The first satire of the second book of Horace, imitated: in a dialogue between Alexander Pope of Twickenham in Com. Midd. Esq; on the one part, and his learned council on the other.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- [halftitle]

- SATIRA PRIMA.

- THE FIRST SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.

QUINTI HORATII FLACCI SERMONUM LIBER SECUNDUS.

THE FIRST SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE,

Imitated in a DIALOGUE between ALEXANDER POPE of Twickenham in Com. Midd. Esq on the one Part, and his LEARNED COUNCIL on the other.

Scilicet Uni Aequus Virtuti, at{que} ejus Amicis.

HORAT.

LONDON: Printed by L. G. and sold by A. DODD, near Temple-Bar; E. NUTT, at the Royal Exchange; and by the Booksellers of London and Westminster. M.DCC.XXXIII.

Q. HORATII FLACCI SERMONUM LIBRI SECUNDI SATIRA PRIMA.

SATIRA PRIMA.

HORATIUS. TREBATIUS.

HOR.

SUNT quibus in Satyra videar nimis acer, & ultra

Legem tendere opus; sine nervis altera quicquid

Composui pars esse putat, similesque meorum

Mille die versus deduci posse. Trebati!

Quid faciam? Praescribe.

TREB.

Quiescas.

HOR.

Ne faciam inquis,

Omnino versus?

TREB.

Aio.

HOR.

Peream male si non

Optimum erat: verum nequeo dormire.

TREB.

Ter uncti

Transnanto Tiberim, somno quibus est opus alto,

Irriguumve mero sub noctem corpus habento.

Aut, si tantus amor scribendi te rapit, aude

CAESARIS invicti res dicere, multa laborum

Praemia laturus.

HOR.

Cupidum, pater optime! vires

Deficiunt: neque enim quivis horrentia pilis

Agmina, nec fracta pereuntes cuspide Gallos,

Aut labentis equo describat vulnera Parthi.

TREB.

At tamen & justum poteras & scribere fortem,

Scipiadam ut sapiens Lucilius.

HOR.

Haud mihi deero,

Cum res ipsa feret. Nisi dextro tempore Flacci

Verba per attentam non ibunt Caesaris aurem;

Cui male si palpere, recalcitrat undique tutus.

TREB.

Quanto rectius hoc, quam tristi loedere versu

Pantolabum Scurram, Nomentanumve nepotem?

Cum sibi quisque timet, quanquam est intactus, & odit.

HOR.

Quid faciam? Saltat Milonius, ut semel icto

Accessit fervor capiti numerusque lucernis.

Castor gaudet equis; ovo prognatus eodem

Pugnis: quot capitum vivunt, totidem studiorum

Millia: me pedibus delectat claudere verba,

Lucili ritu, nostrum melioris utroque.

Ille, velut fidis arcana sodalibus olim

Credebat libris; neque si male gesserat, usquam

Decurrens alio, neque si bene: quo fit ut omnis

Votiva pateat veluti descripta tabella

Vita senis. Sequor hunc, Lucanus an Appulus anceps:

[Nam Venusinus arat finem sub utrumque colonus,

Missus ad hoc pulsis (vetus est ut fama) Sabellis;

Quo ne per vacuum Romano incurreret hostis,

Sive quod Appula gens, seu quod Lucania Bellum

Incuteret violenta.]

Sed hic stylus haud petet ultro

Quenquam animantem; & me veluti custodiet ensis

Vagina tectus, quem cur distringere coner,

Tutus ab infestis latronibus? O Pater & Rex

Jupiter! ut pereat positum rubigine telum,

Nec quisquam noceat cupido mihi pacis! at ille,

Qui me eommorit (melius non tangere clamo)

Flebit, & insignis tota cantabitur urbe.

Cervius iratus leges minitatur & urnam;

Canidia Albuti, quibus est inimica, Venenum;

Grande malum Turius, si quid se judice certes;

Ut, quo quisque valet, suspectus terreat, utque

Imperet hoc natura potens; sic collige mecum.

Dente lupus, cornu taurus petit; unde nisi intus

Monstratum? Scaevae vivacem credi nepoti

Matrem: nil faciet sceleris pia dextra (mirum

Ut neque calce lupus quenquam, neque dente petit bos)

Sed mala tollet anum vitiato melle cicuta.

Ne longum faciam; seu me tranquilla senectus

Expectat, seu mors atris circumvolat alis;

Dives, inops, Romae seu sors ita jusserit, exul,

Quisquis erit vitae, scribam, color.

TREB.

O puer, ut sis

Vitalis, metuo; & majorum ne quis amicus

Frigore te feriat.

HOR.

