SATIRE III - (pages 9-10)
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This poison froth, this dung-heap, this foul and filthy brood
Have they indeed inherited our nation's mastered!
The scourings of everywhere, the abortive and the maimed,
All that man rejected and nature has disclaimed,
These crafty, greedy gluttons, these grasping Phanariots
To us they all have flooded and pose as patriots.
Until at last these nothings, this foul and loathful scum,
These cripple-minded stammers lords of our land become.


Are you then Rome's descendants, you eunuchs and no men?
If you were men in earnest, pity it were that then
This hungry plague of locusts, these creatures crazed and lame
Dare part their lips in public and flatter without shame
Our nation's majesty, and make it odious stand,
Dare even speak thy name... o miserable land!
In Paris pleasure houses, there has your congress been;
With jaded, worthless women, in revelry obscene,
In sloth and vulgar rioting you wasted and youth;
In you what could develop, that empty are in sooth?


And, coming back, for wisdom a perfume flask you brought,
A monocle you flourished, a cane for sword you bought.
Withered up before your time, yet childish in your brain,
For scientific knowledge a Bal-Mabil refrain,
And all your father's riches spent on some harlot's shoe:

O admirable and worthy offspring of Romans, yo!
And now just look with horror on faces skeptic cold,
What wonder that your falsehoods no more persuasion hold?
When those who speak fine phrases and lofty sermons give
Would simply fill their pockets, that they may lazy live,
Today the polished discourse does little credence know,
But others are the reasons, dear Sirs, is that not so?

Too much have you made riches and power your single aim,
Too much have brought our nation to ridicule and shame,
Too much you mocked the language and customs of this race,
That now at last your mocking does but yourselves disgrace,
While self was ever the craving that in your spirits stirred,
Genius? A nonsense. Virtue? But a word.


O, leave in the old chronicles our forefathers to rest;
For they would gaze upon you with irony at best.
Rise once more, o Tepes! Take and divide these men
As lunatics and rogues in two big tribes, and then
In mighty, twin infirmaries by force both tribes intern,
And with a single faggot prison and madhouse burn.

 

 

 

(Translated by Corneliu M. Popescu)

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