Читать книгу Yale Classics (Vol. 2) - Луций Анней Сенека - Страница 116

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CATULLUS.

O to the goodman fair, O welcome alike to the father,

Hail, and Jove's kind grace shower his help upon you!

Door, that of old, men say, wrought Balbus ready obeisance,

Once, when his home, time was, lodged him, a master in years;

Door, that again, men say, grudg'd aught but a spiteful obeisance,

Soon as a corpse outstretch'd starkly declar'd you a bride.

Come, speak truly to me; what shameful rumour avouches

Duty of years forsworn, honour in injury lost?

DOOR.

So be the tenant new, Caecilius, happy to own me,

I'm not guilty, for all jealousy says it is I.

Never a fault was mine, nor man shall whisper it ever;

Only, my friend, your mob's noisy "The door is a rogue."

Comes to the light some mischief, a deed uncivil arising,

Loudly to me shout all, "Door, you are wholly to blame."

CATULLUS.

'Tis not enough so merely to say, so think to decide it.

Better, who wills should feel, see it, who wills, to be true.

DOOR.

How then? if here none asks, nor labours any to know it.

CATULLUS.

Nay, I ask it; away scruple; your hearer is I.

DOOR.

First, what rumour avers, they gave her to us a virgin—

They lie on her. A light lady! be sure, not alone

Clipp'd her an husband first; weak stalk from a garden, a pointless

Falchion, a heart did ne'er fully to courage awake.

No; to the son's own bed, 'tis said, that father ascended,

Vilely; with act impure stain'd the facinorous house.

Whether a blind fierce lust in his heart burnt sinfully flaming,

Or that inert that son's vigour, amort to delight,

Needed a sturdier arm, that franker quality somewhere,

Looser of youth's fast-bound girdle, a virgin as yet.

CATULLUS.

Truly a noble father, a glorious act of affection!

Thus in a son's kind sheets lewdly to puddle, his own.

DOOR.

Yet not alone of this, her crag Chinaean abiding

Under, a watch-tower set warily, Brixia tells,

Brixia, trails whereby his waters Mella the golden,

Mother of her, mine own city, Verona the fair.

Add Postumius yet, Cornelius also, a twice-told

Folly, with whom our light mistress adultery knew.

Asks some questioner here "What? a door, yet privy to lewdness?

You, from your owner's gate never a minute away?

Strange to the talk o' the town? since here, stout timber above you,

Hung to the beam, you shut mutely or open again."

Many a shameful time I heard her stealthy profession,

While to the maids her guilt softly she hinted alone.

Spoke unabash'd her amours and named them singly, opining

Haply an ear to record fail'd me, a voice to reveal.

There was another; enough; his name I gladly dissemble;

Lest his lifted brows blush a disorderly rage.

Sir, 'twas a long lean suitor; a process huge had assail'd him;

'Twas for a pregnant womb falsely declar'd to be true.