{"id":74,"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-xi-xii\/"},"modified":"2017-06-24T20:36:23","modified_gmt":"2017-06-24T20:36:23","slug":"satires-xi-xii","status":"web-only","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/chapter\/satires-xi-xii\/","title":{"raw":"Satires XI & XII","rendered":"Satires XI & XII"},"content":{"raw":"Satire XI: An Invitation To Dinner<\/strong> \u00a0 SatXI:1-55 Know Yourself\n\n\u00a0\n\nIf Atticus, the wealthy, dines well, he\u2019s the height of elegance,\n\nIf Rutilus does so, he\u2019s mad. What sparks louder laughter in\n\nThe public than a bankrupt gourmet? Every dinner-party,\n\nEvery bathhouse, square, and theatre is talking of Rutilus.\n\nWhile his limbs are young, they say, and strong enough, for\n\nHim to fight in a helmet, while his blood still burns hotly\n\nHe\u2019s about to sign up to the code of the gladiatorial school,\n\nWith its royal decrees, free of the tribune\u2019s pressure or veto.\n\nYou can find plenty like him, whose only reason for living\n\nIs to satisfy their palate, whose creditors, barely eluded,\n\nFrequently lie in wait for them at the gate of the market.\n\nThe most poverty-stricken gourmet will dine in choicest\n\nAnd richest style, though facing ruin; the cracks apparent,\n\nHe\u2019ll still be searching the four elements for appetisers,\n\nPrice no obstacle to his desire; indeed, if you watch closely,\n\nHe delights all the more in whatever proves most expensive.\n\nHe\u2019ll not hesitate for a moment about raising liquid funds\n\nBy pawning the silver, or melting down mother\u2019s statue.\n\nHe\u2019ll not hesitate a moment to spend four thousand in gold\n\nSpicing his gourmet dishes; only to eat stew with the gladiators.\n\nIt depends who holds the feast, then; Rutilus spells extravagance,\n\nBut the expense in Ventidius\u2019 case is laudable and his wealth\n\nIncreases his fame and reputation. It\u2019s right to despise the man\n\nWho knows how superior Mount Atlas is in height to the other\n\nTowering summits of Libya, yet hasn\u2019t the least idea how small\n\nHis purse is compared with a treasure chest that\u2019s bound in iron.\n\nThe saying gn\u03c9\u03b8\u03b9 \u03c3\u03b5\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03cc\u03bd: \u2018know yourself\u2019, is of heavenly origin,\n\nIt should be fixed in the memory, dwelt on in the heart, whether\n\nYou\u2019re seeking a wife, or aim for a place in the sacred Senate;\n\nThersites had no wish to win the contest for Achilles\u2019 armour,\n\nThat breastplate in which Ulysses made an exhibition of himself.\n\nIf it\u2019s you who affect to defend a difficult and highly important\n\nCase, then take counsel with yourself, ask yourself what you are,\n\nA powerful orator, or merely a windbag, like Curtius or Matho?\n\nYou must know your measure, and be conscious of it in great\n\nThings and in small, even for instance when you\u2019re buying fish;\n\nNo point in desiring mullet, if your purse only runs to gudgeon!\n\nThink of the fate that awaits you, as your wallet grows leaner\n\nWhile your appetite increases, when you\u2019ve sunk your paternal,\n\nInheritance, your property, your silver plate, all of that heavy\n\nStuff, with all your fields and herds, in your spacious stomach.\n\nWith spendthrift lords the last to go is the Roman knight\u2019s gold\n\nRing, after which Pollio ends by begging with a naked finger.\n\nIt\u2019s not a premature demise, an early funeral, the extravagant\n\nShould fear, but old age, that is more to be feared than death.\n\nThere\u2019s the usual progression: they\u2019ll borrow money in Rome\n\nAnd squander it in the lender\u2019s face; then, while there\u2019s still\n\nA small amount left they\u2019ll flee for Baiae and its oyster-beds.\n\nIt\u2019s no worse these days to be declared bankrupt, than move\n\nThe other way, to the Esquiline from the seethe of Subura.\n\nThe only grief they experience fleeing the City, their only\n\nRegret, is having to miss a year of races in the Circus.\n\nThere\u2019s not a trace of a blush on their faces: Shame is\n\nMocked as she hastens from Rome, few seek to detain her.\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatXI:56-89 An Invitation To Dinner \u2013 The Food\n\n\u00a0\n\nNow you\u2019ll discover, Persicus, whether I live up to this fine talk\n\nIn reality, in my style of living and my behaviour, or whether\n\nThough singing the praises of beans, I\u2019m really a gourmet at heart,\n\nAsk my slave for porridge in public, but whisper \u2018tart\u2019 in his ear?\n\nNow you\u2019ve promised to be my guest, I\u2019ll be your King Evander,\n\nWhile you\u2019ll be Hercules, hero of Tiryns, or that lesser guest\n\nAeneas, who could still count a goddess in his family tree.\n\nListen to what I\u2019ll serve, without recourse to the market.\n\nFrom my Tiburtine farm comes a little kid, the most tender,\n\nThe plumpest, of the herd, that\u2019s as yet unacquainted with\n\nGrazing, that hasn\u2019t yet dared to nibble the hanging willow\n\nShoots, there\u2019s more milk than blood in its veins; then wild\n\nAsparagus, picked by my steward\u2019s wife when she\u2019s finished\n\nHer weaving; large eggs, still warm, wrapped in wisps of hay,\n\nAccompanying the hens themselves; and grapes kept for half\n\nA year, still as good as they were when they hung on the vine;\n\nSyrian and Signian pears; and in the same baskets of fruit\n\nFresh-smelling apples equalling those from Picenum; don\u2019t\n\nFret, their autumnal juice has been tempered by frost,\n\nAnd they\u2019ve shed that dangerous lack of ripeness. In the\n\nOld days, this would already have seemed a luxurious feast\n\nTo the Senate. Manius Curius Dentatus would cook humble\n\nGreens, picked in the garden, on his modest hearth, now\n\nEvery squalid ditch-digger in the chain-gang would refuse it,\n\nWhile reminiscing about the tripe he ate in some steaming diner.