The ancient Romans, so renowned for wars,
Kept medals of their friends and ancestors;
Art thou red-letter bred, of hopes from Rome;
Yet against pictures speak'st, from whence they come?
A satyr once, satyrs could speak ere thine,
Why men did blow their nails, could not divine,
Nor why they did their porridge blow, was told,
One was to make them hot, the other cold:
At which news, satyr set up skut and run,
As if he had been frighted with a gun;