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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VII. | ODE VII. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
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Horace in London | ||
130
ODE VII. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
O sæpe mecum tempus in Itimum.
Oh! whence are you come,
My crony, my chum,
In boyhood's bright sun-shiney weather?
What shock of the spheres,
After so many years,
Has thrown us again both together?
My crony, my chum,
In boyhood's bright sun-shiney weather?
What shock of the spheres,
After so many years,
Has thrown us again both together?
How oft you and I
Have drank ourselves dry,
Till mounting high over our heads,
Morn enter'd the casement,
And stared with amazement,
To find us not yet in our beds.
Have drank ourselves dry,
Till mounting high over our heads,
Morn enter'd the casement,
And stared with amazement,
To find us not yet in our beds.
131
One night at the British,
We grew rather skittish,
And sallied out fighting the rabble;
But the guardians of night,
Put our valour to flight,
And I lost my hat in the squabble.
We grew rather skittish,
And sallied out fighting the rabble;
But the guardians of night,
Put our valour to flight,
And I lost my hat in the squabble.
Fair cloud-cover'd Venus,
Intruding between us,
Me carried away from the battle;
While you, left at large,
Return'd to the charge,
And bore off a lanthorn and rattle.
Intruding between us,
Me carried away from the battle;
While you, left at large,
Return'd to the charge,
And bore off a lanthorn and rattle.
'Tis six—come and dine,
And over our wine
We'll talk of our juvenile laurels;
What boys were we then!
But now we are men,
And seldom engage in street quarrels.
And over our wine
We'll talk of our juvenile laurels;
What boys were we then!
But now we are men,
And seldom engage in street quarrels.
At twelve let us sup,
We'll not keep it up
All night, like your rake-helly ranters;
At three, or half after,
The goddess of laughter,
Shall bear off the empty decanters.
We'll not keep it up
All night, like your rake-helly ranters;
132
The goddess of laughter,
Shall bear off the empty decanters.
We'll talk of our gambols,
Our riots and rambles,
Till Phœbus looks out of his garret;
Two bottles in one,
Are excellent fun,
So, waiter—a magnum of claret.
Our riots and rambles,
Till Phœbus looks out of his garret;
Two bottles in one,
Are excellent fun,
So, waiter—a magnum of claret.
Horace in London | ||