Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/124

 "O Fortune, cruellest of heavenly powers, Why make such game of this poor life of ours?" Varius his napkin to his mouth applied, A laugh to stifle, or at least to hide: But Balatro, with his perpetual sneer, Cries, "Such is life, capricious and severe, And hence it comes that merit never gains A meed of praise proportioned to its pains. What gross injustice! just that I may get A handsome dinner, you must fume and fret, See that the bread's not burned, the sauce not spoiled, The servants in their places, curled and oiled. Then too the risks; the tapestry, as of late, May fall; a stumbling groom may break a plate. But gifts, concealed by sunshine, are displayed In hosts, as in commanders, by the shade." Rufus returned, "Heaven speed things to your mind! Sure ne'er was guest so friendly and so kind;" Then takes his slippers. Head to head draws near, And each man's lips are at his neighbour's ear. H. 'Tis better than a play: but please report What further things occurred to make you sport. F. Well, while Vibidius takes the slaves to task, Enquiring if the tumble broke the flask, And Balatro keeps starting some pretence For mirth, that we may laugh without offence, With altered brow returns our sumptuous friend, Resolved, what chance has damaged, art shall mend.