Explore "Horace I, 27" by Eugene Field on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In maudlin spite let Thracians fight / Above their bowls of liquor, / But such as we, when on a spree, / Should never bawl and bicker!
These angry words and clashing swords / Are quite de trop, I'm thinking; / Brace up, my boys, and hush your noise, / And drown your wrath in drinking.
Aha, 'tis fine -- this mellow wine / With which our host would dope us! / Now let us hear what pretty dear / Entangles him of Opus.
I see you blush -- nay, comrades, hush! / Come, friend, though they despise you, / Tell me the name of that fair dame -- / Perchance I may advise you.
O wretched youth! and is it truth / You love that fickle lady? / I, doting dunce, courted her once, / And she is reckoned shady!