{"id":73,"date":"2017-06-24T20:36:23","date_gmt":"2017-06-24T20:36:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/chapter\/satires-ix-x\/"},"modified":"2017-06-24T20:36:23","modified_gmt":"2017-06-24T20:36:23","slug":"satires-ix-x","status":"web-only","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/chapter\/satires-ix-x\/","title":{"raw":"Satires IX & X","rendered":"Satires IX & X"},"content":{"raw":"Satire IX: Patrons Again: A Dialogue<\/strong> \u00a0 SatIX:1-47 Why so Wretched, Naevolus?\n\n\u00a0\n\nI\u2019d like to know why I so often see you looking gloomy,\n\nNaevolus, your brow all overcast, like Marsyas in defeat.\n\nWhy does your face look so like Ravola\u2019s, when he was\n\nCaught rubbing his wet beard between Rhodope\u2019s thighs?\n\nCrepereius Pollio\u2019s expression was never more wretched,\n\nHe who goes around offering to pay triple interest rates,\n\nAnd can\u2019t find anyone foolish enough to accept. Where\n\nAre those fresh furrows from? Happy with little, once\n\nYou were the young knight, born within Rome\u2019s walls,\n\nAn elegant guest, with biting humour and forceful wit.\n\nNow everything\u2019s changed: your face is grave, your\n\nDry hair a bristling forest, your skin has lost that gloss\n\nProduced by depilating it with heated Bruttian pitch,\n\nAnd your legs too, neglected, dark with sprouting hair.\n\nWhy emaciated like a chronic invalid, long tormented\n\nBy a habitual fever, one that recurs every three days?\n\nWe detect the mind\u2019s troubles lurking deep in the ailing\n\nBody, as we detect its joys too; in either case the face\n\nReveals the mood. Thus it appears you\u2019ve altered your\n\nDirection, treading the opposite path to the one you trod.\n\nIt\u2019s not so long ago, after all, as I recall, you used to be\n\nSeen at Isis\u2019 shrine, or by the Ganymede in the Temple\n\nOf Peace, or at alien Cybele\u2019s secret Palace, or that of\n\nCeres (is there any altar those whores don\u2019t profane?);\n\nAn adulterer more notorious than Aufidius, quiet too\n\nAbout how you also found favour with their husbands.\n\n\u2018Lots of men may find that way of life makes a profit,\n\nBut I\u2019ve no reward for all my efforts. Sometimes I\u2019d\n\nReceive a badly made cloak from the loom of a Gallic\n\nWeaver, or some thin silver plate of inferior quality.\n\nFate rules human life, even those parts hidden beneath\n\nThe folds have their fate. Yet if the stars abandon you,\n\nThe immeasurable length of your mighty cock won\u2019t\n\nHelp, even though Virro with drooling lips sees you\n\nIn the nude, and his host of flattering notes assails you\n\nEndlessly: \u2018men are always attracted to the catamite<\/em>\u2019.\n\nFor what\u2019s more monstrous than a tight-fisted pervert?\n\n\u201cI paid you this, I gave you that, and later you had more.\u201d\n\nHe adds it up as he wiggles about. Bring on the abacus,\n\nAnd the slave-boys taking notes; count fifty in gold\n\nPaid out in total, but then let\u2019s add up all my efforts.\n\nOr do you think it\u2019s simple to drive an upright cock\n\nInto the depths, only to come across yesterday\u2019s meal?\n\nThat slave has the easier life who ploughs the field\n\nRather than its owner.\u2019 Yet you surely felt yourself\n\nSweet and pretty enough to be the gods\u2019 cupbearer?\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatIX:48-91 Indignation\n\n\u00a0\n\n\u2018Does your rich man ever indulge a humble hanger-on,\n\nA follower; is he ready even now to spend money on\n\nHis sickness? Behold, him to whom one gives that green\n\nUmbrella, those balls of amber, on his birthday, or when\n\nRainy spring commences, lounging on his chaise longue,\n\nFondling his secret gifts at the Matronalia. Tell me, you\n\nLittle love-bird, for whom are you keeping all those hills\n\nAnd fields in Apulia, lands wide enough to weary a hawk?\n\nYour fertile vineyards at Trifolinus, at hollow Gaurus, or\n\nOn the Cumeaean ridge, keep you well supplied; is there\n\nAnyone who corks more casks of the long-lived vintage?\n\nHow much would it cost you to grant a few acres there,\n\nTo your client, and his weary loins! Is it better that your\n\nChild in the country, its mother, toy cottage, and puppy\n\nPlaymate, be left to your cymbal-clashing eunuch friend?\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s shameful of you to beg,\u201d he says. But my rent cries:\n\n\u201cBeg!\u201d my slave-boy makes demands, the sole one, single\n\nAs Polyphemus\u2019s great eye, cunning Ulysses escape plan.\n\nSince one\u2019s not enough I\u2019ll buy another, but both will need\n\nFeeding. What will I do when the cold winds blow? What,\n\nI ask, what shall I say to the boys\u2019 feet and shoulder-blades\n\nIn December\u2019s northerlies? \u201cBear up, wait for the cicadas?\u201d\n\nThough you set aside, and ignore, my other services, how\n\nDo you rate the fact that if it had not been for this loyal\n\nAnd devoted client, your wife would have stayed a virgin?\n\nYou know how you asked for my help, how often and in\n\nHow many ways. The girl was actually walking out on you\n\nWhen I grabbed and embraced her; she\u2019d already torn up\n\nThe contract, applied for divorce; I spent a whole night\n\nAnd barely remedied it, you crying outside the door, my\n\nWitnesses the sounds you heard from bed and mistress.\n\nThere\u2019s many a household where a fractured and shaky\n\nMarriage that\u2019s almost dissolved, is rescued by a lover.\n\nWhom do you turn to? Whom do you set first, or last?\n\nUngrateful perfidious one, is it worth nothing to you,\n\nNothing at all, that your little son or daughter\u2019s my doing?\n\nYou\u2019re happy enough to accept them, and splash the news\n\nOf your virility all over the papers. Garland your doors,\n\nYou\u2019re a father, I\u2019ve given you ammunition against gossip.\n\nYou\u2019re a parent, in law, through me wills treat you as such,\n\nYou can garner bequests intact, and the sweet windfalls too.\n\nAnd extra benefits will even accrue along with those gifts\n\nIf I add to the numbers, if I should make it a trio.\u2019 You\u2019ve just\n\nCause for resentment, Naevolus; but what do you say in reply?\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatIX:92-134 Advice and Reassurance\n\n\u00a0\n\n\u2018He ignores me, and seeks out some other two-legged donkey.\n\nBut remember to keep these complaints of mine to yourself,\n\nBe silent, and lock these confidences away deep inside you;\n\nFor the enemy\u2019s deadly who\u2019s skin is smoothed with pumice.\n\nHe who\u2019s committed his secret to me, he blazes with hatred,\n\nJust as much now as if I\u2019d told all I know. He\u2019d not hesitate\n\nTo pick up a knife, break my head, light a fire at my door.\n\nAnd with wealth like his, pure poison costs little or nothing.\n\nSo keep what\u2019s secret close, like the Court of Mars at Athens.\u2019\n\nAh Corydon, Corydon<\/em>, do you really believe a rich man\u2019s\n\nSecrets can ever stay hidden? If the slaves are mute his horses\n\nWill talk, his dog, his doorposts, his marble floors. Close the\n\nShutters, curtain the cracks, bar the doors, quench the light,\n\nMake everyone leave the place, have no one sleep nearby;\n\nBy the second cock-crow what the man does will still be\n\nKnown to the nearest tradesman, well before dawn; the\n\nPastry-cook\u2019s imaginings; the head-chef\u2019s and the carvers\u2019.\n\nWhat crime do they ever refrain from attributing to their\n\nMasters, extracting revenge by rumour if they\u2019re beaten?\n\nThere\u2019ll always be someone who\u2019ll seek you out at the\n\nCrossroads, and drunkenly fill your poor unwilling ear.\n\nAsk them to be quiet, it\u2019s from them you need to seek\n\nThe assurance you seek from me. They like betraying\n\nSecrets, even more than swilling stolen Falernian wine,\n\nIn those quantities Saufeia imbibed at public sacrifices.\n\nThere are many reasons for living an upright life, this\n\nOne especially, you can treat your slave\u2019s tongues lightly;\n\nFor the tongue\u2019s the worst part of all of an ill-behaved slave.\n\n\u2018The advice you\u2019ve just given give is good, but it\u2019s generic.\n\nWhat do you suggest I do, after wasting all this time, all\n\nMy hopes deceived? For the swift blossom\u2019s blowing by\n\nAnd is gone, the briefest part of our sad constricted life;\n\nWhile we drink, while we call for garlands, perfumes,\n\nAnd girls, old age comes stealing upon us undetected.\u2019\n\nDon\u2019t fret, you\u2019ll never lack a catamite friend as long as\n\nThese hills stand proud; they\u2019ll arrive in their carriages\n\nAnd ships, all those who stroke their hair with effeminate\n\nFingers. Even better try rich old women, you\u2019ll be more\n\nThan welcome; just keep on chewing those rocket leaves!\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatIX:135-150 Fate\u2019s Against Us\n\n\u00a0\n\n\u2018Keep your suggestions for the fortunate; my Clotho\n\nAnd Lachesis are happy enough if my cock can feed\n\nMy belly. O my poor Household Gods, whom I always\n\nPray to with a little incense or corn or a simple garland,\n\nWhen will I fix on something to rescue my old age from\n\nThe beggar\u2019s stick and mat? I only need two hundred in\n\nGold as income from safe investments, and a few plain\n\nSilver cups, the sort Fabricius banned as Censor, and two\n\nStrongmen from the Moesian crew, to allow me to take\n\nMy place, in safety, in a hired litter at the noisy Circus;\n\nAnd I\u2019d like an engraver, bowed over his work, besides,\n\nAnd another who can do lots of instant portraits; it would\n\nDo. When will I even have enough to be called poor? A\n\nWretched prayer it is, without hope of success; for when\n\nI summon Fortune, her ears are plugged with wax, purloined\n\nFrom the ship whose unhearing crew fled the Sicilian Sirens.\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatire X: The Vanity of Human\u00a0 Wishes<\/strong> \u00a0 SatX:1-55 Be Careful What You Ask For\n\n\u00a0\n\nIn all the lands that stretch from Cadiz to the Ganges and the Dawn,\n\nThere are few who, free of a cloud of errors, can discern true good\n\nFrom a host of opposites. What indeed do we wish for or fear that is\n\nRational? How often is what we conceive so far from wrong-headed\n\nThat we don\u2019t regret both the effort, and the fulfilment of our desire?\n\nWhole families have been ruined by the gods\u2019 too ready compliance\n\nWith their prayers. They ask for what harms them whether in peace\n\nOr war; to many people their own torrential flood of speech and their\n\nOwn eloquence is fatal; think of Milo of Croton who perished from\n\nRelying on his own strength, and his awe-inspiring show of muscle;\n\nMore people are still undone by the money they gather with too much\n\nCare, by a wealth that exceeds all other competing family fortunes,\n\nAs vast as a whale from British waters when compared to a dolphin.\n\nThat explains why in those dreadful times, Gaius Cassius Longinus\n\nWas besieged, on the orders of Nero, by an entire cohort, as was\n\nSeneca the millionaire\u2019s vast garden, with the splendid mansion\n\nOf the Laterani surrounded: soldiers rarely seek to invade a garret.\n\nThough you might only be carrying a few items of plain silver,\n\nWhen you set out to travel at night, you\u2019ll still be afraid of swords\n\nAnd sticks, panic at the shadow of a reed stirring in the moonlight;\n\nWhile an empty-handed traveller can whistle in the robber\u2019s face.