"So you would. I'll read some of it now, to give you the idea." Anicius sat up. He held the papyrus in one hand and made noble gestures with the other:
"Mars with his thunderous trumpet his lord acclaims,
The youthful Jupiter, new to his throne ascended,
Above the stars by all-wise Nature placed.
The lesser deities their sire worship,
To ancient sovereignty with pomp succeeding—"
"Father," interrupted Dorethea, "your food's getting cold."
"What? Oh, so it is, child."
"And," continued Dorothea, "I think you ought to write some good Christian sentiment some time, instead of all that pagan superstition."
Anicius sighed. "If you ever have a daughter, Martinus, marry her off early, before she develops the critical faculty."