All joy and transport I: I crow and clap
My wings for very ecstasy of heart!
Does it come sidelong, making wayward angles,
Embodied into no consistency?
I know the mournful signal well, and straight
Prepare me for a bloodless feast of herbs.—Mitchell.
Eupolis. (Book vi. § 30, p. 373.)
Mark now, and learn of me the thriving arts
By which we parasites contrive to live:
Fine rogues we are, my friend, (of that be sure,)
And daintily we gull mankind.—Observe!
First I provide myself a nimble thing
To be my page, a varlet of all crafts;
Next two new suits for feasts and gala-days,
Which I promote by turns, when I walk forth
To sun myself upon the public square:
There, if perchance I spy some rich dull knave,
Straight I accost him, do him reverence,
And, saunt'ring up and down, with idle chat
Hold him awhile in play; at every word
Which his wise worship utters, I stop short
And bless myself for wonder; if he ventures
On some vile joke, I blow it to the skies,
And hold my sides for laughter.—Then to supper,
With others of our brotherhood to mess
In some night-cellar on our barley-cakes,
And club invention for the next day's shift.—Cumberland.
The same.
Of how we live, a sketch I'll give,
If you'll attentive be;
Of parasites, (we're thieves by rights,)
The flower and chief are we.
Now first we've all a page at call,
Of whom we're not the owners,
But who's a slave to some young brave,
Whom we flatter to be donors.
