Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Bookgnaw the crusts, which dogs refuse to eat!-- 20 For, first, of this be sure: whene'er your lord Thinks proper to invite you to his board, He pays, or thinks he pays, the total sum Of all your pains, past, present, and to come. Behold the meed of servitude! the great 25 Reward their humble followers with a treat, And count it current coin:--they count it such, And, though it be but little, think it much. If, after two long months, he condescend To waste a thought upon an humble friend, 30 Reminded by a vacant seat, and write, "You, Master Trebius, sup with me to-night," 'Tis rapture all! Go now, supremely blest, Enjoy the meed for which you broke your rest, And, loose and slipshod, ran your vows to pay, 35 What time the fading stars announced the day; Or at that earlier hour, when, with slow roll, Thy frozen wain, Boötes, turned the pole; Yet trembling, lest the levee should be o'er, And the full court retiring from the door! 40 And what a meal at last! such ropy wine, As wool, which takes all liquids, would decline; Hot, heady lees, to fire the wretched guests, And turn them all to Corybants, or beasts.-- At first, with sneers and sarcasms, they engage, 45 Then hurl the jugs around, with mutual rage; Or, stung to madness by the household train, With coarse stone pots a desperate fight maintain; While streams of blood in smoking torrents flow, And my lord smiles to see the battle glow! 50 Not such his beverage: he enjoys the juice Of ancient days, when beards were yet in use, Pressed in the Social War!--but will not send One cordial drop, to cheer a fainting friend. To-morrow, he will change, and, haply, fill 55 The mellow vintage of the Alban hill, Or Setian; wines, which can not now be known, So much the mould of age has overgrown The district, and the date; such generous bowls, As Thrasea and Helvidius, patriot souls! 60 While crowned with flowers, in sacred pomp, they lay, To FREEDOM quaffed, on Brutus' natal day. Before your patron, cups of price are placed, Amber and gold, with rows of beryls graced: Cups, you can only at a distance view, 65 And never trusted to such guests as you! Or, if they be--a faithful slave attends, To count the gems, and watch your fingers' ends. You'll pardon him; but lo! a jasper there, Of matchless worth, which justifies his care: 70 For Virro, like his brother peers, of late, Has stripped his fingers to adorn his plate; And jewels now emblaze the festive board, } Which decked with nobler grace the hero's sword, } Whom Dido prized, above the Libyan lord. } 75 From such he drinks: to you the slaves allot The Beneventine cobbler's four-lugged pot, A fragment, a mere shard, of little worth, But to be trucked for matches--and so forth. If Virro's veins with indigestion glow, 80 They bring him water cooled in Scythian snow: What! did I late complain a different wine Fell to thy share? A different water's thine! Getulian slaves your vile potations pour, Or the coarse paws of some huge, raw-boned Moor, 85 Whose hideous form the stoutest would affray, If met, by moonlight, near the Latian way: On him a youth, the flower of Asia, waits, So dearly purchased, that the joint estates Of Tullus, Ancus, would not yield the sum, 90 Nor all the wealth--of all the kings of Rome! Bear this in mind; and when the cup you need, Look to your own Getulian Ganymede; A page who cost so much, will ne'er, be sure, Come at your beck: he heeds not, he, the poor; 95 But, of his youth and beauty justly vain, Trips by them, with indifference and disdain. If called, he hears not, or, with rage inflamed-- Indignant, that his services are claimed By an old client, who, ye gods! commands, 100 And sits at ease, while his superior stands! Such proud, audacious minions swarm in Rome, And trample on the poor, where'er they come. Mark with what insolence another thrusts Before your plate th' impenetrable crusts, 105 Black mouldy fragments, which defy the saw, The mere despair of every aching jaw! While manchets, of the finest flour, are set Before your lord; but be you mindful, yet, And taste not, touch not: of the pantler stand 110 In trembling awe, and check your desperate hand-- Yet, should you dare--a slave springs forth, to wrest The sacred morsel from you. "Saucy guest," He frowns, and mutters, "wilt thou ne'er divine What's for thy patron's tooth, and what for thine? 115 Never take notice from what tray thou'rt fed, Nor know the color of thy proper bread?" Was it for this, the baffled client cries, The tears indignant starting from his eyes, Was it for this I left my wife ere day, 120 And up the bleak Esquilian urged my way, While the wind howled, the hail-storm beat amain, And my cloak smoked beneath the driving rain! But lo, a lobster, introduced in state, Stretches, enormous, o'er the bending plate; 125 Proud of a length of tail, he seems to eye The humbler guests with scorn, as, towering by, He takes the place of honor at the board, And crowned with costly pickles, greets his lord! A crab is yours, ill garnished and ill fed, 130 With half an egg--a supper for the dead! He pours Venafran oil upon his fish, While the stale coleworts, in your wooden dish, Stink of the lamp; for such to you is thrown, Such rancid grease, as Afric sends to town; 135 So strong, that when her factors seek the bath, All wind, and all avoid, the noisome path; So pestilent! that her own serpents fly The horrid stench, or meet it but to die. See! a sur-mullet now before him set, 140 From Corsica, or isles more distant yet, Brought post to Rome; since Ostia's shores no more Supply the insatiate glutton, as of yore, Thinned by the net, whose everlasting throw Allows no Tuscan fish in peace to grow. 145 Still luxury yawns, unfilled; the nations rise, And ransack all their coasts for fresh supplies: Thence come your presents; thence, as rumor tells, The dainties Lenas buys, Aurelia sells. A lamprey next, from the Sicilian straits, 150 Of more than common size, on Virro waits-- For oft as Auster seeks his cave, and flings The cumbrous moisture from his dripping wings, Forth flies the daring fisher, lured by gain, While rocks oppose, and whirlpools threat in vain. 155 To you an eel is brought, whose slender make Speaks him a famished cousin to the snake; Or some frost-bitten pike, who, day by day, Through half the city's ordure sucked his way! Would Virro deign to hear me, I could give 160 A few brief hints:--We look not to receive What Seneca, what Cotta used to send, What the good Piso, to an humble friend:-- For bounty once preferred a fairer claim, Than birth or power, to honorable fame: 165 No; all we ask (and you may this afford) Is, simply, civil treatment at your board; Indulge us here; and be, like numbers more, Rich to yourself, to your dependents poor! Vain hope! Near him a goose's liver lies; 170 A capon, equal to a goose in size; A boa |