\n\nIt was the tradition long ago to hang a side of salted pork\n\nFrom the wide-barred rack ready for festive occasions, and\n\nTo serve your relations a birthday meal of bacon, with fresh\n\nMeat too, if you received a cut from the sacrificial victim.\n\nEven a relative, three-times consul, who\u2019d held the office\n\nOf dictator, and who\u2019d commanded armies, would still\n\nHurry back for such a feast, earlier than usual, carrying\n\nHis spade on his shoulder, from some hillside he\u2019d tamed.\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatXI:90-135 An Invitation To Dinner \u2013 The Surroundings\n\n\u00a0\n\nIn the days when they trembled before the Fabii and Scauri,\n\nFabricius, and stern Cato, when the strict censor\u2019s rigid\n\nMoral code caused even his colleague to shiver with fear,\n\nNo one pondered, as a matter for serious consideration,\n\nWhat species of tortoise swimming the Ocean\u2019s wave,\n\nMight make a fine and notable headrest for the elite;\n\nTheir couches were modest with bare sides, the bronze\n\nFront displaying an ass\u2019s head garlanded with vines,\n\nAround which the playful rural children would frolic.\n\nTheir homes and their furniture matched their cuisine.\n\nThen soldiers were simple men, ignorant of Greek art,\n\nAnd they\u2019d break up cups made by great craftsmen,\n\nTheir share of the spoils from some conquered city,\n\nSo their horses could be decked with the trappings,\n\nAnd their helmets be studded with scenes their foes\n\nMight gaze at, as they died; fate commanding the wolf\n\nTo be tame, that sucked Romulus; or the twins in the cave;\n\nOr their father, Mars, descending, no shield or spear.\n\nAnd thus they served their porridge in Tuscan bowls:\n\nTheir silver served solely to make their armour gleam.\n\nYou could envy all that, if you were the envious sort!\n\nAnd the power of the shrines was more tangible then,\n\nA voice in the depths of night echoed in silent Rome,\n\nWhen the Gauls were on the march from the Ocean shore,\n\nAnd the gods acting as prophets. Such, Jupiter\u2019s warning,\n\nSuch the protection he offered Latium, when his image\n\nWas fashioned from pottery, not tarnished by gold.\n\nIn those days you saw home-made tables crafted from\n\nOur own trees; the wood was stacked for use, if some\n\nAncient walnut tree was overturned by an easterly wind.\n\nBut now the rich get no pleasure from dining; the turbot,\n\nThe venison are tasteless; the roses and fragrances foul,\n\nUnless the great round tabletop is held up by a massive\n\nIvory pillar, a rampant snarling leopard made of tusks\n\nImported from Aswan, Gate of Syene, by the swift\n\nMoors, or the Indian traders, even more dark-skinned;\n\nTusks that the elephants drop in the glades of Nabatea,\n\nWhen they prove too large and heavy. It stirs the appetite,\n\nAnd strengthens the stomach; a pedestal made of silver,\n\nWould be like a plebeian iron ring on the finger. So I\n\nAvoid the snobbish guest, who compares me to himself,\n\nAnd despises my meagre resources. I own not an ounce\n\nOf ivory, neither dice nor abacus beads made of the stuff,\n\nEven the handles of my knives are fashioned out of bone.\n\nYet they\u2019ve never made the fish or bread I serve rancid,\n\nNor is the chicken I carve any the worse for that reason.\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatXI:136-182 An Invitation To Dinner \u2013 The Entertainment\n\n\u00a0\n\nAnd I won\u2019t have a carver to whom the whole school\n\nOf carvers has to bow down, a disciple of Trypherus\n\nThe learned, in whose classroom they blunt steel, slicing\n\nSows, huge hares, wild boar, gazelle, Scythian pheasants,\n\nEnormous flamingos, Gaetulian oryx, sumptuous fare,\n\nTill the elm-wood chopping board\u2019s echoes fill the Subura.\n\nNor has my novice servant learnt how to purloin a hunk\n\nOf venison, or slice of Guinea fowl, untutored all his days,\n\nAnd only initiated as yet in the stealing of tiniest scraps.\n\nAn uncultured boy will hand round the commonest cups,\n\nBought for a few pennies; he\u2019ll be wrapped against the cold;\n\nHe\u2019s no Phrygian, or Lycian slave obtained from the dealer\n\nAt great expense: when you want something, ask him in Latin.\n\nAll my slaves dress alike, their hair is cut short and straight,\n\nAnd it\u2019s only been combed today because of the dinner I give.\n\nThis one\u2019s a tough shepherd\u2019s son, this one\u2019s father\u2019s a drover.\n\nThat one sighs for the mother he\u2019s not seen for so many days,\n\nPines for his little cottage, and the goats that he knew so well,\n\nHe\u2019s a noble face, and his sense of honour is noble, both are\n\nFit to adorn those who are clothed in the glowing purple toga;\n\nHis voice hasn\u2019t broken, he doesn\u2019t display his teenage balls\n\nAt the baths, he hasn\u2019t yet offered his armpits for plucking,\n\nNor does he nervously hide his swollen cock with an oil-flask.\n\nThe wine he\u2019ll serve you was casked in the very same hills\n\nHe comes from, and below whose summits he played.