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Learn this; and after, envy not the store
Of the greased advocate, that grinds the poor;
Fat fees from the defended Umbrian draws,
And only gains the wealthy client's cause;
To whom the Marsians more provision send,
Than he and all his family can spend.
Gammons, that give a relish to the taste,
And potted fowl, and fish come in so fast,
That ere the first is out, the second stinks,
And mouldy mother gathers on the brinks.
But here some captain of the land, or fleet,
Stout of his hands, but of a soldier's wit,
Cries, I have sense to serve my turn in store,
And he's a rascal who pretends to more.

Damn me, whate'er those book-learned blockheads say,

Solon's the veriest fool in all the play.

Top-heavy drones, and always looking down,
(As over ballasted within the crown,)

Muttering betwixt their lips some mystic thing,
Which, well examined, is flat conjuring;
Mere madmen's dreams; for what the schools
have taught,

Is only this, that nothing can be brought
From nothing, and what is can ne'er be turned
to nought.

Is it for this they study? to grow pale,
And miss the pleasures of a glorious meal?
For this, in rags accoutered, are they seen,
And made the may-game of the public spleen?—
Proceed, my friend, and rail; but hear me tell
A story, which is just thy parallel :--

A spark, like thee, of the man-killing trade,
Fell sick, and thus to his physician said,-
Methinks I am not right in every part;
I feel a kind of trembling at my heart,

* Note X.

My pulse unequal, and my breath is strong,
Besides a filthy fur upon my tongue.
The doctor heard him, exercised his skill,
And after bade him for four days be still.
Three days he took good counsel, and began
To mend, and look like a recovering man;
The fourth he could not hold from drink, but sends
His boy to one of his old trusty friends,
Adjuring him, by all the powers divine,
To pity his distress, who could not dine
Without a flaggon of his healing wine.

He drinks a swilling draught; and, lined within,
Will supple in the bath his outward skin:
Whom should he find but his physician there,
Who wisely bade him once again beware.
Sir, you look wan, you hardly draw your breath;
Drinking is dangerous, and the bath is death.
'Tis nothing, says the fool; but, says the friend,
This nothing, sir, will bring you to your end.
Do I not see your dropsy belly swell?

Your yellow skin?-No more of that; I'm well.
I have already buried two or three

That stood betwixt a fair estate and me,

And, doctor, I may live to bury thee.

Thou tell'st me, I look ill; and thou look'st worse. I've done, says the physician; take your course. The laughing sot, like all unthinking men,

Bathes, and gets drunk; then bathes, and drinks

again:

His throat half throttled with corrupted phlegm,
And breathing through his jaws a belching steam,
Amidst his cups with fainting shivering seized,
His limbs disjointed, and all o'er diseased,
His hand refuses to sustain the bowl,
And his teeth chatter, and his eye-balls roll,
Till with his meat he vomits out his soul;

Then trumpets, torches, and a tedious crew
Of hireling mourners, for his funeral due.
Our dear departed brother lies in state,

His heels stretched out, and pointing to the gate;" And slaves, now manumized, on their dead master wait.

They hoist him on the bier, and deal the dole,
And there's an end of a luxurious fool.

But what's thy fulsome parable to me?
My body is from all diseases free;
My temperate pulse does regularly beat;
Feel, and be satisfied, my hands and feet:
These are not cold, nor those opprest with heat.
Or lay thy hand upon my naked heart,
And thou shalt find me hale in every part.

I grant this true; but still the deadly wound
Is in thy soul, 'tis there thou art not sound.
Say, when thou see'st a heap of tempting gold,
Or a more tempting harlot dost behold;
Then, when she casts on thee a side-long glance,
Then try thy heart, and tell me if it dance.

Some coarse cold sallad is before thee set; Bread with the bran, perhaps, and broken meat; Fall on, and try thy appetite to eat. These are not dishes for thy dainty tooth: What, hast thou got an ulcer in thy mouth? Why stand'st thou picking? Is thy palate sore, That bete and radishes will make thee roar? Such is the unequal temper of thy mind, Thy passions in extremes, and unconfined; Thy hair so bristles with unmanly fears, As fields of corn, that rise in bearded ears; And when thy cheeks with flushing fury glow, The rage of boiling cauldrons is more slow, When fed with fuel and with flames below.

*Note XI.

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With foam upon thy lips and sparkling eyes, Thou say'st, and dost, in such outrageous wise, That mad Orestes,* if he saw the show,

Would swear thou wert the madder of the two.

* Note XII.

NOTES

ON

TRANSLATIONS FROM PERSIUS.

SATIRE III. .

Note I.

And parchment with the smoother side displayed.-P. 231.

The students used to write their notes on parchments; the inside, on which they wrote, was white; the other side was hairy, and commonly yellow. Quintilian reproves this custom, and advises rather table-books, lined with wax, and a stile, like that we use in our vellum table-books, as more easy.

Note II.

A fuming-pan thy Lares to appease.-P. 232.

Before eating, it was customary to cut off some part of the meat, which was first put into a pan, or little dish, then into the fire, as an offering to the household gods: this they called a Libation.

Note III.

Drawn from the root of some old Tuscan tree.-P. 232.

The Tuscans were accounted of most ancient nobility. Horace observes this in most of his compliments to Mæcenas, who was derived from the old kings of Tuscany; now the dominion of the Great Duke.

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