Classic Poem

Why do you look so gloomy, Naevolus?

JUVENAL :
Why do you look so gloomy, Naevolus? Every time I meet you your face is as wretched
As Marsyas's when he was beaten at music by Apollo and knew he'd be flayed
Or Ravolus's when caught in flagrante between the legs of Rhodope.
When a slave licks a pie we give him a thrashing, but you look like a stock-broker
When he offers a triple rate of interest and nobody trusts him.
What are these wrinkles? You used to be an easy-going man,
The local squire, the urbane wit with the pointed tale.
You've changed! Why this hang-dog look and unkempt hair?
You used to have bird-lime beauty packs, but your skin's all dry
And your legs are dirty and covered with matted hair.
Why, you're like a man who's been suffering a terrible fever for months.
Joy and woe can both be read on a sickly face,
And it's my opinion that something's happened and your old life has changed.
I can remember that not so long ago you could be found
In the temple of Isis or hanging round the statue of Ganymede
In the temple of Peace, not to mention the secret courts
Of Cybele and Ceres where anyone can easily pick up a girl.
You were a more notorious adulterer than Aufidius himself —
And, though you never admitted it, you buggered the husbands as well.

NAEVOLUS :
Many men have done well from my way of life,
But I've got precious little out of it. Sometimes I've been given
An old, greasy cloak to cover my toga —
Some coarsely woven, coarsely dyed rag made by a peasant in France —
And sometimes I get a hand-me-down geegaw made out of low grade silver.
But Destiny's our master! Fate even rules what's under our clothes,
And if the stars are against you the fantastic size of your cock gets you nowhere.
Even if Virro did slobber when he saw your naked charms
And sent love letters by the hundred, lewdly misquoting Homer for fun:
" A man is attracted by the very sight of — a pansy or queen."
There is nothing worse than a tight-fisted, debauched old queer.
" I gave you this much," he says, " and then I gave you that amount afterwards,
And then I gave you ever so much more." Lust at piece-rate!
" Well," I said, " let's do the thing properly and call in an accountant.
Cough up five thousand miserly sesterces and I'll say what I've earned.
I suppose you think it's fun, stuffing my prick up so far
That it hits your dinner. Real ploughboys earn far more!"
" You used to call yourself handsome," he said, " and the Ganymede de nos jours ."
" But when will a man like you (who won't even pay for his pleasures)
Show kindness to a poor follower? And you want presents," I added.
" Who expects green sunshades and amber beads when his birthday comes round
And lolls on his day-bed, counting his gifts at Ladies' Day?
What are those hill farms at Apulia for, you lecherous sparrow,
And all those acres of meadow that would tire a kite to cross?
Your stores are filled with plump grapes from your vineyard slopes
At Cumae, Gaurus and Trifoli — enough for a lifetime's drinking!
Would it be too much to give a few acres to these exhausted loins?
Do you really think it's better to give a countrywoman, her cottage, her baby and her dog
To some cymbal-clashing boyfriend?" " How rude you are!" you scream.
" Yes, but I've got to pay my rent and my single slaveboy.
(That's right. Just the one. I need another, and that's two to feed.)
I suppose I'm expected to pray when winter howls around!
But what about their frozen bodies when December's north wind blows?
Shall I tell the lads: " OK, hang on, wait till summer and the cicadas come"?
If you ignore my other services, how do you price this one:
Were I not your faithful servant, your wife would still be a virgin?
How often have you asked that of me and what promises you made!
She'd be near to doing a bunk when I bedded her for you
And would have torn up the marriage licence if it hadn't been for my hard work
When you were crying outside the door. The bed — and you
Who heard the groaning inside — are witnesses to these facts.
There's many a household been saved by a timely adultery, you know.
So what are you going to do? Which was the best of my services?
Is it nothing to a bastard like you that I have given you a son and a daughter?
No — you rear the children and publish your virility in the papers,
Hang garlands at your door! You're a father! No one can spread rumours.
And you have paternal rights and all that tax relief through me!
Your children make you heir to a fortune, and there's more if I get you a third."

JUVENAL :
You've reason to complain, Naevolus, but what does he say?

NAEVOLUS :
He takes no notice and looks for another two-legged donkey,
Another just like me. But this must stay a secret, please.
These pumice-smoothed queens make the worst enemies — and he suspects.
He'd stop at nothing: the sword, a clubbing or burning my house.
And just you remember that poison is cheap for a wealthy man.
So don't split on me. This matter is highly confidential.

JUVENAL :
Oh, Corydon, Corydon! Do you think a rich man has any secrets?
His slaves may hold their tongues, but his mules and his dogs will talk.
His doorposts and marble columns will tell tales, you know.
Let him shut all his windows, fasten the doors, cover every crack with a curtain,
Extinguish the light, turn every person out of the house
And let no one sleep nearby — yet the landlord at the corner will know
What he was up to before the dawn. The rich man will hear
The tales that the baker's made up and what the cooks and the servingmen said.
They'll say anything to be revenged for a beating, and the drunk at the crossroads
Will belch his story in your unwilling ear. Ask them to be quiet,
For they'd bleat out stories more readily than a high class tart
Swills her stolen wine at a public sacrifice.
There are many reasons for right living, but the chief of all
Is that there's no need to fear your gossiping slaves. They're bad,
But worse is the plight of a man who cannot escape from their chatter.

NAEVOLUS :
Your advice is wise but vague. What can I do now
With so much time gone already and my hopes forever unfulfilled?
The short, sad span of life hastes like a flower to its close.
We drink, we call for chaplets, for perfumes and girls,
Yet old age creeps up unperceived.

JUVENAL :
There's nothing to worry about. As long as the Seven Hills
Stand in Rome, fairies will come from every quarter
And carriages will bring gentlemen who will show they're gay by secret signs.
Besides, there are always aphrodisiacs, you know — colewort and things.

NAEVOLUS :
These are maxims for those who are lucky. I'm content
If I can fill my belly with the earnings of my prick. Oh little gods
That I keep by the ancestral hearth and supplicate with a pinch of incense
And sometimes with a tiny garland, when can I be really sure
That I won't have to go begging with a crutch and a mat when I am old?
I want twenty thousand sesterces wisely invested and safe,
Some modest silver tableware and a couple of porters
To carry my sedan to the bawling circus on their stout shoulders.
That's enough for a poor man like me. But when will it happen?
Whenever Fortune's invoked for Naevolus she plugs up her ears
With the same wax that Ulysses used when he passed the sirens.English