\n\nPerhaps you\u2019re expecting the sound of tunes from Cadiz,\n\nTo set you going, dancing girls shimmying to the floor,\n\nWiggling their bottoms around to appreciative applause.\n\nYoung wives watch such, reclining beside their spouses,\n\nEven though you may be too embarrassed to describe it.\n\nIt has the effect of arousing jaded desire, fiercely too,\n\nLike stinging nettles; swelling more and more, until\n\nWith its sights and sounds, the pent up liquid flows.\n\nMy humble home excludes such nonsense. Let the man\n\nEnjoy the clacking castanets; words from which even\n\nThe naked slave, for sale in a rank brothel, will abstain;\n\nLet him delight in filthy language and pornographic art;\n\nWhose spat out wine-dregs oil his Spartan marble floor;\n\nMy dinner today will offer another kind of enjoyment:\n\nWe\u2019ll have recitations from Homer, and Virgil\u2019s verse\n\nResonating on high, each challenging for supremacy.\n\nWhat matter whose voice delivers such words as those?\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatXI:183-208 Leave Your Cares Behind\n\n\u00a0\n\nBut now relinquish care, put business aside, and treat\n\nYourself to a pleasant interlude, in which you may\n\nIdle the whole day away. There\u2019ll be not a mention\n\nOf payments due; nor shall you let your wife arouse\n\nYour silent anger, though she\u2019s out from dawn to dusk,\n\nThough she comes back in the dark, her flimsy dress\n\nClinging to her, and suspiciously wrinkled, her hair\n\nAll over the place, and her face and ears still aglow.\n\nThrow off whatever annoys you at my door, leave\n\nHouse and slaves behind, whatever they\u2019ve smashed\n\nOr lost, and forget above all your friends\u2019 ingratitude.\n\nHere the rows of spectators celebrate the Idaean rites,\n\nAnd the Megalesia\u2019s starting flag; the praetor\u2019s already\n\nSeated there in triumph: he\u2019s paid for the teams, and if I\n\nDare say so, without offending the vast, the excessive\n\nCrowd, the Circus contains the whole of Rome today;\n\nThat ear-splitting noise tells me the Greens have won.\n\nFor if they\u2019d lost you\u2019d see this City of ours muted\n\nAnd in mourning, as when the consuls lost their battle\n\nIn Cannae\u2019s dust. Let the youngsters watch, theirs is\n\nThe clamour, the daring bets, a stylish girl at their side:\n\nMy wrinkled hide would rather drink the spring sunlight,\n\nAnd shed its toga. You can head for the baths already,\n\nWith a clear conscience, though it\u2019s an hour till noon.\n\nIt\u2019s not something you will do every day of the week,\n\nSince even this sort of life grows excessively boring:\n\nOur pleasures are deepened by less frequent indulgence.\nSatire XII: Friendship<\/strong> \u00a0 SatXII:1-82 Safe Return\n\n\u00a0\n\nThis day is sweeter to me than my own birthday, Corvinus,\n\nIt\u2019s the day when the festal turf awaits the promised victims.\n\nWe bring a snow-white lamb for Juno, queen of the gods,\n\nAnd its equal for Minerva, with her Gorgon-headed aegis;\n\nWhile the sacrifice to Tarpeian Jove tugs petulantly at the\n\nLong tether, making the rope quiver, and tossing its head;\n\nSince it\u2019s a spirited calf, you see, ready for temple and altar,\n\nFor sprinkling with pure wine, one already ashamed to suck\n\nAt its mother\u2019s teats: with budding horns, it butts the oak tree.\n\nIf my personal resources were ample, a match for my feelings,\n\nWe\u2019d be dragging a bull fatter than Hispulla to the slaughter,\n\nOne slowed by its very bulk, not nourished in local pastures,\n\nBut its lineage the product of the fertile fields of Clitumnus,\n\nAnd its neck would be bowed, for the tall attendant\u2019s blow.\n\nAll this is to mark my friend\u2019s safe return, he who trembles\n\nStill at terrors past, filled with amazement yet that he survived,\n\nFor besides the dangers of the sea he escaped the lightning too.\n\nA single mass of dense cloud shrouded the sky in darkness,\n\nWhile sudden flashes of fire struck the yardarms. Every man\n\nAboard thought he had been hit, and thought shipwreck as\n\nNothing compared to a death enveloped in blazing canvas;\n\nIt\u2019s always so, just as serious, if when a storm of poetry rises,\n\nBehold there\u2019s some other crisis! Listen and pity once more,\n\nThough the rest is on a par with that experience, dreadful\n\nBut not uncommon, as all those votive tablets in the shrines\n\nOf Isis bear witness; who of us is unaware that artists earn\n\nA living from painting them as offerings to the goddess?\n\nThat kind of ill-fortune overtook my dear friend Catullus.\n\nWith the hold half-full of water, and the waves already\n\nDriving the stern this way and that, and the white-haired\n\nHelmsman\u2019s skill unable to counteract the swaying mast,\n\nHe then tried to deal with the wind by jettisoning the cargo,\n\nIn imitation of the beaver that in its desire to escape death,\n\nWill bite off its testicles and render itself a eunuch: then\n\nThe drug, castoreum,<\/em> is made from its preputial glands.\n\n\u2018Take everything I\u2019ve got,\u2019 cried Catullus, willing now\n\nTo hurl even his most precious possessions overboard,\n\nPurple-dyed clothes fit even for some tender Maecenas,\n\nAnd others made from the wool of flocks tinted by their\n\nGrazing on special grasses, plus the effect of the hidden\n\nPowers of the fine water, and climate, of southern Spain.