Satire V (Gifford)

If--by reiterated scorn made bold,
Your mind can still its shameless tenor hold,
Still think the greatest blessing earth can give,
Is, solely at another's cost to live;
If--you can brook, what Galba would have spurned,
And mean Sarmentus with a frown returned,
At Cæsar's haughty board, dependents both,
I scarce would take your evidence on oath.
The belly's fed with little cost: yet grant
You should, unhappily, that little want,
Some vacant bridge might surely still be found,
Some highway side; where, groveling on the ground,
Your shivering limbs compassion's sigh might wake,
And gain an alms for "Charity's sweet sake!"
What! can a meal, thus sauced, deserve your care?
Is hunger so importunate? when THERE,
THERE, in your tattered rug, you may, my friend,
On casual scraps more honestly depend;
With chattering teeth toil o'er your wretched treat,
And gnaw the crusts, which dogs refuse to eat!--
For, first, of this be sure: whene'er your lord
Thinks proper to invite you to his board,
He pays, or thinks he pays, the total sum
Of all your pains, past, present, and to come.
Behold the meed of servitude! the great
Reward their humble followers with a treat,
And count it current coin:--they count it such,
And, though it be but little, think it much.
If, after two long months, he condescend
To waste a thought upon an humble friend,
Reminded by a vacant seat, and write,
"You, Master Trebius, sup with me to-night,"
'Tis rapture all! Go now, supremely blest,
Enjoy the meed for which you broke your rest,
And, loose and slipshod, ran your vows to pay,
What time the fading stars announced the day;
Or at that earlier hour, when, with slow roll,
Thy frozen wain, Boötes, turned the pole;
Yet trembling, lest the levee should be o'er,
And the full court retiring from the door!
And what a meal at last! such ropy wine,
As wool, which takes all liquids, would decline;
Hot, heady lees, to fire the wretched guests,
And turn them all to Corybants, or beasts.--
At first, with sneers and sarcasms, they engage,
Then hurl the jugs around, with mutual rage;
Or, stung to madness by the household train,
With coarse stone pots a desperate fight maintain;
While streams of blood in smoking torrents flow,
And my lord smiles to see the battle glow!
Not such his beverage: he enjoys the juice
Of ancient days, when beards were yet in use,
Pressed in the Social War!--but will not send
One cordial drop, to cheer a fainting friend.
To-morrow, he will change, and, haply, fill
The mellow vintage of the Alban hill,
Or Setian; wines, which can not now be known,
So much the mould of age has overgrown
The district, and the date; such generous bowls,
As Thrasea and Helvidius, patriot souls!
While crowned with flowers, in sacred pomp, they lay,
To FREEDOM quaffed, on Brutus' natal day.
Before your patron, cups of price are placed,
Amber and gold, with rows of beryls graced:
Cups, you can only at a distance view,
And never trusted to such guests as you!
Or, if they be--a faithful slave attends,
To count the gems, and watch your fingers' ends.
You'll pardon him; but lo! a jasper there,
Of matchless worth, which justifies his care:
For Virro, like his brother peers, of late,
Has stripped his fingers to adorn his plate;
And jewels now emblaze the festive board,
Which decked with nobler grace the hero's sword,
Whom Dido prized, above the Libyan lord.
From such he drinks: to you the slaves allot
The Beneventine cobbler's four-lugged pot,
A fragment, a mere shard, of little worth,
But to be trucked for matches--and so forth.
If Virro's veins with indigestion glow,
They bring him water cooled in Scythian snow:
What! did I late complain a different wine
Fell to thy share? A different water's thine!
Getulian slaves your vile potations pour,
Or the coarse paws of some huge, raw-boned Moor,
Whose hideous form the stoutest would affray,
If met, by moonlight, near the Latian way:
On him a youth, the flower of Asia, waits,
So dearly purchased, that the joint estates
Of Tullus, Ancus, would not yield the sum,
Nor all the wealth--of all the kings of Rome!
Bear this in mind; and when the cup you need,
Look to your own Getulian Ganymede;
A page who cost so much, will ne'er, be sure,
Come at your beck: he heeds not, he, the poor;
But, of his youth and beauty justly vain,
Trips by them, with indifference and disdain.
If called, he hears not, or, with rage inflamed--
Indignant, that his services are claimed
By an old client, who, ye gods! commands,
And sits at ease, while his superior stands!
Such proud, audacious minions swarm in Rome,
And trample on the poor, where'er they come.
Mark with what insolence another thrusts
Before your plate th' impenetrable crusts,
Black mouldy fragments, which defy the saw,
The mere despair of every aching jaw!
While manchets, of the finest flour, are set
Before your lord; but be you mindful, yet,
And taste not, touch not: of the pantler stand
In trembling awe, and check your desperate hand--
Yet, should you dare--a slave springs forth, to wrest
The sacred morsel from you. "Saucy guest,"
He frowns, and mutters, "wilt thou ne'er divine
What's for thy patron's tooth, and what for thine?
Never take notice from what tray thou'rt fed,
Nor know the color of thy proper bread?"
Was it for this, the baffled client cries,
The tears indignant starting from his eyes,
Was it for this I left my wife ere day,
And up the bleak Esquilian urged my way,
While the wind howled, the hail-storm beat amain,
And my cloak smoked beneath the driving rain!
But lo, a lobster, introduced in state,
Stretches, enormous, o'er the bending plate;
Proud of a length of tail, he seems to eye
The humbler guests with scorn, as, towering by,
He takes the place of honor at the board,
And crowned with costly pickles, greets his lord!
A crab is yours, ill garnished and ill fed,
With half an egg--a supper for the dead!