\n\nThe most popular prayer, as noted in all the temples, is for cash:\n\nMay my wealth increase, may my family treasure-chest hold the\n\nHighest value of anyone\u2019s in the Forum. Yet you\u2019ll never imbibe\n\nPoison from earthenware; the time to fear it is when you lift a cup\n\nStudded with gems, when Setian wine glows in the golden bowl.\n\nSo, do you admire Democritus yet, that one of the two philosophers,\n\nWho laughed at the human race, whenever he stirred a foot to move\n\nFrom his threshold, while the other, Heraclitus, in contrast, cried?\n\nWe so readily censure the world with harsh derisive laughter, that\n\nIt\u2019s a wonder where all the moisture flooding his eyes came from.\n\nDemocritus\u2019 sides used to shake with perpetual laughter, despite\n\nThe fact that the cities of his day lacked togas with purple borders,\n\nAnd togas with purple stripes, rods of office, litters, and tribunals.\n\nWhat if he\u2019d seen our eminent praetor standing there in his high\n\nChariot, in the midst of the dust in the Circus, in Jupiter\u2019s tunic,\n\nWith that regal Tyrian ornamentation, on the embroidered toga\n\nFalling from his shoulders, and a crown of such huge diameter,\n\nThat there isn\u2019t a neck created made strong enough to bear it?\n\nIn fact a sweating slave holds it in public, and lest the praetor\n\nIs over-pleased with himself, rides beside him in the same car.\n\nNow add the bird that soars from his ivory sceptre, add the horn\n\nPlayers over here, over there the long lines of his official escort\n\nLeading the way, and the citizens in white who march at his bridle,\n\nTransformed into friends by the hand-outs tucked in their purses.\n\nIn those days too Democritus found laughter in every encounter,\n\nHis shrewdness shows that men of excellence, great exemplars,\n\nMay yet be born in a dull climate, in a land of castrated sheep.\n\nHe laughed at people\u2019s anxieties and at their delights as well,\n\nAnd sometimes at their tears, while to Fortune\u2019s menaces he\n\nHimself would say: \u2018Go hang!\u2019 and show her his middle finger.\n\nSo what are the vacuous, pernicious things that people ask for?\n\nIs there a point to those wax tablets, prayers at the gods\u2019 knees?\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatX:56-113 The Emptiness Of Power\n\n\u00a0\n\nSome are destroyed by their power, downed by profound envy,\n\nSome are sunk deep by their long and illustrious list of honours.\n\nNoosed by a rope, their statues are dragged to the ground, even\n\nThe wheels of their chariots are smashed, and broken to pieces\n\nWith axes, while the legs of their innocent horses are shattered.\n\nNow the flames roar, the bellows hiss, and that head idolised\n\nBy the people glows in the furnace, flames crackle around huge\n\nSejanus; the face of a man who was number two in the world\n\nIs converted to jugs and basins, turned to pots and frying pans.\n\nDeck your houses with laurel, lead a great bull whitened with\n\nChalk up to the Capitol: come see Sejanus dragged along by\n\nA hook, everyone\u2019s celebrating! \u2018Look at the lips, look at the\n\nFace on that! You can take it from me, he was never a man\n\nThat I liked\u2019 \u2018But what was the crime that brought him down?\u2019\n\nWho informed, what\u2019s the evidence, where are the witnesses?\u2019\n\n\u2018That\u2019s all irrelevant; a lengthy and wordy letter arrived from\n\nCapri.\u2019 \u2018That\u2019s fine, answer enough.\u2019 But what of the Roman\n\nMob? They follow Fortune, as always, and hate whoever she\n\nCondemns. If Nortia, as the Etruscans called her, had favoured\n\nEtruscan Sejanus; if the old Emperor had been surreptitiously\n\nSmothered; that same crowd in a moment would have hailed\n\nTheir new Augustus. They shed their sense of responsibility\n\nLong ago, when they lost their votes, and the bribes; the mob\n\nThat used to grant power, high office, the legions, everything,\n\nCurtails its desires, and reveals its anxiety for two things only,\n\nBread and circuses. \u2018I hear that many will perish.\u2019 \u2018No doubt,\n\nThe furnace is huge.\u2019 \u2018My friend Bruttidius Niger looked\n\nRather pale, when I met him in front of the altar of Mars;\n\nI\u2019m scared that Tiberius, like a defeated Ajax, will exact\n\nPunishment for being so poorly protected. Let\u2019s run swiftly\n\nAnd trample on Caesar\u2019s foe, where he lies on the riverbank,\n\nMaking sure our slaves see us, so they can\u2019t deny it and drag\n\nTheir terrified masters to justice, with nooses round our necks.\u2019\n\nThose were the crowd\u2019s secret murmurings regarding Sejanus.\n\nWould you like to be greeted as Sejanus, possess all that he\n\nPossessed, be the one to grant highest office to some, appoint\n\nOthers to military posts, be seen as the Emperor\u2019s guardian,\n\nHe who sits on the little constricted rock of Capri with a herd\n\nOf Chaldean stargazers? Surely you\u2019d like his troops, their\n\nSpears, his excellent cavalry and private fortress; why\n\nWouldn\u2019t you? Even those who have no wish to kill, enjoy\n\nThe power to do so. But what\u2019s the value of fame and wealth,\n\nIf the good that delights is matched by an equal measure of ill?\n\nWould you rather be wearing the purple-edged toga of him\n\nWho\u2019s being dragged along, or rule empty Gabii or Fidenae;\n\nLay down the law over weights and scales, break vessels that\n\nGive short measure, as a ragged official in deserted Ulubrae?\n\nSo perhaps you\u2019d admit Sejanus had no idea what to ask for?\n\nSince he simply kept asking for greater honours, demanding\n\nMore and more wealth, he was building a lofty many-storied\n\nTower, from which the fall would only prove greater, whose\n\nCollapse into shattered ruin would be only the more profound.\n\nWhat destroyed the Crassi, the Pompeys, and that man Caesar\n\nWho brought the Romans under his lash, and so tamed them?\n\nSimply seeking that place at the top, using every trick that\n\nExists, simply extravagant prayer granted by spiteful gods.\n\nFew kings go down to Ceres\u2019 son-in-law, Dis, free from\n\nBlood and carnage, few tyrants achieve a tranquil death.\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatX:114-146 The Rewards of Fame and Eloquence\n\n\u00a0\n\nThe fame and eloquence of a Demosthenes, or of a Cicero,\n\nIs what lads pray for, and keep on praying for, all through\n\nMinerva\u2019s spring holidays, every lad with a slave to guard\n\nHis slim satchel, and a farthing to give to the thrifty goddess.\n\nYet both orators died for their eloquence, a rich overflowing\n\nStream of talent was what sent both of them to their deaths.\n\nTalent had its hands and neck severed, no feeble advocate\u2019s\n\nBlood drenched the rostrum, it was Cicero\u2019s, he who said:\n\n\u2018O Rome, you are fortunate to be born in my consulate.\u2019\n\nIf he\u2019d always carried on in that vein, he might have denied\n\nAntony\u2019s swords. Rather risible verses than you, O immortal\n\nSecond Philippic, so conspicuous by your fame, the one that\u2019s\n\nRolled out next on the scroll. Demosthenes, your inspiration,\n\nHe too, the wonder of Athens, was snatched by harsh death,\n\nWhen he hauled at the twisted reins of the packed assembly.\n\nHe was born with the gods, and malignant fate, against him,\n\nBeing sent away from the coals, the tongs, and anvil of filthy\n\nVulcan, where eyes ran with the soot from the glowing ore,\n\nFrom his father\u2019s sword-manufacture, to a teacher of rhetoric.\n\nThe trophies of war too are considered to be more than human\n\nGlories, the breastplate pinned to a bare tree trunk, cheek-piece\n\nHung from a shattered helmet, a chariot yoke short of its pole,\n\nAn ornament from the stern of a conquered ship, a sad captive\n\nOn the fortress\u2019s heights, these are the things for which a Greek\n\nOr Barbarian, or a Roman commander exerts himself, these are\n\nThe things that provide an incentive, for danger and hard work.\n\nSo much more intense is the thirst for fame than for virtue.\n\nWho\u2019d embrace virtue simply for itself, if you took away all\n\nThe reward? Yet nations have been destroyed by the ambition\n\nOf a few, by their desire for fame and a title, a name that might\n\nCling to the stones that guard their ashes, those stones the barren\n\nFig tree\u2019s malicious strength is capable of shattering, since\n\nEven their very sepulchres are granted a limited span by fate.\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatX:147-187 The Paths Of Glory\n\n\u00a0\n\nPut Hannibal in the scales: how much do you find the greatest\n\nGeneral weighs? A man too big for North Africa, that stretches\n\nFrom Moroccan ocean\u2019s pounding to tepid Nile, then mounts it\n\nAs far as the Ethiopian tribes, and another species of elephant.\n\nHe adds Spain to his empire, and then vaults the Pyrenees.\n\nNature then bars his passage with the snowy Alps; whose rocks\n\nHe splits with vinegar and fire, bursting through the mountains.\n\nHe holds Italy now, yet aims to advance still further. \u2018Nothing\n\nIs won,\u2019 he claims, \u2018until our Carthaginian army has shattered\n\nThe City gates and I plant my flag at the heart of the Subura.\u2019\n\nO what a sight, what a painting it would make, the one-eyed\n\nGeneral riding an African elephant, his Mauretanian beast!\n\nSo how does it end? O Glory! That very man, defeated, sits\n\nA noted dependant, in the King of Bithynia\u2019s palace, there\n\nTo wait till his majesty chooses to wake. No sword, or stone,\n\nOr javelin makes an end of a life that once troubled humanity,\n\nBut a little poisoned ring, avenging the rings, spoil from Cannae,\n\nRepaying all that blood. Go, madman, and climb the hostile Alps\n\nTo entertain schoolboys, and provide matter for their speeches.\n\nA world was not enough for that youth from Pella, Alexander,\n\nSeething with discontent at the narrow confines of his universe,\n\nAs if trapped on some rocky prison isle, tiny Seriphus or Gyara:\n\nBut once he\u2019s entered that city, Babylon, built of brick and clay,\n\nHe must be content with it as his coffin. For death alone reveals\n\nHow small the remnants of a human being. Then there\u2019s Xerxes:\n\nThe tale that he sailed through Mount Athos, all the lies Greece\n\nTells as history, gained credence; the Hellespont bridged by his\n\nVessels, solid enough for vehicles to cross; we credit the stories\n\nOf streams running dry, of deep rivers being drunk by the Medes\n\nAt their meals, all that Sosostris sang with drenched sleeves.\n\nYet what state did Xerxes return in, on relinquishing Salamis?\n\nHe vented his savage rage by lashing the winds, Caurus, Eurus,\n\nWho\u2019d never experienced the like even in their Aeolian prison,\n\nHe bound Poseidon, the Earthshaker himself, with chains,\n\n(That was lenient. What? Didn\u2019t he think him worth branding\n\nToo? What god would have chosen to be that man\u2019s slave?)\n\nWhat state was he in? In a single ship, of course, sailing the\n\nBloodstained waves, his prow slowly pushing corpses aside.\n\nSo often that\u2019s the price extracted for man\u2019s desire for glory.\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatX:188-288 The Penalties Of A Long Life\n\n\u00a0\n\n\u2018Grant me a long life, grant me many years, Jupiter.