the pap supprest
From Persius, Satire 1 (see prev. post)
Dryden has translated this satire, but appallingly and inexplicably glossed the sow's udder as "dessert":
To give thee all thy due, thou hast the Heart To make a Supper, with a fine dessert; And, to thy threed-bare Friend, a cast old Sute impart.
Thus Brib'd, thou thus bespeak'st him, tell me Friend (For I love Truth, nor can plain Speech offend,) What says the World of me and of my Muse? The Poor dare nothing tell, but flatt'ring News: But shall I speak? thy Verse is wretched Rhyme; [ 110] And all thy Labours are but loss of time. Thy strutting Belly swells; thy Paunch is high; Thou Writ'st not, but thou Pissest Poetry
Elsewhere in the Satire:
The nauseous Nobles, ev'n the Chief of Rome,
With gaping Mouths to these Rehearsals come,
And pant with Pleasure, when some lusty line
The Marrow pierces, and invades the Chine.
At open fulsom Bawdry they rejoice;
[ 50] And slimy Jests applaud with broken Voice.
Base Prostitute, thus dost thou gain thy Bread?
Thus dost thou feed their Ears, and thus art fed?
At his own filthy stuff he grins, and brays:
And gives the sign where he expects their praise.