\n\nHe\u2019d no hesitation in hurling his silver plate away; dishes\n\nMade for Parthenius, Domitian\u2019s chamberlain; a mixing\n\nBowl big as an urn, fit for Pholus the thirsty centaur, or\n\nEven Fuscus\u2019 wife; baskets; a thousand plates; and a pile\n\nOf engraved cups that Philip of Macedon once drank from.\n\nIs there another such man, in all the world, with the will\n\nTo set his life above money, his survival above his goods?\n\nOverboard went most of what\u2019s useful; there was still no\n\nEnd of danger. Then, driven by necessity he resorted to\n\nTaking a blade to the mast, so as to extricate himself from\n\nHis narrow strait: taking that ultimate risk, where the remedy\n\nWe adopt makes the vessel we\u2019re journeying in even weaker.\n\nAway then, commit your life to the winds, rely on a broken\n\nPlank, four inches of pinewood away from death, or perhaps\n\nSeven inches away from death, if the planking is extra thick;\n\nAnd remember next time, along with your nets full of bread\n\nAnd the bellied flagons, to take some axes for use in a storm.\n\nBut once the waves died down, and the passengers\u2019 state\n\nImproved, and destiny triumphed over the wind and sea;\n\nOnce the Fates began to weave a stronger thread, benign\n\nHands happily winding white wool into the yarn; and once\n\nThe wind arose, though no more than the lightest breeze,\n\nThe wretched vessel, ran on, its manoeuvrability impaired,\n\nEvery cloth spread to the wind, with the one remaining sail.\n\nNow that the fierce southerly winds were abating, the sun\n\nReturned bringing fresh hope of survival. Then the heights\n\nOf Mount Alba, loved by Iulus, Aeneas\u2019 son, and preferred\n\nBy him to Lavinium, his stepmother\u2019s city, came in view,\n\nIts peak named for the white sow whose litter amazed the\n\nDelighted Trojans, and the novel sight of her thirty teats.\n\nAt last the ship passed the Tuscan lighthouse and entered\n\nThe breakwaters of Portus Augusti, that quiet the waves,\n\nThose arms that leave Italy\u2019s shore, stretch out and meet,\n\nIn the sea; no ancient harbour created by nature is more\n\nImpressive. Then the master steered his crippled vessel\n\nInto the inner roads of the harbour, so sheltered a pleasure\n\nBoat from Baiae could cross, where sailors, heads shaved\n\nTo fulfil their vow, tell, in safety, garrulous tales of peril.\n\n\u00a0\n\n\u00a0\n\nSatXII:93-130 And Perish Those Legacy-Hunters!\n\n\u00a0\n\nOff with you lads, control your tongues and minds\n\nGarland the shrines, lay out the grain and knives,\n\nAnd decorate the green turf and the spongy hearths.\n\nI\u2019ll follow, and once I\u2019ve performed the sacred rite,\n\nHead home again, where the little statues gleaming\n\nWith fragile wax will receive their slender crowns.\n\nHere I\u2019ll propitiate my Jupiter, and offer incense\n\nTo my paternal Lares, and scatter the viola petals.\n\nEverything gleams, long branches beside the door\n\nThat welcomes the festive day with lamps at dawn.\n\nLest you suspect my efforts, Corvinus, this Catullus,\n\nWhose return I celebrate by preparing these altars,\n\nHas three young heirs: who\u2019d buy, I\u2019d like to know,\n\nEven a sick chicken, about to shut its eyes for good,\n\nFor the sake of a friend who\u2019s such a poor investment!\n\nTruly even a hen\u2019s too pricey; no one sacrifices even\n\nA quail for a man with children, while if rich, childless,\n\nGallitta, or Pacius, show even a sign of fever, the whole\n\nColonnade is studded with neat prayers on their behalf.\n\nThere are people who\u2019d promise to sacrifice a hundred\n\nBullocks, or even elephants, though now there are none\n\nFor sale, here, and the beasts won\u2019t breed in Latium given\n\nOur climate, though it\u2019s true there\u2019s Caesar\u2019s herd, bought\n\nFrom the dark nations to graze in Rutulian forests, and in\n\nThe land of Turnus, unfitted to be enslaved by lesser men,\n\nSince their ancestors once served the King of Molossus,\n\nAnd Hannibal of Carthage, and even our Roman generals;\n\nCarrying squads of our soldiers, as a part of the battle line,\n\nEquipped with turrets on their backs, advancing to the fight.\n\nNovis, or Pacuvius Hister, those legacy-chasers, wouldn\u2019t\n\nHesitate for a moment in leading those ivory-bearers to the\n\nAltars, or slaughtering them before Gallitta\u2019s household gods,\n\nSole victims worthy of such gods, and those fortune-hunters.\n\nIf you let him, the latter would even promise to make a sacrifice\n\nOf the tallest and therefore handsomest of his herd of slaves,\n\nTie the sacrificial bands to the foreheads of boys or girls alike,\n\nAnd if he\u2019d a nubile daughter at home, his own Iphigeneia,\n\nHe\u2019d offer her too on the altar, without even the hope of her\n\nBeing replaced by a deer, as in that variant of the tragic story.\n\nGood on you, my fellow citizens, a thousand ships cannot\n\nCompare with a legacy; since if the victim eludes the funeral\n\nGoddess, Libitina, he\u2019ll fall into the trap set by some truly\n\nAmazing effort of Pacuvius, and destroy his previous will,\n\nAnd probably, in brief, leave him the lot, leaving him to lord\n\nIt then over his beaten rivals. So you see how useful it can\n\nBe to slit Iphigenia\u2019s throat, slay a daughter from Mycenae.\n\nLong live Pacuvius, may he live as long as Nestor, may he\n\nPossess as much as Nero stole, may he pile up a mountain\n\nOf gold, may he love no one, and never be loved in return!","rendered":"

