Juvenal, Satire 3
Translated by G.G. Ramsay
Formatted by C. Chinn

	THOUGH put out by the departure of my old friend, 
	I commend his purpose to fix his home at Cumae, 
	and to present one citizen to the Sibyl. 
	That is the gate of Baiae, a sweet retreat upon a pleasant shore; 
5	I myself would prefer even Prochyta1 to the Subura!2 
	For where has one ever seen a place so dismal and so lonely 
	that one would not deem it worse to live in perpetual dread of fires 
	and falling houses, and the thousand perils of this terrible city, 
	and poets spouting in the month of August!
10	But while all his goods and chattels were being packed upon a single wagon, 
	my friend halted at the dripping archway of the old Porta Capena.3 
	Here Numa held his nightly assignations with his mistress; 
	but now the holy fount and grove and shrine are let out to Jews, 
	who possess a basket and a truss of hay for all their furnishings. 
15	For as every tree nowadays has to pay toll to the people, 
	the Muses have been ejected, and the wood has to go a-begging. 
	We go down to the Valley of Egeria, and into the caves 
	so unlike to nature: how much more near to us would be 
	the spirit of the fountain if its waters were fringed by a green border 
20	of grass, and there were no marble to outrage the native tufa!
	
	Here spoke Umbricius:- “Since there is no room,” quoth he, 
	“for honest callings in this city, no reward for labor; 
	since my means are less to-day than they were yesterday, and to-morrow 
	will rub off something from the little that is left, I purpose to go 
25	to the place where Daedalus put off his weary wings 
	while my white hairs are recent, while my old age is erect and fresh, 
	while Lachesis has something left to spin, and I can 
	support myself on my own feet without slipping a staff beneath my hand. 
	Farewell my country! Let Artorius live there, 
30	and Catulus; let those remain who turn black into white, 
	to whom it comes easy to take contracts for temples, rivers or harbors, 
	for draining floods, or carrying corpses to the pyre, 
	or to put up slaves for sale under the authority of the spear.4 
	These men once were horn-blowers, who went the round of every 
35	provincial show, and whose puffed-out cheeks were known in every village; 
	to-day they hold shows of their own, and win applause by slaying 
	whomsoever the mob with a turn of the thumb5 bids them slay; 
	from that they go back to contract for cesspools, and why not for any kind of thing, 
	seeing that they are of the kind that Fortune raises from the gutter 
40	to the mighty places of earth whenever she wishes to enjoy a laugh?
	
	“What can I do at Rome? I cannot lie; if a book is bad, 
	I cannot praise it, and beg for a copy; I am ignorant 
	of the movements of the stars; I cannot, and will not, 
	promise to a man his father’s death; I have never examined the entrails 
45	of a frog; I must leave it to others to carry to a bride 
	the presents and messages of a paramour. No man will get my help 
	in robbery, and therefore no governor will take me on his staff: 
	I am treated as a maimed and useless trunk that has lost the power of its hands. 
	What man wins favor nowadays unless he be an accomplice--
50	one whose soul seethes and burns with secrets that must never be disclosed? 
	No one who has imparted to you an innocent secret 
	thinks he owes you anything, or will ever bestow on you a favor; 
	the man whom Verres loves is the man who can impeach Verres 
	at any moment that he chooses. Ah! Let not all the sands of the shaded Tagus, 
55	and the gold which it rolls into the sea, be so precious in your eyes 
	that you should lose your sleep, and accept gifts, to your sorrow, 
	which you must one day lay down, and be for ever a terror to your mighty friend! 
	
