotes upon a Cook.    

Ep. 70. To Potitus.  

That scarce one Book I publish in a Year,  
Potitus, slothful I to thee appear:  
But more, that One I write, thou may'st admire,  
Considering how much Time does, lost, expire.   

At early Morn I give, the Great, Good day;  
Next, to my own Affairs, some time I pay;  
To Diana's Temple oft I'm made to sp 〈…〉  
To witness to a Will, or sign a Deed;  
Then in the Courts of Law I'm forced t' attend,  
I'th' Worship of the Gods some Time to spend;  
And when a Poet does his Works recite,  
To give a day, is held a thing but light;  
Nor can I this deny to those that Plead,  
To those on Rhetoric, and on Grammar read;  
Congratulate I must each Friend's Success,  
Tho' I, on like account, ne'er knew Address;  
Now harras'd out, at Even, 'tis time to think  
Of my 
* Sportula.  Days Hire, to purchase Meat and Drink,  
To tend myself, towards the Baths to look.  
What Time is here, Potitus, for a Book?    

Ep. 72. On the Emperor Trajan.  

With worn-out Lips, in vain thou importun'st me,  
Miserable and discarded Flattery;  
The Style of Lord and God none dare abuse,  
Among the Romans now no more in use.  
To Parthian Kings, from whence you came, repair,  
Where Kiss of the Feet exacted are.  
An Emperor we have, no God nor Lord;  
A Senator, whose Justice, all accord  
None equals; who plain Truth from Death has raised,  
〈…〉 d for her Rustic Dress and Mein is praised.  
Rome, if thou'rt wise, under this Prince forbore  
Words, which in former Reigns so grateful were.    

Ep. 74. To Rome.  

Spare a tired Client, now at length, proud Rome:  
How long must I submit unto the Doom,  
To troth among the Daggled-Ushering-Train  
Of poorer Gownsmen, Leaden Coin to gain?  
While 
* A Chariot-driver.  Scorpus, in one Hour alone o'th' day?  
Whole Bags of radiant Gold can bear away?  
I do not ask the Merit of my Book,  
For Flocks in rich Apulian Pastures look;  
For Glebes of Nile, or Hybla's Honey Fields,  
Or yet the Generous Wines Setinus yields.  
What is't, dost then require, which me would please?  
To sleep my fill, and pass my days in Ease.    

Ep. 75. On Galla.  

Galla, times past, asked me an hundred Pound:  
And 'twas not much, where such a Form was found.  
After one Year, Fifty was her Demand:  
Methought, she now was at a dearer hand.  
Some time lapsed: Says she, Twenty you'll bestow?  
Ten I shall gladly: But she answered, No.  
Two or three Months, I know not which, passed more:  
Then she asked Nobles, and of them, but four,  
And I refused. Well, send a hundred Pence:  
But this seemed then too much, and I went thence,  
She next, my poor dry Sportula did crave.  
Good truth, said I, that to my Boy I gave.   

Was't possible, that she should lower go?  
Yes: Gratis she offered, and I said, No.    

Ep. 76. On Mevius.  

Does this thing, Fortune, equal seem to thee,  
That one not from a Syrian late set free,  
Or from a Slave, hoist to a Knight's Degree,  
But of Rome born, of Romulus own Race,  
Just, Friendly, Good, in Wit to none gives place,  
Learned in both Tongues, whose Crime is only this,  
(But 'tis a great One) He a Poet is;  
Should shiver in a Garment poor and old,  
While a vile Jockey branches it in Gold?    

Ep. 79. On Torquatus and Otacilius.  

Torquatus goodly Mansion strikes the Eye  
Four Miles from Rome; just to the Town as nigh,  
A petty Farm did Otacilius buy.  
A Bath, of various Marbles, rarely wrought,  
Torquatus built; strait Otacilius bought,  
For like employ, a Tub and Kettle. When  
Torquatus Ranks of Laurels set: Thou then  
A hundred Nuts didst Otacilius sow,  
Supposing like Magnificence to show.  
Torquatus Consul; Beadle of his Ward,  
The other thought himself as great a Lord.  
What Fables of the Ox and Frog relate,  
At last will prove poor Otacilius Fate.    

Ep. 80. On Eros.  

Erisychthon drops Tears, whenever he does behold,  
Fair Jewels, Pictures, Antic Works of Gold;  
Sighs from his Heart, that home he cannot bear,  
What e'er the Shops expose of glorious Ware.  
How many do the same, but make no show?  
Laugh at such Tears, and yet the same Grief know.    

Ep. 82. To Gallus.  

If my Vexation could thy State amend,  
Morning, nay Midnight, gowned, I'd thee attend;  
The shrill and piercing North Winds blasts I'd bear,  
Break through deep Snows, no stormy Season fear:  
But when these Toils make thee not one Doit more  
Happy, which to th' Ingenious are so sore;  
To a tired Friend remit such Labours vain,  
Which thee no Profit bring, but me much Pain.    

Ep. 89. On the Statue of Juno.  

Thy juno, Polyclet, (most matchless Piece!)  
May well contest the proudest Hand of Greece.  
Had but the Goddess shone with such a Grace  
In Ida, both her Rivals had given place.  
Tho' his own juno, jove did ne'er approve,  
Before his brightest Strumpets thine he'd love.    

Ep. 96. To Avitus.  

That I so often talk of Remote Lands,  
My native Salo Thirst, and Tagus' Sands;  
The Plenty of a homely Farm desire,  
And yet grow Old in Rome, thou dost admire.   

That Place, Avitus, most does please, in which  
A little Wealth both Riots, and makes Rich.  
The barren Field must here be ever fed,  
Which there, Untilled, will give the Owner Bread.  
The Niggard Fire scarce warms the Chimney here,  
The bounteous Blaze there the whole House does cheer.  
Here Hunger's dear, the Shambles all confound,  
Thy Table's loaden there from thine own Ground.  
Four Gowns a Year are here consumed, and more,  
There one will serve, to rub out the whole four.  
Go then, the Great adore: What they deny,  
Thy Field alone, Avitus, will supply.    

Ep. 100 To the Stealer of his Verses.  

Why dost thou mix my Verses, Fool, with thine;  
What has thy jarring Strain to do with mine?  
Why dost thou yoke the Lion, and the Ass?  
Seek to make Owls, for noble Eagles, pass?  
Hadst thou, fond Sot, swift Ladas Foot, for one,  
The other Wood, in vain it were to run.     

LIB. XI.  

Ep. 4. To his Book.  

NOT only those at Ease my Verses love,  
And the more Civilised my Muse approve:  
But the rough Soldier does my Leaves overlook,  
Amongst Snows and Martial Ensigns reads my Book.  
The Britain's too are said, my Verse to sing.  
But what does this unto my Coffers bring?  
What living Numbers from my Quill would flow!  
What Blasts would my Pierian Trumpet blow!  
If as Augustus now again does reign.  
I also a Maecenas could obtain.    

Ep. 5. To Nerva.  

The Phrygian Gods and Sacred Rites to save,  
Up to the Flames the Trojan Hero gave  
Troy's Wealth; jove, juno, whom we now behold,  
With Pallas, first engraved in purest Gold,  
And janus, who records the happy day  
Of Numa's Reign. To all I Pious pray,  
The Senate may be safe, the Prince's Throne,  
By his Example all may live, he by his own.    

Ep. 6. In praise of Nerva.  

Thy love of Right and Justice, Caesar, 's more  
Than Numa's was, and Numa yet was poor.  
'Tis rare, when Riches cannot taint the Mind,  
In Croesus' Wealth, a Numa's Soul to find.  
If our old Romans of Renowned Name,  
(Dispensed with in Elysium) hither came,  
Camillus, thee t' obey, would think it free;  
Fabricius would take Gold, if given by thee;  
In such a King, Brutus would take delight;  
Sylla, to thee, resign th' Imperial Right;  
Caesar and Pompey, private Men would live;  
And Crassus his loved Treasure to thee give;  
Cato himself, if Fates would set him free,  
Returned to Earth, would a Caesarean be.    

Ep. 7. To Rome.  

While Saturn's Feast and jovial days remain,  
In which good Cheer, Mirth, and Dice only reign;  
To sport in loser Verse, I do presume  
Thou dost permit, Sacred Indulgent Rome.  
The Goddess smiled, which spoke her free Consent.   

