Two combatants, who scorn to yield
The noisy, tongue-disputed field,
Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim
A poet's tribute to their fame;
Cicirrus of true Oscian breed,
Sarmentus, who was never freed,
But ran away. We don't defame him,
His lady lives, and still may claim him.
Thus dignified, in harder fray
These champions their keen wit display,
And first Sarmentus led the way.
"Thy locks, (quoth he so rough and coarse, Look like the mane of some wild horse," We laugh: Cicirrus, undismayed
"Have at you!"-cries, and shakes his head.
""Tis well (Sarmentus says) you've lost
That horn your forehead once could boast;
Since, maim'd and mangled as you are,
You seem to butt." A hideous scar
Improv'd ('tis true) with double grace
The native horrours of his face.
Well. After much jocosely said
Of his grim front, so fi'ry red,
(For Carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er,
As usual on Campania's shore)
"Give us, (he cried) since you're so big
A sample of the Cyclop's jig!
Your shanks methinks no buskins ask,
Nor does your phiz require a mask.”
To this Cicirrus. "In return
Of you, Sir, now I fain would learn,
When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave,
Your chains you to the Lares gave.
For tho' a scriv'ner's right you claim,
Your lady's title is the same.
But what could make you run away,
Since, pigmy as you are, each day
A single pound of bread would quite
O'erpow'r your puny appetite !"
Thus jok'd the champions, while we laugh'd,
And many a cheerful bumper quaff'd.
To Beneventum next we steer,
Where our good host, by over care
In roasting thrushes lean as mice,
Had almost fall'n a sacrifice.
The kitchen soon was all on fire,
And to the roof the flames aspire.
There might you see each man and master
Striving, amidst this sad disaster,
To save the supper. Then they came
With speed enough to quench the flame.
From hence we first at distance see
Th' Apulian hills, well known to me,
Parch'd by the sultry western blast,
And which we never should have past,
Had not Trivicius by the way
Receiv'd us at the close of day.
But each was forc'd at ent'ring here
To pay the tribute of a tear,
For more of smoke than fire was seen→→→
The hearth was pil'd with logs so green.
Froin hence in chaises we were carried
Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried
At a small town, whose name my verse
(So barb'rous is it) can't rehearse.
Know it you may by many a sign,
Water is dearer far than wine.
Their bread is deem'd such dainty fare,
That ev'ry prudent traveller
His wallet loads with many a crust
For at Canusium you might just
As well attempt to gnaw a stone
As think to get a morsel down;
That too with scanty streams is fed;
Its founder was brave Diomed.
Good Varius (ah, that friends must part!)
Here left us all with aching heart,
At Rubi we arriv'd that day,
Well jaded by the length of way,
And sure poor mortals ne'er were wetter.
Next day no weather could be better;
No roads so bad; we scarce could crawl
Along to fishy Barium's wall.
Th' Ignatians next, who by the rules
Of common sense are knaves or fools,
Made all our sides with laughter heave,
Since we with them must needs believe,
That incense in their temples burns,
And without fire to ashes turns.
To circumcision's bigots tell
Such tales! for me, I know full well,
That in High Heav'n, unmov'd by care
The Gods eternal quiet share :
Nor can I deem their spleen the cause,
Why fickle nature breaks her laws.
Brundusium last we reach: and there
Stop short the muse and traveller.
VOL. III.
THE DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPERTINENT.
ADAPTED TO THE PRESENT TIMES,
SAUNT RING along the street one day,
On trifles musing by the way—
Up steps a free familiar wight,
(I scarcely knew the man by sight.)
"Carlos, (he cried) your hand, my dear,
Gad, I rejoice to meet you here!
Pray Heav'n I see you well?” “So, so
Ev'n well enough as times now go.
The same good wishes, sir, to you."
Finding he still pursu'd me close-
"Sir, you have business, I suppose."
"My business, sir, is quickly done,
'Tis but to make my merit known.
Sir, I have read”—“ O learned Sir,
You and your learning I revere."
Then, sweating with anxiety,
And sadly longing to get free,
Gods, how I scamper'd, scuffled for't,
Ran, halted, ran again, stopp'd short,
Beckon'd my boy, and pull'd him near,
And whisper'd nothing in his ear.
Teas'd with his loose unjointed chat--"What street is this? What house is that?"
O Harlow, how I envied thee
Thy unabash'd effrontery,
Who dar'st a foe with freedom blame,
And call a coxcomb by his name!
When I return'd him answer none,
Obligingly the fool ran on,
"I see you're dismally distress'd,
Would give the world to be releas'd.
But, by your leave, sir, I shall still
Stick to your skirts, do what you will
Pray, which way does your journey tend ?"
"O'tis a tedious way, my friend,
Across the Thames, the Lord knows where,
I would not trouble you so far."
"Well, I'm at leisure to attend you."
"Are you? (thought I) the De'il befriend you." No ass with double panniers rack'd, Oppress'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd, E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull As I, nor half so like a fool. "Sir, I know little of myself, (Proceeds the pert conceited elf) "If Gray or Mason you will deem Than me more worthy your esteem. Poems I write by folios
As fast as other men write prose;
Then I can sing so loud, so clear,
That Beard cannot with me compare.
In dancing too I all surpass,
Not Cooke can move with such a grace."
Here I made shift with much ado
To interpose a word or two.
"Have you no parents, sir, no friends,
Whose welfare on your own depends?"
"Parents, relation, say you? No.
They're all dispos'd of long ago."-
"Happy to be no more perplex'd!
My fate too threatens, I go next.
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