	“And now let me speak at once of the race which is most dear 
	to our rich men, and which I avoid above all others; 
60	no shyness shall stand in my way. I cannot abide, Quirites, 
	a Rome of Greeks; and yet what fraction of our dregs comes from Greece? 
	The Syrian Orontes has long since poured into the Tiber, 
	bringing with it its lingo and its manners, its flutes and its slanting 
	harp-strings6; bringing too the timbrels of the breed, 
65	and the trulls who are bidden ply their trade at the Circus. 
	Out upon you, all ye that delight in foreign strumpets with painted headdresses! 
	Your country clown, Quirinus, now trips to dinner in Greek-fangled slippers,7 
	and wears niceterian7 ornaments upon a ceromatic7 neck! 
	One comes from lofty Sicyon, another from Amydon 
70	or Andros, others from Samos, Tralles or Alabanda; 
	all making for the Esquiline, or for the hill that takes its name from osier-beds8; 
	all ready to worm their way into the houses of the great and become their masters. 
	Quick of wit and of unbounded impudence, they are 
	as ready of speech as Isaeus,9 and more torrential. Say, what do you think 
75	that fellow there to be? He has brought with him any character you please; 
	grammarian, orator, geometrician; painter, trainer, or rope-dancer; 
	augur, doctor or astrologer: ‘All sciences a fasting monsieur knows,
	And bid him go to Hell, to Hell he goes!’ 10
	In fine, the man who took to himself wings11 was not a Moor, nor a Sarmatian, 
80	nor a Thracian, but one born in the very heart of Athens!
	
	“Must I not make my escape from purple-clad gentry like these? Is a man 
	to sign his name before me, and recline upon a couch better than mine, 
	who has been wafted to Rome by the wind which brings us our damsons and our figs? 
	Is it to go so utterly for nothing that as a babe I drank in the air 
85	of the Aventine, and was nurtured on the Sabine berry?
	
	“What of this again, that these people are experts in flattery, 
	and will commend the talk of an illiterate, or the beauty of a deformed friend, 
	and compare the scraggy neck of some weakling to the brawny throat 
	of Hercules when holding up Antaeus12 high above the earth; 
90	or go into ecstasies over a squeaky voice not more melodious 
	than that of a cock when he pecks his spouse the hen? 
	We, no doubt, can praise the same things that they do; 
	but what they say is believed. Could any actor do better when he plays 
	the part of Thais, or of a matron, or of a Greek slave-girl 
95	without her pallium? You would never think that it was 
	a masked actor that was speaking, 
	but a very woman, complete in all her parts. 
	Yet, in their own country, neither Antiochus13 nor Stratocles,13 
	neither Demetrius 13 nor the delicate Haemus,13 will be applauded: 
100	they are a nation of play-actors. If you smile, your Greek will split his sides 
	with laughter; if he sees his friend drop a tear, he weeps,
	though without grieving; if you call for a bit of fire in winter-time, 
	he puts on his cloak; if you say ‘I am hot,’ he breaks into a sweat. 
	Thus we are not upon a level, he and I; he has always the best of it, 
105	being ready at any moment, by night or by day, to take his expression 
	from another man’s face, to throw up his hands and applaud 
	if his friend gives a good belch or piddles straight, 
	or if his golden basin make a gurgle when turned upside down.
	
	“Besides all this, there is nothing sacred to his lusts: 
110	not the matron of the family, nor the maiden daughter, not the 
	as yet unbearded son-in-law to be, not even the as yet unpolluted son; 
	if none of these be there, he will debauch his friend’s grandmother. 
	These men want to discover the secrets of the family, and so make themselves feared. 
	And now that I am speaking of the Greeks, pass over 
115	the schools, and hear of a crime of a larger philosophical cloak; 
	the old Stoic14 who informed against and slew his own friend 
	and disciple15 Barea was born on that river bank16 
	where the Gorgon’s winged steed fell to earth. 
	No: there is no room for any Roman here, where some 
120	Protogenes, or Diphilus, or Hermarchus rules the roast—
	one who by a defect of his race never shares a friend, 
	but keeps him all to himself. For when once he has dropped into 
	a facile ear one particle of his own and his country’s poison, 
	I am thrust from the door, and all my long years of servitude go for 
125	nothing. Nowhere is it so easy as at Rome to throw an old client overboard.
	