Be far removed from hence pale Discontent,  
My Muse produce Verse of a sprightly Air,  
Which flow without Solicitude and Care;  
Crown both my Head and Cups Attendant Boy,  
As Nero's were, when he'd himself enjoy:  
But fill them oftener, fill them to the Brim,  
I can do nought, unless in Wine I swim:  
The Wit of many will in me be found,  
If I with their Enjoyments do abound.  
Rome, if Catullus Plenty thou'lt bestow,  
I'll frame a Verse his Sparrow shall outgo.    

Ep. 14. An Epitaph on Paris the Player.  

Who passes the Flaminian way,  
At this Ennobled Marble stay.   

The City's Darling, Egypt's Wit,  
Who Art and Grace the best did hit,  
And Mirth unto all Humours fit.  
The Grief, the Glory, of Rome's Stage,  
The Love, the Beauty, of the Age,  
Do here entombed with Paris lie,  
And did with him together die.    

Ep. 18. To Sabinus.  

Not all my Verse for Night's loose Hours are writ,  
Many you'll find the sober Morning fit.    

Ep. 19 To Lupus.  

A Farm thou gav'st me joining to the Town,  
My Window holds one of much more renown.  
This a Farm call you? Is't a Farm d'ye say?  
A Tuft of Rue, Diana's Grove you may  
As well suppose. For what you will't may pass;  
Spice it assords, as much as Herbs or Grass.  
A Pismire in one day would eat it bare,  
An Earwig starve outright for want of Fare:  
In it a Violet cannot blow and spread,  
Much less a Mushroom raise his spacious head;  
A Cucumber lie strait upon the ground,  
A Snake conceal itself from being found.  
A single Mole both digs and ploughs the Soil,  
A wretched Mouse does all lay waste and spoil;  
And by my Hind 'tis apprehended more,  
Than Calydonia feared th' enraged Boar.  
All that the yearly Harvest does afford,  
A Swallow in her little Nest may hoard,  
Bear the whole Income in her Claw or Bill,  
Nor will my Vintage a pitched Nutshell fill.  
Mistaken words thy deed of Gift do frame,  
What's but a Molehill, Mounts and Meadows name.    

Ep. 25. To Labullus.  

While I attend thy steps early and late,  
Afford an Ear unto thy idle Prate,  
Applaud what-e'er by thee is done, or said,  
How many Excellent Verses might be made?  
This thou account'st no Loss; altho' that Rome  
Reads them with Joy, far Nations bear them home;  
Knights and Patricians make them their Delight,  
Lawyers admire, and Poets also spite.  
And can I this digest? That for thy sake,  
Only thy Train more Numerous to make,  
My Books should fewer be? So to engage,  
That scarce in thirty days I write one Page?  
But thus it is, for Cheer, when Poets room,  
And will not be content to Sup at home.    

Ep. 28. To Flaccus.  

thou'rt Iron, Flaccus, if to such a Dame,  
Who begs vile Gifts, thou canst keep up a Flame;  
Cow-heels does ask, Tripes, Sprats, and Scraps of Fish,  
And a whole Pompion, holds too much, to wish:  
To whom her Maid, joyful t' have got, does pour  
Cheap Pulse, which greedily she does devour:  
And when she's bold, and will all shame depose,  
Begs Yarn enough to knit a pair of Hos●.   

My Wench Perfumes exacts, both Rich and Rare,  
Rubies and Pearls, and those must also Pair;  
Choice Naples Silk, with her, will only pass,  
An hundred Crowns in Gold, she begs, like Brass.  
Give I such Gifts, dost say, a Miss to please?  
No: But I'd have her Merit such as these.    

Ep. 30. On an old wanton Lady.  

When with Caresses thou wouldst me excite,  
All Virile Power thou dost extinguish quite:  
For when thou call'st me Love, thy Life, and Dear,  
The Surfeit I digest not in a Year.  
These were due Arts, when thou wert Young and Fair,  
Thou dost not know what aged Toying are.  
I give thee Martial, say, Ten thousand Pound,  
My Manor House, with all the Fertile Ground;  
I give thee jewels, Plate, whole Caves of Wine.  
These, without Love tricks, do to Love incline.    

Ep. 33. On Nestor.  

When not a Pan of Coals, a rotten Bed,  
A Mat thou hast, whereon to lay thy Head,  
A Coat, a Boy, a Child, a bare-boned Jade,  
A Dog, a Dish, towards the Beggar's Trade:  
Yet Nestor thou affectest, Poor to be said,  
And 'mong the People taxed, and have a Head.  
The aspirest in vain unto such high Esteem.  
Who Nothing has, a Rogue, not Poor, we deem.    

Ep. 35. On Aper.  

I'th' House thou'st bought, none but an Owl will dwell,  
So dark, so straight, so ruinous, the Cell.  
But Maro's splendid Villa is hard by,  
Here trimly thou wilt eat, tho' sordid lie.    

Ep. 36. On fabulus.  

When thou invit'st a Crowd, and Strangers all,  
Wonder'st I come not also at thy Call?  
A Crowd to me, and Solitude, are one,  
And I, fabulus, never Sup alone.    

Ep. 38. On Zoilus.  

Why Zoilus dost thou bury, not enfold,  
A Di'mond spark in a whole pound of Gold?  
When late a Slave, this Ring thy Leg might wear,  
But such a weight thy Finger cannot bear.    

Ep. 40. On Charidemus.  

Thou rock'd'st my Cradle, when I was a Child,  
My Tutor were't in my young Years and wild:  
But now my Beard the Barber's Cloth does slain,  
And all I Kiss of my rough Beard complain,  
To thee alone I yet a Boy appear,  
Whose soureness my whole Family do fear;  
To Love, or Game, are not allowed to me,  
Tied up in all, but all to thee are free;  
Thou chidest, thou grievest, thou fiercely dost complain,  
From using of a Rod canst scarce refrain,  
If I anoint my Head, in Purple go,  
But criest aloud, His Father ne'er did so;  
Frowning thou counts my Cups, as if the Wine  
Came not from my own Cellar, but from thine.  
Thus to be Slave, and Cato too, forbore,  
That I write Man, thy Daughter can declare.    

Ep. 45. On one Old and Childless.  

Now thou art Childless, Rich, 'bove measure Old,  
The Love professed to thee, sincere dost hold?  
True Love I have found. Yes, when Young and Poor;  
Who love thee now, do love thy Death much more.    

Ep. 53. To Julius.  

Trimly to Sup, julius, I thee invite:  
If better be not offered, come to Night.  
We'll bathe together, at six a Clock be here,  
Nero's Baths, to my House, you know, are near.   

Melons and Figs, for Ante-past, I'll serve,  
Other Regalios, which are deemed to have  
The grateful Properties Health to preserve,  
And quicken Appetite. If you ask, What more?  
I'll lie, to make you come. Oysters, Wild Boar,  
Choice fatted Fowl ta'en from the Coop or Pens,  
Those nobler yet, that range the Woods and Fens:  
Such as even Stella rarely does afford,  
Tho' altogether Princely is his Board.   

I'll promise more, no Verses I'll recite,  
To hear yours read, I'll dedicate the Night,  
Your Giant's War, your Art of Tilling Fields,  
Which not in Worth t' immortal Virgil's yields.    

Ep. 54. On Claudia Rufina.  

Claudia Rufina's Birth while Britain claims,  
Her frame of Mind excels the Latian Dames;  
So Graceful Fair, her, Roman Matrons deem,  
Their Lucrece; Greeks, their Helen, her esteem.  
And such a fruitful Offspring she has brought,  
When married, will a Colony be thought.  
His Faith may Pudens to no other plight,  
And in his Children she alone delight.    

Ep. 56. To Urbicus.  

Lupus, to be a Father, counsels thee;  
Believe him not, there's nought he less would see.  
One Art of Cheatings to persuade Men to  
What they detest of all things they should do.  
To say she's big, but with thy Wife prevail,  
Lupus, like one that breeds, will look more pale.  
Take my advice, if me a Friend you deem;  
Die so to him, you may a 
* That is, Give him nothing.  Father seem.    

Ep. 57 On Cheremon.  

That Death thou so immod'rately dost praise,  
Thou hop'st in all Astonishment to raise.  
This Courage a cracked Pitcher does inspire,  
A Chimney cold, without a spark of Fire;  
A Couch, with Straw and Vermin, only dight,  
A curtal threadbare Coat, for Day and Night.  
How Great a Man art thou, canst bid farewell  
To Brown-bread Crusts, Wine Lees, a nasty Cell?   

