'Copa' Today

Author(s): L. P. Wilkinson
Source: Greece & Rome, Vol. 12, No. 1 (Apr., 1965), pp. 38-41
Published by: Cambridge University Press on behalf of Classical Association
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/642403
Accessed: 25-02-2016 12:53 UTC

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 COPA TODAY

By L. P. WILKINSON

Copa in the
Virgilian Appendix is a fascinating but baffling
THE
piece. It has verbal connexions with the Eclogues, notably the
second, and with Propertius' last book of elegies, notably iv. 2 (Ver-
tumnus). Wilamowitz took it to be an expansion of an epigram, com-
posed by some follower of Propertius.' He thought the speaker to be
the poet throughout. Biichner interprets the poem quite differently.2
He considers lines I8-I9 and 21-22 to be interpolations. To begin with,
they mix autumn fruits with summer (though by the same token the
lines in Lycidas ordering various flowers for the 'laureate hearse' would
be an interpolation: botanical purists have protested that they do not
bloom simultaneously). They also contain the connexions with Proper-
tius. Remove them and the poem is certainly a little more consistent;
and Biichner is then able to argue that the poem was composed between
Catullus and the Eclogues and known to Virgil. But who would want to
interpolate in such a poem ? At any rate, more evidence would be needed
if the lines are to be discredited.
I do, however, agree with Biichner that 'huc kalybita veni' (25) and
'hic' (20) suggest that this is a sales-talk by someone belonging to the
establishment, and that the first four lines do not seem to be on a par
with the rest. I prefer the old view, that lines I-4 introduce the Copa
as speaker of 5 ff. I also agree with those who find it more appropriate
to attribute the penultimate line to the object of the sales-talk, now lured
inside and convinced. The last line can hardly be appropriately attri-
buted to anyone but the poet himself. And yet-to try to impose com-
plete appropriateness on this poem may be naive. The drunken gypsy
dancing with her castanets in a smoky tavern would hardly be likely to
sponsor the folksy, idyllic, pseudo-Theocritean attractions described, let
alone in such dainty terms. The piece strikes one as a congeries of
pastoral and popular Epicurean motifs with strong Greek connexions.
If we wish to endow the scene with a local habitation, we might think
of the south of Italy, perhaps somewhere near Naples (where after all
there was, at least at the end of the Republic, a circle of Epicurean poets).

Hellenistische Dichtung in der Zeit des Kallimachos (Berlin, 1924) ii. 311-15.
2
Pauly-Wissowa-Kroll: RE s.v. Vergilius (I955), cols. 135-43.

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 COPA TODAY 39
One is tempted, indeed, to try to make something of this tantalizing
piece, to invest it with some sort of reality.
In the Classical Review for 1909 (pp. 205-6) the late H. Rackham
offered a version. He headed it suggestively,
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry
Awake my little ones, and fill the cup
Before life's liquor in the cup be dry.
The version was in the stanzas of Fitzgerald's Omar, but it made no
attempt to transpose the details into Persian dress. What I have tried
here is something different:' a transposition into terms of a modern
pseudo-Tudor road-house (somewhere near Henley?), in the mildly
satirical spirit of John Betjeman. To render it more plausible, I have
had to make the hostess speak from outside, not from a smoke-filled
room (which would be disastrous to the atmosphere of the place). I have
also had to keep her sober, and arch rather than earthy: though the
insuperable fact remains that English ladies who keep Elizabethan estab-
lishments do not usually even hint, like a French madame, that there are
girls available upstairs. I must emphasize that the result bears hardly
more relation to the original than Ezra Pound's Homage bears to Sextus
Propertius. [see over]
I I shouldliketo thankMr. E. J. Kenneyand Mr. S. R. Lyonsfor suggestions.

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40 COPA TODAY
Copa Surisca caput Graeca redimita mitella,
crispum sub crotalo docta movere latus,
ebria fumosa saltat lasciva taberna
ad cubitum raucos excutiens calamos.