	“And besides, not to flatter ourselves, what value is there in a 
	poor man’s serving here in Rome, even if he be at pains to hurry along 
	in his toga before daylight, seeing that the praetor is bidding the lictor to go 
	full speed lest his colleague should be the first to salute 
130	the childless ladies Albina and Modia, who have long ago been awake? 
	Here in Rome the son of free-born parents has to give the wall to some 
	rich man’s slave; for that other will give as much as the whole pay 
	of a legionary tribune to enjoy the chance favors 
	of a Calvina17 or a Catiena,17 while you, 
135	when the face of some gay-decked harlot takes your fancy, 
	scarce venture to hand Chione down from her lofty chair. 
	At Rome you may produce a witness as unimpeachable 
	as the host of the Idaean Goddess.18--Numa himself might present himself, 
	or he who rescued the trembling Minerva from the blazing shrine19—
140	the first question asked will be as to his wealth, the last about 
	his character: ‘how many slaves does he keep?’ ‘how many acres 
	does he own?’ ‘how big and how many are his dessert dishes?’ 
	A man’s word is believed in exact proportion to the amount of cash 
	which he keeps in his strong-box. Though he swear by all the altars of 
145	Samothrace or of Rome, the poor man is believed to care naught 
	for Gods and thunderbolts, the Gods themselves forgiving him.
	
	“And what of this, that the poor man gives food 
	and occasion for jest if his cloak be torn and dirty; 
	if his toga be a little soiled; if one of his shoes gapes 
150	where the leather is split, or if some fresh stitches of coarse thread reveal 
	where not one, but many a rent has been patched? 
	Of all the woes of luckless poverty none is harder to endure 
	than this, that it exposes men to ridicule. ‘Out you go! 
	for very shame,’ says the marshal; ‘out of the Knights’ stalls, 
155	all of you whose means do not satisfy the law.’ Here let the 
	sons of panders, born in any brothel, take their seats; 
	here let the spruce son of an auctioneer clap his hands, with the smart sons 
	of a gladiator on one side of him and the young gentlemen of a trainer on the other: 
	such was the will of the numskull Otho who assigned to each of us his place.20
160	Who ever was approved as a son-in-law if he was short of cash, and no match 
	for the money-bags of the young lady? What poor man ever gets a legacy, 
	or is appointed assessor to an aedile? Romans without money 
	should have marched out in a body long ago! 
	
	“It is no easy matter, anywhere, for a man to rise when poverty 
165	stands in the way of his merits: but nowhere is the effort harder 
	than in Rome, where you must pay a big rent for a wretched lodging, 
	a big sum to fill the bellies of your slaves, and buy a frugal dinner for yourself. 
	You are ashamed to dine off delf; but you would see no shame in it 
	if transported suddenly to a Marsian or Sabine table, where you 
170	would be pleased enough to wear a cape of coarse Venetian blue.
	
	“There are many parts of Italy, to tell the truth, in which 
	no man puts on a toga until he is dead. Even on days of festival, 
	when a brave show is made in a theatre of turf, 
	and when the well-known afterpiece steps once more upon the boards; 
175	when the rustic babe on its mother’s breast shrinks back 
	affrighted at the gaping of the pallid masks, 
	you will see stalls and populace all dressed alike, 
	and the worshipful aediles content with white tunics 
	as vesture for their high office. In Rome, 
180	every one dresses smartly, above his means, and sometimes 
	something more than what is enough is taken out of another man’s pocket. 
	This failing is universal here: we all live in a state 
	of pretentious poverty. To put it shortly, nothing can be had in Rome 
	for nothing. How much does it cost you to be able now and then to make your bow 
185	to Cossus? Or to be vouchsafed one glance, with lip firmly closed, from Veiento? 
	One of these great men is cutting off his beard; another is dedicating the locks of a favorite; 
	the house is full of cakes--which you will have to pay for. Take your cake,21 
	and let this thought rankle in your heart: we clients are compelled 
	to pay tribute and add to a sleek menial’s perquisites.22
	
