Aulus Persius Flaccus his Satires translated into English, by Barten Holyday Mr of Arts, and student of Christ-Church in Oxford.

DArke Persius, Ambrose threw thy booke on ground With indignation, 'cause 'twas so profound: But now in fathers roome a child is sprung, That reader thy Satires in a vulgar tongue. No Ambrose, yet with ambrose to be fed, That could so wisely tracke, where thou couldst tred, He takes away thy vaile, and makes that line Transalpine, which the Romans would confine: Now let thy wandring shadow freely roaue, And seeke great place in the Elisian groaue, Where since theres store of bay, for him one knit, That makes the looser Brytaines feare thy wit. Needes must his owne inventions radiant be, That casts such beames through thy opacitie. Hence forth (bright Holyday) to change refuse Thine Owne Terpsichore, with translated Muse.

In Latio latuit Saturnum filius: Aulum Sic poterat soboles ista latere suum, Ante tuas (Holydaie) faces; hâc luce refulget Pluribus, & caeco, tector ante, patri. Gymnasiarcha, puer, festivus ludat vterque: Per Festum vobis otia quanta diem?

Nunquam Pegaseas libavit Persius vndas, Aut clausit docto lumina pigra jugo. Nempe tibi, fontem latices{que} & culmina Phoebus Servârat: pleno dum satur ore mades. Quidve Aulus traheret? cum fic Helicona refundas, Vt natet Angligenis Jtala Musa labris.

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IOHN WALL.

VPON THE HAPPY TRANSLATI∣on of the most difficult Satirist, performed by his deare friend M^r. B. H.

I Sing the Conquest, which an English rime, With all its force ne're wonne before This Time. Who thought that there would extant be the Man That such stiffe, sullen, hardy Romans can Subdue, and with an hand, learnedly fierce, Bind in the fetters of a Britane verse? Yet here is one that doth: But not as those That changed shapes, and wandring Trojans chose For to translate, with lines a mile in length, Or Paraphrase that tires. Such is His strength And strictnesse, he his Author without wrong Lodges in prisons but of fiue foot long. Some I haue knowne, that did Attempt the same Which that they Durst, it was their Greatest fame, But it was He, that could disdaine to stay At this praise Margent, only to Assay: He with impetuous and all-conquering wit That only had the power to finish it. For had They don't, J know they must haue left Their graver studies, and haue filcht with theft Guiltie of too much sacriledge, more howres, Then time would loose; or else those sister powers Jnvoke to lend them Others liues, to plucke A vessell with such Remora's bestucke To wished shoare. But as for Him, with strange And easie hast, he did his Roman change Without complaint of time: No serious part Of learning murmur'd, that he did impart

Howres to the worke. For all this was begot (I speake my conscience) when it was his lot To be at Truce with studie. Then iudge you That shall vpon his happy paines, a vew Bestow, that nere the Muses Holydaies Or times of leasure, were with greater Praise, Or Thrift, or Businesse spent: and likewise since He conquer'd hath so fierce a Latin Prince Vnto the Rimes and Phrases of Our tongue: Decree that bayes vnto his brow belong.

A. WHITE.

TO HIS KIND FRIEND M^r. B. H. vpon his Persius.

AS if in travailes farre ingag'd, at last Return'd, I gratulate thy labours past. But when vnto thy waies I turne mine eye Dangers obscur'd with dangers J espie. J think't a taske too great for humane sleights, Vngraueld or vndasht to passe those streights. Admiring thy chast notes, in which vnharmd The Syrens lustfull language thou hast charm'd. That Art I loue, when as 'gainst faith of sence By sence of faith I see things flow from thence. Nor doe I (like to his ore'wheeling braine) Persius still a cloud, imbrace in vaine; This's the substance giues vice the fatall blow The others thunder few to feare doe know. On envy, summon all the vices spight: Better they should be conquer'd then not Fight.

R. WELDON.

VNTO HIS LOVING FRIEND M^r. B. H. vpon Persius translated.