'quid iuvat aestivo defessum pulvere abisse,

quam potius bibulo decubuisse toro?
sunt topia et kalybae, cyathi, rosa, tibia, chordae,
et triclia umbrosis frigida harundinibus.
en et, Maenalio quae garrit dulce sub antro,
rustica pastoris fistula more sonat.
est et vappa cado nuper defusa picato,
est crepitans rauco murmure rivus aquae.
sunt etiam croceo violae de flore corollae,
sertaque purpurea lutea mixta rosa,
et quae virgineo libata Achelois ab amne
lilia vimineis attulit in calathis.
sunt et caseoli quos iuncea fiscina siccat.
sunt autumnali cerea pruna die,
castaneaeque nuces et suave rubentia mala.
est hic munda Ceres, est Amor, est Bromius.
sunt et mora cruenta et lentis uva racemis,
et pendet iunco caeruleus cucumis.
est tuguri custos armatus falce saligna,
sed non et vasto est inguine terribilis.
huc kalybita veni; lassus iam sudat asellus.
parce illi: Vestae delicium est asinus.
nunc cantu crebro rumpunt arbusta cicadae,
nunc varia in gelida sede lacerta latet.
si sapis, aestivo recubans nunc prolue vitro,
seu vis crystalli ferre novos calices.
hic age pampinea fessus requiesce sub umbra
et gravidum roseo necte caput strophio,
oscula decerpens tenerae formosa puellae.
a pereat cui sunt prisca supercilia!
quid cineri ingrato servas bene olentia serta?
anne coronato vis lapide ipse tegi?'

'pone merum et talos. pereat qui crastina curat.'

mors aurem vellens 'vivite' ait, 'venio'.

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 COPA TODAY 41
Margery, mine hostess at Ye Olde Tudor Tavern,
Waggling her seductive hips outside upon the grass,
Dressed like Mistress Quickly in The Merry Wives of Windsor,
Saucily solicits the tourists as they pass.

'What's the good of plodding on, perspiring in the sunshine?

Why not put your feet up here and have a drink? We've got
Hedges clipped in fancy shapes, a summer-house with thatch on,
Pergolas and inglenooks and warming-pans-the lot;
Madrigals on disks we have; and hear that background-music ?-
Someone playing on the flute in Walter Raleigh's Bower.
Try our Merrydown in cask-it's only just been opened.
Sit and listen to the stream. And what about a flower ?
We've got knots of violets to stick into your hair-do.
Crimson roses woven in with yellow ones; and look!
Such a lovely basketful of pure-white waterlilies!
Tamesis our river-sprite has skimmed them from the brook.
Here are creamy cheeses just drying in their strainers,
Plums that ripen smooth as wax this sunny autumn morn,
Chestnuts by the dozen and sweetly blushing apples.
Valentine's our patron-saint, and old John Barleycorn.
Taste those blood-red mulberries, those grapes in luscious bunches,
Try that dark-green cucumber that's hanging from its stem.
See our wooden statue too, the watchman with his halberd
(Never mind his codpiece, dear: the Tudors all had them).
You, sir, leave your Vespa there: your engine's overheated;
Spare a little thought for it; you're tempting Providence.
Bumble-bees incessantly are droning round the garden;
Even puss is lurking in the shadow of the fence.
If you're wise, you'll take a seat and drain a pint of pewter;
Or if you prefer it, we have brand-new crystal-ware.
Come along. You're tired out. Lie down beneath this pear-tree.
Here's a drop of lavender to sprinkle on your hair.
Choose a girl with cherry lips and don't be shy of kissing.
Eye-brow-raising puritans can chase themselves, I say.
What's the point of keeping flowers to put on thankless tombstones?
You won't want them on your grave when you have had your day.'

'Draw a pint. Get out the darts. Who cares about tomorrow?'

Death is whispering in your ear, 'Live now. I'm on my way.'

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