Quid? cum est Lucilius ausus

Primus in hunc operis componere carmina morem,

Detrahere & pellem, nitidus qua quisque per ora

Cederet, introrsum turpis; num Laelius, & qui

Duxit ab oppressa meritum Carthagine nomen,

Ingenio ofsensi? aut laeso doluere Metello,

Famosisque Lupo cooperto versibus? Atqui

Primores populi arripuit, populumque tributim;

Scilicet UNI AEQUUS VIRTUTI ATQUAE EJUS AMICIS.

Quin ubi se a Vulgo & Scena, in Secreta remorant

Virtus Scipiadae, & mitis Sapientia Laeli;

Nugari cum illo, & discincti ludere, donec

Decoqueretur olus, soliti.

—Quicquid sum ego, quamvis

Infra Lucili censum, ingeniumque, tamen me

Cum magnis vixisse invita fatebitur usque

Invidia, & fragili quaerens illidere dentem,

Offendet solido;—

— Nisi quid tu, docte Trebati,

Dissentis.

TREB.

Equidem nihil hinc diffindere possum.

Sed tamen ut monitus caveas, ne forte negoti

Incutiat tibi quid sanctarum inscitia legum.

"Si mala condiderit in quem quis carmina jus est Judiciumque."

HOR.

Esto, siquis mala; sed bona siquis

Judice condiderit laudatur CAESARE: siquis

Opprobrijs dignum laceraverit, integer ipse,

Solventur risu tabulae; tu missus abibis.

FINIS.

THE FIRST SATIRE OF THE SECOND BOOK OF HORACE.

P.

THERE are (I scarce can think it, but am told)

There are to whom my Satire seems too bold,

Scarce to wise Peter complaisant enough,

And something said of Chartres much too rough.

The Lines are weak, another's pleas'd to say,

Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a Day.

Tim'rous by Nature, of the Rich in awe,

I come to Council learned in the Law.

You'll give me, like a Friend both sage and free,

Advice; and (as you use) without a Fee.

L.

I'd write no more.

P.

Not write? but then I think,

And for my Soul I cannot sleep a wink.

I nod in Company, I wake at Night,

Fools rush into my Head, and so I write.

L.

You could not do a worse thing for your Life.

Why, if the Nights seem tedious—take a Wife;

Or rather truly, if your Point be Rest,

Lettuce and Cowslip Wine; Probatum est.

But talk with Celsus, Celsus may advise

Hartshorn, or something that shall close your Eyes.

Or if you needs must write, write CAESAR'S Praise:

You'll gain at least a Knighthood, or the Bays.

P.

What? like Sir Richard, rumbling, rough and fierce,

With ARMS and GEORGE, and BRUNSWICK crowd the Verse?

Or nobly wild, with Budgell's Fire and Force,

Paint Angels trembling round his falling Horse?

L.

Then all your Muse's softer Art display,

Let Carolina smooth the tuneful Lay,

Lull with Amelia's liquid Name the Nine,

And sweetly flow through all the Royal Line.

P.

Alas! few Verses touch their nicer Ear;

They scarce can bear their Laureate twice a Year:

And justly CAESAR scorns the Poet's Lays,

It is to History he trusts for Praise.

L.

Better be Cibber, I'll maintain it still,

Than ridicule all Taste, blaspheme Quadrille,

Abuse the City's best good Men in Metre,

And laugh at Peers that put their Trust in Peter.

Ev'n those you touch not, hate you.

P.

What should ail 'em?

L.

A hundred smart in Timon and in Balaam:

The fewer still you name, you wound the more;

B—nd is but one, but Harpax is a Score.

P.

Each Mortal has his Pleasure: None deny

Sc—le his Bottle, D—ty his Ham-Pye;

Ridotta sips and dances, till she see

The doubling Lustres dance as well as she;

—loves the Senate, Hockley-Hole his Brother,

Like in all else, as one Egg to another.

I love to pour out all myself, as plain

As downright Shippen, or as old Montagne.

In them, as certain to be lov'd as seen,

The Soul stood forth, nor kept a Thought within;

In me what Spots (for Spots I have) appear,

Will prove at least the Medium must be clear.

In this impartial Glass, my Muse intends

Fair to expose myself, my Foes, my Friends;

Publish the present Age, but where my Text

Is Vice too high, reserve it for the next:

My Foes shall wish my Life a longer date,

And ev'ry Friend the less lament my Fate.

My Head and Heart thus flowing thro' my Quill,

Verse-man or Prose-man, term me which you will,

Papist or Protestant, or both between,

Like good Erasinus in an honest Mean,

In Moderation placing all my Glory,

While Tories call me Whig, and Whigs a Tory.

Satire's my Weapon, but I'm too discreet

To run a Muck, and tilt at all I meet;

I only wear it in a Land of Hectors,

Thieves, Supercargoes, Sharpers, and Directors.

Save but our Army! and let Jove incrust

Swords, Pikes, and Guns, with everlasting Rust!

