While he was chattering all at this rate, a boy chanced to stumble upon him, on which the family gave a shriek, the same also did the guests; not for such a beast of a man, whose neck they could willingly have seen broken, but for fear the supper should break up ill, and they be forc'd to wail the death of the boy. Whatever it were, Trimalchio gave a deep groan; and leaning upon his arm as if it had been hurt, the physicians ran thick about him, and with the first, Fortunata, her hair about her ears, a bottle of wine in her hand, still howling, miserable unfortunate woman that she was! Undone, undone. The boy on the other hand, ran under our feet, and beseeched us to procure him a discharge: But I was much concern'd, lest our interposition might make an ill end of the matter; for the cook that had forgotten to bowel the hog was still in my thoughts. I began therefore to look about the room, for fear somewhat or other might drop through the ceiling; while the servant that had bound up his arm in white, not scarlet-colour flannen, was soundly beaten: Now was I much out, for instead of another course, came in an order of Trimalchio's by which he gave the boy his freedom; that it might not be said, so honourable a person had been hurt by his slave. We all commended the action, but chatted among our selves with what little consideration the things of this world were done. "You're in the right," said Trimalchio; "nor ought this accident to pass without booking;" and so calling for the journal, commanded it to be entered; and with, as little thought, tumbled out these verses: "What's least expected falls into our dish, And fortune's more indulgent than our wish: Therefore, boy, fill the generous wine about." This epigram gave occasion to talk of the poets, and Marsus, the Trachian, carry'd the bays a long while: till Trimalchio (turning to some wit amongst them) "I beseech ye, master of mine," said he, "tell me what difference take ye between Cicero the orator, and Publius the poet? for my part I think one was more eloquent, the other the honester man; for what could be said better than this." "Now sinking Rome grows weak with luxury, To please her appetite cram'd peacocks die: Their gaudy plumes a modish dress supply. For her the guinnea hen and capon's drest: The stork it self for Rome's luxurious taste, Must in a caldron build its humbl'd nest. That foreign, friendly, pious, long-leg'd thing, Grateful, that with shrill sounding notes dost sing All winter's gone; yet ushers in the spring. Why in one ring must three rich pearls be worn, But that your wives th' exhausted seas adorn, Abroad t' increase their lust, at home their scorn?