No More Learning

Varus, yon wight Suffenus known to thee
Fairly for wit, free talk, urbanity,
The same who scribbles verse in amplest store--
Methinks he fathers thousands ten or more
Indited not as wont on palimpsest, 5
But paper-royal, brand-new boards, and best
Fresh bosses, crimson ribbands, sheets with lead
Ruled, and with pumice-powder all well polished.
These as thou readest, seem that fine, urbane
Suffenus, goat-herd mere, or ditcher-swain 10
Once more, such horrid change is there, so vile.
What must we wot thereof? a Droll erst while,
Or (if aught) cleverer, he with converse meets,
He now in dullness, dullest villain beats
Forthright on handling verse, nor is the wight 15
Ever so happy as when verse he write:
So self admires he with so full delight.
In sooth, we all thus err, nor man there be
But in some matter a Suffenus see
Thou canst: his lache allotted none shall lack 20
Yet spy we nothing of our back-borne pack.

That Suffenus, Varus, whom thou know'st right well, is a man fair spoken,
witty and urbane, and one who makes of verses lengthy store. I think he has
writ at full length ten thousand or more, nor are they set down, as of
custom, on palimpsest: regal paper, new boards, unused bosses, red ribands,
lead-ruled parchment, and all most evenly pumiced. But when thou readest
these, that refined and urbane Suffenus is seen on the contrary to be a
mere goatherd or ditcher-lout, so great and shocking is the change. What
can we think of this? he who just now was seen a professed droll, or e'en
shrewder than such in gay speech, this same becomes more boorish than a
country boor immediately he touches poesy, nor is the dolt e'er as
self-content as when he writes in verse,--so greatly is he pleased with
himself, so much does he himself admire. Natheless, we all thus go astray,
nor is there any man in whom thou canst not see a Suffenus in some one
point. Each of us has his assigned delusion: but we see not what's in the
wallet on our back.

XXIII.

Furei, quoi neque servos est neque arca
Nec cimex neque araneus neque ignis,
Verumst et pater et noverca, quorum
Dentes vel silicem comesse possunt,
Est pulchre tibi cum tuo parente 5
Et cum coniuge lignea parentis.
Nec mirum: bene nam valetis omnes,
Pulchre concoquitis, nihil timetis,
Non incendia, non graves ruinas,
Non furta inpia, non dolos veneni, 10
Non casus alios periculorum.
Atqui corpora sicciora cornu
Aut siquid magis aridumst habetis
Sole et frigore et essuritione.
Quare non tibi sit bene ac beate? 15
A te sudor abest, abest saliva,
Mucusque et mala pituita nasi.
Hanc ad munditiem adde mundiorem,
Quod culus tibi purior salillost,
Nec toto decies cacas in anno, 20
Atque id durius est faba et lapillis;
Quod tu si manibus teras fricesque,
Non umquam digitum inquinare possis.
Haec tu commoda tam beata, Furi,
Noli spernere nec putare parvi, 25
Et sestertia quae soles precari
Centum desine: nam sat es beatus.

XXIII.

TO FURIUS SATIRICALLY PRAISING HIS POVERTY.

Furius! Nor chest, nor slaves can claim,
Bug, Spider, nor e'en hearth aflame,
Yet thine a sire and step-dame who
Wi' tooth can ever flint-food chew!
So thou, and pleasant happy life 5
Lead wi' thy parent's wooden wife.
Nor this be marvel: hale are all,
Well ye digest; no fears appal
For household-arsons, heavy ruin,
Plunderings impious, poison-brewin' 10
Or other parlous case forlorn.
Your frames are hard and dried like horn,
Or if more arid aught ye know,
By suns and frosts and hunger-throe.
Then why not happy as thou'rt hale? 15
Sweat's strange to thee, spit fails, and fail
Phlegm and foul snivel from the nose.
Add cleanness that aye cleanlier shows
A bum than salt-pot cleanlier,
Nor ten times cack'st in total year, 20
And harder 'tis than pebble or bean
Which rubbed in hand or crumbled, e'en
On finger ne'er shall make unclean.
Such blessings (Furius!