TO POTITUS

Martial. Book X, lxx

That scarce a piece I publish in a year,
Idle perhaps to you I may appear.
But rather, that I write at all, admire,
When I am often robbed of days entire.
Now with my friends the evening I must spend:
To those preferred my compliments must send.
Now at the witnessing a will make one:
Hurried from this to that, my morning's gone.
Some office must attend; or else some ball;
Or else my lawyer's summons to the hall.
Now a rehearsal, now a concert hear;
And now a Latin play at Westminster.
Home after ten return, quite tir'd and dos'd.
When is the piece, you want, to be compos'd? —John Hay

[WHAT IS GIVEN TO FRIENDS IS NOT LOST]

Martial

Your slave will with your gold abscond,
The fire your home lay low, Your debtor will disown his bond
Your farm no crops bestow; Your steward a mistress frail shall cheat;
Your freighted ship the storms will beat; That only from mischance you'll save,
Which to your friends is given; The only wealth you'll always have
Is that you've lent to heaven. —English Journal of Education, Jan., 1856