Not badly young Telemachus replied, Ulysses' son, that man so sorely tried: "No mettled steeds in Ithaca we want; The ground is broken there, the herbage scant. Let me, Atrides, then, thy gifts decline, In thy hands they are better far than mine!" Yes, little things fit little folks. In Rome The Great I never feel myself at home. Let me have Tibur, and its dreamful ease, Or soft Tarentum's nerve-relaxing breeze. Philip, the famous counsel, on a day-- A burly man, and wilful in his way-- From court returning, somewhere about two, And grumbling, for his years were far from few, That the Carinae [1] were so distant, though But from the Forum half a mile or so, Descried a fellow in a barber's booth, All by himself, his chin fresh shaved and smooth, Trimming his nails, and with the easy air Of one uncumbered by a wish or care. "Demetrius!"--'twas his page, a boy of tact, In comprehension swift, and swift in act, "Go, ascertain his rank, name, fortune; track His father, patron!" In a trice he's back. "An auction-crier, Volteius Mena, sir, Means poor enough, no spot on character, Good or to work or idle, get or spend, Has his own house, delights to see a friend, Fond of the play, and sure, when work is done, Of those who crowd the Campus to make one." "I'd like to hear all from himself. Away, Bid him come dine with me--at once--to-day!" Mena some trick in the request divines, Turns it all ways, then civilly declines. "What! Says me nay?" "'Tis even so, sir. Why? Can't say. Dislikes you, or, more likely, shy." Next morning Philip searches Mena out, And finds him vending to a rabble rout Old crazy lumber, frippery of the worst, And with all courtesy salutes him first. Mena pleads occupation, ties of trade, His service else he would by dawn have paid, At Philip's house,--was grieved to think, that how He should have failed to notice him till now. "On one condition I accept your plea. You come this afternoon, and dine with me." "Yours to command." "Be there, then, sharp at four! Now go, work hard, and make your little more!" At dinner Mena rattled on, expressed Whate'er came uppermost, then home to rest. The hook was baited craftily, and when The fish came nibbling ever and again, At morn a client, and, when asked to dine, Not now at all in humour to decline, Philip himself one holiday drove him down, To see his villa some few miles from town. Mena keeps praising up, the whole way there, The Sabine country, and the Sabine air; So Philip sees his fish is fairly caught, And smiles with inward triumph at the thought. Resolved at any price to have his whim,-- For that is best of all repose to him,-- Seven hundred pounds he gives him there and then, Proffers on easy terms as much again, And so persuades him, that, with tastes like his, He ought to buy a farm;--so bought it is. Not to detain you longer than enough,