He pours Venafran oil upon his fish,
While the stale coleworts, in your wooden dish,
Stink of the lamp; for such to you is thrown,
Such rancid grease, as Afric sends to town;
So strong, that when her factors seek the bath,
All wind, and all avoid, the noisome path;
So pestilent! that her own serpents fly
The horrid stench, or meet it but to die.
See! a sur-mullet now before him set,
From Corsica, or isles more distant yet,
Brought post to Rome; since Ostia's shores no more
Supply the insatiate glutton, as of yore,
Thinned by the net, whose everlasting throw
Allows no Tuscan fish in peace to grow.
Still luxury yawns, unfilled; the nations rise,
And ransack all their coasts for fresh supplies:
Thence come your presents; thence, as rumor tells,
The dainties Lenas buys, Aurelia sells.
A lamprey next, from the Sicilian straits,
Of more than common size, on Virro waits--
For oft as Auster seeks his cave, and flings
The cumbrous moisture from his dripping wings,
Forth flies the daring fisher, lured by gain,
While rocks oppose, and whirlpools threat in vain.
To you an eel is brought, whose slender make
Speaks him a famished cousin to the snake;
Or some frost-bitten pike, who, day by day,
Through half the city's ordure sucked his way!
Would Virro deign to hear me, I could give
A few brief hints:--We look not to receive
What Seneca, what Cotta used to send,
What the good Piso, to an humble friend:--
For bounty once preferred a fairer claim,
Than birth or power, to honorable fame:
No; all we ask (and you may this afford)
Is, simply, civil treatment at your board;
Indulge us here; and be, like numbers more,
Rich to yourself, to your dependents poor!
Vain hope! Near him a goose's liver lies;
A capon, equal to a goose in size;
A boar, too, smokes, like that which fell, of old,
By the famed hero with the locks of gold.
Last, if the spring its genial influence shed,
And welcome thunders call them from their bed,
Large mushrooms enter; ravished with their size,
"O Libya, keep thy grain!" Alledius cries,
"And bid thy oxen to their stalls retreat,
Nor, while thou grow'st such mushrooms, think of wheat!"
Meanwhile, to put your patience to the test,
Lo! the spruce carver, to his task addrest,
Skips, like a harlequin, from place to place,
And waves his knife with pantomimic grace,
Till every dish be ranged, and every joint
Severed, by nicest rules, from point to point.
You think this folly--'tis a simple thought--
To such perfection, now, is carving brought,
That different gestures, by our curious men,
Are used for different dishes, hare and hen.
But think whate'er you may, your comments spare;
For should you, like a free-born Roman, dare
To hint your thoughts, forth springs some sturdy groom,
And drags you straight, heels foremost, from the room!
Does Virro ever pledge you? ever sip
The liquor touched by your unhallowed lip?
Or is there one of all your tribe so free,
So desperate, as to say--"Sir, drink to me?"
O, there is much, that never can be spoke
By a poor client in a threadbare cloak!
But should some godlike man, more kind than fate,
Some god, present you with a knight's estate,
Heavens, what a change! how infinitely dear
Would Trebius then become! How great appear,
From nothing! Virro, so reserved of late,
Grows quite familiar: "Brother, send your plate.
Dear brother Trebius! you were wont to say
You liked this trail, I think--Oblige me, pray."--
O Riches!--this "dear brother" is your own,
To you this friendship, this respect is shown.
But would you now your patron's patron be?
Let no young Trebius wanton round your knee,
No Trebia, none: a barren wife procures
The kindest, truest friends! such then be yours.--
Yet, should she breed, and, to augment your joys,
Pour in your lap, at once, three bouncing boys,
Virro will still, so you be wealthy, deign
To toy and prattle with the lisping train;
Will have his pockets too with farthings stored,
And when the sweet young rogues approach his board,
Bring out his pretty corselets for the breast,
His nuts, and apples, for each coaxing guest.
You champ on spongy toadstools, hateful treat!
Fearful of poison in each bit you eat;
He feasts secure on mushrooms, fine as those
Which Claudius, for his special eating chose,
Till one more fine, provided by his wife,
Finished at once his feasting, and his life!
Apples, as fragrant, and as bright of hue,
As those which in Alcinoüs' gardens grew,
Mellowed by constant sunshine; or as those,
Which graced the Hesperides, in burnished rows;
Apples, which you may smell, but never taste,
Before your lord and his great friends are placed:
While you enjoy mere windfalls, such stale fruit,
As serves to mortify the raw recruit,
When, armed with helm and shield, the lance he throws,
And trembles at the shaggy master's blows.
You think, perhaps, that Virro treats so ill
To save his gold; no, 'tis to vex you still:
For, say, what comedy such mirth can raise,
As hunger, tortured thus a thousand ways?
No (if you know it not), 'tis to excite
Your rage, your phrensy, for his mere delight;
'Tis to compel you all your gall to show,
And gnash your teeth in agonies of woe.
You deem yourself (such pride inflates your breast),
Forsooth, a freeman, and your patron's guest;
He thinks you a vile slave, drawn, by the smell
Of his warm kitchen, there; and he thinks well:
For who so low, so wretched as to bear
Such treatment twice, whose fortune 'twas to wear
The golden boss; nay, to whose humbler lot,
The poor man's ensign fell, the leathern knot!
Your palate still beguiles you: Ah, how nice
That smoking haunch! NOW we shall have a slice!
Now that half hare is coming! NOW a bit
Of that young pullet! NOW--and thus you sit,
Thumbing your bread in silence; watching still,
For what has never reached you, never will!
No more of freedom! 'tis a vain pretense:
Your patron treats you like a man of sense:
For, if you can, without a murmur, bear,
You well deserve the insults which you share.
Anon, like voluntary slaves, you'll throw
Your humbled necks beneath the oppressor's blow,
Nay, with bare backs, solicit to be beat,
And merit SUCH A FRIEND, and SUCH A TREAT!