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(From Satire VI)
Translated by Philip Francis
I OFTEN wished I had a farm, | |
| A decent dwelling snug and warm, | |
| A garden, and a spring as pure | |
| As crystal running by my door, | |
| Besides a little ancient grove, | 5 |
| Where at my leisure I might rove. | |
| The gracious gods, to crown my bliss, | |
| Have granted this, and more than this; | |
| I have enough in my possessing; | |
| ’T is well: I ask no greater blessing, | 10 |
| O Hermes! than remote from strife | |
| To have and hold them for my life. | |
| If I was never known to raise | |
| My fortune by dishonest ways, | |
| Nor, like the spendthrifts of the times, | 15 |
| Shall ever sink it by my crimes: | |
| If thus I neither pray nor ponder,— | |
| O, might I have that angle yonder, | |
| Which disproportions now my field, | |
| What satisfaction it would yield! | 20 |
| O that some lucky chance but threw | |
| A pot of silver in my view, | |
| As lately to the man, who bought | |
| The very land in which he wrought! | |
| If I am pleased with my condition, | 25 |
| O, hear, and grant this last petition: | |
| Indulgent, let my cattle batten, | |
| Let all things, but my fancy, fatten, | |
| And thou continue still to guard, | |
| As thou art wont, thy suppliant bard. | 30 |
| Whenever, therefore, I retreat | |
| From Rome into my Sabine seat, | |
| By mountains fenced on either side, | |
| And in my castle fortified, | |
| What can I write with greater pleasure, | 35 |
| Than satires in familiar measure? | |
| Nor mad ambition there destroys, | |
| Nor sickly wind my health annoys; | |
| Nor noxious autumn gives me pain, | |
| The ruthless undertaker’s gain. * * * * * | 40 |
| Thus, in this giddy, busy maze | |
| I lose the sunshine of my days, | |
| And oft, with fervent wish repeat, | |
| “When shall I see my sweet retreat? | |
| O, when with books of sages deep, | 45 |
| Sequestered ease, and gentle sleep, | |
| In sweet oblivion, blissful balm! | |
| The busy cares of life becalm? | |
| O, when shall I enrich my veins, | |
| Spite of Pythagoras, with beans? | 50 |
| Or live luxurious in my cottage, | |
| On bacon ham and savory pottage? | |
| O joyous nights! delicious feasts! | |
| At which the gods might be my guests.” | |
| My friends and I regaled, my slaves | 55 |
| Enjoy what their rich master leaves. | |
| There every guest may drink and fill | |
| As much or little as he will, | |
| Exempted from the bedlam-rules | |
| Of roaring prodigals and fools: | 60 |
| Whether, in merry mood or whim, | |
| He fills his bumper to the brim, | |
| Or, better pleased to let it pass, | |
| Grows mellow with a moderate glass. | |
| Nor this man’s house, nor that’s estate, | 65 |
| Becomes the subject of debate; | |
| Nor whether Lepos, the buffoon, | |
| Can dance, or not, a rigadoon; | |
| But what concerns us more, I trow, | |
| And were a scandal not to know: | 70 |
| Whether our bliss consist in store | |
| Of riches, or in virtue’s lore; | |
| Whether esteem, or private ends, | |
| Should guide us in the choice of friends; | |
| Or what, if rightly understood, | 75 |
| Man’s real bliss, and sovereign good. * * * * * | |
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