Reverende Vir,
De vestrb benignitate et clementib in frigore et fame exanimatos, nisi
persuasum esset nobis, hanc epistolam reverentiae vestrae non
scripsissem; quam profectr, quoniam eo es ingenio, in optimam accipere
partem nullus dubito. Saevit Boreas, mugiunt procellae, dentibus invitis
maxillae bellum gerunt. Nec minus, intestino depraeliantibus tumultu
visceribus, classicum sonat venter. Ea nostra est conditio, haec nostra
querela. Proh De{m atque hominum fidem! quare illi, cui ne libella nummi
est, dentes, stomachum, viscera concessit natura? mehercule, nostro
ludibrium debens corpori, frustra laboravit a patre voluntario exilio,
qui macrum ligone macriorem reddit agellum. Huc usque evasi, ad te, quasi
ad asylum, confugiens, quem nisi bene ntssem succurrere potuisse,
mehercule, neque fores vestras pult{ssem, neque limina tetigissem. Qu`m
longum iter famelicus peregi! nudus, egenus, esuriens, perhorrescens,
despectus, mendicans; sunt lacrymae rerum et mentem carnaria tangunt. In
vib nullum fuit solatium praeterquam quod Horatium, ubi macros in igne
turdos versat, perlegi. Catii dapes, Maecenatis convivium, ita me picturb
pascens inani, saepius volvebam. Quid non mortalium pectora cogit Musarum
sacra fames? Haec omnia, quae nostra fuit necessitas, curavi ut scires;
nunc re experiar quid dabis, quid negabis. Vale.
Vivitur parvo malh, sed canebat
Flaccus ut parvo benh: quod negamus:
Pinguis et lauth saturatus ille
Ridet inanes.
Pace sic dicam liceat poetae
Nobilis laeti salibus faceti
Usque jocundi, lepidh jocantis
Non sine curb.
Quis potest versus (meditans merendam,
Prandium, coenam) numerare? quis non
Quot panes pistor locat in fenestrb
Dicere mallet?
Ecce jejunus tibi venit unus;
Latrat ingenti stomachus furore;
Quaeso digneris renovare fauces,
Docte Patrone.
Vestiant lanae tenues libellos,
Vestiant panni dominum trementem,
Aedibus vestris trepidante pennb
Musa propinquat.
Nuda ne fiat, renovare vestes
Urget, et nunquam tibi sic molestam
Esse promittit, nisi sit coacta
Frigore iniquo.
Si modo possem! Vetat heu pudor me
Plura, sed praestat rogitare plura,
An dabis binos digitos crumenae im-
ponere vestrae?
TO THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S
Dear Sir, Since you in humble wise
Have made a recantation,
From your low bended knees arise;
I hate such poor prostration.
'Tis bravery that moves the brave,
As one nail drives another;
If you from me would mercy have,
Pray, Sir, be such another.
You that so long maintain'd the field
With true poetic vigour;
Now you lay down your pen and yield,
You make a wretched figure.
Submit, but do't with sword in hand,
And write a panegyric
Upon the man you cannot stand;
I'll have it done in lyric:
That all the boys I teach may sing
The achievements of their Chiron;
What conquests my stern looks can bring
Without the help of iron.
A small goose-quill, yclep'd a pen,
From magazine of standish
Drawn forth, 's more dreadful to the Dean,
Than any sword we brandish.
My inks my flash, my pens my bolt;
Whene'er I please to thunder,
I'll make you tremble like a colt,
And thus I'll keep you under.
THOMAS SHERIDAN.
TO THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S
Dear Dean, I'm in a sad condition,
I cannot see to read or write;
Pity the darkness of thy Priscian,
Whose days are all transform'd to night.
My head, though light, 's a dungeon grown,
The windows of my soul are closed;
Therefore to sleep I lay me down,
My verse and I are both composed.
Sleep, did I say? that cannot be;
For who can sleep, that wants his eyes?
My bed is useless then to me,
Therefore I lay me down to rise.
Unnumber'd thoughts pass to and fro
Upon the surface of my brain;
In various maze they come and go,
And come and go again.
So have you seen in sheet burnt black,
The fiery sparks at random run;
Now here, now there, some turning back
Some ending where they just begun.
THOMAS SHERIDAN.