Page:The Deipnosophists (Volume 3).djvu/372

 The same.

Know'st thou with whom thou hast to deal? On sharpen'd swords we make our meal; The dripping torch, snapdragon-wise, Our burning beverage supplies; And Cretic shafts, as sweetmeats stored, Form the dessert upon our board, With tid-bits of split javelin: Pillow'd on breastplates we recline; Strew'd at our feet are slings and bows, And crown'd with catapults our brows.—

The same.

Herken my word: wote thou, leve brother min, Thou shulde in certaine thys daie wyth us din. Bright swerdes and eke browne our vittaile been; Torches we glot for sowle, that fyerie bren. Eftsone the page doth sette upon our bord, Yfette fro Crete, kene arwes long and broad; No fetches do we ete, but speres shente, That gadred ben fro blood ydrenched bente. The silver targe, and perced habergeon, Been that, whan sonne is set, we lig upon. On bowes reste our fete whan that we slepe, With katapultes crownde, so heie hem clepe.—W. W.

(Book x. § 35, p. 679.)

To be bow'd by grief is folly; Nought is gain'd by melancholy; Better than the pain of thinking Is to steep the sense in drinking.—

(Book x. § 71, p. 709.)

A. A thing exists which nor immortal is, Nor mortal, but to both belongs, and lives As neither god nor man does. Every day