Go to: Let now thy Bed be strutting full  
Of softest Down, thy Blankets Scarlet Wool;  
Let her lie by thee, Graces so the Feasts,  
And more than all the Wine, inflames the Guests.  
Oh, how thou'dst wish, thou mightst live Nestor's years!  
How every Minute lost, thou'dst count with Tears!   

In a Poor State, their Lives, Men easily give;  
He's held the Bravest then, that dares to live.    

Ep. 58. To Severus.  

That I invite, and Verses to thee send,  
Wonder'st, Severus, Rich and Learned Friend?  
jove, sated with Ambrosia still doth live;  
Yet Wine and Frankincense to jove we give.  
If, with Abundance full, thou dost reject,  
Such as thou hast, there's nought thou canst accept.    

Ep. 60. On Charinus.  

Charinus Fingers with Rings loaden are,  
Which in the very Bath he still does wear,  
Nor puts them off at night: D'ye wonder why?  
They're borrowed, and he dares not lay them by.    

Ep. 66. On Justinus.  

justin, upon thy Solemn Birthday Feast,  
No fewer than six hundred were thy Guest:  
Among the which, times past, I had the Grace,  
To hold, unenvied, no inferior place:  
But now, to th' Relics of the second day,  
If so I like, to be thy Guest I may.  
Unto six hundred born, to day, then be,  
To morrow first thou shalt be born to me. 
That is, Never either to present, or own thee.     

Ep. 67. On Vacerra.  

Thou art a Slanderer and Delator,  
False Dealer, Pimp, and Fornicator:  
Where such rare Parts and Trades are Found,  
I wonder much, thy Purse does not abound.    

Ep. 68 On Maro.  

Thou nought on me, while living, wilt bestow,  
But All, when thou descend'st to Shades below.  
Thou dotest, if, what I wish, thou dost not know.    

Ep. 69. To Matho.  

From greatest Men thou dost small things require,  
Who yet comply not with thy Low Desire.  
The less to blush, to greater things aspire.    

Ep. 70. On the Bitch Lydia.  

I trained was, by Masters of the Game,  
I' th' Field no Hound more fierce, i' th' House more tame;  
Lydia my Name, my Owner's right Hand held,  
Erigones Dog, not me, in Faith excelled,  
Nor Lelaps yet, for whose great Truth 'tis told,  
By jove, among the Stars, he was enroled.  
Like 
* Ulysses Dog.  Argus a long Life I did not spend  
In Sloth, by useless Age brought to my End:  
But the fierce Tusks of an enraged Boar,  
Like that of Calydon, my Entrails tore.  
Nor of my early Death do I complain,  
A nobler Fate I could no way sustain.    

Ep. 72. On Leda.  

To her old Husband Leda made her moan,  
That her Hysterick Fits were helpless grown:  
And that her Life, no hope there was, to save,  
Unless her Honour, for her Life, she gave.  
But Sighing then, and drowned in Tears, she said,  
Than that way cured, 'twere better to be dead.   

The old Man begged, that she her Life would spare,  
And of her youthful Years have tender Care:  
Said, He'd give leave that others might supply,  
What Age in him did to her help deny.  
Strait young and able Doctors Leda knew,  
Were sent for; and the Women all withdrew▪  
They laid her gently on her Bed, for cure.  
Ah Cruel Help, says she, that I endure.    

Ep. 77. To Petus.  

To pay ten Pound I owe, you press me sore,  
'Cause other ways y'ave lost two hundred more▪  
Let not the Crimes, hurt me, of other Men:  
If thou canst lose two Hundred, Pardon Ten.    

Ep. 85. On Antiochus.  

Who loves his Life, and seeks not yet to die,  
Antiochus, the Barber, let him fly.  
The Phrygian Priests not so remorseless lance  
Their Flesh, as he, in their inspired Dance;  
Surgeons, their Patients, less in Blood imbrue,  
When from them Limbs, like Carpenters, they hue,  
He's only fit to trim a Horses Mane,  
Or else some Stoic, who contemns all Pain.  
Prometheus, the Rock, would choose to have,  
The Vulture gnaw his Heart, than feel him shave;  
Pentheus would sooner to Agave fly,  
Orpheus to th' Maenads, tho' sure to die,  
Than twice Antiochus' Razor try.  
The Scars you see upon my martyred Face,  
Which worse than Wrinkles of Old Age disgrace;  
Not one my froward Wife's cursed Nails did tear,  
But he whose Hands, less than his Irons, spare.  
The Goat, of all the Creatures, is most wise,  
Who wearing's Beard, Antiochus may despise.    

Ep. 87. On Parthenopeus.  

To ease thy Throat, and thy rough Cough assuage,  
Honey's prescribed, against its impetuous Rage,  
Pasteels, Marchpanes, and all such Knacks, whereby  
Children are stilled, when they do fiercely cry:  
But yet these, day or night, thy Cough appease.  
Hast thou a Cold, or Liquorish Disease?    

Ep. 92. An Epitaph on Canace.  

AEolian Canace here entombed doth lie,  
Who, in her early Flower of Age, did die.  
O Sad and Cruel Chance! Thy Tears restrain,  
Of her Untimely Death we don't complain;  
But what's more Tragic yet, our Eyes deplore;  
The Manner of her Death, than Death was more,  
An horrid Cancer seized her lovely Face,  
Devoured and poisoned all her youthful Grace;  
Spared not her rosy Mouth, Love's Seat of Bliss,  
But eat the Lips, that ravished with each Kiss.  
This dire Disease we justly curse and blame,  
That left but half her Face to th'funeral Flame.   

If with such winged speed Fate needs must come,  
Why yet so barbarous and severe the Doom?  
Her charming Speech Death hasted to suspend,  
Left rigid Gods, moved by her Words, should bend.    

Ep. 93. On Zoilus.  

Zoilus, he lied, who said, Thou Vicious wert:  
When not Vicious, but Vice itself, thou art.    

Ep. 94. On Theodore, an ill Poet.  

Flames, Theodore's Pierian Roofs, did seize.  
Can this Apollo, this the Muses, please?  
O oversight of Gods! O dire Disaster!  
To burn the harmless House, and spare the Master.    

Ep. 99 To Bassus.  

Those Kiss in Rome, no means there is to shun,  
They meet you, stop you, after you they run,  
Press you before, behind, to each side cleave,  
No Place, no Time, no Men, exempted leave;  
A dropping Nose, salved Lips, can none reprieve,  
Gangrenes, foul running Sores, any relieve;  
They Kiss those Sweat, and those that shake with Cold,  
Lovers, their Mistress last Kiss, cannot hold;  
A Chair is no defence, with Curtains guarded,  
With Door and Windows shut, and closely warded,  
The Kissers, through a Chink, will find a way,  
Presume the Tribune, Consul's self to stay;  
Nor can the awful Rods, or Lictor's Mace,  
His stounding Voice away these Kissers chase,  
But they'll ascend the Rostra, Curule Chair,  
The Judge's kiss, while they give Sentence there.  
Those Laugh they kiss, and those that Sigh and Weep;  
Those that do Yawn, and those that are asleep;  
Those who do bathe, and recreate at the Pool,  
Who are withdrawn, to ease themselves at Stool.   

Against this Plague, I know no Fence, but this,  
Make him thy Friend, whom thou abhorr'st to kiss.    

Ep. 101. To Flaccus.  

Her, I by no means fancy, who does bring  
A Body, to b'encompassed with my Ring;  
Who, when she's naked, grates; whose Rump's a Spear;  
Hips, Saws; whose Knees, as Gaul-traps, I may fear.   

Corpulence, as much the other way, annoys:  
Flesh I approve, but Fat my Stomach cloys.    

Ep. 103. On Lydia.  

He lied not, Lydia, who pronounced thee Fair,  
For Flesh and Blood, none may with thee compare.  
This is most true, while thou dost Silent stand,  
Like some Rare Piece of a great Master's Hand.  
But when thou speakest, even such thy Beauty's gone,  
And their own Tongue none ever so did wrong.  
Let not the AEdile hear thee Silence break:  
It is a Portent, if an Image speak.    

Ep. 109. To his Reader.  

With my long Book, thou well may'st glutted be,  
Yet thou more Epigrams exact'st of me:  
But Lupus calls for Use, Servants for Pay,  
Discharge them Reader. Now thou'st nought to say,  
Dissemblest, as my words thou couldst not spell.  
No Riddle thou'rt to me, Reader, Farewell.     

