Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/48

Who broached that slander? of the men I know,
With whom I live, have any told you so?
He who maligns an absent friend's fair fame,
Who says no word for him when others blame,
Who courts a reckless laugh by random hits,
Just for the sake of ranking among wits,
Who feigns what he ne'er saw, a secret blabs,
Beware him, Roman! that man steals or stabs!
Oft you may see three couches, four on each,
Where all are wincing under one man's speech,
All, save the host: his turn too comes at last,
When wine lets loose the humour shame held fast:
And you, who hate malignity, can see
Nought here but pleasant talk, well-bred and free.
I, if I chance in laughing vein to note
Rufillus' civet and Gargonius' goat,
Must I be toad or scorpion? Look at home:
Suppose Petillius' theft, the talk of Rome,
Named in your presence, mark how yon defend
In your accustomed strain your absent friend:
"Petillius? yes, I know him well: in truth
We have been friends, companions, e'en from youth:
A thousand times he's served me, and I joy
That he can walk the streets without annoy:
Yet 'tis a puzzle, I confess, to me
How from that same affair he got off free."
Here is the poison-bag of malice, here
The gall of fell detraction, pure and sheer: