The First Book of the Odes of Horace.
Ode iii. To the Ship, in Which Virgil Was About to Sail to Athens.
Ode xvi. To a Young Lady Horace Had Offended.
Ode xxxiii. To Albius Tibullus.
Ode xxxiv. Against the Epicurians.
Ode xxxvii. To His Companions.
The Second Book of the Odes of Horace.
Ode ii. To Crispus Sallustius.
Ode xv. Against the Luxury of the Romans.
Ode xviii. Against Avarice and Luxury.
A Dithyrambic, or Drinking Song.
The Third Book of the Odes of Horace.
Ode ii. Against the Degeneracy of the Roman Youth.
Ode iii. On Steadiness and Integrity.
Ode v. On the Recovery of the Standards From Phraates.
Ode xiii. To the Bandusian Fountain.
Ode xxvii. To Galatea, Upon Her Going to Sea.
The Fourth Book of the Odes of Horace.
Ode viii. To Marcius Censorinus.
Ode xv. To Augustus, on the Restoration of Peace.
The Book of the Epodes of Horace.
Ode ii. The Praises of a Country Life.
Ode v. The Witches Mangling a Boy.
Ode vi. Against Cassius Severus.
Ode viii. Upon a Wanton Old Woman.
Ode xii. To a Woman Whose Charms Were Over.
Dialogue Between Horace and Canidia.
The Secular Poem of Horace. To Apollo and Diana.
The First Book of the Satires of Horace.
Satire i. That all, but especially the covetous, think their own condition the hardest.
Satire ii. Bad men, when they avoid certain vices, fall into their opposite extremes.
Satire v. He describes a certain journey of his from Rome to Brundusium with great pleasantry.
Satire vii. He humorously describes a squabble betwixt Rupilius and Persius.
Satire ix. He describes his sufferings from the loquacity of an impertinent fellow.
The Second Book of the Satires of Horace.
Satire viii. A smart description of a miser ridiculously acting the extravagant.
The First Book of the Epistles of Horace.
Epistle v. To Torquatus. He invites him to a frugal entertainment, but a cleanly and cheerful one.
Epistle vi. To Numicius. That a wise man is in love with nothing but virtue.
Epistle ix. To Claudius Tiberius Nero. He recommends Septimius to him.
The Second Book of the Epistles of Horace.
Horace's Book Upon the Art of Poetry. To the Pisos.
Nor ivory, nor a fretted ceiling adorned with gold, glitters in my house: no Hymettian beams rest upon pillars cut out of the extreme parts of Africa; nor, a pretended heir, have I possessed myself of the palace of Attalus, nor do ladies, my dependants, spin Laconian purple for my use. But integrity, and a liberal vein of genius, are mine: and the man of fortune makes his court to me, who am but poor. I importune the gods no further, nor do I require of my friend in power any larger enjoyments, sufficiently happy with my Sabine farm alone. Day is driven on by day, and the new moons hasten to their wane. You put out marble to be hewn, though with one foot in the grave; and, unmindful of a sepulcher, are building houses; and are busy to extend the shore of the sea, that beats with violence at Baiae, not rich enough with the shore of the mainland. Why is it, that through avarice you even pluck up the landmarks of your neighbor's ground, and trespass beyond the bounds of your clients; and wife and husband are turned out, bearing in their bosom their household gods and their destitute children? Nevertheless, no court more certainly awaits its wealthy lord, than the destined limit of rapacious Pluto. Why do you go on? The impartial earth is opened equally to the poor and to the sons of kings; nor has the life-guard ferryman of hell, bribed with gold, re-conducted the artful Prometheus. He confines proud Tantalus; and the race of Tantalus, he condescends, whether invoked or not, to relieve the poor freed from their labors.