Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/37



LL singers have a fault: if asked to use Their talent among friends, they never choose; Unask'd, they ne'er leave off. Just such a one Tigellius was, Sardinia's famous son. Cæsar, who could have forced him to obey, By his sire's friendship and his own might pray, Yet not draw forth a note: then, if the whim Took him, he'd troll a Bacchanalian hymn, From top to bottom of the tetrachord, Till the last course was set upon the board. One mass of inconsistence, oft he'd fly As if the foe were following in full cry, While oft he'd stalk with a majestic gait, Like Juno's priest in ceremonial-state. Now, he would keep two hundred serving-men, And now, a bare establishment of ten. Of kings and tetrarchs with an equal's air He'd talk: next day he'd breathe the hermit's prayer: "A table with three legs, a shell to hold My salt, and clothes, though coarse, to keep out cold."