5

Eftsone the page doth sette upon our bord,
Yfette fro Crete, kene arwes long and broad;
No fetches do we ete, but speres shente,"
That gadred ben fro blood ydrenched bente".
The silver targe, and perced habergeon 3,
Been that, whan sonne is set, we lig9 upon.
On bowes reste our fete whan that we slepe,
With katapultes crownde, so heie hem clepe 10.

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10

II. (P. 78.)

MASTER. Hark ye, fellow! make the best of your way to Phidon's riding-school (your road lies through the cypress-grove burying-place to the forum by the public baths, where our tribunes hold their meetings) and tell those pretty gentlemen, who are there at their exercises of vaulting on their horses and off their horses (you know well enough whom I mean) tell 'em, I say, that supper is grown cold, their liquor hot, their. pastry dry, their bread stale, their roast done to powder, their salt-meat stript from the very bones, their tripes, chitterlings, sausages and stuft-puddings mangled and devoured by guests, who are beforehand with 'em: the glass has gone round, and the wine is nearly out; the company are at their frolics, and the house thrown out of the windows-Now mark and remember every syllable I have said to you-Dost yawn, rascal?-Let me hear if you can repeat the message I have given you.

SERVANT. From the first word to the last, as you shall witness.—I am to bid those sparks come home and not loiter till the cook makes plunder of the broken victuals; I am to say the boil'd and the roast are ready; I am to reckon up their bill of fare, their onions, olives, garlick, coleworts, gourds, beans, lettuce, knot-grass; their salted tunny-fish, their shad, sturgeon, soals, conger, purple-fish and black-fish, (both whole ones) their anchovy, mackarel, fresh tunny, gudgeons, rock-fish, dog-fish tails, cramp-fish, frog-fish, perch, baccalao, sardin, seaweed-fish, seaMNESIMACHUS.]

urchin, surmullet, cuckow-fish, pastinaca, lamprey, barbel, greymullet, lebias, sparus, char, Ælian-fish, Thracian-fish, swallow-fish, prawns, calamary, flounder, shrimps, polypody, cuttle-fish, orphus, lobster, crab, bleak, needle-fish, sprats, sea-scorpion, and grigg— I am to put them in mind of their roasts without number, of their goose, pork, beef, lamb, mutton, goat, kid, pullet, duck, swan, partridge, bergander, and a thousand more- -I am to warn them that their messmates are already fast by the teeth, chewing, gnawing, cutting, carving, boiling, roasting, laughing, playing, dancing, junketing, drinking, mobbing, scuffling, boxing, battling,— that the pipers are at their sport; every body singing, chorussing, clamouring, whilst the house smoaks with the odours of cinnamon, frankincense, myrrh, sweet-cane, storax, aloes, ambergrise, musk, camphire, cassia, and a flood of all other exquisite perfumes.

CUMBERLAND.

MOSCHIO.

I. (P. 92.)

Let the earth cover and protect its dead!
And let man's breath thither return in peace
From whence it came; his spirit to the skies,
His body to the clay of which 'twas form'd,
Imparted to him as a loan for life,
Which he and all must render back again
To earth, the common mother of mankind.

II. III. IV. (Pp. 93. 94.)

Wound not the soul of a departed man!
'Tis impious cruelty; let justice strike
The living, but in mercy spare the dead.
And why pursue a shadow that is past?
Why slander the deaf earth, that cannot hear,

CUMBERLAND.

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[MNESIMACHUS MOSCHIO.

The dumb, that cannot utter? When the soul
No longer takes account of human wrongs,
Nor joys nor sorrows touch the mouldering heart.
As well you may give feeling to the tomb,
As what it covers-both alike defy you.

Sek nat the holie ded for to diffame;
Upon the quik, nat ded, go pass thy blame.-

NICOSTRATUS. (P. 95.)

If this incessant chattering be your plan,
I would ye were a swallow, not a man!

PHOENICIDES. (P. 95.)

