Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/161

 "How now, you creature? I'm not bound to-day For Cumæ or for Baiæ," I shall say, Pulling the left rein angrily, because A horse when bridled listens through his jaws. Which place is best supplied with corn, d'ye think? Have they rain-water or fresh springs to drink? Their wines I care not for: when at my farm I can drink any sort without much harm; But at the sea I need a generous kind To warm my veins and pass into my mind, Enrich me with new hopes, choice words supply, And make me comely in a lady's eye. Which tract is best for game, on which sea-coast Urchins and other fish abound the most, That so, when I return, my friends may see A sleek Phæacian come to life in me: These things you needs must tell me, Vala dear, And I no less must act on what I hear. When Mænius, after nobly gobbling down His fortune, took to living on the town, A social beast of prey, with no fixed home, He ranged and ravened o'er the whole of Rome; His maw unfilled, he'd turn on friend and foe; None was too high for worrying, none too low; The scourge and murrain of each butcher's shop, Whate'er he got, he stuffed into his crop. So, when he'd failed in getting e'er a bit From those who liked or feared his wicked wit, Then down a throat of three-bear power he'd cram Plate after plate of offal, tripe or lamb,