Peace is my dear Delight—not Fleury's more:

But touch me, and no Minister so sore.

Who-e'er offends, at some unlucky Time

Slides into Verse, and hitches in a Rhyme,

Sacred to Ridicule! his whole Life long,

And the sad Burthen of some merry Song.

Slander or Poyson, dread from Delia's Rage,

Hard Words or Hanging, if your J—ge be—

From furious Sappho yet a sadder Fate,

P—x'd by her Love, or libell'd by her Hate:

Its proper Pow'r to hurt, each Creature feels,

Bulls aim their horns, and Asses lift their heels,

'Tis a Bear's Talent not to kick, but hug,

And no man wonders he's not stung by Pug:

So drink with W—t—rs, or with Ch—t—rs eat,

They'll never poison you, they'll only cheat.

Then learned Sir! (to cut the Matter short)

What-e'er my Fate, or well or ill at Court,

Whether old Age, with faint, but chearful Ray,

Attends to gild the Evening of my Day,

Or Death's black Wing already be display'd

To wrap me in the Universal Shade;

Whether the darken'd Room to muse invite,

Or whiten'd Wall provoke the Skew'r to write,

In Durance, Exile, Bedlam, or the Mint,

Like Lee or B—ll, I will Rhyme and Print.

L.

Alas young Man! your Days can ne'r be long,

In Flow'r of Age you perish for a Song!

Plums, and Directors, Shylock and his Wife,

Will club their Testers, now, to take your Life!

P.

What? arm'd for Virtue when I point the Pen,

Brand the bold Front of shameless, guilty Men,

Dash the proud Gamester in his gilded Car,

Bare the mean Heart that lurks beneath a Star;

Can there be wanting to defend Her Cause,

Lights of the Church, or Guardians of the Laws?

Could pension'd Boileau lash in honest Strain

Flatt'rers and Bigots ev'n in Louis' Reign?

Could Laureate Dryden Pimp and Fry'r engage,

Yet neither Charles nor James be in a Rage?

And I not strip the Gilding off a Knave,

Un-plac'd, un-pension'd, no Man's Heir, or Slave?

I will, or perish in the gen'rous Cause.

Hear this, and tremble! you, who 'scape the Laws.

To VIRTUE ONLY and HER FRIENDS, A FRIEND,

The World beside may murmur, or commend.

Know, all the distant Din that World can keep

Rolls o'er my Grotto, and but sooths my Sleep.

There, my Retreat the best Companions grace,

Chiefs, out of War, and Statesmen, out of Place.

There St. John mingles with my friendly Bowl,

The Feast of Reason and the Flow of Soul:

And He, whose Lightning pierc'd th' Iberian Lines,

Now, forms my Quincunx, and now ranks my Vines,

Or tames the Genius of the stubborn Plain,

Almost as quickly, as he conquer'd Spain.

Envy must own, I live among the Great,

No Pimp of Pleasure, and no Spy of State,

With Eyes that pry not, Tongue that ne'er repeats,

Fond to spread Friendships, but to cover Heats,

To help who want, to forward who excel;

This, all who know me, know; who love me, tell;

And who unknown defame me, let them be

Scriblers or Peers, alike are Mob to me.

This is my Plea, on this I rest my Cause—

What saith my Council learned in the Laws?

L.

Your Plea is good. But still I say, beware!

Laws are explain'd by Men—so have a care.

It stands on record, that in ancient Times

A Man was hang'd for very honest Rhymes.

Consult the Statute: quart. I think it is,

Edwardi Sext. or prim. & quint. Eliz:

See Libels, Satires— there you have it—read.

P.

Libels and Satires! lawless Things indeed!

But grave Epistles, bringing Vice to light,

Such as a King might read, a Bishop write,

Such as Sir Robert would approve—

L.

Indeed?

The Case is alter'd—you may then proceed.

In such a Cause the Plaintiff will be hiss'd,

My Lords the Judges laugh, and you're dismiss'd.

FINIS.

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Title statement

The first satire of the second book of Horace, imitated: in a dialogue between Alexander Pope of Twickenham in Com. Midd. Esq; on the one part, and his learned council on the other.

Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744.

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http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/3679

ID [isbn10]

110600678X

ID [isbn13]

9781106006783

ID [TCP]

K023131.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3312919144

ID [ECLL]

0484700500

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— The first satire of the second book of Horace, imitated: in a dialogue between Alexander Pope of Twickenham in Com. Midd. Esq; on the one part, and his learned council on the other., Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744.. 19,[1]p. ; 2⁰. London :: printed by L. G. [Lawton Gilliver] and sold by A. Dodd; E. Nutt; and by the booksellers of London and Westminster,. 1733.. [No price on titlepage; no comma after "Pope"; press figure 1 on p. 15.] [Parallel Latin and English texts.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [Foxon, P886] [Griffith, 288] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT5666.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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