LIB. XII.  

Ep. 4. To Priscus.  

WHAT unto Flaccus, and to Maro thee  
Maecenas was of Royal Pedigree;  
Most Noble Priscus, That thou art to me.  
Which loudest Fame, and my long-living Verse,  
Unto all Times and Nations shall rehearse.  
For th'Name I have, and Wit, I owe thee both,  
Whose Bounty does maintain my Learned Sloth.    

EP. 6. On Nerva.  

Now God's mild Nerva to the Empire give,  
Unto the Muses we may wholly live.  
Clemency, wary Power, and Faith upright,  
Possess the Throne, and put all Fear to flight;  
Thus pray the Nations, Rome, and Pious Throng,  
Their Prince may still be such, and this Prince long.  
Enlarge those Virtues we so rare do see,  
Which Numas, or else Cato's pleased might be.  
Bestow, every, the poor Man's Stock extend,  
What Gods scarce give, let thy free Bounty send.  
'Tis lawful now, and safe; but then thou durst,  
Even in a wicked Reign and Age, be Just.    

Ep. 8. In praise of Trajan.  

Queen of the Nations, Rome, that has no Peer,  
(Whom none does equal, none approaches near)  
Lately with Joy computing Trajan's Years,  
The Ages she should pass, and know no Fears;  
As she so famed a Captain did behold,  
And yet a Soldier Stout, Young, Martial, Bold,  
Proud of her Prince, thus vauntingly she spoke,  
Parthians, Britain's, submit unto my Yoke;  
Thracians, Scythians, I've a Caesar now,  
Come pay your Tribute, to my Eagles bow.    

Ep. 9 On the same.  

Now Gracious Caesar, Palma rules our Spain,  
Peace, long a Stranger, has restored again:  
We Thanks return thee for so great a Grace,  
That thine own Virtues thou amongst us dost place.    

Ep. 10. On Affricanus.  

African Millions has, and yet does groan,  
Fortune can give too much, enough to none.    

Ep. 11. To Parthenius.  

All Health to my and thy Parthenius bring,  
My Muse; for who in the Aonian Spring  
E'er deeper drank? From the Pimplean Cave,  
Whose Harp a sweeter nobler Sound e'er gave?  
Who of th'inspired and immortal Choir,  
Does Phoebus' self more love or more admire?  
Request when he the Prince does vacant know,  
(which hardly can be hoped) my Book to show,  
With these few words my humble Verse to speed,  
This Man, dread Caesar, all thy Rome does read.    

Ep. 13. To Auctus.  

To make a Gain of Anger, rich Men know.  
'Tis cheaper to be Angry, than bestow.    

Ep. 14. To Priscus.  

To ride so rashly, I advise, forbore,  
In pursuit, Priscus, of a paltry Hare;  
The Hunter by his Game has oft been flain,  
Cast from his Horse, his Back could ne'er regain;  
The Fields are treacherous, tho' no Hedge or Stone,  
No Ditch appear, plain Ground destroys alone.  
Examples want not of the thing I say,  
Less Causes have produced a fatal Day.  
If generous Dangers only thee delight,  
'Twere nobler to engage the Boar in fight.  
With running speed thou lov'st to venture wreck,  
Likelier than catch the Hare, to break thy Horse's neck.    

Ep. 15. To Trajan the Emperor.  

What-e'er the Palace late did splendid show,  
Now to the Gods is given, and public view.  
jove, in his Temple, does the Cups admire,  
Whose Gold and Jewels flash like Flames of Fire:  
Astonished, former Prince's Pride, to see,  
Such their stupendious matchless Luxury!  
To jove alone belong Vessels so rare,  
The Phrygian Boy, such radiant Cups to bear.   

With Gods we now do all in Wealth abound,  
Poverty scarce, among the Mean, is found:  
I shame, I shame to say, how heretofore,  
Together with the Gods, we all were Poor.    

Ep. 17. On Lentinus.  

Lentinus, that thy Fever does remain  
So many days, thou sadly dost complain.  
It baths with thee, 'tis carried in thy Chair,  
Eats Oysters with thee, Mushrooms, Venison, Hare;  
And drunk with noblest Wines 'tis often made,  
Nor do these please, if not with Snow allayed;  
With Roses crowned, it sumptuously does feast,  
And in a purple downy Bed takes rest.  
While it with thee does far so rich and well,  
Think'st thou, with poor starved Dama it will dwell?    

Ep. 18. To Juvenal.  

While restless thou Saburras noisy Street  
Dost tread, or passing oft with weary Feet,  
Mak'st even a Path up to Diana's Hill,  
A Clients toilsome Duties to fulfil;  
Or Sweeting in thy waving Gown, the less  
And greater Coelius puts thee to distress;  
My native Biblis, rich in Steel and Gold,  
A Rustic of her Town has me enroled:  
Here with sweet Labour, causes no annoy,  
I Platea and Boterdus both enjoy.  
These are the course rude names of Towns in Spain,  
Where after thirty Winters spent in pain,  
And waking Morn's in Rome, I rest regain.  
Such stintless and profound Repose I take,  
That the ninth hour can hardly me awake.   

A Gown is here unknown; some tattered Weed,  
On my demand, is given me in its stead.   

A blazing Fire receives me, when I rise,  
Which neighbouring Woods abundantly supplies;  
The which my Country Maid with Pots besets,  
Against my Huntsman comes with loaded Nets;  
●o trim a Youth, and 'bove the common strain,  
As may seduce Diana's Virgin Train.   

My Bailiff begs the Boys may cut their Hair,  
That in some useful Labour they may share,  
Their pains, as under growth, not still deny.  
Thus I delight to live, and thus to die.    

Ep. 21. On Marcelia.  

Who can, Marcelia, thee suppose to be  
Of Spanish Birth, and our rough Salo free?  
So choice, so sweetly graced, that at first sight,  
The Palace challenge may in thee a Right.  
Not one in the Suburra can compare  
With thee, or who boasts yet a courtlier Air.  
Were other Beauties from the Nations sought,  
None would a Latian Dame, like thee, be thought.  
Thou mak'st the City's loss easy to be:  
For thou alone art Rome, and more to me.    

Ep. 25. On Thelesinus.  

Money thou'st none, without Pawn; but at hand,  
If for Security I'll ' gauge my Land.  
What thou'lt not trust to me, thy ancient Friend,  
To Trees and Molehills thou'rt content to lend.  
Lo, the Delator, Wretch, impeaches thee,  
Call now unto thy Patronage a Tree:  
Exiled, thou want'st a Friend with thee to go,  
Canst make a Field Companion of thy Woe?    

Ep. 26. On an Unjust Friend.  

▪ 'Cause thou, at early Morn, the Great dost see,  
And tread their Courts, thyself of Lords Degree,  
〈…〉, but a Knight, seem slothful unto thee,  
That, at first day, abroad I do not roam,  
To bring, when tired, a thousand Kisses home.  
What thou dost do, 's a Consulship to gain,  
Or else some wealthy Province to obtain.  
〈…〉 whom, to break my Sleep, thou dost require,  
And patiently to brook the Morning's Mire,  
What get I, when my Toes break out a Door  
Through my torn Shoe, and Clouds fierce Showers down pour,  
And not a Servant have, dry Clothes to bring,  
●ut while benumbed and drowned you may me wring,  
●etorius sends to call me to a Treat?  
●e't ne'er so Rich, 'twere better never eat.  
A Province is thy Lot, a Meal is mine,  
My toil's the same, but not my Gain, with thine.    

Ep. 30. On Aper.  

Aper's a Sober Man. What's this to me?  
A Slave I so commend, a Friend that's free.    

Ep. 32. On Vacerra.  

O Jest and Shame of such as Households move,  
When july comes, and do new Dwellings prove!  
I saw thy Stuff, Vacer, thy Stuff I saw,  
Which, for thy Rent, not seized on by Law,  
Thy Landlord rather glad, such Trash to spare,  
Thy red-faced Wife, with seven red Hairs, did bear,  
Helped by thy Giant Sister, and thy Mother;  
Men thought the Furies there were got together;  
For such their Number was, and such their Faces,  
That Pluto seemed t'have lent thee his three Graces.  
The Irus of thy Age, thou these didst follow,  
Thy Skin, like seasoned Box, distained and yellow;  
With Cold and Hunger, also dried and parched:  
All Beggars-Bush, the People thought, had marched.   

