| It is very aggravating To hear the solemn prating Of the fossils who are stating That old Horace was a prude; When we know that with the ladies He was always raising Hades, And with many an escapade his Best productions are imbued. There's really not much harm in a Large number of his carmina, But these people find alarm in a Few records of his acts; So they'd squelch the muse caloric, And to students sophomoric They'd present as metaphoric What old Horace meant for facts. We have always thought 'em lazy; Now we adjudge 'em crazy! Why, Horace was a daisy That was very much alive! And the wisest of us know him As his Lydia verses show him— Go, read that virile poem— It is No. 25. He was a very owl, sir, And starting out to prowl, sir, You bet he made Rome howl, sir, Until he filled his date; With a massic-laden ditty And a classic maiden pretty, He painted up the city, And Mæcenas paid the freight! Eugene Field. |