\u2019\n\nBut think of the many endless ills old age is full of!\n\nTake a look, first of all, at its ugly face, repulsive,\n\nAnd wholly altered, with an ugly hide in place of\n\nSmooth skin, the drooping jowls, the wrinkles such\n\nAs those that the old mother ape scratches at on aged\n\nCheeks, in shadowy spreading groves of Numidia.\n\nBetween the young there are plenty of differences,\n\nOne\u2019s better looking, one\u2019s stronger than another,\n\nBut the old are alike, body and voice both trembling,\n\nThe head quite bald, the nose dripping, like a baby;\n\nThe poor wretch mumbles his bread with useless gums.\n\nEven to his wife and children, and himself, he seems\n\nSo dire even Cossus the fortune-hunter feels disgust.\n\nThe pleasures of food and wine are no longer the same\n\nAs his palate dulls; and as for sex its now long-forgotten,\n\nOr should you try, his limp prick with its swollen vein, just\n\nLies there, lies there though you pummel it all night long.\n\nWhat else could you expect from such feeble white-haired\n\nLoins? Desire that attempts oral sex without the strength\n\nTo perform it, is that not rightly suspect, too? Now take\n\nNote of another lost power. What pleasure is there in music,\n\nHowever fine the singer, what pleasure in Seleucus\u2019s lyre,\n\nOr the sound of the pipers, in cloaks of glittering gold?\n\nWhat matter where he sits in the vast theatre, if he can\n\nBarely hear the loud horn-player, the fanfare of trumpets?\n\nThe slave-boy has to shout loudly, in his ear, to make his\n\nVisitors\u2019 names heard, or even tell him the time of day.\n\nMoreover fever alone warms the few pints of blood in\n\nHis already icy body. A host of diseases of every strain\n\nEncircle him, and if you asked me to name each of them\n\nI could sooner tell you how many lovers Oppia has had;\n\nOr how many patients Themison kills in a single autumn;\n\nOr how many partners Basilus has swindled, how many\n\nWards Hirrus; how many men generous Maura sucks off\n\nIn a day, or how many pupils have been laid by Hamillus;\n\nQuicker to run through the number of villas that man owns\n\nWho made my fresh beard rasp, in shaving me, when young.\n\nThis old man\u2019s shoulder\u2019s impaired, that one\u2019s groin, or\n\nThat one\u2019s hip; he\u2019s blind and jealous of the one-eyed; he\n\nTakes food from another\u2019s fingers between bloodless lips;\n\nHis jaws used to open wide when dinner appeared, now he\n\nJust gapes like a baby-swallow when the selfless mother\n\nFlies to it, bringing a mouthful. But worse than a physical\n\nDecline is the onset of dementia, when his slaves\u2019 names\n\nAre forgotten, the face of his friend whom he dined with\n\nThe previous evening, and even the children he fathered,\n\nAnd raised himself. In his will, he\u2019ll cruelly deny his own\n\nHeirs their inheritance, and leave everything to his dearest\n\nPhiale; showing what the breath of a skilful mouth can do\n\nThat\u2019s been employed for years deep in a whorish cavern.\n\nEven if his mental powers remain intact, he\u2019s required to\n\nFace the funerals of his sons, gaze on his beloved wife\u2019s\n\nOr brother\u2019s pyre, on the urn containing his sisters\u2019 ashes.\n\nIt\u2019s the penalty for living a long life; to endure old age with\n\nDomestic tragedy endlessly repeated, sorrow after sorrow,\n\nForever mourning, forever clothed in black. Nestor, King\n\nOf Pylos, if you choose to give any credit to Homer\u2019s tale,\n\nPresents an example of survival second only to the ravens.\n\nSurely he must have been happy, delaying his death for so\n\nMany generations, counting his centuries on his finger-ends,\n\nAnd toasting himself in so many new vintages? Well listen\n\nA moment, to the complaints he made regarding the decrees\n\nOf fate, and the length of his life\u2019s thread, forced to see his\n\nArdent son Antilochus\u2019s bearded body ablaze, questioning\n\nEveryone there, as to why had survived to endure that day,\n\nAnd what crime he had committed to deserve so long a life.\n\nPeleus said the same, when he mourned the loss of Achilles,\n\nAnd Laertes prematurely mourning the wandering Odysseus.\n\nIf Priam had died earlier, while proud Troy was still standing,\n\nIf he had died before Paris had begun to construct his brave\n\nFleet of ships, he would have joined the shade of his ancestor\n\nAssaracus, his corpse borne, with great solemnity, held high\n\nOn the shoulders of his sons, Hector and his brothers, and\n\nAccompanied by a host of Trojan women in tears, lead by\n\nCassandra and Polyxena, his daughters, their garments torn.\n\nWhat then did a long life bring him? He saw a world ending,\n\nAsia Minor brought to defeat, swept by fire and the sword.\n\nThen he removed his crown, and took up arms, a soldier\n\nWith trembling arm, to fall, at highest Jove\u2019s altar, slain\n\nLike an ox, too old for the thankless plough, offering its\n\nWretched, scrawny neck to the blade of its master\u2019s knife.\n\nAt least he died a human being, while his wife, Hecuba,\n\nSurvived only to bark fiercely from a bitch\u2019s gaping jaws.\n\nI\u2019ll turn to Roman examples, after passing swiftly over King\n\nMithridates of Pontus, and Croesus, ordered by eloquent Solon\n\nThe Just, to look to a long life\u2019s end before calling it fortunate.\n\nA long life led Marius to exile, prison, the Minturnine Marshes,\n\nIt was the cause of him begging his bread in ruined Carthage;\n\nCould nature, or Rome, have displayed anyone more fortunate\n\nThan that citizen, if his triumphal spirit had breathed its last,\n\nWhen he\u2019d led the massed ranks of his prisoners in procession,\n\nAnd ridden amidst all that military pomp, at the very moment\n\nWhen he finally chose to step down from his Teutonic chariot?\n\nCampania, foreseeing his fate, offered Pompey a death by fever\n\nHe should have longed-for, but the prayers of people in many\n\nCities prevailed; so that Fortune, his own and Rome\u2019s, saw him\n\nDefeated, and severed that head she\u2019d saved. That mangling\n\nLentulus\u00a0 and Cethegus avoided; punished for their conspiracy,\n\nThey died whole, and the corpse of Catiline too lay there intact.\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatX:289-345 And As For Good Looks!\n\n\u00a0\n\nThe anxious mother prays in a low murmur, for a sons\u2019 good looks,\n\nMore loudly for a daughter\u2019s, as she stares at the shrine of Venus,\n\nWith the most extravagant of requests. \u2018Why criticise me?\u2019 she\u2019ll\n\nDemand, \u2018After all, Latona delights in her daughter Diana\u2019s beauty.\u2019\n\nBut Lucretia\u2019s fate would inhibit me from praying for good looks\n\nLike hers. Virginia would much have preferred to possess Rutila\u2019s\n\nHunched back, and yield her own face to Rutila. Moreover, a son\n\nWith a handsome form always makes his parents so nervous and\n\nWretched: since it\u2019s so rare for beauty to coincide with restrained\n\nBehaviour. He\u2019ll be denied his manhood, even though his family\n\nTradition is all for morality pure and simple, imitating the ancient\n\nSabines, even though nature may have endowed him generously\n\nWith a face that glows with blushing modesty, with an innocent\n\nDisposition (What more, after all, could nature do for the lad;\n\nNature, who is more powerful than any chaperone\u2019s vigilance?)\n\nAnd why? Because of the unrestrained dishonesty of his seducer,\n\nWho\u2019ll even dare to corrupt the parents themselves: such is his\n\nConfidence in the power of bribery. No tyrant in his barbaric\n\nFortress has ever sought to have an ugly adolescent castrated!\n\nNo bandy-legged scrofulous teenager, with a swollen belly\n\nOr a hunched back, was ever the target of Nero\u2019s foul desires!\n\nYet, carry on, and indulge your pride in your boy\u2019s good looks,\n\nAnd you must expect even greater dangers. He may well prove\n\nA notorious adulterer, living in fear of whatever punishment\n\nSome furious spouse may exact. His stars won\u2019t make him\n\nAny less likely than Mars to fall into the husband\u2019s net. And\n\nResentment sometimes goes well beyond what the law allows:\n\nThere\u2019s death by the sword, or a cruel scarring from the lash,\n\nSome adulterers have even been buggered with dried mullets.\n\nStill your Endymion seduces some married woman he\u2019s fallen\n\nIn love with. Soon, when Servilia has handed over her money,\n\nHe\u2019ll become hers whom he does not love, and strip her of all\n\nHer personal jewellery; which of them, if she\u2019s an Oppia or\n\nA Catulla, is likely to deny that wetness between her thighs?\n\n\u2018But if he\u2019s pure what harm can beauty do him? What good\n\nDid it do Hippolytus or Bellerephon leading an austere life?\n\nStheneboa burned as hotly as did Phaedra, and both of them\n\nLashed themselves into a rage. Woman\u2019s at her most savage\n\nWhen she\u2019s stirred to hatred by a sense of shame. What advice\n\nWill you give Silius whom Claudius\u2019s wife has determined\n\nTo \u2018marry\u2019? He\u2019s the finest, most handsome member of the\n\nPatrician race, yet a glance from Messalina is drawing him\n\nTo a wretched finale; she\u2019s been waiting a while now, her\n\nBridal-veil all ready, her regal marriage bed\u2019s prepared, all\n\nCan see it in the garden; her dowry\u2019s a thousand gold pieces,\n\nAnd even the augur and witnesses have arrived not long ago.\n\nDid you imagine this was a secret only shared with a few?\n\nShe won\u2019t marry unless it\u2019s legal. What\u2019s your decision?\n\nIf you don\u2019t choose to obey, you\u2019ll be dead before evening;\n\nIf you commit the sin, there\u2019ll be the briefest delay before\n\nWhat\u2019s known to Rome, and the mob, reaches Caesar\u2019s ear.\n\nBow to her commands, if a few days of life are worth that.\n\nWhichever decision you think is easier or more preferable,\n\nYou\u2019ll still have to offer your fine white neck to the sword.\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatX:346-366 So Much For Prayer\n\n\u00a0\n\nSo is there nothing worth people praying for? If you\u2019ll take\n\nMy advice, you\u2019ll allow the gods to determine what\u2019s right\n\nFor us, and what\u2019s likely to benefit our situation; for\n\nThe gods grant us gifts that are more fitting than nice.\n\nThey show more care for us than we do for ourselves. We\n\nSeek marriage and offspring driven by blind emotion, by\n\nVain desire, while the gods know all about the children\n\nWe\u2019ll have, and what kind of wife ours will turn out to be.\n\nStill, if you want a reason for prayer, for offering a pretty\n\nWhite piglet\u2019s innards, the sacred sausages, at the shrines,\n\nThen you might pray for a sound mind in a healthy body.\n\nAsk for a heart filled with courage, without fear of death,\n\nThat regards long life as among the least of nature\u2019s gifts,\n\nThat can endure any hardship, to which anger is unknown,\n\nThat desires nothing, and gives more credit to all the labours\n\nAnd cruel sufferings of Hercules, than to all the love-making\n\nAll the feasting, and all the downy pillows of Sardanapalus.\n\nThe prayer I offer you can grant yourself; without doubt,\n\nThe one true path that leads to a tranquil life is that of virtue.\n\nIf we were prudent, you\u2019d possess no power, Fortune: it\u2019s we\n\nWho make you a goddess, and grant you a place in the sky.","rendered":"