THis worke me thinkes makes my coniecture bold T' affirme th' Athenians paradox is true, When by yeares revolution J behold Men dead reviue, things long since old, grow new. For should dead Rome awake, and those loose times Which feard and felt this scourging Satirist, Shee might againe in vs review her crimes; As fertile is Our age. Nor hath it mist The worst of all Her ills. Vainely we thought Thy ashes (Persius) Slept within thine vrne: Feard not thy lash: hop't negligence had wrought Thy lines worse Funerall: and at length would turne All to obscuritie; For how few did striue T' enlighten thy darke phrase, vnlesse some vice Made an acute bad comment: So to thriue And purchase perspicuitie, is a price Thou would'st haue griev'd to giue. Yet since in ill We haue ore'tune past times: I must reioyce That Constant industrie should get such skill As to tell vs our bad in Persius voice: Whom now All vnderstand: all may endure To reade, but Such as would their crimes obscure.

T. GOFFE.

TO THE AVTHOR HIS most loued friend.

VVHat None haue Dar'd, Thou hast; and might'st againe With praise, were it vndar'd. Did'st thou abstaine

Yet longer, none would dare Thee to Prevent; If any, what could breed thy more Content Then, when by victorie, thy glory should Be doubled? yea, although recall some could, From fields of rest, thy Persius to consult: Yet would no lesse praise from thy lines result, Then that vnparalel'd, which now is due From those that reade thee. Who when they shall view How Truely with thine Author thou dost pace How hand in hand yee goe, what equall grace Thou dost with him obserue in every tearme: They cannot, but, if iust, iustly affirme: That did your Times as doe your Lines agree, He might be thought to haue translated Thee; But that he's Darker, not so Strong; Wherein Thy Greater art more clearely may be seene; Which dost thy Persius clowdie stormes display With lightning and with thunder; Both which lay Couched perchance in him, but wanted force To breake, or light from darknesse to divorce; Till Thine Exhaled skill compress'd it so, That forc'd the clouds to breake, the light to shew, The thunder to be heard. That now each child Can prattle what was meant: whil'st Thou art stil'd Of all, with titles of true dignitie, For Loftie Phrase, and perspicuitie.

I. KNIGHT.

TO THE AVTHOR HIS very good friend.

RE-liuing Persius, Daies-Birth, Heire of Fame: I wrong not Persius, giuing Thee His name; If any, I wrong thee for what He did Had'st Thou him not Illustred, had beene hid. This being but thy Pedestall of praise, Oh what a Pyramis will thy Next worke raise? True Laureat, with blest Omens goe thou on; All-imitable, imitating none. I speake not this (nor need'st thou it) of Favour. But as one conscious of thy Great workes labour. My tongue was never oil'd i'th' base claw-art. Jn Others read thou Wit, in Me my Heart.

W. W.

TO HIS LEARNED FRIEND M^r B. H. vpon his iudicious translation of Persius.

VVHat lay imprison'd, and confin'd alone Only to deeper apprehension; Thy more benigne, sublim'd, transcendent wit Hath reacht, and conquer'd, and imparted it. And giu'n't to all, which makes it more thine owne Since all are heires of that invention. Nor doth one iot, so sweete congruitie, Adulterate the Latin chastitie, All things conseru'd, so terse, so nothing lost

As if thou didst consult with th' Authors Ghost, ••uch height, such sacred indignation As seemes a Persius, no Translation. On, learned Quill; thus vindicate thy name From times prowd Iniurie, Traytor to fame: Nor suffer yet, that Italy so long Should make her Vice speake English, not her Tong. W••ip backe her basiards, send them home to Rome, Let her that was their parent, be their tombe. Meane while J dare Congratulate our Crimes Made Happy that they could produce These Rimes.

T. G.

Notes

• Nee fonte, &c. Nec in bic: &c.
• Ovid: Met. Virg: Aeneid.
• Annus Pla∣tonicus.