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But what could make you run away,
Since, pigmy as you are, each day

A single pound of bread would quite
O'erpower your puny appetite ?"

Thus joked 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 fallen 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
The 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

Received us at the close of day.
But each was forced at entering here
To pay the tribute of a tear,

For more of smoke than fire was seen-
The hearth was piled with logs so green.
From hence in chaises we were carried
Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried
At a small town, whose name my verse
(So barbarous is it) can't rehearse.
Know it you may by many a sign,
Water is dearer far than wine;
There bread is deem'd such dainty fare,

That every 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 arrived 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.

The Egnatians 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 heaven, unmoved by care,
The gods eternal quiet share :

Nor can I deem their spleen the cause,
While fickle Nature breaks her laws.
Brundusium last we reach: and there
Stop short the muse and traveller.

THE NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPERTINENT.

PRESENT TIMES, 1759.

ADAPTED TO

SAUNTERING along the street one day,
On trifles musing by the way—

Up 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 Heaven I see you well?" "So, 80;
E'en well enough as times now go:
The same good wishes, sir, to you."
Finding he still pursued 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.

Teased with his loose unjointed chat"What street is this? What house is that?"

O Harlow, how I envied thee

Thy unabash'd effrontery,

Who darest a foe with freedom blame,

And call a coxcomb by his name!

When I return'd him answer none,
Obligingly the fool ran on,

"

I see you're dismally distress'd, Would give the world to be released. But by your leave, sir, I shall still

Stick to your skirts, do what you will.

Pray which way does your journey tend ?" "O, 'tis a tedious way, my friend;

Across the Thames, the Lord knows where, I would not trouble you so far." .

"Well, I'm at leisure to attend you."

"Are you?" thought I, "the Deil befriend

you."

No ass with double panniers rack'd,
Oppress'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd,
E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull
As I, nor half so like a fool.
"Sir, I know little of myself,
(Proceeds the pert conceited elf)
If Gray or Mason you will deem
Than me more worthy your esteem.
Poems I write by folios

As fast as other men write prose;
Then I can sing so loud, so clear,
That Beard cannot with me compare.
In dancing too I all surpass,

Not Cooke can move with such a grace."
Here I made shift with much ado
To interpose a word or two.-

"Have you no parents, sir, no friends,
Whose welfare on your own depends?"
"Parents, relations, say you? No.
They're all disposed of long ago."—
"Happy to be no more perplex'd!
My fate too threatens, I go next.
Despatch me, sir, 'tis now too late,
Alas! to struggle with my fate!
Well, I'm convinced my time is come-
When young, a gipsy told my doom.
The beldame shook her palsied head,
As she perused my palm, and said:
Of poison, pestilence, and war,
Gout, stone, defluxion, or catarrh,
You have no reason to beware.
Beware the coxcomb's idle prate;
Chiefly, my son, beware of that.

Be sure, when you behold him, fly
Out of all earshot, or you die."

To Rufus' Hall we now draw near
Where he was summoned to appear,
Refute the charge the plaintiff brought,
Or suffer judgment by default.

"For Heaven's sake, if you love me, wait One moment! I'll be with you straight." Glad of a plausible pretence

Sir, I must beg you to dispense With my attendance in the court. My legs will surely suffer for't." "Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile!" "Faith, sir, in law I have no skill. Besides, I have no time to spare, I must be going you know where." "Well, I protest I'm doubtful now Whether to leave my suit or you!" "Me without scruple!" I reply, "Me by all means, sir!"-"No, not I. Allons, Monsieur !" "Twas vain, you know,

To strive with a victorious foe.

So I reluctantly obey,

And follow where he leads the way,

"You and Newcastle are so close,

Still hand and glove, sir-I suppose." "Newcastle, let me tell you, sir,

Has not his equal everywhere."

"Well. There indeed your fortune's made;

Faith, sir, you understand your trade.
Would you but give me your good word:
Just introduce me to my lord,

I should serve charmingly by way
Of second fiddle, as they say:

What think you, sir? 'twere a good jest.
'Slife, we should quickly scout the rest."

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