Satire IX: Patrons Again: A Dialogue<\/strong> \u00a0 SatIX:1-47 Why so Wretched, Naevolus?<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

I\u2019d like to know why I so often see you looking gloomy,<\/p>\n

Naevolus, your brow all overcast, like Marsyas in defeat.<\/p>\n

Why does your face look so like Ravola\u2019s, when he was<\/p>\n

Caught rubbing his wet beard between Rhodope\u2019s thighs?<\/p>\n

Crepereius Pollio\u2019s expression was never more wretched,<\/p>\n

He who goes around offering to pay triple interest rates,<\/p>\n

And can\u2019t find anyone foolish enough to accept. Where<\/p>\n

Are those fresh furrows from? Happy with little, once<\/p>\n

You were the young knight, born within Rome\u2019s walls,<\/p>\n

An elegant guest, with biting humour and forceful wit.<\/p>\n

Now everything\u2019s changed: your face is grave, your<\/p>\n

Dry hair a bristling forest, your skin has lost that gloss<\/p>\n

Produced by depilating it with heated Bruttian pitch,<\/p>\n

And your legs too, neglected, dark with sprouting hair.<\/p>\n

Why emaciated like a chronic invalid, long tormented<\/p>\n

By a habitual fever, one that recurs every three days?<\/p>\n

We detect the mind\u2019s troubles lurking deep in the ailing<\/p>\n

Body, as we detect its joys too; in either case the face<\/p>\n

Reveals the mood. Thus it appears you\u2019ve altered your<\/p>\n

Direction, treading the opposite path to the one you trod.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not so long ago, after all, as I recall, you used to be<\/p>\n

