Tobogganing on Parnassus Part 2

Your conduct, naughty Chloris, is Not just exactly Horace's Ideal of a lady At the shady Time of life; You mustn't throw your soul away On foolishness, like Pholoe-- Her days are folly-laden-- She's a maiden, You're a wife.

Your daughter, with propriety, May look for male society, Do one thing and another In which mother Shouldn't mix; But revels Baccha.n.a.lian Are--or should be--quite alien To you a married person, Something worse'n Forty-six!

Yes, Chloris, you cut up too much, You love the dance and cup too much, Your years are quickly flitting-- To your knitting, Right about!

Forget the incidental things That keep you from parental things-- The World, the Flesh, the Devil, On the level, Cut 'em out!

R.S.V.P.

AD PHYLLIDEM

Horace: Book IV Ode II

"_Est mihi nonum superantis annum_"

Phyllis, I've a keg of fine fermented grape juice, Alban wine that's been nine years in the cellar.

Ivy chaplets? Sure. Also, in the garden, Plenty of parsley.

See my little shack--why, you'd hardly know it.

All the rooms are swept, Sunday-like and s.h.i.+ny; Flowers all around, altar simply famished-- Hungry for lamb stew.

Neighbours all are coming over to the party, All the busy boys, all the giggling girlies, Whiffs of certain things wafted from the kitchen-- Simply delicious.

Oh, of course. You ask why the fancy fireworks, Why the awning out, why the stylish doings.

Well, I'll tell you why. It's Maecenas' birthday 13th of April.

Telephus? Oh, tus.h.!.+ Pa.s.s him up completely!

Telly's such a swell; Telly doesn't love you; Telly is a trifler; Telly's running round with Some other fairy.

Phyllie, don't mismate; those that do regret it.

Phaeton--you know his unhappy story; Poor Bellerophon, too, you must remember, Pegasus shook him.

If these few remarks, rather aptly chosen, Make a hit with you, come, don't make me jealous.

Let me sing you songs of my own composing, Oh, come on over!

Advice

AD ARIUSTUM FUSc.u.m

I

Horace: Book I, Ode 22.

"_Integer vitae sclerisque purus_"--

_Take it from me: A guy who's square, His chances always are the best.

I'm in the know, for I've been there, And that's no ancient Roman jest._

What time he hits the hay to rest There's nothing on his mind but hair, No javelin upon his chest-- _Take it from me, a guy who's square._

There's nothing that can throw a scare Into the contents of his vest; His name is Eva I-Don't-Care; _His chances always are the best._

Why, once, when I was way out West, Singing to Lalage, a bear Came up, and I was some distressed-- _I'm in the know, for I've been there._

But back he went into his lair, (Cage, corner, den, retreat, nook, nest), And left me to "The Maiden's Prayer"-- _And that's no ancient Roman jest._

In Newtonville or Cedar Crest, In Cincinnati or Eau Claire, I'll warble till I am a pest, "My Lalage"--no matter where-- _Take it from me!_

II

Fuscus, my friend, take it from me-- I know the world and what it's made of-- One on the square has naught to be Afraid of.

The Moorish bows and javelins? Nope.

Such deadly things need not alarm him.

Why, even arrows dipped in dope Can't harm him!

He's safe in any clime or land, Desert or river, hill or valley; Safe in all places on the Rand- McNally.

Why, one day in my Sabine grot, I sang for Lalage to hear me; A wolf came in and he did not Come near me!

Ah, set me on the sunless plain, In China, Norway, or Matanzas, Ay, place me anywhere from Maine To Kansas.

Still of my Lalage I'll sing, Where'er the Fates may chance to drop me; And n.o.body nor anything Shall stop me.

When Horace "Came Back"

CARMEN AMOEBAEUM

I

Horace: Book III, Ode 9.

"Donec gratus eram tibi--"

HORACE