The satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis / translated into English verse by William Gifford.

  • Juvenal
Date:
1802
Catalogue details

Licence: Public Domain Mark

Credit: The satires of Decimus Junius Juvenalis / translated into English verse by William Gifford. Source: Wellcome Collection.

Provider: This material has been provided by Royal College of Physicians, London. The original may be consulted at Royal College of Physicians, London.

    476/574 (page 396)
    1 A huge two-handed goblet, which might strain A Pholus, or a Fiiscus’ wife, to drain; Ver. 62. A Pholus, or a Fuscus’ wife, (^c.] Pholus was an honest, free- hearted Centaur; a little given to drink, it must be confessed, but not more so than his company; since it appears that his guest drained the goblet, as well as himself: ^Kvftov $£ XxScav J'fTra? cfjt,y.£Tpov wf rpihxyvvov TliEiv ezn(T^ofjt.Bv^, to p«, o» zrxpeB’me OoA(^ xcpxTxs- Adod, as Mungo says, 'twas a lumper! Fuscus’wife,” indeed, might have tossed off such a vessel; for the Roman writers take frequent notice of the immoderate love of the women for wine; see p. 317. Not to multiply instances, t shall content myself with a passage from Plautus. It is very humorous, and so ardent withall, that I doubt Avhether the most brain-sick lover ever poured out sueh genuine strains of rapture to his goddess, as the bibulous old lady before us, lavishes on her darling liquor: “ Flos veteris vini meis naribus objectus est. “ Ejus amor cupidam me hue prolicit per tenebras : Ubi, ubi est ? prope me est. Evax I habeo. Salve anime mi, Liberi lepos; ut veteris vetusti cupida sum ! '*■ Nam omnium unguentum odor prae tuo, nautea est. Tu mihi stacte, tu cinnamomum, lu rosa, Tu crocinum et casia es, tu bdellium: natn ubi “ Tu profusus,ibi ego me pervelim sepultam! Curcul, A. i. S. ii. Thornton’s version of this passage does it so little justice, that I have ventured to translate it anew : Huh ! huh! the flower, the sweet flower of old wine. Salutes my nostrils; and my passion for it, Hurries me, darkling, hither: where, O where. Is the dear object? sure ’tis near.—^Ye gods! Ye gracious gods! I have’t. Soul of my soul! Life of my Bacchus! how I doat upon Thy ripe old age! the fragrance of all spices..