قراءة كتاب Something Else Again
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 4
give the Hun his final whack,
And I'll marry you when you come back.
From: Horace
To: Phyllis
Subject: Invitation
Book IV, Ode 11
"Est mihi nonum superantis annum——"
Phyllis, I've a jar of wine,
(Alban, B. C. 49),
Parsley wreaths, and, for your tresses,
Ivy that your beauty blesses.
(Alban, B. C. 49),
Parsley wreaths, and, for your tresses,
Ivy that your beauty blesses.
Shines my house with silverware;
Frondage decks the altar stair—
Sacred vervain, a device
For a lambkin's sacrifice.
Frondage decks the altar stair—
Sacred vervain, a device
For a lambkin's sacrifice.
Up and down the household stairs
What a festival prepares!
Everybody's superintending—
See the sooty smoke ascending!
What a festival prepares!
Everybody's superintending—
See the sooty smoke ascending!
What, you ask me, is the date
Of the day we celebrate?
13th April, month of Venus—
Birthday of my boss, Mæcenas.
Of the day we celebrate?
13th April, month of Venus—
Birthday of my boss, Mæcenas.
Let me, Phyllis, say a word
Touching Telephus, a bird
Ranking far too high above you;
(And the loafer doesn't love you).
Touching Telephus, a bird
Ranking far too high above you;
(And the loafer doesn't love you).
Lessons, Phyllie, may be learned
From Phaëton—how he was burned!
And recall Bellerophon was
One equestrian who thrown was.
From Phaëton—how he was burned!
And recall Bellerophon was
One equestrian who thrown was.
Phyllis, of my loves the last,
My philandering days are past.
Sing you, in your clear contralto,
Songs I write for the rialto.
My philandering days are past.
Sing you, in your clear contralto,
Songs I write for the rialto.
Advising Chloë
Horace: Book I, Ode 23
"Vitas hinnuleo me similis, Chloë——"
Why shun me, my Chloë? Nor pistol nor bowie
Is mine with intention to kill.
And yet like a llama you run to your mamma;
You tremble as though you were ill.
Is mine with intention to kill.
And yet like a llama you run to your mamma;
You tremble as though you were ill.
To An Aged Cut-up
Horace: Book III, Ode 15
I
"Uxor pauperis Ibyci,
Tandem nequitiæ fige modum tuæ——"
IN CHLORIN
Dear Mrs. Ibycus, accept a little sound advice,
Your manners and your speech are over-bold;
To chase around the sporty way you do is far from nice;
Believe me, darling, you are growing old.
Your manners and your speech are over-bold;
To chase around the sporty way you do is far from nice;
Believe me, darling, you are growing old.
Now Pholoë may fool around (she dances like a doe!)
A débutante has got to think of men;
But you were twenty-seven over thirty years ago—
You ought to be asleep at half-past ten.
A débutante has got to think of men;
But you were twenty-seven over thirty years ago—
You ought to be asleep at half-past ten.
II
Chloris, lay off the flapper stuff;
What's fit for Pholoë, a fluff,
Is not for Ibycus's wife—
A woman at your time of life!
What's fit for Pholoë, a fluff,
Is not for Ibycus's wife—
A woman at your time of life!
Ignore, old dame, such pleasures as
The shimmy and "the Bacchus Jazz";
Your presence with the maidens jars—
You are the cloud that dims the stars.
The shimmy and "the Bacchus Jazz";
Your presence with the maidens jars—
You are the cloud that dims the stars.
Your daughter Pholoë may stay
Out nights upon the Appian Way;
Her love for Nothus, as you know,
Makes her as playful as a doe.
Out nights upon the Appian Way;
Her love for Nothus, as you know,
Makes her as playful as a doe.
His Monument
Horace: Book III, Ode 30
"Exegi monumentum aere perennius——"
The monument that I have built is durable as brass,
And loftier than the Pyramids which mock the years that pass.
Nor blizzard can destroy it, nor furious rain corrode—
Remember, I'm the bard that built the first Horatian ode.
And loftier than the Pyramids which mock the years that pass.
Nor blizzard can destroy it, nor furious rain corrode—
Remember, I'm the bard that built the first Horatian ode.
I shall not altogether die; a part of me's immortal.
A part of me shall never pass the mortuary portal;
And when I die my fame shall stand the nitric test of time—
The fame of me of lowly birth, who built the lofty rhyme!
A part of me shall never pass the mortuary portal;
And when I die my fame shall stand the nitric test of time—
The fame of me of lowly birth, who built the lofty rhyme!
Glycera Rediviva!
Horace: Book I, Ode 19
"Mater sæva Cupidinum"
Venus, the cruel mother of
The Cupids (symbolising Love),
Bids me to muse upon and sigh
For things to which I've said "Good-bye!"
The Cupids (symbolising Love),
Bids me to muse upon and sigh
For things to which I've said "Good-bye!"
Believe me or believe me not,
I give this Glycera girl a lot:
Pure Parian marble are her arms—
And she has eighty other charms.
I give this Glycera girl a lot:
Pure Parian marble are her arms—
And she has eighty other charms.
Venus has left her Cyprus home
And will not let me pull a pome
About the Parthians, fierce and
And will not let me pull a pome
About the Parthians, fierce and