Satire XI: An Invitation To Dinner<\/strong> \u00a0 SatXI:1-55 Know Yourself<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

If Atticus, the wealthy, dines well, he\u2019s the height of elegance,<\/p>\n

If Rutilus does so, he\u2019s mad. What sparks louder laughter in<\/p>\n

The public than a bankrupt gourmet? Every dinner-party,<\/p>\n

Every bathhouse, square, and theatre is talking of Rutilus.<\/p>\n

While his limbs are young, they say, and strong enough, for<\/p>\n

Him to fight in a helmet, while his blood still burns hotly<\/p>\n

He\u2019s about to sign up to the code of the gladiatorial school,<\/p>\n

With its royal decrees, free of the tribune\u2019s pressure or veto.<\/p>\n

You can find plenty like him, whose only reason for living<\/p>\n

Is to satisfy their palate, whose creditors, barely eluded,<\/p>\n

Frequently lie in wait for them at the gate of the market.<\/p>\n

The most poverty-stricken gourmet will dine in choicest<\/p>\n

And richest style, though facing ruin; the cracks apparent,<\/p>\n

He\u2019ll still be searching the four elements for appetisers,<\/p>\n

Price no obstacle to his desire; indeed, if you watch closely,<\/p>\n

He delights all the more in whatever proves most expensive.<\/p>\n

He\u2019ll not hesitate for a moment about raising liquid funds<\/p>\n

By pawning the silver, or melting down mother\u2019s statue.<\/p>\n

He\u2019ll not hesitate a moment to spend four thousand in gold<\/p>\n

Spicing his gourmet dishes; only to eat stew with the gladiators.<\/p>\n

It depends who holds the feast, then; Rutilus spells extravagance,<\/p>\n

But the expense in Ventidius\u2019 case is laudable and his wealth<\/p>\n

Increases his fame and reputation. It\u2019s right to despise the man<\/p>\n

Who knows how superior Mount Atlas is in height to the other<\/p>\n

Towering summits of Libya, yet hasn\u2019t the least idea how small<\/p>\n

His purse is compared with a treasure chest that\u2019s bound in iron.<\/p>\n

The saying gn\u03c9\u03b8\u03b9 \u03c3\u03b5\u03b1\u03c5\u03c4\u03cc\u03bd: \u2018know yourself\u2019, is of heavenly origin,<\/p>\n

It should be fixed in the memory, dwelt on in the heart, whether<\/p>\n

You\u2019re seeking a wife, or aim for a place in the sacred Senate;<\/p>\n

Thersites had no wish to win the contest for Achilles\u2019 armour,<\/p>\n

That breastplate in which Ulysses made an exhibition of himself.<\/p>\n

If it\u2019s you who affect to defend a difficult and highly important<\/p>\n

Case, then take counsel with yourself, ask yourself what you are,<\/p>\n

A powerful orator, or merely a windbag, like Curtius or Matho?<\/p>\n

You must know your measure, and be conscious of it in great<\/p>\n

Things and in small, even for instance when you\u2019re buying fish;<\/p>\n

No point in desiring mullet, if your purse only runs to gudgeon!<\/p>\n

Think of the fate that awaits you, as your wallet grows leaner<\/p>\n

While your appetite increases, when you\u2019ve sunk your paternal,<\/p>\n

Inheritance, your property, your silver plate, all of that heavy<\/p>\n

Stuff, with all your fields and herds, in your spacious stomach.<\/p>\n

With spendthrift lords the last to go is the Roman knight\u2019s gold<\/p>\n

Ring, after which Pollio ends by begging with a naked finger.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not a premature demise, an early funeral, the extravagant<\/p>\n

Should fear, but old age, that is more to be feared than death.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s the usual progression: they\u2019ll borrow money in Rome<\/p>\n

And squander it in the lender\u2019s face; then, while there\u2019s still<\/p>\n

A small amount left they\u2019ll flee for Baiae and its oyster-beds.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s no worse these days to be declared bankrupt, than move<\/p>\n

The other way, to the Esquiline from the seethe of Subura.<\/p>\n

The only grief they experience fleeing the City, their only<\/p>\n

Regret, is having to miss a year of races in the Circus.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s not a trace of a blush on their faces: Shame is<\/p>\n

Mocked as she hastens from Rome, few seek to detain her.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatXI:56-89 An Invitation To Dinner \u2013 The Food<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Now you\u2019ll discover, Persicus, whether I live up to this fine talk<\/p>\n

In reality, in my style of living and my behaviour, or whether<\/p>\n

Though singing the praises of beans, I\u2019m really a gourmet at heart,<\/p>\n

Ask my slave for porridge in public, but whisper \u2018tart\u2019 in his ear?<\/p>\n

Now you\u2019ve promised to be my guest, I\u2019ll be your King Evander,<\/p>\n

While you\u2019ll be Hercules, hero of Tiryns, or that lesser guest<\/p>\n

Aeneas, who could still count a goddess in his family tree.<\/p>\n

Listen to what I\u2019ll serve, without recourse to the market.<\/p>\n

From my Tiburtine farm comes a little kid, the most tender,<\/p>\n

The plumpest, of the herd, that\u2019s as yet unacquainted with<\/p>\n

Grazing, that hasn\u2019t yet dared to nibble the hanging willow<\/p>\n

Shoots, there\u2019s more milk than blood in its veins; then wild<\/p>\n

Asparagus, picked by my steward\u2019s wife when she\u2019s finished<\/p>\n

Her weaving; large eggs, still warm, wrapped in wisps of hay,<\/p>\n

Accompanying the hens themselves; and grapes kept for half<\/p>\n

A year, still as good as they were when they hung on the vine;<\/p>\n

Syrian and Signian pears; and in the same baskets of fruit<\/p>\n

Fresh-smelling apples equalling those from Picenum; don\u2019t<\/p>\n

Fret, their autumnal juice has been tempered by frost,<\/p>\n

And they\u2019ve shed that dangerous lack of ripeness. In the<\/p>\n

Old days, this would already have seemed a luxurious feast<\/p>\n

To the Senate. Manius Curius Dentatus would cook humble<\/p>\n

Greens, picked in the garden, on his modest hearth, now<\/p>\n

Every squalid ditch-digger in the chain-gang would refuse it,<\/p>\n

While reminiscing about the tripe he ate in some steaming diner.<\/p>\n

It was the tradition long ago to hang a side of salted pork<\/p>\n

From the wide-barred rack ready for festive occasions, and<\/p>\n

To serve your relations a birthday meal of bacon, with fresh<\/p>\n

Meat too, if you received a cut from the sacrificial victim.<\/p>\n

Even a relative, three-times consul, who\u2019d held the office<\/p>\n

Of dictator, and who\u2019d commanded armies, would still<\/p>\n

Hurry back for such a feast, earlier than usual, carrying<\/p>\n

His spade on his shoulder, from some hillside he\u2019d tamed.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatXI:90-135 An Invitation To Dinner \u2013 The Surroundings<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

