Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/165

Yet his whole house and all the neighbours know
He's bad at heart, despite his decent show.
"I," says a slave, "ne'er ran away nor stole:"
Well, what of that? say I: your skin is whole.
"I've shed no blood." You shall not feed the crow.
"I'm good and true." We Sabine folks say No:
The wolf avoids the pit, the hawk the snare,
And hidden hooks teach fishes to beware.
'Tis love of right that keeps the good from wrong;
You do no harm because you fear the thong;
Could you be sure that no one would detect,
E'en sacrilege might tempt you, I suspect.
Steal but one bean, although the loss be small,
The crime's as great as if you stole them all.
See your good man, who oft as he appears
In court commands all judgments and all ears;
Observe him now, when to the gods he pays
His ox or swine, and listen what he says:
"Great Janus, Phœbus"—this he speaks aloud;
The rest is muttered all and unavowed—
"Divine Laverna, grant me safe disguise;
Let me seem just and upright in men's eyes;
Shed night upon my crimes, a glamour o'er my lies."
Say, what's a miser but a slave complete
When he'd pick up a penny in the street?
Fearing's a part of coveting, and he
Who lives in fear is no freeman for me.
The wretch whose thoughts by gain are all engrossed
Has flung away his sword, betrayed his post.