A two-legged Table, and a three-legged Bed  
There went; a Pan with Fire, on thine own Head.  
A Sconce and Goblet all of massy Horn,  
A Jordan, itself Pissing, as 'twas bor'n;  
Stale Sprats and Pilchards could not be concealed,  
Their obscene Scent, their Presence there revealed.  
Nor did there want to go in State with these,  
A Cantle of unsavoury Tholose Cheese;  
A Wisp of Penyroyal, four Years old;  
A Rope, which Onions had, but picked, and bald;  
A Pot of Turpentine, thy Mother's Care,  
The Brothel Dames with such, fetch off their Hair.   

Why mockest thou Landlords, and dost Houses see,  
When Gratis, Vacer▪ may thy Dwelling be?  
Such Pomp of Goods, such Householdstuff pertains  
To Highways, Hedges, Bridges, and to Lanes.    

Ep. 34. To Julius Martialis.  

Thirty four Years, I take it, thou and I,  
julius, have kept each other company,  
In which some Jars, with much content, did meet;  
But yet the greatest part was ever sweet;  
And should I mark the days with black and white  
Stones, most would be the Number of the bright.   

If in thy Life much Anguish thou'dst avoid,  
With griping Pangs not have thy Heart annoyed,  
Wed thyself too much to the love of none,  
Less thou wilt Joy, but less thou'lt also Groan.    

Ep. 35. On Callistratus.  

That thou may'st seem more freely to converse,  
Some past Venerial Crimes thou dost confess:  
But yet in this thou dost not clearly deal,  
Who tells such Faults, yet fouler does conceal.    

Ep. 36. On Labullus.  

That none, but thou, does in these days extend  
A pinching Gift, unto a needy Friend,  
Think not for this, thou'rt Noble. No? How then?  
Only the Best, among the Worst of Men.  
In bounteous Acts the Seneca's restore,  
The Piso's; but then, those of heretofore;  
Else 'mong the Good, thou'lt hold the Lowest Place.  
Wouldst thou contend in swiftness of the Race?  

* Two Famous Race-Horses.  Passerin, and fleet 
* Two Famous Race-Horses.  Tiger, then o'erpass,  
It is no Glory to outrun an Ass.    

Ep. 40. On Pontilianus.  

Ill Verses dost thou make? ay them admire.  
Dost drink? I the Debauch do carry higher.  
Dost lie? Assent I give. Dost Fart? I'm mum.  
Gam'st thou? I am content to be o'ercome.  
One thing thou dost alone, I must confess,  
Which not to name, my Kindness does express,  
Will't nought for all return? Thou answerest, Ay,  
In my last Will. I ask no more, but die.    

Ep. 44. To Marcus Ubicus.  

We both in Name and Blood allied are,  
And to like Studies, like Affection bear:  
Thy Brother's Verse when, thine, thou settest before,  
Thy Art's not less, but Piety is more:  
When thee Corinna, Lesbian would admire,  
Equal to those they did themselves inspire:  
When, if thou'dst spread thy Wings, a brisker Air,  
And loftier Numbers none e'er higher bear:  
Thou flag'st thy Plumes, restrain'st thy soaring Vein,  
And show'st thyself a Brother here again.    

Ep. 46. To Classicus.  

Zoilus and Gallus for their Poems had  
Great Sums. Who says, That Poets now are Mad?    

Ep. 48. To a Sumptuous Treater.  

If Thrush and Boar you serve, as common Meat,  
Not as my Highest Wish, I take your Treat:  
But if you think me Blessed, would have me write  
You down my Heir, for Oysters; then good Night.   Treat. 
The Supper yet is rare.  Mart. 

No doubt most rare,  
But what, to morrow, will be this day's Fare?  
Nay, within one hour? The unhappy Broom  
And Mopas can best declare, whose wretched Doom  
It is to know; or else some Jakes or Sink,  
Or hungry Dog, that rid away the Stink.  
And then, with your high Meats weare sure to meet  
A Jaundice Colour, and Gout-torturing Feet.  
Minerva's Feast I weigh not at that rate,  
Nor Jove's set out with greater Pomp and State.  
Should Gods impute their Nectar unto me,  
Vile, as the Lees of Vinegar, 'twould be.  
For your Choice Meats some other Guest then find,  
Who suits a proud Board with a servile Mind:  
T' extemp'ry Meals let a Friend me invite,  
That Treat does like me best, I can requite.    

Ep. 50. On one that had a Gay Horse.  

thoust Groves of Choicest Trees, Baths more than one,  
But, for more State, which serve to thee alone;  
Thy Porticoes, on Columns high, do soar,  
The trampled Onyx glisters on thy Floor;  
The winged Chariots praise thy sandy Race;  
The murmuring Founts run waste in every place;  
Large are thy Courts, and Spacious is thy Hall;  
But Place, to eat or sleep, thoust none at all,  
Of useful Rooms I can no Story tell.  
How rarely, we may say, thou dost not Dwell!    

Ep. 51. On fabulus.  

Wonder'st, fabulus oft deceived, to see?  
A Good Man will, a Novice, ever be.    

Ep. 53. To Sparsus.  

Why to the Country I so oft retire,  
A rude and barren Farm, if you inquire?  
The Town, no place for Rest, or Thoughts, does leave  
The Mean; Schoolboys i'th' Morn our Sleeps bereave,  
The Baker's Mills at Night, and the whole Day  
The Braziers and the Coiners Hammers play;  
Hemp beaters their dull Thumping never cease,  
Nor Mars' raving Priests e'er hold their peace;  
Pity to move, the Wrecked, forced Voices use,  
As, by their Mothers taught, do begging jews;  
The loud Vociferations not to tell,  
Of those that Brooms and Brimstone-matches sell;  
The clamorous Factors of such viler Ware,  
Care to be heard, but not whose Ears they tore.  
When that the Moon's eclipsed, you may as well  
The Tinklings of the Pans and Kettles tell,  
The Tintamars', when Witches her molest,  
As count the various Dins the Town infest.   

Sparsus, you know not this, nor can it know,  
So much you to your Princely Manor owe,  
Which seated on a sweet and pleasant Plain,  
Even Solitude of Mountains does disdain;  
Where you the Country, in the Town, enjoy,  
Vinerons in the depth of Rome, employ;  
Nor in Campania does the noblest Hill  
Yield richer Wines, than those your Vessels fill.  
What is there Useful or Delightful found,  
But in your Lordly Precinct does abound?  
Your profound Sleeps, troubles from nought, receive,  
The Day is not admitted, without leave.   

But wretched we, those thro' the Streets that walk,  
Awake, while they but only Laugh or Talk.  
All Rome is by our Couch: When Rest I'd take,  
To Bed I go not, but a Journey make.    

Ep. 54. On Zoilus.  

Thy Eyes squint, Foot's short, Beard's black, and Hair's red,  
'Tis strange, if also Good, Zoilus, thou canst be said.    

Ep. 56. On Polycarmus.  

thouart ten times sick, or oftener, in a Year,  
Which makes thy Friends, not thee, of a sad Cheer;  
Who, for thy new Health, still new Gifts must send.  
Sicken, for shame at last, and make an end.    

Ep. 61. On Sabellus.  

Upon thy Birthday pale and sad thou art,  
For fear the Cooks should fail to play their Part;  
Or that the Ladies want Snow for their Wine,  
Or rightly in the Glass it should not shine;  
thouart mostly from the Board, the Guests to cheer,  
Or whisper fond Excuses in their Ear;  
And findest not, thou art Starved, (which is the Jest)  
At thine own Splendid and Voluptuous Feast.  
What Frenzy's this, of thine own Choice to do,  
What even a Slave would not submit unto?  
All else, but thee, partake the Day's Delight;  
But thou dost need, th' Invited thee invite.  
Sat down, indulge thy Soul, the Guests all pray.  
Is this thy Birth, or Execution, Day?    

Ep. 62. On Ligurra.  

Lest my ne'er Dying Verse against thee I bend,  
Thou much, Ligurra, seem'st to apprehend;  
And worthy of this Danger wouldst appear:  
In vain thou actest this Vainglorious Fear.  
Lybian Lions with fierce Bulls engage,  
Spend not on Butterflies their Nobler Rage.  
If thou'dst be Talked of, which to thee is Fame,  
From some Red-lattice Poet seek a Name.  
Such who on Walls with Chalk and Charcoal write,  
Fit Verses to be read, by those that Sh—  
Thy Forehead is too base for me to brand,  
I'll Stigmatize, by holding of my Hand.    

