Poetical Ingenuities and Eccentricities

by Unknown

“Blest man, who far from busy hum, Ut prisca gens mortalium, Whistles his team afield with glee Solutus omni fenore; He lives in peace, from battles free, Neq’ horret irratúm mare; And shuns the forum, and the gay Potentiorum limina, Therefore to vines of purple gloss Atlas maritat populos. Or pruning off the boughs unfit Feliciores inserit; Or, in a distant vale at ease Prospectat errantes greges; Or honey into jars conveys Aut tondet infirmas oves. When his head decked with apples sweet Auctumnus agris extulit, At plucking pears he’s quite au fait Certant, et uvam purpuræ. Some for Priapus, for thee some Sylvare, tutor finium! Beneath an oak ’tis sweet to be Mod’ in tenaci gramine: The streamlet winds in flowing maze Queruntur in silvis aves; The fount in dulcet murmur plays Somnos quod invitet leves. But when winter comes, (and that Imbres nivesque comparat,) With dogs he forces oft to pass Apros in obstantes plagas; Or spreads his nets so thick and close Turdis edacibus dolos; Or hares, or cranes, from far away Jucunda captat præmia: The wooer, love’s unhappy stir, Hæc inter obliviscitur, His wife can manage without loss Domum et parvos liberos; (Suppose her Sabine, or the dry Pernicis uxor Appali,) Who piles the sacred hearthstone high Lassi sub adventúm viri, And from his ewes, penned lest they stray, Distenta siccet ubera; And this year’s wine disposed to get Dapes inemtas apparet. Oysters to me no joys supply, Magisve rhombus, aut scari, (If when the east winds boisterous be Hiems ad hoc vertat mare;) Your Turkey pout is not to us, Non attagen Ionicus, So sweet as what we pick at home Oliva ramis arborum! Or sorrel, which the meads supply, Malvæ salubres corpori— Or lamb, slain at a festal show Vel hædus ereptus lupo. Feasting, ’tis sweet the creature’s dumb, Videre prop’rantes domum, Or oxen with the ploughshare go, Collo trahentes languido; And all the slaves stretched out at ease, Circum renidentes Lares! Alphius the usurer, babbled thus, Jam jam futurus rusticus, Called in his cast on th’ Ides—but he Quærit Kalendis ponere!”

There is a little bit by Barham (“Ingoldsby Legends”) which is worthy of insertion:

“What Horace says is Eheu fugaces Anni labuntur, Postume! Postume! Years glide away and are lost to me—lost to me! Now when the folks in the dance sport their merry toes, Taglionis and Ellslers, Duvernays and Ceritos, Sighing, I murmured, ‘O mihi pretæritos!’”

The following bright carmen Macaronicum appeared in an American periodical in 1873:

Rex Midas.

“Vivit a rex in Persia land, A potens rex was he; Suum imperium did extend O’er terra and o’er sea. Rex Midas habuit multum gold, Tamen he wanted plus; ‘Non satis est,’ his constant cry— Ergo introit fuss. Silenus was inebrius,— Id est, was slightly tight, As he went vagus through the urbs, It was a tristis sight. Rex Midas equitavit past On suum dromedary, Vidit Silenus on his spree, Sic lætus et sic merry. His costume was a wreath of leaves, And those were multum battered; Urchins had stoned him, and the ground Cum lachrymis was scattered. Rex Midas picked hunc senem up, And put him on his pony, Et bore him ad castellum grand Quod cost him multum money. Dedit Silenum mollem care: Cum Bacchus found his ubi Promisit Midas quod he asked. Rex Midas fuit—booby. For aurum was his gaudium, Rogavit he the favour Ut quid he touched might turn to gold; Ab this he’d nunquam never. Carpsit arose to try the charm, Et in eodem minute It mutat into flavum gold, Ridet as spectat in it. His filia rushed to meet her sire, He osculavit kindly; She lente stiffened into gold— Vidit he’d acted blindly. Spectavit on her golden form, And in his brachia caught her: ‘Heu me! sed tamen breakfast waits, My daughter, oh! my daughter!’ Venit ad suum dining-hall, Et coffeam gustavit, Liquatum gold his fauces burned,— Loud he vociferavit: ‘Triste erat amittere My solam filiam true, Pejus to lose my pabulam. Eheu! Eheu!! Eheu!!!’ Big lachrymæ bedewed his cheeks— ‘O potens Bacchus lazy, Prende ab me the power you gave, Futurum, ut I’ll praise thee.’ Benignus Bacchus audiens groans, Misertus est our hero; Dixit ut the Pactolian waves Ab hoc would cleanse him—vero. Infelix rex was felix then, Et cum hilarious grin, Ruit unto the river’s bank, Et fortis plunged in. The nefas power was washed away; Sed even at this hour Pactolus’ sands are tinged with gold, Testes of Bacchus’ power. A tristis sed a sapiens vir Rex Midas fuit then; Et gratus to good Bacchus said, ‘Non feram sic again.’ Hæc fable docet, plain to see, Quamquam the notion’s old, Hoc verum est, ut girls and grub Much melior sunt than gold.”

The following well-known lines are from the “Comic Latin Grammar,” a remarkably clever and curious work, full of quaint illustrations:

“Patres conscripti—took a boat and went to Philippi. Trumpeter unus erat qui coatum scarlet habebat, Stormum surgebat, et boatum overset—ebat, Omnes drownerunt, quia swimaway non potuerunt, Excipe John Periwig tied up to the tail of a dead pig.”

A Treatise on Wine.

“The best tree, if ye take intent, Inter ligna fructifera, Is the vine tree by good argument, Dulcia ferens pondera. Saint Luke saith in his Gospel, Arbor fructu noscitur, The vine beareth wine as I you tell, Hinc aliis præponitur. The first that planted the vineyard Manet in cœlio gaudio, His name was Noe, as I am learned Genesis testimonio. God gave unto him knowledge and wit, A quo procedunt omnia, First of the grape wine for to get Propter magna mysteria. The first miracle that Jesus did, Erat in vino rubeo, In Cana of Galilee it betide Testante Evangelio. He changed water into wine Aquæ rubescunt hydriæ, And bade give it to Archetcline, Ut gustet tunc primarie. Like as the rose exceedeth all flowers, Inter cuncta florigera, So doth wine all other liquors, Dans multa salutifera. David, the prophet, saith that wine Lætificat cor hominis, It maketh men merry if it be fine, Est ergo digni nominis. It nourisheth age if it be good, Facit ut esset juvenis, It gendereth in us gentle blood, Nam venas purgat sanguinis. By all these causes, ye should think Quæ sunt rationabiles, That good wine should be the best of drink, Inter potus potabiles. Wine drinkers all, with great honour, Semper laudate Dominum, The which sendeth the good liquor Propter salutem hominum. Plenty to all that love good wine Donet Deus larguis, And bring them some when they go hence, Ubi non sitient amplius.” —Richard Hilles (1535).