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 Two gala dresses each possesses, And puts them on in turn; As oft as he goes forth to see Where he his meal can earn.

The Forum I choose, my nets to let loose, It's there that I fish for my dinner; The wealthy young fools I use as my tools, Like a jolly good harden'd old sinner.

Whenever I see a fool suited for me, In a trice at his side I appear, And ne'er loose my hold, till by feeding or gold, He has paid for my wants rather dear.

If he chance aught to speak, though stupid and weak, Straightway it is praised to the skies; His wit I applaud, treat him as my lord, Win his heart by a good set of lies.

Ere comes our meal, my way I feel, My patron's mind I study: And as each knows, we choose all those Whose brains are rather muddy.

We understand our host's command, To make the table merry; By witty jokes, satiric pokes, To aid the juicy berry.

If we're not able, straight from the table We're sent, elsewhere to dine; You know poor Acastor incurr'd this disaster, By being too free o'er his wine.

A dreadful joke scarce from him broke, When for the slave each roars, To come and fetch th' unhappy wretch, And turn him out of doors.

On him was put, like any brute, Round his throat an iron necklace; And he was handed, to be branded, To Œneus rough and reckless.—L. S.