It grieves me much to see the world so changed, And men of worth, ingenious and well-born, Reduced to poverty, while cunning knaves; The very scum of the people, eat their fish, Bought for two oboli, on plates of silver, Weighing at least a mina; a few capers, Not worth three pieces of brass-money, served In lordly silver-dish, that weighs, at least, As much as fifteen drachmas. In times past A little cup presented to the Gods Was thought a splendid offering; but such gifts Are now but seldom seen,—and reason good, For 'tis no sooner on the altar placed, Than rogues are watching to purloin it thence.—ANON. * * * * * ALEXIS. (Book vi. § 28, p. 372.) I'm ready, at the slightest call, to sup With those who may think proper to invite me. If there's a wedding in the neighbourhood, I smell it out, nor scruple to be there Sans invitation; then, indeed, I shine, And make a full display of all my wit, 'Till the guests shake with laughter; I take care To tickle well the master of the feast; Should any strive to thwart my purpose, I At once take fire, and load him with reproach And bitter sarcasm; 'till at length, well fed, And having drunk my fill, I stagger home. No nimble link-boy guides my giddy steps, But "through the palpable obscure, I grope My uncouth way;" and if by chance I meet, In their nocturnal rounds, the watch, I hail them With soft and gentle speech; then thank the gods That I've escaped so well, nor felt the weight Of their hard fists, or their still harder staves. At length, unhurt, I find myself at home, And creep to my poor bed, where gentle sleep, And pleasant dreams, inspired by generous wine, Lock up my senses.—ANON. * * * * * DIPHILUS. (Book vi. § 29, p. 372.) When I'm invited to a great man's board, I do not feast my eyes by looking at The costly hangings, painted ceiling, or The rich Corinthian vases, but survey, And watch with curious eye, the curling smoke That rises from the kitchen. If it comes In a strong current, straight, direct, and full, I chuckle at the sight, and shake myself For very joy; but if, oblique and small, It rises slowly in a scanty volume, I then exclaim, Sad meagre fare for me! A lenten supper, and a bloodless meal.—ANON. _The same._