Makes some rich squire A banquet, and am I among the guests? Mark me: I cast no idle eye of observation On mouldings or on fretted roof: I deign not With laudatory breath to ask, if hands From Corinth form'd and fashion'd the wine-coolers: These trouble not my cap.—I watch and note (And with most deep intensity of vision), What smoke the cook sends up: mounts it me full And with alacrity and perpendicular? All joy and transport I: I crow and clap My wings for very ecstasy of heart! Does it come sidelong, making wayward angles, Embodied into no consistency? I know the mournful signal well, and straight Prepare me for a bloodless feast of herbs.—MITCHELL. * * * * * EUPOLIS. (Book vi. § 30, p. 373.) Mark now, and learn of me the thriving arts By which we parasites contrive to live: Fine rogues we are, my friend, (of that be sure,) And daintily we gull mankind.—Observe! First I provide myself a nimble thing To be my page, a varlet of all crafts; Next two new suits for feasts and gala-days, Which I promote by turns, when I walk forth To sun myself upon the public square: There, if perchance I spy some rich dull knave, Straight I accost him, do him reverence, And, saunt'ring up and down, with idle chat Hold him awhile in play; at every word Which his wise worship utters, I stop short And bless myself for wonder; if he ventures On some vile joke, I blow it to the skies, And hold my sides for laughter.—Then to supper, With others of our brotherhood to mess In some night-cellar on our barley-cakes, And club invention for the next day's shift.—CUMBERLAND. _The same._ Of how we live, a sketch I'll give, If you'll attentive be; Of parasites, (we're thieves by rights,) The flower and chief are we. Now first we've all a page at call, Of whom we're not the owners, But who's a slave to some young brave, Whom we flatter to be donors. Two gala dresses each possesses, And puts them on in turn; As oft as he goes forth to see Where he his meal can earn. The Forum I choose, my nets to let loose, It's there that I fish for my dinner; The wealthy young fools I use as my tools, Like a jolly good harden'd old sinner. Whenever I see a fool suited for me, In a trice at his side I appear, And ne'er loose my hold, till by feeding or gold, He has paid for my wants rather dear. If he chance aught to speak, though stupid and weak, Straightway it is praised to the skies; His wit I applaud, treat him as my lord, Win his heart by a good set of lies.