So help me Venus! as I'm fairly sick,
Sick to the soul, my Pythias, of this trade:-
No more on't! I'll be no man's mistress, I:
Don't talk to me of Destiny; I've done with't;
I'll hear no prophecies-for mark me well-
No sooner did I buckle to this business,

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CUMBERLAND.

W. W.

CUMBERLAND.

5

Than straight behold! a Man of War assail'd me—
He told me of his battles o'er and o'er,

Shew'd me good stock of scars, but none of cash,

No, not a doit-but still he vapour'd much
Of what a certain Prince would do, and talk'd
Of this and that commission-in the clouds,

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By which he gull'd me of a twelvemonth's hope,
Liv'd at free cost, and fed me upon love.
At length I sent my man of valour packing,
MOSCHIO-NICOSTRATUS-PHŒNICIDES.]

15

And a grave son of Physic fill'd his place:
My house now seem'd an hospital of Lazars,
And the vile beggar mangled without mercy,
A very hangman bath'd in human gore.
My Soldier was a prince compared to this,
For his were merry fibs; this son of Death
Turn'd every thing he touch'd into a corpse.
When Fortune, who had yet good store of spite,
Now coupled me to a most learn'd Philosopher;
Plenty of beard he had, a cloak withal,
Enough to spare of each, and moral maxims
More than I could digest, but money-none;
His sect abhorr'd it; 'twas a thing proscrib'd
By his philosophy, an evil root,

And when I ask'd him for a taste, 'twas poison;
Still I demanded it, and for the reason

That he so slightly priz'd it-all in vain

I could not wring a drachma from his clutches.-
Defend me, Heav'n! from all philosophers.

CUMBERLAND.

SOTADES.

I. II. (Pp. 98. 100.)

Is there a man just, honest, nobly born?

Malice should hunt him down. Does wealth attend him?
Trouble is hard behind.-Conscience direct?—

Beggary is at his heels: is he an Artist?

Farewell repose! An equal upright Judge?—

Report shall blast his virtues: is he strong?

5

Sickness shall sap his strength; account that day,
Which brings no new mischance, a day of rest;
For what is man? what matter is he made of?
How born? what is he, and what shall he be?
What an unnatural parent is this world,

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[PHOENICIDES-SOTADES.

To foster none but villains, and destroy

All, who are benefactors to mankind!
What was the fate of Socrates?-A prison,

A dose of poison; tried, condemn'd and kill'd:
How died Diogenes?-As a dog dies,
With a raw morsel in his hungry throat:
Alas for Eschylus! musing he walk'd,
The soaring eagle dropt a tortoise down,

And crush'd that brain, where Tragedy had birth:
A paltry grape-stone choak'd the Athenian Bee:
Mastiffs of Thrace devour'd Euripides,

And god-like Homer, woe the while! was starv'd—
Thus life, blind life teems with perpetual woes.

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20

CUMBERLAND.

STRATO. (P. 101).

I've harbour'd a He-Sphinx and not a Cook,
For, by the gods! he talk'd to me in riddles,
And coin'd new words that pose me to interpret.
No sooner had he enter'd on his office,

Than, eyeing me from head to foot, he cries

How many mortals hast thou bid to supper?'

Mortals! quoth I, what tell you me of mortals?
Let Jove decide on their mortality;

You're crazy sure! none by that name are bidden.

· No Table Usher? no one to officiate

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As Master of the Courses?'-No such person;
Moschion and Niceratus and Philinus,

These are my guests and friends, and amongst these
You'll find no table-decker, as I take it.

'Gods! is it possible?' cried he: Most certain,

15

I patiently replied; he swell'd and huff'd,

As if forsooth! I'd done him heinous wrong,

And robb'd him of his proper dignity;

Ridiculous conceit! What offering mak'st thou
To Erysichthon?' he demanded: None-

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'Shall not the wide-horn'd ox be fell'd?' cries he; SOTADES-STRATO.]

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