You are livin' in th' city that we ust to dream about;
I am still a dwellin' here upon the place,
But my form is bent an' feeble, which was once so straight and stout,
An' there's most a thousand wrinkles on my face.
You have made a mint of money; I, perhaps have been your match,
But we both enjoyed life better in that ol' tobacker patch.
S.Q. LAPIUS.
MÆCENAS BIDS HIS FRIEND TO DINE.
I beg you come to-night and dine.