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.
Thou shalt atone, O Roman, for the sins of your ancestors, though innocent, till you shall have repaired the temples and tottering shrines of the gods, and their statues, defiled with sooty smoke. Thou boldest sway, because thou bearest thyself subordinate to the gods; to this source refer every undertaking; to this, every event. The gods, because neglected, have inflicted many evils on calamitous Italy. Already has Monaeses, and the band of Pacorus, twice repelled our inauspicious attacks, and exults in having added the Roman spoils to their trivial collars. The Dacian and Ethiopian have almost demolished the city engaged in civil broils, the one formidable for his fleet, the other more expert for missile arrows. The times, fertile in wickedness, have in the first place polluted the marriage state, and [thence] the issue and families. From this fountain perdition being derived, has overwhelmed the nation and people. The marriageable virgin delights to be taught the Ionic dances, and even at this time is trained up in [seductive] arts, and cherishes unchaste desires from her very infancy. Soon after she courts younger debauchees when her husband is in his cups, nor has she any choice, to whom she shall privately grant her forbidden pleasures when the lights are removed, but at the word of command, openly, not without the knowledge of her husband, she will come forth, whether it be a factor that calls for her, or the captain of a Spanish ship, the extravagant purchaser of her disgrace. It was not a youth born from parents like these, that stained the sea with Carthaginian gore, and slew Pyrrhus, and mighty Antiochus, and terrific Annibal; but a manly progeny of rustic soldiers, instructed to turn the glebe with Sabine spades, and to carry clubs cut [out of the woods] at the pleasure of a rigid mother, what time the sun shifted the shadows of the mountains, and took the yokes from the wearied oxen, bringing on the pleasant hour with his retreating chariot. What does not wasting time destroy? The age of our fathers, worse than our grandsires, produced us still more flagitious, us, who are about to product am offspring more vicious [even than ourselves].