memory lies at the mercy of future poets and historians, but also, with a finer stroke of his pen, brands even the living, and personates them under dead men's names._ _I have avoided, as much as I could possibly, the borrowed learning of marginal notes and illustrations, and for that reason have translated this satire somewhat largely; and freely own, (if it be a fault,) that I have likewise omitted most of the proper names, because I thought they would not much edify the reader. To conclude, if in two or three places I have deserted all the commentators, it is because I thought they first deserted my author, or at least have left him in so much obscurity, that too much room is left for guessing._ Still shall I hear, and never quit the score, Stunned with hoarse Codrus'[51] Theseid, o'er and o'er? Shall this man's elegies and t'other's play Unpunished murder a long summer's day? Huge Telephus,[52] a formidable page, Cries vengeance; and Orestes'[53] bulky rage, Unsatisfied with margins closely writ, Foams o'er the covers, and not finished yet. No man can take a more familiar note Of his own home, than I of Vulcan's grott, Or Mars his grove,[54] or hollow winds that blow From Ætna's top, or tortured ghosts below. I know by rote the famed exploits of Greece, The Centaurs' fury, and the Golden Fleece; Through the thick shades the eternal scribbler bawls, And shakes the statues on their pedestals. The best and worst[55] on the same theme employs His muse, and plagues us with an equal noise. Provoked by these incorrigible fools, I left declaiming in pedantic schools; Where, with men-boys, I strove to get renown, Advising Sylla to a private gown.[56] But, since the world with writing is possest, } I'll versify in spite; and do my best, } To make as much waste paper as the rest. } But why I lift aloft the satire's rod, And tread the path which famed Lucilius[57] trod, Attend the causes which my muse have led:-- When sapless eunuchs mount the marriage-bed; When mannish Mævia,[58] that two-handed whore, Astride on horseback hunts the Tuscan boar; When all our lords are by his wealth outvied, Whose razor on my callow beard was tried;[59] When I behold the spawn of conquered Nile, Crispinus, both in birth and manners vile,[60] Pacing in pomp, with cloak of Tyrian dye, Changed oft a-day for needless luxury; And finding oft occasion to be fanned, Ambitious to produce his lady-hand; Charged with light summer-rings his fingers sweat,[61] Unable to support a gem of weight: Such fulsome objects meeting every where, 'Tis hard to write, but harder to forbear. To view so lewd a town, and to refrain,