Horace. The best of lyrick poets. Containing much morality, and sweetnesse. Together with Aulus Persius Flaccus, his satyres. Translated into English by Barten Holyday sometime student of Christ-Church in Oxford.

ODES OF HORACE.

The Fourth Booke.

Ode III. TO MELPOMENE. Horace is borne to Poetry, by whose ayd, hee hath obtained immortall glory.

Quem to Melpomene.

ON whom (Melpomene) with mild aspect, Thou shalt thy favour at his Birth reflect, Him, Istmian Labour shall not higher reare With Wrastlers title, nor swift horses beare By Grecian Chariot drawne, for Victors mee'd In pompous triumph; nor for warlike deed, A Captaine in the Capitoll bee made, And deck'd with Delian Bayes, who durst invade: And breake the swelling threats of hostile Kings: But rather those soft-falling gentle Springs, Which wash fat Tybur, & Groves thickly grown, Shall make his worth in Lyrick Verse be shown.

Rome Queene of Cities, doth no whit disdaine Mee for the muses sake to entertaine, Amongst the Poets, loved Quires to sit, So that I now, am lesse with Envy bit. (Oh thou Pierian) which with Harpe of gold, Dost in sweet notes harmonious ayre unfold; (Oh thou) who if thou please, to Fishes mute, The Swan's delicious Song canst attribute: It wholly is a gift deriv'd from thee, That by each finger, which doth passe by me, The Romane Lyrick Harper they designe. That I doe breath, and please (if please) is thine.

Ode V. TO AUGUSTUS. That now at length he would returne into the City.

Divis orte bonis.

(CAEsar) thou from the gods propitious sprong, Our best preserver; stay'st away too long. Wee promise of thy quicke returne require, Made to the sacred Senate: Oh retire, (Good Caesar) on thy Countrey light reflect, For where thy Spring-like face doth beames eject, More joyfull to the people are the dayes, And better doth the Sunne, transfuse his rayes. Like as a Mother (when the Southerne wind, Her sonne with envious tempest hath confin'd, Beyond the billowes of Carpathian Straights More then a yeare: (His home returne awaights

With vowes, and prayers; And the gods implores, Her eye not stirring from the crooked shores. So strucken with their faithfull heart's desire, Thy Countrey Caesar) doth thy selfe require. Behold the Oxe, safe, wandreth up and downe; Ceres, and bright Felicitie doe crowne, And feed the Land. The Seas are calmer fram'd For Saylers use. Faith feareth to be blam'd. No chaft house, with Adulteri's defil'd; Custome and Law, hath spotted sin exil'd. For Sons like Syres, the Mothers we commend.

"Companion punishment doth vice attend. Who feares the Parthian now, or Scythian bold; Or Monsters, which rough Germany doth hold. Or Caesar being safe, who will regard, That fierce Iberia stands for armes prepar'd? Each man in his own hills, doth close the day, And Vines about the widow Elme display. Then frolike to his banquet he retires, And thee a god, in second Cups admites. With many prayers, he doth his Vows enflame, And powres full goblets out unto thy name; Thy Godhead seeking with his Lars to please, As Greece their Castor and great Hercules. (Good Caesar) render long repose we pray, To glad Hesperia: This we (sober) say When day first breaks: This moystned, when to rest The Sun invites us, waning in the West.

Ode VII. To LUCIUS MANLIUS TORQUATUS. Since time changeth all things, let us live merily.

Diffugere nives.

NOw snows are quite dissolv'd, fresh grasse we see To fields return'd, and leaves to every tree. The earth with various change each season ranks, And falling Rivers glide within their banks. Aglaia dareth (naked) on the ground, With Nimphs, and her two sisters dance a-round. The yeare us warnes immortall things to doubt, And Hower, which circumvolves the day about. Soft Western winds, on Winter mildnesse bring, Soone wither'd Summer, weareth out the Spring, Then mellow Autumne, powres his fruits amain, And instantly dull Winter turne•• againe. Yet speedy Moones celestiall harmes restore To after times: when we are gone before, Where Tullus, good Aeneas, Ancus trade, Nought are we else (alas) but dust, and shade. Who is it knowes, whether the heavenly powers, Will add to this daies summe to morrows howers. Your greedy heire in nothig shall have part, Which you in life shal give with bounteous heart. But when you once are dead, and powers divine, To you, an equall sentence shall assigne,

Then (oh Torquatus) blood, nor eloquence, Nor pietie, can life againe dispense: For neither chast Hypolitus, was free By Dian set, from Hells obscuritie; Nor were Laethean bands, by Theseus Dissolved, for his deare Pyrithôus.

Ode VIII. To MARTIUS CENSORINUS. There is nothing which can more immortalize men, then Poets Verses.

Donarem pateras.

