Читать книгу Echoes from the Sabine Farm - Гораций, Квинт Гораций Флакк - Страница 8

Mæcenas, you will be my death,—though friendly you profess yourself,—

If to me in a strain like this so often you address yourself:

"Come, Holly, why this laziness? Why indolently shock you us?

Why with Lethean cups fall into desuetude innocuous?"

A god, Mæcenas! yea, a god hath proved the very curse of me!

If my iambics are not done, pray, do not think the worse of me;

Anacreon for young Bathyllus burned without apology,

And wept his simple measures on a sample of conchology.

Now, you yourself, Mæcenas, are enjoying this beatitude;

If by no brighter beauty Ilium fell, you've cause for gratitude.

A certain Phryne keeps me on the rack with lovers numerous;

This is the artful hussy's neat conception of the humorous!