Behind a hanging in a spacious room (The richest work of Mortlake’s noble loom) They wait awhile their wearied limbs to rest, Till silence should invite them to their feast, About the hour that Cynthia’s silver light Had touched the pale meridies of the night, At last, the various supper being done, It happened that the company was gone Into a room remote, servants and all, To please their noble fancies with a ball. Our host leads forth his stranger, and does find All fitted to the bounties of his mind. Still on the table half-filled dishes stood, And with delicious bits the floor was strewed; The courteous mouse presents him with the best, And both with fat varieties are blest. The industrious peasant everywhere does range, And thanks the gods for his life’s happy change. Lo, in the midst of a well-freighted pie They both at last glutted and wanton lie, When see the sad reverse of prosperous fate, And what fierce storms on mortal glories wait! With hideous noise, down the rude servants come, Six dogs before run barking into th’ room; The wretched gluttons fly with wild affright, And hate the fulness which retards their flight. Our trembling peasant wishes now in vain. That rocks and mountains covered him again. Oh, how the change of his poor life, he cursed! “This, of all lives,” said he, “is sure the worst. Give me again, ye gods, my cave and wood; With peace, let tares and acorns be my food.” HORACE TO FUSCUS ARISTIUS. _A Paraphrase upon the Eightieth Epistle of the First Book of Horace_.