I am not half a Horse, (I would I were :) | Yet hardly can from you my Hands forbear. Take then my Counsel; which observ'd, may be

Of some Importance both to you and me.
Be sure to come before your Man be there;
There's nothing can be done; but come
howe're.

Sit next him (that belongs to Decency ;)
But tread upon my Foot in passing by.
Read in my Looks what silently they speak,
And slily, with your Eyes, your Answer
make.
20
My Lifted Eye-brow shall declare my Pain;
My Right-Hand to his fellow shall complain; |
And on the Back a Letter shall design;
Besides a Note that shall be Writ in Wine.
When e're you think upon our last Embrace,
With your Fore-finger gently touch your
Face.

If any Word of mine offend my Dear,
Pull, with your Hand, the Velvet of your
Ear.

If you are pleas'd with what I do or say, Handle your Rings, or with your Fingers play. 30

As Suppliants use at Altars, hold the Boord, Whene're you wish the Devil may take your Lord.

When he fills for you, never touch the Cup;

But bid th' officious Cuckold drink it up. The Waiter on those Services employ ; Drink you, and I will snatch it from the Boy :

Watching the part where your sweet Mouth hath been,

And thence, with eager Lips, will suck it in.
If he, with Clownish Manners, thinks it fit
To taste, and offer you the nasty Bit, 40
Reject his greazy Kindness, and restore
Th' unsav'ry Morsel he had chew'd before.
Nor let his Arms embrace your Neck, nor

rest

Your tender Cheek upon his hairy Breast. Let not his Hand within your Bosom stray, And rudely with your pretty Bubbies play. But above all, let him no Kiss receive; That's an Offence I never can forgive.

Do not, Ô do not that sweet Mouth resign,
Lest I rise up in Arms, and cry, 'Tis mine. 50
I shall thrust in betwixt, and void of Fear
The manifest Adult'rer will appear.
These things are plain to Sight; but more
I doubt

What you conceal beneath your Petticoat.
Take not his Leg between your tender
Thighs,

Nor, with your Hand, provoke my Foc to rise.

60

How many Love-Inventions I deplore,
Which I, my self, have practis'd all before?
How oft have I been forc'd the Robe to lift
In Company; to make a homely shift
For a bare Bout, ill huddled o're in hast,
While o're my side the Fair her Mantle cast.
You to your Husband shall not be so kind;
But, lest you shou'd, your Mantle leave
behind.

Encourage him to Tope; but Kiss him not,
Nor mix one drop of Water in his Pot.
If he be Fuddled well, and Snores apace
Then we may take Advice from Time and
Place.

When all depart, when Complements are loud,

Be sure to mix among the thickest Crowd
There I will be, and there we cannot miss, 71
Perhaps to Grubble, or at least to Kiss
Alas, what length of Labour I employ,
Just to secure a short and transient Joy !
For Night must part us: and when Night
is come,

Tuck'd underneath his Arm he leads you
Home.

He locks you in; I follow to the Door,
Ilis Fortune envy, and my own deplore.
He kisses you, he more than kisses too;
Th' outrageous Cuckold thinks it all his due.
But, add not to his Joy, by your consent, 81
And let it not be giv'n, but only lent.
Return no Kiss, nor move in any sort ;
Make it a dull and a malignant Sport.
Had I my Wish, he shou'd no Pleasure take,
But slubber o're your Business for my sake.
And what e're Fortune shall this Night
befal,

Coax me to-morrow, by forswearing all.

| When Juno to a Cow turn'd lo's Shape, 29 The Watchman helpt her to a second Leap. Let him who loves an easie Whetstone Whore.

Pluck leaves from Trees, and drink the Common Shore.

The Jilting Harlot strikes the surest blow, A truth which I by sad Experience know. The kind poor constant Creature we despise, Man but pursues the Quarry while it flies.

But thou dull Husband of a Wife too fair, Stand on thy Guard, and watch the pretious Ware;

If creaking Doors, or barking Dogs thou hear,

Or Windows scratcht, suspect a Rival there. An Orange-wench wou'd tempt thy Wife abroad;

41

Kick her, for she's a Letter-bearing Bawd; In short, be Jealous as the Devil in Hell; And set my Wit on work to cheat thee well. The sneaking City Cuckold is my Foc,

I scorn to strike, but when he Wards the blow.

Look to thy hits, and leave off thy Conniving,

I'll be no Drudge to any Wittall living;
I have been patient, and forborn thee long,
In hope thou wou'dst not pocket up thy

wrong:

50

If no Affront can rouse thee, understand
I'll take no more Indulgence at thy hand.
What, ne'er to be forbid thy House, and
Wife!

Damu him who loves to lead so dull a life.
Now I can neither sigh, nor whine, nor pray,
All those occasions thou hast ta'ne away.
Why art thou so incorrigibly Civil?
Doc somewhat I may wish thee at the
Devil.

For shame be no Accomplice in my Treason,
A Pimping Husband is too much in reason.
Once more wear horns, before I quite
forsake her,

61

In hopes whereof I rest thy Cuckold-maker.