Ep. 64. To Corduba.  

Corduba, for rare Oil, so much renowned,  
Thy Jars, 'bove the Venufrian may be crowned;  
Whose Wool, the soft Galesian does excel,  
And of it, greater Glories we can tell:  
By Nature, of a glittering Red, 'tis died,  
It's shining Tincture's not by Art belied.   

A Poet too thou hast (as all things Rare)  
Whose Impudence with any may compare,  
To steal my Verse, bid him, for shame, forbore.  
Unless himself did boast a Nobler Vein,  
And I, by stealing too, might Glory gain.  
A barren Poet, that does nought bring forth,  
Or what's the same, that which is Nothing worth:  
Like him, puts out your Eye, whose own are blind,  
Requital ne'er can make you in like kind.  
A needy Thief, to rob all bare, is sure.  
A bad Poet, from being robbed, 's secure.    

Ep. 66. On Phyllis.  

When I with love of lovely Phyllis burned,  
And she with mutual flames, my flames returned;  
To make the Fair a Present I resolved,  
Odours, and Jewels, in my thoughts revolved;  
She me prevented with an amorous Kiss,  
Such as soft Doves, when mated, make their Bliss,  
And said, my Dear, Much for my Love you owe,  
A Cask of richest Wine on me bestow.    

Ep. 69. To his Clients.  

For thy sake, early Client, I did fly  
The City; th' Ambitious with Visits ply:  
I am no Advocate, nor made for Strife,  
But, old and slow, love a Poetic Life;  
Seek Sleep and Leisure, which great Towns deny,  
And here not found, back unto Rome I'll high.    

Ep. 70. On paulus.  

Thy Friends, paulus, just unto thee relate,  
Like to some famous Works in Paint or Plate:  
Thy Honour 'tis, such Pieces to retain,  
But in Return they receive nought again.    

Ep. 71. On Aper.  

Aper yet Poor, served by a Stump-foot Slave,  
A One-eyed Trot, who sat his Clothes to save  
While in the Bath he stayed; anointed by  
A bursten Wretch, with cheap Oil, sparingly;  
Against those debauched i'th' Bath, none was heard there  
So loud in their Reproofs, and so severe.  
The Cups, he said, o'th' Rich that went about,  
Ought to be broke, and their choice Wine poured out▪   

But after greater Wealth to him did flow,  
He from the Bath did never Sober go.  
O, how bossed Cups, and Plenty can avail!  
Aper, who ne'er did thirst, now ne'er to thirst does fail.    

Ep. 73. On a Lawyer turned Farmer.  

Some Acres, and a House ready to fall,  
You purchased have, joining the Tombs o'th' Gaul;  
Deserted your rich Fields, the Courts of Law,  
The certain Gains a tattered Gown did draw;  
While yet a Pleader, Corn and Pulse you sold,  
But buy all these, since you a Farm did hold.    

Ep. 78. On Ethon.  

While Ethon, in's Fane, Bacchus did salute  
Erect on tiptoe, his Tail was not mute  
Amidst his Orisons: which, though the rest  
There present, laughed at, Bacchus made no Jest:  
But his irrev'rent Votary did doom,  
Three Nights, without Reprieve, to Sup at home.  
After this Mulct, poor Ethon did not dare,  
To th' Temple, for Devotion, to repair;  
But first to Cloacinas' Shrine he went,  
To give his slatulent Bowels frequent Vent.  
Which Caution though he ever did retain,  
With Buttocks hard compressed, he entered still the Fane.    

Ep. 81. To his Maid.  

I've given you many things, on your desire,  
Much more than I agreed for in your Hire:  
And yet you never cease to ask me more:  
Should I grant all, you would be thought my Whore.    

Ep. 82. On Callistratus.  

Thou praisest All, to make thy Candour known:  
But who All praises, truly praises None.    

Ep. 84. On Menogenes.  

In and about the Bath, shift-off none can  
Menogenes, by any Art of Man.  
Both with the right and left Hand he can take  
The swetted Trigon, and resemblance make,  
As caught by you; take up, when it does fall,  
(Tho' bathed and dressed) the dusty Batoon-ball.  
Your Towels, he'll with driven Snow compare,  
Thou sordider than Infant's Clouts they are:  
And when a Comb does your few Hairs compose,  
Achilles, swear, his Locks did so dispose.  
Himself will wipe the Sweat from off your Face,  
Esteem no Servile Office a disgrace:  
All things admire or praise, till overcome  
With Flatteries, you say, To Supper come.    

Ep. 89. On Cotta.  

Twice to have lost thy Shoes, thou dost complain,  
While that a negligent Slave thou didst retain,  
And he thy whole Retinue, and thy Train.  
Wise on thy Loss, and Crafty thou didst grow,  
And to avoid being often choosed so,  
Thou after barefoot didst to Supper go.    

Ep. 92. On Maro.  

Maro, for's aged Friend, sorely oppressed  
With Sickness, thus in's hearing did protest.  
If the Sick Man escapes the Shades below,  
On Jove a thankful Off ring I'll bestow.  
Good hopes, from thence, the Doctors began to have,  
Maro new Vows now makes, his first to save.    

Ep. 94. To Priscus.  

What Man I'd be, thou often dost demand,  
●ere I made Rich and Potent out of hand?  
thinkest thou Men know their Minds in every State?  
●hat Lion then, wert one, wouldst b●? Relate.    

Ep. 96. On Tucca.  

Heroics, though begun, I did decline,  
●nwilling that my Verse should clash with thine;  
●ut did my Muse i'th' Tragick-strain engage,  
●ere, buskined strait, thou mettest me on the Stage;  
Next place, I tuned the Strings upon the Lyre,  
●hen to Pindaric-Odes thou didst aspire;  
●n this, I Satyrs did betake me to,  
●hou labour'dst then Lucilius to outdo;  
●weet flowing Elegies, I proved to write,  
●ut these, 'bove all the rest, were thy Delight;  
●ower to stoop, I Epigrams did frame,  
Nor stuck'st thou here to emulate my Fame.  
Pitch on some Way, with One to me dispense,  
●o grasp at All, 's not Wit, but Impudence.    

Ep. 100 He wishes Jnst. Rufus an Happ● Government.  

Betis, with Olive Garlands deck thy Hair,  
Who makes the Flocks all Golden Fleeces bear;  
To Bacchus, Pallas, and to Neptune dear,  
For Wine, for Oil, for Traffic without Peer.  
May Rufus, in his Charge, successful be,  
His Year, like that is passed, be loved by thee.  
That Macer he succeeds, he's well aware,  
Who knows his Burden, best the Weight can bear.    

Ep. 102. To Mattus.  

Who, when thou knock'st, denies at Home to be  
Says this, I am not now at Home to thee.    

Ep. 103. To Milo.  

Milo, thou various Goods dost set to Sale,  
Which those that buy, to bear away, ne'er fail;  
Thy Wife is better Ware, who often sold,  
Stays with the Seller, and is still good Gold.     

LIB. IV.  

Epigr. 91. To his Book.  

OH, 'tis enough, it is enough, my Book,  
Upon the utmost Page thou now dost look;  
●ould'st thou swell further yet? Yet larger be?  
●ot leave thy Paragraphs and Margins free?  
〈…〉 if to some known Period thou didst tend,  
●hen every Epigram may be thy End.  
●●eader and Printer tired, no more can brook,  
〈…〉 is time thyself pronounce the Last Line struck,  
〈…〉 'tis Enough, Oh, 'tis Enough, my Book.    

Dido's Speech on the Funeral Pile, after Virg  

THe Queen on dire Resolves now furious be 〈…〉  
Rolling her Bloodshot Eyes, her Tresses re 〈…〉  
Ghastly, and won her Face, from Death fore-seen,  
Rushed forth into the Court with Frantic Mien,  
Mounted the Pile, AEneas Falchion drew,  
(Not least, alas, for that which did ensue)  
Surveyed the Illian Robes, the well-known Bed.  
O'er whelmed then with Tears, she couched her Hea●  
And labouring Thoughts; rose, and these last word said  

* Taking up the Sword.  Sweet Pledge, while Jove and Destinies gave leave,  
At once of Life me and of Love bereave.  
I've lived; absolved the Course Gods did assign,  
Th' Illustrious Figure, I here made, resign.  
This goodly Town, from the first Stone, I laid;  
Punished the Traitor that my Lord betrayed;  
My justice, Prudence, have to all approved,  
Feared by my Neighbours, by my Subjects loved.  
Oh happy! and thrice happy had I been,  
Had the Dardanian Prince my Coasts ne'er seen!   

