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Satire 2

The gangs of Syrian flute-girls, the shills

who sell exotic potions for our ills,

the bums, the actresses, the silly twits

and others of that ilk, indulge in fits

of grief about the late Tigellius5

because, of course, he was so generous.

Here, at the opposite extreme, this guy

who dreads the spendthrift label, would deny

a tiny handout for a flat-broke friend

though it would make his chills and hunger end.10

If you should ever ask this fellow what

(besides demands of his relentless gut)

could justify ransacking the estate

his noble forebears labored to create—

while he was sliding deeply into debt15

by buying every trifle he could get—

he'll answer that he doesn't want to seem…

meanspirited or cheap.

He wins esteem

from some, but others do not understand.

Fufidius, enriched by loans and land,20

so dreads the label of a prodigal

that he quintuples fees on principal,

and when his debtors plunge toward deeper trouble,

his attempts to get paid back redouble.

He preys on teens whose togas are brand new;25

when fathers leave, he takes an IOU.

On hearing this, who would not blurt out,

“Lord,

he must provide himself a fair reward!”?

Much like the father in the Terence play

who suffered when he sent his son away,30

you can't accept that he's his own worst friend.

If now you ask,

“When does this story end?”

it's here; afraid of missteps they might take,

fools often make the opposite mistake.

Maltinus wears his tunic down real low,35

while others hoist it high enough to show

their cocks and prove their lewd impertinence.

Refined Rufillus always reeks of mints;

Gargonius of goat. There isn't much

that's in-between. Some men will only touch40

a woman if a prudish robe can swallow

her ankles; others won't unless they wallow

in whorehouse stench. When Cato recognized

a friend outside a brothel, he advised

with godly insight,

“That's commendable!45

When lust engorges veins, it's sensible

for bachelors to descend into this den

instead of banging wives of married men.”

Cupiennius, who likes vaginas pure,

responds,

“Such praise I'd rather not endure!”50

It's worth it—if you're someone who prefers

that great disasters strike adulterers—

to pay attention to their chronic stress

and how fresh grief disrupts brief happiness.

One fellow went up to his roof and jumped;55

a second died from whippings; robbers thumped

another man while he was on the run;

some guy paid ransom; yet another one

was roughed up by a gang—and once a blade

left someone with his balls and prick filleted.60

Mobs roar,

“It's justice!!!” Galba won't agree.

So why are baubles picked up cheap or free

(i.e., freedwomen) thought to be less risky?

They will make Sallustius as frisky

as any husband screwing on the side,65

yet if he tried to be both dignified

and generous (so far as they don't clash

and he's unchecked by reason or his cash),

he'd give them adequate remuneration

and spare himself from shame and devastation.70

Instead, relying on this single thing

he swells with pride and takes to posturing

because, he can declare,

“I'd never paw

a married woman!”

It's the same old saw

we heard once from Marsaeus, who we know75

became the paramour of Origo

and gave that starlet his ancestral lands

while vowing,

“May I never lay my hands

on wives of other men!”

But you have laid

both actresses and hookers, which has made

your name more tarnished than your balance sheet!80

Are you content to take this part, yet cheat

yourself of credit for the role you play?

It harms you nonetheless; to throw away

one's reputation and inheritance85

is always evil. What's the difference

between a matron and a white-robed miss?

The son-in-law of Sulla, Villius,

a wretch too smitten with nobility,

was punished harshly and repeatedly90

by Fausta; he was always getting hit

or held at swordpoint for the fun of it,

and then deposited outside the gate

when Longarenus entered for a date.

Imagine someone stuck in such a bind95

whose penis was inclined to speak its mind:

“What satisfies you? Do I ask to probe the crotch beneath a consul's daughter's robe?”

And what would be his likeliest reply?

“Her father is a VIP…” Just try100 to get through thoughtfully and not confuse what you should shun with what you want to choose. Doesn't it matter if dissatisfactions stem from circumstance or your own actions? Don't give yourself a reason for remorse;105 forget the matrons, for they are a source of misery and evil that will keep you from the benefits you ought to reap. Although, Cerinthus, you may want to fight, your emerald or gems that are snow-white110 won't make the legs or thighs of women soften or more fragile, and indeed it's often a whore who has the more attractive odds, for she may sell without the false façades and openly display what is for sale;115 if she has charm, she need not hype her tale while cautiously concealing what is coarse. It's the same way that kings will buy a horse: they keep it covered as they check it out so they will never be deceived about120 the fragile hoof that often lurks below the gorgeous body putting on a show of tapered flanks, fine head, and arching neck. Their ways are wise, so never make your check of an exquisite body with the eyes125 of a Lynceus, but don't scrutinize the others like Hypsaea so you're blind to any imperfections you should find. “Oh what a leg! What arms!

Your blather flows

while viewing shapeless hips, a pointed nose,130

no waist to speak of, and enormous feet.

With someone's wife, your view is incomplete

except that you can see her face; unless

she is Catia, her long, flowing dress

will hide the rest. But if you go pursue135

forbidden joys—as crazy people do—

a host of obstacles will block your way:

attendants, vehicles, beauticians, stray

“consultants,” floor-length gowns, a shawl that flatters—

a thousand things that blind you to what matters.140

The other way to go is free and clear;

in Coan silk her torso may appear

as if it's naked, so a gimpy leg

or ugly foot are features you can peg.

Why lose your money and deceive yourself145

when merchandise is not yet on the shelf?

The playboy sings,

“The hunter tracks down hares /

through blinding snow, / but he no longer cares /

once they're brought low,”

and then analogizes:

“My passion is quite similar; it rises150

above the easy prey to chase the birds

in flight.”

Could you conceive that any words

of poetry would ever help to free

your heart of longing, angst, or agony?

And wouldn't it be better to inquire155

as to nature's limits on desire—

both joys that it allows itself to feel

and aches from want—so you can tell the real

from ether? When your throat is burning up,

would you drink only from a gilded cup?160

When you are famished, is your only wish

to taste the most exotic fowl or fish?

When your groin's throbbing, and you have in hand

some servant boy or girl at your command,

and you can feel it's time to make your thrust,165

would you prefer to burst from pent-up lust?

Not me! I like a lover who combines

low standards and convenience. If she whines,

“A little later,” “Buy me something more,”

or “Maybe when my husband's out the door,”170

as Philodemus says, then she is fit

or eunuch priests since his prerequisite

is she not cost a lot and never stall

whenever she is called. She should be tall

and fair, yet never try to look endowed175

with greater gifts than nature has allowed.

When lying on our sides, she looks to me

like Ilia, or maybe she could be

Egeria—since any name will do.

I never have misgivings when we screw180

for fear her husband's coming back to town

from business in the boonies to break down

the door as mongrels yap, the building shakes

with yelling, knocks, and clatter, and she wakes

up pale as death and scurries off. The maid,185

her co-conspirator, then grows afraid

of being beaten and begins her screaming;

her guilty mistress worries he'll be scheming

to steal the dowry while I save my hide.

Barefoot and nearly naked, I decide190

I should escape; I'm dreading litigation,

a pummeling or loss of reputation.

Whenever someone's nailed, his fate is cruel

(even if Fabius can bend a rule).

The Satires of Horace

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