Seen at Isis\u2019 shrine, or by the Ganymede in the Temple<\/p>\n

Of Peace, or at alien Cybele\u2019s secret Palace, or that of<\/p>\n

Ceres (is there any altar those whores don\u2019t profane?);<\/p>\n

An adulterer more notorious than Aufidius, quiet too<\/p>\n

About how you also found favour with their husbands.<\/p>\n

\u2018Lots of men may find that way of life makes a profit,<\/p>\n

But I\u2019ve no reward for all my efforts. Sometimes I\u2019d<\/p>\n

Receive a badly made cloak from the loom of a Gallic<\/p>\n

Weaver, or some thin silver plate of inferior quality.<\/p>\n

Fate rules human life, even those parts hidden beneath<\/p>\n

The folds have their fate. Yet if the stars abandon you,<\/p>\n

The immeasurable length of your mighty cock won\u2019t<\/p>\n

Help, even though Virro with drooling lips sees you<\/p>\n

In the nude, and his host of flattering notes assails you<\/p>\n

Endlessly: \u2018men are always attracted to the catamite<\/em>\u2019.<\/p>\n

For what\u2019s more monstrous than a tight-fisted pervert?<\/p>\n

\u201cI paid you this, I gave you that, and later you had more.\u201d<\/p>\n

He adds it up as he wiggles about. Bring on the abacus,<\/p>\n

And the slave-boys taking notes; count fifty in gold<\/p>\n

Paid out in total, but then let\u2019s add up all my efforts.<\/p>\n

Or do you think it\u2019s simple to drive an upright cock<\/p>\n

Into the depths, only to come across yesterday\u2019s meal?<\/p>\n

That slave has the easier life who ploughs the field<\/p>\n

Rather than its owner.\u2019 Yet you surely felt yourself<\/p>\n

Sweet and pretty enough to be the gods\u2019 cupbearer?<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatIX:48-91 Indignation<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u2018Does your rich man ever indulge a humble hanger-on,<\/p>\n

A follower; is he ready even now to spend money on<\/p>\n

His sickness? Behold, him to whom one gives that green<\/p>\n

Umbrella, those balls of amber, on his birthday, or when<\/p>\n

Rainy spring commences, lounging on his chaise longue,<\/p>\n

Fondling his secret gifts at the Matronalia. Tell me, you<\/p>\n

Little love-bird, for whom are you keeping all those hills<\/p>\n

And fields in Apulia, lands wide enough to weary a hawk?<\/p>\n

Your fertile vineyards at Trifolinus, at hollow Gaurus, or<\/p>\n

On the Cumeaean ridge, keep you well supplied; is there<\/p>\n

Anyone who corks more casks of the long-lived vintage?<\/p>\n

How much would it cost you to grant a few acres there,<\/p>\n

To your client, and his weary loins! Is it better that your<\/p>\n

Child in the country, its mother, toy cottage, and puppy<\/p>\n

Playmate, be left to your cymbal-clashing eunuch friend?<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s shameful of you to beg,\u201d he says. But my rent cries:<\/p>\n

\u201cBeg!\u201d my slave-boy makes demands, the sole one, single<\/p>\n

As Polyphemus\u2019s great eye, cunning Ulysses escape plan.<\/p>\n

Since one\u2019s not enough I\u2019ll buy another, but both will need<\/p>\n

Feeding. What will I do when the cold winds blow? What,<\/p>\n

I ask, what shall I say to the boys\u2019 feet and shoulder-blades<\/p>\n

In December\u2019s northerlies? \u201cBear up, wait for the cicadas?\u201d<\/p>\n

Though you set aside, and ignore, my other services, how<\/p>\n

Do you rate the fact that if it had not been for this loyal<\/p>\n

And devoted client, your wife would have stayed a virgin?<\/p>\n

You know how you asked for my help, how often and in<\/p>\n

How many ways. The girl was actually walking out on you<\/p>\n

When I grabbed and embraced her; she\u2019d already torn up<\/p>\n

The contract, applied for divorce; I spent a whole night<\/p>\n

And barely remedied it, you crying outside the door, my<\/p>\n

Witnesses the sounds you heard from bed and mistress.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s many a household where a fractured and shaky<\/p>\n

Marriage that\u2019s almost dissolved, is rescued by a lover.<\/p>\n

Whom do you turn to? Whom do you set first, or last?<\/p>\n

Ungrateful perfidious one, is it worth nothing to you,<\/p>\n

Nothing at all, that your little son or daughter\u2019s my doing?<\/p>\n

You\u2019re happy enough to accept them, and splash the news<\/p>\n

Of your virility all over the papers. Garland your doors,<\/p>\n

You\u2019re a father, I\u2019ve given you ammunition against gossip.<\/p>\n

You\u2019re a parent, in law, through me wills treat you as such,<\/p>\n

You can garner bequests intact, and the sweet windfalls too.<\/p>\n

And extra benefits will even accrue along with those gifts<\/p>\n

If I add to the numbers, if I should make it a trio.\u2019 You\u2019ve just<\/p>\n

Cause for resentment, Naevolus; but what do you say in reply?<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatIX:92-134 Advice and Reassurance<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u2018He ignores me, and seeks out some other two-legged donkey.<\/p>\n

But remember to keep these complaints of mine to yourself,<\/p>\n

Be silent, and lock these confidences away deep inside you;<\/p>\n

For the enemy\u2019s deadly who\u2019s skin is smoothed with pumice.<\/p>\n

He who\u2019s committed his secret to me, he blazes with hatred,<\/p>\n

Just as much now as if I\u2019d told all I know. He\u2019d not hesitate<\/p>\n

To pick up a knife, break my head, light a fire at my door.<\/p>\n

And with wealth like his, pure poison costs little or nothing.<\/p>\n

So keep what\u2019s secret close, like the Court of Mars at Athens.\u2019<\/p>\n

Ah Corydon, Corydon<\/em>, do you really believe a rich man\u2019s<\/p>\n

Secrets can ever stay hidden? If the slaves are mute his horses<\/p>\n

Will talk, his dog, his doorposts, his marble floors. Close the<\/p>\n

Shutters, curtain the cracks, bar the doors, quench the light,<\/p>\n

Make everyone leave the place, have no one sleep nearby;<\/p>\n

By the second cock-crow what the man does will still be<\/p>\n

Known to the nearest tradesman, well before dawn; the<\/p>\n

Pastry-cook\u2019s imaginings; the head-chef\u2019s and the carvers\u2019.<\/p>\n

What crime do they ever refrain from attributing to their<\/p>\n

Masters, extracting revenge by rumour if they\u2019re beaten?<\/p>\n

There\u2019ll always be someone who\u2019ll seek you out at the<\/p>\n

Crossroads, and drunkenly fill your poor unwilling ear.<\/p>\n

Ask them to be quiet, it\u2019s from them you need to seek<\/p>\n

The assurance you seek from me. They like betraying<\/p>\n

Secrets, even more than swilling stolen Falernian wine,<\/p>\n

In those quantities Saufeia imbibed at public sacrifices.<\/p>\n

There are many reasons for living an upright life, this<\/p>\n

One especially, you can treat your slave\u2019s tongues lightly;<\/p>\n

For the tongue\u2019s the worst part of all of an ill-behaved slave.<\/p>\n

\u2018The advice you\u2019ve just given give is good, but it\u2019s generic.<\/p>\n

What do you suggest I do, after wasting all this time, all<\/p>\n

My hopes deceived? For the swift blossom\u2019s blowing by<\/p>\n

And is gone, the briefest part of our sad constricted life;<\/p>\n

While we drink, while we call for garlands, perfumes,<\/p>\n

And girls, old age comes stealing upon us undetected.\u2019<\/p>\n

Don\u2019t fret, you\u2019ll never lack a catamite friend as long as<\/p>\n

These hills stand proud; they\u2019ll arrive in their carriages<\/p>\n

And ships, all those who stroke their hair with effeminate<\/p>\n

Fingers. Even better try rich old women, you\u2019ll be more<\/p>\n

Than welcome; just keep on chewing those rocket leaves!<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatIX:135-150 Fate\u2019s Against Us<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u2018Keep your suggestions for the fortunate; my Clotho<\/p>\n

And Lachesis are happy enough if my cock can feed<\/p>\n

My belly. O my poor Household Gods, whom I always<\/p>\n

Pray to with a little incense or corn or a simple garland,<\/p>\n

When will I fix on something to rescue my old age from<\/p>\n

The beggar\u2019s stick and mat? I only need two hundred in<\/p>\n

Gold as income from safe investments, and a few plain<\/p>\n

Silver cups, the sort Fabricius banned as Censor, and two<\/p>\n

Strongmen from the Moesian crew, to allow me to take<\/p>\n

My place, in safety, in a hired litter at the noisy Circus;<\/p>\n

And I\u2019d like an engraver, bowed over his work, besides,<\/p>\n

And another who can do lots of instant portraits; it would<\/p>\n

Do. When will I even have enough to be called poor? A<\/p>\n

Wretched prayer it is, without hope of success; for when<\/p>\n

I summon Fortune, her ears are plugged with wax, purloined<\/p>\n

From the ship whose unhearing crew fled the Sicilian Sirens.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Satire X: The Vanity of Human\u00a0 Wishes<\/strong> \u00a0 SatX:1-55 Be Careful What You Ask For<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