Here stopped again with Grief a little space,  
Upon the Bed she grovelled on her Face,  
Then big with high Disdain, she thus did cry,   

Must I then scorned and unrevenged dye?  
Yes, die I must, she said, even so, even so,  
Submit unto the Shades beneath to go:  
And let the Funeral Flames of me thus slain,  
Glut the false Trojans Eyes upon the Main;  
Pursue his Ships, and a Sad Omen be,  
Wheree'er he sails, of a worse Destiny.   

Having thus spoke, those that attended stood,  
Beheld her Fall, and all overflowed with Blood.  
A sudden shriek they sent up to the Sky,  
Straight, to th'appalled Town, the News did fly,  
Outcries and Wail there did all confound,  
The Air, the Earth, the dismal Notes resound,  
As Carthage had been Sacked, or ancient Tyre,  
The Houses, Temples, Walls, involved in Fire.    

Hor. l. 1. Ode 19 Paraphrased.  

BEauty, Wine, and Leisure,  
Sway my Heart to Pleasure;  
And Loves laid aside,  
Are by these again revived.  
Glycera, more dazzling bright,   

Than Parian Marbles glittering white,  
So pure, so sleek, no mortal wight,  
Upon her Face can stay his sight.  
Her charming Coyness blows my Flame  
And mads the Fire, which it would tame.   

All that Venus is, and Fair,  
In her Form presented are;  
Cyprus naked, dispossessed,  
The Goddess rages in my Breast;   

My Soul o'er powers with Love and Wonder,  
As jove did Semele with Flames and Thunder!  
Distracted with such wondrous Glory,  
I cannot sing the Scythians Story;   

Nor in accustomed numbers write,  
The Parthians, who when flying fight;  
No, nor sing aught, but Great Loves Might.   

Haste then, a fresh and springing Turf prepare,  
Here scatter Veruins, Boys and Odours there,  
Pour out the Goblet of the two years' Wine,  
The Queen of Love propitious to incline,  
And Radiant Glycera more gentle shall be mine.    

Lib. 1. Ode 28. Paraphrased.  

CLOE, bashful, timorous, shy,  
Like the strayed Fawn, away does fly,  
Wildly hasting to recover,  
Through pathless ways, its lost Mother.  
Starts at every Leaf and Bush,  
If but a Lizard through them rush;  
The Wind, the Air, the smallest thing,  
The soft approaches of the Spring,  
Scare and affright, as they come on,  
And she alarmed, straight is gone:  
When nothing's near her to surprise,  
She trembles at her own surmise.  
As th'Heart and Knees do pant and go,  
Of this little frighted do;  
Such is Cloes great Distress,  
At the gentlest Love Address.   

Why, Fair One, not thy Life to take,  
Such eager Pursuit do I make:  
Then cast aside thy Causeless Pain,  
Thou only killest, and I am slain.  
Grown now to Age, exchange thy Childish Shame,  
A Mother's Dandling, for a Lover's Flame.    

Hor. l. 3. Ode 9  Hor. 

WHile lovely I appeared to thee,  
Nor more wished Arms, whatever He,  
About thy Snowy Neck could fling,  
I flourished more than Persias King.   Lyd. 

While more thou burn'd'st not with another Dame,  
Nor Lydia, prized after Cloe came,  
I Peerless Lydia then, and of Great Name,  
Out-shon the Roman Ilia in my Fame.   Hor. 

Now Thracian Cloe my Heart sways,  
Deep skilled in Music's charming Lays;  
For whom I would not fear to die,  
Might I prevent her Destiny.   Lyd. 

Mutual Love in equal Bonds does tie,  
Calis, Ornithus beauteous Son and I,  
For whom, without Regret, even twice I'd die,  
So Gods would spare my Loved Boy's Destiny.   Hor. 

But say again thy Beauties' wound,  
And in Eternal Chains I am bound;  
If fair-tressed Cloe I forsake,  
And Lydia my sole Goddess make?   Lyd. 

Tho brighter than a Star my Calis be,  
And than a Cork, more floating, I know thee;  
Storming beside, and raging like the Seas,  
With thee no Life, no Death would me displease.    

An Ep. out of Catullus.  

MY Farm is not exposed to Northern Winds,  
Nor yet annoyance from the Eastern finds;  
The scorching Blasts o'th' South do not molest,  
Or the impetuous Tempests of the West:  
But 'tis exposed to a more boisterous Rage,  
More than a Thousand Pounds my Land engage.  
Oh, ruffling Winds, destructive pestilent Air!  
Both Farm and Farmer up by th' Roots you tore.    

Seven Epigrams after Ausonius.  

On Venus armed.  

WHen Venus clad in Arms, Pallas did see,  
Now to contend, she said, I challenge thee,  
And let thy minion Paris Umpire be.  
Venus' replied, Armed dar'st thou me despise,  
Who from thee naked bore away the Prize?   Pall. 

Nor of the victory wilt tho ever fail,  
If thou canst winned, by showing of thy Ta—    

On Diogenes.  

A Scrip, a Staff, a Mantle, and a Cup,  
Summed all the Richeses of the Cynic up:  
But when from's Hand he saw One Water sup;  
Avaunt, he cried, henceforth superfluous Cup.    

On Niobe.  

WHat now you see a Rock, a Queen was late,  
Who, when I prosperous was, dirt violate  
Latona's Sacred Deity and Race,  
Myself above her, in her Temple place:  
Of twice seven Goodly Offspring being proved,  
I would by all a Goddess be allowed.  
My numerous Issu in one hour she slew,  
All I brought-forth, I on the Beer did view:  
Nor thus appeased, (Of Humane shape bereft)  
She me incrusted in cold Marble left;  
And tho' my Vitals lost, my Grief I keep,  
My children's death eternally I weep.  
Ah, ceasless Rage, which Heavenly Breasts retain!  
The Mother's dead, and yet her Griefs remain.    

On the Statue of Niobe.  

THO' Marble now, I formerly did live;  
This seeming Life Praxiteles did give;  
My Form, my Limbs, my Majesty restore,  
Excepting Sense, all that I was before!  
Yet 'twixt these Being's little is the Odds,  
Small Sense I showed, when I defied the Gods.    

On the Statue of Rufus the rhetorician.  

THIS Piece does Rufus rarely hit,  
'Tis Speechless, Brainless, void of Wit:  
The Stone yet one thing does not show,  
His Wanton Softness make us know.    

On Faustulus the Dwarf.  

FAust'us presumed a Grasshopper to ride,  
And thought he did an Elephant bestride;  
The skittish Insect cast the Overbold,  
Which laughter moved in all that did behold.  
The Gallant Elf, sprung from the ground, and cried,  
What is it, Env'ous, that you thus deride?  
What in my brave Adventure do you see,  
But's common both to Phaeton, and Me?    

Echo.  

FOND Painter, Why to me a Face dost lend?  
To make me subject to the Eye contend?  
None my Myster'ous Deity ere saw,  
Much less my Figure durst attempt to draw.  
Daughter of Tongue and Aire, a Voice, I am,  
Speeches that utter, from no Mind that came  
But others Words I catch, as they decline,  
And mocking them rehearse with ' like of mine.  
My sole Existence in the Ear is found,  
Who will my Likeness paint, must paint the Sound.     

After Sannazarius, preferring Venice before Rome  

WHen Neptune, i'th' Adriatic, Venice saw  
Amidst the Waves, giving to Seas the Law▪  
Now jove, says he, boast thy Tarpeian Towers,  
The Walls of Rome, it's other Martial Powers:  
As Seas of Tiber, Venice has the odds  
Of Rome; Rome work of Men; but Venice of the Gods!    

On St. Peter's being at Rome; after Owen.  

THat Peter e'er saw Rome, some do decry,  
That Simon did, there's no Man does deny.  
Why the Husband wears Horns; after Owen.   

WHen 'tis the Wife that wrongs the Marri'ge-Bed,  
Why wears the Husband Horns? 'Cause he's the Head.    

Ep. 1. By Dr. Tho. Locky.  

