John Dryden (1631–1700). The Poems of John Dryden. 1913.
TranslationsFrom Aulus Persius Flaccus: Prologue to the First Satyr
I
Nor taste the sacred Heliconian Stream;
Nor can remember when my Brain inspir’d,
Was, by the Muses, into madness fir’d.
My share in Pale Pyrene I resign;
And claim no part in all the Mighty Nine.
Statues, with winding Ivy crown’d, belong
To nobler Poets, for a nobler Song:
Heedless of Verse, and hopeless of the Crown,
Scarce half a Wit, and more than half a Clown,
Before the Shrine I lay my rugged Numbers down.
Who taught the Parrot Human Notes to try,
Or with a Voice endu’d the chatt’ring Pye?
’Twas witty Want, fierce Hunger to appease:
Want taught their Masters, and their Masters these.
Let Gain, that gilded Bait, be hung on high,
The hungry Witlings have it in their Eye;
Pies, Crows, and Daws, Poetick Presents bring:
You say they squeak; but they will swear they Sing.