“Worthy Demus, your estate Is a glorious thing, we own; The haughtiest of the proud and great Watch and tremble at your frown; Like a sovereign or a chief, But so easy of belief, Every fawning rogue and thief Finds you ready to his hand; Flatterers you cannot withstand; To them your confidence is lent, With opinions always bent To what your last advisers say, Your noble mind is gone astray. DEMUS. * * * * * But though you see me dote and dream, Never think me what I seem; For my confidential slave I prefer a pilfering knave; And when he’s pampered and full-blown, I snatch him up and dash him down. * * * * * Hark me--when I seem to doze, When my wearied eyelids close, Then they think their tricks are hid; But beneath the drooping lid Still I keep a corner left, Tracing every secret theft: I shall match them by-and-by, All the rogues you think so sly.”--(F.) The two candidates for office now run in from different directions, meeting and nearly upsetting each other, laden with trays of delicacies to tempt the master’s appetite. “_Dem._ Well, truly, indeed, I shall be feasted rarely; My courtiers and admirers will quite spoil me. _Cleon._ There, I’m the first, ye see, to bring ye a chair. _B.-P.-S._ But a table--here, I’ve brought it first and foremost. _Cleon._ See here, this little half-meal cake from Pylos, Made from the flour of victory and success. _B.-P.-S._ But here’s a cake! see here! which the heavenly goddess Patted and flatted herself, with her ivory hand, For your own eating. _Dem._ Wonderful, mighty goddess! What an awfully large hand she must have had!”--(F.)