# The Satires, Epistles & Art of Poetry of Horace/Sat1-5

SATIRE V.
Egressum magna.
EAVING great Rome, my journey I begin, And reach Aricia, where a moderate inn (With me was Heliodorus, who knows more Of rhetoric than e'er did Greek before): Next Appii Forum, filled, e'en, nigh to choke, With knavish publicans and boatmen folk. This portion of our route, which most get through At one good stretch, we chose to split in two, Taking it leisurely: for those who go The Appian road are jolted less when slow. I find the water villanous, decline My stomach's overtures, refuse to dine, And sit and sit with temper less than sweet Watching my fellow-travellers while they eat. Now Night prepared o'er all the earth to spread Her veil, and light the stars up overhead: Boatmen and slaves a slanging-match begin: "Ho! put in here! What! take three hundred in? You'll swamp us all:" so, while our fares we pay, And the mule's tied, a whole hour slips away. No hope of sleep: the tenants of the marsh, Hoarse frogs and shrill mosquitos, sing so harsh,
While passenger and boatman chant the praise Of their true-loves in amoebean lays, Each fairly drunk: the passenger at last Tires of the game, and soon his eyes are fast: Then to a stone his mule the boatman moors, Leaves her to pasture, lays him down, and snores. And now 'twas near the dawning of the day, When 'tis discovered that we make no way: Out leaps a hair-brained fellow and attacks With a stout cudgel mule's and boatman's backs: And so at length, thanks to this vigorous friend, By ten o'clock we reach our boating's end. Tired with the voyage, face and hands we lave In pure Feronia's hospitable wave. We take some food, then creep three miles or so To Anxur, built on cliffs that gleam like snow; There rest awhile, for there our mates were due, Mæcenas and Cocceius, good and true, Sent on a weighty business, to compose A feud, and make them friends who late were foes. I seize on the occasion, and apply A touch of ointment to an ailing eye. Meanwhile Mæcenas with Cocceius came, And Capito, whose errand was the same, A man of men, accomplished and refined, Who knew, as few have known, Antonius' mind. Along by Fundi next we take our way For all its praetor sought to make us stay, Not without laughter at the foolish soul, His senatorial stripe and pan of coal.
Then at Mamurra's city we pull up, Lodge with Murena, with Fonteius sup. Next morn the sun arises, O how sweet! At Sinnessa we with Plotius meet, Varius and Virgil; men than whom on earth I know none dearer, none of purer worth. O what a hand-shaking! while sense abides, A friend to me is worth the world besides. Campania's border-bridge next day we crossed, There housed and victualled at the public cost. The next, we turn off early from the road At Capua, and the mules lay down their load; There, while Mæcenas goes to fives, we creep, Virgil and I, to bed, and so to sleep: For, though the game's a pleasant one to play, Weak stomachs and weak eyes are in the way. Then to Cocceius' country-house we come, Beyond the Caudian inns, a sumptuous home. Now, Muse, recount the memorable fight 'Twixt valiant Messius and Sarmentus wight, And tell me first from what proud lineage sprung The champions joined in battle, tongue with tongue. From Oscan blood great Messius' sires derive: Sarmentus has a mistress yet alive. Such was their parentage: they meet in force: Sarmentus starts: "You're just like a wild horse." We burst into a laugh. The other said, "Well, here's a horse's trick:" and tossed his head. "O, were your horn yet growing, how your foe Would rue it, sure, when maimed you threaten so!"
Sarmentus cries: for Messius' brow was marred By a deep wound, which left it foully scarred. Then, joking still at his grim countenance, He begged him just to dance the Cyclop dance: No buskin, mask, nor other aid of art Would be required to make him look his part. Messius had much to answer: "Was his chain Suspended duly in the Lares' fane? Though now a notary, he might yet be seized And given up to his mistress, if she pleased. Nay, more," he asked, "why had he run away, When e'en a single pound of corn a day Had filled a maw so slender?" So we spent Our time at table, to our high content. Then on to Beneventum, where our host, As some lean thrushes he essayed to roast, Was all but burnt: for up the chimney came The blaze, and well nigh set the house on flame: The guests and servants snatch the meat, and fall Upon the fire with buckets, one and all. Next rise to view Apulia's well-known heights, Which keen Atabulus so sorely bites: And there perchance we might be wandering yet, But shelter in Trivicum's town we get, Where green damp branches in the fireplace spread Make our poor eyes to water in our head. Then four and twenty miles, a good long way, Our coaches take us, in a town to stay Whose name no art can squeeze into a line, Though otherwise 'tis easy to define:
For water there, the cheapest thing on earth, Is sold for money: but the bread is worth A fancy price, and travellers who know Their business take it with them when they go: For at Canusium, town of Diomed, The drink's as bad, and grits are in the bread. Here to our sorrow Varius takes his leave, And, grieved himself, compels his friends to grieve. Fatigued, we come to Rubi: for the way Was long, and rain had made it sodden clay. Next day, with better weather, o'er worse ground We get to Barium's town, where fish abound. Then Gnatia, built in water-nymphs' despite, Made us cut jokes and laugh, as well we might, Listening to tales of incense, wondrous feat, That melts in temples without fire to heat. Tell the crazed Jews such miracles as these! I hold the gods live lives of careless ease, And, if a wonder happens, don't assume 'Tis sent in anger from the upstairs room. Last comes Brundusium: there the lines I penned, The leagues I travelled, find alike their end.