In the days when they trembled before the Fabii and Scauri,<\/p>\n

Fabricius, and stern Cato, when the strict censor\u2019s rigid<\/p>\n

Moral code caused even his colleague to shiver with fear,<\/p>\n

No one pondered, as a matter for serious consideration,<\/p>\n

What species of tortoise swimming the Ocean\u2019s wave,<\/p>\n

Might make a fine and notable headrest for the elite;<\/p>\n

Their couches were modest with bare sides, the bronze<\/p>\n

Front displaying an ass\u2019s head garlanded with vines,<\/p>\n

Around which the playful rural children would frolic.<\/p>\n

Their homes and their furniture matched their cuisine.<\/p>\n

Then soldiers were simple men, ignorant of Greek art,<\/p>\n

And they\u2019d break up cups made by great craftsmen,<\/p>\n

Their share of the spoils from some conquered city,<\/p>\n

So their horses could be decked with the trappings,<\/p>\n

And their helmets be studded with scenes their foes<\/p>\n

Might gaze at, as they died; fate commanding the wolf<\/p>\n

To be tame, that sucked Romulus; or the twins in the cave;<\/p>\n

Or their father, Mars, descending, no shield or spear.<\/p>\n

And thus they served their porridge in Tuscan bowls:<\/p>\n

Their silver served solely to make their armour gleam.<\/p>\n

You could envy all that, if you were the envious sort!<\/p>\n

And the power of the shrines was more tangible then,<\/p>\n

A voice in the depths of night echoed in silent Rome,<\/p>\n

When the Gauls were on the march from the Ocean shore,<\/p>\n

And the gods acting as prophets. Such, Jupiter\u2019s warning,<\/p>\n

Such the protection he offered Latium, when his image<\/p>\n

Was fashioned from pottery, not tarnished by gold.<\/p>\n

In those days you saw home-made tables crafted from<\/p>\n

Our own trees; the wood was stacked for use, if some<\/p>\n

Ancient walnut tree was overturned by an easterly wind.<\/p>\n

But now the rich get no pleasure from dining; the turbot,<\/p>\n

The venison are tasteless; the roses and fragrances foul,<\/p>\n

Unless the great round tabletop is held up by a massive<\/p>\n

Ivory pillar, a rampant snarling leopard made of tusks<\/p>\n

Imported from Aswan, Gate of Syene, by the swift<\/p>\n

Moors, or the Indian traders, even more dark-skinned;<\/p>\n

Tusks that the elephants drop in the glades of Nabatea,<\/p>\n

When they prove too large and heavy. It stirs the appetite,<\/p>\n

And strengthens the stomach; a pedestal made of silver,<\/p>\n

Would be like a plebeian iron ring on the finger. So I<\/p>\n

Avoid the snobbish guest, who compares me to himself,<\/p>\n

And despises my meagre resources. I own not an ounce<\/p>\n

Of ivory, neither dice nor abacus beads made of the stuff,<\/p>\n

Even the handles of my knives are fashioned out of bone.<\/p>\n

Yet they\u2019ve never made the fish or bread I serve rancid,<\/p>\n

Nor is the chicken I carve any the worse for that reason.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatXI:136-182 An Invitation To Dinner \u2013 The Entertainment<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

And I won\u2019t have a carver to whom the whole school<\/p>\n

Of carvers has to bow down, a disciple of Trypherus<\/p>\n

The learned, in whose classroom they blunt steel, slicing<\/p>\n

Sows, huge hares, wild boar, gazelle, Scythian pheasants,<\/p>\n

Enormous flamingos, Gaetulian oryx, sumptuous fare,<\/p>\n

Till the elm-wood chopping board\u2019s echoes fill the Subura.<\/p>\n

Nor has my novice servant learnt how to purloin a hunk<\/p>\n

Of venison, or slice of Guinea fowl, untutored all his days,<\/p>\n

And only initiated as yet in the stealing of tiniest scraps.<\/p>\n

An uncultured boy will hand round the commonest cups,<\/p>\n

Bought for a few pennies; he\u2019ll be wrapped against the cold;<\/p>\n

He\u2019s no Phrygian, or Lycian slave obtained from the dealer<\/p>\n

At great expense: when you want something, ask him in Latin.<\/p>\n

All my slaves dress alike, their hair is cut short and straight,<\/p>\n

And it\u2019s only been combed today because of the dinner I give.<\/p>\n

This one\u2019s a tough shepherd\u2019s son, this one\u2019s father\u2019s a drover.<\/p>\n

That one sighs for the mother he\u2019s not seen for so many days,<\/p>\n

Pines for his little cottage, and the goats that he knew so well,<\/p>\n

He\u2019s a noble face, and his sense of honour is noble, both are<\/p>\n

Fit to adorn those who are clothed in the glowing purple toga;<\/p>\n

His voice hasn\u2019t broken, he doesn\u2019t display his teenage balls<\/p>\n

At the baths, he hasn\u2019t yet offered his armpits for plucking,<\/p>\n

Nor does he nervously hide his swollen cock with an oil-flask.<\/p>\n

The wine he\u2019ll serve you was casked in the very same hills<\/p>\n

He comes from, and below whose summits he played.<\/p>\n

Perhaps you\u2019re expecting the sound of tunes from Cadiz,<\/p>\n

To set you going, dancing girls shimmying to the floor,<\/p>\n

Wiggling their bottoms around to appreciative applause.<\/p>\n

Young wives watch such, reclining beside their spouses,<\/p>\n

Even though you may be too embarrassed to describe it.<\/p>\n

It has the effect of arousing jaded desire, fiercely too,<\/p>\n

Like stinging nettles; swelling more and more, until<\/p>\n

With its sights and sounds, the pent up liquid flows.<\/p>\n

My humble home excludes such nonsense. Let the man<\/p>\n

Enjoy the clacking castanets; words from which even<\/p>\n

The naked slave, for sale in a rank brothel, will abstain;<\/p>\n

Let him delight in filthy language and pornographic art;<\/p>\n

Whose spat out wine-dregs oil his Spartan marble floor;<\/p>\n

My dinner today will offer another kind of enjoyment:<\/p>\n

We\u2019ll have recitations from Homer, and Virgil\u2019s verse<\/p>\n

Resonating on high, each challenging for supremacy.<\/p>\n

What matter whose voice delivers such words as those?<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatXI:183-208 Leave Your Cares Behind<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

