"Ille potens sui Lætusque deget, cui licet in diem Dixisse Vixi;"
"He, master of himself, in mirth may live Who saith, 'I rest well pleased with former days.'"
_Senex._ Hah! Sir JOHN BEAUMONT's version. Not so bad, but might be improved, I think. By the way, why should not you and I do the "Satires"--together?
_Juvenis._ Charmed, I am sure. Just now, however, I fear I'm a little too busy.
_Senex._ Pooh! Only occupies one's odd moments, and is as easy as shaving, or shaping a new Constitution. For example, I'll give you an impromptu version--call it adaptation if you like--of the first "Ad Mæcenatem":
_Juvenis._ Oh! thanks, _so_ much! Only----
_Senex._ It won't take ten minutes. Listen!
PRIMULA, from old Scotia sprung! My chos'n successor, though so young! "_You_, 'midst Olympian dust delight To whirl the chariot's rapid flight. _I_'ll watch your glowing axles roll Nicely around the close-grazed goal. You hold the palm of wondrous worth Which late I wore upon the earth: The Commons, now, sole crown desire, And to un-veto'd power aspire. You'll have enough to rule the deep And Gaul placate, and Libya keep. I'm now a swain who loves his toil, To tune his pipe, and tend his soil. Not Asia's wealth tempts me to sail O'er faction's deep, and brave the gale. Some say, though now, in love with ease, I shun the storms of party seas; That soon I'll summon the old crew, And rig our shattered bark anew. Too much I love this ancient wine, Pressed from the old Venusian's vine! Lo my free limbs at leisure laid! The old instruments that once I played, The harp, the banjo, hung aloft! Hibernian airs, though sweet and soft, And Ethiopian minstrelsy, No longer have much charm for me. Now I prefer the Lydian lyre, And of bland HORACE never tire. You youngsters like a martial life-- The trumpet-challenge and the strife; With ardour seek the tented plain. Your "gauntlet's down"! Good may you gain! For me, another line I choose, And, late in life, I court the Muse, Unmindful of Bellona's charms, And the old stir of War's alarm. Ah! once in full tilt I had borne Against CÆCILIUS full of scorn; But Music now seems more divine! With ivy-wreaths my temples shine. Far from the world's tumultuous throng, The nymphs seduce me with their song; Here in cool grove I'm going to dwell. Like HORACE, with "the sounding shell." I feel a wish--sweet leisure's fruit-- To tootle on Euterpe's lute; With Polyhymnia I desire To twangle on the Lesbian lyre. If, late, to lyric fame I rise, My brow indeed shall strike the skies."