In all the lands that stretch from Cadiz to the Ganges and the Dawn,<\/p>\n

There are few who, free of a cloud of errors, can discern true good<\/p>\n

From a host of opposites. What indeed do we wish for or fear that is<\/p>\n

Rational? How often is what we conceive so far from wrong-headed<\/p>\n

That we don\u2019t regret both the effort, and the fulfilment of our desire?<\/p>\n

Whole families have been ruined by the gods\u2019 too ready compliance<\/p>\n

With their prayers. They ask for what harms them whether in peace<\/p>\n

Or war; to many people their own torrential flood of speech and their<\/p>\n

Own eloquence is fatal; think of Milo of Croton who perished from<\/p>\n

Relying on his own strength, and his awe-inspiring show of muscle;<\/p>\n

More people are still undone by the money they gather with too much<\/p>\n

Care, by a wealth that exceeds all other competing family fortunes,<\/p>\n

As vast as a whale from British waters when compared to a dolphin.<\/p>\n

That explains why in those dreadful times, Gaius Cassius Longinus<\/p>\n

Was besieged, on the orders of Nero, by an entire cohort, as was<\/p>\n

Seneca the millionaire\u2019s vast garden, with the splendid mansion<\/p>\n

Of the Laterani surrounded: soldiers rarely seek to invade a garret.<\/p>\n

Though you might only be carrying a few items of plain silver,<\/p>\n

When you set out to travel at night, you\u2019ll still be afraid of swords<\/p>\n

And sticks, panic at the shadow of a reed stirring in the moonlight;<\/p>\n

While an empty-handed traveller can whistle in the robber\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

The most popular prayer, as noted in all the temples, is for cash:<\/p>\n

May my wealth increase, may my family treasure-chest hold the<\/p>\n

Highest value of anyone\u2019s in the Forum. Yet you\u2019ll never imbibe<\/p>\n

Poison from earthenware; the time to fear it is when you lift a cup<\/p>\n

Studded with gems, when Setian wine glows in the golden bowl.<\/p>\n

So, do you admire Democritus yet, that one of the two philosophers,<\/p>\n

Who laughed at the human race, whenever he stirred a foot to move<\/p>\n

From his threshold, while the other, Heraclitus, in contrast, cried?<\/p>\n

We so readily censure the world with harsh derisive laughter, that<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a wonder where all the moisture flooding his eyes came from.<\/p>\n

Democritus\u2019 sides used to shake with perpetual laughter, despite<\/p>\n

The fact that the cities of his day lacked togas with purple borders,<\/p>\n

And togas with purple stripes, rods of office, litters, and tribunals.<\/p>\n

What if he\u2019d seen our eminent praetor standing there in his high<\/p>\n

Chariot, in the midst of the dust in the Circus, in Jupiter\u2019s tunic,<\/p>\n

With that regal Tyrian ornamentation, on the embroidered toga<\/p>\n

Falling from his shoulders, and a crown of such huge diameter,<\/p>\n

That there isn\u2019t a neck created made strong enough to bear it?<\/p>\n

In fact a sweating slave holds it in public, and lest the praetor<\/p>\n

Is over-pleased with himself, rides beside him in the same car.<\/p>\n

Now add the bird that soars from his ivory sceptre, add the horn<\/p>\n

Players over here, over there the long lines of his official escort<\/p>\n

Leading the way, and the citizens in white who march at his bridle,<\/p>\n

Transformed into friends by the hand-outs tucked in their purses.<\/p>\n

In those days too Democritus found laughter in every encounter,<\/p>\n

His shrewdness shows that men of excellence, great exemplars,<\/p>\n

May yet be born in a dull climate, in a land of castrated sheep.<\/p>\n

He laughed at people\u2019s anxieties and at their delights as well,<\/p>\n

And sometimes at their tears, while to Fortune\u2019s menaces he<\/p>\n

Himself would say: \u2018Go hang!\u2019 and show her his middle finger.<\/p>\n

So what are the vacuous, pernicious things that people ask for?<\/p>\n

Is there a point to those wax tablets, prayers at the gods\u2019 knees?<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatX:56-113 The Emptiness Of Power<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Some are destroyed by their power, downed by profound envy,<\/p>\n

Some are sunk deep by their long and illustrious list of honours.<\/p>\n

Noosed by a rope, their statues are dragged to the ground, even<\/p>\n

The wheels of their chariots are smashed, and broken to pieces<\/p>\n

With axes, while the legs of their innocent horses are shattered.<\/p>\n

Now the flames roar, the bellows hiss, and that head idolised<\/p>\n

By the people glows in the furnace, flames crackle around huge<\/p>\n

Sejanus; the face of a man who was number two in the world<\/p>\n

Is converted to jugs and basins, turned to pots and frying pans.<\/p>\n

Deck your houses with laurel, lead a great bull whitened with<\/p>\n

Chalk up to the Capitol: come see Sejanus dragged along by<\/p>\n

A hook, everyone\u2019s celebrating! \u2018Look at the lips, look at the<\/p>\n

Face on that! You can take it from me, he was never a man<\/p>\n

That I liked\u2019 \u2018But what was the crime that brought him down?\u2019<\/p>\n

Who informed, what\u2019s the evidence, where are the witnesses?\u2019<\/p>\n

\u2018That\u2019s all irrelevant; a lengthy and wordy letter arrived from<\/p>\n

Capri.\u2019 \u2018That\u2019s fine, answer enough.\u2019 But what of the Roman<\/p>\n

Mob? They follow Fortune, as always, and hate whoever she<\/p>\n

Condemns. If Nortia, as the Etruscans called her, had favoured<\/p>\n

Etruscan Sejanus; if the old Emperor had been surreptitiously<\/p>\n

Smothered; that same crowd in a moment would have hailed<\/p>\n

Their new Augustus. They shed their sense of responsibility<\/p>\n

Long ago, when they lost their votes, and the bribes; the mob<\/p>\n

That used to grant power, high office, the legions, everything,<\/p>\n

Curtails its desires, and reveals its anxiety for two things only,<\/p>\n

Bread and circuses. \u2018I hear that many will perish.\u2019 \u2018No doubt,<\/p>\n

The furnace is huge.\u2019 \u2018My friend Bruttidius Niger looked<\/p>\n

Rather pale, when I met him in front of the altar of Mars;<\/p>\n

I\u2019m scared that Tiberius, like a defeated Ajax, will exact<\/p>\n

Punishment for being so poorly protected. Let\u2019s run swiftly<\/p>\n

And trample on Caesar\u2019s foe, where he lies on the riverbank,<\/p>\n

Making sure our slaves see us, so they can\u2019t deny it and drag<\/p>\n

Their terrified masters to justice, with nooses round our necks.\u2019<\/p>\n

Those were the crowd\u2019s secret murmurings regarding Sejanus.<\/p>\n

Would you like to be greeted as Sejanus, possess all that he<\/p>\n

Possessed, be the one to grant highest office to some, appoint<\/p>\n

Others to military posts, be seen as the Emperor\u2019s guardian,<\/p>\n

He who sits on the little constricted rock of Capri with a herd<\/p>\n

Of Chaldean stargazers? Surely you\u2019d like his troops, their<\/p>\n

Spears, his excellent cavalry and private fortress; why<\/p>\n

Wouldn\u2019t you? Even those who have no wish to kill, enjoy<\/p>\n

The power to do so. But what\u2019s the value of fame and wealth,<\/p>\n

If the good that delights is matched by an equal measure of ill?<\/p>\n

Would you rather be wearing the purple-edged toga of him<\/p>\n

Who\u2019s being dragged along, or rule empty Gabii or Fidenae;<\/p>\n

Lay down the law over weights and scales, break vessels that<\/p>\n

Give short measure, as a ragged official in deserted Ulubrae?<\/p>\n

So perhaps you\u2019d admit Sejanus had no idea what to ask for?<\/p>\n

Since he simply kept asking for greater honours, demanding<\/p>\n

More and more wealth, he was building a lofty many-storied<\/p>\n

Tower, from which the fall would only prove greater, whose<\/p>\n

Collapse into shattered ruin would be only the more profound.<\/p>\n

What destroyed the Crassi, the Pompeys, and that man Caesar<\/p>\n

Who brought the Romans under his lash, and so tamed them?<\/p>\n

Simply seeking that place at the top, using every trick that<\/p>\n

Exists, simply extravagant prayer granted by spiteful gods.<\/p>\n

Few kings go down to Ceres\u2019 son-in-law, Dis, free from<\/p>\n

Blood and carnage, few tyrants achieve a tranquil death.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatX:114-146 The Rewards of Fame and Eloquence<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

