Like Diomede and Glaucus, straight the worse
Gives in, and presents are exchanged of course.
Well, in the days when Brutus held command,
With prætor's rank, o'er Asia's wealthy land,
Persius and King engage, a goodly pair,
Like Bithus matched with Bacchius to a hair.
Keen as sharp steel, before the court they go,
Bach in himself as good as a whole show.
Persius begins: amid the general laugh
He praises Brutus, praises Brutus' staff,
Brutus, the healthful sun of Asia's sphere,
His staff, the minor stars that bless the year,
All, save poor King; a dog-star he, the sign
To farmers inauspicious and malign:
So roaring on he went, like wintry flood,
Where axes seldom come to thin the wood.
Then, as he thundered, King, Præneste-bred,
Hurled vineyard slang in handfuls at his head,
A tough grape-gatherer, whom the passer-by
Could ne'er put down, with all his cuckoo cry.
Sluiced with Italian vinegar, the Greek
At length vociferates, "Brutus, let me speak!
You are our great king-killer: why delay
To kill this King? I vow 'tis in your way."
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