But now relinquish care, put business aside, and treat<\/p>\n

Yourself to a pleasant interlude, in which you may<\/p>\n

Idle the whole day away. There\u2019ll be not a mention<\/p>\n

Of payments due; nor shall you let your wife arouse<\/p>\n

Your silent anger, though she\u2019s out from dawn to dusk,<\/p>\n

Though she comes back in the dark, her flimsy dress<\/p>\n

Clinging to her, and suspiciously wrinkled, her hair<\/p>\n

All over the place, and her face and ears still aglow.<\/p>\n

Throw off whatever annoys you at my door, leave<\/p>\n

House and slaves behind, whatever they\u2019ve smashed<\/p>\n

Or lost, and forget above all your friends\u2019 ingratitude.<\/p>\n

Here the rows of spectators celebrate the Idaean rites,<\/p>\n

And the Megalesia\u2019s starting flag; the praetor\u2019s already<\/p>\n

Seated there in triumph: he\u2019s paid for the teams, and if I<\/p>\n

Dare say so, without offending the vast, the excessive<\/p>\n

Crowd, the Circus contains the whole of Rome today;<\/p>\n

That ear-splitting noise tells me the Greens have won.<\/p>\n

For if they\u2019d lost you\u2019d see this City of ours muted<\/p>\n

And in mourning, as when the consuls lost their battle<\/p>\n

In Cannae\u2019s dust. Let the youngsters watch, theirs is<\/p>\n

The clamour, the daring bets, a stylish girl at their side:<\/p>\n

My wrinkled hide would rather drink the spring sunlight,<\/p>\n

And shed its toga. You can head for the baths already,<\/p>\n

With a clear conscience, though it\u2019s an hour till noon.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not something you will do every day of the week,<\/p>\n

Since even this sort of life grows excessively boring:<\/p>\n

Our pleasures are deepened by less frequent indulgence.
\nSatire XII: Friendship<\/strong> \u00a0 SatXII:1-82 Safe Return<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

This day is sweeter to me than my own birthday, Corvinus,<\/p>\n

It\u2019s the day when the festal turf awaits the promised victims.<\/p>\n

We bring a snow-white lamb for Juno, queen of the gods,<\/p>\n

And its equal for Minerva, with her Gorgon-headed aegis;<\/p>\n

While the sacrifice to Tarpeian Jove tugs petulantly at the<\/p>\n

Long tether, making the rope quiver, and tossing its head;<\/p>\n

Since it\u2019s a spirited calf, you see, ready for temple and altar,<\/p>\n

For sprinkling with pure wine, one already ashamed to suck<\/p>\n

At its mother\u2019s teats: with budding horns, it butts the oak tree.<\/p>\n

If my personal resources were ample, a match for my feelings,<\/p>\n

We\u2019d be dragging a bull fatter than Hispulla to the slaughter,<\/p>\n

One slowed by its very bulk, not nourished in local pastures,<\/p>\n

But its lineage the product of the fertile fields of Clitumnus,<\/p>\n

And its neck would be bowed, for the tall attendant\u2019s blow.<\/p>\n

All this is to mark my friend\u2019s safe return, he who trembles<\/p>\n

Still at terrors past, filled with amazement yet that he survived,<\/p>\n

For besides the dangers of the sea he escaped the lightning too.<\/p>\n

A single mass of dense cloud shrouded the sky in darkness,<\/p>\n

While sudden flashes of fire struck the yardarms. Every man<\/p>\n

Aboard thought he had been hit, and thought shipwreck as<\/p>\n

Nothing compared to a death enveloped in blazing canvas;<\/p>\n

It\u2019s always so, just as serious, if when a storm of poetry rises,<\/p>\n

Behold there\u2019s some other crisis! Listen and pity once more,<\/p>\n

Though the rest is on a par with that experience, dreadful<\/p>\n

But not uncommon, as all those votive tablets in the shrines<\/p>\n

Of Isis bear witness; who of us is unaware that artists earn<\/p>\n

A living from painting them as offerings to the goddess?<\/p>\n

That kind of ill-fortune overtook my dear friend Catullus.<\/p>\n

With the hold half-full of water, and the waves already<\/p>\n

Driving the stern this way and that, and the white-haired<\/p>\n

Helmsman\u2019s skill unable to counteract the swaying mast,<\/p>\n

He then tried to deal with the wind by jettisoning the cargo,<\/p>\n

In imitation of the beaver that in its desire to escape death,<\/p>\n

Will bite off its testicles and render itself a eunuch: then<\/p>\n

The drug, castoreum,<\/em> is made from its preputial glands.<\/p>\n

\u2018Take everything I\u2019ve got,\u2019 cried Catullus, willing now<\/p>\n

To hurl even his most precious possessions overboard,<\/p>\n

Purple-dyed clothes fit even for some tender Maecenas,<\/p>\n

And others made from the wool of flocks tinted by their<\/p>\n

Grazing on special grasses, plus the effect of the hidden<\/p>\n

Powers of the fine water, and climate, of southern Spain.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d no hesitation in hurling his silver plate away; dishes<\/p>\n

