Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/127

THE EPISTLES.

BOOK I.

I. To Mæcenas,

Prima dicte mihi.

HEME of my earliest Muse in days long past,
Theme that shall be hereafter of my last,
Why summon back, Mæcenas, to the list
Your worn-out swordsman, pensioned and dismissed?
My age, my mind, no longer are the same
As when I first was 'prenticed to the game.
Veianius fastens to Alcides' gate
His arms, then nestles in his snug estate:
Think you once more upon the arena's marge
He'd care to stand and supplicate discharge?
No: I've a Mentor who, not once nor twice,
Breathes in my well-rinsed ear his sound advice,
"Give rest in time to that old horse, for fear
At last he founder 'mid the general jeer."

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