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84
OUR
ANCESTORS.
Great
were
his
terrors
of
such
drinking
folk,
Because
with
too
much
bitterness
they
joke.
Or
that
hot
wines,
dishonoring
his
feast,
Deafen
the
subtle
judgment
of
the
taste.
When
our
two champions
had
their
goblets
crown'd,
We
did
them
justice,
and
the
glass
went
round;
His
parasites
alone
his
anger
fear'd.
And
the
full
flask
unwillingly
they
spar'd.
In
a
large
dish
an
outstretch'd
lamprey
lies,
With
shrimps
all
floating
round
;
the
master
cries:
"
This
fish,
Maecenas,
full
of
roe
was
caught,
For,
after
spawning
time,
its
flesh
is
naught.
The
sauce
is
mixed
with
olive-oil;
the
best
And
purest
from
the
vats
Venafran
press'd.
And
as
it
boil'd
we
pour'd
in
Spanish
brine,
Nor
less
than
five
year
old
Italian
wine.
A
little
Chian
's
better
when
'tis
boil'd,
By
any
other
it
is
often
spoil'd.
Then
was
white
pepper
o'er
it
gently
pour'd,
And
vinegar
of
Lesbian
vintage
sour'd.
I,
first
among
the
men
of
sapience,
knew,
Roquets
and
herbs
in
cockle
brine
to
stew;
Though
in
the
same
rich
pickle,
'tis
confess'd,
His
unwash'd
crayfish
sage
Curtillus
dress'd."
But
lo
!
the
canopy
that
o'er
us
spreads,
Tumbled
in
hideous
ruin
on
our
heads;
With
dust,
how
black
!
not
such
the
clouds
arise
When
o'er
the
plain
a
northern
tempest
flies.
Some
horrors
yet
more
horrible
we
dread,
But
raise
us
when we
found
the
danger
fled.
********
Poor
Rufus
droop'd
his
head,
and
sadly
cried,
As
if
his
only
son
untimely
died.
Sure
he
had
wept,
till
weeping
ne'er
had
end,
But
Nomentanus
thus
upraised
his
friend:
"
Fortune,
thou
cruelest
of
powers
divine,
To
joke
poor
mortals
is
a
joke
of
thine."