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A LECTURE ON GASTRONOMY.
When your butler 's away and the weather 's so bad
HORACE'S TRIBUTE TO HIS FATHER.
Than patrimonial fortunes old and great
SHOULD then my humorous vein run wild, some latitude allow.
66 at Albius's son observe his sorry plight! And Barrus, that poor beggar there! Say, are not these a sight To warn a man from squandering his patrimonial means ? The reasons why this should be shunned, and that be sought, The sages will explain. Enough for me if I uphold
The faith and morals handed down from our good sires of old ;
name. When years have hardened, as they will, your judgment and your
frame, You'll swim without a float."
And so, with talk like this, he won And moulded me while yet a boy. Was something to be done, Hard it might be — “For this,” he'd say, “good warrant you can
quote," And then as model pointed to some public man of note. Or was there something to be shunned, then he would urge, “Can
you One moment doubt that acts like these are base and futile too, Which have to him and his such dire disgrace and trouble bred ? ” And as a neighbor's death appals the sick, and by the dread Of dying forces them to put upon their lusts restraint, So tender minds are oft deterred from vices by the taint They see them bring on others' names; 't is thus that I from those Am all exempt, which bring with them a train of shame and woes.
HORACE'S SATIRE UPON HIMSELF.
At Rome, you for the country sigh;
And drinking bumpers is a bore
But only let Mæcenas send Command for you “to meet a friend ;” Although the message comes so late The lamps are being lighted, straight, “ Where's my pomade? Look sharp!” you shout; “ Heavens! is there nobody about? Are you all deaf?” And stormy high
At all the household, off you fly.
A WOULD-BE LITERARY BORE
It chanced that I, the other day
Sir, is there anything," I cried,
66 Is it so ? For this I 'll like you all the more !”
Then, writhing to escape the bore, I'll quicken now my pace, now stop, And in my servant's ear let drop Some words; and all the while I feel Bathed in cold sweat from head to heel. “ Oh, for a touch," I moaned in pain, “Bolanus, of the madcap vein, To put this incubus to rout!” As he went chattering on about Whatever he descries or meets The city's growth, its splendor, size.
“You're dying to be off," he cries :
(For all the while I'd been stock dumb;) " I've seen it this half-hour. But come, Let's clearly understand each other; It's no use making ll this pother. My mind's made up to stick by you; So where you go, there I go too.” “ Don't put yourself," I answered, “pray, So very far out of your way. I'm on the road to see a friend Whom you don't know, that's near his end, Away beyond the Tiber far, Close by where Cæsar's gardens are." “I've nothing in the world to do, And what's a paltry mile or two? I like it: so I'll follow you!"
Down dropped my ears on hearing this, Just like a vicious jackass's, That's loaded heavier than he likes, But off anew my torment strikes :
“If well I know myself, you'll end With making of me more a friend Than Viscus, ay, or Varius; for Of verses who can run off more, Or run them off at such a pace? Who dance with such distinguished grace ? And as for singing, zounds!” says he, “ Hermogenes might envy me!”
Here was an opening to break in : “Have you a mother, father, kin, To whom your life is precious ?” “None; I've closed the eyes of every one.” Oh, happy they, I inly groan; Now I am left, and I alone. Quick, quick despatch me where I stand; Now is the direful doom at hand, Which erst the Sabine beldam old, Shaking her magic urn, foretold In days when I was yet a boy: “Him shall no poison fell destroy, Nor hostile sword in shock of war, Nor gout, nor colic, nor catarrh. In fulness of time his thread Shall by a prate-apace be shred; So let him, when he's twenty-one, If he be wise, all babblers shun.”