190	“Who at cool Praeneste, or at Volsinii amid its leafy hills, 
	was ever afraid of his house tumbling down? 
	Who in modest Gabii, or on the sloping heights of Tivoli? 
	But here we inhabit a city supported for the most part 
	by slender props:23 for that is how the bailiff holds up 
195	the tottering house, patches up gaping cracks in the old wall, 
	bidding the inmates sleep at ease under a roof ready to tumble about their ears. 
	No, no, I must live where there are no fires, 
	no nightly alarms. Ucalegon24 below is already shouting for water 
	and shifting his chattels; smoke is pouring out of your third-floor attic, 
200	but you know nothing of it; for if the alarm begins in the ground-floor, 
	the last man to burn will be he who has nothing to shelter him from the rain 
	but the tiles, where the gentle doves lay their eggs. 
	Codrus possessed a bed too small for the dwarf Procula, a sideboard 
	adorned by six pipkins, with a small drinking cup, 
205	and a recumbent Chiron below, 
	and an old chest containing Greek books whose divine lays 
	were being gnawed by unlettered mice. 
	Poor Codrus had nothing, it is true: but he lost that nothing, 
	which was his all; and the last straw in his heap of misery is this, 
210	that though he is destitute and begging for a bite, no one will help him 
	with a meal, no one offer him lodging or shelter.
	
	“But if the grand house of Asturicus be destroyed, the matrons go disheveled, 
	your great men put on mourning, the praetor adjourns his court: 
	then indeed do we deplore the calamities of the city, and bewail its fires! 
215	Before the house has ceased to burn, up comes one with a gift of marble 
	or of building materials, another offers nude and glistening statues, 
	a third some notable work of Euphranor or Polyclitus,25 
	or bronzes that had been the glory of old Asian shrines. 
	Others will offer books and bookcases, or a bust of Minerva, 
220	or a hundredweight of silver-plate. Thus does Persicus, that most sumptuous 
	of childless men, replace what he has lost with more and better things, 
	and with good reason incurs the suspicion of having set his own house on fire.
	
	“If you can tear yourself away from the games of the Circus, you can buy 
	an excellent house at Sora, at Fabrateria or Frusino, 
225	for what you now pay in Rome to rent a dark garret for one year. 
	And you will there have a little garden, with a shallow well from which 
	you can easily draw water, without need of a rope, to bedew your weakly plants. 
	There make your abode, a friend of the mattock, tending a trim garden 
	fit to feast a hundred Pythagoreans.26 
230	It is something, in whatever spot, however remote, 
	to have become the possessor of a single lizard!
	
	“Most sick people here in Rome perish for want of sleep, 
	the illness itself having been produced by food lying undigested o
	n a fevered stomach. For what sleep is possible in a lodging? 
235	Who but the wealthy get sleep in Rome? 
	There lies the root of the disorder. The crossing of wagons in the narrow 
	winding streets, the slanging of drovers when brought to a stand, 
	would make sleep impossible for a Drusus27--or a sea-calf. 
	When the rich man has a call of social duty, the mob makes way for him 
240	as he is borne swiftly over their heads in a huge Liburnian car. 
	He writes or reads or sleeps inside as he goes along, 
	for the closed window of the litter induces slumber. 
	Yet he will arrive before us; hurry as we may, we are blocked 
	by a surging crowd in front, and by a dense mass of people pressing in 
245	on us from behind: one man digs an elbow into me, another a hard 
	sedan-pole; one bangs a beam, another a wine-cask, against my head. 
	My legs are beplastered with mud; soon huge feet trample on me 
	from every side, and a soldier plants his hobnails firmly on my toe.
	
