Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/188

 And captive ivory follows captive brass. O, could Democritus return to earth, In truth 'twould wake his wildest peals of mirth, To see a milkwhite elephant, or shape Half pard, half camel, set the crowd agape! He'd eye the mob more keenly than the shows, And find less food for sport in these than those; While the poor authors—he'd suppose their play Addressed to a deaf ass that can but bray. For where's the voice so strong as to o'ercome A Roman theatre's discordant hum? You'd think you heard the Gargan forest roar Or Tuscan billows break upon the shore, So loud the tumult waxes, when they see The show, the pomp, the foreign finery. Soon as the actor, thus bedizened, stands In public view, clap go ten thousand hands. "What said he?" Nought. "Then what's the attraction? "Why, That woollen mantle with the violet dye.
 * But lest you think 'tis niggard praise I fling

To bards who soar where I ne'er stretched a wing, That man I hold true master of his art Who with fictitious woes can wring my heart, Can rouse me, soothe me, pierce me with the thrill Of vain alarm, and, as by magic skill, Bear me to Thebes, to Athens, where he will.
 * Now turn to us shy mortals, who, instead

Of being hissed and acted, would be read: We claim your favour, if with worthy gear