Part of Sat. VI. Book II. of Horace, Translated

Consum'd in trifles, thus the golden day Steals, not without this ardent wish, away; When shall I see my peaceful country farm, My fancy when with antient authors charm? Or, lull'd to sleep, the cares of life elude In sweet oblivion of solicitude? O, for those beans which my own fields provide! Deem'd by Pythagoras to man allied; The savoury pulse serv'd up in platters nice, And herbs high-relish'd with the bacon slice! O, tranquil nights in pleasing converse spent, Ambrosial suppers that might gods content! When with my chosen friends (delicious treat!) Before the houshold deities we eat; The slaves themselves regale on choicest meat. Free from mad laws we sit reclin'd at ease, And drink as much, or little, as we please. Some quaff large bumpers that expand the soul, And some grow mellow with a moderate bowl. We never talk of this man's house or vill, Or whether Lepos dances well or ill: But of those duties which ourselves we owe, And which 'tis quite a scandal not to know: As whether wealth or virtue can impart The truest pleasure to the human heart: What should direct us in our choice of friends, Their own pure merit, or our private ends: What we may deem, if rightly understood, Man's sovereign bliss, his chief, his only good.

Mean-time my friend, old Cervius, never fails To cheer our converse with his pithy tales: Praise but Arellius, or his ill-got store, His fable thus begins: "In days of yore A country mouse within his homely cave A treat to one of note, a courtier, gave; A good plain mouse our host, who lov'd to spare Those heaps of forage he had glean'd with care; Yet on occasion would his soul unbend, And feast with hospitality his friend: He brought wild oats and vetches from his hoard; Dried grapes and scraps of bacon grac'd the board: In hopes, no doubt, by such a various treat, To tempt the dainty traveller to eat. Squat on fresh chaff, the master of the feast Left all the choicest viands for his guest, Nor one nice morsel for himself would spare, But gnaw'd coarse grain, or nibbled at a tare. At length their slender dinner finish'd quite, Thus to the rustic spoke the mouse polite: ' How can my friend a wretched being drag ' On the bleak summit of this airy crag? ' Say, do you still prefer this barbarous den ' To polish'd cities, savages to men? ' Come, come with me, nor longer here abide, ' I'll be your friend, your comrade, and your guide. ' Since all must die that draw this vital breath, ' Nor great nor small can shun the shafts of death; ' 'Tis ours to sport in pleasures while we may; ' For ever mindful of life's little day.'

These weighty reasons sway'd the country mouse, And light of heart he sallied from his house, Resolv'd to travel with this courtly spark, And gain the city when securely dark.

Now midnight hover'd o'er this earthly ball, When our small gentry reach'd a stately hall, Where brightly glowing, stain'd with Tyrian dye, On ivory couches richest carpets lie; And in large baskets, rang'd along the floor, The rich collation of the night before. On purple bed the courtier plac'd his guest, And with choice cates prolong'd the grateful feast; He carv'd, he serv'd, as much as mouse could do, And was his waiter, and his taster too. Joy seiz'd the rustic as at ease he lay; This happy change had made him wondrous gay— When lo! the doors burst open in a trice, And at their banquet terrified the mice: They start, they tremble, in a deadly fright, And round the room precipitate their flight; The high-roof'd room with hideous cries resounds Of baying mastiffs, and loud-bellowing hounds: Then thus the rustic in the courtier's ear; ' Adieu! kind sir! I thank you for your cheer: ' Safe in my cell your state I envy not; ' Tares be my food, and liberty my lot!"