	“See now the smoke rising from that crowd which hurries as if to a dole: 
250	there are a hundred guests, each followed by a kitchener of his own.28 
	Corbulo29 himself could scarce bear the weight of all the big vessels 
	and other gear which that poor little slave is carrying with head erect, 
	fanning the flame as he runs along. 
	Newly-patched tunics are torn in two; up comes a huge fir-log 
255	swaying on a wagon, and then a second dray carrying 
	a whole pine-tree; they tower aloft and threaten the people. 
	For if that axle with its load of Ligurian marble breaks down, 
	and pours an overturned mountain on to the crowd, 
	what is left of their bodies? Who can identify the limbs, who the bones? 
260	‘The poor man’s crushed corpse wholly disappears, 
	just like his soul. At home meanwhile the folk, unwitting, 
	are washing the dishes, blowing up the fire with distended cheek, clattering over 
	the greasy flesh-scrapers, filling the oil-flasks and laying out the towels. 
	And while each of them is thus busy over his own task, their master 
265	is already sitting, a new arrival, upon the bank, and shuddering at 
	the grim ferryman: he has no copper in his mouth to tender for his fare, 
	and no hope of a passage over the murky flood, poor wretch.
	
	“And now regard the different and diverse perils of the night. 
	See what a height it is to that towering roof from which a potsherd comes 
270	crack upon my head every time that some broken or leaky vessel 
	is pitched out of the window! See with what a smash it strikes 
	and dints the pavement! There’s death in every open window 
	as you pass along at night; you may well be deemed a fool, 
	improvident of sudden accident, 
275	if you go out to dinner without having made your will. 
	You can but hope, and put up a piteous prayer in your heart, 
	that they may be content to pour down on you the contents of their slop-basins!
	
	“Your drunken bully who has by chance not slain his man 
	passes a night of torture like that of Achilles when he bemoaned his friend, 
280	lying now upon his face, and now upon his back; 
	he will get no rest in any other way, since some men can only sleep 
	after a brawl. Yet however reckless the fellow may be, 
	however hot with wine and young blood, he gives a wide berth 
	to one whose scarlet cloak and long retinue of attendants, 
285	with torches and brass lamps in their hands, bid him keep his distance. 
	But to me, who am wont to be escorted home by the moon, 
	or by the scant light of a candle whose wick I husband with due care, 
	he pays no respect. Hear how the wretched fray begins—
	if fray it can be called when you do all the thrashing and I get all the blows! 
290	The fellow stands up against me, and bids me halt; obey I must. 
	What else can you do when attacked by a madman stronger 
	than yourself? ‘Where are you from?’ shouts he; ‘whose vinegar, 
	whose beans have blown you out? With what cobbler have you been 
	munching cut leeks30 and boiled wether’s chaps?—
295	What, sirrah, no answer? Speak out, or take that upon your shins! 
	Say, where is your stand? In what prayer-shop31 shall I find you?’ 
	Whether you venture to say anything, or make off silently, 
	it’s all one: he will thrash you just the same, and then, in a rage, 
	take bail from you. Such is the liberty of the poor man: 
300	having been pounded and cuffed into a jelly, he begs and prays 
	to be allowed to return home with a few teeth in his head!
	
	“Nor are these your only terrors. When your house is shut, 
	when bar and chain have made fast your shop, 
	and all is silent, you will be robbed by a burglar; 
305	or perhaps a cut-throat will do for you quickly with cold steel. 
	For whenever the Pontine marshes and the Gallinarian forest 
	are secured by an armed guard, 
	all that tribe flocks into Rome as into a fish-preserve. 
	What furnaces, what anvils, are not groaning with the forging of chains? 
310	That is how our iron is mostly used; and you may well fear 
	that ere long none will be left for plough-shares, none for hoes and mattocks. 
	Happy, you would say, were the forbears of our great-grandfathers, 
	happy the days of old which under Kings and Tribunes 
	beheld Rome satisfied with a single jail!
	
315	“To these I might add more and different reasons; 
	but my cattle call, the sun is sloping and I must away: 
	my muleteer has long been signalling to me with his whip. 
	And so farewell; forget me not. And if ever you run over 
	from Rome to your own Aquinum32 to recruit, 
320	summon me too from Cumae to your Helvine33 
	Ceres and Diana; I will come over to your cold country in my thick boots 
	to hear your Satires, if they think me worthy of that honor.”