Horace in London Consisting of imitations of the first two books of the odes of Horace. By the authors of the rejected addresses, or the new theatrum poetarum [Horace and James Smith] |
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II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
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I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
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XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. | ODE XVII. PENNY WISE AND POUND FOOLISH.
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XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
Horace in London | ||
161
ODE XVII. PENNY WISE AND POUND FOOLISH.
Cur me querelis exanimas tuis.
Why plague me to death with your sighs?
Why mope you thus froward and mulish?
Your Brother, your friend Pennywise
Will never survive his Poundfoolish.
Why mope you thus froward and mulish?
Your Brother, your friend Pennywise
Will never survive his Poundfoolish.
You lose in adventure your gold,
Whilst I half commissions am rich in;
I freeze in the parlour with cold,
You waste all the coals in the kitchen.
Whilst I half commissions am rich in;
I freeze in the parlour with cold,
You waste all the coals in the kitchen.
So firm our affection, so true,
So constant, or losing or winning,
The blow that demolishes you
Will set all my farthings a spinning.
So constant, or losing or winning,
The blow that demolishes you
Will set all my farthings a spinning.
162
How complex the purse we have spun!
If e'er Liberality sever
The close twisted thread of the one,
The other is ruin'd for ever.
If e'er Liberality sever
The close twisted thread of the one,
The other is ruin'd for ever.
If fever assail me, for thee
Dog cheap with the evil I'll wrestle;
I'll spurn Doctor Bailey to fee
Some second rate knight of the pestle.
Dog cheap with the evil I'll wrestle;
I'll spurn Doctor Bailey to fee
Some second rate knight of the pestle.
Our mother, high wages to save,
Engaged for a nurse a cheap dawdle,
Who hurried her off to the grave,
By giving her gruel for cawdle.
Engaged for a nurse a cheap dawdle,
Who hurried her off to the grave,
By giving her gruel for cawdle.
When O. P.s set up a hubbub,
We did not each other as foes treat,
I pack'd off the beefeater's club,
And you rais'd the pillars in Bow Street.
We did not each other as foes treat,
I pack'd off the beefeater's club,
And you rais'd the pillars in Bow Street.
Last week I bespoke me a hearse,
Self Interest whisper'd—Self murder;
But Avarice lurk'd in my purse,
And, lucky escape! overheard her.
Self Interest whisper'd—Self murder;
But Avarice lurk'd in my purse,
And, lucky escape! overheard her.
163
Our bed is a second-hand tent;
Away with the cushions of comfort!
Do you daub the house with cement,
And I'll burn a coal to Count Rumford.
Away with the cushions of comfort!
Do you daub the house with cement,
And I'll burn a coal to Count Rumford.
Horace in London | ||