The fame and eloquence of a Demosthenes, or of a Cicero,<\/p>\n

Is what lads pray for, and keep on praying for, all through<\/p>\n

Minerva\u2019s spring holidays, every lad with a slave to guard<\/p>\n

His slim satchel, and a farthing to give to the thrifty goddess.<\/p>\n

Yet both orators died for their eloquence, a rich overflowing<\/p>\n

Stream of talent was what sent both of them to their deaths.<\/p>\n

Talent had its hands and neck severed, no feeble advocate\u2019s<\/p>\n

Blood drenched the rostrum, it was Cicero\u2019s, he who said:<\/p>\n

\u2018O Rome, you are fortunate to be born in my consulate.\u2019<\/p>\n

If he\u2019d always carried on in that vein, he might have denied<\/p>\n

Antony\u2019s swords. Rather risible verses than you, O immortal<\/p>\n

Second Philippic, so conspicuous by your fame, the one that\u2019s<\/p>\n

Rolled out next on the scroll. Demosthenes, your inspiration,<\/p>\n

He too, the wonder of Athens, was snatched by harsh death,<\/p>\n

When he hauled at the twisted reins of the packed assembly.<\/p>\n

He was born with the gods, and malignant fate, against him,<\/p>\n

Being sent away from the coals, the tongs, and anvil of filthy<\/p>\n

Vulcan, where eyes ran with the soot from the glowing ore,<\/p>\n

From his father\u2019s sword-manufacture, to a teacher of rhetoric.<\/p>\n

The trophies of war too are considered to be more than human<\/p>\n

Glories, the breastplate pinned to a bare tree trunk, cheek-piece<\/p>\n

Hung from a shattered helmet, a chariot yoke short of its pole,<\/p>\n

An ornament from the stern of a conquered ship, a sad captive<\/p>\n

On the fortress\u2019s heights, these are the things for which a Greek<\/p>\n

Or Barbarian, or a Roman commander exerts himself, these are<\/p>\n

The things that provide an incentive, for danger and hard work.<\/p>\n

So much more intense is the thirst for fame than for virtue.<\/p>\n

Who\u2019d embrace virtue simply for itself, if you took away all<\/p>\n

The reward? Yet nations have been destroyed by the ambition<\/p>\n

Of a few, by their desire for fame and a title, a name that might<\/p>\n

Cling to the stones that guard their ashes, those stones the barren<\/p>\n

Fig tree\u2019s malicious strength is capable of shattering, since<\/p>\n

Even their very sepulchres are granted a limited span by fate.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatX:147-187 The Paths Of Glory<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Put Hannibal in the scales: how much do you find the greatest<\/p>\n

General weighs? A man too big for North Africa, that stretches<\/p>\n

From Moroccan ocean\u2019s pounding to tepid Nile, then mounts it<\/p>\n

As far as the Ethiopian tribes, and another species of elephant.<\/p>\n

He adds Spain to his empire, and then vaults the Pyrenees.<\/p>\n

Nature then bars his passage with the snowy Alps; whose rocks<\/p>\n

He splits with vinegar and fire, bursting through the mountains.<\/p>\n

He holds Italy now, yet aims to advance still further. \u2018Nothing<\/p>\n

Is won,\u2019 he claims, \u2018until our Carthaginian army has shattered<\/p>\n

The City gates and I plant my flag at the heart of the Subura.\u2019<\/p>\n

O what a sight, what a painting it would make, the one-eyed<\/p>\n

General riding an African elephant, his Mauretanian beast!<\/p>\n

So how does it end? O Glory! That very man, defeated, sits<\/p>\n

A noted dependant, in the King of Bithynia\u2019s palace, there<\/p>\n

To wait till his majesty chooses to wake. No sword, or stone,<\/p>\n

Or javelin makes an end of a life that once troubled humanity,<\/p>\n

But a little poisoned ring, avenging the rings, spoil from Cannae,<\/p>\n

Repaying all that blood. Go, madman, and climb the hostile Alps<\/p>\n

To entertain schoolboys, and provide matter for their speeches.<\/p>\n

A world was not enough for that youth from Pella, Alexander,<\/p>\n

Seething with discontent at the narrow confines of his universe,<\/p>\n

As if trapped on some rocky prison isle, tiny Seriphus or Gyara:<\/p>\n

But once he\u2019s entered that city, Babylon, built of brick and clay,<\/p>\n

He must be content with it as his coffin. For death alone reveals<\/p>\n

How small the remnants of a human being. Then there\u2019s Xerxes:<\/p>\n

The tale that he sailed through Mount Athos, all the lies Greece<\/p>\n

Tells as history, gained credence; the Hellespont bridged by his<\/p>\n

Vessels, solid enough for vehicles to cross; we credit the stories<\/p>\n

Of streams running dry, of deep rivers being drunk by the Medes<\/p>\n

At their meals, all that Sosostris sang with drenched sleeves.<\/p>\n

Yet what state did Xerxes return in, on relinquishing Salamis?<\/p>\n

He vented his savage rage by lashing the winds, Caurus, Eurus,<\/p>\n

Who\u2019d never experienced the like even in their Aeolian prison,<\/p>\n

He bound Poseidon, the Earthshaker himself, with chains,<\/p>\n

(That was lenient. What? Didn\u2019t he think him worth branding<\/p>\n

Too? What god would have chosen to be that man\u2019s slave?)<\/p>\n

What state was he in? In a single ship, of course, sailing the<\/p>\n

Bloodstained waves, his prow slowly pushing corpses aside.<\/p>\n

So often that\u2019s the price extracted for man\u2019s desire for glory.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatX:188-288 The Penalties Of A Long Life<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u2018Grant me a long life, grant me many years, Jupiter.\u2019<\/p>\n

But think of the many endless ills old age is full of!<\/p>\n

Take a look, first of all, at its ugly face, repulsive,<\/p>\n

And wholly altered, with an ugly hide in place of<\/p>\n

Smooth skin, the drooping jowls, the wrinkles such<\/p>\n

As those that the old mother ape scratches at on aged<\/p>\n

Cheeks, in shadowy spreading groves of Numidia.<\/p>\n

Between the young there are plenty of differences,<\/p>\n

One\u2019s better looking, one\u2019s stronger than another,<\/p>\n

But the old are alike, body and voice both trembling,<\/p>\n

The head quite bald, the nose dripping, like a baby;<\/p>\n

The poor wretch mumbles his bread with useless gums.<\/p>\n

Even to his wife and children, and himself, he seems<\/p>\n

So dire even Cossus the fortune-hunter feels disgust.<\/p>\n

The pleasures of food and wine are no longer the same<\/p>\n

As his palate dulls; and as for sex its now long-forgotten,<\/p>\n

Or should you try, his limp prick with its swollen vein, just<\/p>\n

Lies there, lies there though you pummel it all night long.<\/p>\n

What else could you expect from such feeble white-haired<\/p>\n

Loins? Desire that attempts oral sex without the strength<\/p>\n

To perform it, is that not rightly suspect, too? Now take<\/p>\n

Note of another lost power. What pleasure is there in music,<\/p>\n

However fine the singer, what pleasure in Seleucus\u2019s lyre,<\/p>\n

Or the sound of the pipers, in cloaks of glittering gold?<\/p>\n

What matter where he sits in the vast theatre, if he can<\/p>\n

Barely hear the loud horn-player, the fanfare of trumpets?<\/p>\n

The slave-boy has to shout loudly, in his ear, to make his<\/p>\n

Visitors\u2019 names heard, or even tell him the time of day.<\/p>\n

Moreover fever alone warms the few pints of blood in<\/p>\n

His already icy body. A host of diseases of every strain<\/p>\n

Encircle him, and if you asked me to name each of them<\/p>\n

I could sooner tell you how many lovers Oppia has had;<\/p>\n

Or how many patients Themison kills in a single autumn;<\/p>\n

Or how many partners Basilus has swindled, how many<\/p>\n

Wards Hirrus; how many men generous Maura sucks off<\/p>\n

In a day, or how many pupils have been laid by Hamillus;<\/p>\n

Quicker to run through the number of villas that man owns<\/p>\n

Who made my fresh beard rasp, in shaving me, when young.<\/p>\n

This old man\u2019s shoulder\u2019s impaired, that one\u2019s groin, or<\/p>\n

That one\u2019s hip; he\u2019s blind and jealous of the one-eyed; he<\/p>\n

Takes food from another\u2019s fingers between bloodless lips;<\/p>\n

His jaws used to open wide when dinner appeared, now he<\/p>\n

Just gapes like a baby-swallow when the selfless mother<\/p>\n

Flies to it, bringing a mouthful. But worse than a physical<\/p>\n

Decline is the onset of dementia, when his slaves\u2019 names<\/p>\n

Are forgotten, the face of his friend whom he dined with<\/p>\n

The previous evening, and even the children he fathered,<\/p>\n

And raised himself. In his will, he\u2019ll cruelly deny his own<\/p>\n

Heirs their inheritance, and leave everything to his dearest<\/p>\n

Phiale; showing what the breath of a skilful mouth can do<\/p>\n

That\u2019s been employed for years deep in a whorish cavern.<\/p>\n

Even if his mental powers remain intact, he\u2019s required to<\/p>\n

Face the funerals of his sons, gaze on his beloved wife\u2019s<\/p>\n

Or brother\u2019s pyre, on the urn containing his sisters\u2019 ashes.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s the penalty for living a long life; to endure old age with<\/p>\n

