D. JUNII JUVENALIS. LIB. L, SAT. V.. TO TREBIUS LABOURING TO BRING HIM IN DISLIKE OF HIS CONTINUED COURSE OF FREQUENTING THE TABLE OF VIRRO A GREAT LORD OF ROME. IF, of thy purpose yet, thou takest no shame, But keep'st thy mind, immutably, the same, That thou esteem'st it as a good in chief That not Sarmentus nor vile Galba were To keep thy gut from emptiness and wind, Is no creek void? no bridge? no piece of shed Half, or not half? Would thy not being fed At Virro's table be so foul a shame? To quake for cold, and gnaw the mustiest grounds Of barley-grist, baked purposely for hounds? First, take it for a rule, that if my lord Shall once be pleased to grace thee with his board, The whole revenues that thy hopes inherit, thing, Yet that reproach still in thine ears shall ring. If, therefore, after two months' due neglect, He deigns his poor dependant to respect, And lest the third bench fail to fill the rank, He shall take thee up to supply the blank. "Let's sit together, Trebius," says my lord; See all thy wishes summ'd up in a word. What canst thou ask at Jove's hand after this? This grace to Trebius enough ample is To make him start from sleep before the lark, Posting abroad untruss'd, and in the dark, Perplex'd with fear, lest all the servile rout Of his saluters have the round run-out Before he come; while yet the fixed star Shows his ambiguous head, and heaven's cold car The slow Boötes wheels about the Bear. And yet, for all this, what may be the cheer? To such vile wine thy throat is made the sink, As greasy wool would not endure to drink, And we must shortly look to see our guest Transform'd into a Berecynthian priest. Words make the prologue to prepare the fray, And in the next scene pots are taught to play The parts of weapons: thy red napkin now Next day he likes to taste another field, The Alban hills', or else the Setine yield, Whose race and rich succession if you ask, Age hath decay'd, and sickness of the cask; Such Thrasea and Helvidius quaff'd, still crown'd, When Brutus' birth and Cassius', they renown'd. Virro himself in solemn bowls is served, To tell the stones; whose firm eye never fails To watch the close walks of thy vulturous nails. "Give leave," says Virro, and then takes the cup, The famous jasper in it lifting up In glorious praises; for 'tis now the guise Of him and others to transfer such prize Off from his fingers to his bowls that were Wont to grace swords, and our young Trojan peer That made İarbus jealous (since in love Preferr'd past him by Dido) used t' improve By setting them in fore-front of his sheath. But thy bowl stands an infinite beneath, And bears the Beneventane cobbler's name, Whose gallon drunk-off must thy blood enflame, And is so crazed, that they would let it pass To them that matches give for broken glass. Now, if by fumes of wine, or fiery meat, His lordship's stomach over-boil with heat, There's a cold liquor brought that's made t' outvie The chill impressions of the north-east sky. gree, But now remember, it belongs to you By a swarth footman, from Getulia bought, Or some sterved negro, whose affrightful sight A jewel purchased at a higher rate Than martial Ancus', or king Tullus' state (Not to stand long), than all the idle things That graced the courts of all our Roman kings. If then thy bowl his nectar's store shall need, Address thee to his Indian Ganymede. Think not his page, worth such a world, can skill Or does not scorn, for thread-bare coats to fill, And, to say truth, his form and prime beside May well allow him some few grains of pride. But when does he to what thou want'st descend, Or thy entreaties not contemn t'attend, To stir at every stale dependant's call; Houses of state abound with stately slaves. But hoary cantles of unboulted grist, Though ne'er so base, thy baser throat a bit? That's a peculiar for my lord's own taste. See then thou keep'st thy fingers from offence, And give the pantler his due reverence. Or say thou shouldst be malapertly bold, Seest thou not slaves enough, to force thy hold From thy attempted prize, with taunts like . these, "Hands off, forward companion, will you please With your familiar crible to be fed, Thou wouldst abhor to meet in dead of For which so oft I have forborne the bliss night Passing the monuments of Latia. In his eye waits the flower of Asia, Of my fair wife, to post with earliest