Made for Parthenius, Domitian\u2019s chamberlain; a mixing<\/p>\n

Bowl big as an urn, fit for Pholus the thirsty centaur, or<\/p>\n

Even Fuscus\u2019 wife; baskets; a thousand plates; and a pile<\/p>\n

Of engraved cups that Philip of Macedon once drank from.<\/p>\n

Is there another such man, in all the world, with the will<\/p>\n

To set his life above money, his survival above his goods?<\/p>\n

Overboard went most of what\u2019s useful; there was still no<\/p>\n

End of danger. Then, driven by necessity he resorted to<\/p>\n

Taking a blade to the mast, so as to extricate himself from<\/p>\n

His narrow strait: taking that ultimate risk, where the remedy<\/p>\n

We adopt makes the vessel we\u2019re journeying in even weaker.<\/p>\n

Away then, commit your life to the winds, rely on a broken<\/p>\n

Plank, four inches of pinewood away from death, or perhaps<\/p>\n

Seven inches away from death, if the planking is extra thick;<\/p>\n

And remember next time, along with your nets full of bread<\/p>\n

And the bellied flagons, to take some axes for use in a storm.<\/p>\n

But once the waves died down, and the passengers\u2019 state<\/p>\n

Improved, and destiny triumphed over the wind and sea;<\/p>\n

Once the Fates began to weave a stronger thread, benign<\/p>\n

Hands happily winding white wool into the yarn; and once<\/p>\n

The wind arose, though no more than the lightest breeze,<\/p>\n

The wretched vessel, ran on, its manoeuvrability impaired,<\/p>\n

Every cloth spread to the wind, with the one remaining sail.<\/p>\n

Now that the fierce southerly winds were abating, the sun<\/p>\n

Returned bringing fresh hope of survival. Then the heights<\/p>\n

Of Mount Alba, loved by Iulus, Aeneas\u2019 son, and preferred<\/p>\n

By him to Lavinium, his stepmother\u2019s city, came in view,<\/p>\n

Its peak named for the white sow whose litter amazed the<\/p>\n

Delighted Trojans, and the novel sight of her thirty teats.<\/p>\n

At last the ship passed the Tuscan lighthouse and entered<\/p>\n

The breakwaters of Portus Augusti, that quiet the waves,<\/p>\n

Those arms that leave Italy\u2019s shore, stretch out and meet,<\/p>\n

In the sea; no ancient harbour created by nature is more<\/p>\n

Impressive. Then the master steered his crippled vessel<\/p>\n

Into the inner roads of the harbour, so sheltered a pleasure<\/p>\n

Boat from Baiae could cross, where sailors, heads shaved<\/p>\n

To fulfil their vow, tell, in safety, garrulous tales of peril.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

SatXII:93-130 And Perish Those Legacy-Hunters!<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

Off with you lads, control your tongues and minds<\/p>\n

Garland the shrines, lay out the grain and knives,<\/p>\n

And decorate the green turf and the spongy hearths.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll follow, and once I\u2019ve performed the sacred rite,<\/p>\n

Head home again, where the little statues gleaming<\/p>\n

With fragile wax will receive their slender crowns.<\/p>\n

Here I\u2019ll propitiate my Jupiter, and offer incense<\/p>\n

To my paternal Lares, and scatter the viola petals.<\/p>\n

Everything gleams, long branches beside the door<\/p>\n

That welcomes the festive day with lamps at dawn.<\/p>\n

Lest you suspect my efforts, Corvinus, this Catullus,<\/p>\n

Whose return I celebrate by preparing these altars,<\/p>\n

Has three young heirs: who\u2019d buy, I\u2019d like to know,<\/p>\n

Even a sick chicken, about to shut its eyes for good,<\/p>\n

For the sake of a friend who\u2019s such a poor investment!<\/p>\n

Truly even a hen\u2019s too pricey; no one sacrifices even<\/p>\n

A quail for a man with children, while if rich, childless,<\/p>\n

Gallitta, or Pacius, show even a sign of fever, the whole<\/p>\n

Colonnade is studded with neat prayers on their behalf.<\/p>\n

There are people who\u2019d promise to sacrifice a hundred<\/p>\n

Bullocks, or even elephants, though now there are none<\/p>\n

For sale, here, and the beasts won\u2019t breed in Latium given<\/p>\n

Our climate, though it\u2019s true there\u2019s Caesar\u2019s herd, bought<\/p>\n

From the dark nations to graze in Rutulian forests, and in<\/p>\n

The land of Turnus, unfitted to be enslaved by lesser men,<\/p>\n

Since their ancestors once served the King of Molossus,<\/p>\n

And Hannibal of Carthage, and even our Roman generals;<\/p>\n

Carrying squads of our soldiers, as a part of the battle line,<\/p>\n

Equipped with turrets on their backs, advancing to the fight.<\/p>\n

Novis, or Pacuvius Hister, those legacy-chasers, wouldn\u2019t<\/p>\n

Hesitate for a moment in leading those ivory-bearers to the<\/p>\n

Altars, or slaughtering them before Gallitta\u2019s household gods,<\/p>\n

Sole victims worthy of such gods, and those fortune-hunters.<\/p>\n

If you let him, the latter would even promise to make a sacrifice<\/p>\n

Of the tallest and therefore handsomest of his herd of slaves,<\/p>\n

Tie the sacrificial bands to the foreheads of boys or girls alike,<\/p>\n

And if he\u2019d a nubile daughter at home, his own Iphigeneia,<\/p>\n

He\u2019d offer her too on the altar, without even the hope of her<\/p>\n

Being replaced by a deer, as in that variant of the tragic story.<\/p>\n

Good on you, my fellow citizens, a thousand ships cannot<\/p>\n

Compare with a legacy; since if the victim eludes the funeral<\/p>\n

Goddess, Libitina, he\u2019ll fall into the trap set by some truly<\/p>\n

Amazing effort of Pacuvius, and destroy his previous will,<\/p>\n

And probably, in brief, leave him the lot, leaving him to lord<\/p>\n

It then over his beaten rivals. So you see how useful it can<\/p>\n

Be to slit Iphigenia\u2019s throat, slay a daughter from Mycenae.<\/p>\n

Long live Pacuvius, may he live as long as Nestor, may he<\/p>\n

Possess as much as Nero stole, may he pile up a mountain<\/p>\n

Of gold, may he love no one, and never be loved in return!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":19,"menu_order":6,"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-74","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\/74","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\/74\/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\/74\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=74"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=74"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=74"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=74"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}