A prætor now, a scribe before,
The purple-border'd robe he wore,
His slave the smoking censer bore.
Tir'd, at Muræna's we repose,
At Formia sup at Capito's.
With smiles the rising morn we greet,
At Sinuessa pleas'd to meet
With Plotius, Varius, and the bard
Whom Mantua, first with wonder heard.
The world no purer spirits knows;
For none my heart more warmly glows.
O! what embraces we bestow'd,
And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd
Sure, while my sense is sound and clear,
Long as I live, I shall prefer
A gay, good natur'd, easy friend,
To every blessing Heav'n can send.
At a small village the next night
Near the Vulturnus we alight;
Where, as employ'd on state affairs,
We were supply'd by the purveyors
Frankly at once, and without hire,
With food for man and horse, and fire.
Capua next day betimes we reach,
Where Virgil and myself, who each
Labour'd with different maladies,
His such a stomach, mine such eyes,
As would not bear strong exercise.
In drowsy mood to sleep resort;
Mæcenas to the tennis-court.
Next at Cocceius's farm we're treated,
Above the caudian tavern seated;
His kind and hospitable board
With choice of wholesome food was stǝr'd
Now, O ye nine, inspire my lays! To nobler themes my fancy rise'
Two combatants, who scorn to yield
The noisy, tongue-disputed field,
Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim
A poet's tribute to their fame;
Cicirrus of true Oscian breed,
Sarmentus, who was never freed,
But ran away. We don't defame him,
His lady lives, and still may claim him.
Thus dignified, in harder fray
These champions their keen wit display,
And first Sarmentus led the way.
"Thy locks, (quoth he so rough and coarse, Look like the mane of some wild horse," We laugh: Cicirrus, undismayed—
"Have at you!"-cries, and shakes his head.
"'Tis well (Sarmentus says) you've lost
That horn your forehead once could boast;
Since, maim'd and mangled as you are,
You seem to butt." A hideous scar
Improv'd ('tis true) with double grace
The native horrours of his face.
Well. After much jocosely said
Of his grim front, so fi'ry red,
(For Carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er,
As usual on Campania's shore)
"Give us, (he cried) since you're so big
A sample of the Cyclop's jig!
Your shanks methinks no buskins ask,
Nor does your phiz require a mask."
To this Cicirrus. "In return
Of you, Sir, now I fain would learn,
When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave,
Your chains you to the Lares gave.
For tho' a scriv'ner's right you claim,
Your lady's title is the same.
But what could make you run away,
Since, pigmy as you are, each day
A single pound of bread would quite
O'er pow'r your puny appetite !"
Thus jok'd the champions, while we laugh'd,
And many a cheerful bumper quaff'd.
To Beneventum next we steer,
Where our good host, by over care
In roasting thrushes lean as mice,
Had almost fall'n a sacrifice.
The kitchen soon was all on fire,
And to the roof the flames aspire.
There might you see each man and master
Striving, amidst this sad disaster,
To save the supper. Then they came
With speed enough to quench the flame.
From hence we first at distance see
Th' Apulian hills, well known to me,
Parch'd by the sultry western blast,
And which we never should have past,
Had not Trivicius by the way
Receiv'd us at the close of day.
But each was forc'd at ent'ring here
То pay
the tribute of a tear,
For more of smoke than fire was seen
The hearth was pil'd with logs so green.
Froin hence in chaises we were carried
Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried
At a small town, whose name my verse
(So barb'rous is it) can't rehearse.
Know it you may by many a sign,
Water is dearer far than wine.
Their bread is deem'd such dainty fare,
That ev'ry prudent traveller
His wallet loads with many a crust
For at Canusium you might just
As well attempt to gnaw a stone
As think to get a morsel down;
That too with scanty streams is fed;
Its founder was brave Diomed.
Good Varius (ah, that friends must part!)
Here left us all with aching heart,
At Rubi we arriv'd that day,
Well jaded by the length of way,
And sure poor mortals ne'er were wetter ·
Next day no weather could be better;
No roads so bad; we scarce could crawl
Along to fishy Barium's wall.
Th' Ignatians next, who by the rules
Of common sense are knaves or fools,
Made all our sides with laughter heave,
Since we with them must needs believe,
That incense in their temples burns,
And without fire to ashes turns.
To circumcision's bigots tell
Such tales! for me, I know full well,
That in High Heav'n, unmov'd by care
The Gods eternal quiet share :
Nor can I deem their spleen the cause,
Why fickle nature breaks her laws.
Brundusium last we reach: and there
Stop short the muse and traveller.
THE DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPERTINENT.
ADAPTED TO THE PRESENT TIMES,
SAUNT'RING along the street one day, On trifles musing by the wayUp steps a free familiar wight, (I scarcely knew the man by sight.) "Carlos, (he cried) your hand, my dear, · Gad, I rejoice to meet you here! Pray Heav'n I see you well?" "So, so; Ev'n well enough as times now go. The same good wishes, sir, to you.” Finding he still pursu'd me close"Sir, you have business, I suppose." "My business, sir, is quickly done, 'Tis but to make my merit known. Sir, I have read"-" O learned Sir, You and your learning I revere." Then, sweating with anxiety, And sadly longing to get free, Gods, how I scamper'd, scuffled for't, Ran, halted, ran again, stopp'd short, Beckon'd my boy, and pull'd him near, And whisper'd nothing in his ear.
Teas'd with his loose unjointed chat--"What street is this? What house is that?"
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