TO friends I would give freely (Censorine) Pieces of richest Plate, and Bowles for Wine, Three footed Tables, (Valiant Greeks reward:) Nor from my choycest gifts should you be barr'd Where I with artfull figures richly sped, Which Parrhase drew, or Scopas pourtrayed In colours one, in stone the other bold, A man sometimes, sometimes a God to mould. But I have not this power: Nor doe suppose, Your wealth, or wish, wants such delights, as those. You Verses love; for Verse we make a shift, And know what price to set on such a guift; No Marbles with deep Characters engrav'd, By which to valiant Captaines life is sav'd, And spirit after death: Not speedy slight, Nor threats of Hanniball, rejected quite: Nor flames of Carthage better sound his praise, Who did his name from conquer'd Africk raise,

Then Ennius Muse: Nor can reward be wonne, If paper tell not, what was bravely done. What would become of Mars, and Illa's brood, If spightfull silence, Romulus withstood? The strength, and grace of Poets powerfull wit, Makes Aeacus in fields Elizian sit, Snatched from Stygian floods. "Muses denie, "A man deserving praise should ever die. "Muses give heav'n: So dauntlesse Hercules, In Ioves wish'd Banquets doth his palate please: Castor and Pollux bright Starre doth redeeme, Storm-beaten Vessels, which doe shipwrakt seem. God Bacchus brow, adorn'd with verdant Vine, Doth happy end, unto our vowes assigne.

Ode XIII. TO VIRGILL. He describeth the reproach of the Spring, and inviteth Virgil under con∣dition to a Banquet.

Jam veris comites,

SOuthwinds, the Spring attending still, Now Seas doe calme, and Sayles doe fill: Now Frosts doe not make Meadowes hore, Nor Winter-Snow, swolne Rivers rore. The lucklesse Bird, her nest doth frame, Bewayling Itis, and the shame, Of Cecrops house; and that so ill, On Kings rude lust, she wrought her will, The Shepheards of rich Flocks rehearse, And to their Pipes chaunt rurall Verse:

And seek his God-head to appease, Whom flockes, and hills Arcadian please. These times doe thirstie Seasons send. But if (thou Virgil) Caesar's friend, With press'd Calenian Liquor hie, For Wine, thou shalt sweet unguents buy. And purchase with a little Box, Wine, which Sulpitius safely locks, New hopes most powerfull to create, And bitter cares to dissipate, Unto which comfort, if thou hast, Come hither with thy Unguents fast. Ile not (free cost) my cups carrouse, As rich men in a plenteous house. Then leave delayes, and Gaine's desire. And mindfull of black Funerall fire, "Short folly mixe with Councells best. "Tis sweet, sometime to be in jest.

Ode XIII. Against LYCE. Who being old, is become a scorne to young men.

Audivêre Lyce.

THe Gods have (Lyce) heard my vow, My vow is heard. Th'art old, yet thou. Faine would'st (forsooth) be counted faire, And quaffe, and wanton with the ayre:

And (drunk) with trembling voyce invite Slow Cupid; who takes more delight, O•• Ohia's rosie cheekes to stay, Both young, and skill'd in Musick's lay. For he, delay not booking, flies From wither'd Okes; and from thee hies, Whom rotten teeth, and wrinckled face, And head of snowy haire, disgrace. N••w cannot Coân Purple's use, Nor b••ightest gemms, the Time reduce, Which once swift wing••d Age hath clos'd In publique Calenders dispos'd. Where is thy beauty fled? (Ay me) Thy colour fresh, and motion free? What hast thou of that, that entire, Which earst inspired amorous fire? And did me from my selfe divert; Next Cynaras, thou happy wert, For pleasing beauty, and sweet grace, Discov'red in a lovely face. But Fates to Cynaras did owe, Short life, and Lyce like the Crowe; They heere surviving longer hold, That fervent young men may behold. Not without laughter, and much scorne, A flaming torch to ashes worne.

Ode XV. The prayses of Augustus.

Phoebus volentem.

MY Muse by Phebus was rebuk'd of late For singing warres, and vanquish'd cities fate Like those, who in the Tyrren Ocean's rage, Doe little Sayles advance. (Caesar) thy age, Affordeth plenteous fruits, unto the fields, And to Ioves Capitoll our Ensignes yeelds, From Parthian Pillars snatch'd, and after jarres Hath closed Ianus Temple free from warres. Confusion hath with Order rectifi'd, And wandring Libertie in fetters ty'd. Hath antique arts recall'd: By which tis knowne Hesueria's strength and Latine name hath grow. Imperiall pompe hath spred, and glory wonne, Stretcht from the rising, to the setting Sunne. While Caesar is our Guardian, civill warre, Nor violence, our peacefull rest•• shall marre. Nor anger, which swords sharpnerh, & confounds Cities, unhappy made with mutuall wounds. Not they for thirst, that drink in I ster deep, Shall once refuse, the Iulian Lawes to keep. Not Scres, faithlesse Persians, nor the Getes, Nor those, which neere to Tanais have their seats And we on holy Eeves, and holy Dayes, Amongst free Cups, to merry Bacchus prayse: With wife, and children, standing in our sight, (First Gods invoking with Religious Rite) Will gladly (as our Grandsires did) rehearse, (And tuning Lydian Pipe to various Verse,) Heroique Captaines, Troy, Anchises gone, And brave Aeneas, Cytherea's sonne.

The end of the fourth Bohke.