In filium Reginae natum post alterius abortum.  
QUOD Lucina t●os prius est frustrata labores,  
Nec fortunante● praebuit illa manus,  
Regina ignoscas: uno m●●imine ventris  
Non potuit Princeps a● tria regna dare.   

Englished.  
That thy first Labour unsuccessful proved,  
And by thy Vows Lucina was not moved,  
Great Queen forgive; thy Womb could not bestow,  
A Prince to rule three Kingdoms with one throw.    

Ep. 2. By Dr. Tho. Locky.  

In Caroli primi Regis filium quinto-genitum.  
O Quam densa tuo surgunt fulcimina sceptro!  
Sic gignunt inopes, sic peperere casae:  
Rara sub augustis, numerosa puerpera, plumis,  
Flere hae, stantem uterum & sceptra caduca, solent.  
Ante Deus dederat dotes tibi Principis omnes,  
Dat tibi nunc etiam, quae bona Plebis erant.   

Englished.  
How thick the Props to thy blessed Sceptre grow!  
So Poor Men get, Cottages bring forth so:  
A numerous Issu's rare to th' Royal Bed,  
A failing Line's here mourned, a Womb that 's dead.  
All to a Prince belonged, Heaven gave before,  
And now it gives the Blessings of the Poor.    

Ep. 3. By Dr. Tho. Locky.  

Carolus primo Variolis, sed leviter, tinctus.  
QUAE toties orbasque domos vicosque reliquit,  
Innumeras laetho stravit & exequias:  
Quae parcens, pejus saevit; pro corpore, linquens  
Ulcus; quae toties abstulit Ora lues.  
En tibi furtivos, a tergo, vix dedit ictus;  
Et sacra vix lambit pectora plaga levis.  
O quantum placuisti! ut Coelo es, Carole, cordi!  
Si dum caedit, amat; si tibi ira savet.   

Englished.  
That dire Disease▪ which on the Bier does lay  
Corpse without number, sweeps whole Towns away  
Where 't spares, is most severe; the Form bereaves,  
And the whole Body but one Ulcer leaves:  
Scarce, on the Back o' th' King, by stealth one sore  
Did fix, passing his Sacred Body over.  
O Charles! thou'rt dear to Heaven, thou'rt much its care  
Whom, when it strikes, it loves; when wounds, doe● spare    

Ep. 4. By Dr. Tho. Locky.  

〈…〉 honoratissimi Domini Gulielmi Killigraei. Regiae Vi-Camerarii praeclarum & inculpatissimum Drama, Selindra, praeconium.  

QUOD prudens tua, quòd modesta Musa  
Vitavit petulantiora Scenae,  
●ec lenocinium joci procacis  
Quod falso Ingenium student vocari)  
●um risum movet, exuit pudorem;  
〈…〉 culpata tua at sonant Theatra,  
Quod Virgo proba, quod stolata Mater,  
Quod purus, positâ severitate,  
〈…〉 m post pulpita perlegat Sacerdos;  
Quod jurat tibi nullus Histrionum, aut,  
〈…〉 so Numine, quaeritur venustas;  
〈…〉 ec constat Populo tuum Poema  
〈…〉 pensis animae suae, & crumenae;  
Quod (sermone humili urbium relicto  
〈…〉 rnis sordidulis & Institori)  
〈…〉 nam nobilis aulicumque spiras,  
●ignum Caesaris aure, cum requirens  
〈…〉 mmas Imperii levare curas;  
Vult ut desipiat duabus horis.  
Has Dotes reputo tuas secundas;   

Sed, quod cum veniunt ad Implicat●,  
Cum Scaena haereat, & quod impeditae  
Desperant animi Exitum Fabellae,  
Qua Vates veteres jovem vocabant  
Ad partes, poterit Throno ut crepante  
Narrare ambigui dolos Theatri,  
Atque (ut Vincula Gordiana quondam  
Pellaeus juvenis) molesta tollunt  
Insulso gladio. Undique plaga,  
Tu, per nescio quam modo citatam  
Ex nota tibi Plebe passionum  
(Ut quodam noviter reflante Vento)  
Convertes alio, novisque tota  
Compages Operis rotis movetur,  
Neglectis Superisque Inferisque,  
Per curam facilem domesticamque  
Affectum proprio è sinu petitum  
Salvas attonitos & haesitantes!  
Hanc Artem tibi, Killigraei, solus  
Tu posces, dubii hanc Strophen Theatri.    

The foregoing Verses Englished.  

THat thy wise and modest Muse  
Flies the Stages loser Use,  
Not Baudry, Wit, does falsely name,  
And to move Laughter; puts off shame;  
That thy theatres loud Noise,  
May be Virgins chaste Applause;   

And the stoled Matron, grave Divine,  
Their Lectures done, may tend to thine;  
That no Actor's made profane,  
To debase God, to raise thy Strain;   

And People forced, that hear thy Play,  
They Money and their Souls to pay;  
That thou leav'st affected Phrase,  
To the Shops to use and praise,   

And breathest a Noble Courtly Vein,  
Such as may Caesar entertain,  
When he, wearied, would lay down,  
The Burdens that attend a Crown,   

Disband his Soul's severer Powers,  
In Mirth and Ease dissolve two Hours.  
These are thy inferior Arts,  
These I call thy Second Parts:   

But when thou carry'st on the Plot,  
And all are lost i'th' subtle Knot,  
When the Scene sticks to every Thought,  
And can to no Event be brought;   

When thus of old, the Plot betrayed,  
Poets called God's unto their aid,  
Who, by Power, might do the thing,  
Art could to no Issue bring:   

As the Pelean Prince, that broke  
With a rude and boisterous stroke.  
The prophetic Gordian Noose,  
Which his Skill could not unloose.   

Thou dost a Nobler Art profess,  
And the coyled Serpent canst no less  
Stretch out from every twisted fold,  
In which he lay inwove and rolled▪   

Induce a Night, and then a Day;  
Wrap all in Clouds, and then display  
Th'easy and the even Design,  
A Plot, without a God, Divine.   

●et others bold pretending Pens  
Write Acts of Gods, that know not men's:  
In this to thee all must resign,  
Th' Intrigue o'th' Scene is wholly thine.     


In Regem.  
TRes olim Insignes cicrum tria munera belli,  
Praereliquis valunt, tollere Fama, Deuces.  
●yrrhus castra locat; Fabius cunctator; & Audax  
Hostem Marcellus cominùs ense ferit;  
●u Scis castra locare; Morari; hostemque ferire  
Rex Gilielme; Trium quod fuit Unus habes.   

On King William.  
FAme does exalt, above all others far,  
Three Great Commanders, for three Arts in War;  
●yrrhus forth' ' Camp; Fabius for wise Delay;  
●arcellus brave i'th' Charge and bloody Fray.  
●illiam, thou knowst t' incamp, to Fight, forbore,  
●xcell'st in what, these three Great Men did share.    


In Mortem Reginae.  
DUm Regina subit, Constanti pectore, Mortem,  
Opprimit immodicus Te Gulielme, Dolour.  
Foemina, Virque animos, jam, commutasse videntur,  
Cor habet hic tenerae Conjugis, illa Ducis.   

On the Queen's Death.  
THE Queen, her Death, with Constancy received;  
Her Loss the King well-nigh of Life bereaved;  
How Nature each exchanged, 'twas rare to see;  
She seemed the Hero, the Soft Lady Herald     
FINIS.  

ERRATA.  
PAge 7. Verse 5. r▪ ad Giving to each impartially their due. p. 29. v 8. for And r. Thou. p. 51. v. 5 r. It chanced, etc. p. 52. v. 8. r. from the Moths, not thee. p. 62. v. 9 r. or a stray. p. 70. v. 15. for Head r. heed. p. 78. v. 14. r. fat Geese. p. 109. v. 10. for bids r. bade. p. 121. v. 8. for Aim r. claim. p. 157. v. 8. for shows r. Shoes. p. 163. v. 13. for did r. does. p. 165. v. 8. for thou r. you. p. 175. v. r. to his Muse. p. 181. v. 11. for Altars r. Altar. p. 192. v. 6. for the r. a. p. 193. v. 13. for were r. where. p. 218. v. 4. for ill bred r. ill fed. p. 225. v. 5. for If r. And. p. 253. v. 7. r. Verses of sprightly. p. 267. v. 11. for or r. nor. p. 287. v. 16. deal also. p. 293. v. 14. for ●atoon r. Balloon. p. 299. v. 11. for attended r. attending.