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A
ROMAN
BANQUET.
85
While
Varius,
with
a
napkin,
scarce
suppress'd
His
laughter.
Balatro,
who
loves
a
jest,
Cries:
"
Such
is
the
lot
of
life,
nor
must
you
claim
For
all
your
toils
a
fair
return
of
fame.
While
you
are
tortured
thus,
and
torn
with
pain,
A
guest
like
me,
polite
to
entertain,
With
bread
well
baked,
with
sauces
season'd
right,
With
slaves
in
waiting, elegantly
tight,
Down
rush
the
canopies,
a
trick
of
fate,
Or
a
groom
footman,
stumbling,
breaks
a
plate.
Good
fortune
hides,
adversity
calls
forth
A
landlord's
genius
and
a
leader's
worth."
To
this
mine
host:
"
Thou
ever
gentle
guest,
May
all
thy
wishes
by
the
gods
be
bless'd,
Thou
best
good
man
!
"
But
when
we
saw
him
rise,
From
bed
to
bed
the spreading
whisper
flies.
No
play
was
half
so
fine.
HORACE.
But
prithee
say,
How
afterwards
you
laugh'd
the
time
away.
FUNDANIUS.
"
Slaves
(cries
Vibidius),
have
you
broach
'd
the
cask
?
How
often
must
I
call
for
the
other
flask
?
"
With
some
pretended
joke
our
laugh
was
dress'd,
Servilius
ever
seconding
the
jest;
When
you,
great
host,
return
'd
with
alter'd
face,
As
if
to
mend
with
art
your
late
disgrace.
The
slaves
behind,
in
mighty
charger
bore
A
crane,
in
pieces
torn,
and
powder
'd
o'er
With
salt
and
flour,
and
a
white
gander's
liver
Stuff'd
fat
with
figs,
bespoke
the
curious
giver,
Besides
the
wings
of hares,
for,
so
it
seems,
No
man
of
luxury the
back
esteems.
Then
saw
we
blackbirds,
with
o'erroasted
breast,
Laid
on
a
board,
and
ring-doves
rumpless
dress'd
!