Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/127



HEME of my earliest Muse in days long past, Theme that shall be hereafter of my last, Why summon back, Mæcenas, to the list Your worn-out swordsman, pensioned and dismissed? My age, my mind, no longer are the same As when I first was 'prenticed to the game. Veianius fastens to Alcides' gate His arms, then nestles in his snug estate: Think you once more upon the arena's marge He'd care to stand and supplicate discharge? No: I've a Mentor who, not once nor twice, Breathes in my well-rinsed ear his sound advice, "Give rest in time to that old horse, for fear At last he founder 'mid the general jeer."