Immanent Domain

Not by Fate, But Art

Epitaph for a Doctor (from the Greek)
Here lies the urn of Hippocrates, who lived in Thessaly,
born in Cous of the seed of immortal Phoebus.
He repeatedly snatched trophies from disease
with the armaments of medicine,
and earned great praise not by fate, but art.

44 Epitatphium Medici (E Graeco)
Thessalus Hippocrates, Cous genere, hac iacet urna
Phoebi immortalis semine progenitus.
Crebra trophaea tulit morborum armis medicinae,
Laus cui magna, nec id sorte, sed arte fuit.

My translation from volume 3 of the Yale edition of the complete works of Thomas More.

Then again, he did keep a household fool

 

Maybe translating this politically insensitive poem by Thomas More is why I had not one, but two dreams in the same night where Charlton Heston and I were fighting against (among others) a little person. Though to be fair to my subconscious, the little person in question was trying to kill me. The first person was male and had a baseball bat, and in the second dream, she was part of a murderous circus troop (and damn hard to hit with my machine gun).

“To a Very Small Person” (from Greek)
If you are wise,
Remain safe within the city,
So the crane, who rejoices in the blood of Pygmies,
Will not seize you!

104 “In Perpusillum” (E Graeco)
Grus ne te rapiat Pygmaeo sanguine gaudens,
Si sapias, media tutus in urbe mane.

Even Among the Muses, There Are Furies

Sunt etiam in Musis furiae. Thomas More's Latin was beyond my powers, but I thought this expression was worth sharing. Here's the Yale Edition's translation of More's poem, itself a translation from the Greek:

 "On a Mad Poet" (from the Greek)
Even among the Muses there are Furies,
and it is they who make you the poet you are
and inspire you to write many poems without thought.
Come now, I entreat you, write ever so many poems,
for I find no greater fury to entreat for you than that.

103 "In Poetam Fvriosvm" E Graeco
Sunt etiam in Musis furiae, quibus ipse poeta
Fis, per quas temere carmina multa facis.
Ergo age plurima scribe precor, tibi nempe furorem
Non ego maiorem quem precer inuenio.

Intimations of Mortality (Did I steal this pun from Miles?)

"On a Hard Drinker" (from Greek)
Do not bestow my tomb with unguents and garlands.
Wine and an altar fire will be an empty expense for a tombstone.
Give these things to me while I live.
To mingle fine Falernian* with my remains
will not give me wine.
It will only make mud.

* Falernian wine

 152 "In Bibonem" (E Graeco)
Serta, unguenta, meo ne gratificare sepulchro.
Vina, focus, lapidi sumptus inanis erit.
Haec mihi da uiuo. Cineres miscere falerno,
Nempe lutum facere est, non dare uina mihi.

"On a Hard Drinker" (from Greek)
I was fathered by the earth.
Dead, beneath the earth I will be returned.
So come to me brimful, earthen flask!

153 "In Bibonem" (E Graeco)
E terra genitus, sub terram morte recondar.
Ergo lagena mihi terrea plena ueni.

Latin text from The Yale Edition of Saint Thomas More's complete works, vol. 3, part 2.

The Wolf Itself

Sad ironies all around in Thomas More’s poems and epigrams about the differences between tyrants and righteous sovereigns.

On Good & Bad Rulers
What is a good ruler? He is the guard dog of the flock
who puts the wolves to flight with his voice.
What is a bad ruler? The wolf itself.

115 "De Principe Bono Et Malo"
Que bonus est princeps? Canis est custos gregis inde
Qui fugat ore lupos. Quid malus? Ipse lupus.

Between a Tyrant & a Prince

Between a proper king and monstrous tyrants is this:
A tyrant directs others as slaves.
A King thinks of them as his free men.

109 "Quid Inter Tyrannum Et Principem"
Legitimus immanissimis
Rex hoc tyrannis interest.
Servos tyrannus quos regit,
Rex liberos putat suos.

May have fudged a little on "free men" for "liberos" (freedmen).

Uneasy Is the Life of Tyrant
Great anxiety drains dry the day of a great tyrant.
Rest, if it comes at all, comes at night.
Nor is sleep any softer for those who recline on feathers
than for the pauper who slumbers on the unyielding ground.
Therefore, Tyrant, the happiest portion of your life
is that in which you want to be like a beggar.

Technically, the verb at night is to rest (requiesco), not to sleep. I’m also a little unsure of use of “want to be like” for “per tamen esse velis,” but I think I’ve got the gist of it.

110 "Sollicitam Esse Tyranni Vitam"
Magna diem magnis exhaurit cura tyrannis,
Nocte uenit requies, sit amen ulla uenti.
Nec tamen hi pluma requiescunt mollius ulla
In dura pauper quam requiescit humo.
Ergo tyranne tibi haec pars felicissima uitae est,
In qua mendico per tamen esse uelis.

Parthenogenesis Perhaps?

Against an Unchaste Wife
She is fecund, she is fecund, the wife of my (friend) Aratus,
for certainly she created three children without the man himself.

Here's Thomas More's Latin:

165 "In Uxorem Impudicam"
Est foecunda mei, foecunda est uxor Arati,
nempe suo genuit ter sine foeta uiro (viro).

It may be a trope (conduplicatio?) to reiterate "est foecunda" and "foecunda est." But since "foecunda" can also mean "imaginative," I like this variation:

Against an Unchaste Wife
She is fecund, she is imaginative, the wife of my (friend) Aratus,
for she created three children without the man himself.

Latin text from work 165 in vol. 3, part 2 of the Yale edition of the Complete Works of St. Thomas More.

an ill fox remains a fox nonetheless

My translation of item180 in vol. 3 part 2 of the Yale Edition of Thomas More’s complete works

The Fable of the Sick Fox & the Lion

While a sick fox languished in his narrow den,
A sweet-talking lion stood by the entrance to entreat him.

“Friend! Is there anyone who will make you feel better?”
said the lion. “You will soon be healed by my licking.
You don’t know the efficacy of my tongue!”

“Your tongue is good medicine,” said the fox,
“but here’s the rub: such a wonderful tongue
has nasty neighbors.”

De Vulpe Aegrota Et Leone Apologus

Dum iacet angusta vulpes aegrota cauerna
Ante fores blando constitit ore leo.
Ecquid amica uales? [vales?] Cito me lambente ualebis
Nescis in lingua uis [vis?] mihi quanta mea.
Lingua tibi medica est, vulpes ait; at nocet illud
Vincinos quod havet tam bona lingua malos.

 

St. Thomas More Gets Some of His Endearing Freak On

My translation of item 133 in vol. 3, part 2 of the Yale Edition of More's Complete Works:

A dinner guest plucks the flies out of a crater [mixing bowl for wine]
before he drinks, then returns them after he drinks.
“I do not love flies,” he explains,
“but after all, I do not know whether anyone of you likes flies.”

Muscas e cratere tulit conuiua priusquam
Ipse bibit, reddit rursus, ut ipse bibit.
Addidit et caussam, muscas ego no amo, dixit,
Sed tamen e uobis [vobis] nescio num quis amet.