HKB
Hold on unflinching, never bate a jot, Be it for wet or dry, for cold or hot, Though "Sirius split dumb statues up," or though Fat Furius "spatter the bleak Alps with snow." "What steady nerve!" some bystander will cry, Nudging a friend; "what zeal! what energy! What rare devotion!" ay, the game goes well; In flow the tunnies, and your fish-ponds swell. Another plan: suppose a man of wealth Has but one son, and that in weakly health; Creep round the father, lest the court you pay To childless widowers your game betray, That he may put you second, and, in case The poor youth die, insert you in his place, And so you get the whole: a throw like this, Discreetly hazarded, will seldom miss. If offered by your friend his will to read, Decline it with a "Thank you! no, indeed!" Yet steal a side-long glance as you decline At the first parchment and the second line, Just to discover if he leaves you heir All by yourself, or others have a share. A constable turned notary oft will cheat Your raven of the cheese he thought to eat; And sly Nasica will become, you'll see, Coranus' joke, but not his legatee.
U. What? are you mad, or do you mean to balk My thirst for knowledge by this riddling talk?
T. O Laertiades! what I foreshow To mortals, either will take place or no; For 'tis the voice of Phoebus from his shrine That speaks in me and makes my words divine.
U. Forgive my vehemence, and kindly state The meaning of the fable you narrate.
T. When he, the Parthian's dread, whose blood comes down E'en from Aeneas' veins, shall win renown By land and sea, a marriage shall betide Between Coranus, wight of courage tried, And old Nasica's daughter, tall and large, Whose sire owes sums he never will discharge. The duteous son-in-law his will presents, And begs the sire to study its contents: At length Nasica, having long demurred, Takes it and reads it through without a word; And when the whole is done, perceives in fine That he and his are simply left--to whine.
Suppose some freedman, or some crafty dame Rules an old driveller, you may join their game: Say all that's good of them to him, that they, When your back's turned, the like of you may say This plan has merits; but 'tis better far To take the fort itself, and end the war.
A shrewd old crone at Thebes (the fact occurred When I was old) was thus by will interred: Her corpse was oiled all over, and her heir Bore it to burial on his shoulders bare: He'd stuck to her while living; so she said She'd give him, if she could, the slip when dead. Be cautious in attack; observe the mean, And neither be too lukewarm, nor too keen. Much talk annoys the testy and morose, But 'tis not well to be reserved and close.