ARGUMENT of the first Satyr. The Poet gives us first a kind of humorous Reason for his Writing: That being provok'd by hearing so many ill Poets rehearse their Works, he does himself Justice on them, by giving them as bad as they bring. But since no man will rank himself with ill Writers, 'tis casie to conclude, that if such Wretches cou'd draw an Audience, he thought it no hard matter to excel them, and gain a greater esteem with the Publick. Next he informs us more openly, why he rather addicts himself to Satyr, than any other kind of Poetry. And here he discovers that it is not so much his indignation to ill Poets, as to ill Men, which has prompted him to write. He therefore gives us a summary and general view of the Vices and Follies reigning in his time. So that this first Satyr is the natural Groundwork of all the rest. Herein he confines himself to no one Subject, but strikes indifferently at all Men in his way: In every following Satyr he has chosen some particular Moral which he wou'd inculcate; and lashes some particular Vice or Folly, (An Art with which our Lampooners are not much acquainted.) But our Poet being desirous to reform his own Age, and not daring to attempt it by an Overt act of naming living Persons, inveighs onely against those who were infamous in the times immediately preceding his, whereby he not only gives a fair warning to Great Men, that their Memory lies at the mercy of future Poets and Historians, but also with a finer stroke of his Pen, brands ev'n the living, and personales them under dead mens Names.

I have avoided as much as I cou'd possibly the borrowed Learning of Marginal Notes and Illustrations, and for that reason have Translated this Satyr somewhat largely. And freely own (if it be a fault) that I have likewise omitted most of the Proper Names, because I thought they wou'd not much edifie the Reader. To

TRANSLATIONS FROM JUVENAL. Text from the original edition, 1693. The current texts have several bad errors, especially in VI. 79 7 and 861, and x. 517.

conclude, if in two or three places I have deserted all the Commentators, 'tis because I thought they first deserted my Author, or at least have left him in so much obscurity, that too much room is left for guessing.

THE FIRST SATYR.

STILL shall I hear, and never quit the Score, Stun'd with hoarse Codrus Theseid, o're and o're?

2

Shall this man's Elegies and t'other's Play
Unpunish'd Murther a long Summer's day?
Huge Telephus, a formidable page,
Cries Vengeance; and Orestes's bulky rage,
Unsatisfy'd with Margins closely writ,
Foams o're the Covers, and not finish'd yet.
No Man can take a more familiar note
Of his own Home, than I of Vulcan's
Grott,

ΙΟ

Or Mars his Grove, or hollow winds that blow From Etna's top, or tortur'd Ghosts below. I know by rote the Fam'd Exploits of Greece; The Centaurs fury, and the Golden Fleece; Through the thick shades th' Eternal Scribler bauls;

And shakes the Statues on their Pedestals. The best and worst on the same Theme employs

His Muse, and plagues us with an equal noise.
Provok'd by these Incorrigible Fools,
left declaiming in pedantick Schools;
Where, with Men-boys, I strove to get
Renown,

I

6

Advising Sylla to a private Gown.
But, since the World with Writing is pos-

sest,

I'll versifie in spite; and do my best
To make as much waste Paper as the rest.

20

But why I lift aloft the Satyrs Rod, And tread the Path which fam'd Lucilius trod,

Attend the Causes which my Muse have led : When Sapless Eunuchs mount the Marriagebed,

When all our Lords are by his Wealth outvy'd,

Whose Razour on my callow-beard was try'd ;

When I behold the Spawn of conquer'd Nile Crispinus 10 both in Birth and Manners vile, Pacing in pomp, with Cloak of Tyrian dye, Chang'd oft a day for needless Luxury; And finding oft occasion to be fan'd, Ambitious to produce his Lady-hand ; Charg'd" with light Summer-rings his fingers

sweat,

40

Unable to support a Gem of weight: Such fulsom Objects meeting every where, 'Tis hard to write, but harder to forbear.

To view so lewd a Town, and to refrain, What Hoops of Iron cou'd my Spleen contain !

When 12 pleading Matho, born abroad for Air, With his Fat Paunch fills his new fashion'd Chair,

And after him the Wretch in Pomp convey'd,

Whose Evidence his Lord and Friend betray'd,

And but the wish'd Occasion does attend 50 From the poor Nobles the last Spoils to rend,

Whom ev'n Spies dread as their Superiour Fiend,

And bribe with Presents, or, when Presents fail,

They send their prostituted Wives for bail: When Night-performance holds the place of Merit,

And Brawn and Back the next of Kin disherit;

For such good Parts are in Preferment's

Too foul to Name, too fulsom to be read! When he who pill'd his Province scapes the Laws,

And keeps his Money though he lost his Cause:

Ilis Fine begg'd off, contemns his Infamy, Can rise at twelve, and get him Drunk e're three:

Enjoys his Exile, and, Condemn'd in vain, Leaves thee, "prevailing Province, to complain!

Such Villanies rous'd 18 Horace into Wrath And 'tis more Noble to pursue his Path, Than an Old Tale of Diomede to repeat, 80| Or lab'ring after Hercules to sweat, Or wandring in the winding Maze of Creel; Or with the winged Smith aloft to fly, Or flutt'ring Perish with his foolish Boy.

With what Impatience must the Muse behold

The Wife by her procuring Husband sold? For though the Law makes Null th' Adulterer's Deed

Of Lands to her, the Cuckold may succeed; Who his taught Eyes up to the Cieling throws,

89