Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/76

Don't say I gave no warning: up and down
He shall be trolled and chorused through the town.
Cervius attacks his foes with writ and rule:
Albutius' henbane is Canidia's tool:
How threatens Turius? if he e'er should judge
A cause of yours, he'll bear you an ill grudge.
Each has his natural weapon, you'll agree,
If you will work the problem out with me:
Wolves use their tooth against you, bulls their horn;
Why, but that each is to the manner born?
Take worthy Scæva now, the spendthrift heir,
And trust his long-lived mother to his care;
He'll lift no hand against her. No, forsooth!
Wolves do not use their heel, nor bulls their tooth:
But deadly hemlock, mingled in the bowl
With honey, will take off the poor old soul.
Well, to be brief: whether old age await
My years, or Death e'en now be at the gate,
Wealthy or poor, at home or banished, still,
Whate'er my life's complexion, write I will.
T. Poor child! your life is hanging on a thread:
Some noble friend one day will freeze you dead.
H. What? when Lucilius first with dauntless brow
Addressed him to his task, as I do now,
And from each hypocrite stripped off the skin
He flaunted to the world, though foul within,
Did Lælius, or the chief who took his name
Prom conquered Carthage, grudge him his fair game?