Domestic tragedy endlessly repeated, sorrow after sorrow,<\/p>\n

Forever mourning, forever clothed in black. Nestor, King<\/p>\n

Of Pylos, if you choose to give any credit to Homer\u2019s tale,<\/p>\n

Presents an example of survival second only to the ravens.<\/p>\n

Surely he must have been happy, delaying his death for so<\/p>\n

Many generations, counting his centuries on his finger-ends,<\/p>\n

And toasting himself in so many new vintages? Well listen<\/p>\n

A moment, to the complaints he made regarding the decrees<\/p>\n

Of fate, and the length of his life\u2019s thread, forced to see his<\/p>\n

Ardent son Antilochus\u2019s bearded body ablaze, questioning<\/p>\n

Everyone there, as to why had survived to endure that day,<\/p>\n

And what crime he had committed to deserve so long a life.<\/p>\n

Peleus said the same, when he mourned the loss of Achilles,<\/p>\n

And Laertes prematurely mourning the wandering Odysseus.<\/p>\n

If Priam had died earlier, while proud Troy was still standing,<\/p>\n

If he had died before Paris had begun to construct his brave<\/p>\n

Fleet of ships, he would have joined the shade of his ancestor<\/p>\n

Assaracus, his corpse borne, with great solemnity, held high<\/p>\n

On the shoulders of his sons, Hector and his brothers, and<\/p>\n

Accompanied by a host of Trojan women in tears, lead by<\/p>\n

Cassandra and Polyxena, his daughters, their garments torn.<\/p>\n

What then did a long life bring him? He saw a world ending,<\/p>\n

Asia Minor brought to defeat, swept by fire and the sword.<\/p>\n

Then he removed his crown, and took up arms, a soldier<\/p>\n

With trembling arm, to fall, at highest Jove\u2019s altar, slain<\/p>\n

Like an ox, too old for the thankless plough, offering its<\/p>\n

Wretched, scrawny neck to the blade of its master\u2019s knife.<\/p>\n

At least he died a human being, while his wife, Hecuba,<\/p>\n

Survived only to bark fiercely from a bitch\u2019s gaping jaws.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll turn to Roman examples, after passing swiftly over King<\/p>\n

Mithridates of Pontus, and Croesus, ordered by eloquent Solon<\/p>\n

The Just, to look to a long life\u2019s end before calling it fortunate.<\/p>\n

A long life led Marius to exile, prison, the Minturnine Marshes,<\/p>\n

It was the cause of him begging his bread in ruined Carthage;<\/p>\n

Could nature, or Rome, have displayed anyone more fortunate<\/p>\n

Than that citizen, if his triumphal spirit had breathed its last,<\/p>\n

When he\u2019d led the massed ranks of his prisoners in procession,<\/p>\n

And ridden amidst all that military pomp, at the very moment<\/p>\n

When he finally chose to step down from his Teutonic chariot?<\/p>\n

Campania, foreseeing his fate, offered Pompey a death by fever<\/p>\n

He should have longed-for, but the prayers of people in many<\/p>\n

Cities prevailed; so that Fortune, his own and Rome\u2019s, saw him<\/p>\n

Defeated, and severed that head she\u2019d saved. That mangling<\/p>\n

Lentulus\u00a0 and Cethegus avoided; punished for their conspiracy,<\/p>\n

They died whole, and the corpse of Catiline too lay there intact.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatX:289-345 And As For Good Looks!<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

The anxious mother prays in a low murmur, for a sons\u2019 good looks,<\/p>\n

More loudly for a daughter\u2019s, as she stares at the shrine of Venus,<\/p>\n

With the most extravagant of requests. \u2018Why criticise me?\u2019 she\u2019ll<\/p>\n

Demand, \u2018After all, Latona delights in her daughter Diana\u2019s beauty.\u2019<\/p>\n

But Lucretia\u2019s fate would inhibit me from praying for good looks<\/p>\n

Like hers. Virginia would much have preferred to possess Rutila\u2019s<\/p>\n

Hunched back, and yield her own face to Rutila. Moreover, a son<\/p>\n

With a handsome form always makes his parents so nervous and<\/p>\n

Wretched: since it\u2019s so rare for beauty to coincide with restrained<\/p>\n

Behaviour. He\u2019ll be denied his manhood, even though his family<\/p>\n

Tradition is all for morality pure and simple, imitating the ancient<\/p>\n

Sabines, even though nature may have endowed him generously<\/p>\n

With a face that glows with blushing modesty, with an innocent<\/p>\n

Disposition (What more, after all, could nature do for the lad;<\/p>\n

Nature, who is more powerful than any chaperone\u2019s vigilance?)<\/p>\n

And why? Because of the unrestrained dishonesty of his seducer,<\/p>\n

Who\u2019ll even dare to corrupt the parents themselves: such is his<\/p>\n

Confidence in the power of bribery. No tyrant in his barbaric<\/p>\n

Fortress has ever sought to have an ugly adolescent castrated!<\/p>\n

No bandy-legged scrofulous teenager, with a swollen belly<\/p>\n

Or a hunched back, was ever the target of Nero\u2019s foul desires!<\/p>\n

Yet, carry on, and indulge your pride in your boy\u2019s good looks,<\/p>\n

And you must expect even greater dangers. He may well prove<\/p>\n

A notorious adulterer, living in fear of whatever punishment<\/p>\n

Some furious spouse may exact. His stars won\u2019t make him<\/p>\n

Any less likely than Mars to fall into the husband\u2019s net. And<\/p>\n

Resentment sometimes goes well beyond what the law allows:<\/p>\n

There\u2019s death by the sword, or a cruel scarring from the lash,<\/p>\n

Some adulterers have even been buggered with dried mullets.<\/p>\n

Still your Endymion seduces some married woman he\u2019s fallen<\/p>\n

In love with. Soon, when Servilia has handed over her money,<\/p>\n

He\u2019ll become hers whom he does not love, and strip her of all<\/p>\n

Her personal jewellery; which of them, if she\u2019s an Oppia or<\/p>\n

A Catulla, is likely to deny that wetness between her thighs?<\/p>\n

\u2018But if he\u2019s pure what harm can beauty do him? What good<\/p>\n

Did it do Hippolytus or Bellerephon leading an austere life?<\/p>\n

Stheneboa burned as hotly as did Phaedra, and both of them<\/p>\n

Lashed themselves into a rage. Woman\u2019s at her most savage<\/p>\n

When she\u2019s stirred to hatred by a sense of shame. What advice<\/p>\n

Will you give Silius whom Claudius\u2019s wife has determined<\/p>\n

To \u2018marry\u2019? He\u2019s the finest, most handsome member of the<\/p>\n

Patrician race, yet a glance from Messalina is drawing him<\/p>\n

To a wretched finale; she\u2019s been waiting a while now, her<\/p>\n

Bridal-veil all ready, her regal marriage bed\u2019s prepared, all<\/p>\n

Can see it in the garden; her dowry\u2019s a thousand gold pieces,<\/p>\n

And even the augur and witnesses have arrived not long ago.<\/p>\n

Did you imagine this was a secret only shared with a few?<\/p>\n

She won\u2019t marry unless it\u2019s legal. What\u2019s your decision?<\/p>\n

If you don\u2019t choose to obey, you\u2019ll be dead before evening;<\/p>\n

If you commit the sin, there\u2019ll be the briefest delay before<\/p>\n

What\u2019s known to Rome, and the mob, reaches Caesar\u2019s ear.<\/p>\n

Bow to her commands, if a few days of life are worth that.<\/p>\n

Whichever decision you think is easier or more preferable,<\/p>\n

You\u2019ll still have to offer your fine white neck to the sword.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatX:346-366 So Much For Prayer<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

So is there nothing worth people praying for? If you\u2019ll take<\/p>\n

My advice, you\u2019ll allow the gods to determine what\u2019s right<\/p>\n

For us, and what\u2019s likely to benefit our situation; for<\/p>\n

The gods grant us gifts that are more fitting than nice.<\/p>\n

They show more care for us than we do for ourselves. We<\/p>\n

Seek marriage and offspring driven by blind emotion, by<\/p>\n

Vain desire, while the gods know all about the children<\/p>\n

We\u2019ll have, and what kind of wife ours will turn out to be.<\/p>\n

Still, if you want a reason for prayer, for offering a pretty<\/p>\n

White piglet\u2019s innards, the sacred sausages, at the shrines,<\/p>\n

Then you might pray for a sound mind in a healthy body.<\/p>\n

Ask for a heart filled with courage, without fear of death,<\/p>\n

That regards long life as among the least of nature\u2019s gifts,<\/p>\n

That can endure any hardship, to which anger is unknown,<\/p>\n

That desires nothing, and gives more credit to all the labours<\/p>\n

And cruel sufferings of Hercules, than to all the love-making<\/p>\n

All the feasting, and all the downy pillows of Sardanapalus.<\/p>\n

The prayer I offer you can grant yourself; without doubt,<\/p>\n

The one true path that leads to a tranquil life is that of virtue.<\/p>\n

If we were prudent, you\u2019d possess no power, Fortune: it\u2019s we<\/p>\n

Who make you a goddess, and grant you a place in the sky.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":19,"menu_order":5,"template":"","meta":{"_candela_citation":"[]","CANDELA_OUTCOMES_GUID":"","pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-73","chapter","type-chapter","status-web-only","hentry"],"part":68,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/73","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/19"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/73\/revisions"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/68"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/73\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=73"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=73"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=73"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=73"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}