speed Up to Mount Esculine, where agues breed? When my repair did vernal Jove provoke To drive his weather through my winter cloak, And in his bitterest hails his murmurs broke?" But let us to our cates our course address : Observe that lobster served to Virro's mess, How with the length of his extended limbs He does surcharge the charger; how the brims With lustful sperage are all over-stored; A puny cray-fish, pent in half a shell, In Campany, and drank Venafrian dew. But, for the worts, poor snake, presented thee, Whose pale aspect shows their infirmity, They drink an oil much of the curriers' stamp, Exquisite stuff, that savours of the lamp. For know, that for your board is billeted An oil that from the Lybian cane is shed, The burthen of a sharp Numidian prow; An oil, for whose strength Romans dis avow To bathe with Boccharis; an oil whose smell 'Gainst serpents doth an amulet excel. Next, for my lord, a mullet see served in, Sent from the Corsic shore, or of a fin Bred in Sicilia's Taurominian rocks; All our seas being exhausted, all our flocks Spent and destroy'd, while our luxurious diet Makes havoc, and our kitchens never quiet Still with unwearied nets, that no truce keep, Ransack the entrails of th' adjoining deep; ance owe To some remote and ditionary coast; Thence come the dainties that our kitchens boast; Such as to buy, the vulture Lenas deigns, That for dimension bears the prize from all Which gulfs Sicilian sent his festival; For while the South contains himself, while he Lies close, and dries his feathers in his lee, Our greedy pursenets for their gain despise The danger that in mid Charybdis lies. Now, for his lamprey, thou art glad to take An eel, near cousin to a hideous snake, Here would I on himself a word have spent, So he inclined an ear benevolent. account The title of munificence did mount Civil respect the steward of your feast. Before him see a huge goose-liver set; A capon cramm'd, even with that goose; for great A whole wild boar, hid in his smoking heat, That gold-lock'd Meleager's dart deserved; And after all this, Virro's self is served With pure dress'd mushrooms, be the spring then freed, And wished thunders make his meals exceed. And then the gully-gut, Aledius, cries, O Lybia, keep with thee thy wheats and ryes, And ease thy oxen, sending these supplies. And that no indignation want to thee (As bound t' observe), the carver thou must see Dancing about his business; and he That teaches him the laws to the true life Of carving comely, with his flying knife Touching at every joint he carves, before He dares th' attempt, till not a gesture more you So desperate is, so lost, to bid the king "Drink to me, sir?" No. There is many a thing That thread-bare coats dare not for fear bring forth. But if some god, or god-like man, or worth Better than fate, would wealth bestow on thee, Fit to maintain a knight of Rome's degree, How huge a piece of man shouldst thou ascend Raised out of nothing! How much Virro's friend! "Give Trebius." "Set to Trebius." "Brother, now, Please you these puddings taste?" moneys, you O He gives this honour, you, these brother That Virro feeds thee so? No, 'tis to grieve Thy greedy liquorous appetite, because More than a weeping-gut delight a man. All is then done (if we must teach thine ears) To make thee purge thy choler by thy tears, And live still gnashing of thy great-eyeteeth. Thou think'st, he thinks thee free, and not beneath Guests for his love and grace; but he knows well Thee only taken with his kitchen's smell; Nor thinks amiss; for who so naked lives, That twice on his entreats attendance gives? Vain hope of supping well deceives you all. 'But see," say you, "that half-eat hare will fall In his gift to our shares; or of that boar Some little fragments, that his haunches wore ; Or sure that caponet." When, for all prepared, Your musty bread pared clean, and no bit shared Of all those meats of mark, and long'd-for dishes, Your vain hopes vanish, and y' are mute as fishes. He's wise that serves thee so; for if thou can Bear all, thou shouldst, and he's no unjust man That lays all on thee, even to stoop thy head To the fool's razor, and be buffeted; Which if thou dost, nor lett'st thy forage fear Besides to suffer Virro's whipping cheer, With all the sharp sauce that he can extend, Thou'rt worthy such a feast, and such a friend. |